story of a moonshiner's daughter.

silury cole threw a fresh pine-knot on the fire and stepped to the door to peer out into the night, listening intently for the first sound of her father's footsteps on the hard mountain road. for two days the revenue officers had been abroad on the mountains, and the hearts of women and children were heavy with terror and dread.

the rich pine kindled, burnt into vivid flame, throwing its light upon the girl from head to foot, on her smooth hair, black as the night, on the profile of her face, denoting unusual character for a girl of fourteen, and on her primitively fashioned gown of blue checked cotton.

the rioting flames, filling the black cavernous depths of the fireplace, lighted up the low room also, throwing grotesque shadows behind the loom and spinning-wheel, lingering round the flaxen heads of the three children asleep on the low trundle bed, glancing over the basket of corn ready to be shelled for the miller, and over the table and simple preparations for supper.

mrs. cole sat in the corner at one end of the flat stone hearth, smoking and silently brooding. she was a small, sickly looking woman with sunken eyes and sharp, delicate features. she leaned forward with her chin resting in one hand, staring into the fire. a stick of wood burned apart and fell softly to the coals underneath. she started and glanced at silury.

"is he comin', silury?"

"not yet, ma."

she refilled her pipe and laid a glowing coal on it, shaking her head slowly.

"an' not likely to till the revenue men have gone away."

"ah, but don't you know, ma, pa never stays away mor'n two days at a time? recollect the time he come a-whistlin' with his gun on his shoulder, an' the raiders just down on the mill road," said silury, and laughed at the remembrance of his daring. "pa ain't easily scared."

"that's so, an' i remember that he was mighty hungry, too," murmured her mother, a faint smile, for a moment, lighting up her prematurely wrinkled face.

silury glanced over her shoulder at the oven of potatoes steaming on the hearth, and the frying-pan filled with fresh-cut rashers of bacon ready to place over the fire. her preparations were all complete. when he came it would take but a few minutes to place a smoking hot supper, such as he loved, before him.

"are the children covered up?" her mother inquired, glancing toward the bed. "these october nights are gettin' cold."

silury stepped across the room and tucked the cover around the young sleepers. no wonder her face had such a mature look—she moved with such a womanly air—the cares of the household nearly all fell upon her. she was the pride of her father's heart, her mother depended on her, and the younger children always looked to her to supply their needs. mrs cole relapsed into her former attitude, for a few minutes, then suddenly raised her head, a look of fear flashing into her dull eyes. "silury, it 'pears to me i hear somethin'," she whispered quickly.

the girl hurried back to the door, and leaned out again, her head slightly bent, one hand lifted to her ear in a listening attitude. a gust of wind swept down the black serried peaks, so high above the small cabin, so sharply cut against the starlit sky, hurrying on its erratic course to the valley. the cow munched dry corn husks in a corner of the fence, and kit, the mule, pawed restlessly at the stable door. but none of those sounds had disturbed mrs. cole, roused that fear in her. far away silury heard the steady beat of hoofs upon the dry, hard road, as of a horse newly shod, and urged to his utmost speed.

"i 'low it's only somebody ridin' fer the doctor," she said soothingly, but a line, drawn by keenest anxiety, appeared between her dark brows. the sound came upward from the valley, not downward from the mountains. it drew nearer each moment, bringing glad or evil tidings to some lone dweller on the heights, for no one ever traveled over the mountains in that way simply for the pleasure of it. how swift, how steady, fell the iron-shod feet upon the earth! now clear and distinct, as they passed along a ridge, now almost lost as they plunged into a ravine. the big liver-colored hound, lying on the doorstep, stood up, sniffed the air, and howled mournfully.

"it may be the raiders," muttered mrs. cole restlessly.

"or somebody's dead, an' they er comin' fer their folks," said silury in awed tones.

she could hear the heavy panting of the horse, as, with slackened gait, he came up the hollow below the house, and see an outline of the rider as they turned the lot fence; then, as they crossed the narrow path of light projected from the doorway beyond the low yard fence, she recognized a valley neighbor. he scarcely halted, as he excitedly cried:

"silury, the raiders got yer pa—took him over in jimson's brake, along with peleg white, an' one o' the davis boys. they'll pass buckhorn springs to-night."

and then he went on his way, to carry the sad news to more remote habitations; and great silence seemed to fall upon the mountain-side. silury and her mother looked speechlessly at one another, then mrs. cole passed a trembling hand confusedly over her face.

"what all did he say, silury? it 'pears to me my understandin' ain't quite clear to-night."

"he said—" she caught her breath in a sob. "oh, ma! the raiders have took pa; what shall we do, what shall we do? poor pa! it will kill him to be put in prison!" in a burst of despairing anguish.

mrs. cole crouched lower in her chair.

"i knew it would come. i've been a-feelin' it here for a long time—a long time," one thin hand groping for her heart. "yes, he'll pine fer his freedom an' the mountings when he's shut up in jail. oh, i've begged him not to be a moonshiner—not to make whiskey on the sly. they all have to suffer fer it sooner or later." her wandering, tearful eyes fell on the waiting supper. "how hungry he must be!"

there were no noisy demonstrations, but a grief, pathetic as it was deep. they were mountaineers, patient by nature, and schooled by all the circumstances of life to endure and be strong. the law does not punish the moonshiner alone, but it falls heavily on his wife and children. silury dried her eyes and touched her mother on the shoulder, speaking in a firmer tone:

"i must go down to buckhorn springs to-night, ma."

"eh?" said the dazed woman.

"i must see pa; i must help him to get away from the raiders."

"you, silury! how'll you do it?"

"i don't know," her lips trembling again, "but i must do it—i must!"

mrs. cole stared at her. she had faith in silury's courage and ability, but now she caught the girl's hand, fresh terror seizing her.

"don't you get into trouble, honey. me an' the children would perish if your pa an' you were both took off."

"don't you fret, ma; i'll come back to you an' bring pa, too."

"how'll you get to buckhorn springs?"

"ride kit."

she was already down on her knees before the fire, kindling a torch to take out to the lot with her. she looked up at her mother with brave, tender eyes.

"now, don't pester yerself any more'n you can help, ma."

mrs. cole shook her head with a deep sigh, and instinctively reached for her pipe, but she could only sit and hold it in her hand, unfilled, unlighted, while silury went away to the lot with the flaring torch and an old saddle thrown on her arm.

kit was a shabby beast, thin, wiry, and with only one good eye, but he had served the coles faithfully. he greeted the young girl with a gentle whinny, and she leaned her head against him with another burst of tears. but she quickly wiped them away, and led kit out to the road. it did not take her long to put bridle and saddle on him, then she ran in, took down her father's rifle from the rack over the front door, and in a few minutes had started on her solitary ride down the mountains. the hound would have followed her, but she ordered him back. "go back, bolivar, an' take care o' them that's left behind," and he slunk unwillingly to the doorstep again.

it was a night to live in the child's memory all her life, for with all her fearlessness and hard training she had never before been called upon to traverse the mountain passes alone after darkness had fallen upon them. solitude and gloom surrounded her. the valley seemed but a formless gulf of darkness, the multitudinous mountains, black sentinels, towering to the stars. far away in some remote fastness of the mountains a dog barked, and she could hear the prolonged blast of a hunting horn. a star shot downward from the zenith, leaving a trail of fire across the sky, and was lost behind the far-reaching western ranges. a sense of isolation oppressed her. she seemed the only living human creature in all the vast, silent world. on the saddle in front of her she held the trusty rifle, and that gave her a sense of security from beasts of prey. her father had taught her how to use the gun, and practice had given her an almost unerring aim. but my young readers will acknowledge that it was a trying situation for even a mountain girl, to ride alone through ravines and over declivities, often only a bridle path to guide her. it required a brave heart and a steady nerve.

buckhorn springs are on the public highway leading from a market town in north georgia to murphy, north carolina, and traditions of the wonderful medicinal qualities of the water come down, even from the remote days when the indian set up the poles of his wigwam near the springs, and slaked his thirst in their cool, healing streams, flowing out from under buckhorn mountain. the indian and his wigwam are mere traditions now themselves, and the white man and his covered market wagon have taken their places. it has been the favorite camping-ground of the mountaineers coming from or going to market since the first white settlers boldly penetrated the wilderness beyond. campers were there the night the revenue officers were to pass with amaziah cole, peleg white, and young davis. they were on the roadside, their white covered wagon drawn out under the sparse timber, their sleek red oxen lying unyoked near it. a camp-fire of brushwood and pine-knots blazed up in the open space between the timber and the road, throwing strange eerie shadows against the mountain-side, and in the tree-tops above.

a lean, brown-faced wagoner sat on an inverted feed-box whittling a stick, and a woman occupied a rude camp-stool nearer the fire, the light bringing out the stripes in her brown and yellow homespun skirts, and the melancholy lines in her sharp-featured face. a brown woolen veil was tied around her head, and she rubbed snuff with subdued enjoyment. silury did not go down to the public road. on the mountain-side, above the springs, a ledge of gray rocks jutted out. dismounting at a level spot in the pathway, silury tied kit's bridle to an overhanging bough, then with the gun grasped in her hands, she crept through the underbrush to the rocks. she trembled with excitement, for a daring thought had come to her—a scheme whereby she might deliver her father from his captors. she crouched down behind the rocks, and waited, praying that she might be calm, that her eye might be true, her hand steady when the time came.

evidently the campers had heard of the raid, and were intending to sit up until the officers passed with the prisoners, for several times, during that lagging hour of suspense silury spent behind the boulders, the man walked out into the road to listen for sounds of travel.

"i 'low they are comin' at last," he said, closing his knife with a sharp click, and his wife put up her snuff-box and joined him on the roadside.

silury's heart gave a great thump, thump, against her side. she started into a more erect position, bringing the barrel of her rifle to a level with the rock. the tramping sound of horses' feet could be distinctly heard on the road, and presently the cavalcade rode up, the prisoners in the middle. the officers were feeling comparatively secure. no rescue had ever been attempted at buckhorn springs. friends of prisoners had sometimes ambushed in the wilder country above, but this raid had been unmolested. they had been riding hard, and so they halted for a few minutes at the springs, and some of them dismounted for a drink.

silury saw her father astride a powerful mule, his hands tied together, but his lower limbs free. he looked haggard and unkempt, his long, black hair falling to his shoulders, his beard tangled. he bore the marks of his sojourn in jimson's brake, and of his resistance to arrest.

"poor pa!"

did he hear that trembling, pitying whisper? he threw up his head, his black, deep-set eyes flashing an eager glance around. the officer at his side fell back a little to speak to a comrade. it was the girl's chance. she suddenly rose head and shoulders above the rocks, the camp-fire shining on her white face and bare head.

"look out, pa! look out!" she screamed in shrill, piercing tones, and fired.

he saw her, read her purpose and, as the animal under him staggered and fell, he leaped from its back like a panther, and disappeared in the underbrush.

it was all so quick, so unexpected! through the curling wreath of smoke from the rifle, silury's face appeared for a moment to the amazed eyes of the officers; then they realized what had happened, and fearing a stronger attack, put spurs to their horses and hustled their other prisoners away, leaving the dead mule in the road.

the next morning, as the rising sun gilded the mountain tops with gold, the revenue officers rode through the streets of the market town with two prisoners, telling a thrilling story of the moonshiners' ambush at buckhorn springs and the escape of amaziah cole.

it was about that same time that silury stood again on the doorstep of home, her face aglow, her eyes radiant, in spite of the sleepless night spent abroad on the mountains. bolivar crouched against her feet, or licked her hands in his joy at her return, but she scarcely noticed him. she was looking at the unfinished supper, cold on the hearth, the gray, fireless ashes in the deep fireplace, and her mother asleep in her chair.

"wake up, ma! wake up!" she cried, joyously; "pa is here!"

mrs. cole started up and rubbed her eyes as she saw her husband and daughter standing in the doorway. "did i dream it all?" she murmured helplessly. "i thought the raiders were takin' you to jail, amaziah."

"so they were, an' i'd be there right now ef—" he stopped, choked with emotion, and his hand stroked silury's head.

"an' he's never goin' to be a moonshiner again, ma, never! ain't we glad!" and silury slipped across the floor to wake the younger children. her father's proud eyes followed her.

"it's all owin' to you, all owin' to you, silury."