"Well, take a run up and kill that wildcat that's screeching up there.

Don't shoot it. Smash him with a rock, or something; but drag it out of here. Move, now. Send that brother-in-law of yours to me. I need him."

Johnson faded from the door, and we paced the ground in front of the porch. Something moist touched his hand and Lafe whipped it away, but it was only his mongrel dog come for a caress. For the first time since manhood Lafe knew real fear--not the nervous tension of an emergency, but sick, craven fear. A peculiar nausea where his stomach ought to be took all his courage away, and he rolled another cigarette in the hope of steadying his nerves. As he struck a match, he recalled what his wife had said about the brand of tobacco he favored and he threw the stub away.

"Why, she ain't much more'n a girl"--he was fondling the dog's ears--"just a kid."

I guessed what was pa.s.sing in his mind. Thoughts of trifling things he might have done for Hetty, to the eas.e.m.e.nt of her lot, rose up to reproach. When a man has gone through that, he has known anguish of soul. But they were instantly submerged in a new tenderness. In that hour of trial, Lafe learned many things.

The creak of a cautious step on the boards of the porch brought him standing and when Armstrong emerged, Lafe was there to meet him, pallid of face, but entirely calm.

"It's all right. Don't look that way, Lafe. No, you can't come in. I came out for a drink. Where's the bucket? Whew, it's hot."

Johnson poured him a cup of water and carried the canteen to the spring to be refilled. On his return he stepped into the kitchen. Growing uneasy over his long absence, I went in search of him, strolling carelessly to the door. The room was in darkness, so I struck a match.

There was Lafe behind the door, with an old ap.r.o.n of Hetty's clutched in both hands. He was simply looking at it, and looking.

"Lafe," I said. He dropped the ap.r.o.n hurriedly and came out. We did not face each other. "Tell me something."

"Let's have it. What do you want to know?"

I hesitated, doubtful how he might take the question.

"Well?"

"How did you know where to hunt? What made you think Hetty was up there?"

"I didn't think," he replied. "Didn't you see that li'l firefly? The minute I set eyes on him, he sort of seemed to wave at me. Yes, sir. I remembered what you'd said, too, Dan. Jim-in-ee, there he is again.

Look!"

Jack-o'-Lantern had abandoned his game of hide-and-seek among the trees and was now circling the house. He twinkled from door to window, as though to peep in. Perhaps something discouraged him; at any rate, he continued to flit in long, soaring glides. Lafe noted these, marveling, and we squatted on the rock again, determined to stay there. Then, looking upward to a star which shone in line with the chimney, he perceived the eerie light quivering above the roof. The location evidently suited Jack-o'-Lantern, for there he hung.

At last there were sounds within, and Johnson clutched the dog where it crouched between his knees. The brute whined under the grip of his fingers. We got to our feet and the dog looked up at us in doubt, much mystified as to what all this could mean.

The merry spark above the roof gave a final twinkle and went out. At the same moment an inner door opened, releasing a flood of light into the hall-way, and a high-pitched, treble yell that lifted the hair at the nape of my neck and set Johnson to shaking, rent the night air with the suddenness of a popping cork.

The doctor stuck his head out of the door. He called in suppressed glee: "Come on in, Lafe. She wants you. Say, he's a dandy."

Jack-o'-Lantern had found a habitation.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

JOHNSON ONCE MORE IN ROLE OF SHERIFF

Horne of the Anvil approached his sixtieth year full of vigor. His birthday would also mark the thirtieth anniversary of his marriage. It had been a fat season. His steers were rollicking, the calves romped high-tailed, the valley pastures held clear-eyed cows and his horses were a comfort between one's knees. Therefore Horne saw that all was good and waxed content of heart, and he bade his boss, Lafe Johnson, to make all ready for a dance, for it was in his mind to do honor to his neighbors, humble and high.

"Tell everybody to come a-running," said he, "and kill the fattest yearlings we've got. Better pick brindles, though, Lafe. Those red ones bring too much money."

Thus happily did Horne temper his generous impulses with shrewdness.

These directions provoked a grin from Johnson, and he despatched his riders east and west and north and south to summon the guests. From east and west and north and south they came--a good seventy miles, some of them. In couples, singly, in boisterous parties, they came riding up to the Anvil headquarters. And the dance began.

It had lasted two days and two nights and was running comfortably into the third day when a killing occurred which made the function memorable in cowland annals. Everything was going smoothly. There were more than a hundred guests, and the orchestra was still vigorous and resourceful in invention. He occupied a seat on a stool atop a table at one end of the dining-room, and as he sawed with the bow he kept time to the cadences with his left foot. Occasionally a volunteer would come to his a.s.sistance and beat on the strings at the neck of the violin with small sticks. This produced the effect of a guitar and was very popular with those ladies who were a bit hazy as to the time of a measure.

Oh-oo-oo, ladies to the left and gents to the right.

All hands round; now hold 'em tight.

Lafe had been designated master of ceremonies and he stood near the orchestra to call off the square dances. Never more than twenty couples were on the floor at one time, but the rhythmical beat of their feet and the welling dust were sufficient to make an onlooker dizzy. Whenever a gentleman swung a lady, he really swung her--no mincing or faint-hearted gyration. With their hands behind each other's shoulders, they spun madly about, and the lady's skirt billowed to the movement. Both would sway dizzily when they stopped. The other guests were sleeping, or crowded into the kitchen, where were put out for refreshment huge platters of barbecued beef, calves' heads roasted whole under live coals in the ground for a whole night, and bread and pickles and cheese. Pots of coffee steamed on the stove, and one had only to give the nod to Jerry Sellers to be honorably escorted to the saddle-shed wherein on a stool rested a full-bellied keg. Jerry had const.i.tuted himself Lafe's right-hand man and never relaxed in his vigilant attention to duty. Had it not been for this first aid to the weary, the orchestra would long since have knocked under, but Harry vowed that he would hold out as long as the keg did, and everybody had confidence in him.

"The next piece," he announced, "is a li'l piece I done composed myself.

It is called 'The Bull in the Corn Brakes.' Get your partners. Polka it is. Step to it."

Aside from a slight grayness about the eyes, Lafe gave no evidence of fatigue. His wife and young son were asleep in Mrs. Horne's bed. On the floor in the same bedchamber were seven other women, resting from their exertions. No special hours for repose had been set aside. All day and all night the dance went on, never ceasing, and there were always couples ready. Each guest lay down for a nap when he felt his system required it, and he lay where his notion of comfort dictated. It was not surprising then that one tripped over men stretched out under blankets on the veranda; the yard was c.u.mbered with them, too.

The lady guests were provided for in the five bedrooms of the house. As for the children, of whom there were a dozen or more, now grown fretful from overexcitement, they played in the yard, or down in the corrals with some Shetland ponies Horne had imported. Only at meal times did they give their mothers any concern. And the orchestra still held out, having been thrice relieved that he might take naps.

Mrs. Paint Davis fed beer out of a bottle to her yearling son. The child's eyes grew heavy from it. A prudish person ventured to protest to the father.

"Pshaw, no," said Paint. "You can't make that boy drunk. It'll learn him to leave it alone when he's growed."

Jerry Sellers took Mordecai Ba.s.s to the saddle-shed to give him a drink.

Mordecai said something that Sellers did not like. A reluctant rebuke was followed up by a sharp word. Ensued a furious outburst from Jerry, a pacific remonstrance from Ba.s.s, then blows. Lafe Johnson happened to emerge from the house to clear the dust from his lungs, and heard the altercation. He arrived in time to separate the two, and so successful were his labors as a peacemaker that they shook hands before parting.

"It's all along of Florence Steel," Jerry explained to his chief.

"Mordecai, he thinks I'm trying to set to her. Just because I had four dances--yes, and a li'l something I done remarked, pleasant like."

On Lafe's return to the ballroom, he saw Florence waltzing with the half-breed Baptismo. Baptismo was showing his white teeth, and he whispered when he perceived Johnson. He was a strikingly handsome man and possessed a peculiar fascination for women. Men disliked him and Lafe's pride of blood was such that he usually ignored Baptismo. Had it been his dance, the half-breed would not have been there, but Horne had bidden him from policy.

An hour afterwards Lafe chanced to descry Jerry going to the spring for a bucket of fresh water to hang beside the keg. Sellers sang as he walked, swinging the bucket.

Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee, Where the wild ki-yotes will howl o'er me--

Lafe could hear him clearly where he leaned against the jamb of the door. He smiled over the doleful song of the night guard, which never occurred to Jerry unless he were feeling cheerful.

Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free--

There was an abrupt breaking-off after "free." Then a dreadful cry.

"Lafe!" came Jerry's shout.

Johnson ran towards the spring. Close to it Sellers was hunched on the ground, doubled up over the bucket which stood between his legs. He was quite dead. There was a deep wound in his back, just below the shoulder blade.

They carried him to the barn in order not to stampede the guests, and roused Horne, who was sleeping. When they led him to view the body, the cowman was not wholly awake.

"Who did it?" he asked stupidly.

That was what everybody asked his neighbor by silent questioning of eyes.