The Spectator., 1915-11-12
brother was more solemnly being nodded by the Hayey chief

was the nearest spot to the dwelling Of Bad Anse Havey where grist could be ground to meal. and sometimes when Jeb came over to the brick house he would volunteer to throw upon his shoulders the sack of corn and plod with it up across the ridges. He would sit there in the dusty old mill while the slow wheel groaned and creaked and the cumbersome millstones did their slow stint of work.
 So one day, toward the end of Au- gust, Juanita, who had climbed up the path to the poplar to look over her battlefield and renew her vows, saw Jeb sturdily plodding his way in long, resolute strides through the woods toward the mill, heavy sack upon his | shoulders and a rife swinging at his | side.
 That day chance had it that no one | else had come to mill and Bob Nc l Greegor had persuaded the boy to drink from the Hectic blue kag" until his mind was ripe for mischief. While the mill slowly ground out his meal Jeb McNash sat on a pile of rubbish in the gloomy shack, nursing his knees in interlocked fingers. Old Bob | drank and stormed and cursed the in ertia of the present generation. The lads lean fingers tautened and gripped themselves more tensely and his eyes began to smolder and blaze with a | wicked light as he listened. "Ie looks like right stand-up sort of boy, Jeb." growled the old fire eater who had set more than a few | couples at each others throats. An l reckon hits all right, too fer fel- | Ter ter bide his time, but hit pears ter me like ther nlen of these days don't do nothin' but bide thar time." T won't bide mine no longer than what l has ter" snapped the boy. "Anse lows ter tell me when he finds out who hit war thet got my pap. Thet's all I needs ter know"
 Old Bob shook his head knowingly and laughed in his tangled beard.
 T reckon Anse Havey'n take his lei sure. He's got other fish to fry He's a-thinkin' bout bigger things than yore | grievance. son."
 The boy rose. and his voice came very quietly and ominously from sud denly whitened lips What does ye mean by thet. Uncle Bob?" 'Mebby I don't mean nothin' much. Then ergin mebby I could give ye a | pretty good idee who kilt yore pap. Mebby I could tell ye bout feller- feller thet hain't fur removed from l Old Milt hisself-thet went snoopin l crost ther ridge ther same day yore pap died with a rifie-gun 'crost his elbow and his pockets strutty with cartridges"
 Who war he?" came the tense de- mand with tine sudden snap of rifle 1 fire. Who war thet feller?" Old Bob filled and lighted his pipe with fingers that had grown unsteady from the ministration of the ''leetle 1 blue kag" He laughed again in a | drunken fashion.
 Elf Bad Anse Havey don't low ter tell ye son." he artfully demurred, 'I reckon hit wouldn't hardly be becomin | fer me ter name his name" The boy picked up his battered hat
 Give me my grist." he said shortly He stood by, breathing heavily but silently while the sack was being tied then, putting it down by the door, he wheeled and faced the older man.
 Now ye're a-goin' ter tell me what l needs ter know" he said quietly, ''or I'm a-goin' ter kill ye whar ye stands"
 Uncle Bob laughed He had meant all the while to impart that succulent bit of information, which was no infor- nation at all, but misunderstanding sus- picion. He had held off only to infu- riate and envenom the boy with the cumulative force of climax.
 Hit warn't nobody but" After a pause he went on. but old Milt Me Briars own son. Young Milt"
 "Thets all," said Jeb soberly; I'm obleeged ter ye."
 He went out with the sack on his shoulders and the rife under his arm but when he had reached place in the woods where blind trail struck back he deposited his sack carefully under ledge of overhanging rock. for the clouds were mounting and banking now in a threat of rain and it was not his own meal. SO he must be careful of it's safety.
 Then he crossed the ridge until he came to a point where the thicket grew down close and tangled to the road. He had seen Young Milt going west along that road ois morning and by nightfall he would be riding back. The gods of chance were playing into his hands.
 So he lay down. closely hugging the earth. and cooked his rife. For hours he crouched there with unspeakable patience. while his muscles cramped and his feet and hands grew cold un- der the pe,ting of rain which was strangely raw and chilling for the sea.