Part 23 (1/2)
”Ef warfare lays ahead of us we hev need ter stand tergether solid--an'
thar's good men amongst us thet wouldn't nuver fergive affrontin' old Caleb's memory by plum lookin' over his gal's husband. Thet's my counsel, an' ef ye hain't a-goin' ter heed hit----”
The quiet voice ripped abruptly into an explosiveness under which some of them cowered as under a lash.
”Then I reckon thar'll be Thorntons an' Harpers thet _will_--an they'll fight both ther Doanes an' your crowd alike.”
CHAPTER XVI
Parish Thornton sat on the doorstep of the house gazing abstractedly upward where through soft meshes of greenery the sunlight filtered.
Here, he told himself, he ought to be happy beyond any whisper of discontent--save for the fret of his lingering weakness. Through the open door of the house came the voice of Dorothy raised in song, and the man's face softened and the white teeth flashed into a smile as he listened. Then it clouded again.
Parish Thornton did not know all the insidious forces that were working in the silences of the hills, but he divined enough to feel the brewing of a storm, which, in its bursting, might strike closer and with more shattering force than the bolt that had scarred the giant tree trunk.
Two pa.s.sions claimed his deep acknowledgment of allegiance and now they stood in conflict. One was as clear and flawlessly gracious as the arch of blue sky above him--and that was his love; the other was as wild and impetuous as the tempests which sprang to ungoverned life among these crags--and that was his hate.
When he had sworn to Bas Rowlett that the moon should not ”full again”
before he avenged his betrayal with death, he had taken that oath solemnly and, he sincerely believed, in the sight of G.o.d. It was, therefore, an oath that could be neither abandoned nor modified.
The man who must die knew, as did he himself and the heavenly witness to the compact, that his physical incapacity had been responsible for his deferred action--but now with returning strength he must make amends of promptness.
He would set out to-day on that enterprise of cleansing his conscience with performance. In killing Bas Rowlett he would be performing a virtuous act. As to that he had no misgiving, but an inner voice spoke in disturbing whispers. He could not forget Hump Doane's appeal--and prophecy of tribulation. By killing Bas now he might even loose that avalanche!
”An' yit ef I tarries a few days more,” he argued stubbornly within himself, ”hit's ergoin' ter be even wusser. I'm my own man now--an'
licensed ter ack fer myself.” He rose and stiffened resolutely, against the tide of doubt, and his fine face darkened with the blood malignity of his heritage.
He went silently into the house and began making his preparations. His pistol holster should have fitted under his left arm-pit but it was useless there now with no right hand to draw or use it. So Parish Thornton thrust it into his coat pocket on the left-hand side, and then at the door he halted in a fresh perplexity.
He could not embark on a mission that might permit of no returning without bidding Dorothy good-bye--and as he thought of that farewell his face twitched and the agate hardness wavered.
So he stood for awhile in debate with himself, the relentlessness of the executioner warring obdurately with the tenderness of the lover--and while he did so a group of three hors.e.m.e.n came into view on the highway, moving slowly toward his house.
When the trio of visitors had dismounted, an elderly man, whose face held a deadly sort of gravity, approached, introducing himself as Aaron Capper and his companions as Sim Squires and Lincoln Thornton.
”Albeit we hain't well beknowest ter one another,” Aaron reminded him, ”we're all kinfolks more or less--an' we've done rid over ter hev speech with ye cons'arnin' right sober matters.”
”Won't ye come inside an' sot ye cheers?” invited Parish, but the elder man shook his head as he wiped his perspiring and dust-caked face on the sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt.
”Ther breeze is stirrin' tol'able fresh out hyar,” suggested Aaron, ”an thet old walnuck tree casts down a right grateful shade. I'd jest es lieve talk out hyar--ef hit suits ye.”
So under the tree, where a light breeze stirred with welcome tempering across the river, the four men squatted on their heels and lighted their pipes.
”Thar hain't no profit in mincin' matters none,” began old Aaron, curtly. ”I lost me three boys when they fit ther battle of Claytown twenty y'ars back--an' now hit looks powerful like ther war's fixin' ter bust out afresh. Ef hit does I aims ter take me full toll fer tha'r killin'.”
Parish Thornton--who had ten minutes before been planning a death infliction of his own--raised his brows at this unsoftened bluntness of announcement, but he inquired of Aaron Capper as he had done of Hump Doane: ”Why does ye come ter me?”
”We comes ter ye,” Aaron gave him unambiguous answer, ”because ef ther Harpers hev got ter fight, that hain't no health in divided leaders.h.i.+ps ner dilatary delays.... Some men seems ter hold thet because ye wed with Old Caleb's gal, ye're licensed ter stand in Old Caleb's shoes ...