Kinnard knocked the ashes out of his pipe. His lips curled
contemptuously. "An' es fer yoreself--does you take stock in thet damn'
foolery, too?"
"I hain't talkin' erbout myself," retorted Tom sullenly. "Ye asked
erbout what folks was cogitatin' an' I'm a-tellin' ye. If ye don't
believe thar's a notion thet graves opens an' ther dead fights with
him, jest go out an' talk ter these benighted hill-billies yoreself. If
evidence air what ye wants, ye'll git a lavish of hit."
Those who were in Bear Cat's confidence constituted a close
corporation, and they were not all, like Dog and Joe, men who mixed
also with the enemy, gaining information while they railed against
their own leader. There was talk of secret and mysterious meetings held
at midnight by oath-bound men--to whom flowed a tide of recruits.
Kinnard believed these meetings to be a part of the general myth. His
crude but effective secret service could gather no tangible evidence in
support of their storied sessions.
One evening report drifted in to the Quarterhouse that some one had
seen Bear Cat Stacy at a point not far distant, and that he had been
boldly walking the open road--unaccompanied. Within the hour a party
was out, supplied with jugs and bottles enough to keep the vengeful
fires well fueled throughout the night. It was an evil-looking squad,
and its appearance was in no wise deceptive. Its members, all save one,
had begun their evening at the Quarterhouse bar. The one exception was
George Kelly, a young man recently married, who had gone there to talk
other business with Towers. George had an instinctive tendency toward
straightforwardness, but he had also an infirmity of character which
caused him to follow where a more aggressive nature led--and he had
fallen under Kinnard's domination. His small tract of tillable land was
mortgaged, and Kinnard held over him the lash of financial supremacy.
He could fight, but he could not argue, and when the unofficial posse
was sent out that night, being in the place, he lacked the courage to
refuse participation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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