Riding with the weariness of a long convalescence, Parish Thornton
passed the house where for two days only he had made his abode, and
turned into an upward-climbing trail, gloomily forested, where the
tangle brushed his stirrups as he rode. On a "bald-knob" the
capriciousness of nature had left the lookout of an untimbered summit,
and there he drew rein and gazed down into the basin of a narrow
creek-valley a mile distant, where, in a cleared square of farm land, a
lazy thread of smoke rose from a low roof.
That house was his objective, and from here on he must drop downward
through woods which the eye could penetrate for only a few paces in any
direction; where the poison ivy and sumac grew rank and the laurel and
rhododendron made entanglements that would have disconcerted a bear. He
realized that it was a zone picketed with unseen riflemen, and advisers,
who were by no means alarmists, had told him that he could not pass
through it alive. Yet he believed there was the possibility, and upon it
he was staking everything, that so long as he rode openly and with the
audacity of seemingly nickel-plated self-confidence, these watchers by
the way would, in sheer curiosity, pass him on to those superiors within
the house from whom they took their orders.
His life hung on the correctness of that assumption, but the hazard was
a part of the game. He thrust his pistol into a broken oak where a
woodpecker had nested, then flapped his reins and clucked to his mule.
For the sake of a bold appearance he raised his voice in a spirited and
cheerful ballad, but from time to time he broke off since he had stern
need for acute listening.
The mule carried him into--and through--a gorge where day-long a shadowy
gloom hung among the fern-fringed rocks, and where the austere wildness
of dripping cliffs and forbidding woods seemed a stage set for dark and
tragic happenings.
He passed not one but several rifles as he went--he even caught the
glint of one muzzle among the waxen rhododendron leaves but pretended
not to see it, and though on him every barrel was trained, not a trigger
was pressed.
The coming of a Harper clansman whom some men called a leader to the
conclave of the Doane chieftains was so astounding a phenomenon that it
would be a pity to cut it short until its intent was made manifest. So
the sentinels along the way held their breath--and their fire.
But Thornton came at last to the place where the forest ran out into
more open woods and the "trace" widened to a sledge-trail. He drew his
horse to a standstill and hallooed loudly, for he knew that at this
point all policy of experiment must end. The showdown could no longer be
delayed. From near by in the laurel came a prompt voice of response
though the speaker remained unseen.
"Halt whar ye're at," it commanded, gruffly. "What does ye want over
hyar?"
"I aimed ter hev speech with Hump Doane," answered Thornton, unruffled,
counterfeiting a tranquil ease, and from the thicket drifted the
unintelligible mingling of two low voices in consultation. Then a second
voice spoke:
"Wait right whar ye stands at an' don't aim ter move till I tells ye ye
kin."
Punctiliously, Parish Thornton obeyed that injunction, sitting quietly
in his saddle with a meditative gaze fixed on the twitching of his
mule's ears, until after so long a time a stir in the thicket announced
the return of the messenger and a command came succinctly from an
invisible speaker.
"Hitch yore critter an' light down. Hump 'lows he'll see ye."
The door at the front of the house was closed now but when Thornton had
dismounted and knocked, it opened, and straining his eyes at the
darkness of the interior he found himself in a room cloudy with tobacco
smoke and crowded with unoccupied chairs--yet empty of any humanity save
for himself and the hunchback who stood inhospitably bulking just beyond
the threshold.
The trap to the cock-loft was open, though, and the ladder was drawn up
so Thornton knew that this seeming of vacancy was specious and that in
all likelihood gun barrels were trained from above.
"I've done come," he said, steadily, and he raised his voice so that it
would also carry to those unseen individuals whom he believed to be
concealed near by, "ter see kin us two carcumvent bloodshed. I bears due
authority from ther Thorntons and ther Harpers. We seeks ter aid ye in
diskiverin' an' punishin' ther man thet sought ter kill Jim Rowlett--if
so be ye'll meet us halfway."
For a moment there was silence in the room, then with a skeptical note
of ridicule and challenge the hunchback demanded: "Why didn't ye go ter
Jim Rowlett hisself?"
Though he had not been invited to enter Parish Thornton took a forward
step into the room, and a bold effrontery proclaimed itself in both the
words and the manner of his response.
"I've done come ter both of ye. I knows full well I'm speakin' right now
in ther hearin' of numerous men hyar--albeit they're hidin' out from
me."
Again there was silence, then Parish Thornton turned his eyes, following
the cripple's gaze, toward the open door and found himself gazing into
the muzzles of two rifles presented toward his breast. He laughed
shortly and commented, "I thought so," then glancing at the cock-loft he
saw other muzzles and in the back door which swung silently open at the
same moment yet others gave back a dull glint of iron from the sunlight,
so that he stood ringed about with levelled guns.
Hump Doane's piercing eyes bored into the face of the intruder during a
long and uneasy silence. Then when his scrutiny had satisfied itself he
asserted with a blunt directness:
"Ye hain't skeercely got no means of knowin' who's inside my house
without ye come by thet knowledge through spyin' on me."
From the darkness of the cock-loft came a passionate voice of such rabid
truculence as sounds in the throat of a dog straining at its leash.
"Jest say one word, Hump ... jest say one word an' he won't know nothin'
a minute hence!... My trigger finger's itchin' right now!"
"Hold yore cacklin' tongue, Sam Opdyke, an' lay aside thet gun," the
cripple barked back with the crack of a mule whip in his voice, and
silence again prevailed up there and fell upon the room below.
Again the householder paused and after that he decided to throw aside
futile pretence.
"Come on back in hyar, men," he gave curt order. "Thar hain't no need of
our askin' no man's lieve ter meet an' talk nohow."
Slowly and somewhat shamefacedly, if the truth must be told, the room
refilled itself and the men who trooped heavily back through the two
doors, or slid down the lowered ladder, came rifle and pistol armed.
Parish Thornton had no trouble in identifying, by the malevolence on one
face, the man who had pleaded for permission to kill him, but the last
to saunter in--and he still stood apart at the far threshold with an air
of casual detachment--was Bas Rowlett.
"Now," began Hump Doane in the overbearing tone of an inquisitor, "we
don't owe ye no explanations as ter which ner whether. We've gathered
tergether, as we hev full right ter do, because you Harpers seems hell
bent on forcin' warfare down our throats--an' we aims ter carcumvent
ye." He paused, and a murmur of general approbation gave force to his
announcement, then he added, "But hit's right p'intedly seemly fer _you_
ter give us a reason why ye comes oninvited ter my house--at sich a time
as this."
It was to old Jim Rowlett that Parish Thornton turned now, ignoring the
spokesman who had addressed him, and his voice was clear and even:
"When I come hyar from Virginny," he declared, "I didn't never seek no
leadership--an' ther Thorntons in gin'ral didn't never press me ter take
over none--but thar was men hyar thet wouldn't look on me in no other
guise, an them men war _you Doanes_."
"Us Doanes," broke out the red-eyed Opdyke, explosively, "what hev we
got ter do with yore feisty lot?"'
"Yes, you Doanes," Thornton shot back at him with a stiffening jaw.
"When ther Harpers didn't want me, and I didn't want them, _you_ men
plum fo'ced me on 'em by seekin' ter hold me accountable fer all thar
doin's. Ef I'm goin' ter be accountable, I'm likewise goin' ter be
accounted _to_! Now we've done got tergither over thar an' they've
despatched me hyar ter give ye our message an' take back yore answer."
"Thet is ter say," amended the firebrand with significant irony,
"providin' _we_ concludes ter let ye take back _any_ message _atall_."
Thornton did not turn his head but held with his eyes the faces of old
Jim and Hump Doane and it was still to them that he addressed himself.
"I'm licensed ter bind ther Harpers an' Thorntons by my words--an' my
words air plain ones. We proffers ye peace or war, whichever ye chooses:
full peace or war ter ther hinges of hell! But peace air what we wants
with all our hearts an' cravin's, an' peace hit'll be onlessen ye denies
us." He paused for a moment only, then in altered voice he reminded
them: "Ef I _don't_ go back, my death'll be all the answer they'll need
over thar--but ther guilt fer bloodshed an' what follers hit will rest
on ther Doanes henceforth. We've done our damnedest."
"We're wastin' time an' breath. Kill ther damn moon-calf an' eend hit,"
clamoured the noisy agitator with the bloodshot eyes. "They only seeks
ter beguile us with a passel of fair-seemin' lies."
"No, we hain't wastin' breath, men!" Old Jim Rowlett was on his feet
again with the faded misery of defeat gone out of his eyes and a new
light of contest kindled in them.
"Every man hyar, save a couple of clamorous fools, hes declared hisself
thet ef ther Thorntons hed a trustworthy leader, he favoured dealin'
with him. This man says they've got tergither. Let's hear him out."
A muttering chorus of dissent sounded inarticulate protest that needed
only a spokesman and Hump Doane raised his hand.
"I've done already hed speech with Mr. Thornton--who come over hyar by
another name--an' he refused ter give me any enjoyment. I misdoubts ef
he kin do much better now. Nonetheless"--he stepped forward and turned
as he spoke, swinging his glance with compelling vigour about the rough
circle of humanity--"Nonetheless he's done come, an' claims he's been
sent. Stand over thar, Mr. Thornton, in front of the chimbley--an' I
aims ter see thet ye gits yore say!"
So Parish Thornton took his place before the hearth and began an
argument that he knew to be adversely prejudged.
"Thar's grievances festerin' amongst ther men of yore crowd an' mine
alike, but warfare won't ease 'em none," he said at the end; "I've got a
grievance myself thet calls fer avengin'--but hit hain't no Harper-Doane
matter. I hadn't dwelt hyar amongst ye three days afore I was
laywayed--an' I hadn't give just offence ter no man so fur es I knows
of."
"But sence ye've done tuck up preachin' a gospel of peace," came the
sneering suggestion from the fringe of the crowd, "I reckon ye're
willin' ter lay thet grudge by like a good Christian an' turn t'other
cheek, hain't ye?"
Thornton wheeled, and his eyes flamed.
"No," he exclaimed in a voice that filled the room. "I'd be a damn
hypocrite ef I claimed thet. I swore thet night, whilst I lay thar, thet
thet man belonged ter me ter kill, an' I hain't altered thet resolve no
fashion, degree ner whipstitch. But thet's a thing thet's separate an'
apart from ther war...."
He paused, realizing the difficulty of making clear so complicated and
paradoxical a position, while an outburst of derisive laughter fell on
the pause as he reached his period. Then someone made ironic comment:
"Hit's all beginnin' ter come out now. Ye aims ter hev everybody else
fergive thar enemies an' lay down like lambs tergither--atter ye gits
teetotally done with yore own shootin' an avengin'."
But Hump Doane seized the hickory staff that leaned against old Jim's
chair and pounded with it on the table.
"Silence!" he roared; "suffer ther feller ter git through!"
"I don't aim ter bushwack ner layway nobody," went on Thornton,
obdurately. "Hit wouldn't content me ef I wasn't facin' my enemy when I
sottled with him--an' hit's a private business--but this other matter
te'ches everybody. Hit denotes y'ars of blood-spillin' an' murder--of
women an' children sufferin' fer causes thet hain't no wise th'ar fault
ner doin'."
The cripple still stood regarding the man by the hearth with a brow knit
in absorption, and so tense was his expression that it seemed to bind
the others to a brief, waiting silence until Hump himself slowly broke
the tension.
"I said I aimed ter give ye a chanst ter hev yore say out.... Hev ye got
fur enough ter let me ask ye a question?"
The nodded head of assent gave permission and Doane inquired briefly:
"Does I onderstand ye ter plead fer ther Harpers an' ther Doanes ter
'bide by ther old truce--an' yit ter seek ter stand free yore own self
an' kill yore own enemy?"
Old Jim Rowlett leaned forward gripping his staff head with eyes of
incredulity, and from the chest of the others sounded long-drawn
breaths, inarticulate yet eloquent of scorn and sneering repudiation.
But Parish Thornton retained the earnest and resolute poise with which
he had spoken before as he made his answer.
"I means thet I don't aim ter suffer no craven betrayal an' not hit
back. I means thet ther feller thet sought my murder is _my man ter
kill_, but I aims ter kill him in f'ar combat. Hit jest lays between him
an' me an' hit hain't no Harper-Doane affair, nohow."
Hump Doane shook his head and there was in the gesture both decisiveness
and disappointment.
"What commenced ter look like a mighty hopeful chanst falls flat right
hyar an' now," he announced. "I'd begun ter hope thet atter all a leader
hed done riz up amongst us, but I sees when ye talks erbout peace ye
means a peace fer other folks thet don't bind ner hamper yoreself. Thar
hain't nuthin' but folly in seekin' ter build on a quicksand like thet."
"I told ye fust-off thet we war a-wastin' time an' breath," broke out
Opdyke, furiously. "A man only courts trouble when he seeks ter gentle a
rattlesnake--ther seemly thing ter do air ter kill hit."
Parish Thornton turned his eyes and studiously appraised the
hare-brained advocate of violence, then he said, again addressing Hump
Doane:
"An' yit hit's a pity, Mr. Doane, ef you an' me kain't some fashion git
tergither in accord. We've got ther same cravin's in our hearts, us
two."
"I come ter ye onc't afore, Mr. Thornton," the cripple reminded him,
"an' I asked ye a question thet ye didn't see fit ter answer. Now I asks
ye ter lay by one grudge, when ye calls on us ter lay by many--an' hit
happens ergin thet ye don't see fit ter yield no p'int. Mebby me an' you
_have_ got cravin's fer betterment in common betwixt us--but hit 'pears
like thar's always one diff'rence risin' up thet balks everything
else."