20. Court Of Hills
To an open place on the Fallaway's edge, Vernaluska led the way. From below, the valley smiled up at them with a million flower eyes, a million lips of green. On the other side loomed a semicircle of rugged peaks and tree-clad domes.
"Yonder is my court of hills," she introduced, before seating herself on the ground to face them.
Parker disposed himself beside her. His arm was relieved by a sling of her devisement, his inner man fortified by the coffee she had made and shared.
So far, her response to his plea had taken the language of action, except for one verbal comment that had carried hope.
"You say you-all's mother is long dead; likely you do need some homely advice."
Now, from the woods behind came the moaning call of a dove - a coo drawn out with many o's. Parker shivered. It sounded helpless, despairing, ineffectual, a good deal as he felt. He glanced up at the girl. She was looking into the view, evidently thinking. After a while, she began to speak slowly, as if picking her words with care.
"When I was a little girl, my pappy took me to a trial down at the county-seat. Ever since I've thought of the Blue Ridge as my court-house, you peaks as judge and jury. Turn to the left, stranger, and face His Honor, Crumbly Bald."
Obeying her free gesture, Parker again viewed the bare-topped dome that towered highest of the range.
"He's got a pesky temper, has Judge Bald," she continued. "Folks hereabouts allow that what's wrong with him is my being given one of his family names, but I say it's because dad's enemy, Dode Currie, owned him before he died and passed him down to Rex."
She identified Thunderhead and Keerless Knob, whose shiny cliffs, too, had lost their "hair"; Hickory Nut Mountain, down in the front row and hard to convince; Stretch Neck, tall and leaning, the curiosity-obsessed of the panel; the several suffrage members - DIsputana, New Wife, Barren She, and Chunky Gal - these glowered upon by Big Butte, Whoop-for-Sam, and Standing Stone.
She approved them to her client.
"These twelve good mountains and true always render just verdicts because they share the highest ideals. Guilty or not guilty, what do you plead, prisoner at the bar?"
"Guilty!" he murmured.
But perplexity still was written plain upon his face.
"Don't you see what I mean?" she urged. "Nature is the fairest judge and jury. The closer weall get to her, the more we show what we actually are. In the cities where you come from there are high walls that shut out the sky and there are so many folks around you, watching you, judging you by their own standards, that you're plumb forced to pretend. But now that you're alone in the hills there's no use to pretend. Nature demands honesty and, sooner or later, you'll be shown up for just what you really are."
"I shudder at the thought," Parker exclaimed, his dark eyes for once avoiding the fawn-green ones.
"If you intend well in the future, no matter what you have done in the past, they-all will temper the sentence. If you mean what you said in the shack yonder, we'll proceed with the trial."
"I mean it."
His tone was low, hut one she could not doubt.
"And you-all will give honest testimony, regardless of how they press you?"
"So help me!"
He arose and faced the twelve as he took the oath.
After a moment he spoke to the girl. "I never really made up my mind before; other folks always had it ready-made for me. Never have I thought of quitting for my own sake; it was always to please some one else."
''You'll chuck out the lawyer you've been retaining?"
The ghost of the Cal Parker fascination limped in on his smile.
"Yes." He nodded emphatically. ''His name is Compromise - the most famous of drink-control shysters. From this moment I place myself at the mercy of your court of hills."
His concentration on the metaphor was proved by the fact that he forgot his sling in reaching to help his new counsel to her feet. For the first time the hands of the "out-Norther" and the mountain girl clasped - but guardedly.
Although he in his fervor had forgotten, she had not, his burn from past debauch.