Part 3

Morton led old Blaze up to the stile and helped his mother to mount, gallantly put her foot in the stirrup, arranged her long riding-skirt, and then mounted his own mare. Dolly sprang forward prancing and dashing, and chafing against the bit in a way highly pleasing to Morton, who thought that going to meeting would be a dull affair, if it were not for the fun of letting Dolly know who was her master. The ride to church was a long one, for there had never been preaching nearer to the Hissawachee settlement than ten miles away. Morton found the sermon rather more interesting than usual. There still lingered in the West at this time the remains of the controversy between "Old-side" and "New-side" Presbyterians, that dated its origin before the Revolution. Parson Donaldson belonged to the Old side. With square, combative face, and hard, combative voice, he made war upon the laxity of New-side Presbyterians, and the grievous heresies of the Arminians, and in particular upon the exciting meetings of the Methodists. The great Cane Ridge Camp-meeting was yet fresh in the memories of the people, and for the hundredth time Mr. Donaldson inveighed against the Presbyterian ministers who had originated this first of camp-meetings, and set agoing the wild excitements now fostered by the Methodists. He said that Presbyterians who had anything to do with this fanaticism were led astray of the devil, and the Synod did right in driving some of them out. As for Methodists, they denied "the Decrees." What was that but a denial of salvation by grace? And this involved the overthrow of the great Protestant doctrine of Justification by Faith. This is rather the mental process by which the parson landed himself at his conclusions, than his way of stating them to his hearers. In preaching, he did not find it necessary to say that a denial of the decrees logically involved the rest. He translated his conclusions into a statement of fact, and boldly asserted that these crazy, illiterate, noisy, vagabond circuit riders were traitors to Protestantism, denying the doctrine of Justification, and teaching salvation by the merit of works. There were many divines, on both sides, in that day who thought zeal for their creed justified any amount of unfairness. (But all that is past!)

Morton's combativeness was greatly tickled by this discourse, and when they were again in the saddle to ride the ten miles home, he assured his mother that he wouldn't mind coming to meeting often, rain or shine, if the preacher would only pitch into somebody every time. He thought it wouldn't be hard to be good, if a body could only have something bad to fight. "Don't you remember, mother, how you used to read to me out of that old "Pilgrim's Progress," and show me the picture of Christian thrashing Apollyon till his hide wouldn't hold shucks? If I could fight the devil that way, I wouldn't mind being a Christian."

Morton felt especially pleased with the minister to-day, for Mr. Donaldson delighted to have the young men come so far to meeting; and imagining that he might be in a "hopeful state of mind," had hospitably urged Morton and his mother to take some refreshment before starting on their homeward journey. It is barely possible that the stimulus of the good parson's cherry-bounce had quite as much to do with Morton's valiant impulses as the stirring effect of his discourse.

_CHAPTER IV._

A BATTLE.

The fight so much desired by Morton came soon enough.

As he and his mother rode home by a "near cut," little traveled, Morton found time to master Dolly's fiery spirit and yet to scan the woods with the habitual searching glance of a hunter. He observed on one of the trees a notice posted. A notice put up in this out-of-the-way place surprised him. He endeavored to make his restless steed approach the tree, that he might read, but her wild Arabian temper took fright at something--a blooded horse is apt to see visions--and she would not stand near the tree. Time after time Morton drove her forward, but she as often shied away. At last, Mrs. Goodwin begged him to give over the attempt and come on; but Morton's love of mastery was now excited, and he said,

"Ride on, mother, if you want to; this question between Dolly and me will have to be discussed and settled right here. Either she will stand still by this sugar-tree, or we will fight away till one or t'other lays down to rest."

The mother contented herself with letting old Blaze browse by the road-side, and with shaping her thoughts into a formal regret that Morton should spend the holy Sabbath in such fashion; but in her maternal heart she admired his will and courage. He was so like her own father, she thought--such a gentleman! And she could not but hope that he was one of God's elect. If so, what a fine Christian he would be when he should be converted! And, quiet as she was without, her heart was in a moment filled with agony and prayer and questionings. How could she live in heaven without Morton? Her eldest son had already died a violent death in prodigal wanderings from home. But Morton would surely be saved!

Morton, for his part, cared at the moment far less for anything in heaven than he did to master the rebellious Dolly. He rode her all round the tree; he circled that maple, first in one direction, then in another, until the mare was so dizzy she could hardly see. Then he held her while he read the notice, saying with exultation, "Now, my lady, do you think you can stand still?"

Beyond a momentary impulse of idle curiosity, Morton had not cared to know the contents of the paper. Even curiosity had been forgotten in his combat with Dolly. But as soon as he saw the signature, "Enoch Lumsden, administrator of the estate of Hezekiah Lumsden, deceased," he forgot his victory over his horse in his interest in the document itself. It was therein set forth that, by order of the probate court in and for the county aforesaid, the said Enoch Lumsden, administrator, would sell at public auction all that parcel of land belonging to the estate of the said Hezekiah Lumsden, deceased, known and described as follows, to wit, namely, etc., etc.

"By thunder!" broke out Morton, angrily, as he rode away (I am afraid he swore by thunder instead of by something else, out of a filial regard for his mother). "By thunder! if that ain't too devilish mean! I s'pose 'tain't enough for Captain Lumsden to mistreat little Kike--he has gone to robbing him. He means to buy that land himself; or, what's the same thing, git somebody to do it for him. That's what he put that notice in this holler fer. The judge is afraid of him; and so's everybody else. Poor Kike won't have a dollar when he's a man."

"Somebody ought to take Kike's part," said Mrs. Goodwin. "It's a shame for a whole settlement to be cowards, and to let one man rule them. It's worse than having a king."

Morton loved "Little Kike," and hated Captain Lumsden; and this appeal to the anti-monarchic feeling of the time moved him. He could not bear that his mother, of all, should think him cowardly. His pride was already chafed by Lumsden's condescension, and his provoking way of keeping Patty and himself apart. Why should he not break with him, and have done with it, rather than stand by and see Kike robbed? But to interfere in behalf of Kike was to put Patty Lumsden farther away from him. He was a knight who had suddenly come in sight of his long-sought adversary while his own hands were tied. And so he fell into the brownest of studies, and scarcely spoke a word to his mother all the rest of his ride. For here were his friendship for little Kike, his innate antagonism to Captain Lumsden, and his strong sense of justice, on one side; his love for Patty--stronger than all the rest--on the other. In the stories of chivalry which his mother had told, the love of woman had always been a motive to valiant deeds for the right. And how often had he dreamed of doing some brave thing while Patty applauded! Now, when the brave thing offered, Patty was on the other side. This unexpected entanglement of motives irritated him, as such embarrassment always does a person disposed to act impulsively and in right lines. And so it happened that he rode on in moody silence, while the mother, always looking for signs of seriousness in the son, mentally reviewed the sermon of the day, in vain endeavor to recall some passages that might have "found a lodgment in his mind."

Had the issue been squarely presented to Morton, he might even then have chosen Patty, letting the interests of his friends take care of themselves. But he did not decide it squarely. He began by excusing himself to himself:--What could he do for Kike? He had no influence with the judge; he had no money to buy the land, and he had no influential friends. He might agitate the question and sacrifice his own hope, and, after all, accomplish nothing for Kike. No doubt all these considerations of futility had their weight with him; nevertheless he had an angry consciousness that he was not acting bravely in the matter. That he, Morton Goodwin, who had often vowed that he would not truckle to any man, was ready to shut his eyes to Captain Lumsden's rascality, in the hope of one day getting his consent to marry his daughter! It was this anger with himself that made Morton restless, and his restlessness took him down to the Forks that Sunday evening, and led him to drink two or three times, in spite of his good resolution not to drink more than once. It was this restlessness that carried him at last to the cabin of the widow Lumsden, that evening, to see her son Kike.

[Illustration: MORT, DOLLY, AND KIKE.]

Kike was sixteen; one of those sallow-skinned boys with straight black hair that one sees so often in southern latitudes. He was called "Little Kike" only to distinguish him from his father, who had also borne the name of Hezekiah. Delicate in health and quiet in manner, he was a boy of profound feeling, and his emotions were not only profound but persistent. Dressed in buck-skin breeches and homespun cotton overshirt, he was milking old Molly when Morton came up. The fixed lines of his half-melancholy face relaxed a little, as with a smile deeper than it was broad he lifted himself up and said,

"Hello, Mort! come in, old feller!"

But Mort only sat still on Dolly, while Kike came round and stroked her fine neck, and expressed his regret that she hadn't run at the Forks and beat Bill McConkey's bay horse. He wished he owned such "a beast."

"Never mind; one of these days, when I get a little stronger, I will open that crick bottom, and then I shall make some money and be able to buy a blooded horse like Dolly. Maybe it'll be a colt of Dolly's; who knows?" And Kike smiled with a half-hopefulness at the vision of his impending prosperity. But Morton could not smile, nor could he bear to tell Kike that his uncle had determined to seize upon that very piece of land regardless of the air-castles Kike had built upon it. Morton had made up his mind not to tell Kike. Why should he? Kike would hear of his uncle's fraud in time, and any mention on his part would only destroy his own hopes without doing anything for Kike. But if Morton meant to be prudent and keep silence, why had he not staid at home? Why come here, where the sight of Kike's slender frame was a constant provocation to speech? Was there a self contending against a self?

"Have you got over your chills yet?" asked Morton.

"No," said the black-haired boy, a little bitterly. "I was nearly well when I went down to Uncle Enoch's to work; and he made me work in the rain. 'Come, Kike,' he would say, jerking his words, and throwing them at me like gravel, 'get out in the rain. It'll do you good. Your mother has ruined you, keeping you over the fire. You want hardening. Rain is good for you, water makes you grow; you're a perfect baby.' I tell you, he come plaguey nigh puttin' a finishment to me, though."

Doubtless, what Morton had drunk at the Forks had not increased his prudence. As usual in such cases, the prudent Morton and the impulsive Morton stood the one over against the other; and, as always the imprudent self is prone to spring up without warning, and take the other by surprise, so now the young man suddenly threw prudence and Patty behind, and broke out with--

"Your uncle Enoch is a rascal!" adding some maledictions for emphasis.

That was not exactly telling what he had resolved not to tell, but it rendered it much more difficult to keep the secret; for Kike grew a little red in the face, and was silent a minute. He himself was fond of roundly denouncing his uncle. But abusing one's relations is a luxury which is labeled "strictly private," and this savage outburst from his friend touched Kike's family pride a little.

"I know that as well as you do," was all he said, however.

"He would swindle his own children," said Morton, spurred to greater vehemence by Kike's evident disrelish of his invective. "He will chisel you out of everything you've got before you're of age, and then make the settlement too hot to hold you if you shake your head." And Morton looked off down the road.

"What's the matter, Mort? What set you off on Uncle Nuck to-night? He's bad enough, Lord knows; but something must have gone wrong with you. Did he tell you that he did not want you to talk to Patty?"

"No, he didn't," said Morton. And now that Patty was recalled to his mind, he was vexed to think that he had gone so far in the matter. His tone provoked Kike in turn.

"Mort, you've been drinking! What brought you down here?"

Here the imprudent Morton got the upper hand again. Patty and prudence were out of sight at once, and the young man swore between his teeth.

"Come, old fellow; there's something wrong," said Kike, alarmed. "What's up?"

"Nothing; nothing," said Morton, bitterly. "Nothing, only your affectionate uncle has stuck a notice in Jackson's holler--on the side of the tree furthest from the road--advertising your crick bottom for sale. That's all. Old Virginia gentleman! Old Virginia _devil_! Call a horse-thief a parson, will you?" And then he added something about hell and damnation. These two last words had no grammatical relation with the rest of his speech; but in the mind of Morton Goodwin they had very logical relations with Captain Lumsden and the subject under discussion. Nobody is quite a Universalist in moments of indignation. Every man keeps a private and select perdition for the objects of his wrath.

When Morton had thus let out the secret he had meant to retain, Kike trembled and grew white about the lips. "I'll never forgive him," he said, huskily. "I'll be even with him, and one to carry; see if I ain't!" He spoke with that slow, revengeful, relentless air that belongs to a black-haired, Southern race.

"Mort, loan me Doll to-morry?" he said, presently.

"Can you ride her? Where are you going?" Morton was loth to commit himself by lending his horse.

"I am going to Jonesville, to see if I can stop that sale; and I've got a right to choose a gardeen. I mean to take one that will make Uncle Enoch open his eyes. I'm goin' to take Colonel Wheeler; he hates Uncle Enoch, and he'll see jestice done. As for ridin' Dolly, you know I can back any critter with four legs."

"Well, I guess you can have Dolly," said Morton, reluctantly. He knew that if Kike rode Dolly, the Captain would hear of it; and then, farewell to Patty! But looking at Kike's face, so full of pain and wrath, he could not quite refuse. Dolly went home at a tremendous pace, and Morton, commonly full of good nature, was, for once, insufferably cross at supper-time.

"Mort, meetin' must 'a' soured on you," said Henry, provokingly. "You're cross as a coon when it's cornered."

"Don't fret Morton; he's worried," said Mrs. Goodwin. The fond mother still hoped that the struggle in his mind was the great battle of Armageddon that should be the beginning of a better life.

Morton went to his bed in the loft filled with a contempt for himself. He tried in vain to acquit himself of cowardice--the quality which a border man considers the most criminal. Early in the morning he fed Dolly, and got her ready for Kike; but no Kike came. After a while, he saw some one ascending the hill on the other side of the creek. Could it be Kike? Was he going to walk to Jonesville, twenty miles away? And with his ague-shaken body? How roundly Morton cursed himself for the fear that made him half refuse the horse! For, with one so sensitive as Kike, a half refusal was equivalent to the most positive denial. It was not too late. Morton threw the saddle and bridle on Dolly, and mounted. Dolly sprang forward, throwing her heels saucily in the air, and in fifteen minutes Morton rode up alongside Kike.

"Here, Kike, you don't escape that way! Take Dolly."

"No, I won't, Morton. I oughtn't to have axed you to let me have her. I know how you feel about Patty."

"Confound--no, I won't say confound Patty--but confound me, if I'm mean enough to let you walk to Jonesville. I was a devlish coward yesterday. Here, take the horse, dog on you, or I'll thrash you," and Morton laughed.

"I tell you, Mort, I won't do it," said Kike, "I'm goin' to walk."

"Yes, you look like it! You'll die before you git half-way, you blamed little fool you! If you won't take Dolly, then I'll go along to bury your bones. They's no danger of the buzzard's picking such bones, though."

Just then came by Jake Sniger, who was remarkable for his servility to Lumsden.

"Hello, boys, which ways?" he asked.

"No ways jest now," said Morton.

"Are you a travelin', or only a goin' some place?" asked Sniger, smiling.

"I 'low I'm travelin', and Kike's a goin' some place," said Morton.

When Sniger had gone on, Morton said, "Now Kike, the fat's all in the fire. When the Captain finds out what you've done, Sniger is sure to tell that he see us together. I've got to fight it out now anyhow, and you've got to take Dolly."

"No, Morton, I can't."

If Kike had been any less obstinate the weakness of his knees would have persuaded him to relent.

[Illustration: GOOD-BYE!]

"Well, hold Dolly a minute for me, anyhow," said Morton, dismounting. As soon as Kike had obligingly taken hold of the bridle, Morton started toward home, singing Burns's "Highland Mary" at the top of his rich, melodious voice, never looking back at Kike till he had finished the song, and reached the summit of the hill. Then he had the satisfaction of seeing Kike in the saddle, laughing to think how his friend had outwitted him. Morton waved his hat heartily, and Kike, nodding his head, gave Dolly the rein, and she plunged forward, carrying him out of sight in a few minutes. Morton's mother was disappointed, when he came in late to breakfast, to see that his brow was clear. She feared that the good impressions of the day before had worn away. How little does one know of the real nature of the struggle between God and the devil, in the heart of another! But long before Kike had brought Dolly back to her stall, the exhilaration of self-sacrifice in the mind of Morton had worn away, and the possible consequences of his action made him uncomfortable.

_CHAPTER V._

A CRISIS.

Work, Morton could not. After his noonday dinner he lifted his flint-lock gun from the forked sticks upon the wall where it was laid, and set out to seek for deer,--rather to seek forgetfulness of the anxiety that preyed upon him. Excitement was almost a necessity with him, even at ordinary times; now, it seemed the only remedy for his depression. But instead of forgetting Patty, he forgot everything but Patty, and for the first time in his life he found it impossible to absorb himself in hunting. For when a frontierman loves, he loves with his whole nature. The interests of his life are few, and love, having undisputed sway, becomes a consuming passion. After two hours' walking through the unbroken forest he started a deer, but did not see at in time to shoot. He had tramped through the brush without caution or vigilance. He now saw that it would be of no avail to keep up this mockery of hunting. He was seized with an eager desire to see Patty, and talk with her once more before the door should be closed against him. He might strike the trail, and reach the settlement in an hour, arriving at Lumsden's while yet the Captain was away from the house. His only chance was to see her in the absence of her father, who would surely contrive some interruption if he were present.

So eagerly did Morton travel, that when his return was about half accomplished he ran headlong into the very midst of a flock of wild turkeys. They ran swiftly away in two or three directions, but not until the two barrels of Morton's gun had brought down two glossy young gobblers. Tying their legs together with a strip of paw-paw bark, he slung them across his gun, and laid his gun over his shoulder, pleased that he would not have to go home quite empty-handed.

As he steps into Captain Lumsden's yard that Autumn afternoon, he is such a man as one likes to see: quite six feet high, well made, broad, but not too broad, about the shoulders, with legs whose litheness indicate the reserve force of muscle and nerve coiled away somewhere for an emergency. His walk is direct, elastic, unflagging; he is like his horse, a clean stepper; there is neither slouchiness, timidity, nor craftiness in his gait. The legs are as much a test of character as the face, and in both one can read resolute eagerness. His forehead is high rather than broad, his blue eye and curly hair, and a certain sweetness and dignity in his smile, are from his Scotch-Irish mother. His picturesque coon-skin cap gives him the look of a hunter. The homespun "hunting shirt" hangs outside his buckskin breeches, and these terminate below inside his rawhide boots.

The great yellow dog, Watch, knows him well enough by this time, but, like a policeman on duty, Watch is quite unwilling to seem to neglect his function; and so he bristles up a little, meets Morton at the gate, and snuffs at his cowhide boots with an air of surly vigilance. The young man hails him with a friendly "Hello, Watch!" and the old fellow smooths his back hair a little, and gives his clumsy bobbed tail three solemn little wags of recognition, comical enough if Goodwin were only in a mood to observe.