As a wild creature loves the freedom of the plains, or an eagle rises and circles about in the blue ether aimless and untrammelled, so this man of the hills moved now in his natural environment, living in the present moment, glad to be above the low levels and out from under all restraint, seeing but a little way into his future, content to satisfy present needs and the cravings of his strong, virile body.
Moments of exaltation and aspiration came to him, as they must come to every one, but they were moments only, and were quickly swept aside and but vaguely comprehended by him. As a child will weep one minute over some creature his heedlessness has hurt and the next forget it all in the pursuit of some new delight, so this child of nature took his way, swayed by his moods and desires—an elemental force, like a swollen torrent taking its vengeful way—forgetful of promises—glad of freedom—angry at being held in restraint, and willing to crush or tear away any opposing force.
At last, breakfastless and weary after his long climb, his sleepless night, and the depression following his talk with Cassandra the evening before, he paused at the edge of the descent, loath to leave the open height behind him, and stretched himself under a great black cedar to rest. As he lay there dreaming and scheming, with half-shut eyes, he spied below him the bare red patch of soil around the cabin of Decatur Irwin. Instantly he rose and began rapidly to descend.
Decatur was away. He had got a "job of hauling," his wife said, and had to be away all day, but she willingly set herself to bake a fresh corn-cake and make him coffee. He had already taken a little of his buttermilk, but he did not care for raw salt pork alone. He wanted his corn-bread and coffee,—the staple of the mountaineer.
She talked much, in a languid way, as she worked, and he sat in the doorway. Now and then she asked questions about his home and "Cassandry," which he answered evasively. She gossiped much about all the happenings and sayings of her neighbors far and near, and complained much, when she came to take pay from him for what she provided, of the times which had come upon them since "Cate had hurt his foot." She told how that fool doctor had come there and taken "hit off, makin' out like Cate'd die of hit ef he didn't," and how "Cassandry Merlin had done cheated her into goin' off so 't she could bide thar at the cabin alone with that doctah man herself an' he'p him do hit."
With her snuff stick between her yellow teeth and her numerous progeny squatting in the dirt all about the doorway, idly gazing at Frale, she retailed her grievances without reserve. How the wife of Hoke Belew had been "ailin'," and Cassandra had "be'n thar ev'y day keerin' fer her. I 'low she jes' goes 'cause she 'lows she'll see that doctah man thar an' ride back with him like she done when she brung him here," said the pallid, spiteful creature, and spat as she talked. "She nevah done that fer me. I be'n sick a heap o' times, an' she hain't nevah come nigh me to do a lick."
Frale was annoyed to hear Cassandra thus spoken against, for was she not his own? He chose to defend her, while purposely concealing his bitter anger against the doctor. "The' hain't nothin' agin Cassandry. She's sorter kin to me, an' I 'low the' hain't."
"Naw," said the woman, changing instantly at the threatening tone, "the' hain't nothin' agin her. I reckon he tells her whar to go, an' she jes' goes like he tells her."
Frale threw his sack over his shoulder and started on in silence, and the woman smiled evilly after him as she sat there and licked her lips, and chewed on her snuff stick and spat.