"Oh,he didn't mean to hit me.Not that he ain't mean enough to shoot from the bresh,"Rome broke out savagely."That's jes whut I'm afeard he will do.Thar was too much daylight fer him.Ef he jes don't come a-sneakin'over hyeh,'n'waitin'in the lorrel atter dark fer me,it's all I axe."Waitin'in the lorrel!"Old Gabe could hold back no longer."Hit's a shame,a burn-in'shame!I don'know whut things air comm'to!
'Pears like all you young folks think about is killin'somebody.
Folks usen to talk about how fer they could kill a deer;now it's how fer they kin kill a man.I hev knowed the time when a man would 'a'been druv out o'the county fer drawin'a knife ur a pistol;'n'ef a feller was ever killed,it was kinder accidental,by a Barlow.
I reckon folks got use'to weepons 'n'killin''n'bushwhackin'in the war.Looks like it's been gittin'wuss ever sence,'n'now hit's dirk 'n'
Winchester,'n'shootin'from the bushes all the time.Hit's wuss 'n stealin'money to take a feller-creetur's life that way!
The old miller's indignation sprang from memories of a better youth.For the courtesies of the code went on to the Blue Grass,and before the war the mountaineer fought with English fairness and his fists.It was a disgrace to use a deadly weapon in those days;it was a disgrace now not to use it.
Oh,I know all the excuses folks make,"he went on:"hit's fa'r fer one as 'tis fer t'other;y'u can't fight a man fa'r 'n'squar'who'll shoot you in the back;a pore man can't fight money in the couhts;'n'thar hain't no witnesses in the lorrel but leaves;'n'dead men don't hev much to say.I know it all.Hit's cur'us,but it act'-ally looks like lots o'decent young folks hev got usen to the idee-thar's so much of it goin'on,'n'thar's so much talk 'bout killin''n'layin'out in the lorrel.Reckon folks 'll git to pesterm'women n'strangers bimeby,'n'robbin''n'thievin'.Hit's bad enough thar's so leetle law thet folks hev to take it in their own hands oncet in a while,but this shootin'from the bresh-hit's p'int'ly a sin 'n'shame!Why,"he concluded,pointing his remonstrance as he always did,"I seed your grandad and young Jas's fight up thar in Hazlan full two hours 'fore the war-fist and skull-'n'your grandad was whooped.They got up and shuk hands.I don't see why folks can't fight that way now.I wish Rufe 'n'old Jas 'n'you 'n'young Jas could have it out fist and skull,'n'stop this killin'o'people like hogs.Thar's nobody left but you four.But thar's no chance o'that,I reckon.""I'll fight him anyway,'n'I reckon ef he don't die till I lay out in the lorrel fer him,he'll live a long time.Ef a Stetson ever done sech meanness as that I never heerd it."Nother hev I,"said the old man,with quick justice."You air a over-bearin'race,all o'ye,but I never knowed ye to be that mean.
Hit's all the wus fer ye thet ye air in sech doin's.I tell ye,Rome--A faint cry rose above the drone of the millstones,and old Gabe stopped with open lips to listen.The boy's face was pressed close to the logs.A wet paddle had flashed into the sunlight from out the bushes across the river.He could just see a canoe in the shadows under them,and with quick suspicion his brain pictured Jasper's horse hitched in the bushes,and Jasper stealing across the river to waylay Rome.But the canoe moved slowly out of sight downstream and toward the deep water,the paddler unseen,and the boy looked around with a weak smile.Neither seemed to have heard him.Rome was brooding,with his sullen face in his hands;the old miller was busy with his own thoughts;and the boy turned again to his watch.
Jasper did not come.Isom's eyes began to ache from the steady gaze,and now and then he would drop them to the water swirling beneath.A slow wind swayed the overhanging branches at the mouth of the stream,and under them was an eddy.Escaping this,the froth and bubbles raced out to the gleams beating the air from the sunlit river.He saw one tiny fleet caught;a mass of yellow scum bore down and,sweeping through bubbles and eddy,was itself struck into fragments by something afloat.A tremulous shadow shot through a space of sunlight into the gloom cast by a thicket of rhododendrons,and the boy caught his breath sharply.Amoment more,and the shape of a boat and a human figure quivered on the water running under him.The stern of a Lewallen canoe swung into the basin,and he sprang to his feet.
"Rome!"The cry cut sharply through the drowsy air."Thar he is!
Hit's Jas"
The old miller rose to his feet.The boy threw himself behind the sacks of grain.Rome wheeled for his rifle,and stood rigid before the door.There was a light step without,the click of a gun-lock within;a shadow fell across the doorway,and a girl stood at the threshold with an empty bag in her hand.
