“Oh, I do wisht you’d go on,” she cried; “them men’ll shorely ketch you ef you keep on a-stayin’ here a-winkin’ an’ a-gwine on makin’ monkey motions.”
“Shoo!” exclaimed Israel. “Ef the house was surrounded by forty thousan’ of ’em, I’d git by ’em, an’, ef need be, take you wi’ me.”
While they were talking the dogs began to bark. At the first sound Polly rose from her chair with her arms outstretched, but fell back pale and trembling. Israel had disappeared as if by magic, and Mrs. Spurlock was calmly lighting her pipe by filling it with hot embers. It was evidently a false alarm, for, after a while, Israel backed through the doorway and closed the door again with comical alacrity.
“Sh-sh-sh!” he whispered, with a warning gesture, seeing that Polly was about to protest. “Don’t make no fuss. The dogs has been a-barkin’ at sperits an’ things. Jest keep right still.”
He went noiselessly about the room, picking up first one thing and then another. Over one shoulder he flung a canteen, and over the other a hunting-horn. Into his coat-pocket he thrust an old-fashioned powder-flask. Meanwhile his mother was busy gathering together such articles as Israel might need. His rifle she placed by the door, and then she filled a large homespun satchel with a supply of victuals—a baked fowl, a piece of smoked beef, and a big piece of light bread. These preparations were swiftly and silently made. When everything seemed to be ready for his departure Israel presented the appearance of a peddler.
“I’m goin’ up to the Rock,” he said, by way of explanation, “an’ light the fire. Maybe the boys’ll see it, an’ maybe they won’t. Leastways they’re mighty apt to smell the smoke.”
Then, without further farewell, he closed the door and stepped out into the darkness, leaving the two women sitting by the hearth. They sat there for hours, gazing into the fire and scarcely speaking to each other. The curious reticence that seems to be developed and assiduously cultivated by the dwellers on the mountains took possession of them. The confidences and sympathies they had in common were those of observation and experience, rather than the result of an interchange of views and opinions.
Towards morning the drizzling rain ceased, and the wind, changing its direction, sent the clouds flying to the east, whence they had come. About dawn, Private Chadwick, who had slept most soundly, was aroused by the barking of the dogs, and got up to look after the horses. As he slipped quietly out of the house he saw a muffled figure crossing the yard.
“Halt!” he cried, giving the challenge of a sentinel. “Who goes there?”