CHAPTER VII
THE CHICKEN-KILLING
An hour later Will left the house. He felt good. He felt that hewanted to shout aloud his good fortune. To a temperament like histhere was only one outlet to such feelings. He would go down to thesaloon and treat the boys. They should share in his good fortune--tothe extent of drink. He cared nothing for them in reality. He carednothing for anybody but himself. He wanted drink, and to treat theboys served as an excuse.
Since winning Eve he had debated with himself the matter of"straightening up" with regard to drink. It is the usual condition ofmind upon such occasions amongst men who live hard. It is an upwardmoral tendency for the moment, and often the highest inclination oftheir life's moral switchback, the one that inevitably precedes thelongest and severest drop. At no other time would he have needed anexcuse to drink.
He hurried so as not to lose anything of the evening's entertainmentat the saloon, but his way did not take him direct. He had left thebulk of his money secreted in the cupboard in his old hut, a place hestill kept in which to sleep when business or pleasure brought him infrom the hunting-grounds of the trade which was his.
But the deviation was considerable, nor had he the assistance of anyoutside influence to keep his mind in focus. Thus he found it driftingwhithersoever it chose. It passed from Eve to the saloon, to the moneyhe required to help him pass the evening, to a dozen and one things,and finally settled itself upon the one subject he would rather haveavoided. It focused itself upon Jim Thorpe, and, try as he would tobreak away from this thrall, it clung tenaciously.
He could not get away from Eve's spoken sympathy for Jim, and everyword he recollected stung him poisonously. His regard for Jim was ofthe frailest texture. He had always regarded him as somethinginevitable in his life, and that was all. Nor was he to be consideredin the least where his own desires were concerned. Yet he cursed thatshooting match. He cursed himself for going to see Jim at all. Why hadhe not gone to Eve in the first place? Then he promptly reassuredhimself that he had only gone to Jim out of a sense of honor. Yes, itwas that shooting match. Jim had forced it on him. That was it. It waswholly Jim's fault. How was he to know he was going to lose? There wasno doubt that Jim was a fine shot, but so was he.
Then through his brain flashed another thought. Maybe it hadinspiration in the thought of Jim's shooting. What would happen whenhe met Jim, as, sooner or later, he knew he must? What would Jim'sattitude be? He frowned heavily. This had not occurred to him before.Would there be trouble? Well, if there were it might be easier, atleast less complicated. On the other hand, what else could Jim do? Itwas uncomfortably puzzling. His own disposition made it impossible forhim to probe the possibilities of such a nature as Jim's.
He could not answer his question, and it left him with a feeling ofapprehension which no prospect of violence could have inspired inhim. He told himself he was sorry, regretted the whole occurrence, butthere was less truth in his mental apology than in the feelings whichhis thoughts had inspired. Though in his heart he knew he had donewrong, he had acted with the grossest dishonor toward Jim, he wouldnot admit it; consequently he experienced the nervous apprehensionwhich every wrong-doer, however hardened, always feels at the thoughtof being confronted with his crime.
By the time he reached his hut he was in a bad mood. He not onlyrebelled against the worry of his thought, but wanted to vent hisfeelings. He probably hated Jim just then, and a meeting with him atthat moment would undoubtedly have provoked a quarrel.
He was approaching his hut from the back. The place was in darkness,and he groped in his pockets for matches. He had to pass the oldhen-roost, which, in their early days in Barnriff, had kept him andJim supplied with fresh eggs. As he drew abreast of this he suddenlyhalted and stood listening. There was a commotion going on inside, andit startled him. He could hear the flapping of wings, the scufflingand clucking of the frightened hens.
For the moment he thought of the coyote, that thieving scavenger ofthe prairie which is ever on the prowl at night. But the next instanthe remembered the chicken killing going on in the village. He ran tothe door of the roost and flung it wide open. Without waiting for alight he stooped down and made his way in. And that act of stoopingprobably saved his life. Something whistled over his bent body,splitting the air like a well-swung sword. He knew instinctively itwas a knife aimed at him. But the next moment he had grappled withhis assailant, and held him fast in his two strong arms.
From that moment there was no further struggle. As he dragged hisprisoner out he wondered. Then, in a moment, his wonder passed, as hefelt a set of sharp, strong human teeth fasten themselves upon theflesh of his forearm. He dropped his hold and with his free handseized his captive by the throat and choked him until the teethreleased their grip.
To rush his prisoner along before him to the door of the hut andthrust him inside was curiously easy. There was no resistance orstruggle for freedom. The captive seemed even anxious to avoid allfurther effort. Nor was there a word spoken until Will had struck amatch and lit the guttered candle stuck in the neck of a whiskeybottle. Then, with the revealing light, he uttered an exclamation ofblank astonishment.
Elia, Eve's brother, stood cowering before him with his usually mildeyes filled with such a glare of abject terror that it might well haveinspired pity in the hardest heart.
But Will was not given to pity. The boy's terror meant nothing to him.All he remembered was his unutterable dislike of the boy, and hissatisfaction at having caught the chicken-killer of Barnriff. And, tojudge by the boy's blood-stained hands, in the thick of his fellwork.
"So, I've caught you, my lad, have I?" he said, with a cold grin ofappreciation. "It's you who spend your time killing the chickens?Well, you're going to pay for it, you--you wretched deformity."
The boy cowered back. His curious mind was filled with hatred, but hisfear was all-mastering. Will suddenly reached forward and dragged himfurther into the feeble rays of the candle-light.
"Come here, you young demon!" he cried. "You're not going to escapepunishment because of your sister. You haven't got her here to protectyou. You've got a man to deal with. Do you understand, eh? A man."
"A devil," Elia muttered, his eyes gleaming.
"Well, at this moment, perhaps, a devil!" Will retorted, giving theboy's arm a cruel twist. "How's that?" he inquired, as the boy gaveone of those curious cries of pain of his, which had so much likenessto an animal's yelp.
"Oh, that's nothing to what you're going to get," his persecutor wenton. "We do the same here to boys who kill chickens as we do to thosewho kill and steal cattle. We hang 'em, Elia, we hang 'em. How wouldyou like to be hanged?"
Will watched the working features. He saw and appreciated the terrorhe was causing, the suffering. But he could draw no further retort.
As a matter of fact he had no definite idea yet as to what he shoulddo with his captive. He was Eve's brother, but that did not influencehim. He probably disliked the boy all the more for it, because one dayhe would be his brother, and he knew that Elia came before all else inthe world in Eve's thoughts. His jealousy and hatred were wellblended, and, in a man of his mind, this was a dangerous combination.
He released his hold on his captive and looked at his bleeding arm.The boy's teeth had left an ugly wound, and the blood was flowingfreely. He turned his eyes again to Elia's face and a devil lurked inthem.
"I've a good mind to thrash you, you piece of deformity!" he criedangrily. And he made a move as though to fulfil his threat.
Then that cruel grin gathered round his lips again.
"That's a good idea," he said. "Thrash you for myself, and hand youover to those others, after."
But his words had not the effect which his physical force had. Perhapsthe boy, with that peculiar twist he possessed, was reading theindecision, the uncertainty in his captor's mind. Anyway, the terrorin his eyes was becoming less, and a defiant light was taking itsplace. But Will could see none of this, and he went on.
"I'd hate to be
handed over to the boys for hanging----"
Elia suddenly shook his head.
"There's no hangin'!" he cried, "and you know it. You send me to--theothers an' see what happens to you. I tell you, sis 'ud see you deadbefore she married you. Guess you best let me go right quick, an' nomore bulldozing."
The boy had suddenly tacked to windward of him, and Will wasconfronted with an ugly "lee shore." The trap he had fallen into wasdifficult, and he stood thinking. The dwarf had recovered himself, andhis bland look of innocence returned to his eyes.
"I killed 'em nigh all--your chickens," he said earnestly. "I'll killthe rest later, because they're yours. I can't kill you because youare stronger than me, but I hate you. I'm goin' right out of here now,an' you won't stop me."
But the boy had overreached himself. Will was not easy when at bay.
He took a step forward and seized him by his two arms.
"You hate me, eh?" he said cruelly. "I can't hand you over to theboys, eh?" He wrenched the arms with a twist at each question, and, ateach twist, the boy uttered that weird cry that was scarcely human."Well, if I can't," Will went on through his clenched teeth, wrenchinghis arms as he spoke, "it cuts both ways; you'll get your med'cinehere instead, and you daren't speak of it--see, see, see!"
The boy's cries were louder and more prolonged. Terror had again takenits place in his eyes. Yet he seemed to have no power for resistance.He was held in a paralysis of unutterable fear. With each of Will'sthree final words the lad's arms were nearly wrenched from theirsockets, and, as the victim's final cry broke louder than the rest,the door was flung open and the candle set flickering.
"Stop that!" cried a voice, directly behind Will, and the man turnedto find the burly form of Peter Blunt filling the doorway.
But Will was beside himself with rage and hatred.
"Eh?" he demanded. "Who says to stop? He's the chicken-killer. I gothim red-handed." He held up one of the boy's blood-stained hands.
"I don't care what he is. If you don't loose him instantly I'll throwyou out of this shack." The big man's voice was calm, but his eyeswere blazing.
Will released the boy, but only to turn fiercely upon the intruder.
"And who in thunder-are you to interfere?" he cried savagely.
Without a moment's hesitation Peter walked straight up to him. For asecond he stood towering over him, eye to eye. Then he turned hisback, and thrust out one great arm horizontally across the other'sbody, as though to warn him back while he spoke to Elia. There wasnothing blustering in his attitude, nothing even forceful. There was asimplicity, a directness that was strangely compelling. And Will foundhimself obeying the silent command in spite of his fury.
"Get out, laddie," said Peter gently. "Get out, quick."
And in those moments while Will watched his prey hobbling to freedom,he remembered Eve and what it would mean if the story of his doingsreached her.
As the boy vanished through the doorway Peter turned.
"Thanks, Will," he said, in his amiable way. "You'd far best let himgo. When you hurt that boy you hurt Eve--ter'ble."
Swift protest leaped to Will's lips.
"But the chickens. He killed 'em. I caught him red-handed."
"Just so, Will," responded the big man easily. "He'll answer forit--somewhere. There's things we've been caught doing 'red-handed'by--some one. And we'll answer for 'em sure--somewhere."