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Aaron Capper, who was as narrow yet as religious as an Inquisition priest, had always believed the Thorntons to be God's chosen and the Doanes to be children of Satan. The bonds of enforced peace had galled him heavily. Three sons had been killed in the battle at Claytown and he felt that any truce made before he had evened his score left him wronged and abandoned by his kinsmen.
So under the tree, where a light breeze stirred with welcome tempering across the river, the four men squatted on their heels and lighted their pipes. "Thar hain't no profit in mincin' matters none," began old Aaron, curtly. "I lost me three boys when they fit ther battle of Claytown twenty y'ars back an' now hit looks powerful like ther war's fixin' ter bust out afresh.
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?"
He dastn't walk in his own backyard withouten he kept thet log wall betwixt hisself an' ther mounting-side. So long as him an' old Mose Rowlett both lived thar warn't no peace feasible nohow. Cuss-fights an' shootin's an' laywayin's went on without no eend, twell finely hit come on ter be sich a hell-fired mommick thet ther two outfits met up an' fit a master battle in Claytown.
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