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The Call of the Cumberlands 273
stopped him with a slight nod of the head, and back over the ridge the Hollman clan rode.
The days passed uneventfully after that. Lescott, his left arm in a sling, returned to his painting, and, much to old Spicer South's disgust, Samson became the daily companion of the artist, for whom he had formed a strong attachment. He carried his canvases and his easel, holding his palette while he worked. And all the while the soul of the young mountaineer was struggling nearer and nearer to the surface.
One afternoon. Lescott was painting a scene that swept away over a valley of cornfields to a range of tumbling, distant mountains. He had just blocked in a crude sketch, when Samson, who had been eagerly watching him, broke out abruptly :
"I'd give 'most eriything ef I could paint that \"
"Try it," said Lescott, smiling; and, rising from his stool, he handed Samson the sheaf of brushes.
For a moment the young man hesitated. Then, with set lips, he took the artist's place, and fitted his fingers around a brush as he had seen Lescott do. He asked no advice, but, after gazing for a time at the scene before him, he dipped a brush and experimented for his color. Then, without hesitation, he went to sweeping in his primary tones.
For an hour the young mountaineer worked, each moment gaining new confidence, when suddenly he was interrupted by a loud shout of derisive laughter. The men looked quickly around to find themselves surrounded by a group of scoffing mountaineers of both sexes and all ages. Among them was Tamarack Spicer, whose eyes were bloodshot from hard drinking.
"Ladies and gentlemen," announced Tamarack, in a loud and hiccuppy voice, "see the onlv son of the late 8
Henry South engaged in his mar-velous occupation of fancywork !"
A low murmur of laughter rose from the crowd at the remark. Samson reached for the palette knife, and scraped his fingers. Then he rose deliberately and walked slowly to where Tamarack was standing. Suddenly his fist shot out. Tamarack's head snapped back as he staggered into the arms of the men behind him. The laughter of the crowd died away as quickly as the leader's speech.
"Git him on his feet! I've got somethin' ter say ter him !"
Samson's voice was dangerously quiet.
They lifted his fallen cousin, who showed no desire to continue his "amusing" remarks.
"Why wuzen't ye hyar when them dawgs come by?" demanded Samson. "Why wuz ye the only South thet runned away ?"
"I didn't run away!" flared Tamarack. "I went over into the next county fur a spell. I wuz afraid I'd do some hurt to them Hollmans when they wuz a-stickin' their noses inter our business."
"Thet's a lie !" said Samson. "Yer runned away, an' ye runned in the water, so them dawgs couldn't trail ye ! Ye done hit because ye shot Jesse Purvy — because ye are a truce-bustin', murderin' bully, thet shoots off yer mouth an' is a-skeered to fight ! I've knowed all 'long thet ye wuz the man, but I kept quiet 'cause ye are my kin. Now I'm goin' ter tell the high sheriff thet the Souths spits ye outen their mouths ! Take him away !"
When they had gone, Samson seated himself at the easel again and calmly picked up the palette.
After this incident there was no further attempt made by the mountaineers to discourage the artistic bent in Samson, and finally, one day, Lescott