BACK at the mill old Gabe was troubled.Usually he sat in a cane-bottomed chair near the hopper,whittling,while the lad tended the mill,and took pay in an oaken toll-dish smooth with the use of half a century.But the incident across the river that morning had made the old man uneasy,and he moved restlessly from his chair to the door,and back again,while the boy watched him,wondering what the matter was,but asking no questions.At noon an old mountaineer rode by,and the miller hailed him.
"Any news in town?"he asked.
"Hain't been to town.Reckon fightin''s goin'on thar from whut Iheerd."The careless,high-pitched answer brought the boy with wide eyes to the door.
Whut d'ye hear?"asked Gabe.Jes heerd fightin''s goin'on!
Then every man who came for his meal brought a wild rumor from town,and the old miller moved his chair to the door,and sat there whittling fast,and looking anxiously toward Hazlan.The boy was in a fever of unrest,and old Gabe could hardly keep him in the mill.In the middle of the afternoon the report of a rifle came down the river,breaking into echoes against the cliffs below,and Isom ran out the door,and stood listening for another,with an odd contradiction of fear and delight on his eager face.In a few moments Rome Stetson galloped into sight,and,with a shrill cry of relief,the boy ran down the road to meet him,and ran back,holding by a stirrup.Young Stetson's face was black with passion,and his eyes were heavy with drink.At the door of the mill he swung from his horse,and for a moment was hardly able to speak from rage.There had been no fight.The Stetsons were few and unprepared.They had neither the guns nor,without Rufe,the means to open the war,and they believed Rufe had gone for arms.
So they had chafed in the store all day,and all day Lewallens on horseback and on foot were in sight;and each was a taunt to every Stetson,and,few as they were,the young and hot-headed wanted to go out and fight.In the afternoon a tale-bearer had brought some of Jasper's boasts to Rome,and,made reckless by moonshine and much brooding,he sprang up to lead them.Steve Marcum,too,caught up his gun,but old Sam's counsel checked him,and the two by force held Rome back.A little later the Lewallens left town.
The Stetsons,too,disbanded,and on the way home a last drop of gall ran Rome's cup of bitterness over.Opposite Steve Brayton's cabin a jet of smoke puffed from the bushes across the river,and a bullet furrowed the road in front of him.That was the shot they had heard at the mill.Somebody was drawing a dead-line,"and Rome wheeled his horse at the brink of it.A mocking yell came over the river,and a gray horse flashed past an open space in the bushes.Rome knew the horse and knew the yell;young Jasper was "bantering"him.Nothing maddens the mountaineer like this childish method of insult;and telling of it,Rome sat in a corner,and loosed a torrent of curses against young Lewallen and his clan.
Old Gabe had listened without a word,and the strain in his face was eased.Always the old man had stood for peace.He believed it had come after the court-house fight,and he had hoped against hope,even when Rufe came back to trade against old Jasper;for Rufe was big and good-natured,and unsuspected of resolute purpose,and the Lewallens'power had weakened.So,now that Rufe was gone again,the old miller half believed he was gone for good.Nobody was hurt;there was a chance yet for peace,and with a rebuke on his tongue and relief in his face,the old man sat back in his chair and went on whittling.The boy turned eagerly to a crevice in the logs and,trembling with excitement,searched the other bank for Jasper's gray horse,going home.
He called me a idgit,"he said to himself,with a threatening shake of his head."Jes wouldn't I like to hev a chance at him!Rome ull git him!Rome ull git him!"There was no moving point of white on the broad face of the mountains nor along the river road.Jasper was yet to come and,with ears alert to every word behind him,the lad fixed his eyes where he should see him first.
