The Red Debt Part 8

yo'-all."

His vibrant laugh cut into her words.

"Belle-Ann Benson," he cried, glowering down upon her placid face, with one arm pointing downward across the sunlit valley, "yo' know where _they_ be. My pap an' my fo' brothers air asleep down yander under th'

willers on Pigeon Creek. They died fo' the Luttses, they ded--shot t'

pieces a fightin' fo' yo'-all!

"Who knows. .h.i.t better 'n yo'? An' this day yo'-all run th' last Orlick off en yore place. Whut fer--'cause I'm a lovin' yo'? Whut fer air yo'-all so stuck up? 'Cose yore beaut'f'l, an' 'cose yore mother wus a blue-gra.s.ser, an' 'cose yore a goin' below t' school?

"Yes, I reckon yo' an' Lem Lutts 'll be satisfied now--yo'-all run th'

last Orlick offen yore place."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Yo' know where _they_ be."]

With a vicious jerk he turned the horse's head around and spurred the animal so cruelly that it reared and plunged away down the steep, rocky trail at a gallop that threatened disaster to both horse and rider. And above the jumbled clatter of the horse's shod hoofs the echoes of Orlick's wild, defeated laugh came back to Belle-Ann's ears.

She lingered a while at the horse-block, and pondered soberly upon the advisability of acquainting the old man and Lem with Orlick's visit.

There could be only one consequence if she did this.

Presently she decided humanely to keep her own counsel, and, slipping to the ground, she walked slowly toward the cabin.

She walked slowly to allow the two unfortunate dogs tagging at her heels to keep pace with her. One was old Ben, the blind hound, the other a pup with a broken fore-leg which Belle-Ann had bolstered up with splints. As she approached the kitchen door, she beheld Slab standing in the yard, rigid, and looking at her with a beaming countenance. Slab, always an optimist, ever presented a hopeful face. But at this moment when she noted his presence with the tail of her eye, she glimpsed something so extraordinarily illuminating as straightway to pique her curiosity, and she stopped short and regarded him inquiringly. A prodigious grin now lured the corners of his mouth beyond sight; inspiring the freakish suspicion that they met at the back of his head.

"Lan's sake'--what ails yo'--Slab?" she interrogated.

The sound of her voice seemed to fuse some combustible deposit of exultation cached within him. Instantly he began leaping up and down in a most frantic and alarming manner, yelling in loud outbursts, causing the girl mentally to question his sanity.

"I tol' ye so--I tol' ye so--I tol' ye so----"

"What ails yo'-all?"

"Halliluja'--halliluja'----" he answered, keeping time with a grotesque dance.

"Slab--have yo' gone plum offin' yore haid?"

Belle-Ann watched his antics curiously. Presently he ceased this puzzling exposition as abruptly as he had startled her, and advanced, smearing the sweat over his seamed face with one gnarled hand, and she noticed that he kept the other hand concealed behind his back. His unique plaudits having subsided, he stood before her. He screwed his head around and looked furtively about, his sable features now drawn into a visage of deep and profound solemnity. He spoke in low, mysterious accents.

"Lil'le gal," he began softly, "lil'le gal,--sompin' hev drap--some mammon hev drap--some mammon, lil'le gal--drap plunk inter de ole man's han's. I got sompin' heah ter show yo'-all,--sompin' whut makes dis ole man nigh bus' wif gratatudness an' praise fo' de good Lo'd,--no--no--now yo' jest wait, honey--Slab'll show yo'--I mos' bus' when dis mammon drap down ter de ole man--drap down ter Slab, lil'le gal,--jest like olen times when de good Lo'd drap mammon down ter his starvin' chillens--de good Lo'd do sho' love dis ole n.i.g.g.ah man, same ez he do good white folks. Belle-Ann--fo' seben nights Slab, he pray jes' ez hard--he pray de good Lo'd fo' wharwithal ter buy some flannel shirts wif. I done pray fo' seben nights, lil'le gal--den las' night, er big ole owl he sot on dat sycamore, an' he call me outen ma sleep--den I snuck down dar by dat wagon-bed, an' I wait, an' when Mr. Owl say 'hoo-ho' I say 'hoo-hoo'

back--den when owl say 'hoo-ho' seben times, he goed away--Slab, he know zacly what dat mean--den I look roun' an' fine er lil'le bitty obeah-stone, an' lay it on de wagon-bed. Den dis morn'n' 'fore I goed ter de mill, I tuk er peek--but de obeah-stone war jes' zacly whar I lay him--den on ma way back jes' now, I tuk er nudder peek--obeah wus goed away. Den I look all roun' an' ma eyes see sompin' layin' clost up ter de wagon-bed--den ma han' reches down an' picks it up--an', lil'le gal, I mos' bus' wif happiness--whut yo' think I pluck, lil'le gal?--looky--looky--jes' look at dat bull, feedin' on dat green."

A triumphant, gloating grin broke over his face again, as he exhibited to the impatient girl a crisp, new five-dollar bill, with a buffalo engraved thereon.

As Belle-Ann took a bucket and gourd, and proceeded to water the flowers on the shady side of the house, a knowing smile lingered at the up-turned corners of her little red mouth. Again she was holding her own counsel.

CHAPTER VI

UPON THE ALTAR

The following morning, being Sat.u.r.day, Cap Lutts held a conclave in the cavern that concealed the illicit still. When the conference was over half a dozen men were scattered about the mountain to watch for the approach of the law, which now seemed likely.

Not until late in the day did Lutts and the boys reach the clearing and the gospel-house. By the time they had placed the last window cas.e.m.e.nt and hung the church door nightfall was near at hand.

As the old man sat rigid on a log in the clearing, at an angle where he could view the church--front, side, and bell-crowned roof--he was filled with a profound, soul-satisfying joy.

Beside him sat Lem and little Bud; and the family of three regarded the church in silent admiration, for all was now ready for the great dedication to-morrow.

The sun had turned from yellow to a crimson glory as it made for a niche in the haze-shrouded peaks. The billows of emerald, capped with frothy banks of blossoms that tumbled down from the savage heights above, grew somber as the shadows reached out and wrapped their arms about Moon mountain.

Silhouetted across the clearing, the little church contributed a quaint design.

In the cool laurel thickets a hidden chorus arose. A redbird dipped through s.p.a.ce from across the creek, and his florid wings shed a flash of blood as he forded a shaft of fleeting sunlight.

The long-drawn cry of a she-panther echoed up from the s.h.a.ggy maw of the ravine, answered straightway by the quick, broken squall of her mate, betraying an early forage plot. With magic minstrelsy issuing from the thickets the wilderness evening drifted in.

With common impulse the two boys awoke from their reverie and looked up at their father.

The joy of a moment since had gone from his eyes. As he stared in blank pathos at the church a face rose up and blotted out the vision of the belfry--the smiling face of his dead wife.

"Ef Maw had lived t' see thes, Lem!" deplored the old man in a faint voice.

"Yes, ef Maw had lived, pap!" echoed Lem.

"Ef Maw had lived!" repeated the small voice at the end of the log.

"Leastways, Maw's better off 'n we-uns, boys," consoled Cap Lutts, "'cause she air up thar whar they hain't no sorry--ner pain--ner fightin' an' killin'--an' I 'low as how Maw air a lookin' down on hit all now--on th' gawspel-house an' on we-uns, boys. An' say, boys, mebby yo' pore good Maw hain't glad like--eh? Why, I kin jest see her now--I kin see Maw now jest as plain--a smilin' an' a smilin'--an' whar----"

"Yes--so kin I," interrupted Lem reflectively.

"I kin see Maw now," supplemented little Bud.

Suddenly a look shot into the old man's eyes like the florid tongue of flame at the muzzle of a gun. Instantly it was communicated to the two brothers. If the volcanic fires reflected in the eyes of the men were terrible, the molten, satanic hatred that crossed the countenance of little Bud was appalling because of his tender years. Each knew of what the other was thinking. Each recalled that hillside fight when Big Pete Burton had again struggled to do his duty and a misdirected bullet had killed Maw Lutts.

The old man kicked viciously at a root, then pointed to the belfry.

"I kin see Maw jest this minnut," he resumed, "a smilin' an' a smilin'

an' a walkin' 'mong th' folks an' a shakin' han's like she done down Sandy thet air time th' ridin' pahson stuck fo' two weeks. I kin jest heer her now a tellin' 'em as how Gawd an' we-uns walc.u.ms every pizen sinnah in thes end o' Kaintucky--an' as how th' spurrut o' Gawd 'll he'p we-uns an' stop all th' fightin' an' killin' an' cheatin' an' lyin' an'

cussin' an' chawin' 'mong th' weemanfolk.

"Jes' wait till Sabbath day--an' thet's to-morry; jest wait till th'

ridin' pahson c.u.m t' ded'cate th' gawspel-house--I bets yo'll see a rousin', whoppin', boostin', prayin' 'vival--yo' sho' will, boys,"

promised the old man in the heat of growing antic.i.p.ation as he wafted the rebellious hair backward with a jerk of his head.

"Aw--my soul!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed little Bud.

"An' I kin tell yo' a heap sight more, boys; I kin," promised the old man, rubbing his huge hands together gloatingly. "One day nigh yo'll see th' steers a pullin' a real slappin' new organ machine into th'