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The Kentucky Ranger

by Edward T. Curnick · English · Gutenberg #20622 · 329,372 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Kentucky Ranger

Author: Edward T. Curnick


        
Release date: February 19, 2007 [eBook #20622]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20622

Credits: Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
        produced from images generously made available by The
        Kentuckiana Digital Library)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KENTUCKY RANGER ***




Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Kentuckiana Digital Library)






THE KENTUCKY RANGER



By

EDWARD T. CURNICK, A.M.

Author of A Catechism on Christian Perfection.



The Christian Witness Co.
Chicago, Ill.




AUTHOR'S NOTE


The story, "The Kentucky Ranger," to a large extent is built around the
life and character of one of the most famous early pioneer preachers of
the West.

Many of the incidents in his career are recorded, but have been treated
as to time, place and authorship according to the demands of the work
with the freedom belonging to the writer of fiction.

A number of years ago some of the chapters in the narrative were
printed in "The Epworth Era," of Nashville, Tennessee. Thanks are
hereby extended to the paper for releasing the copyright.



Copyright 1922
THE CHRISTIAN WITNESS CO.




Transcriber's Note: The Table of Contents was not contained in the
text. It has been generated for the convenience of the reader.



CONTENTS


CHAPTER I.
    The Ranger.

CHAPTER II.
    An Old Time Camp Meeting.

CHAPTER III.
    Swapping Stories.

CHAPTER IV.
    The Trail of the Serpent.

CHAPTER V.
    Rowdies in Camp.

CHAPTER VI.
    Under the Pine Trees.

CHAPTER VII.
    The Horse Race.

CHAPTER VIII.
    Prayer In a Dance Hall.

CHAPTER IX.
    Wanted, a Mission School.

CHAPTER X.
    The Mission School Established.

CHAPTER XI.
    A Kentucky Feud.

CHAPTER XII.
    The Shameful Plot.

CHAPTER XIII.
    Into a Pit (or Pitch).

CHAPTER XIV.
    Returning Thanks.

CHAPTER XV.
    Cupid's Chariot.

CHAPTER XVI.
    Horse Thieves.

CHAPTER XVII.
    Lynch Law or the Gospel.

CHAPTER XVIII.
    Apple Blossoms.

CHAPTER XIX.
    A Proposal Without Words.

CHAPTER XX.
    Kidnapped.

CHAPTER XXI.
    The Search.

CHAPTER XXII.
    The Rescue.

CHAPTER XXIII.
    A Battle With Moonshiners.

CHAPTER XXIV.
    "I Thee Wed."




THE KENTUCKY RANGER




CHAPTER I.

The Ranger.


"Glory to God! another sinner's down! Glory! Hallelujah! Amen; Pray on,
brother; you'll soon be through. Glory! Glory!"

These words were shouted by two young men and a young woman who were
returning through the Kentucky woods from a camp meeting. They were
riding in a smart spring wagon drawn by two good horses. The young man
who was not driving would fall into the wagon, crying for mercy, and
the driver shouted: "Glory to God! another sinner's down!" and the
young lady added: "Keep on praying, brother; you'll soon be saved.
Glory! Glory to God!" Then the young men would change places, and the
other would shout: "You'll soon get through, brother; pray on. Glory!"

These persons acted thus to tantalize a camp meeting preacher who was
riding on horseback ahead of them. He detected their mockery and tried
to outride them; but his horse being somewhat lame he could not escape
them.

The preacher remembered that at a little distance beyond the road ran
through a swamp but that a bridle path wound around it. Putting spurs
to his horse he made for this path but the driver, keeping on the road,
whipped up his horses. Driving into the swamp in his haste and
excitement he did not notice a stump at the side of the road. Crash!
went the fore wheel against the stump, and mounting to its top over
went the wagon into the mud and water. The two young men took a flying
leap into the swamp, and the young lady was thrown out. She was almost
smothered before she was rescued by the young men. While they were in
this predicament the preacher rode up to the edge of the morass.
Raising himself in his stirrups he shouted at the top of his voice:
"Glory to God! Glory to God! another sinner's down! Hallelujah! Glory!
Glory!" Then he added: "Now you poor, miserable sinners, take this as a
judgment from God upon you for your meanness, and repent of your wicked
ways before it is too late." With this he left them, covered with mud
and shame, to their reflections.

Jasper Very (for this was the preacher's name) continued on his way,
now laughing at the sorry plight of his mockers, again singing a hymn
with such power that the leaves of the trees seemed to tremble with the
melody, and anon lifting his heart in prayer to his Maker. The object
of his ride through the woods was to visit a settler who a short time
before had been caught by a falling tree and suffered the fracture of
his leg. The man of God brought the consolations of religion to the
injured man and his family. After partaking of their plain but
hospitable fare, he went to the barn for his faithful horse. While he
is preparing to mount him we shall attempt to describe this backwoods
preacher's appearance.

We see at once that he is a splendid type of Kentucky manhood. He
stands six feet two inches in his heavy rawhide boots, but his frame is
so well proportioned that he does not seem so tall. His head is massive
and his hair as thick and disheveled as a lion's mane; it cannot be
kept in order. His eyes are dark blue, and can twinkle with merriment
or blaze with indignation. His mouth is of medium size, mobile, yet
strong; when closed the drooping corners give the face a set
expression. Great firmness and decision are shown by the broad but
rounded chin, which forms a base for a smooth-shaven countenance. His
frame is large and powerful and is overlaid with muscles hard as iron
and elastic as steel. His hands are large and have a Samsonlike grip in
them. A long coat of homespun cloth is well fitted to his body, with
waistcoat and trousers of the same material. A black stock loosely tied
about his neck sets off a white shirt of coarse linen. His whole
make-up gives one the impression of fearlessness, determination and
energy, mixed with gentleness, kindness and charity. Humor shines in
his face like heat lightning in a summer cloud.

Jasper Very's parents were pioneers from the State of Virginia. Hearing
of the fertility and beauty of Kentucky they, like many others, decided
to emigrate to that land of promise. In 1785 they, with their infant
son Jasper, started out to brave the perils of the wilderness. Perils
there were in plenty. Kentucky at that time was the scene of repeated
Indian raids, ambuscades, burning of homes, scalpings, and other
atrocities. The Red Man was determined that his choicest Hunting Ground
should not be possessed by the White Man. The Indians were met by such
hardy and invincible scouts and frontiersmen as Daniel Boone, Simon
Kenton and George Rogers Clark. For years the conflict was carried on
until finally the savages were driven out of the state and its
marvelous valleys and hills were left to the white man there to fulfil
his destiny as the aborigines had theirs before him. The Very family
escaped the horrors of battle, massacre and captivity. They settled on
a site of great natural beauty in Lincoln County, near the Tennessee
line.

While the physical surroundings of the Verys were fairly entrancing, we
are sorry to confess that the moral environment was anything but
elevating and desirable. In fact the neighborhood was considered one of
the worst in all the newly settled country. It received the name of
Rogues' Harbor and well deserved the title. Many of the settlers had
committed crimes in the Eastern States and had fled to the wilderness
to escape punishment. They composed a majority of the people of the
district, and when arrested for breaking the law swore one another
clear in the courts of justice. At last the respectable people combined
for their own protection in an organization called the Regulators.
Several bloody encounters took place between the Regulators and the
outlaws before order was established in the community.

Jasper Very was a lively youngster from the start, and surely Rogues'
Harbor was not the best place in which to bring up a vigorous and
vivacious boy. He early showed elements of power and leadership, having
a remarkably strong and well developed body, being a stranger to fear,
a wit and a wag, and loving the rude sports and pastimes of the period.
Apart from the home there were few opportunities for mental or
religious training. Schools were few and scarcely worthy of the name.
No newspapers were published in that section. Sunday was a day set
apart for hunting, fishing, horse-racing, card-playing, dancing and
other amusements.

It is little wonder that Jasper became a wild and wicked boy. He was a
leader among his fellows in the rough sports of the time. His father
gave him a race-horse and he became renowned among his companions for
fearless riding. At card-playing he was skillful and lucky. But Jasper
had one blessed, restraining influence which doubtless kept him from
going the full course of sin and folly--a devout, humble, praying,
Christian mother.

Happy the boy who in the slippery paths of youth can lean upon the
loving arm of a godly mother.

When sixteen years of age Jasper experienced a great change of heart
and conduct. It was the turning point of his life. With his father and
brother he attended a wedding in the neighborhood. With others he took
part in the uproarious merriment of the occasion. Returning home he
began to think of his wicked ways, and at once felt condemned. His mind
became so agitated that his body was affected. His heart palpitated in
a very violent manner, his sight left him, and he thought death was at
hand. Very sure was he that he was not prepared to die. Falling on his
knees he cried to God to have mercy on his soul. Though it was late at
night his mother heard his cries, sprang from her bed, and was soon at
his side praying for her son, and exhorting him to look to Christ for
mercy. They prayed together a long time, and little sleep came to them
that night. Jasper resolved from that time to be a Christian. He asked
his father to sell the racehorse, and gave his pack of cards to his
mother, who threw them into the fire.

However, it was many days before Jasper really felt that he was
converted. Finally he found peace of mind at a camp meeting. We quote
from a record of his experience: "On the Saturday evening of said
meeting I went with weeping multitudes, bowed before the sand, and
earnestly prayed for mercy. In the midst of a solemn struggle of soul
an impression was made on my mind as though a voice said to me: 'Thy
sins are all forgiven thee.' Divine light flashed all around me,
unspeakable joy sprang up in my soul. I rose to my feet, opened my
eyes, and it really seemed as if I were in heaven; the trees, the
leaves on them, and every thing seemed to be, and I really thought
were, praising God. My mother raised a shout, my Christian friends
crowded around me and joined me in praising God--I have never doubted
that the Lord did then and there forgive my sins and gave me religion."
He went on his way rejoicing, and before he reached his majority became
a backwoods preacher. He had been ranging over the hills and valleys of
Kentucky for four years, preaching the gospel in many places, when he
is introduced to our readers.

Jasper Very was known early in his ministry as a great camp meeting
preacher. He was always partial to such gatherings, partly because at
one of them he had found religion. These meetings in the woods, "God's
first temples," are of enough importance to merit description in
another chapter.




CHAPTER II.

An Old Time Camp Meeting.


To Kentucky belongs the honor of originating the modern camp meeting.
This is no small distinction, when we consider how these institutions
have spread over the land and the great good they have done. Camp
meetings grew out of the needs of the times. When they providentially
sprang up in Kentucky, the frontier was sparsely settled, most people
living miles away from any church. Such churches as were built were
small and could accommodate only a few persons, and preaching services
were often weeks apart.

The revivals of genuine religion which usually attended these
gatherings were much needed in the backwoods. Most of the settlers were
honest, law-abiding persons, who had sought to improve their means by
emigrating to this western country; but many of the vicious
off-scouring of the older settlements also went west to hide their
crimes or to commit new ones. Rogues' Harbor was only an extreme type
of many law-defying places. Murderers, thieves, gamblers, defaulters
and their kind put life in peril, and threatened the moral and social
order of the state. These camp meetings strengthened and encouraged
good people, reformed many bad men and women, and thus became a saving
leaven of righteousness.

And what a place for a camp meeting was the Kentucky forest. What
nature poet can do justice to such sylvan loveliness as we find in the
"Blue Grass Region?" The pen must be dipped in the juices of that
Edenic vegetation and tinted with the blue of that arching sky to
record such beauty. What stately trees! They seemed like pillars in
God's own temple. The rich, warm limestone soil gave birth to trees in
form and variety scarce equaled in the world. Here grew in friendly
fellowship and rivalry the elm, ash, hickory, walnut, wild cherry,
white, black and read oak, black and honey locust, and many others.
Their lofty branches interlocking formed a verdant roof which did not
entirely shut out the sun's rays but caused a light subdued and
impressive as the light in a Saint Paul's Cathedral.

In such a forest was pitched the camp to which Jasper Very returned.
Let me describe this old-fashioned camp ground. A large, rough shed was
erected, capable of protecting five thousand persons from wind and
rain. It was covered with clapboards and furnished with puncheon seats.
At one end a large stand was built, from which sermons were preached. A
few feet in front of this stand a plain altar rail was set, extending
the full length of the preachers' stand. This altar was called the
"mourners' bench." All around the altar a liberal supply of fresh straw
was placed upon which the worshippers knelt. On three sides of the
large shed camps or cabins of logs were built for the use of the
attendants. In the rear of the preachers' stand was a large room which
accommodated all the ministers who labored in the meeting. The effect
at the camp at night was very striking. At intervals of several rods
log fires were kept burning and the bright light they threw was
contrasted with the deep darkness beyond.

It is astonishing to read how great an attraction these camps became to
the hardy pioneers of the Kentucky wilderness. People gathered from all
quarters in all kinds of vehicles, some traveling thirty or forty
miles. Many came in covered wagons in which they slept at night.
History records, that at Cane Ridge, Kentucky, a camp meeting was held
attended by twenty thousand people.

It is ten o'clock Sunday morning at Oak Grove Camp Meeting, where our
hero Jasper Very is laboring. Thousands are in the great wooden
structure, filling every seat and standing many deep beyond the edges
of the building. The preachers' stand contains twenty-five or thirty
ministers gathered from many parts of the State. The crowd has even
overflowed this stand, and all available room is occupied.

The Christians present have been prepared for this service by the cabin
meetings held at six o'clock in the morning and a prayer and testimony
meeting in the tabernacle at eight. And now the service begins. A
stalwart son of the prophets arises and announces the hymn:

    "Come, sinners, to the gospel feast,
    Let every soul be Jesus' guest:
    There need not one be left behind,
    For God hath bidden all mankind."

He starts the first note, and thousands take up the inspiring strain,
and the glorious music rolls through the forest like the sound of many
waters. A passage of Scripture is read and a fervent prayer offered. A
second hymn is sung: "There is a fountain filled with blood," and far
away the cadence is heard rising and falling, thrilling waves of sound.

The song is ended. A rustling noise is heard as the people settle
themselves in their places, and then a deep quiet ensues as they look
expectantly toward the preachers' stand. One whispers to another: "Who
is to be the preacher this morning?" They are not left long in doubt.
Slowly the minister arises. It is Jasper Very, the star preacher of the
camp meeting. He comes before his audience with a humble
self-possession which is reflected in the composure of his face. How
did he obtain this self-possession? Reader, we must lift the veil
somewhat and let you see.

In the morning he had gone into the deep woods to study and pray, as
was the wont of the forest preachers. Here he had prayerfully and
carefully completed the outline of his sermon. Then a great burden of
unfitness and helplessness came upon him. Like his Master he threw
himself prone upon the ground and poured out his soul to the Father. "O
God," he cried, "who am I, that I should be thy ambassador to beseech
sinners to be reconciled to thee? Who am I that I should stand between
the living and the dead and offer life and immortality to men? Thou, O
God, only art my sufficiency, my hope, my expectation. Stand by my side
and help me in this hour, for my need is great. This I ask in the name
of thy Son Jesus Christ. Amen."

Coming thus from the hidings of divine power, with the Spirit of God
like dew resting upon him, he announces his text: "Seek ye the Lord
while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near: let the
wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let
him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our
God, for he will abundantly pardon."

He began by describing the way of the wicked. He unmasked sin, showing
its hideous deformity, how it pollutes the soul, and makes man unfit
for fellowship with a holy God. Then he passed on to show the guilt of
sin, the awful misery coming to a man when he is face to face with his
iniquities. With great skill he pointed out condemnation arising from
particular transgressions,--the defaulter fleeing from his country, the
murderer with his victim's bloody form ever before his mind's eye, the
lustful man tortured and consumed with the rewards of his own folly.
Continuing, he proceeded to tell the final punishment of these sinners.
In those days ministers at camp meetings preached a literal hell; and
as the speaker uncovered the pit of destruction and compelled his
hearers to look into it many felt that they were "hair hung and breeze
shaken" over the mouth of perdition.

Now his manner changed. His voice, instead of being loud and startling
like thunder, producing awe and terror, became sweet, tender, and
appealing, like a shepherd calling his sheep to the fold.

Having opened the wounds of sin, he poured into them the cordial of
gospel grace. He dwelt upon the words, "abundantly pardon," showing how
God had planned to put away sin by the gift of his Son and had promised
forgiveness to all guilty mortals who with hearty repentance and true
faith looked to Christ for salvation.

As he exalted the world's Redeemer from one plane to another his soul
was lifted up with indescribable joy and exultation. His voice and form
were in attune with his soul. We have read that this man's voice could
be heard a mile, and on this occasion it surely reached to the utmost
bounds of that great assembly. Extending his arms, as though he would
enfold the multitude and present them to the Savior, he besought
sinners to flee from impending wrath, to come to the altar and be saved
from sin so that they might "read their titles clear to mansions in the
skies."

The effect was tremendous. At once a rush was made for the mourners'
bench and it was soon filled. Many were stricken where they sat in the
congregation and fell on their knees imploring mercy. Around the
mourners gathered the saints of God, counseling, advising, quoting
suitable passages of Scripture, praying with the penitents. When the
meeting finally closed long after the dinner hour, scores professed
conversion, and a great victory for morality and religion in Kentucky
had been won.




CHAPTER III.

Swapping Stories.


The ministers were in the preachers' room on the afternoon of this camp
meeting day. They were scattered about in delightful abandon. Some had
thrown themselves on rough cots; others were lounging on rude benches
which served as seats; the few plain chairs which the place boasted
were also occupied. Most of the men were regaling themselves with the
fragrant Kentucky tobacco, and the blue smoke ascended in widening
spirals to the rafters above. They felt they must unbend after the
severe mental tension of the morning.

What a fine spirit of comradeship is found among a group of preachers
of one heart and mind. Can anything on earth surpass it? Here we find
the hearty handshake, the contagious laugh, faces bright with smiles, a
free flow of talk. We see hilarity without vulgarity, wit that
sparkles, but does not burn, as when a bright sally directed at some
brother's foibles is met with a quick repartee. We listen to anecdotes
which cheer and enliven the senses without hurting the conscience or
debasing the mind.

"Brother Larkin, give us a bit of wit or philosophy from 'Poor Richard'
or tell us one of your good anecdotes."

The man addressed was John Larkin. He was about thirty-five years old
and was known as the "square man" both as to body and mind. His head
seemed more square than round, and was set upon a strong neck which
rested upon square shoulders. From shoulders to the ground he was in
the form of a parallelogram. His hands were wide and short, the fingers
being of nearly equal length, giving the hands a blunt, square
appearance. His gray eyes were wide apart, having a sly and merry cast
in them, while crow lines in their corners gave them a laughing
expression. His firm mouth and square chin showed that he could mingle
seriousness with mirth. He was considerably under the average height,
but thickset and strong.

John Larkin was of New England descent. When a small boy he had moved
with his parents from "'way down East" to far-famed Kentucky. There he
helped his father clear the wilderness and make a comfortable home. At
twenty-three years of age he was powerfully converted, and soon after
became a traveling preacher.

John had stored his mind with the homely proverbs of Benjamin Franklin
and many bright sayings of other writers. He saw the ludicrous side of
things and was fond of telling anecdotes. Hence the request which a
brother minister made of him.

"About two months ago," said Larkin, "I had an appointment to preach in
a private house. The boys of the family had a pet sheep which they had
taught to butt. Going near him, they would make motions with their
heads, and the sheep would back out and dart forward at the boys; but
they would jump aside and so escape. A drunken man came into the
congregation and sat on the end of a bench near the door. He had
caroused the whole night before and presently began to nod. As he
nodded and bent forward, the sheep came along by the door and seeing
the man moving his head up and down, took it as a banter and backed and
then sprang forward, and gave the sleeper a severe jolt right on the
head, and over he tilted him. The whole congregation laughed outright
and I joined in with them."

The preachers laughed at the story as heartily as those who saw the
occurrence. One stout parson remarked: "The tipsy man surely was the
butt of that joke." A clergyman from down Cumberland River way said: "I
hope the sheep knocked drunkenness out of him and common sense and
decency into him."

Larkin, his face wreathed in smiles, turned to a great strapping
Kentuckian, and said: "Now Brother Harvey, let us hear from you."

The man addressed was well known by the company. Naturally strong he
grew up on a farm, where his out-of-doors life added to temperate
habits gave him a finely developed body. He lived with his wife and
five grown up children on a splendid quarter section of land bordering
on the Cumberland River. He was a lay preacher, cultivating his farm
week days and preaching on Sunday.

"Well, brethren," began David Harvey, "I could tell you stories of wild
Indians, panthers and wild cats that I saw in my youth, and some
tolerably trying experiences I have been through since becoming a
preacher, but today I am going to repeat a tale I heard not long ago
concerning Jasper Very. He seems comfortable there sitting on one bench
with his feet on another, and if my story lacks anything he can supply
the missing links.

"Brother Very was attending a camp meeting in the edge of Tennessee
when an incident of thrilling interest occurred. Two young men,
distantly related, sons of respectable and wealthy parents, lived in
the settlement. They were both paying attention to a very wealthy young
lady. Soon a rivalship for her hand sprang up between them, which
created a bitter jealousy in the heart of each. After quarreling and
fighting they both armed themselves, and each bound himself by a solemn
oath to kill the other. Armed with pistols and dirks they attended the
camp meeting. Brother Very was acquainted with the young men, and had
been told of the unfortunate affair. On Sunday he was preaching to a
large congregation on the terrors of the law. Many fell under the
preaching of the word. He called for mourners to come to the altar and
the two young men, deeply convicted of sin, came and knelt before God.
One entered on the right and the other on the left, each being ignorant
of the act of the other. The preacher went deliberately to each of
them, took their deadly weapons from their bosoms, and carried them
into the preachers' room. Returning he labored faithfully with them and
others nearly all the afternoon and night. These young men cried hard
for mercy, and while he was kneeling by the side of one of them, just
before the break of day, the Lord spake peace to his soul. He arose,
and gave some thrilling shouts. Jasper then hurried to the other young
man, at the other side of the altar, and he was saved in less than
fifteen minutes and, standing upright, shouted victory. As these young
men faced about they saw each other, and starting simultaneously, met
about midway of the altar, and instantly clasped each other in their
arms. What a shout went up to heaven that night from these young men,
and from almost all the number present."

This narrative strongly affected the group of ministers, and some more
emotional than others shouted: "Praise the Lord! Hallelujah!"

"Brother Very, did I tell the story right?" said Harvey.

"You told it about as it was," responded Very, "only there is this
sequel to add: one of these young men made an able and successful
preacher. After traveling a few years his health failed, and he died
triumphantly."

A sallow-faced parson from the river-bottoms remarked: "Jasper Very has
been through many trying experiences, and I am going to ask him to tell
us how he conquered that cantankerous woman by tact and muscles."

Thus appealed to, Very told the following anecdote: "Some time ago I
crossed the Ohio River into the State of Illinois where I had some
preaching engagements. On one of my tours I met a local preacher who
was a small, good natured, pious and withal a useful preacher. He had a
wife who was a noted virago. She was high tempered, overbearing and
quarrelsome. She opposed her husband's preaching, and was unwilling he
should ask a blessing at the table or conduct family prayers. If he
persisted in his effort to pray she would run noisily about the rooms
and overturn the chairs. If unable to stop him any other way she would
catch a cat and throw it in his face while he was kneeling and trying
to pray. The little man had invited several preachers to his home to
talk with the woman and bring her to a better frame of mind, but she
cursed them to their face and raged like one possessed. Several times
he invited me to go home with him, but I was afraid to trust myself. I
pitied the poor little man so much that finally I yielded, and went
home with him one evening. When we arrived I saw she was mad, and the
devil was in her as big as an alligator. So I determined on my course.
After supper her husband said very kindly: 'Come, wife, stop your
little affairs, and let us have prayers.' To this she replied: 'I will
have none of your praying about me.' Speaking mildly, I expostulated
with her, but to no use; for the longer I spoke the more wrathful she
became, and she cursed me most bitterly. Then I spoke sternly and said:
'Madam, if you were a wife of mine, I would break you of your bad ways,
or I would break your neck.'

"'The devil you would!' she said. With this she poured upon me such a
torrent of curses as was almost beyond endurance.

"'Be still,' said I, 'we must and will have prayer.' Again she declared
we should not.

"'Now,' I remarked to her, 'if you do not be still, and behave
yourself, I'll put you out of doors.' At this she clenched her fist,
swore at me, and told me I could not put her out. I caught her by the
arm, and swinging her round in a circle brought her up to the cabin
door, and shoved her out. She jumped up, tore her hair, foamed, all the
time swearing in a terrible way. The door was made very strong to keep
out hostile Indians. I shut it tightly, barred it, and went to prayer.
Under such conditions praying was difficult, I assure you, but I was
determined to conquer or die.

"While she was raging, foaming and roaring on the outside I was singing
with a loud voice spiritual hymns on the inside to drown her words as
much as possible. At last she became perfectly exhausted and panted for
breath. Then she became calm and still, and knocking at the door said:
'Mr. Very, please let me in.'

"'Will you behave yourself, if I let you in?' said I.

"'O yes,' replied she, 'I will.' With this I opened the door, took her
by the hand, led her in, and seated her by the fire-place. She was in a
high perspiration, and looked pale as death. After she was seated she
said: 'What a fool I am.' 'Yes,' said I, 'about one of the biggest
fools I ever saw in my life. Now, you have to repent of all this or
your soul will be lost.' She sat silent, and I said 'Brother C., let us
pray again.' We kneeled down and both prayed. His wife was as quiet as
a lamb. And what is better, in less than six months this woman was
soundly converted, and became as bold in the cause of God as she had
been in the cause of the wicked one.'"




CHAPTER IV.

The Trail of the Serpent.


While these ministers of grace were engaged in pleasant conversation a
different kind of a crowd had met not far away. They were moonshiners.
Their rendezvous was a cave near the top of a hill about one mile back
from the Cumberland River. A motley company of about a dozen men they
were, dressed in cheap trousers supported by "galluses," coarse shirts,
and wide-brim straw hats.

Sam Wiles was leader of this band. As these pages are often to be
burdened with his name, we shall now take his measure. He belonged to
that part of the population called "poor whites." His parents had come
to the settlement when Sam was a little boy. They were poor, shiftless,
improvident, ignorant, and, worse than all, apparently contented with
their lot. They dwelt in a log cabin in the hills, and in a haphazard
way cultivated a few acres of half-barren land, raising a little corn,
tobacco, hay, fruit, and a few vegetables. There were six children in
the family, of whom Sam was the oldest. Five dogs guarded the house and
helped to make the inmates poor. "Tige," the coon dog, was the favorite
of this quintette.

Sam Wiles was the brightest of the children, his mind being naturally
active; but he had little disposition for study and very meager
opportunities, for "school kept" only a few weeks in a year. At the
time of this story he had just passed his majority, was somewhat above
medium height, solidly built, with broad, square shoulders. His brown
hair hung several inches below a coonskin cap he wore, and was
supplemented by a large mustache of which he was very proud.

Behold this leader of the moonshiners as he stirs the fire of logs
under the still and speaks to his pals:

"That war a mighty fine trick I played on Dick Granger, the revenue
deputy t'other night. He was after me with his dorgs, and saw me as I
was crossin' the road near Franklin Schoolhouse. 'Halt, there!' he
hollored; but I was not in the haltin' bizness, and I made tracks fur
Pigeon Crick close by. As I run he fired off his gun; but the light was
dim and I was mighty peart, and dodged in time. He called to his
bloodhounds and said, 'Sic 'im, Rex; ketch 'im Bull,' but by that time
I was wadin' in the crick. I run 'long till I cum to that big white oak
which grows by the crick where it makes a turn north, and I jumped and
caught a big branch an' pulled myself up into the tree. Then I walked
on the thick branches till I got to the furder side, and there war
standin' by the oak a mighty fine sugar maple with branches which
touched the oak. I walked out on an oak branch as fur as I could go,
and then swung from my hands back and for'ard with all my might. At
last my feet touched a branch and letting go my hands, I swung down
like a ham of meat in a smokehouse. Soon I pulled myself up and made
fifty feet crossing that tree, and then I dun the same turn to a big
walnut tree; and so on till I knew the dorgs could not track me, when I
clim down to the ground and got safe back to the cave."

"That war a monkey trick, shore nuff," said Tom Walker, a gaunt fellow
over six feet tall, who was stretched on the ground by the fire, and
who, because of his height, was usually called "Long Tom." In his
cavernous mouth he held an immense chew of tobacco, and ever and anon
he squirted tobacco juice into the fire with a precision and force
which showed long practice.

"I wish the devil would kill the whole crew of revenue officers," said
Wiles. "Why should we be hunted like wild beasts for makin' a few
gallons of whisky? Do we not raise the corn, and have we not a right to
turn it into drink? You fellers know how hard it is to make a living on
these hills; and if we make more money by changing corn into whisky,
why should we be hindered and our lives put into danger? We have a
right to make whisky and to drink it and to sell it, and I'm goin' to
do it in spite of all the officers in Kentucky," and he brought his big
fist down with a thwack on his knee to give emphasis to his words.[1]

        [1] It was impossible for this lawbreaker to foresee that in
        about one hundred years the whole whisky business in its
        beverage aspects would be prohibited by law in the United
        States, and that the sophistry he used would be employed by
        multitudes in denying the eighteenth amendment to the national
        constitution.

"Now yer speaking the truth, pardner," drawled Long Tom as he ejected
from his mouth a generous quantity of tobacco juice. "My father fit in
the Revolutionary War for liberty 'way down in ole Virginy, and I'll
never submit to have my right to make home-distilled whisky taken
away."

"Always stick to that and you'uns will be a man, even if you'uns die
with yer boots on."

The speaker was Zibe Turner, a creature who would pass for a Calaban. A
monster he was except his legs, which were short and slim, giving him a
dwarfish appearance. So he was a monster dwarf, if such a term is
allowable. His head was immense in size, covered with long unkempt
hair. His shoulders, arms and trunk would become a giant. A look at his
face showed a low forehead, black, restless eyes, wide apart, flat
nose, and large mouth.

Like Calaban he could be called "hag-seed," or the son of a witch and a
devil.

His moral nature was as misshapen as his body. His mind was degraded,
yet keen in plotting mischief and violence. His affections were
debased. Prospero's description of Calaban applied to him:

    "Abhorred slave which any print of goodness will not take
    Being capable of all ill."

The words of Saint Paul to the sorcerer fitted him: "O full of all
subtlety and all mischief, thou child of the devil, thou enemy of all
righteousness." He was a type of those whom the apostle described as
"filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness,
covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, deceit,
malignity--implicable, unmerciful."

Strangely enough, one of the moonshiners had read Shakespeare's
"Tempest," and gave Caliban's title of "monster" to Zibe Turner. From
that day he was generally nicknamed "Monster Turner."

"Always stick to dat," repeated Turner in his deep, gutteral voice.
"Let's drink to de health of all moonshiners and to de defeat an' death
of all revenue spies. Dat's my holt (hold)." Suiting the action to the
words, he raised a stone jug nearly full of spirits to his lips and
taking a long draught, handed it to the next, and so it went the
rounds. The liquor, which would have made an ordinary drinker
intoxicated in a few minutes, had no perceptible effect upon these men,
who scarcely ever tasted water, so commonly did they drink the product
of their stills; but it perhaps raised their feelings a trifle and
loosened their tongues to speak other words and strengthened their
purposes to perform unlawful acts.

Sam Wiles then spoke: "Next to these officer dorgs who hunt us on the
hills and mountains, I hate them shoutin' hypercrits who air holdin'
that camp meetin' near Poplar Crick. They're tryin' to make the whul
county pious, and you fellers know how their head men have jined with
others around here to appint a vigilance committee to drive all such as
we'uns air out'n the State. Because we believe in pursonal liberty,
because we think it right to make our own whisky and to race our
hosses, because we sometimes try our luck at cards and win money from
the young fools in the valley, they want to put the law on our tracks.
Now the more camp meetin's we have around here, the less pursonal
liberty we shall have; and I propose to you'ns that we jine with the
boys on Honey Crick and bust up the camp meetin'."

This proposition was hailed with delight by all the company except Long
Tom. When he had cleared his mouth of juice, he drawled out: "Byes,
none of ye would like to see that meetin' capsized better nor I would.
But we must be sure of our ground. I have hearn that the star preacher
there--what's his name? Jasper Hurry? No. Very? That's it, Jasper Very.
I have hearn that he is almighty strong and brave, and we had better be
keerful how we tackle 'im."

"Shucks," said Wiles, "they air all cowards, and their magistrates will
run at the first attack; and I say it is to our interest to break up
that meetin', and do it right away. What do you say, byes?"

They all consented to the attack, and took another swig around from the
big jug to seal the agreement.

"Now," said their leader, "it's time you'ns went to yer homes. Zibe
Turner will stay, and we'uns will tend de fire. Long Tom, tomorrow you
go to Bert Danks, the captain of the Honey Crick crowd, and ask him and
his pals to meet us here in de evenin'."




CHAPTER V.

Rowdies in Camp.


Sam Wiles and Zibe Turner attended to the still while the day began to
wane, and shadows cast by the tall hills were lengthening over the
plain.

When darkness finally came Wiles continued to replenish the fire and
supply the necessary water from a running stream. His boon companion
threw himself down on some cedar boughs within the cave's mouth and was
soon asleep. His watch would come later on.

While this precious pair of "wildcatters" are thus employed, a good
opportunity is given us to describe their retreat.

Their rendezvous was called Wind Cave, and was discovered a few years
before by a young brother of Sam Wiles. The boy, Ephraim Wiles, one day
was hunting stray cattle on some hills skirting the Cumberlands River,
when he came to the top of a hill which was nearly bare of timber and
whose southern side was a sheer perpendicular of rock for several feet
down. The boy stood looking over this precipice, lost his footing, and
fell down the cliff. He was unhurt, for about fifteen feet below was a
level place a few feet across covered with leaves and moss and upon
this he landed. When he had recovered from his surprise, he looked
about him and saw that the hillside below him was very steep, with
trees and bushes growing thickly in the soil. Then he turned his eyes
toward the rock, and beheld an aperture of considerable size partly
covered by bushes and decayed vegetation. With a boy's curiosity and
daring he crawled into the opening, and found himself in a cave of
moderate dimensions. Finding in it nothing but broken rocks and white
walls and a small stream of water flowing along, he soon crept out, and
knowing no way of escape save down the hill side, slipped over the
edge, and by holding on to bushes and shrubs and checking himself
against trunks of trees he finally reached the bottom, and, returning
home, told of his discovery to the family.

From this time the cave became the resort of Sam Wiles and his
moonshiners, and here they carried on their illicit distilling with
little fear of detection. They explored its interior thoroughly, and
discovered that the cave went north for a considerable distance, when
it turned to the east, its dimensions becoming narrower as they
proceeded. At last they came to a second entrance which opened upon the
hill's side about midway between top and bottom. This aperture was
partially close by fallen logs and decayed leaves and mold. The two
openings made the cave a sort of tunnel, and because there was always a
current of air passing through the passages they named it "Wind Cave."
The narrow entrance was used for receiving sacks of corn, barrels, and
other necessaries of their unlawful work, and also for removing the
whisky after it had been made. The men kept this hole well secured by
covering it with brush. As the other part of the cave was much larger,
it was there that the still was set up, and there the outlaws usually
remained.

Behold them this Saturday evening brewing mischief as well as
distilling whisky. They were a reckless, religion-hating crowd. They
were mostly young men, though some had passed middle life. Nearly all
were shabbily dressed, and of large and bony frame. The faces of most
were heavy and dull showing marks of dissipation. Others, especially
the very young men, were really fine specimens of Kentucky physical
manhood. They had rosy cheeks, bright eyes, and a ready smile and
laugh. Surely they were worthy of a better cause.

In a way they were as jolly and hearty, as full of fun and jokes, as
the ministers themselves. Their conversation was coarse and marred the
King's English; it was boisterous and narrow, but it fitted their
characters.

They were seated on logs or on the moss-covered ground in or near the
cave's mouth. Each one was smoking a corncob pipe or rolling a quid of
tobacco under his tongues.

These men had no compunctions of conscience either as to the
lawlessness of their business, or to their desire and will to disturb
the peace of the camp meeting. Sam Wiles speaks: "Fellers, tomorrer is
Sunday, and we'uns must spile their meetin' on de camp ground. You'ns
must arm yo'selves with any weapons you'ns can git--dirks, knives,
clubs, and horsewhips. You'ns, Long Tom and Bert Banks, will walk right
into de crowd while de preacher is spoutin' and start to break up de
meetin'. De rest of you'ns must be ready to help."

"Right you air," said Bert Danks, captain of the Honey Crick band.
"Long Tom and I will go, and I 'low all we'uns can make a rip-roarin'
time, for we'll frighten de people, and be too much for de preachers
and magistrates. I'll bring a passel of my bully byes with me, and
they'll make things lively at de camp."

Long Tom remained silent, but a close observer might have seen a look
on his face telling that his part of the program was not exactly
agreeable, but he was not a man to shirk a hard task.

"Won't I laugh to hear de women scream and to see 'em run over benches
like scart sheep," said Monster Turner. "You'ns will have to be right
smart to keep up with me on de camp ground, for I'm goin' to have my
fightin' clothes on from hat to boots. Confound 'em, dose pesky
preachers won't fight, and we'll be too many for de officers. Dat's my
holt."

These words wrought the men up to a higher pitch of excitement, and
Wiles their leader, wishing still further to work on their feelings,
said to Lem Curtis, a blue eyed youth of eighteen:

"Lem, you air de best singer in de bunch, and I want you to lead us in
our favorite song. No revenues air near tonight, and we'uns air safe
from danger if we'uns do not sing too loud."

Thus appealed to, Lem Curtis started a well known refrain, the rest
joining in heartily.

After all had paid their respects to the brown jug Sam Wiles dismissed
the meeting with these words: "We'uns shall meet near de edge of de
camp on de east at seven o'clock tomorrer mornin', an' all you fellers
be shore to be in time."

Sunday morning dawned beautiful and bright. The numbers on the camp
ground were constantly being increased by persons coming on horseback,
in buggies, wagons, and every known vehicles. Jasper Very was the
preacher at ten o'clock. Everything proceeded in a becoming manner
until he was half through his discourse, when up stalked near to the
stand Bert Danks and Long Tom with hats on and loaded whips in their
hands. They remained standing, and began talking in an audible voice
with some women of their acquaintance. Naturally many eyes were turned
to this scene, and the attention given to the speaker was lost.

Jasper Very stopped in his sermon and, turning to the rowdies, said:
"Young men, this is a religious meeting, held by Christian people, and
protected by the laws of Kentucky. You will therefore get down off
those benches, cease from talking, and be quiet and orderly."

Instead of complying with this request, both of the rowdies cursed the
preacher, and said: "You'ns mind yer own bizness. We'uns will not get
down from dese seats."

Jasper knew that trouble was present, and being sure that it was vain
to continue preaching, he cried out: "I call for the magistrates on
this ground to come forward and take these men into custody." There
were several officers at hand; but they, being afraid, declared they
could not arrest them.

Jasper spoke to them: "Command me to take them, and I will do it at the
risk of my life." Saying this, he advanced toward them. "Stand off,"
shouted both of the rowdies; but the preacher walked forward, when Bert
Danks struck at him with his loaded whip, but that moment Jasper seized
him and jerked him off the bench. A regular scuffle ensued, and the
congregation was in great commotion. The magistrates, having found
their courage, commanded all friends of order to aid in suppressing the
riot. By this time Jasper Very had thrown Bert Danks down and, despite
his utmost efforts to arise, held him fast. About the same instant two
lusty farmers who were standing by the preacher took hold of Long Tom
and bore him to the ground.

Then the mob headed by Sam Wiles and Monster Turner with loud outcries
rushed to the rescue of the prisoners. They knocked down seven
magistrates and several preachers and many others. At this point Jasper
Very gave his prisoner to others, and threw himself in front of the
order-loving people. At once Sam Wiles confronted him. His eyes were
blazing with bitter hate. His rage was so great that it weakened his
judgment, and he struck out again and again at Very to fell him. The
last time he struck at him the momentum threw the side of his face
toward the preacher. It was too great a temptation to resist and Jasper
hit him a sudden and powerful blow in the ear which dropped him to the
earth.

Meantime the fight was waxing fierce in another direction. Zibe Turner
led a part of the mob to the right of the fighting, and attempted a
flank movement. He seemed like a personification of Satan. His black
eyes glared with a terrible fury, and with his long arms outstretched
he rushed on the fray. His voice of command seemed a mixture of beast
and human. Women shrieked and fled before him, and he had the
satisfaction of seeing them indeed fall over the rough benches. With
oaths and shouts his men followed, and many camp meeting folks were
knocked down and bruised.

If it had not been for John Larkin, "the square man," the mob might
have won. In the midst of all the excitement and noise he remained calm
and wise. He had helped in resisting the attack in front, when,
glancing to the right, he saw the monster dwarf approaching, knocking
the people about with his long and powerful arms. Larkin put himself in
his way, and as he got nearer said:

"Are you monkey, man, or devil, or the three combined? Whoever you are,
you must reckon with me."

"I'm de man who can whip ary sneakin' braggin' preacher on dis ground.
Dat's my holt," replied Turner.

With this he threw himself upon Larkin, and they were clasped in a
close embrace. The monster dwarf gripped the preacher's body in his
terrible arms with a strength like that of a grizzly bear, and it
seemed to Larkin as though his ribs would crack and his breath leave
him. But while the dwarf's arms were abnormally strong, his legs were
weak, whereas Larkin's limbs were as sturdy as an oak tree. Besides, in
his school days he had learned several wrestling tricks, and now he
used one to throw Turner to the ground. There they continued to
struggle for some time, the friends of each trying to help him. But by
this time the mob in the other quarter had been subdued; and Jasper
Very coming to the rescue of his colleague, the monster dwarf was
conquered and several of his aids subdued and captured.

All the prisoners were sent to the county seat, and placed in jail,
there to await their trial before the criminal court over which Judge
LeMonde presided.




CHAPTER VI.

Under the Pine Trees.


Judge William LeMonde lived about three miles from the camp ground we
have described. He was the richest man in his township, his farm
consisting of one thousand acres stretching from the Cumberland River
back to some high hills about one mile distant. That part lying on the
river was like a garden of the Lord for richness of soil. In this land
Indian corn, tobacco, cabbage, and potatoes grew to perfection. Midway
between the river and the high hills was a narrow ridge which ran
parallel with the river. This natural backbone of land reached its
greatest height on Mr. LeMonde's farm. But the highest point of all had
been increased in size by artificial means. In prehistoric times a race
of people living in this region had added earth to this hill until they
had made an almost circular mound, which became a conspicuous object in
the valley. Mr. LeMonde's father, who bought the farm many years
before, called the hill "Mount Pisgah." He was a descendant of the
French Huguenots. When he came from Louisiana he built a log house on
this elevation. A few years before our narrative opens Mr. William
LeMonde had removed this log house and built a spacious mansion of
brick. It was the only brick building for miles around.

The mansion Judge LeMonde erected was an ornament to this beautiful
site. It was two stories high, crowned with a French mansard roof. It
faced the river and a country road which ran along the river bank. The
visitor stepped upon a broad piazza, and then entered through a wide
and ornamented doorway a large hall from which ascended a broad flight
of stairs. On the left was a spacious drawing-room, carpeted with an
imported Brussels and adorned with several oil paintings. It contained
a piano, an instrument seldom seen in those days. Back of this room was
the owner's study or private apartment. On the right was a room half
the size of the drawing-room, all finished in white, containing on the
river side a fine bay-window. This room was fitted up with much taste
as a family living-room. At the rear of this was a large dining-room,
and beyond this a kitchen in which the colored cook, Aunt Dinah, ruled
supreme. On the second floor were several large bedchambers furnished
in a neat and becoming manner. One hundred yards west of the house, on
the ridge, was a cluster of negro cabins, and beyond these an immense
barn, the largest in the county.

Viola LeMonde was an only daughter of Judge LeMonde. She had one
brother, George, two years younger than herself. Her father and mother
almost idolized her, and gave her advantages far beyond those living
around her. A fine female boarding school then existed at Cincinnati,
Ohio, to which she was sent, and there she remained three years,
gaining that knowledge deemed best for young ladies in those days: the
common branches of education and the higher accomplishments of music
and drawing. At the time of which we write she was in her nineteenth
year, and was known far and near for her beauty of mind and person. She
was a perfect blonde. A bright light sparkled in her blue eyes; her
golden hair was simply arranged over temples and brows beautifully
formed. The color of her face was like a delicate peach, white with a
blending of red. Her nose was of Grecian type, mouth firmly chiseled
and of medium size, while the cherry red lips when parted showed two
rows of pearl-like teeth. Her chin was pear-shaped, and revealed
decision of character. Her whole appearance gave one the impression of
intelligence, purity, and benevolence. She was of medium height, and
her figure would have served as a model for the skill of a Phidias. Her
greatest accomplishment was music. Her voice was a high soprano, and
its naturally pure tone was improved by cultivation under the best
teachers.

Jasper Very's preaching appointments included the home of Judge
LeMonde, and he was given a hearty welcome from the first to his house.
Naturally he had seen the daughter Viola and had conversed with her
several times at the mansion and at church. He soon found that she was
superior to all the young ladies in the neighborhood both in strength
of mind and education. To this she added a bright and deep religious
experience. We must confess that the ranger's frequent visits to "Mt.
Pisgah" were not wholly on church business.

On a bright afternoon appeared a select company of preachers, including
Jasper Very and John Larkin, sitting under the lovely pine trees
fronting Judge LeMonde's mansion.

The judge had invited them to his house to rest a day or two after the
labors of the camp meeting.

The host and his beautiful daughter had joined the group of ministers.

They were a happy and merry lot as they looked over the tall, green
fields of corn, and beyond to the glorious trees lining the river bank,
and the sparkling stream seen between the trunks of the trees.

John Larkin was in his best mood, and the different subjects of
conversation reminded him of many stories. They were talking of a
sallow-cheeked preacher who was leaving his church located on Salt
River.

"That makes me think of the illiterate preacher I heard of, who lived
in the northern part of the State," said Larkin. "He was about to give
up his church, and so delivered a farewell address thus: 'My dear
bretherin-ah and sisterin-ah, I am about to leave you-ah, and I feel
solemncholy-ah, I can tell you-ah. This mornin' as I was ridin' to this
appintment-ah I looked up to the leaves of the trees-ah, and they
seemed to be sayin', 'Good-by, Brother Crawford-ah.' And then I see the
little birds singin' in the woods, and I fancied they said, 'Good-by,
good-by, Brother Crawford-ah.' Then I gazed at the purty squirrels
runnin' along the ground and climbin' up the trees, and they 'peared to
be barkin', 'Good-bye, O good-bye, Brother Crawford-ah!' After awhile I
come to a lot of pigs awallerin' in mud by the roadside. When my
hoss-ah got just opposite, they got up and gave some loud grunts--whoo!
whoo! whoo!--and that scart my hoss-ah, and he threw me in the dirt and
ran away-ah. I ris my eyes to look at my hoss-ah, and there he was
a-gallopin' down the road with his mane and tail a-flyin', and he
looked back at me and seemed to be sayin', 'Good-by, Brother
Crawford-ah; good-by, Brother Crawford-ah.'"

"It is a great pity," remarked Judge LeMonde, "that religion sometimes
must run through such rough channels to water the soil of morality and
piety when it deserves the best training of mind and voice."

"God can use very ignorant Hardshell preachers in building up his
kingdom if their own hearts are right before him," said Jasper Very;
"but if they are imposters, they are a disgrace and injury to the
sacred calling.

"I met a fellow once across the Ohio River whose name was Sargent. He
assumed the name of Halycon Church, and proclaimed himself the
millennial messenger. He professed to see visions, fall into trances,
and to converse with angels. We had a camp meeting near Marietta, and
this fellow came to it. He wanted to preach, and upon being refused
pretended to swoon away. One night he lit a cigar and got some powder,
and walked away about one hundred yards where stood a large stump. He
put the powder on the stump and touched it with his cigar. The flash
was seen by many in the camp, and they came up to find Sargent lying on
the ground. After a long time he came to, and told the people he had a
message from God for them. Seeing so many there, I lit a lantern and
went down to investigate. Stepping up to the stump, I smelled the
sulphur and saw the mark of the burnt powder, and near the stump lay
the cigar. As he was talking to the people, I stepped up to him and
asked him if an angel had appeared to him in a flash of light. He said,
'Yes.' 'Sargent,' said I, 'did not that angel smell of brimstone?'
'Why,' said he 'do you ask such a foolish question?' 'Because,' said I,
'if an angel has spoken to you, he was from the lake which burneth with
fire and brimstone;' and, raising my voice, I said, 'I smell sulphur
now.' I walked to the stump and showed the people his wicked trick.
They were very indignant and called him a vile imposter, and soon he
left, and we were no more troubled with him and his brimstone angels."

"What a shame that men will take the livery of heaven in which to serve
the evil one," said Viola LeMonde. "Hypocrisy is like a counterfeit
coin: it is not only worthless in itself, but it also makes men suspect
the genuine money."

"Poor Richard says, 'Honesty is the best policy,' and that holds good
in preaching as in other things," remarked Larkin.

Jasper Very added: "Men who are dishonest cheat themselves. They narrow
their souls. They grasp after a substance and find a shadow. A sure
Nemesis follows the present gain. The great poet says: 'Who steals my
purse steals trash.'"

"Sam Wiles is a case in point," said Judge LeMonde. "He surely is
cheating himself. But what gave him the disposition he possesses?
Heredity and environment; and not one man in a thousand will rise out
of these. The fellow has some good in him; but it is strangled by his
bent and surroundings, like good seed choked by thorns. What say you,
Mr. Larkin?"

"There is only one hope for him, that is religion, which he seems to
despise and reject. His superior gifts, making him a leader of the
moonshine gang, constitute him a greater menace to law-abiding people.
The Bengal tiger kills more prey than the common wild-cat which
sometimes roams these surrounding woods. I am told that Wiles is the
ring leader in many reckless acts, and will stop at nothing to gain his
ends. Zibe Turner, called the monster dwarf, is his right-hand man, who
will pick his chestnuts from the fire, though he burn his impish
fingers in so doing."

"You remember, papa," said Viola, "when we and a few friends had that
picnic two weeks ago on 'Silver Knob' we passed by the cabin where Sam
Wiles lives? I felt sad to see his poor mother in her faded and torn
calico dress in the little front yard. She was stirring some food in an
iron kettle which was over a fire of logs. Her eyes had such a dull,
discouraged look in them. The children were dirty and half dressed, and
how the dogs barked as we came near! The lot of the 'poor whites' in
Kentucky is indeed unfortunate. Even the slaves look down upon them.

"When I saw the Wiles family and other families like them in their low
condition I said in my heart: 'Cannot something be done for the comfort
and uplift of these people?' Gentlemen, I put the question to you this
afternoon."

After a silence of some duration Jasper Very spoke:

"I am sure something ought to be done and can be done to brighten the
lives of these poor folks. They live in the hills remote from church
and Sunday School, which they never attend, and exist as heathen in a
Christian country. Their forefathers in England were among the best
yeomen of the land, and I believe many of these have the making of
good, honest, upright citizens."

"I think it is possible to organize a community school--a combination
of Sunday School and day school--for these dwellers in the hills,"
added John Larkin. "As I was riding down 'Sinex Knob' the other day I
passed a settler's cabin, larger and better built than most dwellings
in that section. The owner's name is Mart Spink. He has a wife and
several bright-looking children. Perhaps he would grant the use of his
living-room for school purposes. The Wiles family and a number of other
families live near enough to attend."

"My thought coincides with the suggestion of Mr. Larkin," said Viola
LeMonde. "We ought to have such a school. In it we should teach the
truths of religion and also the common branches of learning. Moreover,
we should help the whole community--the farmers to better cultivate
their lands and their minds; the farmers' wives to improve their
housekeeping, to get out of the ruts, and to take a wider interest in
developing their own intellects and those of their children; the sons
to have noble ambitions in life and to prepare to achieve them; the
daughters, besides the moral and intellectual training they receive, to
learn sewing, knitting, cooking, and other forms of domestic science.
Yes, and I would have a primitive dispensary, that the neighbors might
have at least first aid in case of sickness or accident. Tomorrow I
will have my servant Mose Williams to drive me in the phaeton to David
Hester's house. There I will talk with his daughter Henrietta, and I am
sure I can induce her to join me in the project. Together we will
explore the ground and make a beginning.

"I shall ask you gentlemen to aid us in every way in your power by
sympathy, advice, prayer, and work."

"Most gladly will I do so on one condition," Very responded with a
laugh, "that is, that we now adjourn to the parlor, and you will favor
us with music both instrumental and vocal."

"Would you have me to be so selfish as to be the whole show?" rejoined
Viola. "I will do nothing of the kind, sir; but I will play and sing if
the company will unite with me in singing the hymns."

This demand was heartily accepted, and the group at once left the shade
of the pine trees for the parlor.

Christianity is said to be the only religion that can be sung. It began
with the angels' song, and its music will continue on earth till it is
transferred to the song of redemption in heaven.

The hymns of Christendom are among its most cherished and valuable
possessions. They sound the depths of the human heart. They express the
varied emotions of the soul.

It is no wonder that Jasper Very requested Viola LeMonde to play and
sing.

We behold this queen of song seated at the piano, while around her
stood her father and her mother (the mother having just come in) and
the preachers.

First Viola favored them with several instrumental selections from the
great masters. It was interesting to watch her hands. They were perfect
in size, shape and color. The slender fingers were tipped with nails
curved like almonds. They struck the keys with a precision, force and
grace, leaving nothing to be desired. The quick interplay of mind and
muscle interpreted the music to her hearers in a way almost to produce
tears.

After a rest during which some bright, witty remarks, like sparks,
passed from one to another, they prepared to sing some of the great
hymns of the church. They were well equipped for their task. Viola's
voice was pure, sweet, soulful, and high. She might have been a sister
of Jenny Lind. Her mother sang also in a rich and expressive manner.
Jasper Very possessed a fine deep bass voice. John Larkin sang an
acceptable tenor. All the rest were able to use their voices in song.

As by common understanding they began with songs of adoration and
praise. Each one entered into the spirit of that inspiring hymn of
Charles Wesley:

    "O for a thousand tongues to sing
    My great Redeemer's praise,
    The glories of my God and King,
    The triumphs of his grace."

The persons here were advanced agents in bringing civilization to
Kentucky. They had the heroic spirit. These preachers had endured
hardness as good soldiers of Jesus Christ. They had climbed mountains,
crossed valleys, forded streams, slept in the open, encountered wild
beasts and base and desperate men. Songs to cheer, encourage, and
strengthen their faith and zeal were needed and provided. Naturally
they desired to sing on this occasion. So the company sang with zest
Luther's great battle hymn:

    "A mighty fortress is our God,
    A bulwark never failing:
    Our helper he, amid the flood
    Of mortal ills prevailing."

Then was sung that hymn of triumphant trust, beginning:

    "Though troubles assail, and dangers affright,
    Though friends should all fail, and foes all unite,
    Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide,
    The promise assures us, The Lord will provide."

The pioneers of that day had an exultant experience of the religion
they professed and taught. Viola next turned to hymns expressing this
state. She and those gathered around her sang them with joyous, even
ecstatic, acclamation:

      "O happy day, that fixed my choice
      On thee, my Savior and my God!
      Well may this glowing heart rejoice,
    And tell its rapture all abroad."

And:

    "Love divine, all love excelling,
    Joy of heaven, to earth come down;
    Fix in us thy humble dwelling,
    All thy faithful mercies crown."

After they had sung a number of other hymns, Jasper Very said to Viola
LeMonde: "I have heard, Miss LeMonde, that you have composed the music
to a new paraphrase of the Ninety-First Psalm. I am sure we should all
be delighted to hear you sing your music to the words. Will you kindly
favor us by so doing?"

Viola LeMonde replied: "I am not an adept at composing music, but the
words of this poem impressed me, and I joined them to an air which came
to me almost spontaneously. I shall take pleasure in singing this
melody, if you will be charitable in criticism." Thus speaking she sang
the following words simply but with much feeling:

    The Saint's Refuge.

    Dwelling in God's secret place,
    Safe doth his beloved lie,
    Shaded by his sovereign grace
    From the tempests fierce and high.
    Love Divine will hear his prayer,
    Be his refuge and defense;
    Save him from the fowler's snare,
    And the noisome pestilence.
    Sheltered 'neath the Father's wings,
    Covered with his pinions wide,
    Truth the ransomed homeward brings,
    Shielding him on every side.

    Fear recedes from terror's night,
    Harmless flies the dart by day;
    In the darkness or the light
    Wasting death shall flee away.
    Sees he, falling in their pride,
    Twice five thousand wicked men;
    But destruction's wrathful tide
    Shall not touch his garments then.
    Angels, ministrant, shall fly
    From their dazzling upper zones,
    Charged by heaven's Majesty
    Him to keep from crushing stones.
    On the lion, bold and dread,
    Seeking ever to devour,
    And the hissing serpent's head,
    He shall tread with victor's pow'r.
    God will wipe away his tears;
    Grant him honor and release;
    Crown his life with length of years;
    Save, and keep in perfect peace.




CHAPTER VII.

The Horse Race.


We left Sam Wiles, Zibe Turner and other disturbers of the peace in the
county jail. In due time they were brought before Judge LeMonde for
trial. They were found guilty and sentenced to prison for one month.

A few days after their liberation the following conversation took place:

    _Turner_: "Most all de folks on de hills and in de valleys air
    goin' to de races tomorrer, and I look for a gay o' time."

    _Wiles_: "Yes, and all de niggers that can get off'n work will be
    there too."

    _Turner_: "Dat feller from Lexington has a right smart of a hoss.
    You know he wants me to ride him in de last race, and I'm bound to
    beat George LeMonde, if beat is in de critter. His hoss stands
    seventeen hands high, is rangy in de legs, has a deep chest, and
    has a will to go. He can easily bear my weight, and you know dat
    dey count me de best jockey in de whul county. If I can't win by
    far (fair) means, I will by foul."

    _Wiles_: "I hearn dat Jack Ketcham's sorrel goes like de wind, and
    Jack's hoss is goin' to be in de big race."

    _Turner_: "George LeMonde has been speeding his bay over de track
    for days, and he will get every bit of go out of him. His mother
    and sister are dead set agin hoss-racin' and dey are begging him
    not to ride; but George likes de sport too well to please dem."

    _Wiles_: "Mr. Rawlins, of Lexington, swears by his black, and will
    put up a great deal of money. George will try to match it, and ol'
    farmer Ketcham won't be slow with his cash."

    _Turner_: "It will be an excitin' time, and I low, as many will see
    de races as went to de big camp meetin'."

    _Wiles_: "Well, Zibe, you must stick to your hoss like a monkey,
    and do your best to win de money and down that upstart, George
    LeMonde."

With this remark the two men separated.

George LeMonde was a youth about seventeen years of age, well-built,
good-looking, full of life and vigor, and at this time engaged in that
serious occupation, common to many young men, sowing his wild oats. He
was boisterous and rather reckless, but not vicious. His moral nature
was touched by evil, but not yet corrupted. However, he had begun to
walk in the broad way of youthful folly, and was in great danger of
going its full length. He was restrained from drinking the full cup of
unlawful indulgence more by the prayers, example, and love of his
mother and sister than by the correct moral life of his father.

The greatest danger to that priceless thing, character, which
confronted him was his association with the hillside young men. They
never felt that he was one in desire and purpose with them; but
sometimes he would meet them on the big road by Franklin Schoolhouse or
occasionally go to their cabins on the hills. Then he would sip lightly
their moonshine whiskey, join in their coarse talk, and share in their
few pastimes.

George LeMonde probably inherited his love for horses. His father,
Judge LeMonde, for many years had raised his own colts from the best
stock he could procure. On his broad acres they had every chance to
develop their physical powers. His fields produced an abundance of the
best corn and hay. Skirting the hill which bounded his farm on the
north were extensive meadows rich with grass. Here his blooded stock
browsed, ran and grew. It was under similar conditions that many
Kentucky horses were raised early in the nineteenth century, becoming
sires of the greatest racing stock in the world.

At the time of which we write Judge LeMonde owned a bay, of his own
raising, which was his pride and joy. The horse, Velox by name, was far
and away better than any other he had ever possessed. He was known
throughout the entire county as a splendid specimen of horseflesh, and
for beauty and utility had won the blue ribbon at a number of
surrounding fairs.

When George LeMonde reached his sixteenth birthday his father gave him
this fine animal. The son was delighted with the gift, and took the
best care of Velox, often feeding him with his own hand. George rode
his horse so much that he learned all the traits and peculiarities of
his steed; for horses, like men, have their own individual make-up and
notions. On the other hand, Velox got to know, trust, love and obey his
master. He would come at his call, and could be guided when on a
journey nearly as well by the motions of his owner's body as by the
rein.

George LeMonde decided to enter Velox for the race which was soon to
take place, and many times did he ride his willing steed over the race
course to prepare for the great event.

Horse racing then, as now, was one of the most popular diversions of
multitudes in Kentucky, but the preparations then were quite primitive.
The track was laid in a level piece of ground some miles from Judge
LeMonde's farm. It was in the form of a circle, and was one mile in
circumference. The inclosure was protected by a rough fence, hewn out
of logs. Within the course, near the starting place, and on the inside
of the track, was a stand upon which the judges of the races sat. Some
rough seats were provided for a part of the spectators, but most of the
people stood during the races.

Saturday dawned clear and beautiful. It was a perfect day to bring out
the speed of the racers. The time selected was near the last of August,
and a crispness in the air gave a faint indication of coming autumn.
People from far and wide had come to enjoy the sport. They made the
occasion a holiday. Many came on horseback and by team, and families
brought well-filled baskets of fried chicken, corn pone, blackberry
pie, and other good things to refresh the inner man.

A number of minor races were run by horses in harness and under the
saddle, which only increased the people's appetite for the grand event
of the day. At four in the afternoon the three horses were called for
the two-mile race. Their riders soon brought them from their stalls to
a position in front of the grand stand and judges. The steeds were all
in perfect condition, their glossy coats shining with bright luster in
the afternoon sun. The horses seemed to feel the meaning of the
occasion. They champed their bits and moved about restlessly as though
impatient to be off. Their riders, however, had them under good
control, and now the judges tossed the coin for choice of position on
the track. Zibe Turner secured the inside place, George LeMonde came
next, and Hiram Ketcham, Farmer Ketcham's son of eighteen, was on the
outer rim of the circle, next to the fence.

The grand stand, composed of rough boards, was filled with the best
dressed citizens of the county: while far down the track, and separated
from it by a frail line of fence, stood a great company of tall
Kentucky pioneers with their wives and children. Many negroes were also
in the crowd, interested spectators, and the small boy was much in
evidence.

A silence fell upon the waiting throng as the three horses, bearing
their riders, proceeded up the track a few rods to make a dash for the
line. The signal was given, and they came like three thunderbolts to
the starting place; but reaching this they were not abreast, and
another start must be made. They tried four times before they got away
in line, when some one shouted: "Now they are off!" For a few paces
they were neck and neck; but then Hiram Ketcham's sorrel, though on the
outer circle forged ahead. When the half-mile point was reached, the
sorrel was several lengths in the lead, and Zibe Turner's black was
leading George LeMonde's bay by a dozen feet. They came in this
position down the home stretch, and as they crossed the line a great
cheering rose from the crowd. Turner's friends from the hills were
there in large numbers, and were the loudest in their shouts. "Go it,
Zibe; you'll beat, old boy!" "Hurrah for de black! push him along!"
"I'll bet my money on de Lexington hoss!" were some of the words that
were shouted at Turner as he dashed past the starting point for the
second mile. Hiram Ketcham did not lack for admirers, who encouraged
him with cheers and waving of hats and handkerchiefs. Many of the
farmers living in the rich river bottom seemed to be partial to the
sorrel horse. George LeMonde's friends were plentiful in the grand
stand and, in fact, throughout the crowd. They were somewhat
disappointed to behold him the last in the race; but they saw that
Velox was going well, and they had hopes for his winning during the
next mile.

As for young LeMonde, he saw nothing and gave heed to nothing except
the business in hand. Only once did he raise his eyes from looking
straight ahead between the ears of his noble horse, and that was when
he was passing the grandstand. Then he gave a swift look in that
direction, and was repaid by seeing a young girl of some sixteen years
of age, Stella Nebeker by name, dressed in a pure white muslin gown
with short sleeves, waving a delicate handkerchief toward him. For an
instant their eyes met, then he looked along the race course as before.

LeMonde had a method in his racing which he was now working. He knew
the reserved powers which were in his horse, and he purposely held him
back from putting forth his greatest speed at the beginning. Turner,
the monster dwarf, was also using all his skill in horse racing. His
monkeyish face was lighted up with a look of more intelligence than
usual, which made his ugly features more forbidding and repulsive. His
eyes shone with excitement, determination, and reckless courage. His
teeth were clenched, and the muscles of his lips drawn over them gave
him an expression half laughing, half demoniac. On the first round his
cap had fallen off, and the shaggy hair of his head and face streamed
in the wind, adding greatly to the fierceness of his looks. He had
perfect control of himself and horse, and rode like a centaur, ready to
take any advantage which circumstances or guile threw in his way. He
also had held in his horse with bit and bridle, reserving his best
efforts for the closing part of the race.

During the first half of the second mile Turner knew that it was
necessary for him to lessen the distance between himself and Hiram
Ketcham, and LeMonde realized that he must soon close the gap
separating Turner and himself. Almost at the same time they gave their
horses more rein, and they sprang to their work with increased speed.
Ketcham had taken advantage of his lead by crossing the track and
taking the narrow arc of the circle. The three horses were trotting in
a line, all hugging the inside track. Very soon the distance between
the sorrel and the black was diminished, and before the half mile point
was reached the monster dwarf turned his horse toward the center of the
track to pass Ketcham. Just beyond the half-mile point Turner's black
passed Ketcham's sorrel, and LeMonde's bay was neck and neck with the
black. A few rods more, and it was plain to be seen that the bay was
forging ahead of the black.

The monster dwarf saw at once the advantage of his rival, and hissing
through his teeth in a low voice the words: "Dat's my holt," brought
his short cowhide whip down with force upon the withers of Velox. It
was the act of a jockey utterly without principle, an act execrated by
every true Kentucky sportsman.

The splendid animal never before had felt the lash of a whip. The blow
had the effect desired by the dwarf. It broke the gait of the bay
horse. The stroke was so unexpected and painful that the horse gave a
bound forward and upward that almost unseated the rider. Then he
plunged along the track with irregular strides, sometimes rushing to
the sides and then to the center.

Though taken by surprise George LeMonde acted with decision and
judgment. He held his mount with a firm hand, and added to the strength
of his arm the soothing effect of his voice: "Steady, steady, Velox!
Your master did not strike you. He loves you. Steady, steady, good
horse! Velox! Velox! Velox!" By these means young LeMonde renewed the
race, though the other horses were a considerable distance in advance.

In the meantime a large number of the spectators had seen the
despicable act and roared their disapproval. Some shook their fists at
the monster dwarf, and cried for speedy punishment for his vile trick.
This outburst of indignation made him fear again to molest the bay
horse.

Now George knew that the time had come for Velox to use his utmost
powers. He knew that the horse had great reserved fountains of strength
in him, and believed he could still win the race. As for the horse, he
seemed alive to the situation. Perhaps he felt a proud resentment at
the insult and injury put upon him. His eyes flashed fire. His nostrils
were dilated until the red blood showed through his veins. Man and
horse gave to each other courage and confidence; they appeared no
longer to be two creatures, but had been merged into a single unit of
astonishing force and capacity. LeMonde's whole soul was absorbed with
one thought--to pass the other horses and to cross the line first. He
leaned farther front in the saddle, lowering his head to reduce the
resistance of the air. His face almost touched the flying mane of his
horse.

Again he spoke to his mount: "Steady, my Velox boy; we are nearing the
end. It will soon be over; but you must pass these horses, and win the
race." With this remark LeMonde gave free rein to his horse, pressed
his knees a little tighter against the animal's sides, and gave him a
light touch with the whip. The noble horse instantly responded to his
master's urge. He released fold after fold of knotted muscle, his
stride increased, and when his hoofs descended, they seemed to spurn
the ground. Now as steady as a Corliss engine this ultimate unit of the
animal and mechanical world rushed on, and was seen to be gaining on
the other horses.

At a quarter of a mile from the home stake the sorrel horse was passed,
but still the result seemed uncertain. Then young LeMonde appeared as a
Jehu incarnate. He pressed the horse's flanks with his heels and
shouted into the very ears of his mount: "Velox, we must win, we will
win, we are going to win." With this remark, for the first time in his
life he brought the whip down hard upon the glossy hide of his steed.
The animal increased his speed, and went thundering down the home
stretch after the black. It is a case of blood against time and space.
The bay gains! He has closed the distance between them! His head is on
a line with the other's shoulder! They are only one hundred yards from
the goal! The grand stand is wild with shouting! Those standing near
the track, unconscious of what they do, are throwing hats,
handkerchiefs and umbrellas into the air, and yelling like mad men! The
judges are sighting the line! They see a horse's brown head and
shoulders pass the line, then a black head appears, and Velox has won
by a neck's length.




CHAPTER VIII.

Prayer In a Dance Hall.


When the three horses crossed the finishing line, covered with sweat
and foam, LeMonde and Ketcham soon brought their mounts to a stop. Not
so the monster dwarf. Fearing that the crowd might do him personal
injury he rode the black horse directly to the stable. He was almost
beside himself with rage and disappointment. He ground his teeth
together, and froth showed upon his lips. His face was hideous in
expression. He shook his fist in the direction of the race course, and
cursed the victorious horse and rider with terrible oaths.

To Sam Wiles, who had come up, he said: "Anudder chance will come. I'll
git even wid dat proud aristocrat yit. I'm goin' to git back all de
money I lost today, and mo' too."

A different scene was taking place near the grand stand. When George
LeMonde, with flushed face and bright eyes, dismounted from his horse,
he was at once surrounded by an admiring crowd who showered him with
congratulations. They praised his skill as a horseman, his coolness
in a time of danger and emergency, and his good nature under great
provocation. Many were the admirers of Velox. They patted his
shoulders, stroked his head and commented on his beauty of color and
form. The horse took it in good part, and seemed to consider it a
proper tribute to the steed who won the race.

Among the rest who shook George heartily by the hand was a stout,
broad-featured man of about forty, who was dressed in a good suit of
blue jeans and wore what was uncommon in those days, a large diamond
pin in his shirt front. His name was Costello Nebeker, and he was a
tavern keeper on a country road not many miles away. The girl with a
white dress and shapely arm whom George saw as he flashed past the
grand stand was Stella Nebeker, the sixteen-year-old daughter of this
tavern keeper. She came forward, and in a happy way congratulated him
upon his success. They had known each other for some time; for we are
sorry to say, George on various occasions, having been at the tavern
with some of his young friend, had indulged in the liquors which
Nebeker kept for sale. While at this tavern George had become
acquainted with Stella Nebeker, and she soon found a place in his
affections. She was comely, vivacious and sensible, fond of society, a
natural leader among her set, having most of the accomplishments
furnished by the schools and social gatherings of their neighborhood.

Nebeker said to George in his loud and hearty way: "LeMonde, today you
have covered yourself and horse with glory, and incidentally have put a
good many dollars into my jeans pocket. Now you and your friends must
celebrate this victory by a layout (feast) and dance at my house. Next
Saturday will be moonlight, and Stella and I will invite our friends
and you must ask yours to come, and we will have a jolly supper, and
wash it down with some first-class Kentucky whisky, and wind up the
meeting with a party dance."

George agreed to this proposal; and after bidding the tavern keeper and
his lovely daughter a kind adieu, he departed to the stable, whither
his faithful servant, Mose, had led his horse.

Costello Nebeker lived about ten miles from Mr. LeMonde's plantation in
rather a rough and hilly country. For a number of years he had kept a
public house; and as his place was the only one of this kind for many
miles around, and as it fronted on a much-traveled county road, he had
many customers at his bar and guests in his tavern. His house was a
large frame structure, the lower part of which was used for a bar and
lounging place and the rear for a dance hall. On the second floor were
several sleeping rooms, some of which were occupied by the keeper and
his family, and the rest were prepared for travelers.

The sky was clear and the woods beautiful on the following Saturday
evening. As the sun began to hide his brilliant rays behind the noble
hills covered with regal forests, and the moon, nearing its full, was
already throwing a silvery light over the scene, those invited to the
supper and dance were making their way, some in buggies along the main
road, but most on horseback, coming down hills and across valleys, all
moving to a central point, the tavern house.

It is not our design to dwell upon that feast, which consisted of most
of the good things then in season in Kentucky, but to come at once to
the dance and to a striking incident which occurred there.

Rather late in the evening, after dancing had been going on for some
time, Jasper Very rode up to the tavern. He had been on a long
preaching tour, and was tired and hungry. When he had dismounted, he
asked the proprietor if he could lodge there for the night. Mr. Nebeker
politely told him he could stay, but he was afraid he would not enjoy
himself very well, as a dance was in progress. Jasper then inquired how
far it was to a suitable house where he could put up for the night, and
was told seven miles. He felt in his present condition that this was
too far, and said that if the tavern keeper would treat him civilly and
feed his horse well by his leave he would stay. This was promised him,
and Very dismounted and went in. He quietly took a seat in one corner
of the room, and the dancing continued. While musing upon many things
and wishing in his heart he could do those people good, and having
finally made up his mind to ask the privilege of preaching there the
next day, he was surprised to see a beautiful and ruddy young lady, who
was no other than Stella Nebeker, walk gracefully up to him, drop a
handsome courtesy, and pleasantly, with a winning smile, invite him to
dance with her. Jasper Very in his life had been in many strange
situations, but this was an experience unlike any he had hitherto
passed through. He could hardly understand his thoughts or feelings,
but in a moment he resolved on a desperate experiment. He arose as
gracefully as he could, with many emotions crowding upon his mind.
Stella with much grace moved to his right side. Jasper grasped her
right hand with his left hand, while she leaned her left arm on his
right arm. In this position they walked on the floor.

The whole company seemed pleased at this act of politeness in a young
lady shown to a stranger. The colored musician began to put his fiddle
in the best order. Jasper here asked the fiddler to hold a minute, and,
addressing the company, said: "Friends, for several years I have not
undertaken any matter of importance without first asking the blessing
of God upon it, and I desire now to ask God's blessing upon this
beautiful young lady, who has shown such an act of politeness to a
total stranger, and upon the whole company."

Here he grasped the young lady's hand tightly and said: "Let us all
kneel down and pray." With this he dropped upon his knees, and began
praying with all the power he possessed. Stella tried to get loose from
him, but he held her tightly.

This unexpected act threw the whole company into excitement and
disorder. Stella seized by an emotion which she could not control, fell
upon her knees. Some of the dancers kneeled, some stood, some sat still
with curious looks upon their faces, while others fled as in terror.
The fiddler ran off into the kitchen saying: "Lord a marcy, what de
matter. What's dat mean? Prayin' in a dance hall! Dis beats anyting dis
niggar ever saw."

Jasper Very continued to pray with loud voice and great unction. Some
soon began weeping softly, others cried out aloud in their deep
feeling, and some asked God for mercy. After a while Jasper arose from
his knees and commenced an exhortation, after which he sang a hymn.

Stella Nebeker was so affected by the service and by the deep
convictions of her heart that she remained for a long time prostrate on
the floor, crying earnestly for pardon. This strange meeting continued
nearly all night; and when it was ended, fifteen of those dancers had
obtained pardon for their sins. Stella was one of them, George LeMonde
was another and the tavern keeper was a third. From this dance room a
great revival spread throughout that part of the country.




CHAPTER IX.

Wanted, a Mission School.


Let us follow Miss Viola LeMonde and Miss Henrietta Harvey in their
effort to organize a Sunday School among the "Poor Whites."

It was a beautiful day in September when the two young ladies seated in
the phaeton drawn by Velox and Dolly and driven by faithful Mose made
their way into the hill country. Their object was to visit as many
families in a remote section as possible, and try to get their consent
to join the proposed school.

After riding a number of miles they came to the family of Mart Spink.
The two-room cabin in which they lived had the distinction of being
built of hewn logs. It also had a "lean-to," or low ell, attached to
the larger part.

Fortunately they found the "old man," Mart Spink, at home. He seemed
surprised to behold such a fine turnout stop at his door, but showed a
native gallantry as he came to the carriage.

"Howdy, ladies, I'se glad to see you. Won't you 'light, and walk into
de house?"

"Thank you," replied Viola. "My name is Viola LeMonde, and this is my
friend, Miss Henrietta Harvey. We have come to consult you on some
important business, and shall be glad to step into your cottage."

With this remark they both dismounted from the phaeton, and passed into
the house.

Here they found the whole family, and Mr. Spink introduced them in
order to the ladies--his wife, Lucinda, his oldest daughter, Susanna,
then Elmira, Robert and Jonathan.

Mart Spink invited the ladies to be seated, and they sat down on
splint-bottom chairs.

Viola LeMonde opened the business in hand: "Mr. Spink, some of us
living in the bottoms, knowing that you dwell so far away from any
church that you and your neighbors cannot well attend public religious
services, have decided to start a Sunday School in this locality, if we
can find a suitable place, and if the people are willing to come to it.

"Not long ago Rev. John Larkin, whom perhaps you have seen, suggested
your house as the best place in these hills in which to begin a school.
What do you say to the proposition?"

Mart Spink replied: "Well, I was born in Nashville, Tennessee, and
lived thar with my parents till I was eight years old. I went to school
thar and learned how to read and write a little. I also went to church
and Sunday School some.

"Then they took up land here in de backwoods, and since that time I
have had mighty little chance to larn out of books and to go to
meetin'.

"Yes, I would be rale glad to have you start a school in my house, if
Lucinda is willin'. What do you say, wife?"

Lucinda: "Let us have de school by all means; de sooner de better. I
want it for your sake, Mart, and mine, but specially for our boys and
girls."

So the consent was given and the matter settled.

Susanna Spink, the oldest child, sat opposite Viola LeMonde during the
conversation. She was fourteen years old, and was of such striking
beauty that both the visitors were impressed by it. Her chief
attraction was her eyes. Once seen they could never be forgotten. The
eyebrows were dark and of medium size. The lashes were black and long.
Her eyes were large, clear, deep blue in color. One could look down
into their wondrous depths and imagine one could see the very soul of
the child.

Susanna was all attention during the talk about the school. She spoke
no word, but the look of her eyes spoke volumes to Viola. She knew that
the child was intensely interested in the project. That hour by an
invisible and mysterious power the souls of the woman and child were
welded together into a union of friendship and devotion which death
itself could not part. Neither suspected at this time what a test of
this devotion was to appear in the future.

Highly pleased with the success of their first visit the ladies entered
the carriage, and Viola directed Mose to drive to the home of the Wiles
family. Arriving there they were greeted by the furious barking of a
pack of dogs and by the staring looks of some of the children. Mrs.
Wiles was in the front yard hanging out some faded and frayed clothing
on the line.

We must give the names of this interesting family. Those at home were
Mrs. Deborah Wiles and her children Ephraim, Priscilla, Martha, and
Ruth. The father, Simon, was absent, and also his precious son, Sam,
whose acquaintance we have already made. The remaining son, Reuben, was
visiting a near neighbor about three miles distant. However much of
original depravity existed in this family the parents were determined
that they should be fortified with biblical names.

Mrs. Wiles showed small courtesy to the strangers, for she did not call
off the dogs or speak to the visitors till she had hung out to dry the
last remaining piece of washing.

Then she turned to the carriage, and inquired of the ladies what they
wanted. Viola and Henrietta without any invitation stepped down from
the vehicle, and made known their mission.

Mrs. Wiles expressed herself unfavorable to the idea. She said they
were gittin' along well enough without any church meetin's, and they
did not want any of de high-toned people from de bottoms to come up
there, putting on airs, treating them as ignorant, and no 'count white
trash, and making fun of their farms and houses.

But different words sprang from the lips of Ephraim and Priscilla.

Ephraim, the boy who a few years before had discovered Wind Cave, now
grown to a good sized youth, said: "You are wrong, ma. Most of us
around here are a low down set without books or religion. If these
ladies are willin' to spend their time to come all this way and teach
us larnin' and de Bible, I say we ought to thank them, and help them to
start de school."

Priscilla said she agreed with her brother and thought it was time they
"were gittin' out of their pore way of livin'," and she would be glad
"to jine de school" if her mother would let her.

Mrs. Wiles gave a cold consent, and the carriage drove away, the ladies
thankful that they had secured at least two more advocates of their
scheme.

Mose spoke to his mettled steeds and soon they were drawing the
carriage over an unfrequented road through a deep forest to the cabin
of Harrop Sneath. He and his house were typical of the poorest of the
"poor whites." His cabin consisted of one room, about fourteen feet
square, with one door and no windows. It was made of unhewn logs
plastered with clay. The only daylight which entered the cabin came
through the door when open and down the chimney. On the inside stood a
bedstead made of poles stuck between the logs of the angle, the outside
corner supported by a crotched stick. The table was a huge hewn log,
standing on four pegs. A log bench or two took the place of chairs. The
cooking utensils consisted of an iron pot, which hung in the big
chimney, a kettle and skillet and a few pewter and tin dishes. The loft
was the sleeping place of most of the children. It was reached by a
ladder of wooden pins driven into the logs.

Harrop Sneath was too lazy and shiftless to work much. He cultivated in
a careless way a small piece of cleared ground around his cabin on
which he raised a little Indian corn. The meat for his family was
provided by his rifle, for the woods abounded in game--deer, wild
turkeys, etc.

It was in such a cabin that Abraham Lincoln was born in another part of
Kentucky about this time.

When Viola and Henrietta entered the clearing Sneath was sitting in the
sun on a log bench in front of his cabin. He was a man in middle life
and like most of the hillside settlers was the father of several
children.

The young ladies addressed him pleasantly, and asked after his family
and his crops.

He replied, that "de old woman and de kids war right peart; that de
crops were most a dead failure because of de dry spell." He "'lowed a
dry spell war mighty bad for crops on hillside farms." In this he was
quite right.

By this time the "old woman" and some of the kids had come into the
yard. Among them was Jemima Sneath, the oldest daughter. She was
apparently about twenty years of age, and was a large, healthy young
woman.

Henrietta Harvey was the speaker this time, and in a clear and emphatic
manner made their mission known. She told them about the school, what a
blessing it would be to the community, the families and each one. It
would improve their minds, help to remove the evils which all knew
existed in the hills, help to put the farmers on their feet by showing
them how to raise better crops.

Trying to awaken a greater interest in the father she said: "Mr.
Sneath, when you are not working on your place or hunting, how do you
pass the time?"

He answered with a slow drawl: "Well, most ginerally I sot on de bench
in shade in summer and in de sun in winter. Sometimes I sot and think,
and sometimes I jest sot."

Such a man they felt it difficult to arouse, but when Viola added her
invitations and arguments to those of her friend, poor Sneath awoke
enough to the situation to hold his head up higher and widen his
shoulders a trifle.

The one most interested was Jemima, the oldest daughter. She promised
to attend the first meeting and to become a member of the school.

Viola now directed Mose to drive them still farther through the woods
to the home of Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf. They would not have
dared to beard this lion in his den, but knowing he had left the county
for the time being, they wished, if possible, to interest his mother
and sister in the school.

As they drew up to the house the dwarf's mother stood in the doorway,
her daughter looking over her shoulder. The mother might have been a
twin sister of Sycorax, the dam of Caliban. She was tall and slim,
dressed in a coarse, hand-woven dress. Her long, scant hair fell down
over her shoulders. Her face was that of a hag. Her few teeth were
stained yellow with tobacco.

As soon as Viola spoke of the school, this vixen, raising her right arm
to its greatest height and clenching her hand, broke out in wild
vituperation:

"What do de like of ye, comin' into our hills in yer fine carriage to
see how pore we air and to look down on us? Woud you uns larn us to be
good in yer school? We uns air as good as you uns even if we don't live
in big houses and drive fast hosses. Away with you! Me and mine will
have nuthin' to do with yer mission."

In a similar vein she continued to pour out a volley of loud and
abusive words, interlarding them with such oaths and curses as would
have surprised a Billinsgate fishwoman.

Viola tried for a brief time to reason with her, and present their plea
for the mission school, but, finding it was useless to remain longer,
told Mose to drive away. When they had reached the shelter of the woods
the slave said: "Ah neber hurd a deck han' on de ribber cuss and swear
lak dat po' white woman."

Still these noble ladies, inspired with a high resolve to help the
lowly, undismayed continued their work. In the course of two or three
days a sufficient number of persons had agreed to attend the school to
warrant its being opened with much promise.




CHAPTER X.

The Mission School Established.


The time set for beginning the mission school was the first Sunday in
October. The place, Mart Spink's sitting-room.

Mr. Spink had added to the seating capacity of his cabin by taking some
long slabs and with an auger drilling holes in their round sides. Into
these holes he drove wooden pegs, and thus provided serviceable benches
without backs. These together with his other benches and his chairs
gave sufficient seating accommodation for those who came.

It was a motley but interesting crowd that assembled in the
sitting-room at two o'clock that Sunday afternoon. Of course the Spinks
were there, and some members of the Wiles and Sneath families were
present, and others from different homes in that section. Fourteen
girls, ten boys and a few adults had come to the meeting. Besides these
there were the preacher, John Larkin, Viola and George LeMonde,
Henrietta Harvey, and Stella Nebeker in attendance. Jasper Very wished
much to be present, but a preaching engagement kept him away.

The children were dressed somewhat better than on week days but at that
their clothing was nothing to boast of. The girls were shy and ill at
ease, the boys half shy and half bold.

John Larkin called the school to order, and made a few remarks.

"Dear friends, we are met here today to worship God and to study his
Holy Word. I am sure you want me in your behalf to thank the ladies who
visited your homes and invited you to help in starting this school, and
to thank Mr. Spink and family who have so kindly opened their house for
our meetings. Miss Viola LeMonde has had some hymn books placed on the
benches, and she will lead us in song."

Viola knew that most of those present were not acquainted with a single
religious hymn, but she thought the older ones might be able to sing
some of the old favorites of the church. So she led them in singing:

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me," and "All hail the power of Jesus' name."

Those who had come to help in the school carried the tunes along very
well, and Viola was surprised and pleased to hear some of the farmers
and their wives join in singing these sweet songs of Zion.

Then Viola sang as a solo a beautiful and appropriate "Children's
Hymn," containing these words.

    "Hosanna! be the children's song,
    To Christ, the children's King;
    His praise, to whom our souls belong,
    Let all the children sing.
    Hosanna! sound from hill to hill,
    And spread from plain to plain,
    While louder, sweeter, clearer still,
    Woods echo to the strain."

Then John Larkin said: "Let us pray." He closed his eyes, and began an
earnest supplication at the throne of grace. But it might have been
better for him and the school, if he had kept his eyes open while he
offered his petition, and thus obeyed the Bible command: "Watch and
pray." When he closed his eyes the little imps in divers parts of the
room saw their chance for mischief, and were quick to embrace it.

A Sneath boy put his straw hat on the head of a boy next him, and then
knocked it off with no gentle blow. This angered the other youngster
and he hit back with his clenched fist. So they had it back and forth,
to the amusement of all the chaps around them. Another boy got
possession of a pin--a rather scarce article in that neighborhood--and
at one of the most fervent parts of the preacher's prayer stuck it into
the lad sitting in front of him. The punctured youth gave a yell which
could not be construed into an Amen on account of the petition. It
raised the lad off his seat, and made him jump forward with an impetus
which was both amusing and pathetic. The hurt of the pin seemed to
swallow up every feeling save that of distress, and he "boo-hooed"
aloud.

Such proceedings made Brother Larkin bring his prayer to an abrupt
conclusion, and Viola LeMonde hurried to the sobbing child, and tried
to comfort him.

After the devotions the school was divided into classes. John Larkin
took the adults of both sexes; Viola LeMonde, the larger girls;
Henrietta Harvey, the smaller; George LeMonde, the older boys; and
Stella Nebeker, the younger.

These teachers that day occupied places of responsibility which taxed
every particle of their skill, ingenuity, tact, patience and
forbearance. Many of those sitting around them could not read or write
a word. So first they had to be taught words and sentences. Their
knowledge of the Bible was pitifully small. Yet they possessed the
redeeming feature of wanting to learn, and most of them showed an eager
desire to improve their minds.

Let us, as unbidden guests, in spirit sit down in Viola LeMonde's class
and listen to what is said. These girls' minds were bright but
undeveloped. It was their teacher's object to educate--lead out--her
pupils' intellects into the broad fields of Scriptural knowledge.

"Girls," said Viola, "we are going to study the book, copies of which
we are holding in our hands. It is called the Bible. Let me ask some
questions about it, and you try to answer them."

"Have you seen the Bible before today?"

Susanna Spink replied: "I seed one onct, when I went to a camp meetin'
near Honey Crick. A man read out of a book he called de Bible, and then
he talked and talked a long, long time."

"The Bible tells us a lot about many good men and women. Perhaps you
have heard of some of these. Who was Moses?"

"Was he nigger Mose's dad?" asked one of the girls.

"No, he lived many years ago, and was a great leader of the Hebrew
people. Did you ever hear of David?"

Profound silence.

"He was a mighty king of the Jews, and also a man who wrote many
beautiful songs. One of his songs millions of children know. It begins:
'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.' Have any of you ever heard
it?"

One or two raised their hands indicating they had heard it.

"Let us turn to it, the twenty-third psalm, and we shall read it
together."

This they did, and Viola said: "I want you children to learn this psalm
by heart and each one say it to me next Sunday. Will you do it?"

Every hand was raised in consent.

"The Bible is divided into two parts. Can any one tell me what they
are?"

"Yes'm, de front an' de back."

"They are called the Old Testament and the New Testament. The Old
Testament tells of God's dealings with his chosen people the Hebrews
(or Jews). It also points to the coming of God's Son into the world."

"The New Testament tells how God's Son Jesus Christ came upon earth to
be the Friend of little children and all people; how he lived a good
life, always helping those around him; how wicked men at last put him
to death, and his friends buried him. But the grave could not hold him,
and on the third day he arose from it, and soon went up to heaven. The
day of his birth is called Christmas. Have you heard of it?"

"Yes, teacher, we have all heard something about Christmas."

"Well, well learn more about it, for it is a sweet story, and next
Christmas the mission school will have a fine time, with songs, and
pieces to speak, and giving of presents. I hope my girls will take part
in this glad time."

Thus the minutes sped by while in simple words Viola tried to impart
some Bible truths to her willing scholars.

After closing exercises the school was dismissed.

The teachers remained a while to compare notes. George LeMonde reported
having had an interesting time with his boys. He said he spoke to them
about the sin of making moonshine whisky, and tried to set them against
the practice. He was surprised at the answer that was made to one of
his questions: "If any one were to ask you to take a drink of moonshine
whisky, what would you say?"

"Thank you," piped up a small boy.

The first session of the Mission Sunday School was considered a success
and those responsible for it were encouraged to continue the work.

Some change in the teaching force was necessary, for John Larkin's
duties as preacher would not permit him to serve as a permanent
teacher.

It is a pleasure to say that this school increased in numbers and
influence, and not only in its Sunday meeting, but also in its social
and educational work in the community, became a strong agent to uplift
the surrounding hill people in every way.




CHAPTER XI.

A Kentucky Feud.


Costello Nebeker after his conversion in his dance hall under the
ministry of Jasper Very continued to keep his tavern, but discarded the
sale and use of whisky upon his premises. He became known as the one
hotel keeper in all that region who did not furnish his customers
strong liquors. However, this action did not ruin his business; for,
while some of his patrons left him, others took their places, and he
was able still to supply all proper needs of the traveling public.

The winter had set in, and a great change was visible in the landscape.
The splendid forest trees had lost their leaves, and their giant limbs
were bare in the winter sunshine. A light snow covered the ground, and
in it could be seen the tracks of rabbit, squirrel, coon, opossum, and
occasionally a wild cat. In the distance the loud baying of hounds told
that some creatures of the wild were being pursued by their relentless
enemies.

Nature was at rest, and also the pioneer. His crops of corn, hay,
wheat, tobacco, and vegetables were all gathered and safely placed in
barns and storehouses. Little was to be done during the short winter
day but to attend to the stock, to do the "chores" about the house, and
perhaps to haul wood--backlogs and foresticks--to replenish the
ravenous fire in the great fireplace.

But what was a time of rest to the Kentucky farmer was a season of
special activity to the pioneer preacher. It was usually in winter that
"protracted meetings" were held. Next to camp meetings, they were the
great religious events of the year. The old saints anticipated with
keen relish the sermons, songs, prayers, exhortations, and altar
services. The young people were scarcely less interested, but from
mixed motives--partly religious and partly social. Ever since Adam
courted Eve under Eden's trees God's woods have been places for lovers
to woo in, and one of the best things connected with the "protracted
meeting" was the occasion it made of bringing young people into one
another's society and starting friendships which ripened into love and
matrimony.

Through the influence of Costello Nebeker a small church was built some
distance from his house in the noble forest. It was composed of logs
cut smooth with axes on two opposite sides. These logs were placed one
above the other, and the chinks between were closed up with mortar made
of clay and water. The roof was of heavy beams upon which were nailed
coarse clapboards. The building could boast of two small windows and a
single door. The inside arrangements were as simple as the outside. A
common wooden desk answered as a pulpit, and instead of pews wooden
benches were placed in front of the stand. A large cast-iron stove,
placed near the center of the room, gave heat when the weather was
cold. The building was called the "Bethlehem Church."

The "protracted meeting" was appointed to begin early in January. The
preachers who were to conduct it were Jasper Very, John Larkin, and
Ezra Thompson, an old minister, grizzled and toughened by time and
exposure.

This history has to do with the Sunday evening service which Jasper
Very was to conduct. It was a beautiful winter evening. The orb of day
had scarcely descended behind the unbroken line of forest trees in the
west ere the full moon appeared in the east, rising in majesty through
the trees. The silvery globe stretched from the base almost to the tops
of the trees. Slowly and serenely she climbed on her upward way, the
tree tops now marking the line of her diameter; then in a few minutes
she was free from their obstruction and hung above the earth a great,
shining ball, sending upon river, forest, plain, and plantation a light
so full and soft that one standing in it would become charmed by her
magical rays.

In the falling darkness it was easy to walk or ride to the evening
appointment. Because of the distance most of the people rode on
horseback. When they had all assembled, the sight was one to remember.
Horses were hitched everywhere to racks which had been placed near the
church, to branches of trees, and to small saplings.

Before the services began many of the people had gathered inside the
church, which was illuminated with a half dozen tallow candles that
tried their best to burn, but seemed discouraged by the attempt.
Outside men collected in groups and talked in low, earnest tones. Do
you ask what was the subject of their conversation? It was about the
sermon to be preached that night by Jasper Very.

A few days before a family feud in this neighborhood had broken out
afresh. It was the noted feud between the Wiles and Barker families.
This estrangement had occurred a quarter of a century before. It began
by some cattle of a former Wiles getting into the field of a settler
named Barker. Barker told Wiles to keep his live stock out of his land,
and Wiles replied by demanding that Barker should repair his rail
fences and mind his gates. Wiles was careless about his cattle and
Barker about his fences. So one night a lot of Wiles' cattle got into a
fine field of growing corn belonging to Barker, and ate as long as they
could chew the juicy food and trampled down the green stalks with
perfect indifference as to ownership. Early the next morning Barker saw
the devastation and the causes thereof. He walked over to Wiles'
plantation, and the two men quarreled, fought, and almost killed each
other.

This was the beginning of that celebrated Wiles-Barker feud which has
soiled the annals of that part of Kentucky. Its course was marked by
murders, assassinations, wounds, burning of buildings, and every injury
which cunning could devise and hate execute.

For a full year before this winter, by an unspoken agreement, the two
factions had ceased to quarrel. Violence had exhausted itself, for the
worst of men cannot give loose rein to their passions all the time.
But, though the wild beast of hatred and revenge was quiet, he was
neither dead nor changed into a lamb; he was really nursing and
strengthening his powers for more savage attacks. The occasion which
made him crouch, show his teeth, and leap forward with sudden and
terrible fury was a barn-raising on a settler's farm not far from
Costello's tavern. The Wiles and Barker families were both well
represented by young and middle-aged men. According to the custom of
the time, whisky was freely tendered to the workers and as freely
received.

All went well until late in the afternoon when the framework of the
barn had been put in place. The settlers had drunk unusual quantities
of their favorite beverage, and were ready for frolic or fight. Just
then Alan Barker, a scion of the noted family, belonging to that branch
living in Pigeon Creek, began expatiating on the charms, graces and
virtues of a fair lassie bearing the euphonious and patriotic name of
America Virginia Stubbins, and closed his eulogy by saying she was "de
sweetest, prettiest, best and likeliest gal in all Kentuck," and he
could "whip any man in de crowd who dared to deny it." Young "Buck"
Wiles took up the dare, partly because he despised the whole Barker
crew, partly because he had a tender feeling toward the same lass, and
was therefore jealous of Alan Barker, but mostly because whisky had
fired his brain. So he discounted Alan Barker's fervid descriptions,
and averred that the same America Virginia Stubbins possessed a homely
face and little sense.

This was the spark which exploded the magazine. Alan Barker, stung to
anger and madness, sprang upon "Buck" Wiles, and the two men clenched
in a desperate struggle. However, it was not the way of the times to
confine the settling of disputes to the "manly art" of bare fists.
There was a quicker method, and sooner than we can write it the men
having become separated in their wrestling, Alan Barker whipped out a
pistol and shot Wiles down. Then ensued an encounter horrible to
relate. The members of each family entered at once into the fight. Many
shots were exchanged; and after a few minutes, when the fighting was
over, either from lack of ammunition, or because, Indian fashion, those
who were not wounded had hidden behind the great trees to fight from
under cover, the sad results were apparent. Three of the Barker tribe
and two of the Wiles lay dead upon the ground, while five of the latter
and four of the former were lying in different positions, some
slightly, others desperately, wounded.

Thus the old feud was renewed, the old score opened, and the waters of
malice, revenge and hate which had been accumulating for months broke
forth afresh with devastating effect. Soon the news was heard in all
the surrounding hills and valleys. It stirred the dull and untrained
minds in many a mountain cabin; it was discussed between drinks in
rough taverns. Somehow the story sounded through the green Kentucky
woods until its echoes appeared in the daily papers of Cincinnati,
Philadelphia and New York.

Jasper Very declared he would make this battle between families the
subject of his sermon on Sunday evening, and it was this announcement
which threw the neighborhood into such a high state of excitement and
caused a crowd to attend the meeting which packed the small
meeting-house to suffocation and, despite the cold weather, caused it
to overflow into the surrounding yard.

Sam Wiles was there, and his impish shadow, Zibe Turner, and Long Tom,
and the rest of his cronies. Sam Wiles' family was a part of that large
Wiles faction which warred with the Barkers, but Sam was not present at
the barn-raising. He was only fourth cousin to the Wiles men who were
killed, but felt himself bound with the rest of his kin to avenge their
death. Hence he was intensely interested to know how the preacher would
treat his subject. On account of the crowd he sat a little within the
doorway, while the monster dwarf contented himself with a position just
outside, where his ghoulish and malignant face was lighted up by candle
rays and moonbeams combined.

Jasper Very took for his text, "Am I my brother's keeper?" Thus he
began: "Hearers and friends, it is a sad fact that the first man born
into the world, Cain, was a murderer, and the second man born of woman
was murdered. Cain killed his brother Abel. Ever since that day this
earth has been reddened with human blood. It has defiled every mountain
and stained every plain, it has polluted the waters of every lake and
river, and has reddened the very ocean. Murder's bloody hand, nerved by
all the worst passions of man, has struck down, not only the guilty,
but also the innocent, the weak and helpless. It is a perversion of the
Creator's intention regarding mankind. He made men to dwell in peace
and happiness. He put the solitary in families that each member might
contribute to the well-being of the whole. Every man is his brother's
keeper. He is expected to do him good and not harm. If my brother is
weak, I must try to be his strength. If he is in sorrow, I must comfort
him; if needy, help him with my substance; if sick, I must minister
unto him. By so doing I shall receive both the approval of my
conscience, and the Master's reward: 'Well done, good and faithful
servant.'

"Back of the act of murder is its motive. It is formed in the mind
before it is committed by the hand. It invariably springs from the
baser passions of man--hate, malice, jealousy, revenge. Our Bible
traces it to its seat. It declares: 'Whosoever hateth his brother is a
murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in
him.' It was this bad feeling of hate which made Cain kill his brother
Abel."

The preacher then passed on to say: "You all know that different parts
of our beautiful State of Kentucky have been disgraced by family feuds
which have resulted in many crimes against God and man, including
murder. In our own neighborhood at this time of the year when we should
be making fresh resolutions of love to God and our fellows, young men
have shot one another down in a useless quarrel, a number of families
are mourning the loss of sons and brothers, and other men are made
cripples for life by ugly wounds."

Then, raising his voice until it could be heard by the remotest lounger
at the horserails he thundered: "What was the cause of this recent
killing, and of the broils, fights, and contentions in our midst?
Whisky. This is the curse of Kentucky. It is the demon which fires the
blood and pulls the trigger. In days when the red men roamed these
forests and hunted abundant game so many battles were fought among
themselves that this fair land received that dreadful name, 'The Dark
and Bloody Ground,' and now you are doing all in your power to
perpetuate this name. You in this audience who make or sell liquor,
either legally or illegally, 'have made a covenant with death, and with
hell are at agreement.' How can you escape the wrath of God? The voice
of these slain men's blood cries unto heaven from the ground. The gray
hairs of their parents will go down in sorrow to the grave for them."

His mood and voice then changed, and in softer tones he pleaded with
them to turn from the evil of their ways and live. He assured them that
no drunkard nor drunkard-maker could inherit the kingdom of God, that a
sure woe would rest upon him who putteth the bottle to his neighbor's
lips, and that no good could finally come out of this bad business. He
told them that they could not turn from their evil ways in their own
strength; but God had laid strength upon One who was mighty to save and
strong to deliver from every weakness and temptation, even his only
begotten Son, Jesus Christ.

His eyes filled with tears and his voice shook with emotion as he gave
an invitation to all to forsake their sins and return unto God in that
sweetest welcome to repent that human ears have heard: "Come unto me,
all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Almost overcome by his feelings, Jasper Very sat down, but instantly
John Larkin arose and gave out that comforting invitation hymn:

    "Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,
    Weak and wounded, sick and sore;
    Jesus ready stands to save you,
    Full of pity, love, and power.
    He is able,
    He is willing, doubt no more."

He asked all those who wanted to repent of their sins and to seek
pardon and peace to come forward to the altar while the congregation
stood and sang that hymn.

The result was astonishing. In spite of the crowded condition of the
room men and women pushed their way to the wooden benches called an
"altar," and with tears and groans sought forgiveness. Decisions were
made that night as lasting as eternity. Many a hardened backwoods
sinner there forever forsook his evil ways and became an order-loving
and respectable citizen, helping to form that civilization of which the
Kentucky of today is so proud. Several moonshiners were convicted of
the iniquity of their business, and gave up illicit distilling and
their other bad practices. Among the rest was Long Tom. He sought the
Lord with the simplicity of a little child. As he made no reservations,
but at once confessed all his evil deeds, and was both wise and simple
enough to accept Christ at his own terms of full surrender and
childlike faith, he soon found pardon and peace. While he bowed at the
altar the people sang "Jesus Lover of My Soul," and its sentiments
comforted the sobbing man. The clearest voice which led in this hymn
was that of Viola LeMonde.

At a testimony meeting a short time after he told of his experience:
"Friends, I war a mighty ignorant feller when I come for'ard to that
mourner's bench. I had not said a prayer for twenty years. I did not
know how to begin. Then I thought of a prayer my mother larned me when
I war a little chap. So I began saying, 'Our Father, who art in
heaven,' and before I got through I war saved."

But while some were convicted of the error of their ways at that
meeting, others were hardened; for such a meeting is either a savior of
life unto life, or a savior of death unto death. Sam Wiles sat, as we
have said, near the open door. During the first part of the discourse
he followed the preacher closely and calmly; but when Jasper Very
entered upon his philippic against the moonshiners in particular, an
awful struggle began in Wiles' heart. God's Spirit acted strongly upon
him, convincing his judgment that all the preacher said was true, that
the whole business was bad from beginning to end, and that now, after
he had such proofs among his own kin that death followed in its wake,
he should forever abandon it. For a while it seemed as though his proud
heart would yield, but there were tremendous influences on the other
side. There was the love of his free and easy life which must be put in
the scale. If he changed about he must endure the scoffs and reproaches
of his former companions. Added to these was the awful tug of the
habits and inclinations of his present life, and beyond all this was
the personal temptation of the evil one whispering in his soul not to
yield. If he did yield, said the tempter, he would soon fall away, and
that would be worse than not to start at all.

Thus the crucial battle of his life was fought while Wiles sat in that
little church. Such a struggle comes into many a life. Angels must look
upon it with the deepest interest and attention. The crisis may arrive
at church or at home, on the high sea or on the land, in a storied
mansion or in a little cottage, at the midnight hour or in the open
day--the place or time counts for little, but the result is as wide as
eternity.

This hour was propitious for Sam Wiles. A proper choice would have
revolutionized his character, would have gladdened the angels in
heaven, and written his name deep in the "Book of Life." But alas!
alas! before the sermon was ended he had resisted God's Holy Spirit,
and, instead of one devil, seven devils had entered into his soul. A
hard expression spread over his face, his eyes flashed with a dangerous
fire, and he cast a look of defiance and contempt upon the speaker that
(so subtle, strong, and swift are the laws of mind) Very, seeing it,
would have been confused and perhaps overcome in his discourse if the
shield of Almighty God had not protected him.

As for Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf, the services had no more effect
for good upon him than a strong fortress would be affected by shooting
white beans at it. When his favorite business, illicit distilling, was
denounced by Very, the dwarf's wrath grew so hot that he could not
refrain from muttering under his breath: "I wish I could drown you uns
and all yer pious hypercrits in whisky. Dat's my holt."

As the last hymn was being sung Sam Wiles left the church and walked
out into the moonlight. He was joined by Turner and a few more of the
clan. For a few minutes they held a whispered conversation, and then
separated.

When the meeting broke up a half hour later, it was found that the
girths on the horses belonging to the preachers, the Costello family
and others had been cut and destroyed. Also the traces of Judge
LeMonde's harness.




CHAPTER XII.

The Shameful Plot.


The moonlight showed a look of blank amazement and concern upon the
faces of the victims of this dastardly trick, especially the women; but
John Larkin's unfailing good temper and witty sayings relieved the
situation. "There is no use crying over spilled milk," said he, "and I
am sure, as Poor Richard remarks, 'God helps them that help
themselves.' So we must find some way to remedy this trouble, for we
cannot stand here gazing into the moon's face all night, and the
distance to our homes is too great to walk. Let us look about among the
trees, and perhaps we can find pieces of the girths and harness."

This was done, and presently several pieces were found. With these the
traces of the carriage were repaired and a number of the saddles made
fit for service. By some of the men riding double on horseback the
mischief was tolerably mended and all returned to their lodgings in
safety.

While one injury was being remedied another more serious was being
planned. When Sam Wiles and Zibe Turner had cut the saddle girths and
traces, they and three of their pals quickly mounted their horses and
rode rapidly to Wiles' house. Arriving there they found the old folks
and children in bed. Being afraid to talk over their infamous scheme in
the cabin, they betook themselves to the barn some distance away. In
this building they lighted a tallow dip and, throwing themselves down
on some hay to rest and warm their bodies, they at once began talking
of what was uppermost in their minds.

"Now fellers," said Wiles, "let us go over keerfully what we uns war
sayin' as we rode along. That cursed preacher made a last break with me
when he fit our bizness in such an all-fired strong way and throwed
insults on my family. I say he oughter be punished for his sass in the
way we spoke of."

"Sure nuff," broke in Turner, the monster dwarf, "tar and feathers and
ridin' in a rail is too good fer de likes of him. If he got his just
dues, we oughter lay for him some night and pick him off as he is
ridin' hossback."

"We must not kill him," said the more cautious leader, "for they would
'spect us at once, and we would soon be put in de jug (jail), if they
didn't make us stretch hemp without trial. But a good thick coat of tar
and feathers will become his style of beauty fust-rate; and if we uns
ride him on a rail, he will dance a jig with his feet in de air and
will look more cute than ary Injun you uns ever see daubed with his war
paint and feathers."

The five men laughed heartily at this remark, and seemed to anticipate
with delight the fulfillment of their foul plot.

"We owe him a good one fer capturin' Long Tom and makin' him pious and
an enemy of our bizness," said Bert Danks, captain of the Honey Crick
band, "and I hope you uns won't be sparin' of de tar ner easy with de
rail. Get one of them three-cornered hickory rails, and that'll do the
thing up brown."

"Whar is de best place to s'prise him?" asked Wiles.

"I'll tell yer," spoke Zibe Turner, and his monkeyish face lit up with
a smile almost diabolical and his piercing black eyes shot a keen and
excited look into the group, "I hearn that he has an appintment next
Chewsday night at de top of Bald Knob, and to go there from his home he
will have to take de Pigeon Crick road, cross de crick at Farley's and
then branch off inter de big woods before he climbs de knob. Now de
level place jest by de foot of de knob is a lonely spot, away from de
big road, de trees air mighty high and large, and few people pass that
way. I say let's strip and dress him thar."

"Agreed!" shouted the rest in concert.

"Bert," spoke Wiles, "we'll look to you to git de tar, and I'll bring a
pot from mammy's kitchen to heat it in. I'll also take without her
knowin' it some feathers from her feather bed. You, Zibe, are to
furnish de rail, and see that you git a sharp and strong one."

"'Pend on me for dat, and if he don't cry for marcy, it'll not be my
fault."

As a parting caution Wiles remarked: "All you fellers keep mum on this
subject, for we don't want to miss de fun ner be cotched in it."

Now it happened that Mose Williams, Judge LeMonde's most faithful negro
servant, was attending to an affair of his own that Sunday evening not
strictly demanded by his obligations to his master. In other words, he
was courting a sprightly and good-looking quadroon girl, by name
Euphemia Jackson ("Femy" for short). This buxom lass was a house
servant on a plantation situated about five miles from Judge LeMonde's.
What were five miles to a lusty young negro fellow who had a good pair
of legs, a bracing atmosphere and bright moonlight in which to exercise
them, and a sweetheart at the journey's end?

Mose, arrayed in his best clothes, had gone early and stayed late. He
left the plantation happy with himself and all the world. For had he
not that very night popped the all-important question and had not Femy
given an answer which warmed the very depths of his darkey heart and
made the face of nature shine with a double light? To shorten the
distance home, as the hour was late and the bright moon threw some
light even among the thick trees, he determined to take a footpath
among the hills. This course led him close to the cabin of Simon Wiles,
Sam Wiles' father. He was walking in a zigzag path, now watching the
moonlight as it lilted down through the leafy canopy, making a dim but
peaceful light around him; now listening to the sounds which exist in
Kentucky forests in winter, the flight of nocturnal birds and moving of
animals; seeing the raccoon crossing his track like a shadow in search
of food; hearing the mournful hooting of owls in various directions.

Suddenly he was startled by seeing a light shining through the chinks
of a building. At once Mose determined to discover its meaning. He had
no fine-spun theories as to the wrong of eavesdropping. Besides, there
might be robbers planning to steal neighbor Wiles' horse or produce. So
he crept up to the barn, making so little noise that neither the
watchful dogs nor the plotting men heard him.

He arrived in time to hear the conversation we have recorded. When he
had learned all, he stealthily retraced his steps to the foot-path and,
making a wide detour around the house, went on his way. While he walked
he thus soliloquized: "Ho! Ho! dat's yo' game, is it? Well, dis niggah
will try to spile yo' purty plan. But, Mose, ef yo' squeal on dem men
an' dey hears about it, dey'll give yo' wusser t'ings dan tar an'
fedders. Kain't help dat; mus' run de resk. Mas'r Very am mighty
pop'lar wid de Jedge, and I believes dat Miss Viola am lookin' on him
wid more'n common feelin's. Mose, yo's gwine to be a married man one of
dese days yo'self, an' yo' wants a little cabin of yo' own; and ef yo'
hoe dis row to de end an' circumwent dese 'spiring men, p'haps Mas'r
LeMonde gwine give yo' de cabin an' Miss Viola gwine put lots o' nice
tings in it. Dat's de proposition; an', Mose, yo' got to keep yo' wooly
head mighty cool an' calc'lating. Chewsday will soon be hyar, an' what
is done mus' be done in a hurry. It's a pity de Jedge an' Mas'r George
is gwine to start early to Lexinton tomorrer, so dey can't 'tend to de
mattah; but I'll jes inform Miss Viola of de situwation."

When the slave had reached this wise and satisfactory conclusion he had
also reached the end of his journey, and with much self-complacency
retired to his humble cot to dream of his dusky sweetheart.

Early the next morning Mose called at the mansion to see Miss Viola,
telling her that he had "sumpin' of special 'portance" to make known.
For the sake of privacy, she took him into the large drawing-room and,
seating herself in that beautiful bay window overlooking the stately
lawn and the broad cornfield now shining white under their coverlet of
snow and farther on the lovely river, she beckoned him to proceed. With
much earnestness and an air of importance he related what he had heard
at the barn the night before.

Mose was so absorbed in his recital that he did not notice the full
effects of his words on his mistress. As his story continued, a great
change came over her. Her breathing quickened until it came in short
and labored gasps. First a deeper color of red suffused her cheeks,
then a crimson overspread her face and neck, which was soon followed by
a paleness which marked her face with an ashen hue. How that poor heart
was troubled! Now its violent beatings force the hot blood to face and
hands and feet; then with the cruel news it takes into itself the
torrid currents of blood, leaving the face and extremities cold and
bloodless and a feeling of suffocation in the lungs. By a supreme
effort of will, which God has made sovereign over the emotions, she
calmed her beating heart and considered what was best to be done.

"Mose, you are quite sure you have told me all you heard?"

"Yes, Miss Viola, I is, kase de wo'ds made such a 'pression on mah mind
dat I 'members dem zackly."

"You are certain they selected Tuesday night for their wicked acts?"

"Dey spoke of Chewsday night, and tuk it bekase Mas'r Very is to go dat
way dat night."

"You can leave me now for an hour, but at eight o'clock come back and I
will send by you a message to Mr. Very."

When the negro had left, Viola LeMonde retired to her own room and
seating herself at her writing desk, wrote the following communication:

    "Mount Pisgah, January 6, 181--.

    The Rev. Jasper Very,

    Dear Mr. Very:

    Our servant, Mose Williams, has just made known to me a plot which
    some base men have devised to treat you with indignity and to bring
    the cause of religion into contempt. Mose was returning home late
    last night from Mr. St. Claire's plantation when, seeing a light
    in Simon Wiles' barn, he crept near and, looking through a chink
    in the wall, saw Sam Wiles, Bert Danks, Zibe Turner, and two other
    men lying on some hay. He overheard them planning to administer
    to Rev. Jasper Very a coat of tar and feathers and to complete
    the performance by riding him on a rail. This disgraceful act
    is to take place next Tuesday night. The spot is that dark and
    unfrequented place at the foot of Bald Knob through which you must
    pass on the way to your preaching service.

    "As 'to be forewarned is to be forearmed,' I hasten to notify you
    of the plot, feeling sure you will adopt measures to thwart it.
    Father and George would aid you in the matter but they went early
    this morning to Lexington, and will not return till Wednesday
    evening.

    "I feel that I am able to do little in such an emergency as this;
    but if I can be of any help, I will most gladly endeavor to
    preserve the respect of our community and to assist a friend.

    "No one knows of this plot except the instigators, myself, and
    Mose. By him I send this note to you.

    Most sincerely yours,

    Viola LeMonde."

At eight o'clock Mose made his appearance, and Viola gave him the
message, telling him to ride Velox as fast as possible to Mr. Nebeker's
tavern, where Mr. Very had spent the night, and to give it to the
preacher.

Mose was doubly willing that the news should get to the parson by means
of the note; for if trouble came his way, he could swear that he did
not inform Very of the plot; and, secondly, he thought Viola would be
pleased to help the preacher.

Jasper Very was still at the home of the tavern keeper, as were also
several other preachers, including the "square man," John Larkin.
Jasper was standing on the porch, and was surprised to see the colored
man riding up fast to the house, his horse wet with sweat and steaming
in the wintry air.

Mose, dismounting, lifted his cap to those present, and said to Jasper
Very: "I has a message of 'portance to you, sir." With this he handed
him the note, and then, on request of Mr. Nebeker, put Velox in the
barn to cool off and rest.

Jasper Very took the missive to the end of the porch and, breaking the
seal, read it. When he had finished, his mobile face showed the
conflicting emotions within. A flush of anger reddened his dark
features, his lips were pressed close together, his eyes flashed with
unwonted fire, and his hands involuntarily became clenched until the
finger nails indented the palms. Soon his look softened, the fire left
his eyes, and they appeared as gentle as twin lakes in lovely
Switzerland. The proud lines in his lips gave place to a curve like a
Cupid's bow and a smile lighted up his face. Looking out over the
wintry landscape, he said to himself: "It is worth the danger of an
attack like this to receive such a note from Viola LeMonde. How kind
and thoughtful of her to warn me of the plot so quickly. I will see how
best I can circumvent this scheme." With these reflections he retraced
his steps to his friends.

In the meantime the pity which Viola LeMonde felt for the preacher did
not tend to weaken that strange sensation, born in Eden, which was
tugging at her heart.




CHAPTER XIII.

Into a Pit (or Pitch).


Jasper very addressed Costello Nebeker, the tavern keeper, thus:
"Brother Nebeker, I have a matter of importance to consider with you
and a few friends. Can you furnish us with a private room?"

"Certainly, Brother Very," replied his genial host. "You can have the
sitting-room, just back of our large reception-room." (The dance hall
had been changed into these two rooms.)

In a few minutes a select company was gathered there. It consisted of
Jasper Very, John Larkin, Ezra Thompson, the old, grizzled preacher,
Nathaniel Grimes, a smart minister who formerly had been a lawyer,
Costello Nebeker, and his wife. Jasper Very read Viola LeMonde's note
to the group, and striking was the effect it produced. One cried, "The
despicable villains!" another, "The vile sinners." a third, "Shame on
Kentucky manhood, to what depths can humanity sink!" For once John
Larkin could not find a quotation from Poor Richard or any other source
which met the case. But soon surprise and indignation gave way to a
cool consideration of the situation and the best means of circumventing
this well-laid plot and bringing its instigators to punishment.

Very was the first to offer a suggestion. "Friends," he said, "let us
call Mose into the room and hear in detail his account of what he
overheard." This was thought good advice, and accordingly Mose was
invited into the sitting-room.

At first the cautious darkey was loath to commit himself; but when he
was informed that Miss LeMonde already had told the tale in substance
and that all present, would keep secret his remarks, he repeated what
he had seen and heard with more fullness than we have written down.

After Mose had been dismissed, Nathaniel Grimes, the lawyer-preacher,
spoke in these words: "I believe I have a plan by which this plot can
be frustrated. It is this: Let Brother Very prepare for his journey
tomorrow as though nothing unusual was expected; let us notify two or
more constables to enter the woods from a different direction just
after dark tomorrow evening, and at a convenient distance from where
the plotters post themselves behind great trees. Let Friend Nebeker,
Brother Larkin, and myself steal into the woods as best we can and join
the constables in season. At the proper time let Brother Very ride
slowly along, and when he is met by the ruffians and the parley takes
place, we will suddenly rush upon the scene and capture them in their
base act."

The plan was discussed for some time and, being found simple and
practicable, was adopted. Costello Nebeker was to engage the services
of the constables. Being a layman, he could do so without exciting
suspicion.

Tuesday evening the sky was partly covered with clouds. About the time
Jasper Very started from his home the moon rose in beauty. Sometimes
she threw the full glory of her beams upon the white earth as she rode
in a clear place in the heavens; at others her light was obscured by
passing clouds which covered her fair face. We can follow the gospel
ranger as he left his humble boarding place.

Mounted on trustworthy Bob, Jasper Very started to his appointment. He
turned his horse's head toward the east and rode for half a mile along
a farm road when, coming to a gate, he opened it and came into a
broader county road. Just opposite this gate stood the immense barn on
Judge LeMonde's estate, in which was stored his hay and grain and in
which were kept his many horses. Up a gradual ascent a few hundred feet
beyond stood the Judge's mansion. The man of God gazed upon it as its
outlines were visible in the moonlight. He thought of the fair daughter
who lived there and who had taken such an interest in his welfare. Was
it fact or fancy which showed him a female figure dressed in white
standing by the west bay window? The distance was too great to see
clearly; but perhaps that intercommunication of minds which in later
times we call telepathy was the thing which caused his heart to beat
with a stronger stroke and fired his spirit with greater courage.

Yes, there was a woman's form standing at that window. Viola was
watching for Jasper to pass along. Her white face was pressed against
the window pane, and she strained her eyes to see. Her effort was
rewarded, for she could well perceive the outline of horse and man as
they went along the road. Although Jasper had sent a reply to her note
by Moses, thanking her for her interest in his welfare and telling her
of the conference at the tavern, with a woman's supersensitiveness she
was most anxious as to the result; and as she saw him ride away into
danger, she put her hand to her heart and, raising her eyes to heaven,
prayed most fervently that he might be protected from harm.

Jasper Very proceeded on his way along the country road. Soon he passed
the little schoolhouse on his right, then Bethlehem Church on his left.
Next he crossed the rude bridge spanning the brook, and rode on a half
mile farther. Leaving the large road, he turned to the left, going
northwest through the deep woods toward the base of Bald Knob.

As he neared the spot selected for the attack he heard faint whistles
on both sides of the road which were signals before agreed upon that
his aids were present. Passing along to the place where he knew the
outlaws were concealed, he began singing a camp meeting hymn.

Suddenly the ruffians sprang from the roadside, one seizing his horse's
bridle, who proved to be Bert Danks.

"Good evenin', parson, you uns seem to be in a happy frame of mind, or
air ye singin' to keep yer courage up?" The speaker was Sam Wiles, who
was holding his right boot.

"Much courage is not needed when a man is among friends or cowards, and
you must be one or the other," replied Very.

"We'll show yer what sort of friends we air," spoke up Zibe Turner; "so
jest obleege we uns by gittin' down off'n that 'er hoss, or we'll help
yer down."

"I have an engagement up the knob tonight, and I have not time to tarry
with you now," said the preacher.

"Well, parson, we uns have fixed up a leetle meetin' on our own
account, and there ain't much singin' nor prayin' in it, nuther. I
reckon we'll pay yer back for tryin' to spile our bizness and hurt our
reputations. If you won't come down far (fair), we uns must help yer
off," growled Turner.

"Men, I seem to be in your power, and surely I would rather dismount of
my own accord than be pulled off." With these words Very threw his foot
over Bob's back and lighted on the ground.

Instantly he was surrounded by Wiles, Turner, and two other ruffians.
Bert Danks still held Bob by the bit.

Very looked about him as best he could, and saw a smouldering fire
beneath a large pot. In this pot was a large quantity of tar which had
been somewhat heated to soften it, and close by lay a gunny bag
containing feathers, while still beyond was a long fence rail which had
been taken from a zigzag fence not far away.

"Now, if you'll be so kind, please take off yer preacher's coat and
shirt; and if you find de weather too cold for comfort, we uns will put
on anudder coat which will keep out de air," remarked Wiles.

"A matter of necessity need not be discussed," said the traveler, and
with this remark he pulled off his long clerical outer garment.

Very did this for a double purpose: first, to free himself from
incumbrance when he needed to use his arms; and, secondly, by removing
suspicion of resistance, to take his enemies off their guard.

No sooner had he slipped his coat off than he gave a loud whistle, and
shooting out his right fist with all his strength, struck Wiles
squarely on the jaw and sent him sprawling on the ground several feet
away. This was the beginning of a strenuous fight. The moment his chief
was knocked down Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf, sprang upon Very, and
putting one of his apelike arms around his neck, cried: "Dat's my
holt." With the other arm he began hitting the parson about the head
and body. At the same time the other men were trying to throw him off
his feet. Very, knowing help was near at hand, made almost superhuman
efforts to stand his ground, though he was half suffocated and stunned
by the dwarf's hug and blows.

Very's whistle was answered by a shout down the road, and almost
instantly the forms of five men appeared. The outlaws, though
surprised, were not panic-stricken, and they met the attack of the
constables and preachers with reckless bravery. For a quarter of an
hour things were in a strange mix-up. Wiles, rising from the ground,
was making for Very, when a burly constable hurrying up caught the
outlaw and together they fell squirming, rolling, twisting, fighting
over the ground.

Another officer made a break for Bert Danks. Letting go of Bob's
bridle, he clenched with his man, and they were fighting like two
possessed. Nathaniel Grimes, the great red-headed, raw-boned,
lawyer-preacher, was as good in a fight as in an argument and, striking
one of the ruffians, gave a good account of himself. John Larkin had to
try conclusions with another culprit, and they were at it, give and
take, like the rest. In like manner Nebeker did his part.

The officer of the law who grappled with Sam Wiles was one of the
strongest men in the county and, despite Wiles' prowess and desperate
fighting, the constable soon had him mastered and clapped handcuffs on
him.

In the meantime Jasper Very and the monster dwarf were having an
interesting combat. Turner would not relax his hold upon his adversary
in spite of all he could do. His grip on his throat was like a coil of
the cobra de capello. At first Very was at the mercy of the dwarf; and
if things had gone on this way a little longer serious consequences
would have come to the preacher. Though he was half choked by the
other's arm, Very, summoning all his strength, took hold of his
antagonists's arm and pulled it from his throat. Then, lifting his
enemy in his arms, he threw him with violence from him. Very was not
particular in which direction the ugly man should go nor the spot on
which he should alight. The fates decreed a bitter punishment, for the
dwarf came plump into the pot of warm tar which had been prepared for
the preacher. Turner was wedged in the pot, so that he could not
extricate himself, and meantime the thick fluid beneath was making a
warm acquaintance with his trousers and legs. This unlooked-for
disgrace and undoing of the two leaders brought the pitched battle to a
close. The unknown rascals, having broken away from their antagonists
and seeing the discomfiture of their chiefs, fled up the knob road,
while the three principals, Wiles, Turner, Danks, were taken into
custody.

The scene closes with John Larkin, a broad smile on his face, looking
at the disconsolate Turner and saying: "He digged a pit, and is fallen
into the ditch which he made."




CHAPTER XIV.

Returning Thanks.


The captors of these outlaws were more merciful than the rowdies, for
Nathaniel Grimes went to a farmhouse not far away and borrowed some
clothes to replace those tar-besmeared which Turner had on. When he had
changed his garments the two constables and Nebeker conducted the
prisoners on horseback to the county seat where they were locked up in
jail.

In the meantime Jasper Very, John Larkin, and Nathaniel Grimes mounted
their horses and made their way up Bald Knob to a little meetinghouse
on its top where services were to be held. Very's encounter with the
outlaws had made him late in reaching the church, which caused some
surprise to those who had assembled, for they knew their pastor to be a
very punctual man. However, he thought it best not to mention the cause
of his delay. Simply remarking that he was unavoidably detained, he
began the services.

Early the next morning our three friends started down the knob, Jasper
Very to go to Judge LeMonde's house personally to thank Miss Viola for
her part in helping him to avoid the trap set for him, and Larkin and
Grimes to ride about fifteen miles down the river road to keep an
engagement to preach that night at a small hamlet called Bridgewater.

When Jasper Very dismounted at Judge LeMonde's barn gate, he was met by
Mose Williams, who burst forth with loud and eager words: "Hi! Hi!
Mas'r Very, ah knows dat yo' circumwented dem villians. Yo' don't ketch
dis coon nappin'. I war a-layin' low las' night to see de outcome of
dat amberscade, an' ah seed wid mah own eyes dat yo' won out."

"What did you see, Mose, and how did you see it?" asked the preacher.

"Ah war a-hidin' behin' de upper big post of de barn gate, an' ah hearn
hosses' hoofs beatin' up de road, an' soon de constables cum along wid
de prisoners. Wa'n't dem moonshiners mad, do? Jes' as dey war
'proaching de gate Sam Wiles said: 'Dat cantin' preacher has got me
'rested twice now, but he won't do it ag'in. Ah'll die 'fore ah'll let
him beat me 'n'ur time.' An' den dat monkey, Zibe Turner, fell to
cussin' yo' an' de constables an' de Jedge an' all de ch'ch people
permiscus. He said, ef he knew de rascal what giv' de plot away, he
would skin 'im alive an' hang up his skin in his back yard to skeer
away de ghosts. He swore sich drefful oaths ah was afeered de trees by
de roadside was gwine to fall on 'em. He mad mah blood run col', an' ah
war pow'ful glad he didn't 'spect me."

"Well, Mose, you are safe for the present anyway, for these wicked men
will be tried in court soon, and they will be sent to jail for quite a
while. Now put my horse in a stall, for I am going to make a call at
the big house."

Saying this, Jasper Very handed his bridle to Mose, and also gave him
two bits in silver. He then passed through a second gate and walked
toward the mansion, which was some two hundred yards distant. When he
got near the door, Sport, king of all Judge LeMonde's hunting dogs,
came bounding toward him, loudly barking. This great animal was
dangerous to strangers but, knowing Very, he came up to him and licked
his hand with his red tongue. Very spoke to him and admired his noble
form--his high forehead, intelligent eyes, wide nostrils, deep chest,
long yellow body, slim but muscular legs--then walked on to the front
piazza and rang the doorbell.

While he is waiting there let us take a peep inside. Miss Viola
LeMonde, by a law of mind not yet explained, had a premonition that a
certain clergyman would visit her that morning. So she had a particular
care as to her apparel. She called her faithful maidservant Nora to
bring her a white dress, which had a faint shade of blue mixed with the
white. This gown, which exactly fitted her shapely figure, she put on,
and around her neck and wrists she placed soft and delicate ruching.
Then she went to the flower conservatory and selecting a deep-red
rosebud, placed it against some dark green leaves and pinned it to her
dress. Her hair was formed at the back in a large knot of gold, while
over her beautiful brows it was brushed smooth, giving her a look like
a Madonna.

When Very rang the bell Viola was in the sitting-room to the right of
the hall. Nora opened the door and invited him into the drawing-room at
the left of the hall. With a perversity which no mere man understands,
and we suppose is unaccountable to woman's mind, Viola would not at
once greet the minister, but laid that duty upon her mother. In a
minute or two Madame LeMonde, a stately dame in form and mien, worthy
of the position she occupied, walked into the room and cordially shook
hands with Mr. Very. "I am glad to see you this fine morning, Mr.
Very," she said. "Did you escape the base designs of those wicked men
last night! Viola told me of the plot they had laid to do you harm. I
am sorry that my husband and son were away, that they could not help
you in your need."

"Yes, Mrs. LeMonde, thanks to the timely warning that your good
daughter sent me, I was able to thwart their evil purposes; and at this
moment the ringleaders, Sam Wiles, Zibe Turner, and Harve Davis are in
the county jail. I have called personally to thank your daughter for
her kindness to me. Is she at home this morning?"

"She is, Mr. Very, and if you will excuse me, I will send her into the
room."

By this time Viola had brought her perverse little heart into harmony
with her real wish and, having quieted her nerves by a strong effort of
will, she was ready to heed her mother's summons to enter the
drawing-room. As she stepped across the threshold there was a moment of
embarrassment during which neither spoke; but it was only for a moment,
Jasper Very being too full of gratitude to remain long silent. "Miss
Viola," he said, grasping her hand, "I have come this morning to thank
you for your great kindness in apprising me of Sam Wiles' plot to
injure me. I am under a thousand obligations to you for what you did."

"Do not speak of that, Mr. Very; it was a thing any friend would have
done. But tell me whether or not you escaped from their intentions
without any injury to yourself."

"Yes, thanks to your promptness, I was able to enlist some friends on
my behalf, and with them and some officers of the law we were able to
outwit the ruffians and beat them at their own game." He then laid
before her in detail the events of the past night.

Viola listened with closest attention to the narrative. When Jasper
spoke of being surrounded by the outlaws and their threats, the color
left her cheeks; but when he told how their enemies were overcome and
the ludricrous predicament of Turner as he sat in the pot of tar, a
sigh of relief escaped her lips, which was followed by a hearty laugh.
However, her mood soon changed, and with a serious look coming into her
blue eyes she said: "I am sure those moonshiners are a menace to our
community. They are becoming more and more hardened and reckless. I
fear that they will yet do some of us great injury. They doubtless hate
papa, who has to sentence them to prison, and they are foes of all
order-loving men and women in this region. As to Sam Wiles, I cannot
bear to be near him. His very presence repels and frightens me. When he
looked at me in church last Sunday night, I shuddered. It seemed as
though a venomous snake had put its folds around my neck. Zibe Turner,
called the monster dwarf, seems to me to be almost less than human. He
combines the ferocity of the tiger, the slyness of the fox, and the
shape of a monkey. I am doubly alarmed when he is near."

"This is the natural recoil of virtue away from vice," said Jasper
Very. "God has given to woman an intuitive sense which, without any
long process of reasoning, shows her when a man is bad. It is her
protection against his greater strength. It is the Almighty's gift to
her, and is beyond the value of rubies. If she will use it, she need
never be deceived as to a man's inner character."

"I suppose that is why we women can trust some people from the moment
we see them and are suspicions of others from the very first."

"Undoubtedly it is; and all women should beware of men whose persons,
looks, or acts repel that fine discriminating sense within them. Every
man should ask himself the question: 'Have I sufficient moral integrity
and nobility to pass muster before the eyes of a pure-minded woman!' If
he can say 'Yes' to this, he is to be congratulated."

"I am afraid most men are so self-sufficient that they think the other
sex is blind to their faults, and will tolerate and cling to them
whether or not."

"They may think so when they reflect only lightly; but when they
consider deeply, they know that they can receive the respect of good
women only when they are worthy of it. This should stimulate them to be
knightly in character--pure, true, gentle, kind, brave, thoroughly
good."

"I am glad you have such a high ideal, and trust you will live up to
it. If so, you will be my Sir Knight, to lead me to Uncle Pete's cabin.
His little girl is down with the measles, and I have promised to act as
doctor and nurse for the poor child."

"I will be happy to act as your humble servant on this errand of mercy.
In the meantime I wish to get your consent to go with me in a buggy to
Mount Zion meeting-house next Friday. An all-day meeting is to be held
there, and I am to preach in the morning. I desire the help of your
voice in the singing. We can return in the afternoon. What do you say?"

"If mamma gives permission, I shall gladly go; but let us proceed now
to the quarters, and you shall comfort the soul of the mother while I
try to help the girl's body."




CHAPTER XV.

Cupid's Chariot.


A one-seated buggy is Cupid's most formidable chariot. It beats an
automobile farther than we can say. An automobile is an intricate piece
of machinery and the driver, if he is of the right kind, will exercise
the greatest care. He must look well to his steering, must diligently
examine the road as he passes along to avoid obstructions, ruts and
broken pieces of glass, and especially is it necessary for him to keep
his car from colliding with other machines. This divides his attention
and interferes very much with freedom of conversation, and that mutual
joy which comes from undisturbed companionship.

As to guiding the wheel with one hand and stealing the other around the
waist of a fair companion, if it were allowed by the moral law, it is
prohibited by state regulation. The procedure is often dangerous in
more senses than one.

But riding in a buggy is different. There is just enough attention
required in driving to relieve awkwardness. If a country bumpkin is
seated by his best girl, and can speak only in monosyllables, and those
few and far between, he can at least say to his horse: "Git ep." If his
hands are so big, red and rough that he is ashamed of them, they can by
holding reins and whip pass muster. His cowhide boots, shining with
bear's grease or lard, can be hidden under the buggy robe.

When a young man takes the young lady of his choice for a drive, he
feels a sort of proprietorship in her. He has her company all to
himself. With this sensation comes another of responsibility. He must
protect her from all harm and look well to her comfort. He wraps her up
carefully in the thick robe, which he bought last week at the county
seat, paying a half month's wages for it. He shields her from the least
cold, when perhaps that very morning she has hung out a wash in her
mother's yard with the temperature about zero.

When Friday morning came round Jasper Very came with it. He drove his
faithful Bob, hitched to a new buggy, in front of Judge LeMonde's
imposing mansion.

Presently Viola appeared, her outside wrap being a heavy beaver cloak
which buttoned under her chin and reached nearly to the ground. Upon
her head she wore a hat corresponding in color with her cloak. The
somber hue of the hat was relieved only by a band and knot of blue
ribbon; for in those days feathers and flowers were not allowed.
However, she needed no outside ornament to increase her beauty. Her
cheeks were red as roses as they were touched by the sharp wintry air;
her eyes shone bright and clear with the look of perfect health.

Jasper Very assisted her into the vehicle and jumping in himself
adjusted the heavy lap robe about them both. He spoke to Bob and they
were off. Nora, the servant, with a laugh called after them: "How nice
yo' look riding togedder. 'Pears like yo' made fo' each odder." Viola
shook her hand at the girl, but did not seem much displeased. They went
down a private way to the big gate opening on the county road and, soon
striking the river road, turned to the left in an opposite direction
from that which Larkin and Grimes had taken.

For a while they were a bit embarrassed, for this was the first time
they had ridden in a buggy together. They confined their remarks to the
weather, the bad roads, the Casey old maids (whose house they passed),
the swollen Cumberland River, and other small talk. However, this
constraint soon passed and they began chatting and laughing in a
natural and pleasant way.

"Mr. Very," said Viola, "I want you to tell me about the adventure you
had on a ferry boat, to which John Larkin referred the last time I saw
him."

"That was one of the strangest experiences of my life," replied Jasper.
"A couple of years ago, before coming to this region, some of my
friends wanted me to run for the office of representative to the State
Legislature. I did not much like the idea of ministers being put
forward for political office; but, thinking if elected I might do some
good at Frankfort, I consented to be a candidate. One day on my
electioneering tour I was wanting to cross the river on a ferryboat,
and was passing through some underbrush and woods near the embarking
place when I heard some one say: 'That Jasper Very is a great rascal
and so are all his preacher friends. They will steal horses and do
other mean things. It is a scandal to the county that such a man as
Very should be put up to run for office and the first time I see him I
intend to whip him for his impudence.' This surprised me a little, and
I tried to find another way of reaching the boat without passing these
men; but the underbrush was so thick I had to go that way. I summoned
up all my courage and rode up. There were six men talking together. I
said: 'Gentlemen, who is the man among you who is going to whip Very
the first time he sees him?' The man who had made the threat spoke out
and said: 'I am the lark that's going to thrash him well.' Said I:
'Very is known to be much of a man, and it will take a man to whip him,
mind you.' 'O no,' said he, 'I can whip any such preacher the Lord ever
made!' 'Well, sir,' said I, 'you cannot do it. My name is Very and, as
I never like to live in dread, if you really intend to whip me, come
and do it now.' He looked confused, and said: 'Oh, you can't fool me
that way. You are not Very.' 'Well,' said I, 'that is my name, and now
is your time. If you must whip me do it now.' He said: 'No, no, you are
not Very at all; you only want to fool me.' By this time we had got
into the boat and he began again cursing Very. I said to a gentleman:
'Please hold my horse,' and stepping up to the cursing disciple said
sternly to him: 'Now sir, you have to whip me as you threatened or quit
cursing me, or I will put you in the river and baptize you in the name
of the devil, for you surely belong to him.' This settled him and,
strange to say, when election day came he voted for me, and has been my
friend ever since."

"I am glad he learned such a needed and salutary lesson," said Viola.
"I have heard my father say that a braggart is generally a coward. My
mind commends your course, Mr. Very, of walking boldly up to danger and
daring it to do its worst; but my woman's heart shrinks from the
presence of peril."

"Merely to think upon danger makes you and most women timid; but when
the reality comes I believe your sex is as brave as mine. In many
encounters with rough and wicked men in the wilderness I have found
that a bold front is the best way to avoid evils which threaten. A
brave word, backed by a good cause, often disarms an adversary."

Thus with anecdote, comment, and talk of church work they rode along,
their acquaintanceship increasing, and each, scarcely conscious of the
act, looking into each other's heart to find there its thoughts and
feelings.

When they had approached within a half mile of Shiloh meeting house,
their destination, Jasper said: "Miss Viola, you remember I requested
you to sing at this coming service. Perhaps you expected to join your
voice only with that of the congregation, but I want you to favor us
with a solo before I rise to preach. It will be something new at
Shiloh, but all the more impressive for that. The other evening I heard
you sing in your drawing-room that inspiring hymn:

    'Lo! he comes with clouds descending,
    Once for favored sinners slain.'

"Now I am to preach this morning on 'Christ's Second Coming,' and the
hymn will be a good introduction to the sermon. Will you agree to sing
it?"

He looked down into her eyes to see if he could find consent in them.
She did not answer immediately, but seemed to be in deep thought.
Finally she looked up into his face, and there was a trace of tears in
her blue eyes as she said: "Mr. Very, I have never stood alone before
the public and sung. It would be a great trial for me to do so today;
but if by singing I can glorify my Master by helping some poor soul to
a better life, and if I can be of any aid to you, I will do the best I
can."

"Thank you, Viola (somehow he forgot to use the 'Miss'), and I am sure
God's Holy Spirit will use your voice to benefit many this day."

Soon they reached Shiloh meeting house, and were welcomed by John
Larkin and Nathaniel Grimes who had finished their meeting at
Bridgewater and had come to this all-day gathering. In fact, Larkin was
in charge of it.

As usual, on such occasions many horses were hitched to trees and
saplings, a large number of the people having come long distances.

At ten o'clock the great service of the morning began. The church was
filled with an expectant crowd, for it was generally known that Jasper
Very was to preach. Jasper and several other ministers were seated on a
long bench back of the pulpit. The preliminary exercises were over and
all were looking for the speaker to begin his sermon, when Jasper Very
arose and quietly said: "Friends, Miss Viola LeMonde has kindly
consented to sing a solo at this time." Many eyes were at once turned
to the young lady, who was sitting to the right of the pulpit. Her
beautiful face flushed a little with their scrutiny; but she at once
arose and walking in front of the wooden table which answered for a
pulpit, without any help from organ or piano (the room having no such
instrument) she began singing that stirring hymn:

    "Lo! he comes with clouds descending."

As she proceeded with the song all timidity left her and she became
possessed with the sentiment of the piece. When she sang

    "Every eye shall now behold him
    Clothed in glorious majesty,"

she raised her own eyes toward heaven, as though she saw the Son of man
seated at the right hand of God's throne. A feeling of awe mingled with
joy seized the people, and they also looked upward, drawn by the rapt
gaze of the singer.

Her face looked like that of an angel as, transported with her theme,
she sang in a pure soprano voice:

    "Yea, amen! let all adore thee,
    High on thy eternal throne;
    Savior, take the power and glory,
    Claim the kingdom for thine own:
    Jah! Jehovah!
    Everlasting God, come down."

As she called upon the God of heaven to descend upon that company she
lifted her hand toward the low and humble roof, and with her eyes still
gazing up she seemed to see the Son of man coming in his glory on the
clouds of power. The effect was marvellous. Many people were in tears.
Some sighed deeply as though for relief while others, raising their
arms above their heads, shouted the praises of God.

When Viola took her seat Jasper Very arose in his place and stood
looking over his congregation for some moments in silence. He did not
wish to destroy the effects of the song--and wanted to give the people
time to quiet their aroused feelings. He then proceeded with his
discourse on our Lord's second appearing, but though he preached in his
usual masterly way and held the attention of his audience throughout
the tide of feeling did not rise as high as when Viola sang. He was
willing that she should bear the honors of the occasion. That singing
was long remembered and passed into tradition among the people.




CHAPTER XVI.

Horse Thieves.


Springtime in Kentucky. One wants a new language to express its charms.
Winter's shadows fly away. Clouds that looked dark, heavy, and
threatening are followed by rosy sunsets and luminous peaks in the sky
which appear like mountains standing round about the New Jerusalem. A
warm breath of nature starts from the spicy islands south of the great
Gulf, crosses it, then sweeps along Mississippi's mighty valley to the
"happy hunting ground," bearing in its soft embrace birds of many
wing--robin, bluebird, thrush, and sparrow. This breath melts the icy
fetters of the streams, and they sing a sweet song of welcome. It
enfolds the trees, and they put forth millions of little green ears to
hear what the streams are saying. It fondly caresses the flower bushes,
and they swell almost to bursting with reviving beauty. Like the green
bush which Moses saw aflame with holy fire, every branch and twig shows
the mystic presence of nature's God.

While birds with brightened plumage sing as though their lives would
escape through their throats; while lambs, calves, and colts gambol in
the pasture, filled with the happiness of young life; while fish rush
upstream like flashes of silver light and the very trees clap their
hands in praise, it is not conceivable that man, God's masterpiece,
should be insensible to this season of the year. A sudden thrill like
an electric current passes through his being; a subtle exhilaration, as
when a man is filled with wine, possesses him, and he is in touch with
the new life, whether he goes afield with team or plow or hunts the
forest for the increasing game.

It was a day in early April. All the planters were busy in their
fields, either laboring with their own hands or superintending the toil
of their slaves. The negroes--those jocund children of nature--with
happy faces and plantation melodies on their lips, were preparing the
ground for its grain and tobacco seed. Judge LeMonde himself was in a
rich field between his house and the river giving directions to his
chief overseer. In the front garden, between the house and pine trees,
could be seen Madam and Viola LeMonde and Mose and Nora all busy
putting flower beds in order. Mose was digging the ground, Nora was
using a light rake, and the white women were putting in some flower
seeds.

While such peaceful work was being done in the river bottom, another
scene was taking place at Simon Wiles' hillside farm. Though the season
and weather called to earnest effort, we see Sam Wiles and Zibe Turner,
the monster dwarf, seated on a big log behind the barn. Let us listen
to what they are saying:

    _Wiles_: "De ol' Jedge guv us a term in de jug (jail), an' I'm sure
    goin' to git even wuth him an' dat preacher too."

    _Turner_: "I'll be wuth you in ary scrape you want to git up, but
    we uns must be keerful not to be ketched ag'in."

    _Wiles_: "Cordin' to my thinkin', each month we'uns war in de jug
    is wurth de price of a hoss."

    _Turner_: "That's yer game, is it? Well, 'tain't de fust time
    we'uns hev borrowed a hoss an' fergot to return 'im, but we'uns
    never struck so high up as de Jedge's stock. What hosses air you
    thinkin' on?"

    _Wiles_: "What ones do you suppose? De best ones, o' course. We'uns
    must take Velox for de money he will bring in Paducky, an' I want
    to bring down de pride o' dat young upstart, George LeMonde. We'uns
    both owed 'im a grudge sence he beat you in de race an' won what
    leetle money we'uns had. De nex' best hoss in de barn is Dolly, an'
    we'll take her 'long to keep de bay compney."

    _Turner_: "Dat suits me all right; but I want to ride Velox, 'cause
    he went past me in de race. Won't I make 'im trabble, do, down de
    ribber road! Dat's my holt."

    _Wiles_: "We'uns must wait till we git a good night. De moon is
    full now, an' de light is too bright. Four nights from now it will
    rise purty late, an' den we'll proceed to bizness. We'uns want a
    leetle light to show us how to git in de bawn an' move 'round. I
    hear dad callin' me to go plowin', so we'uns must be goin'. Dis is
    Friday. Come to de house tomorrer evenin', an' we'uns'll settle de
    partic'lars."

The two men parted, Sam Wiles to help his father to prepare to plant
their small crop of corn, wheat and tobacco, and Zibe Turner, with the
cunning of a fox and the look of a savage bear, to slink through the
backwoods to his mother's little cabin some miles distant.

Monday night was a time just suited to their designs. They had to act
very cautiously for horse stealing at that time in Kentucky was
considered almost the greatest crime in the catalogue, and woe betide
any horse thief who was caught and found guilty! There was little
danger of the "law's delay" in his case, for a rope and a limb of a
tree prevented all court expenses.

By a small bridge near Franklin Schoolhouse Sam Wiles met by
appointment Zibe Turner and the two walked along the road, having
little fear of being seen as it was near midnight. They soon reached
Judge LeMonde's barn lot and now had to use the utmost caution not to
arouse the great dog Sport or any of his satellites. By degrees they
pushed open the heavy gate. Then they went to the barn door through
which the horses were led to their stalls. It was fastened, but with a
common lock. Wiles had brought a bunch of keys for just such an
emergency, and after trying two or three found one which fitted the
lock. In a moment they were inside the great barn. A long row of stalls
was just before them. They carefully closed the door and Wiles, taking
a flint and steel and some tinder from his pocket, struck out a spark
which ignited the tinder. He then applied a long brimstone match to the
tinder, and at once the match was ablaze. They soon found in which
stalls were the horses they wanted, Velox being in the first stall and
Dolly in the third. Back of the horses were pegs upon which hung
harnesses. Wiles quickly unbuckled Dolly's halter and put a riding
bridle on her. He then selected a fine saddle and placed it upon her
back. Turner did the same for Velox. They then reopened the barn door,
and Turner led Velox into the yard. Wiles at once followed with Dolly.
To prevent all suspicion they closed the barn door but left it
unlocked. It seemed as though they would get away without arousing man
or dog; but just as they were leading the horses through the barn gate
Velox, perhaps incensed at being taken from his stall at that unseemly
hour and leaving his mates, gave a loud neigh.

This sound was heard by Sport who was sleeping in a coach house at the
rear of the mansion six hundred feet away. At once the faithful animal,
suspecting something was wrong, set up a great barking, and was
instantly joined by a group of dogs which were with him. The thieves,
being afraid that the barking would arouse the plantation, jumped into
their saddles and rode quietly along the county road till they reached
the river road a quarter of a mile beyond. Here they stopped to observe
if anything would happen at the house.

Now the acute ears of the dogs had heard the hoofbeats of the horses in
the still night, and they continued to emit a chorus of barks. At last
their noise awoke Judge LeMonde, who was dreaming that twenty lawyers
were all pleading a case at once. Thinking something unusual was the
matter, he arose and dressed and called up George, his son. Together
they went out to the carriage house and tried to quiet the dogs, but
they continued barking. The men could find nothing out of place. But
the judge, being somewhat uneasy, said to his son: "Let us go down to
the barn and see whether or not the horses are all right."

So they started down the road, past the negro cabins (all the slaves
being sound asleep), and on to the barn. They went into the barn, and
soon discovered the absence of the horses. The judge was a man of
decision and courage. He said: "George, thieves have broken into the
barn and stolen our two best horses. I do not believe they have been
gone long. Run instantly and arouse Mose and some of the other slaves.
Tell your mother what has happened, and say that we are going at once
to follow the thieves. While you are gone I will get out Prince, Clay
and Bess, and we will go after the villains."

George ran to do his father's bidding, and soon most of the whites and
slaves on the place were informed of the theft, and were wild with
excitement as a result.

In the meantime Wiles and Turner saw the lights in the house and were
sure their deed was discovered. It was too late to return the horses to
the barn, and they decided to carry out their first intention and ride
them as rapidly as possible twenty-five miles down the river road, and
there deliver them to a confederate, who would smuggle them to a horse
dealer in Paducah. They put spurs to their horses and the noble brutes
started down the river road at a fast gait. At the beginning the
thieves had every advantage. They were mounted upon Judge LeMonde's
fastest horses, and they had several minutes' start of their pursuers.
So that they were more than a mile down the river road when the chase
began.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed Zibe Turner, "I 'spects I'm ahead in dis race. De
time befo' Velox passed me; but now I'm ridin' him, an' I'd like to see
de debil hisself overtake me."

"We'uns air safe," said Wiles, "but we'uns must hold back our hosses
sum, for we uns hev a good jaunt to take, an' it won't do to tire 'em
out at fust."

Both acted at once on this sensible advice, and they brought the ready
animals down to a moderate trot. It was now a little past midnight, and
not a soul was to be seen on the road. A light breeze blew softly from
the south, shaking the tiny forest leaves and blowing across the fields
to welcome the coming footsteps of another day.

Though these bad men boasted to each other that they had the winning
hand, there was some uneasiness in their hearts. They knew that this
was the highest stake they had ever played; they were striking at the
chief man of the county, and had stolen the best horses on his
plantation. Should the heavy hand of justice smite them, it would be a
stunning blow. The voice of conscience was not utterly dead, and it
aroused fears in their hearts that they were not willing to acknowledge
even to themselves; but, like many other desperate men, their very
alarm occasioned a fiercer determination to show a bold front.

About two o'clock that morning honest David Hester, who lived about
fifteen miles distant from Judge LeMonde, was awakened from his deep
sleep by a pounding in his barn, which stood not far from his house.
Honest David knew at once what was the matter,--his horse Jim was
kicking in his stall. This valuable beast had a habit at irregular
intervals of kicking and pawing in the barn. Once or twice his restless
feeling had made him use his legs so vigorously that he was thrown in
his stall; and if his owner had not come to his help, he might have
been fatally hurt. This night Jim's knocking was specially violent.
Farmer Hester at last arose and went to the barn to quiet the restless
creature. Speaking kindly to him, he turned him into a box stall and
returned to the house.

Just as he was entering the rear door he heard the sound of horses'
hoofs some distance up the river road. His curiosity aroused, he
decided to see who the early travelers were. He walked to the front
yard and stood under a large lilac bush which was already covered
thickly with leaves.

The horsemen came on quickly. The moonlight was not sufficiently clear
for David to see distinctly; but he noticed that the rider nearer him
was a short man mounted on a dark horse, and that the other was a
larger man riding a lighter-colored horse having a white spot in its
forehead. David did not recognize either the men or horses, but the
suspicion flashed across his mind that the lighter-colored horse was
Judge LeMonde's Dolly. However, he was not sure, and in a moment the
men had ridden by.

Honest David returned to his house and bed. It proved, however, to be a
night of interruptions, for he had hardly gotten between the sheets and
fallen into a sound slumber before there came a loud knocking at the
front door. David--and in fact his whole household--was aroused
thereby, and hastening to the window, he tried to learn what was the
matter. He saw in the yard below three men standing by three horses and
heard the quick and eager words of Judge LeMonde: "Hurry, Friend David,
and come to our help. My barn was broken into about midnight and my
horses Velox and Dolly stolen from it. We are almost sure the thieves
headed this way down the river, for where the county road meets the
river road we examined the hoofprints as best we could, and decided the
horses turned this way."

"Yes, Judge, I'll help you all I can, and will be down in a hurry."
Honest Hester left the window and was soon down in the yard, followed
presently by his sons, wife and daughter Henrietta, all greatly excited
by the news.

Judge LeMonde continued: "We three have ridden our horses very hard,
and cannot hope to overtake the thieves without fresh animals. They
were careful to take my best blooded stock, and had considerable start
of us. Will you kindly favor us with the loan of some of your horses?
With them I think we may overtake the rascals."

"That I will, Judge," said Hester, "and my boys and I will go along to
help capture the rogues. I am sure you are on the right track, for half
an hour ago I saw two men riding past on horseback, and I suspicioned
one horse was your Dolly, for it had a white star in its forehead, but
I was not dead sure."

The men now hurried to the barn, and Jim was taken out to do something
besides pawing in his stall. Other horses were brought out and soon
seven men vaulted into saddles,--Judge LeMonde, his son George, his
servant Mose, David Hester and three of his stalwart sons. One son
remained behind to care for the three horses, which were covered with
mud, foam, sweat, and were badly winded.

Though in such haste, Judge LeMonde could not forget his duty to the
ladies. He apologized for so rudely disturbing their slumbers, and
thanked them for their interest and sympathy in his undertaking. They
lifted their hats and were away down the road. Madam Hester and her
daughter waved them adieu, watching the riders as far as they could in
the dim light.

As they were passing through the hamlet of Bridgewater Mose saluted his
master by lifting his hand to his wooly head (in the hurry of starting
he had not thought of his hat), and said: "Mas'r LeMonde. I 'spect we
mus' ride like de win' in dis stretch ob de race; fer I had hearn der
is a byroad ten miles furder on which leads inter a mighty wild place
wid many windin' paths; an' ef de tiefs gets dar, dey'll sho' give us
de slip."

David Hester, having traveled this road before, corroborated the
negro's words.

Judge LeMonde replied: "The advice Mose gives is very good, so we must
travel with utmost speed, for we must make every effort to capture the
scoundrels."

With this they all gave rein to their horses and made rapid progress
down the road. The men were so intent on watching the road and guiding
their horses that few words were spoken as they went along.

Those who are acquainted with the river road below Bridgewater will
remember that the knobs come very near to the river and the road runs
close to the foot of the hills. Hence there is not much chance for a
horseman to escape from his pursuers except by outriding them.

Sam Wiles and Zibe Turner had come within three miles of the place of
which Mose had spoken. They were congratulating themselves on their
good fortune, when the quick ears of Turner heard the sounds of horses'
hoofs some distance in the rear. "Pard," he said, "hear dat? Da air on
our track, sure as shootin', an' by de sound I know der is sev'ral on
'em."

"What can we do?" asked Wiles. "De knobs air too steep to climb, for
der ain't no roads about here, an' de ribber is near us on de left. Our
only chance is to reach de forks of de road 'fore dey can overtake us.
But Dolly is purty well played out. Der ain't much go in her. How is
Velox standin' it?"

"My hoss shows his blood an' trainin'," said Turner. "He's all in a
sweat an' lather an' he breathes fast, but I tink he's good for de
distance. You'uns must gib Dolly mo' whip and spur. Better to kill her
dan to be tuk."

Wiles thought the monster dwarf's words sensible, and he drove the
cruel spurs into poor Dolly's sides without mercy and lashed her with
the whip. The gallant mare responded with increased speed. But it was
like the flicker of a candle almost consumed.

Just at this time, the morning now beginning to break, the thieves were
discovered by their pursuers, who, thus encouraged, sent up a shout
together and urged their horses to greater speed. The animals, still
comparatively fresh, increased their gait and gained rapidly upon those
ahead. It was now a desperate race. Horseflesh was not considered by
either party,--only a wild desire to escape by one and a determination
to bring the outlaws to justice by the other.

Strange to say, the dwarf became the leader in this terrible emergency,
perhaps because he felt there was yet considerable reserve power in his
mount, Velox. "Hang to her a leetle longer, Sam," he cried. "One
quarter mile mo', an' we can shake 'em off. Speak to Dolly, gib her her
head, an' spur her in a fresh place."

This Wiles did. "Go it, Dolly! Good girl! Show 'em your heels! A few
rods mo'."

But it was no use. The limit of her strength was reached. Her breath
came in gasps, her flanks trembled, she began staggering as she ran,
and when within a hundred feet of the turn she fell head foremost,
throwing her rider to the ground and falling heavily on her side.

Even in this predicament the monster dwarf did not lose his nerve; he
halted Velox a second and said to his chief: "I'll git away on Velox
an' cum to yer help ef I can. Keep a stiff upper lip. Nevah say die.
Dat's my holt. Good-by."

With this he again drove the spurs into Velox's side, and was off. It
was time, for his pursuers were shouting, "Halt! Halt!" and then the
sharp crack of rifles was heard, and balls went whizzing by Turner's
head. But he was soon at the turn, and with one wild yell of mingled
triumph and hate he turned to the right, plunged into the thick woods,
and was lost to sight. He had escaped.

In the meantime Sam Wiles, half dazed by his fall, was still lying on
the ground when the Judge and his men rode up. Quickly the Judge said
to Hester: "You hold Wiles and I will attend to Dolly."

They all dismounted and Hester did as requested. The Judge, George, and
Mose drew near to faithful Dolly, and the Judge knelt down and took her
head in his lap and spoke to her in soothing tones. He asked for water
for her and George ran for some, but it was too late. Her eyes were
already becoming glazed in death; but she gazed up into her owner's
face with a look of recognition. Then a shiver went through her frame,
she closed her eyes, and ceased to breathe.

The Judge and George wept, and were not ashamed to show their tears;
while Mose, who had always cared for the horse, sobbed aloud in his
grief, and on a sudden impulse of anger administered a kick to
prostrate Wiles, the "po' white trash," who had killed Mas'r's hoss.

Judge LeMonde gave directions for Mose to bury Dolly's body in a decent
manner, and then the rest prepared to return to their homes.




CHAPTER XVII.

Lynch Law or the Gospel.


Wiles, the captive horse thief, was given Mose's horse to ride and,
closely guarded by the six men, they all retraced their journey up the
river road. Wiles was sullen and morose, having little to say. His look
was that of a guilty and disappointed man, yet he carried a don't care,
half defiant air which was more assumed than real.

Bad news travels fast. The very atmosphere seems to tear it from house
to house. Farmers had begun to pass along the road in their wagons;
they heard and spread the account of the horse-stealing. It flashed
through the hamlet of Bridgewater with incredible rapidity. As men
heard the reports they became wildly excited and grimly determined to
punish the thieves if caught. Some, by nature more excitable than
others, left their work and rode down the road to aid as best they
could in the pursuit. These met the party as it was returning, and
swelled their number. They were not backward in expressing their
opinions of the culprit as they cast black and angry looks upon him.

These people of the "bottoms" were of a higher class than the "poor
whites" who abode in the hills. They lived in far better houses, they
had better school and church privileges, and their sense of moral
values was keener than the others. While as a rule they were not
experts in grammar and rhetoric, their language was much superior to
that heard in the back districts.

"Lynch him," "Fill his carcass with bullets," "String him up high as
Haman," "He's been in many scrapes like this; now we've caught him,
let's make short work of him," "Hanging is too good for him; he ought
to be skinned alive,"--such were some of the expressions which saluted
Wiles' ears, and they did not serve to make his nerves any more quiet.

When the men reached Bridgewater the morning was well advanced and they
were met by a considerable company from the village and surrounding
plantations. There were a few women among the crowd and a few children.
Any one looking upon that gathering could see that they threatened
vengeance. Hiram Sanders, the herculean blacksmith, was their leader.
This was the blacksmith who was a terror to all wrestlers, and who was
never whipped except once, and then by Jasper Very. When Jasper came
into those parts Sanders said: "I've licked all the preachers who have
come around here and I intend to lick this one." The two met on
horseback, dismounted, and began their bout. The blacksmith had found
his match and Very with a desperate effort threw the fellow over an
adjoining fence. Sanders' pride and fighting spirit were both broken,
and he humbly said: "If you please, Mr. Preacher, will you be so kind
as to throw my horse over the fence too?" His defeat put Sanders on
good terms with Very and now they were close friends.

As the men guarding Wiles entered Bridgewater they were met and stopped
by the crowd which had gathered. The mighty blacksmith walked up to
Judge LeMonde and, addressing him in a respectful manner said: "Judge,
we have heard about this bad scrape; but we want to know the straight
of it, and you will obleege us by telling it from first to last!"

Judge LeMonde stated the facts in a clear and simple manner. As he
proceeded with his account the feelings of the crowd became more and
more aroused; and when he closed with a description of Dolly's death a
general cry of denunciation was raised.

Then up spoke Sanders to the people: "Friends and feller citizens, this
is a case which needs keerful thought and treatment. It is a case which
only men should decide, and I ask that all the women and children go
back home and all the men of this company adjourn to the bridge over
Honey Crick near by, that we can quietly give this matter all the
attention it requires."

His request was heeded and soon some thirty or forty men were on the
bridge, with Wiles seated on a log which had been placed in the middle
of the structure. The men disposed themselves in any way they saw fit,
some leaning against the bridge railing, others sitting on the floor
with their legs hanging over the water, and others bringing logs or
sticks upon which to sit.

As this was likely to be mob law Sanders, and not Judge LeMonde, was
elected chairman and the deliberations commenced at once. Sanders said:
"Men, what have you got to say ag'inst the prisoner! Let any one speak
that wants to."

William Hester, honest David Hester's oldest son, was the first to
respond: "We on the river bottom have endured this Wiles crowd a good
while. We know they are a curse to this section. They steal our hosses
and whatever they can lay their hands on. They make 'licit whisky in
the hills and knobs. They are lazy and shiftless, and no count in
general. They scare our women, and are a nuisance and pest all around.
I say we oughter make an example of Wiles, the ringleader of the gang,
and put him out of the way of killing any more hosses by making him
stretch a rope from this bridge."

"You have listened to what Bill Hester has said. Has any other
gentleman any remarks to make?" asked their chairman.

Abner Hunt, a fiery little man, whose plantation joined that of David
Hester, spoke in rapid tones, emphasizing his words with vigorous
gesticulations: "I fully agree with what Bill has said. Most all the
people living on these here bottom

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