THE BUSHWHACKERS
&
OTHER STORIES
THE
Bushwhackers
&
Other Stories
BY
Charles Egbert Craddock
AUTHOR OF “IN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS,” “THE
STORY OF OLD FORT LOUDON,” ETC.
HERBERT S. STONE & COMPANY
CHICAGO & NEW YORK
MDCCCXCIX
COPYRIGHT 1899 BY
HERBERT S. STONE & CO.
THIRD IMPRESSION
CONTENTS
| PAGE | |
| The Bushwhackers | 3 |
| The Panther of Jolton’s Ridge | 119 |
| The Exploit of Choolah, the Chickasaw | 217 |
THE BUSHWHACKERS
THE BUSHWHACKERS
CHAPTER I
One might have imagined that there was some enchantment in the spotwhich drew hither daily the young mountaineer’s steps. No visible lureit showed. No prosaic reasonable errand he seemed to have. But alwaysat some hour between the early springtide sunrise and the late vernalsunset Hilary Knox climbed the craggy, almost inaccessible steeps tothis rocky promontory, that jutted out in a single sharp peak, notonly beetling far over the sea of foliage in the wooded valley below,but rising high above the dense forests of the slope of the mountain,[Pg 4]from the summit of which it projected. Here he would stand, shading hiseyes with his hand, and gaze far and near over the great landscape.At first he seemed breathless with eager expectation; then earnestlysearching lest there should be aught overlooked; at last dully,wistfully dwelling on the scene in the full realization of the pangs ofdisappointment for the absence of something he fain would see.
Always he waited as long as he could, as if the chance of any momentmight conjure into the landscape, brilliant with the vivid growths andtender grace of the spring, that for which he looked in vain. A windwould come up the gorge and flutter about him, as he stood poised onthe upward slant of the rock, the loftiest point of the mountain. Ifit were a young and frisky zephyr, but lately loosed from the cave ofÆolus, which surely[Pg 5] must be situated near at hand—on the oppositespur perhaps, so windy was the ravine, so tumultuous the continualcoming and going of the currents of the air,—he must needs riskhis balance on the pinnacle of the crag to hold on to his hat. Andsometimes the frolicsome breeze like other gay young sprites wouldnot have done with playing tag, and when he thought himself safe andlowered his hand to shade his eyes, again the wind would twitch it bythe brim and scurry away down the ravine, mak