“He’d better watch out or Brer Fox’ll get him. Them pesky varmints tuk nigh onto twenty little uns fer us last night. G’lang, Bright!” and the cracking whip and groaning wagon drowned the greetings of the others.
Kid fell in behind. There was no possible chance for conversation, so they sang old English ballads, and “The Old Time Religion,” which Talitha had taught them. As they rode along in the damp coolness, Kid watched the lumbering wagon ahead, full of indistinct figures, with a curious feeling of something new and strange about to enter his life.
Right and left, the great pine-covered mountains both guarded and threatened with their looming shapes. The highest part of the creek bed made the only passable wagon road, and that was poor enough. The air was full of moist odours, and above, the deep blue dome was pierced with twinkling points of light.
The night wore on until the twinkling lights were lost, and a greyness settled over the mountain world. They were travelling northwest, leaving range after range of the Cumberlands, broken only by the deep gorge of a river bed, behind them. Ahead, were the foothills, and beyond, Kid had never seen. He only knew from the glowing accounts of Pete, and Isaac, and Talitha—who had made him promise to come to Bentville—that the Blue Grass in all its richness lay very near the college.
Leaving the river bed they struck a mountain road which led, at long intervals, past lonely, unpainted cabins more humble than those in the small settlement at Goose Creek. Early as it was, people were astir, noisily harnessing their mules, or yoking oxen. Here and there a jaded saddle-horse or spirited colt was being pressed into service. They were all bound for the same place.
“Hit’s like a circus, er buryin’, er baptizin’—” and here words failed him. But he remembered Talitha’s description, and tried to imagine how it would seem to see thousands of people on one level, wooded space.
They had stopped singing now. A faint, rosy glow was spreading above the mountains back of them, and glimpses of a great rolling valley came from the front. The road ran steeply down, causing the occupants of the wagon to sway in their chairs. Dan Gooch plied the brake, vociferating to his oxen: “Hi thar, Bright! Steady, Star! See, yon’s Redbird!”
Sam Coyle straightened an inert figure. He had been half dozing, conscious of little except his broken rest. His journey to Bentville was prompted by a curiosity which had been growing ever since Abner had won the medal. There was a little pricking below the jealousy in his heart when he thought what a “sorry” father he had been. Dan Gooch was growing more enthusiastic every day over “larnin’.” Sam wondered if it were too late—here he glanced at his wife’s worn but radiant face. She was looking in the direction of Redbird, but he knew that her heart was going out to Martin and Talitha in Bentville, and that she had nothing to regret.
Billy and Sudie grew more excited each moment. “I’m that hongry I could eat a bear; I hope they’ll have one fer breakfast!” exclaimed the former.
“More like it’ll be a chicken,” laughed Kid as he guided Nick nearer the wagon. “I saw Zeb Twilliger in the hen yard a minute ago.”