The Red Debt Part 20

Bud did not open his mouth, but his pale eyes followed Johnse as he began hacking at a raw shoulder of pork. Buddy knew Johnse, and Johnse knew Buddy, and the boy knew that there was something particular in Johnse's mind. And Hatfield knew just as well what Buddy would say as if the boy had already condescended to speak. After a minute's unbroken silence, Johnse said:

"What ded yo' say, Buddy, eh? Ded yo' say yo'd have a hank o' corn bread, an' a slab o' po'k, eh?"

"Naw," answered the boy sullenly.

With the knife poised Johnse cast a covert look at Bud. Then he laid the knife down gently, threw his wide hat down on the red oil-cloth table cover, and sprawled down on a chair in front of the boy. With one hand he reached out and squeezed Buddy's shoulder solicitously, and pretending not to know what was coming, he inquired in his inimitable soft, smooth voice:

"What ails yo', little Cap--hain't yo' feelin' peert like thes nice mornin', eh?"

Buddy's lips were tightly compressed and his eyes, which had not wandered from Johnse's face, were now eloquent with reproach. Johnse waited.

"I 'low yo' haint a treatin' me right, Johnse Hatfield."

The man simulated a profound density.

"Whut--whut--hain't a treatin' yo' right?--Why now, Buddy--now--come now." Johnse forced a soft placatory laugh. "Come now, little chap--whut hev I done t' yo'--eh?"

Bud straightened up with a jerk and his mouth began to twitch with the heat of some vehement words that stood just behind his lips, but Hatfield quickly forestalled him as he intended to do.

"Now--now--don't git riled, little Cap--why, haint I tuk th' best care uv yo' as I know how--an' every month after I've paid th' men, don't I bring yo'-all half o' whuts leftin'--every month since Lem's bin gone I han' over yore part reg'ler--an' last month wus better 'n any--why, I give yo' fifty-one dollars last month, Buddy--whut yo' got to pester yo'--eh?"

At Hatfield's first words, the boy had settled back in his chair, plainly disgusted.

"Whut do ail yo' anyways, Buddy--eh?"

When Buddy straightened up again, Johnse relaxed in his seat and expressed a willingness to listen by plucking his beard with two fingers and a glint of amus.e.m.e.nt in his small eyes.

"Johnse Hatfield," began the boy vigorously, "ef yo'-all wusn't honest, I 'low we-uns wouldn't a hed yo' heah--thet ain't whut I'm aimin'

at--hit hain't--yo' alers treated me like pap ded--yo' alers ac'ed like a dad t' me--only one thing, Johnse Hatfield--jest one thing--I air a tellin' yo'."

He had slid out of his chair and was now holding an admonitory finger up to Hatfield's face.

"Only one thing, Johnse Hatfield--an' yo' done me pesky on thet, yo'

ded."

Hatfield regarded the end of Buddy's finger for a moment--then softly inquired:

"How ded I do yo' pesky, Buddy?"

"Hain't I th' onlyest Lutts?" he fairly yelled, falling back a step, with head tilted backward, and an unmistakable note of pride trembling through his piping voice.

"Sh.o.r.e."

"Warn't ole Cap Lutts my dad?" he demanded.

"Sh.o.r.e."

"Then who air leader by rights--who air th' head o' th' people--who air Cap'in heah in Moon?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Who air th' head o' th' people--who air Cap'in heah in Moon?"]

While Johnse was gathering response with slow deliberation, the boy held his ground with unswerving eyes, the while tapping his own little thin chest with his finger tips, and with an emphasis that boded no denial.

Hatfield perceived that to argue with him now would be like taking a bone from a starved dog.

"Why, Buddy!" placated Johnse, "ded I ever 'low yo' warn't?"

"But yo' don't think I'm fittin'--yo' don't--yo' don't think I'm fittin'!" he shouted hotly.

Mentally Johnse told himself that it was time to launch what he held in reserve and end Buddy's turbulent tirade, which was carrying the boy to the verge of distress. Hatfield's attachment to old Cap Lutts had been fused with a ligature of fealty little short of blind idolization, and it did his soul good to watch this outburst of virility and aggression that flamed up in the boy, reflecting the blood and stamina of the old man. And Hatfield loved this little human tiger that had come to-day to arraign him with the iron gusto of a born ruler and all the plenipotent fire of a vice king and despot.

"I hain't fittin'--I hain't fittin'--be I?" he reiterated vociferously.

"Sh.o.r.e, yo're fittin', Buddy. Course yo're a little feller yet,--sh.o.r.e yo're fittin'--ef ary hillbilly says yo' hain't--why, I'll turn his face down out o' these mountains, I will--yo' never heard me say yo' wusn't fittin', Buddy, eh?"

"Naw, but leastways yo' ac' hit Johnse Hatfield--yo' ac' hit--yo' do.

You won't listen t' me."

"I alers listen t' yo', boy," contradicted Johnse quickly.

"Well, yo' listen, but yo' don't heed--yo' don't," he stormed.

"Whut do yo'-all want me to do?" pet.i.tioned Johnse navely.

"Tear em up--tear em up--tear em up!" he cried, with an arm stretched toward the south. "Hain't I begged yo' t' tear em up--hain't I begged yo' fo' a yeer t' tear em up--hain't I prayed t' yo' t' wade in an' make em pay fer killin' Lem? Gawd'll Mighty----"

Here the boy's fury broke all bounds of self-restraint and he tore up and down and across the puncheon floor, bandis.h.i.+ng his two fists, distraught and choked with an avalanche of impa.s.sioned, inarticulate words. After a minute he went on.

"Th' men won't foller me 'cause I air a boy--an' I hev begged yo' t' git em fo' killin' pore Lem. Don't I know they kilt Lem--don't I know they kilt Lem an' tuk em across h.e.l.lsfork an' made a hole fo' em in Southpaw?

Efen yo' wus afeered I'd know whut t' do--but yo' hain't askeert, yo'

hain't. Ef th' ole Scratch wus t' c.u.m in thet door now t' git yo', Johnse Hatfield, yo'd smack em over and wring his neck--yo' hain't askeert--yo' got some tuther reason ahidin' out--yo' air--an' I don't 'low t' swoller hit no longer! Whut ud my pore daid pap say--an'

maw--an' pore Lem, whut Sap McGill kilt an' hid away?--we cyan't keech th' revenure--he's gone--but we kin keech Sap--Johnse Hatfield--efen yo'

don't heed me now--so he'p me Gawd--I'll fire yo'--I'll fire yo'--karnsarn yo', I will--I'm a tellin' yo'--I hates t' do hit,--but I'll pay yo' anything I owes yo'--an' I'll fire yo' shor'n h.e.l.l."

The boy pulled his eyes slowly off Johnse's face and, sagging with pa.s.sion, backed against the wall and turned his quivering face to the logs. Hatfield stood up and pulling his Colt gun twirled it lovingly and laughed like a man who had won something.

Buddy started and twisted a look over his shoulder. Then he turned about and fairly crept back upon the man, and looked searchingly up into his face. There was a timbre in Johnse's laugh that told the boy something.

There was a note in that laugh that mated with a solitary hope in his own heart. It sounded like a knock for which he had been listening for ages.

"Whut--Johnse--whut?" The boy's whisper trembled and he laid two pleading hands on Johnse's sleeves and peered eagerly up into the man's eyes.

Hatfield grabbed Buddy's wrist and dragged him outside the cabin. Still holding him, he pointed the gun down across h.e.l.lsfork and over to where the balmy, warm suns.h.i.+ne made soft, dreamful pictures in black and white amid the tinted spurs and ridges of Southpaw.

"Buddy," he said, with profound, succinct accents, "yo' 'lowed I wus layin' back--but I wusn't, little Cap--I bin busy all th' time--an' now I got th' gates o' h.e.l.l open fo' em--an' Tuesday when co't meets down at th' Junction, we'll drive em in with th' ole Scratch."

Overwhelmed, Buddy stared open-mouthed at Johnse, but he could not mistake. He knew that Johnse spoke true, and not waiting for further details, he broke loose and capered in a circle. He tossed his hat up in an abandonment of joy and kicked it about when it came down. He grasped a big rock in his exuberance, and tossed it several feet, astounding Johnse with his strength, and he rung Johnse's hand, too overjoyed for words.

Johnse returned to the kitchen, lighted a fire, and while the corn bread was warming he busied himself slicing the pork.