PAGE 9
The Last Stetson
by
Crump’s answer was chantlike. “Yes, Lawd reckon I have.”
“Goin’ to stop all o’ yer lyin’, air ye,” Isom went on, in the same tone, and Crump twitched as though struck suddenly from behind, “an’ stealin’ ‘n’ lay-wayin’?”
“Look a-hyeh, boy–” he began, roughly, and mumbling a threat, started on.
“Uh, Eli!” Even then the easy voice fooled him again, and he turned. Isom had a big revolver on a line with his breast. “Drap yer gun!” he said, tremulously.
Crump tried to laugh, but his guilty face turned gray. “Take keer, boy,” he gasped; “yer gun’s cocked. Take keer, I tell ye!”
“Drap it, damn ye!” Isom called in sudden fury, “‘n’ git clean away from it!” Crump backed, and Isom came forward and stood with one foot on the fallen Winchester.
“I seed ye, Eli. Been makin’ a blind fer Steve, hev ye? Goin’ to shoot him in the back, too, air ye? You’re ketched at last, Eli. You’ve done a heap o’ devilment. You’re gittin’ wuss all the time. You oughter be dead, ‘n’ now–“
Crump found voice in a cry of terror and a whine for mercy. The boy looked at him, unable to speak his contempt.
“Git down thar!” he said, finally; and Crump, knowing what was wanted, stretched himself in the road. Isom sat down on a stone, the big pistol across one knee.
“Roll over!” Crump rolled at full length.
“Git up!” Isom laughed wickedly. “Ye don’t look purty, Eli.” He lifted the pistol and nipped a cake of dirt from the road between Crump’s feet. With another cry of fear, the spy began a vigorous dance.
“Hol’ on, Eli; I don’t want ye to dance. Ye belong to the chu’ch now, ‘n’ I wouldn’t have ye go agin yer religion fer nothin’. Stan’ still!” Another bullet and another cut between Crump’s feet. “‘Pears like ye don’t think I kin shoot straight. Eli,” he went on, reloading the empty chambers, “some folks think I’m a idgit, ‘n’ I know ’em. Do you think I’m a idgit, Eli?”
“Actin’ mighty nateral now.” Isom was raising the pistol again. “Oh, Lawdy! Don’t shoot, boy–don’t shoot!
“Git down on yer knees! Now I want ye to beg fer mercy thet ye never showed–thet ye wouldn’t ‘a’ showed Steve… Purty good,” he said, encouragingly.
“Mebbe ye kin pray a leetle, seem’ ez ye air a chu’ch member. Pray fer yer enemies, Eli; Uncl’ Gabe says ye must love yer enemies. I know how ye loves me, ‘n’ I want yer to pray fer me. The Lawd mus’ sot a powerful store by a good citizen like you. Ax him to fergive me fer killin’ ye.”
“Have mercy, O Lawd,” prayed Crump, to command–and the prayer was subtle–“on the murderer of this Thy servant. A life fer a life, Thou hev said, O Lawd. Fer killin’ me he will foller me, ‘n’ ef Ye hev not mussy he is boun’ fer the lowes’ pit o’ hell, O Lawd–“
It was Isom’s time to wince now, and Crump’s pious groan was cut short.
“Shet up!” cried the boy, sharply, and he sat a moment silent. “You’ve been a-spyin’ on us sence I was borned, Eli,” he said, reflectively.
“I believe ye lay-wayed dad. Y’u spied on Rome. Y’u told the soldiers whar he was a-hidin’ Y’u tried to shoot him from the bresh. Y’u found out Steve was goin’ to Breathitt on Sunday, ‘n’ you’ve jes made a blind to shoot him in the back. I reckon thar’s no meanness ye hain’t done. Dad’s al’ays said ye sot a snare fer a woman once–a woman! Y’u loaded a musket with slugs, ‘n’ tied a string to the trigger, ‘n’ stretched hit ‘cross the path, ‘n’ y’u got up on a cliff ‘n’ whistled to make her slow up jes when she struck the string. I reckon thet’s yer wust–but I don’t know.”
Several times Crump raised his hands in protest while his arraignment was going on; several times he tried to speak, but his lips refused utterance. The boy’s voice was getting thicker and thicker, and he was nervously working the cock of the big pistol up and down.