Nothing had been heard of any Ku-Klux operations since Alexander's
adventure, and even of that episode no unclean circulated story had
gone abroad. Those who had worn the black masks were not apt to talk
overmuch, and those who had made up Bud's force were for quite
different reasons equally discreet. Since Alexander had won through
safe and unrobbed, those who had been, in a fashion, her clansman, had
few outstanding grudges to repay. Jack Halloway, for example, had come
with a satisfied heart out of the baggage-room, by way of the wrecked
telegraph office. For him the matter was concluded, save that he had
made three enemies who would nurse a malignant grievance and seek, some
day, to requite it with the ambushed rifle. The telegraph operator had
altogether disappeared from the country, and his two immediate
confederates, who were "branch-water men" dwelling in some remote
pocket of the hills, had withdrawn to their thicketed abodes.
Bud Sellers had pieced two and two together, and though he kept a
Masonic silence on the point, he had reached a conclusion. The house
where Jase Mallows had been nursed back to health after his mysterious
wounding, was not far from the place where he and Brent had been
ambushed. The wound might have been the result of the volley he had
himself fired at the rifle-flash, and if that were true the balance of
that encounter lay in his favor. If it were not true, he had no means
of knowing to whom he owed an unpaid score for his "lay-wayin'."
Only, he must keep an eye on Jase--because if his inference were
correct, Jase would never forget.
Besides the telegraph man, the only other principal, actually or
definitely known to any of Alexander's friends had been Lute Brown, and
upon him they need spend no further thought. A long while after the
tragedy had been played out there by yellow lantern-light, a woodsman
passed the rotting cabin where Lute and his faithful partisan had died.
It was indeed so long after, that there was some difficulty in
identifying the bodies, and an inconclusive coroner's verdict left the
matter stranded in mystery--and so it promised to remain. Privately,
those conspirators, whose lips were sealed as to legal testimony, had
hunted the assassin for several weeks, but without success.
Occasionally, in widely separated places, a haggard and emaciated man
was glimpsed who always escaped unidentified and with ghost-like speed.
Children were frightened with tales of his burning eyes, and in
neighborhood gossip he was spoken of as the "wild man of the woods."
For when Lute Brown's murderer, fleeing for his life, had opened his
parcel and discovered the worthlessness of that for which he had turned
Judas, something snapped in his befuddled brain. He became an Ishmael
driven before the torture of a fixed idea--terror of capture, until one
day his body was found, worn to a skeleton; matted of beard and hair,
and lying with its head in a creek bed at the foot of a cliff over
which the assassin had fallen.
So the Ku-Klux became again only a name.
If, however, the men who had followed Alexander were willing to let
sleeping dogs lie, the other faction had not only the rancor of defeat
remaining with them, but also the incurable itch of uneasy consciences.
At any time that drink loosened a careless tongue, dangerous hints
might be dropped, and over at Coal City a newly elected Commonwealth's
attorney was manifesting a zealous interest in the mystery of those two
dead bodies and all the surrounding facts.
That Halloway knew at least two of their number by sight, if not by
name, was a cloud of menace which hung over all. Since Jerry O'Keefe
and Bud Sellers were in the big man's confidence they as well as
Alexander herself fell into the gang's list of undesirable citizens.
But on the surface of life between Coal City and Shoulder-blade there
was no outward ripple; no hint that fires still smouldered which might
again leap to eruption. Men who had followed Lute and those who had
been enlisted by Bud from time to time "met and made their manners" on
the highway--without evidence of animosity.
Then one day when the early freshness of summer had been sunburned and
freckled into a warmer fullness, a thing happened which stirred the
sleeping dogs.
One of the three men of whom Halloway had disposed at the station and
who bore ugly scars on his face where the cuffs had marked him, became
involved in a boundary dispute with a neighbor, and a shooting affray
followed--in which the neighbor fell wounded.
The assailant was arrested and brought to the Coal City Jail, and as he
was being led hither, Halloway and Jerry O'Keefe, who chanced to be in
town that day, came out of the court-house together.
That coincidence was observed by a lounger in the public square who
had, himself, been an alleged Ku-Klux man, on that memorable day and
night. Out of his own anxieties he began weaving a pattern of fear.
He reasoned that if Halloway dropped a hint into the ear of the
Commonwealth's Attorney that official might go lightly with the
prosecution for shooting and wounding, provided, as an exchange of
courtesies, this prisoner became fully and freely his tool in ferreting
out the larger problem. He might be offered immunity on one
indictment, if, as State's evidence, he made possible a number of true
bills on graver charges.
The man kept Halloway and Jerry under observation until they left town
and satisfied himself that so far they had not talked with the
prosecutor--but that carried no assurance for the future, and several
consultations ensued, in which certain measures were considered which
did not enhance the safety of either Halloway or O'Keefe.
Halloway was less confident as the weeks passed. That first swift
moment of apparent victory had not been followed by a satisfactory
sequence of progressive steps.
He had sought to wake Alexander out of that sex-lethargy which lay like
a moat between the citadel of her heart and the advantage of suitors.
In that he had succeeded, too well for his liking. Always Alexander
held surprises in store for him, which only maddened him the more,
fanning his passion into a hotter blaze. Now when he sought to press
his initial advantage to a greater conclusiveness, she only told him to
wait and, like Portia judging her lovers, allowed others to come pay
court as well, while over all she reigned with a regal sort of
despotism, encouraging no one more than another.
But she was splendidly, vitally awake.
She still did with joy the things men did, and did them better than
most men, but she was no longer blind to the stronger asset of her
arresting beauty and the effect of its charm.
She realized these newly discovered attributes naively and without
vanity, but now instead of insisting on the equality of a man, she
demanded the homage of a queen.
And though she would have found her world desolate without that tallest
and keenest of her cavaliers, she no longer thought of him as the only
important figure in the world that he had opened to her.
In a somewhat formless and intuitive fashion she felt a slight
undercurrent of distrust for Halloway, which she combated as ungenerous
but could not wholly overcome.
But in constant conflict with these moments of misgiving there were
other, rather wild moments, when the draw and pull of his fascination
seemed invincible. At those times she realized that, should he open
his arms and say, "Come," she would have to go as the iron filing goes
to the magnet. To Alexander the whole world of love was in a nebulous
and constructive state of flux and lava.
But she had by instinct a wary defensiveness, and she was on constant
guard.
"Alexander," said Halloway one day when they were walking together
along the creek-bed between the dark, waxy masses of the rhododendron,
"Hit strikes me right forceable, thet fer a gal thet didn't hev no time
of day fer any man, ye've done swung round mighty suddent. They hangs
'round ye now like bees 'round locust blooms."
"Did ye 'low thet ef I let any come, I'd refuse ter welcome ther
balance?" she inquired and he retorted with more heat than he usually
allowed himself. "Most women contrives ter satisfy themselves with one
man, I reckon."
"Thet's atter they've done picked out ther one, fer dead shore," was
her calm retort. "An' mebby even then hit hain't frum choice."
A satirist might have derived pleasure from that situation of Alexander
rejecting conventional pleas, urged by Jack Halloway.
The big man had halted and stood looking down at her. His hands
gradually closed, then tautly clenched themselves. For a moment he
contemplated throwing away caution and seeking once more to coerce her
responsiveness in the imprisonment of his sudden embrace but he
hesitated. Then while he still held his silence, Alexander spoke with
that full and inevasive candor which was a cardinal of her nature.
"Ther gospel-truth is, Jack, I don't know yit whether I loves ye or
hates ye, an' I kain't help mistrustin' ye somehow. I mout es well
tell ye ther truth es ter lie ter ye."
"Mistrust me!" he echoed, incredulously. "Ye knows full well I loves
ye. Ye kain't misdoubt thet!"
She shook her head. The sun was burnishing her hair into an aura, and
the clear light shone searchingly on the fresh bloom of her cheek, the
violet of her eyes and the crimson of her lips--revealing no flaw. She
was all lovely and young, and yet Brent thought, she was alarmingly,
almost paradoxically clever.
"Ye acts like ye loves me," was her seriously voiced response, "but
somehow thar seems ter be a kind of greediness erbout hit. Take Bud
Sellers fer instance--he's jest ther opposite. Thar hain't no greed in
him."
Halloway might have retorted that also there was in Bud nothing to
which her flaming personality could ever respond. His was the worship
of a dumb and faithful beast. But he held his peace while the girl
went steadily on.
"I oft-times takes myself ter task fer thet suspicion, because hit
don't seem far ter feel thet-a-way an' not know no reason."
She looked at him questioningly and very gravely, as one resolved upon
a full but difficult confession.
"I hain't nuver seed ye foller no reg'lar work. Ye hain't doin'
nothin' hyar now but jest hangin' around." She became halting there,
for she had reached the point of greatest embarrassment, but she forced
herself ahead.
"I hain't no millionaire myself, but we've got a good farm, and we
don't owe no man nothin'." Once more she broke off before, with an
inflexible frankness, she finished up. "Jack, thar's been times when
I've wondered ef hit wasn't my bein' es well-fixed as I am thet made ye
think so master much of me."
Then indeed the sprites and goblins of ironic mirth rioted in
Halloway's brain. The surge of laughter that sought outlet from his
lips came near to smothering him, but he succeeded in smothering
it--though the effort almost clicked him. He, with a wealth which
would have seemed to her as the treasure of the Incas, was falling
under suspicion as a lazy fortune-hunter, seeking haven in the meager
opulence of a mountain farm! Yet he dared not confess that wealth now
because such admission would stamp him an impostor.
"I reckon," he said generously, though with just a touch of hurt pride.
"I kin live down that distrust. Does ye suspicion Jerry O'Keefe
too--or jest me?"
"Nobody couldn't suspicion Jerry," she said softly. "He's es straight
es a poplar saplin' an' es plain ter see through es a clear
spring-branch. He knows how ter gentle a woman, too."
"He don't understand ye an' ye'd mighty soon sicken of jest bein'
gentled," argued Halloway. "He hain't got no idea of ther fires thet
lays sleepin' in yore heart."
"He's got an idee of ther fire in his own, I reckon," replied Alexander.
It is the accepted rule of these mountains that when two men arrive to
"set up" with a girl at the same time, she must choose between them and
send the less favored away. Both Halloway and Jerry avoided the issue
that might spring from such a situation. They met on the high-road
with a full seeming of their old accord, but perhaps the semblance was
an empty shell--or fast becoming one. There was a tacit understanding
between them that certain evenings at Alexander's house belonged to
each.
In Jerry's good-natured, whimsical eyes there had settled of late an
unaccustomed gravity and since he was level-headed enough to recognize
in Halloway a man who loomed brightly above others, his fear of him as
a rival was genuine. It was O'Keefe's way to walk boldly and evenly
through life, but a strong and tireless man will flinch in his gait
from the hurt of a stone-bruised foot, and with Jerry the stone bruise
was about the heart--which is worse. But it was more in the casual
meeting than by the formal call, that O'Keefe conducted his courtship.
He had a genius for materializing on the scene at the exact moment when
he could perform some simple service, and of meeting Alexander by
studious coincidence when she least expected him.
There was none-the-less the constant danger of a flareup because
Halloway always bore himself with entire politeness yet with a courtesy
which did not escape a sort of indulgent patronage; as though the
serious thought of rivalry was absurd.
One day Bud Sellers came by the house. It was after he had been in
jail and Alexander, who was standing on her porch, invited him in.
Slowly and somewhat dubiously he accepted the invitation.
"I hain't seed ye fer quite a spell, Bud," began the girl smilingly,
and with a brick red flush he answered. "Hit took holt on me ergin,
Alexander. Hit war jest actually a-burnin' me up."
She did not ask what he meant by "it." She knew full well and she did
not reproach him. She only inquired, "What happened, Bud?"
"I kep' my pledge ter yer, though." He spoke gruffly, because the
sight of her was burning him up too, with another kind of thirst. "I
went an' hed myself jailed. I reckon hit won't hardly master me ergin
fer a spell."
Alexander felt a lump rising in her throat. Since her awakening she
had not missed the meaning of that look in his eyes. Slowly and
candidly, she asked: "Bud, war hit on account of me? War ye frettin'
over me--not a-keering?"
Sellers looked up in astonishment.
"How did ye know?" he demanded. "I hain't nuver breathed no word ter
ye erbout keerin'. I knowed full well hit warn't no manner of use."
"I'm a woman, now, Bud," she reminded him. "A woman don't need ter be
told some things."
"I knowed hit warn't no use." He only repeated the words, dully, and
Alexander laid a hand on his trembling arm.
"Bud, Bud," she exclaimed self-accusingly. "I wisht I'd stayed a man.
I don't seem ter do nothin' at this woman-game but jest stir up
trouble. I loves ye right dearly, Bud, but hit's ther same fashion
thet I loves my brother Joe--an' I reckon--that hain't what ye're
a-seekin'."
But Bud drew back his shoulders and spoke with a brave assumption of
restored cheerfulness.
"I'm a-seekin' whatever I kin hev," he staunchly declared. "More'n
anything else, 'though, I'm seeking ter see ye happy." He paused then
with a forced smile that, for all his effort, was stiff-lipped, and
said slowly, "I reckon hit'll be either Halloway or Jerry . . . they're
both right upstanding men."
"Sometimes I thinks hit won't be nobody," she declared. "I'd done been
raised up a boy so long thet since I turned back into a gal ergin, ther
only thing I've been plum sartain of air thet I hain't been sartain of
nuthin'. Sometimes I thinks a heap of Jerry, but more times Jack
Halloway seems ter pintedly sot me on fire."
Jerry was tramping along the high-road, whistling an old ballad of
lugubrious tune when a sharp turn brought him face to face with Jase
Mallows. Jerry himself was for passing on with a brief salutation, but
the other halted him and fell into voluble talk.
Jase complained that his wound had left certain after-effects which
still gave him trouble.
"Hit's hell ter pay, when a law-abidin' man kain't travel ther highway
withouten he's shot down like I was thet night," lamented Mallows
virtuously. "I misdoubts ef I ever feels plum right inside me ergin.
I wisht I knowed who thet feller war."
"Mebby he mistook ye fer somebody else," suggested Jerry. "Thet war
ther same night them highwaymen sought ter lay-way Alexander--thar war
right smart shootin' goin' on hyar an' thar."
"Did ye ever gain any knowledge of who them fellers war?" Mallows
sought to couch his question in the manner of interest for the wrongs
of another, but just a shade too much eagerness on his own part marred
the effect.
Jerry smiled. He had caught that note and it piqued his curiosity, so
with mountain secretiveness he became cryptic in his response. "Wa'al,
mebby we hain't tellin' all we knows--jest yit. Mebby we're kinderly
bidin' our time for a leetle spell."
It was not a comprehensive announcement. It was nine-tenths inspired
by a spirit of teasing gossip-hunger into fuller revealment, but it
happened to start a train of serious thought in the hearer.
Jase had recently returned from Coal City, and there he had talked with
men who were watching with alarm the possibilities of an impending
trial. The man who had shot his neighbor over a fence-line dispute was
to face his prosecutors at the next term of court, and if he talked too
much, large and portentous results might ensue.
The Commonwealth would know nothing of its potential leverage on the
accused unless Halloway, O'Keefe or Alexander broke silence, and it
followed that their silencing was highly important.
Through Jase's thoughts ran, in a threatening refrain, the words,
"Mebby hit won't be long now."
So Jase saddled his mule that evening, despite the misery which was the
relic of his wounding and started back to Coal City to convene a
committee of ways and means.