A Maid of the Kentucky Hills

by Edwin Carlile Litsey

Mr. Todler neither rose nor stirred under my vehement words, but his eyes came open listlessly, he blinked at me for a few seconds, and replied:

"He wa'nt tuk w'en I we'n to sleep. Whut's more, he ain't a-goin' to git tuk—not Buck!"

This lengthy speech must have been exhausting, for Mr. Todler sighed wearily at its conclusion, turned his head with a grimace, and slowly dragged the newspaper over his face again.

I did not thank him. The news had been too hard to win, and was too unsatisfactory.

The man was right. I saw clearly on the instant that Buck would never submit to incarceration. He had graver business on hand than simply obeying the law's behest.

I began the return tramp with my spirit cast down and troubled. If Jeff Angel only would come, and bring the Dryad! I would not—I could not leave before her home-coming. Though a bloodthirsty blacksmith lurked behind every tree in the locality, yet would I stay. If the next few days found her back, I might manage to elude Buck, and get us away safely. Us! Yes, she should go with me. Although I had made no declaration, some intuition told me that all would be well could I once more stand in her presence. Enough had come to my knowledge to merit this assurance.

I turned from the highway and took the knob road going past Lizard Point. About a half-mile from the pike, the dirt road ran under a cliff for a number of rods; a sheer limestone precipice fifty or sixty feet high. It was here, although introspectively engrossed almost to the point of abstraction, that I suddenly knew a danger threatened me. I was striding swiftly along, and when the thought came I stopped abruptly. Two more steps would have stretched me dead. For instantly I heard a low whistling sound which gathered volume, something whizzed downward before my face, so close that I felt the air from its passage and jumped back. A huge stone, large as a half-bushel, struck the soft earth almost at my feet, rebounded, and rolled over into a patch of fennel ten feet distant.

I looked up, rage giving me a daring which mocked at risk. Where I stood I made yet an excellent target, but I did not think of this then. A harsh laugh drifted down; I saw the thick foliage on the lip of the precipice become violently agitated, and I fancied I heard the cracking of dry twigs, as under a heavy, careless step. I could not follow, though in my heart that moment I had the fierce desire to slay. I had never known this before. It was awful—but it was also sweet! I could have killed that creeping coward above me and laughed in joy. Something became unfettered within me which I never knew I possessed. Something which for the moment I could not have restrained had the object of my wrath stood before me. In that instant centuries were bridged, and my forebears of the stone age had a fitting representative in my being. This wave of primal, mindless passion which bade me destroy ruthlessly did not subside at once, and it was only after I had pursued my way for some time that I experienced the resurgent flow of my normal self.

I did not anticipate a second attack before I reached home. Each of these cowardly efforts had been planned in advance, and had either succeeded no one could have pointed at Buck Steele as my slayer. I was safe for another day, at least, so, gaining a temporary relief from this fact, I trudged on moodily to the Lodge.

Next day at noon, as I turned from the well with a bucket of water in my hand, I saw a belted and booted figure coming toward me from the spot where the road led up. The stranger had an athletic bearing, wore a cheap straw hat much out of shape, and carried a rifle in the hollow of his arm. I advanced to meet him, for I guessed his mission at once.