Part 45 (1/2)

”But you won't go near him alone?” inquired Jane in much alarm.

”You must do as I bid you,” he replied sternly. ”Show me where he's hiding, then stay by the wagon and horses.”

”But he same as said he'd kill you.”

”You have your orders,” was his quiet reply.

She looked scared enough, but remained silent until they reached a shaded spot on the road, then said, ”If you don't want him to see you too soon, better tie here. He's around yonder, in a grove up on the hill.”

Holcroft drove to a tree by the side of the highway and again tied his horses, then took the whip from the wagon. ”Are you afraid to go with me a little way and show me just where he is?” he asked.

”No, but you oughtn' ter go.”

”Come on, then! You must mind me if you wish to keep my good will. I know what I'm about.” As in his former encounter, his weapon was again a long, tough whipstock with a leather thong attached. This he cut off and put in his pocket, then followed Jane's rapid lead up the hill.

Very soon she said, ”There's the place I saw 'im in. If you will go, I'd steal up on him.”

”Yes. You stay here.” She made no reply, but the moment he disappeared she was upon his trail. Her curiosity was much greater than her timidity, and she justly reasoned that she had little to fear.

Holcroft approached from a point whence Ferguson was expecting no danger. The latter was lying on the ground, gnawing his nails in vexation, when he first heard the farmer's step. Then he saw a dark-visaged man rus.h.i.+ng upon him. In the impulse of his terror, he drew his revolver and fired. The ball hissed near, but did no harm, and before Ferguson could use the weapon again, a blow from the whipstock paralyzed his arm and the pistol dropped to the ground. So also did its owner a moment later, under a vindictive rain of blows, until he shrieked for mercy.

”Don't move!” said Holcroft sternly, and he picked up the revolver. ”So you meant to kill me, eh?”

”No, no! I didn't. I wouldn't have fired if it hadn't been in self-defense and because I hadn't time to think.” He spoke with difficulty, for his mouth was bleeding and he was terribly bruised.

”A liar, too!” said the farmer, glowering down upon him. ”But I knew that before. What did you mean by your threats to my wife?”

”See here, Mr. Holcroft; I'm down and at your mercy. If you'll let me off I'll go away and never trouble you or your wife again.”

”Oh, no!” said Holcroft with a bitter laugh. ”You'll never, never trouble us again.”

”What, do you mean to murder me?” Ferguson half shrieked.

”Would killing such a thing as you be murder? Any jury in the land would acquit me. You ought to be roasted over a slow fire.”

The fellow tried to scramble on his knees, but Holcroft hit him another savage blow, and said, ”Lie still!”

Ferguson began to wring his hands and beg for mercy. His captor stood over him a moment or two irresolutely in his white-heated anger; then thoughts of his wife began to soften him. He could not go to her with blood on his hands--she who had taught him such lessons of forbearance and forgiveness. He put the pistol in his pocket and giving his enemy a kick, said, ”Get up!”

The man rose with difficulty.

”I won't waste time in asking any promises from YOU, but if you ever trouble my wife or me again, I'll break every bone in your body. Go, quick, before my mood changes, and don't say a word.”

As the man tremblingly untied his horse, Jane stepped out before him and said, ”I'm a little idiotic girl, am I?”

He was too thoroughly cowed to make any reply and drove as rapidly away as the ground permitted, guiding his horse with difficulty in his maimed condition.

Jane, in the exuberance of her pleasure, began something like a jig on the scene of conflict, and her antics were so ridiculous that Holcroft had to turn away to repress a smile. ”You didn't mind me, Jane,” he said gravely.

”Well, sir,” she replied, ”after showin' you the way to 'im, you oughter not grudge me seein' the fun.”