Bill continued to thump, the palms of his big hands resting on the edge
of the box. "I'm in it," he said conclusively.
"Well, you git out of it! I ain't goin' to be bulldozed--that ain't what
I come here for."
"No, I see it ain't," said Bill. "If you're after a row you can have it
right here. You won't find a better place."
"There, there," urged the Deacon. "What's the use? Keep cool and don't
tear your shirts."
Mrs. Gray went up to Jim and took him by the arm. "You need a good
spankin' to make you good-natured," she said. "I think the Deacon has
done first rate, and you ought 'o--"
"Let go o' me," he snarled, raising his hand as if to strike her.
Bill's big boot lunged out, catching Harkey in the ribs, and if the
Deacon had not sprung to his assistance Jim would have been trampled to
pieces by the scared horse under whose feet he found himself. He was
wild with dizzy, breathless rage.
"Who hit me?" he demanded.
Bill's shapeless hulk straightened up and stood beside him as if his
pink flesh had suddenly turned to oak. Out of his fat cheeks his gray
eyes glared.
"I did. Want another?"
The Deacon and Jack came between and prevented the encounter which would
have immediately followed. Bill went on:--
"They cain't no man lay a hand on my mother and live long after it." He
was thoroughly awake now. There was no slouch to his action at that
moment, and Jim was secretly pleased to have the encounter go by.
"You come here for a fuss and you can have it, both of you," Bill went
on in unusual eloquence. "Deacon's tried to do the square thing, Emmy's
tried to do the square thing, and Serry's kep' quiet, but you've been
sour and ugly the whole time, and now it's goin' to stop."
"This ain't the last of this thing," said Jim.
"You never'll have a better time," said Bill.
Mrs. Gray and the Deacon turned in now to quiet Bill, and the settlement
went on. Jim kept close watch on the proceedings, and muttered his
dissent to his friends, but was careful not to provoke Bill further.
In dividing the harnesses they came upon a cow-bell hanging on a nail.
The Deacon jingled it as he passed. "Goes with the bell-cow," he said,
and nothing further was said of it. Jim apparently did not consider it
worth quarrelling about.
At last the work was done, a terribly hard day's work. The machines and
utensils were piled in separate places, the cattle separated, and the
grain measured. As they were about to leave, the Deacon said finally:--
"If there's any complaint to make, let's have it right now. I want this
settlement to _be_ a settlement. Is everybody satisfied?"
"I am," said Emmy. "Ain't you, Serry?"
"Why, of course," said Sarah, who was a little slower of speech. "I
think the Deacon has done first rate. I ain't a word of fault to find,
have you, Bill?"
"Nope, not an ioty," said Bill, readily.
Jim did not agree in so many words, but, as he said nothing, the Deacon
ended:--
"Well, that settles it. It ain't goin' to rain, so you can leave these
things right here till Monday. I guess I'll be gettin' out for home.
Good evening, everybody."
Emma drove away down the road with Jim, but Sarah remained to straighten
up the house. Harkey's hired hand went home with Dade Walker who
considered that walk the pleasant finish to a very interesting day's
work. She sympathized for the time with the Harkey faction.
Sunday forenoon, when Bill and Sarah drove up to the farm to put things
in order in the house, they found Ike Harkey walking around with that
queer side glance he had, studying the piles of furniture, and mentally
weighing the pigs.
He greeted them smoothly: "Yes, yes, I'm _purr_fickly satisfied,
_purr_fickly! Not a word to say--better'n I expected," he added.
Bill was not quite keen enough to perceive the insult which lay in that
final clause, and Sarah dared not inform him for fear of trouble.
As Harkey drove away, however, Bill had a dim feeling of dissatisfaction
with him.
"He's too gol-dang polite, that feller is; I don't like such
butter-mouth chaps--they'd steal the cents off'n a dead nigger's eyes."