“David was fighting. You said neither of us was to fight. ’T ain’t fair to take it out on me.”
Fairness was one of Barnabas’ fixed and prominent qualities, but Jud was not to gain favor by it this time.
“Well, you don’t suppose I’m a-goin’ to lick Dave fer defendin’ his parents, do you? Besides, I’m not a-goin’ to lick you fer fightin’, but fer sayin’ what you did. I guess you’d hev found out that Dave could wallop you ef he is smaller and younger.”
“He can’t!” snarled Jud. “I didn’t have no show. He came at me by surprise.”
Barnabas reflected a moment. Then he said gravely:
“When it’s in the blood of two fellers to fight, why thar’s got to be a fight, that’s all. Thar won’t never be no peace until this ere question’s settled. Dave, do you still want to fight him?”
A fierce aftermath of passion gleamed in David’s eyes.
“Yes!” he cried, his nostrils quivering.
“And you’ll fight fair? Jest to punish–with no thought of killin’?”
“I’ll fight fair,” agreed the boy.
“I’ll see that you do. Come here, Jud.”
“I don’t want to fight,” protested Jud sullenly.
“He’s afraid,” said David gleefully, every muscle quivering and straining.
“I ain’t!” yelled Jud.
“Come on, then,” challenged David, a fierce joy tugging at his heart.
Jud came with deliberate precision and a swing of his left. He was heavier and harder, but David was more agile, and his whole heart was in the fight this time. They clutched and grappled and parried, and finally went down; first one was on top, then the other. It was the wage of brute force against elasticity; bluster against valor. Jud fought in fear; David, in ferocity. At last David bore his oppressor backward and downward. Jud, exhausted, ceased to struggle.
“Thar!” exclaimed Barnabas, drawing a relieved breath. “I guess you know how you stand now, and we’ll all feel better. You’ve got all that’s comin’ to you, Jud, without no more from me. You can both go to the house and wash up.”
Uncle Larimy had arrived at the finish of the fight.
“What’s the trouble, Barnabas?” he asked interestedly, as the boys walked away.
The explanation was given, but they spoke in tones so low that David could not overhear any part of the conversation from the men following him until, as they neared the house, Uncle Larimy said: “I was afeerd Dave hed his pa’s temper snoozin’ inside him. Mebby he’d orter be told fer a warnin’.”
“I don’t want to say nuthin’ about it less I hev to. I’ll wait till the next time he loses his temper.”
David ducked his head in the wash basin on the bench outside the door. After supper, when Barnabas came out on the back porch for his hour of pipe, he called his young charge to him. Since the fight, David’s face had worn a subdued but contented expression.
“Looks,” thought Barnabas, “kinder eased off, like a dog when he licks his chops arter the taste of blood has been drawed.”
“Set down, Dave. I want to talk to you. You done right to fight fer yer folks, and you’re a good fighter, which every boy orter be, but when I come up to you and Jud I see that in yer face that I didn’t know was in you. You’ve got an orful temper, Dave. It’s a good thing to hev–a mighty good thing, if you kin take keer of it, but if you let it go it’s what leads to murder. Your pa hed the same kind of let-loose temper that got him into heaps of trouble.”
“What did my father do?” he asked abruptly.
Instinctively he had shrunk from asking his mother this question, and pride had forbidden his seeking the knowledge elsewhere.
“Some day, when you are older, you will know all about it. But remember, when any one says anything like what Jud did, that yer ma wouldn’t want fer you to hev thoughts of killin’. You see, you fought jest as well–probably better–when you hed cooled off a mite and hed promised to fight fair. And ef you can’t wrastle your temper and down it as you did Jud, you’re not a fust-class fighter.”
“I’ll try,” said David slowly, unable, however, to feel much remorse for his outbreak.
“Jud’ll let you alone arter this. You’d better go to bed now. You need a little extry sleep.”
M’ri came into his room when he was trying to mend a long rent in his shirt. He flushed uncomfortably when her eye fell on the garment. She took it from him.
“I’ll mend it, David. I don’t wonder that your patience slipped its leash, but–never fight when you have murder in your heart.”
When she had left the room, Janey’s face, pink and fair as a baby rose, looked in at the door.
“It’s very wicked to fight and get so mad, Davey.”
“I know it,” he acknowledged readily. It was useless trying to make a girl understand.
There was a silence. Janey still lingered.
“Davey,” she asked in an awed whisper, “does it feel nice to be wicked?”
David shook his head non-committally.
CHAPTER V
The rather strained relations between Jud and David were eased the next day by the excitement attending the big package Barnabas brought from town. It was addressed to David, but the removal of the outer wrapping disclosed a number of parcels neatly labeled, also a note from Joe, asking him to distribute the presents.
David first selected the parcel marked “Janey” and handed it to her.
“Blue beads!” she cried ecstatically.
“Let me see, Janey,” said M’ri. “Why, they’re real turquoises and with a gold clasp! I’ll get you a string of blue beads for now, and you can put these away till you’re grown up.”
“I didn’t tell Joe what to get for you, Aunt M’ri; honest, I didn’t,” disclaimed David, with a laugh, as he handed the freezer to her.
“We’ll initiate it this very day, David.”
David handed Barnabas his pipe and gave Jud a letter which he opened wonderingly, uttering a cry of pleasure when he realized the contents.
“It’s an order on Harkness to let me pick out any rifle in his store. How did he know? Did you tell him, Dave?”
“Yes,” was the quiet reply.
“Thank you, Dave. I’ll ride right down and get it, and we’ll go to the woods this afternoon and shoot at a mark.”
“All right,” agreed David heartily.
The atmosphere was now quite cleared by the proposed expenditure of ammunition, and M’ri experienced the sensation as of one beholding a rainbow.
David then turned his undivided attention to his own big package, which contained twelve books, his name on the fly-leaf of each. Robinson Crusoe, Swiss Family Robinson, Andersen’s Fairy Tales, Arabian Nights, Life of Lincoln, Black Beauty, Oliver Twist, A Thousand Leagues under the Sea, The Pathfinder, Gulliver’s Travels, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and Young Ranchers comprised the selection. His eyes gleamed over the enticing titles.
“You shall have some book shelves for your room, David,” promised M’ri, “and you can start your library. Joe has made a good foundation for one.”
His eyes longed to read at once, but there were still the two packages, marked “Uncle Larimy” and “Miss Rhody,” to deliver.
“I can see that Uncle Larimy has a fishing rod, but what do you suppose he has sent Rhody?” wondered M’ri.
“A