Part 6 (2/2)
of ther Harpers and my uncle Jim Rowlett did likewise fer ther Doanes.
Both on 'em war men thet loved law-abidin' right good an' when they struck hands an' pledged a peace they aimed ter see thet hit endured--an' hit did. But till word come thet old Burrell Thornton war dead an' buried, folks didn't skeercely breathe easy nohow. They used ter keep hearin' thet he aimed ter come back an' they knowed ef he did----”
There the speaker broke off and shrugged his powerful shoulders.
A brief silence fell, and through the sunflecks and the deep woodland shadows came the little voices that were all of peace, but into Rowlett's eyes flashed a sudden-born ghost of suspicion.
”How come _you_ ter git possession of ther place hyar?” he demanded. ”Ye didn't heir hit from Old Burrell Thornton's folks, did ye?”
The new occupant was prepared for this line of interrogation and he laughed easily.
”Long erbout a year back,” he said, ”a feller named Thornton thet dwelt over thar in Virginny got inter debt ter me an' couldn't pay out. He give me a lease on this hyar place, but I didn't hev no chanst ter come over hyar an' look at hit afore now.”
Rowlett nodded a rea.s.sured head and declared heartily:
”I'm right glad ye hain't one of thet thar sorry brood. n.o.body couldn't confidence _them_.”
Rowlett, as he rekindled the pipe that had died in the ardour of his narration, studied the other through eyes studiously narrowed against the flare of his match.
The newcomer himself, lost in thought, was oblivious of this scrutiny, and it was as one speaking from revery that he launched his next inquiry.
”Ther gal thet dwells with old man Harper.... She hain't his wife, air she?”
The questioner missed the sudden tensely challenged interest that flashed in the other's eyes and the hot wave of brick-red that surged over the cheeks and neck of his visitor.
But Bas Rowlett was too adroit to betray by more than a single unguarded flash his jealous reaction to mention of the girl and he responded quietly and unemotionally enough.
”She hain't no man's wife ... yit. Old Caleb's her grandpap.”
”I've done seed some powerful comely gals in my day an' time,” mused Maggard, abstractedly, ”but I hain't nuver seed ther like of _her_ afore.”
Bas thoughtfully fingered his pipe, and when he spoke his words came soberly.
”Seein' es how ye're a stranger hyarabouts,” he suggested, ”I reckon hit hain't no more then plain charity ter forewarn ye. She's got a lavish of lovers an' thar's some several amongst 'em that's pizen mean--mean enough ter prove up vi'lent and murderous ter any new man thet comes trespa.s.sin'.”
”Oh, pshaw, thet's always liable ter happen. Anyhow, I reckon I don't have ter worrit myself 'bout thet yit.”
”Suit yoreself.” This time the native spoke dryly. ”But what ye says sounds unthoughted ter me. Ef a man's mean enough ter foller murderin'
somebody over a gal, he's more like ter do hit afore ther feller gits his holt on her then a'tterwards. When did ye see ther gal?”
Maggard shook himself like a dog roused from contented sleep and sat up straight.
”I hain't nuver seed her but jest one time, an' I hain't nuver pa.s.sed no word of speech with her,” he replied. ”When I come by ther house an'
tarried ter make my manners with ther old man, she was a-standin' in an upstairs winder lookin' out an' I seed her thar through ther branches of that big old walnuck tree. She hed on a dress thet made me think of a red-bird, an' her checks minded me right shrewdly of ivy blooms.”
”Does ye aim ter name hit ter her thet she puts ye in mind of--them things?”
”I kinderly hed hit in head ter tell her.” Suddenly Maggard's frank laugh broke out disconcertingly as he added an inquiry so direct that it caused the other to flush.
<script>