He was beginning to feel that morbid fascination that sometimes seizes upon those who stand on great heights,--an overwhelming impulse to plunge downward. His only salvation was to look up. He would look up to the sky.
And what were these words he was beginning to faintly remember? Had not the circuit-rider said in his last sermon that not even a sparrow falls to the ground unmarked of G.o.d? There was a definite strength in this suggestion. He felt less lonely as he stared resolutely at the big blue sky. There came into his heart a sense of encouragement, of hope.
He would keep up as long and as bravely as he could, and if the worst should come,--was he indeed so solitary? He would hold in remembrance the sparrow"s fall.
He had so nerved himself to meet his fate that he thought it was a fancy when he heard a distant step. But it did not die away, it grew more and more distinct,--a shambling step, that curiously stopped at intervals and kicked the fallen leaves.
He sought to call out, but he seemed to have lost his voice. Not a sound issued from his thickened tongue and his dry throat. The step came nearer. It would presently pa.s.s. With a mighty effort Ethan sent forth a wild, hoa.r.s.e cry.
The rocks reverberated it, the wind carried it far, and certainly there was an echo of its despair and terror in a shrill scream set up on the verge of the crag. Then Ethan heard the shambling step scampering off very fast indeed.
The truth flashed upon him. It was some child, pa.s.sing on an unimaginable errand through the deep woods, frightened by his sudden cry.
"Stop, bubby!" he shouted; "stop a minute! It"s Ethan Tynes that"s callin" of ye. Stop a minute, bubby!"
The step paused at a safe distance, and the shrill pipe of a little boy demanded, "Whar is ye, Ethan Tynes?"
"I"m down hyar on the ledge o" the bluff. Who air ye ennyhow?"
"George Birt," promptly replied the little boy. "What air ye doin" down thar? I thought it war Satan a-callin" of me. I never seen n.o.body."
"I kem down hyar on vines arter a tur-r-key I shot. The vines bruk, an"
I hev got no way ter git up agin. I want ye ter go ter yer mother"s house, an" tell yer brother Pete ter bring a rope hyar fur me ter climb up by."
Ethan expected to hear the shambling step going away with a celerity proportionate to the importance of the errand. On the contrary, the step was approaching the crag.
A moment of suspense, and there appeared among the jagged ends of the broken vines a small red head, a deeply freckled face, and a pair of sharp, eager blue eyes. George Birt had carefully laid himself down on his stomach, only protruding his head beyond the verge of the crag, that he might not fling away his life in his curiosity.
"Did ye git it?" he asked, with bated breath.
"Git what?" demanded poor Ethan, surprised and impatient.
"The tur-r-key--what ye hev done been talkin" "bout," said George Birt.
Ethan had lost all interest in the turkey. "Yes, yes; but run along, bub. I mought fall off"n this hyar place,--I"m gittin" stiff sittin"
still so long,--or the wind mought blow me off. The wind is blowin"
toler"ble brief."
"Gobbler or hen?" asked George Birt eagerly.
"It air a hen," said Ethan. "But look-a-hyar, George, I"m a-waitin" on ye, an" ef I"d fall off"n this hyar place, I"d be ez dead ez a door-nail in a minute."
"Waal, I"m goin" now," said George Birt, with gratifying alacrity. He raised himself from his rec.u.mbent position, and Ethan heard him shambling off, kicking every now and then at the fallen leaves as he went.
Presently, however, he turned and walked back nearly to the brink of the cliff. Then he prostrated himself once more at full length,--for the mountain children are very careful of the precipices,--snaked along dexterously to the verge of the crag, and protruding his red head cautiously, began to parley once more, trading on Ethan"s necessities.
"Ef I go on this yerrand fur ye," he said, looking very sharp indeed, "will ye gimme one o" the whings of that thar wild tur-r-key?"
He coveted the wing-feathers, not the joint of the fowl. The "whing" of the domestic turkey is used by the mountain women as a fan, and is considered an elegance as well as a comfort. George Birt aped the customs of his elders, regardless of s.e.x,--a characteristic of very small boys.
"Oh, go "long, bubby!" exclaimed poor Ethan, in dismay at the dilatoriness and indifference of his unique deliverer. "I"ll give ye both o" the whings." He would have offered the turkey willingly, if "bubby" had seemed to crave it.
"Waal, I"m goin" now."
George Birt rose from the ground and started off briskly, exhilarated by the promise of both the "whings."
Ethan was angry indeed when he heard the boy once more shambling back.
Of course one should regard a deliverer with grat.i.tude, especially a deliverer from mortal peril; but it may be doubted if Ethan"s grat.i.tude would have been great enough to insure that small red head against a vigorous rap, if it had been within rapping distance, when it was once more cautiously protruded over the verge of the cliff.
"I kem back hyar ter tell ye," the doughty deliverer began, with an air of great importance, and magnifying his office with an extreme relish, "that I can"t go an" tell Pete "bout"n the rope till I hev done kem back from the mill. I hev got old Sorrel hitched out hyar a piece, with a bag o" corn on his back, what I hev ter git ground at the mill. My mother air a-settin" at home now a-waitin" fur that thar corn-meal ter bake dodgers with. An" I hev got a dime ter pay at the mill; it war lent ter my dad las" week. An" I"m afeard ter walk about much with this hyar dime; I mought lose it, ye know. An" I can"t go home "thout the meal; I"ll ketch it ef I do. But I"ll tell Pete arter I git back from the mill."
"The mill!" echoed Ethan, aghast. "What air ye doin" on this side o" the mounting, ef ye air a-goin" ter the mill? This ain"t the way ter the mill."
"I kem over hyar," said the little boy, still with much importance of manner, notwithstanding a slight suggestion of embarra.s.sment on his freckled face, "ter see "bout"n a trap that I hev sot fur squir"ls. I"ll see "bout my trap, an" then I hev ter go ter the mill, "kase my mother air a-settin" in our house now a-waitin" fur meal ter bake corn-dodgers.
Then I"ll tell Pete whar ye air, an" what ye said "bout"n the rope. Ye must jes" wait fur me hyar."
Poor Ethan could do nothing else.
As the echo of the boy"s shambling step died in the distance, a redoubled sense of loneliness fell upon Ethan Tynes. But he endeavored to solace himself with the reflection that the important mission to the squirrel-trap and the errand to the mill could not last forever, and before a great while Peter Birt and his rope would be upon the crag.
This idea buoyed him up as the hours crept slowly by. Now and then he lifted his head and listened with painful intentness. He felt stiff in every muscle, and yet he had a dread of making an effort to change his constrained position. He might lose control of his rigid limbs, and fall into those dread depths beneath.
His patience at last began to give way. His heart was sinking. His messenger had been even more dilatory than he was prepared to expect.
Why did not Pete come? Was it possible that George had forgotten to tell of his danger?
The sun was going down, leaving a great glory of gold and crimson clouds and an opaline haze upon the purple mountains. The last rays fell on the bronze feathers of the turkey still lying tied to the broken vines on the ledge.
And now there were only frowning ma.s.ses of dark clouds in the west; and there were frowning ma.s.ses of clouds overhead.
The shadow of the coming night had fallen on the autumnal foliage in the deep valley; in the place of the opaline haze was only a gray mist.
And now came, sweeping along between the parallel mountain ranges, a sombre rain-cloud. The lad could hear the heavy drops splashing on the treetops in the valley, long, long before he felt them on his head.
The roll of thunder sounded among the crags. Then the rain came down tumultuously, not in columns, but in livid sheets. The lightnings rent the sky, showing, as it seemed to him, glimpses of the glorious brightness within,--too bright for human eyes.
He clung desperately to his precarious perch. Now and then a fierce rush of wind almost tore him from it. Strange fancies beset him. The air was full of that wild symphony of nature, the wind and the rain, the pealing thunder, and the thunderous echo among the cliffs, and yet he thought he could hear his own name ringing again and again through all the tumult, sometimes in Pete"s voice, sometimes in George"s shrill tones.
He became vaguely aware, after a time, that the rain had ceased, and the moon was beginning to shine through rifts in the clouds.
The wind continued unabated, but, curiously enough, he could not hear it now. He could hear nothing; he could think of nothing. His consciousness was beginning to fail.
George Birt had indeed forgotten him,--forgotten even the promised "whings." Not that he had discovered anything so extraordinary in his trap, for his trap was empty, but when he reached the mill, he found that the miller had killed a bear and captured a cub, and the orphan, chained to a post, had deeply absorbed George Birt"s attention.
To sophisticated people, the boy might have seemed as grotesque as the cub. George wore an unbleached cotton shirt. The waistband of his baggy jeans trousers encircled his body just beneath his armpits, reaching to his shoulder-blades behind, and nearly to his collar-bone in front. His red head was only partly covered by a fragment of an old white wool hat; and he looked at the cub with a curiosity as intense as that with which the cub looked at him. Each was taking first lessons in natural history.
As long as there was daylight enough left to see that cub, did George Birt stand and stare at the little beast. Then he clattered home on old Sorrel in the closing darkness, looking like a very small pin on the top of a large pincushion.
At home, he found the elders unreasonable,--as elders usually are considered. Supper had been waiting an hour or so for the lack of meal for dodgers. He "caught it" considerably, but not sufficiently to impair his appet.i.te for the dodgers. After all this, he was ready enough for bed when small boy"s bedtime came. But as he was nodding before the fire, he heard a word that roused him to a new excitement.