"Sh.o.r.e," returned Johnse, "I stopped 'em thes time--I did."

"Air yo' sho' he's kilt?" eagerly, as the three crouched behind the boulder.

"He air," a.s.sured Johnse emphatically. "I kin tell the way a feller flops his wings when he air kilt an' when he air jest hurted--he war a snakin' round--an' I 'low he war a spyin' on yore house--he looked up an' seen me a watchin'--then he pulled on me--but I fired quicker'n him--I got em sh.o.r.e thes time, Lem."

"Gawd'll Moughty!" muttered Lem, under his breath, "air thet cuss back thes quick--a houndin' me agin, thes soon?--but he tol' me he'd do hit--he said he wouldn't parley any----"

"Who tol' yo?"

"Burton."

"When--yo' hain't meanin' thet yo' talked to that devil?"

"I been in his jail all thes time."

For a moment Hatfield's face was a picture of dismay. He was dumb and plainly beyond any expression. Presently Johnse spoke.

"I see thar game--course thar's a traitor, but I 'low it hain't Orlick--they wanted t' beat yo'-all back, thinkin' yo' wouldn't be a lookin' fer 'em so soon--an' he war a spyin' on yore house, aimin' t'

foller yo'-all to th' still--then raid us--but I changed his tune."

"I hope yo' hain't kilt em--'cause he belongs to Cap Lutts's boy--to me----"

"I kilt em, Lem--I had t'."

Lem still stared incredulously at Hatfield's grim, bearded face.

"Come 'long, Johnse!" exclaimed Lem decisively. "I 'low yo' believe yo'

kilt em--but yo' can't lead me t' his daid body--yo' can't," declared Lem dubiously. Gripping his Winchester, Lem started away down the trail on a run, with Hatfield and little Bud loping along after him.

When they arrived within sight of the place indicated by Hatfield as the spot where he had seen the revenuer's head disappear, the trio fell upon their knees, and crept cautiously along, with rifles ready and eyes alert. In a dense clump of laurel brush between two great dun rocks, they came upon a tan felt hat lying in a wide circle of dark blood. A few paces away lay a silver-mounted Winchester rifle. Lem knew the gun; the instant he laid eyes on the piece, he knew it was the property of Pete Burton, the revenuer. The front of the hat, just above the band, was slit open for six inches or more, as if cut with a knife. Lem's eyes glowed like fire-b.a.l.l.s, as he examined the gun and pa.s.sing it to Bud to carry, he turned upon Hatfield, who stood speechless eyeing the blood.

"Yo' said yo'd show me his daid body, Johnse--do yo' see hit?" Lem emitted a bitter, derisive laugh.

Hatfield's hairy visage was the picture of dumb bewilderment.

"Johnse Hatfield," began Lem solemnly, "could any man thet Gawd'll Moughty made human lose all thet blood and not stay heah, on thes spot?--eh? I kin tell from his hat yore bullet swiped em 'long th'

forehead,--yo' hain't kilt em--yo'll never kill em--I'll never kill em--n.o.buddy'll ever kill em, Johnse Hatfield!--ef he wus a human bein'

my pap would a got em 'long 'go--Johnse, when yo'-all kills a eagle yo'

takes a bead on em pint-blank first, don't yo'?--sho'--yo' don't shoot at his shadder skimmin' along on th' ground under him, do yo'?--no. But when yo' shoot at this cussed revenuer yo' mought as well shoot at his shadder's fer's killin' him goes--he air a ghost. But I'll never stop tryin' t' git em anyways--I feel that I'll never git em--leastways. .h.i.ts soothin' t' be always a tryin'--c.u.m 'long, Johnse."

They twisted in and out through the laurel and rhododendrons, between bald rocks, mighty and pigmy, and over crumbling logs coated with liverwort. Through walls of tangled thorn brush; out and along paths beaten by the wild razorbacks, and down, always downward, the three followed the erratic zigzag trail of blood for four miles. Down to the very water's brink of Boon Creek, where they lost it.

They traversed both sides of the creek up and down for miles with no signs of the lost trail. Hour after hour they searched until night came upon them, and they returned home, with the uncanny feeling that the wounded revenuer was likely to rise up out of the ground, or step out of the granite heart of some boulder at any moment.

At dawn the following day, thirty armed men gathered at the cabin. Lem spread them out, beginning at the canyon of h.e.l.lsfork, and they beat the rugged country systematically, working upward. Each day at sunrise they resumed the search where they left off until the eighth day, when they left all growth and foliage behind and came high up amid the naked, forbidding peaks of the range; precincts to discourage a mountain goat, much more a wounded man. They were rewarded with no signs of the revenuer.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

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 a.s.sorted exclamations that left small doubt of his grat.i.tude 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 c.u.m back, Buddy--but when I do c.u.m 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 c.u.m back heah t' Moon mountain, an' never leave 'til yo' all lay me down 'side maw an' pap--ef I don't c.u.m 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 c.u.m back home long o' yo'." An unwonted smile lingered on his countenance for a brief moment in this antic.i.p.ation. Then Slab with deep solemnity advanced a sorceristic theory, drawn from his prognostic ac.u.men.

"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 sh.o.r.e 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. .h.i.t heah an' lays. .h.i.t 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 c.u.m 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."