IN WHICH SLAB PROPHESIES
They disbanded, and Lem Lutts returned to the cabin, melancholy and
morose. This futile hunt for his elusive arch enemy was prophetic of
some strange, dawning evolution. He felt the tang of it in his blood. He
saw it lettered in the patchwork of the shadows that tried to wrap their
arms about him. Amid the swaying branches of the trees the sympathetic
night winds lisped incoherently, and tried to tell him something. The
feral night-hawks dropped their shrill cries ominously down from the
sky; utterances seemingly meant for him. From down in the jungle realms
of the deserted church the faint whimpering of a panther whelp floated
up to his attuned ears, like the sobbing of a tired child, carrying the
warning of an oracular omen he could not deny.
The tree-frogs piped the spirit of this premonition to him with a
monotonous insistency that filled the boy's soul with an alien, restive
turbulence not comprehensible. The katydid purled its mysterious
cadence. To his keen interpretations all the subtle, nocturnal elements
of nature united upon one portentous theme. A significant, adjuring
symphony; the prelude of some miraculous happening that stood very close
to his life; inspiring him with a wild, palpitating unrest that puzzled
his reason and stirred him like the touch of an unseen hand.
A week after his abandoned search for the ghost-like revenuer, Lem's
haunting broodings resolved themselves into a quick, sudden action.
One morning, when Bud and Slab justly supposed Lem was still asleep, he
appeared at the witch-elm horse-block with Johnse Hatfield's piebald
mare. He gave to the mystified Bud and Slab a few brief instructions,
absolutely distinct from any inkling of his intentions, and rode away
through the chill mist and disappeared westward. He came back at
nightfall of the fourth day with a bulky package strapped to his saddle.
When he carried this bundle inside the cabin and exhibited its contents,
Bud and Slab looked on in open-mouthed wonderment.
There was a fine blue-serge suit of store clothes, shirts, linen
collars, ties, socks, underwear, tan shoes, and a direct insult to the
etiquette of mountain head-gear--a slick derby hat, which Buddy regarded
with open scorn; but which he speedily forgot when Lem unwrapped a
lesser package and presented his brother with a pearl-gray, wide-brimmed
Stetson hat for himself, and half dozen soft shirts, all of which were
grotesquely over-sized. Lem also gave Slab a half dozen flannel shirts,
two of which were a brilliant red, and which filled the old negro's
mouth with a score of assorted exclamations that left small doubt of his
gratitude and appreciation. Lem was non-communicative until after
supper. Then it was that he called Buddy and Slab out to the horse-block
and took them into his confidence, after Slab had sung "Kitty Wells."
"Now--Buddy," Lem was saying with profound emphasis, "to-morry yo'll be
th' man o' th' house, understan'?--an' yo' got t' be a man--and run
things like a man--'cause yore brother Lem'll be gone away from heah
to-morry, Buddy--do yo' 'low yore brother kin trust yo'-all, Buddy?--eh,
kin he trust yo'?"
Bud stood with a solemn, peaked face, into which had suddenly crept an
apprehensive, wistful look. He had lost no time in donning his new
things. Although his skinny little boy's figure was undersized, he had
on a man's shirt; likewise a man's hat. He had in his grasp a man's
rifle, a gun that had belonged to a very great man; undeniably the
greatest man that had ever lived. That look of dull puerile doubt
vanished instantly as the realization dawned upon him that his brother
was now about to honor him with a man's commission. He straightened
valiantly as he looked full into his brother's steadfast eyes and said:
"I reckon ole Cap Lutts o' Moon mountain was my pap, Lem--same's he was
yo'n."
Lem bestowed a beaming look of pride upon him.
"I jest hoped yo'd say thet, Buddy--yore a game lad, an' yo' kin show
pap's blood in yore veins any day."
"Air yo' a goin' fer off, Lem?" questioned Bud. Slab edged nearer, his
old ears eager for the project.
Lem reached out and laid a hand on his little brother's thin shoulder,
as with a jerk he tossed his chestnut hair backward.
"Buddy," he said in measured tones, "to-morry I'm a goin' away--I cyan't
tell how fer--I mought be gone a week--I mought be gone a month--mebby a
year--mebby ten years--I mought never cum back, Buddy--but when I do cum
back--yo'll know thet I seed Belle-Ann."
This intelligence jarred Buddy's hard, tight-lipped mouth ajar and fired
his cold, misanthropic heart with a vibrant yearning. How he would love
to see Belle-Ann! Slab slid gently off the witch-block like a turtle,
and rubbed his gnarled old hands together in hearty approval.
"When yo'-all see Lem agin, Buddy," repeated Lem, "yo'll know I seed
Belle-Ann--I air agoin' below, an' I air agoin' t' find Belle-Ann ef th'
trail leads aroun' th' worl'--I aim t' see her face onct mo'--jest onct
mo' 'fore I die----
"Ef I see her, I'll cum back heah t' Moon mountain, an' never leave 'til
yo' all lay me down 'side maw an' pap--ef I don't cum back--yo'll know
thet I'm still a lookin' fo' our'n deah little Belle-Ann--er I'm daid."
"Mebby yo'll find her, Lem," predicted Buddy, "an' mebby she'll cum back
home long o' yo'." An unwonted smile lingered on his countenance for a
brief moment in this anticipation. Then Slab with deep solemnity
advanced a sorceristic theory, drawn from his prognostic acumen.
"Lemmy--Lemmy," he began in a confidential, sibilant, half-whisper,
"las' night--las' night," he peered cautiously into the gloom, peopled
with gesticulating shadows. "Las' night er han' recht out an' tech me on
ma foot--an' I wake up--an' er li'lle voice say, 'Slab, git up'--an' I
git up--an' th' li'lle voice say, awful soft an' low like, 'Slab,' it
say, 'Slab look out'--an' I peek ma haid out--an' thar set Mr. Owl--not
er onery li'lle screech owl, what snoops wif de debil--but er big,
yaller, honest ole owl, whut de Obeah-spirit send t' tell Slab er
message, whut de good Lord hev in mind whut's gwine t' happen. Dah set
Mr. Owl up in de daid cedar, wif de big moon right ahind him--den I
snuck out an' slip up t' de daid cedar, an' stand jist as still, an'
wait t' see ef owl say somethin'--'cause ef owl say first--den dat means
bad--but ef owl wait fo' me t' say first--den dat means good--so I stand
jist as still--an' owl he don't say nuffin'--an' I wait agin, an' owl he
don' open he mouf--den I fix my hands, an' I say--'hoo! hoo! hoo!' an'
jist ez quick ez lighten' Mr. Owl he say 'hoo!--hoo! hoo!' Den I say
'hoo! hoo! hoo!' seban times, an' ebery time Mr. Owl he answer me--den
when I say 'hoo!--hoo!--hoo!' de las' time--Mr. Owl he flop his wings
an' goed away--den I knowed shore dat somethin' gwine t' drap--den I
looks 'round an' finds er li'lle bitty Obeah-stone--er li'lle white
stone, wif er li'lle black speck on hit--an' I fetches hit heah an' lays
hit down on de witch-block right heah--an' I turned 'round an' started
back t' bed, when somethin' whispered ahind me--den I jump 'round--but I
warn't skeert--an' dah she were--dah she were, Lemmie--dah she were
settin' up on dis witch-block right whar I put de Obeah-stone,--dah set
our li'lle Belle-Ann lookin' at Slab--I seed her just ez plain,
Lemmie--jest ez plain ez I see you des minit--all dressed up white ez
snow--an' all dem curls er hangin' down roun' her shoulders, an' her
li'lle mouf wus er smilin' at me--an' her beau'ful eyes wus er lookin'
right at me--an' I drap down on ma knees--right heah--right heah, whar I
stan' now--an' I hollers out: 'Hallelujah!--I allers tol' dem dat yo'd
cum back, li'lle gal'--an' she stretch her hands out ter me--an' I bust
out er cryin'--I couldn't he'p hit--I bust out er cryin'--an' I heer her
voice just ez plain ez I heer ma own now,--I heer her voice like er
nightengale's voice,--she say, 'Whar's Lem--whar's Lem--whar's Lem?--yo'
Slab--whar's Lem?--blow de horn fo' Lem,--yo' Slab--blow de horn fo'
Lem'--an' I git up off ma knees an' go t' tech her han' an' she warn't
dah--she goed away jist ez quick ez lighten'--an' I look an' de li'lle
Obeah-stone I lay on dat witch-block wus goed away, too--Lemmie--dat
means dat we's gwine t' see li'lle Belle-Ann 'fore a great spell--yore
due t' find li'lle Belle-Ann, Lemmie,--yo'll sho' see her--Buddy'll see
her--Slab's ole eyes'll see her--yo' know, Lemmie,--de good Lord hev His
pertic'ler ways t' tell good folks 'bout all des things--He kindy tells
dem 'forehand--so's dey hearts won't break--so's dey'll hev c'urage, an'
trus' in Him--Slab knows He do--Slab knows."