A Pagan of the Hills | Page 4

all
knows what hit means every time. I'm obleeged ter ye fer what ye've
already done--an' I'll ask ye, now, ter go on home afore ye drinks any
more whiskey--or starts any ruction amongst my neighbors."
"So thet's hit, air hit?" Bud rocked a little on his feet as he stood
confronting the steady challenge of Aaron McGivins. "So ye lets a man
work slavish fer ye all day, and then starts in faultin' him ef he takes a
drink at sun-down. Well damn ye, I don't aim ter go nowhars tell I'm
ready an' ambitious ter go--does ye hear thet or does I hev ter tell ye
again?"
With a very deliberate motion McGivins lifted one arm and pointed it
towards the west--that way lay the nearest boundary of his tract.
"I've done asked ye plum civil ter go, because ef you don't go other
fellers will--fellers thet's wuth somethin'. Now I orders ye ter get offen
my land. Begone!"
What happened next was such a tumult of abruptness that Brent found
himself standing inactive, not fully grasping the meaning of the
situation. From Bud came a roar of anger as he lunged and grappled
with the bearded elder, carrying him back in the onslaught. With a
belated realization, Brent threw himself forward but just as his hand fell
on the shoulder of Bud Sellers he heard a report, muffled because it
was fired between two savagely embraced bodies. The lumber buyer
had seen no weapon drawn. That had been the instinctive legerdemain
of mountain quickness, which even drink had not blunted. As he
wrenched Bud back, the wounded figure stood for a moment swaying
on legs that slowly and grotesquely buckled into collapse at the knees
until Aaron McGivins crumpled down in a shapeless heap.
Bud Sellers wrenched himself free with a muscular power that almost
hurled Brent to the ground, and the pistol fell from his hand. For a
moment the young assailant stood there with an expression of dismayed
shock, as though, in his sleep, he had committed a crime and had
awakened into an appalled realization. Then, ignoring Brent, he
wheeled and lunged madly into the laurel.

Figures came running in response to the alarm of pistol report and
shouting, but old man McGivins, whom they carried to the nearest
bonfire, feebly nodded his head. Parson Acup was bending over him
and when he rose it was with a dubious face.
"I fears me thet wound's mighty liable ter be a deadener," he said.
Then the wounded man lifted a trembling hand. "Git me over home,"
he directed shortly, "An' fer God's sake, boys, go forward with this
work till hit's finished."
CHAPTER II
Through the tree tops came a confusion of voices, but none of them
human. A wind was racing to almost gale-like violence and with it
came the inrush of warm air to peaks and valleys that had been
tight-frozen. Between precipices echoed the crash of ice sliding loose
and splintering as it fell in ponderous masses. Men sweating in the
glare of collossal bonfires toiled at the work of re-inforcing the dam.
They had been faithful; they were still faithful, but the stress of
exhaustion was beginning to sap their morale; to drive them into
irritability so that, under the strain of almost superhuman exertion, they
threatened to break. Brent was not of their blood and knew little of how
to handle them, and though Parson Acup was indefatigable, his face
became more and more apprehensive.
"Ef we kin hold 'em at hit till ther crack of day, we've got a right gay
chanst ter save them big sticks," he announced bluntly to Brent near
midnight. "But hit hain't in reason ter expect men ter plum kill
themselves off fer ther profit of somebody else--an' him likely ter be
dead by termorrer."
"Could McGivins have kept them in line himself?" demanded Brent
and the Parson scratched his head. "Wa'al he mout. Thar's somethin'
masterful in thet breed thet kinderly drives men on. I don't know es I
could name what it air though."

Then even as he spoke a group of humanity detached itself from the
force on the dam and moved away as men do who are through with
their jobs. They halted before Acup and one of them spoke somewhat
shame-facedly: "I disgusts ter quit on a man in sore need, Parson, but
us fellers kain't hold up no longer. We're plum fagged ter death--mebby
termorrer mornin'----"
He broke off and Acup answered in a heavy-hearted voice: "So fur as
this hyar job's consarned most likely thar won't be no termorrer. Old
man McGivins lays over thar, mebby a-dyin' an' this means a master lot
to him----"
"If it's a matter of pay," began Brent and left his suggestion unfinished.
A