BUCK FUSON'S IDEA.
DOWN in Hepzibah, Flenton Hands and Derf had rented a store
building close under the shadow of the Court House. Furtive
grins were exchanged among those who knew; since it was expected
that, the Derf store on Little Turkey Track Mountain being a
depot for wildcat whiskey, the Derf Hands store in the
Settlement would be a station along the line of that underground
railway always necessary for the distribution of the illicit
product. At last Flenton Hands seemed about to give some shape
to that cloud of detraction which, with certain of his
neighbors, had always hung over his name. As the separation
between Lance Cleaverage and his wife continued, and appeared
likely to be permanent; as Hands felt himself in so far
justified in his hopes concerning Callista, his terror of the
man whose word was out against him increased and became fairly
morbid. This it was which drove him to Hepzibah, where the
strong arm of the law could reach, where there were such things
as peace warrants, and where fortunately, just at present, Lott
Beason, the newly elected sheriff, was his distant cousin and [322]
an old business partner, who still owed him money.
To Sheriff Beason, then, Hands went, with the statement that he
would like to be a constable, so that, as an officer of the law,
any attack Lance made on him might appear at its gravest.
"Constable," debated Beason. "That ain't so everlastin' easy;
but I can swear you in as one of my deputies, and a deputy
sheriff can pack a gun--you git you a good pistol, Flent, and
don't be ketched without it. Yes, you might as well have a peace
warrant out against the feller, too. I tell you, down in the
Settlement here we don't put up with such. You stay pretty close
to town for a spell, Flent. Hit's the safest place."
Hands got out his peace warrant, he armed himself with a pistol,
as is right and proper for an officer of the law. He followed
Beason's final suggestion as well, and stayed pretty close to
town. Lance Cleaverage was far away on Little Turkey Track
Mountain. The sense of security which Hands drew from all these
precautions loosened his tongue. Wincing at remembrance of his
former terror, he boasted of the favor with which Cleaverage's
wife regarded him; he let pass uncontradicted the statement that
he had broken up that family, and added the information that he
was going to get a divorce for Callista and marry her. [323]
Buck Fuson, working in the woolen mill, had rented a tiny shack
where the newly married pair were keeping house. One evening
when he came home, Orilla met him with a rather startling story.
She had been down to Derf's store to buy molasses and bacon for
supper.
"They was all in the back end of the room behind the boxes and
the piles of things, Buck," she told her husband. "The old
Injun, he waited on me; and when he went back with my bucket,
Injun-like, he never give them the word as to who nor what was
a-listenin', and they just kept on talkin' re-dic'lous. Flenton
was a-braggin', an' after what Callista's said to me and you, I
knowed good an' well that every word he spoke was a lie. Emmet
Provine bantered him to sell him that Cindy filly that Lance
used to own, an' give to Callista. An' Flent said no, he
wouldn't sell her for nothin'; he was a-goin' to keep the filly
an' git the woman, too. He let on like he was shore goin' to
marry Callista--talked like they wasn't sech a man as Lance
Cleaverage in the world. Then Derf peeked around and ketched
sight of me, and they all hushed. But I heard what I heard."
Buck ate awhile in silence and with a somewhat troubled
countenance.
"I reckon I've got to send word to Lance," he said finally,
looking up. "Lance Cleaverage never was one of the loud-talkin',
quarrelin' [324] kind; but he sure don't know what it is to be
scared; and I'm sartain he would take it kindly to be told of
this."
"An' yit I don't know," Rilly debated timidly from across the
table. "Looks like you men are always killin' each other up for
nothin' at all. 'Course, ef I thought Flent would be the one to
git hurt--but like as not it would be Lance. No, honey, I
wouldn't send him no word."
"You don't need to," smiled Buck rather grimly. "I have my
doubts whether he'd take the word from a gal o' yo' size; but
I'm sure a-goin' to lay for him or Sylvane and tell 'em what I
know. I'd thank anybody to do the same by me."
During the rest of the meal Buck seemed to be in deep thought;
Rilly watched him anxiously.
It was the next Saturday afternoon that Lance was down doing
some trading. About dusk Fuson, coming home from his work, found
him on the street corner preparing to get his wagon from the
public yard and make a night ride up the mountain. In these days
Lance made most of his journeyings after dark, shunning the
faces of his neighbors.
"I was sorter watchin' for ye, Lance," said his friend. "I
wanted to talk to ye--to tell ye somethin'."
Lance shot a swift glance at Fuson; but he answered promptly,
and with seeming indifference: [325]
"All right, Buck; come on down to Dowst's with me."
They walked side by side down to the tiny, dingy, deserted
office of the wagon yard. Here a small stove, crammed with the
soft coal of the region till the molten, smoky stuff dripped
from the sagging corners of the gaping door to its firebox, made
the room so intolerably warm that the window was left open. On a
high desk rudely constructed of plank, an ill-tended kerosene
lamp flared and generated evil odors. From nails upon the wall
hung harness and whips, horse blankets, and one or two articles
of male wearing-apparel. A dog-eared calendar over the desk gave
the day of the month to the blacksmith when he was forced at
long last to make out bills.
Alone together, safe from interruptions, the two young fellows
faced each other for a moment in constrained silence. Then,
hastily, awkwardly, halting and hesitating for a word now and
again. Buck gave the information which he thought was due.
"Now, that's what was said," he finally made an end when he had
repeated all that Rilly heard, and all that he himself had since
gathered from various sources, of Flenton Hands's boasting
concerning Callista Cleaverage.
Something agonized in Lance's gaze, something which looked out
desperately interrogating, brought Buck to himself with a gasp.
[326]
"Rilly and me knowed every word was lies," he hastened to add.
"We come a-past the Gentry place to see Callisty as we was on
our way down here--you remember, Lance, that day we was at yo'
house. Flenton Hands was named betwixt us, and Callisty she said
that she didn't know nothing about the man nor his doings. She
said she'd went to her gran'pappy and axed him to warn Flent off
the place, becaze she wouldn't have the sort of talk be held."
Noting the sudden relief which showed in Lance's countenance,
Fuson added, half doubtfully,
"'Course you might pay no attention to it, seein' it's all
lies."
The quiet Lance flashed a sword-like look at him that was a
revelation.
"Oh, no," he said. "The thing has got to be stopped. The only
question is, how soon and how best can I get at Flenton Hands
and stop it?"
"Lance," began the other with some hesitation, "I'm a-livin'
right here in the Settlement, and aim so to do from this on. If
you can git through without bringin' my name in, I'd be obliged
to you. If you need me, I'm ready. If you don't need me, it'll
save hard feelin's with the man that keeps the store I trade at,
and with all his kin and followin'."
"All right," agreed Lance briefly. "I won't give any names--there's
no need to." [327]
"Well, I been a studyin' on this thing right smart, and I had
sorter worked it out in my mind for you to hear the talk
yo'self--just happen in and hear Mr. Hands. Don't you reckon
that'd be the best way?" suggested Fuson.
"Yes--good as any," assented Lance. "I'm not lookin' for much
trouble with Flent Hands. Here, Jimmy," he called to the sleepy
boy who came yawning in, "you take my black horse out of the
wagon, and put a saddle on him--you've got one here, haven't
you? Put a saddle and a riding bridle on him, and tie him in the
vacant lot across from Derf & Hands's store about half-past
eight o'clock. I'll bring the saddle back when I'm through with
it."
"All right," Jimmy roused himself to assure Lance. "I'll have
Sate thar on time. Pap's got a saddle an' bridle o' yo' brother
Taylor's here, Fuson. Lance can take 'em back."
As the two friends came out shoulder to shoulder, Buck said
quietly,
"Derf, he's got it in for you, too."
Lance nodded.
"Derf ain't never forgive me because he robbed me of money," he
added, well aware that his indifference to Ola had given the
father perhaps greater offence.
They walked for a little time in silence; then Fuson said a
little wistfully,
"I 'lowed I ort to tell you." [328]
"Hit was what a friend should do," Lance agreed with him,
putting out a hand.
Presently the other spoke again, out of the dark.
"I wish't thar was time to git word to Sylvane and your father,"
he hesitated. "Looks like we've got too few on our side."
"Huh-uh, Buck," came back Lance's quiet, positive tones. "This
thing is between me and Flent. There it'll stay, and there we'll
settle it. I'm not saying that I don't think Pappy and Sylvane
would stand by me. They would. My father is one of the best men
that God ever made, and he's a religious man; but I know how
he'd feel about such as this--I don't need to go ask him. The
most I hate in it is that it's bound to bring sorrow to him,
whichever way it turns. He's mighty tender hearted."
Fuson debated a moment, but finally forbore to mention having
sent word to Sylvane, and being in hourly expectation of the
lad's coming. They went to Fuson's home for a belated supper.
Rilly found them preoccupied and unusually silent. With big,
frightened eyes she waited on them, serving her best, noting
that they paid little attention to anything saving the strong
cups of coffee provided. The young host glanced from time to
time uneasily through the window, and when the meal was over got
up, and, telling his wife that they were going down town for a
[329] spell, followed his guest out into the dark. Rilly ran after
them to the door of the little shanty, and stood breathing
unevenly and staring in the direction of their retreating
footsteps.
"I hope to the Lord they don't nothing awful happen," she
muttered over and over with chattering teeth. "I wonder will
Buck be keerful. I wish't they was something I could do. I
wish't I could go along. Oh, women do shore have a hard time in
this world!" and she retired, shivering, to her bright little
kitchen, where the lamp flared and the disordered table mutely
suggested her clearing and washing the dishes. [330]