The Blue Ridge

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25. Conqueror Of Himself



By Friday, the first morning of the two-day carnival which every year takes place between planting and harvest in this section of the Blue Ridge, Calvin Parker found himself in a stressful state of mind. When, about nine-thirty, he halted Teetotaler at Crossways, a point commanding the road to the Metcalf place, he realized the full discomfort of hope and fear.

And this was the day when he was to be presented to Sylvia, his promised wife, as the conqueror of himself !

The ironical smile with which he saluted the thought lost its irony in wistfulness as he realized why he could not rejoice. Yet it was well that he should see Sylvia and try to explain ; doubly well that he should see Spencer, since only Spencer could win for him reprieve from the self-elected family jury which had sentenced him to the misery of the past several days.

Parker was waiting at Crossways because his whole future happiness seemed to depend upon winning back Verne's faith In him before he advanced proof of his good faith toward her. Yesterday he had sent her a note - but that was as a climax to much which had preceded and necessitated it.

After that evening when he had broken biscuits in vain with the Metcalfs, the truth had come of its own dynamic force. It had struck off all the armor of the Parker class distinction and left the last of that line unprotected from a man-power craving to which his past craving for liquor was but a puerile fancy.

Sylvia I Who, indeed, was Sylvia - what his feeling for her? Although he had thought he truly loved her, he had mistaken affection for love. His calm preference from boyhood for her companionship showed only negative value as compared with what had growm in him for this ever-fleeing girl of the hills, the ghastly doubt, the glowing hope, the desperate demand - the constant, unutterable longing to have and to hold her, to receive from her truth-speaking lips the benediction that she also loved him.

Often during those several days and their several nights, had he uncovered his portrait of her and sat before it, asking himself whether it was the looks of her which had enslaved his beauty-loving soul. And each time when he had turned his eyes from the sight of color and lines, his heart had swelled to bursting In appreciation of what made her loveliness so surpassing.

A rare creature she was. Were she plain, the spirit of her must have compelled his homage. Despite her lack of what his world called "culture,'' she had a mind of power; she had loyalty for the man who deserved it, measured best by the contempt she had shown for him who, as she thought, did not. She had tenderness as well as genius in those strong, long hands of hers. She had, above all the pampered women of his world, the power to reward him.

And he would have It - his reward. He would deserve It first; then he would have it. This he told his clamoring heart again and again.

He loved the mountain girl with all the good there was in him; he must win her love in return. He had made and re-made plans for their future, subject, all, to her gracious approval. Firm was his Intention that her pride should never be wounded from her past lack of opportunity. Never should she be put at disadvantage before his world. She should have what was her due, no matter what it cost him in self-suppression to give it her. He had been reared to selfishness; he would rear himself again to unselfishness. To whatsoever she decided, he would submit.

It was not to tell Verne all this that he had halted by the roadside. At mere thought of the dear temptation, all those dead and gone Parkers and Calvins rose up and reprimanded him.

None of either line had been engaged to marry two women at the same time, they insisted. They hoped that he would not be the first to smirch the family honor.

Before confessing the state of his heart to Verne he must confess to Sylvia, must Implore her pardon and mercy. Sylvia must see that he would be wronging her as well as himself by further pretense of a sentiment which he now knew never to have existed. Theirs never had been more than a cordial affection. As he understood love now, she could not otherwise have endured his long absence without a word or sign.

It would all come right, once he had talked with Sylvia; once he had explained to Spence the predicament into which that official envelope and joker of a letter had thrust him.

The pull had been strong to revisit the Metcalf place, but a stubborn determination to show that he also had pride had held him back. Contemplation, however, had approved the construction of two notes, and their delivery had been assured by the way-laying of Cotton Eye Lee.

The one to Verne had read:

Should the attorney for the defense desert the prisoner at the bar in his greatest extremity and without a private hearing?

He has sought you at our claybank studio, but you do not come. He'll wait until half after ten at Crossways, Friday morning, hoping for a word with you as you pass to the fair. All he wants from the court of the hills is justice. Won't 5'ou help him get it?

The second had been to Old Tom, and was the outcome of an argument with himself to the effect that, since warnings were the way of the mountain world, it was high time he sent one himself. He had been troubled over the manner of address, but, as finally despatched, the second missive had read:

TO THE WISE:
The location of the Metcalf still is known to enemies. Whether this word be considered as from friend or foe, no harm can be done by heeding it.

"A well-wisher" was the least offensive signature which had occurred to him.

Pulling out his watch, Parker noted the time.

Ten-thirty already - and before twelve, probably, his friends from the North would arrive. He must be in Dismal to meet them; must welcome them as befitted saviors, since his saviors they were to be. He must be riding on. And yet - and yet.

Could he look for only one moment into those equivocally timid, fearless eyes whose last glance of reproach obsessed him; could he, without speaking an unworthy word, suggest something of what he felt for her, which must show in his expression, now that he knew; could he, by the very force of the truth in him, compel a retraction of dismissal from her - oh, it would be something to treasure through all future years that Verne's instinctive faith in him had voted down what seemed conclusive evidence !

So long had been his wait, so introspective his very expectancy, that the sound of hoof-beats on the ocher road was startling. Relief surged through him, following the first refreshing wave of joy. She was coming - of course she would come ! His case was won, the final verdict as good as spoken; for, since she cared enough to come, she would care more and more, enough to last a lifetime.

He swung back the leg which had been resting negligently over the pommel, replaced his Panama, whirled his grazing mount to face the up-road. Straight and strong in his riding-garb as he never had looked on Central Park bridle-paths, he started eagerly into the Blue Ridge depths to meet

He had hoped that chance was to favor him that day; but chance evidently had not gone on duty. There was no small white mule in approach; Instead, a full-sized, black horse and upon it a man.

Parker's recognition of Sandyred Metcalf caused him to turn and start along his way, when a hail from the rear stopped him.

"Hi, there, stranger! Got something for you!"

With a flourish the youth drew alongside and passed Parker a sealed envelope. "I was asked to drop this here in the box at Dismal, but it won't Impoverish me none to save the stamp that Skinflint Simms would probably ask for passing it on to you."

''Your sister," Parker asked, ''how soon will she be riding to the village?"

Desperation had Impelled the question, for a glance had shown him that the letter was his own returned. Her name on the envelope had been scratched out and above it was boldly written:

Unopened.

To Mr. Partlceps Crimlnis Parker.

"My sister says she don't feel like celebrating to-day," Sandyred returned. "She and Miss Emmy have started to clean house and that's some job. Dad - well, he's right busy, too. Pm late myself; ought to had my tent open by now. So long, stranger. See you at the carnival."

To Parker, starting more sedately than had Sandyred in the general direction, there seemed significance in the friendliness of this explanation. The finish, in particular, had sounded like an overture. Had the signing of the deeds, the discovery, after he had gone, of Currie's weapon on the door-nail and the obvious authorship of the note of warning made a favorable impression upon the youngest of the clan?

But It did not matter. Nothing mattered, except that Verne had not opened his letter - had not come. Of course they all would believe In him after Spencer Pope had vouched for him as one In no way connected with the government. Since no other member of the family was to be present, the explanation must be put to young Metcalf. All that, however, would be as It would be. The prospect was spoiled by the fact that Verne did not care. That must be a fact. Had she cared at all, wouldn't she have opened and read his note? After she had read, wouldn't she have come?

Because his start was late his heraically developed shoulder and arm muscles held Teetotaler to a particularly straight road and his spur provided accelerating suggestions. As it fell out, he pounded into Trade Street just behind the steaming black of Sandyred and in plenty of time to meet the stage which was bringing his friends to the* vermilion village. He formed himself into a mounted escort of one to the porch of the Hotel Plott.

With what llght-heartedness he could assume, he returned their enthusiastic greetings. Sylvia looked a vision, he declared; as, indeed, she did in her French-gray cloak and chiffon veil tied in a piquant bow under her cleft little chin, the violet of her eyes and Dresden flush on her cheeks brightening the monotone of her costume and silvery fluff of hair.

Mrs. Brainard never had seemed so superb to him as here in the wilds, he assured that matron with his hand-shake. As for Spencer - twice he leaned from his mount to slap that "best friend" upon the shoulders. Spencer was a treat, indeed, for an exile's eyes.

"And who says Vm not a wizard at prescribing cures ?" Pope addressed them collectively. "Look him over, Sylvia and Madam - does my patient appear the worse for his absent treatment?"

Parker straightened for their inspection, like a trooper at "attention." The mother raised the outermost of her protective veils and applied a lorgnette to her faded gaze Interestedly. Sylvia sent him her sweet, flower-like smile.

"I believe, Cal," she approved, "you could get a job in the movies now. You do look fit, and as handsome as Spencer - that is, almost."'

"Now you are rewarded!" laughed the deputy collector, himself complimented by the form of her com.pliment to another.

Scarcely had the diminutive driver of the stage pulled up before the "only" hotel, when Aunt Hootie was bidding them welcome.

"If It Isn't Spencer at last - Spencer Pope from down at The Corners!" she hooted away. "You are changed, my dear boy, but changed for the better, I must remark. Still, I'd have known you anywhere. Was more than delighted to receive your letter. So you've come all this way to cheer our brave friend Parker In to-day's stand for sobriety?"

Pope managed to get In a nod or two, but nothing more.

"The ladies are welcome, I assure you, as would be any friends of yours or Mr. Parker's. Hezekiah will be delighted to entertain some one more our class. Hezekiah is my husband, Mrs. Brainard and Miss Brainard, and a genius. If I do say it as shouldn't, at jumping teeth. Come right In, all of you. Dinner will be ready as soon as you are washed up.

Afterward Parker realized that certain more or less surreptitious signals of Tobe Riker were addressed to himself. At the time, however, he noticed them only as peculiarities in the conduct of the little whip, and followed his party into the house without response.

At the overladen table was presented the doctor, who received the encomiums of his small mate over his varied abilities as fulsomely as he returned compliments to her and all their guests.

The undercurrent of amusement through that never-ending feast was appreciated by all but the Plotts themselves. A toe-prod under the cloth from Spencer Pope urged Parker's silence and a question or two from the same source started the hostess on phillipics of her hero of the day.

"Naturally," observed the deputy in his most official voice, "we are Interested In the progress Cal Parker has made down here. Fact is, we're here for inspection. He has been fortunate, indeed, Mrs. Plott, in having the sustaining aid of a woman like yourself in the task cut out for him."

"Friend Parker is the slickest officer ever sent to uphold the cause, barring not even yourself," interpolated Dr. Hezeklah with Impressment.

Parker frowned at the subject broached, despite Spencer's shake of head and Sylvia's Incipient laugh - made to resemble a sneeze In her napkin.

"But I am not a revenue officer," he protested. "This nonsense has got me Into a lot of trouble, and it Is high time "

"There he goes - won't let his left have the least mite of suspicion !" Aunt Hootie's interruption was intoned rapturously. "Some of our brother and sister drys have feared that he was not moving fast enough, but I always remind them that he's playing a game against the most wily blockading fox never caught."

She paused to beam at Parker, but before he could check her, sped on: "Old Tom Metcalf has got a double reason for foiling the law, now that brush whisky brings double price by the gallon. It may sound easy enough to an outsider to catch him actually stilling the pernicious stuff, but it ain't turned out that way. Everybody who knows Tom fears his lead. I'd be sorry for his daughter if it wa'n't for the cause."

"So Old Tom has a daughter?" The deputy collector glanced quizzically from the little lady to Parker; then, with a nod of punctuation, to Mrs. Brainard.

Regretfully, Mrs. Plott gazed into the plate of steaming corn-bread with which she had been importuning each guest in turn. "Verney Metcalf is the likeliest looking girl the sticks ever grew, and a sweet girl, too, although the rough life she's been brought up to has kind of sharpened her tongue. I'd be all wrought up over the way the cause is using her if it wasn't that she countenances her pappy's crime. Verney will have to take her bitter dose along with her men folks, I reckon, since the wages of sin - you know. That is, unless Rex Currie can save her."

Pope's interest heightened. "You mean Rex, son of Dode Currie, who used to trade over at Horsepasture Cove?"

She nodded. "And a choice rascal Dode was said to be. It looked as if Rex, a right favored lad, was following in his footsteps, for he's been Old Tom's bootlegger for years, but I begin to see now that he's only been hanging around account of Verney. He's as good as told me he'll soon be on our reform list. We hope" - this last she sibilated - "that Friend Parker here can get Rex to show the way to Old Tom's still."

Although Parker had writhed inwardly at the discussion of the mountain girl, he realized that his position was one of great disadvantage. Seeing no way of bettering it, he kept silence, a smile of simulated amusement at the whole subject upon his face.

"I begin to see." Spencer was speaking, evidently in the abstraction of deep thought, under the spell of which he withdrew an opened letter from his coat pocket, studied its superscripture, then replaced it. "Rex Currie resents the prospect of Miss Metcalf's being used by the cause, eh? H-m! I do begin to see. And have you, Cal, Ingratiated yourself sufficiently with these outlaws of the sticks that you drink with them for the sake of the cause, distasteful as that would be to one of your high principles?"

Aunt Hootie forestalled her hero's reply. "Not he! I've an idea he'll push on to victory without once smirching his lips with the vile stuff."

"Do you mean to say," interposed Mrs. Bralnard, "that there is whisky in these Blue Ridges and Cal Parker hasn't drunk any of It?"

"Not to my best belief and knowledge, high Heaven be praised, except a drop or two I gave him myself for medicinal purposes only I Set as I am against the poison, I hold that a revenuer Is entitled to enough to steady his nerves."

"Oh, Cal, that is fine - wonderftiir' exclaimed Sylvia.

Pope gave up to a small attack of coughing.

"A drop or two - for medicinal purposes onlyr* he commented when able. "I reckon that won't do the cause or Cal any harm."

He thus lauded and surreptitiously attacked, abruptly changed the subject to the local fair. His guests had arrived just in time, he said. There was billed for the afternoon and evening a barbecue and dance which would draw an outpouring of queer types and hand-loomed costumes from the hills that could scarcely fail to amuse them.

''There's going to be two entire beeves," added Dr. Hezekiah. ''If you've never tasted Nor' Carolina barbecued meat, you have a treat in store. And you need fear neither ruction nor cuss-fight, since, for the first time In the history of these festivities, we drys hope for absolute sobriety."

Sylvia at once expressed enthusiasm for the frolic, but her mother Insisted on an hour's Interval for rest after their jolting ride from the station. In this Parker saw opportunity. He proposed that Spencer explore the village under his guidance and return for the women at the end of the hour. Sixty minutes, he told himself, would be long enough for him to explain to Spencer the serious side of a situation which at first glance looked only ridiculous; would allow him to engage Spencer's authoritative aid In the statement which must be made to young Metcalf as soon as occasion offered.

Sometime before the festivities ended, probably best during the dance that evening, he would separate Sylvia from the others long enough to accomplish his difficult explanation and plea. No matter how hostile Verne's attitude toward him might be, he felt that this explanation was due everybody concerned. The past Parkers, he knew, would approve. One of their line could not place himself under a lifelong obligation to make happy one of the dearest girls In the world when his entire self - mind, heart, body - was aching for the denied favors of another.

The prospect was not lightened by Sylvia's impulsive leave-taking of him in the hall, with her two protectors looking on. She suddenly raised herself on tiptoe, lifted her arms around his neck, bestowed the clinging, fragrant kiss of their childhood games upon his lips.

"You are splendid, Cal, to have been so good. I'd rather you'd be good than - anything. You'll tell me all about the struggle later on?"

The deep flush which mounted to his face was from embarrassment, but was misunderstood by the observers three. Yes, he assured her, he would tell her about it - slater on.