Читать книгу: «When 'Bear Cat' Went Dry», страница 13

CHAPTER XVII

Blossom still knelt at the bedside with eyes of absorbed suffering and fingers that strayed flutteringly toward the bandaged head.

Bear Cat, with his hand on the latch, lingered at the door, held there by a spell which he seemed powerless to combat. His part here was played out and to remain longer was an intrusion – yet he seemed unable to go. The kneeling girl was not even conscious of his presence. For her there was no world except that little one bounded by the sides and the end of the bed upon which her lover lay dying. Her hands clasped themselves at last and her face buried itself in the coverings. She was praying.

Bear Cat saw the glimmer of the firelight on her hair and to him it was all the lost gold of his dreams. He caught the sweet graciousness of her lissome curves, and his own fingers clutched at the shirt which had become stiff with dried blood. Once she had prayed for him, he remembered – but that was before her real power of loving had burned to its fulness. Now he stood there forgotten.

He did not blame her for that forgetfulness. It only demonstrated the singleness of devotion of which she was capable; the dedication of heart which he had once hoped would be lavished on himself.

He, too, was so centered on one yearning that he was beyond the realization of lesser matters, so that the gaunt preacher came within arm's length unnoticed and laid a hand on his shoulder. Brother Fulkerson nodded toward the other room, and Turner followed him with the dumb and perfunctory abstraction of a sleep-walker.

"Now, son, ef hit hain't too late ter avail, let's hev a look at yore own hurts. Ye didn't come through totally unscathed yore own self."

Bear Cat stood apathetically and his eyes turned hungrily toward the stout partition of logs beyond which knelt the girl. It was not until the older man had spoken the second time that he replied with a flat tonelessness of voice, "My worst hurts … hain't none … thet ye kin aid."

"Thet's what I aims ter find out." Joel Fulkerson's manner was brisk and authoritative. "Strip off yore coat an' shirt."

Indifferently Bear Cat obeyed. Several times his lips moved without sound, while the other pressed investigating fingers over the splendidly sinewed torso and bathed away the dried blood.

"Hit looks p'intedly like ye've been seekin' ter prove them fruitless stories thet bullets kain't kill ye," observed the preacher at the end of his inspection, speaking with a somber humor. "Ye've done been shot right nigh yore heart, an' ther bullet jest glanced round a rib without penetratin'. Ye've done suffered wounds enough ter kill a half-dozen ord'nary humans – an' beyond wastin' a heap of blood ye don't seem much injured."

"I wisht," declared the young man bitterly, "ye'd done told me thet I was about ter lay down an' die. Thet's all I'm longin' fer now."

For some moments they were silent; then Joel Fulkerson's grave pupils flickered and a hint of quaver stole into his voice.

"Son, I've done spent my life in God's sarvice – unworthily yet plumb earnest, too, an' thar's been times a-plenty when hit almost looked ter me like He'd turned aside His face in wrath fer ther unregenerate sin of these-hyar hills. I've hed my big dreams, too, Turner … an' I've seed 'em fail. Oftentimes, despairin' of ther heathenism of ther growed-ups, I've sot my hopes on ther comin' generation. If ther children could be given a new pattern of life ther whole system mout come ter betterment."

The young man had been putting on again his discarded shirt and coat, but his hands moved with the fumbling and apathetic motions of a sleep-walker. His face, turned always toward that room beyond the wall, was set in a dull immobility, yet he heard what the elder man was saying, and listened with the impatience of one whose thoughts are in travail, and whose interest for abstractions is dead. The preacher recognized this, but with a resolute effort he continued. "When you war a leetle shaver I seed in yore eyes thet ye hed dreams above sordidness… Oft-times when I watched ye gazin' off acrost the most distant ridges I 'lowed that God hed breathed a wonderful gift inter ye … ther ability ter dream an' make them dreams come true. I seed thet ye hed power, power thet mout do great good or make yore name a terror ter mankind, dependin' on which way ye turned hit." An agonized groan came brokenly from the twisted lips. Bear Cat dropped into a chair and covered his eyes with trembling palms. He had faced his enemies without flinching, but after the cumulative forms of torture through which he had passed to-night, his stoicism threatened to break under the kind intentions of a talkative friend.

Still the evangelist went on: "I had visions of a new type of mountain folks – some day … when boys like you an' gals like Blossom grew up – and wedded. Folks with all the honesty an' generosity we've got now – but with ther black hate an' suspicion gone – . Ay – an' ther cause of hit gone, too, – ther blockade stills."

Turner's nails bit into his temples as if with an effort to hold the fugitive reason in his bursting head, as the words assaulted his ears.

"I've set hyar afore my fire many's ther night, a-dreamin' of some day when there'd be a grandchild on my knee … yore child an' Blossom's … a baby thet would be trained up right."

Suddenly Turner's silence of apathy broke and he fell to trembling, while his eyes flared wildly. "In God's name why does ye have ter taunt me in this hour with reminders of all thet I've lived fer an' lost? Does ye reckon I kin ever fergit hit?" He broke off, then went on again with panting vehemence. "I hain't never had no dream but what was jest a part of thet dream.

"Why I've stood up thar on ther ridges in ther spring when ther face of God's earth war so beautiful thet I've wondered ef His heaven could be much better – an' thet's ther sperit of ther hills thet Blossom stood fer ter me." The shaking voice gathered volume and passion. "I've seed ther bleak misery of winter strangle all but ther breath of life hitself outen folks thet lives hyar – an' thet's what this country means ter me without Blossom! Folks knows how ter hate up hyar, but jest now, somehow, I feels thet no man in all these God-forsaken mountings kin hate life an' humanity like I hates 'em!"

Joel Fulkerson responded soberly though without reproof: "Yore man Lincoln could go right on when things was turrible black. When his own ends failed he still went on – fer others. He didn't give way ter hate. He could go on tell he give his life hitself – fer dreams of betterin' things thet needed betterment, an' he come from ther same blood as us."

"Wharfore in God's name does ye stand thar preachin' at me?" The young man's reaction from stunned torpor to passion had brought with it something like the fever of madness.

"Ye knows I holds with ye es ter schools – an' all fashion of betterment – but what's them things ter me now? What I wants in this hour is ter visit on ther man thet's ruint my life ther direst punishment thet kin be meted out – an' he's cheatin' me by a-dyin'. Listen – " He broke off and bent his head toward the wall of Blossom's room and his voice took on a queer, almost maniacal note. "Kain't ye heer her – in thar – groanin' out her heart! Let me git outen hyar… I kain't endure hit… I'm liable ter do even you an injury ef I stays – albeit I loves ye!"

"I hates thet man in thar, too, Turner." The preacher laid a restraining hand on his companion's taut arm and sought to soothe the frenzy of wrath with the cool steadiness of his tone. "I've had need ter pray fer strength against thet hate – but I've heered ther Stacy rallyin' cry ter-night an' we've got ter hev speech."

"Speech hain't ergoin' ter mollify me. What I wants is ter hev ther things I've suffered this night paid fer. Hit's all got ter be paid fer!" The inheritor of feudal instincts wheeled and burst from the room, the preacher following more slowly but still determined.

Outside Turner halted. The ordeal through which he had passed had left him shaken in a frenzy of passion, and he stood looking about him with the gaze of a wild beast fretting under the feral urge of blood-lust. With a clan easily inflamed and gathering to his call, Brother Fulkerson realized the danger of that mood. Its menace must be met and stemmed before it ran to a flood-tide of homicidal violence.

The preacher came close and spoke quietly.

"I don't know yit what tuck place ter night – over yon," he said. "I only knows I've heered acrost ther hills a sound I'd prayed I mout never hear ergin – ther cry of ther Stacys rallyin' fer battle. Ye've got power, son – power beyond ther common. What air ye goin' ter do with hit? Air ye a-goin' ter fergit yore dreams, because ther future's black afore ye? Or air ye goin' ter be big enough, since ye're denied children of yore own, ter make them dreams come true fer ther benefit of other men's children?"

Bear Cat Stacy's voice as he answered was gratingly hard and his eyes were unyielding.

"I don't know yit," he savagely announced. "I don't know yit fer sure whose a-goin' ter need punishment, but I've called on my kinsmen ter gather – an' when I knows the truth we'll be ready to deal hit out full measure."

"Ther days of feuds is past, son. Fer God's sake don't be ther backwardest man in all this evil-ridden country – you thet should be the forwardest."

But Bear Cat's hands, clenched into fists, were raised high above his head.

"My paw's in jail," he ripped out. "I hed ter go over thar ter hide out in Virginny. Ef them things hadn't come ter pass mebby I mout hev saved Blossom from her tribulation." Suddenly he fell silent. In the dim light the preacher saw his face alter to the ugly set of a gargoyle and his body come to such sudden rigidity as paralysis might have brought.

"God Almighty in heaven!" Turner exclaimed, then his words come racing in a torrent of frenzy. "I war a damn' fool not ter hev seed hit afore! Why air my paw in jail? Why did Kinnard Towers counsel me ter go ter Virginny an' hide out? Hit war because he war plannin' ter murder Jerry Henderson – an' he didn't dast do hit with us hyar! I knows now who needs killin' an' so holp me God, I hain't a goin' ter lay down ner sleep, ever again, until I kills him!" The eyes burned madly; the figure shook and he would have rushed off at the moment had not the preacher caught his arms and held them doggedly even though the infuriated young giant tossed him about in his efforts to free himself. Yet for all his thinness and age, Joel Fulkerson had power in his frame – and an unshakeable determination in his heart.

"Listen ter me," he pleaded. "I won't keep ye hyar long – an' ef ye don't listen now, ye won't never forgive yoreself hereafter… Ye hain't got no cause ter misdoubt my loyalty… I hain't never asked a favor of ye afore."

At any other time Turner would have acquiesced without debate and in a spirit of fairness, but now he was driven by all the furies of his blood. He had been through the icy chill of dull despair and then plunged into the blast furnace of red wrath. Upon some guilty agency reprisal must be wreaked – and as if with a revelation, he thought he saw the origin of the conspiracy which his father had long ago suspected.

He saw it so late because until now his mind had been too focused on effects to hark back to causes, and now that he did see it, unless he could be curbed, he would run amuck with the recklessness of a Mad Mullah.

"Let me go, damn ye," the young man almost shrieked as he tore himself loose from the restraining grasp, and flung the old preacher spinning to the side so that he fell to his knees, shaken. He clambered up slowly with a thin trickle of blood on his lips, where his teeth had cut them in the fall.

"Thet war a pity, Bear Cat," he said in a queer voice, though still unangered, wiping his mouth with his bony hand. "I'd thought thet we two – with a common sorrow between us – " There he broke off, and the boy stood for a breathing space, panting and smoldering. He could not come back to cold sanity at one step because he had been too far shaken from his balance – but as he watched the gray-haired man, to whom he had always looked up with veneration and love, standing there, hurt to the quick, and realized that upon that man he had laid violent hands, the crazy fire in his arteries began to cool into an unutterable mortification.

Since the cattle trader's story had been told back in the Virginia cabin, until this moment, his mind had been successively scorched with wrath, chilled in despair and buffeted by hurricane violence, but never had it for a tranquil instant been stilled to normality. Over at the Quarterhouse, when in Berserker rage he had been lashing out through a red mist of battle, he had suffered less than since, because in action he was spending the hoarded accumulation of wrath – but since then he had been in the pits of an unbearable hell.

Now at the sight of that unresenting figure, wiping the blood from its lip, a new emotion swept him with a flood of chagrin and self-contempt. He had struck down a friend, defenseless and old, who had sought only to give true counsel. The stubborn spirit that had upheld him as he fought his fever-scalded way over the hills, and remained with him as he watched the wedding ceremony, broke; and with face hidden behind spread palms and a body racked by a spasm of collapse, he shook with dry sobs that come in wrenching incoherence from deep in his chest.

He reeled and rocked on his feet under the tempest of tearless weeping – and like a blind man staggered back and forth, until the preacher, with a hand on each shoulder, had soothed him, as a child is soothed. At last he found the power of speech.

"Fer God's sake, Brother Fulkerson, fergive me … ef ye kin… I don't know what I'm doin'… I'm seein' red." Again his voice vaulted into choleric transports. "Ye says I mustn't call ther Stacys ter bloodshed. Ye're right. Hit's my own private job – an' I'm goin' back thar ter kill him – now! But es fer you, I wouldn't hev treated ye with sich disrespect fer no cause in ther world – ef I hadn't been well-nigh crazed."

"Son, I forgives ye full free … but ye jest suspicions these other matters. Ye hain't dead sure – and ye hain't ther man ter go out killin' without ye air plumb sartain… Now will ye set down an' give me leave ter talk a spell?"

The boy dropped upon the edge of the porch and jerked with a palsy of wretchedness, and as he sat the old preacher pleaded.

For a while Bear Cat's attention was perfunctory. He listened because he had promised to listen, but as the evangelist swept on with an earnestness that gave a fire of eloquence to his uncouth words, his congregation of one was heeding him because of the compulsion of interest. He saw a bigger enemy and one more worthy of his warfare behind the malign individual who was, after all, only its figure-head and coefficient.

"Ef them ye loves hed been struck ter death by a rattlesnake – and hit war feasible fer ye, 'stid of jest killin' ther snake, ter put an end ter ther pizen hitself – fer all time – would ye waste strength on a single sarpent?" The eyes of the speaker were glowing with ardor. "Men like Kinnard air snakes thet couldn't do no harm save fer ther pizen of ther copper worms. Hit's because they pertects them worms thet ther lawless stands behind sich men – an' ther law-abidin' fears 'em. Wipe out ther curse itself – an' ye wipes out ther whole system of meanness an' murder." He paused, and for the first time since his outburst Bear Cat spoke soberly.

"Over thar – at ther Quarterhouse – whar they sought ter git Henderson – they warn't nothin' but a yelpin' pack of mad dogs – all fired ter murder with white licker."

Brother Fulkerson nodded.

"I said ye hed power, an' I don't want ter see ye misuse hit.

"Ye asked me a spell back why I pestered ye with talk about betterment in this hour of yore affliction. Hit's because I wants ye ter go on fightin' fer thet dream – even ef hit's denied ye ter profit by hit. I wants thet jest now with ther Stacys gatherin' in from back of beyond, ye starts out leadin' 'em rightfully 'stid of wrongfully – fer whichever way ye leads, ye'll go far."

Bear Cat Stacy rose from his seat. His chest still heaved, but his eyes were aflame with a fire no longer baleful. In them was the thrilling blaze of far-reaching vision. For a time he stood silent, then he thrust out his hand.

"Brother Fulkerson, I've done been right close ter hell's edge ter-night – but ye've brought me out. I hevn't put by my resolve ter punish murder – if I can prove hit – but I've put by punishin' hit with more murder. I aims ter make an end of blockadin'."

"Praise God," murmured Brother Fulkerson with the glowing face of an old and wearied prophet who sees a younger and mightier rise before him. Yet because his own long labors had taken heavy toll of weariness, he knew the ashes of despair as well as the flame of ardor. Now he found himself arguing the insurmountable difficulties. "But how does ye aim ter persuade men ter forego blockadin'? Yore own kinfolks air amongst 'em."

Bear Cat's excitement of resolve brought a tremor to his voice.

"By God, I don't aim ter persuade 'em over-much. I aims ter force 'em. I aims ter rip out every still this side of Cedar Mounting – Stacys' and Towers' alike, an' I don't aim ter sneak up on 'em, but ter march open about ther business!"

It was to a campaign of persuasion, rather than abrupt coercion, that the preacher had sought to guide his convert, and at this announcement of audacious purpose he shook his head, and the hopefulness faded from his pupils.

"The system hes hits roots set deep in ancient toleration, an' hooked under ther rocks themselves. Afore ye alters hit by fo'ce, ye've got ter shake, ter the bottom-most ledges, hills thet hain't never been shuck afore."

But Bear Cat Stacy had within the hour become the crusader in spirit, hot with a new-born purpose, and it would have been as possible to send molten lava traveling uphill to go tamely back again into its bursted crater, as to shake his purpose. He was in eruption.

"I knows thet, but I aims ter blast out the bed-rock hitself an' build hit up anew.

"Hit seems ter me right now es ef I kin see ther picture of this land in y'ars ter come. I kin see men walkin' with thar heads high an' thar gaze cl'ar – 'stid of reelin' in thar saddles an' scowlin' hate outen drunken eyes. I kin see sich schools es Jerry Henderson named ter me in other valleys an' coves.

"Ye says hit hain't a-goin' ter be easy, but I tells ye more then thet – hit's goin' ter be jest one mite short of impossible – an' none-the-less I'm a-goin' ter do hit. I'm a-goin' ter lay ther foundations fer a peace thet kin endure. I reckon folks'll laugh at 'em fust, an' then mark me down fer death, but I means ter prevail afore I quits – an' I'm beholden ter ye fer p'intin' me ther way."

The preacher clasped his hands in a nervous uncertainty. The transition from night to the twilight of the day's beginning had passed through its most ghostly vagueness to a fog-wrapped morning. A dour veil of gray and sodden mists trailed along the slopes with that chill that strikes at the heart and quenches the spirit in depression.

Joel Fulkerson stood, gray, too, and colorless.

"I don't hardly know how ter counsel ye, son," he said, and his voice was that of a man whose burden of weariness was crushing him.

"Ye aims ter do a thing thet hain't nuver been successfully undertook afore. Ef ye seeks ter fo'ce men 'stid of persuadin' 'em – ye're mighty liable ter fail – and cause ther valleys ter run red."

Bear Cat's lips twisted themselves into a smile ironically mirthless.

"Brother Fulkerson," he said, "in thar – ye kin almost hear her moanin' now – is ther gal thet I've always loved. Ter me ther ground she walks on is holy – ther air she breathes is ther only air I kin breathe without tormint … ter-night I fotched hyar ther man thet my heart was clamorin' ter kill: fotched him hyar ter wed with her." As he paused Turner's face twitched painfully.

"Ye says I mustn't undertake this job in no spirit of vengeance. Thar hain't no other fashion I kin undertake hit. I must needs throw myself inter this warfare with all ther hate – an' all ther love thet's in my blood. I hain't a-goin' ter try ter gentle iniquity – I'm goin' ter strive ter tromp hit underfoot."

When Bear Cat was joined by Joe Sanders a few minutes later, the ridges were still grim and unrelieved heaps of ragged gray. The sky was lowering and vague, and the face of the sun pale and sullen.

Joe, too, in that depressing dimness looked like a churlish ghost, and as the pair stood silently in the road they saw a trio of horsemen approaching and recognized at their head Dog Tate, mud-splashed and astride a horse that limped stiffly with weariness.

Dog slid from his saddle, and reported briefly.

"Ther boys air a-comin' in from ther branch waters an' ther furthermost coves. I've done started a tide of men flowin' ter-night."

"I'm beholden ter ye. I reckon we'd all better fare over ter my house and make ready ter meet 'em thar."

Tate leaned forward and gripped Bear Cat's arm.

"I've done warned everybody thet our folks must come in quiet. I 'lowed ye'd want ter hold counsel afore any man fired a shot – but – " He paused and looked furtively about him, then lowered his voice. "But thar's a thing comin' ter pass thet don't pleasure me none. Kinnard Towers air a-ridin' over hyar ter hev speech with ye – an' ef ye jest says ther word – thar hain't no need of his ever gittin' hyar."

"Kinnard Towers!" For an instant an astonished and renewed anger flared in Bear Cat's pupils, and the face of the other man blackened with the malevolence of a grudge long nursed and long festering in repression.

"Kinnard Towers," repeated Dog Tate, vindictively mouthing the name. "He's hired more men killed then he's got teeth in his jaws. He's raked hell itself, stirrin' tribulation fer yore people an' mine – an' I've done took my oath. Jest es soon es things start poppin' he's my man ter kill!"

Abruptly Tate fell to trembling. His face became a thing of ash and flint. From his pocket he drew a small package folded in newspaper, which he unwrapped and held out, displaying an old and very soiled handkerchief, spotted with dark discolorations. A shrill note sharpened his voice as he spoke in vehement haste.

"Thar hit air! Thet's my daddy's 'kerchief – an' thet spot air ther blood thet was spilled outen his heart – by a bullet Kinnard Towers caused ter be fired! Seems like I kin see him a-lyin' thar now, sort of gaspin' an' tryin' ter say somethin' ter me, thet he didn't never succeed in utterin' afore he died! I wasn't hardly more'n a baby them days an' when I come ter manhood they'd done made a truce an' yore paw 'lowed thet hit bound me. But now!" The man's excited tones cracked like a mule-whip. "Now ef ther truce air ended, hit's my right ter hev ther fust chance."

Slowly, with a comprehending sympathy but a firm resolution, Stacy shook his head.

"Ye've got ter be as heedful an' patient es ye bade ther others be. I've got a right-sensible hankerin' atter vengeance myself to-day, Dog – but I've got ter hold my hand for a spell yit, an' ye've got ter give me yore solemn pledge ter hold your'n, too. Hit mustn't be said thet ef any man – even Kinnard – trusts us enough ter ride inter our midst when we're gathered, he kain't be heered in safety."

The messenger stood looking down at the grewsome souvenir of the tragedy which he believed left him a debtor with an unpaid score. Clan obedience and individual lust for reprisal shook him in profound dilemma, but finally, with a strong effort, he nodded his head – though grudgingly.

"I gives ye my hand," he said in a dull voice, and up to them at that moment rode a spattered horseman who, because of Towers' relationship and marriage with a Stacy wife, was qualified as a neutral.

"I brings tidin's from Kinnard Towers," he announced. "He seeks ter hold a parley with ye. He comes in peace, an' he wants yore pledge thet he kin fare hither without harm."

Turner's jaw came out with a belligerent set, but he answered slowly. "I was over at his place last night an' he didn't hardly hold me harmless. None-the-less, tell him ter come on. I'll send back a few of my kinfolks with ye ter safeguard him along ther way."