The despot of Broomsedge CoveCraddock, Charles Egbert
General
The despot of Broomsedge Cove
Craddock, Charles Egbert
Mountain life -- Fiction; Tennessee -- Fiction
The fire had been burning clearly; the sticks across the andirons had
gradually become each an entire glowing coal, of a live vermilion tint,
and half translucent, yet still retaining the shape of the hickory
logs they had once been; here and there an elusive amethystine flame
flickered, but the salient red and white blaze of the earlier stages
was quenched, and the room was all in a dusky red shadow save for now
and then a livid purple gleam. Isabel nodded as she sat on the inverted
noggin; sleep seemed with her in some sort an ailment, since it so
reduced her from her normal state of conversation. It was as if a
palsy had fallen upon her faculties, and her face, bereft of its wonted
animation, was unfamiliar, and pathetic, and forlornly reflective. The
dog of the “frequent visitor” took note even in his slumbers of the
dwindling state of the fire, and, with a countenance much solemnized
by sleep and preternaturally sober, came and stood before it for a
time, steadfastly regarding it. Then with a loud yawn, intrusive in the
silence, he stretched his elastic length, rasping his nails on the stones
of the hearth, and lay down once more before it. A cock crew, a muffled
alarum in the distance; no other sound from the frosty midnight without.
The example of the old hound had caused Mrs. Strobe to yawn too, with
that epidemic appreciation of fatigue which the demonstration usually
produces. She was not sorry for this, despite her ample repositories of
what she collectively termed “manners.” She was in hopes Rathburn would
note it, and draw the natural inference.
“He ’lowed he wouldn’t bide all night, so he mought jes’ ez well take the
hint an’ stir his stumps away from hyar. I never see sech a ow-_el_ ez
the man,” she thought.
But Glaston and Colbury hours were later than those kept in the
mountains, and although Rathburn was aware that his stay exceeded the
customary limits, he had no idea of its unprecedented extent. He went on
after a momentary pause:—
“He is a very dangerous customer. The eye of the law couldn’t be better
employed than fixed on that man. In Glaston, or Colbury, or anywhere
else, they’d be awfully pleased to get up any kind of a charge against
such a domineering blusterer as that, which would lock him up somewhere,
safe out of harm’s way.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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