Part 8 (1/2)

”Afore G.o.d Almighty,” he ripped out in conclusion, ”kin any man comprehend ther sneakin', low-down meanness of a feller thet seeks ter terrify somebody sich fas.h.i.+on es thet? He don't das't disclose hisself and yit he seeks ter run ye off!”

”He hain't a' goin' ter run me off none--whosoever he be,” was the calm rejoinder, and Rowlett looked up quickly.

”Then ye aims ter go right ahead?”

”I aims ter go over thar ergin termorrer evenin'.... I'd go terday only I don't seek ter w'ar my welcome out.”

Rowlett nodded. His voice came with convincing earnestness.

”I told ye yestiddy thet I aimed ter wed with thet gal myself ef so be I proved lucky at sweetheartin' her. I hain't got no gay int'rest in aidin' ner abettin' ye, but yit I don't hold with no such bull-dozin'

methods. What does ye aim ter do erbout hit?”

”I aims ter pin this hyar answer on ther door whar I found ther letter at,” replied Maggard, crisply, ”An' ef hit comes ter gun-battlin' in ther bresh--I don't seek ter brag none--but ye seed me shoot yestiddy.”

Rowlett took and slowly read the defiant response which the other had pencilled and a grim smile of approval came to his face:

To whoever it consarns. I aim to stay here and go wherever I takes the notion. I aim to be as peaceable as I'm suffered to be--and as warlike as I has to be.

CAL MAGGARD.

”I wonders, now,” mused Rowlett, half-aloud, ”who that d.a.m.n craven mout be?”

Suddenly his swarthy face brightened with an idea and he volunteered: ”Let me hev thet thar paper. I won't betray ter no man what's in hit but mebby I mout compare them words with ther handwrite of some fellers I knows--an' git at ther gist of the matter, thet fas.h.i.+on.”

It seemed a slender chance yet a possibility. A man who was everywhere acquainted might make use of it, whereas the stranger himself could hardly hope to do so.

But as Maggard thrust the note forward in compliance he took second thought--and withdrew it.

”No,” he said, slowly. ”I'm obleeged ter ye--but ye mout lose this hyar paper an' like es not, I'll hev need of hit herea'tter.”

With evident disappointment Rowlett conceded the argument by a nod of his head.

”Mebby ye're right,” he said. ”But anyhow we'd better s'arch round about. Ef thar's a shoe-print left anywheres in ther mud or any sich-like thing, I'd be more like ter know what hit denotes then what a stranger would.”

Together they went up and down the road, studying the dusty and rock-strewn surface with backwoods eyes to which little things were more illuminating than large print.

They circled back of the ruined stockade and raked the rising laurel tangles with searching scrutiny. Finally Rowlett, who was several paces in advance, beckoned to the other and gave a low whistle of discovery.

Behind a low rock the thick gra.s.s was downpressed as though some huge rabbit had been huddled there.

”Some person's done fixed hisself a nestie hyar--ter spy on yore dwellin' house,” he confidently a.s.serted, then as he stood studying the spot he reached into the matted tangle and drew out a hand closed on some small object.

For a moment he held it open before his own eyes, then tossed over to Maggard a broken peanut sh.e.l.l.

Neither of them made any comment just then, but as they turned away Rowlett murmured, as though to himself:

”Of course, _any_ feller kin eat peanuts.”