Part 27 (1/2)
Parish Thornton turned his eyes and studiously appraised the hare-brained advocate of violence, then he said, again addressing Hump Doane:
”An' yit hit's a pity, Mr. Doane, ef you an' me kain't some fas.h.i.+on git tergither in accord. We've got ther same cravin's in our hearts, us two.”
”I come ter ye onc't afore, Mr. Thornton,” the cripple reminded him, ”an' I asked ye a question thet ye didn't see fit ter answer. Now I asks ye ter lay by one grudge, when ye calls on us ter lay by many--an' hit happens ergin thet ye don't see fit ter yield no p'int. Mebby me an' you _have_ got cravin's fer betterment in common betwixt us--but hit 'pears like thar's always one diff'rence risin' up thet balks everything else.”
CHAPTER XIX
Even the peppery Opd.y.k.e did not venture to break heatedly in on the pause that followed those regretful words. Into the minds of the majority stole a sense, vague and indefinable it is true, that a tragic impa.s.se was closing on a situation over which had flashed a rainbow gleam of possible solution. Ahead lay the future with its sinister shadows--darker because of the alternative they had glimpsed in its pa.s.sing.
Old Jim Rowlett came to his feet, and drew his thin shoulders back--shoulders that had been broad and strong enough to support heavy burdens through trying years.
”Mr. Thornton,” he said, and the aged voice held a quaver of emotion which men were not accustomed to hearing it carry, ”I wants ter talk with ye with ther severe freedom of an' old man counsellin' a young 'un--an' hit hain't ergoin' ter be in ther manner of a Doane argyfyin'
with a Harper so much es of a father advisin' with a son.”
The young Thornton met those eyes so full of eagle boldness yet so tempered with kindness, and to his own expression came a responsive flash of that winning boyishness which these men had not seen on his face before.
”Mr. Rowlett,” he made answer in a low and reverent voice, ”I hain't got no remembrance of my pappy, but I'd love ter think he favoured ye right smart.”
Slowly the low-pitched voice of the Nestor began to dominate the place, cloudy with its pipe-smoke and redolent with the stale fumes of fires long dead. Like some Hogarth picture against a sombre background the ungainly figures of men stood out of shadow and melted into it: men unkempt and tribal in their fierceness of aspect.
Old Jim made to blaze again before their eyes, with a rude and vigorous eloquence, all the ruthless bane of the toll-taking years before the truce. He stripped naked every specious claim of honour and courage with which its votaries sought to hallow the vicious system of the vendetta.
He told in words of simple force how he and Caleb Harper had striven to set up and maintain a sounder subst.i.tute, and how for the permanence of that life-work they had prayed.
”Caleb an' me,” he said at last, ”we didn't never succeed without we put by what we asked others ter forego. Yore wife's father was kilt most foully--an' Caleb looked over hit. My own boy fell in like fas.h.i.+on, an'
my blood wasn't no tamer then thet in other veins--but yit I held my hand. Ye comes ter us now, frettin' under ther sting of a wrong done ter ye--an' I don't say yore wrath hain't righteous, but ye've done been vouchsafed sich a chanst as G.o.d don't proffer ter many, an' G.o.d calls fer sacrifices from them elected ter sarve him.”
He paused there for a moment and pa.s.sed his knotted hand over the parchment-like skin of his gaunt temples, then he went on: ”Isaac offered up Jacob--or leastways he stud ready ter do hit. Ye calls on us ter trust ye an' stand with ye, an' we calls on _you_ in turn fer a pledge of faith. Fer G.o.d's sake, boy, be big enough ter bide yore time twell ther Harpers an' Doanes hev done come outen this distemper of pa.s.sion. I tells ye ye kain't do no less an' hold yore self-esteem.”
He paused, then came forward with his old hand extended and trembling in a palsy of eagerness, and despite the turmoil of a few minutes before, such a taut silence prevailed that the asthmatic rustiness of the old man's breath was an audible wheezing through the room.
The young messenger had only to lift his hand then and grasp that outheld one--and peace would have been established--yet his one free arm seemed to him more difficult to lift in a gesture of compliance than that which was bandaged down.
His own voice broke and he answered with difficulty: ”Give me a leetle spell ter ponder--I kain't answer ye off-hand.”
Thornton's eyes went over, and in the lighted doorway fell upon Bas Rowlett sitting with his features schooled to a masked and unctuous hypocrisy, but back of that disguise the wounded man fancied he could read the satisfaction of one whose plans march toward success. His own teeth clicked together and the sweat started on his temples. He had to look away--or forget every consideration other than his own sense of outrage and the oath he had sworn to avenge it.
But the features of old Jim were like the solace of a reef-light in a tempest; old Jim whose son had fallen and who had forgiven without weakness.
If what Parish knew to be duty prevailed over the pa.s.sionate tide that ran high in temptation, what then? Would he live to serve as shepherd when his undertaking under the private compact had been waived and the other man stood free to indulge his perfidy?
Finally he laid his hand on the shoulder of the veteran.
”Mr. Rowlett,” he declared, steadily, ”I've got ter ask ye ter give me full twenty-four hours afore I kin answer ye fer sartain. Will yore men agree ter hold matters es they stands twell this time termorrer?”
Jim Rowlett glanced at Hump Doane and the cripple nodded an energetic affirmation. He was hard to convince but when convinced he was done with doubt.
”I'd ruther heer Mr. Thornton talk thetaway,” he declared, crisply, ”then ter hev him answer up heedless an' over-hasty.”