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, "c.u.m 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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' h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l--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'

h.e.l.lsfork--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 hors.e.m.e.n 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.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

BELLE-ANN'S RECANTED CREED

In mutual contented silence they stood looking after the three officers leading their sullen prisoner down the mountain trail toward Boon's Ford. With the first wholesome grin that had touched his face for nearly two years, Buddy rode on toward the cabin astride Belle-Ann's splendid horse. Presently Belle-Ann looked up into the pensive face behind her.

"Why didn't you kill Sap, Lem?" she probed, though its answer had been happily divined.

"I hed a bead on his ear when I heered yore voice, Belle-Ann--I heered yore voice a callin' 'fo' my sake'--an' I jest couldn't do hit--then I shot th' snake's haid off."

Knowing Lem as thoroughly as she did, she knew that this humane, gallant act had been to him a real sacrifice. They sat down upon the log behind which McGill had hidden. She was waiting for him to speak. With covert, abashed glance, he was regarding her handsome costume. She knew that he was puzzled and wondering at this astounding exposition of wealth.

Presently he spoke up:

"Yo'-all look powerful beautiful, Belle-Ann--I never 'lowed they wus sich fine things in th' worl'."

Her merry, sweet laugh rippled out now as she laid a white hand on his arm and looked up into his face with a challenge in her eyes. He did not press her for an explanation. Then with a toss of her curls, she launched forth and poured her fairy-like tale into his amazed ears, all about her wondrous discovery of a lovable, priceless grandfather.

Then in wretched contrast to Belle-Ann's glittering conquest below, Lem recounted his capture by the revenuer, and his tortuous measure of months in prison. He told of how he had written letter after letter to her, hoping, always hoping, hourly, daily, monthly, to hear from her.

And the girl's eyes grew misty and her heart went out to him. The very recital of this experience cast a gloom over him now. Wherefore she sought to introduce a pleasanter theme and cheer him with prospects of the future.

"And, Lem," she was saying, "I have ever so much money--oh!--I don't know how many thousands of dollars--all my own, grandpa says."

Lem had not digested the story of her opulence as enthusiastically as Belle-Ann had antic.i.p.ated.

"But I hain't kilt th' revenuer yet--so--so--I 'low----"

"No words can tell you how glad I am, Lem--that you have not succeeded in killing the revenuer. G.o.d will surely lead him to his retribution, but it is not for you to exact, and I now take back all I said--and you must promise me not to kill him if you get the chance, and I can't ever promise you-all anything until you make me this pledge."

Lem rose slowly up off the log and looked curiously down upon her. At the end of a long minute he spoke:

"Belle-Ann," he said, "I can't understan' yo'--'fore yo' went away t'

school I axed yo' t' promise t' marry me. Yo' wouldn't promise--yo'

wouldn't even 'low me t' kiss yore face then--yo' said thet yo'd never 'low n.o.buddy t' kiss yo'--thet yo'd never promise t' marry me--lessen I kilt th' revenuer--an' Gawd knows I been a tryin' t' kill em! Now yo'-all comes back an' tells me thet yo' don't 'low t' promise me anythin' ef I _do_ kill th' revenuer--I can't understand thet, Belle-Ann--I 'low yo'-all is hankerin' t' git shut o' me, Belle-Ann," he ended despairingly, pa.s.sing his hand over his eyes as if to brush away this strange philosophy that had skeined itself in his brain in one insoluable tangle.

She did not respond straightway. She fully understood the magnitude of the task she had before her. To convert Lem to her new creed would enlist all of the gentle diplomacy at her command.

"Belle-Ann, I hev always loved yo'," he resumed solemnly. "I love yo'

now--I love yo' mor'n I love my life--my life hain't as much as thet daid snake 'sides th' way I love yo'--I'd stand on Henhawk's k.n.o.b an'

jump into h.e.l.lsfork ef yo'd ax me t'--but, Belle-Ann, I owe th' blood o'

thet revenuer t' pap and t' maw--th' two graves up in th' orchard air a cryin' out fer th' revenuer's blood. I saved Sap's blood--saved him 'cause yo' called t' me not t' shoot--I let em go, much as I hate th'

pizon mad-dog--saved em as bad as he oughter be daid--but, Belle-Ann, much as I love yo', yo' can't take th' revenuer 'way from me ef he's alive yit."

She was appalled at the terrible wave of pain and pa.s.sion that now swept his countenance. He poised a clinched fist above his head, as he removed his derby hat, and casting his eyes upward he added:

"I'll kill thet revenuer--I'll kill thet revenuer, I will, ef lead'll kill em--I'll have his blood ef I git th' chanct--I'll kill em with my last lick o' lead--ef I go t' h.e.l.l th' next minit."

She responded to this volcanic outburst with a soothing pressure on his arm, as she thrust her arm through his and they walked up the trail toward the cabin, her mind busily occupied, groping for a mode of procedure whereby she could convey to him the great divine law of universal love and charity, prescribing the return of good where evil is given--a practice not only to shame his erring enemies and brim their thoughts with penitence; but in its doing to enrich his own soul with a mollient peace, and clothe his life in a spiritual raiment rarer than gems and bullion of kings.

When they reached the old honeybee tree, they saw Slab cavorting down to meet them. His head was back-flung, his arms akimbo, and he showed a hock action, despite his age, that would have inspired a coach horse with bitter envy. As he neared them he began yelling:

"Hallalujah--hallalujah--hallalujah!"

He wrung Belle-Ann's hand, tears of joy following the creases in his old face. He circled around and around her, chanting various adages filched from the tenets of his sorceristic faith, all of which compared happily with Belle-Ann's presence. All the way to the cabin Slab's utterances and antics were effervescent.

"I done tol' dem yo'-all sho'd c.u.m back," he said stoutly. "Den when yore deah li'lle spirrut c.u.m dat night an' tuck er way dat li'lle Obeah-stone--den I sh.o.r.e knowed yo' war due--an' ma heart war a shoutin'

all night so hard dat hit keep me wake--an' heah yo' be li'lle gal--heah yo' be--hits Slab dat knows--Slab he knows."

"Slab," projected Belle-Ann, without the slightest prelude, "Amos Tennytown wants you."

These words halted Slab with one foot raised. He cautiously let the one foot down. The smiles that had wreathed his visage when Belle-Ann spoke were frozen there.

"Come on, Slab," urged Belle-Ann. "Surely you are not scared. Colonel Amos Tennytown sent you-all a kind message. He wants you to drop in and see him at Lexington, Slab. Do you remember when that cruel snapping turtle woke you up?"

Slab was now stumbling along open-mouthed, blinking down at the girl, his dim eyes shot with a smoldering fire of endeared reminiscences; a cherished theme that had hovered in his memory since the distant day when the blue and the gray had dueled,--scenes mellowed by time, but sweetly mated with "Kitty Wells." Unbelieving and in faltering tones of half reproach, he said:

"Li'lle gal, don' pesticate de ole man,--I's er ole man, li'lle gal,--yo' orter be good t' de ole man now--don' fool de ole man--no--don' fool Slab, li'lle gal--he--he--"