35. The Bald Grumbles
As the lumbersome vehicle, which once before had upset him and his calculations, went spinning down the road, Parker readjusted his plan. No need now to intercept Currie on his way to Dismal Gap, since the news of his discovery already had been waved to them on a sky-high banner of smoke. No time was there to waste, searching for a hillbilly in the woods he knew so well, nor strength to spare over the personal indulgence of conquering him single-handed.
The revenue officers who were to inspect the evidence of the Metcalf guilt would soon start on their way. For the time being, Verne was safe with her father and brother, probably driving back with them somewhere along the mountain road from Tennessee. There was one chief thing left for him to attempt. Turning Teetotaler, he struck into the back-track.
"If you and I are up to it," he urged the horse, "those 'infernals' won't find any evidence or take any prisoners, and Lochinvar Currie will elope by himself - if able to go at all!"
Everything in nature showed offense at his decision. It would seem that Old Tom, who had advanced his last blockade trip because of a coming "stem-twister," was about to be proved a prophet with honor In his own land. The foregoing oppressively sultry night had been followed by a day of unwonted heat. Although no breath of wind relieved the drooping green things along the woodsy road, more frequent rumbles shuddered the altitudes. Ink-dark clouds formed low, only to scatter downward In making way for darker ones above. Not a squirrel or rabbit was abroad, It seemed; nor could chirp of feathered thing be heard. In the portent, all-pervasive hush, the thud of the piebald's hoofs sounded like defiance to high command.
Parker held his left shoulder stiffly and high against the jolt of his going, mindful that he must not undo the work of those who had cared for him. The prospect of a rain-storm exhilarated him. No drenching, he felt, could chill blood at boiling heat, as was his. To-day's realization of the whole painstaking scheme to seize that night what to Parker was the most precious thing on earth
At mere thought of Currle's intention his mood made that of nature seem a childish pet.
His attempt to turn in at the branch brought vigorous protest from Teetotaler, who had stretched himself willingly to that point. Obviously the protest came from fear of the oncoming storm and hope of stable shelter. The turn was made, however, and soon the sight of Solomon, tugging at the rope which held him prisoner among the rhododendrons, rewarded him.
On re-entering the still-house, Parker's disappointment was keen. The black had done nothing observable, except adjust himself to a sitting posture, his back planted against the stone furnace.
"Get up and fall to, you sloth I"
Parker put an exclamation point to this command with the toe of his boot.
"Slorh - sloth," repeated the word-collector interestedly. "If you-uns had a sloth like mine, cap'n, you wouldn't get up for a week."
"Well, you're through slothing for the immediate present - that is, unless you want to continue your star act in jail. We've got less than an hour to turn the concrete of this blockade junk into abstract - into mere heresay - a false alarm, as it were. Here, lend a hand with this tub of mash ! We're going to dump it into the creek."
Cotton batted his mismated eyes, then achieved an unsteady stand, but only to offer further objection.
"What's the abstract hurry, boss? They-all can never find this hide-out - not them hearsay officers."
"They don't need to find it. They know already where it is, and are on their way this minute. The first they'll handcuff is you!"
This information was ill-advised, as Parker realized from the ague of terror which instantly weakened the negro's none too reliable assistance.
"Lordy - oh, Lord!" he wailed, his eyes rolling upward until only their whites showed. "If them infernals are on their way, it's time for a concrete nigger to scoot. Nobody can't say I ain't a believer in Thee, O Lord, but it ain't religion to stay here and be cuffed like a infidel what never "
"Likely this will give you more faith!"
Parker poked his steel persuader into the palpitating ribs. Its eloquence was at once manifest.
After the refuse had been consigned to the lively waters of the branch, and the containers thrown into separated gullies, Parker directed his quaking "hand" to attack the lair of browse behind the log shack that held the still proper, to fell the supports and scatter the bush covering into the surrounding brush.
Alone, he undertook to wreck the distillery Itself. First, he withdrew the worm, as the most tell-tale bit of evidence. This - Old Tom's treasured piece of "copper" - was quickly sunk In the creek. Onehanded, and forced to vigilance lest his unwilling aide should desert, he disposed of other criminating articles until only the furnace and the structure Itself remained. In tearing down the last, he decided to use Solomon and a rope - this after he had tried and failed to fire the fresh-cut timbers.
The hybrid understudy of Samson, when duly hitched to the end of a rope, was more successful. Eventually Parker saw the Metcalf "temple of hell" reduced to debris. There remained only the destruction of the stone furnace. Seeing no way of utilizing mule-muscle upon that, he attacked It with a pick. As his second blow struck there came from out the sky a clap like that of Impending doom. Shuddering thunders smothered It, but not the shriek of near-by living things. The mule, the horse, and the negro were lifting pleas for mercy.
Although no rain had fallen, Old Tom's predicted "stem-twister" evidently had started to unwind. Suddenly the darkness had become sinister, the heat well-nigh stifling. Hearing Sol's frantic efforts to break loose, Parker hurried toward him, but just in time to see the little animal streaking down the creek toward home. Before he could reach Teetotaler, the horse, too, had broken his halter and taken the course of least resistance, evidencing that he, at least, entertained no doubt that Solomon was really wise.
Through the unwonted daytime gloom, Parker stumbled back to the unsolved problem of the furnace and tried In vain to prod it apart. As if some super-lion were resisting his attack, renewed roars deafened him, the ground beneath him rocked.
He sprang back just in time. At his very feet a mouth of rocky earth opened In a grin, a growl, or, mayhap, a gape of weariness, and gulped the stubborn object of his assault - rocks, cement, all. He stared down, dazed at the sudden disappearance. The fissure-mouth did not widen, but continued to grin up at him, as if in derision at the puny attempts of mankind.
Springing across, Parker followed the whelplike wails of the negro. Cotton Eye lay groveling, face downward, on the ground, his hope of placating the storm gods seeming to rest upon his reiterated oath never, providing he was spared, to sniff "sniffins" again. His would-be rescuer might as well have expected assistance from a jelly-fish. In the Imminent hour. Cotton was shaken by religion. Even the revolver prod proved to have lost its effectiveness.
When a lightning bolt shattered a nearby hemlock and brought it crashing to the ground, the penitent flattened, then lay still, evidently thinking himself hit and beyond the power of the last resort of prayer.
"Get up or I'll leave you alone with your Godl"
Parker added a pedal argument.
Only a hopeless plaint replied. "It's done come ahead of schedulum - the end of the world! I wasn't expecting the judgment day so soon. I ain't prepared - I'm bounden for hell-fire!"
In amen there burst a roar from the convulsed ground. Compared to the sky thunders - the crashing explosions of atmospheric voids high above - this was as the all-great blast of omnipotence to a whiff of wind. Repeatedly its rage was voiced, with cumulative virulence.
A terror more definite than that over his brimstone deserts brought the negro to his feet.
"Grumbly Bald - that there was the voice of the Bald!" he shrilled above the weather wails. "If he's going on one of his rampages, cap'n, there ain't no use to pray; we're worse than dead a'ready."
Cotton's despair reminded Parker of local reports about the mountain - of the volcano in its heart that had slumbered of recent years, but in the past had erupted in landslides which had cleft its sides and worn great wrinkles in its bare dome. When, in his pause for consideration, a fragment of rock from some shelf above leaped out at mysterious command and crashed downward, splintering all that resisted its course, he accepted the negro's conclusion.
A second descending missile, accompanied by the noise of cut-off trees and gritting boulders, made him realize the full urgency of the situation. One might lie prostrate in prayer to storm gods that spoke from the heavens, but to escape the spleen of fiends breaking loose from the earth beneath one took to flight.
Grasping the black by the collar, Parker half led, half dragged him into the creek. There the descent was more certain in footing, despite the splash of waters. To the utmost of his one-handed capacity, he strove to keep the fear-riven parcel of humanity upright while struggling down the uncertain course; repeatedly dodged the following rush of dislodged rocks; avoided, as best he might, the face-lashing of back-flung branches that overhung the stream.
There came a moment when all sound ceased. It seemed as if the universe was drawing breath. The scowl of darkness deepened. The heat of supernatural wrath exuded from all pores in a pressure of humidity almost overpowering. Then, from out a thousand eyes, shot lightnings. Head, shoulders, body - the mountain seemed to rise and shake off its overcoat of earth. All the thunders from above and below united in one tremendous clap.
With a whimper of surrender, Cotton Eye Lee flopped In the creek. In vain Parker tugged at him, dipped his head into the rushing water, implored him to rise up and help save his own life. They would be overtaken, probably buried in the muck of the mountain if they paused - that he realized from the increasing bombardment above. There was possibly time to save himself, yet he could not leave a fear-palsied fellow to his fate.
Over and over, down the shallow branch, he managed to turn the hulk of the black, who clutched at root and rock to hinder his own salvation. Parker's strength, even his hope, was fast deserting him. He, too, had begun to stumble, frequently to fall. He had crouched with his self-imposed charge by the stream-side, had consigned their two lives to the mountain's mercy, when - "Cal! Oh, Cal! CalF*
Like a summons from another world, the woman's call waved upward. Parker sprang again to his unequal task, made a thing of steel by a fear new and more vitalizing than his fear for himself.