--ou--e the man for me!--Emmett was fumbling with cold fingers over Reynolds--lapels and arms.--knowed you was the right stuff! Now you listen to me. See that water?--He pointed at the deafening torrent surging and thundering almost under their feet.--ook at it!--he screamed.--ook at it surge and foam and eddy under the lightnin't See them whirlpools in it! Look at them dead cows and horses whirlin'tand bangin'tagainst the dam! Well, I-- goin'tto let that through the streets of Bisley! They--l wake up to find the black water foamin'tthrough their windows! It won't be just dead cattle floatin'tin the water! It--l be dead men and dead women! I can see--m now, whirlin'tdown, down to the Gulf!-- Reynolds gripped the man by the shoulders and shook him savagely.--hat you talkin'tabout?--he roared.
A peal of wild laughter mingled with a crash of thunder.--mean I got enough dynamite planted under this dam to split it wide open!--Emmett yelled.---- goin'tto send everybody in Bisley to hell before daylight!----ou--e crazy!--snarled Reynolds, an icy hand clutching his heart.
--razy?--screamed the other; and the mad glare in his eyes, limned by the lightning, told Reynolds that he had spoken the grisly truth.--razy? You just come from killin'tthat devil Hopkins, and you turn pale? You--e small stuff; you killed one enemy. I aim to kill thousands!
--ook out there where the black water is rollin'tand tumblin't I owned that, once; leastways, I owned land the water has taken now, away over yonder. My father and grandfather owned it before me. And they condemned it and took it away from me, just because Bisley wanted a lake, damn their yellow souls!----he county paid you three times what the land was worth,--protested Reynolds, his peculiar sense of justice forcing him into defending an enemy.
--es!--Again that awful peal of laughter turned Reynolds cold.--es! And I put it in a Bisley bank, and the bank went broke! I lost every cent I had in the world. I-- down and out; I got no land and no money. Damn--m, oh, damn--m! Bisley-- goin'tto pay! I-- goin'tto wipe her out! There-- enough water out there to fill Locust Valley from ridge to ridge across Bisley. I--e waited for this; I--e planned for it. Tonight when I seen the lightnin'tflickerin'tover the ridges, I knew the time was come.
-- ain't hung around here and fed the watchman corn juice for months, just for fun. He-- drunk up in his shack now, and the flood-gate-- closed! I seen to that! My charge is planted--enough to crack the dam--the water--l do the rest. I--e stood here all night, watchin'tLocust and Mesquital rollin'tdown like the rivers of Judgment, and now it's time, and I-- goin'tto set off the charge!----mmett!--protested Reynolds, shaking with horror.--y God, you can't do this! Think of the women and children--
--ho thought of mine?--yelled Emmett, his voice cracking in a sob.--y wife had to live like a dog after we lost our home and money; that-- why she died. I didn't have enough money to have her took care of. Get out of my way, Reynolds; you--e small stuff. You killed one man; I aim to kill thousands.----ait!--urged Reynolds desperately.--hate Bisley as much as anybody--but my God, man, the women and kids ain't got nothin'tto do with it! You ain't goin'tto do this--you can't--His brain reeled at the picture it evoked. Bisley lay directly in the path of the flood; its business houses stood almost on the banks of Locust Creek. The whole town was built in the bottoms; hundreds would find it impossible to escape in time to the hills, should this awful mountain of black water come roaring down the valley. Reynolds was only an anachronism, not a homicidal maniac.
In the urgency of his determination he dropped the reins of his horse and caught at Emmett. The horse snorted and galloped up the slope and away.
--et go me, Reynolds!--howled Emmett.----l kill you!----ou--l have to before you set off that charge!--gritted Reynolds.
Emmett screamed like a tree cat. He tore away, came on again, something glinting in his uplifted hand. Swearing, Reynolds fumbled for his gun. The hammer caught in the oilcloth. Emmett caromed against him, screaming and striking. An agonizing pain went through Reynolds--lifted left arm, another and another; he felt the keen blade rip along his ribs, sink into his shoulder. Emmett was snarling like a wild beast, hacking blindly and madly.
They were down on the brink of the dam, clawing and smiting in the mud and water. Dimly Reynolds realized that he was being stabbed to pieces. He was a powerful man, but he was hampered by his long slicker, exhausted by his ride through the storm, and Emmett was a thing of wires of rawhide, fired by the frenzy of madness.
Reynolds abandoned his attempts to imprison Emmett-- knife wrist, and tugged again at his imprisoned gun. It came clear, just as Emmett, with a mad howl, drove his knife full into Reynolds--breast. The madman screamed again as he felt the muzzle jam against him; then the gun thundered, so close between them it burnt the clothing of both. Reynolds was almost deafened by the report. Emmett was thrown clear of him and lay at the rim of the dam, his back broken by the tearing impact of the heavy bullet. His head hung over the edge, his arms trailed down toward the foaming black water which seemed to surge upward for him.
Reynolds essayed to rise, then sank back dizzily. Lightning played before his eyes, thunder rumbled. Beneath him the tumultuous water roared. Somewhere in the blackness there grew a hint of light. Belated dawn was stealing over the postoak hills, bent beneath a cloak of rain.
--amn!--choked Reynolds, clawing at the mud. Incoherently he cursed; not because death was upon him, but because of the manner of his dying.
--hy couldn't I gone out like I wanted to?--fightin'tthem I hate--not a friend who-- gone bughouse. Curse the luck! And for them Bisley swine! Anyway--the wandering voice trailed away----ied with my boots on--like a man ought to die--damn them--
The blood-stained hands ceased to grope; the figure in the tattered slicker lay still; parting a curtain of falling rain, dawn broke grey and haggard over the postoak country.
Musings
The little poets sing of little things:
Hope, cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings;
Lovers who kissed and then were made as one,
And modest flowers waving in the sun.
The mighty poets write in blood and tears
And agony that, flame-like, bites and sears.
They reach their mad blind hands into the night,
To plumb abysses dead to human sight;
To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled,
Mad monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world.
Son of the White Wolf
I
THE BATTLE STANDARD
The commander of the Turkish outpost of El Ashraf was awakened before dawn by the stamp of horses and jingle of accoutrements. He sat up and shouted for his orderly. There was no response, so he rose, hurriedly jerked on his garments, and strode out of the mud hut that served as his headquarters. What he saw rendered him momentarily speechless.
His command was mounted, in full marching formation, drawn up near the railroad that it was their duty to guard. The plain to the left of the track where the tents of the troopers had stood now lay bare. The tents had been loaded on the baggage camels which stood fully packed and ready to move out. The commandant glared wildly, doubting his own senses, until his eyes rested on a flag borne by a trooper. The waving pennant did not display the familiar crescent. The commandant turned pale.
--hat does this mean?--he shouted, striding forward. His lieutenant, Osman, glanced at him inscrutably. Osman was a tall man, hard and supple as steel, with a dark keen face.
--utiny, effendi,--he replied calmly.--e are sick of this war we fight for the Germans. We are sick of Djemal Pasha and those other fools of the Council of Unity and Progress, and, incidentally, of you. So we are going into the hills to build a tribe of our own.----adness!--gasped the officer, tugging at his revolver. Even as he drew it, Osman shot him through the head.