Part 10 (1/2)

There was no progress made or satisfaction gained from Young Denny's short nod. Again the little man bore it as long as he was able.

”Figurin' on bein' gone quite a spell?” he ventured again.

And again the big-shouldered figure nodded a silent affirmative. Old Jerry drew himself up with an air of injured dignity at that inhospitable slight; he even took one step backward toward the door; but that one step, in the face of his consuming curiosity, was as far as he could force himself to go.

”I--I kinda thought you might be leavin'. Why, I--kinda suspicioned it this morning when I seen you ridin' townward with the Jedge.”

The boy stuffed the last article into the bulging bag and turned. Old Jerry almost believed that the lack of comprehension in Young Denny's eyes was real until he caught again that hint of amus.e.m.e.nt behind it.

But when Denny started toward him suddenly, without so much as a word, the old man retreated just as suddenly, almost apprehensively, before him.

”You say you was expectin' me,” he faltered unsteadily, ”but--but if there wa'n't anything special you wanted to see me about, I--I reckon I better be joggin' along. I just kinda dropped in, late's it was, to tell you there wa'n't no mail, and to say--to tell you----”

He stopped abruptly. He didn't like the looks of Denny Bolton's eyes.

They were different than he had ever seen them before. If their inscrutability was not actually terrifying, Old Jerry's active imagination at that moment made it so. And never before had he noted how huge the boy's body was in comparison with his own weazened frame.

He groped stealthily behind him and found the door catch. The cool touch of the metal helped him a little.

”I--I may be a trifle late--jest a trifle,” he hurried on, ”but I been hustlin' to git here--that is, ever sense about five o'clock, or thereabouts. There's been something I been wantin' to tell you. I--I jest wanted to say that I hoped it wa'n't anything I might have said or--or kinda hinted at, maybe, nights down to the Tavern, that's druv you out. That's a mighty mean, gossipy crowd down there, anyway, always kinda leadin' a man along till he gits to oversteppin' hisself a little.”

It was the first declaration of his own shortcomings that he had ever voiced, an humble confession that was more than half apology born of that afternoon's travail of spirit; but somehow it rang hopelessly inadequate in his own ears at that minute. And yet Young Denny's head came swiftly forward at the words; his eyes narrowed and he frowned as though he were trying to believe he had heard correctly. Then he laughed--laughed softly--and Old Jerry knew what that laugh meant. The boy didn't believe even when he had heard; and his slow-drawled, half-satirical question more than confirmed that suspicion.

”Wasn't at all curious, then, about this?” he inquired, with a whimsical twist to the words.

He touched his chin with the tips of his fingers. Old Jerry's treacherous lips flew open in his eagerness, and then closed barely in time upon the admission that had almost betrayed him.

He was sorry now, too, that he had even lingered to make his apology.

That disturbing glint was flaring brighter than ever in Young Denny's eyes. Merely because he was afraid to turn his back to pa.s.s out, Old Jerry stood and watched with beadily attentive eyes while the boy crossed and took a lantern from its peg on the wall behind the stove and turned up the wick and lighted it. That unexplained preparation was as fascinating to watch as its purport was veiled.

”You must be just a little curious about it--just a little bit?” Denny insisted gravely. ”I thought you'd be--and all the others, too. That's why I was waiting for you--that and something in particular that I did want to ask you, after I'd made you understand.”

If the first part of his statement was still tinged with mirth, the second could not possibly have been any more direct or earnest.

Without further explanation, one hand grasping his visitor's thin shoulder, he urged him outside and across the yard in the direction of the black bulk of the barn. The rain was still coming down steadily, but neither of them noticed it at that moment. Old Jerry would have balked at the yawning barn door but for that same hand which was directing him and urging him on. His apprehension had now turned to actual fright which bordered close on panic, and he heard the boy's voice as though it came from a great distance.

”----two or three things I'd like to have you understand and get straight,” Denny was repeating slowly, ”so that--so that if I asked you, you could see that--someone else got them straight, too.”

Old Jerry was in no mental condition to realize that that last statement was untinged by any lurking sarcasm. He was able to think of but one thing.

The hand upon his shoulder had loosened its grip. Slowly the little man turned--turned with infinite caution, and what he considered was a very capable att.i.tude of self-defense. And for a moment he refused to believe his own eyes--refused to believe that, in place of the threat of sudden death which he had expected, Young Denny was merely standing there before him, pointing with his free hand at a dark, almost damp stain upon the dusty woodwork behind the stalls. It flashed through his brain then that Denny Bolton had not merely gone the way of the other Boltons--it was not the jug alone that had stood in the kitchen corner, but something far worse than that.

”I got to humor him,” he told himself, although he was s.h.i.+vering uncontrollably. ”I got to keep a grip on myself and kinda humor him.”

And aloud, in a voice that was little more than a whisper, he murmured:

”What--what is it?”

”Couldn't you guess--if you had to?”

Denny made the suggestion with appalling calm. Old Jerry clenched his teeth to still their chattering.

”Maybe I could--maybe I could;” and his voice was a little stronger.