A Maid of the Kentucky Hills Part 29

Just then I wished myself away. Could I have foreseen the public inquiry now afoot, I certainly would have put myself beyond reach, for Buck was to blame in this affair, and my testimony would necessarily show it.

Naturally I did not want to arouse any ill-feeling I could avoid.

Perhaps even now I might slip away un.o.bserved. But the thought was doomed even as it flashed into my mind. Bart Crawley promptly made answer.

"Me 'n' th' n.i.g.g.e.r 'n' Buck--'n' him!" pointing triumphantly at me.

Instantly every eye was turned upon me. I looked straight at Buck, calmly and steadily. His return stare was ominous, and during the brief time we held each other's eyes, I believed I read in his the message that he had waited as long as he was going to--or could.

The voice of the 'Squire, speaking in slurring accents, broke upon the silence which had fallen. He plainly was making an effort to uphold the dignity of his high office, from the painstaking way in which he delivered himself.

"Bart, ez owner o' th' defunc' animile, I 'low yo've got fus' say. Tell jes' how, 'n' w'y, this here yearlin' hoss mule wuz struck'n down daid by Buck Steele."

Mr. Crawley, holding that the relation of any incident would be imperfect shorn of the minutest circ.u.mstance preceding, as well as accompanying it, began thus:

"Well, 'Squar, this mawn'n' at feed'n' time, 'long 'bout sunup, I s'pose, ur it mought 'a' ben a bit before, I tol' my boy Tommy--my secint boy, th' one 'ith th' harelip, yo' know 'im--that I 'tended to hev shoes--"

"They 's no ust o' tellin' whut yo' et fur breakfus', Bart," broke in the magistrate, with unconscious irony. "Begin at th' time w'en yo'

entered into this here shop with yo' mule."

"Well," resumed Mr. Crawley, "I rid up to th' do' 'n' slid off o' my mule, 'n' said, 'Mawn'n', Buck, how's yo' corp'ros'ty?' kind o' churf'l lak, 'cus yo' know I don't hate n.o.body. Buck 's foolin' 'ith a wag'n tar, 'n' 'peared kind o' grumpy as if he had n't slep' good ur else some'n' he et had n't sot well with 'im. He grunted, sort o', by way o'

answer, 'n' I led my hoss mule in 'n' tol' 'im whut I wanted. They's a couple o' Hir'm Toddler's kids in here then, scratch'n' 'roun' in th'

hoof-shav'n's hunt'n' hoss-shoe nails, lak young-uns 'll do. Well, Buck didn't 'pear overanxious 'bout th' job, so to sweet'n his sperit a little I tol' 'im a joke 'bout--"

"I objec' to th' joke, Bart," interrupted the 'Squire again, in a very judicial manner, clearing his throat as he had heard the judge do in Cedarton.

"All right, 'Squar, we'll pa.s.s th' joke but it's a durn good 'n'. Well, then I tol' Buck that th' mule wuz green 'n' had never saw inside a blacksmith's shop befo', 'n' Buck 'lowed kind o' vicious lak: 'd.a.m.n th'

mule, he'd shoe 'im green ur broke!' My joke didn't 'pear to sof'n 'im one bit, but it's wuth lis'n'n' to, 'Squar. We've tol' it in our section off 'n' on fur a matter o' two year, I reck'n, 'n' ever' time it's good, sho! Well, Buck stayed grumpy 'n' got th' shoes, 'n' spite o' whut I tol' 'im he marched right up to that animile's hind parts 'n' rech down 'n' grabbed a hock same 'twuz a ol' plow-hoss. Then th' critter let drive, b'gosh! 'n' it come blame near bein' th' end o' Buck, I'm here to tell yo'! Right then Hir'm's kids skedaddled same as if a skunk 'd let loose 'n' d'rec'ly _he_ come sa'nter'n' 'long 'n' leaned ag'in th'

door." The speaker's toil-twisted forefinger again pointed straight at me. "Then I tol' Buck to be keerful, 'cus I saw he's in a' ugly way, 'n'

I tried to w'eedle 'im, kin' o' lak yo' would a spoilt kid. 'N' he did go after that hin' foot some keerfuller th' nex' time, but fus' thin'

yo' know that hin' leg riz same as a snare-saplin' 'n' th' aidge o' that hoof plowed a furrer plum' 'crost Buck's head. My guts went all trimbly w'en I seen it, 'n' my knees got weak. 'Fo' G.o.d I thought he's killed!

But no, sir! Up he riz frum whur he'd jumped back 'n' scrooched down, 'n' he paid no more min' to th' blood in 'is eyes than if it'd 'a' ben sweat. He retch back 'is fis', gen'lemen, same 't wuz a sledge-hammer, 'n' he slewed that mule! Same as Sam's'n killed th' 'Malekites in Holy Scriptur 'ith th' jaw-bone uv a jinny! Down he fell, quiv'r'n' 'n' daid!

Didn't even bresh 'is tail onct, nur snort, nur bat a' eye! That yearlin' hoss mule whut I say is wuth two hunnerd 'n' fifty dollars uv any man's money, black ur w'ite. 'N' now he's buzzard-food, not wuth haul'n' out o' this here shop. Gen'lemen, I want jestice!"

Mr. Crawley had managed to work himself up into rather a fine frenzy as he talked, and he gave a dramatic and telling ill.u.s.tration of how the mule met his end. When he concluded with a sweeping gesture entirely devoid of meaning, a quick survey of his audience showed me plainly that public sentiment was on his side. A few moments of absolute silence prevailed, broken at length by the rustling of the 'Squire's h.o.r.n.y hand as he shoved it into his pants pocket for another chew. The occasion was one which required plenty of tobacco. He gnawed off a generous portion of the plug after much head-twisting, but as he prepared to resume the investigation something happened.

The smith had remained quiet and silent during Bart's elaborate recital, but his somber eyes had never left the other man's face. With the impa.s.sioned, if crude, harangue with which Bart concluded his testimony, I noted portents of a storm. The dominant elements in Buck's nature were purely barbarian. He had suffered much of late, and self-control was something which he did not know, even remotely. Later he probably would be ashamed of the blow he had dealt the harmless thing at his feet which had been obeying its instinct in offering resistence to something which it feared. But that moment such reason as Buck habitually possessed was submerged in a black wave of hate. I saw it coming, from my position by the door. I saw flashes beneath the down-drawn lids, restrained heaving of the big, hairy chest, hands which were fists and hands alternately, and on the heavy features an expression nothing short of devilish. He waited a while after Bart finished--waited until the 'Squire had succeeded with his chew, then he took two swift steps and faced the mule owner.

"Yo' d.a.m.n dog!" he hissed. "I c'd th'ow yo' thoo that winder! I c'd wring yo' naik lak a chick'n! I c'd lay yo' 'crost that anv'l 'n' break yo' back lak a splinter o' pine, 'n' yo' know it! But yo're not wuth it!

d.a.m.n yo' 'n' yo' mule! d.a.m.n th' 'Squar! All o' yo'--to h.e.l.l with yo'!"

Accurately, deliberately, he spat a mouthful of ambier on Bart Crawley's nose, then turned and left the shop, people falling back in fright before him.

Two hours later I turned my face toward Bald k.n.o.b. The investigation was never finished, partly because it was unanimously conceded Buck was in the wrong from the manner in which he had behaved, and partly because Bart struck out at once for Cedarton to prefer charges against the smith and swear out a warrant for his arrest. The unexpected and startling denouement wrought consternation in the shop, and the opinion was given freely that Buck must be "off." Certain it is he left Hebron at once, going up the railroad, and no one followed him. The crowd instantly gathered around me with many honest, well-intentioned questions, and I told them frankly that as far as I knew Bart had told the truth. Many and divers were the comments anent Buck's queer actions, but a simmering down resulted in the generally accepted opinion that he surely was "off." I thought this, too, in a measure, although I did not speak it, for I knew things which the people of Hebron did not.

But I tarried among them for the s.p.a.ce of two hours, listening to their uncouth colloquialisms and provincial sayings; and when, finally, a game of horse-shoes started in the middle of the road just in front of the store, and a self-appointed committee of two began to ascend the hill to acquaint Father John with the only real event of the year, I started home.

I was not at ease. One of the reasons I had lingered was in the hope that Buck would return. But he didn't. The man was desperate. I could doubt it no longer. He was half crazy. Ordinarily he would have compromised with Bart. He was now simply an unchained devil, loose and bent on mischief.

My feelings were not soothed when I reached the Lodge. Pinned to the door with the same nail which had held the message was a sheet of my writing paper, and on it was a large, rude cross, traced with a finger which had been dipped in blood.

It was the third and last warning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

IN WHICH I SPAR WITH DEATH

The past week, culminating on the night in I which I sit and write with barred door and shuttered windows, has been a hard and dangerous one for me. Three times have I escaped death so narrowly it would seem Providence had a hand in the game. On no occasion was the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin visible, but I knew well chance had not aimed these well directed blows at my life. I can't understand Buck's tactics. They are hidden, merciless, savage in their deadly intention. I had not thought he would stoop to this. I had eliminated this contingency when considering my plan of action. It was incredible, but no doubt lingers in my heart to-night. Buck Steele is trying to murder me secretly, and in such a way that it would seem the result of an accident. His plots suggest the cunning of an unsettled mind, but, while it certainly is strained under the force of his mad pa.s.sion, I do not believe Buck's brain is unbalanced. He wants me out of the way, but at the same time he wants to avoid any odium, and be free to live his life here at Hebron.

He knows that if he kills me openly it will mean, at the least, exile. I have thought long and often over the problem, and I am sure I have come upon the right solution. That he does not compel a meeting which could result in a fair fight, from which no especial blame would revert to him should he prove the victor, is simply because he is afraid to undergo the risk--to accept the possibility of being killed instead of killing.

I do not mean by this that he is a coward, but his desire for Celeste has so wrought upon him that he is casting aside all chances for defeat, though his sense of honor and fair play, if he had any, goes with them.

He has become a scheming machine, and a most formidable one, I must confess. Now I will make a brief record of what has taken place the last seven days.

Sat.u.r.day night, at bedtime, I debated the question of closing the Lodge, following the discovery of the final, crimson warning. I hesitated to confess to myself that I had begun to feel fear, but something had waked within me that whispered I must be careful from that hour. I don't think I would have known this feeling had my enemy been open and fair in his movements. But it is human nature to dread the invisible terror which lurks in the dark, and I knew that I was doing the sensible thing when I barred my door and dropped the shutter of the window next my cot. I made this shutter secure by a long hook which fitted into a large staple.

Before I blew out the lamp, I looked at the other window for a long time. At last I decided that Buck could not squeeze his bulk through the opening, and went to bed.

I fell asleep quickly, although my mind was not at ease. This mental condition must have led to my waking about midnight, which was an unprecedented thing. I lay and listened. I heard something, and it was not the wind; for, though a breeze was soughing in the pines without, the sound of footsteps was distinctly audible. They paused at the door, pa.s.sed on to the closed window, paused again, then went around to the open window. Quietly I slid my hand under my pillow and drew out my revolver. Luckily, I lay facing the small opening. Otherwise I would have feared to turn, on account of the noise the act would have involved. The square aperture was barely discernible, and I judged from this the night was cloudy. Fixing my gaze on the window with the utmost intensity, I raised my weapon and waited, determining at the same time not to fire until I saw that my life was in danger. A formless shape blotted the square of less dense gloom, and for a time there was silence. I think the prowler was trying to locate me, and I breathed softly, making no sound. The wait was interminable to me, though in reality I suppose it was not over a minute. Then the shape at the window swayed from side to side, noiselessly, sank down, to reappear at once. I heard a rustling, a m.u.f.fled tattoo like a dry bean pod makes in an autumn gust, and while my mind was yet filled with wonder as to what was going to happen, the shape twisted grotesquely and I heard a slithering as of one body over another. The next instant something cold and crawly struck my upheld wrist, slid across it, and dropped with a fleshy thud on the floor. Horror gripped me then. Horror supreme and terrible. I could have shrieked had my voice not been shut in my breast. I trembled from head to foot, and icy waves swept me all over. What was that? What could it have been but----At that moment one of the most appalling and nerve-racking sounds arose that ever turned a mortal's blood to water, and his brave courage into craven cowardice. It was the hair-raising warning of an angered rattlesnake! With a snarling cry of sheer terror I sprang up in bed and fired at the window--three times before I could control my forefinger, which was acting automatically. The act was spontaneous. I did not shoot with the desire to hit anybody. None of the bullets pa.s.sed through the window, as I discovered the next morning.

Following the reports was the sound of some one running, accompanied by a second whirring rattle. Could that thing see in the dark? Was it preparing to leap upon me? When the rattling ceased this time I knew it would spring. Dashing the cover from me I threw myself toward the foot of the bed, a clammy perspiration bursting out upon me as I did so. I reached the floor. As I stretched a shaking hand toward the spot where I knew the table was, to my ears came the evil sound of the impact of the reptile's body against the edge of the cot, and its subsequent fall to the planks beneath. In the stark stillness followed the sibilant sliding of fold over fold as the monster coiled afresh--whispers of a hideous doom. My palsied fingers touched the table, and presently I was on top of it, crouching among my books and ma.n.u.scripts, feeling feebly for the lamp and the matches. Before I could make a light it sprang again, again failed to surmount the cot, and dropped back. Four matches broke in my clumsy grip, but the fifth struck. I got the lamp alight before I turned. The sight was awesome enough, but far better the visible menace than the death-dealing thing which moved in darkness. It was coiled there, just at the edge of my bed. Great, thick, fleshy, splotched folds interwoven into a sinister spiral, from the center of which arose the rattle-capped tail, now vibrating with the rapidity of an alarm bell. In front was reared the repulsive head; flat, gem-eyed. When I looked upon this world-old emblem of treachery and guile, my normal being became reestablished with a suddenness almost amounting to a wrench. Now that I saw, and knew; now that my brain could comprehend the exact situation, and handle it, I became a man once more. But I would offer no apology for my conduct the few preceding minutes. If it appears contemptible, it must remain so. But I was never nearer dead from plain, simple fright than I was during that time.

I grew calm almost at once. The snake was dazed by the light, and made no third a.s.sault, though still retaining his fighting posture, and sending out that indescribable alarm now and then. I had dropped my revolver when I threw myself from the cot, and now saw the weapon lying among the bedclothes near the foot. I was master of myself again.

Quietly stepping down, I secured the revolver, and ten seconds later it was all over. Then I opened the door and flung the carca.s.s outside, came in and barricaded the entrance again. No longer did I hesitate about the open window, but went and fastened it in the same manner I had the other. My foot struck some object. It was a pasteboard shoe box of extraordinary size. I picked it up and walked nearer the lamp. One end was slit down at the corners so that when the top was lifted it would fall, as on a hinge.

I placed the box on the table, took a stiff drink of whisky, found my pipe, and lit up. I needed bracing, for when I grasped the full significance of this foul and devilish attack, a physical nausea came.

The liquor brought a reaction, and I sat down in my nightshirt, puffing vigorously and regarding the big shoe box in a fascinated way. There were rattlesnakes about--plenty of them. I had heard them and seen them on my many journeys through the wilderness, but I had always given them undisputed possession of the especial territory they happened to be occupying when we met. Buck had caught one; a patriarch from his size.

The capture was not difficult. These reptiles' lidless eyes have a very short range of vision. A careful man with a forked stick can scotch one whenever he wishes. The transfer to a box was also simple. All of this he had done, and had then come in the middle of the night with the fell intent of dropping that thing on me, asleep. I don't think I have ever heard or read of a project equally as dastardly and devoid of all feeling. It was something the very devil would shudder to confess.

The second attempt to remove me in an apparently natural manner came Tuesday.

Sunday and Monday I kept to the plateau. I did not believe the smith had reached that point of desperation where he would shoot me down openly, and it was out of the question for me to remain a prisoner in the Lodge.

I had no doubt that I was watched, although I neither saw nor heard anything to confirm this suspicion.

I measured the rattler before burying it, and found it five feet long and four and a half inches thick at the largest part. It was of mammoth proportions for the Kentucky k.n.o.bs, where they seldom exceeded three feet in length. I was glad when the noisome thing was out of sight.

Tuesday morning the thought came to me that perhaps Buck had fallen in the clutches of the law. I was aware of a sensation of relief at the probability, and the fact that two days and nights had pa.s.sed without any untoward manifestation would appear to render the idea altogether reasonable. Bart Crawley, furious and revengeful, had started hotfoot for the county seat Sat.u.r.day to issue a warrant. It was the duty of the sheriff or a deputy to serve it at once, and take the offender into custody. I resolved to go to Hebron and find out. I knew I was taking a great risk, for the road was lonely and secluded, and there was the thick forest to traverse before reaching Lizard Point. No man could wish for better surroundings in which to commit a hidden crime. And, however watchful I might be, I would stand no chance whatever with my life should an effort be made against it. There was not a rod of ground along the entire route where an ambush could not have been successfully laid.

The outlook was depressing, but I decided upon the venture anyway, for could I know the smith was lodged in jail, a grievous burden would be lifted from my mind.

There were no precautions I could take before starting forth. I simply bore my stout stick in my left hand, and kept my right in the side pocket of my coat, clasping the handle of my revolver. That was all I could do. A sense of foolhardiness enveloped me as I strode down from the plateau along the tree-bordered, vine-grown way. Would a truly well balanced person thus jeopardize his life? Most likely he would not. But a certain recklessness of spirit had come upon me, begotten of the Dryad's cruel absence, my long wait, and the abrupt aggressiveness of Buck. When a man's temperament becomes surcharged with a sentiment of this color, you may look for him to do things which had not even bordered his existence in saner moods. As I proceeded without molestation, a sort of dogged defiance gained ascendency and my head went higher, while my face became set in a mask of determination.

I saw no one. I heard nothing but the peaceful sounds of Nature and her creatures. Surely Buck was in the toils, or he never would have let this golden opportunity go by unemployed. When I came to the tree-bridge my apprehensions had vanished; I did not dread the remainder of the journey. I was conscious of a sharp shock of pain when I looked at the still empty house where Celeste lived. Had I yielded to the importunity of the eager voices which began to clamor in my soul at the sight, I speedily would have become undone. I have not written of the terrific fight I have had since my sane self conquered that night on the peak, but the reason for this is that I do not want to appear absolutely silly in the eyes of those who may read these words. But it took all that was in me to hold to the hard path of sanity and common sense. My love for her of the wheat-gold hair--

Quickly I crossed the bridge and turned toward Hebron, setting my teeth on my lower lip in firm resolve, and walking rapidly.

When I came within view of the hamlet I halted and listened. No ringing sound floated across to me from the shop; the forge was still. I went on, more slowly. Everything seemed to support the theory that my enemy had been arrested. The smithy was open, but empty; the fire was dead. I pushed forward to the store. Mr. Todler (I had learned his name only the Sat.u.r.day before) was not sitting on the porch this morning, and for good reason. The sun was blazing hot, and fell squarely upon the cracker box where the storekeeper was wont to rest. It is true he might have removed the box to the other side of the door, where the sun did not reach, but this would have involved some effort. I went in. At first I thought the place vacant, and stood listening to some green flies buzzing and b.u.t.ting their foolish heads against the window panes--panes so dirty that they looked like mica. Then I saw Mr. Todler. He was stretched upon the dry goods counter in a s.p.a.ce about seven feet clear, his head resting upon a thick bolt of unbleached cotton, a newspaper over his face. Back of him were other bolts of different kinds, piled one upon another, and on top of the whole lay a tortoise-sh.e.l.l cat, slumbering peacefully. Mr. Todler was slumbering, too, but not peacefully. The store was taking care of itself.

a.s.suming that this singular person went to sleep with the expectation of being aroused should a customer perchance arrive, I removed the newspaper, hoping thus to waken him. But the sweet bonds which held him were not to be loosened so lightly. He snored on, and I found myself regarding his grimy collar, his frayed, soiled, green-and-yellow necktie--one of the ready-made kind, where you stick a band through a hole and it catches on a pin. I grasped his shoulder and shook him, for the information I sought was of the first importance. He uttered a sound which was the mingling of a grunt and a groan, and began to bat his heavy lids slowly.