6. The Conspirators
It was a good thing, as the evening turned out, that the Dust Dry League, In secret session assembled within the cave sacred to their councils, had voted unanimously to table all regular business and give whole-hearted attention to the affairs of the stranger who, In their midst at least, seemed not unwelcome.
Mysteriously enough, Calvin Parker had been invited to attend. "Sociable," "meeting," "gathering" - various terms which covered, rather than explained the nature of the event had been appHed by the Plotts. And never, in the whole course of his highly social and variegated past, had he been introduced so ambitiously as by Aunt Hootle to the halfdozen faithful.
"Heaven-sent I" The irony of the thing demanded instant control of his voice and the most benign expression In his facial repertoire.
Straightway he had found himself shaking hands with one Colonel Aloyslus Dryden, through right of leadership an undisputed first, although crowded by a spinster of height, angularity and importance, the secretary of the league.
The Gap's one minister contributed a flabby grip, but firm assurance of his "blessing." A somewhat melancholy looking farmer, his overly cheerful and bounteous good-wife and a moral of a man referred to affectionately as "a brand plucked from the burning of rum," completed the gatherhig.
With surprise Parker stared about the natural rendezvous for sessions dark and deep, to which he had been conducted across lots and up a twisted "run" by the Plotts, their every step histful. The tunnel-like entrance of some dozen feet had bent him double, but he now stood In a sizable chamber, lighted by a single kerosene lamp upon a deal table, and furnished, through virtue of several benches and boxes, with a seating capacity of three times their number.
"A right neat hide-out, don't you think?" hooted his particular hostess. "To think that ages and eons agone He should have created this refuge for us harassed Gappers !"
"And who harasses you?"
The little worthy-worker upcurved a glance of reproach for the superfluity of his question.
"Who harassed you Into a blanket and Into the stage and into the dust of Trade Street this very afternoon? We've tried the schoolhouse, the church and our own hearth-stones In turn, only to have our meetings broke up, our secrets leak out, and our bestlaid plans nolle prossed Into the worst. Then the colonel tricked out this cave that's on his own land. As I say, it serves right neatly except In wet weather, when It's sort of drippy for those as "
"For dry dusters," he obliged.
Not at all oppressed was Parker by the obligation thrust upon him. Although obvious from the first, the mistake In his Identity made by both wets and drys had been proclaimed only tacitly. To both factions had he asserted the truth about himself and his mission, In so far as this concerned outsiders. Since they persisted in believing him a secretively disposed revenue officer, there to advance the cause of the United States against illicit distillation, surely the joke was more on them than on him.
Possible risks of the false situation he had been given cause already to consider, as at the moment attested by the pain of a scraped knee-cap and wrenched shoulders. But always had he rather liked risks. The efforts of those certain four hands to run him out of Dismal Gap on the very day of his entrance had enlivened a period of disappointment. Further "harassment" might prove equally diverting.
Only one real interest had he in forcing upon incredulous minds the truth about himself - and that an interest at variance with the ultimate object of his exile. As a suspected revenuer, he need hope for no moonshine beams. No boot-legger would exchange the "poison" he craved for his hands full of jingling coin. The neediest blockader would scorn him entirely as a customer.
But philosophy of a reluctant sort approved the very difficulties of acquisition. The less he got, the better for him. The harder earned the drink, the finer its flavor. The more difficult the task, the greater his strength. And how would he prove his own "orneriness" if triumph came easily over those who had attempted to ship him off in the stage without consignee?
His determination to find some sort of a refuge for himself well back in the mountains had been only reenforced by Asa Simm's denial of any vacancy, and was directly responsible for his presence at tonight's secret meeting of the league. The Plotts had met his inquiry with the hope that some of the faithful might be able to suggest. Besides, they wished him to make acquaintance with the stalwarts who stood back of the "cause" without delay.
"Shall we come to order?" Colonel Dryden was Inquiring, having taken a stand behind the deal table.
Compliance with this request seemed to consist In a general selection of box or bench and a collapse thereon. Additionally, the minister fumbled In the pocket of his rusty frock coat, produced a rolled manuscript, started to prepare his voice by guarded hawking.
Suspicious of the boxes, Parker lowered his long frame upon a bench from which he had seen the goodly farmeress arise on his entrance.
It was when the preacher arose and rustled open his roll, his face stern with the determination to do his oratorical best, that the chairman proposed the postponement of the evening's paper on "Their Curse; Our Cause" in favor of the business of their guest of honor. Without bothering to put his suggestion to vote, the colonel, who retained other traces than his title of participation in the Civil War, launched into an address of welcome to their "besotted" neighborhood, In which he declared himself to be voicing the sentiments of all there present.
"Mr. Parker, suh," he insisted, might rely upon the full support of the league in any emergency. Let him remember that - in any emergency.
Into the opportunity of his pause for breath Aunt flootie thrust herself with the statement of the need of their heaven-sent for an earthly habitat, where he might live and have his being, whilst plying the arts that were to permit the glorious undertaking of ''his real work" in their midst.
Parker was about to disown publicly the mission already denied In private, when regard for his own Interests bade him wait. Dryden was making good his promises of help by mention of a shack which he owned on Fallaway Rim. It was at Mr. Parker's disposal from that very minute, suh. Of course it would seem a most unworthy habitation for one accustomed to the modern conveniences of a great metropolis; but at least It was advantageously located for the pursuit of his "private operations on the public behalf."
Before the offer was half put, Parker had decided the moment unpropltlous for further betrayal of his object in coming to the Blue Ridge country. Truly, those who knew his past in the great metropolis might consider him engaged in orlvate operations on the public's behalf!
With as fulsome a manner as he could command In the emergency, he professed himself glad to accept the cabin, sight unseen, in exchange for a proper rental. He was not particular as to modern conveniences, he protested, and, as Colonel Dryden had said, the location was everything. His thought that this might include the gleam of that copper hair whose rare shade he wished to reproduce on canvas, as well as the wherewithal to celebrate his achievement, once accomphshed, he did not feel morally bound to express.
To Dryden's rather dubious query as to whether he was, by chance, superstitious, he laughed reassurance. Always had he considered thirteen his lucky number; he had been born on a Friday, had grown some prize rubber plants, invariably walked beneath any handy ladder, never had stooped to pick up a horseshoe or even a pin pointed his way; was wearing, as a matter of fact, a cat's-eye scarf holder at that very moment. No, he wouldn't call himself superstitious.
The colonel expressed relief. Mr. Parker would not, then, object to the Rim shack's chief peculiarity, its provision with two doors, back and front, but no windows. The builder, too, had flouted superstitions, especially the one that to enter by one door and exit by another was likely to bring undesirable visitors.
To the secretary's suggestion that the eccentric architect might not have heard of the adage, he divulged regretfully that the former owner had lived In daily expectation of such advent, having been an ilHcit trafficker. The back door had been provided as an antidote to the front. But at that, both were needed for light and ventilation. In other respects the cabin would prove satisfactory. It was well chinked, with not a sawed board showing that he could remember, and boasted a puncheon floor and a stone fireplace that really "drew."
These details Parker waved aside with the assurance that the cabin sounded to be, on the whole, what he wanted. He gracefully accepted the colonel's offer to send his "nigger" to the Hotel Plott directly after breakfast next morning to act as guide and manage a pack-mule for his baggage.
The Southerner had launched into apology for the laziness of the black, with which Parker would have to contend, when there came startling Interruption to this supposedly secret meeting of the Dust Dry League.
Tlumb worthless - that nigger Cotton Eye," he had complained. "I sent him here to-night to open up our meetin' place and fill and light the lamp, natu'ly expecting he'd stay around to see what else a black man could do for us whites. But what do you reckon he does, suh? Sneaks off home to commune with Morpheus. If this only was before the war, suh "
It was at this point that the interruption came.
The lamp chimney fell apart with a clatter; the light went out; some missile thudded against the wall behind the speaker's chair.