By this time Lambert had succeeded in working himself into a furious passion, but if he had possessed ordinary common sense he never would have done it. He thought he could frighten Rodney, but should have known better. The boy sat tilted back in his chair, with his feet on the gallery railing and his thumbs hooked in the armholes of his vest, and his very attitude ought to have warned the ex-Home Guard that he was treading on dangerous ground, and that there was a point beyond which Rodney would not be driven. The latter’s reply to his insolent question capped the climax.
“Whoop!” yelled Lambert, flourishing his rifle above his head. “It aint none of my business, aint it? I’ll make it my business to make a beggar of you this very night. I’ll send that cotton of yourn where I sent Randolph’s to pay that no-account boy of his’n for shakin’ his sword at me.”
“You have fully made up your mind to burn my father’s cotton, have you?” said Rodney.
“Yes, I have. It shan’t never be hauled outen them woods less’n I get fifty cents a pound, cash in hand, for it. That Yankee cousin of yourn is goin’ to run it up North an’ get a dollar for it. I heered all about it an’ you needn’t think to fool me. Will you give it or not?”
“I certainly will not.”
“You hearn what he says, boys,” said Lambert to his companions. “I always said that this was a rich man’s war an’ a poor man’s fight, didn’t I; an’ now you see it for yourselves, don’t you? Let’s go right back to the woods an’ set her a-goin’.”
“Bang!” said one of Rodney’s revolvers, and to Marcy’s inexpressible horror Lambert dropped his rifle and fell headlong from his mule, which set up a sonorous bray and started for the bars at top speed. “Bang!” said the other revolver an instant later, and Moseley let go his hold upon his gun and clung to his mule with both hands. The result of the next shot was still more terrifying. The third man made a frantic effort to turn his beast toward the bars; but before he could put him in motion a bullet passed through the mule’s head, and he and his rider came to the ground together. It was done in much less time than it takes to tell it. Rodney’s companions jumped to their feet, but before they could draw their weapons it was all over.
“Rodney, Rodney, what have you done?” cried Marcy in great alarm.
“I have simply proved my words,” replied his cousin, walking leisurely down the steps, pushing his revolver into his pocket as he went. “Did I not say,” he added, picking up the three guns, one after the other, and firing their contents into the air, “that I would show Lambert to be the biggest coward in the Confederacy? Get up, here. It’s my turn to be sassy now. Moseley, dismount.”
