They bent forward, scarce breathing, their mouths agape, their eyes
glinting. Finally, the major turned his head. "Did yeh hear that?" he
said hoarsely.
"No," said Peter, in a low voice. "What was it?"
The major listened for a moment. Then he turned again. "I thought I
heered somebody holler!" he explained cautiously.
They both bent forward and listened once more. Peter in the intentness
of his attitude lost his balance and was obliged to lift his foot
hastily and with noise. "S-s-sh!" hissed the major.
After a minute Peter spoke quite loudly, "Oh, shucks! I don't believe
yeh heered anythin'."
The major made a frantic downward gesture with his hand. "Shet up, will
yeh!" he said, in an angry undertone.
Peter became silent for a moment, but presently he said again, "Oh, yeh
didn't hear anythin'."
The major turned to glare at his companion in despair and wrath.
"What's th' matter with yeh? Can't yeh shet up?"
"Oh, this here ain't no use. If you're goin' in after 'im, why don't yeh
go in after 'im?"
"Well, gimme time, can't yeh?" said the major, in a growl. And, as if to
add more to this reproach, he climbed the fence that compassed the
woods, looking resentfully back at his companion.
"Well," said Peter, when the major paused.
The major stepped down upon the thick carpet of brown leaves that
stretched under the trees. He turned then to whisper, "You wait here,
will yeh?" His face was red with determination.
"Well, hol' on a minnet!" said Peter. "You--I--we'd better----"
"No," said the major. "You wait here."
He went stealthily into the thickets. Peter watched him until he grew to
be a vague, slow-moving shadow. From time to time he could hear the
leaves crackle and twigs snap under the major's awkward tread. Peter,
intent, breathless, waited for the peal of sudden tragedy. Finally, the
woods grew silent in a solemn and impressive hush that caused Peter to
feel the thumping of his heart. He began to look about him to make sure
that nothing should spring upon him from the sombre shadows. He
scrutinized this cool gloom before him, and at times he thought he could
perceive the moving of swift silent shapes. He concluded that he had
better go back and try to muster some assistance to the major.
As Peter came through the corn, the women in the road caught sight of
the glittering figure and screamed. Many of them began to run. The
little boys, with all their valour, scurried away in clouds. Mrs. Joe
Peterson, however, cast a glance over her shoulders as she, with her
skirts gathered up, was running as best she could. She instantly stopped
and, in tones of deepest scorn, called out to the others, "Why, it's
on'y Pete Witheby!" They came faltering back then, those who had been
naturally swiftest in the race avoiding the eyes of those whose limbs
had enabled them to flee a short distance.
Peter came rapidly, appreciating the glances of vivid interest in the
eyes of the women. To their lightning-like questions, which hit all
sides of the episode, he opposed a new tranquillity gained from his
sudden ascent in importance. He made no answer to their clamour. When he
had reached the top of the fence, he called out commandingly: "Here you,
Johnnie, you and George, run an' git my gun! It's hangin' on th' pegs
over th' bench in th' shop."
At this terrible sentence, a shuddering cry broke from the women. The
boys named sped down the road, accompanied by a retinue of envious
companions.
Peter swung his legs over the rail and faced the woods again. He twisted
his head once to say: "Keep still, can't yeh? Quit scufflin' aroun'!"
They could see by his manner that this was a supreme moment. The group
became motionless and still. Later, Peter turned to say, "S-s-sh!" to a
restless boy, and the air with which he said it smote them all with awe.
The little boys who had gone after the gun came pattering along
hurriedly, the weapon borne in the midst of them. Each was anxious to
share in the honour. The one who had been delegated to bring it was
bullying and directing his comrades.
Peter said, "S-s-sh!" He took the gun and poised it in readiness to
sweep the cornfield. He scowled at the boys and whispered angrily: "Why
didn't yeh bring th' powder horn an' th' thing with th' bullets in? I
told yeh t' bring 'em. I'll send somebody else next time."
"Yeh didn't tell us!" cried the two boys shrilly.
"S-s-sh! Quit yeh noise," said Peter, with a violent gesture.
However, this reproof enabled other boys to recover that peace of mind
which they had lost when seeing their friends loaded with honours.
The women had cautiously approached the fence and, from time to time,
whispered feverish questions; but Peter repulsed them savagely, with an
air of being infinitely bothered by their interference in his intent
watch. They were forced to listen again in silence to the weird and
prophetic chanting of the insects and the mystic silken rustling of the
corn.
At last the thud of hurrying feet in the soft soil of the field came to
their ears. A dark form sped toward them. A wave of a mighty fear swept
over the group, and the screams of the women came hoarsely from their
choked throats. Peter swung madly from his perch, and turned to use the
fence as a rampart.
But it was the major. His face was inflamed and his eyes were glaring.
He clutched his rifle by the middle and swung it wildly. He was bounding
at a great speed for his fat, short body.
"It's all right! it's all right!" he began to yell, some distance away.
"It's all right! It's on'y ol' Milt' Jacoby!"
When he arrived at the top of the fence, he paused and mopped his brow.
"What?" they thundered, in an agony of sudden unreasoning
disappointment.
Mrs. Joe Petersen, who was a distant connection of Milton Jacoby,
thought to forestall any damage to her social position by saying at once
disdainfully, "Drunk, I s'pose!"
"Yep," said the major, still on the fence, and mopped his brow. "Drunk
as a fool. Thunder! I was surprised. I--I--thought it was a rebel,
sure."
The thoughts of all these women wavered for a time. They were at a loss
for precise expression of their emotion. At last, however, they hurled
this superior sentence at the major:
"Well, yeh might have known."