Part 16 (2/2)
Sometimes we has our little arguments, but--” the lips still smiled genially; he paused and his voice was like a benediction as he went on--”but I hope we ain't got in no such serious fix that we needs regulatin' from outside. They do say that most of them fellers that got killed needed killin' pretty bad. I've lost two brothers, but I ain't kickin'.”
Weighborne saw that a withdrawal from debate would be advisable, but that this withdrawal must not seem precipitate.
”However, as a matter of argument,” he suggested, ”is any man competent to decide that his enemy needs killing?”
The judge went into his trousers-pocket and produced a twist of tobacco into which he bit generously before replying.
”Well,” he drawled, ”your enemy's the man that's goin' to decide whether you need killin'. Why don't it work both ways?”
Weighborne made no reply. One cannot argue with a set opinion. The loungers were saying nothing, but their eyes dwelt admiringly on their spokesman. At last Garvin smilingly inquired:
”You'd have to condemn rights-of-way, I reckon?”
”Only where we couldn't make individual trades,” answered my companion.
”That procedure ain't apt to be no ways popular,” reflected Judge Garvin.
”You gentlemen understand I ain't criticisin',” he a.s.sured us when we made no reply. ”If condemnation suits are brought in my co'te I ain't got no personal interests to serve. I'm jest namin' it to you, because you asked about the people's notions, that's all.”
”At least,” fenced Weighborne, ”you yourself see the advantages of development?”
It was putting a question which was almost a challenge to this leader of the old, lawless order whose baronial power we threatened. He answered it with no flicker of visible interest in his pleasant drawl.
”Well, as to that, what little property I've got would be benefited, but as an officer of the law, I reckon it wouldn't hardly be proper for me to take no sides.” A moment later he hospitably added, ”If there's any courtesy I can show you gentlemen just call on me. Where are you goin'
to stop at?”
I gazed on this lord of lies with compelled fascination. Under a crude exterior and a suavity which gave the impression of stupid good-nature he was masking bitter and intense feeling. Here was a tyrant talking with men who represented the new order and he knew as well as we that if we succeeded his carefully built scheme must topple. Our success and his could not both have life. One must perish. The power that had enriched him, a power built on murder and stealth, must go from him, leaving him only the contempt of his fellows--or he must thwart our designs. One might have expected such dissimulation in a polished diplomat moving the strategic pieces of the chessboard of some European power, but here it seemed inconceivable.
”We are on our way over to the Calloway Marcus place,” explained my companion in a casual voice.
There was no change of expression on the face of the storekeeper, though the name was one he venomously hated. One or two of the more unguarded loungers scowled in silence.
”How did you calc'late to git thar?” asked Garvin. ”It's all of two miles an' they're rough miles--mostly straight up an' down.”
”I suppose we shall have to walk,” said Weighborne.
”I'd like to take you over thar,” said the judge thoughtfully, ”I sure would, but the fact is me and Cal Marcus ain't got much in common an'--well, you understand how it is?”
We thanked him for his solicitude and at the same moment one of the henchmen drew him aside and spoke in a low voice. Garvin came back and addressed us again.
”Curt Dawson says Cal Marcus went past here this mornin', goin' to'rds town. It's an hour by sun now--he'd ought to be comin' back this way before long.”
I have spoken at length of Garvin and have given only collective notice to the group of mountaineers who loafed about the dingy store, because aside from their more savage qualities they were much like the indolent loungers one may see in any cross-roads grocery. Even viewed as feudists, and I was so new to the country that I was inclined to discount the somber and murderous stories of their ways, they were still merely the members of a human wolf pack and much alike. Only this shrewd leader stood out in personal relief.
But to this generalizing there must be one exception, and that was to be found in the person of Curt Dawson. Until he came forward and drew his chief aside, I had not noticed him and he had not emerged from his seat in a darkened corner while we had chatted. When he did come forth it was with a step at once indolent and suggestive of power. His movements were all unhurried, even graceful, but every flexing and tensing of his muscles carried a hint of potential swiftness and power. His face was unshaven and dissolute, but it retained a keen and instinctive intelligence. His gray eyes had a light in them that seemed to come from some inner source.
Curt Dawson could hardly have been more than thirty and was in the full prime of his youthful strength, hard as hickory and in the same rough fas.h.i.+on as the pines among which he had grown, commanding in appearance and pungent in personality. I found my eyes dwelling on him, and later on this scrutiny bore results. No one who had once seen this young desperado could fail to recognize him on second meeting. His manner of addressing the judge carried the a.s.surance of the confidential man, and a certain arrogance of demeanor.
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