A Maid of the Kentucky Hills. Edwin Carlile Litsey
it than a pig. What will I need, and what must I take? You've got me into this, and you've got to see me through it."
"The first thing you'll need will be a roof with good, stout, tight walls under it. Remember, you're not going there to bask in sunshine alone, but you're going to spend next winter there!"
I looked at him, and I imagine my expression was something like that of a dog when a youth badgers it, for 'Crombie laughed.
"I don't want to make it worse than it is," he apologized; "neither do I want you to be deceived in any way regarding conditions. But by the time winter comes, take my word for it, you can sleep in a snow-drift without hurt."
I smoked in silence. The thought was not encouraging.
"I believe you will find things pretty much to your hand there," he went on, in a ruminative voice. "You remember I came from that part of the country, and the locality is entirely familiar. I have been all over Bald Knob a dozen times. Eight years ago a shack stood just where you would want yours. I think a fellow who had a natural love for the woods built it some eighteen or nineteen years ago, lived there a while, and later moved to another State. It is made entirely of undressed logs, and has one room and a kitchen. It ought to be in good condition yet, because it is protected by the bulk of the knob. I should guess the room to be about sixteen feet square, and the kitchen is a box, but big enough. There is a spring near, considerably impregnated with sulphur. This water can have nothing but a good effect. If the shack still stands, you should consider yourself very lucky."
As he drew this picture, I could not help but gaze at the sumptuous furnishings of the room in which I sat.
"How close is the nearest town?" I asked.
"The nearest town is Cedarton, my old home, ten miles from Bald Knob, but there is a hamlet within three miles. This consists of a few cottages, a store, a blacksmith shop and a distillery. You will have occasion to visit neither place often. If you should happen to run short of provisions, go to the hamlet called Hebron."
"Then seclusion is as necessary as pure air and plain food?"
"It is to prevent you from forming the habit that I advise you not to seek people. Man is naturally gregarious. If you began going to the hamlet once a week you would soon be going every day, and you would deteriorate into a cracker box philosopher or a nail keg politician, spending your time in hump-shouldered inertia rather than in tramping through the health-giving open in quest of the life-plant. You are going forth with a purpose, my son; don't forget that."
I threw my head back against the cushioned leather, and in doing so my eyes lighted on a magnificent moose head over the mantel.
"You killed that fellow?" I asked, swerving suddenly from the subject without apology, as is permitted between old friends.
"Yes; in northern Maine. I trailed him ten days, went hungry for two, broke through some thin lake ice in zero weather, tramped five miles with my wet clothes frozen on me before I could get to a fire, and slept two nights under snow a foot deep. Then I killed him."
I stared at him curiously.
"I confess," I said, "that I have thought you were giving me a prescription you knew nothing about. I beg your pardon for my unbelief."
He smiled, and broke his cigar ash into the tray at his elbow.
"I wouldn't miss my annual trip into Eden for a year's income," he said. "It is during those thirty days I store up life and energy for the remaining three hundred and thirty-five."
Then we fell to discussing my departure, and there followed an hour's talk on ways and means. By eleven o'clock I had a list of everything I could possibly need which would contribute to my comfort or well being. But there was one thing more; one supreme thing. All that evening I had been trying to speak it, and couldn't. Now we were sitting side by side at the table where we had made my list, and suddenly courage came. I clasped the ham-like hand lying close to mine, and looking steadily and beseechingly into my friend's eyes, said:
"'Crombie, go with me! I don't mean go to stay. I'm not such a miserable, snuffling coward as that. But companion me there—show me the way—help me get established. Two days—not longer. That country is new to me. Cedarton would take me for an escaped lunatic if I should apply at a livery stable for a wagon to take me and my effects to a shack which used to stand on the slope of Bald Knob. Don't you see? The people know you, and a word from you would fix it all right. I'm your patient. But more than that, 'Crombie, is having your good old self with me. Just come to the shack with me, help me place my things, hearten me up by your good man-talk, make me believe and know that I am on the right track. Just two days. Won't you do it, 'Crombie?"
I knew that I was asking a great deal, probably more than I should. It would seem that it was enough for one man to show another where bodily salvation lay, without taking him by the hand and leading him to it. And forty-eight hours from town now meant a monetary loss to the man beside me. But God made men like Abercrombie Dane for other purposes than money getting.
Now he gave me the sweetest smile I have ever seen on any face except my mother's, as he laid his other huge hand over mine.
"Yes, I'll go with you, my son," he said.
CHAPTER THREE
IN WHICH I FIND A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS
I am here.
'Crombie came with me to Cedarton, engaged two light, serviceable wagons to convey us and my effects, and then drove out here with me to help me get settled. We reached Bald Knob just as the sun was setting yesterday afternoon. The drive out from town was beautiful. Neither talked much on the trip. I couldn't, and 'Crombie seemed to be thinking. The main highway, which we traveled for a number of miles, was made of gravel, brought from a considerable stream which, I learn, runs somewhere nearabout. When we left the road, our way became quite rough. It was merely a succession of knob paths, which had been broadened enough for the passage of four-wheeled vehicles. As we went deeper and deeper into the wood, the scenery became wilder and grander. We saw vast ravines, where the earth shore straight down for many feet; tortuous channels where the fierce rains had plowed a passage to lower ground; trees of all description growing everywhere, while shrubs, creepers and vines interlaced and fought silently for supremacy. Once we passed for nearly half a mile along a broad, shallow stream with a slate bed, bordered on one side by a gigantic, leaden, serrated slate cliff whereon some patches of early moss gleamed greenly bright, fed by the moisture which filtered through the overlapping strata. This cliff was somber; it was almost like a shadow cast upon us. But when we had passed it the sunshine came sweeping gloriously through a gap in the hills, and I felt my spirit leap up gratefully to meet it.
We could see Bald Knob for miles before we reached it, and as we drove along, each smoking, neither talking, I found that my eyes wandered time and again to the bare, conical cap toward which we were creeping. I was wondering with all the soul of me if I could meet the test, now that it stared me in the face. It was one thing to sit in 'Crombie's leather chair and decide comfortably upon this course, and another thing to see myself approaching a hut in the midst of a primeval forest—and to think that I was going to live alone there for a twelve-month! I know my face would not have made a good model for a picture of Hope, as the two wagons drew up in the ravine which partially circled the enormous hill whereon 'Crombie had said a shack had at one time stood. At length we found a sort of road—it was more an opening through the dense undergrowth than anything else—and by dint of much urging from the drivers, and frequent rests, we came at last to a little plateau, perhaps a quarter of an acre in extent, not quite half way up the knob. On the farther side of the plateau was a small building, resting at the base of a sheer wall of stone and earth.
It