The Re-Creation of Brian Kent Part 10

Judy's rescuer whirled, to see the man on the ground drawing a gun. A vigorous, well-directed kick, delivered in the nick of time, sent the gun whirling away into the bushes and rendered the native's right arm useless.

"Get up!" commanded Brian.

The man rose to his feet, and stood nursing his damaged wrist and scowling at Judy's companion.

"Are you this girl's father?"

"I reckon I am," came the sullen reply. "I'm j.a.p Taylor, an' you-all are sure goin' to find that you can't come between a man an' his lawful child in these here mountains, mister,--if you-all be from the city."

"And you will find that you can't strike a crippled girl in my presence, even if she is your daughter,--in these mountains or anywhere else,"

retorted Brian. "What are you trying to do with her, anyway?"

"I aim ter take her back home with me, where she belongs."

"Well, why didn't you go to the house for her like a man, instead of jumping on her out here in the woods!"

"Hit ain't none of your dad burned business as I can see," came the sullen reply.

"I am making it my business, just the same," returned Brian.

He turned to the girl, who had drawn back a little behind him. "Judy,"

he said, kindly, "I think perhaps you better tell me about this."

"Pap, he was a-layin' for me in the bresh 'cause he da.s.sn't come to the house ter git me," said the girl, fearfully.

"But, why does he fear to come to the house?" persisted Brian.

"'Cause he done give me ter Auntie Sue."

"Gave you to Auntie Sue?" repeated the puzzled Brian.

j.a.p Taylor interrupted with, "I didn't sign ary paper, an'--"

"Shut up, you!" snapped Brian. "Go on, Judy."

"Hit was a year last corn-plantin'," explained the girl. "My maw, she died. He used ter whip her, too. An' Auntie Sue was there helpin' weuns; an' Tom Warden an' some other folks they was there, too; an' they done fixed hit so that I was ter go an' live with Auntie Sue; an' pap, he give me ter her. He sure did, Mr. Burns, an' I ain't a-wantin' ter go with him, no more."

The poor girl's shrill monotone broke, and her twisted body shook with her sobs.

"I didn't sign ary paper," repeated Judy's father, with sullen stubbornness. "An' what's more, I sure ain't a-goin' ter. I 'lows as how she'll just go home an' work for me, like she ort, 'stead of livin' with that there old-maid schoolma'am. I'm her paw, I am, an' I reckon I got rights."

He started toward the girl, who drew closer to Brian, and begged piteously: "Don't let him tech me! 'Fore G.o.d, Mr. Burns, he'll kill me, sure!"

Brian drew the girl behind him as he faced the father with a brief, "Get out!"

The mountaineer hesitated.

Brian went one step toward him: "Do you hear? Get out! And if you ever show your dirty face in this vicinity again, I'll not leave a whole bone in your worthless carca.s.s!"

And j.a.p Taylor saw something in those Irish blue eyes that caused him to start off down the mountain toward the river below Elbow Rock.

When he had placed a safe distance between himself and the man who appeared so willing and able to make good his threat, Judy's father turned, and, shaking his uninjured fist at Brian, delivered a volley of curses, with: "I'll sure git you-all for this! j.a.p Taylor ain't a-lettin' no man come between him an' his'n. I'll fix you, an' I'll fix that there schoolma'am, too! She's nothin' but a d.a.m.ned old--"

But Brian started toward him, and j.a.p Taylor beat a hasty retreat.

"Never mind, Judy," said Brian, when the native had disappeared in the brush and timber that covered the steep mountain-side. "I'll not let him touch you. Come, let us sit down and talk a little until you are yourself again. Auntie Sue must not see you like this. We don't want to let her know anything about it. You won't tell her, will you?"

"I ain't aimin' ter tell n.o.body," said Judy, between sobs. "I sure ain't a-wantin' ter make no trouble,--not for Auntie Sue, nohow. She's been powerful good ter me."

When they were seated on convenient rocks at the brink of the cliff overlooking the river, Judy gradually ceased crying, and presently said, in her normal, querulous monotone: "Did you-all mind what pap 'lowed he'd do ter Auntie Sue, Mr. Burns?"

"Yes, Judy; but don't worry, child. He is not going to harm any one while I am around."

"You-all are aimin' ter stay then, be you? I'm sure powerful glad," said Judy, simply.

Brian started. A new factor had suddenly been injected into his problem.

"I was powerful scared you-all was aimin' ter go away," continued Judy.

"Hit was that I was a-huntin' you-all to tell you 'bout, when pap he ketched me."

"What were you going to tell me, Judy?"

"I 'lowed ter tell you-all 'bout Auntie Sue. She'd sure be powerful mad if she know'd I'd said anythin' ter you, but she's a-needin' somebody like you ter help her, mighty bad. She--she's done lost a heap of money, lately: hit was some she sent--"

Brian interrupted: "Wait a minute, Judy. You must not tell me anything about Auntie Sue's private affairs; you must not tell any one. Anything she wants me to know, she will tell me. Do you understand?" he finished with a rea.s.suring smile.

"Yes, sir; I reckon you-all are 'bout right, an' I won't tell n.o.body nothin'. But 'tain't a-goin' ter hurt none ter say as how you-all ort ter stay, I reckon."

"And why do you think I ought to stay, Judy?"

"'Cause of what Auntie Sue's done for you-all,--a-nursin' you when you was plumb crazy an' plumb dangerous from licker, an' a lyin' like she did ter the Sheriff an' that there deteckertive man," returned Judy stoutly; "an' 'cause she's so old an' is a-needin' you-all ter help her; an' 'cause she is a-lovin' you like she does, an' is a-wantin' you-all ter stay so bad hit's mighty nigh a-makin' her plumb sick."

Brian Kent did not answer. The mountain girl's words had revealed to him the selfishness of his own consideration of his problem so clearly that he was stunned. Why had he not, in his thinking, remembered the dear old gentlewoman who had saved him from a shameful death?

Judy went on: "Hit looks ter me like somebody just naturally's got ter take care of Auntie Sue, Mr. Burns. All her whole life she's a-been takin' care of everybody just like she tuck me, an' just like she tuck you-all, besides a heap of other ways; an' now she's so old and mighty nigh plumb wore out, hit sure looks like hit was time somebody was a-fixin' ter do somethin' for her. That was what I was a-huntin' you-all ter tell you when pap ketched me, Mr. Burns."

"I am glad you told me, Judy;--very glad. You see, I was not thinking of things in just that way."

"I 'lowed maybe you mightn't. Seems like folks mostly don't."

"But it's all right, now!" Brian cried heartily. "You have settled it.

I'll stay. We'll take care of Auntie Sue,--you and I, Judy. Come on, now; let's go to the house, and tell her. But we won't say anything about your father, Judy;--that would only make her unhappy; and we must never make Auntie Sue unhappy--never." He was as eager and enthusiastic, now, as a schoolboy.

"'Course," said Judy, solemnly; "'course you just naturally got ter stay an' take care of her now, after what pap's done said he'd do."

"Yes, Judy; I've just naturally got to stay," returned Brian.

Together they went down the steep cliff trail and to the little log house by the river to announce Brian's decision to Auntie Sue. They found the dear old lady in her favorite spot on the porch overlooking the river.