University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
A BATTLE.

THE fight so much desired by Morton came soon
enough.

As he and his mother rode home by a “near cut,”
little traveled, Morton found time to master Dolly's
fiery spirit and yet to scan the woods with the habitual
searching glance of a hunter. He observed on
one of the trees a notice posted. A notice put up in
this out-of-the-way place surprised him. He endeavored
to make his restless steed approach the tree, that
he might read, but her wild Arabian temper took fright
at something—a blooded horse is apt to see visions—
and she would not stand near the tree. Time after
time Morton drove her forward, but she as often shied
away. At last, Mrs. Goodwin begged him to give over
the attempt and come on; but Morton's love of mastery
was now excited, and he said,

“Ride on, mother, if you want to; this question between
Dolly and me will have to be discussed and
settled right here. Either she will stand still by this
sugar-tree, or we will fight away till one or t'other lays
down to rest.”

The mother contented herself with letting old Blaze
browse by the road-side, and with shaping her thoughts
into a formal regret that Morton should spend the
holy Sabbath in such fashion; but in her maternal

heart she admired his will and courage. He was so
like her own father, she thought — such a gentleman!
And she could not but hope that he was one of God's
elect. If so, what a fine Christian he would be when
he should be converted! And, quiet as she was without,
her heart was in a moment filled with agony and
prayer and questionings. How could she live in heaven
without Morton? Her eldest son had already died
a violent death in prodigal wanderings from home.
But Morton would surely be saved!

Morton, for his part, cared at the moment far less
for anything in heaven than he did to master the rebellious
Dolly. He rode her all round the tree; he
circled that maple, first in one direction, then in another,
until the mare was so dizzy she could hardly
see. Then he held her while he read the notice, saying
with exultation, “Now, my lady, do you think you
can stand still?”

Beyond a momentary impulse of idle curiosity, Morton
had not cared to know the contents of the paper.
Even curiosity had been forgotten in his combat with
Dolly. But as soon as he saw the signature, “Enoch
Lumsden, administrator of the estate of Hezekiah
Lumsden, deceased,” he forgot his victory over his
horse in his interest in the document itself. It was
therein set forth that, by order of the probate court in
and for the county aforesaid, the said Enoch Lumsden,
administrator, would sell at public auction all that
parcel of land belonging to the estate of the said
Hezekiah Lumsden, deceased, known and described as
follows, to wit, namely, etc., etc.

“By thunder!” broke out Morton, angrily, as he rode
away (I am afraid he swore by thunder instead of by
something else, out of a filial regard for his mother).
“By thunder! if that ain't too devilish mean! I
s'pose 'tain't enough for Captain Lumsden to mistreat
little Kike — he has gone to robbing him. He means
to buy that land himself; or, what's the same thing,
git somebody to do it for him. That's what he put
that notice in this holler fer. The judge is afraid of
him; and so's everybody else. Poor Kike won't have
a dollar when he's a man.”

“Somebody ought to take Kike's part,” said Mrs.
Goodwin. “It's a shame for a whole settlement to be
cowards, and to let one man rule them. It's worse
than having a king.”

Morton loved “Little Kike,” and hated Captain
Lumsden; and this appeal to the anti-monarchic feeling
of the time moved him. He could not bear that
his mother, of all, should think him cowardly. His
pride was already chafed by Lumsden's condescension,
and his provoking way of keeping Patty and himself
apart. Why should he not break with him, and have
done with it, rather than stand by and see Kike robbed?
But to interfere in behalf of Kike was to put
Patty Lumsden farther away from him. He was a
knight who had suddenly come in sight of his long-sought
adversary while his own hands were tied. And
so he fell into the brownest of studies, and scarcely
spoke a word to his mother all the rest of his ride.
For here were his friendship for little Kike, his innate
antagonism to Captain Lumsden, and his strong

sense of justice, on one side; his love for Patty—
stronger than all the rest—on the other. In the stories
of chivalry which his mother had told, the love of
woman had always been a motive to valiant deeds for
the right. And how often had he dreamed of doing
some brave thing while Patty applauded! Now, when
the brave thing offered, Patty was on the other side.
This unexpected entanglement of motives irritated him,
as such embarrassment always does a person disposed
to act impulsively and in right lines. And so it happened
that he rode on in moody silence, while the
mother, always looking for signs of seriousness in the
son, mentally reviewed the sermon of the day, in vain
endeavor to recall some passages that might have
“found a lodgment in his mind.”

Had the issue been squarely presented to Morton,
he might even then have chosen Patty, letting the interests
of his friends take care of themselves. But he
did not decide it squarely. He began by excusing
himself to himself:—What could he do for Kike? He
had no influence with the judge; he had no money to
buy the land, and he had no influential friends. He
might agitate the question and sacrifice his own hope,
and, after all, accomplish nothing for Kike. No doubt
all these considerations of futility had their weight
with him; nevertheless he had an angry consciousness
that he was not acting bravely in the matter. That
he, Morton Goodwin, who had often vowed that he
would not truckle to any man, was ready to shut his
eyes to Captain Lumsden's rascality, in the hope of
one day getting his consent to marry his daughter!

[ILLUSTRATION]

MORT, DOLLY, AND KIKE.

[Description: 554EAF. Page 044. In-line engraving of man on horse talking to boy in a straw hat, whose hand rests on the horse's neck. A cow looks on in the background.] It was this anger with himself that made Morton restless,
and his restlessness took him down to the Forks
that Sunday evening, and led him to drink two or
three times, in spite of his good resolution not to drink
more than once. It was this restlessness that carried
him at last to the cabin of the widow Lumsden, that
evening, to see her son Kike.

Kike was sixteen; one of those sallow-skinned boys
with straight black hair that one sees so often in southern
latitudes. He was called “Little Kike” only to

distinguish him from his father, who had also borne
the name of Hezekiah. Delicate in health and quiet
in manner, he was a boy of profound feeling, and his
emotions were not only profound but persistent. Dressed
in buck-skin breeches and homespun cotton overshirt,
he was milking old Molly when Morton came
up. The fixed lines of his half-melancholy face relaxed
a little, as with a smile deeper than it was broad
he lifted himself up and said,

“Hello, Mort! come in, old feller!”

But Mort only sat still on Dolly, while Kike came
round and stroked her fine neck, and expressed his regret
that she hadn't run at the Forks and beat Bill
McConkey's bay horse. He wished he owned such “a
beast.”

“Never mind; one of these days, when I get a little
stronger, I will open that crick bottom, and then I
shall make some money and be able to buy a blooded
horse like Dolly. Maybe it'll be a colt of Dolly's;
who knows?” And Kike smiled with a half-hopefulness
at the vision of his impending prosperity. But
Morton could not smile, nor could he bear to tell
Kike that his uncle had determined to seize upon that
very piece of land regardless of the air - castles Kike
had built upon it. Morton had made up his mind not
to tell Kike. Why should he? Kike would hear of
his uncle's fraud in time, and any mention on his part
would only destroy his own hopes without doing anything
for Kike. But if Morton meant to be prudent
and keep silence, why had he not staid at home?
Why come here, where the sight of Kike's slender

frame was a constant provocation to speech? Was
there a self contending against a self?

“Have you got over your chills yet?” asked Morton.

“No,” said the black-haired boy, a little bitterly.
“I was nearly well when I went down to Uncle
Enoch's to work; and he made me work in the rain.
`Come, Kike,' he would say, jerking his words, and
throwing them at me like gravel, `get out in the rain.
It'll do you good. Your mother has ruined you, keeping
you over the fire. You want hardening. Rain is
good for you, water makes you grow; you're a perfect
baby.' I tell you, he come plaguey nigh puttin' a finishment
to me, though.”

Doubtless, what Morton had drunk at the Forks
had not increased his prudence. As usual in such
cases, the prudent Morton and the impulsive Morton
stood the one over against the other; and, as always
the imprudent self is prone to spring up without warning,
and take the other by surprise, so now the young
man suddenly threw prudence and Patty behind, and
broke out with—

“Your uncle Enoch is a rascal!” adding some maledictions
for emphasis.

That was not exactly telling what he had resolved
not to tell, but it rendered it much more difficult to
keep the secret; for Kike grew a little red in the face,
and was silent a minute. He himself was fond of
roundly denouncing his uncle. But abusing one's relations
is a luxury which is labeled “strictly private,”
and this savage outburst from his friend touched Kike's
family pride a little.

“I know that as well as you do,” was all he said,
however.

“He would swindle his own children,” said Morton,
spurred to greater vehemence by Kike's evident
disrelish of his invective. “He will chisel you out of
everything you've got before you're of age, and then
make the settlement too hot to hold you if you shake
your head.” And Morton looked off down the road.

“What's the matter, Mort? What set you off on
Uncle Nuck to-night? He's bad enough, Lord knows;
but something must have gone wrong with you. Did
he tell you that he did not want you to talk to Patty?”

“No, he didn't,” said Morton. And now that Patty
was recalled to his mind, he was vexed to think that
he had gone so far in the matter. His tone provoked
Kike in turn.

“Mort, you've been drinking! What brought you
down here?”

Here the imprudent Morton got the upper hand
again. Patty and prudence were out of sight at once,
and the young man swore between his teeth.

“Come, old fellow; there's something wrong,” said
Kike, alarmed. “What's up?”

“Nothing; nothing,” said Morton, bitterly. “Nothing,
only your affectionate uncle has stuck a notice in
Jackson's holler—on the side of the tree furthest from
the road — advertising your crick bottom for sale.
That's all. Old Virginia gentleman! Old Virginia
devil! Call a horse-thief a parson, will you?” And
then he added something about hell and damnation.
These two last words had no grammatical relation

with the rest of his speech; but in the mind of Morton
Goodwin they had very logical relations with Captain
Lumsden and the subject under discussion. Nobody
is quite a Universalist in moments of indignation.
Every man keeps a private and select perdition
for the objects of his wrath.

When Morton had thus let out the secret he had
meant to retain, Kike trembled and grew white about
the lips. “I'll never forgive him,” he said, huskily.
“I'll be even with him, and one to carry; see if I
ain't!” He spoke with that slow, revengeful, relentless
air that belongs to a black-haired, Southern race.

“Mort, loan me Doll to-morry?” he said, presently.

“Can you ride her? Where are you going?” Morton
was loth to commit himself by lending his horse.

“I am going to Jonesville, to see if I can stop that
sale; and I've got a right to choose a gardeen. I
mean to take one that will make Uncle Enoch open
his eyes. I'm goin' to take Colonel Wheeler; he hates
Uncle Enoch, and he'll see jestice done. As for ridin'
Dolly, you know I can back any critter with four legs.”

“Well, I guess you can have Dolly,” said Morton,
reluctantly. He knew that if Kike rode Dolly, the
Captain would hear of it; and then, farewell to Patty!
But looking at Kike's face, so full of pain and wrath,
he could not quite refuse. Dolly went home at a tremendous
pace, and Morton, commonly full of good nature,
was, for once, insufferably cross at supper-time.

“Mort, meetin' must 'a' soured on you,” said Henry,
provokingly. “You're cross as a coon when its
cornered.”

“Don't fret Morton; he's worried,” said Mrs. Goodwin.
The fond mother still hoped that the struggle
in his mind was the great battle of Armageddon that
should be the beginning of a better life.

Morton went to his bed in the loft filled with a contempt
for himself. He tried in vain to acquit himself
of cowardice—the quality which a border man considers
the most criminal. Early in the morning he fed
Dolly, and got her ready for Kike; but no Kike came.
After a while, he saw some one ascending the hill on
the other side of the creek. Could it be Kike? Was
he going to walk to Jonesville, twenty miles away?
And with his ague-shaken body? How roundly Morton
cursed himself for the fear that made him half refuse
the horse! For, with one so sensitive as Kike, a
half refusal was equivalent to the most positive denial.
It was not too late. Morton threw the saddle and
bridle on Dolly, and mounted. Dolly sprang forward,
throwing her heels saucily in the air, and in fifteen
minutes Morton rode up alongside Kike.

“Here, Kike, you don't escape that way! Take
Dolly.”

“No, I won't, Morton. I oughtn't to have axed you
to let me have her. I know how you feel about Patty.”

“Confound—no, I won't say confound Patty—but
confound me, if I'm mean enough to let you walk to
Jonesville. I was a devlish coward yesterday. Here,
take the horse, dog on you, or I'll thrash you,” and
Morton laughed.

“I tell you, Mort, I won't do it,” said Kike, “I'm
goin' to walk.”

“Yes, you look like it! You'll die before you git
half-way, you blamed little fool you! If you won't
take Dolly, then I'll go along to bury your bones.
They's no danger of the buzzard's picking such bones,
though.”

Just then came by Jake Sniger, who was remarkable
for his servility to Lumsden.

“Hello, boys, which ways?” he asked.

“No ways jest now,” said Morton.

“Are you a travelin', or only a goin' some place?”
asked Sniger, smiling.

“I 'low I'm travelin', and Kike's a goin' some place,”
said Morton.

When Sniger had gone on, Morton said, “Now
Kike, the fat's all in the fire. When the Captain finds
out what you've done, Sniger is sure to tell that he
see us together. I've got to fight it out now anyhow,
and you've got to take Dolly.”

“No, Morton, I can't.”

If Kike had been any less obstinate the weakness
of his knees would have persuaded him to relent.

“Well, hold Dolly a minute for me, anyhow,” said
Morton, dismounting. As soon as Kike had obligingly
taken hold of the bridle, Morton started toward home,
singing Burns's “Highland Mary” at the top of his
rich, melodious voice, never looking back at Kike till
he had finished the song, and reached the summit of
the hill. Then he had the satisfaction of seeing Kike
in the saddle, laughing to think how his friend had
outwitted him. Morton waved his hat heartily, and
Kike, nodding his head, gave Dolly the rein, and she

[ILLUSTRATION]

GOOD-BYE!

[Description: 554EAF. Page 051. In-line engraving of a man waving his hat at a man on a horse riding away in the background.] plunged forward, carrying him out of sight in a few minutes.
Morton's mother was disappointed, when he came
in late to breakfast, to see that his brow was clear. She
feared that the good impressions of the day before had
worn away. How little does one know of the real nature
of the struggle between God and the devil, in the
heart of another! But long before Kike had brought
Dolly back to her stall, the exhilaration of self-sacrifice
in the mind of Morton had worn away, and the possible
consequences of his action made him uncomfortable.