Part 34 (2/2)

”Keep hit,” replied the sheriff, with an equal gravity. ”Hit b'longs ter _you_.”

There was a brief silence after that then Thornton said:

”This is a right grave matter ter me, Jake. Afore I decides what ter do I've got ter hev speech with some of my neighbours.”

The foreign official inclined his head.

”I hain't drapped no hint ter no man es ter what business brought me hyar,” he volunteered. ”I 'lowed ter talk with ye in private fust. I knows full well I'm amongst yore friends over hyar--an' I've got ter trust myself in yore hands. This hain't no welcome task, Ken, any way ye looks at hit.”

”I gives ye my hand, Jake,” the accused rea.s.sured his accuser, ”no harm hain't goin' ter come ter ye. Come on indoors and sot ye a cheer.”

Parish Thornton stood under the black walnut again that afternoon and with his jackknife he was carving a small basket out of one of the walnuts that had fallen at his feet. About him stood a group including the custodian of ”the peace and dignity of the Commonwealth of Virginia”

and the man who held like responsibility for the state of Kentucky.

Between the two, unexpressed but felt, lay the veiled hostility that had grown up through generations of ”crossing the border” to hide out; the hostility of conflicting jurisdictions.

Hump Doane and Jim Rowlett were there, and Aaron Capper and Lincoln Thornton--a handful who could speak with the voice of public opinion thereabouts, and while he carved industriously at his watch-charm basket, Parish Thornton glanced at the cripple.

”Mr. Doane,” he said, ”once, standin' on this identical spot, ye asked me a question thet I refused ter answer. This man hes come over hyar, now, ter answer hit fer me. Jake, tell these folks what brought ye hither.”

The sheriff cleared his throat and by way of preface remarked: ”I didn't come of my own choosin', gentlemen. Ther state of Virginny accuses Parish Thornton of ther wilful murder of John Turk. I'm high-sheriff over in Lee County whar hit tuck place.”

A grave restraint prevented any expression of surprise, but all the eyes were turned upon Thornton himself, and the accused gave back even glance for even glance.

”Now I'm goin' ter give ye my side of hit,” he began, though to give his side in full justice he would have had to reveal a secret which he had no intent of disclosing.

”My sister, Sally, married John Turk an' he abused her till she couldn't endure hit no longer. Her pride was mighty high an' she'd hev cut her tongue out afore she'd hev told her neighbours ther way she war misused--but I knowed hit.” As he paused his eyes darkened into sombre memory. ”I reasoned with John an' he blackguarded me, too, an' ferbid me ter darken his door.... Deespite thet command I feared fer her life an'

I fared over thar ... I went in at ther door an' he war a-maltreatin'

her an' chokin' her. I railed out ... an' he hurt her wusser ... hit war his life or her'n. Ef hit war all ter do over ergin I wouldn't act no different.” He paused again and no one offered a comment; so he resumed his statement: ”I hain't told ye all of hit, but I reckon thet's enough. Thar warn't no witnesses ter holp me come cl'ar an' ther co'te over thar wouldn't vouchsafe me no justice.... Hit's jedge b'longed ter John Turk's kinfolks body an' soul ... so I come away.”

”I reckon ye'd be plum daft ef ye didn't stay away,” remarked the Kentucky sheriff with a sharp and bellicose glance at his colleague from another state. ”Virginny officers hain't got no power of arrest in Kaintuck.”

The Virginian bit a trifle nervously from a twist of ”natural leaf.”

”Hit's my bounden duty, though,” he declared, staunchly, ”ter call on _you_ ter arrest him an' hold him till I gits me them extradition papers from Frankfort--an' then hit's _yore_ bounden duty ter fotch him ter ther state line an' deliver him over ter me.”

”I'm ther man thet decides what my duty is,” came the swift retort, and Thornton raised a hand to quell incipient argument.

”Thet hain't ther p'int, men,” he reminded them. ”Ther law kin reach in an' take me out finally. We all knows thet--onless I forsook my home hyar an' lived a refugee, hidin' out. Atter they once diskivered whar I was, I mout jest es well be thar es hyar.”

”Ther boy's right,” ruled Hump Doane, judicially. ”A man kain't beat ther law in ther long run.” Then the cripple wheeled on the sheriff.

”Mr. Beaver,” he said, ”we hain't got no quarrel with ye fer doin' yore plain duty, but whether ye calls this man a criminal over thar in Virginny or not we knows over hyar thet he's a G.o.dly upholder of ther law--an' we don't aim ter see him made no scape-goat fer unlawful wrath ef we kin hinder hit. In so fur es we kin legally compa.s.s. .h.i.t we stands ready ter fight ther state of Virginny from h.e.l.l ter breakfast. All he's got ter do is jest give us ther word.”

”I hain't seekin' ter contrary ye none es ter thet, Mr. Doane,” the officer gave ready a.s.surance.

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