CHAPTER XVIII
Luke Towers, the father of Kinnard, had been one of those fierce and humorless old feudists of primal animosities and exploits as engagingly bold as the feats of moss-trooping barons. The "Stacy-Towers" war had broken into eruption in his day. No man remembered to just what origin it was traceable – but it had, from its forgotten cause, flared, guttered, smoldered and flared again until its toll of lives had reached a scattering summary enumerated in scores and its record had included some sanguinary highlights of pitched battle. The state government had sought to regulate its bloodier phases with the impressive lesson of troops and Gatling guns, but that had been very much like scourging tempestuous seas with rods.
Courts sat and charged panels, with a fine ironic mask of solemnity. Grand juries were sworn and listened with an equal mockery of owlish dignity. Deputies rode forth and returned with unserved subpoenas. Prosecutions collapsed, since no law unbacked by public sanction in its own jurisdiction can prevail. Stacys and Towers, alike fierce in private quarrel and jealous of their right of personal settlement, became blankly ignorant in the witness chair; welded by their very animosities into a common cause against judge and jury.
There had been, among that generation of Stacys, no such outstanding figure as old Mark Towers, the indomitable lion of the hills. Kinnard had followed Mark, bringing to the succession no such picturesque savagery – but still a bold spirit, tempered by craft. In lieu of the sledge blow he favored the smiling face with the dirk unsheathed behind his back. Times were altering and to him mere leadership meant less than enough. He was also covetous of wealth, in a land of meagerness. To clan loyalty as an abstract principle he must have added such obedience as comes only from fear – and men must know that to thwart him was dangerous. Upon that principle, he had built his dominance until men shaped even their court testimony to the pattern of his requirements. At first the Stacy clan had challenged his autocracy, but twenty years before, the truce had been made and, since no Stacy leader had arisen of sufficient caliber to wrest from him the ascendency of his guile and bold wits, he had triumphed and fattened in material wealth.
The farm that he had "heired" from his father, with its few fallow acres of river bottom, had spread gradually but graciously into something like a domain.
He might now have moved his household to a smoother land and basked in the security of fair affluence – but an invisible bond chains the mountain-born to mountain environment. Highland nostrils shut themselves against lowland air. Highland lips spit out as flat and stale that water which does not gush from the source of living brooks.
There were enemies here who hungered for his life – a contingency which he faced with open-eyed realization – enemies actuated by grievances apart from feud cleavage. Three attempts upon his life, he had already survived. Some day he would not escape. But that eventuality was more welcome, despite its endless threat, than an ease that carried with it surrender of his rude ascendency and the strong intoxication of petty might.
For several years now he had been hearing tales of a Stacy youth who bore the ear-marks of leadership, and from whom, some day, he might expect a challenge of power. If such a test came, he must combat a younger and fierier adversary when his own prime had passed.
Elsewhere in the hills waves of transition were encroaching on the old order of lethargic ignorance. The hermit blindfold was being loosened from eager eyes – and men like himself were being recognized and overthrown. So far the rock-built ridges of Cedar Mountain had been a reef, protecting his own locality – but the advent of Jerry Henderson had bespoken the imminence of a mounting tide – and whispered the warning of deluge.
The elimination of Jerry had seemed imperative, but the result promised disaster – since the wounding of Bear Cat had threatened the wrath-glutting of the Stacys.
There was only one method of discounting that danger. Bear Cat had come single-handed to his stronghold – he must now go single-handed, or escorted only by his customary body-guard, into the heart of Stacy territory, disavowing responsibility for the attack. He must, by that convincingly reckless device, appear to demonstrate that he trusted himself among them and expected in turn to be trusted by them.
He hoped with a fair degree of confidence that Jerry Henderson had not reached the minister's alive – or that at all events he had not been able to talk with a revealing fluency.
So the guileful old wolf had set out to ride boldly through an aroused and hostile country, facing a score of parlous contingencies.
As he rode, he heard the rallying cry and its full portent in no wise escaped his just appraisal. It caused him to spur on faster, however, for the ugliness of the situation made it the more imperative that he should reach Lone Stacy's house in time to present himself as an ally before he was sought out as an enemy.
But when he had sent his message ahead by a neutral bearer, Kinnard Towers slowed down and watched the stream of horsemen that flowed past him: all men with scowling eyes responding to the cry which meant war: all men who passed without attack, only because, as yet, the summons had not been explained.
"By ther godlings!" muttered the Towers chieftain, with a bitter humor, "I didn't know thar was sich a passel o' Stacys in ther world. They'll stand a heap of thinnin' out!"
"An' as shore es hell's hot," growled Black Tom Carmichael with a dark pessimism brooding in his eyes, "they'll do right-smart thinnin' out their own selves – once they gits stirred up."
By the time the sun had fully dissipated the early mists, the door yard of Lone Stacy's house was dotted with little groups of men, and from the wide doors of the barn more faces looked expectantly out. Along the sandy creek-bed of the road, where a flock of geese waddled and hissed, other arrivals stamped their feet against the cold of the frost-stiffened mud, and rammed chapped hands into trouser pockets.
They talked little, but waited with an enduring patience. They were determined men, raggedly clothed and bearded; incurious of gaze and uncommunicative of speech – but armed and purposeful. They were men who had left their beds to respond to the call of their clan.
Slowly Bear Cat circulated among the motley crowd, exchanging greetings, but holding his counsel until the tide of arrivals should end. It was a tatterdemalion array that he had conjured into conclave with his skittering whoop along the hill-tops. There were lads in jeans and veterans in long-tailed coats, green of seam and fringed of cuff. They carried rifles of all descriptions from modern repeaters to antiquated squirrel guns, but, in the bond of unshrinking stalwartness, they were uniform.
To hold such a headstrong army – mightily leaning toward violence – in leash needed a firm hand, and an unbending will. Old fires were kindling in them, ignited by the cry that had been a match set to tinder and gunpowder.
It was, all in all, a parlous time, but no one caught any riffle of doubt in Turner Stacy's self-confident authority as he passed from group to group, explaining the vital need of forbearant control until Kinnard Towers had come, spoken and departed. The Stacy honor was at stake and must be upheld. His morning hurricane of passion had left him alertly cool and self-possessed – but there was battle-light in his eyes.
In grim expectancy they waited, while nerves tightened under the heavy burden of suspense. Turner had sternly commanded cold sobriety, and the elders had sought to enforce it, but here and there in hidden places the more light-headed passed flasks from hand to hand and from mouth to mouth.
Such was the crowd into which Kinnard Towers eventually rode, with his double body-guard, and even his tough-fibred spirit must have acknowledged an inward qualm of trepidation, though he nodded with a suave ease of bearing as he swung himself from his saddle at the gate.
The urbane blue eyes under the straw-yellow brows were not unseeing, nor were they lacking in a just power of estimate. They noted the thunder-cloud quiet – and did not like it, but, after all, they had not expected to like it.
As Bear Cat came forward the Towers chieftain began unctuously. "How air Mr. Henderson? Air he still alive?"
"He war last time I heered," was the curt reply.
Towers nodded with the air of one whose grave anxiety has been allayed, but under the meditative quality of his Sabbath calm he was wishing that he could learn, without asking, whether Jerry had been able to talk. A great deal depended on that – but making the best of affairs as he found them, he broached his mission.
"This hyar trouble came up in my place – an' hit's made me mighty sore-hearted," he avowed. "But I've got ther names of every man thet war thar when I come in – an' I rid over hyar ter proffer ye my aid in runnin' down ther matter and punishin' them thet's guilty." He paused, and feeling the unmasked distrust with which his assurance was greeted, added:
"I reckon yore father's son wouldn't hardly want no illegal punishment."
Bear Cat declined to meet diplomacy in kind.
"Ye reckons thet my father's son aims ter stand out fer a truce thet's kept on one side an' broke on ther t'other. Air thet what ye means?"
Kinnard Towers felt his cheek-bones grow red and hot with anger at the taunt, but he blunted the edge of acerbity and parried in sober dignity.
"Ef I'd aimed ter bust ther truce I wouldn't hardly hev interfered ter save ye, fust in Marlin Town and then ergin last night. I rid over hyar with ther roads full of Stacys ter hold counsel with ye. I aimed ter tell ye all I knowed and find out what you knowed, so thet betwixt us we could sift this matter ter ther bottom."
"Whatever ye've got ter say ter me, ye kin say ter these men, too," was the tartly unconciliating reply. "I've pledged ye safety twell ye rides back home. I aims ter say some things myself – an' I reckon most of 'em won't pleasure ye none." The speaker's eyes flared as he added, "But from this day forwards either you or me air goin' ter run things in these hills an' ther t'other one of us won't hardly hev standin' room left."
"I reckon," said Kinnard Towers, – and now the ingratiating quality that had sugar-coated his address dissolved into frank enmity, – "I reckon ef thet's ther road ye elects ter travel, thar hain't scarcely any avail in my tarryin' hyar. I mout es well say farewell an' tell hell with ye! Yore paw wouldn't hardly be so malicious an' stiff-necked. Ye don't need ter be told thet I've got numerous enemies hyar in these mountings, too – an' thet more'n once they've marked me down fer death."
The younger man's attitude was that of unmasked distrust, yet of patience to listen to the end. Kinnard Towers, hirer of assassins though he was, spoke with a certain dignity that savored of sound logic. "Moreover, ye knows right well thet when I rid over hyar with yore war-whoop skitterin' from hill-top ter hill-top, an' yore men trapesin' along highways an' through ther timber trails, I traveled, in a manner of speakin', with my neck in a halter. I was willin' ter risk ther shot from the la'rel because, in a fashion, you an' me holds ther lives an' ther welfare of our people in ther hollers of our hands. I fared hither seekin' peace; aimin' ter stand side by side with ye in huntin' down ther men thet sought ter murder you an' yore friend from down below."
A crimson flush mantled on the full jowl and bull-like neck. The voice shook with antagonism. "But I didn't come over hyar ter sue fer peace – an' the day hain't dawned yit when any man kin order me ter leave ther mountings whar I belongs."
"By God in heaven!" Bear Cat Stacy leaned forward and his words cracked like flame in green wood. "Ye says ye stands fer law – an' ye' makes slaves of ther men thet runs ther co'tes of law! Ye says ye stands fer ther people an' ye fosters thar ign'rance and denies 'em roads an' schools. Ye sacrifices everything fer yore own gain – an' ther profit of yore boot-lickers thet seeks ter run blockade stills. Wa'al ef thet's law, I'm goin' ter start ter-day makin' war on ther law. I'm goin' ter see what an outlaw kin do! I aims ter give thet message to them thet's gathered hyar this afternoon – an' as soon as I'm done talkin' I'm goin' ter commence actin'. Atter ter-day thar'll be decent Towerses alongside of me and worthless Stacys 'longside of you!" His voice fell – then leaped again to passion. "I reckon ther time's ripe. Let's go now an' talk with 'em. I've jest been a-waitin' fer ye ter get hyar."
Deeply perplexed and depressed with the foreboding of one who fights enemies shadowy and ill-defined, yet forced, since he had come so far, to go forward, Kinnard Towers followed, as Bear Cat led the way to a huge rock which afforded a natural rostrum.
"Men," cried Turner Stacy when a semi-circle of lowering faces had pressed close and attentive about the shallow eminence, "last night Mr. Henderson an' me come sore wounded from ther Quarterhouse, whar a murder hed done been hatched: a murder thet partly failed. I sent out messengers ter call ye tergether fer counsel as ter whether ther truce hed been busted. I hain't found out yit fer sartain whether hit has er not – an' until we knows fer sure we're still held in our bonds of peace. Meanwhile I've done give my hand ter Kinnard Towers hyar, in my name an' yourn, thet he kin ride home, safe. If he speaks ther truth he's entitled ter respect. If he lies thar'll be time a plenty an' men a plenty ter deal with him hereafter. Kinnard aims ter talk ter ye, an' I wants thet ye hearken till he gits through."
The hereditary foeman, who knew that he was being pilloried in bitter disbelief, stood with an erect calmness as he was introduced. His face held an almost ministerial tranquillity, though his sense apprised him of the hush that goes ahead of the storm. He saw the green patches of the pines against the unaltered blue of the sky and the dull sparkle awakened by the sunlight on the barrels and locks of fiercely-caressed firearms.
As he moved a pace forward a chorused growl of truculent hatred was his reception, but that was a demonstration for which he was prepared – and against which he had steeled himself. He was less accustomed to making public pleas than to giving orders in cloistered privacy – but he was a lord of lies, and deeply versed in the prejudices upon which he hoped to play.
"I come over hyar this day," he declared by way of preface, "of my own free will – an' unsolicited by any man. I come open-eyed an' chancin' death, because I knowed I'd done kept ther compact of ther peace – an' I trusted myself ter ther upstandin' honesty of ther Stacys ter do likewise. Ef harm overtakes me hit'll be because I trusted thet honesty over-much."
CHAPTER XIX
As the snarling restiveness moderated to curiosity under Kinnard's uncouth forcefulness and seemingly candid words, he repeated the mendacious story of his outraged righteousness, when he had learned that in his tavern the murder of a gentleman from the lowlands had been attempted. His place, he pointed out, was open to all comers – the law required that he extend its entertainment to every man who paid the price. He himself had not been present in time to prevent the outbreak. Had he entertained a prior and guilty knowledge of the plot, he would scarcely have interfered last night. He would not have come to-day with his assurance of sympathy and his proffer of aid into a nest of swarming hornets.
Mr. Henderson's life had been attempted by some unknown foe once before, he reminded them. Apparently it had been his misfortune to make enemies as well as friends. The speaker paused and shook his head regretfully.
"He come hyar a stranger amongst us an' war tuck in by Lone Stacy, a man we all trusts – a man we all loves. Why should ther hand of anybody hev been lifted erginst him? Ther stranger thet sojourns hyarabouts, mindin' his own business, gin'rally walks safe. Hit's a question I kain't answer… Mebby hit war because Mr. Henderson fell inter ther error of preachin' too strong a doctrine of change… I only knows this much myself: thet on ther night he got hyar I heered him talk thet a-way – an' outen sheer friendliness I warned him thet amongst us simple folks thar'd be some thet wouldn't take kindly ter sich notions. He aimed ter show us how wrong our idees war; notions of life thet our grand-sires hes fostered fer two hundred y'ars an' upwards. He aimed ter undo in a twinklin' all thet's growed into our bones an' blood an' free life endurin' ginerations – an' ter civilize us. It war considerable undertakin'."
Again a low growl ran through his audience, but this time its indignation was not aimed at the speaker.
"I've even heered men claim thet Mr. Henderson come up hyar seekin' ter rob us in ther interest of ther railroad, though I don't sceercely like ter believe hit – ner even ter repeat hit."
Once more the blond head was shaken in sad regretfulness.
"We've done dwelt hyar, cut off from ther rest of ther world fer ginerations. We hain't got much eddication, but we're honest an' independent an' all we asks is ter be left alone ter work out our own salvation. In other times ther feud split us up into enemies, but since ther truce war made we've consorted peaceable." For a space he paused to gaze meditatively at the spear-like timber fringe against the fleckless blue.
"Ef Mr. Henderson unthoughtedly meddled an' somebody acted rash," went on Towers easily, "sorry es we all feels fer hit, an' det'armined es we all air ter punish thet person in full accordance with ther law – still hit warn't no Stacy thet was attacked. Mr. Henderson lays thar a-dyin' an' fer him I hain't got no feelin' but charity – but he warn't no Stacy! Ther folks down below, whar he hails from, will take plentiful pains ter avenge his death. Ter them, we hain't nothin' but benighted barbarians of ther bloody hills – an' he war an eddicated gentleman! Hit'll be a turrible pity ef we neighborly men goes ter war ergin over any false suspicion."
Kinnard swept his hands outward in a gesture like a benediction and stepped back. Where slurring growls had greeted him he left a silence which testified to the telling effect of his words. Their anger now was readier to burn into indignation against the invader who had sought to alter their life.
Though the young Stacy had interrupted by no word or sound, there was something in his stillness of deportment that presaged storm ready to burst. As he came to the edge of the bowlder his movements had the smooth elasticity of a panther – and when he stood silent for a moment his eyes rained lightning bolts of intensity.
"I've done stood here without interruptin' an' listened at Kinnard Towers' talk," he said, and the contempt of his tone was as stinging as a rawhide lash. "'Most all of what he has told ye, I believes ter be lies an' if they be, I aims ter have a full reckonin', but afore I begins I wants ter charge ye all in full solemnity thet we've pledged him a safe journey home – an' ef harm comes ter him afore he gits thar our name stands disgraced ter ther end of time. He's a hirer of murderers an' he's fattened offen poverty an' ther gallows air too good fer him – but a pledge is a bond!"
Bear Cat wheeled for a moment to face Kinnard Towers himself as he made this assertion, then he proceeded with the crescendo of a gathering tempest.
"He says thet ther murder of Jerry Henderson hain't no consarn of your'n, and he tells ye thet Henderson's under suspicion of seekin' ter cheat ye outen yore birthright. Ef he believed thet on good reason an' held his counsel thus far he aided an' abetted ther robbery. But I believes thet's a lie, too, because ef Jerry Henderson sought ter rob ye an' plunder ye successfully all he needed ter do war to make a deal with Kinnard Towers, fust.
"This man thet rules thet country from a boozin' ken, whar' ther stench of infamy pizens ther air, tells ye he stands fer law – an' I tells ye thet his kind of law makes all decent men want ter be outlaws. Judges an' juries hyarabouts does his biddin' ter ther damage of every honest man, because they walks in terror of him – an' debauches themselves ter hold his favor! He flies high an' his wings are strong – he passes fer an eagle – but he feeds on carrion."
Bear Cat swept into a stinging arraignment of the chicanery with which he charged Towers, piling invective upon anathema with the passionate sweep of a tornado. As faces that had listened to Towers with attention hardened again, Kinnard braced himself and forced a satirical smile.
"This man aimed ter git Jerry Henderson from ther fust day he come hyar – not because ther stranger sought ter feel ther way fer ther railroad, but because he dared ter talk fer enlightenment: for schools whar yore children could grow inter straight manhood, an' roads thet could take yore crops and timber ter market. Sich open speech didn't suit Kinnard, hyar, because when folks has knowledge they ceases ter be victims ter his greed and cunnin'.
"Jerry Henderson spoke out his belief an' he was marked down by Kinnard Towers fer death. He's a-dyin' now."
A low and dangerous murmur ran over the crowd, but Bear Cat Stacy stilled it with his raised hands.
"I believes thet Kinnard connived with ther Judas revenuer to jail my paw expressly ter cl'ar ther road fer this murder. Ef thet's true he didn't jest attack a furriner, but he affronted every Stacy an' busted ther truce ter boot! Till I kin prove what I suspicions, I aims ter hold my hand; but I stud in Brother Fulkerson's house last night amids ther ashes of sorrow an' I've done dedicated what's left of my life ter one aim.
"I don't know whether I'll hev holp or go single-handed, but as Almighty God hears me, I aims ter clean up these hills! I aims thet 'stid of grumblin' like old grannies because our fields air littered with rock an' our roads air all dirt, we shell take ther rock outen ther fields an' put hit on ther roads. I aims thet every child thet hankers fer enough larnin' ter raise himself above ther level of beasts shell hev a school whar he kin git hit. I aims thet when yore baby falls sick or thar's a bornin' at yore house, ther doctor kin git thar – in time!"
He paused, and his audience, swept by the abandon of his extemporaneous fervor, fell into an excited approval. The magic of inherent strength and sheer personality was at work upon them.
"Before sich things es them kin be brought ter pass," began the speaker again in a voice dropping suddenly to stern calm, "ther wrath of numerous folks will flare up ter murder-hate – because thar's a stumblin' block in ther path thet's ancient an' thet hes got ter be man-powered loose. Betwixt us an' betterment stands ther thing thet all our troubles springs from – an' though hit don't profit but one man in every score, yit thar be some amongst ye thet'll die fer hit!"
He stopped and looked down into faces puzzled and uncomprehending. Eyes turned up to the speaker out of lean and serious visages, waiting for his next sentence, and he himself stood there for a moment or two in a silence which was as much an emphasis as a blank margin which stresses the conspicuousness of print.
His own face, still drawn with the travail of last night's gamut of emotion, and his figure motionless with the pent-up dynamics of a tight-wound coil, carried the impression of action presently to burst with a force beyond governing. They had always thought of him as a man bred for action but short of speech; a man bound like themselves by the constrictions which generations of taciturn ancestors had laid upon fluency, damming it into difficulty. But now self-consciousness was as absent from his attitude as though the torrential quality of his thoughts and words came from an external force sweeping through him and speaking through him.
Abruptly he thrust a hand into the breast pocket of his coat – a coat torn recently by bullets meant for his heart – and drew out a thing familiar to every man in that assemblage: a flat flask of colorless glass, filled with a fluid as white as itself. He held the thing high above his head, and ripped out his words with a crackling force.
"Thar's ther enemy thet's laid hits curse on the men an' women of these-hyar mountings! Thar's ther thing thet's hatched from ther worm of their still – ther pizen thet breeds in ther la'rel! That's what turns kindly men inter brutes an' wives inter widders an' children inter orphans! Thar's ther thing thet hes made ther purest blood in all America bear ther repute afore ther rest of ther world of a people of bloody outlaws!
"Hit's bottles like thet thet hes shut ther doors of our country against progress an' prosperity – an' barred out ther future from ther hills. Hit's bottles like thet thet hes chained us ter ther dead past when our kinsmen down below war a-marchin' on ter advancement. Hit's ther false idee thet a man hes a license ter break ther law in blockadin', even ter ther hurt of them thet don't blockade, thet's carried along with hit a contempt fer all other law – an' raised up a spirit of murder an' lay-wayin'."
As he paused again for a breathing space, still holding high the flask above his head, he might have read a warning in the clouding of pupils and the tightening of lips; in the out-thrusting of jaws and the stiffening of shoulders. But these indications of hostile sentiment seemed only to bring a more fiery hotness to his words and his voice.
"I made this licker myself," he declared. "I made hit up thar in ther thickets. My paw lies in jail now fer doin' ther same thing. Many's ther night – an' ther day, too – thet I've laid up thar drunk with ther pizen thet I've brewed – but no man will ever see me drunk ergin!
"I've carried this flask in my pocket whar I could feel hit a-layin' against my heart – ever since ther day I quit. I've carried hit thar so thet thar wouldn't never be a time, day or night, when hit couldn't hev ther chance ter lick me, ef so be hit proved bigger an' stronger then me. I wasn't askin' no favors of ther worm of ther still – an' now I hain't a-goin' ter give hit none! Thar's been times when my throat scalded me an' my belly tormented me – when I felt like as ef I'd burn an' shrivel ef I didn't uncork hit an' drink. But I hain't never teched hit since then – an' now I kin laugh at hit. Now I know that Satan helped me ter make hit – an' I'm a-goin' ter make war on hit till I stomps hit out or hit kills me!"
Bear Cat Stacy, with that quick gesture so often seen in the hills, raised the flask to his mouth and jerked out the cork with his teeth – then he spat the stopper out of his mouth, and with hand again raised high, inverted the flask so that the contents gurgled out in a thin stream and, in the dead silence, the blubbering sound of the emptying was as if the thing itself was giving up its life with a sob of protest.
Then dashing down the bottle and shattering it on the rocks, the young man broke out with a crescendo of vehemence.
"What you men hev seed me do with thet-thar flask of blockade licker thet I made myself, ye're a-goin' ter see me do in like fashion with all the rest this side of Cedar Mounting. Ye're a-goin' ter see me lift ther curse thet's been on us like a lunacy an' a pestilence. Ye're goin' ter see me smash every flask an' every bottle. Ye're goin' ter see me empty out every jug an' knock in ther head of every kag an' barrel, twell ther spleen of meanness an' murder runs out with ther licker – an' a peace comes thet kin hope ter endure."
Then with abrupt and climacteric effect he wheeled and shouted to someone who stood unseen behind the angular shoulder of the rock itself. The next moment he lifted up and set down at his feet a spiral thing of copper tubing which caught on its burnished coils the brightness of the sun and gave back a red glitter.
"Ther day of hills enslaved by a copper sarpint hes done come to an end!" he declared in a passion-shaken voice. "I aims ter do ter every cursed one of 'em this side of Cedar Mountain what I'm goin' ter do ter this one, hyar an' now!"
He seized up an axe which had been lying at his feet and swung it above his head. Poised in that posture of arrested action, his final words were defiantly thundered out.
"I've done took my oath ter hang these things like dead snakes along ther highway fer all men ter see. They stands accountable fer poverty an' squalor an' bloodshed. Because of ther pestilence they've brought an' ther prosperity they've turned away – they've got ter go."
The ax crashed down in stroke after stroke upon the coiled thing at his feet, gashing it into destruction as the crowd broke into a restive shuffling of feet and looked on in dismay – as yet too dumfounded for open protest.
"My God, Bear Cat's done gone crazed," whispered a man on the outskirts of the crowd. "He's plumb fittified."
Slowly the spell of astonishment began to give way to a fuller realization of the heresy that had been preached and which had appalled them by its audacity. Comparatively few of them were actual moonshiners but at other times many of them had been – and their spirit was defense of their institutions. Yet the face of this young man, bred to their own traditions, was fired with an ardor amazingly convincing and dauntless. In many of the elder heads had glimmered a germ of the same thought that Bear Cat had put into hot words; glimmered in transient consideration, to be thrust back because the daring needed for its expression was lacking. Here was Bear Cat Stacy boldly proclaiming his revolutionary purpose in advance because he wished to be fair; announcing that if need arose he would wage war on his enemies and his friends alike in its fulfilment. It would take a bold spirit to volunteer aid – and yet there were those whose only objection to the crusade was its mad impracticability. There were others, too, who, as Bear Cat had prophesied, would fight such vandal menace to the death.