I did not enter the smithy because there was no need. It was light as
day in there, and I would have been in the way then. I saw three people
and a mule, evidently young, and evidently fractious. It was a fine
yearling; fat, sleek, shapely. Buck Steele, with a small, elongated iron
shoe in his left hand, stood in a semi-profile position, facing the man
who had brought the animal in. A negro boy lolled by the forge, his hand
on the handle of the bellows.
"Whut's th' matter 'ith th' fool critter?" Buck was saying, as I halted
under the shed. He had not seen my approach.
"Fus' time, yo' know," returned the man, in a wheedling kind of voice,
thrusting his thumb under his bedticking suspender, and chasing it over
his shoulder with that member. "Yo' 'll hev to be kind o' durn keerful,
Buck"--he shifted his hold from the rope of the halter to the halter
itself--"'cus he didn't miss yo' an inch las' time."
The mule was scared. It trembled at every move Buck made, and its eyes
were distended and rolling.
"Nothin' 's ever passed out o' this here shop bar'-footed that a man
wants shoes on!" maintained the smith. "If yo' want this animile shod,
I'll shoe 'im!"
"I shore want 'im shod!"
The speaker took a fresh grasp on the halter, and his hairy visage
became contorted in an expression impossible to translate, as Buck
stepped forward and put his hand on the smooth withers of the young
mule. It shrank down under his touch, and blew short, gusty breaths.
Buck waited, patiently, until the animal became quiet, then, gently
patting the reddish-brown skin, he gradually moved his hand along its
side until he reached its flank. There he stooped, with low, soothing
words, and a great admiration for his courage found birth within me as I
saw him bend beside that sinewy thigh corded and bunched with muscles.
Gently his big brown fingers slid down the slender hock, then like the
rebound of a crossbow the satiny limb shot out in a paroxysm of untamed
fear. It was a lightning stroke, delivered so swiftly my eyes could not
follow it. Buck saw it start, infinitesimal as the time must have been
from its inception to its execution--perhaps he felt the steel thews
hardening under his hand--for he leaped backward simultaneously. This
action saved his life. As it was, the edge of the small hoof slashed his
forehead like a razor, leaving a crimson, dripping gap. It went just
below the surface, and did not even stun the smith. He staggered, it is
true, but from his own recoil, and was erect an instant later. Then I
witnessed a sight I shall never forget though I round out a century.
The sting of the hurt and the treachery of the brute took all of Buck's
sense and judgment for the time. He was as much animal as the
four-legged one in front of him that moment. His bearded face became
convulsed horribly, his eyes shot fire, and with that red gash in his
forehead from which tiny streams trickled unheeded, he advanced one
step, drew back his arm, and struck that mule a blow which stretched it
dead before our eyes!
I write the culmination of this incident with reluctance. Not from its
brutal and somewhat harrowing complexion, but from the fear that many
will be tempted to smile tolerantly, and in the kindness of their hearts
forgive this one most palpable fiction in a book of fact. But it is
true, nevertheless, and I venture to declare it will be a tale in the
knob country long after later and lesser things have been forgotten.
As the mule fell the negro boy screeched and climbed out the nearest
window. A minute later the shop was full of an excited, noisy, inquiring
crowd. Some one led Buck to the tub of water in which he cooled hot
iron, and bathed his wound, never worrying as to whether this especial
water would be entirely sanitary. The carcass quickly became the center
of a circle of amazed countrymen, and I, the only silent one present,
leaned against the jamb of the door and slowly filled my pipe. The
demonstration which I had just witnessed was not particularly
comforting.
A youth of about nineteen stood near the mule's head. He was barefooted,
and the sum total of his apparel consisted of two garments; a shirt with
only one button, which was at the throat, and a pair of pants (not
trousers) which came to an abrupt conclusion several inches above his
big ankle bones. He wore no hat of any description. Had he possessed one
when the alarm was given, it had disappeared in the hurried rush which
followed. This youth was powerfully impressed.
"Daid!... Plum' daid!" I heard him exclaim, in an awed undertone,
withdrawing for a moment the fixed gaze with which he had regarded the
mule ever since he came, to give a sweeping glance of incredulity
around.
"Daid ez a nit he is, fur sho!" agreed another, a merry-faced fellow
with a rotund paunch, over which the band to his pants refused to meet.
"A hunnerd 'n' fifty dollars' wuth o' live meat turned to cyarn in a
secint.... Who's gunta pay fur it? Whut 's th' law, 'Squar?"
He looked at a big, full-whiskered man with his back to me.
The 'Squire cleared his throat and felt for his tobacco.
The mule's owner thrust forward in the interim, and brought up just in
front of the magistrate.
"Yes, I wan' to know th' damn law on th' subjic', too!" he bellowed,
making no apparent effort to curb his feelings. "Wuth a hunnerd 'n'
sev'nty-five--wuth two hunnerd wuz that mule! Six foot 'n' 'n inch--thar
he is! Measure 'im if yo' don't b'lieve me! Th' bes' yearlin' in my
barn--mealy-nosed, to boot! So much good cash to be drug out to th'
buzzards--_damn_!"
He spat on the ground and twisted his booted heel in rage.
"This is a onusual case--I mought say a on-pre-ce-dinted case," drawled
the 'Squire, in a conciliatory voice. "We'll settle it right here 'n'
now, a'cordin' to th' test'munny 'n' my readin' o' th' law, ever'body
bein' 'gree'ble. Yo' c'n take it to th' cote, sholy, but th' lawyers 'll
eat yo' up. Bes' settle am-am-am'c'ble, right here 'n' now."
At this juncture Buck's tall form arose from beside the tub, where he
had been sitting on a nail keg while a motherly Hebron matron had put
balsam to the hurt, and bound it with a white cloth. He came slowly
forward, his leathern apron still about him, and pushed his way through
the ring.
"Whut yo' mouth'n' 'bout, Bart Crawley?" he demanded. The fire in his
eyes had died to a smoldering gleam, but his mood was ugly.
The man addressed looked at him, then immediately shuffled back a
little.
"That's th' bes' hoss mule in these parts--"
"Yo' mean he _wuz_ th' bes' hoss mule!" interrupted Buck, in a spirit of
reckless deviltry.
Crawley flushed, paled, clenched his fists and glared hate at the
speaker.
"Here now, men," spoke up the 'Squire, laying a knotty hand upon the
shoulder of the owner. "Leas' said's soones' mended. They's no manner o'
ust carry'n' hard feelin's any fu'ther.... Buck, shet up!... Bart, keep
_yo'_ trap shet till I git th' straight o' this. Whur's th' witnesses'?
Who saw th' killin' o' this here mule?"
His head went up, and his eyes roved over the packed interior of the
shop.
Just then I wished myself away. Could I have foreseen the public inquiry
now afoot, I certainly would have put myself beyond reach, for Buck was
to blame in this affair, and my testimony would necessarily show it.
Naturally I did not want to arouse any ill-feeling I could avoid.
Perhaps even now I might slip away unobserved. But the thought was
doomed even as it flashed into my mind. Bart Crawley promptly made
answer.
"Me 'n' th' nigger 'n' Buck--'n' him!" pointing triumphantly at me.
Instantly every eye was turned upon me. I looked straight at Buck,
calmly and steadily. His return stare was ominous, and during the brief
time we held each other's eyes, I believed I read in his the message
that he had waited as long as he was going to--or could.
The voice of the 'Squire, speaking in slurring accents, broke upon the
silence which had fallen. He plainly was making an effort to uphold the
dignity of his high office, from the painstaking way in which he
delivered himself.
"Bart, ez owner o' th' defunc' animile, I 'low yo've got fus' say. Tell
jes' how, 'n' w'y, this here yearlin' hoss mule wuz struck'n down daid
by Buck Steele."
Mr. Crawley, holding that the relation of any incident would be
imperfect shorn of the minutest circumstance preceding, as well as
accompanying it, began thus:
"Well, 'Squar, this mawn'n' at feed'n' time, 'long 'bout sunup, I
s'pose, ur it mought 'a' ben a bit before, I tol' my boy Tommy--my
secint boy, th' one 'ith th' harelip, yo' know 'im--that I 'tended to
hev shoes--"
"They 's no ust o' tellin' whut yo' et fur breakfus', Bart," broke in
the magistrate, with unconscious irony. "Begin at th' time w'en yo'
entered into this here shop with yo' mule."
"Well," resumed Mr. Crawley, "I rid up to th' do' 'n' slid off o' my
mule, 'n' said, 'Mawn'n', Buck, how's yo' corp'ros'ty?' kind o' churf'l
lak, 'cus yo' know I don't hate nobody. Buck 's foolin' 'ith a wag'n
tar, 'n' 'peared kind o' grumpy as if he had n't slep' good ur else
some'n' he et had n't sot well with 'im. He grunted, sort o', by way o'
answer, 'n' I led my hoss mule in 'n' tol' 'im whut I wanted. They's a
couple o' Hir'm Toddler's kids in here then, scratch'n' 'roun' in th'
hoof-shav'n's hunt'n' hoss-shoe nails, lak young-uns 'll do. Well, Buck
didn't 'pear overanxious 'bout th' job, so to sweet'n his sperit a
little I tol' 'im a joke 'bout--"
"I objec' to th' joke, Bart," interrupted the 'Squire again, in a very
judicial manner, clearing his throat as he had heard the judge do in
Cedarton.
"All right, 'Squar, we'll pass th' joke but it's a durn good 'n'. Well,
then I tol' Buck that th' mule wuz green 'n' had never saw inside a
blacksmith's shop befo', 'n' Buck 'lowed kind o' vicious lak: 'Damn th'
mule, he'd shoe 'im green ur broke!' My joke didn't 'pear to sof'n 'im
one bit, but it's wuth lis'n'n' to, 'Squar. We've tol' it in our section
off 'n' on fur a matter o' two year, I reck'n, 'n' ever' time it's good,
sho! Well, Buck stayed grumpy 'n' got th' shoes, 'n' spite o' whut I
tol' 'im he marched right up to that animile's hind parts 'n' rech down
'n' grabbed a hock same 'twuz a ol' plow-hoss. Then th' critter let
drive, b'gosh! 'n' it come blame near bein' th' end o' Buck, I'm here to
tell yo'! Right then Hir'm's kids skedaddled same as if a skunk 'd let
loose 'n' d'rec'ly _he_ come sa'nter'n' 'long 'n' leaned ag'in th'
door." The speaker's toil-twisted forefinger again pointed straight at
me. "Then I tol' Buck to be keerful, 'cus I saw he's in a' ugly way, 'n'
I tried to w'eedle 'im, kin' o' lak yo' would a spoilt kid. 'N' he did
go after that hin' foot some keerfuller th' nex' time, but fus' thin'
yo' know that hin' leg riz same as a snare-saplin' 'n' th' aidge o' that
hoof plowed a furrer plum' 'crost Buck's head. My guts went all trimbly
w'en I seen it, 'n' my knees got weak. 'Fo' God I thought he's killed!
But no, sir! Up he riz frum whur he'd jumped back 'n' scrooched down,
'n' he paid no more min' to th' blood in 'is eyes than if it'd 'a' ben
sweat. He retch back 'is fis', gen'lemen, same 't wuz a sledge-hammer,
'n' he slewed that mule! Same as Sam's'n killed th' 'Malekites in Holy
Scriptur 'ith th' jaw-bone uv a jinny! Down he fell, quiv'r'n' 'n' daid!
Didn't even bresh 'is tail onct, nur snort, nur bat a' eye! That
yearlin' hoss mule whut I say is wuth two hunnerd 'n' fifty dollars uv
any man's money, black ur w'ite. 'N' now he's buzzard-food, not wuth
haul'n' out o' this here shop. Gen'lemen, I want jestice!"
Mr. Crawley had managed to work himself up into rather a fine frenzy as
he talked, and he gave a dramatic and telling illustration of how the
mule met his end. When he concluded with a sweeping gesture entirely
devoid of meaning, a quick survey of his audience showed me plainly that
public sentiment was on his side. A few moments of absolute silence
prevailed, broken at length by the rustling of the 'Squire's horny hand
as he shoved it into his pants pocket for another chew. The occasion was
one which required plenty of tobacco. He gnawed off a generous portion
of the plug after much head-twisting, but as he prepared to resume the
investigation something happened.
The smith had remained quiet and silent during Bart's elaborate recital,
but his somber eyes had never left the other man's face. With the
impassioned, if crude, harangue with which Bart concluded his testimony,
I noted portents of a storm. The dominant elements in Buck's nature were
purely barbarian. He had suffered much of late, and self-control was
something which he did not know, even remotely. Later he probably would
be ashamed of the blow he had dealt the harmless thing at his feet which
had been obeying its instinct in offering resistence to something which
it feared. But that moment such reason as Buck habitually possessed was
submerged in a black wave of hate. I saw it coming, from my position by
the door. I saw flashes beneath the down-drawn lids, restrained heaving
of the big, hairy chest, hands which were fists and hands alternately,
and on the heavy features an expression nothing short of devilish. He
waited a while after Bart finished--waited until the 'Squire had
succeeded with his chew, then he took two swift steps and faced the mule
owner.
"Yo' damn dog!" he hissed. "I c'd th'ow yo' thoo that winder! I c'd
wring yo' naik lak a chick'n! I c'd lay yo' 'crost that anv'l 'n' break
yo' back lak a splinter o' pine, 'n' yo' know it! But yo're not wuth it!
Damn yo' 'n' yo' mule! Damn th' 'Squar! All o' yo'--to hell with yo'!"
Accurately, deliberately, he spat a mouthful of ambier on Bart Crawley's
nose, then turned and left the shop, people falling back in fright
before him.
* * * * *
Two hours later I turned my face toward Bald Knob. The investigation was
never finished, partly because it was unanimously conceded Buck was in
the wrong from the manner in which he had behaved, and partly because
Bart struck out at once for Cedarton to prefer charges against the smith
and swear out a warrant for his arrest. The unexpected and startling
denouement wrought consternation in the shop, and the opinion was given
freely that Buck must be "off." Certain it is he left Hebron at once,
going up the railroad, and no one followed him. The crowd instantly
gathered around me with many honest, well-intentioned questions, and I
told them frankly that as far as I knew Bart had told the truth. Many
and divers were the comments anent Buck's queer actions, but a simmering
down resulted in the generally accepted opinion that he surely was
"off." I thought this, too, in a measure, although I did not speak it,
for I knew things which the people of Hebron did not.
But I tarried among them for the space of two hours, listening to their
uncouth colloquialisms and provincial sayings; and when, finally, a game
of horse-shoes started in the middle of the road just in front of the
store, and a self-appointed committee of two began to ascend the hill to
acquaint Father John with the only real event of the year, I started
home.
I was not at ease. One of the reasons I had lingered was in the hope
that Buck would return. But he didn't. The man was desperate. I could
doubt it no longer. He was half crazy. Ordinarily he would have
compromised with Bart. He was now simply an unchained devil, loose and
bent on mischief.
My feelings were not soothed when I reached the Lodge. Pinned to the
door with the same nail which had held the message was a sheet of my
writing paper, and on it was a large, rude cross, traced with a finger
which had been dipped in blood.
It was the third and last warning.