The Nightrider's Feud Part 7

"Ye don't know him, Jack," she replied. "I warn ye agin', cause----" She stopped.

"Because what, child?" he questioned, noting her hesitation. "Speak what is in your heart."

"Because," she continued falteringly, "I don't want ye ter get hurt."

He smiled encouragingly.

"He won't hurt me, but I'll keep a close watch for your sake. If he gives me further trouble I'll put him in jail down in the village."

"Huh! that jail won't hold him; hit ain't never held a----one of these mountain fellers yet. That won't do; ye must hold him some other way."

"All right, I'll hold him some way, sure. I want you to feel satisfied that I am able to do it."

As they were nearing the house they saw old Peter Judson standing at the gate awaiting their return.

"I've enjoyed this trip with you, Jack," she whispered softly.

"No more than I have enjoyed it with you," he replied feelingly.

"And ther birds----"

"Whar's yer game?" shouted Peter as they rode up, both flus.h.i.+ng red.

"An' fer the land sake," continued Peter, "what makes ye look so durn funny 'bout ther eyes an' face? What in ther world's got hold of ye; air ye sick, gal?"

She was not very ill, she said. Indeed, she had never felt better physically, but----

The old man was fumbling through the saddle-bags in search of birds or other game. Wade could not suppress a smile because of the comical expression upon the face of the disappointed old man.

"This is ther durndest hunt I ever heerd 'bout in these hills," said Peter. "A half-day out, an' no game."

"We haven't fired a gun," replied Wade, "therefore have no game." The old man looked at Wade, then at his daughter. His disappointed expression was at once superseded by one of anxiety. Indeed, he looked very sorrowful. "But ye fired one good shot," he said sternly. "An ef ye intend ter be foolin', I want ter warn ye ter be a-lookin' out. Fun shots don't go in this hyar kintry." He appeared to be greatly agitated now, but when he learned the real circ.u.mstances he softened, and his eyes gave forth a tender expression. "Git down," he said, "chuck is put nigh ready. I'll put yer hoss up'n feed him, an' we'll have a old time talk 'bout everything, from ther days o' Goliath till ther days o'

corn-huskin',--'bout which ye know mighty little, I reckon, ef I don't miss my guess a long way, by lookin' at ye."

Old Peter refrained from remarking just at this time anything touching upon the actions of Al Thompson, but many strange and peculiar thoughts were romping pell-mell through his heavy brain.

CHAPTER V

Dining at the home of a farmer was quite a new and novel experience to Wade, as there was no similarity to dining in a fas.h.i.+onable restaurant on a fas.h.i.+onable street in a large city. This was an experience in his life that he often thought of afterward. At one end of the table sat Peter Judson, to his right sat Mrs. Judson. In one corner of the stuffy little cabin dining-room sat a gray old cat on its haunches, appearing in every respect to be quite angry because it had been made to wait until the second table when it had been accustomed to eating with the family. Wade watched the cat, for it very often "licked its chops."

Beside him lay Rover, the furry-headed dog, Nora's pet.

Jack was just as awkward at that table as the girl would have been had she been sitting down at a table in the greatest hotel in New York City.

His manners and table etiquette were so entirely different that his actions did not seem at all right or natural. He sat like a boy who has been allowed to eat at the first table when his father had company. When Nora asked if he wouldn't take a piece of the "sow's belly," and he replied, "Thank you, I wouldn't choose any," she still held the dish before him until he took a slice. He sipped his coffee daintily, as a girl at an evening tea, holding the cup by the handle, while his little finger was extended high, and the girl gave him a cup-towel--"so's ther cup wouldn't burn his fingers" when he was drinking his coffee. He cut the meat off his chicken bone with his knife and put it into his mouth with his fork, causing the girl to blush because he was acting so ridiculous before her Dad and Mam, when she had really expected so much of him at this crucial time.

Old Peter would take about half his coffee at one gulp--this was more natural--making a noise like unto a sawmill when it is thoroughly busy. Then he would wipe his mouth on his s.h.i.+rt sleeve and take the coffee off his mustache with a sizzing noise. The climax to this long-to-be-remembered meal came when Wade put his knife and fork in his plate and picked up the sc.r.a.ps of bread and chicken bones and put them carefully alongside the knife and fork. Being unable to understand such strange conduct, Nora stepped behind Jack and hid her face in a dish towel. We do not know just what she was doing behind the towel, but presume she "stole a sweet smile," as her face was very red when she finally came out of hiding.

They got through the meal, however, after a great length of time had elapsed, for they conversed about every thing, crops especially and folks in the city in general. Tom was off toward the village purchasing supplies and would not return, likely, until late in the afternoon, so Wade must content himself with listening to Peter Judson for at least a half-day. This he did, and he listened with growing interest. The old man knew of things that had happened away back yonder 'afore the war, and he knew about things that would happen at some future date. He had lived through one generation of feuds and thought "thar mout be tough times ahead fer some folks as he know'd of now, an' they hain't fer away, nuther," he said meaningly. "Why, jest let me tell you somethin', Wade," said old Peter, bending over and shaking his finger at the latter. "Way back yonder somewhar in the eighteens we had some mouty lot of trouble, that we did. Them was ther days when ther white caps or somethin' done things, and I hain't fergot it nuther, an' what's more, I hain't never a-goin ter fergit. I hain't that sort--ther fergit'n kind.

An' ye'll find that out 'afore ye air hyar in this kintry much longer.

Ef a man treats Peter Judson all right, he's a-goin' ter git treated all right back again. Ef he treats me mean, why, he's gotter look out fer his head, that's all. I kin remember onct away back yonder--I was on t'other side then--an' was as peaceful a man as lived, when I was a plowin' in my field an' up comes a feller as fast as he could ride a hoss, an' says, sayse: 'Peter Judson, yer gotter git out o' this kintry, an' that putty quick. Ef yer don't, yer neck'll be stretched.' 'Well, I won't,' says I, 'not till I git good'n ready, an' ef you ner anybody else thinks as how they kin make me git out afore I want to, let's see ther color o' his hair. An' I takes ther lines from my shoulders an'

drops 'em down over ther plow handle an' squares myself, thinkin' maybe he'd want some of it right then an' thar. But no, what'd he do? He up an' put spurs to his hoss an' digs out down ther road lip-i-ty-clip, an'

I seed nuthin' o' him no more."

The old man paused to let out a great stream of tobacco juice.

Wade threw his left leg over his right knee by way of change, and asked, "Was there any special reason, Mr. Judson, that this man should have requested you to leave the country?"

"None. None 'tall, but I left."

"Oh, you did?"

"Yes, siree. I left putty quick after a while. You see, I hain't told you all of it yet. Them durn fellers come back one night, but I gits wind of it somehow, an' sends ther family away an' takes everything out an' puts ther stock in ther pasture,--nuthin's never hid from Peter Judson,--an' I lays out in ther bushes in a dark spot an' waits patiently. Long 'bout a little after midnight here they comes, 'bout a half-dozen strong, an' shot fire into my house an' barns so fast that afore I know'd what'd happened ther whole business was a flame o' fire.

Seein' as how I couldn't do nuthin' ter save ther things, I jest waited till they gits through with their cussedness, an' then--what'd ye think?

Afore they know'd what'd struck 'em I sent ther bullets from my Winchester a-flyin' after them like hot cakes, an' four o' them fell in their tracks, while ther two got away, an' all their hosses lit out down ther road, without riders, like lead shot out o' a cannon on ther field o' war."

The old man spat out another wad of tobacco and put a fresh plug in his mouth. There was some hesitation before he spoke again.

"You take it rather cool," said Wade, after a short silence.

"Gotter, my boy. Them was terrible times 'round hyar, but ef I calkerlate right, we air in ther midst o' jest sich another time, right now."

Old Peter Judson looked squarely into Wade's eyes, forcing the latter to turn his gaze.

"Ye air a young man, Wade," said Judson, "an' I want ter give ye some advice, fust cla.s.s advice, an' yer better take it, too. When ye dig a hole fer some other feller, be sh.o.r.e ye dig it so deep he cain't get out'n hit, an' then"--Peter was emphatic--"be sh.o.r.e ye don't git into that hole yerself. Hit's a durn sight easier, Wade, ter start somethin'

than hit is ter stop it after ye onct git it started. D'ye mind that now?"

"I believe I understand," said Wade, with a far-away look on his countenance.

"I'll tell ye agin, young man, that yer Uncle Peter Judson's been through ther fires o' h.e.l.l 'round this hyar mountain, an' he knows what he's talkin' 'bout. Afore mornin' ye'll see that cabin down yonder all aflames, lickin' ther very sky in an effort ter eat up ther stars."

"What, mine, do you mean?"

"Ther same, boy. Why, what makes yer look so durn funny? Hit's ther solid truth, G.o.d knows, Jack Wade, yer own cabin'll be ashes afore another sun rises over ther mountain. Ye have made a enemy out'n Al Thompson, an' nuthin' this side o' h.e.l.l could stop him from a-killin'

ye, ef ye don't git him fust. Ye needn't git upon yer high spirits an'

think yer kin stop it, fer ye cain't. A fawty-hoss power gatlin'-gun woudn't stop them savages to-night, so jest be easy an' take it natural like, an' ye won't feel so bad when hit's all over. Me an' Tom'll go down with ye after awhile an' help ye put everything out in ther field, an' move ther stock ter a place o' safety, so's ter fool them fiends that much--"

"I won't submit to it," interrupted Wade angrily. "I'll kill the man who tries to burn my property."

"That's what ye kin do, Wade, but ye must wait till some other time. I'd ruther take that rifle thar an' blow yer brains out'n yer head whar ye stand than ter let ye go down thar an' git killed without any show 'tall. Don't up an' git mad now. Ye'll see that old Peter Judson knows what he's talkin' 'bout. I've been in this kintry too long fer to not know. Ye've made a enemy out o' Al Thompson, an' he's a chip off'n ther old block, only his Daddy is worse nur him. He's worse nur the old devil hisself, an' they won't rest till they're torn the earth up around ther mountain, an' dug a hole deep 'nough ter put a dozen good men in."

Old Peter paused again, while Wade looked down toward the earth with a troubled expression on his face.

"What's the matter with the law in this country?" asked Wade, although he knew that law and order were unknown to these people.

"Ther hain't any law," replied Peter. "Ther law tried ter git out here onct, an' I seed old Jim Thompson kill two officers. I seed it with my own eyes, an' Tom a-comin' yonder saw him shoot one down in his tracks.

They want no more in town what'd tackle comin' after him, an' he's still hyar a-doin' business in ther same old way."