The Project Gutenberg eBook, Ralph Granger's Fortunes, by William Perry Brown, Illustrated by W. H. Fry This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Ralph Granger's Fortunes Author: William Perry Brown Release Date: June 26, 2006 [eBook #18683] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RALPH GRANGER'S FORTUNES*** E-text prepared by Al Haines "Grandpa!" cried Ralph. "You shall not shoot, I say!" [Frontispiece: "Grandpa!" cried Ralph. "You shall not shoot, I say!"] RALPH GRANGER'S FORTUNES BY WILLIAM PERRY BROWN ILLUSTRATED BY W. H. FRY AKRON, OHIO THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. NEW YORK —— 1902 —— CHICAGO COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER I. Ending the Feud II. Ralph and his Grandfather III. Ralph Continues his Journey IV. The Moonshiners and the Railroad V. Ralph's First Railroad Ride VI. Ralph in Columbia VII. An Enraged Photographer VIII. Captain Shard's Proposal IX. Ralph Arrives at Savannah X. The Captain Talks with Ralph XI. Aboard the Curlew XII. The Curlew Puts to Sea XIII. A Taste of Ship's Discipline XIV. Bad Weather XV. Boarded by a Cruiser XVI. Nearing the Gold Coast XVII. Up the River XVIII. A Brush in the Wilderness XIX. Left Behind XX. Ralph Stumbles on a Discovery XXI. At Close Quarters XXII. Trouble of Another Kind XXIII. Adrift XXIV. Ralph's Sufferings XXV. The Second Mate's Story XXVI. Hard Times XXVII. Uncle Gideon LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "Grandpa!" cried Ralph. "You shall not shoot, I say!" . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece "Mr. Duff," said Gary in his most grating tones, "who gave you the authority to interfere with my designs regarding this insolent youngster?" Ralph's Winchester cracked and the raised arm fell shattered and useless. "Quick, Ralph, pull me through by the arms." Ralph Granger's Fortunes. CHAPTER I. Ending the Feud. "Must I do it, grandpa?" "Of course you must! I'm afraid you ain't a true Granger, Ralph, or you wouldn't ask no such question." "But why should I do it, grandpa?" "Listen at the boy." The sharp-eyed, grizzled old man rose from his seat before the fire, and took down an ancient looking, muzzle loading rifle from over the cabin door. "I'll tell you why." He patted the gun, now lying across his knees. "This here was your father's gun. He carried it for many years. I had it when the feud betwixt the Grangers and the Vaughns first began. He had it with him when he was shot down at the Laurel Branch by John Vaughn, just six years ago today." "Today is my birthday," commented Ralph, a sturdy-limbed, ruddy-faced lad. "And you are fifteen. Think of that; 'most a man. I said I'd wait till you was fifteen, and as it happens, his son's a goin' to mill today." "What of that?" "You just wait and you'll see. All you've got to do is to obey orders." The old man got up, took down a leather shot pouch, and proceeded to load the rifle carefully. After which he slung the pouch and a powder horn round Ralph's neck, then went out and looked at the sun. He returned, placed the rifle in the lad's hands, and bade him follow. Taking their hats they went out of the house. Steep mountain ridges cut off any extended view. An old field or two lay about them, partially in the narrow creek bottom and partially climbing the last rugged slopes. There was a foot log across the little brawling brook, beyond which the public road wound deviously down the glen towards the far distant lowlands. Ralph eyed the unusually stern expression of his grandfather's face dubiously as they trudged along the road. Bras Granger was all of sixty-five years old, dried and toughened by toil, exposure, and vindictive broodings, until he resembled a cross-grained bit of time-hardened oak. His gait, though shambling, was rapid for one of his age. "You said you'd tell me why," suggested Ralph, as they wound their way along the crooked road. "Didn't I say that the son of the man as killed your father was comin' by the Laurel Branch this mornin'? Haven't the Vaughns and the Grangers been at outs for more than twenty year? What more d'ye want?" The boy frowned, but it was in perplexity rather than wrath. They came at last to a wooded hollow, through which another creek ran, thickly shaded by thick overhanging shrubbery. The old man led the way to a half decayed log of immense size, that lay behind a thick fringe of bushes, at an angle just beyond where the road crossed the creek. It was a deadly spot for an ambuscade. "Lay down behind that log," said old Granger. "Now, can you draw a good bead on him when he comes in sight?" Young Granger squinted along the rifle barrel, now resting across the log. Though apparently concealed himself, he had a fair view of the road for sixty yards in both directions. Where it entered the brook it was barely thirty feet away. "Take him right forninst the left shoulder, 'bout the time his mule crosses the creek; then your poor father'll rest easy in his grave." "Why ain't you killed him afore?" demanded Ralph. "My hand hasn't been steady these nine year; not since them Vaughns burned our house down the night your grandmother died. It was cold and snowin', and bein' out in it was more'n she could stand." "I remember," said the boy gloomily. "But that was a long time ago. I can't stay mad nine year." "I'm madder now than I was then!" almost shouted the infuriated mountaineer. "After they got your pap, I 'lowed I'd wait 'twel you was fifteen. Then you'd be big enough to know how sweet revenge is. Heap sweeter than sugar, ain't it?" "Hark?" interjected Ralph, without replying. "Some one is comin' up the road." A trample of hoofs became audible, and presently a man mounted on a mule, with a sack of corn under him, was to be seen approaching the ambuscade. Seated before him was a child of perhaps four or five, who laughed and prattled to the man's evident delight. Old Granger's eyes shown with a ferocious joy. "That's him!" he exclaimed in tremulously eager tones. "He's got his brat along. I wish ye could get 'em both, then there'd be an end of the miserable brood for one while. Wait, boy—wait 'twel he gets to the creek afore ye shoot. Think of your poor pap, when ye draw bead." But Ralph's face did not betoken any kindred enthusiasm. He was tired to death of hearing about the everlasting feud between the families. If the Vaughns had fought the Grangers, it was equally certain that the Grangers had been no whit behind in sanguinary reprisals. He remembered seeing this same Jase Vaughn, now riding unsuspectingly toward the loaded rifle, at a corn shucking once. Ralph then thought him a very jolly, amusing fellow. "Now lad—now lad!" whispered the old man. "Get down and take your sight. I've seen ye shoot the heads offn squirrels. Just imagine that feller's head is a squirrel's. As for the child——" "Grandpa, I will not shoot. It would be murder. I'll meet him fair and square, though, and if he's sorry for what his father done, I'll let it pass. He couldn't help it anyhow, if he wanted to, I reckon." To the old man's intense disgust, Ralph leaped lightly over the log and advanced into the road, rifle in hand. His grandfather followed him, raving in his futile rage. "Hello!" exclaimed Jase Vaughn, thrusting his hand behind him quickly. "Here's old Granger and his son's kid. I wish you was at home, Clelly." This last to his boy who, not at all alarmed, was smiling at Ralph in a very friendly manner. When the lad saw Jase throw back his hand, he dropped his rifle into the hollow of his left arm and brought the trigger to a half cock, advancing at the same time squarely into the middle of the road. "Grandpa tells me that you are the son of the man who shot my father, here, just six years ago," began the boy. "I knew it myself, but I didn't 'low you was to blame, 'less you uphilt him in it." "Suppose I do; what then?" Jase eyed the two Grangers steadily, though not in anger as far as Ralph could see. "Then we'll settle it right here," said the latter firmly. "I could have shot you from the bushes, as your father did mine, but I wouldn't." "The more fool you!" hissed the vindictive old man. "I ought to have kept the gun myself." "Suppose I don't uphold the deed?" added Vaughn, still totally undisturbed. "Then you can go, for all of me. I'm sick of the feud." "Shake my boy!" Jase held out a large brown paw. "So am I. If I could 'a' had my way your pap never would a been killed." Ralph hesitated an instant, when suddenly little Clelly reached forth his small, chubby fingers, and the boy surrendered. He suffered Vaughn to shake his hand, then frankly took the child's and pressed it warmly. "I like 'oo," cried the little fellow, whereat Jase gave a great horse laugh of undisguised satisfaction. "These young uns has got more sense than all of us older fools," exclaimed the gratified father. "Ain't that so, old man?" he added, looking at the elder Granger. But the face of Ralph's grandfather became convulsed with a sudden fury. He rushed upon Ralph with a celerity unlocked for in one so old, and wrenched the rifle from the boy's hands. Then he turned upon Jase Vaughn who had witnessed this action in astonishment. "Now," shouted old Granger, "reckon I'll get even for the loss of my son. Here's at ye!" "Grandpa!" cried Ralph, springing between the old man and his intended victim. "You shall not shoot, I say!" "Out of my way, you renegade," retorted the other leveling his gun. As the cap snapped, Ralph struck up the barrel, and was rewarded by a furious imprecation from the aged but relentless relative. CHAPTER II Ralph and His Grandfather. Meanwhile Jase Vaughn sat on his mule looking quietly on, as if he were entirely unconcerned in the result of the struggle between Ralph and his grandfather. Old Granger, finding himself baffled, flung down the rifle upon the ground and strode off up the road, muttering wildly to himself like one demented. "Hold on, grandpa!" shouted Ralph, picking up the gun. "I'll be with you in a minute." But the old man heeded not, and soon disappeared round a bend of the road in the direction of his home. "He's too old to change," said Jase. "But I really don't see any reason why you and me should keep up this foolishness. If my father shot yourn, thar was a cousin of your father's fought a duel with my dad 'way down in Georgy. Both on 'em were hurt so bad they never walked again." "We heard of it," returned Ralph, "and I couldn't help thinking at the time what fools our families were to keep up a feud started, I reckon, by our great grandfathers." "Right, you are, young feller. Hit all come of doggin' hogs outn a sweet tater patch; so I've heard." "Then there was a row, I reckon." "Yes. One word brought on another, till at last some one got hurt, then the shootin' begun. I never did take much to the business myself, but somehow I didn't have the energy to set the thing straight. I'm powerful glad ye done what ye have done today, and I passes you my word that Jase Vaughn has done with the feud as well as you." This time it was Ralph's turn to offer his hand. After another hearty shake little Clell threw himself upon the lad's neck with childish abandon. "I like 'oo!" he cried again. "Well, I swow!" exclaimed Jase. "He's takin' a plum likin' to you. But we must be gettin' on. If ever I can do anything for you, don't 'low my bein' a Vaughn keep you from lettin' me know." Then Jase clucked to his mule and rode away, with little Clell craning his neck to catch a last glimpse of Ralph, who, shouldering his rifle, began to retrace his steps towards home. As he proceeded his face grew grave. How would his incensed relative receive him? Since the grandmother's and his father's death Ralph and the old man had lived principally by themselves. The boy's own mother had died when he was a baby. Now and then some woman would be hired to do some house-work, usually the wife or daughter of some tenant to whom Bras Granger rented a portion of his land. But they seldom remained long, and Ralph had, perforce, to take their place from time to time. He grew as expert at cooking and other simple household duties as he was at shooting, trapping, and similar mountain accomplishments. Thus the two had lived on together, with little outside society, relying mainly on themselves for diversion as well as support. The maintenance of the feud was the old man's greatest wish. It was as meat and drink to his soul. When Ralph showed the indifference he often felt on that subject, his grandfather always flew into a rage. "To think that my only living descendant should go back on the family, is too much to bear," he said. "There's only nephews and cousins 'sides you, Ralph. They are scattered here and yonder; they ain't a carin' much about the family honor. Hit all depends on you, boy. I wonder your pap's ghost ain't a haantin' you for bein' so careless." Then Ralph would vaguely promise to do better, and the subject would be dropped, only to crop up again whenever the old man felt more savagely inclined than usual. Today, however, was the first time that the two had come to an open and violent rupture. When the boy came in sight of the cabin he beheld his grandparent seated in the doorway absorbed, apparently in deep reflection. Ralph crossed the foot log, opened the gate and walked up to the door. "I am sorry I displeased you today," he began, "but I just couldn't do what you wanted me to do——" "Shet your mouth!" interrupted Granger harshly. "You are a disgrace to your kin. I never would a believed it if my eyes hadn't a seen and my ears a heard. You are no longer a grandson of mine. D'ye hear?" Ralph's perplexed and distressed look seemed to again infuriate the old man. "Pack up your traps and get outn here!" he raged, brandishing his walking stick. "My house is no longer a home for such as you." "Wh—where shall I go?" asked Ralph, still dazed over this astounding outcome of the Vaughn incident. "Mebbe you'd better go over to Jase Vaughn's," sneered old Granger. "His father killed yourn, but you don't care for such a little thing as that." "Grandpa," cried Ralph, stung to indignation at last, "it is cruel of you to treat me so, simply because I wouldn't commit murder. Yes—murder. I say it would have been murder! I'm no coward; and it is cowardly to shoot down a man and him not knowing." "You reprobate!" gasped the obdurate old mountaineer. "I've a notion to thrash you—right here." He again shook his cane and glared his hatred of Ralph's conduct. But the boy only said: "I'd rather you beat me than do what I always would be miserable over. Let's drop it, grandpa." He passed into the cabin and observed a small pile of clothing on the floor. "There's your duds, boy," said Bras Granger grimly. "Pick 'em up and pull your freight outn here." Ralph surveyed the old man curiously; but as he noted the latter's stern, unyielding aspect he said no more until he had rolled up a clean shirt and a pair of socks. A tear or two fell as he tied the bundle in a large handkerchief. "Am I to take the gun?" asked he, gulping down his emotion as best he could. "No!" almost shouted the old man. "What business you got with a gun? Come now; are you ready?" Ralph nodded; his heart was too full to speak. The old man stood aside and pointed to the door. Ralph held out his hand. "Good by," he managed to falter forth. "May God forgive you for turnin' me out this day." He passed through the yard, feeling for the gate, for his eyes were dim with moisture. Crossing the foot log, he walked on until he came to a rise of ground just where the road made a sudden turn. Then he wheeled, dashed the tears away, and took a last look at the place where he was born and had always lived. Shut in by wild and rugged mountains, far from the world's great life, humble and homely, it was still the only place on earth where the orphaned lad had felt that he had any natural right to be. And now, even this slender thread had been rudely severed by his nearest living relative. "Good-by, old home," said he audibly, as he waved his hand in a farewell gesture. "I hate to leave you when it comes to the pinch, but if I live I'll make my way somewhere's else. There's other places beside these mountains where a boy can get on, I know." He resumed his way, forcing back the tears, and soon found his emotions subside. A conviction that he had acted right throughout the altercation with old Bras, helped him to bear more cheerfully the hard fact that he was not only homeless but almost moneyless. This last misfortune did not press on him heavily, as in that secluded region people were universally hospitable. Ralph had never paid for a meal or a night's lodging in his life. As he happened to take an easterly course he kept it merely because it would lead him to the lowlands and the towns as quickly as any other route. He had at once resolved to leave his native mountains. Inexperienced as he was, he instinctively felt that there were better things in store for an energetic lad in other parts of the country than he would be apt to find anywhere near his home. He struck a lively pace and had walked nearly a mile, with his bundle under his arm, when he met Jase Vaughn returning from the mill. "Hello, youngster!" quoth that worthy man as cordially as if Ralph and himself had been warm friends all along. "Where you carryin' yourself to? Old man got in good humor yet?" "He has turned me out, lock, stock, and barrel," replied the boy, swallowing his pride in this humiliating confession. "W-h-a-a-t?" ejaculated Jase thoroughly amazed, while Clell smiled at Ralph in a most amiable manner. "Grandpa was so provoked because I declined to obey him," said Ralph, "that he told me to pack up and get out." "For good and all?" "Yes, for good. At least I sh'an't go back any more—unless—he was to send for me." "Bully for you! I wouldn't either. Give you the shake 'cause you wouldn't let him put a bullet hole through me! Well, I swow!" Jase stared at Ralph in mingled admiration and compassion. "The dadburned old fool!" he continued. "'Scuse me, Ralph, no reflections on your fambly, but hit kind o' teches my feelin's to see you fired in this shape, long o' your actin' the gentleman with me. Where be you goin'?" "Somewhere's down below; I don't know exactly where." "Got any money?" "A little. I'm going to hunt work; then I'll soon make more. I sha'n't stay in the mountains." Jase drew forth a greasy leather wallet and extracted a five dollar bill, which he eyed reflectively as if forcing himself to make up his mind, then suddenly handed it to Ralph, who thanked him but shook his head. "Dang it! Let me loan it to you then. Didn't you as good as save my life? Look, Clell wants you to take it, don't you, Clell?" The little fellow laughed, seized the bill from his father's hand, and tossed it towards Ralph, saying: "Take it; take it. I like 'oo, Walph." Ralph felt another rising in his throat as he stooped to pick up the note; but he could not bring himself to the point of accepting so great a favor from one of the Vaughns. "I—I really don't need it," said he. "Hold on! Jase! Do hold up a minute." "Can't, old feller," called back Jase, who had suddenly spurred his mule into a trot when he saw the note in Ralph's hand. "Pay me when you get back, if you'd rather." "But I say! I can't keep this money——" "Good by," came floating back on the breeze. "I don't know nothin' 'bout no money. Take good care of yourself." Then Jase, boy, and mule, whipped round a crook of the road and were seen no more. Ralph's first impulse was to throw the bill away. But sober second thoughts prevailed, and somewhat reluctantly he placed it with the rest of his slender stock of cash. "Jase means well," thought he, resuming his tramp. "I don't know that either of us are to blame 'cause our families have been at outs for so long. When I get to making something I'll send it back." All that day Ralph trudged manfully on. At times grief would be uppermost in his heart when he thought of the way in which his grandfather had treated him. Once, as he passed a cabin where a boy of about his own age stood washing his hands on the porch, and he caught a glimpse of a cheerful interior, with dinner smoking on the table, he felt very homesick. He wished he was back, preparing his grandpa's noonday meal. As he did not feel hungry he did not stop anywhere until about sunset, when he walked up to a double penned house that looked roomy and hospitable. Several dogs ran out barking. "Here, you Boss! Git out'n thar, Louder! Pick up a stick and frail the nation outn 'em, boy." A tall, shock headed, awkward man had come onto the porch and was making these remarks with great vigor but entire good nature. The dogs subsided, and Ralph ran lightly up the steps. "Come in. Take a chair by the fire. What mought your name be these hard times?" "I'm Ralph Granger, from over about Hiawassee Gap." "Son of old Bras?" Ralph assented, when the shock headed man called to his wife, who was sifting meal for the supper: "Tildy this must be one of your kin folks." Then, turning to Ralph, "My wife was a Granger; one of the Gregory branch. Well, tell us all about yourself. Don't mind the children, they always are in the way, anyhow." Ralph, finding that he was among friends, related briefly the events of the day and wound up by again expressing his detestation of the feud. Mr. Dopples, for that was the shock headed man's name, nodded approval. "We mountain folks live too much outn the world," said he. "What you goin' to do?" "Anything honest, to make a living. I'm not going to stay in these parts though." "If you've any notion of goin' down about Columbia, I can direct you to a friend of mine as lives there. Comes up here every summer to fish and hunt. Got lots of coin, and is always wantin' me to go down there and take a regular town spree with him. Oh he's a sight!" "What is his name? I don't suppose he would care anything about me. He never heard of me, anyhow." "Name is Captain Shard; he keeps a big livery stable. You just tell him you're a friend of mine, and I'll bet my steers agin a coon skin you're at home straight." Soon after supper Ralph was shown to his bed in a shed room at the rear of the house. In the mountains the people go to bed and rise early from habit. Before eight o'clock a sound of heavy breathing could be heard from every room. Under the floor the very dogs were steeped in dreams of coon and 'possum hunting. Suddenly Ralph awoke, feeling a pressure on his chest. The room was not so dark but that he could detect a shadowy figure at the bedside. A prickly chill ran through his veins, but before he could speak, a voice whispered: "Give me your hand," and as the boy dazely obeyed, the pressure on his chest was removed as another hand was lifted from there, that firmly grasped his own. "I can feel your pulse jump; you're skeered, Ralph." "Wh—who are—you?" faltered Ralph, unable to make out as yet whether it was a "haant" or a living person that had awakened him thus. "Don't know me?" There was a titter of nearly noiseless laughter. "Felt me pressin' your chist, didn't you?" "Yes. At first I thought I must be stiflin', but——" "If you want to wake a person 'thout speakin', you press on their chist. Hit always fetches 'em. Don't you know me yet?" Ralph murmured a low negative. "Well, then, I'll tell you I'm——" A sound of feet striking the floor heavily was heard from one of the other rooms, and was followed by the voice of Mr. Dopples, calling out: "Tildy! Oh, Tildy! Where be ye, Tildy?" CHAPTER III. Ralph Continues His Journey. The form at Ralph's bedside grasped his hand again in a warning pressure. "Keep quiet," it said. "I'm your Aunt Tildy. I have something to say to you by and by." The figure vanished, and presently the lad heard his aunt say: "What are you fussin' about, Mr. Dopples? Can't a body stir 'thout you havin' a fit?" "I only wanted to know where ye were," was the shock headed man's reply. "What are ye progin' round this time o' night for?" "Cause I want to. Now shet up and go to sleep." While Ralph was wondering what on earth his aunt, whom he had never seen before, could want to say to him at such an hour, the talking in the other room died away, and was succeeded soon by a resonant snoring, that denoted Mr. Dopples' prompt obedience to his wife's last command. Shortly thereafter she swept softly into the boy's room, wrapped in a shawl and seated herself at his side. "Are you awake?" she said in a whisper. Ralph said, "Yes;" and propped himself in a listening attitude. "You think strange, I reckon, at my comin' to you in this way," she began. "You've never seen and hardly ever heard of us before. But when I learned the way your grandpap have treated you, I felt sorry, and I want to help you what little I can." "I'm mightily obliged, aunt," replied Ralph, still puzzled how to connect this friendly wish with the object of such a visit as she was making tonight. "Hit was a brother of mine as fought that fight with John Vaughn. I used to believe in the feud, but I don't now. It's a wicked thing to seek people's lives. Both sides have suffered enough, Ralph, and I say let there be peace." "Amen," muttered the lad heartily. "But what I wanted to let you know was about this Captain Shard, as Dopples wants you to go and see. My man never quarrels with nobody—bless his old soul! Therefore, he never 'spicious that any of his friends would want to, either. There's where he is wrong." "Yes; but I don't see how that can apply to Captain Shard, whom I never heard of before." "I know you don't, but I do. Captain Shard's mother was a Vaughn. Now, do you see?" "Good gracious! But it seems to me as if that don't amount to much. Why should this man want to hurt me?" "Hold on. This man Shard's mother was sister to the Vaughn who killed your father, and whom my brother had fought on account of it. Don't you see? When Shard learns who you are, his Vaughn blood is more than apt to prompt him to do you some harm." "They don't shoot people in the town the way we do in the mountains, aunt. I've read that the law is too strong for that." "There's other ways of hurtin' a poor boy 'sides takin' a gun to him. If he chose, he might harm you in other ways. I've heard it said that folks with plenty of money can do 'most anything in the city." "Well, aunt, I'm much obliged to you for letting me know. If I strike Columbia, and meet up with Captain Shard, I shall certainly remember what you say." "Good night, then. Don't tell Dopples what I've said. He's a thinkin' the world of Shard. I like him, too; but then he don't know I'm a Granger, I reckon." After Mrs. Dopples retired, Ralph soon fell asleep. When he wakened again daylight was at hand, and Mr. Dopples was kindling a fire. Breakfast came early, then Ralph bade his kindly friends farewell, and resumed his journey as the sun was peeping over the easterly summits of the Blue Ridge. "Don't forget to see Shard," called the shock headed man, as the boy reached the public road. "He'll help you out." "I may see Shard," thought Ralph; "but I'll be careful how he sees me. I'm going to get out of the range of this feud if I have to travel clear to the seacoast." As he had a lunch along—given him by Mrs. Dopples—he did not stop anywhere for dinner, but trudged resolutely on at a three mile an hour gait. His young limbs, hardened by constant mountain climbing, did not tire readily, while his experience of traveling enabled him to keep the general course he wished to go, notwithstanding the branch trails and the many windings caused by the ruggedness of the country. The latter portion of the afternoon was occupied in climbing a long mountain range that overtopped most of the others in sight. The sun was nearly setting as he reached the summit; then he uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Behind him was a confused jumble of peaks and ridges as far as the eye could reach. It was the region he had left —his own native wilds. Before him stretched an undulating panorama of plain, valley, and gentle hills. There were patches of woodland, great plantations with here and there variegated spots that Ralph supposed to be villages. It was his first view of the level country beyond the Blue Ridge, and he surveyed it with intense interest. "They say it stretches that way clear to the seacoast," he said to himself as he began to descend the mountain. "I don't see how they can see any distance with no big ridges to look off from." This idea—otherwise laughable—was perfectly natural to a lad who had never seen anything but wild and rugged mountains in his life. He quickened his pace, wishing to get down into the region of farms and houses before darkness should come. A rising cloud in the southeast also occasioned him some concern. "Looks mighty like there might be rain in that cloud," he thought. "I've got matches, but I'd hate to have to spend a wet night out in these woods." The gun went down and the black south-easterly haze came up, with semi-tropical celerity. Ralph was still in the lonely region of forest and crag, when a whirl of wind struck him in the face and a few drops spattered on the leaves of the chestnuts around. The brief southern twilight was blotted out almost at once by the overspreading clouds, and young Granger became conscious that he had somehow missed the trail. "That is odd," he muttered. "It was just here a minute ago." Something like a yellow gleam caught his eye, and he plunged along in its course in a reckless manner, for he was nervous with anxiety. Being in a strange region, with a storm on the point of breaking, was not pleasant even to older nerves, when added to the natural terrors of a night in the woods, without any other company than one's brooding thoughts. "Hello! What's this?" he exclaimed as he almost ran against an obstruction that looked not unlike a steep house roof. The odor of tar and resin pervaded the air. Ralph groped his way around it, feeling here and there with his hands. "It's a tar kiln, sure as preaching!" ejaculated he, at length. "There ought to be some kind of a shack about, looks like." He was still searching, when the wind, which had been increasing, brought with it a sudden downpour of rain. Ralph was about to rush for a tree to shelter himself, when a flash of lightning lighted up the kiln and surrounding objects with a pale, brief glare. "Ha—there she is!" exclaimed Ralph, discovering the object of his search. "I almost knew the man as put up this kiln must have had a shelter of some kind." He made his way to a low, brush covered frame near by, arriving there just in time. The darkness was intense, except when cloven by the lightning, while the fall of rain was drenching and furious. The shack leaked some, but it was an immense improvement over a tree for shelter. "Let's see where we are, anyhow," said Ralph, producing some matches, one of which he struck. "Hello! There are some pine knots. Here's luck at last." In a few minutes he had a small fire blazing brightly, and felt more like contemplating his surroundings with cheerful equanimity. But as the rain increased, the leaks grew in number, threatening to put out the fire, and converting the earth floor into a mushy mud puddle. "I can't do any sleeping here," thought he. "Might just as well make up my mind for a night of it round this fire." By dint of careful watching he kept his fire from going entirely out, and managed to keep himself dry by picking out the spots where the leaks were fewest in which to stand. But it was a dreary, lonesome time. The wind whistled dolefully through the pines, and the rain splashed unmercifully upon the bark and boughs of the shack. After each flash of lightning, sharp peals of thunder added their harsh echoes, until Ralph's ears ached, used as he was to mountain storms. The rain began to slacken in an hour, while the wind gradually dwindled to a light breeze. Still there was no chance to lie down, and the boy was growing sleepy. He had drooped his head between his knees as he sat on a pine block, and was dropping into a doze when he heard something stirring at the back of the shanty. He looked around in a drowsy way, but seeing nothing, he again fell into an uneasy slumber. How long his nap lasted he did not know, but all at once he nodded violently and awoke. The fire was low. Then a muffled rattling noise at his feet sent the blood in a furious leap to his pulses. He threw on a rich knot, and as it blazed up his eye fell on an object that caused him to spring up as if he had been stung. "Great Caesar!" he exclaimed, and as the rattle sounded once more, he made a long leap for the doorway. "That was a narrow escape. S'pose I hadn't a woke up?" Then he shuddered, but recovering, hunted up a cudgel and cautiously returned within the hut. There, within a few inches of where the lad's feet had rested as he slept, was a large rattlesnake still in its coil and giving forth its ominous rattle. A dexterous blow or two finished the reptile, but the odor given forth by the creature in its anger filled the hut. "Pah!" ejaculated Ralph. "I must get out of here. The place would sicken a dog." He returned to the open air, now freshened by the vanished rain, and round to his delight, that a moon several days old was visible in the west. The clouds had disappeared, and there seemed every prospect of a clear and quiet night. "It is light enough to see to travel if I can only find the road again," he reflected. "Anything is better than staying here." Taking the direction in which it seemed to him that the trail ought to be, he sought eagerly for the narrow strip of white that would indicate the wished for goal. Presently he heard a distant sound. "It may be the deer a whistling," thought he, listening intently. "But, no; that ain't made by no deer. I believe—it's— somebody a coming along." Some distance to his left Ralph could now detect a connected sound as if a tune were being whistled. In his eager desire for human companionship, he cast prudence completely aside and ran forward shouting: "Hold on! I'm coming. Hold on till I get there!" CHAPTER IV. The Moonshiners and the Railroad. The whistling stopped suddenly. Ralph kept on, however, in the direction where he had last heard the sounds, and presently distinguished two dim forms standing in an open space amid the trees, through which ran the white thread that indicated the lost trail. "I say," began the lad, "are you fellows going down the mountain? If you are, I'd like to go with you. Fact is, I believe I'm lost." "Halt, there, young feller!" was the reply, given in sharp, stern tones. "One step further and you'll find half an ounce of lead under your skin, mebbe." Ralph obeyed, somewhat puzzled and decidedly alarmed. The men—there were two of them—drew something over their faces, then ordered the boy to advance. He did so, and on drawing near saw that they now wore masks, and had long sacks swung over their shoulders, with a load of some kind in either end. When he saw the masks and the bags Ralph understood at once what their business was. "Who are you?" demanded one of the men, and the lad could see that he held a pistol in one hand. "No lyin', now!" "My name is Granger, and I'm from over on Hiawassee River way. Want to get down into the low country. Got lost; stayed in a shack while it rained, and—here I am." "Be you a son of old Bras Granger?" "No; grandson." The two whispered together a moment, then one of them said: "I reckon you're all right, boy. 'Taint wuth while to ast our names, 'cause d'ye see—we wouldn't tell." "You'd be fools if you did," returned Ralph, his self confidence now fully restored. "I ain't a wanting to know who you are. I know already what you are." "How's that?" came sharply back, and an ominous click was heard, which, however, did not seem to alarm Ralph. "Moonshiners," said the boy briefly. "Haven't I been raised among 'em? I've got kin folks as stills regular, I'm sorry to say." "Sorry! Ain't it a good trade?" "Not when it lands you inside of some dirty jail. Besides, I don't like the stuff, anyhow." "No use to offer you a dram then?" "Not a bit. But I say, if you'll let me go on with you till we get down where there's some houses, I'll think more of that than if you gave me a barrel of whisky." "We're on our way back. We're goin' up the mountain. But you foller this trail for about a mile, then take the first right hand turn. Follow that 'twel you come to an old field. T'other side of that you'll find the mud pike as runs to Hendersonville. After that you'll find houses thick enough. But where are you bound for after you get down there?" "Oh, anywhere most. I'm after work." Ralph concluded that he had better not be more explicit with strangers. The moonshiners soon grew quite friendly and seemed a little hurt over Ralph's persistence in declining a drink. "I'm going out among strangers," he said, "and I've got to keep my head. The best way to do that is to let the stuff entirely alone. Well, so long, men. I'm mighty glad I met up with you." He struck out down the trail whistling merrily. Now that he was on the right road again, and with a clear night before him, he felt far more cheerful than before. He found the old field without difficulty, and not far beyond he struck the Hendersonville pike as the moonshiner had intimated. Here the country was more open. Large fields, interspersed with patches of woodland, were on either hand. Now and then he would pass a cabin, his approach being heralded by the barking of dogs. Once or twice large buildings came into view. These were the residences of the more wealthy class of planters. Even in the dim starlight, Ralph saw that they were larger than the log dwellings he was accustomed to. Finally the moon went down. He would have stopped at some house and asked for shelter, but the hour was so late that he shrank from disturbing strangers. The night was not uncomfortably cool and he was getting further on. Roosters began to crow. A few clouds glided athwart some of the brightest stars and he found difficulty in traveling. Just beyond some buildings he stumbled over something hard and immovable. As he picked himself up, his hand came in contact with cold steel. Peering closely he saw two long lines running parallel as far as he could distinguish on either hand. He found that they were of iron or steel and rested on wooden supporters, half buried in the earth. "Dinged if this ain't queer!" he thought. "Let me see. I wonder if this ain't one of them railroads I've heard folks tell about. They say it'll carry you as far in one hour as a man'll walk all day." Pondering over this, to him, puzzling celerity of motion, he groped his way along the track to where it broadened out into a switch. "Reckon this one must run somewhere else," thought Ralph, when he suddenly detected a large dark object ahead. "What's that, I wonder. Guess I'll look into that. Seeing I'm getting into a strange country it won't do to be too careless." Going slowly forward, he walked completely round the unknown affair, which he ascertained was on wheels that rested on the iron tracks. "This must be one of their wagons they ride so fast in," said the boy to himself. "Hello! The door is open." It was an ordinary box car on a siding, the sliding door of which was partially open. As Ralph strove to peer within, he detected the sound of measured breathing. "Some one is in there," he decided, and drew back cautiously. The darkness had increased greatly and there seemed to be signs of another rain coming up. No other place of shelter was in the immediate neighborhood that he could discern. He thrust his head into the car and felt with his hands. Nothing could he see, nor did he feel aught but the flooring of the car. While he debated as to what he should do, the rain began again. "Gracious!" he exclaimed, "I don't like to go into another man's ranch like this, but blamed if I am going to get wet, with a shelter within two feet of me." He clambered inside and sat with his back against the wall, intending to get out again after the shower should pass. But the shower did not pass on. Instead it settled into a steady drizzle. When the rain began to beat inside he drew the door nearly shut. The measured breathing came from one end of the car. There seemed to be but one occupant besides Ralph. As the time passed, the lad grew drowsy. Inured though he was to an active life, the walking he had done had fatigued him greatly. Now, as he sat resting, waiting for the rain to cease, a natural drowsiness asserted itself with a potency that would not be denied. As he nodded he awakened himself several times by a violent jerk of the head, but at last slumber prevailed entirely, and Ralph was sleeping as soundly as the other unknown occupant of the car. The unusual events of the last two days had kept his fancies at an abnormal stretch. It was natural, therefore, for him to begin dreaming. It seemed as if he were going back instead of leaving his home. Every one he met looked at him compassionately. Finally he saw Jase Vaughn, and remembered that he owed Jase five dollars. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out—a rattlesnake. Even this did not waken him, though he thought he was back at the shack by the tar kiln. The ground seemed to be covered with snakes. He ran ever so far, then all at once he was with Jase just as if he had been with him all the time. "I haven't got no money," he said sorrowfully. "Never mind," replied Vaughn. "You run home. Poor fellow; I'm sorry for you." Much perplexed, he kept on until he stood before his grandfather's cabin. He thought his Aunt Dopples was there, with her eyes red with weeping. "Go in; go in," she urged, pushing him through the doorway. "He's been waiting for you till he's about give out." Ralph dreamed that the first thing he saw was his grandfather propped up in bed, with a ghastly pallor on his face. When he beheld his truant grandson, the scowl upon his brow deepened, and he shook a warning finger. "Wretched boy!" hissed the old man, while Ralph cowered like one in the presence of a ghost, "you are no Granger. There never was a Granger that acted the coward. You are a Vaughn—a Vaughn—a Vaughn!" The old man's tone towards the last rose into such a wild, weird shriek, that Ralph's blood ran cold. He attempted to speak with a tongue so tied by fear that words would not come. Under the agony of effort he screamed aloud, then suddenly awoke. "Here! Here! Wake up, I say!" These words, uttered shrilly in his ear, staggered his senses as he opened his eyes and looked up. CHAPTER V. Ralph's First Railroad Ride. A slender, thin faced, alert looking man was stooping over the boy, and shaking him vigorously. Day had dawned. "Wake up, young fellow!" continued the stranger, as Ralph gazed at him in a dazed sort of way. "How came you in here?" "I—I got in out of the rain," said Ralph, staggering to his feet, only to be thrown down again by the jolting of the car, which was in rapid motion. The sliding door was now open. Ralph glancing out, saw the landscape slipping by at a furious rate of speed. The sight so astonished him, that he sank back again. To his unaccustomed senses it was as if the earth were turning upside down. "What's the matter with you? Drunk?" "No!" almost shouted the boy, suddenly indignant. "I never took a drink in my life. Neither was I ever on such a—a wagon as this before. Lordy! How fast we're going!" The man roared with laughter. "Well, you are a curiosity. Where did you come from? Out of the woods?" "I'm from the mountains. Never was out of them before. Isn't there no danger in going so fast? My! How my head swims when I look out!" "Not a bit of danger, unless in case of a collision, or when something gives way. But come! Give me an account of yourself. When I find an uninvited stranger aboard my private car, I ought to know something about him, I reckon." While Ralph gave a brief account of himself and his affairs—omitting the feud, however—his eyes rested first on one strange object, then another. There was a large pile of canvas at one end of the car, neatly folded. Several tent poles lay along the floor. A large and a small camera, resting on tripods, especially puzzled the boy. There were also several chests and a trunk or two. At the other end of the car there was a cot bedstead with mattress and bedding, a chair or two, a small table, an oil cooking stove, together with other household paraphernalia. The whole outfit was simple, yet complete, and did not take up much room. "Well," said the man, as Ralph concluded his statement, "you seem to be an honest and a plucky lad, though an almighty green one, I guess. Never been anywhere, you say?" "I've hunted for miles in the mountains, and I've been to a store or two, and to meeting, and to the 'lections. Yes, and I've been to school three months a year ever since I was so high," Ralph indicated the height with his hand. "But grandpa would never let me go off any very great distance from home." "So you finally took matters into your own hands and gave him leg bail. Well, that ain't bad. But you mustn't go about breaking into people's houses and cars as you did last night. It isn't safe." "I was lost, and it began to rain. I didn't mean no harm. I can pay my way." He drew forth some money, under a dim idea that he had heard some one say once, that below the mountains, folks made people pay for about everything they got. "Keep your cash, my boy," said the man evidently having a better idea of Ralph than at first. "Hold to all you've got. People are not as free with their grub and beds down here as they are up in your country. By the way, what's your name?" "Ralph Granger. What might be yours?" "Mine? Oh, my name is Quigg—Lemuel Quigg. I am a traveling photographer." "What is that?" "Did I ever see such ignorance! Ralph, you are a curiosity. I take pictures for a living. Usually I go by wagon. But I am bound for the seacoast, so I hired this car to take me right through." "There was a fellow up in our parts once as took pictures for two bits apiece." "Like these?" Mr. Quigg threw open one lid of a trunk, disclosing a velvet lined show case filled with photographs of different sizes. They would now be considered antiquated affairs, but to Ralph the life-like attitudes and looks of the sitters