Blue Ridge Mountains -- Fiction; Mountain life -- Fiction
The outlaw, after uncouth efforts at conversation, which met with no
response, relapsed into sullen silence, and he mended the pace until
the girl was hard put to it to keep up with his stride. On the first
slopes of Stone Mountain, he halted, evidently at a spot where he had
camped on other occasions, for presently he produced a skillet and
coffee-pot and materials for a rude meal from their concealment in the
bushes. But his first care was to place the prisoner on a log, where a
sapling at her back served for attaching the loop of the leash. He
then busied himself with making a fire and preparing the food, from
time to time jeering at the helpless girl, who watched him with
smouldering hate in her eyes.
"Hit's you-all orter be a-doin' these-hyar chores," he declared, with
a grin. "An' they's a good time a-comin' when ye'll be plumb tickled
to death to wait on yer Danny boy. A good time comin', cuss ye!"
He devoured his food ravenously, washing it down with the coffee.
Finally, he brought slices of bread and bacon to Plutina, and laid
them in her lap. He loosened her right hand and so permitted her to
feed herself. It was her impulse to refuse the offering, but she
resisted the folly, knowing the necessity of food, if she would have
energy for the ordeal before her. So, she gulped down the bread and
meat, and drank from the dipper full of coffee. Then, her bonds were
tightened again, and the two renewed their march.
The going was harder here, up and down the rock-strewn slopes. Fatigue
lay very heavy on Plutina, after the strains of the two days. Only her
hate of the man at her side bolstered up pride, so that she compelled
herself to keep moving by sheer force of will. It was already dusk,
when, at last, they issued from the wood and went forward over the
shore of the pool at Sandy Creek Falls.
"Wall, hyar we be!" Hodges cried loudly. There was satisfaction in his
voice.
That satisfaction aroused Plutina from the apathy into which she had
fallen, during the last half-mile of difficult scrambling, made more
toilsome by the constraint of her bound wrists. Now, puzzlement
provoked interest in her surroundings. She had expected that the
outlaw would bear her away to the most convenient or the most
inaccessible of the various secret retreats with which rumor credited
him. But here was neither cave nor shack--only the level space of
sand, the mist-wreathed pool, the rushing volume of the falls, the
bleak wall of the cliff which towered above them where they had halted
at its base. She knew this place. There could be no cavern at hand.
Her eyes searched the space of the inclosure wonderingly. Then, they
went to the man, whom she found regarding her bewilderment with a
smirk of gratification.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account