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    A Cumberland Vendetta
    A Cumberland Vendetta
    A Cumberland Vendetta
    Ebook94 pages1 hour

    A Cumberland Vendetta

    By John Fox and Jr.

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    About this ebook

    John Fox won literary acclaim as one of the foremost chroniclers of life in the southeastern United States. A Cumberland Vendetta traces the roots and tragic consequences of one of the feuds that ripped apart many Southern communities in the nineteenth century. As part of our mission to publish great works of literary fiction and nonfiction, Sheba Blake Publishing Corp. is extremely dedicated to bringing to the forefront the amazing works of long dead and truly talented authors.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSheba Blake Publishing Corp.
    Release dateMar 9, 2023
    ISBN9781222377958
    A Cumberland Vendetta
    Author

    John Fox

    John Fox has excavated ancient ball courtsin Central America, traced Marco Polo's route acrossChina, and bicycled Africa's Rift Valley in search ofhuman origins. He has contributed commentary to VermontPublic Radio as well as Smithsonian, Outside, andSalon, among other publications. He lives in Boston.

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      Book preview

      A Cumberland Vendetta - John Fox

      A Cumberland Vendetta

      John Fox, Jr.

      image-placeholder

      Sheba Blake Publishing Corp.

      Copyright © 2022 by John Fox, Jr.

      All rights reserved.

      No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

      Contents

      1. Chapter One

      2. Chapter Two

      3. Chapter Three

      4. Chapter Four

      5. Chapter Five

      6. Chapter Six

      7. Chapter Seven

      8. Chapter Eight

      9. Chapter Nine

      10. Chapter Ten

      11. Chapter Eleven

      12. Chapter Twelve

      13. Chapter Thirteen

      14. Chapter Fourteen

      15. Chapter Fifteen

      About Author

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      Chapter One

      THE cave had been their hiding-place as children; it was a secret refuge now against hunger or darkness when they were hunting in the woods. The primitive meal was finished; ashes were raked over the red coals; the slice of bacon and the little bag of meal were hung high against the rock wall; and the two stepped from the cavern into a thicket of rhododendrons.

      Parting the bushes toward the dim light, they stood on a massive shoulder of the mountain, the river girding it far below, and the afternoon shadows at their feet. Both carried guns-the tall mountaineer, a Winchester; the boy, a squirrel rifle longer than himself. Climbing about the rocky spur, they kept the same level over log and bowlder and through bushy ravine to the north. In half an hour, they ran into a path that led up home from the river, and they stopped to rest on a cliff that sank in a solid black wall straight under them. The sharp edge of a steep corn-field ran near, and, stripped of blade and tassel, the stalks and hooded ears looked in the coming dusk a little like monks at prayer. In the sunlight across the river the corn stood thin and frail. Over there a drought was on it; and when drifting thistle-plumes marked the noontide of the year, each yellow stalk had withered blades and an empty sheath. Every-where a look of vague trouble lay upon the face of the mountains, and when the wind blew, the silver of the leaves showed ashen. Autumn was at hand.

      There was no physical sign of kinship between the two, half-brothers though they were. The tall one was dark; the boy, a foundling, had flaxen hair, and was stunted and ~lender. He was a dreamy~looking little fellow, and one may easily find his like throughout the Cumberland -paler than his fellows, from staying much indoors, with half-haunted face, and eyes that are deeply pathetic when not cunning; ignorantly credited with idiocy and uncanny powers; treated with much forbearance, some awe, and a little contempt; and suffered to do his pleasure-nothing, or much that is strange-without comment.

      I tell ye, Rome, he said, taking up the thread of talk that was broken at the cave, when Uncle Gabe says he’s afeard thar’s trouble comm’, hit’s a-comm’; ‘n’ I want you to git me a Winchester. I’m a-gittin’ big enough now. I kin shoot might’ nigh as good as you, ‘n’ whut am I fit fer with this hyeh old pawpaw pop-gun?

      I don’t want you fightin’, boy, I’ve told ye. Y’u air too little ‘n’ puny, ‘n’ I want ye to stay home ‘n’ take keer o’ mam ‘n’ the cattle-ef fightin’ does come, I reckon thar won’t be triuch.

      Don’t ye? cried the boy, with sharp contempt- with ole Jas Lewallen a-devilin’ Uncle Rufe, ‘n’ that blackheaded young Jas a-climbin’ on stumps over thar ‘cross the river, n’ crowin’ n’ sayin’ out open in Hazlan that ye air afeard o him? Yes; ‘n’ he called me a idgit." The boy’s voice broke into a whimper of rage.

      Shet up, Isom! Don’t you go gittin’ mad now. You’ll be sick ag’in. I’ll tend to him when the time comes. Rome spoke with rough kindness, but ugly lines had gathered at his mouth and forehead. The boy’s tears came and went easily. He drew his sleeve across his eyes, and looked up the river. Beyond the bend, three huge birds rose into the sunlight and floated toward them. Close at hand, they swerved side-wise.

      They hain’t buzzards, he said, standing up, his anger gone; "look at them straight wings!

      Again the eagles swerved, and two shot across the river. The third dropped with shut wings to the bare crest of a gaunt old poplar under them.

      Hit’s a young un, Rome Y said the boy, excitedly. "He’s goin’ to wait thar tell the old uns come back. Gimme that gun!

      Catching up the Winchester, he slipped over the ledge; and Rome leaned suddenly forward, looking down at the river.

      A group of horsemen had ridden around the bend, and were coming at a walk down the other shore. Every man carried something across his saddle-bow. There was a gray horse among them - young Jasper’s - and an evil shadow came into Rome’s face, and quickly passed. Near a strip of woods the gray turned up the mountain from the party, and on its back he saw the red glint of a woman’s dress. With a half-smile he watched the scarlet figure ride from the woods, and climb slowly up through the sunny corn. On the spur above and full in the rich yellow light, she halted, half turning in her saddle. He rose to his feet, to his full height, his head bare, and thrown far back between his big shoulders, and, still as statues, the man and the woman looked at each other across the gulf of darkening air. A full minute the woman sat motionless, then rode on. At the edge of the woods she stopped and turned again.

      The eagle under Rome leaped one stroke in the air, and dropped like a clod into the sea of leaves. The report of the gun and a faint cry of triumph rose from below. It was good marksmanship, but on the cliff Rome did not heed it. Something had fluttered in the air above the girl’s head, and he laughed aloud. She was waving her bonnet at him.

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      Chapter Two

      JUST where young Stetson stood, the mountains racing along each bank of the Cumberland had sent out against each other, by mutual impulse, two great spurs. At the river’s brink they stopped sheer, with crests uplifted, as though some hand at the last moment had hurled them apart, and had led the water through the breach to keep them at peace. To-day the crags looked seamed by thwarted passion; and, sullen with firs, they made fit symbols of the human hate about the base of each.

      When the feud began, no one knew. Even the original cause was forgotten. Both families had come as friends from Virginia long ago, and had lived as enemies nearly half a century. There was hostility before the war, but, until then, little bloodshed. Through the hatred of change, characteristic of the mountaineer the world over, the Lewallens were for the Union. The Stetsons owned a few slaves, and they fought for them. Peace found both still neighbors and worse foes. The war armed them, and brought back an ancestral contempt for human life; it left them

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