THE RIVER JOURNEY  
"Best pour a little of this down his throat. It'll cut an' burn, but if there's a spark o' life left in him it'll set it to blazin'."
 
Harry became conscious of the "cutting" and "burning," and, struggling weakly, he sat up.
 
"That's better," continued the deep, masculine voice. "You've been layin' on your face, lettin' the Kentucky River run out of your mouth, while we was poundin' you on the back to increase the speed o' the current. It's all out o' you now, an' you're goin' to keep your young life."
 
The man who spoke was standing almost over Harry, holding a flask in one hand and a lantern in the other. He was obviously a mountaineer, tall, with powerful chest and shoulders, and a short red beard. Near him stood a stalwart boy about Harry's own age. They were in the middle of a raft which had been pulled to the south side of the Kentucky and then tied to the shore.
 
Harry started to speak, but the words stopped at his lips. His weakness was still great.
 
"Wa'al," said the man, whimsically. "What was it? Sooicide? Or did you fall in the river, bein' awkward? Or was you tryin' to swim the stream, believin' it was fun to do it? What do you think, Ike?"
 
"It wasn't no sooicide," replied the youth whom he had called Ike. "Boys don't kill theirse'ves. An' it wasn't no awkwardness, 'cause he don't look like the awkward kind. An' I guess he wasn't tryin' to swim the Kentucky, else he would have took off his clothes."
 
"Which cuts out all three o' my guesses, leavin' me nothin' to go on. Now, I ain't in the habit of pickin' floatin' an' unconscious boys out o' the middle o' the river, an' that leaves me in unpleasant doubt, me bein' of an inquirin' turn o' mind."
 
"It was murder," said Harry, at last finding strength to speak.
 
"Murder!" exclaimed the man and boy together.
 
"Yes, murder, that is, an attempt at it. A man set upon me to kill me, and in the struggle we fell in the river, which, with your help, saved my life. Look here!"
 
He tore open his coat and shirt, revealing his chest, which looked like pounded beef.
 
"Somebody has shorely been gettin' in good hard licks on you," said the man sympathetically, "an' I reckon you're tellin' nothin' but the truth, these bein' such times as this country never heard of before. My name's Sam Jarvis, an' I came with this raft from the mountains. This lunkhead here is my nephew, Ike Simmons. We was driftin' along into Frankfort as peaceful as you please, an' a singin' with joy 'cause our work was about over. I hears a splash an' says I to Ike, 'What's that?' Says he to me, 'I dunno.' Says I to Ike ag'in, 'Was it a big fish?' Says he to me ag'in, 'I dunno.' He's gittin' a repytation for bein' real smart 'cause he's always sayin, 'I dunno,' an' he's never wrong. Then I sees somethin' with hair on top of it floatin' on the water. Says I, 'Is that a man's head?' Says he, 'I dunno.' But he reaches away out from the raft, grabs you with one hand by them brown locks o' yours, an' hauls you in. I guess you owe your life all right enough to this lunkhead, Ike, my nephew, the son o' my sister Jane."
 
Ike grinned sympathetically.
 
"Ain't it time to offer him some dry clothes, Uncle Sam?" he asked.
 
"Past time, I reckon," replied Jarvis, "but I forgot it askin' questions, me havin' such an inquirin' turn o' mind."
 
Harry rose, with the help of a strong and friendly hand that Jarvis lent him. His chest felt dreadfully sore. Every breath pained him, and all the strength seemed to have gone from his body.
 
"I don't know what became o' the other feller," said Jarvis. "Guess he must have swum out all by hisself."
 
"He undoubtedly did so," replied Harry. "He wasn't hurt, and I fancy that he's some distance from Frankfort by this time. My name is Kenton, Harry Kenton, and I'm the son of Colonel George Kenton, who is here in Frankfort helping to push the ordinance of secession. You've saved my life and he'd repay you."
 
"We don't need no money," said Jarvis shortly. "Me an' Ike here will have a lot of money when we sell this raft, and we don't lack for nothin'."
 
"I didn't mean money," said Harry, understanding their pride and independence. "I meant in some other ways, including gratitude. I've been fished out of a river, and a fisherman is entitled to the value of his catch, isn't he?"
 
"We'll talk about that later on, but me bein' of an inquirin' turn o' mind, I'm wonderin' what your father will say about you when he sees you. I guess I better doctor you up a little before you leave the raft."
 
Ike returned from the tiny cabin with an extra suit of clothes of his own, made of the roughest kind of gray jeans, home knit yarn socks and a pair of heavy brogan shoes. A second trip brought underclothing of the same rough quality, but Harry changed into them gladly. Jarvis meanwhile produced a bottle filled with a brown liquid.
 
"You may think this is hoss liniment," he said, "an' p'r'aps it has been used for them purposes, but it's better fur men than animiles. Ole Aunt Suse, who is 'nigh to a hundred, got it from the Injuns an' it's warranted to kill or cure. It'll sting at first, but just you stan' it, an' afore long it will do you a power o' good."
 
Harry refused to wince while the mountaineer kneaded his bruised chest with the liquid ointment. The burning presently gave way to a soothing sensation.
 
Harry noticed that neither Jarvis nor Ike asked him the name of his opponent nor anything at all about the struggle or its cause. They treated it as his own private affair, of which he could speak or not as he chose. He had noticed this quality before in mountaineers. They were among the most inquisitive of people, but an innate delicacy would suppress questions which an ordinary man would not hesitate to ask.
 
"Button up your shirt an' coat," said Jarvis at last, "an' you'll find your chest well in a day or two. Your bein' so healthy helps you a lot. Feelin' better already, boy? Don't 'pear as if you was tearin' out a lung or two every time you drawed breath?"
 
"I'm almost well," said Harry gratefully, "and, Mr. Jarvis, I'd like to leave my wet clothes here to dry while I'm gone. I'll be back in the morning with my father."
 
"All right," said Samuel Jarvis, "but I wish you'd come bright an' early. Me an' this lunkhead, Ike, my nephew, ain't used to great cities, an' me bein' of an inquirin' turn o' mind we'll be anxious to see all that's to be seed in Frankfort."
 
"Don't you fear," replied Harry, full of gratitude, "I'll be back soon in the morning."
 
"But don't furgit one thing," continued Jarvis. "I hear there's a mighty howdy-do here about the state goin' out o' the union or stayin' in it. The mountains are jest hummin' with talk about the question, but don't make me take any part in it. Me an' this lunkhead, Ike, my nephew, are here jest to sell logs, not to decide the fate o' states."
 
"I'll remember that, too," said Harry, as he shook hands warmly with both of them, left the raft, climbed the bank and entered Frankfort.
 
The little town had few lights in those days and the boy moved along in the dusk, until he came near the Capitol. There he saw the flame of lamps shining from several windows, and he knew that men were still at work, striving to draw a state into the arms of the North or the South. He paused a few minutes at the corner of the lawn and drew many long, deep breaths. The soreness was almost gone from his chest. The oil with which Samuel Jarvis had kneaded his bruises was certainly wonderful, and he hoped that "Aunt Suse," who got it from the Indians, would fill out her second hundred years.
 
He reached the hotel without meeting any one whom he knew, and went up the stairway to his room, where he found his father writing at a small desk. Colonel Kenton glanced at him, and noticed at once his change of costume.
 
"What does that clothing mean, Harry?" he asked. "It's jeans, and it doesn't fit."
 
"I know it's jeans, and I know it doesn't fit, but I was mighty glad to get it, as everything else I had on was soaked with water."
 
Colonel Kenton raised his eyebrows.
 
"I was hunting the bottom of the Kentucky River," continued Harry.
 
"Fall in?"
 
"No, thrown in."
 
Colonel Kenton raised his eyebrows higher than ever.
 
Harry sat down and told him the whole story, Colonel Kenton listening intently and rarely interrupting.
 
"It was great good fortune that the men on the raft came just at the right time," he said, when Harry had finished. "There are bad mountaineers and good mountaineers—Jarvis and his nephew represent one type and Skelly the other. Skelly hates us because we drove back his band when they attacked our house. In peaceful times we could have him hunted out and punished, but we cannot follow him into his mountains now. We shall be compelled to let this pass for the present, but as your life would not be safe here you must leave Frankfort, Harry."
 
"I can't go back to Pendleton," said the boy, "and stay there, doing nothing."
 
"I had no such purpose. I know that you are bound to be in active life, and I was already meditating a longer journey for you. Listen clearly to me, Harry. The fight here is about over, and we are going to fail. It is by the narrowest of margins, but still we will fail. We who are for the South know it with certainty. Kentucky will refuse to go out of the union, and it is a great blow to us. I shall have to go back to Pendleton for a week or two and then I will take a command. But since you are bent upon service in the field, I want you to go to the East."
 
Harry's face flushed with pleasure. It was his dearest wish. Colonel Kenton, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, smiled.
 
"I fancied that you would be quite willing to go," he said. "I had a letter this morning from a man who likes you well, Colonel Leonidas Talbot. He is at Richmond and he says that President Davis, his cabinet, and all the equipment of a capital will arrive there about the last of the month. The enemy is massing before Washington and also toward the West in the Maryland and Virginia mountains. A great battle is sure to be fought in the summer and he wants you on his staff. General Beauregard, whom you knew at Charleston, is to be in supreme command. Can you leave here in a day or two for Richmond?"
 
Harry's eyes were sparkling, and the flush was still in his face.
 
"I could go in an hour," he replied.
 
"Such an abrupt departure as that is not needed. Moreover the choice of a route is of great importance and requires thought. If you were to take one of the steamers up the Ohio, say to Wheeling, in West Virginia, you would almost surely fall into the hands of the Northern troops. The North also controls about all the railway connections there are between Kentucky and Virginia."
 
"Then I must ride across the mountains."
 
"These new friends of yours who saved you from the river, are they going to stay long in Frankfort?"
 
"Not more than a day or two, I think. I gathered from what Jarvis said that they were not willing to remain long where trouble was thick."
 
"How are their sympathies placed in this great division of our people?"
 
Harry laughed.
 
"I inferred," he replied, "from what Jarvis said that they intend to keep the peace. He intimated to me that the silence of the mountains was more welcome to him than the cause of either North or South."
 
Colonel Kenton smiled again.
 
"Perhaps he is wiser than the rest of us," he said, "but in any event, I think he is our man. He will sell his logs and pull back up the Kentucky in a small boat. I gather from what you say that he came down the most southerly fork of the Kentucky, which, in a general way, is the route you wish to take. You can go with him and his nephew until they reach their home in the mountains. Then you must take a horse, strike south into the old Wilderness Road, cross the ranges into Virginia and reach Richmond. Are you willing?"
 
He spoke as father to son, and also as man to man.
 
"I'm more than willing," replied Harry. "I don't think we could choose a better way. Jarvis and his nephew, I know, will be as true as steel, and I'd like that journey in the boat."
 
"Then it's settled, provided Jarvis and his nephew are willing. We'll see them before breakfast in the morning, and now I think you'd better go to sleep. A boy who was fished out of the Kentucky only an hour or two ago needs rest."
 
Harry promptly went to bed, but sleep was long in coming. Their mission to Frankfort had failed, and action awaited his young footsteps. Virginia, the mother state of his own, was a mighty name to him, and men already believed the great war would be decided there. The mountains, too, with their wild forests and streams beckoned to him. The old, inherited blood within him made the great pulses leap. But he slept at last and dreamed of far-off things.
 
Harry and his father rose at the first silver shoot of dawn, and went quickly through the deserted street to a quiet cove in the Kentucky, where Samuel Jarvis had anchored his raft. It was a crisp morning, with a tang in the air that made life feel good. A thin curl of smoke was rising from the raft, showing that the man and his nephew were already up, and cooking in the little hut on the raft.
 
Harry stepped upon the logs and his father followed him. Jarvis was just pouring coffee from a tin pot into a tin cup, and Ike was turning over some strips of bacon in an iron skillet on an iron stove. Both of them, watchful like all mountaineers, had heard the visitors coming, but they did not look up until they were on the raft.
 
"Mornin'," called Jarvis cheerfully. "Look, Ike, it's the big fish that we hooked out of the river last night, an' he's got company."
 
"I want to thank you for saving my son's life," said the Colonel.
 
"I reckon, then, that you're Colonel George Kenton," said Jarvis. "Wa'al, you don't owe us no thanks. I'm of an inquirin' turn of mind, an' whenever I see a man or boy floatin' along in the river I always fish him out, just to see who an' what ............