The Last Stetson | Page 6

hog ain't satisfied shootin' me
hisself." Stretching his arms with a yawn, Steve winked at Isom and
moved to the door. The boy followed him outside.
"We're goin' fer ole Brayton about the dark o' the next moon, boy," he
said. "He's sort o' s'picious now, 'n' we'll give him a leetle time to git
tame. I'll have a bran'-new Winchester fer ye, Isom. Hit ull be like ole
times agin, when Rome was hyeh. Whut's the matter, boy?" he asked,
suddenly. Isom looked unresponsive, listless.
Air ye gittin' sick agin?
Well, I hain't feelin' much peert, Steve."
Take keer o' yourself, boy. Don't git sick now. We'll have to watch Eli
Crump purty close. I don't know why I hain't killed thet spyin' skunk
long ago, 'ceptin' I never had a shore an' sartin reason fer doin 'it.
Isom started to speak then and stopped. He would learn more first; and
he let Steve go on home unwarned.
The two kept silence after Marcum had gone. Isom turned away from
old Gabe, and stretched himself out on the platform. He looked
troubled. The miller, too, was worried.
Jus' a hole in the groun'," he said, half to himself; "that's whut we're all
comm' to! 'Pears like we mought help one 'nother to keep out'n hit, 'stid
o' holpin' 'em in."
Brown shadows were interlacing out in the mill-pond, where old Gabe's
eyes were intent. A current of cool air had started down the creek to the
river. A katydid began to chant. Twilight was coming, and the miller
rose.
"Hit's a comfort to know you won't be mixed up in all this devilment,"
he said; and then, as though he had found more light in the gloom:
"Hit's a comfort to know the new rider air shorely a-preachin' the right

doctrine, 'n' I want ye to go hear him. Blood for blood-life fer a life!
Your grandad shot ole Tom Lewallen in Hazlan. Ole Jack Lewallen
shot him from the bresh. Tom Stetson killed ole Jack; ole Jass killed
Tom, 'n' so hit comes down, fer back as I can ricollect. I hev nuver
knowed hit to fail." The lad had risen on one elbow. His face was pale
and uneasy, and he averted it when the miller turned in the door.
"You'd better stay hyeh, son, 'n' finish up the grist. Hit won't take long.
Hev ye got victuals fer yer supper?
Isom nodded, without looking around, and when old Gabe was gone he
rose nervously and dropped helplessly back to the floor.
"'Pears like old Gabe knows I killed Jass," he breathed, sullenly. 'Pears
like all of 'em knows hit, 'n' air jus' a-tormentin' me."
Nobody dreamed that the boy and his old gun had ended that fight on
the cliff; and without knowing it, old Gabe kept the lad in constant
torture with his talk of the blood-penalty. But Isom got used to it in
time, for he had shot to save his brother's life. Steve Marcum treated
him thereafter as an equal. Steve's friends, too, changed in manner
towards him because Steve had. And now, just when he had reached
the point of wondering whether, after all, there might not be one thing
that old Gabe did not know, Crump had come along with the miller's
story, which he had got from still another, a circuit-rider, who must
know the truth. The fact gave him trouble.
"Mebbe hit's goin' to happen when I goes with Steve atter ole Brayton,"
he mumbled, and he sat thinking the matter over, until a rattle and a
whir inside the mill told him that the hopper was empty. He arose to fill
it, and coming out again, he heard hoof-beats on the dirt road. A
stranger rode around the rhododendrons and shouted to him, asking the
distance to Hazlan. He took off his hat when Isom answered, to wipe
the dust and perspiration from his face, and the boy saw a white scar
across his forehead. A little awestricken, the lad walked towards him.
"Air you the new rider whut's goin' to preach up to Hazlan? " he asked.

Raines smiled at the solemnity of the little fellow. " Yes," he said,
kindly. " Won't you come up and hear me?"
"Yes, sir," he said, and his lips parted as though he wanted to say
something else, but Raines did not notice.
"I wished I had axed him," he said, watching the preacher ride away. "
Uncle Gabe knows might' nigh ever'thing, 'n' he says so. Crump said
the rider said so; but Crump might 'a' been lyin'. He 'most al'ays is. I
wished I had axed him."
Mechanically the lad walked along the millrace, which was made of
hewn boards and hollow logs. In every crevice grass hung in thick