WHEN the great bell struck the hour of the next noon,mountaineers with long rifles across their shoulders were moving through the camp.The glen opened into a valley,which,blocked on the east by Pine Mountain,was thus shut in on every side by wooded heights.Here the marksmen gathered.All were mountaineers,lank,bearded,men,coatless for the most part,and dressed in brown home-made jeans,slouched,formless hats,and high,coarse boots.Sun and wind had tanned their faces to sympathy,in color,with their clothes,which had the dun look of the soil.They seemed peculiarly a race of the soil,to have sprung as they were from the earth,which had left indelible stains upon them.All carried long rifles,old-fashioned and home-made,some even with flint-locks.It was Saturday,and many of their wives had come with them to the camp.These stood near,huddled into a listless group,with their faces half hidden in check bonnets of various colors.A barbaric love of color was apparent in bonnet,shawl,and gown,and surprisingly in contrast with such crudeness of taste was a face when fully seen,so modest was it.The features were always delicately wrought,and softened sometimes by a look of patient suffering almost into refinement.
On the other side of the contestants were the people of the camp,a few miners with pipes lounging on the ground,and women and girls,who returned the furtive glances of the mountain women with stares of curiosity and low laughter.
Clayton had been delayed by his work,and the match was already going on when he reached the grounds.
"You've missed mighty fine shootin',"said Uncle Tommy Brooks,who was squatted on the ground near the group of marksmen.
Sherd's been a-beatin'ever'body.I'm afeard Easter hain't a-comm'.
The match is 'most over now.Ef she'd been here,I don't think Sherd would 'a'got the ch'ice parts o'that beef so easy.""Which is he?"asked Clayton.
That tall feller thar loadin'his gun."
"What did you say his name was?
"Sherd Raines,the feller that's goin'to be our circuit-rider."He remembered the peculiar name.So this was Easter's lover.
Clayton looked at the young mountaineer,curiously at first,and then with growing interest.His quiet air of authority among his fellows was like a birthright;it seemed assumed and accepted unconsciously.His face was smooth,and he was fuller in figure than the rest,but still sinewy and lank,though not awkward;his movements were too quick and decisive for that.With a casual glance Clayton had wondered what secret influence could have turned to spiritual things a man so merely animal-like in face and physique;but when the mountaineer thrust back his hat,elemental strength and seriousness were apparent in the square brow,the steady eye,the poise of the head,and in lines around the strong mouth and chin in which the struggle for self-mastery had been traced.
As the mountaineer thrust his ramrod back into its casing,he glanced at the woods behind Clayton,and said something to his companions.They,too,raised their eyes,and at the same moment the old mountaineer plucked Clayton by the sleeve.
"Thar comes Easter now."
The girl had just emerged from the edge of the forest,and with a rifle on one shoulder and a bullet-pouch and powder-horn swung from the other,was slowly coming down the path.
"Why,how air ye,Easter?"cried the old man,heartily."Goin'to shoot,air ye?I 'lowed ye wouldn't miss this.Ye air mighty late,though."Oh,I only wanted a turkey,"said the girl."Well,I'm a-comm'up to eat dinner with ye to-morrer,"he answered,with a laugh,"fer I know ye'll git one.Y'u're on hand fer most o'the matches now.
Wild turkeys must be a-gittin'skeerce."
The girl smiled,showing a row of brilliant teeth between her thin,red lips,and,without answering,moved toward the group of mountain women.Clayton had raised his hand to his hat when the old man addressed her,but he dropped it quickly to his side in no little embarrassment when the girl carelessly glanced over him with no sign of recognition.Her rifle was an old flint-lock of light build,but nearly six feet in length,with a shade of rusty tin two feet long fastened to the barrel to prevent the sunlight from affecting the marksman's aim.She wore a man's hat,which,with unintentional coquetry,was perched on one side of her head.Her hair was short,and fell as it pleased about her neck.She was bare-footed,and apparently clad in a single garment,a blue homespun gown,gathered loosely at her uncorseted waist,and showing the outline of the bust and every movement of the tall,supple form beneath.Her appearance had quickened the interest of the spectators,and apparently was a disturbing influence among the contestants,who were gathered together,evidently in dispute.
From their glances Clayton saw that Easter was the subject of it.
"I guess they don't want her to shoot-them that hain't won nothin',"said Uncle Tommy.
