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But the light had held until the grim preparations were finished, and then when Bas Rowlett had taken his appointed place, tethered and wearing the hempen loop, when the other end of the long line had been passed through the broken slat of the closed window shutters, where it would be held by many hands in assurance against escape, Sim Squires kept his promise.
The man who had "hired him killed" and whom in turn he meant to kill stood in the room where he himself lay too weak to rise from his bed, and toward that man he nodded his head. "Good mornin', Bas," he accosted, and the other replied, "Howdy, Cal." Then Maggard turned to the others. "This man, Bas Rowlett," he said, "sought to marry Dorothy hisself.
His great neck and fat face were fiery red with heat and excitement, and he panted as he gave them his news. "Old Jim Rowlett's done been shot at from ther bresh!" he told them. "He escaped death, but men says ther war's like ter bust, loose ergin because of hit." "My God!" exclaimed Bas Rowlett in a tone of shocked incredulity; "old Jim hain't got no enemies.
I bears due authority from ther Thorntons and ther Harpers. We seeks ter aid ye in diskiverin' an' punishin' ther man thet sought ter kill Jim Rowlett if so be ye'll meet us halfway." For a moment there was silence in the room, then with a skeptical note of ridicule and challenge the hunchback demanded: "Why didn't ye go ter Jim Rowlett hisself?"
Then come ther battle at Claytown ter cap hit off with more blood-lettin'. "One of ther vi'lent leaders war shot ter death an' t'other one agreed ter go away an' give ther country a chanst ter draw a free breath in peace onc't more." Again he fell silent, and when after a long pause he had not begun again Dorothy restively inquired: "What's thet got ter do with me an Bas Rowlett, Gran'pap?"
Since no one but himself knew that his jackal Sam Squires was at that moment trailing after Parish Thornton as the beagle courses after the hare, he could logically enough make such an inquiry. "No. Didn't ye know? He started out soon this mornin'. I reckon he's fur over to'rds Virginny by now." "Oh!" Bas Rowlett seemed surprised, but he made prompt explanation.
In that he had only an academic interest since he trusted his own agencies and plans, and some of them he had not divulged to Rowlett.
In his mouth was a pebble, put there to change his voice but in his mutinous heart was an obsession of craving to see Bas Rowlett in such a debased position as that which Parish Thornton occupied for, of all men, he feared and hated Bas most. This unrelished participation in the mob spirit was more abhorrent than it had been before.
Bas Rowlett, too, never let a day pass without his broad shadow across the door, and his voice sounding in solicitous inquiry. But Dorothy had assumed an autocracy in the sick room which allowed no deviations from its decree of uninterrupted rest, and the plotter, approaching behind his mask of friendship, never found himself alone with the wounded man.
"Let's see this hyar's ther y'ar one thousand and nine hundred.... Thar's some things I disremembers. Maggards ... Maggards?... I don't remember no Maggards.... No, siree! I don't remember none." The cripple turned impatiently away, and Bas Rowlett speculatively inquired: "Does ye reckon mebby he war a-fleein' from some enemy over in Virginny an' thet ther feller followed atter him an' got him?"
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