He looked back over his shoulder, with perhaps some stirring doubt, some vague suspicion, at the man who followed; but Harshaw, now lifting a hand to thrust a branch from across the path, now adjusting the bridle about the mare’s head, seemed so careless, so casual, in his curiosity that Jeb was reassured as to the innocuousness of his gossip, and went on.
“Ye see, them fellers he consorted with—huntin’, an’ a-pitchin’ o’ quates, an’ a-foot-racin’, an’ sech—war mostly powerful servigrus, gamesome folks; an’ some o’ ’em war gin ter toler’ble wild ways, an’ Jeemes—his mother never keered much what he done, so ez he’d quit stickin’ so all-fired constant ter his law-books, ’kase he war a-studyin’ law by that time in old Squair Dinks’s law-office in Colbury—he war ’bout twenty-two year old—he war mixed up in a deal o’ them goin’s-on. An’ from one little thing an’ another he hed some ill-will started agin him wunst in a while. Him an’ Eph Saunders hed a fallin’-out wunst. Eph war a tremenjious strong man, an’ he kep’ flingin’ words at Jeemes. Sence Jeemes hed tuk ter studyin’ o’ law an’ sech, an’ ’peared right hearty, he tuk up with town ways powerfill, an’ went ter meet’n a-Sunday nights, escortin’ the gals, an’ dressed hisself like a plumb peacock. An’ whenst Eph ’tended circus in Colbury he met up with Jeemes, who hed a lot o’ his gal cousins along. An’ Eph war drunk, an’ Jim gin him a push aside, an’ Eph, he fell on the groun’. Waal, sir, it like ter killed Eph,—ter be knocked down by a man o’ Jeemes’s weight! Jim couldn’t hev done it ef Eph hedn’t been drunk. Eph jes’ mourned like Samson arter his hair war cut off. Ye’d hev ’lowed he war de-sgraced fur life! An’, like Samson, he warn’t a-goin’ ter bide stopped off an’ done fur. He kep’ a-sendin’ all sorts o’ words ter Jeemes; an’ ez Jeemes never wanted no fuss with Eph, he kep’ out’n his way for a while. An’ Eph, he ’lowed ez Jim war afeard an’ a-hidin’. Waal, sir, that hustled up Jeemes’s feelins mightily. He jes’ wanted ter keep out’n his mother’s hearin’, though; she war a powerful chicken-hearted, floppy kind o’ woman,—skeered at everything. Then Jeemes, he sent Eph word ez he warn’t a-goin’ ter be beat inter a jelly fur nuthin’ by a man twict his size; but he war a-kemin’ up ter settle him with his rifle. An’ Eph, he sent word he’d meet him at the big Sulphur Spring, thar on that spur o’ the mounting nigh Gran’dad’s Creek. Ef Jeemes so much ez dared ter cross the foot-bredge over Gran’dad’s Creek, an’ set his foot on the t’other side, Eph swore he’d shoot him dead. An’ Eph, he sent word ter come Chewsday an hour by sun, an’ bring his friends ter see fair play.”
“Laws-a-massy!” exclaimed Marvin, in the fervor of reminiscence, “I kin jes’ see that thar spot,—that thar old foot-bredge in the woods, an’ the water high enough ter lap the under side o’ the log; ’twar hewn a-top, an’ made toler’ble level footin’. An’ me an’ Jeb dodgin’ in the laurel, fur fear Eph would shoot ’fore Jeemes crost.”
“Jeemes seemed toler’ble long a-crossin’,” Jeb resumed,—“I ’member that; an’ he stopped at the furder eend, an’ lifted his rifle ter his shoulder ter be ready ter shoot. An’ thar stood Eph, a-sightin’ him keerful ez he kem”—
“You were both there?” said Harshaw, hastily.
“Lord, yes,” said Jeb. “Jeemes hed stayed at my dad’s house the night afore. An’ he never brung none o’ his town friends,—afeard o’ word gittin’ ter his mother. So me an’ Sam,—Sam, he lived nigh me,—we-uns went along.”
“Did he kill Eph?” demanded Harshaw, the query swift with the momentum of the wish.
“Waal, not edzac’ly,” drawled Jeb. “That’s whar the funny part kem in. Eph, he knowed ef Jeemes shot fust he war a dead man,—mighty few sech shots ez Jeemes,—but he warn’t a-goin’ ter murder him by shootin’ him afore he put his foot on the groun’ an’ tuk up the dare. So he waited, an’ Jeemes stopped short right at the aidge o’ the bredge.”
“Lord, I ’members how he looked!” cried Marvin. “He had tuk off his coat an’ vest, though we-uns hed tole him that thar b’iled shirt o’ his’n war a good mark for Eph, ez looked jes’ the color o’ the clay-bank ahint him, in them brown jeans clothes. Jim’s straw hat war drawn down over his eyes; he war jes’ about the build o’ his ramrod,—slimmest, stringiest boy!—ez delikit-lookin’ ez a gal. One thing Eph called him, ez riled him wuss ’n all, war ‘Miss Polly.’”