Cal Maggard sat gazing into the blaze that leaped and eddied fitfully
under the blackened chimney. In one hand drooped the sheet of paper that
he had found fastened to his door and in the other the pipe which had
been forgotten and had died.
He looked over his shoulder at the door which he had left ajar. Through
its slit he could see a moonlit strip of sky, and rising slowly he
circled the room, holding the protection of the shadowy walls until he
reached and barred it. That much was his concession to the danger of the
threat, and it was the only concession he meant to make.
Into this place he had come unknown and under this roof he had slept
only one night. He had injured no man, offended no woman or child, yet
the malevolent spirit of circumstance that had made a refugee of him in
Virginia seemed to have pursued him and found him out.
Perhaps Rowlett had been right. The Harper girl was, among other
mountain women, like a moon among stars. Her local admirers might hate
and threaten one another, but against an intruder from elsewhere they
would unite as allies. Such a prize would be fought for, murdered for if
need be--but one ray of encouragement played among the clouds. Any lover
who felt confidence in his own success would not have found such tactics
needful--and if she herself were not committed, she was not yet won by
any rival. In that conclusion lay solace.
The next morning found Maggard busied about his dooryard, albeit with
his rifle standing ready to hand, and to-day he wore his shirt with the
arm-pit pistol holster under its cover.
His vigilance, too, was quietly alert, and when a mule came in sight
along the trail which looped over the ridge a half mile distant and was
promptly swallowed again by the woods, his ears followed its approach by
little sounds that would have been silent to a less sensitively trained
hearing.
It was a smallish, mouse-coloured mule that emerged at length to view
and it looked even smaller than it was because the man who straddled it
dwarfed it with his own ponderous stature and a girth which was almost
an anomaly in a country of raw-boned gauntness.
The big man slid down, and his thick neck and round face were red and
sweat-damp though the day was young and cool.
"I made a soon start this mornin'," he enlightened: "ter git me some
gryste ground, an' I didn't eat me no vittles save only a few peanuts.
I'm sich a fool 'bout them things thet most folks round hyar calls me by
ther name of 'Peanuts.'"
"I reckon I kin convenience ye with some sort of snack," Maggard assured
him. "Ef so be ye're hungry--an' kin enjoy what I've got."
Fed and refreshed, "Peanuts" Causey started on again and before he had
been long gone Bas Rowlett appeared and sent his long halloo ahead of
him in announcement of his coming.
"I jist lowed I'd ride over an' see could I tender ye any neighbourly
act," he began affably and Maggard laughed.
"Thet thar's right clever of ye," he declared. "Fer one thing, ye kin
tell me who air ther big, jobial-seeming body thet gives ther name of
Peanuts Causey. I reckon ye knows him?"
Rowlett grunted. "He's a kind of loaferer thet goes broguein' 'round
scatterin' peanut hulls an' brash talk everywhich way an' yon," he gave
enlightenment. "Folks don't esteem him no turrible plenty. Hit's all
right fer hawgs ter fatten but hit don't become a man none. Myself I
disgusts gutty fellers."
Cal Maggard had drawn out his pipe and was slowly filling it. As though
the thought were an amusing one he inquired drawlingly:
"Be he one of ther fellers thet seeks ter wed Harper's gal, too?"
At that question Rowlett snorted his disdain.
"Him? Thet tub of fat-meat? Wa'al now ye names hit ter me, I reckon he
does loiter 'round thar erbout all he das't--he's ther hang-roundin'est
feller ye ever seed--but ther only chanst he's got air fer every other
man ter fall down an' die."
"I fared over thar last night," said Maggard with a level glance at his
companion, "an' I met ther gal. She seemed right shy-like an' didn't hev
much ter say one way ner t'other."
As he spoke he searched the face of his visitor but the only expression
that it gave forth in response to the announcement was one of livened
and amiable interest. Then, after a brief pause, the Virginian laid a
hand on the elbow of his neighbour and lowered his voice.
"I wisht ye'd come inside a minute. Thar's a matter I'd love ter hev ye
counsel me erbout."
With a nod of acquiescence the visitor followed the householder through
the door, and Maggard's face grew soberly intent as he picked up a sheet
of paper from the table and held it out.
"Yestiddy ye forewarned me thet ef I went over thar I'd gain me some
enemies," he said. "Hit 'pears like ye made a right shrewd guess ...
read thet.... I found hit nailed ter my door when I come home last
night."
Hewlett took the paper and corrugated his brows over its vindictive
message; then his high cheekbones flushed and from his unshaven lips
gushed a cascade of oath-embroidered denunciation.
"Afore God Almighty," he ripped out in conclusion, "kin any man
comprehend ther sneakin', low-down meanness of a feller thet seeks ter
terrify somebody sich fashion es thet? He don't das't disclose hisself
and yit he seeks ter run ye off!"
"He hain't a' goin' ter run me off none--whosoever he be," was the calm
rejoinder, and Rowlett looked up quickly.
"Then ye aims ter go right ahead?"
"I aims ter go over thar ergin termorrer evenin'.... I'd go terday only
I don't seek ter w'ar my welcome out."
Rowlett nodded. His voice came with convincing earnestness.
"I told ye yestiddy thet I aimed ter wed with thet gal myself ef so be I
proved lucky at sweetheartin' her. I hain't got no gay int'rest in
aidin' ner abettin' ye, but yit I don't hold with no such bull-dozin'
methods. What does ye aim ter do erbout hit?"
"I aims ter pin this hyar answer on ther door whar I found ther letter
at," replied Maggard, crisply, "An' ef hit comes ter gun-battlin' in
ther bresh--I don't seek ter brag none--but ye seed me shoot yestiddy."
Rowlett took and slowly read the defiant response which the other had
pencilled and a grim smile of approval came to his face:
To whoever it consarns. I aim to stay here and go wherever I takes
the notion. I aim to be as peaceable as I'm suffered to be--and as
warlike as I has to be.
CAL MAGGARD.
"I wonders, now," mused Rowlett, half-aloud, "who that damn craven mout
be?"
Suddenly his swarthy face brightened with an idea and he volunteered:
"Let me hev thet thar paper. I won't betray ter no man what's in hit but
mebby I mout compare them words with ther handwrite of some fellers I
knows--an' git at ther gist of the matter, thet fashion."
It seemed a slender chance yet a possibility. A man who was everywhere
acquainted might make use of it, whereas the stranger himself could
hardly hope to do so.
But as Maggard thrust the note forward in compliance he took second
thought--and withdrew it.
"No," he said, slowly. "I'm obleeged ter ye--but ye mout lose this hyar
paper an' like es not, I'll hev need of hit herea'tter."
With evident disappointment Rowlett conceded the argument by a nod of
his head.
"Mebby ye're right," he said. "But anyhow we'd better s'arch round
about. Ef thar's a shoe-print left anywheres in ther mud or any
sich-like thing, I'd be more like ter know what hit denotes then what a
stranger would."
Together they went up and down the road, studying the dusty and
rock-strewn surface with backwoods eyes to which little things were more
illuminating than large print.
They circled back of the ruined stockade and raked the rising laurel
tangles with searching scrutiny. Finally Rowlett, who was several paces
in advance, beckoned to the other and gave a low whistle of discovery.
Behind a low rock the thick grass was downpressed as though some huge
rabbit had been huddled there.
"Some person's done fixed hisself a nestie hyar--ter spy on yore
dwellin' house," he confidently asserted, then as he stood studying the
spot he reached into the matted tangle and drew out a hand closed on
some small object.
For a moment he held it open before his own eyes, then tossed over to
Maggard a broken peanut shell.
Neither of them made any comment just then, but as they turned away
Rowlett murmured, as though to himself:
"Of course, _any_ feller kin eat peanuts."
All that afternoon Cal Maggard lay hidden in the thicket overlooking his
front door and, as a volunteer co-sentinel, Bas Rowlett lay in a
"laurel-hell" watching from the rear, but their vigilante was
unrewarded.
That night, though, while Maggard sat alone, smoking his pipe by his
hearth, two shadowy figures detached themselves, at separate times and
points, from the sooty tangle of the mountain woods some mile and a half
away, and met at the rendezvous of a deserted cabin whose roof was half
collapsed.
They held the shadows and avoided the moonlight and they moved like
silhouettes without visible features. They struck no matches and
conferred in low and guarded tones, squatting on their heels and
haunches in the abandoned interior.
"He went over ter Harper's house yestiddy evenin', an' he's like ter go
right soon ergin'," said one.
"All ye've got ter do air ter keep in tech with me--so any time I needs
ye I kin git ye. I hain't plum made up my mind yit."
The other shadowy and hunched figure growled unpleasantly, then bit from
a tobacco twist and spat before he answered.
"I hain't got no hankerin' fer no more laywayin's," he objected. "Ef ye
resolves that he needs killin', why don't ye do hit yoreself? Hit hain't
nothin' ter me."
"I've done told ye why I kain't handily do hit myself. Nobody hain't
ergoin'ter suspicion _you_--an' es fer what's in hit fer ye--ef so be I
calls on ye--we've done sottled that."
The other remained churlishly silent for awhile. Palpably he had little
stomach for this jackal task and it was equally obvious that he feared
refusal even more than acceptance of the stewardship.
"Hit hain't like as if I was seekin' ter fo'ce ye ter do suthin' ye
hedn't done afore," the persuasive voice reminded him, and again the
snarling response growled out its displeasure.
"No, an' ye hain't said nothin' cons'arnin' what ye knows erbout me,
nuther. Ye hain't even drapped a hint thet any time ye takes ther notion
ter talk out ter ther High-cote ye kin penitenshery me--but thet's jest
because ye knows ye don't haf ter. By God, sometimes I think's hit would
well-nigh profit me ter layway _you_ an' be shet of ye."
The second voice was purring now, with a hint of the claw-power under
the softness.
"Thet would be a right smart pity, though. Thar _is_ one other body thet
knows--an' ef so be I got kilt he'd be right speedy ter guess ther man
thet done hit--an' ther reason, too. I reckon hit'll profit ye better
ter go on bein' friends with me."
Again long silence, then grudgingly the murderer-elect rose to his feet
and nodded reluctant assent.
"So be it," he grumbled. "I gives ye my hand ter deaden him whensoever
ye says ther word. But afore we parts company let's talk ther matter
over a leetle more. I wouldn't love ter hev ye censure me for makin' no
error."
"Ther main thing," came the instruction of the employer, "air this: I
wants ter be able ter get ye quick an' hev ye ack quick--ef so be I
needs ye, no matter when that be."