The right of way from North Wilkesboro’ to Greensboro’ runs through a region where every vista delights the eye with wild and romantic scenes. The rails follow the course of the upper reaches of the Yadkin River, with swift succession of vicious curves and heavy grades. The twistings of the road-bed, so advantageous for presenting the varied loveliness of the wilds, were by way of being a real torture to the young adventurer, who sat in seeming stolidity near the rear door of the smoking-car, with the black bag between his feet. Even experienced travelers found the lunges of the train trying to their nerves as it shot at speed around “hairpin” bends, or hurled itself to the fall of a steeper descent. To Zeke, who for the first time knew the roar and jolt of such travel, this trip was a fearsome thing. To sit movelessly there, while the car reeled recklessly on the edge of abysses, was a supreme trial of self-control. The racking peril fairly sickened him. A mad impulse of flight surged in him. Yet, not for worlds would he have let anyone guess his miserable alarm.

Nevertheless, one there was who apprehended in some measure the ordeal through which the mountaineer was passing happily, a kindly observer. An elderly man, across the aisle from Zeke, regarded his fellow passenger with particular intentness. It seemed to him that, in some vague way, the clean-cut face was familiar. His curiosity thus aroused, he perceived the tenseness of expression and attitude, and shrewdly suspected the truth. It was with benevolent intent, rather than for the gratification of inquisitiveness, that he finally got up and seated himself in the vacant place alongside the younger man.

Zeke’s perturbation caused him to start nervously at this advent of a stranger, but a single glance into the wrinkled, yet hale, face of the man reassured him. The visitor’s amiable character showed plainly in his dim blue eyes, which twinkled merrily. Moreover, there was a sure witness of worth in the empty sleeve, pinned to his left breast, on which showed the cross of honor. The humor lurking in the eyes was grotesquely manifested in his first address:

“This-hyar railroad hain’t no fitten one fer beginners,” he announced, with a chuckle. “Hit’s plumb likely to make a squirrel into a nut.”

Zeke smiled, somewhat ruefully. He understood the play on words since “boomer,” the mountaineers’ own name for the red squirrel, is often applied to themselves. But the distraction afforded by the garrulous veteran was a relief. A new spur was given to their mutual interest when, after telling his name, it was discovered that his father had been a company-mate with Seth Jones, the veteran, in the Twelfth North Carolina Volunteers. The old man’s curiosity was highly gratified by this explanation of the inherited likeness that had puzzled him, and he waxed reminiscent and confidential. The diversion was welcome to his listener, where doubtless many another might have found the narrative of by-gone campaigns tedious in this prolix retelling. Ultimately, indeed, the youth’s sympathies were aroused by Jones’ tale of misfortune in love, wherein his failure to write the girl he left behind him had caused her first to mourn him as dead, and eventually to marry her second choice.

“But I’ve jest got scrumptious news,” he exclaimed, his rheumy eyes suddenly clear and sparkling. “Seems as how Fanny’s a widder. So, I’m a-goin’ to try my luck, an’ no shelly-shallyin’, now I’ve got her located arter a mighty lot o’ huntin’. Yes, sir, sonny,” he concluded, with a guffaw, “old as I be, I’m a-goin’ a-courtin’. If I ever see ye ag’in, I’ll tell ye how it comes out. I s’pose I seem plumb old fer sech foolishness to a boy like you be, but some hearts keep young till they stop. I’m pretty spry fer my age, too, if I do say so as shouldn’t.”

Zeke was not so surprised by the old man’s hopes as he might have been, were it not for the example of Plutina’s grandfather, who, somewhat beyond four-score, was still scandalously lively, to the delectation of local gossip. But, though after the departure of Jones at a junction, Zeke reflected half-amusedly on the rather sere romances of these two ancient Romeos, he was far from surmising that, at the last, their amorous paths would cross.

There was still further harrowing experience for Zeke after reaching the Southern Railway’s terminal on the pier at Pinner’s Point, in Virginia, for here he was hurried aboard the ferry-boat, and was immediately appalled by the warning blast of the whistle. Few bear that strident din undismayed. This adventurer had never heard the like only the lesser warning of locomotives and the siren of a tannery across twenty miles of distance. Now, the infernal belching clamor broke in his very ears, stunning him. He quivered under the impact, stricken to the soul for seconds of shock. But the few careless eyes that chanced to scan the mountaineer noted no faltering in face or form. He stood to all appearance serenely, easily poised, his attitude replete with the grace of physical power, his mouth firmly closed, his widely-set eyes unwavering. Even the cudgel, and the black bag still dangling from it, could not offset a certain aloof dignity that masked distress by stern effort of will.

Nothing further occurred for a little to afflict the traveler’s unaccustomed nerves, and he soon found himself pleasurably absorbed in contemplation of the novel surroundings. The boat was nearing the Norfolk landing when his eyes fell on a dog, held in leash by a young woman. Both the beast and its mistress commanded his instant attention, in which wonder was the chief emotion. The dog itself was a Boston bull-terrier, which was a canine species wholly strange to the mountaineer’s experience, limited as it had been to hounds and mongrels of unanalyzable genealogy. The brute’s face had an uncanny likeness to a snub-nosed, heavy-jowled “boomer” whom Zeke detested, and he eyed the creature askance by reason of the resemblance.

“Hit’s plumb man-faced,” was his verdict. “I shore prefer ’em jest plain dawg.” His eyes went then from the leash to the girl holding it, and he hardly restrained a gasp, in which admiration was mingled with amazement. The ordinary observer would have seen only a pretty girl, of the fluffy blond type, smartly tailored in blue serge, with the skirt decorously slit. But Zeke saw a vision from another world than that of the slatternly mountain women, whose toil left them neither opportunity nor ambition for nicety in dress, which, indeed, was finally prohibited by ignorance as well as poverty. This girl stood out in startling relief, marvelous revelation from the new world he was entering. Slowly, with concentration, the young man scrutinized the vision, noting every detail, from the natty turban with its swaying feather wand to the daintily pointed ties, above which were to be glimpsed trim silk-clad ankles. Yet, the novel charm of her failed utterly to disturb the loyalty of his heart. His hungry soul found exquisite satisfaction in the spectacle of feminine refinement thus presented for the first time, but his devotion to the roughly garbed mountain girl was in no wise imperiled. On the contrary, his imagination busied itself with an effort to picture Plutina thus splendidly arrayed.

“I ’low she’s plumb handsome,” he meditated. “But, shucks! Tiny beats her holler. In them duds, she’d have her skun a mile.... But thet-thar man-faced dawg! I’d shore hate like pizen to be found daid along with thet ornery pup.”

As he mused, no hint came out of the future as to the time when, in very truth, he would be close to death, and that same dog an actor in the drama, one to be deeply esteemed, not contemned. But that time was not yet. In fact, the immediate future was not destined to remove his prejudice against the bull-terrier. On the contrary!

The fixity of Zeke’s staring penetrated the girl’s consciousness. She turned abruptly, and her blue eyes met his in a cool glance that seemed to pass through him and on, as if he were something quite invisible, altogether beneath notice. Zeke felt the rebuke keenly, though innocent of intentional offense. The instincts of gentlemanly blood from which he was somewhere distantly descended made him realize his fault in manners, though he had had no guidance from experience. The ready blush burned hot on brow and cheeks; he dropped his gaze confusedly to the dog.

Even the beast, he perceived, reprobated his conduct. It was staring up at him fiercely from red eyes, and the hackles stood erect, though it did not growl. Evidently, it resented undue attention to its mistress.

There was a movement forward of the passengers, as the ferry-boat drew into its slip. Zeke advanced with the others, following close behind the girl and the dog, which strained at the leash in order still to stare menacingly at the young man. Then, without warning, the action became swift and violent. The ferry-boat crashed against the yielding walls of the slip. Zeke, unprepared for the shock, was thrown from his balance. One of the heavy new shoes smashed down on a paw. The dog sprang and snapped. The jaws missed, because the girl tugged at the leash in the same second. Zeke instinctively kicked at the brute in self-defense. His foot took the animal fairly in the jaw, and lifted it from the floor, just as the girl turned. She cried out in shrill anger at this rough stranger’s wanton attack on her pet, for so she interpreted the event. She maintained her hold on the leash bravely, lest worse follow. But her strength was insufficient to restrain the creature of fighting breed. It lunged forward with such suddenness that both its mistress and its enemy were taken unawares. The girl was dragged in tow. Zeke would have leaped aside, but he was too late to escape the encounter, though he mitigated it. The iron jaws clanged shut, but in the slack of the victim’s sturdy jeans, instead of in the flesh. The massive mouth was locked vise-like. Because of the cloth’s sturdiness, the dog swung clear of the floor. The girl still strove frantically, though vainly, at the leash, shrieking commands which were unheeded. Zeke, confused, chagrined, ashamed, wrathful, shook himself violently to be free, without avail. The other passengers scurried forth, with a panic cry of “Mad dog!”

Zeke’s wrath mounted. He had had little training in self-restraint, and his passions were of the primitive sort. Now, abruptly, the lesser emotions were overwhelmed by the might of his rage. He was conscious only of the humiliating fact that this hideous man-faced dog had fastened itself on him, and there hung. Zeke bent and twisted, his two hands on the creature’s jaws. Then he set himself to wrench them apart. His strength, great as it was availed nothing against that remorseless grip. The resistance goaded him to fury. He gave over the effort to prise the teeth apart, and put all his might into a frenzied pull. There were instants of resistance, then the hissing noise of rending cloth. A huge fragment of the stout jeans was torn out bodily. Zeke hurled the animal violently from him. The leash was snapped from the girl’s hands. The dog’s body shot across the cabin, hurtled against the wall. The indomitable brute tumbled to the floor, and lay there stunned. But even in defeat, he carried down with him between rigid jaws the blue-jeans banner of victory.

With a bound, the girl crossed the space, and fell on her knees beside the inert form, crooning over it pitifully. In the same moment, the gust of anger in Zeke ended. He stood motionless, except for his quickened breathing, with eyes fast on the girl. Remorse stabbed him as he realized her distress, for which he was responsible. He went toward her hesitatingly, forgetful of bag and stick, which had fallen at the outset of the melee. He ventured to address her, stammering confusedly.

“I ‘low he hain’t daid, nor nothin’ like thet,” he said; “jest takin’ a nap-like.” His wrath gave a final flicker, as he looked down at the ugly face cushioned within the girl’s hands. “An ornery critter like thet-thar pup ought to be kept shet-up,” he concluded spitefully.

The girl lifted a face in which blue eyes were flaming.

“It’s you ought to be shut up, you horrible man!” she cried. “And you will be. I’ll see to that.”

“Now, don’t be plumb foolish,” Zeke expostulated. “The varmint hain’t hurt none not a mite, ma’am.”

“Beast!” the girl ejaculated, concisely.

Zeke retorted with high indignation.

“I jest nacher’ly hain’t a-goin’ to stand still an’ say ‘Thank ye!’ while I’m bein’ et up piecemeal by no dawg specially one with a face like his’n.”

He would have said more, but paused with mouth agape, eyes widening, his expression horror-stricken. For, just then, the bull-terrier snorted loudly, and unclosed its red eyes. The clenched jaws, too, relaxed. Thus released, the broad strip of jeans fluttered to the floor. Its movement caught Zeke’s gaze. He recognized the cloth. The ghastly truth burst in his brain. In an agony of embarrassment, he clasped his hands to that portion of his person so fearfully despoiled. Moved by his sudden silence, impressed perhaps by some subtle impact of this new and dreadful emotion on his part, the girl looked up. She, too, had noted subconsciously the fall of the cloth from the dog’s jaws. Now as she saw the young man’s face of fire and observed his peculiar posture, she understood. Her own crimson cheeks rivaled those of the afflicted one. She turned and bent low over her reviving pet. Her shoulders were shaking, Zeke was shuddering.