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The Call of the Cumberlands 271
"Paints pitchers?" he demanded. "How do you know?"
"I seen 'em. He was paintin' one when he fell offen the rock."
Samson promptly slipped down off the fence and rounded up his mule. Less than an hour later, George Lescott, astraddle of the beast, and with Sam
son and Sally carrying his impedimenta, rode down the mountain to the home of Spicer South, where, in the rapidly falling darkness, the forms of several men could be distinguished dimly.
Samson helped Lescott to dismount, and assisted him to the doorstep. Then he turned to his uncle, to whom he explained the situation. The old man nodded, but with evident annoyance.
"Where wuz ye last night ?" he demanded.
"That's my business," replied Samson promptly.
"Maybe hit hain't," replied the old mountaineer gravely. "Have ye heerd the news?"
"What news?" asked the young man, with apparently little interest.
"Jesse Purvy was shot this morning. He hain't died yit, but his folks have sent to Lexington fur bloodhounds."
Samson's eyes smoldered with hate.
"I reckon he didn't git shot none too soon," he said slowly.
"Samson," said the old man gravely, "when I dies ye'll be the head o' the Souths, but so long as I'm runnin' this hyar fam'ly I keeps my word to friend and foe alike. I reckon Jesse Purvy knows who got yore pap, but up till now no South hain't never busted no truce."
"Aire you-all 'lowin' thet I shot them shoots from the laurel?" inquired Samson quietly.
One of the men who were gathered in the dooryard now spoke :
"In the fust place, Samson, ef ye did do hit, we hain't a-blamin' ye — mu' h. But I reckon them dawgs don't lie. an' ef they trails in hyar, ye'll need us. Thet's why we've come."