Part 12 (1/2)
”When ye lay thar ... by my house ... watchin' with me....” went on the ambushed victim in a summarizing of ostensible services, ”what made ye discomfort yoreself, fer me, save only friendliness?”
”Thet war all, Cal.”
”An' hit war ther same reason thet made ye proffer ter take away thet letter an' seek ter diskiver who writ hit, warn't hit ... an' ter sa'rch about an' find thet peanut hull ... an' ter come by hyar an' show me a safe way home.... All jest friendliness, warn't hit?”
”Hain't thet es good a reason es any?”
The voice on the bed did not rise but it took on a new note.
”Thar couldn't handily be but jest ... one better one ... Bas.”
”What mout thet be?”
”Ther right one. Ther reason of a sorry craven thet aimed at a killin' ... an' sought ter alibi hisself.”
Rowlett stood purple-faced and trembling in a transport of maniac fury with which an inexplicable fear ran cross-odds as warp and woof. The other had totally deluded him until the climax brought its accusation, and now the unmasked plotter took refuge in bl.u.s.ter, fencing for time to think.
”Thet's a d.a.m.n lie an' a d.a.m.n slander!” he stormed. ”Ye've done already bore witness afore these folks hyar thet I sought ter save ye.”
”An' I plum believed hit ... then. Now I knows better. I sees thet ye led me inter ambush ... thet ye planted them peanut hulls.... Thet ye writ thet letter ... an' jest now ye stole hit outen my pocket.”
”Thet's a lie, too. I reckon yore head's done been crazed. I toted ye in hyar an' keered fer ye.”
”Ye aimed ter finish out yore alibi,” persisted Maggard, disdainfully.
”Ye didn't low I seed ye steal ther letter ... but I gives ye leave ter tek hit over thar an' and burn hit up, Rowlett--same es them peanut hulls.... I hain't got no need of nuther them ... nur hit.”
Rowlett's hand, under the sting of accusation, had instinctively pressed itself against his pocket. Now guiltily and self-consciously it came away and he found himself idiotically echoing his accuser's words:
”No need of hit?”
”No, I don't want nuther law-co'tes ner juries ter help me punish a man thet hires his killin' done second-handed.... All I craves air one day of stren'th ter stand on my feet.”
With a brief spasm of hope Rowlett bent forward and quickly decided on a course of temporizing. If he could encourage that idea the man would probably die--with sealed lips.
”I'm willin' ter look over all this slander, Cal,” he generously acceded; ”ye've done tuck up a false notion in yore light-headedness.”
”This thing lays betwixt me an' you,” went on the low-pitched but implacable voice from the bed, ”but ef I ever gits up again--you're goin' ter wisht ter G.o.d in Heaven ... hit war jest only ther penitenshery threatenin' ye.”
Again Rowlett's anger blazed, and his self-control slipped its leash.
”Afore G.o.d, ef ye warn't so plum puny an' tuckered out, I wouldn't stand hyar an' suffer ye ter fault me with them d.a.m.n lies.”
”Is thet why ye was ponderin' jest now over shakin' me till I bled inside myself?... I seed thet thought in yore eyes.”
The breath hissed out of Rowlett's great chest like steam from an over-stressed boiler, and a low bellow broke from his lips.
”I kin still do thet,” he declared in a rage-choked voice. ”I _did_ hire a feller ter kill ye, but he failed me. Now I'm goin' ter finish ther job myself.”