The Concealed Path

by Melville Davisson Post

　　IT WAS NIGHT, and the first snow of October was in the air when my unclegot down from his horse before the door. The great stone house sat on abench of the mountains. Behind it lay the forest, and below, the pastureland of the Hills.

　　After the disastrous failure of Prince Charles Edward Stuart to set uphis kingdom in Scotland, more than one great Highland family had fledoversea to Virginia, and for a hundred years had maintained its customs.It was at the house of such a family that my uncle stopped.

　　There was the evidence of travel hard and long on my uncle and hishorse. An old man bade him enter.

　　"Who is here?" said my uncle.

　　The servant replied with two foreign words, meaning "The Red Eagle" inthe Gaelic tongue.

　　And he led my uncle through the hall into the dining-room. It was ascene laid back a hundred years in Skye that he came on. A big woman ofmiddle age dined alone, in a long, beamed room, lighted with tallowcandles. An ancient servant stood behind her chair.

　　Two features of the woman were conspicuous-her bowed nose and her coarsered hair.

　　She got up when she saw my uncle.

　　"Abner," she cried, "by the Blessed God I am glad to see you! Come in!Come in!"

　　My uncle entered, and she put him beyond her at the table.

　　"You ought to eat, Abner," she said; "for by all the tokens, you havetraveled."

　　"A long way," replied my uncle.

　　"And did the ravens of Elijah send you to me?" said the woman. "For Ineed you."

　　"What need?" inquired my uncle, while he attacked the rib of beef andthe baked potatoes, for the dinner, although set with some formality,was plain.

　　"Why, this need, Abner: For a witness whose name will stand against theworld."

　　"A witness!" repeated my uncle.

　　"Aye, a witness," continued the woman. "The country holds me hard anddour, and given to impose my will. There will be a wedding in my housetonight, and I would have you see it, free of pressure. My niece,Margaret McDonald, has got her senses finally."

　　My uncle looked down at the cloth.

　　"Who is the man?" he said.

　　"Campbell," she answered, "and good man enough for a stupid woman."

　　For a moment my uncle did not move. His hands, his body, the verymuscles in his eyelids, were for that moment inert as plaster. Then hewent on with the potato and the rib of beef.

　　"Campbell is here, then?" he said.

　　"He came tonight," replied the woman, "and for once the creature hassome spirit. He will have the girl tonight or never. He and my husbandAllen Eliott, have driven their cattle out of the glades and on the wayto Baltimore. Allen is with the cattle on the Cumberland road, andCampbell rode hard in here to take the girl or to leave her. And whethershe goes or stays, he will not return. When the cattle are sold inBaltimore, he will take a ship out of the Chesapeake for Glasgow."

　　She paused and made a derisive gesture.

　　"The devil, Abner, or some witch trick, has made a man of Campbell. Heused to be irresolute and sullen, but tonight he has the spirit of themen who lifted cattle in the lowlands. He is a Campbell of Glen Lion onthis night. Believe me, Abner, the wavering beastie is now as hard asoak, and has the devil's courage. Wherefore is it that a man can changelike that?"

　　"A man may hesitate between two masters," replied my uncle, "and be onlyweak, but when he finally makes his choice he will get what his masterhas to give him-the courage of heaven, if he go that way, or of hell.Madam, if he go that way."

　　"Man! Man!" she laughed. "If 'the one who is not to be named,' as wesay, put his spirit into Campbell, he did a grand work. It is the wildold cattle-lifter of Glen Lion that he is the night!"

　　"Do you think," said my uncle, "that a McDonald of Glencoe ought to bemated with a Campbell of Glen Lion?"

　　The woman's face hardened.

　　"Did Lord Stair and the Campbells of Glen Lion massacre the McDonalds ofGlencoe on yesterday at sunrise, or two hundred years back? Margaret-thefool!-said that before she got my final word."

　　"Is it not in an adage," said my uncle, "that the Highlander does notchange?"

　　"But the world changes, Abner," replied the woman. "Campbell is not'Bonnie Charlie'; he is at middle age, a dour man and silent, but hewill have a sum of money from a half of the cattle, and he can take careof this girl."

　　Then she cried out in a sharper voice:

　　"And what is here in this mountain for her, will you tell me? We growpoor! The old men are to feed. Alien owes money that his half of thecattle will hardly pay. Even old MacPherson"-and she indicated theancient man behind her chair-"has tried to tell her, in his wise-wifefolderol, 'I see you in the direst peril that overtakes a lassie, and abig shouldered man to save you.' And it was no omen, Abner, but thevision of his common sense. Here are the lean years to dry out thefool's youth, and surely Campbell is big shouldered enough for anyprophecy. And now, Abner, will you stay and be a witness?"

　　"I will be one witness," replied my uncle slowly, "if you will send formy brother Rufus to be another."

　　The woman looked at her guest in wonder.

　　"That would be twenty miles through the Hills," she said. "We could notget Rufus by the morn's morn."

　　"No," said Abner, "it would be three miles to Maxwell's Tavern. Rufus isthere tonight."

　　The big-nosed, red-haired woman drummed on the cloth with the tips ofher fingers, and one knew what she was thinking. Her relentless will wasthe common talk. What she wished she forced with no concern.

　　But the girl was afraid of Campbell. The man seemed evil to her. It wasnot evidenced in any act. It was instinct in the girl. She felt thenature of the man like some venomous thing pretending to be gentle untilits hour. And this fear, dominant and compelling, gave her courage toresist the woman's will.

　　The long suit of Campbell for the girl was known to everybody, and thewoman's favor of it and the girl's resistance. The woman foresaw whatfolk in the Hills would say, and she wished to forestall that gossip bythe presence in her house of men whose word could not be gainsaid. IfAbner and his brother Rufus were here, no report of pressure on the girlcould gain belief.

　　She knew what reports her dominating personality set current. She, andnot her husband, was the head of their affairs, and with an irondetermination she held to every Highland custom, every form, everyfeudal detail that she could, against the detritus of democratic timesand ridicule, and the gain upon her house of poverty, and lean years.She was alone at that heavy labor. Allen Eliott was a person withoutforce. He was usually on his cattle range in the mountains, with his bigpartner Campbell, or in the great drive, as now, to Baltimore. And shehad the world to face.

　　"That will be to wait," she said, "and Campbell is in haste, and thebride is being made ready by the women, and the minister is got...toMaxwell's Tavern!"

　　Then she arose.

　　"Well, I will make a bargain with you. I will send for Rufus, but youmust gain Campbell over to the waiting. And you must gain him, Abner, byyour own devices, for I will not tell him that I have sent out for awitness to the freedom of my niece in this affair. If you can make himwait, the thing shall wait until Rufus is come. But I will turn no handto help."

　　"Is Campbell in the house?" said my uncle.

　　"Yes," she said, "and ready when the minister is come."

　　"Is he alone?" said Abner.

　　"Alone," she said, with a satirical smile, "as a bridegroom ought to befor his last reflections."

　　"Then," replied my uncle, "I will strike the bargain."

　　She laughed in a heavy chuckle, like a man.

　　"Hold him if you can. It will be a pretty undertaking, Abner, andpractice for your wits. But by stealth it shall be. I will not have youbind the bridegroom like the strong man in the Scriptures." And thechuckle deepened. "And that, too, I think, might be no easier than thefinesse you set at. He is a great man in the body, like yoursel'."

　　She stood up to go out, but before she went, she said another word.

　　"Abner," she said, "you will not blame me," and her voice was calm."Somebody must think a little for these pretty fools. They are like thelilies of the field in their lack of wisdom; they will always bloom, andthere is no winter! Why, man, they have no more brain than a haggis! Andwhat are their little loves against the realities of life? And theirtears, Abner, are like the rains in summer, showering from every cloud.And their heads crammed with folderol-a prince will come, and theycannot take a good man for that dream!" She paused and added:

　　"I will go and send for Rufus. And when you have finished with yourdinner, MacPherson will take you in to Campbell."

　　The woman was hardly gone before the old man slipped over to Abner'schair.

　　"Mon," he whispered, "ha'e ye a wee drop?"

　　"No liquor, MacPherson," said my uncle.

　　The old man's bleared eyes blinked like a half-blinded owl's.

　　"It would be gran', a wee drop, the night," he said.

　　"For joy at the wedding," said my uncle.

　　"Na, mon, na, mon!" Then he looked swiftly around.

　　"The eagle ha beak and talons, and what ha the dove, mon?"

　　"What do you mean, MacPherson?" said my uncle.

　　The old creature peered across the table.

　　"Ye ha gran' shoulders, mon," he said.

　　My uncle put down his fork.

　　"MacPherson," he said, "what do you beat about?"

　　"I wa borned," he replied, "wi a cowl, and I can see!"

　　"And what do you see?" inquired Abner.

　　"A vulture flying," said the old man, "but it is unco dark beneath him."

　　Again on this night every motion and every sign of motion disappearedfrom my uncle's body and his face. He remained for a moment like afigure cut in wood.

　　"A vulture!" he echoed.

　　"Aye, mon! What ha the dove to save it?"

　　"The vulture, it may be," said my uncle.

　　"The Red Eagle, and the foul vulture!" cried the old man. "Noo, mon, itis the bird of death!"

　　"A bird of death, but not a bird of prey." Then he got up.

　　"You may have a familiar spirit, MacPherson," he said coldly, "for all Iknow. Perhaps they live on after the Witch of Endor. It is a world ofmystery. But I should not come to you to get up Samuel, and I see nowwhy the Lord stamped out your practice. It was because you misled hispeople. If there is a vulture in this business, MacPherson, it is nosymbol of your bridegroom. And now, will take me in to Campbell?"

　　The old man flung the door open, and Abner went out into the hall. As hecrossed the sill, a girl, listening at the door, fled past him. She hadbeen crouched down against it.

　　She was half-dressed, all in white, as though escaped for a moment outof the hands of tiring women. But she had the chalk face of a ghost, andeyes wide with fear.

　　My uncle went on as though he had passed nothing, and the old Scotchmanbefore him only wagged his head, with the whispered comment, "It wa begran', a wee drop, the night."

　　They came into a big room of the house with candles on a table, and afire of chestnut logs. A man walking about stopped on the hearth. He wasa huge figure of a man in middle life.

　　A fierce light leaped up in his face when he saw my uncle.

　　"Abner!" he cried. "Why does the devil bring you here?"

　　"It would be strange, Campbell," replied my uncle, "if the devil wereagainst you. The devil has been much maligned. He is very nearly equal,the Scriptures tell us, to the King of Kings. He is no fool to misleadhis people and to trap his servants. I find him always zealous in theirinterests, Campbell, fertile in devices, and holding hard with everytrick to save them. I do not admire the devil, Mr. Campbell, but I donot find his vice to be a lack of interest in his own."

　　"Then," cried Campbell, "it is clear that I am not one of his own. Forif the devil were on my side, Abner, he would have turned you away fromthis door tonight."

　　"Why, no," replied my uncle, with a reflective air, "that does notfollow. I do not grant the devil a supreme control. There is One abovehim, and if he cannot always manage as his people wish, they shall notfor that reason condemn him with a treasonable intent."

　　The man turned with a decisive gesture.

　　"Abner," he said, "let me understand this thing. Do you come here uponsome idle gossip, to interfere with me in this marriage? Or by chance?"

　　"Neither the one nor the other," replied my uncle. "I went into themountains to buy the cattle you and Eliott range there. I found you gonealready, with the herd, toward Maryland. And so, as I returned, I rodein here to Eliott's house to rest and to feed my horse."

　　"Eliott is with the drove," said Campbell.

　　"No," replied my uncle, "Eliott is not with the drove. I overtook it onthe Cheat River. The drivers said you hired them this morning, and rodeaway."

　　The man shifted his feet and looked down at my uncle.

　　"It is late in the season," he said. "One must go ahead to arrange for afield and for some shocks of fodder. Eliott is ahead."

　　"He is not on the road ahead," returned Abner. "Arnold and his droverscame that way from Maryland, and they had not seen him."

　　"He did not go the road," said Campbell; "he took a path through themountains."

　　My uncle remained silent for some moments.

　　"Campbell," said my uncle, "the Scriptures tell us that there is a pathwhich the vulture's eye hath not seen. Did Eliott take that path?"

　　The man changed his posture. "Now, Abner," he said, "I cannot answer afool thing like that."

　　"Well, Campbell," replied my uncle, "I can answer it for you: Eliott didnot take that path."

　　The man took out a big silver watch and opened the case with histhumbnail.

　　"The woman ought to be ready," he said.

　　My uncle looked up at him.

　　"Campbell," he said, "put off this marriage."

　　The man turned about.

　　"Why should I put it off?" he said.

　　"Well, for one reason, Campbell," replied my uncle, "the omens are notpropitious."

　　"I do not believe in signs," said the man.

　　"The Scriptures are full of signs," returned Abner. "There was the signto Joshua and the sign to Ahaz, and there is the sign to you."

　　The man turned with an oath.

　　"What accursed thing do you hint about, Abner?"

　　"Campbell," replied my uncle, "I accept the word; accursed is the word."

　　"Say the thing out plain! What omen? What sign?"

　　"Why, this sign," replied Abner: "MacPherson, who was born with a cowl,has seen a vulture flying."

　　"Damme, man!" cried Campbell. "Do you hang on such a piece of foolery.MacPherson sees his visions in a tin cup-raw corn liquor would setflying beasts of Patmos. Do you tell me, Abner, that you believe in whatMacPherson sees?"

　　"I believe in what I see myself," replied my uncle.

　　"And what have you seen?" said the man.

　　"I have seen the vulture!" replied my uncle. "And I was born clean andhave no taste for liquor."

　　"Abner," said Campbell, "you move about in the dark, and I have no timeto grope after you. The woman should be ready."

　　"But are you ready?" said my uncle.

　　"Man! Man!" cried Campbell. "Will you be forever in a fog? Well, travelon to Satan in it! I am ready, and here are the women!"

　　But it was not the bride. It was MacPherson to inquire if the brideshould come.

　　My uncle got up then.

　　"Campbell," he said, in his deep, level voice, "if the bride is ready,you are not."

　　The man was at the limit of forbearance.

　　"The devil take you!" he cried. "If you mean anything, say what it is!"

　　"Campbell," replied my uncle, "it is the custom to inquire if any manknows a reason why a marriage should not go on. Shall I stand up beforethe company and give the reason, while the marriage waits? Or shall Igive it to you here while the marriage waits?"

　　The man divined something behind my uncle's menace.

　　"Bid them wait," he said to MacPherson.

　　Then he closed the door and turned back on my uncle-his shoulders thrownforward, his fingers clenched, his words prefaced by an oath.

　　"Now, sir,"-and the oath returned,-"what is it?"

　　My uncle got up, took something from his pocket, and put it down on thetable. It was a piece of lint, twisted together, as though one hadrolled it firmly between the palms of one's hands.

　　"Campbell," he said, "as I rode the trail on your cattle range, in themountains, this morning, a bit of white thing caught my eye. I got downand picked up this fragment of lint on the hard ground. It puzzled me.How came it thus rolled? I began to search the ground, riding slowly inan ever-widening circle. Presently I found a second bit, and then athird, rolled hard together like the first. Then I observed asignificant thing: these bits were in line and leading from your traildown the slope of the cattle range to the border of the forest. I wentback to the trail, and there on the baked earth, in line with these bitsof lint, I found a spot where a bucket of water had been poured out."

　　Campbell was standing beyond him, staring at the bit of lint. He lookedup without disturbing the crouch of his shoulders.

　　"Go on," he said.

　　"It occurred to me," continued my uncle, "that perhaps these bits oflint might be found above the trail, as I had found them below it, andso I rode straight on up the hill to a rail fence. I found no fragmentof twisted stuff, but I found another thing, Campbell: I found the weedstrampled on the other side of the fence. I got down and looked closely.On the upper surface of a flat rail, immediately before the trampledweeds, there was an impression as though a square bar of iron had beenlaid across it."

　　My uncle stopped. And Campbell said: "Go on."

　　Abner remained a moment, his eyes on the man; then he continued:

　　"The impression was in a direct line toward the point on the trail wherethe water had been poured out. I was puzzled. I got into the saddle androde back across the trail and down the line of the fragments of lint.At the edge of the forest I found where a log-heap had been burned. Igot down again and walked back along the line of the twisted lint. Ilooked closely, and I saw that the fragments of dried grass, and now andthen a rag-weed, had been pressed down, as though by something movingdown the hillside from the trail to the burned log-heap.

　　"Now, Campbell," he said, "what happened on that hillside?"

　　Campbell stood up and looked my uncle in the face. "What do you thinkhappened?" he said.

　　"I think," replied Abner, "that some one sat in the weeds behind thefence with a half-stocked, square-barreled rifle laid on the flat rail,and from that ambush shot something passing on the trail, and thendragged it down the hillside to the log-heap. I think that poured-outwater was to wash away the blood where the thing fell. I do not knowwhere the bits of lint came from, but I think they were rolled thereunder the weight of the heavy body. Do I think correctly, eh, Campbell?"

　　"You do," said the man.

　　My uncle was astonished, for Campbell faced him, his aspect grim,determined, like one who at any hazard will have the whole of a menaceout. "Abner," he said, "you have trailed this thing with some theorybehind it. In plain words, what is that theory?"

　　My uncle was amazed.

　　"Campbell," he replied, "since you wish the thing said plain, I will notobscure it. Two men own a great herd of cattle between them. The herd isto be driven over the mountains to Baltimore and sold. If one of thepartners is shot out of his saddle and the crime concealed, may not theother partner sell the entire drove for his own and put the whole sum inhis pocket?

　　"And if this surviving partner, Campbell, were a man taken with thedevil's resolution, I think he might try to make one great stroke ofthis business. I think he might hire men to drive his cattle, giving outthat his partner had gone on ahead, and then turn back for the woman hewanted, take her to Baltimore, put her on the ship, sell the cattle, andwith the woman and money sail out of the Chesapeake for the ScotchHighlands he came from! Who could say what became of the missingpartner, or that he did not receive his half of the money and meetrobbery and murder on his way home?"

　　My uncle stopped. And Campbell broke out into a great ironical laugh.

　　"Now, let this thing be a lesson to you, Abner. Your little deductionsare correct, but your great conclusion is folly.

　　"We had a wild heifer that would not drive, so we butchered the beast. Ihad great trouble to shoot her, but I finally managed it from behind thefence."

　　"But the bits of lint," said my uncle, "and the washed spot?"

　　"Abner," cried the man, "do you handle cattle for a lifetime and do notknow how blood disturbs them? We did not want them in commotion, so wedrenched the place where the heifer fell. And your bits of lint! I willdiscover the mystery there. To keep the blood off we put an old quiltunder the yearling and dragged her down the hill on that. The bits oflint were from the quilt, and rolled thus under the weight of theheifer."

　　Then he added: "That was weeks ago, but there has been no rain for amonth, and these signs of crime, Abner, were providentially preservedagainst your coming!"

　　"And the log-heap," said my uncle, like one who would have the whole ofan explanation, "why was it burned?"

　　"Now, Abner," continued the man, "after your keen deductions, would youask me a thing like that? To get rid of the offal from the butcheredbeast. We would not wash out the bloodstains and leave that to set ourcattle mad."

　　His laugh changed to a note of victory.

　　"And now, Abner," he cried, "will you stay and see me married, who havecome hoping to see me hanged?"

　　My uncle had moved over to the window. While Campbell spoke, he seemedto listen, not so much to the man as to sounds outside. Now far off on acovered wooden bridge of the road there was the faint sound of horses.And with a grim smile Abner turned about.

　　"I will stay," he said, "and see which it is."

　　It was the very strangest wedding-the big, determined woman like a Fate,the tattered servants with candles in their hands, the minister, and thebride covered and hidden in her veil, like a wooden figurecounterfeiting life.

　　The thing began. There was an atmosphere of silence. My uncle went overto the window. The snow on the road deadened the sounds of the advancinghorses, until the iron shoes rang on the stones before the door. Then,suddenly, as though he waited for the sound, he cried out with a greatvoice against the marriage. The big-nosed, red-haired woman turned onhim:

　　"Why do you object, who have no concern in this thing?"

　　"I object," said Abner, "because Campbell has sent Eliott on the wrongpath!"

　　"The wrong path!" cried the woman.

　　"Aye," said Abner, "on the wrong path. There is a path which thevulture's eye hath not seen, Job tells us. But the path Campbell sentEliott on, the vulture did see."

　　He advanced with great strides into the room.

　　"Campbell," he cried, "before I left your accursed pasture, I saw abuzzard descend into the forest beyond your log-heap. I went in, andthere, shot through the heart, was the naked body of Alien Eliott. Yourlog-heap, Campbell, was to burn the quilt and the dead man's clothes.You trusted to the vultures, for the rest, and the vultures, Campbell,over-reached you."

　　My uncle's voice rose and deepened.

　　"I sent word to my brother Rufus to raise a posse comitatus and bring itto Maxwell's Tavern. Then I rode in here to rest and to feed my horse. Ifound you, Campbell, on the second line of your hell-planned venture!

　　"I got Mrs. Eliott to send for Rufus to be a witness with me to youraccursed marriage. And I undertook to delay it until he came."

　　He raised his great arm, the clenched bronze fingers big like thecoupling pins of a cart.

　　"I would have stopped it with my own hand," he said, "but I wanted themen of the Hills to hang you...And they are here."

　　There was a great sound of tramping feet in the hall outside.

　　And while the men entered, big, grim, determined men, Abner called outtheir names:

　　"Arnold, Randolph, Stuart, Elnathan Stone and my brother Rufus!"