'He never teched the bar'l,' said the old woman, not wishing that he should appear blacker than he had painted himself.
'I s'pose you-uns gin him an' his gang a bite an' sup,' remarked Groundhog Cayce.
'They eat a sizable dinner hyar,' put in Mirandy Jane, who, having cooked it, had no mind that it should be belittled.
'An' they stayed a right smart while, an' talked powerful frien'ly an' sociable-like,' said old Mrs. Cayce, 'till the sher'ff got addled with the notion that we hed Rick Tyler hid hyar. An' unless we-uns hed tied him in the cheer or shot him, nuthin' in natur' could hev held him. I 'lowed 't war the dram he tuk, though D'rindy thinks differ. They never teched the bar'l, though.'
'An' then,' said Dorinda, with a sudden gush of tears, all the afflicted delicacy of a young and tender woman, all the overweening pride of the mountaineer, throbbing wildly in her veins, her heart afire, her helpless hands trembling, 'he said the word ez he would lock me up in the jail at Shaftesville, sence I hed owned ter seein' a man ez he warn't peart enough ter ketch. He spoke that word ter me—the jail!'
She hung sobbing in the doorway.
There was a murmur of indignation among the group, and John Cayce rose to his feet with a furious oath.
'He shell rue it!' he cried—'he shell rue it! Me an' mine take no word off'n nobody. My gran'dad an' his three brothers, one hunderd an' fourteen year ago, kem hyar from the old North State an' settled in the Big Smoky. They an' thar sons rooted up the wilderness. They cropped. They fit the beastis; they fit the Injun; they fit the British; an' this last little war o' ourn they fit each other. Thar hev never been a coward 'mongst 'em. Thar hev never been a key turned on one of 'em, or a door shet. They hev respected the law fur what it war wuth, an' they hev stood up fur thar rights agin it. They answer fur thar word, an others hev ter answer.'
He paused for a moment.
The moon, still in the similitude of a silver boat, swung at anchor in a deep indentation in the summit of Chilhowee that looked like some lonely pine-girt bay; what strange, mysterious fancies did it land from its cargo of sentiments and superstitions and uncanny influences!