The Lions of the Lord: A Tale of the Old West

by Harry Leon Wilson

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  _How the Avenger Bungled His Vengeance_

  At last he stood up, slowly, unsteadily, grasping Follett by the arm forsupport. He spoke almost in a whisper.

  "Come back here first--to talk--then I'll go with you."

  He entered the house, the young man following close, suspicious,narrowly watchful.

  "No fooling now,--feel the end of that gun in your back?" The other madeno reply. Inside the door he took a candle from the box against the walland lighted it.

  "Don't think I'm trying anything--come here."

  They went on, the little bent man ahead, holding the candle well up. Hisroom was at the far end of the long house. When they reached it, heclosed the door and fixed the candle on the table in some of its owngrease. Then he pointed Follett to the one stool in the little cell-likeroom, and threw himself face down on the bed.

  Follett, still standing, waited for him to speak. After a moment'ssilence he grew impatient.

  "Come, come! What would you be saying if you were talking? I can't waithere all night."

  But the little man on the bed was still silent, nor did he stir, andafter another wait Follett broke out again.

  "If you want to talk, _talk_, I tell you. If you don't want to, I cansay all I have to say, _quick_."

  Then the other turned himself over on the bed and half sat up, leaningon his elbow.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but you see I'm so weak"--the strainedlittle smile came to his face--"and tremble so, there's so much to thinkof--do _you_ hear those women scream--_there_! did you hear that?--butof course not. Now--wait just a moment--have you come to kill me?"

  "You and those two other hellions--the two that took me and that boy outthat night to bury us."

  "Did you think of the consequences?"

  "I reckoned you'd be called paid for, any time any one come gunning foryou. I didn't think there'd _be_ any consequences."

  "Hereafter, I mean; to your soul. What a pity you didn't wait a littlelonger! Those other two are already punished."

  "Don't lie to me now?"

  The little smile lighted his face again.

  "I have a load of sin on me--but I don't think I ever did lie to anyone--I guess I never was tempted--"

  "Oh, you've _acted_ lies enough."

  "OH, MAN ... HOW I'VE LONGED FOR THAT BULLET OF YOURS!"]

  "You're right--that's so. But I'm telling youtruth now--those two men had both been in the Meadows that day and itkilled them. One went crazy and ran off into the desert. They found hisbones. The other shot himself a few years ago. Those of us that live arealready in hell--"

  He sat up, now, animated for the moment.

  "--in hell right here, I tell you. I'd have welcomed you, or any otherman that would kill me, any time this fifteen years. I'd have gone outto meet you. Do you think I like to hear the women scream? Do you thinkI'm not crazed myself by this thing--right back of me here,_now_--crawling, bleeding, breathing on me--trying to come here in frontwhere I must _see_ it? Don't you see God has known how to punish meworse than you could, just by keeping me alive and sane? Oh, man! youdon't know how I've longed for that bullet of yours, right here throughthe temples where the cries sound worst. I didn't dare to do itmyself--I was afraid I'd make my punishment worse if I tried to shirk;but I used to hope you would come as you said you would. I wonder Ididn't know you at once."

  He put his hands to his head and fell back again on the pillow, with alittle moan.

  "Well, it ain't strange I didn't know _you_. I was looking for a bigman. You seemed as big as a house to me that day. I forgot that I'dgrown up and you might be small. When those fellows got tight up thereand let on like it was you that some folks hinted had took a child andkept it out of that muss, I couldn't hardly believe it; and everybodyseeming to regard you so highly. And I couldn't believe this big girlwas little Prue Girnway that I remembered. It seemed like you two wouldhave to be a great big man and a little bit of a baby girl with yellowhair; and now I find you're--say, Mister, _honestly_, you're such apoor, broke-down, little coot it seems a'most like a shame to put abullet through you, in spite of all your doings!"

  The little man sat up again, with new animation in his eyes,--the sameeager boyishness that he had somehow kept through all his years.

  "_Don't_!" he exclaimed, earnestly. "Let me beg you, don't kill me! Foryour own sake--not for mine. I'm a poor, meatless husk. I'll die soon atbest, and I'm already in a hell you can't make any hotter. Let me do youthis service; let me persuade you not to kill me. Have you ever killed aman?"

  "No, not yet; I've allowed to a couple of times, but it's never comejust that way."

  "You ought to thank God. Don't ever. You'll be in hell as sure as youdo,--a hell right here that you must carry inside of you forever--thateven God can't take out of you. Listen--it's a great secret, worthmillions. If you're so bad you can't forgive yourself, you have tosuffer hell-fire no matter how much the Lord forgives you. It soundsqueer, but there's the limit to His power. He's made us so nearly in Hisimage that we have to win our own forgiveness; why, you can seeyourself, it _had_ to be that way; there would have been no dignityto a soul that could swallow all its own wickedness so long as the Lordcould. God has given us to know good and evil for ourselves--and we haveto take the consequences. Look at me. I suffer day and night, and alwaysmust. God has forgiven me, but I can't forgive myself, for my own sinand my people's sin,--for my preaching was one of the things that ledthem into that meadow. I know that Christ died for us, but that can'tput out this fire that I _have_ to build in my own soul. I tell you aman is like an angel, he can be good or bad; he has a power for heavenbut the same power for hell--"

  "See here, I don't know anything about all this hell-talk, but I doknow--"

  "I tell you death is the very last thing I have left to look forward to,but if you kill me it will be your own undoing. You will never get meout of your eyes or your ears, poor wreck as I am--so feeble. You cansee what my punishment has been. A little while ago I was young, andstrong, and proud like you, fearing nothing and wanting everything, butsomething was wrong. I was climbing up as I thought, and then all atonce I saw I had been climbing down--down into a pit I never could getout of. You will be there if you kill me." He sank back on the bedagain.

  Follett slowly put the revolver into its holster and sat down on the lowstool.

  "I don't know anything about all this hell-talk, but I see I can't killyou--you're such a poor, miserable cuss. And I thought you were a bigstrong man, handy with a gun and all that, and like as not I'd have tomake a quick draw on you when the time come. And now look at you! Why,Mister, I'm doggoned if I ain't almost _sorry_ for you! You sure havebeen getting your deservance good and plenty. Say, what in God's namedid you all do such a hellish thing for, anyway?"

  "We had been persecuted, hunted, and driven, our Prophet murdered, ourwomen and children butchered, and another army was on the way."

  "Well, that was because you were such an ornery lot, always settingyourself up against the government wherever you went, and actingscandalous--"

  "We did as the Lord directed us--"

  "Oh, shucks!"

  "And then we thought the time had come to stand up for our rights; thatthe Lord meant us to be free and independent."

  "Secesh, eh?" Follett was amused. "You handful of Mormons--Uncle Samcould have licked you with both hands tied behind him. Why, you crazyfool, he'd have spit on you and drowned every last one of you, oldBrigham Young and all. Fighting the United States! A few dozenwomen-butchers going to do what the whole South couldn't! Well, I _am_danged."

  He mused over it, and for awhile neither spoke.

  "And the nearest you ever got to it was cutting up a lot of women andchildren after you'd cheated the men into giving up their guns!"

  The other groaned.

  "There now, that's right--don't you see that hurts worse than killing?"

  "But I certainly wish I could have got those other two that took us offinto
the sage-brush that night. I didn't guess what for, but the firstthing I knew the other boy was scratching, and kicking, and hollering,and like to have wriggled away, so the cuss that was with me ran up tohelp. Then I heard little John making kind of a squeally noise in histhroat like he was being choked, and that was all I wanted. I legged itinto the sage-brush. I heard them swearing and coming after me, and ranharder, and, what saved me, I tripped and fell down and hurt myself, soI lay still and they lost track of me. I was scared, I promise you that;but after they got off a ways I worked in the other direction by spellstill I got to a little wady, and by sunup they weren't in sight anylonger. When I saw the Indians coming along I wasn't a bit scared. Iknew _they_ weren't Mormons."

  "I used to pray that you might come back and kill me."

  "I used to wish I would grow faster so I could. I was always laying outto do it."

  "But see how I've been punished. Look at me--I'm fifty. I ought to be inmy prime. See how I've been burnt out."

  "But look here, Mister, what about this girl? Do you think you've beendoing right by keeping her here?"

  "No, no! it was a wrong as great as the other."

  "Why, they're even passing remarks about her mother, those that don'tknow where you got her,--saying it was some one you never married,because the book shows your first wife was this one-handed woman here."

  "I know, I know it. I meant to let her go back at first, but she tookhold of me, and her father and mother were both dead."

  "She's got a grandfather and grandmother, alive and hearty, back atSpringfield."

  "She is all that has kept me alive these last years."

  "She's got to go back to her people now. She'll want to bad enough whenshe knows about this."

  "About this? Surely you won't tell her--"

  "Look here now, why not? What do you expect?"

  "But she loves me--she _does_--and she's all I've got. Man, man! don'tpile it all on me just at the last."

  He was off the bed and on his knees before Follett.

  "Don't put it all on me. I've rounded up my back to the rest of it, butkeep this off; please, please don't. Let her always think I'm not bad.Give me that one thing out of all the world."

  He tried to reach the young man's hand, but was pushed roughly away.

  "Don't do that--get up--stop, I tell you. That ain't any way to do.There now! Lie down again. What do you _want_? I'm not going to leavethat ain't any way to do. There now! Lie down again. What do you want?I'm not going to leave that girl with you nor with your infernalChurch. You understand that."

  "Yes, yes, I know it. It was right that you should be the one to comeand take her away. The Lord's vengeance was well thought out. Oh, howmuch more he can make us suffer than you could with your clumsykillings! She must go, but wait--not yet--not yet. Oh, my God! Icouldn't stand it to see her go. It would cut into my heart and leave meto bleed to death. No, no, no--don't! Please don't! Don't pile it all onme at the last. The end has come anyway. Don't do that--don't, don't!"

  "There, there, be still now." There was a rough sort of soothing inFollett's voice, and they were both silent a moment. Then the young manwent on:

  "But what do you expect? Suppose everything was left to you, Mister.Come now, you're _trying_ to talk fair. Suppose I leave it to you--onlyyou know you can't keep her."

  "Yes, it can't be, but let her stay a little while; let me see her a fewtimes more; let me know she doesn't think I'm bad; and promise never totell her all of it. Let her always think I was a good man. Do promise methat. I'd do it for you, Follett. It won't hurt you. Let her think I wasa good man."

  "How long do you want her to stay here?--a week, ten days?"

  "It will kill me when she goes!"

  "Oh, well, two weeks?"

  "That's good of you; you're kinder at your age than I was--I shall diewhen she goes."

  "Well, I wouldn't want to live if I were you."

  "Just a little longer, knowing that she cares for me. I've never beenfree to have the love of a woman the way you will some day, though I'vehungered and sickened for it--for a woman who would understand and beclose. But this girl has been the soul of it some way. See here,Follett, let her stay this summer, or until I'm dead. That can't be along time. I've felt the end coming for a year now. Let her stay,believing in me. Let me know to the last that I'm the only man who hasbeen in her heart, who has won her confidence and her love. Oh, I meanfair. You stay with us yourself and watch. Come--but look there, _look_,man!"

  "Well,--what?"

  "That candle is going out,--we'll be in the dark"--he grasped theother's arm--"in the dark, and now I'm afraid again. Don't leave mehere! It would be an awful death to die. Here's that thing now on thebed behind me. It's trying to get around in front where I'll have to seeit--get another candle. No--don't leave me,--this one will go out whileyou're gone." All his strength went into the grip on Follett's arm. Thecandle was sputtering in its pool of grease.

  "There, it's gone--now don't, don't leave me. It's trying to crawl overme--I smell the blood--"

  "Well--lie down there--it serves you right. There--stop it--I'll staywith you."

  Until dawn Follett sat by the bunk, submitting his arm to the other'sfrenzied grip. From time to time he somewhat awkwardly uttered littlewords that were meant to be soothing, as he would have done to afrightened child.

  When morning brought the gray light into the little room, the hauntedman fell into a doze, and Follett, gently unclasping the hands from hisarm, arose and went softly out. He was cramped from sitting still solong, and chilled, and his arm hurt where the other had gripped it. Hepulled back the blue woollen sleeve and saw above his wrist livid markswhere the nails had sunk into his flesh.

  Then out of the room back of him came a sharp cry, as from one who hadawakened from a dream of terror. He stepped to the door again and lookedin.

  "There now--don't be scared any more. The daylight has come; it's allright--all right--go to sleep now--"

  He stood listening until the man he had come to kill was again quiet.Then he went outside and over to the creek back of the willows to bathein the fresh running water.