the retreat from hotel helicon was picturesque in the extreme. there had been much difficulty in finding vehicles to take the retiring guests down the mountain to the railway station, but tolliver had come to the rescue with a mule, a horse, a cart, and an ox. these, when added to the rather incongruous collection of wagons and carts from every other available source, barely sufficed. tolliver led the mule with ferris on its back, while miss crabb and miss stackpole occupied the ox-cart, the former acting as driver.
“good-bye and good luck to ye!” the sheriff called after them. “mighty sorry ter discommode ye, but juty air juty, an’ a officer air no respecter of persons.”
mrs. nancy jones black sat beside crane in a rickety wagon, and between jolts gave him many a word of wisdom on the subject of strong drink, which the handsome bourbon poet stowed away for future consideration.
dunkirk and miss moyne rode upon the “hounds” of a naked wood-wain, as happy as two blue-birds in april, while bartley hubbard, with little mrs. philpot and her child and some other ladies, was in an old weather-beaten barouche, a sad relic of the ante-bellum times. for the rest there were vehicles of every sort save the comfortable sort, and all went slowly[139] winding and zig-zagging down mt. boab toward the valley and the river. why pursue them? once they all looked up from far down the slope and saw hotel helicon shining like a castle of gold in the flood of summer sunlight. its verandas were empty, its windows closed, but the flag on its wooden tower still floated bravely in the breeze, its folds appearing to touch the soft gray-blue sky.
*******
a year later crane and peck met at saratoga and talked over old times. at length coming down to the present, crane said:
“of all of us who were guests on mt. boab, miss moyne is the only one who has found success. her story, on the heights, is in its seventieth edition.”
“oh, well,” said peck, “that goes without the saying. anybody could succeed with her chance.”
“her chance, why do you say that?”
“haven’t you heard? ah, i see that the news has not yet penetrated the wilds of kentucky. the open secret of miss moyne’s success lies in the fact that she has married her publisher.”
a silence of some minutes followed, during which crane burned his cigar very rapidly.
“what fools we were,” peck presently ventured, “to be fighting a duel about her!”
“no, sir,” said crane, with a far-away look[140] in his eyes, “no, sir, i would die for her right now.”
so the subject was dropped between them forever.
some of gaslucky’s creditors bought hotel helicon at the sheriff’s sale, but it proved a barren investment.
the house stands there now, weather-beaten and lonely on the peak of mt. boab, all tenantless and forlorn.
as to tolliver’s still-house i cannot say, but at stated intervals crane receives a small cask marked: “j’yful juice, hannel with keer,” which comes from his “pap’s uncle pete.”
