A Maid of the Kentucky Hills Part 11

I knew that she had evaded my trap cleverly, and I did not lay another for her.

"Now you must go."

I spoke reluctantly, for the hour had been an unusually charming one for me. I had always maintained that I had rather be a roadmender than a school teacher, and generally speaking, I hold to the idea still. But I can think of no more delightfully pleasant experience that has ever come my way than when I gave Lessie her first instruction under the pine on the edge of the plateau.

At my words the shadow sprang to her face again, more noticeable than before. It was almost a look of distress now.

"What is it, Dryad?" I asked, suddenly; "what worries you?"

She did not answer, but stood meditatively with the tips of her fingers resting upon her lower lip, and her eyes intently focussed downward.

"Come," I added; "I must get some water from the creek, and I'll go that far with you--farther, if you will let me, because it will be late before you get home."

"Oh, no!" she burst out, with what looked like unnecessary vehemence.

Then her agile mind took a turn, and she added--"But why don't yo' git yo' water out o' the well?"

I forebore to correct her. The lesson was over, and I must not worry her.

"Well?" I repeated, open mouthed. "What well?"

"The well over yonder--the well the man dug!"

She pointed to a distant corner of the yard, overrun with a heterogeneous ma.s.s of greenery.

I almost gasped. A well had been here under my nose all these weeks, a well of cool, good water, and I had been slaving rebelliously to supply my needs from the creek below, which had lately become infested with tadpoles!

"Show it to me!" I cried.

With a hearty "All right!" she started running, and I followed at a smart walk. It was just like her to run. She was a creature of impulse.

I watched her skimming over the ground, lightly leaping little obstacles, her wheat-gold hair all a-tremble. When I came up she had a stick, and was diligently prodding about in the weeds, vines and brambles.

"It's here," she muttered, intent on her business. "I've saw it, 'n'

drunk out o' it. It's jes' as cold as the spring at home whur granny keeps 'er milk 'n' b.u.t.ter. W'en I--"

My eyes had been fastened on her face, and now she evidently remembered and checked herself purposely, for I saw her teeth clamp her lip for an instant. Then she went on, softer and more slowly, never looking up.

"When--I--came--las'--time--it's--_here_!"

With the last word she jabbed her stick down, and straightened up triumphantly.

I pressed forward to her side, and peered into the bush. The end of her stick rested upon a piece of wood. With a word to Lessie to wait a moment I hurried back to the lodge and procured a scythe from the store of miscellaneous things which had accompanied me when I came out to make friends with the wilderness. Directly I had uncovered the well's top, a surface of oaken planks four feet square. In the center of this lay a large, smooth stone, covering the hole which gave access to the water below.

"By Jove! Girl, how can I thank you?" I cried, elated at the discovery.

"I've been drinking sulphur water and bathing with tadpoles, never dreaming this was here!"

"It'll be a big savin'," she agreed. "Tot'n' water's pow'ful hard work."

She turned to go. I dropped my scythe and said:

"You must let me go part of the way. I know you're not afraid, but won't you? I'd feel better."

She clasped her hands, wrung them once, and took two or three forward steps silently. Something was wrong with Lessie, but nothing like a true solution entered my thick masculine head until she stopped, halfway turned, and flung from tight lips--

"It's 'bout Buck!"

Buck! The ominous figure I had seen watching me in the deep twilight the day before. Buck! Of course, Buck! He had seen me part from Lessie; he had come to her immediately afterward, and had doubtless told her some things which were not good for her peace of mind. Is man really a savage, at rock bottom? In the moment following Lessie's intense announcement of the cause of her distress, what were my feelings? Simply these. There came to my mind the realization that I, too, was a man of physical might; that I, too, had immense muscles of thigh, and chest, and arm; that the trouble which had sent me here was surely checked as I felt my vigor growing day by day, and that if somebody wanted to fight I would give him his fill, rather than be hectored into forsaking Lessie's company--for I felt a.s.sured already that this was the burden of Buck Steele's demands.

Something of all this must have showed in my face as I stepped deliberately to Lessie's side and took one of her hands, for I saw traces of terror in the gray eyes.

"Yo'--yo' mustn't git together!" she exclaimed, tempestuously, her fingers closing around mine in a grip which caused me to wonder. "Oh!

Yo' mustn't!--Yo' mustn't! Yo' don't know Buck; he c'n ben' a horse-shoe!"

"Lessie," I said, returning her grasp and looking at her determinedly; "I'm not afraid of any man that lives and moves. I don't believe in violence, but there are times when it becomes necessary. And when the necessity arises in my life, I'm going to face it. You have said that you wanted me to help you, and if you still feel this way, nothing and no one is going to prevent me from carrying out my part of the agreement. I've a notion I know pretty much what took place last night, but you must tell me now, as we walk along. We must talk it over--come."

I kept her hand until I had faced her about and we had gone a short distance. Then I let it go.

"Yo' see," began Lessie, in a perplexed little voice, and without waiting for further urging, "Buck's ben comin' to see me fur mos' a year, off 'n' on. He's the only young feller Granny'll 'low on the place. He's ben pow'ful good to me, 'n'--'n' well, he's ast me to marry 'im. But I don't love Buck. I can't he'p lak'n' 'im, 'cause he's so good 'n' kin' 'n' 'd do anythin' on earth I'd ask 'im to. He don't pester me 'bout comin', neither, 'n' w'en I don't feel lak seein' 'im he'll go on 'way, meek lak 'n' not complainin'. 'N' after w'ile here he'll be back ag'in, tryin' to tell me thin's I don't wan' to lis'n' to. I jes' can't hurt 'is feelin's. Somehow 'r 'nother he heerd that you'd come out here 'n' had seen me by the dogwood tree that day--I s'pec' Granny tol' 'im 'bout it, 'cause I didn't tell n.o.body but the home folks. 'N' so las'

night he come--he _came_ out home to 'quire 'bout it, 'n' he saw you tell me good-by at the bridge. 'N' after you'd gone he came on--'n' I'd never seen 'im look lak he looked then. His eyes wuz black 'n' had fire in 'em 'n' his face wuz lak a piece o' gray rock 'n' his voice wuz diff'unt 'n' ever' now 'n' then he shuk all over."

Her words had gradually increased in velocity until, when she stopped, she was speaking so rapidly I could hardly understand what she said.

"Yes," I replied, but nothing more until we had come to the foot of the k.n.o.b. Here, as we turned westward toward the creek leading to Lizard Point, I spoke again.

"He talked to you, Dryad, of course. Now you must tell me everything, and keep nothing back--nothing. Even though he said very ugly things--things which may have frightened you, you must tell me them, too."

She stooped to pluck a cl.u.s.ter of little wild flowers growing on a single stem, giving a low exclamation of pleasure as she did so. Then, as she twined the flowers in her hair over the ear away from me, she answered.

"Yes, he talked to me. I tried to make 'im hush, but he wouldn't. 'Twuz 'bout you, mos'ly. He said he knew city fellers 'n' they's all wicked 'n' dang'rous, 'n' that you's jes' tryin' to run with me to pa.s.s the time 'n' make a fool o' me--but I didn't b'lieve 'im!"

With the last words she turned toward me a frank and honest countenance.

"No, Dryad; you mustn't believe him when he talks that way. I'm sure that Buck is a good man naturally, but he was excited when he told you that. There are some bad men in the cities, and there are some bad men in the country. There are more bad men in the city because there are more people in the city. But he was wholly wrong when he spoke of my motive in going with you--go on."

"He said he wasn't goin' to have yo' comin' to see me, 'n' that I mus'

promise 'im not to see you agin. I tol' 'im I couldn't do that, 'cause you's goin' to learn me. Then he went plum daffy crazy, 'n' cussed 'n'

d.a.m.ned, 'n' bruk a great thick stick he had in 'is han's--bruk it 'n'

kep' a-breakin' it till it wuz all in little pieces in 'is fis'--'n'

then he flung 'em all on the groun' 'n' stood lookin' at me lak he's goin' to hit me, but he didn't. We's down at the en' o' the path nex' to the road, fur we hadn't gone up to the house. I's skeered fur a w'ile, he looked so big 'n' he's so mad. I didn't know a feller c'd git so crazy 'bout--'bout a girl;--did you?"

Her candor never ceased to amaze me. She seemed to be utterly unaware of anything existing within herself which might lead a man up the dangerous heights of Love, whither this brawny one had plainly gone.

"Ye-e-s," I answered, slowly. "When a man loves a girl, Dryad, he will do anything when the circ.u.mstance which calls for that thing exists."

Then, realizing that I was talking riddles to her, I added: "I mean, that when a man's in love, especially if he be a strong man, he won't allow any one or anything to come in the way, if he can help it. And that's Buck's position, exactly. He thinks he can't live without you, and he's a big, husky animal whose feelings largely control him. When another man approaches you, he grows jealous, and jealousy is about the hardest headed, most unreasonable, meanest pa.s.sion the human family has.... What else did Buck say?"

It was too dark now for me to see her expression, but when she replied her voice shook with apprehension, and that haunting note--like a rare minor chord in music--which so moved me when we first met had crept strangely into it, dominating the natural, lighter quality of her speech.

"Oh!"