Mart Spink replied: "Well, I was born in Nashville, Tennessee, and lived thar with my parents till I was eight years old. I went to school thar and learned how to read and write a little. I also went to church and Sunday School some.

"Then they took up land here in de backwoods, and since that time I have had mighty little chance to larn out of books and to go to meetin'.

"Yes, I would be rale glad to have you start a school in my house, if Lucinda is willin'. What do you say, wife?"

Lucinda: "Let us have de school by all means; de sooner de better. I want it for your sake, Mart, and mine, but specially for our boys and girls."

So the consent was given and the matter settled.

Susanna Spink, the oldest child, sat opposite Viola LeMonde during the conversation. She was fourteen years old, and was of such striking beauty that both the visitors were impressed by it. Her chief attraction was her eyes. Once seen they could never be forgotten. The eyebrows were dark and of medium size. The lashes were black and long. Her eyes were large, clear, deep blue in color. One could look down into their wondrous depths and imagine one could see the very soul of the child.

Susanna was all attention during the talk about the school. She spoke no word, but the look of her eyes spoke volumes to Viola. She knew that the child was intensely interested in the project. That hour by an invisible and mysterious power the souls of the woman and child were welded together into a union of friendship and devotion which death itself could not part. Neither suspected at this time what a test of this devotion was to appear in the future.

Highly pleased with the success of their first visit the ladies entered the carriage, and Viola directed Mose to drive to the home of the Wiles family. Arriving there they were greeted by the furious barking of a pack of dogs and by the staring looks of some of the children. Mrs. Wiles was in the front yard hanging out some faded and frayed clothing on the line.

We must give the names of this interesting family. Those at home were Mrs. Deborah Wiles and her children Ephraim, Priscilla, Martha, and Ruth. The father, Simon, was absent, and also his precious son, Sam, whose acquaintance we have already made. The remaining son, Reuben, was visiting a near neighbor about three miles distant. However much of original depravity existed in this family the parents were determined that they should be fortified with biblical names.

Mrs. Wiles showed small courtesy to the strangers, for she did not call off the dogs or speak to the visitors till she had hung out to dry the last remaining piece of washing.

Then she turned to the carriage, and inquired of the ladies what they wanted. Viola and Henrietta without any invitation stepped down from the vehicle, and made known their mission.

Mrs. Wiles expressed herself unfavorable to the idea. She said they were gittin' along well enough without any church meetin's, and they did not want any of de high-toned people from de bottoms to come up there, putting on airs, treating them as ignorant, and no 'count white trash, and making fun of their farms and houses.

But different words sprang from the lips of Ephraim and Priscilla.

Ephraim, the boy who a few years before had discovered Wind Cave, now grown to a good sized youth, said: "You are wrong, ma. Most of us around here are a low down set without books or religion. If these ladies are willin' to spend their time to come all this way and teach us larnin' and de Bible, I say we ought to thank them, and help them to start de school."

Priscilla said she agreed with her brother and thought it was time they "were gittin' out of their pore way of livin'," and she would be glad "to jine de school" if her mother would let her.

Mrs. Wiles gave a cold consent, and the carriage drove away, the ladies thankful that they had secured at least two more advocates of their scheme.

Mose spoke to his mettled steeds and soon they were drawing the carriage over an unfrequented road through a deep forest to the cabin of Harrop Sneath. He and his house were typical of the poorest of the "poor whites." His cabin consisted of one room, about fourteen feet square, with one door and no windows. It was made of unhewn logs plastered with clay. The only daylight which entered the cabin came through the door when open and down the chimney. On the inside stood a bedstead made of poles stuck between the logs of the angle, the outside corner supported by a crotched stick. The table was a huge hewn log, standing on four pegs. A log bench or two took the place of chairs. The cooking utensils consisted of an iron pot, which hung in the big chimney, a kettle and skillet and a few pewter and tin dishes. The loft was the sleeping place of most of the children. It was reached by a ladder of wooden pins driven into the logs.

Harrop Sneath was too lazy and shiftless to work much. He cultivated in a careless way a small piece of cleared ground around his cabin on which he raised a little Indian corn. The meat for his family was provided by his rifle, for the woods abounded in game—deer, wild turkeys, etc.

It was in such a cabin that Abraham Lincoln was born in another part of Kentucky about this time.

When Viola and Henrietta entered the clearing Sneath was sitting in the sun on a log bench in front of his cabin. He was a man in middle life and like most of the hillside settlers was the father of several children.

The young ladies addressed him pleasantly, and asked after his family and his crops.

He replied, that "de old woman and de kids war right peart; that de crops were most a dead failure because of de dry spell." He "'lowed a dry spell war mighty bad for crops on hillside farms." In this he was quite right.

By this time the "old woman" and some of the kids had come into the yard. Among them was Jemima Sneath, the oldest daughter. She was apparently about twenty years of age, and was a large, healthy young woman.

Henrietta Harvey was the speaker this time, and in a clear and emphatic manner made their mission known. She told them about the school, what a blessing it would be to the community, the families and each one. It would improve their minds, help to remove the evils which all knew existed in the hills, help to put the farmers on their feet by showing them how to raise better crops.

Trying to awaken a greater interest in the father she said: "Mr. Sneath, when you are not working on your place or hunting, how do you pass the time?"

He answered with a slow drawl: "Well, most ginerally I sot on de bench in shade in summer and in de sun in winter. Sometimes I sot and think, and sometimes I jest sot."

Such a man they felt it difficult to arouse, but when Viola added her invitations and arguments to those of her friend, poor Sneath awoke enough to the situation to hold his head up higher and widen his shoulders a trifle.

The one most interested was Jemima, the oldest daughter. She promised to attend the first meeting and to become a member of the school.

Viola now directed Mose to drive them still farther through the woods to the home of Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf. They would not have dared to beard this lion in his den, but knowing he had left the county for the time being, they wished, if possible, to interest his mother and sister in the school.

As they drew up to the house the dwarf's mother stood in the doorway, her daughter looking over her shoulder. The mother might have been a twin sister of Sycorax, the dam of Caliban. She was tall and slim, dressed in a coarse, hand-woven dress. Her long, scant hair fell down over her shoulders. Her face was that of a hag. Her few teeth were stained yellow with tobacco.

As soon as Viola spoke of the school, this vixen, raising her right arm to its greatest height and clenching her hand, broke out in wild vituperation:

"What do de like of ye, comin' into our hills in yer fine carriage to see how pore we air and to look down on us? Woud you uns larn us to be good in yer school? We uns air as good as you uns even if we don't live in big houses and drive fast hosses. Away with you! Me and mine will have nuthin' to do with yer mission."

In a similar vein she continued to pour out a volley of loud and abusive words, interlarding them with such oaths and curses as would have surprised a Billinsgate fishwoman.

Viola tried for a brief time to reason with her, and present their plea for the mission school, but, finding it was useless to remain longer, told Mose to drive away. When they had reached the shelter of the woods the slave said: "Ah neber hurd a deck han' on de ribber cuss and swear lak dat po' white woman."

Still these noble ladies, inspired with a high resolve to help the lowly, undismayed continued their work. In the course of two or three days a sufficient number of persons had agreed to attend the school to warrant its being opened with much promise.



CHAPTER X.

The Mission School Established.

The time set for beginning the mission school was the first Sunday in October. The place, Mart Spink's sitting-room.

Mr. Spink had added to the seating capacity of his cabin by taking some long slabs and with an auger drilling holes in their round sides. Into these holes he drove wooden pegs, and thus provided serviceable benches without backs. These together with his other benches and his chairs gave sufficient seating accommodation for those who came.

It was a motley but interesting crowd that assembled in the sitting-room at two o'clock that Sunday afternoon. Of course the Spinks were there, and some members of the Wiles and Sneath families were present, and others from different homes in that section. Fourteen girls, ten boys and a few adults had come to the meeting. Besides these there were the preacher, John Larkin, Viola and George LeMonde, Henrietta Harvey, and Stella Nebeker in attendance. Jasper Very wished much to be present, but a preaching engagement kept him away.

The children were dressed somewhat better than on week days but at that their clothing was nothing to boast of. The girls were shy and ill at ease, the boys half shy and half bold.

John Larkin called the school to order, and made a few remarks.

"Dear friends, we are met here today to worship God and to study his Holy Word. I am sure you want me in your behalf to thank the ladies who visited your homes and invited you to help in starting this school, and to thank Mr. Spink and family who have so kindly opened their house for our meetings. Miss Viola LeMonde has had some hymn books placed on the benches, and she will lead us in song."

Viola knew that most of those present were not acquainted with a single religious hymn, but she thought the older ones might be able to sing some of the old favorites of the church. So she led them in singing:

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me," and "All hail the power of Jesus' name."

Those who had come to help in the school carried the tunes along very well, and Viola was surprised and pleased to hear some of the farmers and their wives join in singing these sweet songs of Zion.

Then Viola sang as a solo a beautiful and appropriate "Children's Hymn," containing these words.

"Hosanna! be the children's song, To Christ, the children's King; His praise, to whom our souls belong, Let all the children sing. Hosanna! sound from hill to hill, And spread from plain to plain, While louder, sweeter, clearer still, Woods echo to the strain."

Then John Larkin said: "Let us pray." He closed his eyes, and began an earnest supplication at the throne of grace. But it might have been better for him and the school, if he had kept his eyes open while he offered his petition, and thus obeyed the Bible command: "Watch and pray." When he closed his eyes the little imps in divers parts of the room saw their chance for mischief, and were quick to embrace it.

A Sneath boy put his straw hat on the head of a boy next him, and then knocked it off with no gentle blow. This angered the other youngster and he hit back with his clenched fist. So they had it back and forth, to the amusement of all the chaps around them. Another boy got possession of a pin—a rather scarce article in that neighborhood—and at one of the most fervent parts of the preacher's prayer stuck it into the lad sitting in front of him. The punctured youth gave a yell which could not be construed into an Amen on account of the petition. It raised the lad off his seat, and made him jump forward with an impetus which was both amusing and pathetic. The hurt of the pin seemed to swallow up every feeling save that of distress, and he "boo-hooed" aloud.

Such proceedings made Brother Larkin bring his prayer to an abrupt conclusion, and Viola LeMonde hurried to the sobbing child, and tried to comfort him.

After the devotions the school was divided into classes. John Larkin took the adults of both sexes; Viola LeMonde, the larger girls; Henrietta Harvey, the smaller; George LeMonde, the older boys; and Stella Nebeker, the younger.

These teachers that day occupied places of responsibility which taxed every particle of their skill, ingenuity, tact, patience and forbearance. Many of those sitting around them could not read or write a word. So first they had to be taught words and sentences. Their knowledge of the Bible was pitifully small. Yet they possessed the redeeming feature of wanting to learn, and most of them showed an eager desire to improve their minds.

Let us, as unbidden guests, in spirit sit down in Viola LeMonde's class and listen to what is said. These girls' minds were bright but undeveloped. It was their teacher's object to educate—lead out—her pupils' intellects into the broad fields of Scriptural knowledge.

"Girls," said Viola, "we are going to study the book, copies of which we are holding in our hands. It is called the Bible. Let me ask some questions about it, and you try to answer them."

"Have you seen the Bible before today?"

Susanna Spink replied: "I seed one onct, when I went to a camp meetin' near Honey Crick. A man read out of a book he called de Bible, and then he talked and talked a long, long time."

"The Bible tells us a lot about many good men and women. Perhaps you have heard of some of these. Who was Moses?"

"Was he nigger Mose's dad?" asked one of the girls.

"No, he lived many years ago, and was a great leader of the Hebrew people. Did you ever hear of David?"

Profound silence.

"He was a mighty king of the Jews, and also a man who wrote many beautiful songs. One of his songs millions of children know. It begins: 'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.' Have any of you ever heard it?"

One or two raised their hands indicating they had heard it.

"Let us turn to it, the twenty-third psalm, and we shall read it together."

This they did, and Viola said: "I want you children to learn this psalm by heart and each one say it to me next Sunday. Will you do it?"

Every hand was raised in consent.

"The Bible is divided into two parts. Can any one tell me what they are?"

"Yes'm, de front an' de back."

"They are called the Old Testament and the New Testament. The Old Testament tells of God's dealings with his chosen people the Hebrews (or Jews). It also points to the coming of God's Son into the world."

"The New Testament tells how God's Son Jesus Christ came upon earth to be the Friend of little children and all people; how he lived a good life, always helping those around him; how wicked men at last put him to death, and his friends buried him. But the grave could not hold him, and on the third day he arose from it, and soon went up to heaven. The day of his birth is called Christmas. Have you heard of it?"

"Yes, teacher, we have all heard something about Christmas."

"Well, well learn more about it, for it is a sweet story, and next Christmas the mission school will have a fine time, with songs, and pieces to speak, and giving of presents. I hope my girls will take part in this glad time."

Thus the minutes sped by while in simple words Viola tried to impart some Bible truths to her willing scholars.

After closing exercises the school was dismissed.

The teachers remained a while to compare notes. George LeMonde reported having had an interesting time with his boys. He said he spoke to them about the sin of making moonshine whisky, and tried to set them against the practice. He was surprised at the answer that was made to one of his questions: "If any one were to ask you to take a drink of moonshine whisky, what would you say?"

"Thank you," piped up a small boy.

The first session of the Mission Sunday School was considered a success and those responsible for it were encouraged to continue the work.

Some change in the teaching force was necessary, for John Larkin's duties as preacher would not permit him to serve as a permanent teacher.

It is a pleasure to say that this school increased in numbers and influence, and not only in its Sunday meeting, but also in its social and educational work in the community, became a strong agent to uplift the surrounding hill people in every way.



CHAPTER XI.

A Kentucky Feud.

Costello Nebeker after his conversion in his dance hall under the ministry of Jasper Very continued to keep his tavern, but discarded the sale and use of whisky upon his premises. He became known as the one hotel keeper in all that region who did not furnish his customers strong liquors. However, this action did not ruin his business; for, while some of his patrons left him, others took their places, and he was able still to supply all proper needs of the traveling public.

The winter had set in, and a great change was visible in the landscape. The splendid forest trees had lost their leaves, and their giant limbs were bare in the winter sunshine. A light snow covered the ground, and in it could be seen the tracks of rabbit, squirrel, coon, opossum, and occasionally a wild cat. In the distance the loud baying of hounds told that some creatures of the wild were being pursued by their relentless enemies.

Nature was at rest, and also the pioneer. His crops of corn, hay, wheat, tobacco, and vegetables were all gathered and safely placed in barns and storehouses. Little was to be done during the short winter day but to attend to the stock, to do the "chores" about the house, and perhaps to haul wood—backlogs and foresticks—to replenish the ravenous fire in the great fireplace.

But what was a time of rest to the Kentucky farmer was a season of special activity to the pioneer preacher. It was usually in winter that "protracted meetings" were held. Next to camp meetings, they were the great religious events of the year. The old saints anticipated with keen relish the sermons, songs, prayers, exhortations, and altar services. The young people were scarcely less interested, but from mixed motives—partly religious and partly social. Ever since Adam courted Eve under Eden's trees God's woods have been places for lovers to woo in, and one of the best things connected with the "protracted meeting" was the occasion it made of bringing young people into one another's society and starting friendships which ripened into love and matrimony.

Through the influence of Costello Nebeker a small church was built some distance from his house in the noble forest. It was composed of logs cut smooth with axes on two opposite sides. These logs were placed one above the other, and the chinks between were closed up with mortar made of clay and water. The roof was of heavy beams upon which were nailed coarse clapboards. The building could boast of two small windows and a single door. The inside arrangements were as simple as the outside. A common wooden desk answered as a pulpit, and instead of pews wooden benches were placed in front of the stand. A large cast-iron stove, placed near the center of the room, gave heat when the weather was cold. The building was called the "Bethlehem Church."

The "protracted meeting" was appointed to begin early in January. The preachers who were to conduct it were Jasper Very, John Larkin, and Ezra Thompson, an old minister, grizzled and toughened by time and exposure.

This history has to do with the Sunday evening service which Jasper Very was to conduct. It was a beautiful winter evening. The orb of day had scarcely descended behind the unbroken line of forest trees in the west ere the full moon appeared in the east, rising in majesty through the trees. The silvery globe stretched from the base almost to the tops of the trees. Slowly and serenely she climbed on her upward way, the tree tops now marking the line of her diameter; then in a few minutes she was free from their obstruction and hung above the earth a great, shining ball, sending upon river, forest, plain, and plantation a light so full and soft that one standing in it would become charmed by her magical rays.

In the falling darkness it was easy to walk or ride to the evening appointment. Because of the distance most of the people rode on horseback. When they had all assembled, the sight was one to remember. Horses were hitched everywhere to racks which had been placed near the church, to branches of trees, and to small saplings.

Before the services began many of the people had gathered inside the church, which was illuminated with a half dozen tallow candles that tried their best to burn, but seemed discouraged by the attempt. Outside men collected in groups and talked in low, earnest tones. Do you ask what was the subject of their conversation? It was about the sermon to be preached that night by Jasper Very.

A few days before a family feud in this neighborhood had broken out afresh. It was the noted feud between the Wiles and Barker families. This estrangement had occurred a quarter of a century before. It began by some cattle of a former Wiles getting into the field of a settler named Barker. Barker told Wiles to keep his live stock out of his land, and Wiles replied by demanding that Barker should repair his rail fences and mind his gates. Wiles was careless about his cattle and Barker about his fences. So one night a lot of Wiles' cattle got into a fine field of growing corn belonging to Barker, and ate as long as they could chew the juicy food and trampled down the green stalks with perfect indifference as to ownership. Early the next morning Barker saw the devastation and the causes thereof. He walked over to Wiles' plantation, and the two men quarreled, fought, and almost killed each other.

This was the beginning of that celebrated Wiles-Barker feud which has soiled the annals of that part of Kentucky. Its course was marked by murders, assassinations, wounds, burning of buildings, and every injury which cunning could devise and hate execute.

For a full year before this winter, by an unspoken agreement, the two factions had ceased to quarrel. Violence had exhausted itself, for the worst of men cannot give loose rein to their passions all the time. But, though the wild beast of hatred and revenge was quiet, he was neither dead nor changed into a lamb; he was really nursing and strengthening his powers for more savage attacks. The occasion which made him crouch, show his teeth, and leap forward with sudden and terrible fury was a barn-raising on a settler's farm not far from Costello's tavern. The Wiles and Barker families were both well represented by young and middle-aged men. According to the custom of the time, whisky was freely tendered to the workers and as freely received.

All went well until late in the afternoon when the framework of the barn had been put in place. The settlers had drunk unusual quantities of their favorite beverage, and were ready for frolic or fight. Just then Alan Barker, a scion of the noted family, belonging to that branch living in Pigeon Creek, began expatiating on the charms, graces and virtues of a fair lassie bearing the euphonious and patriotic name of America Virginia Stubbins, and closed his eulogy by saying she was "de sweetest, prettiest, best and likeliest gal in all Kentuck," and he could "whip any man in de crowd who dared to deny it." Young "Buck" Wiles took up the dare, partly because he despised the whole Barker crew, partly because he had a tender feeling toward the same lass, and was therefore jealous of Alan Barker, but mostly because whisky had fired his brain. So he discounted Alan Barker's fervid descriptions, and averred that the same America Virginia Stubbins possessed a homely face and little sense.

This was the spark which exploded the magazine. Alan Barker, stung to anger and madness, sprang upon "Buck" Wiles, and the two men clenched in a desperate struggle. However, it was not the way of the times to confine the settling of disputes to the "manly art" of bare fists. There was a quicker method, and sooner than we can write it the men having become separated in their wrestling, Alan Barker whipped out a pistol and shot Wiles down. Then ensued an encounter horrible to relate. The members of each family entered at once into the fight. Many shots were exchanged; and after a few minutes, when the fighting was over, either from lack of ammunition, or because, Indian fashion, those who were not wounded had hidden behind the great trees to fight from under cover, the sad results were apparent. Three of the Barker tribe and two of the Wiles lay dead upon the ground, while five of the latter and four of the former were lying in different positions, some slightly, others desperately, wounded.

Thus the old feud was renewed, the old score opened, and the waters of malice, revenge and hate which had been accumulating for months broke forth afresh with devastating effect. Soon the news was heard in all the surrounding hills and valleys. It stirred the dull and untrained minds in many a mountain cabin; it was discussed between drinks in rough taverns. Somehow the story sounded through the green Kentucky woods until its echoes appeared in the daily papers of Cincinnati, Philadelphia and New York.

Jasper Very declared he would make this battle between families the subject of his sermon on Sunday evening, and it was this announcement which threw the neighborhood into such a high state of excitement and caused a crowd to attend the meeting which packed the small meeting-house to suffocation and, despite the cold weather, caused it to overflow into the surrounding yard.

Sam Wiles was there, and his impish shadow, Zibe Turner, and Long Tom, and the rest of his cronies. Sam Wiles' family was a part of that large Wiles faction which warred with the Barkers, but Sam was not present at the barn-raising. He was only fourth cousin to the Wiles men who were killed, but felt himself bound with the rest of his kin to avenge their death. Hence he was intensely interested to know how the preacher would treat his subject. On account of the crowd he sat a little within the doorway, while the monster dwarf contented himself with a position just outside, where his ghoulish and malignant face was lighted up by candle rays and moonbeams combined.

Jasper Very took for his text, "Am I my brother's keeper?" Thus he began: "Hearers and friends, it is a sad fact that the first man born into the world, Cain, was a murderer, and the second man born of woman was murdered. Cain killed his brother Abel. Ever since that day this earth has been reddened with human blood. It has defiled every mountain and stained every plain, it has polluted the waters of every lake and river, and has reddened the very ocean. Murder's bloody hand, nerved by all the worst passions of man, has struck down, not only the guilty, but also the innocent, the weak and helpless. It is a perversion of the Creator's intention regarding mankind. He made men to dwell in peace and happiness. He put the solitary in families that each member might contribute to the well-being of the whole. Every man is his brother's keeper. He is expected to do him good and not harm. If my brother is weak, I must try to be his strength. If he is in sorrow, I must comfort him; if needy, help him with my substance; if sick, I must minister unto him. By so doing I shall receive both the approval of my conscience, and the Master's reward: 'Well done, good and faithful servant.'

"Back of the act of murder is its motive. It is formed in the mind before it is committed by the hand. It invariably springs from the baser passions of man—hate, malice, jealousy, revenge. Our Bible traces it to its seat. It declares: 'Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him.' It was this bad feeling of hate which made Cain kill his brother Abel."

The preacher then passed on to say: "You all know that different parts of our beautiful State of Kentucky have been disgraced by family feuds which have resulted in many crimes against God and man, including murder. In our own neighborhood at this time of the year when we should be making fresh resolutions of love to God and our fellows, young men have shot one another down in a useless quarrel, a number of families are mourning the loss of sons and brothers, and other men are made cripples for life by ugly wounds."

Then, raising his voice until it could be heard by the remotest lounger at the horserails he thundered: "What was the cause of this recent killing, and of the broils, fights, and contentions in our midst? Whisky. This is the curse of Kentucky. It is the demon which fires the blood and pulls the trigger. In days when the red men roamed these forests and hunted abundant game so many battles were fought among themselves that this fair land received that dreadful name, 'The Dark and Bloody Ground,' and now you are doing all in your power to perpetuate this name. You in this audience who make or sell liquor, either legally or illegally, 'have made a covenant with death, and with hell are at agreement.' How can you escape the wrath of God? The voice of these slain men's blood cries unto heaven from the ground. The gray hairs of their parents will go down in sorrow to the grave for them."

His mood and voice then changed, and in softer tones he pleaded with them to turn from the evil of their ways and live. He assured them that no drunkard nor drunkard-maker could inherit the kingdom of God, that a sure woe would rest upon him who putteth the bottle to his neighbor's lips, and that no good could finally come out of this bad business. He told them that they could not turn from their evil ways in their own strength; but God had laid strength upon One who was mighty to save and strong to deliver from every weakness and temptation, even his only begotten Son, Jesus Christ.

His eyes filled with tears and his voice shook with emotion as he gave an invitation to all to forsake their sins and return unto God in that sweetest welcome to repent that human ears have heard: "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Almost overcome by his feelings, Jasper Very sat down, but instantly John Larkin arose and gave out that comforting invitation hymn:

"Come, ye sinners, poor and needy, Weak and wounded, sick and sore; Jesus ready stands to save you, Full of pity, love, and power. He is able, He is willing, doubt no more."

He asked all those who wanted to repent of their sins and to seek pardon and peace to come forward to the altar while the congregation stood and sang that hymn.

The result was astonishing. In spite of the crowded condition of the room men and women pushed their way to the wooden benches called an "altar," and with tears and groans sought forgiveness. Decisions were made that night as lasting as eternity. Many a hardened backwoods sinner there forever forsook his evil ways and became an order-loving and respectable citizen, helping to form that civilization of which the Kentucky of today is so proud. Several moonshiners were convicted of the iniquity of their business, and gave up illicit distilling and their other bad practices. Among the rest was Long Tom. He sought the Lord with the simplicity of a little child. As he made no reservations, but at once confessed all his evil deeds, and was both wise and simple enough to accept Christ at his own terms of full surrender and childlike faith, he soon found pardon and peace. While he bowed at the altar the people sang "Jesus Lover of My Soul," and its sentiments comforted the sobbing man. The clearest voice which led in this hymn was that of Viola LeMonde.

At a testimony meeting a short time after he told of his experience: "Friends, I war a mighty ignorant feller when I come for'ard to that mourner's bench. I had not said a prayer for twenty years. I did not know how to begin. Then I thought of a prayer my mother larned me when I war a little chap. So I began saying, 'Our Father, who art in heaven,' and before I got through I war saved."

But while some were convicted of the error of their ways at that meeting, others were hardened; for such a meeting is either a savior of life unto life, or a savior of death unto death. Sam Wiles sat, as we have said, near the open door. During the first part of the discourse he followed the preacher closely and calmly; but when Jasper Very entered upon his philippic against the moonshiners in particular, an awful struggle began in Wiles' heart. God's Spirit acted strongly upon him, convincing his judgment that all the preacher said was true, that the whole business was bad from beginning to end, and that now, after he had such proofs among his own kin that death followed in its wake, he should forever abandon it. For a while it seemed as though his proud heart would yield, but there were tremendous influences on the other side. There was the love of his free and easy life which must be put in the scale. If he changed about he must endure the scoffs and reproaches of his former companions. Added to these was the awful tug of the habits and inclinations of his present life, and beyond all this was the personal temptation of the evil one whispering in his soul not to yield. If he did yield, said the tempter, he would soon fall away, and that would be worse than not to start at all.

Thus the crucial battle of his life was fought while Wiles sat in that little church. Such a struggle comes into many a life. Angels must look upon it with the deepest interest and attention. The crisis may arrive at church or at home, on the high sea or on the land, in a storied mansion or in a little cottage, at the midnight hour or in the open day—the place or time counts for little, but the result is as wide as eternity.

This hour was propitious for Sam Wiles. A proper choice would have revolutionized his character, would have gladdened the angels in heaven, and written his name deep in the "Book of Life." But alas! alas! before the sermon was ended he had resisted God's Holy Spirit, and, instead of one devil, seven devils had entered into his soul. A hard expression spread over his face, his eyes flashed with a dangerous fire, and he cast a look of defiance and contempt upon the speaker that (so subtle, strong, and swift are the laws of mind) Very, seeing it, would have been confused and perhaps overcome in his discourse if the shield of Almighty God had not protected him.

As for Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf, the services had no more effect for good upon him than a strong fortress would be affected by shooting white beans at it. When his favorite business, illicit distilling, was denounced by Very, the dwarf's wrath grew so hot that he could not refrain from muttering under his breath: "I wish I could drown you uns and all yer pious hypercrits in whisky. Dat's my holt."

As the last hymn was being sung Sam Wiles left the church and walked out into the moonlight. He was joined by Turner and a few more of the clan. For a few minutes they held a whispered conversation, and then separated.

When the meeting broke up a half hour later, it was found that the girths on the horses belonging to the preachers, the Costello family and others had been cut and destroyed. Also the traces of Judge LeMonde's harness.



CHAPTER XII.

The Shameful Plot.

The moonlight showed a look of blank amazement and concern upon the faces of the victims of this dastardly trick, especially the women; but John Larkin's unfailing good temper and witty sayings relieved the situation. "There is no use crying over spilled milk," said he, "and I am sure, as Poor Richard remarks, 'God helps them that help themselves.' So we must find some way to remedy this trouble, for we cannot stand here gazing into the moon's face all night, and the distance to our homes is too great to walk. Let us look about among the trees, and perhaps we can find pieces of the girths and harness."

This was done, and presently several pieces were found. With these the traces of the carriage were repaired and a number of the saddles made fit for service. By some of the men riding double on horseback the mischief was tolerably mended and all returned to their lodgings in safety.

While one injury was being remedied another more serious was being planned. When Sam Wiles and Zibe Turner had cut the saddle girths and traces, they and three of their pals quickly mounted their horses and rode rapidly to Wiles' house. Arriving there they found the old folks and children in bed. Being afraid to talk over their infamous scheme in the cabin, they betook themselves to the barn some distance away. In this building they lighted a tallow dip and, throwing themselves down on some hay to rest and warm their bodies, they at once began talking of what was uppermost in their minds.

"Now fellers," said Wiles, "let us go over keerfully what we uns war sayin' as we rode along. That cursed preacher made a last break with me when he fit our bizness in such an all-fired strong way and throwed insults on my family. I say he oughter be punished for his sass in the way we spoke of."

"Sure nuff," broke in Turner, the monster dwarf, "tar and feathers and ridin' in a rail is too good fer de likes of him. If he got his just dues, we oughter lay for him some night and pick him off as he is ridin' hossback."

"We must not kill him," said the more cautious leader, "for they would 'spect us at once, and we would soon be put in de jug (jail), if they didn't make us stretch hemp without trial. But a good thick coat of tar and feathers will become his style of beauty fust-rate; and if we uns ride him on a rail, he will dance a jig with his feet in de air and will look more cute than ary Injun you uns ever see daubed with his war paint and feathers."

The five men laughed heartily at this remark, and seemed to anticipate with delight the fulfillment of their foul plot.

"We owe him a good one fer capturin' Long Tom and makin' him pious and an enemy of our bizness," said Bert Danks, captain of the Honey Crick band, "and I hope you uns won't be sparin' of de tar ner easy with de rail. Get one of them three-cornered hickory rails, and that'll do the thing up brown."

"Whar is de best place to s'prise him?" asked Wiles.

"I'll tell yer," spoke Zibe Turner, and his monkeyish face lit up with a smile almost diabolical and his piercing black eyes shot a keen and excited look into the group, "I hearn that he has an appintment next Chewsday night at de top of Bald Knob, and to go there from his home he will have to take de Pigeon Crick road, cross de crick at Farley's and then branch off inter de big woods before he climbs de knob. Now de level place jest by de foot of de knob is a lonely spot, away from de big road, de trees air mighty high and large, and few people pass that way. I say let's strip and dress him thar."

"Agreed!" shouted the rest in concert.

"Bert," spoke Wiles, "we'll look to you to git de tar, and I'll bring a pot from mammy's kitchen to heat it in. I'll also take without her knowin' it some feathers from her feather bed. You, Zibe, are to furnish de rail, and see that you git a sharp and strong one."

"'Pend on me for dat, and if he don't cry for marcy, it'll not be my fault."

As a parting caution Wiles remarked: "All you fellers keep mum on this subject, for we don't want to miss de fun ner be cotched in it."

Now it happened that Mose Williams, Judge LeMonde's most faithful negro servant, was attending to an affair of his own that Sunday evening not strictly demanded by his obligations to his master. In other words, he was courting a sprightly and good-looking quadroon girl, by name Euphemia Jackson ("Femy" for short). This buxom lass was a house servant on a plantation situated about five miles from Judge LeMonde's. What were five miles to a lusty young negro fellow who had a good pair of legs, a bracing atmosphere and bright moonlight in which to exercise them, and a sweetheart at the journey's end?

Mose, arrayed in his best clothes, had gone early and stayed late. He left the plantation happy with himself and all the world. For had he not that very night popped the all-important question and had not Femy given an answer which warmed the very depths of his darkey heart and made the face of nature shine with a double light? To shorten the distance home, as the hour was late and the bright moon threw some light even among the thick trees, he determined to take a footpath among the hills. This course led him close to the cabin of Simon Wiles, Sam Wiles' father. He was walking in a zigzag path, now watching the moonlight as it lilted down through the leafy canopy, making a dim but peaceful light around him; now listening to the sounds which exist in Kentucky forests in winter, the flight of nocturnal birds and moving of animals; seeing the raccoon crossing his track like a shadow in search of food; hearing the mournful hooting of owls in various directions.

Suddenly he was startled by seeing a light shining through the chinks of a building. At once Mose determined to discover its meaning. He had no fine-spun theories as to the wrong of eavesdropping. Besides, there might be robbers planning to steal neighbor Wiles' horse or produce. So he crept up to the barn, making so little noise that neither the watchful dogs nor the plotting men heard him.

He arrived in time to hear the conversation we have recorded. When he had learned all, he stealthily retraced his steps to the foot-path and, making a wide detour around the house, went on his way. While he walked he thus soliloquized: "Ho! Ho! dat's yo' game, is it? Well, dis niggah will try to spile yo' purty plan. But, Mose, ef yo' squeal on dem men an' dey hears about it, dey'll give yo' wusser t'ings dan tar an' fedders. Kain't help dat; mus' run de resk. Mas'r Very am mighty pop'lar wid de Jedge, and I believes dat Miss Viola am lookin' on him wid more'n common feelin's. Mose, yo's gwine to be a married man one of dese days yo'self, an' yo' wants a little cabin of yo' own; and ef yo' hoe dis row to de end an' circumwent dese 'spiring men, p'haps Mas'r LeMonde gwine give yo' de cabin an' Miss Viola gwine put lots o' nice tings in it. Dat's de proposition; an', Mose, yo' got to keep yo' wooly head mighty cool an' calc'lating. Chewsday will soon be hyar, an' what is done mus' be done in a hurry. It's a pity de Jedge an' Mas'r George is gwine to start early to Lexinton tomorrer, so dey can't 'tend to de mattah; but I'll jes inform Miss Viola of de situwation."

When the slave had reached this wise and satisfactory conclusion he had also reached the end of his journey, and with much self-complacency retired to his humble cot to dream of his dusky sweetheart.

Early the next morning Mose called at the mansion to see Miss Viola, telling her that he had "sumpin' of special 'portance" to make known. For the sake of privacy, she took him into the large drawing-room and, seating herself in that beautiful bay window overlooking the stately lawn and the broad cornfield now shining white under their coverlet of snow and farther on the lovely river, she beckoned him to proceed. With much earnestness and an air of importance he related what he had heard at the barn the night before.

Mose was so absorbed in his recital that he did not notice the full effects of his words on his mistress. As his story continued, a great change came over her. Her breathing quickened until it came in short and labored gasps. First a deeper color of red suffused her cheeks, then a crimson overspread her face and neck, which was soon followed by a paleness which marked her face with an ashen hue. How that poor heart was troubled! Now its violent beatings force the hot blood to face and hands and feet; then with the cruel news it takes into itself the torrid currents of blood, leaving the face and extremities cold and bloodless and a feeling of suffocation in the lungs. By a supreme effort of will, which God has made sovereign over the emotions, she calmed her beating heart and considered what was best to be done.

"Mose, you are quite sure you have told me all you heard?"

"Yes, Miss Viola, I is, kase de wo'ds made such a 'pression on mah mind dat I 'members dem zackly."

"You are certain they selected Tuesday night for their wicked acts?"

"Dey spoke of Chewsday night, and tuk it bekase Mas'r Very is to go dat way dat night."

"You can leave me now for an hour, but at eight o'clock come back and I will send by you a message to Mr. Very."

When the negro had left, Viola LeMonde retired to her own room and seating herself at her writing desk, wrote the following communication:

"Mount Pisgah, January 6, 181—.

The Rev. Jasper Very,

Dear Mr. Very:

Our servant, Mose Williams, has just made known to me a plot which some base men have devised to treat you with indignity and to bring the cause of religion into contempt. Mose was returning home late last night from Mr. St. Claire's plantation when, seeing a light in Simon Wiles' barn, he crept near and, looking through a chink in the wall, saw Sam Wiles, Bert Danks, Zibe Turner, and two other men lying on some hay. He overheard them planning to administer to Rev. Jasper Very a coat of tar and feathers and to complete the performance by riding him on a rail. This disgraceful act is to take place next Tuesday night. The spot is that dark and unfrequented place at the foot of Bald Knob through which you must pass on the way to your preaching service.

"As 'to be forewarned is to be forearmed,' I hasten to notify you of the plot, feeling sure you will adopt measures to thwart it. Father and George would aid you in the matter but they went early this morning to Lexington, and will not return till Wednesday evening.

"I feel that I am able to do little in such an emergency as this; but if I can be of any help, I will most gladly endeavor to preserve the respect of our community and to assist a friend.

"No one knows of this plot except the instigators, myself, and Mose. By him I send this note to you.

Most sincerely yours,

Viola LeMonde."

At eight o'clock Mose made his appearance, and Viola gave him the message, telling him to ride Velox as fast as possible to Mr. Nebeker's tavern, where Mr. Very had spent the night, and to give it to the preacher.

Mose was doubly willing that the news should get to the parson by means of the note; for if trouble came his way, he could swear that he did not inform Very of the plot; and, secondly, he thought Viola would be pleased to help the preacher.

Jasper Very was still at the home of the tavern keeper, as were also several other preachers, including the "square man," John Larkin. Jasper was standing on the porch, and was surprised to see the colored man riding up fast to the house, his horse wet with sweat and steaming in the wintry air.

Mose, dismounting, lifted his cap to those present, and said to Jasper Very: "I has a message of 'portance to you, sir." With this he handed him the note, and then, on request of Mr. Nebeker, put Velox in the barn to cool off and rest.

Jasper Very took the missive to the end of the porch and, breaking the seal, read it. When he had finished, his mobile face showed the conflicting emotions within. A flush of anger reddened his dark features, his lips were pressed close together, his eyes flashed with unwonted fire, and his hands involuntarily became clenched until the finger nails indented the palms. Soon his look softened, the fire left his eyes, and they appeared as gentle as twin lakes in lovely Switzerland. The proud lines in his lips gave place to a curve like a Cupid's bow and a smile lighted up his face. Looking out over the wintry landscape, he said to himself: "It is worth the danger of an attack like this to receive such a note from Viola LeMonde. How kind and thoughtful of her to warn me of the plot so quickly. I will see how best I can circumvent this scheme." With these reflections he retraced his steps to his friends.

In the meantime the pity which Viola LeMonde felt for the preacher did not tend to weaken that strange sensation, born in Eden, which was tugging at her heart.



CHAPTER XIII.

Into a Pit (or Pitch).

Jasper very addressed Costello Nebeker, the tavern keeper, thus: "Brother Nebeker, I have a matter of importance to consider with you and a few friends. Can you furnish us with a private room?"

"Certainly, Brother Very," replied his genial host. "You can have the sitting-room, just back of our large reception-room." (The dance hall had been changed into these two rooms.)

In a few minutes a select company was gathered there. It consisted of Jasper Very, John Larkin, Ezra Thompson, the old, grizzled preacher, Nathaniel Grimes, a smart minister who formerly had been a lawyer, Costello Nebeker, and his wife. Jasper Very read Viola LeMonde's note to the group, and striking was the effect it produced. One cried, "The despicable villains!" another, "The vile sinners." a third, "Shame on Kentucky manhood, to what depths can humanity sink!" For once John Larkin could not find a quotation from Poor Richard or any other source which met the case. But soon surprise and indignation gave way to a cool consideration of the situation and the best means of circumventing this well-laid plot and bringing its instigators to punishment.

Very was the first to offer a suggestion. "Friends," he said, "let us call Mose into the room and hear in detail his account of what he overheard." This was thought good advice, and accordingly Mose was invited into the sitting-room.

At first the cautious darkey was loath to commit himself; but when he was informed that Miss LeMonde already had told the tale in substance and that all present, would keep secret his remarks, he repeated what he had seen and heard with more fullness than we have written down.

After Mose had been dismissed, Nathaniel Grimes, the lawyer-preacher, spoke in these words: "I believe I have a plan by which this plot can be frustrated. It is this: Let Brother Very prepare for his journey tomorrow as though nothing unusual was expected; let us notify two or more constables to enter the woods from a different direction just after dark tomorrow evening, and at a convenient distance from where the plotters post themselves behind great trees. Let Friend Nebeker, Brother Larkin, and myself steal into the woods as best we can and join the constables in season. At the proper time let Brother Very ride slowly along, and when he is met by the ruffians and the parley takes place, we will suddenly rush upon the scene and capture them in their base act."

The plan was discussed for some time and, being found simple and practicable, was adopted. Costello Nebeker was to engage the services of the constables. Being a layman, he could do so without exciting suspicion.

Tuesday evening the sky was partly covered with clouds. About the time Jasper Very started from his home the moon rose in beauty. Sometimes she threw the full glory of her beams upon the white earth as she rode in a clear place in the heavens; at others her light was obscured by passing clouds which covered her fair face. We can follow the gospel ranger as he left his humble boarding place.

Mounted on trustworthy Bob, Jasper Very started to his appointment. He turned his horse's head toward the east and rode for half a mile along a farm road when, coming to a gate, he opened it and came into a broader county road. Just opposite this gate stood the immense barn on Judge LeMonde's estate, in which was stored his hay and grain and in which were kept his many horses. Up a gradual ascent a few hundred feet beyond stood the Judge's mansion. The man of God gazed upon it as its outlines were visible in the moonlight. He thought of the fair daughter who lived there and who had taken such an interest in his welfare. Was it fact or fancy which showed him a female figure dressed in white standing by the west bay window? The distance was too great to see clearly; but perhaps that intercommunication of minds which in later times we call telepathy was the thing which caused his heart to beat with a stronger stroke and fired his spirit with greater courage.

Yes, there was a woman's form standing at that window. Viola was watching for Jasper to pass along. Her white face was pressed against the window pane, and she strained her eyes to see. Her effort was rewarded, for she could well perceive the outline of horse and man as they went along the road. Although Jasper had sent a reply to her note by Moses, thanking her for her interest in his welfare and telling her of the conference at the tavern, with a woman's supersensitiveness she was most anxious as to the result; and as she saw him ride away into danger, she put her hand to her heart and, raising her eyes to heaven, prayed most fervently that he might be protected from harm.

Jasper Very proceeded on his way along the country road. Soon he passed the little schoolhouse on his right, then Bethlehem Church on his left. Next he crossed the rude bridge spanning the brook, and rode on a half mile farther. Leaving the large road, he turned to the left, going northwest through the deep woods toward the base of Bald Knob.

As he neared the spot selected for the attack he heard faint whistles on both sides of the road which were signals before agreed upon that his aids were present. Passing along to the place where he knew the outlaws were concealed, he began singing a camp meeting hymn.

Suddenly the ruffians sprang from the roadside, one seizing his horse's bridle, who proved to be Bert Danks.

"Good evenin', parson, you uns seem to be in a happy frame of mind, or air ye singin' to keep yer courage up?" The speaker was Sam Wiles, who was holding his right boot.

"Much courage is not needed when a man is among friends or cowards, and you must be one or the other," replied Very.

"We'll show yer what sort of friends we air," spoke up Zibe Turner; "so jest obleege we uns by gittin' down off'n that 'er hoss, or we'll help yer down."

"I have an engagement up the knob tonight, and I have not time to tarry with you now," said the preacher.

"Well, parson, we uns have fixed up a leetle meetin' on our own account, and there ain't much singin' nor prayin' in it, nuther. I reckon we'll pay yer back for tryin' to spile our bizness and hurt our reputations. If you won't come down far (fair), we uns must help yer off," growled Turner.

"Men, I seem to be in your power, and surely I would rather dismount of my own accord than be pulled off." With these words Very threw his foot over Bob's back and lighted on the ground.

Instantly he was surrounded by Wiles, Turner, and two other ruffians. Bert Danks still held Bob by the bit.

Very looked about him as best he could, and saw a smouldering fire beneath a large pot. In this pot was a large quantity of tar which had been somewhat heated to soften it, and close by lay a gunny bag containing feathers, while still beyond was a long fence rail which had been taken from a zigzag fence not far away.

"Now, if you'll be so kind, please take off yer preacher's coat and shirt; and if you find de weather too cold for comfort, we uns will put on anudder coat which will keep out de air," remarked Wiles.

"A matter of necessity need not be discussed," said the traveler, and with this remark he pulled off his long clerical outer garment.

Very did this for a double purpose: first, to free himself from incumbrance when he needed to use his arms; and, secondly, by removing suspicion of resistance, to take his enemies off their guard.

No sooner had he slipped his coat off than he gave a loud whistle, and shooting out his right fist with all his strength, struck Wiles squarely on the jaw and sent him sprawling on the ground several feet away. This was the beginning of a strenuous fight. The moment his chief was knocked down Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf, sprang upon Very, and putting one of his apelike arms around his neck, cried: "Dat's my holt." With the other arm he began hitting the parson about the head and body. At the same time the other men were trying to throw him off his feet. Very, knowing help was near at hand, made almost superhuman efforts to stand his ground, though he was half suffocated and stunned by the dwarf's hug and blows.

Very's whistle was answered by a shout down the road, and almost instantly the forms of five men appeared. The outlaws, though surprised, were not panic-stricken, and they met the attack of the constables and preachers with reckless bravery. For a quarter of an hour things were in a strange mix-up. Wiles, rising from the ground, was making for Very, when a burly constable hurrying up caught the outlaw and together they fell squirming, rolling, twisting, fighting over the ground.

Another officer made a break for Bert Danks. Letting go of Bob's bridle, he clenched with his man, and they were fighting like two possessed. Nathaniel Grimes, the great red-headed, raw-boned, lawyer-preacher, was as good in a fight as in an argument and, striking one of the ruffians, gave a good account of himself. John Larkin had to try conclusions with another culprit, and they were at it, give and take, like the rest. In like manner Nebeker did his part.

The officer of the law who grappled with Sam Wiles was one of the strongest men in the county and, despite Wiles' prowess and desperate fighting, the constable soon had him mastered and clapped handcuffs on him.

In the meantime Jasper Very and the monster dwarf were having an interesting combat. Turner would not relax his hold upon his adversary in spite of all he could do. His grip on his throat was like a coil of the cobra de capello. At first Very was at the mercy of the dwarf; and if things had gone on this way a little longer serious consequences would have come to the preacher. Though he was half choked by the other's arm, Very, summoning all his strength, took hold of his antagonists's arm and pulled it from his throat. Then, lifting his enemy in his arms, he threw him with violence from him. Very was not particular in which direction the ugly man should go nor the spot on which he should alight. The fates decreed a bitter punishment, for the dwarf came plump into the pot of warm tar which had been prepared for the preacher. Turner was wedged in the pot, so that he could not extricate himself, and meantime the thick fluid beneath was making a warm acquaintance with his trousers and legs. This unlooked-for disgrace and undoing of the two leaders brought the pitched battle to a close. The unknown rascals, having broken away from their antagonists and seeing the discomfiture of their chiefs, fled up the knob road, while the three principals, Wiles, Turner, Danks, were taken into custody.

The scene closes with John Larkin, a broad smile on his face, looking at the disconsolate Turner and saying: "He digged a pit, and is fallen into the ditch which he made."



CHAPTER XIV.

Returning Thanks.

The captors of these outlaws were more merciful than the rowdies, for Nathaniel Grimes went to a farmhouse not far away and borrowed some clothes to replace those tar-besmeared which Turner had on. When he had changed his garments the two constables and Nebeker conducted the prisoners on horseback to the county seat where they were locked up in jail.

In the meantime Jasper Very, John Larkin, and Nathaniel Grimes mounted their horses and made their way up Bald Knob to a little meetinghouse on its top where services were to be held. Very's encounter with the outlaws had made him late in reaching the church, which caused some surprise to those who had assembled, for they knew their pastor to be a very punctual man. However, he thought it best not to mention the cause of his delay. Simply remarking that he was unavoidably detained, he began the services.

Early the next morning our three friends started down the knob, Jasper Very to go to Judge LeMonde's house personally to thank Miss Viola for her part in helping him to avoid the trap set for him, and Larkin and Grimes to ride about fifteen miles down the river road to keep an engagement to preach that night at a small hamlet called Bridgewater.

When Jasper Very dismounted at Judge LeMonde's barn gate, he was met by Mose Williams, who burst forth with loud and eager words: "Hi! Hi! Mas'r Very, ah knows dat yo' circumwented dem villians. Yo' don't ketch dis coon nappin'. I war a-layin' low las' night to see de outcome of dat amberscade, an' ah seed wid mah own eyes dat yo' won out."

"What did you see, Mose, and how did you see it?" asked the preacher.

"Ah war a-hidin' behin' de upper big post of de barn gate, an' ah hearn hosses' hoofs beatin' up de road, an' soon de constables cum along wid de prisoners. Wa'n't dem moonshiners mad, do? Jes' as dey war 'proaching de gate Sam Wiles said: 'Dat cantin' preacher has got me 'rested twice now, but he won't do it ag'in. Ah'll die 'fore ah'll let him beat me 'n'ur time.' An' den dat monkey, Zibe Turner, fell to cussin' yo' an' de constables an' de Jedge an' all de ch'ch people permiscus. He said, ef he knew de rascal what giv' de plot away, he would skin 'im alive an' hang up his skin in his back yard to skeer away de ghosts. He swore sich drefful oaths ah was afeered de trees by de roadside was gwine to fall on 'em. He mad mah blood run col', an' ah war pow'ful glad he didn't 'spect me."

"Well, Mose, you are safe for the present anyway, for these wicked men will be tried in court soon, and they will be sent to jail for quite a while. Now put my horse in a stall, for I am going to make a call at the big house."

Saying this, Jasper Very handed his bridle to Mose, and also gave him two bits in silver. He then passed through a second gate and walked toward the mansion, which was some two hundred yards distant. When he got near the door, Sport, king of all Judge LeMonde's hunting dogs, came bounding toward him, loudly barking. This great animal was dangerous to strangers but, knowing Very, he came up to him and licked his hand with his red tongue. Very spoke to him and admired his noble form—his high forehead, intelligent eyes, wide nostrils, deep chest, long yellow body, slim but muscular legs—then walked on to the front piazza and rang the doorbell.

While he is waiting there let us take a peep inside. Miss Viola LeMonde, by a law of mind not yet explained, had a premonition that a certain clergyman would visit her that morning. So she had a particular care as to her apparel. She called her faithful maidservant Nora to bring her a white dress, which had a faint shade of blue mixed with the white. This gown, which exactly fitted her shapely figure, she put on, and around her neck and wrists she placed soft and delicate ruching. Then she went to the flower conservatory and selecting a deep-red rosebud, placed it against some dark green leaves and pinned it to her dress. Her hair was formed at the back in a large knot of gold, while over her beautiful brows it was brushed smooth, giving her a look like a Madonna.

When Very rang the bell Viola was in the sitting-room to the right of the hall. Nora opened the door and invited him into the drawing-room at the left of the hall. With a perversity which no mere man understands, and we suppose is unaccountable to woman's mind, Viola would not at once greet the minister, but laid that duty upon her mother. In a minute or two Madame LeMonde, a stately dame in form and mien, worthy of the position she occupied, walked into the room and cordially shook hands with Mr. Very. "I am glad to see you this fine morning, Mr. Very," she said. "Did you escape the base designs of those wicked men last night! Viola told me of the plot they had laid to do you harm. I am sorry that my husband and son were away, that they could not help you in your need."

"Yes, Mrs. LeMonde, thanks to the timely warning that your good daughter sent me, I was able to thwart their evil purposes; and at this moment the ringleaders, Sam Wiles, Zibe Turner, and Harve Davis are in the county jail. I have called personally to thank your daughter for her kindness to me. Is she at home this morning?"

"She is, Mr. Very, and if you will excuse me, I will send her into the room."

By this time Viola had brought her perverse little heart into harmony with her real wish and, having quieted her nerves by a strong effort of will, she was ready to heed her mother's summons to enter the drawing-room. As she stepped across the threshold there was a moment of embarrassment during which neither spoke; but it was only for a moment, Jasper Very being too full of gratitude to remain long silent. "Miss Viola," he said, grasping her hand, "I have come this morning to thank you for your great kindness in apprising me of Sam Wiles' plot to injure me. I am under a thousand obligations to you for what you did."

"Do not speak of that, Mr. Very; it was a thing any friend would have done. But tell me whether or not you escaped from their intentions without any injury to yourself."

"Yes, thanks to your promptness, I was able to enlist some friends on my behalf, and with them and some officers of the law we were able to outwit the ruffians and beat them at their own game." He then laid before her in detail the events of the past night.

Viola listened with closest attention to the narrative. When Jasper spoke of being surrounded by the outlaws and their threats, the color left her cheeks; but when he told how their enemies were overcome and the ludricrous predicament of Turner as he sat in the pot of tar, a sigh of relief escaped her lips, which was followed by a hearty laugh. However, her mood soon changed, and with a serious look coming into her blue eyes she said: "I am sure those moonshiners are a menace to our community. They are becoming more and more hardened and reckless. I fear that they will yet do some of us great injury. They doubtless hate papa, who has to sentence them to prison, and they are foes of all order-loving men and women in this region. As to Sam Wiles, I cannot bear to be near him. His very presence repels and frightens me. When he looked at me in church last Sunday night, I shuddered. It seemed as though a venomous snake had put its folds around my neck. Zibe Turner, called the monster dwarf, seems to me to be almost less than human. He combines the ferocity of the tiger, the slyness of the fox, and the shape of a monkey. I am doubly alarmed when he is near."

"This is the natural recoil of virtue away from vice," said Jasper Very. "God has given to woman an intuitive sense which, without any long process of reasoning, shows her when a man is bad. It is her protection against his greater strength. It is the Almighty's gift to her, and is beyond the value of rubies. If she will use it, she need never be deceived as to a man's inner character."

"I suppose that is why we women can trust some people from the moment we see them and are suspicions of others from the very first."

"Undoubtedly it is; and all women should beware of men whose persons, looks, or acts repel that fine discriminating sense within them. Every man should ask himself the question: 'Have I sufficient moral integrity and nobility to pass muster before the eyes of a pure-minded woman!' If he can say 'Yes' to this, he is to be congratulated."

"I am afraid most men are so self-sufficient that they think the other sex is blind to their faults, and will tolerate and cling to them whether or not."

"They may think so when they reflect only lightly; but when they consider deeply, they know that they can receive the respect of good women only when they are worthy of it. This should stimulate them to be knightly in character—pure, true, gentle, kind, brave, thoroughly good."

"I am glad you have such a high ideal, and trust you will live up to it. If so, you will be my Sir Knight, to lead me to Uncle Pete's cabin. His little girl is down with the measles, and I have promised to act as doctor and nurse for the poor child."

"I will be happy to act as your humble servant on this errand of mercy. In the meantime I wish to get your consent to go with me in a buggy to Mount Zion meeting-house next Friday. An all-day meeting is to be held there, and I am to preach in the morning. I desire the help of your voice in the singing. We can return in the afternoon. What do you say?"

"If mamma gives permission, I shall gladly go; but let us proceed now to the quarters, and you shall comfort the soul of the mother while I try to help the girl's body."



CHAPTER XV.

Cupid's Chariot.

A one-seated buggy is Cupid's most formidable chariot. It beats an automobile farther than we can say. An automobile is an intricate piece of machinery and the driver, if he is of the right kind, will exercise the greatest care. He must look well to his steering, must diligently examine the road as he passes along to avoid obstructions, ruts and broken pieces of glass, and especially is it necessary for him to keep his car from colliding with other machines. This divides his attention and interferes very much with freedom of conversation, and that mutual joy which comes from undisturbed companionship.

As to guiding the wheel with one hand and stealing the other around the waist of a fair companion, if it were allowed by the moral law, it is prohibited by state regulation. The procedure is often dangerous in more senses than one.

But riding in a buggy is different. There is just enough attention required in driving to relieve awkwardness. If a country bumpkin is seated by his best girl, and can speak only in monosyllables, and those few and far between, he can at least say to his horse: "Git ep." If his hands are so big, red and rough that he is ashamed of them, they can by holding reins and whip pass muster. His cowhide boots, shining with bear's grease or lard, can be hidden under the buggy robe.

When a young man takes the young lady of his choice for a drive, he feels a sort of proprietorship in her. He has her company all to himself. With this sensation comes another of responsibility. He must protect her from all harm and look well to her comfort. He wraps her up carefully in the thick robe, which he bought last week at the county seat, paying a half month's wages for it. He shields her from the least cold, when perhaps that very morning she has hung out a wash in her mother's yard with the temperature about zero.

When Friday morning came round Jasper Very came with it. He drove his faithful Bob, hitched to a new buggy, in front of Judge LeMonde's imposing mansion.

Presently Viola appeared, her outside wrap being a heavy beaver cloak which buttoned under her chin and reached nearly to the ground. Upon her head she wore a hat corresponding in color with her cloak. The somber hue of the hat was relieved only by a band and knot of blue ribbon; for in those days feathers and flowers were not allowed. However, she needed no outside ornament to increase her beauty. Her cheeks were red as roses as they were touched by the sharp wintry air; her eyes shone bright and clear with the look of perfect health.

Jasper Very assisted her into the vehicle and jumping in himself adjusted the heavy lap robe about them both. He spoke to Bob and they were off. Nora, the servant, with a laugh called after them: "How nice yo' look riding togedder. 'Pears like yo' made fo' each odder." Viola shook her hand at the girl, but did not seem much displeased. They went down a private way to the big gate opening on the county road and, soon striking the river road, turned to the left in an opposite direction from that which Larkin and Grimes had taken.

For a while they were a bit embarrassed, for this was the first time they had ridden in a buggy together. They confined their remarks to the weather, the bad roads, the Casey old maids (whose house they passed), the swollen Cumberland River, and other small talk. However, this constraint soon passed and they began chatting and laughing in a natural and pleasant way.

"Mr. Very," said Viola, "I want you to tell me about the adventure you had on a ferry boat, to which John Larkin referred the last time I saw him."

"That was one of the strangest experiences of my life," replied Jasper. "A couple of years ago, before coming to this region, some of my friends wanted me to run for the office of representative to the State Legislature. I did not much like the idea of ministers being put forward for political office; but, thinking if elected I might do some good at Frankfort, I consented to be a candidate. One day on my electioneering tour I was wanting to cross the river on a ferryboat, and was passing through some underbrush and woods near the embarking place when I heard some one say: 'That Jasper Very is a great rascal and so are all his preacher friends. They will steal horses and do other mean things. It is a scandal to the county that such a man as Very should be put up to run for office and the first time I see him I intend to whip him for his impudence.' This surprised me a little, and I tried to find another way of reaching the boat without passing these men; but the underbrush was so thick I had to go that way. I summoned up all my courage and rode up. There were six men talking together. I said: 'Gentlemen, who is the man among you who is going to whip Very the first time he sees him?' The man who had made the threat spoke out and said: 'I am the lark that's going to thrash him well.' Said I: 'Very is known to be much of a man, and it will take a man to whip him, mind you.' 'O no,' said he, 'I can whip any such preacher the Lord ever made!' 'Well, sir,' said I, 'you cannot do it. My name is Very and, as I never like to live in dread, if you really intend to whip me, come and do it now.' He looked confused, and said: 'Oh, you can't fool me that way. You are not Very.' 'Well,' said I, 'that is my name, and now is your time. If you must whip me do it now.' He said: 'No, no, you are not Very at all; you only want to fool me.' By this time we had got into the boat and he began again cursing Very. I said to a gentleman: 'Please hold my horse,' and stepping up to the cursing disciple said sternly to him: 'Now sir, you have to whip me as you threatened or quit cursing me, or I will put you in the river and baptize you in the name of the devil, for you surely belong to him.' This settled him and, strange to say, when election day came he voted for me, and has been my friend ever since."

"I am glad he learned such a needed and salutary lesson," said Viola. "I have heard my father say that a braggart is generally a coward. My mind commends your course, Mr. Very, of walking boldly up to danger and daring it to do its worst; but my woman's heart shrinks from the presence of peril."

"Merely to think upon danger makes you and most women timid; but when the reality comes I believe your sex is as brave as mine. In many encounters with rough and wicked men in the wilderness I have found that a bold front is the best way to avoid evils which threaten. A brave word, backed by a good cause, often disarms an adversary."

Thus with anecdote, comment, and talk of church work they rode along, their acquaintanceship increasing, and each, scarcely conscious of the act, looking into each other's heart to find there its thoughts and feelings.

When they had approached within a half mile of Shiloh meeting house, their destination, Jasper said: "Miss Viola, you remember I requested you to sing at this coming service. Perhaps you expected to join your voice only with that of the congregation, but I want you to favor us with a solo before I rise to preach. It will be something new at Shiloh, but all the more impressive for that. The other evening I heard you sing in your drawing-room that inspiring hymn:

'Lo! he comes with clouds descending, Once for favored sinners slain.'

"Now I am to preach this morning on 'Christ's Second Coming,' and the hymn will be a good introduction to the sermon. Will you agree to sing it?"

He looked down into her eyes to see if he could find consent in them. She did not answer immediately, but seemed to be in deep thought. Finally she looked up into his face, and there was a trace of tears in her blue eyes as she said: "Mr. Very, I have never stood alone before the public and sung. It would be a great trial for me to do so today; but if by singing I can glorify my Master by helping some poor soul to a better life, and if I can be of any aid to you, I will do the best I can."

"Thank you, Viola (somehow he forgot to use the 'Miss'), and I am sure God's Holy Spirit will use your voice to benefit many this day."

Soon they reached Shiloh meeting house, and were welcomed by John Larkin and Nathaniel Grimes who had finished their meeting at Bridgewater and had come to this all-day gathering. In fact, Larkin was in charge of it.

As usual, on such occasions many horses were hitched to trees and saplings, a large number of the people having come long distances.

At ten o'clock the great service of the morning began. The church was filled with an expectant crowd, for it was generally known that Jasper Very was to preach. Jasper and several other ministers were seated on a long bench back of the pulpit. The preliminary exercises were over and all were looking for the speaker to begin his sermon, when Jasper Very arose and quietly said: "Friends, Miss Viola LeMonde has kindly consented to sing a solo at this time." Many eyes were at once turned to the young lady, who was sitting to the right of the pulpit. Her beautiful face flushed a little with their scrutiny; but she at once arose and walking in front of the wooden table which answered for a pulpit, without any help from organ or piano (the room having no such instrument) she began singing that stirring hymn:

"Lo! he comes with clouds descending."

As she proceeded with the song all timidity left her and she became possessed with the sentiment of the piece. When she sang

"Every eye shall now behold him Clothed in glorious majesty,"

she raised her own eyes toward heaven, as though she saw the Son of man seated at the right hand of God's throne. A feeling of awe mingled with joy seized the people, and they also looked upward, drawn by the rapt gaze of the singer.

Her face looked like that of an angel as, transported with her theme, she sang in a pure soprano voice:

"Yea, amen! let all adore thee, High on thy eternal throne; Savior, take the power and glory, Claim the kingdom for thine own: Jah! Jehovah! Everlasting God, come down."

As she called upon the God of heaven to descend upon that company she lifted her hand toward the low and humble roof, and with her eyes still gazing up she seemed to see the Son of man coming in his glory on the clouds of power. The effect was marvellous. Many people were in tears. Some sighed deeply as though for relief while others, raising their arms above their heads, shouted the praises of God.

When Viola took her seat Jasper Very arose in his place and stood looking over his congregation for some moments in silence. He did not wish to destroy the effects of the song—and wanted to give the people time to quiet their aroused feelings. He then proceeded with his discourse on our Lord's second appearing, but though he preached in his usual masterly way and held the attention of his audience throughout the tide of feeling did not rise as high as when Viola sang. He was willing that she should bear the honors of the occasion. That singing was long remembered and passed into tradition among the people.



CHAPTER XVI.

Horse Thieves.

Springtime in Kentucky. One wants a new language to express its charms. Winter's shadows fly away. Clouds that looked dark, heavy, and threatening are followed by rosy sunsets and luminous peaks in the sky which appear like mountains standing round about the New Jerusalem. A warm breath of nature starts from the spicy islands south of the great Gulf, crosses it, then sweeps along Mississippi's mighty valley to the "happy hunting ground," bearing in its soft embrace birds of many wing—robin, bluebird, thrush, and sparrow. This breath melts the icy fetters of the streams, and they sing a sweet song of welcome. It enfolds the trees, and they put forth millions of little green ears to hear what the streams are saying. It fondly caresses the flower bushes, and they swell almost to bursting with reviving beauty. Like the green bush which Moses saw aflame with holy fire, every branch and twig shows the mystic presence of nature's God.

While birds with brightened plumage sing as though their lives would escape through their throats; while lambs, calves, and colts gambol in the pasture, filled with the happiness of young life; while fish rush upstream like flashes of silver light and the very trees clap their hands in praise, it is not conceivable that man, God's masterpiece, should be insensible to this season of the year. A sudden thrill like an electric current passes through his being; a subtle exhilaration, as when a man is filled with wine, possesses him, and he is in touch with the new life, whether he goes afield with team or plow or hunts the forest for the increasing game.

It was a day in early April. All the planters were busy in their fields, either laboring with their own hands or superintending the toil of their slaves. The negroes—those jocund children of nature—with happy faces and plantation melodies on their lips, were preparing the ground for its grain and tobacco seed. Judge LeMonde himself was in a rich field between his house and the river giving directions to his chief overseer. In the front garden, between the house and pine trees, could be seen Madam and Viola LeMonde and Mose and Nora all busy putting flower beds in order. Mose was digging the ground, Nora was using a light rake, and the white women were putting in some flower seeds.

While such peaceful work was being done in the river bottom, another scene was taking place at Simon Wiles' hillside farm. Though the season and weather called to earnest effort, we see Sam Wiles and Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf, seated on a big log behind the barn. Let us listen to what they are saying:

Wiles: "De ol' Jedge guv us a term in de jug (jail), an' I'm sure goin' to git even wuth him an' dat preacher too."

Turner: "I'll be wuth you in ary scrape you want to git up, but we uns must be keerful not to be ketched ag'in."

Wiles: "Cordin' to my thinkin', each month we'uns war in de jug is wurth de price of a hoss."

Turner: "That's yer game, is it? Well, 'tain't de fust time we'uns hev borrowed a hoss an' fergot to return 'im, but we'uns never struck so high up as de Jedge's stock. What hosses air you thinkin' on?"

Wiles: "What ones do you suppose? De best ones, o' course. We'uns must take Velox for de money he will bring in Paducky, an' I want to bring down de pride o' dat young upstart, George LeMonde. We'uns both owed 'im a grudge sence he beat you in de race an' won what leetle money we'uns had. De nex' best hoss in de barn is Dolly, an' we'll take her 'long to keep de bay compney."

Turner: "Dat suits me all right; but I want to ride Velox, 'cause he went past me in de race. Won't I make 'im trabble, do, down de ribber road! Dat's my holt."

Wiles: "We'uns must wait till we git a good night. De moon is full now, an' de light is too bright. Four nights from now it will rise purty late, an' den we'll proceed to bizness. We'uns want a leetle light to show us how to git in de bawn an' move 'round. I hear dad callin' me to go plowin', so we'uns must be goin'. Dis is Friday. Come to de house tomorrer evenin', an' we'uns'll settle de partic'lars."

The two men parted, Sam Wiles to help his father to prepare to plant their small crop of corn, wheat and tobacco, and Zibe Turner, with the cunning of a fox and the look of a savage bear, to slink through the backwoods to his mother's little cabin some miles distant.

Monday night was a time just suited to their designs. They had to act very cautiously for horse stealing at that time in Kentucky was considered almost the greatest crime in the catalogue, and woe betide any horse thief who was caught and found guilty! There was little danger of the "law's delay" in his case, for a rope and a limb of a tree prevented all court expenses.

By a small bridge near Franklin Schoolhouse Sam Wiles met by appointment Zibe Turner and the two walked along the road, having little fear of being seen as it was near midnight. They soon reached Judge LeMonde's barn lot and now had to use the utmost caution not to arouse the great dog Sport or any of his satellites. By degrees they pushed open the heavy gate. Then they went to the barn door through which the horses were led to their stalls. It was fastened, but with a common lock. Wiles had brought a bunch of keys for just such an emergency, and after trying two or three found one which fitted the lock. In a moment they were inside the great barn. A long row of stalls was just before them. They carefully closed the door and Wiles, taking a flint and steel and some tinder from his pocket, struck out a spark which ignited the tinder. He then applied a long brimstone match to the tinder, and at once the match was ablaze. They soon found in which stalls were the horses they wanted, Velox being in the first stall and Dolly in the third. Back of the horses were pegs upon which hung harnesses. Wiles quickly unbuckled Dolly's halter and put a riding bridle on her. He then selected a fine saddle and placed it upon her back. Turner did the same for Velox. They then reopened the barn door, and Turner led Velox into the yard. Wiles at once followed with Dolly. To prevent all suspicion they closed the barn door but left it unlocked. It seemed as though they would get away without arousing man or dog; but just as they were leading the horses through the barn gate Velox, perhaps incensed at being taken from his stall at that unseemly hour and leaving his mates, gave a loud neigh.

This sound was heard by Sport who was sleeping in a coach house at the rear of the mansion six hundred feet away. At once the faithful animal, suspecting something was wrong, set up a great barking, and was instantly joined by a group of dogs which were with him. The thieves, being afraid that the barking would arouse the plantation, jumped into their saddles and rode quietly along the county road till they reached the river road a quarter of a mile beyond. Here they stopped to observe if anything would happen at the house.

Now the acute ears of the dogs had heard the hoofbeats of the horses in the still night, and they continued to emit a chorus of barks. At last their noise awoke Judge LeMonde, who was dreaming that twenty lawyers were all pleading a case at once. Thinking something unusual was the matter, he arose and dressed and called up George, his son. Together they went out to the carriage house and tried to quiet the dogs, but they continued barking. The men could find nothing out of place. But the judge, being somewhat uneasy, said to his son: "Let us go down to the barn and see whether or not the horses are all right."

So they started down the road, past the negro cabins (all the slaves being sound asleep), and on to the barn. They went into the barn, and soon discovered the absence of the horses. The judge was a man of decision and courage. He said: "George, thieves have broken into the barn and stolen our two best horses. I do not believe they have been gone long. Run instantly and arouse Mose and some of the other slaves. Tell your mother what has happened, and say that we are going at once to follow the thieves. While you are gone I will get out Prince, Clay and Bess, and we will go after the villains."

George ran to do his father's bidding, and soon most of the whites and slaves on the place were informed of the theft, and were wild with excitement as a result.

In the meantime Wiles and Turner saw the lights in the house and were sure their deed was discovered. It was too late to return the horses to the barn, and they decided to carry out their first intention and ride them as rapidly as possible twenty-five miles down the river road, and there deliver them to a confederate, who would smuggle them to a horse dealer in Paducah. They put spurs to their horses and the noble brutes started down the river road at a fast gait. At the beginning the thieves had every advantage. They were mounted upon Judge LeMonde's fastest horses, and they had several minutes' start of their pursuers. So that they were more than a mile down the river road when the chase began.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed Zibe Turner, "I 'spects I'm ahead in dis race. De time befo' Velox passed me; but now I'm ridin' him, an' I'd like to see de debil hisself overtake me."

"We'uns air safe," said Wiles, "but we'uns must hold back our hosses sum, for we uns hev a good jaunt to take, an' it won't do to tire 'em out at fust."

Both acted at once on this sensible advice, and they brought the ready animals down to a moderate trot. It was now a little past midnight, and not a soul was to be seen on the road. A light breeze blew softly from the south, shaking the tiny forest leaves and blowing across the fields to welcome the coming footsteps of another day.

Though these bad men boasted to each other that they had the winning hand, there was some uneasiness in their hearts. They knew that this was the highest stake they had ever played; they were striking at the chief man of the county, and had stolen the best horses on his plantation. Should the heavy hand of justice smite them, it would be a stunning blow. The voice of conscience was not utterly dead, and it aroused fears in their hearts that they were not willing to acknowledge even to themselves; but, like many other desperate men, their very alarm occasioned a fiercer determination to show a bold front.

About two o'clock that morning honest David Hester, who lived about fifteen miles distant from Judge LeMonde, was awakened from his deep sleep by a pounding in his barn, which stood not far from his house. Honest David knew at once what was the matter,—his horse Jim was kicking in his stall. This valuable beast had a habit at irregular intervals of kicking and pawing in the barn. Once or twice his restless feeling had made him use his legs so vigorously that he was thrown in his stall; and if his owner had not come to his help, he might have been fatally hurt. This night Jim's knocking was specially violent. Farmer Hester at last arose and went to the barn to quiet the restless creature. Speaking kindly to him, he turned him into a box stall and returned to the house.

Just as he was entering the rear door he heard the sound of horses' hoofs some distance up the river road. His curiosity aroused, he decided to see who the early travelers were. He walked to the front yard and stood under a large lilac bush which was already covered thickly with leaves.

The horsemen came on quickly. The moonlight was not sufficiently clear for David to see distinctly; but he noticed that the rider nearer him was a short man mounted on a dark horse, and that the other was a larger man riding a lighter-colored horse having a white spot in its forehead. David did not recognize either the men or horses, but the suspicion flashed across his mind that the lighter-colored horse was Judge LeMonde's Dolly. However, he was not sure, and in a moment the men had ridden by.