The Jucklins Part 14

"I knew everything, Bill. But I didn't want to kill him. I turned away, and walked up the road, and he came along after me on his horse. And when we were some distance away he made a slighting remark about Millie.

I wheeled around and he s.n.a.t.c.hed out a pistol and pointed it at me. I hadn't a thing, and there he was on a horse and with a pistol pointed at me. There was not a stone, nothing within reach. I was cool, I had sense, and I told him that he might have his fun, but that I would see him again. And when he had cursed me and abused me as much as he liked he rode away, leaving me standing there. I ran over to Parker's and told him that I wanted a pistol to shoot a dog with, and he gave it to me.

Then I went back to the road and waited. He had gone over to the General's, I thought, and I knew that he would come back that way. I would make him swallow his words--I knew that he didn't mean what he said about Millie--knew that he simply wanted to stir me up and have an excuse to kill me. So I waited in the road not far from Doc Etheredge's, waited a long time and at last I heard some one coming on a horse. I didn't hide; I stood in the middle of the road. A man came up, but it wasn't him; it was Etheredge. He spoke to me, asked me good-naturedly why I was standing there, and I told him that I was waiting for a dog that I wanted to kill. He turned into his gate, a short distance off, and I stood there. After a while I heard another horse, and I knew his gait--single-foot. It was Stuart. He was singing and he didn't appear to see me until he was almost on me. His horse shied. 'Who is that?' he asked, and I told him. 'And you are going to take back what you said,' I remarked as quietly as I could, 'or I'm going to kill you right here.'

He didn't say a word--he s.n.a.t.c.hed at his pistol and then I fired, and he fell forward on his horse's neck. The horse jumped and I sprang forward and caught the body and eased it to the ground--stretched it in the road and left it. But I went up to Etheredge's house and hallooed, and when he answered I told him that the dog had come and that his name was Dan Stuart, and that he would find him lying in the road. I heard him shout something, but I didn't wait for him to come out, but went into the woods and came on home. And now I've got to go."

"Go where?" I asked, facing him round as he strove to turn from me.

"To town to give myself up. Don't tell the old folks to-night. Tell them in the morning--tell them that they'll find me in jail."

I strove to restrain him; I could scarcely believe what he had told me.

I asked him if he had not been dreaming. He shook his head, pulling away from me. "If you are my friend, Bill, do as I tell you. It's all over with me now, and all I can do is to answer to the law." He caught up his hat. "Tell them at morning; make it as soft as you can--tell them how I love that girl--tell them that I am crazy. Don't hold me, Bill. I must go. G.o.d bless you."

He pulled away from me and went down stairs so easily that he made scarcely a sound. I followed him, begged him to let me go with him, but, creeping back half way up the stairs, he said: "You can be of more service to me here. Tell them and to-morrow you can see me in jail. I don't want them to come and take me there. Do as I tell you, Bill. Don't let the folks see me in jail. Go on back."

I went back to the room and sat there all night, and at morning I heard the old man unlock the smoke-house, heard his wife singing a hymn. I knew that they expected me at early breakfast, so that I could reach the school-house in time, for my new session was to begin that morning. So the sun was not risen when I went down stairs. But nature held up a pink rose in the east, and the hilltops were glowing, while the valleys were yet dark. Guinea came out of the sitting-room, and seeing me in the pa.s.sage, walking as if I were afraid of disturbing some one, laughed at me. "Why, what makes you slip along that way? You act as if you were the first one up. Why, I have already gathered you some flowers to take to school. And you won't even thank me. Why, Mr. Hawes, what on earth is the matter?"

I held up my hand. "There will be no school to-day," I said. "Don't say a word, please."

"But what's the matter?" she asked, with a look of fright.

"Come out here under the tree. Will you promise not to scream if I tell you something?"

"But what can you tell me to make me scream? Oh----"

"I'm not going to speak of myself," I broke in, fearing that she might think that I was going to tell her of my love. "Come out here, please."

She followed me to the bench under the tree and she stood there nervously gazing at me as I sat down, waiting for me to speak and yet afraid to hear me.

"What is it, please? But don't tell me anything bad--I don't want to hear anything bad."

"But you must hear this. Alf--Alf has had a quarrel with Dan Stuart. It was worse than a quarrel, and has----"

"Killed him?" she said, gazing at me. "Don't tell me anything."

She sat down beside me and hid her face. "Alf has gone to town to give himself up, and we must tell your father and mother. It wasn't murder--it was self-defence. You go and tell your mother, tell her as quietly as you can. I see your father out yonder. I will tell him. Tell her that they got into a quarrel last night."

She went away without looking back at me, without letting me see her face, and as I pa.s.sed the corner of the house I heard her talking and before I reached the old man I heard a cry from that poor old woman.

Old Lim was at the door of his "stockade," oiling the lock. "Devilish thing don't work well," he said. "A padlock is generally the best lock or the worst; you never can tell which. If I could jest git a drap of the grease into the key-hole I'd soon fix it. But it won't go in, you see. By jings, the devil has his own way about half the time, and his influence is mighty powerful the other half. Now, we're gittin' at it. I reckon we'd better go on to breakfast, though. I almost forgot that you had to go to your school. Why, man, what the deuce is the matter with you this mornin'?"

He dropped the chain to which the lock was fastened and looked steadily at me. "What's gone wrong, man?"

"I'm not going to school to-day," I answered, endeavoring to be calm.

"What's the matter? House burnt down again?"

"Worse than that, Mr. Jucklin. Alf----"

"What about him?" he broke in, nervously grabbing the chain.

"Did you know that he was in love with Millie Lundsford?" I asked, now determined to be calm.

"Well, what of it? Young folks are in and out of love with each other mighty nigh every day in this neighborhood. Is that Susan callin' me? Be there in a minute!" he shouted. "Hasn't had a row with the old General, has he?"

"No, but with Dan Stuart. They quarreled last night and fought and Dan was killed."

His shoulders drooped; he spoke not, but he jerked the chain, the gate flew open and he stepped inside and shut it with a slam; and I heard him fumbling with the fastening that held the door of the coop. I strode away as fast as I could, went to the school-house to dismiss the children and to tell them that I knew not when the session would be resumed. And when I returned everything was quiet. The old man was slowly walking up and down the spring-house path, evidently waiting for me.

"Tell me all about it," he said, when I came up; "tell me from beginnin'

to end."

And I told him just as Alf had told me. He listened with his mouth half open, rolling up his shirt-sleeves and then rolling them down again, as if he knew not what to do with himself.

"Well," he said, when I was done, "I don't know that I can blame him, poor feller, but they'll hang him."

"Do you think so?" I cried, with a start, for I had not dwelt upon that possibility; it had not occurred to me, so wrapt had I been in thinking of his own mental distress and the heart-breaking grief of his mother.

"Do you really think so?"

"I know it--just as clear to me as that sunshine. Stuart's kin folks have got money and they'll spend every cent of it to put Alf on the gallows. Etheredge don't like Alf and will spend every cent he's got; and here we are without money. Yes, they'll hang him."

"But General Lundsford--won't he stand as Alf's friend?"

The old man shook his head. "He can't, and I don't know that he would if he could. I mean that he can't and still be true to himself. Ever since our agreement, the one I told you about, he has been putty open in talkin' to me, and I know that he wanted Millie to marry Stuart. No, he's too proud to help us."

"But can he for family reasons afford not to help us? His son----"

"Don't speak of that now, if you please, sir. Are you goin' to the house?"

"I don't know. I am almost afraid to meet his mother."

"Don't be afraid of that. She won't reproach you; she knows that you had nothing to do with it--knows that he never would have killed him if he had asked your advice and followed it."

"I don't mean that--I mean that I cannot bear to look upon her grief."

"She is a Christian, sir. She is praying to her G.o.d, and whatever comes she will trust in Him. The stock that she is from has stood at the stake, sir."

We were slowly walking toward the house. Suddenly he clutched my arm with a grip that reminded me of Alf, and in a voice betraying more emotion than I had known him to show, asked whether I intended to leave him. I put my arm about him and pressed him to me, just as if he were Alf telling me of the love-trouble that lay upon his heart.

"I understand you, G.o.d bless you," he said. "Don't say a word; I understand you. Git on the mare and go to town and find out all you can.

I won't go jest now--can't stand to see my son in jail. But don't say a word, for I understand you. I reckon the neighborhood is pretty well alive over it by this time. See if they'll let him go about on bail, but I don't reckon they will, even if he did give himself up. They'll think that he done it because he must have knowed that they were bound to catch him. Go on and do whatever your jedgment tells you, and I know it will be all right."

Over the road I went, toward Purdy, and the people who had come out of their houses to speak words of encouragement to Alf and me when we were on our way to see the Aimes boys tried, now stood about their doors, gazing stupidly. At the wagon-maker's shop a crowd was gathered, and I was recognized as I drew near by young men who had met me at the General's house the night before--now so long ago, it seemed--and they came out into the road and urged me to tell them all I knew. I felt that Etheredge had already stirred in his own coloring, but I told the story of the tragedy just as I had told it to the old man; and I had gathered rein to resume my journey when a man rode up. "I'm going back to town!"

he shouted, waving his hand to a man who stood in the door of the wagon-maker's shop. I rode on and he came up beside me.

"Are you Mr. Hawes?" he asked, and when I had answered him he said: "I am Dr. Etheredge."

I bowed and he nodded with distinct coolness. He was not of happy appearance; he was lean and angular, gray beyond the demand of his years, and it struck me that he must be given to drink, not because he was gray, but because there were puffs under his eyes and broken veins where his skin was stretched over his high cheek-bones.

"A devil of an affair, this," he said. "Man met in the public highway and murdered."