The Tree of AppomattoxAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
History
The Tree of Appomattox
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Juvenile fiction
"Ef you could I wouldn't let you," said the mountaineer grimly.
"Why?"
"'Cause he's my meat. He come here with my people, an' played a trick
on us, a trick that might hev wiped out all uv Colonel Winchester's
men. No man kin do that with me an git away. He's piled up a pow'ful
big score an' I'm goin' to settle it myself."
"How?"
"See this rifle uv mine? I reckon it ain't got all the fancy tricks
that some uv the new repeatin' breech-loadin' rifles hev. It's jest a
cap an' ball rifle, but it's got a long, straight barrel an' a delicate
trigger, an' it sends a bullet wherever you p'int it. It's killed
squirrels, an' rabbits, an' wil' turkeys an' catamounts, an' b'ars, an'
now I reckon it's goin' to hunt higher game."
The man was talking very quietly, but when Dick caught the light in his
eye he knew that he meant every word. It was a cold, implacable look,
and the face of the mountaineer was like that of an avenging fate.
"I loaded it with uncommon care," he continued, looking affectionately
at his rifle, and then looking up again, "an' now that the colonel's
glasses hev showed the way I kin see that feller peepin' from roun' his
bush, tryin' to git another shot, mebbe at me an' mebbe at you. It's a
long carry, but I'm shore to hit. I had a chance at him then, but I
'low to wait a little!"
"Why do you wait?" asked Dick curiously.
"I'm givin' him time to say his prayers."
"Why, he doesn't know that you're going to shoot at him, and he
wouldn't pray, even if he did."
"Mebbe not, but I was raised right, an' I know my duty. I ain't goin'
to send no man to kingdom without givin' him _time_ to pray. Ef he
won't use it the blame is his'n, but that ain't no reason why I
oughtn't to give him the _time_."
"How long?"
"Wa'al, I reckon 'bout three minutes is 'nough fur a right good prayer.
Thar, he's shot ag'in, but I don't know whar his bullet went. He's
usin' up his prayin' time fast."
Reed never altered his quiet, assured tone. He reminded Dick of
Warner, talking about his algebra, and the lad was impressed so much by
his manner that he believed he was going to do as he said. He began
unconsciously to count the seconds.
"Time's up," said Reed at length, "an' that traitor is pokin' his head
'roun' fur another shot."
He raised suddenly his long-barreled rifle, took a quick aim, and
pulled the trigger. A stream of fire poured from the muzzle, the
figure of a man leaped from the bush and then rolled down the snowy
slope.
"I give him plenty uv time," said Reed as he reloaded. "Now I reckon
I'll look fur that other feller, Leonard. I'll know him when I see
him, an' this old cap-an'-ball rifle uv mine knows too how to talk to
traitors."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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