Chapter I.

A BLOOD FEUD IN OLD KENTUCKY

"Uncle Eli,"said Hamilton suddenly,"since I'm going to be a census-taker, I think I'd like to apply for this district."

The old Kentucky mountaineer, who had been steadily working his way through the weekly paper, lowered it so that he could look over the top of the page, and eyed the boy steadfastly.

"What for?"he queried.

"I think I could do it better than almost anybody else in this section,"was the ready, if not modest, reply.

"Wa'al, perhaps yo'might,"the other assented and took up the paper again. Hamilton waited. He had spent but little time in the mountains but he had learned the value of allowing topics to develop slowly, even though his host was better informed than most of the people in the region. Although not an Actual relative, Hamilton always called him"Uncle"because he had fought with distinguished honor in the regiment that Hamilton's father commanded during the Civil War, and the two men ever since had been friends.

"I don't quite see why any one sh'd elect to take a hand in any such doin's unless he has to,"the Kentuckian resumed, after a pause;"that census business seems kind of inquisitive some way to me."

"But it seems to me that it's the right kind of'inquisitive.'"

"I reckon I hadn't thought o'there bein'more'n one kind of inquisitiveness,"the mountaineer said, with a smile,"but if you say so, I s'pose it's all right."

"But don't you think the questions are easy enough?"asked the boy.

"They may be easy, but thar's no denyin'that some of'em are mighty unpleasant to answer."

"But if they are necessary?"

"Thar's a-plenty o'folks hyeh in the mount'ns that yo'c'n never make see how knowin'their private affairs does the gov'nment any good."

"But you don't feel that way, Uncle Eli, surely?"

"Wa'al, I don'know. Settin'here talkin'about it, I know it's all right, an'I'm willin'to tell all I know. But I jes'feel as sure as c'n be, that befo'the census-taker gets through hyeh, I'm goin'to be heated up clar through."

"But why?"queried the lad again."The questions are plain enough, and there was practically no trouble at the last census. I think it's a fine thing, and every one ought to be glad to help. And it's so important, too!"

"Important!"protested the old man."Did yo'ever see any one that ever sat down an'read those tables an'tables o'figures?"

"Not for fun, perhaps,"the boy admitted."But it isn't done for the sake of getting interesting reading matter; it's because those figures really are necessary. Why there's hardly a thing that you can think of that the census isn't at the back of."

"I don't see how that is. They don't ask about a man's politics, I notice,"the mountaineer remarked.

"No,"answered Hamilton promptly,"but the number of members a State sends to Congress depends on the figures of the population that the census-takers gather, and the only claim that any legislator has to his seat is based on their information."

"I suppose you'd say the same about schools, too."

"Of course,"the boy answered.

"But I hear the Census Bureau this year wants all sorts of information about the crops an'the number of pigs kept an'all that sort o'stuff."

"Don't you think the food of all the people of the United States is important enough, Uncle Eli? And then the railroads, too,—they depend on the figures about the crops and all sorts of other things which go as freight."

"You seem to know a lot about it,"the mountaineer said, looking thoughtfully at the boy.

"I ought to,"Hamilton said,"because I'm going to be an Assistant special agent in the Census of Manufactures right away. I applied last October and took the exam a couple of weeks before coming here on this visit."

"What makes yo'so cocksure that you've passed the examination?"he was asked.

"I didn't find it so hard,"Hamilton replied,"figures have always been easy for me, and when my brother was studying for that chartered accountant business I learned a lot from him."

"Your dad, he was a great hand fo'figures, so I s'pose yo'come by it naturally enough. An'you're jes'sure you've passed?"

"I haven't heard one way or the other,"said Hamilton,"but I'm pretty sure."

"Wa'al, thar's no use sayin'anythin'if you're all sot, but it's the business of the gov'nment, an'I'd let them do it."

"But I'm hoping to work right with the government all the time, Uncle Eli,"the boy explained"either with the Census Bureau or the Bureau of Statistics or some work like that. And anyway, if it's the government's business, I'm an American and it's my business."

"Yo'have the right spirit, boy,"the old man said,"an'I like to see it, but you're huntin'trouble sure's you're born. S'posin'yo'asked the questions of some ol'sorehead that wouldn'answer?"

"He'd have to answer,"replied Hamilton stoutly,"there's a law to make him."

"I don't believe that law's used much,"hazarded the old man.

"It isn't,"Hamilton found himself forced to admit."I believe there were not very many arrests all over the country last census. But the law's there, just the same."

"It wouldn'be a law on the Ridge,"the mountaineer said,"an'I don'believe it would do yo'any good anywhar else. On the mount'ns, I know, courtesy is a whole lot bigger word than constitution. Up hyeh, we follow the law when we're made to, follow an idee backed up by a rifle-barrel because we have to, but there's not many men hyeh that won'do anythin'yo'ask if yo'jes'ask the right way."

"But there are always some that give trouble,"Hamilton protested, trying to defend his position.

The old Kentuckian slowly shook his head from side to side.

"If yo'don'win out by courtesy,"he said,"it's jes'because yo'haven'been courteous enough, because yo'haven'taken yo'man jes'right. Thar isn't any such thing as bein'too gracious. An'anyway, a census-taker with any other idee up hyeh would be runnin'chances right along."

"You mean they would shoot him up?"asked Hamilton.

"I think if he threatened some folks up hyeh an'in the gullies thar might be trouble."

"But the fact that he represented the government would insure him from harm, I should think."

"I don't think much of that insurance idee,"the old man said."I can't remember that it helped the revenue men sech a great deal. The only insurance I ever had was a quick ear, an'even now, I c'n hear a twig snap near a quarter of a mile away. An'that used to be good insurance in the ol'days when, if yo'weren't gunnin'for somebody, thar was somebody gunnin'fo'you."

"But there's no one'gunning'for you now, is there, Uncle Eli?"asked the boy amusedly.

"I haven't b'n lookin'out especially,"the Kentuckian responded, with an Answering slow smile,"an'I reckon sometimes that I might jes'as well leave the ol'rifle in the house when I go out."

"But you never do,"put in Hamilton quickly.

"I reckon that's jes'a feelin',"rejoined the mountaineer,"jes'one o'these habits that yo'hate to give up. I'd sort o'be lost without it now, after all these years. Thar's no one to worry about, anyway, savin'Jake Howkle, an'I don'believe he's hankerin'for blood-lettin'."

"Jake? Oh, never,"Hamilton replied with assurance;"why, he's only about my age."

"That's only partly why,"the old man said,"not only because he's your age, but because he's b'n at school. Shootin'an'schoolin'don'seem to hit it off. I reckon thar would have b'n a sight less trouble in the mount'ns if thar had b'n mo'schools."

"The re are plenty of schools in the mountains now, aren't there?"asked Hamilton."It must be very different here, Uncle Eli, from what it was when you were a boy."

"Thar has been quite a change, an'the change is comin'faster now. But thar's still a lot o'folk who a'nt altered a bit sence the war. You city people call us slow-movin'up hyeh, an'as long as thar's any o'the ol'spirit abroad thar's a chance o'trouble. If yo'really are goin'in for this census-takin', I'd keep clar o'the mount'ns."

"You really would?"queried the boy thoughtfully.

"An'what's more,"continued his Uncle,"I would jes'as soon that yo'didn'have anythin'to do with it near hyeh. I don'want to see any little differences between families, such as census-takin'is likely to provoke."

TAKING THE CENSUS IN OLD KENTUCKY: Typical conditions of an enumerator's work in the mountain districts. (Courtesy of Art Manufacturing Co., Amelia, O.)

TAKING THE CENSUS IN OLD KENTUCKY: Typical conditions of an enumerator's work in the mountain districts. (Courtesy of Art Manufacturing Co., Amelia, O.)

"Why, Uncle Eli!"cried Hamilton in amazement,"you talk as though the days of the feuds were not over."

"Are yo'sure they're all over?"the Kentuckian said.

"I had supposed so,"the boy replied."I thought the Kentucky'killings'had stopped ten or fifteen years ago."

"It's a little queer yo'sh'd bring that up today,"the old man said,"for I was jes'readin'in the paper some figures on that very thing. Yo'like figures, this will jes'suit you. Where was it now?"he continued, rustling the paper; then, a moment later,"Oh, yes, I have it."

"'During the terms of the last three Kentucky governors,'"he read,"'over thirteen hundred criminals have been pardoned, five hundred of them being for murder or manslaughter.'It says fu'ther on,"the old man added,"that pardonin'is jes'as frequent now as it ever was. I don'believe it is, myself, but if thar is such a lot o'pardonin'goin'on for shootin', thar must have been a powerful lot o'shootin'."

"But that's for all the State,"objected the boy,"not for the mountains only. That must be for crimes in the cities and all sorts of things. You can't make the feuds responsible for those."

"Not altogether,"the mountaineer agreed,"the real ol'-time feud is peterin'out, an'it's mainly due to the schoolin'. The young folks ain't ready fo'revenge now, an'that sort o'swings the women around. An'up hyeh in the mount'ns, same as everywhar else, I reckon, the idees o'the women make a pile o'difference."

"But I should have thought the women would always have been against the feuds,"said Hamilton.

"Yo'd think so, but they weren't. They helped to keep up the grudges a whole lot."

"Aunt Ab hasn't changed much,"volunteered the lad.

"She hasn't for a fact. Ab is powerful sot. She holds the grudge against the Howkles in the ol'style. But the feelin'is dyin'out fast, an'soon it'll be like history,—only jes'read of in books."

"What I never could see,"remarked Hamilton,"was what started it all. It isn't as if the people in the mountains had come from some part of the world where vendettas and that sort of thing had been going on for generations. The re must have been some kind of reason for it in this section of the country. Feuds don't spring up just for nothing."

"Thar was a while once we had a powerful clever talker up hyeh,"the Kentuckian answered,"actin'as schoolmaster for a few weeks. I reckon he'd offered to substitute jes'to get a chance to see for himself what life in the mount'ns was like. He was writin'a book about it. We got right frien'ly, an'he knew he was always welcome hyeh, an'one day I asked him jes'that question. It was shortly befo'he lef'an'I wanted to know what he thought about us all up hyeh."

The mountaineer leaned back in his chair and chuckled with evident enjoyment of the recollection.

"I jes'put the question to him,"he said,"in the mildes'way, an'he started right in to talk. Thar was no stoppin'him, an'I couldn'remember one-half o'what he said. But I reckon he had it about right."

"How did he explain the feuds, Uncle Eli?"asked the boy.

"Wa'al,"said the mountaineer, with a short laugh,"he begun by sayin'we were savages."

"Savages?"

"Not jes'with war-paint an'tomahawk, yo'understan',"continued the old man, enjoying the boy's astonishment,"but uncivilized an'wild. Thar an't any finer stock in the world, he said, than the mount'neers o'the Ridge, clar down to Tennessee, an'he said, too, that they were o'the good old English breed, not foreigners like are comin'in now."

"That's right enough,"Hamilton agreed,"and, what's more, they were gentlemen of good birth, most of them; there was not much of the peasant in the early colonists."

"So this author chap said. But he explained that was the very reason they got so wild."

"I don't see that,"objected Hamilton,"and I certainly don't see where the'savage'idea comes in."

"Wa'al, he said that when you slid down from a high place it was harder to climb back than if the fall had b'n small. An'that's why it's so hard for those who have gone down,—they can see the depth o'the fall."

Hamilton, who was of an Argumentative turn of mind, would have protested at this, but the old mountaineer proceeded.

"When the pioneers settled in the mount'ns they kind o'stuck. Those that went on, down into the Blue Grass region, went boomin'right ahead, but those that stayed in the mount'ns had no chance."

"I don't see why not?"objected the boy.

"They were jes'cut off from everywhar. We are to-day, for that matter. When a place gets settled, an'starts to try an'raise somethin'to sell, the product has got to be taken to market. But thar was no railroad up in the mount'ns. Children were easy to raise, an'a population grew up in a hurry, but the land was too poor for good farmin', the roads were too bad for takin'corn to market, an'thar was no way o'gettin'to a town."

"You are pretty well cut off,"said Hamilton.

"We were more so then,"the mountaineer said."An'so, while all the country'round was advancin'up in the mount'ns, fifty years ago, we were livin'jes'like pioneers. An'some, not bein'able to keep up the strain, fell back."

"So it really isn't the fault of the mountaineers at all,"cried the boy,"but because they were sort of marooned."

"It was unfortunate,"replied the old man,"but it really was our own fault. If the mount'n country was worth developin', we should have developed it; if not, we should have left."

"I've often wondered why you didn't, Uncle Eli,"said Hamilton.

"Yo'must remember,"the Kentuckian said,"that the mount'neers are a most independent lot. They want to be independent, an'up hyeh, every man is his own master. But, thar bein'no available market if they did work hard, what was the use o'workin'? Some o'them,'specially down in the gullies, got lazy an'shif'less. But they hung on all the harder to the idees o'the old times,—honor an'hospitality."

"I've always understood,"said Hamilton,"that there was more hospitality to be found up here in the mountains than in almost any place on the globe."

"As yo'said,"the old man continued,"we're jes'like a crew o'shipwrecked sailors marooned on an island without a boat, without any means o'gettin'away. If some o'the families high up in the gullies are ignorant, it's because they've had no schoolin', not because they haven'got the makin's o'good citizens; if they're a bit careless about religion, it's because they've had no churchin', an'if they don'pay much heed to law, it's because the law has never done much for them. The ocean o'progress,"went on the mountaineer, with a flourish,"has rolled all'roun'the mount'ns, but of all the fleets o'commerce in all these years, thar has not been one to send out a boat to help the marooned mount'neer."

"Didn't they ever try to get help?"queried the boy.

"We're not askin'help,"the Kentuckian said,"thar's no whinin'on the mount'ns. I jes'tell yo'that when the time comes for the mount'neers o'Kentucky an'Virginia an'Tennessee an'Carolina to get a fair chance, they'll show yo'as fine a race o'men an'women as the Stars an'Stripes flies over."

"They are mighty fine right now, I think,"the boy said.

"They have their good points,"the Kentuckian agreed;"thar's nothin'sneakin'in the men up hyeh, an'thar an't any lengths to which a man won't go, to do what he thinks is the squar thing. You've heard about the Beaupoints?"

"No,"the boy answered,"what was that?"

"It was jes'an incident in one o'these feuds that you were talkin'of, an'I'm goin'to tell yo'about it, to show yo'what a mount'neer's idee o'honor is like. Thar was a family livin'on the other side o'the Ridge, not a great ways from hyeh, by the name o'Calvern, an'in some way or other—I never heard the rights of it—they took to shootin'up the Beaupoints every chance that come along. One day Dandie Beaupoint found a little girl that had hurt herself, an'he picked her up in his arms an'was carryin'her home when one o'the Calvern boys shot him in his tracks. One o'the Beaupoint brothers was away at the time, but the others felt that the Calverns hadn't b'n playin'fair, an'they reckoned to lay them all out. They did, too, all but one, an', although they had a chance to nail him, they let him alone."