VII
Past the Big Pine, swerving with a smile his horse aside that he mightnot obliterate the foot-print in the black earth, and down the mountain,his brain busy with his big purpose, went John Hale, by instinct,inheritance, blood and tradition--pioneer.
One of his forefathers had been with Washington on the Father's firsthistoric expedition into the wilds of Virginia. His great-grandfatherhad accompanied Boone when that hunter first penetrated the "Darkand Bloody Ground," had gone back to Virginia and come again with asurveyor's chain and compass to help wrest it from the red men,among whom there had been an immemorial conflict for possession and anever-recognized claim of ownership. That compass and that chain hisgrandfather had fallen heir to and with that compass and chain hisfather had earned his livelihood amid the wrecks of the Civil War. Halewent to the old Transylvania University at Lexington, the first seat oflearning planted beyond the Alleghanies. He was fond of history, of thesciences and literature, was unusually adept in Latin and Greek, and hada passion for mathematics. He was graduated with honours, he taught twoyears and got his degree of Master of Arts, but the pioneer spirit inhis blood would still out, and his polite learning he then threw to thewinds.
Other young Kentuckians had gone West in shoals, but he kept his eye onhis own State, and one autumn he added a pick to the old compass and theancestral chain, struck the Old Wilderness Trail that his grandfatherhad travelled, to look for his own fortune in a land which that oldgentleman had passed over as worthless. At the Cumberland River he tooka canoe and drifted down the river into the wild coal-swollen hills.Through the winter he froze, starved and prospected, and a year laterhe was opening up a region that became famous after his trust andinexperience had let others worm out of him an interest that would havemade him easy for life.
With the vision of a seer, he was as innocent as Boone. Stripped clean,he got out his map, such geological reports as he could find and wentinto a studious trance for a month, emerging mentally with the freshnessof a snake that has shed its skin. What had happened in Pennsylvaniamust happen all along the great Alleghany chain in the mountains ofVirginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, Alabama, Tennessee. Some day theavalanche must sweep south, it must--it must. That he might be a quarterof a century too soon in his calculations never crossed his mind. Someday it must come.
Now there was not an ounce of coal immediately south-east of theCumberland Mountains--not an ounce of iron ore immediately north-east;all the coal lay to the north-east; all of the iron ore to thesouth-east. So said Geology. For three hundred miles there were onlyfour gaps through that mighty mountain chain--three at water level, andone at historic Cumberland Gap which was not at water level and wouldhave to be tunnelled. So said Geography.
All railroads, to east and to west, would have to pass through thosegaps; through them the coal must be brought to the iron ore, or the oreto the coal. Through three gaps water flowed between ore and coal andthe very hills between were limestone. Was there any such juxtapositionof the four raw materials for the making of iron in the known world?When he got that far in his logic, the sweat broke from his brows; hefelt dizzy and he got up and walked into the open air. As the vastnessand certainty of the scheme--what fool could not see it?--rushed throughhim full force, he could scarcely get his breath. There must be a townin one of those gaps--but in which? No matter--he would buy all ofthem--all of them, he repeated over and over again; for some day theremust be a town in one, and some day a town in all, and from all he wouldreap his harvest. He optioned those four gaps at a low purchase pricethat was absurd. He went back to the Bluegrass; he went to New York;in some way he managed to get to England. It had never crossed his mindthat other eyes could not see what he so clearly saw and yet everywherehe was pronounced crazy. He failed and his options ran out, but he wasundaunted. He picked his choice of the four gaps and gave up the otherthree. This favourite gap he had just finished optioning again, and nowagain he meant to keep at his old quest. That gap he was entering nowfrom the north side and the North Fork of the river was hurrying toenter too. On his left was a great gray rock, projecting edgewise,covered with laurel and rhododendron, and under it was the firstbig pool from which the stream poured faster still. There had been aterrible convulsion in that gap when the earth was young; the stratahad been tossed upright and planted almost vertical for all time, and, alittle farther, one mighty ledge, moss-grown, bush-covered, sentinelledwith grim pines, their bases unseen, seemed to be making a heavy flighttoward the clouds.
Big bowlders began to pop up in the river-bed and against them the waterdashed and whirled and eddied backward in deep pools, while above himthe song of a cataract dropped down a tree-choked ravine. Just there thedrop came, and for a long space he could see the river lashing rock andcliff with increasing fury as though it were seeking shelter from somerelentless pursuer in the dark thicket where it disappeared. Straight infront of him another ledge lifted itself. Beyond that loomed a mountainwhich stopped in mid-air and dropped sheer to the eye. Its crown wasbare and Hale knew that up there was a mountain farm, the refuge of aman who had been involved in that terrible feud beyond Black Mountainbehind him. Five minutes later he was at the yawning mouth of the gapand there lay before him a beautiful valley shut in tightly, for all theeye could see, with mighty hills. It was the heaven-born site for theunborn city of his dreams, and his eyes swept every curve of the valleylovingly. The two forks of the river ran around it--he could followtheir course by the trees that lined the banks of each--curving withina stone's throw of each other across the valley and then looping awayas from the neck of an ancient lute and, like its framework, comingtogether again down the valley, where they surged together, slippedthrough the hills and sped on with the song of a sweeping river. Upthat river could come the track of commerce, out the South Fork, too, itcould go, though it had to turn eastward: back through that gap it couldbe traced north and west; and so none could come as heralds into thosehills but their footprints could be traced through that wild, rocky,water-worn chasm. Hale drew breath and raised in his stirrups.
"It's a cinch," he said aloud. "It's a shame to take the money."
Yet nothing was in sight now but a valley farmhouse above the ford wherehe must cross the river and one log cabin on the hill beyond. Still onthe other river was the only woollen mill in miles around; fartherup was the only grist mill, and near by was the only store, the onlyblacksmith shop and the only hotel. That much of a start the gap had hadfor three-quarters of a century--only from the south now a railroadwas already coming; from the east another was travelling like a woundedsnake and from the north still another creeped to meet them. Every roadmust run through the gap and several had already run through it linesof survey. The coal was at one end of the gap, and the iron ore at theother, the cliffs between were limestone, and the other elements to makeit the iron centre of the world flowed through it like a torrent.
"Selah! It's a shame to take the money."
He splashed into the creek and his big black horse thrust his nose intothe clear running water. Minnows were playing about him. A hog-fish flewfor shelter under a rock, and below the ripples a two-pound bass shotlike an arrow into deep water.
Above and below him the stream was arched with beech, poplar and watermaple, and the banks were thick with laurel and rhododendron. His eyehad never rested on a lovelier stream, and on the other side of the townsite, which nature had kindly lifted twenty feet above the water level,the other fork was of equal clearness, swiftness and beauty.
"Such a drainage," murmured his engineering instinct. "Such a drainage!"It was Saturday. Even if he had forgotten he would have known that itmust be Saturday when he climbed the bank on the other side. Many horseswere hitched under the trees, and here and there was a farm-wagonwith fragments of paper, bits of food and an empty bottle or two lyingaround. It was the hour when the alcoholic spirits of the day wereusually most high. Evidently they were running quite high that day andsomething distinctly was going on "up town." A few yells--the high,
clear, penetrating yell of a fox-hunter--rent the air, a chorus ofpistol shots rang out, and the thunder of horses' hoofs started beyondthe little slope he was climbing. When he reached the top, a merryyouth, with a red, hatless head was splitting the dirt road toward him,his reins in his teeth, and a pistol in each hand, which he was lettingoff alternately into the inoffensive earth and toward the unrebukingheavens--that seemed a favourite way in those mountains of defying Godand the devil--and behind him galloped a dozen horsemen to the music ofthroat, pistol and iron hoof.
The fiery-headed youth's horse swerved and shot by. Hale hardly knewthat the rider even saw him, but the coming ones saw him afar and theyseemed to be charging him in close array. Hale stopped his horsea little to the right of the centre of the road, and being equallyhelpless against an inherited passion for maintaining his own rights anda similar disinclination to get out of anybody's way--he sat motionless.Two of the coming horsemen, side by side, were a little in advance.
"Git out o' the road!" they yelled. Had he made the motion of an arm,they might have ridden or shot him down, but the simple quietness of himas he sat with hands crossed on the pommel of his saddle, face calm andset, eyes unwavering and fearless, had the effect that nothing else hecould have done would have brought about--and they swerved on eitherside of him, while the rest swerved, too, like sheep, one stirrupbrushing his, as they swept by. Hale rode slowly on. He could hearthe mountaineers yelling on top of the hill, but he did not lookback. Several bullets sang over his head. Most likely they were simply"bantering" him, but no matter--he rode on.
The blacksmith, the storekeeper and one passing drummer were coming infrom the woods when he reached the hotel.
"A gang o' those Falins," said the storekeeper, "they come over lookin'for young Dave Tolliver. They didn't find him, so they thought they'dhave some fun"; and he pointed to the hotel sign which was punctuatedwith pistol-bullet periods. Hale's eyes flashed once but he saidnothing. He turned his horse over to a stable boy and went across to thelittle frame cottage that served as office and home for him. While hesat on the veranda that almost hung over the mill-pond of the otherstream three of the Falins came riding back. One of them had leftsomething at the hotel, and while he was gone in for it, another put abullet through the sign, and seeing Hale rode over to him. Hale's blueeye looked anything than friendly.
"Don't ye like it?" asked the horseman.
"I do not," said Hale calmly. The horseman seemed amused.
"Well, whut you goin' to do about it?"
"Nothing--at least not now."
"All right--whenever you git ready. You ain't ready now?"
"No," said Hale, "not now." The fellow laughed.
"Hit's a damned good thing for you that you ain't."
Hale looked long after the three as they galloped down the road. "When Istart to build this town," he thought gravely and without humour, "I'llput a stop to all that."