The Crossing [139]
``doubtless you do not remember a homeless boy named David whom you took to your uncle's house in the Waxhaws--''
``I do,'' he exclaimed, ``as I live I do. Why, we slept together.''
``And you stumped your toe getting into bed and swore,'' said I.
At that he laughed so heartily that the landlord came running across the room.
``And we fought together at the Old Fields School. Are you that boy?'' and he scanned me again. ``By God, I believe you are.'' Suddenly his face clouded once more.
``But what about Temple?'' said he.
``Ah,'' I answered, ``I come to that quickly. Mr. Temple is my cousin. After I left your uncle's house my father took me to Charlestown.''
``Is he a Charlestown Temple?'' demanded Mr. Jackson. ``For I spent some time gambling and horse- racing with the gentry there, and I know many of them. I was a wild lad'' (I repeat his exact words), ``and I ran up a bill in Charlestown that would have filled a folio volume. Faith, all I had left me was the clothes on my back and a good horse. I made up my mind one night that if I could pay my debts and get out of Charlestown I would go into the back country and study law and sober down. There was a Mr. Braiden in the ordinary who staked me two hundred dollars at rattle-and-snap against my horse. Gad, sir, that was providence. I won. I left Charlestown with honor, I studied law at Salisbury in North Carolina, and I have come here to practise it.''
``You seem to have the talent,'' said I, smiling at the remembrance of the Hump Gibson incident.
``That is my history in a nutshell,'' said Mr. Jackson.
``And now,'' he added, ``since you are Mr. Temple's cousin and friend and an old acquaintance of mine to boot, I will tell you where I think he is.''
``Where is that?'' I asked eagerly.
``I'll stake a cowbell that Sevier will stop at the Widow Brown's,'' he replied. ``I'll put you on the road. But mind you, you are to tell Mr. Temple that he is to come back here and race me at Greasy Cove.''
``I'll warrant him to come,'' said I.
Whereupon we left the inn together, more amicably than before. Mr. Jackson had a thoroughbred horse near by that was a pleasure to see, and my admiration of his mount seemed to set me as firmly in Mr. Jackson's esteem again as that gentleman himself sat in the saddle. He was as good as his word, rode out with me some distance on the road, and reminded me at the last that Nick was to race him.
CHAPTER VI
THE WIDOW BROWN'S
It was not to my credit that I should have lost the trail, after Mr. Jackson put me straight. But the night was dark, the country unknown to me, and heavily wooded and mountainous. In addition to these things my mind ran like fire. My thoughts sometimes flew back to the wondrous summer evening when I trod the Nollichucky trace with Tom and Polly Ann, when I first looked down upon the log palace of that prince of the border, John Sevier. Well I remembered him, broad- shouldered, handsome, gay, a courtier in buckskin. Small wonder he was idolized by the Watauga settlers, that he had been their leader in the struggle of Franklin for liberty. And small wonder that Nick Temple should be in his following.
Nick! My mind was in a torment concerning him. What of his mother? Should I speak of having seen her? I went blindly through the woods for hours after the night fell, my horse stumbling and weary, until at length I came to a lonely clearing on the mountain side, and a fierce pack of dogs dashed barking at my horse's heels. There was a dark cabin ahead, indistinct in the starlight, and there I knocked until a gruff voice answered me and a tousled man came to the door. Yes, I had missed the trail. He shook his head when I asked for the Widow Brown's, and bade me share his bed for the night. No, I would go on, I was used to the backwoods. Thereupon he thawed a little, kicked the dogs, and pointed to where the mountain dipped against the star-studded sky. There was a trail there which led direct to the Widow Brown's, if I could follow it. So I left
``I do,'' he exclaimed, ``as I live I do. Why, we slept together.''
``And you stumped your toe getting into bed and swore,'' said I.
At that he laughed so heartily that the landlord came running across the room.
``And we fought together at the Old Fields School. Are you that boy?'' and he scanned me again. ``By God, I believe you are.'' Suddenly his face clouded once more.
``But what about Temple?'' said he.
``Ah,'' I answered, ``I come to that quickly. Mr. Temple is my cousin. After I left your uncle's house my father took me to Charlestown.''
``Is he a Charlestown Temple?'' demanded Mr. Jackson. ``For I spent some time gambling and horse- racing with the gentry there, and I know many of them. I was a wild lad'' (I repeat his exact words), ``and I ran up a bill in Charlestown that would have filled a folio volume. Faith, all I had left me was the clothes on my back and a good horse. I made up my mind one night that if I could pay my debts and get out of Charlestown I would go into the back country and study law and sober down. There was a Mr. Braiden in the ordinary who staked me two hundred dollars at rattle-and-snap against my horse. Gad, sir, that was providence. I won. I left Charlestown with honor, I studied law at Salisbury in North Carolina, and I have come here to practise it.''
``You seem to have the talent,'' said I, smiling at the remembrance of the Hump Gibson incident.
``That is my history in a nutshell,'' said Mr. Jackson.
``And now,'' he added, ``since you are Mr. Temple's cousin and friend and an old acquaintance of mine to boot, I will tell you where I think he is.''
``Where is that?'' I asked eagerly.
``I'll stake a cowbell that Sevier will stop at the Widow Brown's,'' he replied. ``I'll put you on the road. But mind you, you are to tell Mr. Temple that he is to come back here and race me at Greasy Cove.''
``I'll warrant him to come,'' said I.
Whereupon we left the inn together, more amicably than before. Mr. Jackson had a thoroughbred horse near by that was a pleasure to see, and my admiration of his mount seemed to set me as firmly in Mr. Jackson's esteem again as that gentleman himself sat in the saddle. He was as good as his word, rode out with me some distance on the road, and reminded me at the last that Nick was to race him.
CHAPTER VI
THE WIDOW BROWN'S
It was not to my credit that I should have lost the trail, after Mr. Jackson put me straight. But the night was dark, the country unknown to me, and heavily wooded and mountainous. In addition to these things my mind ran like fire. My thoughts sometimes flew back to the wondrous summer evening when I trod the Nollichucky trace with Tom and Polly Ann, when I first looked down upon the log palace of that prince of the border, John Sevier. Well I remembered him, broad- shouldered, handsome, gay, a courtier in buckskin. Small wonder he was idolized by the Watauga settlers, that he had been their leader in the struggle of Franklin for liberty. And small wonder that Nick Temple should be in his following.
Nick! My mind was in a torment concerning him. What of his mother? Should I speak of having seen her? I went blindly through the woods for hours after the night fell, my horse stumbling and weary, until at length I came to a lonely clearing on the mountain side, and a fierce pack of dogs dashed barking at my horse's heels. There was a dark cabin ahead, indistinct in the starlight, and there I knocked until a gruff voice answered me and a tousled man came to the door. Yes, I had missed the trail. He shook his head when I asked for the Widow Brown's, and bade me share his bed for the night. No, I would go on, I was used to the backwoods. Thereupon he thawed a little, kicked the dogs, and pointed to where the mountain dipped against the star-studded sky. There was a trail there which led direct to the Widow Brown's, if I could follow it. So I left