“Druther hev Jen back, sir,” said the boy at last. “Effen you don’t mind.”
The cunning man raised his left hand. The gesture was not quite a physical threat because the hand held his spectacles, and their lenses refracted spitting orange firelight across the book and the face of the younger man. “Mind, boy?” said Old Nathan. “Mind? You mind me, thet’s the long and the short uv it now, d’ye hear?”
“Yessir.”
The cunning man dipped his pen in the ink and wiped it on the bottle’s rim, cursing the fluid’s consistency. “Give ye the strength uv a bull,” he lied again, “en a strong bull et thet.” He began to write, his present strokes crossing those of his brother in the original letter. He held the spectacles a few inches in front of his eyes, squinting and adjusting them as he copied from the page of the book.
“Ever ketch rabbits, feller?” asked the cat as he leaped to the tabletop and landed without a stir because all four paws touched down together.
“Good feller,” muttered Bowsmith, holding the book with the thumb and spread fingers of one hand so that the other could stroke the cat. The trembling which had disturbed the pages until then ceased, though the cat occasionally bumped a corner of the volume. “Good feller. . . .”
The click of clawtips against oak, the scritch of the pen nib leaving crisp black lines across the sepia complaints beneath, and the sputtering pine knot that lighted the cabin wove themselves into a sinister unity that was darker than the nighted forest outside.
Yet not so dark as the cunning man’s intent.
When he finished, the boy and the cat were both staring at him, and it was the cat who rumbled, “Bad ez all thet?” smelling the emotions in the old man’s sweat.
“What’ll be,” Old Nathan rasped through a throat drier than he had realized till he spoke, “will be.” He looked down at the document he had just indited, folded his spectacles one-handed, and then turned to hurl the quill pen into the fire with a violence that only hinted his fury at what he was about to do.
“Sir?” said Bowsmith.
“Shut the book, boy,” said Old Nathan wearily. His fingers made a tentative pass toward the paper, to send it the way the quill had gone. A casuist would have said that he was not acting and therefore bore no guilt . . . but a man who sets a snare for a rabbit cannot claim the throttled rabbit caused its own death by stepping into the noose.
The cunning man stood and handed the receipt to his visitor, folding it along the creases of the original letter. “Put it in yer pocket fer now, lad,” he said. He took the book, closed now as he had directed, and scooped up the cat gently with a hand beneath the rib cage and the beast’s haunches in the crook of his elbow.
“Now, carry the table acrosst t’ the other side,” the cunning man continued, motioning Bowsmith with a thrust of his beard because he did not care to point with the leather-covered book. “Fetch me down the strop uv bullhide there. Hit’s got a peg drove through each earhole t’ hold it.”
“That ol’ bull,” said the cat, turning his head to watch Bowsmith walk across the room balancing the heavy table on one hand. “Ye know, I git t’ missin’ him sometimes?”
“As do I,” Old Nathan agreed grimly. “But I don’t choose t’ live in a world where I don’t see the prices till the final day.”
“Sir?” queried the boy, looking down from the table which he had mounted in a flat-footed jump that crashed its legs down on the puncheons.
“Don’t let it trouble ye, boy,” the cunning man replied. “I talk t’ my cat, sometimes. Fetch me down Spanish King, en I’ll deal with yer problem the way I’ve set myself t’ do.”
The cat sprang free of the encircling arm, startled by what he heard in his master’s voice.
* * *
It was an hour past sunset, and Baron Neill held court on the porch over an entourage of two of his three sons and four of the six grandsons. Inside the cabin, built English-fashion of sawn timber but double sized, the women of the clan cleared off the truck from supper and talked in low voices among themselves. The false crow calls from the look-out tree raucously penetrated the background of cicadas and tree frogs.