“Oh!” gasped the little chap nervously. “I didn’t hear nobody coming.”
Ben had straightened up to his full height. His stout shoulders were squared, his feet planted firmly, and he fronted his foe without a symptom of quailing. He had felt that this time must come, but now the dread of it passed from him instantly, and he was almost frightened by that feeling of eager fierceness and uncontrollable rage which had possessed him in the hour when he was led to wreak physical violence on Hayden for the destruction of little Jerry’s fiddle. Slowly and unconsciously he lifted his hand and touched his mutilated ear.
Bern, seeing that movement, flushed until his face took on a purplish tinge.
“It would have been a good thing,” he said in a harsh voice, “if in self-defense I had struck more effectively.”
Every nerve in Stone’s body seemed to vibrate. Without looking at the lame boy, who had begun to creep toward him, he said:
“Jimmy, you had better go into the house. I’ve some private business to transact with this person.”
The little lad hesitated a few steps away. “Ben,” he whispered, “oh, Ben, I’m afraid!”
“Go into the house, please,” urged Stone; and, with many fearful backward glances, Jimmy limped away.
For yet some moments they continued to stare, those two who hated each other with all the intensity of their natures. If stabbing eyes could have killed, both would have sunk, mortally wounded, beneath the orchard trees.
“What do you want?”