It was not to my credit that I should have lost the trail, after Mr.Jackson put me straight.But the night was dark, the country unknown to me, and heavily wooded and mountainous.In addition to these things my mind ran like fire.My thoughts sometimes flew back to the wondrous summer evening when I trod the Nollichucky trace with Tom and Polly Ann, when I first looked down upon the log palace of that prince of the border, John Sevier.Well I remembered him, broad-shouldered, handsome, gay, a courtier in buckskin.
Small wonder he was idolized by the Watauga settlers, that he had been their leader in the struggle of Franklin for liberty.And small wonder that Nick Temple should be in his following.
Nick! My mind was in a torment concerning him.
What of his mother? Should I speak of having seen her?
I went blindly through the woods for hours after the night fell, my horse stumbling and weary, until at length I came to a lonely clearing on the mountain side, and a fierce pack of dogs dashed barking at my horse's heels.
There was a dark cabin ahead, indistinct in the starlight, and there I knocked until a gruff voice answered me and a tousled man came to the door.Yes, I had missed the trail.He shook his head when I asked for the Widow Brown's, and bade me share his bed for the night.No, Iwould go on, I was used to the backwoods.Thereupon he thawed a little, kicked the dogs, and pointed to where the mountain dipped against the star-studded sky.There was a trail there which led direct to the Widow Brown's, if I could follow it.So I left him.
Once the fear had settled deeply of missing Nick at the Widow Brown's, I put my mind on my journey, and thanks to my early training I was able to keep the trail.
It doubled around the spurs, forded stony brooks in diagonals, and often in the darkness of the mountain forest Ihad to feel for the blazes on the trees.There was no making time.I gained the notch with the small hours of the morning, started on with the descent, crisscrossing, following a stream here and a stream there, until at length the song of the higher waters ceased and I knew that Iwas in the valley.Suddenly there was no crown-cover over my head.I had gained the road once more, and Ifollowed it hopefully, avoiding the stumps and the deep wagon ruts where the ground was spongy.
The morning light revealed a milky mist through which the trees showed like phantoms.Then there came stains upon the mist of royal purple, of scarlet, of yellow like a mandarin's robe, peeps of deep blue fading into azure as the mist lifted.The fiery eye of the sun was cocked over the crest, and beyond me I saw a house with its logs all golden brown in the level rays, the withered cornstalks orange among the blackened stumps.My horse stopped of his own will at the edge of the clearing.A cock crew, a lean hound prostrate on the porch of the house rose to his haunches, sniffed, growled, leaped down, and ran to the road and sniffed again.I listened, startled, and made sure of the distant ring of many hoofs.And yet Istayed there, irresolute.Could it be Tipton and his men riding from Jonesboro to capture Sevier? The hoof-beats grew louder, and then the hound in the road gave tongue to the short, sharp bark that is the call to arms.
Other dogs, hitherto unseen, took up the cry, and turning in my saddle I saw a body of men riding hard at me through the alley in the forest.At their head, on a heavy, strong-legged horse, was one who might have stood for the figure of turbulence, and I made no doubt that this was Colonel Tipton himself,--Colonel Tipton, once secessionist, now champion of the Old North State and arch-enemy of John Sevier.At sight of me he reined up so violently that his horse went back on his haunches, and the men behind were near overriding him.
``Look out, boys,'' he shouted, with a fierce oath, ``they've got guards out!'' He flung back one hand to his holster for a pistol, while the other reached for the powder flask at his belt.He primed the pan, and, seeing me immovable, set his horse forward at an amble, his pistol at the cock.
``Who in hell are you?'' he cried.
``A traveller from Virginia,'' I answered.
``And what are you doing here?'' he demanded, with another oath.
``I have just this moment come here,'' said I, as calmly as I might.``I lost the trail in the darkness.''
He glared at me, purpling, perplexed.
``Is Sevier there?'' said he, pointing at the house.
``I don't know,'' said I.
Tipton turned to his men, who were listening.
``Surround the house,'' he cried, ``and watch this fellow.''
I rode on perforce towards the house with Tipton and three others, while his men scattered over the corn-field and cursed the dogs.And then we saw in the open door the figure of a woman shading her eyes with her hand.
We pulled up, five of us, before the porch in front of her.
``Good morning, Mrs.Brown,'' said Tipton, gruffly.
``Good morning, Colonel,'' answered the widow.
Tipton leaped from his horse, flung the bridle to a companion, and put his foot on the edge of the porch to mount.Then a strange thing happened.The lady turned deftly, seized a chair from within, and pulled it across the threshold.She sat herself down firmly, an expression on her face which hinted that the late lamented Mr.Brown had been a dominated man.Colonel Tipton stopped, staggering from the very impetus of his charge, and gazed at her blankly.
``I have come for Colonel Sevier,'' he blurted.And then, his anger rising, ``I will have no trifling, ma'am.
He is in this house.''
``La! you don't tell me,'' answered the widow, in a tone that was wholly conversational.
``He is in this house,'' shouted the Colonel.
``I reckon you've guessed wrong, Colonel,'' said the widow.
There was an awkward pause until Tipton heard a titter behind him.Then his wrath exploded.
``I have a warrant against the scoundrel for high treason,'' he cried, ``and, by God, I will search the house and serve it.''
Still the widow sat tight.The Rock of Ages was neither more movable nor calmer than she.