"She's cheated me," insisted Will hoarsely."It's been all a scheme of hers from the very beginning.She's cheated me about the will, grandpa; I swear she has.""Eh? What's that?" responded the old man, shaking back his heavy eyebrows."Say your say right now, for in five minutes you go off this place with every hound in the pack yelping at your heels.
I'll not have you here--I'll not have you here!"The words ended in a snarl, and a fleck of foam dropped on his gray beard.
"But it was all Maria's doing," urged Will passionately."She has been against me from the first; I see that now.She's plotted to oust me from the very start.""Well, she might have spared herself the trouble," was Fletcher's sharp rejoinder.
"Let me explain--let me explain," pleaded the other, in a desperate effort to gain time; "just a word or two--I only want a word."But when his grandfather drew back and stood glowering upon him in silence, the speech he had wished to utter withered upon his lips, blighted by a panic terror, and he stood mumbling incoherently beneath his breath.
"Give me a word--a word is all I want," he reiterated wildly.
"Then out with your damned word and begone!" roared Fletcher.
Will's eyes travelled helplessly around the room, seeking in vain some inspiration from the objects his gaze encountered.The tin safe, the basket of feathers, the pile of walnuts on the hearth, each arrested his wandering attention for an instant, and he beheld all the details with amazing vividness.
A mouse came out into the room, gliding like a shadow along the wall to the pile of walnuts, and his eyes followed it as if drawn by an invisible thread.
"It's Maria--it's all Maria," he stuttered, and could think of nothing further.His brain seemed suddenly paralysed, and he found himself tugging hopelessly at the most commonplace word which would not come.All his swaggering bravado had scampered off at the first wag of the old man's head.
"If that's what you've got to say, you might as well be gone,"returned Fletcher, moving toward him."I warn you now that the next time I find you here you won't git off so easy.Maria or no Maria, you ain't goin' to lounge about this place so long as my name is Bill Fletcher.The farther you keep yourself and your yaller-headed huzzy out of my sight the better.Thar, now, be off or you'll git a licking.""But I tell you Maria's cheated me--she's cheated me," returned Will, his voice rising shrilly as he was goaded into revolt.
"She's been scheming to get the place all along; that's her trick.""Pish! Tush!" responded Fletcher."Are you going or are you not?"Will's eyes burned like coals, and an observer, noting the two men as they stood glaring at each other, would have been struck by their resemblance in attitude and expression rather than in feature.Both leaned slightly forward, with their chins thrust out and their jaws dropped, and there was a ceaseless twitching of the small muscles in both faces.The beast in each had sprung violently to the surface and recognised the likeness at which he snarled.
"You've left me to starve!" cried Will, strangling a sob of anger."It's not fair! You have no right.The money ought to be mine--I swear it ought!""Oh, it ought, ought it?" sneered the old man, with an ugly laugh.
At the sound of the laugh, Will shrank back and shivered as if from the stroke of a whip.The spirit of rage worked in his blood like the spirit of drink, and he felt his disordered nerves respond in a sudden frenzy.
"It ought to be mine, you devil, and you know it!" he cried.
"I do, do I?" retorted Fletcher, still cackling."Well, jest grin at me a minute longer like that brazen wench your mother and I'll lay my stick across your shoulders for good and all.As for my money, it's mine, I reckon, and, living or dead, I'll look to it that not one red cent gits to you.Blast you! Stop your grinning!"He raised the stick and made a long swerve sideways, but the other, picking up the hammer from the hearth, jerked it above his head and stood braced for the assault.In the silence of the room Will heard the thumping of his own heart, and the sound inspired him like the drums of battle.He was in a quiver from head to foot, but it was a quiver of rage, not of fear, and a glow of pride possessed him that he could lift his eyes and look Fletcher squarely in the face.
"You're a devil--a devil! a devil!" he cried shrilly, sticking out his tongue like a pert and vulgar little boy."Christopher Blake was right--you're a devil!"As the name struck him between the eyes the old man lurched back against the stove; then recovering himself, he made a swift movement forward and brought his stick down with all his force on the boy's shoulder.
"Take that, you lying varmint!" he shouted, choking.
The next instant his weapon had dropped from his hand, and he reached out blindly, grappling with the air, for Will had turned upon him with the spring of a wild beast and sent the hammer crushing into his temple.
There was a muffled thud, and Fletcher went down in a huddled heap upon the floor, while the other stood over him in the weakness which had succeeded his drunken frenzy.
"I told you to let me alone.I told you I'd do it," said Will doggedly, and a moment later: "I told you I'd do it."The hammer was still in his hand, and, lifting it, he examined it with a morbid curiosity.A red fleck stained the iron, and glancing down he saw that there was a splotch of blood on Fletcher's temple."I told him I'd do it," he repeated, speaking this time to himself.
Then instantly the silence in the room stopped his heartbeats and set him quaking in a superstitious terror through every fiber.He heard the stir of the mouse in the pile of walnuts, the hissing of the flame above the embers, and the sudden breaking of the smoked chimney of the lamp.Then as he leaned down he heard something else--the steady ticking of the big silver watch in Fletcher's pocket.
A horror of great darkness fell over him, and, turning, he reeled like a drunken man out into the night.
