Manly Wade Wellman - John the Balladeer 05 by The Voice of the Mountain (v1.1) Read Free Book Online Page B

nice running
stream that must be what came down from above, and I drank a handful and it was
as good as a man might want. So I filled the canteen and headed back to where I’d
fixed to stay the night.
                 The
sun was a-dimming away beyond the height, and things got slatey gray. I busted
up a couple of handfuls of pine twigs and took just the one match to light
them. On that blaze I put chunks of hardwood, little ones first, then big, and
the fire handled them and grew bigger and brighter. It was a comfort- abler
fire than my other one had been, when I was lost on the mountain betwixt Sam
Heaver's store and Tombs McDonald's cabin. I wondered myself how Tombs was
a-doing right then, and I hoped in my soul he didn't pester himself on account
of me. By then I'd got right hungry, and I fetched out the johnny- cake and ham
and enjoyed to eat it. At last I went and fetched in big wood chunks and piled
them close to my fire, but not close enough to catch. I dragged off my boots
and stretched out on the bed I'd made of leaves and pine straw and looked up to
where the sky had gone black and little crumbs of stars were out, like pieces
of the day.
                 I
studied those stars. I'll nair get tired out a-studying them. The patterns they
make: the Big Bear and its baby, the Little Bear, with the North Star, Polaris,
at the tip of its tail; over across the sky from those, Cassiopeia like a big
bright W of stars; all the other patterns I'd been taught to pick out, back
when I was a boy. I thought about how long the stars had been spread out
thataway, how when men lived in caves and made their knives and hatchets out of
stone, the stars had been like that for the cave folks to wonder at. How far
off they were, I'd had that told to me too, but my poor mind couldn't figure
it. But they were there, the stars were there, and I was there too, and it
might could be they studied me the way I studied them.
I hoped to myself that they wished me the best of luck. So then, I slept.
                 Sleeping
was no chore, gentlemen. After all, I'd come maybe something like fifteen tough
miles since morning, up and down slopes and amongst trees and all like that, so
I felt like a-stretching out for sleep. I woke up once in the wee small hours,
because my fire had died down and I was chilly. I pushed on more wood, watched
it catch and blaze, and looked up at all the stars. They were still up there,
in their forever pattern. Back to sleep I went, and when I roused again it was
dawn, gray dawn with some pink in it, which should ought to mean a fine day
with no rain.
                 I
had more johnnycake with ham. Tombs had given me three. I wondered where I’d
eat the third, and what would be a-going on. I drank from my canteen and picked
up my stuff and slung my guitar behind me. I headed for Cry Mountain , which just then took up all the space in
front of me.
                 I
went straight there, to where that winding line of trees came down. Water came
down with them, fell about five-six feet in a little tumble, and I had a drink
and filled up my canteen again. Then I looked at what had to be the way up.
                 That
was the start of things, gentlemen, and nair have I had air such a climb. In my
day, both before then and later, I’ve been on mountains, with strange things to
happen on them. Up on Hark Mountain I’d scrambled alone one time, and One Other waited in the pool at the top. I’d gone up Yandro,
and a thousand things made me thankful I could find my way down again. And
likewise Teatray, and Wolter, and one named Dogged, and others without names I can call to mind. And those mountains had things on
them, things I’d just as soon not call to mind either. High mountains are a
feeling, Lord Byron said once, but he nair said what sort of feeling. I’ve had
my troubles on high mountains.
                 Not
that Cry Mountain would be champion tall. I’d