THE DOWNFALL OF SAP McGILL
Thinking McGill dead, Lem made one step forward and stopped, attracted
by a strange, quivering movement; then he beheld the rattlesnake coiled
up on Sap's breast. Then a sudden revelation dawned upon Lem Lutts. He
felt instinctively that Sap was not dead, although he could not have
been whiter and more inert had he been so.
To make certain Lem cautiously shrank back, and taking care not to make
the slightest sound, he worked his way around to the opposite side and
gained a position where he could see McGill's face. Like a shadow he
stepped out from behind a boulder and looked at Sap.
What he saw almost caused him to laugh outright. Sap was far from being
dead. He was wholly conscious and wholly alive, but ludicrously quiet.
His eyes were popping out of his head. They told that he would beg for
his life if he dared so much as to speak. He hardly dared breathe. Great
tears of terror were oozing out of his forehead and trickling in copious
streams down across his death-like features. The only risk the dullard
could take to express his agony was to roll his eyes.
The rattlesnake's head was focused less than twelve inches from his
chin, and he knew well that upon the slightest tremor of his body the
rattler would stab him in the throat. He knew well that the lightning of
the heavens could not emulate the fatal quickness and rapidity of that
snake's poisonous blow. For well on to two hours McGill had suffered the
agonies of a thousand hells. Lem now spoke to him.
When Lem's words reached McGill's ears, his only sign of comprehension
was an added bulge transmitted to his rolling eyes. Standing motionless
and in even tones, to avoid startling the rattler, Lem said:
"Well--so yo' got t' yore jest end at last, didn't yo'--egg-dog?
Belle-Ann is a comin' up the trail in a short spell--an' I air a goin'
t' kill yo' 'fore she gits heah, which is a mighty short spell t' live I
'low--so ef a skunk like yo'-all knows a prayer, why now's yore time to
think hit--but I advise yo' not t' git up on yore knees er stir roun'
much." Here Lem chuckled tauntingly and gleefully.
"Say--air thet a tame snake yo'-all got thah--eh? Ac's like he wus some
kin to yo'-all--say, 'fore y'o go away--just glance yore mind over all
th' pesky, onery divilmint yore folks has been a doin' fo' twenty years.
'Member th' day yore old pap shot my dad under th' truce flag thet my
maw held up, 'cause we'uns wanted t' have peace--but yore old pap didn't
git away, did he?--he was kindy slow-like. Say--yo' know a feller in
these mountains named Johnse Hatfield--eh? Did yo'-all ever hern tell on
em--eh? Ha-ha-ha! Hit wus a good dance, wusn't hit? Pears like Johnse
sort a put a crimp in yore folks down at Junction City thet night--eh?
Say--yo' ugly groun'-dawg--I hain't a killin' yo' exactly fo' all
thet--I air only aimin' t' kill yo' onct fer thet--but I air goin' t'
kill yo' twict fo' shootin' a boy--yo' shot a little boy, dedn't
yo'--eh? Yo' shot my boy brother twict an' tried t' kill em--didn't
yo'--eh? Now I air goin' t' blow yore brains out----"
With his last taunts a dull rush of red rage overspread Lem's
countenance, as with a quick, decisive movement he jerked his rifle to
his shoulder and fell upon one knee. A groan of despair escaped McGill's
bloodless lips now, and the rattlesnake instantly made that fatal loop
at the narrow of its neck. Evidently Sap preferred a bullet in the head
to a stab in the throat from the yellow monster that was flashing its
pronged tongue in his face.
"Now I'll show Belle-Ann whut ugly brains yo'-all got," muttered Lem,
sighting along the glistening gun barrel.
A piercing shriek of horror rent the air. Belle-Ann was not a hundred
feet away. A vivid terror stood in her eyes. She struggled for breath to
thwart the tragedy that filled that instant.
"For God's sake--oh!--for my sake--don't shoot--Lem--Lem--Lem!" she
screamed out, terrified, in begging, forbidding, distraught utterances,
and collapsed in the path.
But Lem, unheeding, quickly pressed the trigger. There was a pungent
crack. The rifle spat out a long, slender tongue of flame. A ragged wisp
of blue-white smoke spread out, separated and floated languidly upward.
There was an acrid odor of burnt powder in the air. Across the tenseness
of that long, awful moment the soft trill of a catbird grated like the
harsh blasphemy of a parrot. The gentle barking of a squirrel impinged
like a nerve-shattering noise.
Belle-Ann was on her knees in the trail--her face averted and her hands
over her eyes to hide them from what lay before her. Her curls were
shaking and trembling with the chill that swept over her body. She,
Belle-Ann Benson, who could, in days gone by, have watched with interest
and pleasure the killing of an enemy, and smile. But now the subtle
crack of that gun-shot rived into her senses like a withering scourge.
Had the bullet pierced her own vitals she could not have suffered thus.
All through the after years of her life the reverberation of that sharp,
little gun-noise hung about her ears, and she could never think of this
scene without a shudder.
She heard a loud, strained laugh, carrying a volume of contempt and
scorn. She peeped through her fingers fearfully. McGill was standing
upright, wiping his wet, pallid face with his shaking, naked hand.
Belle-Ann's hands came away from her eyes as she regained her feet,
dumfounded, and stared as if a ghost confronted her. She doubted her
senses.
"Belle-Ann," shouted Lem, "cum an' take a look at th' live coward!"
With a sudden influx of gladness she ran forward, a thankful heart
beating color back into her dimpled face. She looked at Lem, dazed,
nonplussed. Then she gazed at McGill and at a rattlesnake, whose bloody
head hung to its neck by a slender ligature of skin as it lashed the
rocks with its dying tail. Not once did McGill look in Belle-Ann's
direction; nor indeed did he meet Lem's truculent gaze. He stood abject,
with downcast eyes, and the dull apathy of a sick ox. On his depraved
features was a lettering of criminal sullenness; on his twitching lips
the curse of cowardice. Beneath this avenging stroke of Fate his big,
sinister hulk lopped down, and he stood stupidly licking his cracked
lips like a spiritless dog.
Belle-Ann still stood awed, nearby, trying to solve this strange
phenomenon. McGill's guilty heart plainly dreaded this fair girl's
presence. He did not look up, nor did he essay to utter a word of
defense. His shallow eyes only roved at his feet. He presented the
picture of the crestfallen criminal cornered on the premises of his last
losing stand.
"Pears like yo' hain't a carin' t' say much--eh?" taunted Lem, as with a
sudden rising fury he stooped down and grabbed up McGill's shotgun from
the ground, and with a series of terrific blows upon a nearby boulder he
reduced the weapon to a broken, twisted wreck in no time. Flinging what
was left of it out into the rhododendrons, he advanced and stood before
his erstwhile dangerous enemy.
"Sap," he began, "how did yo'-all ever git out o' hell in th' first
place--eh? 'Cause I know thet Gawd'll Moughty never made sich as yo' to
be born--I don't 'low yo' wus ever born, an' I believe yo' wus too mean
and pesky and treacherous t' live in hell--I 'low th' devil drove yo'
out." He aimed a finger within an inch of McGill's nose.
"Looky heah--yo' owe yore dirty life t' Belle-Ann thah--not t' Lem
Lutts--'cause ef she hadn't come, yo'd be powerful daid against
now--hit's a shame t' take thet pore snake's life away t' save sich as
yores--now git away from heah--git out'n my sight 'fore I do kill yo'.
Git out o' heah--an' ef I ever lay an eye on yo' agin on thes side o'
Hellsfork--Belle-Ann and Gawd'll Moughty together won't keep me from
killin' yo' on sight--yo' heer? Go, skunk--hit's ole Cap Lutts' boy a
talkin' t' yo'--Lem Lutts."
In the tenseness and absorbing excitement of the moment, they had not
heard the hurried clatter of hoofs, like the tattoo of a cavalcade
coming up the trail. They did not see Buddy ride up on Belle-Ann's
charging blood-bay--nor the other three horsemen that crowded along
close behind him. 'Twas only when the three men rushed in upon them and
arrested and shackled McGill that they fully realized what had really
taken place.
The officer removed his hat and bowed in respectful admiration to
Belle-Ann, with a smiling light of recognition in his eyes. He was the
deputy sheriff who had spent a night at the Lutts cabin before Belle-Ann
went away to school.
"With the charges against him at Junction City, I don't think this
gentleman will bother you for a long time. You know the McGills don't
own Junction City any more," he said, obviously wondering at the pretty
up-to-date picture presented by the girl before him. The last time he
saw Belle-Ann she wore moccasins, was bare-legged, and dressed in a
gingham gown; but he had never forgotten her beauty.