ORLICK WORKS EVIL
Lem listened in awe to her panting, hurried words, looking down into her
pain-swept features, struck dumb with the earnest vehemence of her
avowal. The girl went on:
"I couldn't bust my vow, Lem. Hit air jest heah in my breast by day an'
by night. Hit follers me alers, Lem--follers me like a hant. I don't lay
no store by nuthin' till hit air gone away--an' hit'll never go away
till th' ghost-man's daid."
Lem lunged forth out of a stupor.
"Gawd'llmoughty, Belle-Ann, yo'-all hain't a-lowin' thet I don't want t'
kill em, air yo'?" he cried, in a tempest of chagrin and amazement.
"No, no, no!" she interposed hastily. "I know thet yore a-watchin' an'
a-waitin' an' a-lookin' fo' em."
She took the hat Lem picked up from the ground, saying:
"Yo'll do somethin' perticlar like, Lem, when yo' do kill em. Keep
a-watchin', an' a-tryin', Lem, but don't 'low em t' git first bead on
yo', Lem. He air a hant."
"Ef I air lucky, an' kill em--will yo'-all promise then, Belle-Ann?"
implored the boy in low, yearning tones. Side by side they were walking
now.
"Yo' jest ax me when th' revenuer's daid, Lem," she returned, looking
up, the dimples playing and her small Grecian face aflush with the
thought.
He could not mistake the light that flickered between her fluttering
lids. There was an answer hovering about the red, bowed lips. Her
enhanced loveliness in the new sailor dress ravished his senses.
Such a girl! She had always been his, he told himself. He knew she would
come back to him. Then a sober fear assailed him again, that
contradicted his faith.
"Belle-Ann," he queried, "when yo'-all git yore deah little haid stuffed
with th' larnin', an' th' high-tucked ways at th' school--an' know all
'bout books an' sich, mebby yo'-all won't never 'low t' cum back heah
agin? Mebby I won't never see yo'-all agin, deah little gal, eh?"
She stopped and stood rigid.
"I kin promise thet, Lem. Heah, watch me, I cross my heart thesaway,
Lem--see? Now kiss my han'. I'll sho' cum back some day, Lem--I
promise."
Eagerly, ravenously, he grasped her small hand, brown, but
fine-textured. A dozen times he kissed it hotly, fervently, wrung with
sorrow. So much might happen before he saw her again!
At this juncture, a cow-horn sounded, and they knew that Belle-Ann's
father was waiting. The time of parting was at hand. That vibrant
horn-call sank deep into Lem's smarting soul.
"Kiss me heah, Lem," the girl said, showing the top of her head. He well
knew what she meant.
He placed his hands on her soft curls and pressed his lips to the little
white scar that crossed the part in her hair. He had kissed it before.
Many times now, did he press it.
His throat pained terribly as he poured his fervent kisses of adoration
upon this tiny scar that he had accidentally inflicted years ago, in the
excitement of a sham battle.
She suddenly tore away from him and ran ahead. She dared not trust
herself to linger longer. He followed, a tribute of grief in his
resigned, dull eyes, like a man with flowers to put on a mound.
When Lem left the spot, Orlick ducked sneakingly out of a dense clump of
laurel where he had watched the love scene with burning eyes--eyes
glittering with hate and jealousy.
Unheard and unobserved, he slunk away through the pawpaw thicket into
the impenetrable rhododendrons. For hours he had followed Lem that
morning. But he had been too far away to overhear anything that passed
between him and the girl.
Now that old Cap Lutts was gone, Orlick had hidden here with the
intention of killing Lem. He had worked his way up on his stomach and
was just inching his rifle into position, when the girl appeared, and he
desisted for some remote reason of his own. However, he slunk away, his
foul heart beating high with hate.
If he could not have Belle-Ann, he would make sure that Lem would not.
As she neared the horse-block, Belle-Ann turned and waited for Lem.
"Will yo' sho' kill th' ghost-man, Lem?" she reminded him in parting.
He nodded apathetically. He was beyond the heat of any enthusiasm in
this tense minute. He only knew that she was going away from him.
In her drawling, sweet voice she continued as they proceeded toward the
horse-block where they could see Benson and the horses ready.
"Ef yo' do, Lem, hit'll smoke all th' sorry outen my heart, an' I'll be
glad agin, like 'fore maw an' pap wus kilt--gladness th' kind whut
hain't a-carin' ef hit rains, or ef hit suns. Don't be sad, Lem,"
glancing into his woful, tragic eyes. "Belle-Ann'll be a-prayin' fo'
yo'-all. An', Lem, when I cum back, mebby yo'll kiss me heah," she ended
with a finger on her puckered, red lips.
Buddy and Slab and the dogs were mingling with the restive horses in the
sunshine. Benson had already mounted.
Forgetful of her precious dress, Belle-Ann dropped on her knees in the
dirt beside old Ben and, with her arms around the blind hound's neck,
she hugged the old dog to her and kissed his soft ears. Buddy hung on to
her with appeals for her early return. Old Slab shuffled around her with
a medley of adjurations.
She turned in the saddle and called back:
"Keep a-watchin' an' a-tryin', Lem--an' yo', Slab--don't yo' fergit whut
yo' promised against th' witch."
Her voice was unsteady now.
Benson was leading the way a few rods ahead. As they looped the spur and
headed down the trail toward the cypress cut, Belle-Ann could no longer
combat her feelings. Bending low over the saddle horn, she wept
inconsolably.
At the gap below she looked back. Lem stood up on the horse-block waving
to her. Through dim eyes she looked and flourished her wet handkerchief
above her head.
Far down in the valley, where they struck the faint wagon trail and the
horses came out to the ford at Boon Creek, Belle-Ann turned her eager
eyes up toward Moon mountain and there, as she had expected, she
discerned Lem's outline high up on the apex of Eagle Crown.
And as the horses paused in mid-stream to drink, she caught flashes in
the sunlight, and she knew that Lem was waving his hat to her, and she
knew he was straining his eyes and his heart for her.
* * * * *
In these troublesome times, gray and somber with woe, the Lutts cabin on
Moon mountain was a dismal and cheerless abode.
Lem and little Buddy were inconsolable, and the monotonous days
following Belle-Ann's departure were sad and long--and very lonely.
Slab was tireless in his efforts to keep the boys cheered up.
On pleasant nights he would sit on the witch-elm block before the cabin
and sing "Kitty Wells." This sacred duty over, he would turn his talent
to enlivening negro melodies, interspersed with doubtful tales, well put
together, dealing with war times in general, and the wonders of
Lexington in particular.
And when the storms came, and the lightning crackled, and the cascade in
Hellsfork raged, and the lashing trees soughed in the rain and tempest,
Slab would render the same musical program in the big front room, but
vary his plots of fiction woven about his beloved Lexington. In case Lem
and Buddy glanced at each other approvingly, or applauded his comics
with even a half smile, his old face showed plainly that he was amply
repaid.
Lem had eight trusty men working "The Worm" up in the secret cave, but
spent most of the time each day, after counting the demijohns to be
turned over to the bootleggers, in wandering aimlessly over the
mountains. He was always alert and watchful.
Over in Southpaw there were evidences of unrest, and Lem looked for an
attack from the revenuers at any hour.
Indeed, so furtive had this habit of vigilance become, that in these
days he rarely traveled the trails, but moved under cover parallel with
the paths.
One day he stepped out in the open trail and picked up a fledgling hawk
that had tumbled out of its nest. Ahead was a group of boulders, one of
which was immediately under a spruce sapling.
To these he walked leisurely and, resting his rifle against the first
rock, he climbed up to put the youngster beyond reach of the badgers and
razorbacks.
He was in the act of reaching up when, at a slight sound, he turned and
looked straight into the round, black end of a rifle, less than six feet
from his chest!
Down at the stock was the big bull-dog face of the ghost-man, leering at
him triumphantly.
The peculiar, erratic impulses of the psychological moment are ever
puzzling and insoluble. Lem gazed calmly, almost unconcernedly, down
upon Peter Burton. Indeed, at this instant, there was no more evidence
of excitement in Lem's face and mien, than had the revenuer been a
venturesome fox squirrel gamboling about.
Lem almost grinned pleasantly, as he turned and reaching up, placed the
young hawk safely on a low branch.
The little creature threw out his wings. Lem steadied it with careful
deliberation, then leaped down from the boulder. The instant his feet
struck the ground it seemed to shock his very blood into icy currents
that congealed and left him befuddled and shivering.
As he stared into the revenuer's insolent face, the earth looked like a
pinwheel.
Suddenly the film lifted from his brain and he was conscious for the
first time that the revenuer had taken his rifle. The man's thick lips
were moving. He was talking to him. Lem's poise came back. Fully
aroused, his face went livid with rage. The revenuer perceived this and
thrust the rifle muzzle closer.
"You don't doubt that I'll shoot, do you?" he inquired, with his eyes
fixed savagely upon Lem.
"Naw, houn'-dog," returned the boy in low, quavering tones. "Yo'd kill a
female baby."
The revenuer laughed.
"Don't you know when I first saw you on that rock training that hawk to
sit up, you kind of scared me?" He expelled a volume of tobacco juice.
"You scared me some, Mr. Lutts. I thought you was fixing to ring a
church bell on me."
He let loose of Lem's rifle and it fell behind him. He held his own,
pistol-fashion, under his arm, with his finger in the guard, as he
stepped nearer and shook a huge menacing fist in the boy's pallid face.
"You'll have a swell chance ringing anything on me again unless you've
got a church bell in your pocket. You pulled a swell trick on me that
night, didn't ye? You thought the bunch that galloped down to your
dog-house would get me that night, didn't ye? Young man, I'm going to
bust this gang of thieves up here, or I'll drink Hellsfork dry! And
you--you--you're not only carrying on your daddy's business----"
A blinding, reckless fury that fired Lem with the strength and savagery
of a tiger propelled his body through the air like a catapult. He landed
on the revenuer's neck and with his naked hands he tried to kill him.
He learned speedily why Burton had not fired, for a second man who had
been concealed behind the boulders, together with Jutt Orlick, sprang
out and upon him. These two heavyweights soon overpowered and handcuffed
the boy, while Orlick lay with gloating eyes, peering out at the scene.
Burton rolled Lem over on his back, and left him to exhaust the
maledictions he was heaping upon their heads.
As Lem scrambled to his feet, Burton launched forth as he deftly cut the
leather thong and relieved Lem of his cow-horn.
"Lutts--your family owes the government a million dollars and then some.
And you're going to pay in some shape or form--you're in the hands of
the law now. You ain't monkeyin' with these county people. You're on
your way to Frankfort now--and I think I'll be able to send you to
Atlanta for a while. Eh, Tom?"
Burton turned to his perspiring companion.
"Sure--they say the punk tastes like cake down there, too."
"Now, Lutts," resumed the revenuer with his bullying insolence, "you've
got one chance, and if you could see what's ahead of you, you'd take it
quick! You lead us to that layout of yours and you're free. Otherwise,
you're going to jail for a year anyway. I got the evidence all right.
What you going to do about it?"
Lem's brain was busy.
If he had been sure that there were only the two of them he would have
been only too eager to comply with Burton's proposition--because he knew
that these two men would never again report for duty. But how was he to
know how many men Burton had hiding to trail them.
Upon second thought Lem declined to put his own people in jeopardy.
"Well," growled Burton, "don't be afraid to talk. Are you going to lead
me to that liquor hole?"
"Yo' kin blow my brains out first," replied Lem scornfully and
emphatically.
"Well, fool, you're on your way. Tom, let's get busy. Bring his gun."
The revenuer produced a length of strap and, tying one end to the short
chain connecting the iron cuffs, he motioned Tom ahead.
The iron cut into Lem's flesh at the slightest pressure, and acted like
a bull-ring. In their desire to get the prisoner away with as much
secrecy as possible they avoided the trails, traveling cautiously under
cover.
A few minutes after the revenuer and their captive had departed, Orlick
crept out from the rocks like a reptile, and warily dodged along in
their wake.