Through the Mountains and the Night.
God sits upon the Throne of Kings, And Judges unto judgement brings:
Why then so long Maintain your wrong, And favor lawlesss things?
Defend the poor, the fatherless;
Their crying injuries redress:
And vindicate The desolate, Whom wicked men oppress.
--George Sandy's Paraphrase of Psalm XXXII.
Fortner and Glen were soon so far away from the Ford that the only reminder of its neighborhood were occasional glimpses, caught through rifts in he forest, of the lofty slope of Rockcastle Mountain, now outlined in the gathering darkness by twinkling fires, which increased in number, and climbed higher towards the clouds as fast as the fugitives succeeded in struggling across the river.
"That's a wonderful sight," said Harry, as they paused on a summit to rest and catch breath."It reminds me of some of the war scenes in Scott, or the Illiad.""Hit looks ter me like a gineral coon-hunt," said Fortner, "on'y over thar hit's the coons, an' not the hunters, that hev the torches.
I wish I could put a bum-shell inter every fire.""You are merciless."
"No more'n they are.They've ez little marcy ez a pack o' wolves in a sheep-pen.""Well," continued Fortner, meditatively, "Ole Rockassel's gittin'
a glut to-night.She'd orten't ter need no more now fur a hundred yeahs.""I don't understand you," said Harry.
"Why, they say thet the Rockassel hez ter hev a man every Spring an' Fall.The Injuns believed hit, an' hit's bin so ever sence the white folks come inter the country.Last Spring hit war the turn o' the Fortner kin to gi'n her a man, an' she levied on a fust cousin o' mine--a son o' Aunt Debby Brill.But less jog on; we've got a good piece fur ter go."It was now night--black and starless, and the dense woods through which they were traveling made the darkness thick and impenetrable.
But no check in Fortner's speed hinted at any ignorance of the course or encountering of obstacles.He continued to stride forward with the same swift, certain step as in the day time.But for Harry, who could see nothing but his leader's head and shoulders, and, whose every effort was required to keep these in sight, the journey was full of painful toil.The relaxation from the intense strain manifested itself in proportion as they seemed to recede from the presence of the enemy, and his spirits flagged continually.
In the daylight the brush and briers had been annoying and hurtful, and the roughness of the way very trying.Now the one was wounding and cruel; the other made every step with his jaded limbs a torture.
With the low spirits engendered by the great fatigue, came a return of the old fears and tremors.The continual wails of the wildcats roundabout filled him with gloomy forebodings.Every hair of his head stood stiffly up in mortal terror when a huge catamount, screaming like a fiend, leaped down from a tree, and confronted them for an instant with hideously-gleaming yellow eyes.
"Cuss-an'-burn the nasty varmint!" said Fortner angrily, snatching up a pine knot from his feet and flinging it at the beast, which vanished into the darkness with another curdling scream.
"Don't that man know what fear is?" wondered Harry, ignorant that the true mountaineer feels toward these vociferous felidae about the same contempt with which a plainsman regards a coyote.
At length Fortner slackened his pace, and began to move with caution.
"Are we coming upon the enemy again?" asked Harry, in a loud whisper, which had yet a perceptible quaver in it.
"No," answered Fortner, "but we're a-comin' ter what is every bit an' grain ez dangersome.Heah's whar the path winds round Blacksnake Clift, an' ye'll hev ter be ez keeful o' your footin' ez ef ye war treadin' the slippery ways o' sin.The path's no wider 'n a hoss's back, an' no better ter walk on.On the right hand side hit's several rods down ter whar the creek's tearin' 'long like a mad dog.Heah hit now, can't ye?"For some time the roar of the torrent sweeping the gorge had filled Harry's ears.
"Ye want ter walk slow," continued Fortner, "an' feel keefully with yer foot every time afore ye sot hit squar'ly down.Keep yer left hand a-feelin' the rocks above yer, so's ter make shore all the time thet ye're close ter 'em.'Bout half way, thar's a big break in the path.Hit's jess a long step acrost hit.Take one step arter I say thet I'm acrost; the feel keerfully with yer left foot fur the aidge o' the break, an' then step out ez long ez ye kin with yer right.That'll bring ye over.Be shore o' yer feet, an ye'll be all right."Harry trembled more than at any time before.They were already on the path around the steep cliff.The darkness was inky.The roar of the waters below rose loudly--angrily.The wails of the wildcats behind, overhead and in front of them, made it seem as if the sighing pines and cedars were inhabited with lost spirits shrieking warnings of impending disaster.
Harry's foot came down upon a boulder which turned under his weight.
He regained his balance with a start, but the stone toppled over.
He listened.There were scores of heart-beats before it splashed in the water below.
"Not so much as a twig between here and eternity," he said to himself, with a shudder.Then aloud: "Can't we stay here, some place, and not go along there to-night?"The roar of the water drowned his voice before it reached Fortner's ears, and Harry, obeying the instinct to accept leadership, followed the mountaineer tremblingly.
In a little while he felt--more than saw--Fortner stop, adjust his feet, and make a long stride forward with one of them.Glen collected himself for the same effort.He had need of all of his resolution, for the many narrow escapes which he had made from slipping into the hungry torrent, had shaken every nerve.
"I'm over," called out Fortner."Ye try hit now."Harry balanced his gun so as to embarrass him the least, and carefully felt with his left foot for the edge of the chasm.The catamount announced his renewed presence by a vindictive scream.
