The smith had remained quiet and silent during Bart's elaborate recital, but his somber eyes had never left the other man's face. With the impassioned, if crude, harangue with which Bart concluded his testimony, I noted portents of a storm. The dominant elements in Buck's nature were purely barbarian. He had suffered much of late, and self-control was something which he did not know, even remotely. Later he probably would be ashamed of the blow he had dealt the harmless thing at his feet which had been obeying its instinct in offering resistence to something which it feared. But that moment such reason as Buck habitually possessed was submerged in a black wave of hate. I saw it coming, from my position by the door. I saw flashes beneath the down-drawn lids, restrained heaving of the big, hairy chest, hands which were fists and hands alternately, and on the heavy features an expression nothing short of devilish. He waited a while after Bart finished—waited until the 'Squire had succeeded with his chew, then he took two swift steps and faced the mule owner.
"Yo' damn dog!" he hissed. "I c'd th'ow yo' thoo that winder! I c'd wring yo' naik lak a chick'n! I c'd lay yo' 'crost that anv'l 'n' break yo' back lak a splinter o' pine, 'n' yo' know it! But yo're not wuth it! Damn yo' 'n' yo' mule! Damn th' 'Squar! All o' yo'—to hell with yo'!"
Accurately, deliberately, he spat a mouthful of ambier on Bart Crawley's nose, then turned and left the shop, people falling back in fright before him.
Two hours later I turned my face toward Bald Knob. The investigation was never finished, partly because it was unanimously conceded Buck was in the wrong from the manner in which he had behaved, and partly because Bart struck out at once for Cedarton to prefer charges against the smith and swear out a warrant for his arrest. The unexpected and startling denouement wrought consternation in the shop, and the opinion was given freely that Buck must be "off." Certain it is he left Hebron at once, going up the railroad, and no one followed him. The crowd instantly gathered around me with many honest, well-intentioned questions, and I told them frankly that as far as I knew Bart had told the truth. Many and divers were the comments anent Buck's queer actions, but a simmering down resulted in the generally accepted opinion that he surely was "off." I thought this, too, in a measure, although I did not speak it, for I knew things which the people of Hebron did not.
But I tarried among them for the space of two hours, listening to their uncouth colloquialisms and provincial sayings; and when, finally, a game of horse-shoes started in the middle of the road just in front of the store, and a self-appointed committee of two began to ascend the hill to acquaint Father John with the only real event of the year, I started home.
I was not at ease. One of the reasons I had lingered was in the hope that Buck would return. But he didn't. The man was desperate. I could doubt it no longer. He was half crazy. Ordinarily he would have compromised with Bart. He was now simply an unchained devil, loose and bent on mischief.
My feelings were not soothed when I reached the Lodge. Pinned to the door with the same nail which had held the message was a sheet of my writing paper, and on it was a large, rude cross, traced with a finger which had been dipped in blood.
It was the third and last warning.