Viola Gwyn Part 32

"Look here, gal,--don' yo' go countin' on me too much," said he, suspiciously. "Ah got all Ah c'n do 'tendin' to mah own wo'k 'thout comin' over yander an' hulpin' yo'--"

"Lan's sakes, man, 'tain't mah look-out ef yo' come over yere an'

tote mah clo'se-basket an' ev'thing 'round fo' me,--no, suh! Ah ain' nev' ast yo', has Ah? All Ah does is to hole Cato so he won't chaw yo' laig off when yo' come botherin' me to please 'low yo'

to hulp me,--das all Ah do. An' lemme tell yo', n.i.g.g.e.r, dat ain'

no easy job. 'Ca'se ef dere's one t'ing Cato do enjoy hit's dark meat,--yas, suh, hit's come so he won't even look at light meat no mo', he so sick o' feedin' off'n dese yere white s.h.i.+n-bones."

"Well, den, why is yo' glad Ah come up yere to live?" demanded Zachariah defensively.

"'Ca'se o' dis yere ole Black Hawk."

"Ah don' know nuffin' 'bout no ole Black Hawk."

"Yo' all gwine to know 'bout him mighty quick," said she solemnly.

"He's on de rampage. Scalpin' an' burnin' white folks at de stake an' des wallerin' in blood. Yas, suh,--Ah suttinly ain't gwine feel so skeert o' dat ole Black Hawk 'long as yo' is livin' right nex'

do', Zachariah."

"Wha' yo' all talkin' about?"

"Ma.r.s.e Joe,--he de sheriff dis yere county,--he done tole ole Mis' Gwyn dis evenin' all de news 'bout dat ole Black Hawk. Yas, suh,--ole Black Hawk he on de warpath. All de Injuns in dis yere--"

"Injuns?" gulped Zachariah.

"Dey all got dere warpaint on an' dere tommyhawks--"

"How come Ma.r.s.e Kenneth he don' know nuffin' 'bout all dis?" demanded Zachariah, taking a step or two backward and glancing anxiously over one shoulder, then the other. "He a lawyer. How come he don'

know nuffin' 'bout--Say, how close dat ole sheriff say dem Injuns is?"

"Dat's what I can't make out, Zachariah. He talk so kind o' low an' me lettin' de dishpan drop right in de middle--"

"Ah guess Ah better go right straight in de house an' tell Ma.r.s.e Kenneth 'bout dis," hastily announced Zachariah. Then he bethought himself to add: "'Ca'se me an' him got a lot to do ef dese here Injuns come 'roun' us lookin' fo' trouble, Yas, suh! Ah got to git de guns an' pistols an' huntin' knives all ready fo'--"

The words froze on his lips. A low, blood-curdling moan that seemed to end in a gasp,--or even a death-rattle,--fell upon the ears of the two negroes. It was close at hand,--not more than twenty feet away. This was succeeded, after a few seconds of intense stillness--(notwithstanding the uproarious frogs!)--by a hair-raising screech from Hattie. An instant later she was scuttling for her own kitchen door, emitting inarticulate cries of terror.

As for Zachariah? His course was a true one so far as direction was concerned. Blind instinct located the back door for him and he made a bee-line toward it regardless of all that lay between.

First he encountered a tree-stump. This he succeeded in pa.s.sing without the slightest deviation from the chosen route. Scrambling frantically to his feet after landing with a mighty grunt some two yards beyond the obstacle, he dashed onward, tearing his way through a patch of gooseberry bushes, coming almost immediately into contact with the wood-pile. Here he was momentarily r.e.t.a.r.ded in his flight. There was a great scattering of stove-wood and chips, accompanied by suppressed howls, and then he was on his feet again.

Almost simultaneously the heavy oak door received and withstood the impact of his flying body; a desperate clawing at the latch, the spasmodic squeak of rusty hinges, a resounding slam, the jar of a bolt being shot into place,--and Zachariah vociferously at prayer in a sanctuary behind the kitchen stove.

CHAPTER XVII

REVELATIONS

That sepulchral groan had issued not from a mortal in the agony of impending death but from the smiling red lips of Viola Gwyn. The grewsome "death-rattle" was the result of the means she took to suppress a shriek of laughter by frantically clapping both hands to her convulsed mouth.

For some time she had been standing at the fence, her elbows on the top rail, gazing pensively at the light in Kenny's window. A clump of honeysuckle bushes was between her and the unsuspecting servants. At first she had paid little or no attention to the gabble of the darkies, her thoughts being centred on her own serious affairs. She had been considerably shaken and distressed by the unpleasant experience of the early afternoon. Somehow she longed to take her troubles to Kenneth, to rid herself of them in the comfort of his approbation, to be rea.s.sured by his brotherly counsel. She knew he was sitting beside the table in the cosy sitting-room, poring over one of his incomprehensible law books. How jolly, how consoling to her own agitated mind, if she could only be there in the same room with him, quiet as a mouse so as not to disturb his profound studies, and reposing in that comfortable new rocker on the opposite side of the table where she could watch the studious frown on his brow while she waited patiently for him to lay aside the book.

Indeed, she had come out of the house animated by a sudden impulse to pay him a brief, surrept.i.tious visit; then to run back home before she was missed by her mother. This impulse was attended by a singularly delightful sensation of guilt. She had never been over to see him at night. In fact, it had never occurred to her to do such a thing before. But even as she started forth from the house, a strange timidity a.s.sailed her. It halted her impetuous footsteps, turned them irresolutely aside, and led her not to the gate but to the barrier fence. She could not explain, even to herself, the queer, half-frightened thumping of her heart, nor the amazing shyness, nor the ridiculous feeling that it would be improper for her to be alone with him at night.

But why, she argued,--why should it be improper? What could be wrong in going to see her own brother? What difference did it make whether it was night or day? Still the doubt persisted,--a nagging yet agreeable doubt that made her all the more eager to defy its feeble authority. First she sought to justify her inclination by reminding herself that her mother had never by word or look signified the slightest opposition to her intimacy with Kenneth.

This att.i.tude of resignation on her mother's part, however, was a constant thorn in her side, a p.r.i.c.k to her conscience. It caused her many a pang.

Then she called to mind certain of her girl friends who had brothers,--one in particular who declared that she had slept in the same bed with her brother up to the time she was fourteen years old.

She felt herself turn scarlet. That was really quite dreadful, even though the cabin in which her friend dwelt was very tiny and there were six children in the family. She had bitterly envied certain others, those who told of the jolly good times they had had with their brothers, the fun they had in quarrelling and the way they teased the boys when they first began "going out" with the girls.

What fun to have had a brother when she was little,--a brother to play with! Kenny was so unreal. He was not like a brother at all.

He was no different from other men,--she did not believe she could ever get used to thinking of him as a brother,--even a half-brother.

This very thought was in her mind,--perhaps it was an ever-present thought,--as she stood gazing shyly at his window.

She wanted to tell him about her break with Barry. Somehow,--although she was not quite conscious of it,--she longed to have him pat her on the shoulder, or clasp her hands in his, and tell her she had done the right thing and he was glad. The corners of her mouth were drooping a little.

But the pensive droop slowly disappeared as she harkened to the valiant words of Zachariah. It was not until Kenny's servant lifted his voice in praise of his own deeds at Phineas Striker's that she became acutely aware of the close proximity of the speakers.

Gradually she surrendered to the spirits of mirth and mischief.

The result of her awesome moan,--even though it narrowly escaped ending in a shriek of laughter,--has already been revealed. The manner of Zachariah's flight sobered her instantly. Too late she regretted the experiment.

"Oh, goodness!" she murmured, blanching. "The poor fellow has hurt himself--"

The slamming of the door behind Zachariah was rea.s.suring. At any rate he was alive and far too sprightly to have suffered a broken leg or a cracked skull. A few seconds later she saw Kenny's shadow flit hurriedly past the window as he dashed toward the kitchen.

For some time she stood perfectly still, listening to the confused jumble of voices in the house across the way, debating whether she should hurry over to explain,--and perhaps to a.s.sist in dressing poor Zachariah's cuts and bruises. Suddenly she decided; and, without thought of her garments, she scrambled hastily over the fence. Just as her feet touched the ground, the front door of Kenneth's house flew open and a figure, briefly revealed by the light from within, rushed out into the yard and was swallowed up by the darkness. She whirled and started to climb back over into her own yard, giggling hysterically. She heard the rush of feet through the weeds and shrubbery. They halted abruptly, and then:

"Stop where you are, d.a.m.n you! I've got you covered and, so help me G.o.d, I'll put a bullet through--"

"Kenny! Kenny!" she cried out. "It's I--Viola!"

There was a moment's silence.

"My G.o.d! You? Viola?" came in suppressed, horrified tones from the darkness. "Drop down,--drop to the ground! They may begin firing at me. You--"

"Firing at you?" she cried, shakily. "What on earth are you talking about? There's--there's no one here. I am all alone. I did it. I'm the ghost. It was all in fun. I didn't dream--"

"Do as I tell you!" he called out sharply. "There is a pack of ruffians--"

"Pack your granny!" she cried, with a shrill laugh. "I tell you I am all alone. My goodness, what on earth did Zachariah think was after him? A regiment of soldiers?"

As he came quickly toward her she shrank back, seized by a strange, inexplicable panic. He loomed above her in the darkness as she half-crouched against the fence. For a few seconds he stood looking down at her, breathing sharply. She heard something drop at his feet, and then both his hands gripped her shoulders, drawing her roughly up to him.

"Oh-h! Wh-what are you doing?" she gasped as his arm went around her. That arm of steel drew her so close and held her so tightly to his breast that she could feel the tremendous thumping of his heart. She felt herself trembling--trembling all over; the light in the window up beyond seemed to draw nearer, swelling to vast proportions as it bore down upon her. She closed her eyes. What was happening to her,--what was causing this strange languor, this queer sensation as of falling?

As abruptly as he had clasped her to him, he released her, springing back with a muttered execration. She tottered dizzily, and involuntarily reached out to clutch his arm for support. He shook her hand off.

"What is the matter, Kenny?" she murmured, hazily.

He did not answer. He leaned heavily against the fence, his head on his arm. She did not move for many seconds. Then he heard her gasp,--a gasp of actual terror.

"Who are you?" she whispered tensely. "You are not my brother. You are not the real Kenneth Gwynne! Who are you?" She waited for the answer that did not come. Then as she drew farther away from him: "You are an impostor. You have deceived us. You have come here representing yourself to be--to be my brother,--and you are not--you are not! I know it--oh, I know it now. You are--"