"When a feller's in office 'n' 's give a war'int, he's got to serve it,
or go yeller. I didn't hanker fur this here 'p'intment, I'm free to say,
'n' if I'd a-knowed Buck's a-hidin' out, be durned if I b'lieve I'd 'a'
come! Some'n' 's eatin' on Buck 'sides killin' that mule--you can't tell
me!... Well, I mus' be scoutin' on." He got on his feet, drank another
cup of water, and stood for a moment gripping the muzzle of his rifle
with both hands, its stock grounded between his feet. "Don't s'pose
you've laid eyes on 'im'?" he added, in a softer, musing tone.
"No; not since he walked out of the shop that day."
Suddenly the deputy wheeled and faced me.
"Pardner," he said, seriously enough considering the almost bantering
note he had formerly employed; "I b'lieve Buck's goin' the same way his
pappy did!"
"Why?"
I tried to hold my voice to a brave level, but the monosyllable rang
hollow.
"The signs ain't right," came the instantaneous reply. "Buck'd never'd
'a' laid out that mule if he'd been hisseff, in the firs' place. He's
shoed young mules by the dozen. In the nex' place he'd 'a' settled with
Bart instead o' spittin' in 'is face 'n' damnin' ever'body 'n' the law,
too. I've got a notion to lose this pesky war'int 'n' go back to where
people live!"
He moodily pressed his hand to a pocket in his shirt, and I caught the
rustle of paper. Then he laughed softly, said good-by rather abruptly,
and strode away.
I shall not attempt to make a record of the thoughts which assailed me
after the deputy had gone.
Yesterday came the third attempt on my life.
Believing now that my rival's mind was affected, and that he had
received the fixed and determined idea of making away with me in some
manner which would appear wholly natural, I no longer remained within
the Lodge, or kept to the restricted limits of the plateau. I walked
abroad, always careful and watchful, it is true, and keeping my feet
from suspicious paths. My longing for the Dryad had become a sort of
mania, and each morning I arose with the fervent hope that that day
would bring her back home. How I looked for the ragged, uncouth shape of
Jeff Angel! But his grotesque figure remained absent, and I was left to
unfruitful contemplation, a prey to dread.
Yesterday I chose a new route. Inaction was past endurance, and my daily
rambles were all that sustained me. It was midafternoon when I found
myself on the flank of a precipitous knob, several miles from home. I
had proceeded cautiously for quite a distance, as my aimless steps had
led me to what really was a perilous position. A massive ledge of stone
cropped out of the knob at the place where I traversed it, and below was
an unbroken fall of many feet, into a valley thickly grown with trees. I
stopped to enjoy the scene, for even in my present mental turmoil the
sight demanded recognition and appreciation. I leaned forward and out,
retaining my balance by a careful exercise of certain muscles. The
verdant glory of the all-embracing hills, the limitless sweep of the
tree-clad ranges and valleys, and the bosky tangle of the spot beneath
me, combined to work keenly upon my sensibilities. I loved Nature. I
worshiped in the vine-draped, bloom-lit courts of the untamed wild; in
the temple not made by hands whereof each towering tree was a column,
and each moss-hung bowlder an altar. It was here my soul exulted, where
the tinkle of a hidden rivulet made dulcet music, and the attar from
many a flower's chalice spread abroad its peerless incense--Nature's
undefiled offering to Nature's God. I was uplifted in that moment, as I
leaned forward and drank in the manifold delights displayed freely for
my hungry eyes.
In the midst of this elation of spirit, a fiendish shout of triumph rang
in my ears, and I felt a heavy hand upon my back shoving me violently
forward--to destruction. Too late I realized my indiscretion. I had
allowed sentiment to usurp the place of judgment. While I was reveling
in the matchless scene Nature had prepared for my delectation, and had
offered without reserve, Buck had stolen cat-footed upon me. I wrenched
my body about in a furious effort to retain my foothold, but the next
moment I was falling through space. Like a stone I fell, down--down. I
crashed through the top of an oak, struck a limb, passed it in some way,
fell, struck another, slid along it, and brought up against the trunk
with a fearful jar.
For a moment I did not attempt to move. Then slowly I got astride the
limb and made an investigation. But for a pain in my side, where the
contact with the first limb had bruised it, I had escaped as by a
miracle. Thinking that Buck might make a detour, and come to see if I
really had perished, I descended to the ground as quickly as possible,
and returned to the Lodge in a roundabout way.
Most of to-day I have spent under roof, brooding over the somber problem
which hourly grows more threatening. Matters have about reached a
climax. I cannot veil the truth from myself. If the smith is insane
there is no telling what move he will make next. An unbalanced mind is
never steadfast, and any minute he may abandon the tactics thus far
employed, and adopt safer and surer means to compass my destruction.
It is fearfully hot in here, because the room is shut tight. I would not
think once now of lying down to sleep with a window open. A few more
days will tell the story. I am unnaturally calm, I believe, considering
all that has occurred this week. I am not frightened, but I am anxious.
I don't want to mar these peaceful pages with the narration of a
tragedy. I don't want to confess to them how I slew a fellow creature. I
am a man of peace. But it comes to me to-night that forces beyond my
control are at work. That, unless Celeste comes soon, the concluding act
in the drama will be played. It may be that I shall not be alive to
chronicle its end. It may be that I shall go down to death with my
love-dream unfinished. But I do not believe this. If worse comes to
worse, I believe that I shall be the conqueror. I have no reason for
this, other than the supreme faith I have in my ability to cope with the
smith of Hebron.