PAGE 14
The Last Stetson
by
The Marcum laughed. “Idgits is thick over hyeh,” he said. “Ben’s a-gittin’ wuss sence Isom was killed. Yes, I recollect Gabe hyeh lost a canoe jus’ atter a flood more’n a year ago, when Rome Stetson ‘n’ Marthy Lewallen went a-gallivantin’ out’ n the mountains together. Hyeh’s another flood, ‘n’ old Gabe’s dugout gone agin.” The miller raised a covert glance of suspicion from under his hat, but the Marcum was laughing. “Ye oughter put a trace-chain on this un,” he added. “A rope gits rotten in the water, ‘n’ a tide is mighty apt to break it.”
Old Gabe said that “mebbe that wus so,” but he had no chain to waste; he reckoned a rope was strong enough, and he started home.
“Old Gabe don’t seem to keer much now ’bout Isom,” said the Brayton. “Folks say he tuk on so awful at fust that hit looked like he wus goin’ crazy. He’s gittin’ downright peert again. Hello!”
Bud Vickers was carrying a piece of news down to Hazlan, and he pulled up his horse to deliver it. Aunt Sally Day’s dog had been seen playing in the Breathitt road with the frame of a human foot. Some boys had found not far away, behind a withered “blind,” a heap of rags and bones. Eli Crump had not been seen in Hazlan since the night of the Marcum raid.
“Well, ef hit was Eli,” said the Brayton, waggishly, “we’re all goin’ to be saved. Eli’s case ‘ll come fust, an’ ef thar’s only one Jedgment Day, the Lord ‘ll nuver git to us.”
The three chuckled, while old Gabe sat dreaming at his gate. The boy had lain quiet during the weeks of his getting well, absorbed in one aim–to keep hidden until he was strong enough to get to Rome. On the last night the miller had raised one of the old hearth-stones and had given him the hire of many years. At daybreak the lad drifted away. Now old Gabe was following him down the river and on to the dim mountain line, where the boy’s figure was plain for a moment against the sky, and then was lost.
The clouds in the west had turned gray and the crescent had broken the gloom of the woods into shadows when the miller rose. One star was coming over Black Mountain from the east. It was the Star of Bethlehem to old Gabe; and, starlike on both sides of the Cumberland, answering fires from cabin hearths were giving back its message at last.
“Thar hain’t nothin’ to hender Rome ‘n’ Marthy now. I nuver knowed anybody to stay ‘way from these mount’ins ef he could git back; ‘n’ Isom said he’d fetch ’em. Thar hain’t nothin’ to hender–nothin’ now.”
On the stoop of the cabin the miller turned to look again, and then on the last Stetson the door was closed.