MOUNTAIN BLOOD
THE WORKS OF
JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER
THE LAY ANTHONY MOUNTAIN BLOOD THE THREE BLACK PENNYS GOLD AND IRON JAVA HEAD THE HAPPY END LINDA CONDON |
MOUNTAIN
BLOOD
A NOVEL
BY
JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER
NEW YORK
ALFRED · A · KNOPF
1919
COPYRIGHT, 1915, 1919, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To
MY MOTHER
ONE
The fiery disk of the sun was just lifting abovethe shoulder of hills that held the city ofStenton when the Greenstream stage rolledbriskly from its depot, a dingy frame tavern, andcommenced the long journey to its high destination.The tavern was on the outskirts of town; beyond, abroad, level plain reached to a shimmering blue silhouetteof mountains printed on a silvery sky; andthe stage immediately left the paved street for thesoft, dusty country road. Stenton was not yet astir;except for an occasional maid sleepily removing themilk from gleaming marble steps, or early workmenwith swollen, sullen countenances, the streets weredeserted. The dewy freshness of morning was alreadylost in the rapidly mounting heat of the Juneday. Above the blackened willows that half hidthe waterworks an oily column of smoke waveredupward in slow, thick coils, mingling with the acidodor of ammonia from a neighboring ice manufacturingplant; a locomotive whistled harsh and persistent;the heat vibrated in visible fans above thepavement.
From the vantage point of the back porches ofStenton the sluggish maids could see the Greenstreamstage fast diminishing. The dust rose and envelopedit, until it appeared to be a ball, gilded bythe sun, rolling over the rank grey-green plain.Finally it disappeared from the vision of the awakeningcity.
It was a mountain surrey, with a top and rolledcurtains, three rigid seats, and drawn by ugly,powerful horses in highly simplified harness.At the rear a number of mailbags, already coatedwith a dun film, were securely strapped.
The driver lounged forward, skilfully pickingflies with his whip from the horses’ backs. He hada smooth countenance, deeply tanned, and pale, clearblue eyes. At his side sat a priest in black, a manpast middle age, with ashen, embittered lips, and anarrowed, chilling gaze. They were silent, contemplative;but, from the seat behi