The despot of Broomsedge CoveCraddock, Charles Egbert
General
The despot of Broomsedge Cove
Craddock, Charles Egbert
Mountain life -- Fiction; Tennessee -- Fiction
The white light of the fire flaring up as Clem worked the bellows
with one hand, while holding the metal in the coals with the other,
revealed the stranger to the scrutiny of Jepson, who, recovering from
his surprise, was taking due note of him. He sought to be just; to
contend with mere suspicion; to separate his consideration of the subject
from the personal interest that persistently linked itself with the
circumstances. How much had Marcella known? Had she taken any action in
the matter? And with what motive? He could not banish these thoughts,
however, as he gazed at the stranger, who leaned against the elevated
hearth, affecting to watch the smith’s work, but with a tense, alert
attitude, and a wary eye that ever and anon furtively sought the silent
figure standing in the broad, moonlit doorway, with the dark landscape,
silver-flecked, vaguely visible in the background. His light hair made
his head very definite against the black and sooty hood of the forge. Now
and then he put up a slender hand, and pulled his long, yellow mustache
with a gesture and manner alien to the mountains. His attitude and garb,
the very shape of his boot, marked and individualized him. He was not of
the region.
None of this did Clem Sanders observe as he worked. Once he held up
the precious little tongs. “This is yer doin’,” he said reproachfully,
indicating a small protuberance where the piece, broken off, had been
welded on again.
The stranger burst into a laugh, showing his strong white teeth beneath
his yellow mustache. A pleasant face he had, with this more jovial
expression upon it. Clem Sanders’s frown relaxed as he looked at him.
“So you’ve found me out, have you? This ain’t the first time I’ve been
here,” he said easily.
And then, although it might not be said how it was done, for there was
not a perceptible lifting of an eyelid nor a hair’s-breadth turning of
the head, Teck Jepson was aware that the stranger had covertly noted the
effect of the words upon him. Already he had made the distinction between
the two men as to which was to be feared.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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