Part 29 (1/2)
The two palms met and the fingers clasped, and into six unemotional faces flashed an unaccustomed fire.
”Thar's jest one thing more yit,” suggested the practical minded hunchback. ”Some few wild fellers on both sides of ther line air apt ter try out how strong we be ter enfo'ce our compact. Hit's kinderly like young colts plungin' ergainst a new hand on ther bridle-rein--we've got ter keep cool-headed an' patient an' ack tergether when a feller like thet shows up.”
Parish Thornton nodded, and Hump Doane took off his hat and ran his hand through his bristling hair.
”An' now,” he announced, ”we'll ride on home an' pa.s.s ther word along thet matters stands es they stud in old Caleb's day an' time.” He paused then, noting the weariness on the face of Jim Rowlett, added tentatively: ”All of us, thet is ter say, save Old Jim. He's sorely tuckered out, an' I reckon ef ye invited him ter stay ther night with ye, Mr. Thornton, hit would be a kinderly charitable act.”
”He's mighty welcome,” declared the host, heartily.
”Dorothy'll look atter him like his own daughter an' see that he gits enjoyed.”
At Jake Crabbott's store the loungers were in full attendance on the morning after Parish Thornton's ride to Hump Doane's house, and the rumours that found currency there were varied and for the most part inaccurate. But the fact that Parish Thornton had ridden through picketed woods, promulgated some sort of ultimatum and come away unharmed, had leaked through and endowed him with a fabulous sort of interest.
Young Pete Doane was there, and since he was the son of the man under whose roof the stirring drama had been staged, he a.s.sumed a magnified importance and affected a sphinx-like silence of discretion to mask his actual ignorance. Hump Doane did not confide everything he knew to this son whom he at once loved and disdained.
Young Doane stood indulging in rustic repartee with bright-eyed Elviry Prooner, a deep-bosomed Diana, who, next to Dorothy Thornton, was accounted the ”comeliest gal along siv'ral creeks.”
When Bas Rowlett joined the group, however, interest fell promptly away from Pete and centred around this more legitimate pole. But Bas turned on them all a sullenly uncommunicative face, and the idlers were quick to recognize and respect his unapproachable mood and to stand wide of his temper.
After he had bought twist tobacco and lard and salt and chocolate drops, Bas summoned Pete away from his temporary inamorata with an imperative jerk of his head and the youthful hillsman responded with the promptness of a lieutenant receiving instructions from his colonel. When the two were mounted, the son of the hunchback gained a more intimate knowledge of actual conditions than he had been able to glean at home.
”Ther upshot of ther matter's this, Pete,” declared Bas, earnestly. ”Sam Opd.y.k.e lef' thet meetin' yestidday with his mind made up ter slay this man Thornton--an' ther way things hev shaped up now, hit won't no fas.h.i.+on do. He's got ter be halted--an' I kain't afford ter be knowd in ther matter one way ner t'other. Go see him an' tell him he'll incense everybody an' bring on h.e.l.l's own mischief ef he don't hold his hand.
Tell him his chanst'll come afore long but right now, I say he's got ter _quit hit_.”
An hour later the fiery-tempered fellow, still smarting because his advice had been spurned yesterday, straightened up from the place outside his stable door where he was mending a saddle girth and listened while the envoy from Bas Rowlett preached patience.
But it was Bas himself who had coached Sam Opd.y.k.e with the incitement and inflammatory counsel which he had voiced the day before. Now the man had taken fire from the flames of his own kindling--and that fire was not easy to quench. He had been, at first, a disciple but he had converted himself and had been contemptuously treated into the bargain.
The grievance he paraded had become his own, and the nature Bas had picked for such a purpose was not an April spirit to smile in sunlight twenty-four hours after it had fulminated in storm.
Opd.y.k.e gazed glumly at his visitor, as he listened, then he lied fluently in response.
”All right. I had my say yestidday an' now I'm done. Next time ther circuit-rider holds big meetin' I'm comin' through ter ther mourners'
bench an' howl out sanctimony so loud I'll bust everybody's eardrums,”
and the big man laughed sneeringly.
Yet an hour later Opd.y.k.e was greasing and loading his squirrel gun.
When the supper dishes had been cleared away that night, Old Jim and Parish Thornton sat for a long while in the front room, and because it was a sultry night and peace had been pledged, both door and window stood open.
Dorothy sat listening while they talked, and the theme which occupied them was the joint effort that must be made on either side the old feud line for the firm enforcement of the new treaty. They discussed plans for catching in time and throttling by joint action any sporadic insurgencies by which the experimentally minded might endeavour to test their strength of leaders.h.i.+p.
”Now thet we stands in accord,” mused Old Jim, ”jestice kin come back ter ther cote-house ergin--an' ther jedge won't be terrified ter dispense hit, with me sittin' on one side of him an' you on t'other. Men hev mistrusted ther law so long es one crowd held all hits power.”
Outside along the roadside margin of deep shadow crept the figure of a man with a rifle in his hand. It was a starlit night with a sickle of new moon, neither bright nor yet densely dark, so that shapes were opaquely visible but not clear-cut or shadow-casting.
The man with the long-barrelled rifle none the less avoided the open road and edged along the protecting growth of heavy weed stalk and wild rose thicket until he came to a point where the heavier shadow of the big walnut tree blotted all shapes into blackness. There he cautiously climbed the fence, taking due account of the possible creaking-of unsteady rails.