The despot of Broomsedge CoveCraddock, Charles Egbert
General
The despot of Broomsedge Cove
Craddock, Charles Egbert
Mountain life -- Fiction; Tennessee -- Fiction
The sentinel had left the discussion, and reverted to the window; he
beckoned to one of the other mountaineers presently, and pointed down the
long avenue of the great oaks. Here and there were broad open spaces,
where the moonlight fell in unbroken effulgence; the autumn winds had
left the trees but scantily leaved; bough and bole were often distinct
through the foliage, and even amidst the shadows, which duplicated each
leaf and twig; the white frost lent an accentuation of brilliancy. Upon
the sere grass a hoofbeat was falling, and an equestrian figure rode into
full view; a mounted shadow beside him now lurked among the trees; now
skulked strangely foreshortened, on the ground; now rose suddenly upon
the vertical surface of a crag into the full stature of a man and the
complete equipment of a horse, with a definiteness that had an uncanny
effect, somehow, in the solitude. So brilliant was the moon that it
seemed to seek out and reveal vague, spectral, half-realized things,
affinities of the night and the unknown.
“Edzac’ly,—jes’ ez I said. Teck ridin’ ’long like some great captain,”
exclaimed Bassett, whom the faint jingle of spurs in the frosty air had
brought to the window.
The mounted figure passed close to the building, never lifting his head
nor making a sign, although he must have been conscious of the men
looking down at him. The horse whickered gleefully upon nearing the
barn, and the rocks echoed and reëchoed the sound, until it simulated
the distant, neighing of a squadron of cavalry. Even when it had sunk to
silence, some seeming charger far away again broke the quiet, neighing in
the solitary defiles of the mountain. The men looked at one another; here
and there a spark of irritation, perceptible the moment that the horseman
had first been glimpsed through the aisles of the woods, began to flare
definitely into anger.
“Teck ain’t keerin’ how much n’ise he lets them men hear.”
“He don’t mind sech ez we-uns say; he air jes’ sot an’ sodden in his own
way.”
“He oughter be tuk down somehow. He air too robustious an’ domineerin’
ter live.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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