Part 18 (1/2)

Saul Fulton, the star witness in Asa's trial, had disappeared, and report had it that he had gone to South America--but the record of his former testimony remained fixed in the stenographer's notes and was fully available for later use--so that his going lifted no shadow from Asa's future.

”I reckon they squshed ther indictment ergin him,” Boone commented bitterly to McCalloway, ”an' paid him off with some of thet thar blood money.”

He paused and then went on, holding his finger between the pages of the book he was studying. ”He's done fared a long way off--but, some day he'll fare back again. I stands full pledged--twell I comes of age, an'

I aims ter keep my word. Atter thet, I hain't makin' no brash promises.

Ther hate in my heart, hit don't seem ter slacken none. I mistrusts. .h.i.t won't--never.”

But if the festering grievance did not ”slacken,” at least it seemed just now partly submerged in the great adventure of going down to the world below and becoming a collegian.

He went early in the autumn when he was seventeen, and McCalloway, who accompanied and matriculated him, came away smiling. He had felt as though he were leading a wolf-cub into a kennel of blooded hounds. But when he had watched the self-poise with which his registrant bore himself and how quickly amused smiles faded away under his level gaze, he left with a rea.s.sured confidence.

When the days began to grow crisp the uncouth scholar saw for the first time the lads in leather and moleskin tackling and punting out on the campus--in the early try-outs of the season's football practice. He looked on at first with a somewhat satirical detachment, but when the scrimmages took on the guise of actual ferocity his interest altered from tepid disapproval for ”sich foolery” to a realization that it was ”no gal's play-party.”

Several afternoons later Boone shyly intercepted the coach as he led out the practice squads.

”Does thet thar football business belong ter a club--er somethin',” he inquired, ”er kin any feller git inter hit?”

The coach looked at the roughly dressed lad with the unruly hair, who talked in barbaric phrases--and his practised eye took in the sinewy strength of the well-muscled body. He appraised the power of the broad shoulders, and the slim, agile lines of waist and legs, and gave him a chance.

From the beginning it was evident that Boone Wellver would make the scrub team. He was a tornado from the instant the ball was snapped--”an injia rubber idjit on a spree,” and yet this mystifying wolf-cub from the hills came back to the coach in less than a week with an almost sullen face and announced shortly:

”I hain't goin' ter play no more football, I aims ter quit hit.”

”Quit it! Why?”

”I've been studyin' hit over,” the retiring candidate explained gloomily. ”A man thet hain't no blood kin ter me is payin' what hit costs ter send me hyar. I hain't hardly nothin' but a charity feller, nohow--an' until he says. .h.i.t's all right, I don't aim ter spend ther time he's payin' fer out hyar playin' fool games--albeit I likes. .h.i.t.”

At the solemness and the unconscious self-righteousness of the tone, a laugh went up, and Boone turned with a straight-lined mouth to meet the derisive outburst.

”But I'm out here now, though,” he added pointedly, lowering his head as does a bull about to charge, ”an' I kin stay a leetle longer. If any of you fellers, or ther whole d.a.m.n pa.s.sel of ye, thinks I'm quittin'

because I'm timorous, I'd be right glad ter take ye on hyar an'

now--fist an' skull.”

There was no acceptance of the invitation, and Boone, turning, with his shoulders straight, marched away.

But when McCalloway read his letter, he promptly responded:

”A razor is made to shave with--. Its purpose is work and only work.

Still, if it isn't honed and stropped it loses its edge. It's hardly fair to regard as wasted the time spent on keeping that edge keen. I want you to get the most out of college, and that doesn't mean only what you get out of the books. If I were you, I'd play football and play it hard.”

Boone went down the stairs, four steps at a time. He could hear the coach's whistle out on the campus and he came like a hound to the chase.

”Hi, thar!” he yelled, ”kin I git back in thet outfit? _He_ 'lows. .h.i.t's all right fer me ter play.”

Back in the hills Victor McCalloway was more than a little lonely. He began to realize how deeply this boy--at first almost a waif--had stolen into the affections of his detached life. Once or twice he went to Lexington to see how his protege progressed, and he had several brief visits from General Prince and more than several from Larry Masters.

After what seemed a very long while indeed, Boone came home for his first summer vacation.