Chapter X. Over the Mountains

The Guns of Bull Run

by Joseph A. Altsheler

The boat was secured firmly among the bushes, and finding an
abundance of fallen wood along the beach, they pulled it into a heap
and kindled a fire. The night, as usual, was cool, but the pleasant
flames dispelled the chill, and the cove was very snug and
comfortable after a day of hard and continuous work. Jarvis and Ike
did the cooking, at which they were adepts.

"After pullin' a boat ten or twelve hours there's nothin' like
somethin' warm inside you to make you feel good," said Jarvis. "Ike,
you lunkhead, hurry up with that coffee pot. Me an' Harry can't wait
more'n a minute longer."

Ike grinned and hurried. A fine bed of coals had now formed,
and in a few minutes a great pot of coffee was boiling and throwing
out savory odors. Jarvis took a small flat skillet from the boat and
fried the corn cakes. Harry fried bacon and strips of dried beef in
another. The homely task in good company was most grateful to him.
His face reflected his pleasure.

"Providin' it don't rain on you, campin' out is stimulatin' to
the body an' soul," said Jarvis. "You don't know what a genuine
appetite is until you live under the blue sky by day, and a starry
sky by night. Harry, you'll find three tin plates in the locker in
the boat. Fetch 'em."

Harry abandoned his skillet for a moment, and brought the
plates. Ike, the coffee now being about ready, produced three tin
cups, and with these simple preparations they began their supper.
The flames went down and the fire became a great bed of coals,
glowing in the darkness, and making a circle of light, the edges of
which touched the boat. Harry found that Jarvis was telling the
truth. The long work and the cool night air, without a roof above
him, gave him a hunger, the like of which he had not known for a long
time. He ate cake after cake of the corn bread and piece after piece
of the meat. Jarvis and Ike kept him full company.

"Didn't I tell you it was fine?" said Jarvis, stretching his
long length and sighing with content. "I feel so good that I'm near
bustin' into song."

"Then bust," said Harry.

"Soft, o'er the fountain, lingering falls the southern
moon, Far o'er the mountain breaks the day too soon. In thy
dark eyes' splendor, where the warm light loves to dwell, Weary
looks yet tender, speak their fond farewell. 'Nita, Juanita!
Ask thy soul if we should part, 'Nita, Juanita! Lean thou on my
heart." The notes of the old melody swelled, and, as before, the
deep channel of the river gave them back again in faint and dying
echoes. Time and place and the voice of Jarvis, with its haunting
quality, threw a spell over Harry. The present rolled away. He was
back in the romantic old past, of which he had read so much, with
Boone and Kenton and Harrod and the other great forest rangers.

The darkness sank down, deeper and heavier. The stars came out
presently and twinkled in the blue. Yet it was still dim in the
gorge, save where the glowing bed of coals cast a circle of light.
The Kentucky, showing a faint tinge of blue, flowed with a soft
murmur. Harry and Ike were lying on the grass, propped each on one
elbow, while Jarvis, sitting with his back against a small tree, was
still singing:

"When in thy dreaming, moons like these shall shine again
And daylight beaming prove thy dreams are vain, Wilt thou
not, relenting, for thy absent lover sigh? In thy heart
consenting to a prayer gone by, 'Nita, Juanita, let me linger by
thy side; 'Nita, Juanita, be thou my own fair bride." The song
ceased and the murmur of the river came more clearly. Harry was
drawn deeper and deeper into the old dim past. Lying there in the
gorge, with only the river to be seen, the wilderness came back, and
the whole land was clothed with the mighty forests. He brought
himself back with an effort, when he saw Jarvis looking at him and
smiling.

"'Tain't so bad down here on a spring night, is it, Harry?" he
said. "Always purvidin', as I said, that it don't rain."

"Where did you get that song, Sam?" asked Harry--they had
already fallen into the easy habit of calling one another by their
first names.

"From a travelin' feller that wandered up into our mount'ins.
He could play it an' sing it most beautiful, an' I took to it right
off. It grips you about the heart some way or other, an' it sounds
best when you are out at night on a river like this. Harry, I know
that you're goin' through our mountins to git to Richmond an' the
war. Me an' that lunkhead Ike, my nephew, hev took a likin' to you.
Now, what do you want to git your head shot off fur? S'pose you stop
up in the hills with us. The huntin's good thar, an' so's the
fishin'."

Harry shook his head, but he was very grateful.

"It's good of you to ask me," he said, "but I'm bound to go
on."

"Wa'al, if you're boun' to do it I reckon you jest have to, but
we're leavin' the invite open. Ef you change your mind on the trip
all you've got to do is to say so, an' we'll take you in, ain't that
so, Ike?"

Ike grinned and nodded. His uncle looked at him admiringly.

"Ike's a lunkhead," he said, "but he's great to travel with.
You kin jest talk an' talk an' he never puts in, but agrees with all
you say. Now, fellers, we'll put out the fire an' roll in our
blankets. I guess we don't need to keep any watch here."

Harry was soon in a dreamless sleep, but his momentary reversion
to the wilderness awoke him after a while. He sat up in his blankets
and looked around. A mere mass of black coals showed where the fire
had been, and two long dark objects looking like logs in the dim
light were his comrades.

He cast the blankets aside entirely and walked a little distance
up the stream. The instinct that had awakened him was right. He
heard voices and saw a light. Then he remembered the rope ferry and
he had no doubt that some one was crossing, although it was midnight
and past. He went back and touched Jarvis lightly on the shoulder.
The mountaineer awoke instantly and sat up, all his faculties
alert.

"What is it?" he asked in a whisper.

"People crossing the river at the ferry above," Harry whispered
back.

"Then we'll go and see who they are. Like as not they're
soldiers in this war that people seem bound to fight, when they could
have a lot more fun at home. Jest let Ike sleep on. He's my
sister's son, but I don't b'lieve anybody would ever think of
kidnappin' him."

The two went silently among the bushes toward the ferry which
crossed the river at a point where the hills on either side dipped
low. As they drew near, they heard many voices and the lights
increased to a dozen. Jarvis's belief that it was no party of
ordinary travelers seemed correct.

"Let's go a little nearer. The bushes will still hide us,"
whispered the mountaineer to the boy. "They ain't no enemies o'
ours, but I guess we'd better keep out o' their business, though my
inquirin' turn o' mind makes me anxious to see just who they are."

They walked to the end of the stretch of bushes, and, while yet
in shelter, could see clearly all that was going on, especially as
there was no effort at concealment on the part of those who were
crossing the stream. They numbered at least two hundred men, and all
had arms and horses, although they were dismounted now, and the
horses, accompanied by small guards, were being carried over the
river first. Evidently the men understood their work, as it was
being done rapidly and without much noise.

Harry's attention was soon concentrated on three men who stood
near the edge of the bushes, not more than thirty feet away. They
wore slouch hats and were wrapped in heavy, dark cloaks. They stood
with their backs to him, and although they seemed to be taking no
part in the management of the crossing, they watched everything
intently. Two of them were very tall, but the third was shorter and
slender.

The moon brightened presently, and some movement at the ferry
caused the three men to turn. Harry started and checked an
exclamation at his lips. But the watchful mountaineer had noted his
surprise.

"I guess you know 'em, Harry," he said.

"Yes," replied the boy. "See the one in the center with the
drooping mustaches and the splendid figure. People have called him
the handsomest man in the United States. He was a guest at my
father's house last year when he was running for the presidency. It
is the man who received more popular votes than Lincoln, but fewer in
the Electoral College."

"Breckinridge?"

"Yes, John C. Breckinridge."

"Why, he's younger than I expected. He don't look more'n
forty."

"Just about forty, I should say. The other tall man is named
Morgan, John H. Morgan. I saw him in Lexington once. He's a great
horseman. The third, the slender man who looks as if he were all
fire, is named Duke, Basil Duke. I think that he and Morgan are
related. I fancy they are going south, or maybe to Virginia."

"Harry, these are your people."

"Yes, Sam, they are my people."

The mountaineer glanced at the tall youth who had found so warm
a place in his heart, and hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he
spoke in a decided whisper.

"Since they are your people an' are goin' on the same business
that you are, though mebbe not by the same road, now is your time to
join 'em, 'stead o' workin' your way 'cross the hills with two
ignorant mountaineers like me an' that lunkhead, Ike, my nephew."

"No, Sam. I'll confess to you that it's a temptation, but it's
likely that they're not going where I mean to go, and where I should
go. I'm going to keep on with you unless you and Ike throw me out of
the boat."

"Well spoke, boy," said Jarvis.

He did not tell Harry that Colonel Kenton had asked him to watch
over his son until he should leave him in the mountains, and that he
had given him his sacred promise. He understood what a powerful pull
the sight of Breckinridge, Morgan and Duke had given to Harry, and he
knew that if the boy were resolved to go with them he could not stop
him.

All the horses were now across. The three leaders took their
places in the boat, reached the farther shore and the whole company
rode away in the darkness. Despite his resolution Harry felt a pang
when the last figure disappeared.

"Our curiosity bein' gratified, I think we'd better go back to
sleep," said Jarvis.

"The anchor's weighed, farewell, farewell!" "We're seein'
'em goin' south, Harry. I dream ahead sometimes, an' I dream with my
eyes open. I've seen the horsemen ridin' in the night, an' I see 'em
by the thousands ridin' over a hundred battle fields, their horses'
hoofs treadin' on dead men."

"Those are good men, brave and generous."

"Oh, I don't mean them in partickler. Not for a minute. I mean
a whole nation, strugglin' an' strugglin' an' swayin' an' swayin'. I
see things that people neither North nor South ain't dreamed of yet.
But sho! What am I runnin' on this way fur? That lunkhead, Ike, my
nephew, ain't such a lunkhead as he looks. Them that say nothin'
ain't never got nothin' to take back, an' don't never make fools o'
theirselves. It's time we was back in our blankets sleepin' sound,
'cause we've got another long day o' hard rowin' before us."

Ike had not awakened and Jarvis and Harry were soon asleep
again. But they were up at dawn, and, after a brief breakfast,
resumed their journey on the river, going at a good pace toward the
southeast. They were hailed two or three times from the bank by armed
men, whether of the North or South Harry could not tell, but when
they revealed themselves as mere mountaineers on their way back,
having sold a raft, they were permitted to continue. After the last
such stop Jarvis remarked rather grimly:

"They don't know that there are three good rifles in this boat,
backed by five or six pistols, an' that at least two of us, meanin'
me and Ike, are 'bout the best shots that ever come out o' the
mountains."

But his good nature soon returned. He was not a man who could
retain anger long, and before night he was singing again.

"As I strayed from my cot at the close of the day To
muse on the beauties of June, 'Neath a jessamine shade I espied
a fair maid And she sadly complained to the moon." "But it's
not June, Sam," said Harry, "and there is no moon."

"No, but June's comin' next month, an' the moon's comin'
tonight; that is, if them clouds straight ahead don't conclude to
j'in an' make a fuss."

The clouds did join, and they made quite a "fuss," pouring out a
great quantity of rain, which a rising wind whipped about sharply.
But Jarvis first steered the boat under the edge of a high bank,
where it was protected partly, and they stretched the strong canvas
before the first drops of rain fell. It was sufficient to keep the
three and all their supplies dry, and Harry watched the storm
beat.

Sullen thunder rolled up from the southwest, and the skies were
cut down the center by burning strokes of lightning. The wind
whipped the surface of the river into white foamy waves. But Harry
heard and beheld it all with a certain pleasure. It was good to see
the storm seek them, and yet not find them--behind their canvas
cover. He remained close in his place and stared out at the foaming
surface of the water. Back went his thoughts again to the far-off
troubled time, when the hunter in the vast wilderness depended for
his life on the quickness of eye and ear. He had read so much of
Boone and Kenton and Harrod, and his own great ancestor, and the
impression was so vivid, that the vision was translated into fact.

"I'm feelin' your feelin's too," said Jarvis, who, glancing at
him, had read his mind with almost uncanny intuition. "Times like
these, the Injuns an' the wild animals all come back, an' I've felt
'em still stronger way up in the mountains, where nothin' of the old
days is gone 'cept the Injuns. Ike, I guess it's cold grub for us
tonight. We can't cook anythin' in all this rain. Reach into that
locker an' bring out the meat an' bread. This ain't so bad, after
all. We're snug an' dry, an' we've got plenty to eat, so let the
storm howl:

"They bore him away when the day had fled, And the
storm was rolling high, And they laid him down in his lonely
bed, By the light of an angry sky, "The lightning flashed
and the wild sea lashed The shore with its foaming wave,
And the thunder passed on the rushing blast As it howled o'er
the rover's grave." The full tenor rose and swelled above the sweep
of wind and rain, and the man's soul was in the words he sang. A
great voice with the accompaniment of storm, the water before them,
the lightning blazing at intervals, and the thunder rolling in a
sublime refrain, moved Harry to his inmost soul. The song ceased,
but its echo was long in dying on the river.

"Did you pick up that, too, from a wandering fiddler?" asked
Harry.

"No, I don't know where I got it. I s'pose I found scraps here
an' thar, but I like to sing it when the night is behavin' jest as
it's doin' now. I ain't ever seen the sea, Harry, but it must be a
mighty sight, particklarly when the wind's makin' the high waves
run."

"Very likely you'd be seasick if you were on it then. I like it
best when the waves are not running."

The thunder and lightning ceased after a while, but the rain
came with a steady, driving rush. The night had now settled down
thick and dark, and, as the banks on either side of the river were
very high, Harry felt as if they were in a black canyon. He could
see but dimly the surface of the river. All else was lost in the
heavy gloom. But the boat had been built so well and the canvas
cover was so taut and tight that not a drop entered. His sense of
comfort increased, and the regular, even, musical thresh of the rain
promoted sleep.

"We won't be waked up tonight by people crossin' the river,
that's shore," said Jarvis, "'cause thar ain't no crossin' fur miles,
an' if there was a crossin' people wouldn't use that crossin' nohow
on a night like this. So, boys, jest wrap your blankets about
yourselves an' go to sleep, an' if you don't hurry I'll beat you to
that happy land."

The three were off to the realms of slumber within ten minutes,
running a race about equal. The rain poured all through the night,
but they did not awake until the young sun sent the first beams of
day into the gorge. Then Jarvis sat up. He had the faculty of
awakening all at once, and he began to furl the canvas awning that
had served them so well. The noise awoke the boys who also sat up.

"Get to work, you sleepy heads!" called Jarvis cheerfully.
"Look what a fine world it is! Here's the river all washed clean,
an' the land all washed clean, too! Stir yourselves, we're goin' to
have hot food an' coffee here on the boat.

"I'm dreaming now of Hallie, sweet Hallie, For the
thought of her is one that never dies. She's sleeping in the
valley And the mocking bird is singing where she lies.
Listen to the mocking bird, singing o'er her grave. Listen to
the mocking bird, singing where the weeping willows wave." "You sing
melancholy songs for one who is as cheerful as you are, Sam," said
Harry.

"That's so. I like the weepy ones best. But they don't really
make me feel sad, Harry. They jest fill me with a kind o' longin' to
reach out an' grab somethin' that always floats jest before my hands.
A sort o' pleasant sadness I'd call it.

"Ah, well I yet remember When we gathered in the
cotton side by side; 'Twas in the mild September And the
mocking bird was singing far and wide. Oh, listen to the mocking
bird Still singing o'er her grave. Oh, listen to the
mocking bird Still singing where the weeping willows wave."
"Now that ain't what you'd call a right merry song, but I never felt
better in my life than I did when I was singin' it. Here you are,
breakfast all ready! We'll eat, drink an' away. I'm anxious to see
our mountains ag'in."

The boat soon reached a point where lower banks ran for some
time, and, from the center of the stream, they saw the noble country
outspread before them, a vast mass of shimmering green. The rain had
ceased entirely, but the whole earth was sweet and clean from its
great bath. Leaves and grass had taken on a deeper tint, and the
crisp air was keen with blooming odors.

Although they soon had a considerable current to fight, they
made good headway against it. Harry's practice with the oar was
giving his muscles the same quality like steel wire which those of
Jarvis and Ike had. So they went on for that day and others and drew
near to the hills. The eyes of Jarvis kindled when he saw the first
line of dark green slopes massing themselves against the eastern
horizon.

"The Bluegrass is mighty fine, an' so is the Pennyroyal," he
said, "an' I ain't got nothin' ag'in em. I admit their claims before
they make 'em, but my true love, it's the mountains an' my mountain
home. Mebbe some night, Harry, when we tie up to the bank, we'll see
a deer comin' down to drink. What do you say to that?"

Harry's eyes kindled, too.

"I say that I want the first shot."

Jarvis laughed.

"True sperrit," he said. "Nobody will set up a claim ag'inst
you, less it's that lunkhead, Ike, my nephew. Are you willin' to let
him have it, Ike?"

Ike grinned and nodded.

The Kentucky narrowed and the current grew yet stronger. But
changing oftener at the oars they still made good headway. The
ranges, dark green on the lower slopes, but blue on the higher ridges
beyond them, slowly came nearer. Late in the afternoon they entered
the hills, and when night came they had left the lowlands several
miles behind. They tied up to a great beech growing almost at the
water's edge, and made their camp on the ground. Harry's deer did
not come that night, but it did on the following one. Then Jarvis
and he after supper went about a mile up the stream, stalking the
best drinking places, and they saw a fine buck come gingerly to the
river. Harry was lucky enough to bring him down with the first shot,
an achievement that filled him with pride, and Jarvis soon skinned
and dressed the animal, adding him to their larder.

"I don't shoot deer, 'cept when I need 'em to eat," said Jarvis,
"an' we do need this one. We'll broil strips of him over the coals
in the mornin'. Don't your mouth water, Harry?"

"It does."

The strips proved the next day to be all that Jarvis had
promised, and they continued their journey with renewed elasticity,
fair weather keeping them company. Deeper and deeper they went into
the mountains. The region had all the aspects of a complete
wilderness. Now and then they saw smoke, which Jarvis said was
rising from the chimneys of log cabins, and once or twice they saw
cabins themselves in sheltered nooks, but nobody hailed them. The
news of the war had spread here, of course, but Harry surmised that
it had made the mountaineers cautious, suppressing their natural
curiosity. He did not object at all to their reticence, as it made
traveling easier for him.

They were now rowing along a southerly fork of the Kentucky.
Another deer had been killed, falling this time to the rifle of
Jarvis, and one night they shot two wild turkeys. Jarvis and his
nephew would arrive home full handed in every respect, and his great
tenor boomed out joyously over the stream, speeding away in echoes
among the lofty peaks and ridges that had now turned from hills into
real mountains. They towered far above the stream, and everywhere
there were masses of the deepest and densest green. The primeval
forest clothed the whole earth, and the war to which Harry was going
seemed a faint and far thing.

Traveling now became slow, because they always had a strong
current to fight. Harry, at times when the country was not too
rough, left the boat and walked along the bank. He could go thus for
miles without feeling any weariness. Naturally very strong, he did
not realize how much his work at the oar was increasing his power.
The thin vital air of the mountains flowed through his lungs, and
when Jarvis sang, as he did so often, he felt that he could lift up
his feet and march as if to the beat of a drum.

They left the fork of the Kentucky at last and rowed up one of
the deep and narrow mountain creeks. Peaks towered all about them, a
half mile over their heads, covered from base to crest with unbroken
forest. Sometimes the creek flowed between cliffs, and again it
opened out into narrow valleys. In a two days' journey up its course
they passed only two cabins.

"In ordinary water we'd have stopped thar," said Jarvis at the
second cabin. "I know the man who lives in it an' he's to be
trusted. We'd have left the boat an' the things with him, an' we'd
have walked the rest of the way, but the creek is so high now that we
kin make at least twenty miles more an' tie up at Bill Rudd's place.
Thar's no goin' further on the water, 'cause the creek takes a fall
of fifteen feet thar, an' this boat is too heavy to be carried around
it."

They reached Rudd's place about dark. He was a hospitable
mountaineer, with a double-roomed log cabin, a wife and two small
children. He volunteered gladly to take care of the boat and its
belongings, while Jarvis and the boys went on the next day to
Jarvis's home about ten miles away.

Rudd and his wife were full of questions. They were eager to
hear of the great world which was represented to them by Frankfort,
and of the war in the lowlands concerning which they had heard
vaguely. Rudd had been to Frankfort once and felt himself a traveler
and man of the world. He and his wife knew Jarvis and Ike well, and
they glanced rather curiously at Harry.

"He's goin' across the mountains an' down into Virginia on some
business of his own which I ain't inquired into much," said
Jarvis.

Harry slept in a house that night for the first time in days,
and he did not like it. He awoke once with a feeling as if walls
were pressing down upon him, and he could not breathe. He arose,
opened the door, and stood by it for a few minutes, while the fresh
air poured in. Jarvis awoke and chuckled.

"I know what's the matter with you, Harry," he said. "After
you've lived out of doors a long time you feel penned up in houses.
If it wasn't for rain an' snow I'd do without roofs 'cept in winter.
Leave the door wide open, an' we'll both sleep better. Nothin', of
course, would wake that lunkhead, Ike, my nephew. I guess you might
fight the whole of Buena Vista right over his head, an' if it was his
sleepin' time he'd sleep right on."

They left the next morning, taking with them all of Harry's
baggage. Jarvis' boat would remain in the creek at this point, and he
and Ike would return in due time for their own possessions. They
followed a footpath now, but the walk was nothing to them. It was in
truth a relief after so much traveling in the boat.

"My legs are long an' they need straightenin'," said Jarvis.
"The ten miles before us will jest about take out the kinks."

Jarvis was a bachelor, his house being kept by his widowed
sister, Ike's mother, and old Aunt Suse. Now, as they swung along in
Indian file at a swift and easy gait, his joyous spirits bubbled
forth anew. Lifting up his voice he sang with such tremendous volume
that every peak and ridge gave back an individual echo:

"I live for the good of my nation, And my suns are all
growing low, But I hope that the next generation Will
resemble old Rosin, the beau. "I've traveled this country all
o'er, And now to the next I will go, For I know that good
quarters await me To welcome old Rosin, the beau." "I suppose
you don't know how you got that song, either," said Harry.

"No, it just wandered in an' I've picked it up in parts, here
an' thar. See that clump o' laurel 'cross the valley thar, Harry? I
killed a black bear in it once, the biggest seen in these parts in
our times, an' I kin point you at least five spots in which I've
killed deer. You kin trap lots of small game all through here in the
winter, an' the furs bring good prices. Oh, the mountains ain't so
bad. Look! See the smoke over that low ridge, the thin black line
ag'in the sky. It comes from the house o' Samuel Jarvis, Esquire,
an' it ain't no bad place, either, a double log house, with a
downstairs an' upstairs, an' a frame kitchen behin'. It's fine to
see it ag'in, ain't it, Ike?"

Ike smiled and nodded.

In another half hour they crossed the low ridge and swung down
into a beautiful little valley, a mile long and a quarter of a mile
broad that opened out before them. The smoke still rose from the
house, which they now saw clearly, standing among its trees. A brook
glinting with gold in the sunshine flowed down the middle of the
valley. A luscious greenness covered the whole valley floor. No
snugger nook could be found in the mountains.

"As fine as pie!" exclaimed Jarvis exultantly. "Everythin's
straight an' right. Ike, I think I see Jane, your mother, standin'
in the porch. I'll just give her a signal."

He lifted up his voice and sang "Home, Sweet Home," with
tremendous volume. He was heard, as Harry saw a sunbonnet waved
vigorously on the porch. The travelers descended rapidly, crossed
the brook, and approached the house. A strong woman of middle years
shouted joyously and came forward to meet them, leaving a little
weazened figure crouched in a chair on the porch.

Mrs. Simmons embraced her brother and son with enthusiasm, and
gave a hearty welcome to Harry, whom Jarvis introduced in the most
glowing words. Then the three walked to the porch and the bent
little figure in the chair. As they went up the steps together old
Aunt Suse suddenly straightened up and stood erect. A pair of
extraordinary black eyes were blazing from her ancient, wrinkled
face. Her hand rose in a kind of military salute, and looking
straight at Harry she exclaimed in a high-pitched but strong
voice:

"Welcome, welcome, governor, to our house! It is a long time
since I've seen you, but I knew that you would come again!"

"Why, what's the matter, Aunt Suse?" asked Jarvis anxiously.

"It is he! The governor! Governor Ware!" she exclaimed. "He,
who was the great defender of the frontier against the Indians! But
he looks like a boy again! Yet I would have known him anywhere!"

The blazing eyes and tense voice of the old woman held Harry.
She pointed with a withered forefinger which she held aloft and he
felt as if an electric current were passing from it to him. A chill
ran down his back and the hair lifted a little on his head. Jarvis
and his nephew stood staring.

"Walk in, governor," she said. "This house is honored by your
coming."

Then, and all in a flash, Harry understood. The mind of the old
woman dreaming in the sun had returned to the far past, and she was
seeing again with the eyes of her girlhood.

"I'm not Henry Ware, Aunt Susan," he said, "but I'm proud to say
that I'm his great-grandson. My name is Kenton, Harry Kenton."

The wrinkled forefinger sank, but the light in her eyes did not
die.

"Henry Ware, Harry Kenton!" she murmured. "The same blood, and
the spirit is the same. It does not matter. Come into our house and
rest after your long journey."

Still erect, she stood on one side and pointed to the open door.
Jarvis laughed, but it was a laugh of relief rather than
amusement.

"She shorely took you, Harry, for your great-grandfather, Henry
Ware, the mighty woodsman and Injun fighter that later on became
governor of the state. I guess you look as he did when he was near
your age. I've heard her tell tales about him by the mile. Aunt
Suse, you know, is more'n a hundred, an' she's got the double gift o'
lookin' forrard an' back'ard. Come on in, Harry, this house will
belong to you now, an' ef at times she thinks you're the great
governor, or the boy that Governor Ware was before he was governor,
jest let her think it."

With the wrinkled forefinger still pointing a welcome toward the
open door Harry went into the house. He spent two days in the
hospitable home of Samuel Jarvis. He would have limited the time to
a single day, because Richmond was calling to him very strongly now,
but it was necessary to buy a good horse for the journey by land, and
Jarvis would not let him start until he had the pick of the
region.

The first evening after their arrival they sat on the porch of
the mountain home. Ike's mother was with them, but old Aunt Suse had
already gone to bed. Throughout the day she had called Harry
sometimes by his own name and sometimes "governor," and she had shown
a wonderful pride whenever he ran to help her, as he often did.

The twilight was gone some time. The bright stars had sprung
out in groups, and a noble moon was shining. A fine, misty, silver
light, like gauze, hung over the valley, tinting the high green heads
of the near and friendly mountains, and giving a wonderful look of
softness and freshness to this safe nook among the peaks and ridges.
Harry did not wonder that Jarvis and Ike loved it.

"Aunt Suse give me a big turn when she took you fur the
governor," said Jarvis to Harry, "but it ain't so wonderful after
all. Often she sees the things of them early times a heap brighter
an' clearer than she sees the things of today. As I told you, she
knowed Boone an' Kenton an' Logan an' Henry Ware an' all them gran'
hunters an' fighters. She was in Lexin'ton nigh on to eighty years
ago, when she saw Dan'l Boone an' the rest that lived through our
awful defeat at the Blue Licks come back. It was not long after that
her fam'ly came back into the mountains. Her dad 'lowed that people
would soon be too thick 'roun' him down in that fine country, but
they'd never crowd nobody up here an' they ain't done it neither."

"Did you ever hear her tell of Henry Ware's great friend, Paul
Cotter?" asked Harry.

"Shorely; lots of times. She knowed Paul Cotter well. He
wuzn't as tall an' strong as Henry Ware, but he was great in his way,
too. It was him that started the big university at Lexin'ton, an'
that become the greatest scholar this state ever knowed. I've heard
that he learned to speak eight languages. Do you reckon it was true,
Harry? Do you reckon that any man that ever lived could talk eight
different ways?"

"It was certainly true. The great Dr. Cotter--and 'Dr.' in his
case didn't mean a physician, it meant an M. A. and a Ph. D. and all
sorts of learned things--could not only speak eight languages, but he
knew also so many other things that I've heard he could forget more
in a day and not miss it than the ordinary man would learn in a
lifetime."

Jarvis whistled.

"He wuz shorely a big scholar," he said, "but it agrees exactly
with what old Aunt Suse says. Paul Cotter was always huntin' fur
books, an' books wuz mighty sca'ce in the Kentucky woods then."

"Henry Ware and Paul Cotter always lived near each other,"
resumed Harry, "and in two cases their grandchildren intermarried. A
boy of my own age named Dick Mason, who is the great-grandson of Paul
Cotter, is also my first cousin."

"Now that's interestin' an' me bein' of an inquirin' min', I'd
like to ask you where this Dick Mason is."

Harry waved his hand toward the north.

"Up there somewhere," he said.

"You mean that he's gone with the North, took one side while
you've took the other?"

"Yes, that's it. We couldn't see alike, but we think as much as
ever of each other. I met him in Frankfort, where he had come from
the Northern camp in Garrard County, but I think he left for the East
before I did. The Northern forces hold the railways leading out of
Kentucky and he's probably in Washington now."

Jarvis lighted his pipe and puffed a while in silence. At
length he drew the stem from his mouth, blew a ring of smoke upward
and said in a tone of conviction:

"It does beat the Dutch how things come about!"

Harry looked questioningly at him.

"I mean your arrivin' here, bein' who you are, an' your meetin'
old Aunt Suse, bein' who she is, an' that cousin of yours, Dick
Mason, didn't you say was his name, bein' who he is, goin' off to the
North."

They sat on the porch later than the custom of the mountaineers,
and the beauty of the place deepened. The moon poured a vast flood
of misty, silver light over the little valley, hemmed in by its high
mountains, and Harry was so affected by the silence and peace that he
had no feeling of anger toward anybody, not even toward Bill Skelly,
who had tried to kill him.