The thought of Jud now took him up the back trail
of Andrew Lanning. He leaned far over with the
lantern, studying with intense interest every place
where the wounds of the injured man might have left
telltale stains on the rocks or the grass. When
he had apparently satisfied himself of this, he turned
and ran at full speed back to the house and went up
the ladder to Andrew. There he took the boots—they
were terribly stained, he saw—and drew
them on.
The loose boots and the unaccustomed weights tangled
his feet sadly, as he went on down the ladder, but
he said not a word to his grandfather, who was far
too dignified to make a comment on the borrowed footgear.
Again outside with his lantern, the boy took out his
pocket-knife and felt the small blade. It was
of a razor keenness. Then he went through the
yard behind the house to the big henhouse, where the
chickens sat perched in dense rows. He raised
his lantern; at once scores of tiny, bright eyes flashed
back at him.
But Jud, with a twisted face of determination, kept
on with his survey until he saw the red comb and the
arched tail plumes of a large Plymouth Rock rooster.
It was a familiar sight to Jud. Of all the chickens
on the place this was his peculiar property.
And now he had determined to sacrifice this dearest
of pets.
The old rooster was so accustomed to his master, indeed,
that he allowed himself to be taken from the perch
without a single squawk, and the boy took his captive
beyond the pen. Once, when the big rooster canted
his head and looked into his face, the boy had to
wink away the tears; but he thought of the man so
near death in the attic, he felt the clumsy boots
on his feet, and his heart grew strong again.
He went around to the front of the house and by the
steps he fastened on the long neck of his prisoner
a grasp strong enough to keep him silent for a moment.
Then he cut the rooster’s breast deeply, shuddering
as he felt the knife take hold.
Something trickled warmly over his hands. Dropping
his knife in his pocket, Jud started, walked with
steps as long as he could make them. He went,
with the spurs chinking to keep time for each stride,
straight toward a cliff some hundreds of yards from
the house. The blood ran freely. The old
rooster, feeling himself sicken, sank weakly against
the breast of the boy, and Jud thought that his heart
would break. He reached the sharp edge of the
cliff and heard the rush of the little river far below
him. At the same time his captive gave one final
flutter of the wings, one feeble crow, and was dead.
Jud waited until the tears had cleared from his eyes.
Then he took off the boots, and, in bare feet that
would leave no trace on the rocks, he skirted swiftly
back to the house, put the dead body back in the chicken
yard, and returned to his grandfather.
