Part 1 (2/2)
”None o' that, Steve!” called the miller, sternly. ”Not hyeh. Don't hurt him now!”
Crump's face stiffened with such terror that Steve broke into a laugh.
”Well, ye air a skeery critter!” he said, contemptuously. ”I hain't goin' to hurt him, Uncl' Gabe, but he must be a plumb idgit, a-talkin'
'bout folks to thar face, 'n' him so puny an' spindlin'! You git!”
Crump picked himself up trembling--”Don't ye ever let me see ye on this side o' the river agin, now ”--and shuffled out, giving Marc.u.m one look of fear and unearthly hate.
”Convicted!” snorted Steve. ”I heerd old Steve Brayton had hired him to waylay me, 'n' I swar I believe hit's so.”
”Well, he won't hev to give him more'n a chaw o' tobaccer now,” said Gabe. ”He'll come purty near doin' hit hisseif, I reckon, ef he gits the chance.”
”Well, he kin git the chance ef I gits my leetle account settled with ole Steve Brayton fust. 'Pears like that old hog ain't satisfied shootin'
me hisself.” Stretching his arms with a yawn, Steve winked at Isom and moved to the door. The boy followed him outside.
”We're goin' fer ole Brayton about the dark o' the next moon, boy,” he said. ”He's sort o' s'picious now, 'n' we'll give him a leetle time to git tame. I'll have a bran'-new Winchester fer ye, Isom. Hit ull be like ole times agin, when Rome was hyeh. Whut's the matter, boy?” he asked, suddenly. Isom looked unresponsive, listless.
”Air ye gittin' sick agin?”
”Well, I hain't feelin' much peert, Steve.”
”Take keer o' yourself, boy. Don't git sick now. We'll have to watch Eli Crump purty close. I don't know why I hain't killed thet spyin' skunk long ago, 'ceptin' I never had a sh.o.r.e an' sartin reason fer doin 'it.”
Isom started to speak then and stopped. He would learn more first; and he let Steve go on home unwarned.
The two kept silence after Marc.u.m had gone. Isom turned away from old Gabe, and stretched himself out on the platform. He looked troubled. The miller, too, was worried.
”Jus' a hole in the groun',” he said, half to himself; ”that's whut we're all comm' to! 'Pears like we mought help one 'nother to keep out'n hit, 'stid o' holpin' 'em in.”
Brown shadows were interlacing out in the mill-pond, where old Gabe's eyes were intent. A current of cool air had started down the creek to the river. A katydid began to chant. Twilight was coming, and the miller rose.
”Hit's a comfort to know you won't be mixed up in all this devilment,”
he said; and then, as though he had found more light in the gloom: ”Hit's a comfort to know the new rider air sh.o.r.ely a-preachin' the right doctrine, 'n' I want ye to go hear him. Blood for blood-life fer a life!
Your grandad shot ole Tom Lewallen in Hazlan. Ole Jack Lewallen shot him from the bresh. Tom Stetson killed ole Jack; ole Ja.s.s killed Tom, 'n' so hit comes down, fer back as I can ricollect. I hev nuver knowed hit to fail.” The lad had risen on one elbow. His face was pale and uneasy, and he averted it when the miller turned in the door.
”You'd better stay hyeh, son, 'n' finish up the grist. Hit won't take long. Hev ye got victuals fer yer supper?”
Isom nodded, without looking around, and when old Gabe was gone he rose nervously and dropped helplessly back to the floor.
”'Pears like old Gabe knows I killed Ja.s.s,” he breathed, sullenly.
”'Pears like all of 'em knows. .h.i.t, 'n' air jus' a-tormentin' me.”
n.o.body dreamed that the boy and his old gun had ended that fight on the cliff; and without knowing it, old Gabe kept the lad in constant torture with his talk of the blood-penalty. But Isom got used to it in time, for he had shot to save his brother's life. Steve Marc.u.m treated him thereafter as an equal. Steve's friends, too, changed in manner towards him because Steve had. And now, just when he had reached the point of wondering whether, after all, there might not be one thing that old Gabe did not know, Crump had come along with the miller's story, which he had got from still another, a circuit-rider, who must know the truth. The fact gave him trouble.
”Mebbe hit's goin' to happen when I goes with Steve atter ole Brayton,”
he mumbled, and he sat thinking the matter over, until a rattle and a whir inside the mill told him that the hopper was empty. He arose to fill it, and coming out again, he heard hoof-beats on the dirt road. A stranger rode around the rhododendrons and shouted to him, asking the distance to Hazlan. He took off his hat when Isom answered, to wipe the dust and perspiration from his face, and the boy saw a white scar across his forehead. A little awestricken, the lad walked towards him.
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