Chapter XI. Through the Mountains and the Night

God sits upon the Throne of Kings, And Judges unto judgement brings: Why then so long Maintain your wrong, And favor lawlesss things? Defend the poor, the fatherless; Their crying injuries redress: And vindicate The desolate, Whom wicked men oppress. --George Sandy's Paraphrase of Psalm XXXII.

Fortner and Glen were soon so far away from the Ford that the only reminder of its neighborhood were occasional glimpses, caught through rifts in he forest, of the lofty slope of Rockcastle Mountain, now outlined in the gathering darkness by twinkling fires, which increased in number, and climbed higher towards the clouds as fast as the fugitives succeeded in struggling across the river.

"That's a wonderful sight," said Harry, as they paused on a summit to rest and catch breath. "It reminds me of some of the war scenes in Scott, or the Illiad."

"Hit looks ter me like a gineral coon-hunt," said Fortner, "on'y over thar hit's the coons, an' not the hunters, that hev the torches. I wish I could put a bum-shell inter every fire."

"You are merciless."

"No more'n they are. They've ez little marcy ez a pack o' wolves in a sheep-pen."

"Well," continued Fortner, meditatively, "Ole Rockassel's gittin' a glut to-night. She'd orten't ter need no more now fur a hundred yeahs."

"I don't understand you," said Harry.

"Why, they say thet the Rockassel hez ter hev a man every Spring an' Fall. The Injuns believed hit, an' hit's bin so ever sence the white folks come inter the country. Last Spring hit war the turn o' the Fortner kin to gi'n her a man, an' she levied on a fust cousin o' mine--a son o' Aunt Debby Brill. But less jog on; we've got a good piece fur ter go."

It was now night--black and starless, and the dense woods through which they were traveling made the darkness thick and impenetrable. But no check in Fortner's speed hinted at any ignorance of the course or encountering of obstacles. He continued to stride forward with the same swift, certain step as in the day time. But for Harry, who could see nothing but his leader's head and shoulders, and, whose every effort was required to keep these in sight, the journey was full of painful toil. The relaxation from the intense strain manifested itself in proportion as they seemed to recede from the presence of the enemy, and his spirits flagged continually.

In the daylight the brush and briers had been annoying and hurtful, and the roughness of the way very trying. Now the one was wounding and cruel; the other made every step with his jaded limbs a torture. With the low spirits engendered by the great fatigue, came a return of the old fears and tremors. The continual wails of the wildcats roundabout filled him with gloomy forebodings. Every hair of his head stood stiffly up in mortal terror when a huge catamount,