When 'Bear Cat' Went Dry Part 30

The pause which ensued lay upon the small company with oppressive weight. Joe Sanders coughed and nervously cleared his throat.

"Wilt thou have this-hyar woman fer thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her, comfort her an' keep her in sickness an' in health?"

For a moment there was dead and unresponsive silence. A cold fear smote upon them all that death had intervened. Then Bear Cat, bringing his eyes back from their fixity, bent abruptly; so abruptly that his movement seemed a thing of violent threat.

"Don't ye hear?" he demanded in a strained whisper. "Speak whilst thar's breath left. Say 'I will.' Say hit speedily!"

Recalled by that sharp challenge out of his sinking consciousness, Jerry Henderson stirred and murmured faintly, "I will."

"Wilt thou have this-hyar man fer thy wedded husband ter serve, honor an' obey----"

But before the interrogation came to its period Blossom Fulkerson broke in with a prideful and willing avowal, "I will! I will!"

Turner Stacy felt icy moisture on his temples. His world seemed rocking as he stood straight again with wooden immobility.

"I p.r.o.nounces ye man an' wife."

Bear Cat turned away, walking with the stiff fashion of an automaton.

He could feel a stringent tightness like paralysis at his heart--and his limbs seemed unresponsive and heavy. Then to his ears came, on the morning breeze, that same call to arms that had stiffened Blossom into a paralysis of fear. His cramped posture relaxed, and to himself he said, "I reckon I hain't quite through yit!"

CHAPTER XVII

Blossom still knelt at the bedside with eyes of absorbed suffering and fingers that strayed flutteringly toward the bandaged head.

Bear Cat, with his hand on the latch, lingered at the door, held there by a spell which he seemed powerless to combat. His part here was played out and to remain longer was an intrusion--yet he seemed unable to go. The kneeling girl was not even conscious of his presence. For her there was no world except that little one bounded by the sides and the end of the bed upon which her lover lay dying. Her hands clasped themselves at last and her face buried itself in the coverings. She was praying.

Bear Cat saw the glimmer of the firelight on her hair and to him it was all the lost gold of his dreams. He caught the sweet graciousness of her lissome curves, and his own fingers clutched at the shirt which had become stiff with dried blood. Once she had prayed for him, he remembered--but that was before her real power of loving had burned to its fulness. Now he stood there forgotten.

He did not blame her for that forgetfulness. It only demonstrated the singleness of devotion of which she was capable; the dedication of heart which he had once hoped would be lavished on himself.

He, too, was so centered on one yearning that he was beyond the realization of lesser matters, so that the gaunt preacher came within arm's length unnoticed and laid a hand on his shoulder. Brother Fulkerson nodded toward the other room, and Turner followed him with the dumb and perfunctory abstraction of a sleep-walker.

"Now, son, ef hit hain't too late ter avail, let's hev a look at yore own hurts. Ye didn't come through totally unscathed yore own self."

Bear Cat stood apathetically and his eyes turned hungrily toward the stout part.i.tion of logs beyond which knelt the girl. It was not until the older man had spoken the second time that he replied with a flat tonelessness of voice, "My worst hurts ... hain't none ... thet ye kin aid."

"Thet's what I aims ter find out." Joel Fulkerson's manner was brisk and authoritative. "Strip off yore coat an' shirt."

Indifferently Bear Cat obeyed. Several times his lips moved without sound, while the other pressed investigating fingers over the splendidly sinewed torso and bathed away the dried blood.

"Hit looks p'intedly like ye've been seekin' ter prove them fruitless stories thet bullets kain't kill ye," observed the preacher at the end of his inspection, speaking with a somber humor. "Ye've done been shot right nigh yore heart, an' ther bullet jest glanced round a rib without penetratin'. Ye've done suffered wounds enough ter kill a half-dozen ord'nary humans--an' beyond wastin' a heap of blood ye don't seem much injured."

"I wisht," declared the young man bitterly, "ye'd done told me thet I was about ter lay down an' die. Thet's all I'm longin' fer now."

For some moments they were silent; then Joel Fulkerson's grave pupils flickered and a hint of quaver stole into his voice.

"Son, I've done spent my life in G.o.d's sarvice--unworthily yet plumb earnest, too, an' thar's been times a-plenty when hit almost looked ter me like He'd turned aside His face in wrath fer ther unregenerate sin of these-hyar hills. I've hed my big dreams, too, Turner ... an' I've seed 'em fail. Oftentimes, despairin' of ther heathenism of ther growed-ups, I've sot my hopes on ther comin' generation. If ther children could be given a new pattern of life ther whole system mout come ter betterment."

The young man had been putting on again his discarded shirt and coat, but his hands moved with the fumbling and apathetic motions of a sleep-walker. His face, turned always toward that room beyond the wall, was set in a dull immobility, yet he heard what the elder man was saying, and listened with the impatience of one whose thoughts are in travail, and whose interest for abstractions is dead. The preacher recognized this, but with a resolute effort he continued. "When _you_ war a leetle shaver I seed in yore eyes thet ye hed dreams above sordidness.... Oft-times when I watched ye gazin' off acrost the most distant ridges I 'lowed that G.o.d hed breathed a wonderful gift inter ye ... ther ability ter dream an' make them dreams come true. I seed thet ye hed _power_, power thet mout do great good or make yore name a terror ter mankind, dependin' on which way ye turned hit." An agonized groan came brokenly from the twisted lips. Bear Cat dropped into a chair and covered his eyes with trembling palms. He had faced his enemies without flinching, but after the c.u.mulative forms of torture through which he had pa.s.sed to-night, his stoicism threatened to break under the kind intentions of a talkative friend.

Still the evangelist went on: "I had visions of a new type of mountain folks--some day ... when boys like you an' gals like Blossom grew up--and wedded. Folks with all the honesty an' generosity we've got now--but with ther black hate an' suspicion gone--. Ay--an' ther cause of hit gone, too,--ther blockade stills."

Turner's nails bit into his temples as if with an effort to hold the fugitive reason in his bursting head, as the words a.s.saulted his ears.

"I've set hyar afore my fire many's ther night, a-dreamin' of some day when there'd be a grandchild on my knee ... yore child an' Blossom's ... a baby thet would be trained up right."

Suddenly Turner's silence of apathy broke and he fell to trembling, while his eyes flared wildly. "In G.o.d's name why does ye have ter taunt me in this hour with reminders of all thet I've lived fer an' lost?

Does ye reckon I kin ever fergit hit?" He broke off, then went on again with panting vehemence. "I hain't never had no dream but what was jest a part of _thet_ dream.

"Why I've stood up thar on ther ridges in ther spring when ther face of G.o.d's earth war so beautiful thet I've wondered ef His heaven could be much better--an' thet's ther sperit of ther hills thet Blossom stood fer ter me." The shaking voice gathered volume and pa.s.sion. "I've seed ther bleak misery of winter strangle all but ther breath of life hitself outen folks thet lives hyar--an' thet's what this country means ter me without Blossom! Folks knows how ter hate up hyar, but jest now, somehow, I feels thet no man in all these G.o.d-forsaken mountings kin hate life an' humanity like I hates 'em!"

Joel Fulkerson responded soberly though without reproof: "Yore man Lincoln could go right on when things was turrible black. When his own ends failed he still went on--fer others. He didn't give way ter hate.

He could go on tell he give his life hitself--fer dreams of betterin'

things thet needed betterment, an' he come from ther same blood as us."

"Wharfore in G.o.d's name does ye stand thar preachin' at me?" The young man's reaction from stunned torpor to pa.s.sion had brought with it something like the fever of madness.

"Ye knows I holds with ye es ter schools--an' all fashion of betterment--but what's them things ter me now? What I wants in this hour is ter visit on ther man thet's ruint my life ther direst punishment thet kin be meted out--an' he's cheatin' me by a-dyin'.

Listen--" He broke off and bent his head toward the wall of Blossom's room and his voice took on a queer, almost maniacal note. "Kain't ye heer her--in thar--groanin' out her heart! Let me git outen hyar.... I kain't endure hit.... I'm liable ter do even _you_ an injury ef I stays--albeit I loves ye!"

"I hates thet man in thar, too, Turner." The preacher laid a restraining hand on his companion's taut arm and sought to soothe the frenzy of wrath with the cool steadiness of his tone. "I've had need ter pray fer strength against thet hate--but I've heered ther Stacy rallyin' cry ter-night an' we've got ter hev speech."

"Speech hain't ergoin' ter mollify me. What I wants is ter hev ther things I've suffered this night paid fer. Hit's all _got_ ter be paid fer!" The inheritor of feudal instincts wheeled and burst from the room, the preacher following more slowly but still determined.

Outside Turner halted. The ordeal through which he had pa.s.sed had left him shaken in a frenzy of pa.s.sion, and he stood looking about him with the gaze of a wild beast fretting under the feral urge of blood-l.u.s.t.

With a clan easily inflamed and gathering to his call, Brother Fulkerson realized the danger of that mood. Its menace must be met and stemmed before it ran to a flood-tide of homicidal violence.

The preacher came close and spoke quietly.

"I don't know yit what tuck place ter night--over yon," he said. "I only knows I've heered acrost ther hills a sound I'd prayed I mout never hear ergin--ther cry of ther Stacys rallyin' fer battle. Ye've got power, son--power beyond ther common. What air ye goin' ter do with hit? Air ye a-goin' ter fergit yore dreams, because ther future's black afore ye? Or air ye goin' ter be big enough, since ye're denied children of yore own, ter make them dreams come true fer ther benefit of other men's children?"

Bear Cat Stacy's voice as he answered was gratingly hard and his eyes were unyielding.

"I don't know yit," he savagely announced. "I don't know yit fer sure whose a-goin' ter need punishment, but I've called on my kinsmen ter gather--an' when I knows the truth we'll be ready to deal hit out full measure."

"Ther days of feuds is past, son. Fer G.o.d's sake don't be ther backwardest man in all this evil-ridden country--you thet should be the forwardest."

But Bear Cat's hands, clenched into fists, were raised high above his head.

"My paw's in jail," he ripped out. "I hed ter go over thar ter hide out in Virginny. Ef them things hadn't come ter pa.s.s mebby I mout hev saved Blossom from her tribulation." Suddenly he fell silent. In the dim light the preacher saw his face alter to the ugly set of a gargoyle and his body come to such sudden rigidity as paralysis might have brought.

"G.o.d Almighty in heaven!" Turner exclaimed, then his words come racing in a torrent of frenzy. "I war a d.a.m.n' fool not ter hev seed hit afore!

Why air my paw in jail? Why did Kinnard Towers counsel me ter go ter Virginny an' hide out? Hit war because he war plannin' ter murder Jerry Henderson--an' he didn't dast do hit with us hyar! I knows now who needs killin' an' so holp me G.o.d, I hain't a goin' ter lay down ner sleep, ever again, until I kills him!" The eyes burned madly; the figure shook and he would have rushed off at the moment had not the preacher caught his arms and held them doggedly even though the infuriated young giant tossed him about in his efforts to free himself.

Yet for all his thinness and age, Joel Fulkerson had power in his frame--and an unshakeable determination in his heart.