CHAPTER XXVIII

THE END OF THE FEUD

Scott walked rapidly up the road toward the store. He felt a shiver run up his back as he passed the woodpile where Foster was hiding, but he held his course steadily and looked neither to the right nor the left.

Astonishment and wonder held the men on both sides motionless. It seemed to Scott as though he were walking all alone through a great desert with a row of mines on either side of him. He could almost hear the sputtering of the fuses. He had never felt so lonely in all his life.

He heard a voice on the Morgan side shouting to him to keep back, and he recognized it as Hopwood’s.

Only when he came to a spot squarely between the two stores did he stop. There he held his hand solemnly up over his head and called out in a voice that all could hear.

“I have a message for all of you and I call upon you all as men to come out here and listen to it.”

He called in a loud voice, but so tense was the stillness that a whisper could have been heard as well. And the silence continued after he had spoken. He did not repeat it but stood there with hand uplifted. The suspense was nerve racking. At last it was broken.

“Say what you have to say and get out of the road,” called a sullen voice from the Morgan store.

“Very well,” Scott agreed solemnly, “if it must be that way, listen.”

He saw Sewall standing up there apart from the others and rightly guessed that he was not in sympathy with what was being done. He glanced at him occasionally for reassurance, for he did not feel at all sure that his plan would be a success.

“If you knew why you were fighting here to-day, you would never have come,” he began.

“If that’s all you have to say, we’ve heard enough,” the same sullen voice interrupted.

Scott paid no attention to it, but continued in an impressive voice. “You think you are fighting for the old feud which has kept you neighbors enemies for forty years, but you are not. You are fighting because there is a coward in your midst who felt his influence slipping and shot an innocent woman to make it appear that you were being attacked. It worked, and you are fighting here to protect a murderer.”

There was a dead silence as they strove to realize the significance of what he had said. He had seen Sewall bring his rifle into a more convenient position when he began to talk. Now he suddenly threw it up to his shoulder and aimed at the woodpile.

There were two shots almost at the same instant, and a bullet plowed up the ground at Scott’s feet and covered him with dust.

“There is the proof of what I say,” Scott shouted. “He is attempting another murder to cover up the first.” He pointed scornfully toward the woodpile and was as much astonished as the others at what he saw.

Foster was crouching on the ground with his hands held high above his head while the marshal stood over him with his smoking revolver in his hand. It was his shot that had spoiled Foster’s aim just in the nick of time. Sewall had been too late.

There was a murmur of resentment among the Waits at the sight of the marshal, whom they all regarded as their common enemy, arresting one of their members in their very midst. Scott saw that he was in danger of losing out.

“I brought the marshal here after that man because I could not get the sheriff. He is wanted for the cold-blooded murder of two women. Do you want to support such a man as that?”

There was silence again. Scott saw that he had them with him.

“Let me talk to your real leaders,” he shouted. “Come down here, Sewall.”

Sewall walked slowly forward, and men on both sides stepped out of their hiding places to see him come, and crowded slowly in around the two.

“Where is Jarred Morgan?” Scott asked, when Sewall stepped out into the road.

“Probably in the store there,” one of the Waits suggested.

“He is not,” Scott replied loudly enough for all to hear. “He is up at his cabin dying of pneumonia.”

There was a murmur of surprise and incredulity. Sewall’s face showed genuine regret.

“And do you want to know what gave him the pneumonia?” Scott persisted, addressing himself directly to Sewall. “Because he jumped into the pool to save your child from drowning.”

“What?” Sewall gasped. “Did Jarred do that? She said it was a strange girl.”

“Vic took care of her,” Scott replied quietly, “but Jarred got her out and this morning he was dying as the result of it.”

There was a hushed silence over the whole village.

Scott was determined to hold his advantage. “Jarred promised that he would drop the feud if Foster was out of the way, and Foster is going to a place from which he will not return. Are you willing to drop it?”

“I am more than willing,” Sewall said, “and have been for some time. Certainly, I personally can never fight with Jarred’s people again,” and his voice shook with emotion.

“How about the rest of you?” Scott asked looking at the rest of the assembled family.

They all agreed eagerly. They were afraid of Jarred and if he would stop fighting they were willing enough.

“Are you willing to stand by Jarred’s promise?” Scott asked, turning to the Morgans.

They were as eager as the Waits.

“Then shake hands on it,” Scott said, and he pulled Sewall and Ben Morgan towards each other.

They shook hands solemnly and in five minutes both families had almost forgotten that a feud had ever existed. They had all completely forgotten Foster.

Scott suddenly remembered him and hurried over to the woodpile, but the marshal had taken advantage of his opportunity and spirited him away.