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Friel—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> /* <![CDATA[ */ - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.tdr {text-align: right;} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; -} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} -.ph2 {text-align: center; font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -.xlarge {font-size: 150%;} -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -.gesperrt -{ - letter-spacing: 0.2em; - margin-right: -0.2em; -} - -.caption {font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} - -.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; - padding: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - /* ]]> */ </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cat o' mountain, by Arthur O. Friel</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Cat o' mountain</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Arthur O. Friel</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Donald S. Humphreys</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 15, 2022 [eBook #68896]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAT O' MOUNTAIN ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">Steadily She Probed His Face, and Slowly She -Nodded</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="" /></div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>Cat O’ Mountain</h1> - -<p>BY<br /> - -<span class="xlarge">ARTHUR O. FRIEL</span><br /> - -<i>Author of</i><br /> -“<i>King—of Kearsarge</i>”</p> - -<p>Illustrated by<br /> -<span class="large">DONALD S. HUMPHREYS</span></p> - -<p><span class="large">THE PENN PUBLISHING<br /> -COMPANY PHILADELPHIA<br /> -1923</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center">COPYRIGHT<br /> -1923 BY<br /> -THE PENN<br /> -PUBLISHING<br /> -COMPANY</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_colophon.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="center">Cat o’ Mountain</p> - -<p class="center">Made in the U. S. A.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center"><i>To</i><br /> - -<i>JAMES and CAROLINE MACK</i><br /> - -<i>whose unfailing kindliness<br /> -to the mysterious prowler of<br /> -The Traps<br /> -will long be remembered by<br /> -“The Detective”</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">FOREWORD</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the northern end of the Shawangunk range lies -a region where the Maker of Mountains went mad.</p> - -<p>Into his new-laid rock the giant crashed his huge -hammer, smashing asunder his handiwork, gouging -out chasms, splitting it into fissure and cavern and -abyss, slashing its eastern edge into a frowning precipice. -When he had gone, up into some of his hammer-scars -welled subterranean waters, forming crag-bound -lakes hundreds of feet higher than the rugged valley -floor. Other chasms became gulfs of verdure, -crammed with a veritable jungle of hardwoods and -evergreens. And there, in the labyrinth of tree and -bowlder, fierce brutes and venomous snakes bred and -fought and slew. It was the home of the wolf, the -panther, and the bear; of the rattlesnake and the copperhead.</p> - -<p>Then came men: savages who killed and ate the -wild beasts and clothed themselves in their furry hides. -Through the gorges and down the slopes they laid their -trails, along which they roved for centuries in hunt -and tribal war. At length they paused, staring eastward -at new fires burning below them—the fires of -white men.</p> - -<p>The inevitable followed. First by firewater, then by -firearms, the Dutch settlers crowded the tawny<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> -“duyvils” out of the forested lowlands between the -river of Hendrick Hudson and the mountain wall. -But behind that wall, in the natural stronghold created -by the mad Mountain-Maker, the red men long held -their own. More, at times they swooped out from the -one small gap in the cliffs on bloody raids. And when -the vengeful whites retaliated with invasions of their -fastness, they ambushed those palefaces along their -trails.</p> - -<p>Then the settlers ended it. Trapped again and again -within that gulf, they in turn became the trappers. -Stealthily moving in force, they garrisoned the heights -of Mohonk and Minnewaska; they outwitted, outmanœuvred, -outambushed the Indians; they herded -them back against their own precipices, cornered them -among their own bowlders, slew them without mercy. -Returning to their lowland farms, they left behind -them a silent, blood-spattered, death-strewn hole in the -hills which henceforth—because of its traps and -countertraps—was to be known as The Traps.</p> - -<p>Long afterward, men came in again; white men, -and red men too, no longer foes. They cleared little -farms, brought in their women, intermarried and interbred, -led such primitive existences as might have -been expected. Dwelling in their own little world, -they followed their own inclinations in such matters -as mating and hunting and drinking—and thereby -achieved a reputation somewhat dubious. The tongue-wagging -folk outside declared the Trapsmen were -“wife-swappers” and “moonshiners” and other -things. And perhaps they were.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>Rumor has asserted, too, that these men first settled -that craggy hole not because they would but because -they must; that the country outside was “too hot” -for them; that they even had to obtain their wives by -becoming squaw men or by the primeval custom of -capture; and that for many years their land was distinctly -unsafe for any man not of their clan. This -also may be true. Be that as it may, they lived hard -lives, and many of them died hard deaths. Yet they -lived as free men, untrammeled by slavish subservience -to the myriad laws manufactured in the cities beyond -them.</p> - -<p>But they, too, passed. As the bear and the wolf -and the Indian faded out of that country after the -coming of the white man, so the Trapsmen have almost -vanished before the encroachments of commercialism. -Beside the upland lakes now rise those structures -from which the pioneer turns with loathing—summer -hotels. Moreover, virtually all of the intervening -Traps has been bought in by the hotel barons. -The little homes of the vanished men are slowly rotting -apart; their tiny fields and their hard-grown orchards -are going the way of the ancient Indian trails—disappearing -into wilderness where snakes thrive -unmolested. Few indeed are the people who now live -in the mountain bowl; fewer still those who are native-born. -The others are from outside.</p> - -<p>Yet there are, in the region round about, two or -three old men—taciturn, abrupt, whole-souled old fellows—who -were born in the Traps and who will die -not far from the Traps. From them, and from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> -whispering ghosts which, by day and by dark, have -drifted along beside me on the silent trails and talked -to me in weird crevasse and uncanny old house, I have -learned the tale which is here set down. It is a tale -of Yesterday, in a land of Yesterday, chronicled by -one who was there—yesterday.</p> - -<p class="right">A. O. F.</p> - -<p>    <i>New York, 1923.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table> - -<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Panther</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_13"> 13</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Nigger Nat’s Girl</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_24"> 24</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Pipe-Smoke—and Powder-Smoke</span>     </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_35"> 35</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Fugitive</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_45"> 45</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Creeping Things</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_56"> 56</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Knock-out</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_66"> 66</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Man Meets a Man</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_76"> 76</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Ha’nt</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_87"> 87</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Dalton’s Death</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_97"> 97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Scrap of Paper</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_108"> 108</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">At the Bridge</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_119"> 119</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Law Comes</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_129"> 129</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Code of the Hills</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_139"> 139</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Cold Nerve</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_150"> 150</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Fire and Frost</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_160"> 160</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Moving Finger Writes</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_172"> 172</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Stab in the Night</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_184"> 184</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Hunters of Men</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_195"> 195</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Sun Breaks Through</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_206"> 206</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Liberty or Death</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_217"> 217</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Hand of the Ghost</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_229"> 229</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">In the Shadows</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_240"> 240</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Demon of the Dark</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_251"> 251</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Cross Trails</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_262"> 262</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXV.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Ninety-Nine’s Mine</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_272"> 272</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXVI.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Snake Strikes</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_284"> 284</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXVII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Trapped</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_293"> 293</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td><td> <span class="smcap">An Account is Closed</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_301"> 301</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXIX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">Out of the Past</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_311"> 311</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXX.</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Call of the South</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_322"> 322</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> - -<p class="ph2">Cat o’ Mountain</p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br /> - -<small>THE PANTHER</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">High</span> on the crags a panther screamed.</p> - -<p>Savage, sinister, yet appallingly human—like the -malevolent squall of an infuriated hag—the cry tore -through the night shadows whelming the mountain-girt -gulf of the Traps. Among the gigantic bowlders -and the uncanny crevasses of Dickie Barre it hurtled -in a shattered wave of sound. Out across the dense -tangle of underbrush and the lazy-creeping water of -Coxing Hill it fled, freezing in their tracks the smaller -brethren of the wild—fox and raccoon and rabbit and -mink—which moved there in their furtive foraging. -From the forested steeps of Mohonk and Millbrook -it reverberated, and among those trees it was swallowed -up.</p> - -<p>Again the malignant wail broke out; and now the -beast which voiced it was not in the same spot as -before. Somewhere on the very brink of the precipice -of Dickie Barre the huge cat had been, and somewhere -on that edge he still was. But he was moving, seeking -a crack or crevice through which he might steal swiftly -downward without hurling himself to death on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -rubble of cliff-fragments below; and his failure to find -it at once exasperated his ugly nature to its ugliest. -His eyes told him something down there was moving. -His nose said the thing was human, was hurt, was -harmless. His fierce brain knew it would be an easy -kill, and his ravening jaws slavered at the realization -that after one rending attack he could gorge himself—on -the tender flesh of a woman.</p> - -<p>Baffled, maddened, he screeched once more. Then -he became silent. He had found something promising: -not a direct line of descent, but a narrow shelf dipping -diagonally down the face of the cliff. Along this he -proceeded with swift, sure stealth.</p> - -<p>Then, down in the density behind him, a light shot -out from between two towering bowlders. A clean, -brilliant beam it was—the ray of a carbide camp-lamp. -Its white sheen played up, down, right, left; and as it -moved, the rock-masses and the trees and brush round -about stood forth, then vanished again into the gloom. -But it did not advance. Between those two colossal -blocks it stayed, peering like a dazzling eye.</p> - -<p>All at once it jumped. From the chaos of chunks -between silent cat and silent light, a voice had cried -out.</p> - -<p>“Help! Oh—help!”</p> - -<p>It was a high, clear, penetrating call, with an under-note -of terror and pain.</p> - -<p>Two voices answered: one, a ferine snarl from the -merciless cat-creature beyond; the other, a quick response -in the tones of a man.</p> - -<p>“Right here! Where are you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>“Here into the—the rocks! Oh, hurry up, before -that critter gits to me!”</p> - -<p>“Coming!”</p> - -<p>The glaring white eye moved forward in haste. -Behind it, boots scraped and bumped on rock. It rose -in a steep slant, slid suddenly down, accompanied by -more scraping of boot-heels; disappeared between two -blocks leaning together; emerged beyond, ascended -again, wavering erratically with the strain of climbing -a treacherous slope; halted at the peak of another -bowlder and rapidly searched the surroundings.</p> - -<p>“Can’t see you!” the man panted. “Speak up!”</p> - -<p>“Hold stiddy a minute!” implored the other voice. -“I’m a-comin’—up this rock—if I don’t slip. Oh!” -The last was a choked moan.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter? Hurt?”</p> - -<p>“Ye-yes. But wait—I’m a-comin’——”</p> - -<p>The light quivered, as if the man behind it were -impatient to leap forward. But it remained poised -on its own bowlder, shooting at the upper edge of -another mass of conglomerate beyond which the girlish -voice had spoken. A few seconds later, atop that -rough stone, something glinted red-gold in the white -glare. Under it rose wide gray eyes, a pale face—the -eyes suddenly shut and the face shrank from the -blinding beam. Again the gas ray lit up the glowing -glory of the red hair.</p> - -<p>“All right. Stick there,” commanded the man. A -quick twist of the light—then another grind of sliding -heels, terminating in a solid bump like the impact of a -gun-butt against stone. The white eye now was swinging<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -about at the base of the bowlder, hunting a way -around the almost vertical block. A few seconds, and -it began staggering over the smaller debris toward one -corner.</p> - -<p>“Oh—look out—here’s the critter now!”</p> - -<p>With the warning came a swift scramble overhead. -The light wheeled and revealed a girlish figure in a -torn drab dress swinging itself out—slipping rapidly -down—hanging by its hands from the upper edge.</p> - -<p>“Hold hard!” snapped the man. “Don’t be silly—he’s -a coward, like all cats. He’ll run if you say -‘boo.’ Hang tight a minute. Don’t drop.”</p> - -<p>But the girl, dangling with face turned upward and -heels a yard or more above the jagged jumble below, -sniffed scornfully at his assertion of knowledge. Before -he could make two steps toward her she let go. -Down she darted in a grayish streak, and on the stones -beneath she crumpled.</p> - -<p>One sharp moan of pain broke from her. Then, -looking upward, she breathed: “Look!”</p> - -<p>The light switched up. From the edge above now -protruded another head: a flat-nosed, fang-toothed, -tawny visage whose eyes flamed green with ferocity -and whose snarling jaws writhed in malignant menace.</p> - -<p>A startled grunt sounded behind the light. The -white eye lifted, hung poised as if held by a hand -grown rigid. Beside it, twin tubes of steel centered -on that horrid head.</p> - -<p><i>Boomboom!</i> A double flash leaped thundering from -the tubes. In a swirl of blue smoke the face of the -great cat vanished.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>The light pitched backward, fell clattering on the -rocks. A muffled impact and a sullen thwack of -metal told that the man and his gun too had been -knocked down by the recoil. Over behind the bowlder -something else thudded softly and was still.</p> - -<p>But, though dropped, the lantern burned faithfully -on. Its ray lit up a pair of high-laced boots, tan -corduroys, and a hammerless shotgun sprawling on a -slanting bowlder. A second later a broad hand -swooped at it and righted it. The gun was lifted, -broken at the breech, swiftly reloaded and snapped -shut. Then the legs drew up and the light rose, darting -at the girl.</p> - -<p>She was huddled where she had dropped, but her -pale face was alive and her gray eyes wide open. As -the glare fell on her she threw up an arm to shield -her dark-dilated pupils. Upon the tanned skin of that -firm young forearm showed a long red gash.</p> - -<p>“Good Lord! You’re badly hurt!” exclaimed the -man.</p> - -<p>The lips under the shadowing arm curved in a -strained smile.</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t much,” she deprecated. “I got a gouge -when I tumbled. Guess you kilt Mister Catamount, -or scairt him off anyway. They take a mighty lot of -killin’ sometimes. Now can you git me down to where -I can walk? My ankle’s hurt.”</p> - -<p>A quiet laugh of admiration came from the invisible -man.</p> - -<p>“You’re a plucky little lady,” he informed her. -“Most girls in your place would be fainting or going<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -all to pieces. As for walking, I don’t know. This is -a tough hole to navigate in after dark. But we’ll see.”</p> - -<p>The light moved toward her. As it advanced -the man added in a chiding tone: “You shouldn’t -have dropped like that. No wonder your ankle’s -hurt.”</p> - -<p>“Is that so! What was I goin’ to do, Mister -Smarty—let that critter claw me? And I hurt my -leg an hour ago, not jest now. And I wish you’d look -and see if the catamount’s alive yet. He’s been -pesterin’ round here ’most a month, and you better -kill him good and dead.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s dead enough——”</p> - -<p>“You go and look!”</p> - -<p>Again the quiet laugh sounded.</p> - -<p>“Just as you say, my lady. I think I heard him fall -over back there.”</p> - -<p>Once more the light turned. It wavered around -the base of the bowlder, bobbed up and down among -the jags and juts of the rock-heap, paused, swung -slowly, came to rest on a furry huddle hanging limp -over a misshapen stone. There dangled two powerful -fore-legs, topped by massive shoulders, terminated by -big paws. Between them hung a red ruin which had -been a head.</p> - -<p>“Whew!” whistled the man, studying the size of the -legs and the breadth of the back. “What a brute! -Never knew they grew so big. Lucky he was close -enough to take those charges before they could spread. -Otherwise that bird-shot would only have maddened -him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>Turning, he picked his way back to the spot where -the girl waited. He found her sitting up on a stone -and frowning down at her left foot. For the first -time he observed that her feet and the shapely ankles -above them were bare. The left one was much -swollen.</p> - -<p>“He’s as dead as they make ’em,” he sang out -cheerily. “We’re a bunged-up lot, aren’t we? Cat -lost his head, your arm and foot are hurt, and my -right shoulder’s kicked into the middle of my back -from letting both barrels go at once. And even my -gun is all mauled from falling on the rocks.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t that too bad?” The tone was amusedly -sarcastic. “But I guess I’m the wust off—I’ve got -more bad luck comin’.”</p> - -<p>“How so?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll catch hell when I git home,” was the naive -explanation.</p> - -<p>For a minute the man was speechless. Then he -chuckled.</p> - -<p>“So? Then why go home?”</p> - -<p>The mountain girl’s answer was as straightforward -as before.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know any other place to go.”</p> - -<p>Her sober face told that she spoke the gaunt truth, -and that she dreaded the thought of returning to the -house whence she had come. An awkward pause followed.</p> - -<p>“Well, you may not get there to-night,” the man -declared. “I doubt if I can find my way out of this -mess of rocks before daylight, and you certainly can’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -go scrambling around on that bad foot. You’ll have to -come to my camp now and get bandaged up.”</p> - -<p>The auburn brows drew together in another frown, -and the eyes under them peered toward him in open -suspicion.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t so sure about that,” she asserted. “I can -git home some way alone, if I have to, and I don’t -figger to stay up here all night. Who are you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, just a rambling camper. But don’t be silly. -I’m not a skunk. I’ll gladly take you home if it’s -possible and sensible, but until you’re in condition to -travel it’s neither. Now you need a bandage on that -arm, some hot water on the ankle, and—are you -hungry?”</p> - -<p>“I’m ’most starved,” she admitted. “I got mad and -run away this mornin’, and I ain’t et since breakfast.”</p> - -<p>“Oho! I’m afraid you’re a temperamental little -redbird. Well, come on down to camp and I’ll feed -you bacon and beans—and hot coffee, lots of it. -How’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Sounds awful good. I guess you’re all right. You -go ’long and show the way.”</p> - -<p>She turned about on her stone. The movement disclosed -a long rent in the faded dress, running from -arm to waist, through which glowed pink flesh. Her -skirt, too, was badly ripped. The man behind the -light switched it from her to the formidable mass of -stones ahead.</p> - -<p>“If you can stub along on one foot,” he suggested, -“we can make better progress by hugging each other. -I can stand it if you can.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>A quick laugh answered him. The light veered -back, revealing dancing eyes, perfect teeth, and flushed -cheeks under the glowing hair.</p> - -<p>“I can stand ’most anything—if I have to,” she -flashed. “And it looks like I’d have to.”</p> - -<p>“By George! Young lady, you’re a little beauty -when you laugh! I think I’m going to enjoy this trip. -Wait a minute and I’ll let you put your arm around -my neck.”</p> - -<p>Followed the grind of boot-soles and the approach -of the lamp.</p> - -<p>“You’re awful good.” She laughed again. “You’d -ought to sell soft soap for a livin’, you’ve got so much -of it.”</p> - -<p>“Humph! That’ll do. Now let’s walk.”</p> - -<p>Slowly the white eye wobbled along among the -tumbled blocks. The only sounds behind it were those -of labored breathing and curt directions regarding the -placing of feet. Not once did the girl whimper from -the pain of the injured ankle.</p> - -<p>Presently the pair of tall cliff-chunks took shape -ahead, their bases lost among smaller stones, their -crests invisible in the upper gloom, their irregular sides -framing a narrow black cañon which seemed to end in -emptiness. But out from that gloomy slit drifted a -tang of smouldering wood-smoke; and beyond it, the -girl knew, the hidden camp of her unknown rescuer -waited.</p> - -<p>At the entrance to the covert they paused. So -narrow was the passage that they could no longer -advance side by side. But the carbide flame showed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -that the footing ahead was smooth and almost level, -offering no obstacle to her progress alone; also, that -the distance to the cavern beyond was hardly more -than a couple of rods.</p> - -<p>“Now if you’ll hop along by yourself for a few -yards more you’ll be there,” spoke the tall, vague form -behind the metal lamp. “Sorry my doorway’s so -tight, but it was made before I came here.”</p> - -<p>The injured girl, drooping against a stone beside her, -let the jest pass without a smile.</p> - -<p>“You go ahead,” she prompted wearily. “You’ve -got boots.”</p> - -<p>“What of it?” he puzzled.</p> - -<p>“Snakes.”</p> - -<p>“Ouch! Snakes around here?”</p> - -<p>“Why, sure. This country’s full of ’em—rattlers -and copperheads. Guess you ain’t been into here long, -mister.”</p> - -<p>“Right. I haven’t. But—Lordy! You shouldn’t -go around barefoot in snake country.”</p> - -<p>“Mebbe. But folks can’t wear out their shoes into -summer if they’re goin’ to have ’em for winter, can -they?”</p> - -<p>He made no reply. Into the gap he turned, and -through it he passed to the larger space beyond, his -wide shoulders rubbing the rock as he passed. Behind -him she limped along, leaning against one wall.</p> - -<p>At the end of the little cañon he stepped downward, -halted, and set gun and lamp on a rock shelf. Some -twenty feet away, under an overhang of the cliff, an -open blanket-roll and various small camp-tools showed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -beside an Indian fire—short sticks laid like wagon-wheel -spokes, with the flame at the hub.</p> - -<p>“Now you can hug me for the last time—maybe,” -he solemnly stated. “I’m going to tote you over there. -It’s rough going.”</p> - -<p>With which she was lifted and carried across a rubble -of fragments to the blankets.</p> - -<p>As he straightened up in the brilliant light thrown -across by the lamp, she saw him plainly for the first -time: a lithe, firm-jawed man whose face glowed red -with new sunburn between a gray flannel shirt and a -head of silky blond hair; a clean-mouthed, clean-limbed -chap whose twinkling blue eyes might have -brought an approving smile to the lips of many a girl -far more critical of men than this maiden of the mountains. -But no hint of liking for her new-found friend -dawned in her face.</p> - -<p>Into her eyes darted a light of mingled recognition, -suspicion, repulsion. She shrank from him as if he -had suddenly become one of those snakes against -which she had just warned him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord!” she breathed. “It’s you! The detective!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br /> - -<small>NIGGER NAT’S GIRL</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Blank</span> astonishment crept across the countenance -of the blond man. Motionless as the rocks around him -he stood, staring down at the hostile face upturned to -his.</p> - -<p>“Detective? Me?” he muttered.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you!” she flared. “Think you’re smart, don’t -you? Mebbe you think us folks are a lot of numbskulls, -but we ain’t. And seein’ you jest helped me -out of a fix, I’ll tell you somethin’, Mister Spy—you -better git out of the Traps right quick, while you’re -able to travel!”</p> - -<p>The man threw back his head and laughed—a -gurgling laugh of pure enjoyment.</p> - -<p>“Well, if this isn’t rich!” he chuckled. “Old Cap -Hampton, the famous dee-teck-tiff! Say, little redbird, -I’m glad you dropped in this evening. I was -thinking I’d go to-morrow, but now I reckon I’ll stay -awhile. Looks as if this place might prove interesting.”</p> - -<p>The gray eyes snapped.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’ll be interestin’!” was the ominous prediction. -“If you don’t git right outside the Big Wall and -stay out—some of the boys will be sleepin’ into new -blankets and totin’ a newfangled shotgun, I shouldn’t -wonder.”</p> - -<p>His gaze dropped to the blankets under her, which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -were obviously new; then darted to his hammerless -gun across the way. When his eyes returned to hers -the merriment was gone from them. They glinted like -cold blue steel.</p> - -<p>“So that’s the game, eh?” His voice was hard-edged. -“To kill a stranger for his gun and money. -Well, your ‘boys’ are slow. They were snooping -around my camp down by the creek last night, but -they didn’t have the nerve to do anything but watch. -Thanks for your tip. Hereafter I’ll load my gun with -buckshot. You can tell your friends that.”</p> - -<p>A flush of anger dyed the girl’s cheeks.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that ain’t it!” she denied. “Strangers are -safe enough, long’s they mind their own business. But -we’ve got no use for sneakin’ spies that den up into -the rocks like copperheads. And if you think anybody’s -scairt of your buckshot, Mister Spy, jest remember -this is old Injun country, and folks was -gittin’ kilt into the Traps before your grandpop was -borned. If all the dead men that’s been shot and -tommyhawked round here should git up all together -they’d—they’d shake the hills with their trompin’! -You and your buckshot—ha, ha, ha!”</p> - -<p>Her scornful laugh stung like a whip-lash. Yet, -though his sunburned face grew still redder under its -sting, he thought: “Lordy, what a stunning little -beauty she is with that color! There’s more than one -kind of wildcat in these hills, too. I like this place -better every minute.”</p> - -<p>Aloud he said: “All right, fair damosel. I don’t -know——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>Abruptly she started up—winced and paled as her -sprained ankle stabbed with pain—but caught the wall -and faced him in righteous wrath.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you cuss me!” she blazed.</p> - -<p>“Huh? I didn’t!”</p> - -<p>“You did! You called me a dam-somethin’——”</p> - -<p>“Oho! Fair damosel? Why, that’s an old-fashioned -compliment—means ‘beautiful girl,’ or something -like that. Would you rather be called a cross-eyed -old maid?”</p> - -<p>“No!” The word snapped. But she smiled in -spite of herself.</p> - -<p>“You must be a furriner to talk like that,” she -added. “Why don’t you say what you mean? Dam-o-sell—that -ain’t a name to call folks by. It’s ’most -the same as what mom calls me.”</p> - -<p>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Dambrat.”</p> - -<p>He regarded her a moment in silence.</p> - -<p>“Your mother calls you a brat?” he slowly asked -then.</p> - -<p>“Brat—and lots of other things,” she nodded. -“And now I’ve got to git home. I’ll git a good hidin’, -I shouldn’t wonder, but I won’t stay here——”</p> - -<p>“You will!” came his incisive contradiction. -“You’ll stay here until that foot is doctored and -you’ve had some food. Sit down!”</p> - -<p>At the crisp crackle of his command she eyed him -in surprised defiance. Her chin lifted, and she took -a combative step on the hurt foot. Pallor and pain -swept again across her face, and she staggered. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -promptly picked her up, squirming and resisting; set -her down on the blankets, and inexorably held her -there. Then, his eyes boring into hers, he spoke in -cool determination.</p> - -<p>“Behave yourself. Listen to me.</p> - -<p>“You’re not going away until I say so. I’ll not say -so until you’re better able to travel. You won’t be -able to travel until that ankle is reduced. It won’t be -reduced until I’ve worked on it. That’s all there is -to that.</p> - -<p>“Now about me. I’m no detective. I am Douglas -Hampton, a rover, a drifter, with no home and no -folks. I’ve been in quite a few places, done quite a -few things; but I’ve never been a detective and I don’t -intend to be one. My last job was as reporter on a -New York newspaper, and I lasted almost a year. -Got fired last week because the city editor rode me too -hard and I sat him down in his own waste-basket. -Now I’m in here because I feel like roughing it awhile -and somebody told me it was rough up here in the -Shawangunks.</p> - -<p>“I intended to stay here only a day or two and then -ramble along, stopping again wherever I found something -that hit my fancy. But now that people around -here think they’re going to kick me out—I’ll stay -longer. I’m one of those cantankerous chaps who can -be coaxed a mile but can’t be kicked an inch. I always -kick back.</p> - -<p>“As I started to say awhile ago, I don’t know the -history of this hole in the hills, but I’m right willing -to learn all about it—past and present. And if people<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> -around here want to consider me a detective, let ’em. -I don’t care what they think. The only reason why -I’m telling <i>you</i> who I am is—well, because I feel like -it.”</p> - -<p>With that he took his hands from her shoulders -and straightened up. She made no move to rise -again. Steadily she probed his face, and slowly she -nodded.</p> - -<p>“You talk straight,” she admitted. “But if you -ain’t here to spy, what are you doin’ up here, hid into -the ledge? Folks said you went out through the Gap -this mornin’ with your pack and all. So to-night I -thought you must be some new feller.”</p> - -<p>“I did go. I moved because I want to sleep at -night instead of watching men sneak around in the -bushes. Then I decided to come back, and I came. -Didn’t try to hide myself, either—tramped right along -the road. You people ought to keep sharper watch -on desperate dee-teck-tiffs who wander in and out of -here; you never know when they’ll come back.”</p> - -<p>His cheerful grin brought an answering smile this -time. But it did not last long. At his next question -it vanished.</p> - -<p>“By the way, what am I supposed to detect in here? -Detectives have to detect something, you know.”</p> - -<p>“You be careful, mister, or you’ll detect a rock -fallin’ off onto your head from up top, or a load of -buckshot scatterin’ out of the brush. Some of the -boys are awful careless. If you figger to stay round -here you better stay away from these ledges—and keep -out of caves—and don’t ask too many questions.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>“M-hm. I take it that this is a good place to keep -<i>still</i>.”</p> - -<p>Her tongue made no answer; but her eyes narrowed -at the emphasis on the word “still.” He laughed -again and bent to freshen the fire.</p> - -<p>When he had moved the sticks inward upon their -common focus and the flame was growing brighter and -hotter, he frowned at a canvas water-bag pendent from -a splinter of rock; thoughtfully eyed the girl’s inflamed -ankle and gashed arm; glanced at a small coffee-pot at -the edge of the blaze, and ran a hand through his light -hair. Then his face brightened. Rising, he rummaged -in a small bag of waterproof fabric, from which -he produced two flat tins of tobacco.</p> - -<p>“Have to economize on water,” he said. “All I -own is in that cloth bucket, and the spring’s a deuce of -a distance down. Between bathing your arm and -making coffee and fixing your ankle—well, I just can’t -cook that ankle as it should be done. But I can draw -out most of the soreness with a tobacco poultice. -That’s what we’ll have to do.”</p> - -<p>She eyed the two tins in his hand.</p> - -<p>“Is that all the tobacco you’ve got?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes. But it’s enough to do the trick.”</p> - -<p>“Then what’ll you smoke? There ain’t any stores -here.”</p> - -<p>“Then I don’t smoke for awhile,” was the matter-of-fact -reply.</p> - -<p>Dropping the cans beside her, he strode over to the -lantern and brought it and the gun to the overhanging -wall. Swiftly then he put coffee to boil, dipped a cupful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -of water from the canvas bag, flipped a clean white -handkerchief from the ditty-bag, and returned to her. -Without a word she let him inspect the lacerated arm.</p> - -<p>“You got a nasty rip,” he stated, scowling. “Right -along the bone. How did you do it? Fall?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.” Her tone was more gentle now than it had -yet been, and her eyes dwelt on the sober face bending -over the injury. “I’ve—I’ve got a little secret up -here—a hole into the rocks that’s been my playhouse -since I was little, and when mom’s awful mean or pop’s -ugly drunk or—or I can’t stand it down there, I come -up here and stay all by my own self. This time I got to -dreamin’, I guess, and I went to sleep there. And -when I woke up it was night. Mebbe I’d ought -to have stayed there till mornin’, but I was awful -hungry, and I tried to git down the rocks and took a -fall.”</p> - -<p>He nodded sympathetically, bathing the wound with -gentle touch.</p> - -<p>“And then that mis’rable catamount had to smell -me. They’re awful bad when they’re hungry and -smell blood. I thought I was a goner till your light -showed. Who ever told you a catamount would run -if you said boo?”</p> - -<p>“Somebody who didn’t know as much as he thought -he did, I guess.”</p> - -<p>“I guess so too. They’ll run from a dog ’most -every time—even a little yippin’ yappin’ tarrier—and -mostly they’ll run from a man, but not always. If -they’ve kilt somethin’ or are jest goin’ to kill somethin’, -look out. And they’re ready to tear up a young ’un,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -or a hurt woman, any time. If you shoot ’em you’ve -got to kill ’em stone dead or they’ll rip you. Jonah -Hay, he kilt one last winter—shot it four times and -blew its jaw off and everything—and it lived long -enough to git to him and claw his legs terrible. Its -hide was longer than Jonah is himself, and Jonah -stands six foot.”</p> - -<p>He nodded again, absorbed in his work but marveling -at her new friendliness. Now that she was talking, -she chattered as easily as if to an old friend.</p> - -<p>“And there was Sam Codd—he went to chop wood -and run onto a little bobcat, nowheres near as big’s a -catamount. The critter had kilt a rabbit, and it come -at Sam, ready to jump right onto him. Sam, he -backed more’n a quarter of a mile through the snow, -holdin’ his axe ready to bust the critter, till he got to -his cabin. Then he jumped in and got his gun. But -by the time he come out the cat was gone back to the -rabbit, and when he got there the rabbit was et and -nothin’ left but blood and tracks.”</p> - -<p>He desisted from his cleaning of the arm, which had -remained as stoically steady as if it were not in the -least tender. Tearing the edges of the big handkerchief, -he bound it around the injury and carefully -knotted the edge-strips. Then he turned to the coffee, -which now was steaming. In a moment he put a cupful -of the hot liquid in her hands and dumped the -grounds from the pot.</p> - -<p>“Only one good cupful to a pot, but it’s strong -enough to knock you over,” he explained. “And I -need the pot now for your ankle. After the tobacco<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> -gets to drawing I’ll cook some grub and make more -coffee——”</p> - -<p>He paused suddenly, staring at one of the tobacco-tins -he had picked up. Its blue revenue-paper seal -was broken.</p> - -<p>“Now when did I open that can?” he puzzled, -turning up the lid. “I was sure these were fresh. -Confound it, it’s only half full!”</p> - -<p>She made no answer. She blew on the coffee and -took a tentative sip.</p> - -<p>“Ooh! It’s scaldin’ hot!”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh. Well, this other can’s full, anyhow. -Guess I can make out.”</p> - -<p>While the fresh water came to a boil he squinted -repeatedly at the opened can, half rifled of its fragrant -brown slices. He did not see the impish glances she -threw at him. Nor, when he brought the hot water, -the tobacco, and more handkerchiefs, did he spy the -laughing light in the demurely downcast eyes.</p> - -<p>With utmost care, though with necessary firmness, -he bound the hot-water-soaked slices around the -swollen ankle. Then he poured more hot water on -the bandages until, despite herself, she flinched and -drew up the foot.</p> - -<p>“That’ll do, I reckon,” he said. “Lucky I have -plenty of handkerchiefs. That’s one thing I’m a crank -about—plenty of clean handkerchiefs and socks. Now -I’ll warm up some beans <i>a la</i> can.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you want a smoke?” she teased.</p> - -<p>“Well, since the tobacco’s all gone, I do,” he frankly -admitted. “However——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>“Then fill your pipe!” And from under the -blanket-edge she produced the missing slices.</p> - -<p>“Well, you—you——” he stuttered.</p> - -<p>“Now don’t you call me a dam-sell again, mister! -You stuff your pipe and have a good smoke.”</p> - -<p>He scowled, grinned, laughed, produced a stubby -briar, and obeyed orders.</p> - -<p>“I’ve a large mind to spank you,” he threatened, -between puffs. “But I never like to pick on a -cripple. So instead I’ll condemn you to stay here all -night.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” she countered serenely. “I’ve -made up my mind to stay anyway.”</p> - -<p>He missed two puffs while he stared at her.</p> - -<p>“Glad to see you’re showing sense,” he blurted. -“But what’s the reason for the sudden change of -heart?”</p> - -<p>“You’re smokin’ the reason. ’Most any man round -here would have kilt that catamount. That’d be fun. -But none of ’em would use up his last smokin’ on a -woman—not if both her legs were busted. A feller -that would do that is worth trustin’.”</p> - -<p>He threw up his hands.</p> - -<p>“Talk about feminine logic! That beats ’em all,” -he laughed. “Well, fair dam—I beg pardon—young -woman, just who are you, if I may ask?”</p> - -<p>The answer staggered him.</p> - -<p>“Me? Oh, I’m only Nigger Nat’s girl.”</p> - -<p>Over his pipe he blinked at her.</p> - -<p>“My name’s Marry,” she went on. “Marry Oaks. -My whole name is Marryin’, but it’s Marry for short.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>“Marion,” he repeated absently. “But who’s Nigger -Nat? Not a colored man!”</p> - -<p>The frank eyes looked steadily back at him.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes he is. He’s yeller—half nigger. He’s -my pop. And mom’s part Injun.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br /> - -<small>PIPE-SMOKE—AND POWDER-SMOKE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dawn</span> swept across the Shawangunks.</p> - -<p>From the far-off crests of the Berkshires light -leaped athwart the silvery Hudson and smote the -frowning cliffs of the Great Wall of the Wallkill -Valley: a grim gray precipice stretching mile after -mile to the northeast, towering eight hundred feet -upward from the lower lands; unscalable, impenetrable -save at one small high gap—the Jaws of the -Traps, whence in other days the redskin had slipped -forth in bloody foray on the settlers below, and where -in turn the white man had lurked in retaliatory ambush. -Through that gap now wormed the sandy road -of the descendants of those pioneers, and along that -road at this early hour passed nothing more sinister -than dawn-sheen and morning breeze.</p> - -<p>At the top of the crag-wall the light sped across the -forested gulf of the Traps itself, with its tiny scattered -farmhouses and its rocky clearings and mysterious -by-paths, to strike against more cliffs—the glacier-gouged -wall of Minnewaska, holding in its stony setting -a tiny jewel of an upland lake; and the fissured -butte of Dickie Barre, father of gigantic bowlders and -guardian of unknown caverns. And as the dayshine -flung itself against those forbidding ledges and then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -fled on westward, the following breeze also threw -against them a wave of sound—the dry quacking -chorus of myriads of katydids.</p> - -<p>All through the moonless September night those -queer insects had ground out their tuneless song, so -monotonous and so steady that the ears of other living -things had long since become dulled to it. But now, -swept by the dawn-wind in among the echoing crevices -and cañons, it seemed suddenly redoubled in volume. -Upon the senses of native bird and beast it made -slight impact, for they were well used to it; but on -the nerves of a long, blanketed figure lying in a narrow -passage between towering stone walls it struck like the -clatter of an alarm-clock. His towsled blond head -moved, his long-lashed lids lifted, and his blue eyes -darted about in inspection of his surroundings.</p> - -<p>Beside his head lay a shotgun, its muzzle pointing -outward, its safety-catch off, ready for instant use. -Beyond the slit of an entrance showed nothing but -more rocks and a labyrinthine tangle of trees and -brush. Behind, the sheer wall of Dickie Barre alone -was visible across a roomy space open to the sky. -The only sounds were the everlasting quack of the -insects and the subdued <i>yarrup</i> of some invisible yellowhammer -flitting about in search for a breakfast.</p> - -<p>He yawned, stretched, and sat up. The blanket -dropped from his chest, and he stared blankly at it. -Then his gaze shot toward the cliff beyond.</p> - -<p>“Well, you ought to be spanked hard, you little -bunch of wilfulness!” he muttered. “Sneaked in here -after I was asleep and spread this blanket over me,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> -didn’t you? And you needed both of ’em yourself—it’s -clammy up here at night. And walking on that -bad foot, too!”</p> - -<p>But his eyes belied his growling tone as he arose -and tiptoed to the end of the passage. As they swept -the farther wall and dwelt on the little huddle of gray -blanket beside the charred embers of the fire they -softened still more. Obviously the girl muffled under -that stout sheet of wool was sleeping as peacefully on -her mattress of fragrant hemlock tips as if at home in -her own bed.</p> - -<p>“These mountain girls are as tough as rawhide,” he -thought. “Imagine a city girl going through what she -did last night without a whine! And sleeping like that -under a rock. And——”</p> - -<p>His hand strayed to a shirt pocket and fingered -some crumbled shreds of tobacco.</p> - -<p>“And saving some smokes for me and stubbing -over here on a sprained ankle to give me half the -bedding. Would any of those flossy dolls in New York—or -Chi or San Fran or N’Orleans—do that? -Humph!”</p> - -<p>Softly he stepped along the little shelf where last -night he had set lamp and gun; sank to a comfortable -squat, his back against the wall; filled and lit his pipe. -Thereafter he squatted a few minutes smoking and -musing.</p> - -<p>“‘Nigger Nat’s girl,’” he thought. “Daddy a -drunken yellow mongrel, mother a hard-tongued half-breed. -How in thunder can a pair like that produce -such a witching wildcat as Marion Oaks? Her skin’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -brown, but the brown is only sun-tan, or my eyes are -liars. And that hair and those eyes! How come?”</p> - -<p>A flirt of active wings drew his gaze away for a -moment. On a limb of a plucky young pine growing -from the face of the cliff above, a pair of inquisitive -yellowhammers had paused to spy and gossip. Their -bright eyes peered knowingly downward, and as they -bobbed and bowed their restless heads the black crescents -under their creamy throats vied for notice with -the brilliant red splashes behind their crowns. Up -and down the branch they hopped, murmuring fussily -over this most scandalous event—a man and a girl -shamelessly occupying an outdoor boudoir, just as if -they were as free of convention as the birds themselves. -The man smiled up at them and waved a hand -in acknowledgment of their sharp scrutiny. Instantly -they winnowed away on whispering wings, to perch -again farther on and renew their eager watch. -Douglas resumed his puffing and puzzling.</p> - -<p>“Must be a throwback of heredity,” he decided. -“There are such things as red-headed niggers. Saw -one in Detroit once. The white strain in her folks -cropped out strong when she was born. Must be -tough for a girl to be white and yet have the tainted -blood in her veins. No self-respecting white man -could marry her, of course. But it’s a dirty shame -that you have to be cursed by your ancestors, little -Miss Marion. You haven’t a chance. You’ll become -the ‘woman’ of some ignorant brute down below, and -before you’re thirty you’ll be old and gaunt and -broken-spirited.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>He flipped the ash from the top of his pipe-bowl and -puffed on.</p> - -<p>“And yet your mind is that of a white girl—and a -thoroughbred, too,” he silently asserted. “The tobacco -and the blanket prove that. And you despise -your mongrel people. You run away up here to your -little secret ‘playhouse,’ and there you dream yourself -to sleep, as you did yesterday. And there’s poetry in -you, too. Let’s see, what was that you said—‘If all -the dead men here should rise they’d shake the hills -with their tramping!’”</p> - -<p>His gaze grew absent, as through the smoke he -visioned an army of musket-bearing pioneers, shaggy-haired -and deerskin-clad, and of fierce-faced Indians -carrying bow and tomahawk, marching along the ancient -trails. They passed, those long-dead fighting -men, and in their wake strode whiskered mountaineers -of a later day, gripping shotgun and rifle, watching one -another in distrust—the victims of bullet and buckshot -hurled from the masking thickets of rhododendron, -the men who had died at the hands of their neighbors. -Crag and crevasse echoed to the tread of their ghostly -feet, and the cliffs quivered in unison. Out through -the Jaws of the Traps they swung into the eye of the -rising sun. The caverns ceased to echo. The man -found himself staring at a gray blanket and listening -to the rasping clack of the katydids.</p> - -<p>With a long sigh he arose and knocked out his pipe -against his thigh.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well,” he muttered. “The past is past, the -present is here, and the future is rolling closer every<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -minute. Poor little kid, with your dreams and your -picture-words! I’m sorry for you. But all I can do -is to cook some more grub for you and take you home. -Then we’ll each have to gang our ain gait.”</p> - -<p>He moved toward the dead fire, still stepping softly. -But half-way across the rocky rubble he halted short, -struck by a sudden memory.</p> - -<p>“By thunder!” he exclaimed. “I wonder if——”</p> - -<p>Back into his mind had come a fragment of a tale -told months ago in New York by a chance acquaintance—a -man from up-State.</p> - -<p>“Yessir,” he heard the voice saying, “there’s queer -things back in the hills—stories that’s never been -told much. These fellers I’m thinkin’ about, now: -they were the hardest crowd you’d ever want to meet. -They were bad whites and bad Indians and bad -niggers, all in this one gang and livin’ in back of a -long mountain wall with only one way into it. Outlaws? -Yessir, and worse’n that. Land pirates, I’d -call ’em. Cut your throat and never even wipe off the -knife afterward.</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, they’d come out of this here hole-in-the-wall -I’m tellin’ about, and they’d waylay folks drivin’ -along the roads, the rich folks in coaches and so on. -And they’d kill the men travelers and strip ’em clean. -And they’d carry off the women and hold ’em for -ransom. And if the ransom wasn’t paid the women -never got out. They had to stay there and be the -women of that gang. If they were extry good-lookin’ -maybe they never got a chance to be ransomed. -More’n one fine lady went into that hole in the hills<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -and never was heard of again. Yessir. That’s -right.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, it was a long while ago. Good many -years before our time. After the Revolution, maybe—it -was pretty rough in lots of places round here -then, and these fellers could fight off a whole army by -guardin’ that gap of theirs. What ever become of ’em -I don’t know. But the descendants of that gang and -the women prisoners are livin’ there yet—outlaw white -blood and high-toned white blood and nigger and -Indian blood all mixed up together—and I’ve heard -tell that some of ’em are handsome, especially the -women. No, I never was in there myself——”</p> - -<p>The memory-voice died and was lost. Vainly he -racked his brain for more of the tale. Where did that -man say the place was? In these Shawangunks? -Farther south in the Ramapos? Up north in the -Catskills, or far beyond in the Adirondacks? No answer -came. The rest of the story, its beginning and -end, were lost in the fog of many such chance conversations -at odd moments and in odd places.</p> - -<p>But he was sure that the locale of that legend was -somewhere in the mountains of New York State. And -out there across the Traps was a long mountain wall -with but one way of entrance. And this girl’s father -and mother were of mongrel blood, and——</p> - -<p>“By the Lord Harry, it fits!” he exclaimed aloud. -“If this isn’t the place it ought to be. And there’s -been a lady—a real, high-bred lady—in your family not -many generations ago, Miss Marion, or I’m a Chinaman!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>The surrounding rocks reverberated with his words. -The blanket before him moved quickly. Out from it -rose dancing gray eyes, glowing cheeks, and laughing -red lips.</p> - -<p>“Mornin’, Mister Detective!” she caroled. “Are -you talkin’ into your sleep, or did you find a drink -somewheres? You’re foolish, sounds like.”</p> - -<p>Somewhat sheepish, he stood a moment without reply. -His eyes dwelt on the wealth of tumbled hair, -now glowing like forest-fire in the clean light of the -new day: no pale sandy tresses, but rich, vivid, Titian -red. Nowhere in it showed dark streak or telltale -kink.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” he countered. “Did you ever hear of a -crowd of men—white and red and black—who went -out through the Gap over yonder and brought in -women and made slaves of them?”</p> - -<p>At once her friendly face turned cold.</p> - -<p>“You’re huntin’ into the wrong place,” she told -him, lifting her chin. “Our fellers don’t do that. -You better look somewheres else.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, shucks! Can’t you get rid of that idea that -I’m hunting somebody? These desperadoes were all -dead long before we were born. But haven’t you -heard some such story from the old folks?”</p> - -<p>After watching his frank face a moment she shook -her head.</p> - -<p>“No, never heard tell of such a thing. If they’re -all dead, what’s the good of worryin’ about ’em anyway?”</p> - -<p>He shrugged and moved on toward the charred<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -sticks, meanwhile turning the conversation into another -channel.</p> - -<p>“How’s the ankle?”</p> - -<p>She probed under the blanket, threw the covering -aside, pushed herself up, and took a tentative step.</p> - -<p>“Why, by mighty, mister! You’re a reg’lar doctor! -It’s sore, but it ain’t half as bad as ’twas. It hurt terrible -last night when I——”</p> - -<p>She stopped abruptly, but her eyes went to the entrance.</p> - -<p>“When you came and covered me up? Serves you -right. That was the most foolish thing—but I thank -you, just the same.”</p> - -<p>Her lips opened, but for a moment no word came. -Her eyes still were fixed on the narrow slit, and a little -frown of concentration furrowed her brow. He -pivoted and squinted against the glare of the rising -sun now darting in at that crack. Then she spoke—low -and tense.</p> - -<p>“Where’s your gun? Layin’ there?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Go git it!”</p> - -<p>He sprang for the passage, where the weapon still -lay beside his discarded blanket. As he moved he heard -a badly balanced stone outside grate under the weight -of a moving body.</p> - -<p>In a bounding rush he was across the open cavern -and between the bowlders. With a swoop he snatched -up his gun. His clutching hand closed with one finger -inside the trigger-guard.</p> - -<p>Before he realized that he was pressing the little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> -curved lever, the gun jumped violently backward. A -thundering report smashed out. Powder-gas stung -his throat. The firearm fell with a sullen <i>clack</i> on the -stones beside his feet.</p> - -<p>Vaguely his deafened ears received the echo of the -shot roaring along the farther wall of the Traps, a -mile away. He felt, rather than heard, something fall -among the rocks outside.</p> - -<p>Grabbing the gun again, he slipped forward to the -entrance. At the corners of the upstanding bowlders -he halted short, staring at a huddled form which had -collapsed among the prone blocks beyond.</p> - -<p>Only the head and upper torso of the stranger were -visible, his lower body and legs lying behind a slanting -stone. But clear in the sunlight showed a wan, pinched -young face, swarthy-skinned, with close-cropped black -hair. Along the stone under the head crept a red -trickle.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Douglas was thrown aside. From behind -him Marion darted, wild-eyed. From her pale lips -broke a sharp cry: “Steve!”</p> - -<p>Across the stones she struggled. Beside the youth -she dropped. Then she turned to Douglas a face -startling in its white wrath.</p> - -<p>“You—murderin’—hound!” she choked. “You’ve -kilt him!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br /> - -<small>THE FUGITIVE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dumb</span>, Douglas leaned his gun against the wall and -moved outward.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you touch him!” blazed Marion. “Don’t -you put a hand onto him or I’ll—I’ll use that gun onto -you! I might have knowed you was lyin’—if I’d -knowed Steve was out I’d never trusted a word you -said. Now you’ve got him, leave him to be buried -where he was borned. Oh, Steve, Stevie lad! And -I—I give this feller the word to git his gun and do -for you! If I’d only knowed you was out! Oh, Stevie -boy!”</p> - -<p>In a storm of grief she dropped her head on the thin -chest, hugging the limp lad to her with convulsive -strength. A few feet away the blond man halted, -dazed by the unintentional tragedy and the violence of -the girl’s outburst. For minutes he stood there motionless, -hardly grasping the significance of her denunciation.</p> - -<p>Then his brain began to work. Her words, repeating -themselves, became appallingly plain. This young -Steve was “out”—and his swarthy pallor was not -merely that of unconsciousness or death: it was that -of long confinement in some place whence he had -just escaped—a place where hair was kept cropped. -And he, Douglas Hampton, who had been half accepted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -by this girl as the chance camper he claimed to -be, now had become in her mind a far blacker monster -than a mere “detective”—a merciless bloodhound who -killed poor fugitives on sight. Gazing miserably on -the mountain maid mourning her luckless boy lover, -he found the sight unendurable. His head drooped, -and his eyes rested unseeing on the stones between him -and the pathetic pair.</p> - -<p>Up overhead fluttered the yellowhammers, scared by -the shot but emboldened by the ensuing silence to wheel -about and whet their curiosity in scrutiny of the tragic -group on the stones. High on the cliff behind, an unseen -squirrel fussed and fumed; and from crack and -cranny along the wall and from crevices among the -fallen fragments more than one furtive little eye -peered out. Steadily the sun slipped upward in the -clean blue sky, lighting up in pitiless nakedness one -more spectacle such as it had seen all too often in the -long stretch of time since men first penetrated into -this grim gulf. The wretched man neither heard nor -saw any of these things. Stone-still he stood, staring -down at a spattered splotch of white on a gray rock.</p> - -<p>All at once his blank gaze focused sharply on that -white spot. He started. In one stride he was beside -the rock. As he stooped and squinted, a light flamed -in his face. With a bound he was up and leaping toward -the limp form beyond.</p> - -<p>“Git away!” shrilled Marion, lifting a tear-swollen -face and turning on him like a tigress. “Keep your -bloody hands off him—he’s mine! My onliest——”</p> - -<p>“Listen to me!” he commanded. “I never hit him!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -The shot struck that stone yonder—the whole charge! -It was an accident anyway—and he was out of line—the -shot couldn’t hit him from where I stood. Let me -see that wound.”</p> - -<p>For an instant she sat rigid, unable to believe, yet -thrilled with hope. Quickly, but gently, he raised the -head of the youth and probed the injury he found. -Then he nodded vehemently.</p> - -<p>“This is no gunshot wound,” he asserted. “It’s a -cut and a bump. He tumbled and knocked his head -against a stone. Got a hard crack, but nothing dangerous. -Poor kid, he looks half starved, and that smash -he took just finished him—for awhile. All he needs -is water, food, rest, and safety. I’ll give him all of -them.”</p> - -<p>After one stare at the split scalp now turned toward -her, she sprang up, her cheeks aglow with joy. But -then she paused and shot a glance at the gun near -by.</p> - -<p>“And you’ll take him back! No you won’t—I’ll——”</p> - -<p>In the nick of time he caught her wrist as she -started toward the weapon.</p> - -<p>“Take him back where?” he snapped. “I’ll take -him nowhere, except back among the rocks. After -he’s able to walk he can go where he likes. He’s -nothing to me. If he’s anything to you, don’t stand in -his way. I’m trying to help him. Now behave!”</p> - -<p>She was tugging furiously away, but as he released -her she stood where she was, fighting now against her -distrust of him. He lifted the sagging body, got a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -firm grip, and lurched back toward the cliff. As he -passed the shot-scarred stone he grunted and jerked -his head downward toward it. Following, she paused -an instant and studied the white patch, glanced at the -little cañon, then moved on with clearer face. She -knew well how shot-marks looked; saw, too, that the -tall stranger had spoken truth when he said Steve was -out of his line of fire from the walled passage. -Though she had not seen the gun fired, she realized -now that hardly any man would have made so poor a -shot if he had actually been trying to hit the hunted -youth.</p> - -<p>Yet, when Douglas edged into the slit and bore his -burden through, she halted behind him and put a -tentative hand on the gun, still loaded in one barrel. -Narrowly she inspected the “newfangled” weapon—so -unlike the ancient muzzle-loaders common in the -Traps—wavering between a desire to draw its remaining -charge and fear lest it might disastrously explode -again. After a dubious moment she shook her head -and went on. She must trust this man, whether she -would or not.</p> - -<p>Down on the tumbled blanket and the bough-tip bed -Douglas laid the youth. Then he reached for the -canvas water-pail. Its lightness brought a frown to -his brow. Hardly a cupful remained in it.</p> - -<p>“I’ll git somethin’,” she volunteered, reading his -thought. Before he could fathom her purpose she was -leaving through the passage, limping a little but moving -as if sure of herself. Presently she returned, -carefully bearing a jug.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>“Well, you witch! Where did you dig up that?”</p> - -<p>“That’s one of the questions you better not ask -round here,” she parried. “Jest hold up his head -while I give him a good snort.”</p> - -<p>Smiling grimly, he raised the lad’s head and opened -his lax mouth while she pulled the corn-cob plug. -Deftly she put the nozzle to that mouth and poured -the “snort.” The aptness of the word was speedily -demonstrated by the uncouth noise which erupted -from Steve.</p> - -<p>His eyes flew open, rolled, blinked. He coughed, -sprayed a mouthful of the colorless but powerful -liquor on his helpers, gasped, and struggled up as if -kicked out of sleep. Wildly he stared at the two faces -so near his. Then, as the girl put the jug again to his -mouth, he grabbed it with both hands and gulped -thirstily. When he lowered the vessel he licked his -lips, and across them flitted a faint grin.</p> - -<p>“Gawd, am I dead or dreamin’?” he breathed -hoarsely. “Marry! Be ye there? An’ this here -licker—I’m a dunkey if ’tain’t real! Who—who’s this -feller?”</p> - -<p>His brown eyes glared into the cool blue ones. Involuntarily -his right hand gripped the jug-handle as if -it were a gun-stock. His gaunt face tightened into a -menacing mask. He wavered like a mortally wounded -wildcat gathering its last strength to spring.</p> - -<p>“I’m all right, Steve,” soothed Douglas. “I’m not -after you. You’re safe, and this is Marry, and that’s -real stuff in the jug. Calm down.”</p> - -<p>Under the steadying influence of the quiet tone the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -youth relaxed a little. Yet his lined mouth remained -set as he demanded: “Who shot at me?”</p> - -<p>“Nobody,” Douglas told him. “My gun exploded -accidentally. I didn’t even see you. You fell and -cracked your head.”</p> - -<p>The boy still glowered suspiciously, but when -Marion spoke his gaze shifted to her.</p> - -<p>“That’s right, Steve. You’re all right, ’cept a little -cut and a bump. Tell me quick—how long you been -out? Are they after you?”</p> - -<p>A savage smile twisted the thin mouth.</p> - -<p>“I dunno if they’re trackin’ me—I reckon so. I -ain’t seen ’em. I got ’way Monday night, an’ I ain’t -goin’ back till I git Snake Sanders. Cuss him, he put -me away—an’ I never done it, Marry, I never! It -was Snake done it! An’ I got the blame. Three years -I been doin’ time—but I’ll take them three years outen -him quick’s I git to a gun! Yas, an’ all the rest of -his life too! I’ll——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you! He’ll git you, not you git him. You -might’s well try to git a copperhead by grabbin’ onto -him with your bare hands. And you’ve got to keep -out till the officers quit huntin’—they’ll be into here, -if they ain’t here now. Don’t you go near the house -or a gun—don’t move or make a noise till I tell you, -or you’re a goner! Now gimme that jug and I’ll put -it back. We’ve got to go quick to some other hide-out—there’s -been shootin’ up here and we don’t know -who’ll come—gimme that jug!”</p> - -<p>“Not till I git ’nother big snort under my shirt,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> -refused Steve, lifting the jug in unsteady hands. “I -ain’t et much for four days, an’——”</p> - -<p>“Gimme that jug!” she stormed. “Know whose -it is? Snake’s!”</p> - -<p>The boy started as if stung. His grip relaxed, and -she yanked the jug from him and grabbed up the -corn-cob. Douglas noticed, in an absent way, that the -clay was smeared with a streak of green paint.</p> - -<p>“Snake’s? I been drinkin’ that varmint’s licker?” -raged Steve. “I’d ruther lap up p’ison! Gimme that -jug back! I’ll bust it!”</p> - -<p>“No you won’t!” She backed off. “He’s right -round here now somewheres, I shouldn’t wonder, -a-sneakin’ and a-slidin’ along, and you’ve got to lay low -awhile—you ain’t even got a gun. I’m goin’ to put this -right back where ’twas. You keep quiet.”</p> - -<p>She hobbled away. Steve struggled to rise and -overtake her, but found himself powerless in the grip -of Douglas.</p> - -<p>“Cool off, Steve,” advised the blond man. “Think -what a joke this is on Snake—you drinking up his -licker. Wouldn’t it make him mad?”</p> - -<p>A sudden hard grin split the pallid face. Steve sank -back.</p> - -<p>“That’s right, too—uh—what’s yer name?”</p> - -<p>“Call me Hamp.”</p> - -<p>“Hamp. Good ’nough. I dunno ye, an’ ye don’t -b’long round here, but ye act right. Got anything to -eat, Hamp? I been goin’ a long time, an’ it’s ’most -took the tuck outen me.”</p> - -<p>He began to blink a little uncertainly. The “licker”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -was fast getting in its work on his woefully empty -stomach.</p> - -<p>“Got a can of beans and some water, and they’re -yours.”</p> - -<p>“Gimme ’em!”</p> - -<p>The demand crackled like an electric spark. The -hard-set visage turned ravenous, and the wiry frame -lifted itself and set its back against the wall. When -Douglas tendered the opened can it was snatched and -a quarter of its contents dumped into a grimy hand. -An instant later the whole handful had been wolfed -down and another was being stuffed into a fast-working -mouth. When Marion came limping back from -her mysterious pilgrimage only an empty tin and greasy -lips remained to tell what had happened.</p> - -<p>Unspeaking, the blond man opened another bean-can, -put in a tin spoon, and handed it to the girl. She -sank on a stone and began eating eagerly, but far more -daintily than the boy. Douglas watched silently, but -he nodded as he noted the instinctive difference in her -way of feeding herself. Steve also watched, but with -a different thought.</p> - -<p>“Marry, ye’re gittin’ awful purty,” he vouchsafed. -“When I went ’way ye was thin’s a rail, but now -ye’re han’some as a little red wagon. Ain’t ye got a -kiss for me?”</p> - -<p>“Not till you wash your face, you dirty thing,” she -composedly answered. He grinned and wiped his -mouth on a tattered sleeve much too big for him. -“Where’d you git the clothes?” she demanded.</p> - -<p>“Them?” He glanced down at threadbare coat,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -thin shirt, and ragged overalls. “Found ’em into -fellers’ barns down yender. Hid my pen-clo’es into -one feller’s hay. Purty smart, hey?”</p> - -<p>“Smart! Don’t you know the officers’ll track you -that way? They will, sure’s you’re livin’.”</p> - -<p>“They’ll have a job findin’ me now I’ve got here,” -he muttered, though plainly disconcerted. “’Less’n -somebody blabs.”</p> - -<p>Brown eyes and gray eyes switched to the quiet man -who sat taking it all in.</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry,” said he. “I haven’t seen you folks -at all—either of you.”</p> - -<p>After a narrow stare Steve nodded slightly. Not -another word was spoken until the meagre meal was -finished and the water-bag was totally empty. Then -Marion took command of the situation.</p> - -<p>“We’ll be goin’ now,” she stated, rising. “No, -don’t come with us. Steve and me, we’ll go ’long by -our own selves, and then you won’t know what’s -’come of us if anybody should ask you. We’re awful -obliged to you, stranger, and we wish you good luck. -G’by.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not saying good-bye. I’m staying here, as I -told you before. Maybe we’ll meet again.”</p> - -<p>She took several halting steps outward before responding, -Steve trailing silently behind her. At the -edge of the cañon she paused and spoke over one -shoulder.</p> - -<p>“If you’re stayin’, don’t stay <i>here</i>. It’s no place -for you. You’ll be better off down below. There’s -Jake Dalton’s place, down towards the Clove, where<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -nobody lives any more, and you could go into there -and live pretty safe and comf’table if you mind your -own business—and if the ha’nt don’t git you.”</p> - -<p>“Oho! A haunted house!”</p> - -<p>“So folks say. Jake, he got kilt last spring by -somethin’—nobody knows what. They found him -after he’d been dead a week or so, and they couldn’t -look at him right close. But he wasn’t shot or cut or -clawed—he was jest swelled up terrible. Two or -three fellers stayed into his house since, and they got -drove out—somethin’ was there that they didn’t see, -but they could hear it and <i>feel</i> it. Some say it’s Jake’s -ha’nt. Others say it ain’t Jake but the thing that kilt -him. If you want to try livin’ there nobody’s likely -to bother you much. It sets on the left of the -Clove road, down yonder, with two big pines back of -it.</p> - -<p>“Now we’re goin’. Oh, and one other thing—you -better not come round Nigger Nat’s house. He ain’t -sociable. G’by.”</p> - -<p>Out through the crack they passed. For a minute -or two the blond man sat looking moodily at the exit. -Then he arose and followed.</p> - -<p>The rocks outside were vacant. The trees and undergrowth -showed no sign of life. Even the curious -yellowhammers were gone. Nowhere, except on two -stones—one scarred by shot, one stained with blood—was -anything to show that since the last sunset two -young hill-folk had come suddenly into the life of -Douglas Hampton and as swiftly vanished from it.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he muttered, picking up his gun and turning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> -back, “Steve, you tough young wolf, you don’t -know how lucky you are. I only hope you’ll treat her -right in the years to come.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br /> - -<small>CREEPING THINGS</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Up</span> on the brink of Dickie Barre, on a triangular -outcrop of stone bare of brush but topped by whispering -pines, Douglas lounged in luxurious content, basking -in the mellow warmth of September sun.</p> - -<p>Behind him his pack leaned against the base of a -pine. Beside him lay his gun. Before him stretched -the long panorama of the Traps.</p> - -<p>From the half-naked rock of Millbrook Mountain, -where the rim of the great bowl curved westward to -merge into the Minnewaska steeps, to the castle-like -peak of Sky Top, beneath which the strange lake of -Mohonk nestled out of sight in a cup of sheer stone, -rambled the top of the Great Wall. Northward from -Sky Top it dipped downward in a long sweep, and -there the east-swinging wall of Dickie Barre seemed -to close in and complete the unbroken ring of uplands -surrounding the forested chasm. But the man -loafing up on the breezy point knew that such was not -the case.</p> - -<p>Though he had not yet traveled in that direction, -he had been studying a couple of squares of Government -topographic map, of which several were in his -ditty-bag; and he knew that the walls did not close. -They pinched together into a narrow ravine, then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -veered apart again, each pursuing its own way into -the north until it became only a series of rounded -knolls sinking into the other low hills beyond. And -that ravine, or perhaps the wider valley floor beyond, -must be the Clove of which Marion Oaks had spoken.</p> - -<p>Through that ravine and on into the north, the map -said, ran a road—the inside road of the Traps; and -along that road-line, at wide intervals, were the little -square symbols which, to the topographer, signify -“houses.” One of those dots must be the house where -Jake Dalton had lived before he was found “swelled -up terrible”; where now even the hard sons of the -craggy hills dared not sleep because of the fearful -thing which could not be seen but could be felt. Before -sundown, the lone blond man intended, he would -find that house and see whether it was fit for habitation. -If so, he meant to inhabit it, ha’nt or no ha’nt.</p> - -<p>Everything impelled him toward that house. To -live continuously among the bowlders where he had -stayed last night was neither comfortable nor sensible: -the place was too far from water, from food, -from human associates; and when the drenching fall -rains should come, as they might at any time, he would -be almost unprotected. For sinister purposes, for the -concealment of nameless activities and of wanted men, -the maze of cliff-blocks was ideal; but for the steady -residence of a man who dodged neither lawmakers -nor lawbreakers it was the reverse. And to a red-blooded, -two-handed fellow like Douglas Hampton the -story of the uncanny house was enough. Had it been -an even poorer place than his rocky lair, he would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -have journeyed thither to seek the solution of its mystery.</p> - -<p>But the day was far from old, and there was time -to loaf and look and bask and think, unworried by -necessity. Here was none of the rush and drive of -the city, the scurry to fill assignments, the fret and -fume of the hordes of business-slaves hurtling over-ground -and underground in ant-like activity. Here -was nothing to do but relax, absorbing the golden sunlight -and the green beauty of nature and the clinking -music of unseen hammers far below and far away on -the Mohonk slope, where millstone-makers were rifting -rock in their little quarries. What though one had -no habitation? What though his food was almost gone -and the pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth -was empty? Time enough to seek shelter when night -approached; time enough to rustle for food when the -last crumb had vanished. Now was the hour to let -his city-starved soul feast on freedom.</p> - -<p>So he leaned there on an elbow, blinking outward -and downward at the varying verdure of the hardwood -forests, the red spots of sumach and the orange -tips of goldenrod brightening the little fields, the tiny -houses dotting the openings, the little ribbons of smoke -drifting away from their chimneys. His thoughts -moved in a slow circle—from Marion to Steve, from -Steve to the haunted house, from the haunted house -to the legend of the long-dead outlaw gang, from the -gang to its women prisoners, and so back again to -Marion. Where was she now? Down in one of those -houses, beaten and sworn at for running away? Much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> -nearer, still talking with her escaped-convict lover in -the “hide-out” to which she had taken him? Limping -along somewhere in the masking brush, forgetful of -pain, thinking only of bringing food to the worn-out -fugitive? Only the labyrinth below could tell; and it -was not in the habit of telling tales about its children.</p> - -<p>And this Snake Sanders, who had wriggled out of -the way of officers and let a boy suffer the penalty of -some unknown crime—who and what was he? The -thinker, accustomed to studying faces and voices, felt -that Steve’s denial of guilt and denunciation of Snake -were genuine. His virulent hatred, his vicious threat -against that man, were those of the bitterly wronged. -Yet Marion, herself swift-tempered and courageous, -had shown that she feared this Snake, who might be -a-sneakin’ and a-slidin’ along near at hand——</p> - -<p>The blond man grew tense. Something <i>was</i> sneaking -along, though not very near. Something was -creeping stealthily toward him from the thick growth -behind; something which made no footfall, but which -caused a slight difference in the rustling of the breeze-kissed -leaves.</p> - -<p>He started to turn his head, then checked the movement. -He felt that he would see nothing: that the -creature was traveling with Indian stealth, keeping -itself masked; that his look behind would only warn -the sinister thing that its approach was known. He -was lying dangerously close to the edge, and his nerves -shouted to him to get back while there was time. But -he held himself where he was.</p> - -<p>His eyes flicked downward at his gun. Then he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -carelessly raised himself to a sitting position, took his -pipe from his mouth and glanced at it, put it back, -and let his hand stray down to his shirt pocket. It -hovered there a moment, then sank loosely as if -empty. But cupped in his palm now was a little round -mirror.</p> - -<p>Casual though his movements had been, the soft -rustle of progress had ceased. Only the little flutterings -caused by wandering air-currents came to him. -As he sat still, however, apparently absorbed in contemplation -of the scene below, it recommenced. -Slowly, imperceptibly, he turned his hand, slanting -the mirror up and down by degrees, watching it from -the corner of his eye. It was a schoolboy trick which -he had used more than once in later years when desirous -of seeing something behind without turning his -head. And now, listening keenly and moving the telltale -glass with practised hand, he soon located the advancing -thing behind the pine, some ten feet away, -where his pack lay.</p> - -<p>It was creeping now on the ground, free from the -brush beyond but still unseen; keeping itself concealed -behind pack and pine, making only a slight slither as it -came. The sound died. For a long minute all was -quiet. Then, slowly, above the edge of the pack rose -a hat.</p> - -<p>Shapeless, dingy felt it was, with a ragged hole -below its crown. Under its brim glimmered black -eyes, beady and cold as those of a reptile. Little by -little the nose came up into view—a flat, wide nose -with something of the triangularity of a snake’s head.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -There it poised, mouth and jaw hidden behind the bulk -of the pack.</p> - -<p>The opaque eyes fixed greedily on the new shotgun -lying beside the watcher’s leg. Then they returned to -the back and shoulders of the blond man, and the lids -narrowed into wicked slits. The nose drew downward, -the eyes followed, the hat faded. Above the -pack nothing showed except the low branches of the -pine.</p> - -<p>Little sounds of movement came—of movement but -not of advance. Douglas moved the mirror to -right and left of the lump of blankets. His fingers -grew rigid. Something had appeared beside the -pack—a light but strong box, from which a dirty -black-haired hand was lifting a lid. As that lid arose -the box was tilted so that its top became an open -side, facing toward the man on the brink. And out -from it crawled a big copperhead.</p> - -<p>Head raised, it glided forward a foot or two and -stopped, its tail still in the box, which lay motionless. -Its venomous eyes focused on the still figure of the -man beyond, who remained as rigid as the rock on -which he sat. Its tongue ran out and vibrated in menace. -Slowly it slipped forward a little farther, then -paused again. Douglas braced himself to snatch up -his gun, whirl, and fire the instant its approach was -resumed. But it was not resumed.</p> - -<p>Instead, the repulsive creature lay quiet, absorbing -the warmth of rock and sun. Minutes passed, and it -made no move. Then from beyond the pack came a -faint sibilant sound—an almost inaudible noise which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -was not hiss nor breath nor whistle, but something -of all three, and which seemed to arouse the reptile. -It turned, and crept sluggishly toward the spot whence -the sound had come.</p> - -<p>Twice that indescribable sibilance was repeated, and -the snake moved on in its deliberate, fat-bodied way. -Just then a sudden gust of wind swooped playfully -along the brink, startling the leaves into a flapping -chorus like the beating wings of trapped birds. The -hideous thing on the ground slid around the pack, -paused, was gone.</p> - -<p>Douglas drew a long breath and became aware that -his shirt was clammy with cold perspiration. A chill -shivered down his back. Moving the glass, he -scanned all around and above that pack. Nothing -showed. The gust of wind fled along on its frolicsome -way, and all grew quiet. No sound came from behind -the pine.</p> - -<p>Still controlling his movements, he looked casually -around, then arose as if tired of sitting. As he stood -up, however, his gun was in one hand, and he loosely -swung its twin muzzles to cover the pack. Feigning -a yawn, he stepped lazily toward the pine, dropping -the mirror into a trousers pocket as he moved. With -a quiet click his safety-catch slid, and two solid -charges—of buckshot—were ready for instant use.</p> - -<p>A good stride away from the blankets he turned -aside and drifted around the butt of the pine. Then -he halted, sorely puzzled. The man who should have -been lurking there was not. The box, too, had vanished. -Not even the snake——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>But yes, the snake was there. It was curled just -below and behind the pack, hidden from any eye except -one searching for it; three feet of silent death, -ready to strike its fangs into the hands of the man -stooping to lift his back-burden before slinging it on -his shoulders. Even now, with that man’s eye on it, it -was poising in venomous alertness, its tongue vibrating -again like a blur.</p> - -<p>Douglas stepped onward a little, lifted his gun, -and fired. The snake rolled writhing away, blown -apart. Instantly he wheeled, the other barrel ready -to meet any menace. But still nothing showed itself. -The growth beyond seemed empty.</p> - -<p>Warily watching, he stepped to his pack, swung it -up one-handed, and stood a minute longer scanning -his surroundings. Seeing nothing new, he got into -the straps and strode away. Only a few rods to his -left, he knew, ran a faint trail—the path by which he -had come here after finding a steep slope which had -enabled him to climb Dickie Barre. The trail would -be empty, of course; the skulking assassin in the felt -hat would be so cunningly hidden in the encompassing -tangle that no mere stranger could find him. No -use hunting him.</p> - -<p>But as he emerged into that path he stopped, startled. -There, only a few feet away, stood the man.</p> - -<p>So astounded by the other’s audacity was Douglas -that he stood gaping. The sinister hillman grinned -guilelessly.</p> - -<p>“Howdy, stranger!” he greeted. “Scairt ye, did -I? Was that ye a-shootin’ jest now?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>Douglas swallowed an impulse to leap at him. Still -amazed, he glanced rapidly over him. Below the -ophidian eyes and flat nose which he had seen before, -he now noted a coarse mouth, tobacco-yellowed teeth, -scraggly black beard about a week old, long lean frame, -and nondescript garments. His curving hands were -empty. His snake-box was not with him now. Nor -had he any gun.</p> - -<p>The man moved slightly, shifting a foot. In the -movement was something reptilian—a sinuous smoothness -that was serpentine. And in the short sentences -which he had just spoken was a repellent hiss.</p> - -<p>“Howdy yourself!” growled Douglas. “What are -you doing here?”</p> - -<p>“Jest a-ramblin’ round, stranger. Might ast ye the -same. What was ye shootin’?”</p> - -<p>“Snake.” Douglas gave him a hard look.</p> - -<p>“Yeh? Huh! Awful waste o’ powder. Us fellers -use sticks onto them things. Thought mebbe ye got -what ye’re into here for.”</p> - -<p>A cunning wink followed his last utterance.</p> - -<p>“Meaning?”</p> - -<p>The yellow teeth bared themselves in a wide, silent -laugh. But the beady eyes held no mirth.</p> - -<p>“Think I dunno ye? Huh! I ain’t no fool. Ye -ain’t here jest to look at rocks an’ things. Trouble is, -ye dunno this kentry an’ how to work it. None o’ ye -do. Everybody into the place knowed days ago ye -was here, an’ ye’ll never git yer man ’less’n ye do business. -I’m the feller to do business with.”</p> - -<p>Again the cunning wink.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>“Meaning?” repeated Douglas.</p> - -<p>“Huh! Ye know. We’ll work shares. I’ll toll yer -man to ye for half the reward. Who d’ye want? -How much’s he wuth?”</p> - -<p>The blond man bit back a sudden desire to grin.</p> - -<p>“Who are you?” he countered.</p> - -<p>“Me? Snake Sanders.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br /> - -<small>THE KNOCK-OUT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Douglas</span> deliberately swung the pack from his back -and dropped it. Against it he leaned his gun, making -sure, as he did so, that he had restored the safety-lock. -As he faced Snake Sanders he caught the black eyes -fixed again on the weapon, and in them glinted the -same light of cupidity which had been there before.</p> - -<p>“Right purty gun ye’ve got, stranger,” Snake -admired. “Don’t look sensible, though, without no -hammers onto it. What’s one o’ them guns cost?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, several dollars. But what about this business -of yours?”</p> - -<p>“It’s like I tell ye.” Snake dragged his gaze away -from the shotgun. “Do business with me an’ ye’ll git -what ye want. Otherways ye git nothin’—but trouble.”</p> - -<p>“So? And who’ll make the trouble? You?”</p> - -<p>“Me? Huh! I don’t have to. Ye’ll jest fall into -it.”</p> - -<p>“Fall into it. Sure it won’t come crawling up on -me from behind?”</p> - -<p>The black lashes flickered.</p> - -<p>“What ye mean by that?”</p> - -<p>“Your name’s Snake.”</p> - -<p>Sanders’ beady stare beat into his inscrutable face.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -Presently the serpentine man grinned and subtly relaxed.</p> - -<p>“Names don’t hurt. Think I’d try to do ye after I -got my money, mebbe? That ain’t my way, stranger. -Folks calls me Snake ’cause I can handle snakes. -They don’t never bite me. I can tromp right round -’em into my bare feet, an’ pick ’em up into my bare -hands, an’ they lemme alone. I can talk to ’em—snake -talk—an’ they mind. If I’d of been over yender -’fore ye kilt that snake o’ yourn, now, I could have -sent him away jest by talkin’ to him.”</p> - -<p>His gaze never wavered as he talked. He gave no -sign of guilt. Unaware that he had been observed in -the little round mirror, he was sure there was nothing -to connect him in this man’s mind with the fact that -a copperhead had lurked beside the pack, and he was -bold enough to make capital of the presence of that -reptile. Evidently he was proud both of his name -and his diabolical gift.</p> - -<p>“Ye must have hearn o’ me,” he went on. “I’ve -done business before. Nobody round here knows it, -o’ course. I keep my tracks covered. But they must -have told ye outside ’bout Snake Sanders. I’m him.”</p> - -<p>Douglas kept the disgust out of his face. He wanted -to know just how deep was this man’s duplicity. -He had not yet learned that it was absolutely bottomless.</p> - -<p>“I’ve heard the name. People around here don’t -monkey with you much, do they?”</p> - -<p>A hissing laugh came through the yellow teeth, and -for once the eyes showed a glint of amusement.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>“No they don’t. I’ve got this hull place right into -my hand, mister. Folks step wide o’ me. Some fellers -has got brash an’ throwed buckshot at me, but -they don’t no more. They’re dead. Others has -learnt.”</p> - -<p>“I see. Those fellows stepped on snakes, maybe?”</p> - -<p>“Mebbe. I ain’t sayin’. But come on, stranger, we -can’t talk here all day. Who d’ye want? How -much?”</p> - -<p>“I think,” was the slow answer, “that the party I’m -interested in just now is out of reach.”</p> - -<p>Snake looked blank. Reaching smoothly into a -pocket, he drew out a plug of tobacco, bit off a chunk, -and chewed.</p> - -<p>“Got away clean, ye mean. Ain’t into here nowheres? -Huh! Don’t be too sure. There’s lots o’ -hide-outs into here that ye dunno ’bout. I know ’em. -I can git anybody—man, woman, or chile. An’ there’s -more’n one way to skin a skunk. If yer man ain’t -too well knowed, why won’t ’nother man do?”</p> - -<p>Again the insinuating wink.</p> - -<p>“Meaning?”</p> - -<p>“Aw, come off! Ye know. Fix it onto some feller -we can git. Take him out, fix up yer case, railroad -him an’ git yer money. Think I dunno how you -detectives work? Ye must think I’m simple. It’s -done right ’long—grab a feller that ain’t got no friends -an’ send him up. What chance has a feller here got -when he gits drug into the courts outside? Puh!” -He expectorated profusely and waited.</p> - -<p>Douglas laughed out in contempt. He took a couple<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -of slow strides forward. Snake shifted again, and his -eyes narrowed once more.</p> - -<p>“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” the blond man -derided. “I’m no detective. I’m hunting nobody. -I’m in here for—my health. See?”</p> - -<p>Snake saw—or thought he did. Instantly he -changed front.</p> - -<p>“I knowed it. Ye needn’t jump onto me, now. I -was jest a-tryin’ ye out. If ye was a real detective -ye’d be down snoopin’ round houses, not a-hidin’ out -up here. Wal, ye come to the right place, stranger. -Where ye from? What’d ye do? Go on, tell a feller. -I’ll keep it dark. Got money, o’ course. Gimme some -an’ I’ll fetch ye all the feed ye want.”</p> - -<p>“And fetch the officers along too, when they -come.”</p> - -<p>“Aw no. That talk I jest give ye was all moonshine—not -a true word into it. I was jest makin’ sure -o’ ye, I tell ye. Now I know ye I’ll——”</p> - -<p>“Shut up!” Hampton’s anger broke out. “I’ve -been making sure of you, too. You’re a liar. You’re -a treacherous sneak. You’d sell a hunted man to me—you’d -sell an innocent man to me—you’d sell me, too. -You think I’m after somebody, eh? Well, you’re right. -I’m after the man who thought he was going to get -my gun and money, the man who didn’t get them and -is trying to trap me now, the man who sneaked up and -let that copperhead out of the box! I’m after Snake -Sanders! And I’ve got him!”</p> - -<p>So rapid had been his words, so swift was his following -leap, that Snake stood flat-footed as a big fist<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> -smacked into his face. He was knocked headlong -backward.</p> - -<p>Into the bushes he sprawled with a crash of breaking -branch and twig. Into the bushes Douglas jumped -after him. But Sanders, though dazed by the impact -of the blow and the shock of finding himself caught, -was neither senseless nor helpless. He wriggled over -and seemed to curve upward. Head-first, like a striking -reptile, he threw himself at the legs of the man -above. His punisher lurched over him and fell.</p> - -<p>Snake’s lean frame wriggled forward again and -started up. But he was not quite free. Without -waiting to rise, Douglas darted a hand backward and -clamped it around one bare ankle. Holding his grip, -he rolled over, twisting and yanking the trapped leg.</p> - -<p>The hillman tottered and lost his footing. But even -before he hit the ground for the second time he lashed -out in air with his free foot. His heel thumped into -the blond man’s face, snapping his head back like a -fist-blow. Hissing furiously, Snake jerked up his leg -and let drive again. The fierce foot-punch missed this -time, for its mark had ducked aside and the leg shot -over Douglas’ shoulder. Promptly it was seized, held, -forced down.</p> - -<p>Both men now were in a grotesque posture for fighting. -Snake’s legs were spread, with his antagonist -sitting between them and clutching a foot on each side, -while Snake himself sat on one booted ankle, pinning -it down. But the advantage was decidedly with -Sanders, for both his hands were free. He shot them -straight for the other’s throat.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>His arms were struck up and his savage clutch -failed. His feet were freed, but the hands which had -gripped them now were fists, shooting short-arm jolts -into his jaw. And, short though those blows were, -they crunched his teeth together with a force that made -him blink groggily and throw himself aside.</p> - -<p>An instant later he found himself grappled. Douglas -was clinching him, shoving him down, striving for a -leg-hold with his knees and relentlessly forcing one -of his arms up behind his back. Douglas’ eyes were -ablaze with wrath and his jaw set like a rock. Now -he had this treacherous reptile in a real grip, and he -meant to smash it. And Snake, reading the grim -purpose in the face of the man against whose back he -had loosed creeping death, felt fear stab through -him.</p> - -<p>Heretofore the sinister hillman had fought only in -a flurry of surprise and rage—though he would not -have neglected to make his work complete if once he -got the upper hand. Now the fury of desperation -fired him. He snaked himself over sidewise, wriggled -a leg loose, twined it around the booted leg beside it, -and, by a curling twist, eased the strain on his pinioned -arm. His yellow fangs fixed themselves in his enemy’s -shoulder. His free hand clawed for the blue eyes.</p> - -<p>Douglas released his arm-hold, evaded the gouging -nails by a backward jerk of the head, got both hands -to his foe’s throat, tore him loose. Both scrambled to -their knees and up on their feet. Both struck with -savage fists at the same instant. Both blows landed.</p> - -<p>Squarely between the eyes Snake’s knotty fist<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -cracked. Douglas saw a red flash, followed by floating -rings of flame. His own knuckles tingled from -their impact with a bristly chin. Vaguely he saw the -face beyond the wavering fire-spots fade backward. -His other fist, swinging for it, hit nothing.</p> - -<p>For an instant he dug his knuckles into his eyes, -trying to clear his sight. Then he squinted around. -Snake was down again, clawing at the ground, trying -to rise. He jumped for him—stubbed a toe against -an unnoticed rock—stumbled and sprawled.</p> - -<p>As he pushed himself up, raging, Snake got to his -haunches and lurched at him in a clinch. Douglas -threw himself into the wiry arms and grappled for a -hold of his own. And then for a few minutes it was -a straining, kicking, punching rough-and-tumble, each -fighting with all he had.</p> - -<p>Again and again each secured a throat-hold but -lost it. Over they rolled, kicking whenever a foot -came free, slugging with either fist or both, striving -to dash each other’s head against stone or root, heaving -and wrenching until they had tumbled out of the -brush and into the trail where they had first stood. -In Douglas grew amazement at the strength and endurance -of his antagonist. In Snake’s brain gnawed -a keener fear of the man on whom he had exhausted -in vain every foul trick he knew. Neither could quite -overcome the other. Both were gasping and growing -dizzy from the violence of their combat. And they -fought on.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, in a final squirming spasm, Snake twisted -himself free. Before Douglas could clutch him again<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> -he had rolled away and was shoving himself up. The -blond man got his feet under him and pitched to a -stand. Then, too short of breath to renew the duel at -once, they balanced themselves and glowered.</p> - -<p>Snake was a hard sight, and Douglas was not much -better. The hillman’s face was gashed by cuts and -smeared with mingled blood and tobacco-juice, his -right eye was shut, his mouth was a blubbery pulp, his -clothes hung in rags. The other’s bloodshot eyes -gleamed between puffy lids, his nose leaked a red -drizzle, his light hair was stained from a cut scalp and -full of dirt, his shirt was ripped to the waist and -crimsoned at the shoulder where Snake’s teeth had -sunk. But neither saw anything except the menace -in the other’s eyes.</p> - -<p>The same thought came to both—probably born in -the vindictive brain of Snake and involuntarily transmitted -by his look: the thought of the gun leaning -against the pack. True, it was “newfangled,” and -Douglas knew it was locked against discharge; but in -a fight a gun is not only a gun but a steel bar and a -club. It was behind its owner, and a swift dash past -him might make Snake its master. He attempted the -dash.</p> - -<p>Without the slightest preliminary movement he was -speeding past Douglas. But the latter was not asleep. -Pivoting on a heel, he swung a round-arm blow flush -under the passing jaw.</p> - -<p>The shock was terrific. Between the impetus of -Snake’s plunge and the body-drive of the punch, the -impact was more than doubled. The slugging arm<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -dropped, numb to the shoulder. Snake also dropped—numb -all over.</p> - -<p>His feet left the ground, and he straightened backward -in the air. Flat on his back he struck, arms at -his sides, legs stretched nerveless, head a little to the -right, blank face turned to the brush. There he lay -without a quiver of life.</p> - -<p>Douglas stood peering down, slowly swinging his -numbed arm at his side. Minutes passed. His breathing -grew normal; his arm lost its wooden feeling. -Somewhere a bird chirped noisily. Up from the unseen -chasm of the Traps idled a new breeze, bearing -the music of the far-off hammers. The warm sun -beat down on the two men. Still Snake Sanders lay -motionless.</p> - -<p>The swollen-eyed man above him trod tentatively -on a grimy hand. It gave no answering twitch. He -stooped, studied the face, put a thumb on the left lid, -pushed it up, and peered at the eyeball. Then he -stood up, unconsciously rubbing his thumb against his -shirt.</p> - -<p>“Well, Mister Snake Sanders,” he said grimly, “if -I were you and you were I, you’d drag me over to the -edge and pitch me off to smash on the rocks, most -likely. That’s what I ought to do to you. But I don’t -happen to be built along those lines. Just what can a -white man do with a reptile like you under such circumstances?”</p> - -<p>The problem remained unanswered, though he ran a -hand repeatedly through his thick hair and frowned -down at the body.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>“If I could only have hit you harder, maybe you’d -die of a broken neck,” he mused. “I’ve known such -things to happen. But I did the best I could, and -you’ll live just the same. The devil takes care of his -own, anyway.”</p> - -<p>Slowly he turned and walked to his pack. Deliberately -he got into the straps, wincing as the injured -shoulder came under pressure.</p> - -<p>“Must wash that place well when I reach the creek,” -he muttered, “or I’ll get blood-poisoning. Guess a -complete bath wouldn’t be inappropriate.”</p> - -<p>He settled the pack, gripped his gun, stepped to the -edge of the brush, and picked up his hat. Then he -looked again at the silent Snake.</p> - -<p>“On the whole, I think I have a good deal the best -of it,” he declared. “Your little copperhead trick did -me no harm, and I know a lot more now than if you -hadn’t tried it. Yes, a whole lot. As for damages to -our respective complexions and temperaments, I’m no -worse off than you; and in the matter of general condition -you’re certainly much worse than I. So we’ll -call it quits—for the present.”</p> - -<p>He plodded away. But after a few steps he looked -back with a hard smile.</p> - -<p>“Besides,” he concluded, “I was forgetting. Our -young friend Steve has some business to settle with -you. His account is three years old—maybe more—and -mine has only just begun. So you’re Steve’s -meat, Snake. Steve’s meat.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br /> - -<small>A MAN MEETS A MAN</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Along</span> the Clove road plodded a man with a battered -face and a torn shirt, toting a pack and a gun. The -face was not so much disfigured as it had been awhile -ago, for it had just been laved in the cold, clear water -of Coxing Kill; but it still bore obvious marks of -conflict, chief of which was a pair of puffy eyes ringed -by darkening discolorations. The rent shirt gaped at -every stride, disregarded by its wearer, who swung -along as if careless of the opinions of others. Judging -from his gait, he knew where he was going and -purposed to reach his destination before early sundown -should cut off the light from his ridge-flanked -road.</p> - -<p>Behind him, perhaps a quarter-mile back, another -man was riding in the same direction on the same -road. A big-framed, eagle-nosed, long-jawed old man -he was, with white mustache drooping around his -mouth and ragged wisps of snowy hair sticking out -from under his nondescript felt hat. His shoulders, -though humped up as he lounged forward on the reins -lying loosely along the back of a white horse, were -wide and bulky; and the gnarled hands holding those -reins were corded with sinew. Seventy if a day, he -still looked powerful enough to handle many a man<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -of half his years; and the direct gaze of his steely blue -eyes betokened fearlessness of heart, simplicity of -nature, and honesty of soul.</p> - -<p>Neither of the two men saw the other. Between -them intervened windings of the tree-lined road; the -tramping man cast no glance behind, and the one following -was not looking for him. Each in his own little -cloud of dust, the pair ambled on and drew steadily -nearer to a dingy house, behind which a man and a -woman were harvesting corn.</p> - -<p>At the swinging approach of the pack-bearer the -couple halted their toil and squinted at him. He -waved a jaunty hand. Neither of the harvesters answered -the friendly gesture. In slouching attitudes -they stood, wooden-faced, watching him pass. With -a careless smile he looked them over, then turned his -gaze forward and ignored them.</p> - -<p>Had he been let alone, he would have passed without -a word and speedily forgotten them. But, though the -couple made no threatening move, they had animals -which did. With a sudden bound three dogs appeared -from nowhere and silently rushed at him.</p> - -<p>They were treacherous-looking mongrel beasts, and -their teeth gleamed wickedly as they came. The man -halted—took one comprehensive look—stepped back -and lifted his gun.</p> - -<p>“Call ’em off!” he barked. “Call ’em or bury -’em!”</p> - -<p>A shrill shriek of command burst from the woman. -A sour snarl broke from the man. At the sound of -the shrewish voice and the menace of the gun the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> -dogs slowed abruptly. But they growled, and they did -not turn back.</p> - -<p>“Call ’em off, I said!” commanded the man behind -the gun. “When I say off I mean off! Drive them -back and tie them up!”</p> - -<p>Instead, the man advanced, muttering. His brown -face, of distinctly negro cast, was ugly; and he still -gripped his corn-knife—an abbreviated scythe, short-handled, -which would be a fearful weapon at close -quarters. The dogs, emboldened by his approach, began -slipping forward again.</p> - -<p>“You can keep back too,” the stranger warned. -“This gun is likely to scatter right at you. Take those -beasts away quick if you want them to live. I won’t -say it again.”</p> - -<p>“Shoot them dawgs an’ ye won’t git fur from here,” -the other snarled throatily. But he paused, and at the -cessation of his steps the brutes also stopped. The -woman still stood in the corn.</p> - -<p>Just then the white horse and its white-haired driver -came jogging around a bushy turn. The old man sat -up with sudden energy, involuntarily jerking at the -reins. The horse stopped.</p> - -<p>One swift survey the old man took. Then his right -hand shot to the whip-socket, and with awkward speed -he clambered out into the road.</p> - -<p>“Nat!” he yelled explosively. “Git them dawgs -in or I’ll give the hull pack o’ ye a-hidin’! Shoot ’em -if ye want, stranger—they ain’t none of ’em no good!”</p> - -<p>Douglas, his finger already tightening on one trigger, -held his fire and flicked a glance sidewise to see what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> -sort of man was coming. He found the old fellow -running nimbly toward him, reversing his whip so that -its heavy butt was foremost. At that instant the man -Nat, his eyes glinting viciously, hissed at the dogs.</p> - -<p>“Look ou-u-ut!” yelled the oncoming driver.</p> - -<p>In the nick of time Douglas turned his eyes back—just -as a dog left the ground in a fang-grinning leap. -The other two were crouching. The blond man jerked -his gun a little downward to meet the rising body. -The dog’s breast struck against the muzzles. Teeth -clashed in a fierce snap. From the gun burst a muffled -roar. The dog was blown backward.</p> - -<p>Under the impact of dog and powder-recoil Douglas -staggered. But he gave no ground and lost no time. -His second finger released the other hidden hammer at -an upshooting shape. In a crashing flare another -hairy form whirled over and flopped to earth.</p> - -<p>At the same instant teeth stung his left side. A -sudden weight on his shirt yanked him almost off -balance. Under his arm he found the wicked face of -the third hound. Then a black streak appeared on that -dog’s head, a resounding thwack hit Douglas’ ears, -and the beast dangled limp, held up only by its teeth, -which were caught in the cloth.</p> - -<p>“I told ye, Nat—I told ye!” panted the old man, -whose whip-butt had knocked out that third dog. “I -been tellin’ ye right ’long—— Git back, ye yeller -hound!”</p> - -<p>Mouthing an inarticulate oath, the owner of the dogs -himself was now jumping forward, face convulsed and -corn-hook lifted. Whether he was attacking Douglas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -or his aged rescuer neither stopped to ascertain. Both -acted. The empty shotgun jabbed for the assailant’s -face, the barrels crunching solidly against his forehead. -The whip-butt swung down with the force of a -blackjack on his crown. His eyes rolled, his legs -caved, and he fell.</p> - -<p>The young man and the old one swept their surroundings. -Two dogs were fairly blown apart. The -third still hung limp from Douglas’ shirt. The man -lay in a queer huddle, his corn-hook sticking in the -ground beside him, where it had fallen on its point. -The woman, shrieking with rage, now was running -at them with a similar blade.</p> - -<p>“I told ye, Nat,” the old man said harshly, as if the -fallen man could hear him, “if ye didn’t learn them -dogs manners or tie ’em up somebody’d fix ’em. I -told ye I’d do it myself the next time they come for -me. Ye can say g’by to this here one too.”</p> - -<p>Wherewith he clutched the dangling hound by the -scruff of the neck and, in one wrench, tore it away -from Douglas’ shirt. He flung it down, hopped up, -and landed with all his weight on the brute’s neck. -Under his heavy brogans sounded a crack of bones.</p> - -<p>“’Lizy, ye better hold yer hosses,” he coolly cautioned -the woman, now close at hand. “I don’t want -to handle ye rough, but sure’s God made little apples -I’ll crack ye one ’less’n ye drop that ’ere cawn-hook. -I’m a-warnin’ ye.”</p> - -<p>The thin-faced female, whose coarse hair and high -cheek-bones hinted strongly at Indian blood, screamed -out again. She burst into a torrent of vituperation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> -that brought a red wave across the face of the younger -man and a corresponding flush into the leathery cheeks -of his fighting-mate. But she made no attack with the -ugly blade in her hand. Standing over the huddled -Nat, her bony bare toes digging at the turf like the -claws of a cat, she vented her fury in language which -would have brought swift physical retaliation if she -had been a man. And the pair stood silent and took it.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll pay for them pups, Eb Wilham—ye’ll pay -dear!” she foamed at the last. “Nat’ll take it outen -ye! Him an’ Snake’ll fix ye—an’ ye too, ye sneakin’ -’tective! Ye mizzable pair o’ sneakers, ye better live -together an’ sleep together an’ watch out fer each -other now!”</p> - -<p>She bent and squinted at her mate. The two men -looked suddenly at each other. The hillman stared as -if seeing the other for the first time. The newcomer -stared straight back, taking his first comprehensive -view of the two-handed old fellow and realizing what -the woman’s threat signified. For a minute old blue -eye and young blue eye held straight and steady. Then -on each mouth quirked a smile.</p> - -<p>“If you’ve run out of words, I’ll say a few myself,” -clipped Douglas, turning to the woman. “If -there’s any more trouble coming from this it comes to -me, not to him. I never saw him before, and he -doesn’t know me. So you can tell your nigger man to -take it out on me. As for Snake, I knocked him cold -awhile ago and I can do it again. I’ll be around here -for some time, and anybody wanting the same dose -Snake got can come and get it. That’s all.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>He nodded to the old man and turned away. He -took three steps before Eb Wilham stopped him.</p> - -<p>“Hol’ on!” the latter exploded in the abrupt way -that seemed habitual. “I’m a-travelin’ your way. If -ye want a ride, set in. ’Lizy, git some sense. This -feller’s right—I dunno him. But I’m a-goin’ to know -him if he’s willin’. An’ as fur’s Nat an’ Snake’s -concerned, I been takin’ care o’ myself seventy-three -year an’ I figger to keep on doin’ it. What say, -stranger? Walk or ride?”</p> - -<p>“Ride, if it doesn’t get you into trouble,” Douglas -acquiesced.</p> - -<p>“No trouble. Snakes an’ yeller dawgs has bit at me -before an’ I ain’t dead. Chk! Hoss, g’yapalong! -G’yap, I tell ye!”</p> - -<p>The white horse, sedately cropping grass, took a -few last bites, and came obediently. His master -climbed spryly into the weather-beaten wagon and -rolled an equally weather-beaten thumb at the rear. -Douglas heaved his pack in behind and swung himself -to the seat beside the driver.</p> - -<p>The sharp-faced female screamed out with a fresh -burst of abuse. Old Eb’s mouth tightened, and he -lightly touched the horse with his whip. The animal -jumped in an astonished way and began slowly, heavily -pounding along the road. Woman, man, dogs and -house disappeared behind in a drifting cloud of -dust.</p> - -<p>“Ain’t no use listenin’ or talkin’ to a mad woman,” -Eb barked conversationally. “Ain’t no use into it at -all. Uh—right fine weather we’re a-havin’, stranger.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>“Right fine,” agreed Douglas. “Aren’t you worried -about riding with a detective, Mr. Wilham?”</p> - -<p>The keen eyes shot at him and returned to the horse.</p> - -<p>“Not a mite. I ride with who I want to. Folks -that’s scairt o’ detectives mostly has some reason to be. -I ain’t got no reason.”</p> - -<p>“Found—one honest man in the Traps,” laughed -Douglas.</p> - -<p>“That ain’t nothin’,” Eb retorted. “Folks is mostly -honest round here. Good hard-workin’ fellers. Don’t -jedge the rest of us by them Oakses. Or Snake Sanders. -Did ye say ye licked Snake?”</p> - -<p>Getting no answer at once, he took another survey -of his passenger. Douglas was staring at the road. -So the hard pair behind were “them Oakses”—the -parents of the catamount girl!</p> - -<p>“Er—oh, yes. Laid him out on top of that ledge -back yonder. Ought to have thrown him off. But I -didn’t.”</p> - -<p>The horse thumped out a dozen steps while Eb digested -this.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re right, stranger. Snake’s a bad ’un. Ye -must o’ had a hard tussle—Snake ain’t easy to handle.” -The shrewd eyes took in the battered face. “Up -top o’ Dickabar, hey? Hum!”</p> - -<p>He became abstracted. The horse jogged on, steadily -eating up distance. The silence grew strained.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Wilham, I’m no detective,” Douglas asserted. -“I’m just a rambler who blundered in here. My -name’s Douglas Hampton. I’m not after anybody, and -I’m staying awhile just because I like this country. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -don’t know who started this fool story that I’m a detective, -and I don’t care much. But now I’m here, I’ll -stay until I’m ready to go—unless I get starved out; -I haven’t much left to eat. That’s all there is to it. -Believe it or not. It’s true.”</p> - -<p>The heavy hoofs beat another measure.</p> - -<p>“I believe ye,” aggressively. “I know how ye feel. -I’m full o’ that same kind o’ cussedness myself. -There’s some folks round here that’s ignorant and -scairt of any new feller, and there’s some that’s got -reasons besides bein’ ignorant. I ain’t sayin’ who they -be; I ain’t talkin’ ’bout my neighbors even if I don’t -like some of ’em. But seein’ it’s gone round that ye’re -a detective, ’most everybody’ll believe it, an’ ye better -act accordin’—kind o’ go careful, I mean. Where ye -stayin’? Anywheres special?”</p> - -<p>“Up in the rocks last night. Thought I might find -a house I could live in down here. Know of any?”</p> - -<p>“Hum. Wal, we’re a-comin’ to a house, but I don’t -think ye’d want it. It’s—uh—kind o’ lonesome. Folks -says there’s some funny things into it. There ’tis -now.”</p> - -<p>They emerged from a tunnel of trees, and Douglas -looked at a house which he knew must be that of Jake -Dalton. It was at the left of the road, in a clearing -rank with uncut grass, behind which rose forest headed -by two giant pines. It was a little box of a place, not -more than twenty feet square; weather-worn, with -patched roof and tiny sagging porch. The small bare -windows gaped black and blank at the forest cordon. -The door stood ajar, as if the latest occupant had left<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -in haste. About it hung an air of abandonment, of -desolation, of forbidding loneliness.</p> - -<p>“Looks all right to me,” declared Douglas. “Not -very cheerful, but I’ll try it one night, anyway. -Whoa!”</p> - -<p>Eb drew the reins. The horse stopped. Douglas -got out and lifted his pack. The old man sat soberly -staring at the house.</p> - -<p>“I dunno,” he muttered. “I dunno. Stranger, ye -better ride on a piece.”</p> - -<p>“Where to?”</p> - -<p>“Um—I dunno. Mebbe somebody’d sleep ye. I’d -do it myself, but I’m a-goin’ to High Falls an’ I ain’t -comin’ back to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks. I appreciate it just the same. But I -reckon I’ll stop here for the night. Much obliged to -you, Mr. Wilham, for the ride, and more for helping -me against those dogs.”</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t nothin’,” was the hasty disclaimer. “Them -dawgs ought to been kilt long ago—I give Nat warnin’ -more’n once. An’ don’t call me Mister. I ain’t used -to it. ’Most everybody calls me Uncle Eb.”</p> - -<p>“All right, Uncle Eb,” smiled the other.</p> - -<p>The bright old eyes dwelt on him, and an answering -smile lifted the white mustache.</p> - -<p>“Gorry, ye look funny with them eyes all bunged -up,” chuckled Eb. “Snake’s got a hard fist, ain’t he? -I wisht I could been a peewee bird up into a tree an’ -seen that fight. It must of been good. Wal, son, if -ye can lick Snake mebbe ye can handle whatever ye -see round this house. I’ll stop here an’ visit with ye<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> -to-morrer, mebbe, when I come back. Shall I fetch -ye some food from High Falls?”</p> - -<p>“I wish you would. Lots of it. And some tobacco.”</p> - -<p>“Smokin’ or chawin’?”</p> - -<p>“Smoking. And for food get whatever comes -handy. I’m not fussy.”</p> - -<p>He drew out a small wallet. Uncle Eb waved it -aside.</p> - -<p>“Pay me when ye git yer stuff, boy. I dunno yit -what it’ll cost. I’ll git jest what I’d buy for myself. -Then if—if ye ain’t here to-morrer I can use it to -home. G’by. G’yapalong!”</p> - -<p>The hoofs hammered again into the sand. In a -fresh cloud of dust the rickety wagon rolled away and -was gone among the trees beyond.</p> - -<p>Douglas shoved his wallet back into its pocket and -stood a minute eyeing the little house glooming under -the solemn pines. Then, reaching to his pack, he -pulled from under its straps his coat. From that garment -he drew two buckshot shells. Coolly he reloaded -his gun.</p> - -<p>“I reckon I’ll be here to-morrow when you come -back, Uncle Eb,” he muttered. “Now, Mister Ha’nt, -let’s get acquainted.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br /> - -<small>THE HA’NT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sunset</span> stretched its long shadows again across the -Traps.</p> - -<p>Up on the heights, the light of day still was bright -and clear. But down in the bluff-bulwarked valley -of the Coxing Kill, a thousand feet lower than the -Minnewaska table-land behind which the sun was rolling -down in the southwest, the dusk was slowly shading -into dark. Already the air vibrated with the -swelling chorus of the katydids, scraping out their insistent -warning of frost which had not yet come; and -from every grassy space cheeped the lonesome dirge -of the crickets. Night was drawing on.</p> - -<p>Down on the diminutive stoop of a little house beside -the Clove road, a man stirred and glanced around -him with a frown. The steadily increasing clack of -the big green bush-bugs and the growing chill of eventide -had routed the thoughts which he had been drawing -through the stem of a blackened but empty pipe—thoughts -which, to judge from his absent gaze and the -half-smile on his lips, were more pleasant than those -now obtruding themselves. He shook his shoulders as -if to dislodge the night chill settling there. Abruptly -he stood up.</p> - -<p>His swift survey swept the little fallow field at his -right, where the black choristers of the grass were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -chirping away among the unseen roots; the narrow -sand-track of road, empty of all but thickening -shadows; the darkling mass of trees and brush at his -left. Then he pivoted and peered into the darkness -lying beyond a door which had been standing open at -his back.</p> - -<p>Nothing showed in the room beyond—nothing, that -is, which should hold the fixed attention of a man; -nothing alive. Vaguely, in the wan light still entering -through the cracked panes of a curtainless side -window, he could see a rickety table with one leg -broken, a chair minus a back, a little rusty stove, and, -in one corner, a jumble of small things recently -dumped from his pack. Along a wall which started -beside the open doorway showed the faint outlines of -three more doors, all in a row. And that was all.</p> - -<p>Nothing, surely, in such a scene need make this man -listen keenly and half lift the shotgun in one fist. Yet -he stood there for a long minute, searching the room -repeatedly, then centering his gaze on the first of those -three doors in the wall. That door stood open. And -the queer chill between his shoulder-blades was not all -due to the coolness following the sinking of the sun: -it was that clammy feeling inherited by mankind -through countless generations—the subconscious warning -that a hidden menace lurks behind the back. And -his ears subtly corroborated the caution of his nerves. -Despite the clamor of the insects, he could have sworn -that in the first room there at the right he had heard -a slight rustle.</p> - -<p>That room was the bedroom. It was a mere cubby-hole,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -not more than seven feet square, containing only -a crude bed and a lamp-shelf, both fixed. The bedstead, -which the new tenant had inspected and decided -to use, apparently had been built in the room by the -former owner; a solid contrivance of boards and hardwood -posts, with interlaced ropes serving as a spring, -and a noisy mattress of corn-husks. Head, foot, and -one side were snug against three of the walls, leaving -only a yard-wide space between bed and door. At the -foot was the one tiny window of the room.</p> - -<p>To enter that sleeping-closet, anything must go -through the door or the window. The window now -stood open, for Douglas had forced up its cobwebby -frame after sweeping the floor as best he could with -a stubby old broom found in the grass; but that opening -was within ten feet of his left hand as he sat on -the steps, and nothing could possibly have gone in -there without his knowledge. Still less could anything -have gone past him through the door. Yet he felt in -his marrow that something was there.</p> - -<p>With slow, careful shifting of his balance he stole -across the meagre stoop. Not a board creaked, not a -sound did his descending soles make. With the same -stealth he leaned against the door-jamb and inched his -head inside. At length, braced by hands against the -wall, he was leaning far in and peering through that -right-hand door. In the dimness beyond stood no living -thing.</p> - -<p>Until his arm-muscles began to ache he hung there; -and never a sound came to him from within. Yet his -nerves continued to deliver their warning. In that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -room where Jake Dalton had slept was <i>something</i>; -something besides the bed and the bare lamp-shelf; -invisible, intangible, but—<i>something</i>!</p> - -<p>He drew back and glanced around once more. The -dusk was drawing around the little clearing a closer -cordon of gloom; an eerie whisper came from the -pines, swept by a gusty wind; the throb of insects resounded -as before. Nothing moved. He felt for a -match. When he had it, he stepped heavily into the -house and tramped over to his gas-lamp, hanging on a -nail; turned its valve, shook it up, and waited for the -water and carbide to mingle and form the gas. In the -brief interval of waiting he watched all around and -rapidly reviewed his movements since opening that -window.</p> - -<p>He had explored the place, finding at the second -door a stairway leading into a dusty loft littered with -dead wasps; at the third, a room even smaller than the -bedroom, partly filled with stove-wood. Outside he -had found a well, in which the water seemed good, and -a little shed holding only a broken barrel or two, burlap -bags, an empty jug, and similar trash. Both door -and window had been open while he made his inspection; -but he had returned to the bedroom and tossed -his blankets on the mattress, and nothing new was -there then. And since that time he had not been more -than ten feet from it.</p> - -<p>The fumes of gas struck his nostrils. He lit the -match and touched it to the little nozzle. White and -bright, the flame lit up the place. He strode into the -bedroom.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>Absolutely nothing new was there. With a self-derisive -grin, he stooped and glanced under the bed. -The floor was bare.</p> - -<p>“Now are you satisfied, you timid old woman?” he -jeered. “What’s the matter with you, anyhow? Getting -nerves?”</p> - -<p>His words hollowly mocked him from the outer -room. With a disgusted snort he turned away. Boots -thumping defiantly, he clattered back to the three-legged -table, shoved its crippled side against the wall, -kicked the backless chair up to it, and set the lamp on -it. To the little pile in the corner he went, and from -it he extracted the dry remainder of a bread-loaf and -a paper-wrapped chunk of cheese. Then he returned -and sat down, hitching around in the chair to get his -back toward a windowless wall.</p> - -<p>“All the same,” he meditated, sawing off a slice of -bread with his jack-knife, “if I stay here long I’ll have -to make some improvements. For one thing, that bedroom -is too darned handy. Window opens right on -the road. So does the front door. No curtains on -any of these windows, no key for that door. With -Snake Sanders and Nat Oaks both thirsting for my -gore and undoubtedly acquainted with the position of -that bed—yes, I reckon I’d better move up-stairs or -something. No use in lying meekly down and inviting -a fistful of shot to come in and mess me up. No sense -in sitting here in the light now, either.”</p> - -<p>He turned off the gas-flow, set the lamp under the -table, and fell to munching his meagre provender.</p> - -<p>“However, I’m safe enough in that room to-night,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -he told himself. “Nobody knows I’m here except -Uncle Eb, who isn’t coming back until to-morrow—and -maybe little Miss Marion, who isn’t likely to tell. -There’s nothing in that room but imagination, and -imagination won’t keep me very wide awake. Ho-hum! -I’m going to sleep like a log this night.”</p> - -<p>He arose, dipped a cup of well-water from his -canvas pail dangling from a nail in a low ceiling-beam, -washed down his food, and reseated himself.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” he informed the loneliness, carving another -chunk of cheese, “this is my night to sleep. -Last night I sprawled between two rocks, and the night -before I lost a lot of repose watching those backwoods -detectives prowl around and spy on me from the -bushes down beside the creek. Things have been coming -right fast in the last three days. Before that I’d -never been inside that wall of cliffs over yonder. And -now I’ve killed a catamount, assisted at the demise of -three dogs, knocked one eminent citizen stiff and -helped send another to sleep; made two able-bodied -enemies and one potential friend—Uncle Eb—and -given love’s young dream a boost along the rocks to -a new hide-out. Oh, yes, and assisted an escaped -conv——”</p> - -<p>He bit off the last word, suddenly aware that he was -talking aloud and recalling the ancient proverb to the -effect that walls sometimes listen. Gloom now surrounded -him, for the slow-dying gas flame had sunk -to a little blue button on its nozzle. Rising again, he -tiptoed to the door and spied around. No lurking -form was near.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>“Guess that will be about enough talking,” he concluded.</p> - -<p>He drew back and shut the door. Stepping across -the room, he found the table, brought it over, and set -it against the door so that the slightest push from outside -would tip it over with a warning clatter. Then he -went along the walls, tested the windows and a rear -door—all of which were warped into immovability—and, -carrying his gun and the chair, retired to the -gloomy bedroom. There he placed gun and chair beside -the bed, and on the chair he laid matches. After -frowning thoughtfully at the open window he sighed -and closed it.</p> - -<p>Deliberately he undressed and rolled up in his blankets. -For a minute or two he lay reveling in his freedom -from clothing and the yielding embrace of the -crackling but comfortable old mattress. Then the first -grateful feeling of physical comfort passed. He lifted -his head from the rolled-up coat forming his pillow, -and turned his dilating eyes around. Over him was -creeping a feeling of oppression, of inability to obtain -air; and, worse yet, a panicky sensation that he was in -a trap.</p> - -<p>The blankets were snug and warm; yet that queer -chill was crawling over him again. The air was fresh -and clean; yet he opened his mouth as if stifled. -Around him lay silence and blackness, intensified -rather than relieved by the deadened chorus of insects -outside and the lighter shade of the window. He -turned suddenly on a side. At the loud rustle of the -husks under him he jumped half erect.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>A moment he poised; then he flung himself angrily -back.</p> - -<p>“You idiot!” he muttered. “You miss the stars -overhead and the little night breezes around; that’s -all. You’re in a house, and you’ll have to get used to -it. Go to sleep, you fool!”</p> - -<p>He shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe -regularly. But through his brain streaked the -thought:</p> - -<p>“<i>You’re in a dead man’s bed! You don’t know -what killed him! You——</i>”</p> - -<p>“Oh, shut up!” he growled aloud, bouncing over -on the other side. “What’s that to me? I’m going -to sleep!”</p> - -<p>For a few minutes he stubbornly held his position. -But he was lying now with his back to the open door -into the main room, and the creepy feeling at his -shoulder-blades became intolerable. He turned again. -But this time he made the movement deliberately, and -at the repeated crackle of the mattress he grinned. -After blinking at the dark a minute he relaxed, warm -once more at the back, his eyes closing naturally.</p> - -<p>Rapidly his fatigue asserted itself. With the muffled -lullaby of the crickets swinging rhythmically on, he -lost himself.</p> - -<p>Hours passed. He slept peacefully on, changing his -position a little at intervals, unconscious of his movements -or of anything else. Then, all at once, he found -himself up on an elbow, staring wide-eyed into the -dark.</p> - -<p>Something had moved. It seemed that the bed itself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -was quivering slightly. Yet there was no sound -near him—no new sound anywhere——</p> - -<p>What was that? There was a sound now—but not -in the room. It was up overhead—up in the empty -attic; a sound of muffled footfalls, deliberately crossing -the floor; a sound like that of bare heels going -quietly across the boards. It traveled to and fro, as if -an undressed man were wandering aimlessly. Then -it began to come down-stairs.</p> - -<p>A bump, and it stopped. Another bump; another -pause. Then two soft bumps telling of a couple more -stairs descended. It was the sound of a man stealing -quietly down, halting to listen for any noise below; a -man not deft enough to put his weight on his toes -and avoid the bump of heels. Yet the stairs did not -creak as they would under the weight of a man.</p> - -<p>Very quietly, Douglas moved over and found a -match. With the same stealth he opened the gas-valve -of his lamp. While he waited for the acetylene -flow he heard the heels reach the lowest step. He -listened for the stealthy turning of the knob and the -creak of door-hinges. They did not come.</p> - -<p>Cracking the match on his thumb-nail, he lit the gas -and shot its ray outward. Nothing met his gaze—nothing -but the table against the outer door. Softly -he lowered his feet, gripped his gun, and arose. Reason -told him no man could be in that attic; but his -ears positively asserted that a man had come down -those stairs.</p> - -<p>On his toes he drifted outward. In the main room -he saw no living thing. Quietly he set the lamp on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -the floor, its beam glaring at the stair door. With a -swift grab he turned the knob and tore the door open.</p> - -<p>Then, gun leveled, he stood and gaped.</p> - -<p>The stairway was utterly empty.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br /> - -<small>DALTON’S DEATH</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">A long</span> minute dragged by while Douglas stood -there, the drone of the crickets gnawing at his nerves. -Then he pounced at the lamp and bounded up the -stairs. At the top he halted and glared around the -attic.</p> - -<p>Nothing was there.</p> - -<p>The tiny windows at either end, heavily coated with -spider-webs, were shut as usual. Not a web was -broken. Nowhere, except where one little pane had -long been missing, could he see any opening into the -barren room. He moved about, and the boards groaned -loudly under him. They had not groaned under that -ghostly unknown.</p> - -<p>He returned down the stairs, and the steps creaked -and squeaked as he passed. He slammed the door -and went about the room, inspecting every door and -window. All was as he had left it on retiring. He -even glanced into the little wood-room. That, too, -was unchanged.</p> - -<p>“H’m!” he muttered. Pausing at the water-bag, -he gulped a drink. After once more staring around, -he returned to the bedroom.</p> - -<p>Back into his tumbled blankets he got. As the -strangled flame of his lamp slowly died he reached<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -to his trousers, dug out his watch, and glanced at it. -It was now eight minutes after midnight.</p> - -<p>“H’m!” he repeated as he lay back.</p> - -<p>For some time after the light had expired he lay -wide-eyed. No further sound came from stairs or -attic. In the solid blackness he discerned nothing. -At length he grinned.</p> - -<p>“Guess I’ve laid you for the night, Mister Ha’nt,” -he whispered.</p> - -<p>As if in answer, the bed quivered again. The feeling -was as if some man standing beside him had rested -a hand on the headboard—a barely perceptible tremor. -He had not moved a muscle. Nor, suddenly frozen, -did he move one now. He lay absolutely still, only his -eyes moving.</p> - -<p>Another quiver came. With it came a faint dry -rustle. Nerves and straining ears alike flashed the -same message: it was the corn-husk mattress now! -The movement, the sound, were beside him, almost -under him—as if a bodiless man were laying himself -down to rest side by side with the live one!</p> - -<p>With lightning speed Douglas turned and struck at -the Thing. His knuckles crashed against the old cloth -and its content of husks. Again he struck, this time -into the air. With a dive he launched himself at the -chair—clutched matches—scratched them. The yellow -blaze showed that the room was empty of all life -but his own.</p> - -<p>Scrambling out, he lit fresh matches and scanned -the floor under the bed. Then he wheeled and looked -all about the outer room. All was as before.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>The matches burned his fingers, and he dropped -them. Again blackness and vacancy engulfed him. -Groping, he found the bed and lay down. Then he -reached out, found his gun, and laid it beside him. -And this time he did not roll up in his blankets. He -only draped one of them loosely over him, and kept a -hand on the gun.</p> - -<p>“Come again, Mister Ha’nt,” he muttered.</p> - -<p>Only the monotonous chorus outside answered. For -a long time he lay waiting, his nerves gradually relaxing. -At length, still loosely holding the weapon, he -dozed away into slumber.</p> - -<p>He awoke as if struck by a blow. A heavy thump -had shocked him awake. Instantly he knew what -caused it. The table against the outer door had been -pushed over. The damp night air was sweeping in.</p> - -<p>His gun leaped up. Its muzzles licked toward the -entrance. One barrel vomited flame and lead.</p> - -<p>The flare of the explosion lit up the portal. It -stood ajar, but not wide enough to admit a man. Nor -was any man standing there. Outside was only black, -cavernous night.</p> - -<p>His ears numbed by the concussion of the shell, he -squatted there in the blankets, the other barrel ready -for instantaneous use. Presently his stunned auditory -nerves regained their acuteness. They told him something -that brought a new chill crawling down his back. -The song of the insects no longer swung through the -night. And out there on the steps sounded a dull, -slow <i>drip</i>—<i>drip</i>—<i>drip</i>.</p> - -<p>With measured beat that dread sound hammered at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> -his brain. It slowed, as if the first flow of falling -fluid were becoming choked—or clotted. Then it -ceased.</p> - -<p>Shuddering, he moved once more to the edge, groped -about until he found his boots, and slipped his legs into -them. Feeling again through the dark, he located his -matches. But he did not light one. With half a dozen -of the little light-sticks in his hand, he stepped stealthily -to the front door.</p> - -<p>Long he listened, hearing nothing but a weird -whisper of night wind among leaves. The air was -clammy, and in it was a wet smell. He began to shiver -again; but this time the cold was natural—the dank -cold of dampness. Feeling about, he found a leg of -the overturned table. On it he scratched a match, and -out into the uncanny gloom beyond the door he darted -the burning sliver.</p> - -<p>The stoop was empty. The thing he had dreaded to -find slumped against the wall was not there. Nor were -the old boards disfigured by any fresh red stain.</p> - -<p>Sorely perplexed, he ignited a new match from the -expiring stub. As he did so a new thought struck his -mind. Perhaps the dead thing was in the room, huddled -beside him. He yanked the match inward—and -found nothing but the capsized table, its legs wedging -the door.</p> - -<p>As the light died down a sudden soft sound made -him jump. It was a single drop falling on the steps -outside.</p> - -<p>With a new match flaring he yanked the door open -and strode out, angrily determined to find the source<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -of those soul-sickening drops. He had not far to go. -After one straight look at the steps he flung down the -match and laughed out in savage scorn of himself.</p> - -<p>The narrow steps were wet, but with nothing more -sinister than rain. The dampness of the air, the utter -blackness around, the silence of the insects—all told -of a recent shower. Even now the crickets were beginning -to chirp again. Somehow their sturdy notes, -which previously had seemed doleful, now sounded -cheerful.</p> - -<p>“You doddering imbecile!” he jeered. “It’s as -simple as daylight. A little shower just before you -woke up—a gust of wind shoving the door open—the -drip of the eaves for a minute or so. And you, you -hysterical half-wit—you shoot a harmless door and -turn into a knot of goose-flesh because of that! Who -ever told you you were a grown-up man? You’re -nothing but a scared-of-the-dark baby!”</p> - -<p>He drank in a deep breath of the sweet air and -nodded unseen encouragement to some lusty cricket in -the grass near the stoop. But, as he turned again toward -the door, he hesitated. Wind and rain could not -be blamed for the footsteps on the stairs or the sounds -and movements of his bed. Something urged him to -take his blankets and lie down outdoors, even though -the ground was wet: to sleep surrounded by the honest-voiced -crickets, unconfined by walls within which -stalked bodiless things.</p> - -<p>“No!” he growled. “Back to bed you go, and -there you stay. This is a fight to a finish, Mister -Ha’nt, and I’ve taken one round out of three, with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> -the other two drawn. I think I’ve got you on the run. -Now let’s see if you can come back.”</p> - -<p>With that he felt his way in, shut the door, kicked -the table negligently against it, and returned to bed.</p> - -<p>As he rearranged his blankets, heavy drops thudded -overhead. Rapidly the spattering impacts swelled into -a drumming roar of new rain.</p> - -<p>“Aha,” he nodded. “You’d look sweet out in the -grass now, wouldn’t you? By the time you got back -in here you’d be well soaked, and it would serve you -right. The Lord hates a quitter. Come on, Ha’nt. -I’m waiting.”</p> - -<p>He continued to wait. Steadily the rain pounded -on, varied only by slashing swoops at the window. -His eyes closed. His breathing slowed. The tumult -of the storm faded out of his consciousness.</p> - -<p>By and by he found himself drifting over a murky -waste of waters which swashed and hissed and gurgled -in sullen enmity. Above was no sun or moon or star—nothing -but a dreary void. Around was no life; he -was utterly alone in the desolation of plunging waves, a -derelict at the mercy of wind and tide. But presently -weird shapes took form among the billows—ghastly, -gigantic wraiths which mouthed hideous grimaces -down at him and reached for him with shadowy fingers. -They veered away before they touched him, and -a great wind blew them apart into fragments of mist -and spume. But they formed again, making more -frightful spectres than before, and stalked athwart the -waste, half seen through a roaring deluge of rain. -They began to yell his name, and with the shouts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> -blended a thunder of hollow blows. He tried to yell -back at them——</p> - -<p>He was in his bed again. Wan daylight was in his -opening eyes. The noise of falling rain was real. So -were the loud knocking and the calling of his name. -The pounding came from the outer door, and the voice -was that of Uncle Eb.</p> - -<p>“Hey, Hampton! Hampton! Speak up if ye’re -livin’!”</p> - -<p>He jumped from bed, shoved the table away from -the entrance, and pulled the door open. Uncle Eb, his -mustache drooping in a bedraggled wisp and his body -gleaming dully in a wet rubber coat, took a sudden -backward step.</p> - -<p>“Gorry, boy! Ye scairt me, a-snakin’ the door open -so sudden. I was about gittin’ ready to go ’long. -How be ye?”</p> - -<p>“All right, thanks. Come in. Wet morning.”</p> - -<p>“Mornin’? It’s ’most noon, son. Ye been sleepin’ -all this time? Mebbe—mebbe ye was broke of yer -rest, though. That it?”</p> - -<p>“That’s it. You were right—there are some funny -things around this place.”</p> - -<p>The old man nodded quickly, and his eyes swerved -to the door. Following his gaze, Douglas saw that the -panels were furrowed across by shot, and in the casing -beyond was a splintery hole.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t a mite s’prised,” was the guarded admission. -“But git yer pants on an’ don’t stand here with yer -shirt-tail a-flappin’. I got some tobacker an’ so on -into the wagon—whoa, Bob! a little more rain won’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -hurt ye after what ye come through—I’ll git it right -out. Snake on yer clo’es before ye git cold.”</p> - -<p>Yawning, Douglas snaked them on. By the time he -emerged from his bedroom Uncle Eb had returned -with a bulky box which seemed almost dry. Without -ceremony he tramped in and dropped the box with a -thud.</p> - -<p>“Thar she is, right side up with care an’ dry as -Nigger Nat—been ridin’ under a rubber blankit all the -way. Gorry, ain’t this a rain! It’s the line storm. -What say? Oh, four dollars an’ thutty-five cents. -Thank ye.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t thank me. Peel off your coat and light your -pipe while I get breakfast—or luncheon, or whatever -you want to call it. Why do you say ‘dry as Nigger -Nat’?”</p> - -<p>“Wal——” Uncle Eb hesitated, looking toward -the stove. “No, I can’t stop. I got to git ’long, or -the folks’ll think somebody waylaid me—I’d oughter -be to home now. Nat? Oh, that’s jest a sayin’ we’ve -got round here—‘dry as Nigger Nat.’ He’s one o’ -them misfortunit critters that can’t never drownd his -thirst, if ye know what I mean. He warn’t round to -visit with ye last night, was he?” He turned toward -the shot-scored door.</p> - -<p>“Not to my knowledge. Sit down a minute, and -I’ll tell you about my visitors. Yes, I had some.”</p> - -<p>Duty and curiosity struggled a few seconds in Uncle -Eb. Curiosity, of course, won. He accepted the chair -and some new tobacco, loaded a disreputable old pipe, -puffed as Douglas held a blazing match for him, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> -looked expectant. Douglas, his own pipe aglow, -forthwith enlightened him as to the happenings of the -night. He made merry over his various scares; but -the older man, his eyes soberly traveling from door to -door, did not echo his mirth.</p> - -<p>“By mighty, boy, I take off my hat to ye,” he -barked. “I ain’t scairt o’ nothin’ that walks or crawls -or swims or flies, an’ I ain’t soop’stitious nuther, but -I don’t want to live into no house where things walks -without no feet an’ jiggles a bed without no hands. -No sirree! I guess mebbe ’twas the wind that blowed -yer door open—must of been. But them other -things——”</p> - -<p>He shook his head and spat noisily on the floor.</p> - -<p>“I want to tell ye sumpthin’,” he went on. “I -thought I wouldn’t tell ye yesterday, so’s ye wouldn’t -git scairt beforehand; but after I went ’long I wished -I had, so’s ye’d be ready. I been worried ever sence. -Thinks I, if anything comes to ye into the night an’ -catches ye asleep it’ll be my fault for not tellin’ ye.</p> - -<p>“Wal, now, this house was Jake Dalton’s. He -warn’t a sociable critter, lived all by hisself, kind o’ -growled if ye spoke to him; an’ he used to go ’way for -days to a time—had sumpthin’ to do up back, mebbe—I -never ast no questions. But I drive up an’ down -’tween here an’ High Falls pretty reg’lar—I git my -mail thar an’ so on—an’ I know how everything looks -’long the way. An’ Jake’s door was always shut, -whether he was to home or not—’less’n he jest happened -to be comin’ out when I went by.</p> - -<p>“But one day I see this door a-standin’ a little ways<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> -open an’ Jake nowheres round. I didn’t say nothin’—I -went ’long an’ come back, an’ ’twas jest the same. -I kind o’ figgered about it, but then I thought mebbe -Jake was drinkin’ up a new jug inside here an’ didn’t -know ’nough to shut his door—he used to git that way. -So I went ’long. But about three-four days later on -somebody said Jake’s door was open yit, an’—wal, -some of us come down here to see what was what.</p> - -<p>“Jake was out back. He was the deadest man I -ever see. He’d been thar—I dunno how long, but too -long anyway. I ain’t a-goin’ to tell ye how he looked—I -don’t want to remember it too plain. But we couldn’t -see a mark onto him, an’ we dunno yit what kilt him. -But he got kilt sometime into the night.</p> - -<p>“We know that much, ’cause Jake was undressed—nothin’ -onto him but his shirt—an’ we found the rest -o’ his clo’es hangin’ on nails beside the bed, an’ his -shoes layin’ onto the floor jest where he dropped ’em. -He had got up an’ tore open this front door an’ run -out back an’ fell down an’ died. He was dyin’ when -he run out o’ here, too—he only went a little ways. -But what he was runnin’ away from—what had got -holt o’ him before he run—nobody knows. Nobody -but Jake, an’ he can’t tell.</p> - -<p>“That’s all there is to it, ’cept this: two-three fellers -tried livin’ here an’ they couldn’t. They heard them -same things that was round ye last night, an’ other -things too, ’cordin’ to what I’ve heard tell; an’ they -<i>felt</i> sumpthin’ that was worse’n what they heard. -They jest couldn’t stand it. So they took everything -wuth carryin’ an’ got out, an’ sence then nobody’s been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> -here but Dalton’s Death—that’s what folks calls the -thing that walks here nights: Dalton’s Death. I dunno -if—— Whoa thar, Bob, <i>whoa</i>! Back up!”</p> - -<p>He clattered to the door and plunged out. Douglas -followed, to find him grabbing the reins and halting the -white horse.</p> - -<p>“Got to go ’long, boy,” he shouted from the edge of -the road. “Bob’s a-gittin’ cranky, an’ mebbe he’s got -a right to. ’Tain’t fitten weather for hoss or man. -Come on up an’ visit with me any time.”</p> - -<p>He clambered in and turned to yell an afterthought.</p> - -<p>“Don’t leave yer gun here when ye go out. Ye -might lose it. Some folks ain’t scairt o’ Dalton’s Death -’ceptin’ at night. G’by. G’yapalong!”</p> - -<p>Blurred by the rain, he rolled away and was gone.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br /> - -<small>A SCRAP OF PAPER</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Singing</span> a sleepy little song, the waters of Coxing -Kill flowed lazily down their stony channel into a deep -green pool.</p> - -<p>A week ago, swollen by the deluge of the equinox, -the Kill had ramped and roared through this glen, -overwhelming both the shallows and the depths in -brawling, swirling flood. But now the tumult and violence -were past, the raw chill had fled from the air, -and under the soft sun of new October the pool had -again become its serene self: rimmed by vertical gray-white -rock, shadowed by shaggy hemlocks, reflecting -on its placid bosom the snowy clouds floating across the -high blue above—an exquisite little gem of sylvan -beauty which would have held an artist enthralled. Yet -it knew few visitors except the birds and the squirrels, -whose practical eyes saw nothing of its charm; for it -was well away from the Clove road, and few of the -denizens of the Traps ever wasted their time seeking -scenery.</p> - -<p>To-day, however, the little nook was not empty of -human life. At the upper end of the small chasm a -figure sat against the base of one of the hemlocks, -its bare feet tucked under the hem of a faded dress, -its tumbled hair glowing red in the sunlight filtering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> -down through the eastern tree-tangle. The little birds -and the wood-mice, moving about in their unceasing -search for food, paused at times to cock their round -eyes at that unwonted gleam of red against the bark. -But soon they resumed their activities, unafraid; for, -though they could not understand what the girl sitting -so quietly there was doing, they felt that she was a -friend.</p> - -<p>On her updrawn knees rested a slanting piece of thin -board, and on the board a scrap of paper. Her pensive -gray eyes studied the short vista down-stream, and -from time to time she moved a stubby pencil lightly -along the sheet, transferring to it new lines. Then, -with a frown, she would wet a finger-tip at her mouth -and rub out a line or two.</p> - -<p>It seemed to be an absorbing task, this marking and -erasing and studying, upon which she was concentrating -her whole soul. Yet it was not so engrossing as to -rob her of the senses which she possessed in common -with the tiny wild things around her. All at once she -and a king-bird which had silently settled near by and -a mouse under a bush and a chipmunk on a bowlder-top -did exactly the same thing—froze in the intuitive -immobility of the wilderness, looking northward. A -few yards beyond, a stick had cracked dully under -foot.</p> - -<p>Among the tree-trunks a moving form presently became -visible, advancing with no particular stealth but -with the quiet step of a man acquainted with woods -travel. The king-bird launched himself on soundless -wings and was gone. The mouse faded into a hole.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -The chipmunk whisked about on his tail and poised for -a lightning jump. The girl made no movement whatever.</p> - -<p>The man swung nonchalantly along the brink of the -rock rim, plumbing with casual gaze the clear water -below. Then he halted, his lifting gaze caught and -held by the red glint under the hemlock. A smile -lit up his lightly bronzed face.</p> - -<p>“Howdy, Miss Marion,” he bowed. “Are you -‘waylaying’ me?”</p> - -<p>“If I was, you’d be all shot ’fore now,” she retorted. -“I could ’most stick a gun right into your -mouth from here. Are you near-sighted or somethin’?”</p> - -<p>“Blind as a bat, I reckon. I can’t see a thing beyond -you, so I’m going to stop and visit until my sight -clears up.”</p> - -<p>She flushed and sat up straighter.</p> - -<p>“Are you makin’ fun of my hair?” she demanded.</p> - -<p>“Why, no. Certainly not. What made you think -that?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, everybody does. They say Nigger Nat don’t -need a lamp with my red-head there into the house, and -anybody that meets me onto the road says he thought -’twas a forest-fire comin’, and—oh, I’m sick of it! I -thought mebbe you wanted to be funny the same way -when you said you couldn’t see past me.”</p> - -<p>“No, no. It was a poor joke, but I didn’t mean it -that way.” He dropped beside her, laying his gun -beside his right leg. “Don’t let folks bother you. -Chances are that they’d give anything to have hair like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -yours—the women, anyway—but because they can’t -have it they make fun of it. It’s the way of the world. -What’s this?”</p> - -<p>His hand lifted the forgotten paper and board from -her lap. She snatched at it.</p> - -<p>“Gimme that!”</p> - -<p>“Not yet.” He jerked it aside and held it out of -reach. “Why, it’s a sketch! Let’s see—here’s the -creek, and——”</p> - -<p>She threw herself at him, her cheeks burning, her -hands struggling to seize the paper.</p> - -<p>“You gimme that!” she blazed. “’Tain’t no good—don’t -you look at it!”</p> - -<p>But he laughed and stretched his long right arm to -its longest, holding the paper a yard from her.</p> - -<p>“Now don’t get excited. I won’t hurt it. I like to -look at pictures——”</p> - -<p>She tore at his left arm, which blocked her like a -steel bar.</p> - -<p>“You—you—gimme that—paper!” she panted. “If -you don’t I’ll—I’ll scratch!”</p> - -<p>He shot a shrewd glance at her furious face and at -the slender, long-nailed fingers now poising in curving -menace. The restraining arm gave way suddenly—so -suddenly that she pitched forward. In one flashing -instant that arm had looped around her and -pinned her against him, her own arms blocked by his -body.</p> - -<p>“You little wildcat, I believe you would,” he -nodded. “But I really haven’t finished looking at the -picture. So behave yourself. Now let’s see—there’s a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> -hemlock—good, too! And the rock edge along—no, -that’s not so good. But still, I can easily see what it’s -meant for, and—— Behave, I say!”</p> - -<p>Writhing, wrenching, heaving, she was fighting like -a mad thing to break his hold and free her hands. His -arm only crushed her tighter. Tears of helpless anger -welled into her eyes. All at once her head dropped on -his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“There, don’t cry.” He loosened his hold. “I’ll -give it right—— Ouch!”</p> - -<p>Instead of weeping on his shoulder she was biting it. -He dropped the board and lurched upward, drawing -her with him. She lifted her head and laughed out -wildly.</p> - -<p>“Guess you’ll let me go now, won’t you?” she -taunted.</p> - -<p>His jaw set. His right arm, too, swept around her, -holding her loosely, yet close.</p> - -<p>“Think so?” he challenged. “Go on and bite! -Bite hard!”</p> - -<p>The blazing gray eyes burned up into the steely blue -ones. Breast to breast, body to body, they stood, their -eyes welded together. She made to move her head, -but the motion died. Still their eyes clung. And then -something happened.</p> - -<p>How, why, what it was neither knew—perhaps a -subtle opening of some hitherto unknown chamber of -the heart. But the fire died from the gray eyes, the -chill melted from the blue ones; and something else -crept into their unswerving gaze. For unmeasured -minutes the man and the girl stood in silence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>Then his arms slowly loosened. Swaying a little, -she stepped away.</p> - -<p>“I—you—nobody never hugged me like that before,” -she whispered, as if unconscious of her words. -“I’m—I’m dizzy, seems like.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” he muttered.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t,” she breathed. Wide-eyed, she stared up -as if seeing a man for the first time in her life: as if -some fairy wand had swept from before her a veil -through which she had regarded men as creatures little -more interesting than any other common animals. -“Why—why are <i>you</i> sorry?”</p> - -<p>He made no answer. His gaze dropped and rested -absently on the pencil-lined paper which had brought -it all about.</p> - -<p>“Why did you—let me go?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking of—Steve,” was his slow reply.</p> - -<p>Her face clouded. Her head drooped, and her -fingers intertwined.</p> - -<p>“Steve,” she repeated. “I see. I—I was forgittin’ -about Steve.”</p> - -<p>She sank down and sat with her chin in her hands, -soberly contemplating the passing water. He bent, -picked up the paper, and forced his mind to concentrate -on it. After a studious interval he nodded and -looked thoughtfully at the tapering fingers which so -recently had threatened his face.</p> - -<p>“Er—ahem! Do you know, Miss Marion, that you -have the rudiments of art? I’m no artist myself, but -I know a little about it. How did you ever come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> -to draw like this? And why didn’t you want me to -see it?”</p> - -<p>She looked up, but in a detached way. Then her -eyes returned to the creek.</p> - -<p>“’Most everybody makes fun of my pictures,” she -said, as if only part of her mind were talking. “I -dunno what you mean by rood—roody—what you said -about art. But I like to draw; it comes natural. I -git spells when I jest <i>have</i> to draw things. That’s -what got me throwed out of school. I’d draw pictures -and teacher would catch me and tear ’em up—and one -day I ’most tore him up too: I flew and scratched his -face, and I got put out, and that was the end of my -schoolin’. I don’t care. I don’t want to go to school -and work onto figgers and have ’em make fun of me -’cause my hair’s red and my pop’s a nigger and all. -I’d ruther go off by my own self and make pictures -into the woods and rocks.</p> - -<p>“There was an artist feller in here two-three years -back—they come round sometimes—and I watched -how he worked and tried to do like it, and when he -see what I was up to he laughed and laughed and—I -can’t stand to be laughed at! I thought you’d laugh -too, soon as you see what I made onto that paper.”</p> - -<p>He said nothing for a time. He pondered on her -work, studied her again, and sighed.</p> - -<p>“Too bad,” he thought. “She has real ability, if it -could be developed. And to think that she’s the offspring -of such animals as ‘them Oakses’!”</p> - -<p>Marion spoke again.</p> - -<p>“Down in the city do men say ‘Miss Marryin,’ like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -you do? I thought ’twas jest ‘Miss Oaks,’ or -‘Marry.’”</p> - -<p>“It all depends. If you don’t know her well, or if -you don’t want to, you say ‘Miss Oaks.’ If you’re -pretty well acquainted, so that you feel sort of friendly, -it’s ‘Miss Marion.’ You have to be real good friends -to drop the ‘Miss’ part of it. Unless, of course, she’s -only a little girl.”</p> - -<p>“I see. I dunno if I like ‘Miss Marryin,’ but -mebbe I do, too. It’s—it’s kind of respectful, ain’t it? -Nobody never spoke respectful to me in my life. It -makes me feel kind of growed-up. But I notice you -keep on sayin’ ‘Miss Marryin’ even after you—after -you hugged me jest now. And that’s only sort of -friendly, you say.”</p> - -<p>He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. -He did not know just what to say. He felt, too, that -no answer was needed—that she was musing aloud -rather than talking to him. A long pause followed. -Then she spoke, not of herself, but of him.</p> - -<p>“I hear you’re livin’ right ’long into Jake’s house. -Ain’t the ha’nt there now?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. He’s there. But I’m used to him now. -He never does anything but tramp around and shake -the bed once in awhile, and I sleep pretty well. How’s -Steve? And your pop?”</p> - -<p>“Steve—he’s all right. He’s into a good place, and -I see him every day. Pop’s same as usual—drunk -most of the time. But you want to watch out if he -gits sober. He’s p’ison mad at you, ’count of the -dogs. I’m awful glad you kilt them critters. They<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> -were always ugly and I was scairt of ’em. One of ’em -bit you, didn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Not to amount to anything—nipped my side a -little, but the worst damage was to my shirt.”</p> - -<p>She nodded, and went on.</p> - -<p>“Pop keeps a-stewin’ ’bout it. And Snake Sanders -is out now, too. Snake, he was all lamed up awhile, -’specially his neck—couldn’t hardly move it for more’n -a week. He says he fell down into the rocks.”</p> - -<p>She paused. He said nothing. Then she added: -“But some folks say he got licked by a detective.”</p> - -<p>With that she faced about, her eyes twinkling now. -At sight of his wide grin she laughed out.</p> - -<p>“Folks sometimes tell the truth,” he admitted. “But -what about Snake and your pop?”</p> - -<p>“Well——” She hesitated. “Snake’s got some -kind of a hold onto pop, and they’ve been together a -lot lately, and pop seems to be soberin’ up some. That -sometimes means trouble for somebody. I dunno -what’s up—I keep out of the way when Snake comes -to the house, ’cause I don’t want him pesterin’ round -me. But you better be careful.”</p> - -<p>“H’m! Pestering around you? How?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he wants me to go and live with him. And -he’s got a woman already—Lou Brackett. She’s been -his woman ’most a year. But I ain’t a-goin’. Pop, -he’d try to make me go, but mom won’t let him. She -hates Snake ’most as bad as I do.”</p> - -<p>Douglas gave a soundless whistle. Her matter-of-fact -statement jolted him. Then his face hardened.</p> - -<p>“Is he at your house now?” he demanded. “I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> -didn’t come along the road—rambled along the creek—so -I didn’t go past there.”</p> - -<p>“What you want to know for?” She swiftly arose. -“You keep away from Nigger Nat’s!”</p> - -<p>For answer, he picked up his gun and turned toward -the road. She sprang at him, grasping his arm.</p> - -<p>“What you goin’ to do? Tell me!”</p> - -<p>“Teach that snake to keep away from your place.”</p> - -<p>“No! Listen to me. That’s jest what they’d like. -You go trompin’ into there with a gun and makin’ a -row, and you’d git it—into the back! You keep out. -Let ’em come to you if they want, but you keep out -of Nigger Nat’s. You’ll only make it worse for me -if you go there—me and Steve too.”</p> - -<p>The last words stopped him. Frowning, he rubbed -his chin and considered.</p> - -<p>“Nobody knows I know you—I ain’t told,” she went -on. “Mebbe I might want a friend all to once, -and so might Steve. A friend that nobody knowed -about might be worth a lot. And till then, I’d git -’long a lot easier if pop and Snake didn’t s’picion -things.”</p> - -<p>Slowly he nodded. Again their eyes met and held, -and the frank pleading in the gray ones softened the -chilled-steel glimmer of the blue.</p> - -<p>“All right, Marion. I’ll mind—this time. But only -if you promise to come to me any time you need -help.”</p> - -<p>The tapering fingers gave his arm a quick pressure. -Then she stood back.</p> - -<p>“I promise you. Now you better go ’long—I’ve got<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> -to go home pretty quick, and I’ll have to go by my own -self. Go on up the crick, as if I wasn’t here.”</p> - -<p>He nodded and turned away. But he turned back.</p> - -<p>“Keep right on doing that,” he urged, pointing at -the sketch on the ground. “It’s worth while. You’re -doing fine.”</p> - -<p>With that he trudged away. The bushes quietly -closed behind him. The little mouse came out, the -chipmunk whisked in a yellow streak from somewhere -back to his bowlder, the creek sang placidly on. Still -the girl stood looking at the spot where the man had -disappeared.</p> - -<p>“He minded me!” she murmured, a soft glow coming -and going in her cheeks. “He minded me—and I -bet he’d sooner fight than eat. And he said ‘Marryin,’ -too, not ‘Miss.’ But—but Steve——”</p> - -<p>All at once she leaned against the hemlock tree. -And the mouse and the chipmunk stood still and stared -about, seeking a sound which blended into the gurgle -of the creek but was not of it; a new, sad sound which -they never had heard before. It was the sobbing of -a girl.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br /> - -<small>AT THE BRIDGE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the edge of the water, beside a little bridge -spanning the Kill, Douglas sat on a stone and leisurely -chewed at a sandwich. It was an hour since he had -bidden Marion good-bye and resumed his wandering -way up the stream; and now, though noon was not -quite at hand, he felt that this was the time and the -place to eat. The flat-topped stone was a comfortable -seat, the sun poured its welcome warmth around him, -the pure water flowing past furnished both drink and -finger-bath, and somewhere among the leaves a phœbe-bird -sang to him its sweetly simple little plaint.</p> - -<p>So, healthily hungry and pleasantly tired by his -morning ramble to this point, he basked and ruminated -as if it made no difference whether he continued his -upward course along the brook or stayed where he -was until dark. For that matter, it made none. He -was his own man and master, free to come or go or -start or stop as fancy decided; and if he should change -his careless purpose of the morning—to follow the -stream upward to its birthplace in high Lake Minnewaska—no -consequences would follow. What he -did not do to-day he could do to-morrow, or leave forever -undone. It mattered not, so long as one more -care-free day was added to his life.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>He knew, of course, that soon these golden days -must end. Just as the gray chill of November and the -ensuing cold of winter would presently terminate this -dreamy season of the harvest-time, so the necessity of -doing his share of the work of the world must eventually -drive him forth from the Traps and back to the -hurly-burly of the towns. But the bleak time of the -snows still was weeks away; and so, he hoped, was -the day when he must desert this wild corner of the -hills. Meanwhile, like the squirrels which roved about -in search of supplies to tide them through the bitter -time approaching, he rambled and gathered into the -storehouse of Memory many a mind-picture to feed -his nature-loving soul when he should again be walled -within the clanking city.</p> - -<p>Every day since the ending of the “line storm” he -had traveled the Traps. Time and again he had spent -an entire day threading his way over, under, and -around the myriad bowlders lying at the foot of Dickie -Barre’s precipice: some towering on end to the height -of their parent rock itself, bearing mute witness to the -terrific power of the ice of the glacial age, hiding -among them masked chasms seldom seen by human -eyes; some leaning together as if placed by the hands -of some Indian giant whimsically building a rock -wigwam; and countless blocks of every size and shape, -overlying one another at every angle, as if battered -from the face of the butte by the hammer of a mad -Thor.</p> - -<p>In the long cliff itself he had found gloomy caverns -and crevices which he did not enter, but which, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> -suspected, were by no means unknown to certain men -of the Traps. The days were too short and his progress -through the chaos too slow and arduous to devote -time to an extended exploration of those holes. So he -had viewed their exteriors with a shrewd smile and -passed on. And, though no sound from within those -gloomy portals ever floated to him, perhaps it was as -well that he did pass on.</p> - -<p>But he had not spent all his time in that labyrinth, -nor had he passed southward in it beyond the point -where his “catamount girl” had first cried to him in -the night for help. Then she had been coming toward -him from the south, and he felt that in that direction -was her little secret dream-cave, and that not far from -it the fugitive Steve now was hiding. Her secret -should remain her own; he did not wish even to -blunder into it by chance. Instead, he turned his -errant steps in other directions.</p> - -<p>Down the Clove road he had gone, visiting the Clove -itself—a flat-bottomed valley through which the Kill -meandered, and where old stone houses hinted at the -Indian days when every settler’s home must be his -fortress. Along the way, and in the Clove, he had met -men who stared with unmasked interest, answered -slowly and briefly when addressed, showed neither -friendliness nor hostility, but seemed relieved when he -moved on. Only one had asked him a question, and -that query was direct and personal.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re Hammerless Hampton, ain’t ye?”</p> - -<p>“My name’s Hampton,” he had answered. “Why -the Hammerless?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>A slow nod toward his hammerless gun had revealed -the reason for his new name. When he in turn began -asking questions the man had moved away.</p> - -<p>Now, ending his meal and dipping up a measure of -water in his tin cup, Hammerless Hampton smiled at -the memory.</p> - -<p>“I’m getting to be a sort of desperado,” he mused. -“That nickname sounds like Bowie Bill, or Derringer -Dick, or Six-gun Sam—h’m! or like Snake Sanders. -Hope the citizenry hereabouts doesn’t classify me -along with that reptile. I let him think, before I -punched him, that I was dodging the law, and maybe -he’s spread the idea around. I’d give a big shiny -quarter to know just what I’m supposed to be. I -know I’m a goat, but am I a black one or a white one -or a spotted one?”</p> - -<p>Downing the drink, he refilled his cup and set it -beside him on the stone while he loaded his pipe. Then -he looked at his watch.</p> - -<p>“Guess I’ll move in a few minutes,” he decided. -“I believe the schoolhouse is up yonder at the corner, -and the youngsters will be out soon and chasing down -here, maybe. But I’ve time for a smoke first.”</p> - -<p>He glanced along up-stream, under the bridge, as he -lit his pipe. Up that way led an unkempt road debouching -from the sandy track leading across the -bridge, and he decided to follow it part of the way. -Then his eyes lifted, and as they rested on the railing -above him they widened.</p> - -<p>Leaning on that rail, watching him, stood a woman.</p> - -<p>He had not heard her approach, but she was there,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -and seemed to have been there several minutes. She -was slatternly, frowsy-haired, olive-skinned, with Indian -cheek-bones and black eyes; garbed in a shapeless, -faded dress, and barefoot. Yet she was quite young -and not without a sensuous comeliness. Now, meeting -his surprised gaze, she slowly smiled as if she had -found her survey of him rather pleasing.</p> - -<p>“Howdy,” he said coolly. “Where did you spring -from?”</p> - -<p>Her smile widened, revealing the fact that two of -her front teeth had been knocked out.</p> - -<p>“Kind o’ caught ye nappin’, hey?” she drawled. -“Was ye waitin’ for somebody?”</p> - -<p>He puffed a couple of times before replying, meanwhile -observing that her gaze went a little beyond him -to the gun-barrels glistening in the sun.</p> - -<p>“Nope. If I were, I wouldn’t be sitting here in -plain sight.”</p> - -<p>She nodded with a bovine air of wisdom.</p> - -<p>“Tha’s right,” she agreed. “But what ye lookin’ -for? Ther’ ain’t nawthin’ along o’ here.”</p> - -<p>“Well, now, let’s see. If I’m looking for anything, -it’s for the place where this brook starts.”</p> - -<p>She regarded him with increasing amusement. -Then she laughed outright, her sleek shoulders quivering -as she rocked on her dusty toes.</p> - -<p>“I guess so. Yas, I guess so! A lot o’ good that’d -do ye, wouldn’t it now? Ha ha! Be ye findin’ any -cold tea up into the rawcks, mister?”</p> - -<p>“Up in the rocks? What makes you think I’ve been -up there?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>She looked up the road; down the road; at the -bushy track leading away behind her, up-stream. Reassured, -she laughed down at him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I hearn ’bout ye,” she declared. “Some o’ -them rawcks has got eyes into ’em, mister. Ye’ve been -up ther’ a-noseyin’ all around. Was ye lookin’ ther’ -for the place wher’ this crick starts?”</p> - -<p>Again she shook with laughter. Coupled with the -oddity of the missing teeth, her mirth was contagious. -Douglas grinned in answer.</p> - -<p>“Nope. Hunting a gold-mine. What did you -think?”</p> - -<p>To his surprise, she took the jest seriously. Her -black brows lifted and her wide smile faded. Presently -she nodded in that wise way of hers.</p> - -<p>“Ninety-Nine’s Mine!” she said. “But ’tain’t a -gold-mine, mister—it’s silver. An’ it’s fu’ther down -than the place wher’ ye been lookin’—leastways that’s -what folks say. But ye’ll be a long time a-huntin’, I -shouldn’t wonder. Why didn’t ye say so before, ’stead -o’ gittin’ folks all riled up ’cause they didn’t know -what ye was pesterin’ round after?”</p> - -<p>He stared, wondering whether she was making game -of him, and decided that she was not. A lost mine! -His blood quickened at the thought. But he kept control -of his face and smiled again casually.</p> - -<p>“You’re the first one to ask me what I was doing,” -he told her. “The rest of them decided I was a detective -without asking me, so I let them think what -they liked.”</p> - -<p>“Ye’re simple!” she scoffed. “If folks knowed ye<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> -was a-huntin’ the mine they’d jest laff an’ let ye go it, -but seein’ ye a-slidin’ round so quiet an’ not knowin’—wal, -ye can’t blame folks for s’picionin’ things. An’ -all to once ye might fall into trouble so hard ye’d never -git outen it.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe you’re right. But aren’t you wrong about -the silver? I thought it was gold.”</p> - -<p>She swallowed the bait whole.</p> - -<p>“Nah! Silver, I tell ye. I’d oughter know—I lived -into this place all my life, an’ I hearn the story many’s -the time.</p> - -<p>“Ol’ Ninety-Nine—everybody’s forgot what his real -name was, ’twas so long ago—he worked the mine all -by hisself an’ wouldn’t let nobody else know wher’ -’twas. Bimeby he turned up missin’, an’ he never -come back. But a long time afterward one o’ the -Injuns round here come to ’Lias Fox an’ ast him to -help him onto somethin’ he couldn’t do alone. ’Lias -he was pretty old, but he was strong an’ willin’, an’ -him an’ this Injun went up into the woods down -yender, toward the ledges. An’ when they got up -into the rawcks the Injun blindfolded him ’fore he’d -go any fu’ther ’long.”</p> - -<p>She paused suddenly and again looked up and down -the road.</p> - -<p>“An’ then he took ’Lias a-stubblin’ round into them -rawcks,” she resumed, “an’ pretty quick ’Lias lost -track o’ wher’ he was. But bimeby the Injun took the -hankercher offen his eyes, an’ he was a-standin’ beside -a big flat rawck like a trap-door, with another rawck -a-stickin’ up beside of it like a marker. Then the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> -Injun got a good stout pry, an’ they got one end under -the flat rawck an’ bore down, an’ the two of ’em -hefted up that rawck an’ wedged it. An’ under it -was a hole with some rawck steps a-runnin’ down an’ -into the ledge.</p> - -<p>“The Injun he went down into the hole, but he -made ’Lias stay out an’ see the pry didn’t slip. Pretty -quick he come up an’ tied ’Lias’s eyes ag’in, an’ ’Lias -had to let him ’cause he was old an’ the Injun looked -pretty bad. Then the Injun walked him out a ways -an’ left him an’ went back, an’ ’Lias hearn the rawck -go <i>bang</i> down wher’ ’twas before, an’ then the Injun -come back, an’ they went ’long out, with the Injun -ahead.</p> - -<p>“’Lias, he got so curious he nigh busted, an’ he -slipped the cloth up an’ peeked. An’ the Injun was -a-carryin’ two big heavy bars o’ silver. ’Lias, he -knowed then he’d been to Ninety-Nine’s Mine. But -he didn’t dast say nawthin’, an’ he pulled down the -hankercher an’ never let on. Bimeby the Injun stopped -an’ took off the cloth, an’ they was out o’ the rawcks -an’ the Injun didn’t have no silver—he’d laid it down -somewheres. He told ’Lias to go home an’ keep his -mouth shet, an’ he’d come back sometime an’ show -’Lias somethin’ that’d make him rich. An’ then he -went back into the rawcks an’ ’Lias went home.</p> - -<p>“’Lias, he waited years an’ years, but the Injun -never come back. ’Lias got too old to go huntin’ that -place, but he told his boy Tom ’bout it ’fore he died, -an’ Tom he hunted till he died, but he never did git to -it. An’ Tom’s boys, Will an’ Abner, they hunted too—till<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> -Will got kilt. A piece o’ rawck fell offen the -ledge an’ mashed him all up. Then Abner, he got -scairt an’ never looked no more—he says old Ninety-Nine’s -cuss is onto the place an’ no white man will -ever git that silver. Sence then ’most every man into -the Traps has looked, but nobody found it.”</p> - -<p>Her drawl was gone and her tongue flying fast in -the joy of retelling a well-worn tale. Now she suddenly -moved off the bridge and came slipping down -the slope toward him. He arose.</p> - -<p>“But ther’s somethin’ that everybody don’t know,” -she added mysteriously. “An’ that’s this—the place -wher’ the sun hits the wall fust into the mornin’, that’s -wher’ Ninety-Nine’s Mine is! Mebbe ye can find it, -mister—don’t tell nobody—but if ye find it ’member -I told ye. Will ye gimme some o’ the silver if ye find -it? I—I wanter git outen this place!”</p> - -<p>In the black eyes upturned to his were appeal, revolt, -wistfulness—and, as they continued to look at -him, something else. Unabashed, unmistakable, they -gave him the message that she found him very good -to look on; that he had but to reach for her and take -her. He stepped back a little.</p> - -<p>“I’ll do that—if I find it,” he assured her, repressing -a smile. “If ever I stumble into Ninety-Nine’s -Mine I’ll give you a full share of whatever is in it. -Now I think I’ll move——”</p> - -<p>He paused. She had started and thrown a scared -glance behind. From up on the hill sounded shouts -and the thud of running feet. School was out.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my Gawd—git in under the bridge quick!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> -she gasped. “I dasn’t be seen with ye—quick—let -’em git by!”</p> - -<p>She tugged at his arm, then jumped for cover under -the bridge. He hesitated, scorning to hide. But she -beckoned imploringly.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll git me into misery!” she quavered. “Don’t -let ’em see ye—they’ll stop an’——”</p> - -<p>He yielded to her importunity. Seizing his gun, he -bounded under the planks.</p> - -<p>The spatting feet and the childish voices rocketed -down upon them. The boards thumped roaringly, and -into the little tunnel drizzled sand from the cracks. -They were passing by——</p> - -<p>Then a boy’s voice shouted:</p> - -<p>“Lookit! There’s a tin cup!”</p> - -<p>Douglas glowered at the forgotten cup gleaming on -the stone outside. He started to move toward it, intending -to drive or lure the children away without -letting them peer under the bridge and find the woman. -But he was too late.</p> - -<p>Down the slope ran two skinny children, boy and -girl, to grab the prize. Their quick eyes darted under -the bridge. They stopped, and, for a second, stood -open-mouthed. Then across their faces shot a cunning -look. Upward they jumped again at top speed, -and into the road their twinkling legs vanished. And -out pealed their voices in malicious glee, screaming at -the other youngsters:</p> - -<p>“Hey! Oo-ee! Lookit! That ’ere ’tective feller -has got Snake Sanders’s woman under the bridge!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br /> - -<small>THE LAW COMES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Douglas</span> stopped, wheeled, stared at the woman. -In her face now burned dull anger.</p> - -<p>“Ther’ now, ye went an’ done it,” she droned. -“Wha’d ye go an’ leave that cup ther’ for? Ye fool!”</p> - -<p>“Are you——” He hesitated. “Is that true—what -they’re saying?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yas, it’s true ’nough. I’m Lou Brackett,” she -admitted sullenly. “An’ jest ’cause I stop to say -‘howdy’ ye go an’ git me into this! I’m in for it now. -Cuss the luck!”</p> - -<p>“You mean Snake will——”</p> - -<p>“Ah, he wunt kill me—I’m too handy. He’ll only -haff kill me. But ther’”—a spark of spirit began to -gleam under the black brows—“I can git the jump -onto him, knowin’ what’s a-comin’. I’ll keep the sadiron -by me, an’ when he comes I’ll——”</p> - -<p>She paused abruptly, a new and shrewd look flitting -over her face. All at once she smiled wide and rolled -her eyes at him.</p> - -<p>“I know what we can do,” she gurgled. “Don’t ye -want a good housekeeper, mister? I hearn ye live all -by yerself, an’ that ain’t no way for no man to live. -I can cook an’ sew an’ take good care o’ ye, an’—wal, -ye got me into this; now ye’d oughter look out for -me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>So taken aback was he that he stood wordless. She -moved toward him. He stepped away. A lucky -thought came to him.</p> - -<p>“I’m living with Dalton’s Death,” he solemnly stated. -“You couldn’t live there. The ha’nt walks every -night, knocking on the walls and——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say no more!” she quavered. “I was forgittin’. -Ye’re crazy, livin’ into that house! I’d ruther -stay to Snake’s.”</p> - -<p>Inwardly congratulating himself, he sought a line of -escape for her—and found it. Up-stream the bank -was thickly bushed for some distance, and, though the -voices of the children were not far off, they sounded -at a respectable distance. He pointed.</p> - -<p>“Go up there,” he directed tersely. “Get well away -and then hide in the brush. I’ll go talk to the kids—tell -them they’re cross-eyed. Oh, and listen—if Snake -acts mean ask him what he’s hanging around Nat -Oaks’ so much for. If you jump on him quick enough -maybe he’ll forget what he hears about this.”</p> - -<p>A vindictive glint crept into her eyes.</p> - -<p>“So he’s a-pesterin’ ’round ther’, hey? I’ll fix him! -I’ll——”</p> - -<p>“Get going!”</p> - -<p>With that he stepped out and strode up the bank. -As he expected, the children were grouped several -yards away, eager to spy but afraid to venture too -near the lurking “detective.” At sight of him they retreated, -ready to flee at the slightest threatening movement. -He made none. He had a better plan.</p> - -<p>“Well, what are you young folks jabbering about?”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> -he chaffed them. “Can’t a fellow take a smoke under -a bridge without your getting all excited about it?”</p> - -<p>They dug their toes into the dust, warily watching -him. He took a lazy stride, and they gave back instantly—though -they did not run. Pausing, he ostentatiously -puffed at the pipe still smouldering between -his teeth. The ensuing blue haze bore out his claim -that he had been smoking.</p> - -<p>“What’s this I heard about Snake Sanders?” he -pursued. “Snake isn’t there.”</p> - -<p>Behind he heard a slight splash. The woman was -obeying his command.</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t Snake!” yelped the boy who had seen -them. “Snake’s woman! Lou Brackett!”</p> - -<p>A mocking chorus swelled out, started by those -farthest back.</p> - -<p>“Under the bridge with Loo-ou! Under the bridge -with Loo-ou!”</p> - -<p>Another boy, growing bolder, added a further taunt.</p> - -<p>“Wait till Snake hears ’bout it! He’ll hop onto -ye! Yah!”</p> - -<p>“Yah! Under the bridge with Loo-ou!” piped the -chorus.</p> - -<p>The man’s teeth clenched on the pipe-stem, but he -kept smiling.</p> - -<p>“Hadn’t you better be sure you’re right before you -start tattling tales? What do you think Snake’ll do to -you when he finds out you lied to him? And what do -you think <i>I’ll</i> do?”</p> - -<p>The sudden hush and scared glances around showed -that the shot struck home. None wanted to incur the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -wrath of Snake Sanders. But the girl who had spied -the hidden pair—a gangling creature with eyes too -close together—snapped back at him.</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t no lie! We seen ye—me and Billy!”</p> - -<p>“Saw me, yes. But there’s no woman under that -bridge. Why do you yell out that there is? First -thing you know you’ll get yourself into trouble.”</p> - -<p>Another hush. The youngsters began scowling at -the pair who had screamed the news.</p> - -<p>“She is so!” stubbornly disputed the girl. “I seen -her!”</p> - -<p>“Now be careful! Want to bet on it?” He drew -a bright quarter-dollar from a pocket and held it up. -“Want to bet five cents against this quarter that a -woman’s there? Any woman at all. If you bet and -lose, though, I’ll make your teacher get the money -from you or give you a good hiding. Want to bet?”</p> - -<p>The half-score pairs of eyes fastened wolfishly on -the gleaming coin. The boy and the girl wavered and -remained silent. There might be some trick, and the -thought of a thrashing was unpleasant. As Douglas -intended, their failure to accept his dare increased the -doubt in the minds of the others.</p> - -<p>“You don’t dare to bet,” he laughed sneeringly. “I -thought not. Well, now, just to show you you’re -cross-eyed and didn’t see any woman at all, I’ll let you -look for yourselves. Come on, girls and boys. I -won’t touch you.”</p> - -<p>Still they hung back. He drifted slowly toward the -bridge, giving Lou Brackett every possible second of -time while seeming to urge the children on. On the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> -bridge itself he darted a side-glance up-stream. Nobody -was in sight.</p> - -<p>“Come on!” he snapped. “I can’t stand here all -day.”</p> - -<p>A bolder spirit among the boys edged forward. In -a minute all were coming. Douglas leaned carelessly -on the rail and grinned.</p> - -<p>“Look under, everybody! I want you all to see -that I’m telling it straight. Use your own eyes.”</p> - -<p>They tumbled down the bank, spied all around, and -came up laughing loudly at the pair of informers.</p> - -<p>“She’s gone!” yelled the boy. “She was here but -she run somewheres!”</p> - -<p>“Where?” instantly countered Douglas. “You’ve -all been watching this bridge every minute. How -could anybody come out without your seeing him—or -her? Now, you two had better go and get some -glasses. Then maybe you can tell the difference between -a rock under the bridge and a woman. If you -really saw a woman, why didn’t you bet a nickel -against my quarter? Because you didn’t see any. -Isn’t that right, youngsters?”</p> - -<p>His confident argument, poor as it was, clinched the -matter in the simple minds of those who had not seen -the woman there. They jeered at the spies, who were -sullenly silent just when they should have fought -back.</p> - -<p>“All right, go on,” Douglas waved them away. -“Only remember, if I hear any more about this I’ll -know who told it around, and—you may be sorry.” -This time he gave the sulky pair a hard look. “Now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> -run along. I want to finish my smoke without being -yelled at.”</p> - -<p>They went, still poking fun at their discredited -companions. For awhile Douglas leaned there, knowing -he was watched, and that while he was the focus -of attention the woman could move farther away unobserved. -Then he knocked out his pipe and sauntered -away, directing his steps up the open road toward the -schoolhouse.</p> - -<p>“H’m! That was a sweet mess, wasn’t it?” he -reflected. “Maybe that pair of little scandal-mongers -will keep their mouths shut, but I doubt it. However, -the rest of them didn’t see her, and she’s out of it -with a whole skin—if she has wit enough to get in the -first word when Snake shows up. Mister Ha’nt, up -to the present you’ve been a pest, but now you’re a -friend in need; you got me out of an embarrassing -corner quite gracefully. Consider yourself thanked.”</p> - -<p>Chuckling, he swung smoothly along between the -walls of verdure bordering the road, soon reaching a -sharp turn where the road angled off to the westward. -There stood the little dun schoolhouse, now temporarily -deserted. Along both sides of the steep roadway -beyond stood small houses quite close together. At -the nearest of these was a workshop, and before it -toiled an active little man surrounded by new barrels.</p> - -<p>Somewhat surprised by the sight of industry at this -lazy noon-hour, Douglas slowed his steps as he approached. -The man was obviously a cooper; and -around one stand of staves he was deftly looping a -withe hoop and locking it tight by notches in the withe.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -As Douglas halted he rapidly tapped the hoop down -into position, gave the barrel a roll, and stopped, foxily -watching the stranger.</p> - -<p>“Howdy, stranger,” he gurgled, shifting a lumpy -quid in one cheek.</p> - -<p>“Howdy. You look busy.”</p> - -<p>“Allus busy to this time o’ year—folks needs barrels -for the apples—keeps me a-hustlin’, yessir. But -lawsy, what’s the use o’ livin’ if ye don’t keep a-movin’, -says I. Might’s well be a stump or a rock, yessir. -Some folks’d ruther set and spit tobacker to a rat-hole, -but not me. I’d ruther wear out than rust out—I -can lay quiet a long time when I’m dead. Ain’t that -so?”</p> - -<p>“Right as a trivet,” the blond man heartily approved, -noting the keen features and the sandy gray -hair. “I’ll bet you’re a Scotch-Irishman. Am I -right?”</p> - -<p>“Wal! Ye hit ’er right into the eye, stranger—David -McCafferty—that’s me. No slow Injun blood -or Dutch into me, like some folks round here—I’m -awake, I am, yessir! Ye’re Hammerless Hampton, -o’ course. Hearn all ’bout ye, oh, yes.”</p> - -<p>His shrewd look dwelt a minute on the gun. Then -he shot a wary glance around. His next remark came -in a hoarse whisper.</p> - -<p>“Uncle Eb told me ’bout ye. Fine old feller, Uncle -Eb. Been to see him yit?”</p> - -<p>“No. Haven’t seen him since the line storm. I’ve -been rambling around. Why?”</p> - -<p>“Wal, go an’ see him now, if ye ain’t got nothin’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -else onto yer hands. He’d oughter be to home pretty -quick—he went out bee-huntin’ to-day early. Soon’s -ye see him tell him Davy says this: there’s two -strangers a-snoopin’ round—come in from the Gap -this mornin’—I seen ’em slide into the brush down -yender by the schoolhouse, an’ they ain’t come back. -Jest tell him that. He’ll know what I mean.”</p> - -<p>Douglas turned, looked at the road behind, let his -eyes rove in the direction the strangers must have -taken, and found himself looking at the wall of Dickie -Barre—where Steve probably was hiding. He scowled -and unconsciously shifted his gun. A subdued chuckle -brought his glance back to David, who now was agrin.</p> - -<p>“Guess ye think like I do, Hammerless,” he added -with a swift wink. “Anyways, if ye see Uncle Eb -’fore I do, tell him. I been hopin’ he might come -back along o’ here, but nobody knows where he’ll -travel to when he gits a-goin’.”</p> - -<p>“Which is his house?”</p> - -<p>“’Bout haff a mile ’long—on the left, beyend the -second turn—yeller house facin’ Dickabar—the onliest -yeller house on the <i>left</i> side o’ the road. G’by.”</p> - -<p>He dived at his work again, with a back jerk of the -head to urge his messenger on. Douglas swung away -with long strides.</p> - -<p>At the other houses along his way faces looked out -from windows as he passed and heads jutted from -doorways when he had gone by, but he did not see -them. His gaze ranged ahead, seeking a yellow house -on the left. His thoughts were a complex of puzzlement -over McCafferty’s cryptic last utterances and of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> -worriment for Steve. He did not reflect on the fact -that Steve was an escaped convict: he thought of him -only as a hunted victim of the machinations of Snake -Sanders and as the wild young sweetheart of Marion, -and he resented the coming of men who might be -human bloodhounds trailing the unlucky youth. And, -though he wondered why honest Uncle Eb should -need a warning of the presence of those newcomers, -he dismissed the enigma with the guess that this was -only a part of the “underground telegraph” system -of the Traps, whereby its citizens, good or bad, learned -news which might or might not concern them vitally.</p> - -<p>Though he did not realize it, he was responding to -his environment. The mysterious undercurrent of -things unseen, half-guessed—of whispers and winks -and silences—of secret movements in the jungly brush -and the labyrinth of stones—was eddying around his -straightforward nature and deflecting him into the -channel where, in time, he might become an integral -part of the walled-in stream of life revolving about the -bowl. Whether he should ride on the surface of that -stream, whether he should float below it like a submerged -snag, whether he should suddenly drop to the -bottom and be forever lost, only time could tell. But -the current was working, and he was drifting with it -unawares.</p> - -<p>Less than a month ago, as Douglas Hampton, newspaperman, -he had had a friendly nod and a smile for -every blue-coated patrolman he happened to meet. In -his own neighborhood he had known personally every -“cop,” and some of the plain-clothes “dicks” as well;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -and many a time in the dead hours of night, when his -own work was done and policemen had little to do but -patrol vacant beats, he had stood long in some shadowy -corner and yarned with a lonesome guardian of the -law. “A fine bunch of fellows,” had been his opinion -of them then. Yet now, as Hammerless Hampton, -his mental reaction to the hint of the arrival of man-trackers -was instinctively hostile; hostile, though he -himself still was almost universally regarded as a detective. -Yes, he was drifting.</p> - -<p>But he was not to drift long. The time was close -at hand when, in his own mind at least, he must align -himself with or against the forces of the law. In -fact, every stride he took was narrowing the distance -between him and that decision. When he turned into -the little dooryard of the only yellow house on the -left, he was within ear-shot of the growling voice of -the Law. And when he tramped noisily up the steps -and looked through the open door at the top he looked -squarely into the eyes of the Law itself.</p> - -<p>Beyond that door stood three men. One, his hat -askew on his silvery hair, was Uncle Eb. The other -two, beefy, red-faced, regarding the newcomer with -cold eyes, were obviously outsiders. The civilian -clothing and blunt-toed shoes, the chilled-steel stare, -the untanned hands hovering on a level with the lowest -buttons of their vests, the significant bump bulging the -coat of the nearer man—over the right rear pocket—all -told the same tale to Hampton’s quick survey.</p> - -<p>There was no guesswork about it this time. The -Law was in the Traps.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br /> - -<small>THE CODE OF THE HILLS</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Standing</span> there in the doorway, Douglas watched -the eyes of the two strangers shift rapidly over him, -taking him in from clean-shaven face to laced boots, -then returning to the shotgun under his arm. With a -cool nod to them, he turned to Uncle Eb—and surprised -in the old man’s countenance a look of mingled -anxiety and hope.</p> - -<p>“Howdy, Uncle Eb,” he said casually. “Thought -I’d drop in a minute and smoke a pipe. Didn’t know -you had company.”</p> - -<p>“Come in! Come right in, son!” The explosive -voice was even more abrupt than usual. “Where ye -been all the time? I been by yer house twice—stopped -to see ye—but ’twas all empty like. I was scairt the -ha’nt might o’ got ye. These fellers—I dunno ’em—they -ain’t no comp’ny o’ mine. I jest got home—been -bee-huntin’—found a good tree, too—bet ther’s a good -fifty pound o’ honey into it—these fellers was jest -a-comin’ into the yard when I come.”</p> - -<p>The jerky sentences, the strained look, told Douglas -that Uncle Eb—Uncle Eb, who had previously asserted -that he had no reason to fear detectives—was nervous. -Now he thought he caught a meaning flutter of one -white-lashed lid and a sidewise flicker of the eyes. -But he could not interpret the signal—was not even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> -sure it was so intended. So he only nodded carelessly.</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh. I’ve been rambling around, or I’d have -seen you sooner. Did you get that tobacco for me at -High Falls?”</p> - -<p>The question was a blind for the benefit of the -listening pair. He had given Uncle Eb no commission -to bring him more tobacco, and his present stock was -more than ample. But the old man snatched instantly -at the hint.</p> - -<p>“Yas—yas, I did, boy. It’s into my bedroom—I’ll -git it. But I dunno if I got what ye want. Ye didn’t -tell me what kind, so I got two. Come pick what ye -want, an’ I’ll keep t’other for myself.”</p> - -<p>He lumbered into another room, Douglas lounging -after. The two strangers made slight movements as -if to follow, then remained where they were. Uncle -Eb had left the door wide open, and the watchers saw -that he was taking tobacco cans from the top of an old-fashioned -chest of drawers: yellow cans and blue ones.</p> - -<p>“They’re both slice-cuts,” rattled the old man. -“Some likes one, some wants t’other. Take yer pick.”</p> - -<p>Douglas, holding a can in each hand as if considering, -knew by their lightness that no tobacco remained -in them. They were old tins, saved by the thrifty -hillman for any use that might occur to him. He slid -a cornerwise glance at Eb.</p> - -<p>“Or take both kinds if ye want—I’ve got some -more.” Then, hardly moving his lips, the old man -breathed: “Steve in barn—go tell him hide in hay!”</p> - -<p>Douglas repressed a start. So that was it! Uncle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -Eb, loyal to his people though honest in his own life, -was sheltering the refugee. And he, Hampton, who -previously had had only a passive hand in aiding the -fugitive, now must act either to help or to outwit the -heavy-handed Law standing beyond the doorway.</p> - -<p>According to the smug dictum of all self-righteous -society, his duty was plain: to inform the waiting -police that an escaped convict lurked within a stone’s -throw. What matter if he thereby involved Uncle Eb -as an accomplice? What though he tore the heart of -a girl and threw a boy back into a living tomb? A -convict was a convict, duly sentenced by judicial authority, -and those who connived to defeat that authority -must suffer the consequences. And the girl—what -is a girl’s grief to the Law?</p> - -<p>Such was the code of Respectability. Confronting -it was the code of the hills, which this old man was -instinctively obeying; the code of natural justice, far -more ancient and human than the chain-clanking machinery -of legislature and court and prison: <i>Stand by -your own!</i> On either side of Douglas Hampton they -towered, stark and hard as the two great walls of the -Traps; and he must either swing on in the Traps -current or turn and fight against it.</p> - -<p>To a worshipper of codes, the choice might have -come hard. To this man it was hardly even a matter -for choice. He had his own instinctive code, and -backbone enough to follow it through. And now he -gave no thought to the beliefs and traditions of either -the great world without or the little world within the -mountain bowl. He saw only the desperate face of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -Steve, heard only the lad’s vehement denial of guilt. -And he spent no time in pondering over his course.</p> - -<p>Not more than five seconds passed between Uncle -Eb’s whisper and his first move. He nodded, slid the -empty cans into separate pockets, and turned doorward.</p> - -<p>“Thanks. I’ll try ’em both out,” he said. “Pay -you the next time I see you. That all right?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, sure, that’s all right—any time, son, any -time. Mebbe I’ll be drivin’ down your way to-morrer, -or anyways the next day—I might go after the honey -to-morrer. Want to set in an’ eat ’fore ye go? I -ain’t much good of a cook, an’ Marthy an’ Becky ain’t -to home to-day—they went a-visitin’—but I got to fix -up sumpthin’ for myself, an’——”</p> - -<p>“No, I’ll be going. Had my lunch just a little while -ago.”</p> - -<p>“Wal, g’by. Which way ye goin’—up back? Wal, -say, do sumpthin’ for me. Throw down a jag o’ hay -to the hoss when ye go ’long. Much ’bliged.”</p> - -<p>Douglas nearly grinned at the old man’s adroitness -in thus openly turning him toward the barn. But he -kept his face expressionless and, with a nod both to -Uncle Eb and to the silent man-hunters, loafed toward -the exit. Then one of the sinister pair moved and -spoke.</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute,” he commanded bruskly. “What -you carryin’ that gun for? This ain’t huntin’ season.”</p> - -<p>“No?” was the careless retort. “It’s always hunting -season—for foxes and other vermin.”</p> - -<p>The second bristled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>“Whatcha mean by voimin?” he growled.</p> - -<p>Douglas turned an amused face to him.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Brooklyn!” he laughed. “This is the foist -time I’ve hoid that Sands-Street accent since I came -up here. How’s your thoist?”</p> - -<p>The first grinned at the mimicry of his mate. The -second, though he still looked truculent, blinked.</p> - -<p>“Takes an oily boid to catch a woim up here,” -gibed the blond man. “But who’s the woim? I -haven’t hoid of any squoiming around on this toif.”</p> - -<p>Whereat the first man chuckled and the second -turned brick-color.</p> - -<p>“Whatcha mean by that stuff?” he rasped. -“How’d ya git the idear I was lookin’ for anybody? -You know too much, you do. Come on, now, I guess -me and you’ll have a little talk. And you can lay that -gun down on the floor, see?”</p> - -<p>Douglas laughed derisively.</p> - -<p>“I know I can—but I won’t. Just go easy, Mister -Bull, and don’t monkey with the works. You’re talking -to a big-town boy now, and that stuff doesn’t go. -And if you think you’re disguised so that I can’t spot -you, think again. Those flatfoot shoes are a dead -give-away, not to mention your hip-bump and your -cop face.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah? Guess you’re in the habit of watchin’ for -them things, hey? And whatcha doin’ up here, my -fine boid? Kind of a funny place for a big-town boy -to hang out, ain’t it, huh? What was the last name -you went by?”</p> - -<p>He was moving, almost imperceptibly, to get Douglas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -between him and his companion. The blond man -foiled the attempt by taking one swift side-step and -getting his back to the open doorway.</p> - -<p>“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” he advised wearily. -“You can’t scare me that way in a year of Sundays. -Just to satisfy you—though it’s none of your business—I’m -Hampton, of the New York <i>Whirl</i>, up here on -a vacation. If you get too obstreperous, Mister Man, -I can give you a lovely write-up when I get back to -town—that kind that may let you out of your job. -Go easy.”</p> - -<p>The other halted where he was. The name of the -<i>Whirl</i> and the thinly veiled threat coupled with it -stopped him dead; for it conjured up the vision -dreaded by every officer, even though he may affect to -scoff at it—the possibility of being held up to scorn in -the public prints. He understood now why this fellow -refused to be bulldozed, why he laughed in his face—he -was “one o’ them newspaper guys,” than whom -there is no more nervy and disrespectful tribe on -earth; whose friendship is worth much to any police -officer, and whose enmity is not to be lightly incurred. -Naturally, he did not know that Hampton was no -longer connected with newspaperdom.</p> - -<p>“You on the <i>Whoil</i>?” he growled, a crafty light in -his eyes. “Who’s city editor there now?”</p> - -<p>“Chapman, of course. Same old grouch he always -was, too.”</p> - -<p>The other nodded grudgingly. City Editor Chapman -was known far and wide in both newspaper and -police circles for his uncanny news ability and his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -vitriolic temper. This fellow’s knowledge of Chapman -and his impudent assurance carried conviction.</p> - -<p>“All right, Hampton. Guess you’re O. K. Know -this fella?” He nodded toward Uncle Eb.</p> - -<p>“Sure. He’s as honest as they make ’em. What -are you fellows in here for? Got anything good?”</p> - -<p>“Nope—nothin’ you’d want,” was the hasty cover-up. -“I ain’t woikin’ in the big town now—this is a -little up-river stuff. Me and my pal’s jest lookin’ -round for some small-fry. Don’t let us keep ya. So -long.”</p> - -<p>Douglas laughed openly. The burly man now was -even more anxious to be rid of him than he was to go -to the barn.</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right. Let’s see, who did you say you -were? And from where?”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t say. So long, fella. So long.”</p> - -<p>He turned his back squarely on his questioner. The -other man, who had been searchingly watching -Douglas, now directed his gaze elsewhere and also -turned an aloof shoulder to him. Douglas shot a wink -at Uncle Eb and strolled out.</p> - -<p>“G’by, son,” called the old man. “Don’t forgit the -hoss.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sure. I’ll fix him up. See you later.”</p> - -<p>With lazy step he sauntered up to the little yellow -barn, whose sliding door stood open a few inches. -Once inside, he dropped his languid air in a flash.</p> - -<p>“Steve!” he called softly, peering around. -“Steve!”</p> - -<p>No answer came. In a dark stall a horse moved and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -stamped. Somewhere down below sounded the grunts -of hogs which had heard his steps. But of human -movement, of human voice, there was no sign.</p> - -<p>“Steve!” he whispered loudly. “Where are you? -Get into the hay! Quick!”</p> - -<p>Again there was no sound. But movement came. -Under a stair-flight leading aloft in the dimmest corner, -something slipped cautiously into sight—first an -ear, then a cheek, then a peeping eye. It hung there, -waist-high, watching the man go squinting into the -stalls and around him.</p> - -<p>“Steve! This is Hamp! Uncle Eb says——”</p> - -<p>“Awright!”</p> - -<p>The whispered reply, hoarse and penetrating, cut -short his speech and turned him stairward. The eye -became two, and the face rose as if the concealed -youth were getting up from his knees.</p> - -<p>“What’s he say?” demanded Steve.</p> - -<p>“Get into the hay! Two bulls are here—in the -house—may come here any minute—get under cover -quick.”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh.” Steve darted forth. “I seen ’em. -Figgered I better hide into this ’ere hole an’ mebbe -duck out if they went up ’bove. Would of skipped -outen here, but the side house-winder looks right to -the barn an’ I ’spicioned they’d see me.”</p> - -<p>He was already on his way upward. Douglas followed -close behind. They emerged into a small hay-loft, -crammed with the season’s crop of horse-fodder. -At each end, high up in the peak but now level with -the piled hay, a small window let in light. In<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> -that light the two stood an instant looking at each -other.</p> - -<p>Though the desperate look of the hunted still was on -the fugitive’s face, he looked far better than when -Douglas had carried him into the den among the -bowlders. Then he had been wan, pinched, utterly -exhausted. Now his cheeks were more round, his eyes -unrimmed by blue crescents, his swarthy skin tinged -by healthy color. Food and sleep in plenty had transformed -him from a hatchet-faced wreck to a not unhandsome -young man. But the hard set of the mouth -and the glitter of the dark eyes still were there.</p> - -<p>“I’ll never go back!” he whispered fiercely. “I -had three years o’ misery—for a job I never done—an’ -them dicks wunt git me back. I’ll kill ’em—I’ll -git shot—I’ll jump offen the ledges an’ bust my neck—anythin’—but -I ain’t a-goin’ back! An’ I got to git -Snake ’fore anybody gits me. I—— <i>Shuh!</i> What’s -that? They comin’?”</p> - -<p>He bounded up on the great mound and peered out. -Douglas flashed a glance around. His eyes halted on -the other window—the rear one. It was open.</p> - -<p>“They’re a-comin’! They’re a-going to look round -into here! I got to git under!”</p> - -<p>Outside sounded Uncle Eb’s loud voice, angrily protesting -against search of his premises. The two man-trailers -were stonily silent.</p> - -<p>“No!” decided Douglas. “If they’re suspicious -they’ll look in the hay. You get outside! Through -that window—I’ll steady you—swing up over the eaves -and hug the roof. And lie quiet!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>Steve, with the ruthless Law almost upon him, -blindly obeyed. Across to the rear window they -plunged over the hay. The boy wriggled through the -opening, turned his face inward, reached for the eaves -above. Douglas braced himself, grasped the bare -ankles, heaved upward. A clawing sound above—a -spasmodic kick—a squirming struggle—the legs broke -free and vanished. Followed a soft bump or two, a -short scraping sound—and silence.</p> - -<p>“I tell ye, ye ain’t got no right into my place without -a search warrant!” stormed Uncle Eb below. “I -ain’t got nothin’ to hide, but I got the same rights any -other honest man’s got. Show yer warrant! I forbid -ye into this place!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, call in yer lawyer and we’ll talk to him,” -sounded the sneering answer. “Go sit down and hold -yer head. We won’t damage nothin’. Looks bad, too, -you gittin’ so woiked up when you got nothin’ to hide. -Hey, Ward?”</p> - -<p>Douglas reached down and rapidly loosened the -lacing of one boot. Then he went back across the -hay and sat down. At once a heavy foot sounded on -the stairs.</p> - -<p>“Hey, up there! You, Hampton?”</p> - -<p>“Right both times—there’s hay up here, and I’m -Hampton,” drawled the man above.</p> - -<p>“Huh! Bill, go up and take a look. I’ll see that -nothin’ slides out down here.”</p> - -<p>The red face of Bill, ex-Brooklynite, rose above the -floor, glowering around.</p> - -<p>“Well, whatcha doin’, Hampton?” he growled.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -“Thought ya was feedin’ the horse, but I notice he -ain’t fed yet. Slow, ain’t ya?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I take my time. And right now I’m straightening -up my sock. Ever have a sock wrinkle under -your heel? Makes a beautiful blister. Horses can -wait until my foot is fixed to suit me.”</p> - -<p>Red-Face grunted and keenly surveyed the mow. -Douglas coolly laced up the boot, as if completing -what he had been doing when interrupted; stretched -his leg, worked his foot up and down, and nodded as -if satisfied.</p> - -<p>“That feels better,” he announced. “Well, Statue -of Liberty, what’s all the heavy thinking about? Or -are you only trying to look wise and pretending to -think?”</p> - -<p>The other’s heavy mouth twisted in an ugly grin. -He reached for a pitchfork standing near, yanked it -free from the hay, inspected its long gleaming tines.</p> - -<p>“Funny as a toothache, ain’t ya! One of these days, -fella, that mouth o’ yourn’ll git ya into a box,” he -predicted. “Right now I got other things to poke -into. Jest come down off that hay—unless you’re -coverin’ somethin’ up. That’s right. Ya mind like -ma’s angel-face, don’t ya? Now watch what I toin -up!”</p> - -<p>With a leap he came up. And with a shrewd jab -he drove the fork down into the hay on which Douglas -had been sitting.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br /> - -<small>COLD NERVE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Again</span> and again the man-hunter stabbed at the hay, -moving about with each new attack, lunging more -viciously as his searching prods brought no result. -Douglas felt a little chilly as he visualized what might -have happened if Uncle Eb’s advice had not been disregarded -at the last minute. And the old man down -below, hearing the loud rustle of the dried grass and -knowing nothing of the change in Steve’s place of -refuge, lost his grip on himself.</p> - -<p>With a yell he came thundering up the stairs, his -walrus mustache bristling like tusks and his jaw jutting -as if about to bite.</p> - -<p>“<i>Git</i> often that hay!” he bellowed. “<i>Git</i> outen -here! An’ git quick, ’fore I muckle onto ye. I’ll -sling ye head-fust outen the winder! <i>Git!</i>”</p> - -<p>The man above had jumped about and swung the -fork menacingly before him. Infuriated still further -by the sight of his own hay-tool turned against him, -the old warrior sprang up the sloping side of the mow, -panting inarticulate threats. But he collided with -Douglas, who slid down at him and clinched.</p> - -<p>“Hold your horses, Uncle Eb!” he exhorted. -“He’s not hurting the hay or smoking in it—only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> -jabbing the fork into it, for some reason or other. -Let him fool around. Whoa! Quiet down!”</p> - -<p>But Eb’s blood was up, and he knew no reason why -he should quiet down. He fought to break free, and -the younger man found his hands very full. Tussling -mightily, they reeled about at the foot of the slope, in -imminent danger of slipping over the edge of the open -gap in the floor and crashing down the steep stairs. The -man Ward, who had bounded part-way up to aid his -companion if necessary, took one look and hastily got -from under. His mate Bill, still holding the fork -poised for defense, grinned nastily at the grappling -pair.</p> - -<p>Douglas got his chin on Eb’s shoulder and ventured -a whisper from the corner of his mouth.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right. He’s not there.”</p> - -<p>It took some seconds for his meaning to penetrate -the old fellow’s raging brain, but Douglas managed to -hold him until he understood. Then all at once he -ceased struggling. Too, he quick-wittedly gave a deceptive -excuse for his outbreak.</p> - -<p>“Fellers come into here—actin’ like they was the -King o’ Rooshia an’ I was a dawg,” he panted. “Ain’t -got no search warrant—think they can sass me right -into my own house—tromp onto my hay an’ spile it -for the hosses—they got to git out!”</p> - -<p>“That’s right, too,” Douglas nodded. “I know how -you feel. But the best way is to let the smart-Alecks -show themselves that they’re wrong—and then, if they -don’t apologize, report them to the right authorities. -I can tell you where to send the report.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>At that Bill glowered anew. He glowered still more -when Douglas turned to him with sarcastic permission -to continue.</p> - -<p>“You, up there, go on amusing yourself if you like. -Mr. Wilham here will take his amusement later—when -you’re trying to explain to your superiors why you -took it on yourselves to molest a peaceable citizen. -Maybe he’ll get more fun out of it in the long run -than you will. So go ahead playing hay-maker—it’s a -nice game for little boys. When you get through, -bring down a forkful for the horse. It’ll save me the -trouble.”</p> - -<p>Bill’s mouth became a thin line. He looked as if -about to heave the fork at his tormentor. But after -one long glare he doggedly returned to his search, -speaking not a word. Had any fugitive been under -that hay now, however, he would undoubtedly have -died under the vindictive lunges of the fork.</p> - -<p>Foot by foot he bayoneted the mow, from end to -end and from side to side. Douglas watched with a -tantalizing grin, Uncle Eb in silent perturbation—wondering -where Steve was but not daring to ask by -word or look. From above came no sound. Steve was -lying quiet as the dead.</p> - -<p>In Hampton’s mind grew a big suspicion. These -men were conducting themselves as if acting on previous -information: as if told by some one that here -they would find what they sought. It was preposterous -to suppose that they would go thus through the -entire Traps, jabbing every hay-loft, riding rough-shod -over every man’s right to call his home his castle.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> -They had come in only that morning, gone up toward -the bowlders—and then come to the one place where -the refugee was. It might be blind chance, but—yes, -Douglas was suspicious.</p> - -<p>Finally the man Bill, with an oath, threw down the -fork. His face was redder than ever, streaked with -sweat, itching from hay-dust. He mopped a hand -over his prickly cheeks, scratched his head violently, -bent a baleful glare on the two below. Then he came -wallowing out of the ragged mass he had stirred up.</p> - -<p>“Say, bring along that horse-feed, will you? We’ve -been waiting long enough,” complained Douglas. As -if in emphasis, an impatient whinny sounded below.</p> - -<p>Another oath exploded from the badgered Bill. He -slid clumsily down and stood looking as if aching to -punch the grinning mouth. But he did not punch. -Swallowing something, he pointed downward.</p> - -<p>“Git down-stairs!” he rasped. “You, Hampton, -you got in here foist, but ya’ll stay where I can see ya -from now on. G’wan! Move!”</p> - -<p>The blue eyes narrowed at the dictatorial tone and -the half-spoken accusation. But then Douglas smiled -again—an exasperating smile.</p> - -<p>“<i>When</i> I’ve fed the horse,” he singsonged. “<i>Then</i>, -if I feel like it. But there, Uncle Eb, maybe you’d -better do the feeding, now that you’re here. If I laid -this gun down I might lose it. Some folks can’t be -trusted.”</p> - -<p>Uncle Eb cackled harshly. Bill moved his right arm -quickly, but stopped it. Douglas still smiled, but his -eyes were cold and his gun gripped in a ready-looking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -fist. Ward, whose head had risen again on the stairs, -watched like a cat, one hand under his coat.</p> - -<p>Deliberately Uncle Eb gathered a big armful of hay, -crowded past Bill with it, dropped it on the open chute -to the horse’s bin and stuffed it down with a small -two-tined fork standing at hand. Then he returned to -the stairs and clumped down them, Ward giving way -but holding his position.</p> - -<p>“After you, my dear Bill,” bowed Douglas. “Oh, -don’t be afraid. The <i>Whirl</i> may jump on your neck -one of these days, but not this afternoon. G’wan!”</p> - -<p>At the patrolman-like twang of the last word Ward -grinned slightly. He evidently had a sense of humor. -Bill looked at him, at Douglas—then trod to the stairs -and down. Douglas followed.</p> - -<p>Below, the pair conducted a rapid but extremely -thorough search of the ground floor. Meal-chests, -barrels, stalls, the covert under the stairs—every nook -and corner where a man could possibly be hidden was -looked into. When they still found no sign of what -they sought, they paused and looked hard at each -other.</p> - -<p>“Any cellar under here?” demanded Ward.</p> - -<p>“If ye call a hawg-pen a cellar, yas,” snapped Uncle -Eb. “Go look into it—waller round into it—ask the -hawgs what they had for breakfas’—wait awhile an’ -mebbe I’ll feed ye some swill along with ’em.”</p> - -<p>“Say, whatcha mean by that?” snarled Bill.</p> - -<p>“I mean ye was brought up into a hawg-pen an’ -that’s where ye belong!” flared Eb. “That plain -’nough for ye?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>It was. Bill started for the old man. But Douglas -stepped between them. He said nothing; he only -looked. Bill liked the look so ill that he slowed, then -stopped.</p> - -<p>“An’ after ye’ve shook hands with yer brothers ye -can come an’ go all over the house, like ye was goin’ -to when ye got s’picious an’ follered Hampton down -here,” jeered Eb. “I don’t let pigs into my house as -a gin’ral thing, but——”</p> - -<p>“That’ll be about enough of that!” Ward broke in. -“Keep a civil tongue in your head.”</p> - -<p>“—But this once, I’ll do it, seein’ ye’ve gone so fur -now,” Uncle Eb continued, ignoring him. “I can air -out the house when ye’re gone. Hurry up now. Look -under the beds an’ into the oven an’ all—an’ then git -often my land an’ stay off!”</p> - -<p>The two looked keenly at him for a full half-minute.</p> - -<p>“Since you’re so willing, we won’t,” announced -Ward. Bill nodded sulkily, looking again around the -barn. Ward rubbed his jowl and spat on the floor.</p> - -<p>“What d’you make of it, Bill?” he puzzled.</p> - -<p>“Somebody lied!” was the morose answer.</p> - -<p>“Yeah. Looks like it. Well, let’s travel.”</p> - -<p>Douglas, shrewdly watching, loosed a snap shot.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you fellows know any better than to believe -Sanders?”</p> - -<p>The slight start, the involuntary flicker of the eyelids, -told him that his shot had scored.</p> - -<p>“Uh—whatcha mean? We ain’t seen Sanders,” -blurted Bill.</p> - -<p>“No? I notice that you know his name, though.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -How much did he shake you down for? You’d better -get it back, quick.”</p> - -<p>The pair scowled at each other. Bill, with a growl, -started for the door. Ward halted him.</p> - -<p>“Hold up, Bill. No hurry,” he said. “What about -Sanders, Hampton?”</p> - -<p>“Only this much: Folks around here think I’m a -detective. Sanders thought so too. He offered to get -me any man I wanted—for half the reward. If the -man wasn’t here, he offered to sell me some fellow -who hadn’t done anything but who could be railroaded—for -the right price. He bragged that he could sell -anybody, and that he’d done that kind of business before. -Does that line of talk sound familiar?”</p> - -<p>The scowls grew deeper.</p> - -<p>“Some of it,” Ward admitted. “Not the railroad -part of it, but—some of it. Well, say, Hampton, I’m -sure obliged to you for that. Sell anybody, eh? That -means the fellow he’s dealing with, too. Uh-huh. -Bill, let’s you and me take a walk.”</p> - -<p>Bill, with another growl, started forward again. -But Douglas was not yet through.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked -pointedly, moving his head toward Uncle Eb.</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” Ward acknowledged. “I’m sorry, -Mr.—uh—Williams—Wilson——”</p> - -<p>“Wilham!” barked Eb. “I ain’t got nothin’ ag’in -you. It’s this here hawg.” His frosty eyes glinted at -the offensive Bill.</p> - -<p>“How about it, Bill?” queried Ward, his tongue -in his cheek.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>Bill turned sourly, heavy jaw set. But he attempted -amends.</p> - -<p>“Sorry, old fella,” he mumbled. “We got a bad -steer. We ain’t hoit ya, have we? We gotta do our -dooty. We—uh——”</p> - -<p>“All right, let it go at that,” Douglas interposed. -All four moved out of the barn. As they emerged, -Douglas began speaking a little louder, so that Steve -could hear. And, to keep the pair from glancing back -and perhaps seeing what was on the roof, he walked -toward the house, talking over one shoulder.</p> - -<p>“If you want to find Sanders, you’d better go -straight down the road and hunt his house. He’ll -probably be there at meal-time, if not before. Where -does he live, Uncle Eb?”</p> - -<p>“Way over t’other side, not sech a long ways from -the Gap,” Eb answered readily. “He comes an’ goes -by cross-cuts, but ye better stick to the road. Ye turn -into the Clove road down past the schoolhouse, keep -on till ye’ve crossed the crick twice—it sorter wanders -round an’ ther’s bridges acrost—an’ then ther’s a kind -of a wood-road bearin’ off to yer right. Go up that -an’ ye’ll find Snake’s house. Ye’ll be ’bout the onliest -comp’ny thar. Nobody visits much with Snake.”</p> - -<p>They were turning into the dooryard before the -house now, Bill and Ward morosely eyeing the road -and trying to fix in mind the unfamiliar turns as described -by Uncle Eb. Douglas stole a glance beyond -them. One side of the barn roof was in plain sight -now. And on that side, a quarter of the way down, -was Steve.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>Hugging the shingles, he was craftily working eavesward -from the ridge to which he had clung. With -bare toes and flattened hands holding him from too -sudden a slip down the pitch, he was sliding himself -lower and lower on his stomach. When he should -reach the eaves, it would be only a matter of a short -drop to the ground and a quick jump around the corner, -and he would be out of sight. But if his pursuers -should happen to look that way now——</p> - -<p>“Look here,” Douglas said quickly, stooping and -tracing a line with his gun-butt, “here’s the road. -Now you go down this way, and then——”</p> - -<p>Moving the weapon, keeping his eyes glued to his -crude map, he talked on, holding their attention. They -followed every move. And behind them the ragged -figure on the barn roof descended until its feet hung -out over the eaves. There it hesitated an instant, -balancing itself for the final slip and drop.</p> - -<p>Douglas dared not look. Playing for time, he appealed -to Uncle Eb for information regarding some -fictitious road which might branch off before the right -one should be reached. Eb’s eyes were crinkled with -amusement, for he saw that the younger man was inventing -most of his road-map; but he kept his face -straight, disputed a couple of turns, and put down -a gnarled finger to make a new section of the -course.</p> - -<p>Bill began to stir impatiently. His eyes wandered.</p> - -<p>“Yeah, we’ll git there,” he broke in. “Come on, -Ward.”</p> - -<p>“When you get there, look out for snakes!” warned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -Douglas, striking for his wandering attention. He got -it. Bill faced him again.</p> - -<p>“Snakes! Whatcha mean?”</p> - -<p>“Sanders has a fondness for snakes—bad ones. -He may have a few around where you can step on -them. Keep your eyes peeled.”</p> - -<p>At that moment sounded a soft thump at the side -of the barn. Ward started to turn.</p> - -<p>“Copperheads—rattlers—poisonous!” asserted -Douglas loudly. “Watch out for ’em!”</p> - -<p>Ward’s eyes hung on his a couple of seconds longer, -held by the warning. Then he turned and looked toward -the barn.</p> - -<p>“What’s that bump?” he muttered.</p> - -<p>“Horse moving around, or a hog down below. -Don’t forget those snakes.”</p> - -<p>Then Douglas looked. Only the old barn met his -anxious gaze. Ward, after a speculative glance -around, nodded and started away.</p> - -<p>“All right. See you later, maybe. So long.”</p> - -<p>Followed by Bill, he stepped briskly to the road. -Along the lumpy wheel-ruts in the sand they trudged, -their voices floating back in growling tones that boded -ill for somebody. Then the roadside brush-growth -blotted out their receding figures, and the only sound -was the cheerful chorus of the crickets in the grass.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br /> - -<small>FIRE AND FROST</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Douglas</span> took a long breath. Uncle Eb swung to -him.</p> - -<p>“Wha’d ye do with him?” he hoarsely asked.</p> - -<p>In guarded tones Douglas outlined the ruse which -had saved Steve. As he finished he strode out to the -side of the road and looked down it. The two man-hunters -still were in sight, plodding along without a -backward look.</p> - -<p>“By mighty! Ye’ve got a head onto ye like a tack, -son,” congratulated Eb, who had followed. “Right -after I told them fellers to look into the hawg-pen I -nigh got a shock—it come to me ye might of hid the -boy into thar. Thank Gawd ye was here—I dunno -what I’d done without ye——”</p> - -<p>“All right. Now listen. You go back and get -Steve under cover again quick. Those fellows may -not be so well convinced as they seem to be, and they -might double back after they’re out of sight. I’m going -to follow them up now and see if they keep on -going. I’ll be back.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, Bill and Ward faded from sight around -a little curve. He strode away after them. Uncle Eb -hastened to the barn.</p> - -<p>Along the straight open stretch of road—perhaps<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -forty yards from house to curve—Douglas traveled -at a half-lope. As he went, a smile grew on his mouth, -culminating in a chuckle.</p> - -<p>“Hammerless Hampton, you’re an obstructionist, a -conspirator against the majesty of the law, a disreputable -character all around,” he told himself. -“And sooner or later—probably sooner—you’re going -to get yourself in bad. When Brooklyn Bill gets back -to the river, for instance, he may query New York -and learn that you’re disowned by the <i>Whirl</i>, and so -on. And then what?”</p> - -<p>Instead of growing serious at the thought of that -possibility, however, he laughed all the more as he -imagined Bill’s lurid language on learning that he had -been duped. He was still laughing when he reached -the bend. But there, in one instant, his face froze.</p> - -<p>A few rods farther on stood the pair of officers. -Their backs were toward him, their shoulders touched, -their burly bodies blocked the narrow way. Beyond -their legs showed a skirt.</p> - -<p>The skirt was jerking about, and under it bare -ankles moved quickly, as if the woman or girl were -struggling to get away. The shoulders of one of the -men, too, moved as if his hands were gripping an -active prisoner. Then the men swung apart an instant, -and in the space between them gleamed sunlit -red hair.</p> - -<p>Douglas bounded forward, his feet making little -noise in the soft sand. Before the intent couple heard -him he was upon them. Straight between them he -plunged, shoving them violently asunder. From the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> -girl broke a cry. She was Marion, and both her -wrists were clutched in the heavy fists of Bill.</p> - -<p>“Hey! Ya big bum, whatcha doin’?” Bill blared -furiously. Ward’s face too was dark with anger over -the thump he had received, and one hand hung menacingly -at his hip.</p> - -<p>“I’ll show you mighty sudden what I’m doing! Let -her go!”</p> - -<p>Bill released the girl—but not in obedience to the -command. He did it because he wanted to use his -hands on Douglas more than on her. Ugly-jawed, he -stepped forward.</p> - -<p>Douglas stepped back, handed his gun to Marion, -and fronted Bill with fists poised for the first parry -and counter-punch. Marion sprang aside, face ablaze -with wrath, gun up. Ward, seeing Douglas give up -the weapon to her and stand bare-handed, relaxed -from his tense poise and swiftly grew cool.</p> - -<p>Bill shot a vicious punch at the blond man’s chin—a -straight drive which would have downed his man -if it had landed. But Douglas ducked to the left and -snapped a retaliating right for the beefy jaw. It -halted short—his wrist caught and held by Ward. -Now Ward yanked him back.</p> - -<p>“Two to one, eh?” raged Douglas. “All -right——”</p> - -<p>“No!” clipped Ward. Gripping the blond man’s -arms, he swung himself between the antagonists. -“Let up! Same goes for you, Bill! Cut it!”</p> - -<p>With a powerful shove he sent Douglas staggering -backward, at the same time releasing his hold.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>“That’ll be about all!” he snapped. “Drop this -where it is.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not dropping it!” panted Douglas. “Man-handling -girls may get by down where you come from, -but it doesn’t go with me. Officers? Pah! You -cheap thugs——”</p> - -<p>“That’ll do!” Ward repeated. “You listen to me -a minute.”</p> - -<p>His steady gaze, his resolute tone, his quiet authority, -had their effect. Despite himself, Douglas respected -the man. He stood still.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t blamin’ you,” Ward continued evenly. -“You act like a man. But the girl brought it on herself—and -she ain’t hurt a bit. Bill oughtn’t have -grabbed her, maybe, but that’s his way. I don’t like it -myself—him and me have had words about that kind -of stuff before—but the girl ain’t hurt and she -wouldn’t be hurt, whether you butted in or not. We -only asked her somethin’ about the road, and she -sassed us and tried to shove Bill off into the ditch. He -grabbed her hands and told her to learn some manners, -and then she tried to fight him, so naturally he -hung onto her. That’s all there is to it. I’d drop it, -if I was you.”</p> - -<p>Douglas looked at her. True enough, she showed -no sign of hurt, except perhaps to her vivid temper. -Ward’s straightforward manner was convincing. So -were the memories of his own denunciation by the -girl on the night when he had met her and of her fiery -fight that morning to regain her sketch. And so were -the words of Marion herself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>“You big hog!” she flared, holding the gun pointed -at Bill as if aching to use it. “You better git outen -the Traps and stay out! My manners are good enough -for me and my folks, and if you wasn’t brought up to -give other folks half of the road you can’t learn me -anything. You keep on actin’ like you started, and -somebody’ll shoot some manners into <i>you</i>, I shouldn’t -wonder. I’ve got a good mind to do it my own self!”</p> - -<p>Under the lash of her tongue, the blaze of her eyes, -and the menace of the twin muzzles yawning at his -midriff, Bill blinked rapidly and stepped backward. -Ward too looked uneasy—for an angry woman and a -gun make a decidedly dangerous combination; the -more so, because the woman may shoot without actually -realizing what she is doing.</p> - -<p>“That gun loaded?” he muttered to Douglas.</p> - -<p>“Sure. But the safety’s on and she doesn’t know -the mechanism. Of course, she might accidentally -slip it, and then—your pal wouldn’t look very good. -I’d advise you two to make tracks down the road and -keep on making them. And one word more to you, -Ward. You talk straight, and I’ll let this drop for -now; but you’d better pick another running-mate before -you go again among hill people. This man might -do as a Bowery cop or a prison guard, but he’s no good -in wildcat country.”</p> - -<p>Ward nodded about a quarter of an inch, as if he -agreed, and studied his mate with a slightly disgusted -look. Then he shrewdly appraised the girl behind the -gun. When he spoke again there was a little twinkle -of admiration in his eye.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>“Wildcat country’s right. Don’t blame you for -hangin’ around this neck of the woods, Hampton. -Don’t blame you a-tall. Well, so long. Bill!”</p> - -<p>The last word crackled. Bill, still edging away from -the gaping muzzles, obeyed Ward’s thumb-jerk along -the road. Passing Douglas, he paused to glower -hatefully into the slitted blue eyes watching him. -Then he shuffled onward.</p> - -<p>Not until they had rounded another turn did -Douglas take his unswerving gaze from their backs. -Then, as he relaxed, he realized that Ward had shown -no suspicion over his sudden appearance; recalled, -too, the twinkle and the parting remarks. The man -had thought he and Marion had a tryst. Could he -have looked back through the trees, however, and -studied the girl, he would have begun to wonder.</p> - -<p>Douglas, too, wondered as he looked at her. The -snap of anger had vanished from her eyes, the flush -from her cheeks, the girlishness from her figure. The -gray orbs watching him now were cold as ice—ice -with a smouldering flame far below its surface. Her -face and her poise were as stony as any upright bowlder -standing under Dickie Barre. From one hand -hung his gun, its muzzles now buried in the sand. -Straight, forbidding, she stood looking fixedly at him. -And, though he was not expecting any thanks for what -he had done, he stood staring blankly back at her. -This was a girl whom he never had seen before.</p> - -<p>“Well! What’s wrong?” he puzzled. “Seems to -be a sudden frost.”</p> - -<p>Unspeaking, she lifted the gun and held it toward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -him. He took it, peered at it as if seeking on it the -cause of her hauteur, looked up and found her turning -away. She took half a dozen steps toward the Wilham -home, straight as an Indian, proud as a princess, -before he moved. Then he began striding after her. -At once she stopped.</p> - -<p>“Thought you was goin’ the other way,” she said -pointedly.</p> - -<p>“Did you? Well, I’m going this way now.”</p> - -<p>“I’d ruther you’d go on to where you started for.”</p> - -<p>His mouth tightened a little.</p> - -<p>“I would,” he coolly informed her, “but I told -Uncle Eb I’d come back.”</p> - -<p>“Oh. Then I’ll wait. Go ’long.”</p> - -<p>Again he stared. As before, she met him eye to -eye, cold and uncompromising.</p> - -<p>“What’s wrong, Marion?” he repeated. “I don’t -understand.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you? I should think you might, if you’d -think back a little ways. Now I don’t want to walk -with you.”</p> - -<p>His chin lifted. “Oh. I see. It’s Steve. All -right. But if he’s still at Uncle Eb’s I’ll tell him -you’re coming. I won’t be there long.”</p> - -<p>She started.</p> - -<p>“No—what—how’d you know he’s—what you got -to do with Steve?”</p> - -<p>“Ask Steve. He’ll tell you all about it. Good-day.”</p> - -<p>With that he was off. She stood motionless, watching -his receding shoulders, her head lifted at the same -proud angle. But, as he disappeared around the curve<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -from which he had sprung to her rescue, that haughty -head slowly drooped. She set her teeth into one red -lip. The clear gray eyes became blurred with tears.</p> - -<p>Beyond the curve, Douglas stalked rapidly on. Into -the Wilham yard he marched with never a backward -glance, and, after a quick look toward the barn, up -into the open doorway of the house. Uncle Eb, cheek -bulging with a chunk of bread-and-cheese, nodded to -him from the table where he was devouring his belated -cold lunch.</p> - -<p>“Shet the door,” he suggested. Douglas closed it. -“Them fellers gone?”</p> - -<p>“They’re on their way. They’re sore at each other -now, as well as at Sanders. Where’s our friend?”</p> - -<p>“Down cellar. Ther’s a winder he can git out by if -he has to. What’s them fellers mad ’bout now?”</p> - -<p>Douglas briefly told him. Uncle Eb stopped chewing, -looked at him keenly, cackled out all at once, then -wondered: “Why didn’t Marry come ’long with ye?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. Said she didn’t want to walk with -me. So I jest walked right ’long by my own self.”</p> - -<p>The old man looked quizzically at him, then cackled -again.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re a-gittin’ to talk like ye b’longed into the -Traps,” he chuckled. “An’ after what ye done this -afternoon, boy, ye do b’long! ’Most anybody with the -right kind of a heart round here would a-helped that -pore misfortunit boy, but ’tain’t every feller from outside, -like you, would a-done it. An’ that Marry gal—she -prob’ly thinks ye’re a detective, like the rest. -She’ll soon know diff’rent.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>“Never mind. But now, Uncle Eb, I don’t like to -ask questions that don’t concern me, but just what -did Steve do that sent him to the pen?”</p> - -<p>Uncle Eb hesitated, chewed hard, swallowed, and -gulped a noisy drink of cold coffee.</p> - -<p>“The wust thing into the world, son—he got caught. -He never done no harm, but gittin’ caught for a thing -is ’nough, whether ye done it or not. S’posin’ we let -him talk for hisself.”</p> - -<p>He stamped twice on the floor. A couple of minutes -later a door silently opened and Steve stepped up from -the cellar stairs. After one glance he leaped to -Douglas’ side and gripped his hand.</p> - -<p>“Hamp!” he gulped. “Ye’re a white man! I -ain’t a-goin’ to forgit this. Jest wait till I git my -chance to pay ye some way——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, forget it! Man alive, I don’t want any pay. -If you owe anything to anybody it’s to Uncle Eb, not -to me. I just blundered in and had a lot of fun with -those fellows. Uncle Eb’s the one to thank.”</p> - -<p>“I ain’t a-forgittin’ Uncle Eb—he knows it. But -the way ye took holt——”</p> - -<p>“All right, all right, let it slide. But now, if you -don’t mind telling me, what’s it all about? What are -those fellows after you for? Don’t tell me if you -don’t want to.”</p> - -<p>“Why, don’t ye know? Wal, if that ain’t—— Ye -jest went ahead an’ helped me anyways, huh? My -Gawd! I didn’t s’pose there was sech folks into the -world.</p> - -<p>“It’s this way, Hamp. We pick a lot o’ berries<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> -round here into the summer—not right here into the -Traps, but ’way over to Long Pond an’ miles an’ miles -further ’long the mount’ins—an’ sell ’em to dealers. -An’ other fellers come from down b’low to do the same—it’d -take a hull army to pick ’em all, they’re so thick. -Some o’ them fellers are pretty hard. An’ when some -of us folks from here was pickin’ round Three-Mile -Post, I fit with the Bump boys—three of ’em, brothers, -that lived down ’bout a mile outside o’ the Wall -over yender, onto the road to Paltz.</p> - -<p>“Wal, they licked me—three of ’em, all bigger’n -me. They licked me bad. Course, I was crazy mad, -an’ I swore to Gawd I’d come down outen the Traps -some day an’ buckshoot ’em, an’ burn their house an’ -I dunno what all. But there was four weeks more o’ -pickin’, an’ the Bumps went somewheres else, an’ I -got cooled off, an’ by the time I got back here to the -Traps I’d made up my mind to leave ’em ’lone. An’ -I did.</p> - -<p>“Wal, it run ’long awhile, an’ huntin’ season come, -an’ then one night Snake Sanders got me full o’ -licker an’ says we’ll go down b’low an’ git us some -coons—he knowed where we could git a passel of ’em. -I’d oughter knowed better’n to go anywheres with him, -but I was fool ’nough to go ’long, an’ he gimme more -licker, an’ we tromped an’ tromped, an’ I had more -licker, an’ so on. An’ then, fust thing I knowed, we -was nigh a house an’ barn, an’ our coon-dog warn’t -nowheres round, an’ I was gittin’ awful drunk. An’ -Snake says, ‘Lay down awhile an’ ye’ll feel better.’ -An’ I laid down.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>“Then, next I knowed, my gun blew off—<i>bung -bung!</i>—an’ men was runnin’ an’ hosses screechin’ an’ -the barn was all afire, a-blarin’ out all round so ’twas -light as day. An’ Snake was gone, an’ all to once I -see ’twas the Bump place that was afire, an’ somethin’ -told me to git. So I run as fast as ever I could, never -takin’ my gun or nothin’. But bimeby I was way up -the road, an’ it was all dark, an’ I got tired an’ set -down to rest. An’ then the licker got a-holt o’ me an’ -I went off to sleep.</p> - -<p>“Wal, that was the end o’ me. They found me -a-layin’ into the road an’ they pounded me ’most to -death an’ drug me out an’ tried me for arson an’ -’tempted murder an’ I dunno what all. I didn’t have -no more chance than a baby chipmunk into a hawk’s -nest. I couldn’t prove nothin’, and they wouldn’t -b’lieve nothin’, an’ they got proof o’ what I’d swore -to do to them Bumps, an’—they gimme the limit.</p> - -<p>“An’ these three years I been doin’ time an’ gittin’ -knocked round an’—oh Gawd! An’ Snake, he’s been -a-settin’ up here laffin’ at me an’ the Bumps—he was -ag’in ’em, I dunno what for, an’ he used me to git all -the blame for burnin’ up their place an’ their hosses -an’ pigs an’ shootin’ Charlie Bump—Charlie he got -buckshot into him an’ the hull place was burnt—an’ -I got the limit—but I’ll git him—I’ll git him——”</p> - -<p>He was growing incoherent, his eyes glazing with -concentrated hate and fury. Douglas thumped -him repeatedly on the shoulder and broke in on his -talk.</p> - -<p>“All right, Steve, all right! Buck up, now! Your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> -turn’s coming—take a grip on yourself! Keep your -head until those bulls leave, and lie low.”</p> - -<p>The youth gritted his teeth and swallowed hard.</p> - -<p>“I’m a-layin’ low,” he asserted hoarsely. “I’m -a-keepin’ my head an’ my grip. I ain’t a-goin’ back to -no pen. But when oncet I git to a gun——”</p> - -<p>He swallowed again and pawed with one lean hand -at his throat. Douglas nodded, his own face sombre. -Uncle Eb cleared his throat like a gunshot.</p> - -<p>“I don’t hold with shootin’ yer enemies,” he erupted. -“I never yit shot at a man, an’ I don’t b’lieve into it. -Still an’ all, I dunno as I blame ye much. But ye got -to lay lower than ever now, an’ lay somewheres else. -Snake sent them fellers here—they as good as said so—an’ -they’ll be back, I bet. Come dark, I’ll take ye -over into the rocks. I got some old clo’es an’ a hoss-blankit -ye can wrop up into, an’ I’ll send ye food right -’long reg’lar if Marry’ll take it—she’s spryer than I -be.”</p> - -<p>“And I’ll be going now,” Douglas added. “I’m -keeping her waiting. She’s down the road, Steve—wouldn’t -walk with me. Take care of yourself—and -of her. So long.”</p> - -<p>Before Steve or Uncle Eb could reply he was out -of the house. Across the road he went, pausing a -moment to beckon to the stubborn little red-haired -figure which now, walking very slowly, was approaching -from the curve. She made no answering signal, -gave no sign that she saw him. Climbing over the -stone wall beyond, he marched away across-lots, face -set stiffly toward the frowning wall of Dickie Barre -and the invisible Clove Road.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br /> - -<small>THE MOVING FINGER WRITES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">One</span> by one the October days and nights stole in -from the nebulous realm of To-morrow and, like -pearls magically taking form on an enchanted thread -of gold, added themselves to the memory-gems of -Yesterday. Each morning found a new jewel vaguely -appearing out of the wan dawn-light; every passing -hour imperceptibly shaped the growing form; each -rising moon looked down on the completely rounded -treasure, nestling beside its mates which had come before. -No two were quite alike, for each was tinted -with its own delicate hues—the flush of a rosy sunrise, -the blue of the sky and the gray of the clouds, -the leaden tinge of rain, the sombre shadows of dusk, -the brilliant gleams of the stars. Yet no one of them -was all-sufficient; it was the blending, the intermingling, -of all of them that produced, or would produce, -the perfect circle.</p> - -<p>And as the unseen hand of their Maker placed on -each its own peculiar tints, so the gentle fingers of -Mother Nature also worked unceasingly on the mantle -she had worn since the springtime, weaving into its -monotone new and ever-changing touches of color. -This was her play-day, this season between the summer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> -and the snow; and with scarlet and crimson, with -yellow and cream, with the palest of green and the -rustiest brown, she transformed her emerald cloak -into a gay robe on which the dusky evergreens, -hitherto merged into the sweeping expanse of verdure, -now stood out bold and clear. Too, by night she -painted dingy house-roofs and rickety wagons and all -the other ugly man-made things—painted them gray-white -with frost, which the new sun quickly blackened -and sent creeping down the shingles to drip gently -from the eaves of a morning. And as that sun -mounted the Wall and rolled its warmth over into the -Traps below, she coyly loosed white clouds of mist to -go drifting along over the new colors she had made in -the dark hours, presently to draw them aside and reveal -to human eyes the glory of her handiwork.</p> - -<p>Yet it was love’s labor lost, this wondrous wizardry -of hers—or almost lost. Of all the eyes which daily -opened in the Traps, few gave more than a casual -glance to all the enchantment wrought around them. -Most of those eyes turned inward upon the stomachs -of their owners, seeing only the “pannicakes” and -gravy, the “buttermilk pop” and other components of -breakfast; or they looked at pigs and hens and cows. -Few indeed were those who lifted up their thoughts -to the gorgeous hills surrounding them, and fewer still -those who, glimpsing what lay before them, were -moved to admire for even a passing minute. In the -flaming woods they visioned only animals and birds to -be killed, millstones to be rifted, hardwood to be -“mined” into charcoal, hoops to be shaved, and secret<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> -coverts where nameless industry might be carried on -in stealth.</p> - -<p>But there were two in the Traps who saw. At their -doorways in the morning they looked long at the -limited sections of the panorama which were visible -from their respective abodes, noting the added touches -of color laid on during the silent hours of sleep. -Through the day, as they traversed the byways on -self-imposed missions, they paused often to gaze at -some striking bit of natural beauty near at hand or -to dwell upon the vistas opening out around them at -some higher point. In the twilight they sat somewhere -in silent solitude, watching the deepening of the dusk -and the shy appearance of the first night stars in the -darkening blue. These two were a blond-haired man -and a red-haired girl, who lived in little houses on the -road leading to the Clove.</p> - -<p>Yet, though they looked on the same things, though -their souls were lifted up in the same way, though -they dwelt not far apart and their minds turned toward -each other many a time as the tinted days glided away, -they saw nothing of each other. The little bare feet -and the sturdy booted feet never turned into the same -path. They came and went, they paused and passed -on, they traveled open road and faint trail—but never -together. Between them stood a wall: a cold, stony, -stubborn wall which had suddenly thrust itself up out -of the ground as if conjured by the wand of an old-time -magician. And on that side of the wall facing -the man were graven words spoken by the girl:</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to walk with you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>On the other side—the side which the girl saw—the -wall bore other words: malicious words, evil words, -which yet had the ring of truth: words spoken not by -the man, but about the man, by others. And beside -those words burned a picture which made her writhe -and set her teeth into a red lip—a picture of herself -held unresisting in that man’s arms, beside the plashing -Coxing Kill. And atop that wall, leering down -at both of them alike, squatted the ugly little demon -who has wrecked many a life and will wreck many -more: Pride.</p> - -<p>But for the presence of that malevolent imp, with -his taunting grin and his hissing repetition of the -rankling words, either of these two could have walked -straight through that wall. But there he perched by -day and by night, his claw-like fingers pointing ever -downward at the unfading words and picture, his -sneering grimace repelling them from taking the first -step toward each other. So, instead of moving toward -the barrier, each turned from it and traveled along it -or away from it—the girl traversing her own chosen -paths toward Dickie Barre, the home of Uncle Eb, the -upper reaches of Coxing Kill; the man roving along -the slopes of Mohonk, sitting for hours on the brink -of the Wall, or circling westward around the Clove -end of Dickie Barre and onward into the gorge of -cascading Peters Kill.</p> - -<p>Still, though the little demon drove them to avoid -the spots where they were likely to meet, he could not -follow them and regulate their varying thoughts and -acts. His place was on that barrier, and on it he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> -stayed. And thus he could not prevent the man from -mentally living over at intervals a certain golden hour -beside a deep green pool up above, nor keep from that -man’s eyes a gentle, far-away look when that memory -arose to keep him company. Neither could he block -the girl from returning repeatedly to that pool with -pencil and paper and crude sketching-board, nor close -her ears to the farewell words of the man:</p> - -<p>“Keep right on doing that—it’s worth while—you’re -doing fine.”</p> - -<p>So the pair traveled their separate ways. And, -traveling, Douglas noted that the new clothing of the -hardwood forests was not the only change taking -place round about him. Here and there in the woods -he met men. And, as subtly as the chill of frosty -morning gave way to the warmth of a sunny day, so -the first coolness of these men of the Traps now was -thawing into an intangible spirit of friendliness. -Where previously they had given him a cold stare and -curt replies or stony silence when addressed, now their -faces relaxed at sight of him, and of their own volition -they called: “H’are ye, Hammerless!”</p> - -<p>Moreover, when he paused awhile to watch them -rounding millstones into shape or cutting cordwood -for charcoal, they betrayed no desire to have him -move on. On the contrary, they went ahead with -their toil as if he were one of their own neighbors, -welcome to stay as long as he liked. Sometimes, too, -they took a rest and smoked a pipe with him, saying -little of their own accord, but answering without hesitation -whenever he spoke. And when he moved along<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> -and left them, their “g’by” was as unobtrusively -cordial as their greeting.</p> - -<p>As the days drifted by and his wandering feet bore -him into repeated contact with some of those men, -the conversations became still more easy and natural—though -never intimate. They talked of their work, -and he learned interesting things: that millstone cutters, -despite their hardy appearance and muscular development, -usually died fairly young because the stone-dust -entering the lungs caused tuberculosis; that charcoal-burning -meant much exposure to inclement -weather and constant vigilance, day and night, lest the -vents of the smoking mound become plugged and the -whole “mine” explode; that hoop-shaving, the main -industry of the region, was steadily falling off because -barrel-makers were adopting the “patent” hoops manufactured -by mills; that honey-hunting, though productive -of a passable revenue to the few whose instincts -led them to follow it up, was arduous, uncertain, -and often dangerous work because of the roughness -of the country, its unexpected pitfalls, and its -deadly snakes. And hunting and trapping, though -fairly remunerative if one happened to have a lucky -season, could hardly be considered a dependable source -of income.</p> - -<p>These and other things of the same sort he learned -in the course of those recurring smoke-talks. He -heard, too, the same phrase repeated by different men -regarding their different industries—“a dog’s life.” -But he observed also that the men labored faithfully -on in that dog’s life, and more than once there recurred<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> -to him Uncle Eb’s defense of his neighbors: -“Folks is mostly honest round here. Good, hard-workin’ -fellers.”</p> - -<p>The old man had spoken truth, it appeared. Though -a few worthless drones might exist here and there, -though more than one man might carry on surreptitious -business “up into the rawcks,” the Traps seemed -to be inhabited mainly by steady toilers, wringing a -primitive living from field and tree and stone and -berry-bush. Still, Douglas did not lose sight of the -fact that these workers did not compose the entire -population. Nor did he fail to observe that the conversation -of even those who seemed most friendly was -tinged by reticence.</p> - -<p>Of their work, of hunting and trapping, of snakes -and catamounts and other life, of weather and crops—of -these things they would talk freely; but of one another -they would say no word. Let a name be mentioned—even -that of well-beloved Uncle Eb—and a -silence would follow. True, there were two names -which brought to their faces expressions as eloquent -as words: Snake Sanders and Nat Oaks. At the first -their eyes would narrow; at the second, their lips -would turn down in contempt. But no comment, good -or bad, was spoken of any one. It was borne in on -the wanderer that, though civilly received, he still was -not considered one of them; and that against all outsiders -these hillmen, whatever their private opinions -of one another, were a united clan.</p> - -<p>In other little ways, too, this was shown. No man -ever asked him for tobacco or match. No man ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -quizzed him as to his past, present, or future. No -man betrayed friendly anxiety regarding his movements. -None offered to sell him milk or eggs, or invited -him to visit. Nor, though every one of them -looked wistfully now and then at his up-to-date gun, -did any one ask to be allowed to examine it—much -less to handle it. Between him and them, as between -him and Marion, stood an impalpable wall—though not -the same wall. This was the barrier of clannish reserve.</p> - -<p>It was in this same clannishness, however, that he -found the key to their more friendly attitude. Though -not much given to analyzing the motives of others, he -naturally meditated on the change in their manner; -and the solution came in a name which he never mentioned -to them and which never was spoken in his -hearing—Steve.</p> - -<p>Though nothing ever was said about the refugee, he -felt that the whole Traps clan knew Steve was here. -And, since the thaw in the previous frigidity of the -Trapsmen had come about since the afternoon when -he had hoisted the desperate youth to the roof and -badgered his pursuers into leaving the Wilham place -empty-handed, it was not hard to deduce that the hill-dwellers -also knew of what he had done that day. If -so, they must know that he was neither detective nor -criminal; for in the one case he would have worked -with the officers, while in the other he would hardly -have dared face them down. Therefore they now -must regard him as what he actually was: a transient -dweller here who had shown himself disposed to stand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> -with them in protecting their own, but who presently -would go back to his own world—and who, consequently, -need not be trusted with information concerning -any of them.</p> - -<p>Very well: he could be as taciturn as any of them. -And he was. He gave no information regarding himself, -sought none about others—with one exception. -And to that one exception the reply also was an exception, -for it came readily, with a little grin of understanding.</p> - -<p>“Heard anything of a couple of strangers?” was -his occasional question. To which came the prompt -response: “Hearn they was still round here.”</p> - -<p>No man ever admitted that he had seen those -strangers, or vouchsafed any additional details of what -he had “hearn.” But with that answer Douglas was -content, for it showed that Ward and Bill had not run -down their prey. Of Uncle Eb he saw nothing, for he -spent little time at his own house and did not visit -that of the old man. He felt, however, that the refugee -was safely hidden somewhere among the ledges -and faithfully fed, that Eb could take care of Eb very -well, and that the less he himself knew about either -of them at present the better all around.</p> - -<p>Of others who had entered his life recently he also -saw nothing in his daily rambles. Whatever Snake -Sanders and Nigger Nat Oaks might be doing, they -seemed to be avoiding his vicinity for the present. -Each evening on returning to his haunted house he -narrowly inspected both it and its clearing before entering, -and afterward he looked into every room before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -preparing his night meal. Invariably he found all as -he had left it. And when, healthily tired by his miles -of tramping, he sought early slumber, even the ghostly -Dalton’s Death failed to disturb him.</p> - -<p>Not that the “ha’nt” was laid. It still walked about -overhead, still stole down-stairs on its heels, still -rustled the mattress of dead Jake Dalton and moved -his bedstead. Perhaps, in the silent watches of the -night, it did other things as well. If so, its restlessness -meant nothing to the new tenant, who slept the -sleep of a tired body and a clear conscience, awaking -only at long intervals to hear some unaccountable -sound and then, with a drowsy smile, drifting away -again into dreamland.</p> - -<p>Much of his easy rest, however, may have been due -to the fact that he had changed beds. After the “line -storm” cleared up he had acted on his decision to -move out of reach of that too-convenient front window -and door. He had cleaned out the little room where -wood was piled, and on its floor he had built up a -quieter, more fragrant couch of his own: a foot-thick -layer of hemlock and spruce tips gleaned from the -trees behind the house. On this real camper’s bed he -now slept, leaving Dalton’s bedstead and noisy mattress -just as he had first found them. Each morning -before leaving the house, though, he carried his blankets -to that front bedroom and tossed them on the -corn-husks. Thus, if any one came spying in his absence, -the curtainless bedroom window would tell that -spy that he habitually slept where he was supposed to -sleep. A childishly simple ruse, perhaps, this was.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -Yet life or death sometimes hangs on the simplest -things.</p> - -<p>And so, as has been said, the days brought their -lights and shadows, the nights their stars and dreams; -and within the ken of Hammerless Hampton nothing -at all happened. Yet, unseen, the fingers of Destiny -were steadily writing upon the pages of her future-book -certain records which no mere mortal now could -glimpse or guess.</p> - -<p>Then, one lazy afternoon when he happened to be -at his bare little home, there recurred to him the tale -of Lou Brackett concerning the lost mine of the legendary -Ninety-Nine.</p> - -<p>“Where the sun first strikes the wall in the morning, -there is Ninety-Nine’s Mine,” ran the saying which -the simple-minded woman had confided so mysteriously -to him. The “wall,” of course, was the cliff-line -within the Traps, not the great outer wall. Whimsically -he decided to sleep that night upon the eastern -heights and see just where the rising sun would strike -first. Sunrise on the Traps, viewed from that lofty -edge of things, would be a scene well worth a chilly -night outdoors.</p> - -<p>With a pack of blankets and spare clothing and a -little food he started to go. But, with a boyish laugh, -he returned to the house. From some old burlap bags -and a few sticks of wood he made on Jake Dalton’s -bed a huddle which, in dim light, would resemble a -blanketed form. Then he departed, whistling merrily.</p> - -<p>Dusk found him high up on the Wall. At the same -hour a form slipped out from the trees backing the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> -house of Dalton. It peered nervously in at a gloomy -window, stole along the side, slipped rapidly to the -front stoop, and, with a quick jab, slid a piece of paper -under the door. Then it jumped away and ran.</p> - -<p>On the paper was written in scrawling characters:</p> - -<p>“For gord Sakes dont Sleep hear to Nite.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br /> - -<small>A STAB IN THE NIGHT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rain</span> drizzled monotonously down on the Traps; -cold, raw rain swept slantwise by wind. Along Mohonk -and the Great Wall crawled clammy fog, blinding -all vision and chilling all flesh within its folds. -Through rain and fog feebly penetrated the sickly -light of a dismal dawn.</p> - -<p>In the dankness and the dimness moved a bedraggled -figure laden with a sodden blanket-pack and a dripping -shotgun; a man whose blue lips and hollow eyes -betokened a gnawing chill and scant sleep. Downward -through dripping bushes he meandered uncertainly, -avoiding steep slants of smooth rock on which -his slippery boot-soles would inevitably precipitate him -into disaster, and peering continuously about in search -for a thin spot in the creeping cloud-bank. Only the -unmistakable slant of the mountainside told him which -way he was heading—back into the Traps gulf which -he had left on the previous day.</p> - -<p>“A gorgeous sunrise—I guess so!” he grumbled. -“Mister Jupiter Pluvius, this is a dirty, low-down -trick. And Mister Ninety-Nine, you can keep your -mine till the crack of doom, for all I care. Go to -thunder, both of you! I’m cured.”</p> - -<p>If the two old-timers whom he addressed were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -listening, they must have chortled in malicious mirth—especially -the former. Catching this mortal asleep -beside a dying fire, the rain-god had called up his -soggy servitors in the night and let them wreak their -will on the lone man—drowning his fire in the first -drenching assault and then battering him right merrily. -Without shelter, without light, he had been compelled -to huddle up and endure it until dawn; and even -now, though he was in motion once more, he had to -shut his teeth to keep them from chattering.</p> - -<p>From side to side he wormed along his erratic way, -swinging from one ghostly bush-clump to another, -ever following the rambling line of safe footholds, -gradually descending toward the lower edge of the -enshrouding mist. After a time the bare rock ended -and he came into dense forest where the footing was -secure. Down through this he passed with swinging -strides. The rain ceased, and the wind died to a -breath. Faster and faster he pressed on, warmer now, -but eager to reach his house and dry out. Then suddenly -he slowed.</p> - -<p>Dead ahead opened a cleared space, and beyond, -vague in the gray-white blur, were the faint outlines -of a rough shack. Scanning the place as he moved -on, he became sure that it was one which he had not -seen in his previous wanderings. The exterior of the -house was decidedly uninviting, but from its lopsided -chimney smoke was drifting thinly away into the fog. -His stride lengthened again. Since the inhabitants of -this house were up, he would stop there and ask for -some hot coffee.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>But the quick decision was as quickly reversed. -As he neared the door it stealthily opened. Out stole -Lou Brackett.</p> - -<p>“Morning,” he sang out, speeding up again. -“Lovely day.”</p> - -<p>She started, turned her head, looked behind, advanced -with hand uplifted for silence. He paused.</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk so loud,” she implored as she reached -him. “Snake, he’s a-sleepin’, but ye might waken him -up. What ye want round here?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing. Just going home. Been up above and -got wet.” Smiling a little, he added: “I wanted to -see where the sun hit the wall first in the morning, but -it isn’t hitting to-day.”</p> - -<p>Into the black eyes came a sudden light. She laid a -plump, not over-clean hand on his wet shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re a-huntin’ the mine! I bet ye’ll find it, too, -if ye jest keep a-lookin’ long ’nough. Ye ain’t got -nawthin’ else to do—keep a-huntin’! An’ when ye -git to it ’member ye promised me some o’ the silver. -Will ye? An’ don’t tell nobody. Jest me an’ you—we -can git outen here together then.”</p> - -<p>The broad hint brought a tart retort to his tongue, -but he swallowed it. Instead he asked: “So you still -want to leave? Why don’t you go, then?”</p> - -<p>She stared as if he had lost his senses.</p> - -<p>“Go wher’? Go how? I ain’t got no folks, mister—I -ain’t got no place to go—I ain’t got no money—I -ain’t got nawthin’. I ain’t never been nowheres—wha’d -I do outside o’ the Traps? An’ Snake, he’d kill me -sure’s shootin’, he would. ’Course, if I had some silver<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> -or somethin’—but I ain’t got none. ’Less’n ye want to -take me out with ye——”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t,” he broke in bluntly. “But you can -get work in plenty of places outside where he never -would bother you.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t!” she disputed, drawing back. “Them -that’s borned into the Traps lives into the Traps an’ -dies into the Traps. Ther’ ain’t no place for us outside.”</p> - -<p>“All right. That doesn’t match very well with what -you said about leaving, but never mind. How did you -and Snake make out that day about—er—the bridge?”</p> - -<p>A slow smile spread across her face, revealing -anew the gap in her teeth.</p> - -<p>“Oh, we got ’long all right—I done what ye told me. -He’d hearn ’bout it, but when he come at me I cracked -him good with the sadiron an’ jumped onto him ’bout -them Oakses. It kinder took the tuck outen him. -But”—her smile faded and her face turned hard—“that -red-head o’ Nat’s better leave my man ’lone! -Fust thing she knows I’ll—wal, she better look out, -tha’s all!”</p> - -<p>“What’s that? Why, you’re crazy! She hates the -sight of him. Don’t you start any trouble with her, or -you’ll be mighty sorry. And what’s more, you can -tell your man that unless he lets her alone he’ll run -into something hard—the same thing that hit him on -Dickie Barre awhile ago. She belongs to——”</p> - -<p>The next word on his tongue was “Steve,” with -more words to follow. But his habitual avoidance of -that name suddenly stopped his speech. She grinned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -sneeringly, interpreting his abrupt silence according to -her lights.</p> - -<p>“She does, hey? Then ye better take her into yer -own house an’ watch her. Me an’ Snake don’t git -’long none too well, but no red-headed catamount like -her is a-goin’ to git him. He was down ther’ last -night late, I know he was—he never tells me nawthin’, -but I ain’t simple, an’ I know. He come back ’way -’long late, an’ he hadn’t been a-drinkin’, an’ if he ain’t -drinkin’ to Oaks’s what’s he a-doin’ ther’? -He’s——”</p> - -<p>All at once she turned hurriedly, as if sensing something -in the house behind her. When she faced back -she looked perturbed.</p> - -<p>“I got to git in. He might waken up any time. -G’by.”</p> - -<p>“All right. But you mind what I told you!”</p> - -<p>Without reply, she padded hastily doorward. -Frowning, he pushed away down-hill. The door -opened and softly closed, and the woman was gone. -The mist sifted around the man, and he too was gone. -And neither of them knew that Sanders, sleeping with -one ear open, had started up at the sound of the intruder’s -first careless greeting and since then had -watched snakily from the interior gloom.</p> - -<p>He had heard nothing of what was said, for he was -in his bedroom, behind a shut door and a closed window; -and he had preferred to remain there, using his -eyes rather than his ears, making no move. Furthermore, -something about the appearance of that man in -the ghostly fog had seemed to paralyze him for a moment<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> -when he first looked out. Then, recovering himself, -he had watched the colloquy with the eyes of evil, -interpreting it with the brain of evil. And now, -though again in bed and to all appearances asleep -when the woman Lou stealthily peeped in at him, he -was mentally gliding along a black, black path—like a -copperhead slithering through a sunless morass -wherein moved nameless things.</p> - -<p>Onward down the slope marched Douglas, scowling -ahead at a well-marked path which his feet now were -following but which his mind hardly noticed. The -half-spoken threat of the woman behind against -Marion Oaks bothered him. Primitive, ignorant, unmoral, -willing to abandon her “man” for a better one -but jealous of any other woman who might attract -him—there was no knowing what she might do in some -vindictive rage. Douglas was not one of those men -who look on all women as children and scoff at their -dangerous moods; his newspaper experience had repeatedly -brought him into contact with stark tragedies -resulting from feminine jealousy; and he recalled the -Indian cheek-bones of Lou. Marion, he felt, should -be warned.</p> - -<p>But he shrank from the thought of delivering that -warning himself. Not only was the rôle of tale-bearer -utterly repugnant to him, but that wall of Pride loomed -high and hard, as before. Moreover, the girl had repeatedly -shown that she wished her acquaintance with -him to remain unknown, had commanded him to remain -away from Nigger Nat’s house. What, then, -should he do?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>The problem solved itself. The mist thinned, then -lifted a little, and he found himself nearing the road, -only a short distance above the Oaks place. And -when, striding along the road itself, he approached the -house of Nigger Nat, he saw both Marion and her -“mom” outside the door, apparently looking around -for some one. To his astonishment, Eliza Oaks hailed -him.</p> - -<p>“Say! See anythin’ o’ my man anywheres?”</p> - -<p>“Why, no. Lost him?” He turned into the yard.</p> - -<p>“I dunno. Ye didn’t see him up the road nowheres?”</p> - -<p>“Nope. But I haven’t been up the road very far. -Just came down across-lots.”</p> - -<p>Her gaze went over him, taking in his thorough -wetness and the soggy blanket-pack. His eyes turned -to the girl, who had drawn back a little and was steadfastly -watching him. Over her thin dress she was -wearing a ragged old coat, evidently the property of -her father; and down the shoulders of the threadbare -garment, unconfined by the few pins which generally -held it up on her head, her hair cascaded in -rippling glory. Meeting his eyes, her own contracted -a little; but they held, unwavering. As swiftly as he -had decided what to do for Steve that day at Uncle -Eb’s, he determined what to do for her.</p> - -<p>“Am I correct in assuming that this is Miss Marion -Oaks?” he asked formally, with the tiniest droop of -the off eyelid.</p> - -<p>“You are,” she answered with a cold dignity matching -his own. “What of it?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>A subdued gurgle from the older woman drew his -gaze to her. On her shrewish lips he found a sour -smile.</p> - -<p>“Ye needn’t to be so awful perlite,” she drawled. -“Marry told me ’bout what ye done to that ’ere catamount, -an’ how ye made them fellers leave her -’lone onto the road, an’ ’bout—wal, we’re ’bliged to -ye.”</p> - -<p>“Good! Glad you know we’ve met before, I mean—there’s -no obligation. Er—how does Nat feel about -it?”</p> - -<p>A scowl wiped off the thin smile. After a moment -of silence she answered guardedly: “He dunno -nawthin’ ’bout it.”</p> - -<p>“I see. You don’t tell him all you know. Good -idea, maybe. He’s still sore at me, then. All right. -Just keep him away from me and we won’t have any -trouble. I’m sorry I had to shoot up those dogs of -yours, but——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, ’t’s all right. I was mad then, but we’re better -off ’thout ’em—they et more’n they was wuth. An’ -mebbe ye done right to crack Nat when he come for -ye. He don’t mean no harm, Nat don’t, but he—he’s -kind o’ funny—he gits spells when he ain’t his own -self, like.” She looked worriedly around again. “I -wisht I knowed what’s ’come o’ him. He ain’t been -to home all night.”</p> - -<p>Douglas eyed her, remembering what Lou had said—that -Snake had been here until late last night. But -then, feeling that the jealous woman might have been -utterly mistaken in her statement, he kept his thought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -to himself. As for Nat, he probably was drunk somewhere. -He turned to Marion.</p> - -<p>“Miss Marion, I’ve heard something which I think -you ought to know,” he plunged. “Er—well, a certain -woman up yonder thinks you and Snake Sanders -are too friendly to suit her. It’s absurd, of course, -but still—folks get queer ideas, and sometimes they -do queer things, and—maybe you’d better—er—keep -your eyes open——”</p> - -<p>He floundered to a stop, reddening under the steady -gray gaze, in which he read mounting scorn. Humiliated -already by his position, he squirmed at her -drawling answer.</p> - -<p>“So that’s where you’ve been to. Ain’t Snake to -home yet? You’re takin’ big chances, seems like. But -that ain’t anything to me. You needn’t worry for me, -Mister Hampton—I can take pretty good care of my -own self. But you can tell your friend, when you see -her the next time, if she’ll jest bust Snake’s head so -he won’t never come to, I’ll be much ’bliged.”</p> - -<p>Before he could retort, her mother’s voice broke in.</p> - -<p>“That ’ere Lou’s a bigger fool ’n Snake, ’n’ he’s -crazy ’nough. I ast him only yestiddy, says I, ‘Ye -mizzable idjit, how d’ye think ye’d ever git Marry -when ye got Lou already? I’ve told ye time an’ time -to keep outen here——’”</p> - -<p>She checked herself suddenly, as if regretting her -outburst. The blond man’s eyes were on hers again, -boring like gimlets.</p> - -<p>“So Snake was here last night,” he said. “And -where was Nat?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>“Nat—he was here—it warn’t last night—’twas in -the aft’noon. Then they went away, an’ Nat ain’t -back. I wisht I knowed——”</p> - -<p>Once more she looked up and down the road.</p> - -<p>“Snake’s at home,” he told her. “At least I was -told he was, when I came by his place just now. -Maybe Nat’s there with him. I don’t know. Well, -good-day.”</p> - -<p>Without another look at the girl he swung about. -At his first step, however, Marion stopped him.</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute,” she said. As he glanced at her he -found another change in her attitude. She still stood -with unconscious dignity, but the smouldering scorn -had died from her eyes, and her face had softened.</p> - -<p>“I want to say thank you for what you done that -day onto the road—makin’ that detective feller let go -of me; and, more’n that, for helpin’ out—you know -who—up to Uncle Eb’s. And you meant all right by -tellin’ me jest now to look out, I shouldn’t wonder. -So I say thank you for that too. G’by.”</p> - -<p>With that she was gone into the house. He opened -his mouth, shut it, glanced at Eliza Oaks, saw a faint -smile in her face, and laughed shortly. With a wave -of his free hand he started off again, and kept -going.</p> - -<p>“What a wayward, fiery little thoroughbred!” he -thought. “Quick as a cat—now you see her mind -and now you don’t. She made one awful fool of you, -Hamp. Serves you right, too, confound you, with -your tattling! But she thanked you, at that, like the -real little lady she is. If she only had a chance to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> -somebody—if it weren’t for the black blood—and -Steve—— Lordy, what a woman she’d make!”</p> - -<p>The thought kept revolving in his mind until he entered -the fallow little field beside his bleak abode. -Then it fled.</p> - -<p>His front door was open.</p> - -<p>Instinctively he slowed. His searching scrutiny revealed -no other change in the house. Only that door, -which he had made to fit tightly by tacking on strips, -stood as if shoved back by a hurried entrance—or -departure.</p> - -<p>“Wind?” he debated. “Wind blew last night, but -not hard. H’m! How come?”</p> - -<p>Approaching guardedly, he peered within. Nobody -was there. Nothing seemed altered. The place not -only looked empty—it felt empty.</p> - -<p>But before stepping over the threshold he shoved -the door hard with one foot. It swung back and struck -the wall, proving that nothing waited behind it. Entering, -he shot a glance into the bedroom where lay -the forgotten dummy of burlap. For a second he -stood rigid. Then he leaped into the room.</p> - -<p>The dummy still lay there. But it had been visited -in the night. The visitor had left a memento of his -call. Its handle jutted horizontally from the huddled -sacks.</p> - -<p>Douglas grasped that handle and drew upward. -From the burlap and the corn-husk mattress beneath -slid a long blade. Grimly he inspected it. When he -turned toward the outer room his face was flint.</p> - -<p>He had seen that murderous tool before. It was -the corn-hook of Nigger Nat Oaks.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> - -<small>HUNTERS OF MEN</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Moving</span> rapidly about, Douglas inspected his real -bedroom and the spidery attic, finding his bough-tip -couch undisturbed and the upper room empty. Back -in the main room, he glowered anew at the bayonet-like -blade which had been driven with such venomous -force into what seemed to be a sleeping man.</p> - -<p>“This cooks your goose, Nat Oaks!” he growled. -“You’ve let yourself in for the worst mauling you -ever got in your low-down life. Just as soon as you -and I meet up again—and we’ll meet just as quick as -I can find you!”</p> - -<p>He strode to the door. But there he slowed, stayed -by the reflection that Nigger Nat was not likely to be -at home now and that he did not know where else to -look. “Better build a fire, eat, and dry out,” whispered -Common Sense. So he slammed the door shut -and returned to the cold stove.</p> - -<p>With the kindlings in position, he reached to the -little shelf above him for a dry match—and knocked -the match-box to the floor. Stooping to pick up the -little igniters, he saw under the stove a scrap of paper. -Mechanically he lifted it, glanced at it, saw only a -blank space; folded it once, touched a match to it, and -held it under the grate to start the fire. It blazed out -bravely, the light of its own flame shining through it.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he snatched it back and killed its blaze<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -under a wet sole. The light had revealed writing inside -the little sheet.</p> - -<p>Straightening out the charred, muddy remnant, he -read:</p> - -<p>“—akes dont Sleep hear to Nite.”</p> - -<p>Minutes passed while he squatted there, his whole -mind concentrated on that belated message. Then he -turned, inspected the floor, looked back at the stove, -and nodded.</p> - -<p>“Somebody slid this under the door yesterday after -I left,” he deduced. “When the door opened later on, -the wind blew it here, wrong side up. Now who left -it? Not Lou Brackett—not Marry or her mother—they -don’t know a thing about this. Uncle Eb? -Steve? Not likely that they’d know what was to -happen. And it surely wasn’t either of those man-hunters. -H’m! Some one of these silent Trapsmen -who likes me, maybe. Well, my unknown friend, I’m -obliged to you. Call again some time.”</p> - -<p>Again he studied the writing, the spelling, the paper—cheap -wrapping, wrinkled and soiled.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t much education and you write like a -coal-heaver, but your heart’s true blue,” he added, -folding the blackened tatter and pocketing it. “I’d -surely like to know who you are. But if you’re as -close-mouthed as everybody else around here you’d -never admit that you wrote this, anyway. Well, let’s -start this fire.”</p> - -<p>Soon a hot fire was roaring up-chimney, coffee was -coming to a boil, and he was arraying himself in the -few dry articles of clothing he could find, while the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> -wet garments and boots encircled the stove. After a -rough-and-ready breakfast he hugged the stove himself, -smoking and thinking.</p> - -<p>Nat Oaks was a clumsy murderer indeed to leave -his weapon behind. Perhaps the ha’nt had scared him—the -open door indicated a sudden bolt from the -place. For that matter, it was strange that he had -ever dared to enter this house of fear at night. He -must have been full of “Dutch courage” at the time.</p> - -<p>But there was Snake Sanders, too. Snake had been -with Nat when he left home yesterday afternoon. He -had returned to his own den late at night. And he -was a creature who always worked stealthily, snakily, -using others as his tools. In avenging his real or -fancied grudge against the Bumps he had used Steve -as his scapegoat. In trying to rid the neighborhood of -the “detective” and gain possession of the stranger’s -belongings he had employed a deadly reptile. Now -he and Nigger Nat had been much together of late—and -he had “some kind of a hold” on Nat. So Marion -had said. It was fair to suspect, then, that he had -been the instigator of this murderous attempt last -night. Yes, very fair. Almost a foregone conclusion.</p> - -<p>Yet there was no actual proof of Snake’s hand in -this. For that matter, the proof against Nat himself -was purely circumstantial. Another hand might have -wielded this corn-hook. It was even possible that the -corn-hook itself was not Nat’s, though it looked the -same. Corn-hooks probably were much alike. True, -this one had a whitish gouge on the handle near the -blade, and the same sort of mark had been noticeable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> -at the same spot when Nat had poised it for attack -that day in his yard. But still——</p> - -<p>“First thing I’ll do, Nigger Nat, will be to find out -whether this hook is yours,” declared the man by the -stove. “If it is, the next thing is to get hold of you. -Then I’ll hammer the truth out of you.”</p> - -<p>In pursuance of this program, he stoked up the fire -and hastened the drying of the necessary articles of -outdoor gear. When at length his personal outfit -was again serviceable he went forth into the raw day.</p> - -<p>But he did not start away at once. Memory persisted -in reminding him of Uncle Eb’s account of the -open door and of what he had found in the woods behind -the house. He rubbed his chin, then turned and -stalked toward those woods.</p> - -<p>In under the funereal trees he passed, scrutinizing -the vague dark things here and there among the trunks, -finding them to be only rotting fragments of old logs, -half-buried juts of stone, or lumps of forest mould. -No sound came to him but the tiny impacts of falling -leaves and the watery squash of his own boots on the -soaked soil. Dreary and dismal stood the forest, telling -him nothing of what had taken place last night. -His only reward for his wandering there was a renewal -of his wetness.</p> - -<p>Swinging back, he worked by the driest route toward -the road, thinking only of settling the matter of -the ownership of the corn-hook. And now that he -sought nothing, he found something: a grim reminder -of what had come about within these shades on another -night.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>Under a hemlock was a sinister low mound. At one -end stood a short pine board. On the board he deciphered -scrawling letters shallowly cut with a jack-knife.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="gesperrt">JAKE<br /> -DALTON</span></p> - -<p>Though he had repeatedly visited these woods before, -seeking fuel, he never had stumbled on this spot. -Now he stood gazing thoughtfully down, hearing again -Uncle Eb’s words:</p> - -<p>“What he was runnin’ away from—what had got -holt of him before he run—nobody knows. Nobody -but Jake, an’ he can’t tell.”</p> - -<p>And last night another man had bolted from the -same house, from the same room—whither?—why? -Douglas felt a slight chill. With a sharp shake of the -shoulders he lifted his head and right-faced. Out to -the silent clearing he tramped, and straight up the -road.</p> - -<p>On his way to the Oaks place he met nobody. The -only tracks not blurred by rain on the sand were his -own, made that morning. Entering the yard of Nigger -Nat, he slowed down, sharply scanning the windows. -No face showed there.</p> - -<p>“Hey! Hullo!” he called.</p> - -<p>After a pause the door opened. Marion’s head came -out.</p> - -<p>“Hullo yourself! What you want? Seen pop anywheres?”</p> - -<p>“No. He hasn’t come home yet?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>“If he had I wouldn’t be askin’, would I?”</p> - -<p>“Probably not. Well, I wonder if I can borrow his -corn-hook awhile.”</p> - -<p>“Corn-hook? Why—yes, I guess so. He wouldn’t -like it much, but—— Mom, Mister Hampton wants -pop’s corn-hook awhile. All right? Wait a minute -and I’ll git it.”</p> - -<p>She withdrew, leaving the door partly open. Presently -her voice floated to him from somewhere at the -rear.</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t here! Mom, you been usin’ it? Well, -’tain’t here. What’s ’come of it, I wonder?”</p> - -<p>Hammerless Hampton’s face tightened. To the door -he passed, drawing from under his coat the tool which, -despite its clumsiness, he had managed to conceal.</p> - -<p>“Maybe this is it,” he called. Feet padded inside, -and both the girl and her mother appeared.</p> - -<p>“Sakes alive! That’s it, now!” ejaculated the -woman. “It’s hisn—got the two nicks into the edge -that he never ground outen it, an’ there’s the place -where one o’ the dawgs bit onto it.” She pointed to -dull dents on the handle. “How come ye by it?” she -added suspiciously. “What ye askin’ for it for, when -ye got it already?”</p> - -<p>“Just wanted to make sure it was his. I found it -down the road a piece—in some corn-husks.” He -watched her keenly. Her visage showed only blank -wonderment. The girl, too, looked mystified, but she -was probing his grim face with sharp eyes.</p> - -<p>“An’—ye didn’t see nawthin’ o’ Nat?”</p> - -<p>“Not a thing. But you can tell him, when he gets<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -home, that I want to see him, and the best thing he can -do is to wait for me.”</p> - -<p>Without another word or look he swung away, leaving -them staring after him in misgiving. On up the -road he journeyed, turning off at the path leading to -the lair of Snake Sanders.</p> - -<p>The crawling mists had long since left the slopes, -and when he emerged again into the Sanders field the -shack was visible in all its raw nakedness. Smoke -still curled from its shiftless chimney, but the only -sign of life outside was a lonesome speckled hen -pecking disconsolately at the bare dirt. Watching the -windows, he marched up to the door and gave it a -resounding kick. Then he jumped to one side.</p> - -<p>A chair fell over within, followed by hurried steps.</p> - -<p>“Who’s ther’?” shrilled a sharp voice.</p> - -<p>“Open up!” he snapped, warily sweeping the front -of the place, from corner to corner. “I want Snake!”</p> - -<p>More steps. The door swung slowly back. Lou -Brackett’s face appeared, drawn into a squinting knot.</p> - -<p>“Send Snake out here!” he commanded.</p> - -<p>She eyed him, unspeaking, for a long minute. -Gradually her face relaxed. She came forward and -stood on the door-stone. Her right hand was gripping -a heavy flatiron.</p> - -<p>“Snake, he ain’t here.”</p> - -<p>“Where is he? I want him.”</p> - -<p>“I dunno wher’ he’s at. He went out ’while ago—never -said one word to me after he got up, ’cept tellin’ -me to git more cawffee. What’s pesterin’ ye? Wha’ -for d’ye come a-kickin’ into the door——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>“Nat Oaks here?”</p> - -<p>“Nat! No, mister, that yeller dawg ain’t! Him -nor none o’ his tribe—now or no other time! What -ye——”</p> - -<p>“All right. Good-bye.”</p> - -<p>Leaving her open-mouthed, he circuited the house, -looking in at every window, finding that she spoke -truthfully: neither Sanders nor Oaks was there. She -still stood on the steps, gaping after him, when he -went back across the opening and disappeared down-hill -among the trees.</p> - -<p>At the edge of the sandy road below, he paused, -undecided what to do next. Had he been in almost -any other place and seeking a man, he would have -visited other men and asked questions. But here in -the tight-mouthed Traps, what was the use? Still, he -felt a strong distaste for returning and idling out the -dismal day in his dreary abode. Half consciously he -turned toward Uncle Eb’s home.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go up and smoke a pipe with the old man, -anyhow,” he decided aloud.</p> - -<p>“Smoke it here if you want,” a voice answered.</p> - -<p>The voice came from beside a tree not ten feet away. -Startled, he looked into the face of Ward, man-hunter.</p> - -<p>“Caught you flat-footed, huh?” Ward went on. -“Bill’s behind you, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”</p> - -<p>True enough, a few feet back from the other side of -the path, the morose face of Bill showed beside another -tree.</p> - -<p>“Well! You fellows are getting good!” Douglas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> -congratulated them. “Regular Indian stuff. You’d -have had me cold if you’d wanted me.”</p> - -<p>“Sure.” Ward nodded carelessly. “But we don’t -want you—not yet.”</p> - -<p>“Not yet? Meaning what?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, we ain’t got anything on you—yet. When we -do we’ll nail you. Right now we got other work.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks! Mighty nice of you to tell me. How -are you making out?”</p> - -<p>“Bum luck, so far,” was the frank admission. “But -we’ll git what we’re after. You could help us if you -would, but it’s no good askin’ you.”</p> - -<p>Douglas grinned jauntily. Then he grew sober. -There was something about the patient, straightforward, -quiet-spoken Ward that appealed strongly to -him, just as there was a coarseness about “Brooklyn -Bill” that aroused his reckless antagonism. Too, he -himself was now a man-hunter on his own account. -With Bill silent behind him and Ward’s steady eyes -before him, he felt a sudden swerve from the Traps -current in which he had been drifting. Weighing his -words, he spoke out.</p> - -<p>“See here, Ward. You haven’t told me who your -man is, and I’m not asking. Maybe I know something -about the case, maybe I don’t. But let’s suppose -a case.</p> - -<p>“Suppose you’re looking for a fellow—only a young -lad—who got sent up for arson and a few other things -like that. Suppose I have reason to believe that the -young fellow never did what he was sent up for; that -he has served years for a crime he never committed;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> -that he was ‘framed.’ Would you blame me for not -wanting to help send him back to a good many more -years of the same?”</p> - -<p>Ward’s eyes widened a trifle.</p> - -<p>“No, I wouldn’t. I’d feel sorry for him myself. -But ‘framed’? How?”</p> - -<p>“Used as a goat by an older man. Filled up with -liquor and left to take the blame for burning a house -and shooting people, while the man who really did it -sneaked back up here and laughed at you fellows. -That could easily be done.”</p> - -<p>A pause, while Ward watched him steadily.</p> - -<p>“Sure, it could be done. But to git the kid clear it -would have to be proved. Who’s the man?”</p> - -<p>Douglas glanced behind him—up Snake Sanders’ -road. The movement was involuntary, prompted by -an instinct to make sure that nobody else was lurking -and listening. But Ward’s shrewd eyes narrowed, -and he nodded as if in complete understanding.</p> - -<p>“I’m not saying,” Douglas replied, facing him again. -“We’re just supposing, of course. But in that case, -you couldn’t expect much help from me, even if I -knew where the youngster was. As a matter of fact—if -you are looking for such a fellow—I don’t know -where he is. But, speaking of goats, here’s something -that’s not ‘supposing’ at all: While I was away last -night somebody entered my house and rammed a foot -and a half of cold steel into a dummy I’d left in my -bed. And I’m pretty sure that the mind back of that -stab—though maybe not the hand that did the stabbing—was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> -the same one that framed up that ‘supposed’ -boy we’re talking about.”</p> - -<p>Another pause.</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh. And you’ve been up here to see about -it, and your man wasn’t home. Well, we’re waitin’ -for that same gentleman; been wantin’ to see him for -quite awhile, but he’s a slippery cuss. When we do -git hold of him—we’ve got a few questions to ask him. -Glad you spoke that little piece of yours, Hampton. -We’ll keep it in mind.”</p> - -<p>“All right. If I see him before you do he may get -mussed up considerably, so you’d better grab him soon. -So long.”</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute. Got any idea who swung that -steel on the dummy—if it wasn’t the same gent?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. But that’s my business. So long.”</p> - -<p>“So long. Watch yourself.”</p> - -<p>Douglas tramped away. Ward and Bill looked at -each other, slid back behind their trees, and resumed -their silent waiting.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX<br /> - -<small>THE SUN BREAKS THROUGH</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Three</span> days of raw chill, leaden cloud, and numbing -wind rolled past. No more rain fell, but, except by -fitful gleams, no sun shone. Through each gray day -the dying leaves fluttered limply down, carpeting the -damp ground thicker and thicker with yellow and -crimson and brown. Through each black night a few -hardy survivors of the former myriad of katydids -quacked despairingly, and here and there a cricket -sounded a mournful call to comrades which no longer -answered him. Bleak November was drawing near.</p> - -<p>In those gray days Hammerless Hampton ranged -the roads, the fields, and the forest, implacably hunting -the man or men who had struck in the dark at the lay -figure representing himself. Time and again he visited -the Oaks house and the Sanders shack. But never -did he find his quarry there. Time and again he was -asked, with suspicion verging on anger, why he kept -“a-pesterin’ round.” But he never told.</p> - -<p>The manner of both Nigger Nat’s woman and Snake -Sanders’ woman became sullenly hostile. Yet, though -their attitude toward him was basically the same, there -was a difference. In the shrewish face and the snappish -answers of the former was revealed worriment<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> -for the missing man. In the lowering countenance and -the dogged replies of the latter was clumsy untruth. -The man who studied them both knew that Snake, -though always absent when he came, was present -at certain other times; while Nat had never come -home.</p> - -<p>Of Marion he saw little. When he did see her it -was at her own door, and few words passed between -them. He knew, though, that her active brain was -surmising more or less accurately why he was hunting -her father, and in her sober face he saw grave concern. -But the rankling irritation of the other two -women was never visible in her voice or manner. -Whether her sympathies were with him or with her -own kin he did not know.</p> - -<p>He did not confine his questioning, however, to these -three. Though he felt it to be useless—and, indeed, -found it so—to ask any of the clansmen for information -regarding the two whom he sought, he quizzed -every man he met. The only result was to cause keen -interest in his movements and to spread throughout -the mountain bowl the word that he was “a-huntin’ -Nat an’ Snake with blood into his eye.”</p> - -<p>Even Uncle Eb gave him no aid. But this time it -was not clannishness nor habitual taciturnity regarding -his neighbors that made fruitless the younger man’s -call on him. He really knew nothing of either of the -rascally pair.</p> - -<p>“Nor I don’t want to,” he added bluntly. “If -ther’s anybody into the world I don’t want to know -nawthin’ ’bout, it’s them fellers. No, I take that back,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> -now I think onto it. Ther’s one thing I’d like awful -well to know ’bout ’em—that they was both dead. But -that’s too good to come true.”</p> - -<p>The old man was standing in his doorway at the -time, and his manner was even more jerky than usual. -Douglas, outside, was conscious of the frank scrutiny -of two women at a near-by window—Uncle Eb’s wife -and spinster daughter, both intelligent-looking but decidedly -plain of feature. Uncle Eb, too, seemed -aware of listening ears, for he left his stoop and -walked to the road, out of hearing. He asked no -question, but his move was an obvious invitation to -tell why Nat and Snake were wanted. And, briefly, -Douglas did.</p> - -<p>“The varmints!” Eb muttered fiercely. “The -murderin’ snakes! They’d oughter be shot! Only for -ye bein’ away they’d got ye. They’re a-layin’ low now -’cause they know ye’re a-trackin’ ’em. By mighty, boy, -ye must have a good angel a-watchin’ out for ye, -sendin’ ye out that day an’ all! Ye’d oughter change -yer bed now—mebbe change yer house too. I ain’t -soop’stitious, but ther’ ain’t no good luck into that -house o’ Jake’s.”</p> - -<p>Douglas wavered, half minded to tell him of his -previous change in sleeping quarters and of the mysterious -missive of warning. But he held his tongue. -Such disclosures would do no good. Instead, he -shifted the subject.</p> - -<p>“Maybe so, but I’m not moving out yet. By the -way, I saw those two detectives the other day. They -say they’ll get what they’re after.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>Uncle Eb scowled. After a glance around he whispered:</p> - -<p>“Son, I’m right worried. This is turrible weather -for that boy to lay up into the rocks. He ain’t tough -now—he was into the pen three year, ye know, an’ -that weakens a feller—specially us hill fellers that’s -used to lots o’ air. I dasn’t bring him back down here—I -dasn’t go nigh him—for fear them detectives’ll -git to him; they been round here two-three times, -a-watchin’ an’ a-layin’ low. But I wisht he could git -under cover some’rs. I hear he’s got a misery onto -his chest already.”</p> - -<p>The younger man frowned in concern. Comfortably -clad though he was, he felt the raw bite of the -air; his ungloved fingers, in fact, were partly numbed. -And Steve, cowering among those clammy bowlders, -unable to risk a fire—why, the boy was barefoot!</p> - -<p>“D’ye s’pose, now, ye could toll them fellers out o’ -the Traps for good?” Eb suggested hopefully. “Ye -fooled ’em deef, dumb an’ blind that time they was -right onto his back. Mebbe ye could——”</p> - -<p>He paused. Douglas reluctantly shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Afraid not. They know now that I’m on Steve’s -side. It wouldn’t work. But—I’ll see if I can think -of something.”</p> - -<p>Dubious as the answer was, Eb’s face showed some -relief.</p> - -<p>“Do that, son! Think o’ sumpthin’—anythin’—an’ -then go do it. I been a-thinkin’ till I’m all jumpy like, -an’ it don’t git me nowheres. Mebbe I’d oughter let -him shift for himself, seein’ he ain’t no relation o’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> -mine, but I can’t keep my mind offen the boy. He -was borned unlucky, ye might say, an’ he never had -much of a chance, an’—I’m right sorry for him.”</p> - -<p>“Born unlucky? How do you mean?”</p> - -<p>Uncle Eb glanced sidewise at him; pulled at one end -of his walrus mustache; spat loudly, looked at his -windows, and spoke—but did not answer.</p> - -<p>“I got to be gittin’ in. I’m a-gittin’ cold. Uh—do -what ye can for the pore feller. G’by.”</p> - -<p>Hastily he lumbered houseward. Douglas stared, -laughed shortly at the awkward rebuff, and sauntered -away, unoffended. He knew the old man’s tongue had -been clutched by the hand of habit—the habit of telling -no tales about others; and, in a way, he honored -the old fellow for it. What mattered Steve’s birth, -anyway? The real crux was the problem of his immediate -future.</p> - -<p>All the way back to his abiding-place that problem -bothered him. Night was not far off now, and the -cold was increasing. Looking up at the chill gray -cliffs of Dickie Barre as he passed along the road, he -shivered. What a cheerless refuge for a half-clad -boy! Skulking there alone in a black hole night after -night, numbly waiting day after day, subsisting on -cold food smuggled to him by stealth, dreading every -sound, with a growing “misery onto his chest”—he -was in a worse prison than the one from which he had -escaped. Beside him, its grisly fingers perhaps already -touching his lungs, lurked the dread spectre of the -hills—Pneumonia. And he, Hampton, though he lived -in a haunted house, had shelter and stove and warmth—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> -more room than he needed. All at once he -nodded sharply. He knew what he would do.</p> - -<p>Before night set in he worked a little while at his -back door, which opened hard and creaked loudly. -With his camp-ax he trimmed its edges, and with gun-oil -he lubricated the rusty hinges, until it could swing -easily and silently. After barring it he turned to the -window of his sleeping-room, which hitherto had been -wedged so that it would admit fresh air but nothing -else. On this also he labored for a time. When it -would rise with smooth speed he locked it with a short -stake and turned his attention to preparing supper.</p> - -<p>“Maybe to-morrow night we’ll have company,” he -informed the emptiness. “Maybe.”</p> - -<p>An hour later he was asleep on his aromatic couch, -and the whole house was given up to darkness and -silence.</p> - -<p>As the black hours wore on, the boards above his -head dully gave notice that the ha’nt was prowling -back and forth on its softly thumping bare heels. -Perhaps his subconscious self knew of the movement, -but it did not arouse his sleeping senses—it was only -the usual nightly occurrence. Out in the main room -beyond his closed door, too, something moved about: -a silent, hideous, unhuman thing which paused awhile -beside the wooden barrier, then glided elsewhere; a -thing which opened no doors or windows, which -neither entered the house nor left it, but which presently -was gone. Of this, too, he knew nothing. The -weird sough of the sepulchral pines behind the house, -the proximity of the mound holding all that was left<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> -of the man who had been done to death here, the steel-slashed -rent in the corn-husk mattress beyond the wall—none -of these things troubled him. Tranquilly he -slept until morning light smote softly on his lids and -woke him to a new day.</p> - -<p>Sun and warmth flooded the Traps when, after -breakfast, he emerged into the open. After the grayness -and the numbness of the past few days, the change -was magical. But for the thinly clad branches above -and the sodden wind-blown leaves below, it would have -seemed mid-August instead of late October. In the -hot air flies buzzed, bees hummed, and a resounding -chorus throbbed from crickets and katydids defiantly -informing the world that they were not yet dead. And -from all sides drifted the damp fragrance of forest -mould and of grass-ground drying in the heat.</p> - -<p>But, as a wandering breeze floated from the region -of a bush-bound little brook beyond the road, it -bore into the pleasant aroma of plant life a vague -taint.</p> - -<p>Douglas, inhaling the freshness of the morning, half -sensed that slight odor and glanced around. But then -the breeze died and he forgot it. Drawing another -great lungful of air, he struck off up the road toward -the Oaks place.</p> - -<p>Before he reached it the sound of chopping came to -him. As he entered the yard he found a figure slugging -away at a chopping-block with an ax which -seemed dull. It wore a man’s hat, but it also wore a -dress. The hat fell off as he approached, and the sun -glowed red in the tumbled hair suddenly revealed.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> -At the sound of his step the girl wheeled sharply and, -panting and flushed, looked at him.</p> - -<p>“No, he ain’t home,” she said before he could -speak. “You can run right ’long up to Lou’s.”</p> - -<p>She turned from him, picked up another stick of -fire-wood, swung the ax dexterously, and split the -fagot clean. Something about her words and manner -gave him a sudden glimpse of her side of that pride-wall -which had stood between them: the side which -he had supposed to bear the face of Steve, but which -now seemed to hold something else. He stepped forward -and closed one hand over the ax-helve.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Marion,” he said quietly, “I don’t like -that.”</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t much to me what you like,” she retorted, -though with little heat. “Jest travel ’long.”</p> - -<p>“When I’m ready.” He kept his grip on the handle. -“But let’s settle this now. You’ve been acting offish -for quite awhile—ever since the day we talked about -art and—and so on, up the brook. I’ve been too bull-headed -to ask you why. But I’m asking you now, -straight and square; and asking you, too, why you -keep intimating that Lou is a particular friend of mine. -Now speak up, man to man.”</p> - -<p>With steady directness she looked up at him. Wide -gray eye and clear blue eye searched each other to the -depths. And then, man to man, straight from the -shoulder, she spoke out.</p> - -<p>“I heard ’bout you huggin’ her under the bridge. -’Tain’t any of my business, only——”</p> - -<p>“What’s that? <i>Hugging?</i>”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>“Yes, sir, huggin’. And pretty hard, too. And -that wasn’t much more’n an hour after—after”—she -flushed crimson—“after you—made me—fight to git -my picture. The only difference it makes to me is -this: you couldn’t have much respect for yourself to -do it, or for me either. ’Course, I’m only Nigger -Nat’s girl, and folks ain’t got much respect for him or -anybody of his, but—but that’s different.”</p> - -<p>“I should think so!” he agreed crisply. “Those -dirty little gossips who spied us made a fine tale of it, -didn’t they! Well, now, here’s the exact truth.”</p> - -<p>And the exact truth of that incident he gave her. -He omitted only to tell of the woman’s clumsy attempt -to lure him and of her appeal for silver from -the lost mine; and these parts he left out only because -of innate chivalry toward even such drab womanhood -as Lou’s.</p> - -<p>“So that’s all there is to it,” he concluded. “I -tried to help her out but only got her into a worse -mess, thanks to lying tongues. Now you can believe -me or those kids, just as you like.”</p> - -<p>A little longer the gray eyes held his. Then they -fell, and on her lips dawned the first smile he had seen -there in many a long day.</p> - -<p>“I’m—I’m glad you come visitin’ this mornin’, even -if you are mad at my pop,” she said softly. “But -have we both got to keep holdin’ this ax?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he smiled. “I can hold it alone. Let go.” -She obeyed.</p> - -<p>“Now I didn’t come hunting your pop to-day,” he -went on, “although I’m on the lookout for him all the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> -time, and—— Tell me, do you care much about your -pop?”</p> - -<p>“Well, he’s the onliest pop I’ve got,” she naively -reminded him. “But I don’t care much about him. -He’s awful ornery.”</p> - -<p>“Quite right. He’s all of that. But we’ll forget -him for now. I came over to-day to ask you to take -me to—a friend of ours.” She looked up quickly. -“Uncle Eb tells me he’s sick, and I want to see him. -Will you guide me?”</p> - -<p>Dubiously she looked all about. Her whispered -reply was hardly audible.</p> - -<p>“We’ve got to go careful. The detective fellers, -they’re a-watchin’ all round—mebbe they’re up into -some of these trees right now. But—can you help -him some way?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to try.”</p> - -<p>“All right, we’ll go. Cut me a little more wood -while I take this into the house. Mom, she’s abed yet; -she don’t feel good this mornin’. But she ain’t real -sick. We’ll go pretty quick.”</p> - -<p>With another smile at him she gathered up wood -and hastened in. And Hammerless Hampton set his -gun against the wall and looked around, marveling at -the brightness of the sun and the sweetness of the air -and the cheeriness of the birds. Even the harsh cries -of the bluejays in the woods sounded musical. In all -the Traps at that moment he could perceive not one -discordant note of sound or color. Indeed, something -disagreeable seemed magically to have vanished from -the world, and it was good to be alive.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>And something had vanished: something nebulous, -intangible, yet real and rock-hard: the two-sided wall -of Pride. And Douglas, feeling that all was well with -the universe, began lustily swinging the ax in the -service of the girl who was glad he had come visiting.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX<br /> - -<small>LIBERTY OR DEATH</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Along</span> a dim, winding trail, through baffling undergrowth -and around half-buried blocks of stone and -over prostrate tree-trunks, a man and a maid passed -in silence. Under foot the damp leaves, not yet dried -by sun or wind, gave out no betraying crackle. The -pair spoke no word, made hardly a rustle as they -touched bare stems or twigs. They seemed bound on -an all-day hunting trip, for the man carried a shotgun, -and the girl a little apron knotted into a bag, containing -food. Yet it was the girl who led the way.</p> - -<p>Upward, ever upward they climbed on a slope whose -pitch grew more and more steep. At length they -paused at the edge of a gigantic mass of bowlders, -above which towered stark crags split by a yard-wide -fissure.</p> - -<p>“We go up into that crack, then ’long the top of the -ledge to the left, then down again,” Marion breathed.</p> - -<p>“Why?” he remonstrated. “Why not work along -here without going up and down?”</p> - -<p>“You ain’t much of a detective if you can’t guess -that,” she laughed. “Up on top we can watch back -and see if we’re follered. Down here we can’t.”</p> - -<p>“Quite right,” he conceded. “You’re a better -dodger than I am. A better climber, too, probably. -These boots don’t grip bare rock very well.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>“Go ’long, and go slow. Don’t bump and scrape. -We’ve got all day.”</p> - -<p>After surveying the jumble above, he began working -up into it, moving with caution but with creditable -speed. For a time he was so engrossed with the toil -of quietly moving himself, his damp-soled boots, and -his gun, that he gave no attention to her. When at -length he paused at the foot of the fissure he looked -back—and found her close at his heels.</p> - -<p>“You’re awful slow and stiff,” she taunted, as if -she had not just warned him to proceed cautiously. -“I’ll go ’long up and wait. G’by.”</p> - -<p>And up she went with a flash of tanned ankles and -a swirl of swaying skirt, her toes gripping with unerring -surety at the soil slanting down within the -crevice, her lithe young body swinging with easy -grace, her hair flaming like an upshooting meteor. -At the top she swung and laughed once more with the -exhilaration of strenuous activity. Then she moved -from sight.</p> - -<p>“Whew!” breathed Douglas, contemplating the -slope. “Our catamount can climb! Imagine a -corseted, high-heeled city girl doing that. Imagine me -doing that! If I don’t come flopping back down here -end-over-end I’ll be lucky. Well, here goes.”</p> - -<p>Digging in his toes, he started. For a few feet all -went well. Then his soles began to slip, and only a -clutch with his free hand stopped his slide. By the -time he was half-way up he was clambering crabwise, -forcing in his heels. And when he neared the top he -was using every support he had—feet, hands, and gun-butt.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -However, he made the ascent without a fall; -and, thanks to his recent days of roving, without much -loss of wind.</p> - -<p>Marion had disappeared, but the little bundle of -food lay beside the cleft. Presently she came creeping -back on hands and knees from the outer brink and -stood erect.</p> - -<p>“Well, Mister Slowpoke, you got here before noon -after all,” she gibed. “I ’most went to sleep waitin’, -the sun’s so hot out yender. There ain’t any detectives -into sight, so when you git rested we can travel ’long.”</p> - -<p>“Rested? I’m not so feeble as you think,” he -smiled. “And just remember that I have to lift about -seventy or eighty more pounds of bone and meat at -every step than you do. You’re only a flyweight. Bet -I can lift you with one arm.”</p> - -<p>“Bet you can’t!” she flashed.</p> - -<p>Forthwith he laid down his gun and swept her off -her feet. Steadying her with the right hand lightly -laid against her shoulders, he raised her on his rigid -left forearm. She wriggled, slipped, and instinctively -seized him around the neck. Both his arms suddenly -tightened around her. Her face came close to his.</p> - -<p>The next instant a firm little hand set itself against -his chin. Though his grip still held her, her face now -was more than a foot away. The slender arm between -them was like a steel bar.</p> - -<p>“Let go!” she commanded.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll kiss you?” His -eyes were dancing recklessly. “Or are you afraid I -won’t?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>“Afraid—you—won’t? That’s ’bout ’nough! You -ain’t under a bridge now!”</p> - -<p>The twit stung. His face darkened. He set her -down abruptly, picked up his gun, moved away toward -the left.</p> - -<p>“I—I didn’t mean that,” she quickly added. “I -dunno why I said it—it jest come, like. But—remember, -we come up here to see somebody.”</p> - -<p>He nodded sombrely and strode on. Confound it! -Why did these hill girls take things so seriously? He -hadn’t meant to kiss her anyhow. Or had he? He -didn’t know; maybe, in that momentary devil-may-care -mood, he would have done it. And what if he -had? There was nothing fatal about a careless kiss -or so, all in fun. But then, there was Steve, of course. -Yes, that was it. That fierce, vengeful, desperate boy—she -was cleaving to him, one of her own people, -and the kiss of any other man was not to be lightly -taken. So be it. She was right enough, of course.</p> - -<p>Yet, in his unintrospective way, he felt a vague -irritation over the eternal presence of Steve. If only -the youth did not exist—— He let the thought go no -farther. He did not consider what might be if Steve -were removed. Neither did he recall that this girl’s -blood was tainted by her parentage. He let the whole -matter die, and instead put his mind on the lonely, -sick boy himself, victim of Snake Sanders’ machinations -and fugitive from the insensate monster which -killed men’s souls—the Law. Sympathy for him again -warmed his heart. He pressed on in his errand of -aid.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>“D’you shave every day?” sounded a small voice -at his heels.</p> - -<p>“Uh? Shave?” He groped, bewildered by the -sudden change of thought. “Why—yes. Every -morning after breakfast. Why?”</p> - -<p>“Your chin’s so smooth. It ain’t all full of splinters -like pop’s. And your face always looks so clean. I -never see any other man that kept his face clean every -day. I—I kind of like it.”</p> - -<p>The ingenuous statement made him laugh.</p> - -<p>“Glad there’s something about me that you like,” he -mocked. “But to me it’s not so much a matter of -appearance as of comfort. I can’t stand a mess of -bristles on my face and throat. It’s prickly. So I -slice it off.”</p> - -<p>They trudged on, following a faintly defined path -well back from the brink, invisible to any eye which -might look up from below. After awhile she said -softly, as if talking to herself: “Steve’s gittin’ awful -whiskers onto his face.”</p> - -<p>Remembering the bristly black beard he had noticed -on the fugitive’s unshaven face at their last meeting, -he nodded carelessly.</p> - -<p>“Of course. How can he shave?” he reminded -her. “But maybe he can clean it off soon. We’ll -see.”</p> - -<p>“What you figgerin’ to do?”</p> - -<p>“Ask him to come down and hide in my house, -where he’ll be dry and warm.”</p> - -<p>She gave a little gasp.</p> - -<p>“Why—why, he can’t! With them detectives<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> -pesterin’ round—if they should come he’d be caught -into a reg’lar trap. And you’d git ’rested too.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe. But it’s getting too cold for him to lie -up here. To-day’s hot, but to-morrow—— He’s got -to move somewhere soon.”</p> - -<p>Soberly she studied him.</p> - -<p>“That’s so, but he won’t come, I don’t b’lieve. I -tried to git him to come down and stay to our house, -but he wouldn’t. He dasn’t trust pop. And them detectives, -they watch everywheres. They come there -one time and asked pop a lot of questions. I dunno -what they asked him—I wasn’t round; but pop’s apt -to say ’most anything or do ’most anything—depends -on how drunk he is.”</p> - -<p>“Steve’s wise not to go there, then. But it’s different -at my place.”</p> - -<p>No more was said. Marion looked often at him as -they journeyed on, and her face was troubled. He -kept his forward-ranging gaze on the vague path.</p> - -<p>After a time he found himself emerging at the -brink. Here she resumed the lead. Down over a -jagged confusion of leaning bowlders she picked a -tortuous way, followed by the more slowly moving -man. Presently they were under the cliff, amid thick -brush, on steep but firm-soiled ground whence protruded -a few deep-sunk blocks. She moved a rod or -two to the left and paused.</p> - -<p>“See anything?” she questioned.</p> - -<p>He studied the surroundings and shook his head. In -the blank face of the precipice showed no opening—not -even a crack. The cliff, the ground, the brush,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> -the half dozen juts of gray stone—there was no sign -of a hiding-place. True, there were two fair-sized -bowlder-tops close together, with a small black hole -between; but the hole must be only a cranny in the -earth, like hundreds of others along the wall—a good -place to break a leg, but not to hide in. He did not -give it a second glance.</p> - -<p>Yet it was at this despised hole that she knelt. Into -it her head vanished, and from it sounded her signal—a -soft “Hoo-hoo” almost inaudible above ground. -From somewhere down in the bowels of the tightly -packed earth floated a faint sound in reply. Her head -reappeared.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go down first to tell him it’s all right,” she -murmured. “You wait ’bout two minutes or so, then -come ’long. It’ll be tight squeezin’—you’re so wide -acrost the shoulders—but you can git through.”</p> - -<p>She pushed the apron-package into the hole. Then -she turned once more to him.</p> - -<p>“This here is my little secret, that I’ve come to for -years,” she told him. “There ain’t anybody ever been -into it but me—and Steve. The place Uncle Eb took -Steve to wasn’t so good—it was too easy to find—so -I brought him here.”</p> - -<p>With that she was gone into the gloomy opening.</p> - -<p>For a minute or two he waited, looking at the hole -and picturing to himself a lonely, heart-sick little girl -coming here year after year to forget the drunken -coarseness of her father and the profane nagging of -her mother. A disappointing place, this prosaic cavity; -not at all the picturesque grotto his fancy had painted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> -when, in idle moments, his mind had reverted to her -confession of a “playhouse” where she took refuge -by her “own self.” Yet somewhere within it must be -a real cavern among the sunken rocks, where, forgetful -of the raw crudity of her life, she had lain many -a time gazing star-eyed at the figments of her dreams. -Did she ever, he wondered, dream of a Prince Charming -who should bear her over the hills and far away -into a world of lights and laughter, music and perfume?</p> - -<p>Perhaps her untutored imagination could not even -vision such a world. Perhaps her soul, like her body, -was hemmed in by the eternal rim of the rock bowl—that -soul which yet groped vaguely upward with its -unconscious artistry, its vision of dead men who shook -the hills with their tramping, its effort to place on -paper the beauty of the green pool in Coxing Kill. -Perhaps Lou Brackett’s dictum was inexorably true: -<i>Them that’s borned into the Traps lives into the Traps -and dies into the Traps</i>.</p> - -<p>Recalling himself, he dropped to his knees, dubiously -sized up the passage, sank prone, and began -worming his way inward.</p> - -<p>Once inside, he found that it was not so black as it -had looked. Somewhere ahead, light came faintly up -from a lower level. The tunnel slanted at an easy -grade and curved a little to the right. For the first -few feet he found her surmise correct—it was a tight -passage for him. But, after inching along in growing -distaste for the squeezing discomfort of the hole, he -found the rock walls veering aside and lifting above<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> -him. A few feet more, and he had room to rise to all -fours. The dim light grew a shade stronger. He -found his face hanging over a drop, below which was -a steep, curving chute.</p> - -<p>Swinging his feet foremost, he went over and down, -sliding a little but holding himself by hand-grips along -the wall. He stopped on the level lip of another -drop.</p> - -<p>Before him widened an oblong cavern, fairly well -lighted by rifts in the stony walls and by another entrance -at its farther end—a sizable hole at the floor-level, -evidently leading downward. It looked quite -dry, except for a tiny trickle of water down one side; -its floor was well carpeted with leaves, obviously -brought in from above; and in the walls were irregular -natural shelves, most of which held small -treasures of childhood—a cracked cup or two, worn-out -cooking utensils—such things as a little girl might -have brought there to make it a real “playhouse.” -And some six feet away was the little girl herself—Marion—with -her wild Steve.</p> - -<p>“H’are ye, Hamp,” the youth hoarsely greeted him—and -clutched at his chest. For a second or two he -set his teeth; then, throwing one sleeve across his -mouth to muffle the sound, coughed repeatedly. When -he lowered the arm his lips were drawn. Dumbly he -rubbed his chest.</p> - -<p>“Howdy, partner,” Douglas returned, surveying -him keenly and noting his haggard face and hollow -eyes. “Sore inside?”</p> - -<p>“Got cold,” nodded Steve. “Can’t stop this ’ere<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> -cough a-rackin’. Can’t sleep good. An’ ther’s a -misery onto my left lung. Lot o’ pains like red-hot -needles. Got to breathe short. Cough nigh rips the -lung outen me. Makes too much noise too. If them -dicks hearn it——”</p> - -<p>He spoke in short whispers, his hand rubbing -mechanically, as if it had done the same thing at frequent -intervals for many hours. The man above regarded -him gravely. Though strong of lung himself, -he knew what pleurisy was; knew, too, that there was -such a thing as pleuropneumonia. The lad below -looked to be rapidly heading into something of the -kind. He certainly was not the healthy young fellow -he had been that day in Uncle Eb’s barn.</p> - -<p>“Head ache? Feel hot?” Douglas quizzed.</p> - -<p>“Yuh. Head’s like to split. I’m hot all over, like.”</p> - -<p>Another strangled cough, with its after-grimace of -pain. Douglas looked below, found a couple of shelves -forming natural steps, and descended. He laid a hand -on Steve’s forehead. The hot skin seemed to burn -him.</p> - -<p>“H’m! I was afraid so,” he muttered. “Fever, -headache, pleural pains, cough. H’m! Well, Steve, -now listen. You’re sick. If you stay here you’ll be -sicker. Now my place is sort of lonesome, and nobody -calls on me; and the woods are right handy to -the back door, so you could make a quick getaway if -you had to; and it’s dry and——”</p> - -<p>A determined shake of the head cut short his preamble.</p> - -<p>“Marry told me,” the lad refused. “I ain’t a-goin’.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> -Mebbe I’m sick. Mebbe I’ll die. But it’s all right. -I’ll die by inches ’fore I’ll go wher’ I’ll git caught.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be a fool! What’s the good of——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say no more. I ain’t a-goin’. Ther’s things -wuss’n me dyin’. Goin’ back to the pen’s one. Gittin’ -my friends into trouble’s ’nother. I ain’t got but three -friends into the world. Marry an’ you an’ Uncle Eb. -I come awful nigh gittin’ two o’ ye into a mess t’other -day. Them dicks’d make ye sweat blood if they -knowed ye was a-helpin’ me. An’ I don’t danger ye -no more.”</p> - -<p>He writhed with another cough. Amazed by the -unexpected chivalry of the hill boy, Douglas stood -dumb. Presently Steve went on with the same pain-clipped -sentences.</p> - -<p>“’Sides, I can’t live into a house. Marry’ll tell ye -that. I warn’t borned into a house. I was dropped -into the woods like—like a wolf-pup. I can die like -that same wolf: into the rocks or the trees. I ain’t -a-dyin’ yet, anyways. An’ till I do die——</p> - -<p>“I went to school a little. Not much. Couldn’t -stand it ’less’n the winders was open. But I learnt -readin’. I see a piece ’bout a feller that said ‘Gimme -liberty or gimme death.’ That’s me. I live free—if -it’s into a hole. Mebbe I die into the same hole. But -I die free—not like a rat into a house-wall. Gimme -liberty or——”</p> - -<p>A tearing spasm of muffled coughing ended his talk. -When it had passed he slumped down against the side -of the cavern, his brow knotted in agony, his hand -rubbing feebly, but his gaunt jaw set like the rock<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> -against which he leaned. And Douglas, after a moment -more of grave study, gave him up. He was not -to have company in his haunted house after all. His -toil last night on the rear door and the bedroom window -had come to naught.</p> - -<p>Yet the time was to come when, despite the flat -refusal of the fugitive to leave his den, that smooth-sliding -back window in Hampton’s home was to serve -Steve well.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI<br /> - -<small>THE HAND OF THE GHOST</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Douglas</span> pushed off his hat and ran a hand through -his hair, puzzling over what to do now. Despite -Marion’s prediction, he had not seriously considered -the possibility of an inflexible rejection of his offer, -and now he was somewhat at a loss.</p> - -<p>Squatting beside Steve, he absently dug up his -empty pipe and puffed at it, thinking. Steve looked -wistful, but said nothing. Marion, sitting on a little -leaf-cushioned projection of stone, watched both of -them unobserved.</p> - -<p>The contrast between the two male faces was striking. -Douglas, blond, strong, clean of skin and clear-cut -of feature, thoughtfully serious, working out the -problem of helping another: Steve, swarthy, wan, -black-bristled, unkempt, grim-jawed, determined to -follow his own course despite reason and sense; truly, -they seemed as opposite as light and darkness, as blithe -hope and sombre desperation. Yet the dark face, perhaps, -would strike more forcefully on vibrant heart-strings; -for mingled with its resolution was an unconscious -pathos. To a sympathetic eye, too, the -ragged, shapeless clothing of the younger man would -have appealed more strongly than the well-fitting garb -of the other. But Marion was not looking at the dress<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -of the pair. Silently, steadfastly, here in her dream-cavern -she was studying faces—and men.</p> - -<p>“Well,” Douglas said slowly, removing his pipe—and -stopped. He saw the hollow eyes, eloquent with -tobacco-hunger, follow the motion of the blackened -briar. Wiping its stem on a sleeve, he passed it over. -Steve grabbed it and began eagerly sucking in the -strong incense of bygone smokes. The little touch of -comradeship was not lost on the girl, nor was the next -movement of the blond man. He produced a tobacco-tin, -picked out a third of its contents, and handed the -rest to Steve.</p> - -<p>“Better not smoke it,” he suggested. “The smoke -will float outside. Chew it. I’ll have Uncle Eb get -more for both of us. Now I won’t argue with you -about moving. You say you won’t, and that ends it. -But you’ve got to doctor up. You’ve got to bake that -pain out of your lung, kill that cough, knock out the -headache and fever, keep warm and dry. Take care -of yourself. Remember you’re not so hardy as you -were three years ago.”</p> - -<p>Steve nodded, grinding the pipe-stem between his -teeth.</p> - -<p>“Them three years would of kilt me, but I had to -live to git Snake.”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh. Now I’ll go home and send up the best -medicine I have. It isn’t much: mostly quinine. But -you take it. To-night, when there isn’t much chance -that anybody’ll be prowling up here, you make a fire, -boil some water, bake your chest with hot cloths. -Marion can fix you up a mustard plaster, too, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -fetch it back with the medicine; you wrap it around -that lung, and it ought to draw out the misery. I’ll -send you up some good wool socks, too. And you -wear ’em! Now will you follow Old Doc Hampton’s -orders?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll foller ’em, Hamp.”</p> - -<p>“Good enough. Now I’ll go get that medicine.” -He arose and clapped on his hat. “I won’t be back -here myself unless I’m needed—the fewer that come -here the better. But take care of yourself.”</p> - -<p>Steve gripped the extended hand, his face softening.</p> - -<p>“Much ’bliged, Hamp. An’ take care o’ yer own -self. Snake’s a-fixin’ to git ye some way, I bet ye. -Cuss him, will I ever git to him?”</p> - -<p>In the cavernous eyes, in the prediction of trouble -from Snake, were a significance which Douglas was to -remember later on, but which he hardly noticed now. -He only answered the rebellious question.</p> - -<p>“Not until you’re able to handle him. Right now -you can’t even handle yourself.”</p> - -<p>Steve’s mouth tightened in angry admission that he -realized it. With a last long draw at the pipe he -handed it back.</p> - -<p>“I’ll handle him right rough ’fore long,” he gritted. -“G’by.”</p> - -<p>With a nod and a smile Douglas followed Marion, -who, still wordless, now was half out of sight in the -lower entrance. Down they went, passing through a -series of smaller caverns, twisting and crouching and -dropping, until they came out into sunlight. Before -them, hardly a rod away, rose the face of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> -cliff. Around were bowlders half as big as houses. -Among these the girl led an irregular way—and they -were under an overhanging crag, looking out across -the Traps.</p> - -<p>Looking back, he decided that any one would have -an extremely difficult time in finding Steve’s covert -unless guided to it. Once away from here, he doubted -whether he himself could retrace his course. Marion’s -dream-cave was as complete a hiding-place as could -well be imagined: double entrances and exits, both almost -impossible of discovery, the upper one forming -a natural flue for a night fire; well-watered, with wood -at hand for the taking, plenty of air and sufficient -light; yes, it was almost ideal—until the snows should -come.</p> - -<p>“Go careful down here,” the girl’s voice broke in -on his reflections. “It’s pretty rough. Here’s where -I took a fall the night the catamount ’most got me.”</p> - -<p>Down again they went, over a steep talus; among -more bowlders, and out at last on grassy, bushy soil; -through undergrowth to a faint foot-track running -north. Along this they trod for some time in silence.</p> - -<p>“If it’s a fair question, what did Steve mean by -saying he was born like a wolf-pup?” he asked at -length.</p> - -<p>“It’s so,” she said, half reluctantly. “His—his -folks wasn’t married, and his pop went off and left his -mom ’fore Steve was borned, and he never come back. -His mom, she went kind of queer into the head about -it. She was into the woods all the time, a-travelin’ -and a-whisperin’, folks say. Steve was borned outdoors,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> -like he says. She died pretty soon, and so he -hasn’t got any folks.”</p> - -<p>Another long silence. Now he knew what Uncle -Eb meant by saying the boy had been born unlucky -and never had had a chance. Poor, pitiful little -tragedy of the hills! The girl deserted by her man -just when she most needed his companionship and -protection; the staring, whispering young mother-to-be -wandering in the leafy solitudes; the new little life -coming into the world as primitively as that of the -first-born son of mankind; the kindly old Mother -Earth taking back into her great bosom one more of -her daughters who had loved and lost—a tragedy ever -new, yet old as the trust of women and the callousness -of men. Poor little mother! Poor Steve!</p> - -<p>He might have asked more about the boy—how he -had lived and grown—but a glance at the girl told him -she would say no more. In all his wanderings among -the people of the Traps, this was the first time any one -had told him anything about the past of another; and -even now it probably was told only because Steve himself -had virtually given permission. He asked nothing -further. It was she who now asked a question or two -of her own.</p> - -<p>“When you asked him to come down to your house -had you forgot the ha’nt might git him?”</p> - -<p>“By George, I did! Clean forgot that ha’nt of -mine. Is that why he wouldn’t come?”</p> - -<p>“No-o, I guess not. Not so much. But mebbe -’twas one of the things he was thinkin’ about; he -figgers a lot of things into his head that don’t come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span> -outen his mouth. But tell me, jest what does that -ha’nt do? The same kind of things all the time? -Nobody else ever stayed there long ’nough to find out -if the ha’nt worked reg’lar. You know him pretty -well by now, I shouldn’t wonder.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t pay much attention to him. He—or -it—scared me green in the face the first night, but he’s -never done me any real harm, and I’ve never seen -anything in a white sheet gibbering at me—nor anything -else. But this is what I know about him.” And -he described the muffled footfalls in attic and stairway, -the rustling and movement of the mattress, -and the uncanny suggestion that <i>something</i> else was -there.</p> - -<p>“Ooh!” She shuddered and looked nervously -around. Then, banishing the visions conjured up by -his words, she became practical. “Did you ever think -that mebbe the thing walkin’ round was a rat?”</p> - -<p>“A rat? If he is, Mister Rat has feet as big as -pillows. I thought of it, yes. But it’s queer—I’ve -never heard a rat or a mouse scamper or gnaw in that -house. You’d think there would be plenty of them, -but I’ve never seen nor heard a sign. And I’m positive -it was no rat that got into bed with me.”</p> - -<p>“M-h’m. Well, I wonder, now—do you want a cat? -We’ve got four of ’em, always pesterin’ round for -somethin’ to eat. They’re Spit and Spat and Fit and -Fat—I named ’em all my own self. Spit and Spat -are ugly and they make noises like their names. Fit -has fits and Fat’s fat. I’ll give you Spit if you want -him. He’s quick as lightnin’ and an awful good ratter,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> -and he’ll be company for you, too. Leave that attic -door open and see what he’ll do. Want to?”</p> - -<p>“All right,” he chuckled. “But if that heavy-footed -ha’nt steps on Spit’s tail and Spit raises the roof with -a gosh-awful yowl when I’m asleep—there won’t be -any house left. I’ll go head-first through the wall and -knock down the whole layout.”</p> - -<p>She burst into a merry laugh, in which he joined. -Quickly she suppressed it, however, looking around -once more—not for a night-walking phantom this time, -but for something which prowled as stealthily by day, -ranging the whole countryside: the sinister pair whose -presence kept Steve in a hole in the ground.</p> - -<p>“You hadn’t ought to make me laugh so sudden-like,” -she reproved. But as they went onward she -giggled several times, and he chuckled in sympathy. -Nothing more was said, however, until they emerged -into a small field. Before them, dingy and bare, stood -the Oaks house.</p> - -<p>“Lost?” she smiled then, seeing his surprised look. -“Didn’t think it was so nigh, did you? We come -back by the short way—it don’t take half as long as -goin’. Tell me”—she drew closer to him—“what -you a-huntin’ pop for?”</p> - -<p>He hesitated. Then, as bluntly as she had revealed -her knowledge of Lou and the bridge, he told her. -She did not seem much surprised, though she was -plainly disturbed.</p> - -<p>“I was ’fraid so,” she murmured. “I figgered ’twas -somethin’ like that, after you brought that corn-hook -home. But if pop done that, ’twas Snake that put him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> -up to it! Consarn him!” She stamped a foot in swift -wrath. “Snake! He <i>is</i> a snake—a nasty p’isonous -copperhead that bites without a warnin’! And he gits -clear while other folks pay!”</p> - -<p>“Snake’s the man I want,” he acquiesced. “I’ve -been after him, too. But I want to get the truth out -of your pop. And I’ll get it——”</p> - -<p>“I’m ’fraid you won’t,” she interrupted soberly. -“I’m ’fraid he’s gone for good. Seems like we’d -have heard somethin’ ’fore if he was a-livin’. Mebbe—mebbe -Snake done somethin’ to him that night. -Snake, he’s a-layin’ awful low since then; nobody’s -seen him.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he’ll come to light sometime. He’ll have to. -And now we have to look out for somebody else. I’ll -get down to the house and bring up that medicine. -By-by.”</p> - -<p>“G’by.”</p> - -<p>They parted, to his mingled regret and relief—for, -be a girl’s father ever so base, it is inevitably distasteful -to discuss with her that father’s ignominy. Down -the road he walked fast toward his own abode and the -waiting medicine.</p> - -<p>With the sun-baked sand under his feet he realized -anew how unseasonably hot was the day. The air was -breathless, and heat-waves curved and twined visibly -along the highway. Soon he shed his coat and shoved -back his hat. As he neared his haunted house, too, he -became more and more aware that the atmosphere was -tainted by the same odor which had been breeze-borne -to his nostrils earlier in the day.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>Then, rounding the little curve beyond which stood -the Dalton house, he checked his stride.</p> - -<p>Beside the road, in his own yard, were a weather-beaten -wagon and a white horse. They were Uncle -Eb’s. The old man himself was not in sight.</p> - -<p>Douglas jumped forward with increased speed. -Uncle Eb might be waiting for him in the house, but -that was hardly likely; the old man did not like that -house. Had something happened to him?</p> - -<p>The explosive voice of Eb himself came to him. It -broke from the brushy land on the other side of the -road, mingled with sounds of progress through thick -going.</p> - -<p>“—Jest like Jake Dalton,” it was saying, “jest like -I’m a-tellin’ ye. Hampton never had no hand into -this, though I wouldn’t blame him none s’posin’ he -had—— Wal! thar he is now!”</p> - -<p>From the brush emerged Eb and two others: the -man-hunters, Ward and Bill. All were chewing tobacco -furiously. All looked pale.</p> - -<p>“What’s wrong?” Douglas sharply demanded.</p> - -<p>“Wrong! Good gosh, son, is yer nose stopped? -It’s Nat!”</p> - -<p>Dumb, the blond man gaped at the three. Ward -and Bill were eyeing him keenly. Uncle Eb pulled -off his hat, mopped his brow on a sleeve, squirted a -mouthful of brown juice, and went on barking.</p> - -<p>“Jest like Jake Dalton! He’s up into the bresh—’side -the brook—face down an’ deader’n—wal, ’most -as dead as Jake. He’s been ther’ three-four days, -these fellers think—ever sence he run outen yer house<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> -that night he left his cawn-hook. An’ this hot weather -to-day—wugh! I ain’t a-goin’ to High Falls to-day -after all. I’m a-goin’ right back home soon’s we—— Have -ye got a shovel? Nat needs a shovel powerful -bad.”</p> - -<p>“What happened to him?” Somehow Douglas -knew the answer already, but he had to ask.</p> - -<p>“What happened to Jake Dalton? I dunno. But -he’s jest like Jake—swelled up awful, an’ not a mark -onto him—no gunshot, no knife, no nawthin’—jest -dead! Ther’s sumpthin’ into that house o’ yourn, son—that -ha’nt or sumpthin’, I dunno—that kilt him jest -the same’s it kilt Jake. He run into the bresh an’ fell -down an’ died same’s Jake done. Have ye got that -shovel?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Wal, I’ll go borry one. Glad to git away a few -minutes. Hoss, c’m’ere! Whoa! G’yapalong!”</p> - -<p>With an apprehensive backward look at the house -the agitated old fellow was off. The man-hunters spat -in unison, never taking their eyes off Douglas, who -still stared at the brush. Mechanically he got out his -pipe, loaded it, lit it, and puffed.</p> - -<p>“Well, fellows,” he said presently, “this is news to -me. I’ve been hunting this Nat Oaks—he was the one -I suspected of knifing my dummy—but I didn’t finish -him. Looks bad for me, perhaps, but——”</p> - -<p>“You’re in the clear,” cut in Ward. “We might -make out a case if we tried hard enough, but we ain’t -tryin’. If the stiff had wounds on him you might have -some explainin’ to do; and we’re goin’ to do some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> -lookin’ round, anyhow. But unless somethin’ new -turns up we’ll leave the thing lay as it is.”</p> - -<p>Douglas nodded and reluctantly stepped toward the -hidden brook. The other two remained where they -were.</p> - -<p>A short distance in from the road he found Nigger -Nat. He was stark naked, his clothing having been -cut from him by the pocket-knives of the officers in -their search for wounds. Feet, hands, and face were -mired by the mud in which he had expired; and the -gross face now was a bloated mask of bestiality. Nowhere -on the torso was any mark.</p> - -<p>Douglas took one rapid, comprehensive look. Then -he retired hastily to the road, where he reloaded his -hot pipe and awaited the return of Uncle Eb. Wordless, -two chewing and one smoking, the trio of city -men stood regarding the haunted house.</p> - -<p>The ha’nt, which of late Douglas had carelessly regarded -as a sort of joke, was a joke no longer. With -his own eyes he had just looked on the horrid handiwork -of the grisly thing which stalked within those -walls by night. What was it? Why had it not closed -its fearful grip on his own throat? How long before -it would do so?</p> - -<p>Perhaps Jake Dalton and Nat Oaks knew the answer -to the ghastly riddle. But their lips were sealed for all -time.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII<br /> - -<small>IN THE SHADOWS</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the house where Nigger Nat, assassin, had himself -been struck by the hand of Death in the night, -Douglas Hampton, alias Hammerless, alias Hamp, sat -alone.</p> - -<p>Nigger Nat lay in his grave, if grave it could be -called; a hastily dug hole into which he had been -rolled like a dead skunk. No pretense of ceremony, -and certainly none of mourning, had graced his departure -from the sight of men. Nor was any headboard -set above his mound. As soon as he had been -disposed of, his burial party had departed with all -speed.</p> - -<p>For the sake of the living, however, the spot where -he lay would be not only marked, but improved. Even -now his headboard was being carved—and by the man -whom he had attempted to murder. On a piece of -planking, found among the odds and ends of Jake -Dalton’s shed and dressed clean with the hatchet, -Douglas was cutting in deep, bold letters:</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="gesperrt">NAT OAKS</span></p> - -<p>He intended, too, to clear away the brush around the -mound and cut to it a straight trail from the road, so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span> -that the women whom Nat left behind him could—if -they wished—visit his grave. But that work could -wait for another day. Now, while Hampton’s hands -were drawing his knife-point along the neat lines and -hollowing out the spaces between them, his mind was -reviewing the events since the interment.</p> - -<p>For a time the four men, united in a common task -of humanity, had shelved their mutual distrust in -fruitless search for the cause of Nat’s death. With -Douglas’ tacit permission, the pair of officers had inspected -the house from roof to foundations, Uncle Eb -meanwhile narrating in full the tale of Jake Dalton’s -death. Douglas in turn had told of his first meeting -with Oaks, the fight with the dogs and Nat himself, -his whim to view the sunrise, his finding of the corn-hook -driven into the dummy. He did not, however, -deem it necessary to mention the warning note which -he had partly burned.</p> - -<p>“The feller ye want to git,” Uncle Eb barked, -rounding on Ward and Bill, “is Snake Sanders! Git -him an’ ye’ve got the man that’s back of all the devil-work -into the Traps. If ye make him talk, ye’ll git an -awful lot o’ knowledge all to oncet.”</p> - -<p>The pair, taking in everything and saying almost -nothing, had nodded slightly at this. And at length, -non-committal as to what they might plan to do, they -had gone. Before departure, however, Ward had -scoffed at the ha’nt.</p> - -<p>“I don’t take any stock in this ghost stuff,” he said. -“Oaks was an old souse. Heart prob’ly was rotten -with booze. He came in here with a bun on, took a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> -swipe at the dummy, got cold feet sudden—heard -somethin’, perhaps, a rat or somethin’—and beat it. -Heart quit on him and he croaked.</p> - -<p>“This Dalton, you say he was a souse too. Funny -that two guys should croak the same way in the same -place, yeah. But if the booze you guys make around -here is as bad as the wildcat whiskey I’ve struck in -some other places, I ain’t much surprised. It’d kill -anybody that lapped it up for a steady diet. So long. -Come on, Bill.”</p> - -<p>When they were out of the way, Douglas had talked -awhile with Uncle Eb. To him he had told something -of Steve’s condition, and from him he had learned -that Marion already knew of the finding of her father’s -body. In his straightforward way Uncle Eb -had gone to the nearest place—the Oaks house—for -the shovel, and had given her the news. She had said -little—“acted ’most like she was expectin’ sumpthin’ -like that,” Eb said—and gone at once to her mother.</p> - -<p>“An’ now ’bout you, son,—ye better not stay into -this place no longer,” the old man had concluded. -“Come up an’ live ’long o’ me, don’t ye want to?”</p> - -<p>But the anxious invitation was declined with thanks. -Douglas had determined to do now something which -more than once previously he had thought of doing—to -remain awake all night and catch the ha’nt, if it -could be caught. The presence of the thing in his -house was a challenge to him; and if the phantom -walked to-night, he vowed, he would smash it or himself -be smashed. This intention, however, he kept to -himself, merely saying that he had been unharmed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> -thus far and knew no reason why he should not remain -so.</p> - -<p>So, bearing with him the quinine and other medicines -which Douglas thought might be useful to Steve, -the old man had gone back to the Oaks house and -then home. Under the circumstances, Douglas himself -did not feel like intruding just then on the girl and -her mother; and the errand could be done just as well -by Uncle Eb. And now, back to the wall and eyes -lifting now and then to survey all around him, Hampton -was toiling on the headboard. And the hot day -was nearing its end.</p> - -<p>Lucky, thrice lucky had been Steve’s refusal to accompany -him home, he thought: lucky for Steve, for -Marion, for himself. Alone, he had come back openly -and opportunely. With Steve he would have come -more slowly and furtively, and by that time the man-hunters -might have been scouting around in the woods -on an investigation tour—and promptly sprung on -their prey. There would certainly have been a fight, -and before it ended Hampton and even Marion might -have outlawed themselves. Yes, it was lucky all -around.</p> - -<p>Leaning back, he inspected his handiwork, yawned, -and clicked his knife shut. Nigger Nat’s monument -was completed. Glancing through the open doorway -at the lengthening shadows, he lifted his brows and -pulled out his watch.</p> - -<p>“Where’s the time gone?” he asked himself. “It’s -almost sundown. Better rustle some grub and clear -the decks for action against Mister Ha’nt. Hope this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> -isn’t his night off. Do ha’nts work union hours, I -wonder? Midnight to daybreak, maybe? Might get -some sleep if I only knew. It’s going to be a long, -long night.”</p> - -<p>He yawned again, drowsy from the heavy heat of the -day. When his supper was eaten and his pipe was -going he yawned still more widely. Twilight now -filled the great bowl outside—the oddly transparent -twilight of early evening in the Traps, which lay in -shadow while the sun still shone beyond the western -heights. Next would come the grayish blur of true -twilight, deepening gradually into night. And when -dense darkness should enwrap all things and the evil -man-killer of this house should begin to stir about—then -what?</p> - -<p>He arose, stretching and shaking himself to cast off -his sleepiness. After a turn up and down the room -he lifted his gun, ejected the shells, tested the firing-pins -with a snap or two, looked carefully at the ammunition, -and reloaded.</p> - -<p>“Little old gun, you’ve been a real pal,” he soliloquized. -“I bought you just because you looked -good and because I thought I might get a bit of hunting -somewhere up in this country before going back -to town. Little did I think you’d save a girl and blow -cats and dogs all to thunder and shoot at ha’nts——”</p> - -<p>“Yoo-hoo!”</p> - -<p>The musical call from outside cut short his monologue. -In three strides he was at the door. At the edge -of the road stood Marion. On the sand at her feet -rested a sack in which something was tumbling about.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>“Don’t you never put down that gun, even when -you’re into the house?” she asked as he crossed the -grass-ground. He looked foolishly down at the forgotten -weapon, still gripped loosely in one hand. -Without awaiting an answer, she went on: “But you -need it, I shouldn’t wonder. Are you a-goin’ to stay -here now, after—after what come to pop?”</p> - -<p>“Yep. Going to sit up to-night and see what will -happen.”</p> - -<p>She contemplated him soberly, then looked down at -the bag.</p> - -<p>“I figgered that’s what you’d do. I—I wish you -wouldn’t. But I brought down some company, like I -promised. This here is Spit.”</p> - -<p>As if answering to its name, the moving thing in -the sack vented a catty spitting sound.</p> - -<p>“You’ll want to shut the door and the winders, if -there’s any open, ’fore you untie his bag,” she cautioned. -“He’s wild, and he’ll go like a shot if there’s -any way outen the house.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll take care of him. Why do you wish I wouldn’t -stay here?”</p> - -<p>She flushed a little, looked at him, dropped her eyes -again and stirred the sand with a foot.</p> - -<p>“Why, you—you’re a neighbor, kind of. And you—you’ve -been good to Steve.” The name came in a -whisper.</p> - -<p>“Oh. I see. Did you take the medicine to -him?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He’s a-takin’ care of himself. But he’s -wilder’n ever at Snake Sanders, now he knows about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> -pop. He didn’t like pop much, but it makes him hate -Snake all the more. Where—where is pop?”</p> - -<p>“Over yonder,” he told her gently. “In a day or -so you can go in. I’m going to cut a path. You’re not -blaming me for this thing, are you, Marion?”</p> - -<p>“No, I ain’t. Mom, she’s wild jest now—says if -you never come here this wouldn’t happened, and so -on—but that’s foolish, and I told her so. She’ll git -over it. But”—the firm little jaw set—“if Snake -Sanders comes a-pesterin’ round once more now he -won’t never walk outen our yard! I’ll fix him my own -self!”</p> - -<p>“How?”</p> - -<p>“With pop’s gun. ’Tain’t much good, but it’ll shoot. -I got it ready this afternoon, and if I see his sneakin’ -face jest once I won’t ask questions. I never wanted -to see him ’fore, but I’m lookin’ for him now!”</p> - -<p>It was no sudden flare of temper that brought forth -the threat. It was the cold wrath of the hills that -sounded in her quiet voice, the deathless hate of the -avenger that glimmered under her curving brows. -Once more Douglas studied a new Marion: a girl -resolute, reckless, ominously hard.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t do that,” he counseled. “Put the gun -on him, but don’t shoot. March him down here and -let me have him. Maybe I can make him clear Steve.”</p> - -<p>“Mebbe,” she half agreed. “I’m a-goin’ now. It’s -gittin’ dark. G’by.”</p> - -<p>She was gone, running lightly along the shadowy -road. Until she disappeared he stood watching her. -Then he lifted the bag and returned to the house.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>Mindful of her caution, he shut the outer door and -closed the window of his sleeping-room before removing -the cord from the mouth of the sack. It was well -that he did. When the rangy, rumpled Spit was -dumped on the bare floor he gave one baleful glare at -the man towering over him, one swift survey of his -surroundings, one spitting comment on the place—then -he was not where he had been. He was tearing -about like tawny lightning let loose.</p> - -<p>Douglas made no effort to pursue him. To do so -would have been as futile as chasing a comet. He -only stood marveling at the animal’s speed and wondering -whether he had not better let him out before -he shot bodily through a window-pane. What good -would Spit do here, anyway? He would be only a -complication in the still-hunt of the ha’nt. But—Marion -had taken the trouble to bring him, and—— Oh, -well, let him stay.</p> - -<p>The lank, homely brute threw himself at every window, -every door, seeming hardly to have hit one before -he was at another. The man gave up even trying -to watch him. Moving to his supply-shelf, he cut a -chunk of raw bacon and held it until the baffled Spit -finally paused, looking for a new point of attack. -Then he threw the meat.</p> - -<p>Spit jumped into the air, came down glaring, circled -the meat, spat at it, sniffed at it, tasted it, considered -it with tail yanking from side to side—and accepted it. -With famished speed he gnawed it down. When it -was gone he lapped his jaws and looked at the man -with a shade of friendliness. It was poor cat-food,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span> -that smoked fat; but it was food, and the half-wild -creature would eat almost anything. In fact, he was -ready to devour more of the same.</p> - -<p>But he got no more. The man placed on the floor -a cupful of water, then shoved his backless chair -against the rear wall and settled himself for the vigil. -The gloaming now was rapidly thickening into darkness, -and there was nothing to do but await events.</p> - -<p>For some time he sat quiet, hearing only the solemn -chant of deep-voiced crickets, the muffled conversation -of katydids, the almost inaudible padding of the -cat’s feet on the boards. Now and then he vaguely -made out the lean form of the animal pausing near -him. Then it moved and vanished into the gloom, uneasily -inspecting every inch of the strange quarters. -Nothing else passed within his range of vision; nothing -stepped around up-stairs; nothing rustled in the -bedroom.</p> - -<p>An hour droned past, and another crept on its way. -The silent man’s lids began to droop. His recently -formed habit of going to bed early was asserting itself. -So were the drowsiness and languor induced by -the bygone heat. The steady chirp of the crickets, too, -and the dull darkness—they were floating him gradually -away on an ebb of consciousness. He shook himself -awake, shifted his position, leaned forward, away -from the wall. With renewed alertness he probed the -gloom. Nothing was there.</p> - -<p>Little by little another hour snailed along. Little by -little the watcher slumped farther forward. His gun -remained steady across his knees, his eyes stayed open;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span> -but his elbows were resting now on his thighs, and his -gaze was a somnolent squint, centered on nothing. -His body was half asleep, his mind more than half -asleep; for it was dreaming, seeing things gone by and -places far away, and other things much nearer—but -not in this house: some things, indeed, which had not -yet come about and might never come. And still nothing -occurred to disturb his reverie.</p> - -<p>Physical discomfort, not ghostly alarms, roused him -again. The chair was hard, his position was growing -cramped, his muscles demanded better comfort. Scanning -the room again, he noted with surprise that he -could see much more plainly. The windows, too, were -light, and through them he could make out the darksome -bulk of the trees. The Traps gulf was wanly -illumined by a late-rising moon.</p> - -<p>Stiffly he arose to stretch himself. Something -turned gleaming eyes at him. It was Spit, very quiet -now, crouched comfortably on the floor, watching two -doors—the open one into the bedroom and the closed -one at the foot of the stairs. Man and cat eyed each -other a moment. Then the man in turn looked toward -a door—the entrance to his own room, beyond -which waited his blankets and easy couch of bough-tips.</p> - -<p>After all, why not? He could sit against the wall -there, rest his legs and back, and still keep awake. -Better take the cat in there, too; then he wouldn’t -start clawing up toward the bacon-shelf or making -other disturbance. Might as well be comfortable. -As soon as he heard the ha’nt begin to tramp around<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span> -he could slip out and see whatever might be seen. -All right, he would do it.</p> - -<p>By patient persistence, he inveigled the suspicious -but curious Spit into the rear room. Entering it himself, -he had an afterthought: he reached to the attic -door, turned its knob, swung it open, leaving free access -for the stair-bumping spook. Then he went into -his room and almost closed the door, leaving it only -a little ajar to obviate the fumbling and noise of knob-turning -when the time to leap out should come. Making -sure that Spit still was there, he relaxed against -the wall, gun ready beside him. And——</p> - -<p>In less than twenty minutes all good intentions and -cats and ha’nts were obliterated from his mind by the -velvety hand of Sleep.</p> - -<p>What time it was when he awoke he never knew. -But awake he did, to find himself lurching upward, -every nerve tense, his gun clutched in his right hand.</p> - -<p>The door was open wider now—open nearly a foot. -In the room beyond lay slanting moonlight.</p> - -<p>Out there, something was struggling.</p> - -<p>Something was making a low, ghastly, inhuman -noise.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> - -<small>THE DEMON OF THE DARK</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Douglas</span> felt his hair lift and his skin prickle, ice-cold. -But he knocked the door wide and plunged out. -In the moonshine stood no horrible figure. The noise -was coming from the floor: a growling sound, a slithering -scrape, irregular paddings, and the scratch of -claws on wood.</p> - -<p>There, in the semi-darkness between two windows, -a small huddle writhed in hideous combat. Rooted to -the floor, Douglas stood watching its contortions. -Gradually the writhing movements diminished. But -the low growl continued, and from the spot glared the -fiery eyes of a cat which had made its kill.</p> - -<p>The man started from his paralysis. Scratching a -match along the wall, he held the little flare above his -head and stared until his fingers twitched back, burned.</p> - -<p>“Well—I’ll—be——” he muttered, his voice trailing -into nothing.</p> - -<p>He had looked on the ha’nt. He had seen Dalton’s -Death, murderer of men,—expiring in the jaws of a -tom-cat.</p> - -<p>Snatching the gas-lamp from its nail, he got it to -burning and turned its ray on the uncanny little bunch -below. In the white radiance the thing stood out in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span> -horrid clarity. Though merged together, it comprised -three separate parts. They were cat—rat—rattlesnake.</p> - -<p>The cat’s teeth were clamped in the neck of the -reptile. The venomous fangs of the reptile were -hooked into the head of the rat. The head of the rat -was nearly hidden within the distended jaws of the -sinuous slayer.</p> - -<p>This much of the story was plain at a glance: the -snake had killed the rat, begun to swallow its prey, -and in its turn been pounced upon by the lightning-leaping -Spit. But how had rodent and reptile come -here? Why had he never seen them before? Why -had Spit allowed the snake to get the rat first? Why -did that snake’s tail, still moving, give out no warning -burr?</p> - -<p>Douglas wasted no more time in puzzlement. Instead -he began a close inspection—as close as seemed -safe, in view of the fact that the savage cat struck -viciously at him with hooked claws when he came too -near. It was by no means impossible that some snake-venom -might be on those claws, and the investigator -was wary of them. Moving around with the light, he -studied snake and rodent.</p> - -<p>The rat was long, lank, and old. Its hoary hair, its -big feet, the tip of one whitish whisker still visible at -the edge of the serpent’s gaping mouth, all proved its -age. It was so old that it would move clumsily. In a -silent house its feet would thump on the floor. If it -descended stairs it would bump.</p> - -<p>Nothing very queer about the rat. But about the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span> -snake was something very queer indeed. Though it -was well grown—more than a yard long, in fact—and -thus should have been well equipped with the warning -buttons of its species, it had none. It was a rattler -without a rattle.</p> - -<p>True, its tail bore a small rounded excrescence which -might be an incipient button; but not a real, well-developed -one. Somehow the tail looked blunt; as if a -rattle once had been there but had been cut off, accidentally -or otherwise. It kept moving, so that it was -rather vague in outline. There was no doubt, however, -about the absence of the horny joints which -should have been there.</p> - -<p>Narrow-eyed, Douglas stood regarding that unnatural -tail. For no apparent reason, he suddenly wheeled -and looked at the windows. Against the panes was -pressed no leering face. Outside in the moonlight -stood no sinister form. Slowly he turned back. Into -his mind had flashed the picture of Snake Sanders -loosing from a box on Dickie Barre a copperhead. -Was the appearance of the snake in this house another -attempt of the same sort?</p> - -<p>“No,” Reason told him. This thing had not been -brought here to-night. It must have been in the place -a long time. Two men had been killed by it. One, -whose freshly carved headboard even now stood -against the wall, had died several nights ago. The -other had been struck down last spring. Beyond a -doubt, this was what had ended the lives of Jake and -Nat—striking at their bare feet, driving them in blind -horror from the house, leaving on their skins only two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span> -tiny wounds which, days later, would be overlooked -by the men finding their frightful corpses in the woods -or the brush. This creature must have been here for -months.</p> - -<p>His deductions were interrupted by Spit. Tiring at -last of worrying its broken enemy, or perhaps eager to -begin eating the rat, the cat loosed its hold and, ceaselessly -growling, stepped around and smelt at the gray-haired -victim of the snake.</p> - -<p>“Hey! Quit that!” Douglas snapped. “You fool -cat, that rat’s poisoned! If you have the slightest -scratch on your lips or in your mouth you’ll die! Let -it alone!”</p> - -<p>At the impact of his voice Spit leaped aside, spat at -him, stood flame-eyed, lips writhing and claws unsheathed. -So menacing was the appearance of the -creature, so evident its readiness to battle for possession -of that rat, that the man took a backward step. -Claws and teeth both might be envenomed; even if they -were not, he knew that an ordinary cat-bite sometimes -results fatally. But he did not intend to let the cat -commit suicide. True, the poison might not injure -the animal’s stomach, but if it entered the blood——</p> - -<p>He shoved the bare flame of his lamp straight at -the snarling visage. It was the best move he could -have made. Had he attempted to grasp the animal, -or even to push it away with a foot, the maddened -creature might have sprung at him. At that moment -a mere man meant little to that wild brute. But before -the fire-demon imprisoned in that lamp, before -the searing blue-white tongue licking out at his face,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span> -even Spit’s savage heart quailed. Spitting furiously, -he sprang back.</p> - -<p>Inexorably the flame followed him. It pressed him -back into the bedroom. Then the outer door was -drawn open. The light retreated. Spit sneaked back -into the main room—but the white-hot tongue was -waiting for him. It slid forward once more. Suddenly -it made a twisting swoop toward his mouth. -That was too much. With a snarly squall of panic a -tawny streak shot through the doorway into the night. -Spit was gone.</p> - -<p>The door bumped shut. The man straightened up, -relaxed, chuckled shortly. Then he turned the light -again on the feebly squirming reptile and the lifeless -rat; studied them a moment more; looked at the clean -pine monument of Nat Oaks glimmering yellowish in -the background; pivoted on his heels and frowningly -contemplated the bedroom where both Jake and Nat -had met their doom. For some minutes he stood there, -playing the light over every visible inch of the room, -particularly along the floor. Suddenly he started -as if a dazzling ray had darted through his mental -fog.</p> - -<p>“By thunder!” he muttered. “I’ll bet——”</p> - -<p>In another three seconds he was flat on the bedroom -floor, shooting the light along the under side of the -bed. He saw a series of squares of rope, upholding -the thick corn-husk mattress. Within each square the -mattress bellied downward. And in one of those -rounded curves of cloth, near the outer edge of the -bed, opened a hole.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>Douglas lay there, staring up at that hole, until his -position grew cramped. It was round and smooth-edged; -the edges looked worn, as if something had -often passed in and out—something scaly, perhaps, -whose passage would wear away loose threads. The -sagging cloth hung not more than a foot above the -floor. And, now that his nose was near it, he became -conscious of a repellent odor—a smell suggesting -snakiness.</p> - -<p>“Ugh!” He scrambled to his feet and took a -breath of clean air. His gaze fell on the rent left in -the middle of the bed by Nigger Nat’s steel. Swift -aversion to the whole room seized him. He spun about -and stepped out of it. And as he left it he did something -he never had done before—he pulled its creaky -door shut behind him. He was through with that -loathsome death-chamber for all time.</p> - -<p>The dead snake now was almost motionless: only -the blunt tail still quivered in reptilian tremors. Giving -it only a passing glance, Douglas stopped before -the open staircase and swung the light slowly from side -to side, examining every step. When the all-revealing -radiance was centered on the top he stood as if puzzled. -Down to the bottom and up to the top he played -it again.</p> - -<p>“H’m! How come?” he queried.</p> - -<p>The darkness gave no answer. Only the solemn -crickets dirged on outside.</p> - -<p>Up the echoing stairs he clumped, and on the groaning -boards above he deliberately moved about, searching -the dusty, dusky recesses of the eaves. Presently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span> -the moving light stopped, shining steadily into one of -the front corners. Through the dingy cobwebs festooning -the nook he saw something which brought a -satisfied nod.</p> - -<p>“One,” he said. With that he turned away and -began descending the stairs.</p> - -<p>Almost at the bottom, he halted short. The downward-pointing -ray had revealed a thing hitherto invisible -despite his careful scrutiny of the stairs; something -which an up-ranging eye never would see, and -which was discernible from above only because the -swaying light had happened to strike on it.</p> - -<p>“Two!” he exulted. “That’s it! I’ve got the combination -now. Farewell, Mister Ha’nt! Your little -mystery is busted flat.”</p> - -<p>Yet the thing at which he was looking would hardly -seem to be the key to an enigma. It was only a hole, -very inconspicuous in the dirty wall, at the junction -of the lowest step with the door-casing. And the -thing which he had found up-stairs in the corner was -merely another hole.</p> - -<p>Resuming his downward way, he trod across the -main room, leaned his gun against the wall, set his -lamp on the stove, filled his pipe, sat down on his -chair, puffed smoke, and chuckled.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, Mister Rat, you’re caught with the goods -at last,” he informed the lank old rodent on the floor. -“You’re the noisy half of the ha’nt. You’re old and -stiff, and your feet used to bump down like a ghost’s -heels. You lived around here somewhere—out in the -shed, maybe, or up under the attic floor—and you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span> -used to come out of that hole in the corner and ramble -around, looking for anything to eat. Poor old -Bumpety-Bump, I’ll bet you’re so ancient that you’ve -lost all your teeth; you certainly look nearly starved. -Anyhow, you’d find nothing up there, so you’d bump -yourself down-stairs. Probably you smelt my cheese; -I had some when I first came here, and Uncle Eb -brought me up a huge slab of it later on.</p> - -<p>“But when you hit the bottom you were stuck. -That door was always shut. So you’d have to give it -up. And with that other hole right handy, why go -back up-stairs? You’d just ooze into that hole -and let it go at that. So would any other sensible -man.</p> - -<p>“And that first night, when I came at you with a -cannon, you heard me before I could open the door. -So you just dived into the handy hole, and when I -yanked the door almost off its hinges you were tee-totally -gone. And while I was standing there growing -goose-flesh you were probably sitting up in the wall -and thumbing your old nose at me.”</p> - -<p>He laughed again in quiet self-derision.</p> - -<p>“It must have been tough, though, to come down -here every night, just drooling for that cheese, and -find yourself always blocked. All the same, that’s all -that saved your life. This other gent here, Mister -Side-Winder, must have been rat-hunting every night; -that’s why I’ve never heard rats around here; he got -’em all. And to-night when I left that door open and -you came out—well, you know as much about that as -I do.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>“Mister Spit, our little guest of the evening, must -have followed my noble example and gone to sleep in -there. Or maybe he had a hard time pulling the door -open; it does stick when it’s almost shut. Anyhow, by -the time he catapulted himself into the plot of this -piece you were on your way down Mister Rattler’s -gullet—which was just as well for friend Spit, maybe. -He could maul Mister Side-Winder then without a -come-back. Glad of it, too. Spit’s manners have been -neglected, but he’s a regular fellow, and I’m glad he -didn’t have to go out by the same route as Jake and -Nat.”</p> - -<p>He puffed again, and his smile died. When he -spoke again his voice was cold.</p> - -<p>“And you, Yard-of-Poison—how did you get here? -You’ve been here since spring. Maybe you came out -too early, got caught in a cold snap, found Jake’s -door open, came in to get warm. Maybe. Anyway, -you’ve been here since then. You found a hole in -the under side of the mattress and crawled in among -the husks for warmth and concealment. At night you -got the warmth of Jake’s body, too. And you paid -for your lodging as a snake would. Some night when -Jake got up in the dark for something you struck his -foot. And while he died alone in the black woods -behind here you crawled back into your hole, well -satisfied with yourself.</p> - -<p>“Some other fellows came, and you missed them. -They didn’t happen to come near you in the night, or -you had caught a rat and were sleeping it off in your -hole. And then I came. And you’re the thing that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span> -rustled the mattress beside me that night, and made -the rickety old bed tremble—you’re the thing I <i>felt</i> in -the air, there in the room beside me. When I looked -under the bed you weren’t in sight: you had stopped -when you felt me move. But you came out later, all -right, and you’d have killed me if I’d stepped near you -without my boots. And every night since then you’ve -been sneaking around ready to get me. Lucky I -changed beds, and never came out here barefoot for -a drink in the night, and kept my door shut. Maybe -Uncle Eb’s right, and there’s a good angel watching -over me. Looks like it.</p> - -<p>“And then Nigger Nat came, and you got him. I -owe you one for that, perhaps. But he was only a -tool. If you’d nailed Snake Sanders, now, I’d be -right obliged to you. But you’d never touch him, of -course, even if he stepped on you. He’s your brother.”</p> - -<p>For awhile he smoked in thoughtful silence. The -buttonless tail now lay inert. Within the house the -only movement was that of his own puffing, the only -sound the stutter of his wet-stemmed pipe.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” he resumed at length, “I wonder -whether your brother Snake knows anything about -how you lost your rattle. I wonder if he had a grudge -against Jake Dalton. If I ever get him in a corner -I’ll ask him about that. Yes, sir, I will.”</p> - -<p>His pipe stuttered more loudly and went out. A -long yawn stretched his face. Reaching to the lamp, -he shut off the gas-flow and stood up.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” he repeated, “I’ll give Snake a third-degree -on that point sometime. And until then I’ll<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span> -just keep my mouth shut about your demise. I’ll -throw you two folks back into the woods to-morrow, -and I’ll let folks think the ha’nt is still ha’nting. And -now, with your kind permission, I’m going back to -bed. Good-night, Mister Ha’nt—good-night forever.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> - -<small>CROSS TRAILS</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">November</span> marshaled her gray hosts and marched -them across the Shawangunks.</p> - -<p>Out of the west they came, a slow, silent, grim array -of clouds, drifting steadily above the puny barrier -of the mountains, covering the sky from rim to rim—a -vast army which alternately smeared out the sun -and allowed it to break through the gaps between their -brigades. At times they closed into mass formation -and drizzled cold scorn down on the impotent hills and -the insignificant dwellers therein. Then they drew -apart and resumed their indifferent, disorderly route-step -across the heavens, perhaps to spit again on the -New England mountains farther east and then swing -northward to merge into the fogs and snows of bleak -Labrador. Even when they passed in straggling -groups instead of a long battle-line, they gave the sun -scant opportunity to light up the whole countryside at -once, as he recently had done. Ever their chill -shadows were creeping along the ground, darkening -long belts of hill and dale while other strips were -agleam with light. Only at night, it seemed, did they -draw off into bivouac, leaving the sky clean and clear. -Then across the land sped their night-flying ally, Jack -Frost.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>And with the recurrence of that biting chill the silence -of approaching winter fell on the depths of the -Traps. At last the katydids were still. So, too, were -the crickets. By night, when the music of hammer -and drill was hushed and the cheery voices of roosters -and hens were silenced by slumber, the stillness would -have been painful but for the gentle murmur of Coxing -Kill, singing softly to itself as it crept past the humble -homes of the hillmen and on into the north. Only a -few weeks more, and even the friendly little stream -would lose its voice under the merciless grip of winter -ice. Then indeed stark silence would hold the great -bowl at night—desolate, bitter silence broken only by -the sough of wind-beaten evergreens and the groans of -cold-tortured hardwoods.</p> - -<p>That time was not quite come. But even now the -face of the Traps was gaunt and harsh. Gone was the -velvety mask of green which had partly hidden the -austerity of the land; gone, too, the flaunting colors -which had replaced the emerald tone. Through the -thinned forest everywhere showed thickly strewn bowlders -and the grim barrenness of crag-face and naked -rock slope. The vistas through the brush lengthened -in all directions. And with this opening of the woods -a new, sullen, ominous noise began to shock the quiet -air from time to time—the sulphurous explosion of -gunpowder.</p> - -<p>Thus far, the guns of the Traps had been noticeably -silent. Only at long intervals had one spoken. -So dense was the undergrowth that the Trapsmen, -knowing they had little chance of sighting game, had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span> -almost entirely refrained from hunting. But now the -deep roar of muzzle-loading shotguns smashed the -stillness early and late, varied occasionally by the blunt -bang of some black-powder rifle. Mother Nature, -hitherto the protectress of her feathered and furred -children, now was betraying them into the hands of -men. All hunted things moved with increasing peril.</p> - -<p>Yes, all hunted things—human as well as animal. -Hunted men, and the friends of those men traversing -the brush in furtive missions, were concealed but -thinly now by the leafless branches. And while most -of the hunters prowling the wilds were seeking only -meat and sport, there were also those who stalked -more dangerous game.</p> - -<p>Three of them, there were. But they did not work -together. In fact, one of the three avoided the others, -who worked always as a pair. Yet their separate -trails crossed at times, and at such times there was a -verbal fencing, a give-and-take of half-humorous -banter with an undertone of menace. Hammerless -Hampton, free ranger, hunter of Snake Sanders and -silent partner of Steve, outfaced or outmanœuvred -Ward and Bill, who also sought Snake but whose more -important quarry was that same Steve—and who, consequently, -scrutinized Hampton’s movements at every -opportunity.</p> - -<p>“When we git somethin’ on you, Hampton, we’ll -gather you right in,” Ward reiterated in sardonic -humor. To which Douglas, with devil-may-care smile, -would reply: “All right. But it’ll take both of you to -do it. How’s business?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>“Oh, pickin’ up all the time,” with a carelessness -that might or might not be assumed. “We know -about where one of our guys is hangin’ out, but we’ll -let him lay until we git to talk to the other one a little. -We’re gittin’ a good vacation, and we ain’t in any -rush.”</p> - -<p>How much of this ambiguous answer was true -Douglas could not tell. And, suspecting that it was -purposely phrased to evoke questions from him, he -made no queries as to which of the “guys” was being -spared while the other was sought. Nor did he ever -allow his eyes to stray in the direction of Steve’s -subterranean cavern; he knew Ward was subtly tempting -him to give some involuntary indication of his -knowledge of the fugitive’s retreat, and he gave none. -He observed with misgiving, however, that the pair -now seemed always to be somewhere near Dickie -Barre.</p> - -<p>Ward’s half-jest about the “vacation,” though, -seemed to hold much of truth. He looked like the -instinctive outdoorsman, who really would derive much -pleasure from working in rough country. Certainly -both he and Bill showed the good effects of open-air -life: the city sleekness of flesh and redness of face were -gone, and they were more lean of frame, more lithe of -movement, brown of skin and clear of eye. Bill still -wore the sour look which seemed habitual, and toward -Hampton he always maintained a grouchy silence—perhaps -because he knew he would get the worst of -any verbal encounter. But, from the physical standpoint, -there could be little doubt of his ability to hold<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span> -his own with almost any one. He and his mate now -were a formidable combination.</p> - -<p>“If it’s not a sassy question, how do you fellows -manage to live in here?” Douglas wondered at one of -their unexpected meetings. “Shouldn’t think you’d -find it easy to get food and shelter.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s easy. We’ve got a little shelter of our -own, where nobody’ll bat us over the dome when -we’re sleepin’. And for grub, we have a wagon that -comes up every so often from down below; meets us -outside, and we pack in the fodder. Anything else -you want to know?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. How much longer are you staying?”</p> - -<p>“Till we git our man, of course. Do I have to -keep tellin’ you? It’s takin’ a little longer than we -thought, but we’ll be here as long as he is.”</p> - -<p>The quiet determination of the tone stirred Hampton’s -admiration despite himself.</p> - -<p>“You ought to be on the Royal Northwest -Mounted,” he laughed. “You have the same stick-to-the-trail -doggedness.”</p> - -<p>“I was with ’em,” was the unexpected reply. “Five -years ago. Up in Alberta. Too much snow. Too -much horse. Too lonesome. But I know what stickin’ -on the trail means, yeah. This here stuff is nothin’ -but play, lined up alongside of some things I seen.”</p> - -<p>The simple statement was a revelation to Douglas. -Bill of Brooklyn, if left to himself, would have quit in -disgust before now. But Ward, former R. N. W. -M. P., would never abandon his quest until officially -called in—or unofficially shot. He would imperturbably<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span> -stick until the coming of the snows should make it -impossible for any one to carry food to Steve without -leaving a trail. And with the laying of that trail he -would run his man to earth in no time. The sky -suddenly looked very black for Steve.</p> - -<p>But the blond man strove to keep his thoughts out -of his face, and after a few more words he passed on, -cudgeling his brain for some means of helping the -fugitive to evade the remorseless power creeping closer -and closer to his covert. A number of ways had previously -occurred to him, but none of them was feasible -in view of Steve’s own refusal to leave his native environment, -his determination to die first “like a wolf—into -the rocks or the trees.” Against that immovable -decision what could he do? Nothing.</p> - -<p>Nothing except the thing he now was trying to do—corner -Snake Sanders. If cornered, Sanders might -possibly be forced to clear Steve. The hope was slim, -but still there was a chance—<i>if</i> he could corner -Sanders! The thought revolved on itself and maddened -him with its futility. The man Sanders was -still eluding him, and, despite Ward’s nonchalance, -undoubtedly was evading the officers also. And the -telltale snow which must reveal Steve’s refuge might -come at any time now.</p> - -<p>Through Marion, he knew that the earth-bound boy -had fought off his lung-pains and was somewhat -stronger, though by no means well. For the present, -therefore, he was not worrying over the youth’s condition. -In fact, he had asked himself a couple of -times why he should take so deep an interest in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span> -fellow anyway; then he had left the question unanswered, -merely telling himself that “the poor kid’s -in hard luck, and he’d do as much for me—maybe.” -He had not faced squarely the fact that the basic -motive for his sympathy was his desire to aid the girl.</p> - -<p>He had seen her several times since the death of -the ha’nt, but only for short periods. Her mother, he -learned, still was bitter against him, and—as perhaps -might have been expected from one of her type—persisted -in putting on him some of the blame for the -death of her “man.” Marion herself, though frankly -asserting that she had no patience with such an attitude, -was pensive and rather reserved in manner. -Therefore he refrained from unnecessary calls.</p> - -<p>She had asked him, of course, about his success in -hunting the ha’nt; indeed, she had shown unmistakable -relief when he rambled into her yard the next -day to ask whether “Spit got home all right.” In -pursuance of his decision to keep hidden for the present -the annihilation of Dalton’s Death, he had answered -evasively, telling her truth but not all of the -truth: that Spit had torn madly about in an effort to -escape, that the door had swung open later on and -the cat had run out, that he himself had tired of -watching and fallen asleep on his blankets. “And -you can see for yourself,” he concluded, “that nothing -gobbled me.”</p> - -<p>And since then he had been steadily seeking Sanders. -He had changed his hunting-ground now from the -vicinity of Snake’s shack to a section nearer his own -house—the long wall of Dickie Barre. Thither he had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span> -been led by an idea of his own, and there he worked -day after day with a grim persistence equalling that -of Ward and Bill, coupled with a methodical thoroughness -which they might well have emulated.</p> - -<p>The germ of his idea was the recollection of his -first meeting with Steve and of Marion’s production of -the jug which, she said, belonged to Snake. She had -not gone far that morning to get that jug. So, starting -from the well-remembered crack among the bowlders -where his camp had been, he now delved into -every crevice and cavern within a radius of a few -minutes’ traveling time from that focal point.</p> - -<p>He found snakes, but none with legs. In one gloomy -passageway leading inward he was halted by a rustle -among leaves just ahead. His ears telling him that the -sound was too slight to be made by stealthily moving -feet, he hazarded the light of a match—and found -himself in a den of copperheads. The deadly reptiles -had abandoned the well-watered lower lands and -sought higher ground to bed themselves down for the -coming winter, and now they lay in a sluggish knot, -nearly buried among the leaves. Their lifted heads -and unwinking stare, however, showed that they were -by no means too numb to attack; and Douglas, though -well booted to the knee, had no desire to tread among -them. Moreover, the presence of the reptiles and the -untrodden appearance of the leaves virtually proved -that no man was beyond. Wherefore he withdrew.</p> - -<p>In other recesses farther north he found, at times, -evidence of the occasional visits of men, clandestine -or otherwise; the mute testimony of charred fagots<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span> -and smutted stone, of scrapes on rock and of indentations -showing that weighty things had stood for some -time in certain spots. These traces, however, all indicated -bygone activities, not recent occupancy. -Whatever had been carried on in those crevices and -culs-de-sac, both the equipment and the products now -had vanished. Whether the evanishment was due to -the fact that the Law still prowled about was a question -which did not concern the silent hunter. He was -looking for a man, one man; and, not finding that man -or his lair, he moved on without delay.</p> - -<p>Then came an unexpected impetus to his search. -One afternoon, as he was threading his way around a -bulk of detritus which obviously contained no opening, -a drab figure detached itself from a massive tree-trunk -near at hand. He looked into the foxy face of -the little cooper, David McCafferty.</p> - -<p>“Jest a-layin’ for a couple o’ squir’ls,” Davy explained -his presence. “Havin’ any luck?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet. I’m hunting—snakes.”</p> - -<p>A shrewd nod and a glance around followed. In a -hoarse whisper the barrel-maker informed him: “I -hearn ther’s a bad one—wust one round here—been -seen down ’long here a piece. Mebbe ’bout haff a mile -or so down. I dunno nothin’ ’bout it. But ther’ might -be somethin’ into it.”</p> - -<p>With another quick look around, he retreated to his -tree. Douglas, without trying to render unwanted -thanks, waved a hand and went on. A little later he -heard behind him two roaring gunshots, and hoped -Davy had bagged both his squirrels.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>He did not, however, swing away through the woods -for an estimated half-mile and there resume his conning -of the crags. Davy’s directions had been too indefinite, -and he was determined not to leave an unexplored -gap in his steadily lengthening line. His system -was to cover as much ground as he could in each -short day, leaving some sort of marker at the point -where twilight compelled him to cease, then return to -that marker the next morning and do another section. -Thus, though his progress through the welter of stone -was necessarily slow, he was making it absolutely sure. -And now he held himself to the deliberate course he -had set.</p> - -<p>When the dusk descended he had laboriously made -certain that Sanders’ hide-hole, if he had one along -here, was somewhere to the north of a buttress-jut -beside which he had stopped. After fixing that outcrop -firmly in memory and lightly blazing a couple of -beech saplings with his pocket-knife for reassurance -the next morning, he swung down through the brush -to the road and home to his cheerless house.</p> - -<p>“Ho-hum!” he yawned over his after-supper pipe. -“I’m beginning to sympathize with Ward. Hunting -down a man in this old Indian stronghold is real work. -If it weren’t for Davy’s tip to-day I’d begin to think -Snake was dead somewhere, like Nigger Nat. But -there’s no such luck. Well, Snake, maybe to-morrow -night I’ll know more about you.”</p> - -<p>The vague hope was to become terrible truth. To-morrow -night he would know much more about Snake -Sanders—including something which would stagger -the entire Traps.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXV<br /> - -<small>NINETY-NINE’S MINE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hammerless Hampton</span> stood very still.</p> - -<p>Once more he was among the rocks. But these -grotesque bulks around him were new; he never had -penetrated into this group before. In fact, but for -his careful observation of every opening he would not -be here now. He had spied a hole in what seemed to -be the solid precipice, beyond which showed light instead -of the usual gloom. Crawling through, he had -found himself in a big space whose existence was -concealed by the false face of the cliff. It was one of -the freaks of the long-vanished glaciers, perhaps, moving -outward a long line of solid stone and leaving beyond -it a big gouge in the real butte. At any rate, it -was queer.</p> - -<p>But this was not what held Douglas so quiet; he had -long since ceased to marvel at the fantastic formations -along his line of exploration. Now, after passing -among a number of small bowlders—that is, no larger -than a three-room house—he stood beside a hole opening -downward. And beside that hole lay several -charred matches.</p> - -<p>In his mind those tiny stubs loomed larger than the -long wall itself. Some man had been here quite recently: -at some time since the latest rain, which would -have pelted those cylindrical sticks down along the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span> -sloping stones on which they lay. And that man was -no hunter, for no hunter would ever bother to enter -this barren box. Indeed, no hunter would even find it, -for he would be scanning ground and branches, not -the naked rock-face.</p> - -<p>Warily the discoverer glanced at the corners of the -surrounding stones. No spying eye met his; no half-hidden -head moved. He looked down again at the -opening.</p> - -<p>It was a hole made by the uptilting of a once horizontal -slab. It was near the true face of the butte. -At some time, perhaps not long distant, a mass of overhanging -stone had crashed down from above, a jutting -segment striking this slab at one end and angling the -other end upward and aside by the force of impact. -Before then, the horizontal block had been a sort of -trap-door, concealing the cavity beneath. Now, plain -to any eye which should reach this place, the opening -revealed a few flat stones leading downward, markedly -resembling crude stairs.</p> - -<p>Across Hampton’s face shot a sudden startled look—the -astounded incredulity of a skeptic beholding in -solid actuality a thing which he had believed to be -mere legend. For minutes he stood as if hypnotized -by the gloom below. Then, recovering himself, he -stepped very quietly into a position where he could -obtain a more direct view of the descent.</p> - -<p>He saw little more. The steps vanished into the -blackness of a vault. What lay beyond could be determined -only by exploration. Exploration meant -light; and, barring the few matches he always carried,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span> -he had no means of illumination. Moreover, he felt -issuing from the depths a draught which probably -would kill the feeble match-flames before they could -reveal anything worth seeing. He must return to the -house and bring up his gas-lamp.</p> - -<p>But then, moving again, he caught a glint from down -the steps—a glint of metal. Logic told him that the -other man who came here must have used those -matches in lighting a lantern. If that faintly shining -thing down there was it, then the man must be away -at present. He stole closer, straining his eyes—then -stepped boldly forward. There was little doubt now -that he saw the circular top of a cheap oil lantern, -and he believed he could also make out the dull-colored -wire bail.</p> - -<p>With some difficulty he folded himself up enough to -crouch under the tilted lid and begin descent. After -a couple of steps he could move more easily, and by -the time he reached the lantern he was erect again. -Lifting the lantern, he shook it and frowned. The -light swash at the bottom told him that the oil was -almost exhausted.</p> - -<p>If a large cave lay beyond, he would have to be -careful not to go too far from the entrance. Left -lightless, he might find himself in a desperate plight. -Even as the thought passed through his mind there -came to his ears a faint gurgle of subterranean waters. -Yes, he must watch his step, and his flame too. But -he would see what he could.</p> - -<p>Two matches were extinguished by the damp -draught as he sought to light the blackened wick. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span> -third, however, communicated its flame to the oily -weave, and the snapping down of the sooty chimney -preserved the dim shine within. Unlike the owner of -the lantern, Douglas did not leave his match-stubs -where they fell. He gathered them up and dropped -them into a pocket.</p> - -<p>Gun ready, he stole on downward. There were -perhaps a dozen more of the steps, not one of which -was truly horizontal; all sloped in one direction or another, -and no two were of the same height. Some -were so poorly balanced that they rocked under him, -and all evidently had been piled in by unskilled human -hands, long ago. But Douglas, cat-footed from his -daily experience among the bowlders, passed down -them as easily as if they had been a marble staircase -constructed by expert workmen. They terminated on -a downgrade of damp, hard earth.</p> - -<p>The passage led on, narrow but fairly straight, for -quite a distance. All at once it broadened out. At the -same time the blackness became noticeably less dense. -Faintly, here and there, showed grim rock walls—mere -patches of stone, vague in the farther gloom, revealed -by wan daylight filtering through some crevices -high up and opening eastward. Simultaneously the -hollow gurgle of the running water increased in -volume. It sounded somewhere beyond.</p> - -<p>A moment Douglas stood there, straining his eyes, -seeing little. The dim lantern-light seemed to hinder -rather than to help, preventing his pupils from dilating -to the full width which might have brought more of -the place into view. He felt an impulse to extinguish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span> -it. But it would go out of its own accord all too soon; -perhaps if he did blow out the flame the wick would -refuse to take a new light. He let it burn, and began -moving about.</p> - -<p>Before he moved far, however, he retraced his steps -and spread on the uneven floor his handkerchief. -Three corners of the cloth he folded in to the center, -leaving the fourth protruding in a white angle toward -the entrance. With this marker in place he advanced -again, watching the dirt for any yawning crack, pausing -to look around, then resuming his way. After a -little while he reached the farther wall, having found -nothing. There he halted.</p> - -<p>The light-crevices were plain enough now—mere -cracks in the stone, back whence he had come, from -twenty to thirty feet up. Off to his left sounded the -rumbling of the water: an eerie, gruesome noise unlike -the gentle murmur of Coxing Kill; a gargling and -choking, as if some inhuman monster were gulping at -an unseen Styx. Before he could decide whether to -go and look at it, something to the right caught and -held his gaze—a shadowy, shapeless thing which gave -the impression of solidity but not of stone. He worked -toward it.</p> - -<p>As he approached, it took on form and outline—a -confusion of ancient timbers and rock-chunks which -seemed to be a tumble-down furnace, or something of -the kind. Just what it might have been he could not -determine at once: but it certainly was a work-place, -and very old.</p> - -<p>His toes stubbed on something. The lantern proved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span> -the obstruction to be the remains of a heavy hammer, -half eaten away by rust. As he moved again, his -lantern-light glinted dully on metal not far from the -ruined forge—if forge it was. His interest quickened. -Metal not dimmed by rust—what was it?</p> - -<p>Stepping toward it, he stumbled again. A heavy, -dull-colored obstacle on the dirt had blocked his feet. -It was not especially large, but it certainly was solid, -as his tingling toes testified. It seemed to be a rudely -shaped bar of metal. And it was not rusty.</p> - -<p>“Great guns!” he breathed. “Is it true? Silver? -Tarnished silver?”</p> - -<p>As he stared at it, it began to grow dim. Was it -about to vanish into the ground like a legendary treasure? -No, it was not sinking; it was still there; -but——</p> - -<p>The light was going out.</p> - -<p>The little flame had shrunk. It still was shrinking. -Angrily he shook the lantern. A thin—very thin—slosh -of oil answered him. There was still a little fuel—enough -to last several minutes, at least. But the -wick must be short.</p> - -<p>The shaking gave a brief respite. The flame revived -a trifle, feeding on the oil-dregs thrown on the -wick. Swiftly he stepped toward the glimmering -thing he had first seen. It was on the floor, and beside -it rose a number of those solid bars, piled like -wood. It was a tin can, recently emptied.</p> - -<p>After one glance at it he pushed rapidly on toward -the outer wall, determined to see as much as possible -by the last light in the lantern. He found still more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span> -of those bars, and, beyond them, something made much -more recently: a thick, comfortable bed of leaves, on -which lay open a coarse, dirty quilt. Beside this, at -what seemed to be the head of the primitive couch, -and within easy reach of a man resting there, stood -a big jug. Somehow it looked familiar. Its nozzle -was plugged with a stout corn-cob, and—yes, on one -side was an old smear of green paint!</p> - -<p>“Thought so,” nodded Douglas.</p> - -<p>Memory was depicting a bygone morning among the -rocks to the south; a red-haired girl, a gaunt-faced -youth, a jug which the girl declared to be the property -of Snake Sanders—a jug bearing the same green -splotch. Its presence here was conclusive evidence.</p> - -<p>All was growing dusky again. The light was going -for the last time. It was no longer a flame, but a mere -sunken line, turning blue; and from the spent wick -rose a warning reek. With a shake that made the -foul globe chatter angrily within its wires, he turned -and gripped one of the cold metal bars. For its size, -it was astoundingly heavy. He had meant to carry it -under one arm, but its sullen weight and clammy -slipperiness forced him to hug it in both. With bar -and gun both cradled across his body and lantern -dangling crazily from one finger, he moved for the -exit.</p> - -<p>It seemed to be nearer than he had thought. The -last flickers of the expiring light revealed a black gouge -in the wall. Into it he turned, muttering to the lantern: -“All right, quit! I don’t need you any more.”</p> - -<p>The overworked wick did quit, leaving him in utter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span> -blackness. Half a dozen more steps he took, watching -for the first vague dayshine from beyond. Then he -halted as if petrified. He remembered his handkerchief. -And he remembered that he had not seen it -on turning in here.</p> - -<p>Carefully he lowered his burden. With hands free, -he struck a match.</p> - -<p>“Wow! You can back-track, Mister Man!” he -muttered.</p> - -<p>Less than a yard ahead opened a wide rift in the -floor. One more step in the dark would have trapped -him in a pit where death, swift or slow, would inevitably -have obliterated him; death from the fall, -from starvation, or from Snake Sanders’ merciless -hands.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you can back-track,” he repeated. “Wouldn’t -Snake have a lovely afternoon with you if he found -you in there, all busted up? He’d drop in a few of -his squirmy chums to keep you company, most likely, -and have the time of his life watching the show. And -if he didn’t find you, nobody else ever would. Now -use your brains, Hamp, if you have any, and find the -right way out.”</p> - -<p>Conning the situation, he realized that the most important -feature was saving matches, of which he had -very few. Therefore he groped until he had located -bar, gun, and lantern; gathered them up, turned carefully, -and felt his way back by keeping an elbow -against the rough wall of the false passage. When -the stone ended he halted again, laid down everything, -lit another fire-stick, and, carefully shielding the flame<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span> -from draught, advanced to the left. As he walked he -counted his steps.</p> - -<p>Three matches in turn burned out. The third, however, -brought him within sight of a white splotch several -feet to his left. The fourth proved it to be his -pointer.</p> - -<p>He now had only two matches left. But he knew -the number of steps, including the turn he had made -toward his handkerchief: he had the vague crevice-lights -to aid his calculations for the return, and he -had approximately the right direction in mind. Deducting -from his total count the few steps taken on -the last angle, and concentrating every sense into the -task of traveling straight, he marched back through -the darkness. So true was his course that with the -last step his foot struck the invisible lantern.</p> - -<p>Once more loaded, he sought the exit, saving both -matches. But his steps were a trifle shorter now that -he was burdened, and he also strayed a little from his -line. It took both matches to set him right at the end; -the second was almost out before he could even see the -white, and before he could reach the marked spot the -light was gone. However, he found the opening in -the wall; and when he went groping along the passage -he had retrieved his handkerchief. The only traces -of his visit now were the last two match-butts, which -he had had to drop.</p> - -<p>The wan light of day had seldom been so welcome -as when, after a scraping, stumbling journey, he -emerged at length at the crude staircase. With a long -breath of relief, he clambered up to the step whereon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span> -he had found the lantern. There he replaced the -grimy light-giver on the exact spot where he had discovered -it. On upward he continued, and out from -under the tilted lid he crept.</p> - -<p>No new sign of human presence was visible outside. -He strode around the nearest bowlder. Behind its -sheltering bulk he laid down his bar of loot and began -close inspection of it.</p> - -<p>With his clasp-knife he scraped away an accumulation -of dark sediment, baring a narrow strip of the -true metal. From the clean space shone a dull silvery -gleam.</p> - -<p>“By thunder!” he breathed. “Sure as shooting, -it’s—— But wait, now. Let’s see.”</p> - -<p>He dug the point of the strong blade into the metal. -Turning it, he easily cut out a conical chunk. After -scanning it an instant, he pressed his thumb-nail down -on one circular edge. The nail bit out a clean gouge. -For a couple of seconds more he stared at the little -plug of metal, at his knife-blade, at his nail and the -end of his thumb. Then he lifted his head and laughed—silently, -but so heartily that tears came to his eyes.</p> - -<p>He knew now what it was that the long-dead Ninety-Nine -had dug from the bowels of that shadowy -cavern; what it was that the Indian who sought the -aid of old Elias Fox had borne away from the mine; -what the old man’s sly glimpse had depicted as virgin -silver, and what his son and grandsons since had -sought until crushing doom annihilated one of them. -His laughter ended as he eyed the great block whose -fall from above had pried up the stone trap-door.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span> -That might be the very mass which had hurtled down -on Will Fox. Under it even now might be lying his -splintered bones.</p> - -<p>Dubiously he eyed the cliff above, half dreading -another such fall. But there was no overhang of -stone now, no danger of another drop. He let his -thoughts run back again.</p> - -<p>Long ago he had perceived the flaw in the tradition -that “where the sun first strikes the wall, there is the -mine.” The sun, moving north or south with the -changing seasons, would cast its first beams on different -points of the wall at varying times of year. -Even when he had climbed the Mohonk slope to see -the sun rise he had been aware of this; and since then -he had relegated the whole story to the realm of myths. -Yet the mine was real enough, and he had found it -at last; and, through his good-humored promise to -Lou Brackett, part of it belonged to her.</p> - -<p>But Snake, Lou’s own man, had found it before -him. This was why he had been so elusive of late; -this was where he had been most of the time, evading -all eyes and perhaps working to get more mineral -from the vein. Was it likely that he would share his -secret with Lou? Hardly. Perhaps he intended soon -to drive her from him, and hoped—the thinker’s face -hardened—hoped with his new-found wealth to gain -possession of Marion.</p> - -<p>The thought brought him to his feet. Where was -Snake now? What was he doing? Was all well down -below? But then, as if in answer, arose the vision of -glacial gray eyes and the echo of ominously quiet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span> -words: “Pop’s gun—I got it ready—if Snake comes -a-pesterin’ round he won’t never walk outen our -yard!”</p> - -<p>The self-reliant girl was well able to defend herself. -He need not worry. But he began moving away, leaving -behind him the soft silvery bar. One last glance he -threw at it, and a hard smile twitched his lips.</p> - -<p>“It was a treasure in Indian days,” he thought, -“and I haven’t a doubt that you, Snake, you ignorant -reptile, think you’re a coming silver king. But you’ll -never make much money out of those few bars of -lead!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> - -<small>SNAKE STRIKES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Snake Sanders</span> has kilt his woman!”</p> - -<p>Aghast, Douglas stood in his dark doorway, staring -down into the upturned face of Marion. Around them -the dusk was thickening into night, and in the shadow -of his porch it was dim indeed; but through the gloom -the eloquent gray eyes and the hushed voice spoke the -same shocked horror, pity, and wrath that stirred in -his own soul.</p> - -<p>“Killed her? Killed Lou Brackett?” he repeated -slowly.</p> - -<p>“Yes. She ain’t dead yet, but she can’t live long. -Poor woman, it’d been a lot better for her if she’d -missed that tree—she wouldn’t be sufferin’ now. But -then, there wouldn’t be a proof against him if she had. -Where you been all day? You must be the only one -into the Traps that ain’t heard. I was down here -twice—I wanted to tell you so’s you’d look out. They -ain’t caught Snake yet, and he might—well, you better -watch out.”</p> - -<p>She turned, sweeping the darkling road with her -eyes. Nothing moved there. No sound came, except -the doleful sigh of a cold night breeze.</p> - -<p>“Come in.” He moved back. “I want to know all -about this. The fire’s going—I was just getting supper. -Come in and keep warm.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>For an instant she hesitated, instinctively dreading -entrance into the sinister house where her father and -Jake Dalton had met nameless doom. But then, realizing -that Douglas had lived here for weeks without -harm, she followed him in. Her moving feet made an -unwonted noise on the boards—the patter of leather-heeled -shoes, which the gnawing chill had at last compelled -her to don. The sombre echo of the sound in -the bare room halted her again.</p> - -<p>“Ain’t you got a light?” she requested. “I—I -don’t like this place, so dark and holler.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll light up. Take this chair.” The one chair in -the place came rumbling toward her, and she sank on -it as he worked on the lamp. When the white flame -was lighting up the room he set the illuminator on the -table and turned to her, neglecting to draw the burlap -window-curtains which he had made some time ago.</p> - -<p>“I was up in the rocks all day,” he explained. -“Found something, too, that may help to catch Snake. -But now tell me all about it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, this is what I hear, and it’s what Lou said -her own self after she got so’s she could talk. Snake -took her up on top the Big Wall last night and throwed -her off——”</p> - -<p>“Good God! Threw her off the Wall?”</p> - -<p>“That’s right. Snake ain’t been to home much -lately—you know that—but he’s come in a few times, -and then he was so ugly to her she dasn’t go lookin’ -round to find out where he was when he was away. -He told her if she stepped a foot away from the house -he’d know about it, and he’d fix her so’s she wouldn’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span> -be able to walk or talk any more, and if anybody come -a-huntin’ him she’d got to say she didn’t know where -he was, and so on. But last night he come in ’long -toward dark, and he was laughin’ fit to kill. And -he said he’d got an awful good joke onto the detectives.</p> - -<p>“She asked him what ’twas, of course, and he -wouldn’t tell her. But he said he’d show her if she’d -hurry up to the top of the Wall. He said the detectives -had got into the rocks down under the Wall, -and when she could see what they were up to she’d -’most die laughin’. But she’d have to come and see it -her own self.</p> - -<p>“Well, Lou, she—she ain’t very bright, you know. -And she was so glad to see him good-natured and so -curious about this joke onto the detectives, she went -right ’long up there with him. And he went right to -the edge and looked round a little, and then he says: -‘There! See ’em, right up under here? It’s a-gittin’ -dark down there, but look close and you’ll make ’em -out. Ain’t that funny, now?’</p> - -<p>“Lou, she couldn’t see anything but rocks. But he -kept a-tellin’ her she was too far back, so she edged -up closer and closer, still a-lookin’. Then all of a -sudden she heard Snake laugh again, and he had -sneaked behind her, and that laugh scairt her. She -looked round quick, and he was grinnin’ like death. -And before she could move he shoved her off. The -murderin’ copperhead! He’d brought her up there -jest to kill her.”</p> - -<p>Her fingers, twining and intertwining over one knee<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span> -while she talked, gripped hard. Unable longer to sit -still, she sprang up.</p> - -<p>“D’you know where he is? If you do, git him -quick! Lou wasn’t a friend to me—she hated me—but -he’s got to be kilt for what he done! He——”</p> - -<p>“Go on,” he broke in. “Tell me all of it. Then -I’ll see what we can do.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes, that’s right. Well, Lou would have -been kilt right quick, only for one thing. There was a -tree part-way down, growin’ right off the face of the -wall, the way they do sometimes—a hemlock, stickin’ -out on a slant. And Lou struck right into it. She -was fallin’ awful fast, and she hit it so hard it—it -hurt her terrible; and the tree tore off from the little -ledge, and it went ’long down with her. She landed -into the rocks, of course. But that tree had stopped -her enough so that the rocks didn’t kill her.</p> - -<p>“She laid there a long time, and when she got her -senses back it was all dark. But then a light showed -right close by, and what d’you s’pose she saw? Snake! -Snake, with an ax into one hand and a lantern into -the other, a-lookin’ for her!</p> - -<p>“He must have seen that tree stop her, and he’d -come down through the Gap and worked ’long through -the rocks to be sure she was dead. He was a-callin’ -to her, and sayin’ he’d help her, and so on. But she -kept dead still. She was into a shadow beside one of -the rocks, and he went right by her. She never moved -till he quit lookin’ and come back, swearin’ at her and -the dark and everything. And then when she was -sure he was gone, she started crawlin’.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>She stopped again, her hands clenched. Douglas, -visioning that awful scene at the base of the night-bound -crags, stood with jaw set. Presently she resumed -the tragic narrative.</p> - -<p>“I dunno how she could do it, but she did—she -crawled down through the rocks and over pretty near -to the road. It took her more’n half the night to do -it—it was ’most two o’clock into the mornin’ when they -found her. She couldn’t git any further, and she laid -there a-cryin’ and a-screamin’—— Oh, why does God -let a devil like Snake live? Seems like He ain’t much -good to let sech things be!</p> - -<p>“But anyway, there was two fellers out coon-huntin’, -and the dogs had run a coon up that way, -and they found Lou. It was Tom Malley and Joe -Weeks—they live ’way ’long on the Paltz road, and -they’d drove up this way to hunt. They went and -got their wagon and put Lou in and took her down to -the Malley place, and while Tom’s folks did what -they could he put for the doctor, ’way over to Paltz. -The doctor, he says she might live a few days, but -that’s all. She’s awful tough, like all the Bracketts—they -die hard. But she can’t live; she’s hurt too -bad.”</p> - -<p>“And she was able to tell about it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, a little to a time. And Missus Malley, Tom’s -wife, she was sharp enough to have it all wrote down. -There’s quite a family of ’em, the Malleys, and the -oldest boy is quick at writin’, folks say; and she made -him set there by the bed and write down every word -Lou said. The doctor said that was a right smart<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span> -thing to do, and the detectives said so too. They -didn’t have to ask her——”</p> - -<p>“The detectives? Did they go down there?”</p> - -<p>“One of ’em did. T’other stayed here. They’re -both here now. Tom Malley was so mad he drove up -here this mornin’ and told everybody he come across -about it, and he met the detectives, and one of ’em -went back with him—the quiet one that don’t look so -much like a bulldog.”</p> - -<p>“Ward. He’s the brains of the combination. And -I suppose nobody else around here is doing anything -but talk about it.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t they? You’re the only one, Mister Hammerless -Hampton, that ain’t! Our fellers are kind of -rough, mebbe, some of ’em, but they don’t set still -after a thing like this! Every gun into the Traps is -out after Snake, ’ceptin’ yours and mine. And mine’s -been waitin’ for him ever since pop got kilt.”</p> - -<p>“So has mine,” he reminded her. “What are the -boys doing?”</p> - -<p>“They’re a-watchin’ every way out of the Traps. -They know he ain’t gone—they ’most caught him this -afternoon, up to his house. He didn’t know about -Lou bein’ alive and found, I s’pose, and he was gittin’ -his stuff together as if he was goin’ somewheres—gun -and food and oil and so on—— What would he want -oil for, I wonder? Anyway, he skinned out of a back -winder when they jumped in at the door. Job Clark -shot at him, but he missed, and Snake got into the -woods and they lost him. But the house is bein’ -watched now, and so’s every road and trail. He’s got<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span> -his gun, though, and if you’re a-goin’ to stay in to-night -you’d better lock up tight. He might come and -git you. And now I’d better go home.”</p> - -<p>“Wait. I’ll go along with you. But let me figure -on this thing first.”</p> - -<p>For a silent minute or two he fixedly regarded the -blank wall. As steadily, she watched him. Soon he -nodded.</p> - -<p>“That’s the best way,” he said, half to himself. -“I’d like to get him single-handed, but if he should get -me instead—nobody else would know where he was -hanging out. Yep, I’ll take some of the boys with -me.” Turning his gaze to her, he announced decisively: -“By to-morrow noon Snake will be dead or -in a trap he can’t squirm out of. I found his hole -to-day, and as soon as daylight comes I’ll get some of -the fellows together and we’ll bottle him up. No use -trying it to-night—I couldn’t find the place myself in -the dark. But if all the trails are watched he can’t go -anywhere else, and getting him will be easy. All we -have to do is to sit around like a bunch of terriers -watching a rat-hole, and when he comes out—nothing -to it!”</p> - -<p>“Where? Where is it?” she demanded. “Are you -sure it’s his place? Mebbe—mebbe some of the -boys——”</p> - -<p>“No, it’s none of the boys,” he smiled. “The boys -have cleaned up all their places lately—hid everything -somewhere, so the detectives wouldn’t see too much if -they went poking around. And I know this is Snake’s -place because his jug is there—green paint on one side—remember?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span> -I’ll tell you all about it some other time. -But now—say, here’s an idea! I’ll try to get those -detectives both up there, and while we know where -they are you go to Steve and try to make him leave -that cold hole of his and find a better place. If he -wants to make a run for it and leave the Traps awhile, -nobody’ll stop him——”</p> - -<p>A shake of the head negatived his budding plan.</p> - -<p>“He won’t run, and he won’t change, and he won’t -listen to sense,” she declared. “He’s more set and -wild than ever now. He’s got to git Snake, he says, -’fore somebody else does. I hadn’t ought to told him, -mebbe. But I did tell him—I went to him jest now -and told him ’bout Lou and all. I jest got back from -there—I ain’t even been home yet. I wish I’d kept -still. He’s crazy as a coot. He swore he’d come out -and git Snake his own self, detectives or no detectives, -and he’d take pop’s gun to do it with. I had -an awful time quietin’ him down. He’s sick again, too—his -lung’s bad some more.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord! Sick again?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sick again. He looks awful bad. I dunno -if he—— But I’d better git ’long home. He’s so wild -about Snake he might come and git that gun, sick or -no sick.”</p> - -<p>“But you said you quieted him down.”</p> - -<p>“Mebbe I did. I hope so. I told him he couldn’t -have that gun ’cause I had to have it my own self, and -that made him shut up. But he wouldn’t promise to -stay where he was—he wouldn’t say yes or no or -nothin’. And he’s so bull-headed when he gits<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span> -his mind set, he might—— Well, I’m a-goin’. -G’by.”</p> - -<p>As she turned doorward, he stopped her with a -swiftly formed decision.</p> - -<p>“Just a minute more, Marion. I’m going with you, -as I said before; and I’m going to stay. My job to-night -is going to be standing guard at your house. -Then you and your mother can get a good sound sleep. -It isn’t Steve I’m thinking about—it’s Snake. If he -intends to call on anybody to-night it’s more likely to -be on you than on me. So if you don’t mind my sitting -on your steps——”</p> - -<p>The sentence never was finished. Nor was the plan -ever carried out.</p> - -<p>As Douglas turned to step toward his hat, coat, and -gun, the front door jumped inward.</p> - -<p>Snake Sanders, shotgun leveled at his hip, evil face -aflame, stood in the room.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> - -<small>TRAPPED</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Swift</span> and sudden as was the appearance of that -murderous figure, it was little quicker than the movements -of Douglas and Marion.</p> - -<p>For one fleeting second the pair stood as if petrified. -For the same time Snake halted as if blinded. Coming -from the outer dark, he had sprung straight into the -brightest beam of the gas-lamp, which happened to be -centered on the doorway. The shock to his optic -nerves was too great to be overcome at once even by -the instinctive narrowing of his lids. He wavered -aside, trying to dodge the sight-searing ray without -taking his gaze from the man he hated and the girl he -coveted.</p> - -<p>Simultaneously the trapped pair leaped.</p> - -<p>Douglas lunged toward his own gun—and tripped -over the forgotten low chair. Marion sprang between -him and the menacing muzzles which jerked to cover -him anew.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you!” she screamed. “Don’t you dast -shoot!”</p> - -<p>The clatter of the overturned chair and the thump -of a solid blow terminated her words. Douglas, unable -to regain his balance, had pitched headlong against -the stove. The impact dazed him. He fumbled, strove -to rise on legs that seemed useless.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>Snake’s venomous face split in a lethal grin. With -a hissing laugh he sidestepped, jumped forward, -snapped the gun-stock to his shoulder.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Crash!</span></p> - -<p>Buckshot cannoned toward the groggy man reeling -up from the floor.</p> - -<p>But the frightful charge of leaden death missed. -With the muzzle less than six feet from its victim—it -missed. It smashed through a window. The bellowing -shock of the discharge roared out into the silent -night, reverberating far along the crag-girt Traps.</p> - -<p>Marion had leaped again. With the lightning speed -of a maddened catamount she had struck at the gun, -knocking it aside just as the hammer fell. Now she -was gripping the twin barrels in both her strong young -hands, wrenching and yanking in a furious effort to -wrest the weapon from its owner.</p> - -<p>“Leggo!” snarled Snake. “Leggo, ye red cat!”</p> - -<p>“I won’t—I got you now—Douglas!—Git him!”</p> - -<p>She strained in frenzy, jerking, twisting—but ever -keeping the muzzles pointed upward.</p> - -<p>Stunned anew by the concussion so near his head, -Douglas did not hear her panted command. Nor did -his numbed brain turn him of his own accord toward -his shotgun. Though he had carried that weapon -habitually of late, he was not a born gun-fighter; and -now, in his foggy condition, he acted only by primitive -instinct. But he was acting. He had regained -his feet, seizing the upturned chair as he rose; and -now he was lurching forward, poising the chair for a -crushing down-blow.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>With a louder snarl Snake heaved himself backward, -dodging away from the oncoming menace and swinging -up his gun with all his power, striving to break -the girl’s hold. But she hung on. Lifted clear of the -floor, still she hung on. And Douglas, his senses -quickening every instant, pressed in faster and -harder.</p> - -<p>“Got you!” Marion gasped. “Right into the house—where -you—kilt my pop——”</p> - -<p><i>Smash!</i></p> - -<p>Glass shattered. Through the side window licked a -length of dull steel. Douglas almost collided with it. -He halted. It was another gun-barrel. And it covered -Snake and Marion.</p> - -<p>“Marry!” crackled a harsh voice. “Git ’way! -He’s mine!”</p> - -<p>Behind the cocked hammers of the gun glimmered -a white face: a drawn, haggard face dominated by -hollow eyes in which gleamed cold ferocity.</p> - -<p>“Git ’way! Git back! Leggo that ’ere gun! I’m -a-shootin’!” came the ice-edged voice again. But the -commands ended in a cough, followed by a choked -moan of pain. The muzzles wavered. Then they -steadied again.</p> - -<p>That voice, that face, that gun, seemed to freeze -Snake. Fear shot athwart his contorted visage. His -arms turned limp. Marion, feet again on the floor, -hands still desperately clutching the steel, flashed a -glance at the window, another at Snake—and tore the -gun from his relaxing fingers. An instant too late he -snatched for it. It was gone from him, and its muzzles—one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span> -impotent, but the other deadly—were four -feet away, yawning at his face.</p> - -<p>“Good gal!” A freezing chuckle sounded at the -shattered frame. “Don’t ye kill him less’n he jumps—he’s -mine! I got to talk to him a minute ’r so, an’ -then—— Hamp, shove up the winder! I’m a-comin’ -in.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t, Steve,” Douglas replied mechanically. -“Never could get this sash up. It’s warped solid. -Come around.”</p> - -<p>The fierce face hung in the dimness a moment -longer before it moved. Then, reluctantly: “Awright, -if I gotta I gotta. But ye watch him close! -He’s a snake—if he moves bust him!”</p> - -<p>As the barrel withdrew Snake darted desperate -glances at the pair. He saw a tense, ready girl, flame-haired, -flame-eyed, holding him at bay like an angel -of vengeance; a grim-jawed man who once before -had knocked him senseless, who had been relentlessly -trailing him for many days, who now stood alert and -all too eager to avenge three attempts on his life. But -if he could only dodge that one barrel and dive through -the window——</p> - -<p>“Don’t try it!” the hard voice of Hammerless -Hampton warned. “If she should miss you I -wouldn’t! I’m only holding off because you’re Steve’s -meat. Make one little move and——”</p> - -<p>The threat of the hovering chair was all too plain.</p> - -<p>Snake licked his thin lips, shot a look doorward—then -shrank back as if trying to merge himself with -the unyielding wall. A moment ago he had plumbed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span> -the hot eyes of Wrath. Now he looked into the stony -countenance of Revenge.</p> - -<p>Steve was in the room. Steve, born like a wolf, -wild as a wolf, now was merciless as a wolf. Through -his matted black hair his cavernous eyes glared in concentrated -hate; across his bristle-bearded mouth -stretched a fang-toothed grin; in his creeping step was -the stiffness of a timber-wolf about to leap and rend. -At his hip hung the battered double gun of dead -Nigger Nat, hammers back like the heads of striking -serpents, triggers tense under wasted fingers, muzzles -slipping with nerve-shattering slowness toward the -vitals of the cornered betrayer and murderer. So -appalling was the utter ferocity of that shambling figure -that Marion’s face paled and her weapon sank, while -even Douglas felt ice crawl down his spine.</p> - -<p>“Three year!” the avenger rasped through his -teeth. “Three year I done for ye! I’d ’a’ died, only -I swored I’d git ye, Snake—I’d git ye ’spite o’ bars -an’ walls an’ guards an’ all hell! An’ now’s yer time -to pay! Ye’re gone!”</p> - -<p>Snake’s face writhed again. Desperately he strove -to avert his doom.</p> - -<p>“Steve, ye’re wrong! I tried to git ye clear——”</p> - -<p>“Shet up! Ye dirty liar! Ye——”</p> - -<p>“But wait, for Gawd’s sakes! Gimme a chance to -tell ye! Ye was drunk that night—ye was wild—crazy—I -couldn’t handle ye. Ye got ’way from me. -Fust I knowed, the place was a-burnin’ an’ ye -a-shootin’—I resked my own life a-tryin’ to git ye ’way—don’t -ye mind me a-haulin’ ye down the road an’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span> -the Bumps a-shootin’ after us an’ how ye tumbled -sudden? I thought they’d hit ye, kilt ye, an’ I had to -look out for myself then. Mebbe ye don’t ’member—ye -was so drunk——”</p> - -<p>“Ye lie! I was drunk—ye got me drunk a-purpose—but -I can ’member better’n ye think I can. Drinkin’ -never makes me crazy: it makes me sleepy: but a -thing that happens when I’m drunk stays clear into -my head when I’m sober ag’in. Ye can’t wiggle out, -ye p’ison varmint! I’m a-shootin’ right quick. But -fust ye got to tell me how ye kilt Nat. Wha’d ye do to -him? Speak up, blast ye!”</p> - -<p>“I never!” Snake’s voice rose to a scream. “I -never! Last I see o’ Nat that night he was a-trompin’ -round the road crazy drunk. I was Nat’s friend—I -been your friend—I’m here now ’cause I’m friends -with all the Oakses! Lookit that feller Hampton! -He’s yer wust enemy! He set the ’tectives onto ye—he -tolled Marry into this ’ere house to-night—he’s -a-gittin’ her ’way from ye—he’s doin’ ye dirt to every -turn!”</p> - -<p>The desperate play to distract Steve’s attention almost -succeeded. It was a diabolical stroke at the hard-bitten -youth’s innate distrust of outsiders and at his -jealousy. So unexpected was it that for an instant -Douglas and Marion stood staring blankly; and Steve, -brain aflame, nearly turned to confront them. Had he -done so, Snake could have jumped, shoved him toward -Marion, and sprung out of the door before either of -the guns—or the chair, which Douglas had lowered—could -stop him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span>But he did not quite succeed. Steve’s eyes turned, -but the deadly muzzles did not swing more than an -inch. Then, just as a sinuous quiver of forthcoming -action ran through Snake, eyes and muzzles darted -back at him. Simultaneously Douglas stepped forward -with fists clenched and Marion with gun lifted.</p> - -<p>“Hold up a minute, Steve,” Douglas requested -ominously. “I owe him one for that. You, Snake! -Step out and put up your hands!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you!” the girl rebuked him. “He’s a-tryin’ -a trick! Steve, it’s all lies! I’ve got a good mind to -kill him my own self. But I ain’t a-goin’ to, and don’t -you shoot him neither. What good will it do to——”</p> - -<p>“I been waitin’ three year! What ye think—I’ll -let him loose now?” A harsh cackle followed—ending -in another of those involuntary moans. Steve -lurched slightly. His face drew even tighter. “Keep -off, the both o’ ye!” he gasped.</p> - -<p>“Make him tell the truth!” Douglas shot back. -“Give him to the officers—they’ll get the truth out of -him—the truth that will clear you! Don’t you see? -You won’t have to hide any more then. You’ll never -have to go back to the pen. And he’ll get what’s coming -to him for murdering Lou. If you shoot him he -never can clear you—the law will be after you all your -life! Are you going to kill your own chances? Don’t -be a fool!”</p> - -<p>His rapid counsel stayed Steve’s fingers even as -they tightened on the triggers. So set on personal and -deadly vengeance had the youth been that the thought -of making his betrayer rehabilitate him with the Law<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span> -had never occurred to him. Even now the idea made -but slow headway against his fixed mania for revenge. -But he held his fire, letting the dazzling possibility -grow in his mind.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I was tryin’ to tell you, Steve,” seconded -Marion. “He can’t talk if you kill him! Now -you git away—we’ll give him to the detectives—you -git back to the cave and stay there till we tell you to -come out——”</p> - -<p>Snake broke in. He had been squinting wildly at -Douglas.</p> - -<p>“Lou? Ye say I kilt Lou? I never! She—she -fell often the Wall—I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it—she -got dizzy——”</p> - -<p>All at once his eyes widened, looking beyond them. -Douglas half turned, then forced his gaze back, suspecting -a trick. But it was no ruse. Quiet footsteps -sounded at the rear of the room. Then spoke a cool, -authoritative voice.</p> - -<p>“Stand still, everybody. Don’t try anything sudden. -We’ll take charge of this thing now.”</p> - -<p>Three heads jerked around. Snake still stared. -From the obscurity of Douglas’ sleeping-room had issued -two men who now advanced watchfully, right -hands under their coats. They were Ward and Bill.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> - -<small>AN ACCOUNT IS CLOSED</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">From</span> the surprise of seeing those dreaded detectives -two men recovered quickest—Douglas, who had no -fear of them; and Snake, who had every fear of them.</p> - -<p>Marion and Steve seemed frozen. Their guns had -swerved from Snake’s body. The door still stood -open, and between officers and criminal stood three -people. Snake broke for freedom.</p> - -<p>But Douglas had thought of that. Hardly had he -glimpsed the officers when he swung back. At Snake’s -first move he sprang.</p> - -<p>Snake reached the doorway. But he went no -farther. With the all-concealing darkness before his -eyes—something struck him. An arm swooped under -his jaw, yanking fiercely back on his throat. A knee -smote the small of his back, numbing his legs. A -savage fist crashed under his right ear. He collapsed.</p> - -<p>Still holding his throat-lock, Douglas dragged him -back to the middle of the room and flung him down -with a thud that jarred the whole house.</p> - -<p>“Here he is,” he said curtly. “Now grill him.”</p> - -<p>“Good eye, Hampton,” Ward approved, smiling -grimly. “We couldn’t git to him with these kids in -the way. Guess you got a whole lot of satisfaction -out of that wallop, huh?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span>“A whole lot!” Douglas nodded, opening and shutting -his right fist. “Now you—— Steve! Quit -that!”</p> - -<p>The refugee, his wolfish teeth bared, was slowly -backing doorward, his gun now covering the hated -trailers.</p> - -<p>“Yeah!” snarled Bill, reaching backward again. -“Put that gun down and freeze right where y’are! -We wantcha, my fine boid!”</p> - -<p>“Ye ain’t got me,” came the hoarse answer. “An’ -ye don’t git me! Ye pull that gun o’ yourn an’ ye -won’t never shoot! I got ye cold!”</p> - -<p>It was deadly truth, and Bill knew it. One twitch -of the fingers, and he would be a riddled corpse. But -he was brave enough. With his long-sought quarry -at last before him, he did not shrink from the cold -muzzles as he once had from the hammerless gun in -Marion’s hands, up the road.</p> - -<p>“Ya got one chanst,” he growled. “Put that gun -down and wait while we sweat this guy. If he comes -acrost ya’ll be free. If ya shoot I’ll git ya before I -hit the floor.”</p> - -<p>“And so will I,” Ward coolly added. “Show some -sense! We’re givin’ you a square deal. Now if you’re -guilty as charged, try makin’ your getaway. If you -ain’t, stick around. This guy here is goin’ to talk.”</p> - -<p>Marion also, who had been tensely watching the pair, -turned on the gaunt fugitive.</p> - -<p>“Steve, you heard what he said,” she challenged, -looking him straight in the eyes. “If you shoot or -run it’ll show you <i>did</i> burn out the Bumps! I want to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span> -know my own self whether you did or not. You -better stay here.”</p> - -<p>Through a silent pause Steve stood slit-eyed, studying -his foes: the men who had hounded him so long, -and the one who had caused that hounding. Snake -was reviving. He was staring blankly upward. On -him the hunted youth’s gaze fixed. Slowly he let his -weapon sink.</p> - -<p>“Ye keep often me,” he warned. “I ain’t a-runnin’. -But I’m a-keepin’ my gun. I’m a-stayin’ right where -I be. Don’t ye come nigh me!”</p> - -<p>“That’s good enough,” consented Ward, after a -shrewd look. “You stay right there. Now everybody -shut up. I want to talk to this guy Sanders.”</p> - -<p>In an undertone, however, he said to Douglas: -“Kid looks sick and off his nut. Is he?”</p> - -<p>“Sick, yes. Lungs. May be pneumonia,” was the -muttered reply. Ward frowned. Then he snapped at -Snake.</p> - -<p>“You, Sanders! Git up and talk turkey! We’ve -got you dead to rights. No lies, now!”</p> - -<p>Snake, sitting up, dizzily eyed each hard face.</p> - -<p>“Wha—wha’d ye want?” he muttered thickly.</p> - -<p>“Stand up! Back against that wall! Come on, -move! And don’t pull any gay stuff. You got some -explainin’ to do, and the less wigglin’ and dodgin’ you -try the better off you’ll be. Understand?”</p> - -<p>Snake got up, looking confused. The other three -also glanced in a puzzled way at the officers. Here -was a murderer, condemned by the revelations of the -woman whom he had hurled to her doom; why did<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span> -they not drag him out forthwith? They acted as if -they only meant to question him, and then, perhaps, -let him go.</p> - -<p>But Douglas, studying Ward, felt that the man-hunter -knew what he was about, and said nothing. -Marion and Steve, too, kept silence. Sanders slouched -against the blank inner wall designated by Ward.</p> - -<p>“Now git this in your head, first off,” Ward said -crisply. “We’ve been in here quite awhile. We’ve -been learnin’ a lot—about <i>you</i>. It’ll do you no good -to try any lyin’. You come clean, and you may save -a lot of trouble all around. Know what I mean?”</p> - -<p>Snake nodded dubiously, but with hope beginning -to glimmer in his shifting eyes. Douglas saw light. -This assumption of omniscience and of infallibility in -detecting falsehood, this intimation that full confession -would benefit the prisoner—these were part of the -stock-in-trade of policedom, as the ex-newspaperman -well knew. They formed both a wordless threat and -an unexpressed promise: absolutely non-committal, -yet subtly potent.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, what about this lad? Did he do that -burnin’ and shootin’, or did you? Remember he’s -right here, listenin’ to what you say. Bill, move over -a little. Sanders, you look the kid right in the eye. -Now then! What about it?”</p> - -<p>As Bill, hovering ready at Sanders’ left, drew back, -Snake turned unwillingly and looked at Steve. The -youth made no movement, spoke no word; but his -glittering eyes bored into Snake’s inmost being. Under -that baleful glare, under the chill scrutiny of four<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span> -other pairs of eyes, the yellow soul of Sanders -shriveled. He quailed visibly. Shifting his gaze, he -encountered again the piercing orbs of Ward.</p> - -<p>“I—done—it,” he whispered.</p> - -<p>“You did,” Ward repeated clearly. “All right. -That’s the stuff, Sanders, tell it straight. Now just -tell the whole thing—why you did it and how you did -it and all the rest of it. You’ll feel better then, maybe. -Come on, spill it all.”</p> - -<p>Snake boggled over the start; but with a little more -brisk urging by Ward, whose manner was as matter-of-fact -as if the crime were nothing more serious than -fishing out of season, he began a hang-dog recital. -Ward, reaching into an inner pocket, quietly stepped -behind Douglas. The latter felt a note-book being -pressed against his back, followed by the quiver of a -rapidly moving pencil. Unseen by Snake, whose eyes -rested on the floor, the whole story was being recorded.</p> - -<p>Shorn of twists and turns and blundering attempts -to show justification for the attack on the Bumps, the -confession corroborated the tale told by Steve that -afternoon in Uncle Eb’s kitchen. Snake asserted that -the Bump crowd had cheated him in a berry-picking -deal, stolen some of his “pick” outright, assaulted -him when he demanded his due; all of which perhaps -was true. He denied having plied Steve with liquor -in order to make him a scapegoat, but admitted having -deserted him after the commission of the crime. And, -so far as the crime itself was concerned, he cleared -Steve absolutely.</p> - -<p>When his stumbling narrative was concluded, Ward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span> -gave him no rest. Whether or not confession be good -for the soul, man-hunters know that it is good for the -ends of justice to keep a criminal talking when once -he has started. Wherefore he briskly asserted: -“That’s good, Sanders, that’s fine. Now tell us what -happened to Nat Oaks. You were with him. Come -on, open up.”</p> - -<p>“I—I—I dunno. I warn’t into this house with him. -Honest to Gawd!”</p> - -<p>“Not in the house? Outside, though. Sure. Out -in the yard, now? You saw him come out, anyway. -What did he do?”</p> - -<p>Snake wriggled; glanced around; licked his lips -again; looked cornerwise into Ward’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“Wal—uh—I tell ye. Nat, he was crazy drunk. -He come down here to—to git Hampton. He was -p’ison mad ’bout them dawgs that Hampton kilt. I -come with him—I was tryin’ to git him to go home—I -didn’t want no——”</p> - -<p>“Never mind that stuff. What did he do?”</p> - -<p>“He—uh—he snuck in by hisself. I was out into -the road. He was into the house—all to oncet he give -a yell an’ he come a-runnin’. He never said nawthin’—he -was a-fussin’, like, into his throat, a-groanin’ an’ -a-grumblin’—an awful kind of a noise! He come -a-tearin’ right by me an’ went <i>kersmash</i> into the bresh, -an’ I hearn him a-thrashin’ round into the dark, an’ -then I didn’t hear him no more. An’ I was scairt—I -run right up the road an’ put for home. That’s -Gawd’s truth, fellers. I dunno what got him—’less’n -’twas Jake’s ha’nt.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span>His head was up now, and he looked into the faces -of the others as if telling the truth—or part of the -truth. Ward regarded him silently, perhaps deciding -to let the Oaks matter rest. Then Douglas shot a -sudden question.</p> - -<p>“What did you have against Jake?”</p> - -<p>Snake’s jaw dropped. He stared as if a ghost had -risen from the floor. Bill and Ward looked mystified, -but watched him keenly. From Steve sounded a low -grunt, as if he partly understood and wholly approved -the question. Marion, a rapt witness of the proceedings, -stood awaiting the answer though not comprehending -the purport of the demand.</p> - -<p>“I—uh—me an’ Jake—we didn’t have no trouble,” -stuttered Snake. “What ye mean? We was good -friends——”</p> - -<p>“Ye lie!” broke in Steve. “Ye said Jake stole yer -licker, an’ if he done it ag’in ye’d git him! I hearn ye -an’ Jake a-rowin’ ’bout it one time up into the rocks—before -I got sent away. Ye told him if he stole ’nother -jug o’ yourn he’d find snakes into it!”</p> - -<p>“Aha!” Douglas pounced on the revelation. “And -he did steal another, eh? Did he? Quick, now!”</p> - -<p>The vicious face reddened with quick anger.</p> - -<p>“Yas, he did! He done it more’n oncet—the fat -hawg-bellied fool!—he’d steal every time he got a -chance. He was too lousy lazy to make his own——”</p> - -<p>“And so you chopped off a rattler’s rattle and put -the snake in here! Didn’t you? Hurry up!”</p> - -<p>“Yas, I did, ye smart Aleck! What of it? Puttin’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span> -a snake into a house ain’t killin’ nobody. I only done -it to scare him.”</p> - -<p>“So? A fine way to scare a man—cutting off those -rattles! You’ll be saying next that you only meant to -scare me awhile ago when you shot at me on the floor. -You only intended to scare me when you let that copperhead -out of the box on Dickie Barre, maybe—without -letting me know it was there. Of course! -You know mighty well what killed Jake, and Nat, too, -and you’ve been expecting the same thing to get me -here—that rattler. Now you all listen a minute while -I tell you what Dalton’s Death was.”</p> - -<p>And for the first time Douglas revealed the truth -about the ha’nt.</p> - -<p>“That’s the only reason why you let me live here in -peace,” he accused. “You thought your snake would -finish me as it finished Jake. When it didn’t you put -Nat up to stabbing me, while you stayed outside——”</p> - -<p>“Ye can’t prove nothin’!” flared Snake, eyeing him -in hot hatred. “I wisht a dozen snakes had bit ye, ye -meddlin’ sneaker! But ye can’t prove what ye said—ther’ -ain’t a witness nowheres! An’ how would I know -the snake had gone to livin’ into the bed? How’d I -know it didn’t go outen the house? I didn’t make it -bite Jake—I didn’t know ’twas here when Nat come—ye -can’t prove I put Nat up to comin’—an’ that shootin’ -jest now was a accident—my thumb slipped——”</p> - -<p>“Lies, lies, lies!” Douglas growled. “Accident? -The same kind of accident that threw Lou over the -edge of the Wall! But your accidents are finished -now, thanks to the accident that she hit that tree and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span> -wasn’t killed. All right, Ward. I’ll shut up. Take -him away.”</p> - -<p>Ward was scowling, as if Douglas had upset his -program. But he nodded shortly and reached under -his coat. His hand came away with a pair of handcuffs.</p> - -<p>“No need of any more grillin’, I guess,” he said. -“We’ve got all the proof we need about the Brackett -matter, and this guy can tell his side to the judge. -Stick out your hands, Sanders!”</p> - -<p>Snake seemed paralyzed. His eyes were bulging, -and he stared at Douglas as if disbelieving his ears. -His mouth worked twice before words came.</p> - -<p>“She warn’t kilt?” he blurted. “She ain’t dead?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet, but soon,” Ward snapped. “She’s dyin’, -but we’ve got her whole story wrote down and witnessed. -Didn’t know that, did you? Thought the -fellows around here were shootin’ at you just on -suspicion, hey? Nothin’ to it, Sanders—you’re up -against it cold. You give us the double-cross -once awhile ago, but we’re collectin’ on that little -deal now. Shove out those hands before I bust you -one!”</p> - -<p>Utter desperation blanched Snake’s face. His hands -began to lift as if weights were dragging them down. -His hunted eyes flickered all about. Suddenly he -stiffened. His left hand flashed up, pointing.</p> - -<p>“It’s a lie!” he screeched. “Ther’ she is—ther’ by -the winder! Lou! Lou! Come in an’ tell ’em it’s a -lie!”</p> - -<p>So real was his sudden appeal that involuntarily<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span> -every man wheeled to see that imaginary figure beyond. -Instantly Snake struck.</p> - -<p>His right fist shot against Ward’s neck, knocking -him headlong. His left smashed into the face of Bill, -who was turning back to him. Bill, too, toppled and -fell—but reached for his revolver even as he dropped. -Hampton, jumping at his enemy, collided with the -empty wall. Snake was not there.</p> - -<p>He was flashing across the room. At the window -he stopped an instant. His hand licked out, seized -Hampton’s gun leaning against the wall. He spun -about, half leveled it at Hampton, jerked both triggers—got -no answering explosion. The safety was on, -locking the weapon against discharge. With an oath -he whirled to throw himself through the window.</p> - -<p>A sharp report cracked from the floor where Bill -lay. It was drowned by a stunning crash beyond the -prone officer. The house heaved with the terrific concussion. -Blue smoke blurred the whole room.</p> - -<p>Deafened, Douglas teetered on his heels, peering -through the haze at a mangled huddle under the window.</p> - -<p>Faintly to his numbed ears came a piercing yell of -sated vengeance.</p> - -<p>“I got him!” screamed Steve. “Both barrils! -<i>Yeeeeow!</i>”</p> - -<p>Then, grinning like a mad wolf, the pain-racked -boy slowly crumpled to the floor and lay still.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIX<br /> - -<small>OUT OF THE PAST</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Three</span> men straightened up and turned slowly away -from a shot-riddled thing which also had been a man. -Their gaze centered on another motionless form a few -feet away, its thin hands still clutched around a battered -old muzzle-loader. Beside that silent figure -knelt an anxious-eyed girl, down whose shoulders hung -disordered red hair.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Ward in business-like tones, “this is -what I call a good clean-up. The quicker a snake -gits killed the better. This one’s as dead as they make -’em, and the State won’t have to spend a nickel on -givin’ him a trial and bumpin’ him off. Nor it won’t -have to give this kid any more board and lodgin’ down -the river. All we’ve got to do now is have you folks -witness that confession, and then we’ll drift out and -report. Sanders was shot resistin’ arrest, and Bill -here done the shootin’. Ain’t that right, Bill?”</p> - -<p>He winked at his burly partner. Bill grinned heavily -and returned the wink.</p> - -<p>“Yeah. That’s right. Killed by Officer William -Moiphy in p’formance o’ dooty. I dunno if I hit him, -but I shot and he croaked, and that’s good enough for -the records. But what about the kid? Hadn’t we -oughter take him out till they fix up the red tape -down below?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span>“Nope,” decisively. “We can fix that. Kid can’t -travel anyway. Might kill him. We’ll leave him lay -here and git better if he can. More’n that, I’m goin’ -to send that Brackett woman’s doctor up here to tend -to him. Charge the bill up to expenses. The State -owes him that much, anyway. Now, sister, let’s have -a look at him.”</p> - -<p>As Ward stooped over the unconscious youth the -girl drew back in instinctive distrust, one hand slipping -toward the gun she had captured from Snake. The -man gave her a look half-amused, half-warning. -Douglas spoke soothingly.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, Marion. Maybe you didn’t notice -what was said just now. Steve’s cleared, and Ward -here is going to send in a doctor. These fellows are -leaving—and so am I. Steve will be well soon, and -then you two can get married, and—and—everything’s -all right.”</p> - -<p>Despite himself, his last words sounded hollow. He -turned his gaze to the wan face of the wolf-boy, -sombrely contemplating the sunken cheeks, the deep-rimmed -eyes, all the painfully apparent ravages of -privation and sickness. He did not observe the sudden -amazement in the three other faces, which turned -quickly to his; nor the ensuing tiny tremble of the -girl’s lips.</p> - -<p>“Huh? These two git—— Gee, I thought—— Huh!” -muttered Bill, blankly looking from boy -to girl and then back at Hampton. Ward, too, -stared; then, tongue in cheek, looked down again at -Steve.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span>“Git married? Me and Steve?” breathed Marion. -“And you—you’re goin’——”</p> - -<p>A moan from the floor, a shudder of the ragged -body and a trembling of the hands around the gun, -cut her short and drew the attention of all. The pale -lips twitched; the eyes opened, steadied on Ward’s -face. The jaw clicked shut. Steve struggled to -rise.</p> - -<p>“All right, lad,” Ward said kindly. “We don’t -want you. Take it easy. You’re in the clear, and -Sanders is croaked, and we’re goin’ out and leave you. -Now you’d better git to bed. Hampton, want to put -your blankets around him? And shut that back window -of yours. We left it open——”</p> - -<p>“That’s how you got in?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. We spotted that easy-slidin’ window days -ago—made a little call here and looked things over -again, just for luck. I don’t aim to overlook anything -when I’m on a job. So to-night when we heard that -cannon go off we took it on the run, looked in here -and saw you had got Sanders cornered, and eased ourselves -in by that window to git an earful of what you -were raggin’ about. It helps a lot sometimes to hear -things without lettin’ folks know—— Huh? What’s -that, kid?”</p> - -<p>Steve was trying to break in. Now he gasped:</p> - -<p>“Leave me lay. Go look out for mom. Snake, he -mauled her. He went there—’fore he come here. I -found her all——”</p> - -<p>Marion sprang up with a cry.</p> - -<p>“Mom? Snake hurt her?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span>“Yuh—he mauled her awful. She told me—take -the gun and—see if ye was here. I put her on the -bed—and I come a-runnin’. She’s hurt bad. Git to -her.”</p> - -<p>Douglas and Bill tensed. Ward straightened with a -snap.</p> - -<p>“More dirty work!” growled Ward, with a hard -look at the dead man beyond. “We’d all better git up -there. Say, Miss Oaks! How about bringin’ this -Steve to your house? This ain’t a good place for -him.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, bring him, bring him! Poor mom! I’m -a-goin’!”</p> - -<p>She sped into the night. Ward moved swiftly after -her.</p> - -<p>“Bill, you and Hampton fetch him along,” he commanded. -And he, too, was lost in the darkness.</p> - -<p>Hastily Douglas gathered his blankets and threw -them around Steve, who doggedly strove to stand on -his own legs but could not. Deprived now of the -vengeful force which had sustained him so long, he -was utterly without strength. But his wasted frame -was no burden at all to the muscles of the two strong -men aiding him. And a moment later, bundled in -warm woven wool, he was being borne rapidly along -the road, his tortured chest enwrapped in the bulging -arms of the man who had remorselessly hunted him, -his legs upheld by the tall “furriner” who had stood -by him ever since his return from prison walls. Before -the three, the white beam of the gas-lamp lit up -the road. Behind, stiffening in the blackness of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span> -eerie house where at last he had entrapped himself, -lay the creature whose venom would never more menace -the dwellers in the Traps.</p> - -<p>At the door of the Oaks house Ward met them. -His face was grave.</p> - -<p>“Put him on this here cot,” he quietly directed. -“I’ve got the fire goin’ and some water on.” Lowering -his voice and nodding toward an inner room where -an oil lamp shone feebly, he added: “She’s in there. -Can’t do anything for her. She’s all busted up inside. -Hemorrhages. She won’t last till daybreak.”</p> - -<p>“Talkin’ any?” hoarsely whispered Bill.</p> - -<p>“Nope. Just holdin’ the girl’s hand. She might say -somethin’ later on. We’ll stick around.”</p> - -<p>They lowered Steve to a rickety sofa, opened the -blanket-roll encasing him, and bared his ridge-ribbed -chest. Ward tiptoed about and found mustard and -cloths. Bill, clumsily anxious to do something but -ignorant of how to go about it, fidgeted a moment and -then appointed himself guardian of the fire. Steve, -lips pressed together, lay still, moving only his eyes, -which went back and forth between Douglas and the -doorway of the inner room. The blond man nodded -and stole to the portal.</p> - -<p>Within, he saw two faces: one thin, dark, pillowed -in a worn old bed—a face gray-white beneath its -swarthiness; the other fair, rounded, but white and -set, leaning close. Across the mouth of the sufferer -lay a towel blotched with red stains, and from the -headboard another hung ready. The black-browed -eyes were closed, and across the forehead above them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span> -softly stroked gentle tapering fingers. On the shabby -counterpane a work-worn old hand and a shapely -young one were joined. Somewhere a cheap clock -ticked as if hurrying along the last hours of the injured -woman’s life. That, and difficult breathing, -were the only sounds.</p> - -<p>Marion’s head turned, and for a moment her grief-stricken -eyes dwelt on the blue ones at the doorway. -Then they returned to the face on the pillow. Douglas -withdrew. In that straight look he had found confirmation -of what his own gaze and Ward’s laconic -words had told him.</p> - -<p>He shook his head soberly at Steve and at the other -two, watching him. The boy’s mouth set harder; but -he said nothing. Ward went on making a hot poultice. -Bill shifted his feet and awkwardly fed another stick -into the stove.</p> - -<p>“I don’t quite git it,” Ward mused in an undertone, -as the three gathered around Steve. “What -would Sanders beat her up for?”</p> - -<p>“For the same reason that he would kill Lou Brackett -and shoot at me,” Douglas explained. “It all fits -in together. The reason is—Marion.”</p> - -<p>“Wanted her, you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly. He couldn’t have her and Lou too, so -he got rid of Lou. He threw her off the Wall because -that would look like an accident. A snake-bite -wouldn’t do, because folks would be too suspicious, -especially since snakes are denning up now. Any -other form of murder, too, would look bad. A fall -off the Wall would be the most natural thing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span>“Mrs. Oaks, here, hated Sanders, and he knew it. -From what Steve tells us—that she told him to leave -her and see if Marion was at my house—Sanders must -have come here determined to drag the girl away to a -hole in the rocks where he’s been hiding lately. She -probably cussed him out—maybe threatened him with -the gun—and he thought Marion was here. So he -jumped on her, pounded her like the murderous brute -he was, searched the house, and then came to my -place; saw us in there, and jumped in to finish me and -grab her before she could get to my gun.”</p> - -<p>“Sounds reasonable,” Ward nodded, drawing -Steve’s shirt together over the deftly arranged plaster. -“He sure was a hard guy. Well, there’s no more to -do now but wait. You git to sleep, lad, if you can. -I’m goin’ out for a little smoke.”</p> - -<p>He passed to the bedroom doorway, looked in, then -quietly opened and closed the outer door. A minute -later, outside a window, showed the flare of a match -and the glow of a pipe.</p> - -<p>Time dragged past. Steve lay silent. Bill and -Douglas sat wordless. Ward returned, found some -cold biscuit and butter, made a big pot of coffee, -passed them around. From time to time one or another -of them stepped to the door and looked in on -the girl keeping her grim vigil; then tiptoed back and -resumed his seat.</p> - -<p>Hour after hour crawled along, measured only by -the unfeeling tick of that cheap clock, which had no -hour-bell. Steve slept. Bill dozed, sprawling in his -chair. Ward and Hampton nursed empty pipes.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span> -From the room beyond came occasional choking noises, -but no voice.</p> - -<p>Then, low but penetrating, sounded a call for aid.</p> - -<p>“Douglas! Come help me!”</p> - -<p>In six strides Douglas was beside Marion, who was -supporting the older woman’s bony shoulders in her -arms. The dark eyes were open now, and the red-dyed -mouth was gasping for breath.</p> - -<p>“She wants to be lifted,” added the girl. “I -can do it, but I might shake her. Jest raise her -easy.”</p> - -<p>With a smooth lift he set Eliza against the pillows -which Marion erected at her back. One glance into -the ashy face and the glassy eyes told him that the end -was close at hand.</p> - -<p>For a minute or two the dying woman looked fixedly -at him. She seemed gathering her strength. Her gaze -went to Marion. Then it centered again on Hampton’s -strong, clean face.</p> - -<p>“I’m a-goin’,” she breathed. “Snake done it. Did -ye—git him?”</p> - -<p>“Steve got him,” he answered. “Got him with -Nat’s gun. Both barrels. He owned up first, though, -that Steve didn’t burn out the Bumps. Steve goes -free. Everything’s all right. Don’t talk.”</p> - -<p>A wild light filled the fixed eyes. A haggard smile -crooked the thin lips.</p> - -<p>“Steve done it! Nat’s gun! That’s good! Awful -good!”</p> - -<p>A sudden cough and a fresh red flow stopped her. -Then, instead of drooping back, she seemed to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span> -straighten and strengthen. Her breath came short, but -more easily.</p> - -<p>“I got to talk. Don’t hender me. I ain’t got much -time. I got to tell ye—’fore I go. Marry—ain’t ourn.”</p> - -<p>Douglas started.</p> - -<p>“Not yours? Not your daughter?”</p> - -<p>“No. I never had no—young ’uns of my own. We -got Marryin—three year old. Her pop was—a painter -feller. From Noo York. Name was Dyke.</p> - -<p>“He come into here—fourteen year ago—paint pictures. -Wife had got drownded—sailboat sunk into -ocean—nigh Noo York, he—told us. He was awful -grievious ’bout it. Come up here to paint an’—git over -it. Brought his little gal—Marryin—all he had left—little -rosy gal—purty as a angel.</p> - -<p>“We was more ’spectable then. Nat he worked—didn’t -drink much—hunted an’ trapped—made a good -livin’. Dyke wanted board with us. We let him. He -went paintin’—up ’long the crick—up onto Minnewasky—diff’rent -places. Little Marryin stayed here -mostly—’count o’ snakes—daddy was scairt she’d git—bit -if she went ’long o’ him.</p> - -<p>“Dyke was good feller but—quick-tempered—git -fightin’ mad like a shot. Him an’ Nat—they had two-three -spats. One time they went huntin’. Nat come -home ’lone. Said Dyke fell offen Dickabar. Kilt.</p> - -<p>“We got him outen—the rocks. Buried him out -back. Nat got drinkin’—talkin’ into his sleep—let out -that him an’ Dyke fit ’bout suthin’. Nat busted his -neck. When he see what he—done, he throwed him—offen -Dickabar to look like—he fell by—hisself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span>“’Course I never told. Nat he was my man. Snake -Sanders, he—knowed or ’spicioned—I dunno how—but -he kep’ Nat scairt. Made Nat do—dirty work. -But he never—told on him. Nor I wouldn’t—tell ye -now but—Nat he’s gone—can’t nobody hurt him now. -I’m a-goin’ too—Marry she’ll be ’lone—’ceptin’ for -Steve an’—you. One o’ ye’s got to—look out for her.”</p> - -<p>She gasped, struggled up straighter, fought off the -tightening clasp of Death. Her dimming eyes traveled -about the blur of hovering faces. Except Steve, asleep -outside, all in the house now were clustered around the -bed.</p> - -<p>“Ye—Hampton—I been mad at ye—but—ye come -from outside—like Marry’s pop. Marry she—b’longs -outside too. Her folks was quality—she warn’t borned -into—Traps. She’d oughter go out.</p> - -<p>“Steve an’ her, they—growed up like brother an’—sister. -They knowed they warn’t—but they been the -same. Steve got livin’ with us—I dunno jest when—he -was little feller—he jest come an’ stayed. They -growed—like I said. He’s good boy but—he ain’t -fitten to—take care o’ Marry. Too wild—too young—he -ain’t got a stiddy head—ye know what I—mean. -I’d go easier to know she was—took care of by—strong -man that knowed things.”</p> - -<p>She strove to make out the expression on the face of -the blond blur which was Hampton. She could not. -But to her failing ears came a deep-toned, solemn -promise.</p> - -<p>“I will take care of her. As if she were my own -sister.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span>Another faint smile fluttered and faded. The black -head sank back wearily. Once more the stiffening lips -moved.</p> - -<p>“Marry gal—I might of—done better—by ye. I -cussed ye—knocked ye round—but I kep’ ye—safe. -Snake nor no other—varmint never—got ye. I done -the—best I—knowed how. I—I’m—a-goin’——”</p> - -<p>A quiver ran from breast to lips. The arms went -limp. The body relaxed.</p> - -<p>Nigger Nat’s woman—primitive product of harsh -hills, hard-bitten, hard-spoken, unmannered and unlovely, -yet loyal to the last to her man and the waifs -whom she had taken to her craggy heart—had laid -down the burden of life and passed on.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXX<br /> - -<small>THE CALL OF THE SOUTH</small></h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Brilliant</span> morning sunlight flooded the dingy -kitchen-dining-living-room of the Oaks house. Late -though the season was, the southward-rising sun now -lit up the interior more clearly than it ever had in mid-summer; -for its slanting rays, instead of sinking into -green ground and foliage, now ricocheted upward -from a thin earth-blanket of snow.</p> - -<p>That snow was two days old, and the latest of three -light falls which had come since the night when Snake -Sanders and his last victim passed out. The other two -had speedily melted, and even this one had shrunk -noticeably in an ensuing thaw. But to-day the air -was keen and the white coverlet hard.</p> - -<p>Snow and cold, however, meant little to the eight -gathered in that room. In the cheery warmth radiating -from the mud-colored old stove four of them -crouched or lay in the sleepy contentment of full -stomachs, while the other four sat pensively on chairs -or sofa. The floor-hugging contingent comprised the -Oaks felines—Spit and Spat and Fit and Fat. The -folks above them were Marion, Steve, Douglas, and -Uncle Eb.</p> - -<p>Beside the outer door stood two guns—one, an old,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span> -rust-pitted muzzle-loader; the other a clean, graceful -hammerless—and a blanket-pack, to which a smaller -bundle had been lightly corded. To a contemplative -eye those insensate things would have told a story of -double trust: that, as the guns stood side by side, so -would their owners stand shoulder to shoulder; and -that the man who presently would carry that pack -would bear also the light burden of a woman who had -faith in him—for that small package was unmistakably -a thin dress, within which probably were wrapped -a few other articles of clothing.</p> - -<p>“Wal,” barked Uncle Eb, shattering a thoughtful -silence, “ye might say this was the endin’ an’ the -beginnin’. Nat an’ ’Lizy an’ Snake an’ Lou are all -into their graves, an’ them detective fellers are so long -gone I ’most forgot they ever was into here, an’ Steve’s -back onto his legs, an’ Marry an’ Hammerless are -a-goin’ out. An’ that’s the endin’. But then ag’in, -Steve’s a-comin’ to live ’long o’ me, an’ if old Ninety-Nine’s -Mine ain’t lost ag’in by next spring we’ll see -what we can make outen it; an’ Marry’s a-startin’ into -that thar art-school ye told about, Hamp; an’ ye say -ye’re a-goin’ to quit driftin’ round an’ git into a reg’lar -business down to the city—sellin’ bonds, did ye say? -An’ so that’s the beginnin’. Now all I’m bothered -’bout is how I’m a-goin’ to keep these cats to my -house. They’ll run right back here, I bet ye.”</p> - -<p>“When they see ther’ ain’t nothin’ to eat here they’ll -come a-scootin’ up the hill ag’in, don’t worry,” predicted -Steve, a saturnine smile crooking his pale mouth. -“Ther’ won’t be nobody livin’ into here, ’less’n Marry<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span> -gits homesick an’ wants to come back. Anybody -else that tries movin’ in will move out ag’in quick’s -I can git to him. Marry, don’t ye kind o’ hate to -go?”</p> - -<p>“I—dunno,” she slowly answered. “It’s the onliest -home I ever knowed, but—but it ain’t the same now. -No! I—I <i>couldn’t</i> live here! Now that I know who -my real daddy was, and—and I’ve got a chance to -draw real pictures and—and <i>be</i> somebody ’sides ‘Nigger -Nat’s girl’ and ‘that red-headed catamount’ and -all——”</p> - -<p>She paused, her eyes shining as the misty portal of -Dreams swung back and gave her a vision of what -lay beyond. The three men nodded; Douglas understandingly, -Uncle Eb decisively, Steve sombrely.</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” Douglas agreed. “You’ve been underground -long enough, and now you must blossom -out into the sun. It’s your daddy’s blood that has -driven you to draw and dream, and he’d tell you now -to go out and develop your talent. That’s his heritage -to you—that urge to draw—and you owe it to him to -make something of it. It means work, but it’s worth -while.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I can work—won’t I work, though! And—and -some day I’m comin’ back up here and draw that -hole in the crick that’s bothered me so long—and paint -it, too—and make it right!”</p> - -<p>Her slender fingers closed and her cheeks flushed in -joyous enthusiasm. Steve eyed her soberly, then -nodded again.</p> - -<p>“Yas, tha’s right, I reckon,” he sighed. “It’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span> -a-goin’ to be awful lonesome ’thout ye, Marry gal, but -mebbe ye won’t forgit us. I—I——” He stopped -abruptly and gulped.</p> - -<p>“Why—why, Stevie!” She sprang up and stroked -his hair. “I won’t never forgit you, never! You’ve -always been good to me—stood up for me like a real -brother many’s the time—it ’most broke my heart when -they sent you away. And when the noo-mony got you -jest lately I——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say no more,” he broke in huskily. “Ye’ve -stood up for me too, an’ ye pulled me through that -noo-mony, an’ I couldn’t ask no more. But I got to -tell ye, Marry—I ain’t ’shamed to say it right out front -of everybody—I got thinkin’ mebbe sometime we might—might -git married, all reg’lar, with a ring an’ everythin’, -I hadn’t no right to, but I couldn’t help it. But -then I see it warn’t no use. I done a lot o’ thinkin’, -up thar into my hole into the ground, an’ I could see -plain ye was ’way over my head.”</p> - -<p>His teeth set, and the hard lines around his mouth -deepened. But he drove himself on.</p> - -<p>“An’ I see the kind of a feller ye’d oughter have was -like Hamp, here. An’ that’s mostly why I resked it to -put that note under yer door, Hamp, the night Nat -come——”</p> - -<p>“What! Was it you who did that?” exclaimed -Douglas.</p> - -<p>“Me. Snake an’ Nat was right close by my hole, -never knowin’ I was into it, an’ Snake was edgin’ Nat -on to go down an’ do for ye. When they was gone I -wrote that warnin’ an’ snuck down ’long Dickabar an’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span> -left it for ye. I owed ye a good turn anyways, but I -done it for Marry more’n for you.”</p> - -<p>A moment Douglas sat, realizing what the fugitive -had risked in thus issuing from his covert and threading -a mile of detective-haunted forest. Then he -reached out and grasped the bony hand of the convalescent.</p> - -<p>“You’re a man!” he declared.</p> - -<p>“I aim to be,” said Steve, with another gulp.</p> - -<p>A short, awkward silence followed. Marion, sober-faced, -tenderly stroked the shaggy black hair until -Steve dodged, as if the caress were becoming torment. -Uncle Eb glared fixedly at one of the cats. Douglas -looked at all three; then arose as if reaching a determination.</p> - -<p>“This isn’t the way I’d thought of it, but it’s as -good as any,” he said quietly. “I had intended first, -Marion, to take you to an elderly friend of mine in -town—Mrs. Wright, who takes a keen interest in -young artists and who undoubtedly would remember -your father. She’s a dear old soul, and I know she’d -be only too glad to make everything easy for you; -she’s a patroness of that school I spoke of, and besides -that she could coach you on all those little things a -lady of her type knows so well—speech and manners -and clothes and the other points you’ll have to learn in -order to ‘be somebody,’ as you say. And I’d rustle a -job down in the financial district and keep my promise -to your mother—to look out for you as if you were -my sister. And when you’d had time to see how you -liked the change, and to find out what the city<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span> -boys looked like, and so on—then I’d ask you a question.</p> - -<p>“I wanted to give you a fair chance—not to jump -this question at you before you fairly got your eyes -open to this new world of yours. But circumstances -alter cases. I’ll take you to Mrs. Wright just the -same, but I’m going to ask the question now instead of -later. Like Steve, I’m not afraid to say it right out -in front of everybody. What’s more, Steve has the -right to know what’s what. And——”</p> - -<p>He paused. The wide gray eyes dwelt unwaveringly -on his. So did the old steel-blue eyes and the young -brown ones.</p> - -<p>“The first time we met,” he went on, with a little -smile, “you said you were ‘Marry for short.’ I’m -asking you if you’ll make it ‘marry for good.’ If so, -we’ll hunt up a parson when we tramp into New -Paltz, and go down the river as Mr. and Mrs. Hampton.”</p> - -<p>Steadfastly she regarded him a moment longer. -Steve and Uncle Eb sat breathless.</p> - -<p>“Let me ask you somethin’,” she returned. “If -Steve had got sent back down-river you’d never have -asked me this, would you?”</p> - -<p>“Why—if I still thought you and he were sweethearts—probably -not. It wouldn’t be fair to either of -you.”</p> - -<p>“Was that what you meant when you spoke ’bout -Steve—that day up the crick?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly. What did you think?”</p> - -<p>“I thought all ’long you—didn’t want to git too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span> -thick with a girl that was a—a half sister to a feller -that had been into the pen! That you couldn’t have -enough respect for a girl like that to—to—you know. -And it—kind of hurt.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord! I never even knew you two were -brought up under the same roof, until the night your -mother—that is, ’Liza Oaks—died. If I had, maybe -I’d have asked sooner!”</p> - -<p>The cool gray eyes grew warm. The red lips curved -in a dimpling smile. But his question remained unanswered. -Her gaze went to the waiting packs and -guns. Outside, a horse stamped impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Ain’t it about time to be goin’?” she asked demurely. -“That hoss of Uncle Eb’s is gittin’ restless. -Uncle Eb, you’d better git the cats into the bags.”</p> - -<p>“But ye ain’t told Hamp——” Steve protested.</p> - -<p>“I know it, foolish! And I ain’t goin’ to tell him -till I git ready. It might be five minutes, or mebbe -five years, he’ll have to wait; and till he knows you -won’t know either. And that’s all of that!”</p> - -<p>Uncle Eb chuckled. Douglas spread his hands in -resignation. Steve glowered, then half grinned.</p> - -<p>“Might a-knowed it,” he muttered. “Sassy as a -red squir’l, ain’t ye? Ye won’t never git no better.”</p> - -<p>And with that the question was dropped. Ensued -a scramble, ending in the confinement in burlap sacks -of four spitting, spatting felines; a donning of hats -and coats, a closing up of stove-draughts, and a wobbly -progress by Steve to Uncle Eb’s waiting wagon. There -he was enwrapped in a huge quilt. Uncle Eb clambered -in and encased his legs in the horse-blanket.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span> -The horse started at once. And up the road slowly -traveled the old man and his new foster-son, with dead -Nigger Nat’s muzzle-loader leaning stark and grim -between them.</p> - -<p>Behind them, swinging easily along the frozen road, -walked the man and the maid, their faces reddening -under the sharp kiss of the wintry air. Once, and -once only, they paused to glance back at the abandoned -house. Then they trudged on, silent.</p> - -<p>At length the wagon stopped. The Clove road had -ended, and the horse now stood in the true Traps road, -heading westward. Up that way waited Uncle Eb’s -home. Eastward opened the Gap, and beyond lay -the great Outside. This was the parting of the -ways.</p> - -<p>And here Steve spoke out, man to man.</p> - -<p>“Hamp, I’m a-trustin’ ye. But a feller never knows. -If ever Marry should come a-crawlin’ back into here, -sorry an’ shamed, then look out! I’ll be a-comin’ -after ye wuss’n I ever went after Snake, an’ I’ll come -a-shootin’. Tha’s all. Good luck to the both o’ ye.”</p> - -<p>“You won’t be coming after me, lad,” Douglas answered -steadily. “We’ll both be coming back to see -you in the spring, whether Marion’s name then is Dyke -or Hampton. And I’m leaving with you, as a pledge -and a present—this.”</p> - -<p>Into the space between the two riders he swung his -shotgun. Then he gripped Steve’s hand and stepped -back. The youth stared at his new gun as if the -heavens had opened before him. Even when Marion -climbed up and kissed him farewell he seemed dazed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[330]</span> -by the wonder of actually possessing such a weapon. -Uncle Eb grinned dryly and gave Douglas an approving -nod.</p> - -<p>The old man’s farewell was characteristically short. -He gave each a straight look, a lift of the walrus -mustache, a paralyzing handshake. Then——</p> - -<p>“Luck to ye! G’yapalong!”</p> - -<p>The wagon rolled away.</p> - -<p>With a sigh and a smile, Douglas and Marion turned -their faces eastward. Steadily they swung along the -hummocky track, climbing upward, ever upward, by -easy grade or steep slant, toward the Gap a mile away. -From time to time they glanced at each other, but -they spoke no word. The only sounds were the flapping -of frozen leaves still adhering to cold boughs, the -crunch of snow under heel, the occasional bay of a -far-off hound.</p> - -<p>So they came to the Jaws of the Traps, where the -road sneaked between towering ledges and then pitched -down in swift-dropping zigzags to the low hills of the -Beyond. Out before them stretched a snowy panorama -through which, black and slow, meandered the -serpentine Wallkill. Away to the east, hidden behind -intervening hills, flowed the wide Hudson. Far to the -south, that river rolled past the vast city of New -York, to be swallowed by the waiting ocean. But -much nearer—only six miles off—stood out clearly a -little town where lived clergymen, and where a wedding -ring could be bought; the first town on their outward -way: New Paltz.</p> - -<p>There between the crags they halted, poising on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span> -brink between the Traps and the World, the hard old -life and the nebulous new. Still they said nothing. -His gaze dwelt on her, and hers on that town. Something -counseled him to keep silence.</p> - -<p>Then into the stillness came a sound from the north: -a sound new to the man: a yapping confusion of noise -suggesting the breathless chorus of a pack of hard-running -dogs. It grew in volume until it became like -the strident creak and groan of many rickety, unoiled -wagons, full of discordant undertones and overnotes. -Yet it was not on the ground, but in the air, somewhere -beyond the northern cliff which blocked the -view.</p> - -<p>“Geese!” cried Marion. “I wondered why we -hadn’t heard some. They’re late. But they’re goin’ -fast now. The lakes up north are froze, and winter’s -comin’ close. There they are!”</p> - -<p>High up, a long wedge slid across the sky. Its lines -wavered, bent, but never broke. Along them winked -an unceasing quiver of strong-beating wings; from -them fell the clamorous medley of voices old and -young, deep and shrill. Straight as their wild instinct -could guide them, straight as the man and the -maiden below would speed down the river when -they should reach the railroad, the birds were flying -south.</p> - -<p>“Goin’ south—and so are we,” the girl softly -echoed his own thought. And they turned their eyes -again to the roofs six miles away.</p> - -<p>“Marion—dear—what is it to be?” he asked. -“Let’s decide.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span>A deeper color flowed into her cheeks, a roguish -twinkle into her eyes. Half shyly, she looked up at -him.</p> - -<p>“Ain’t you scairt to marry a red-headed catamount?” -she demanded. “They’re awful critters to -git along with.”</p> - -<p>“I never married one yet, but I’m not scared,” he -smiled. “I’ve held my own with every one I’ve met -so far.”</p> - -<p>Under the curving brows flamed a daring, tantalizing -light.</p> - -<p>“Seems to me you—you ain’t holdin’ your own right -now,” she teased.</p> - -<p>He blinked. Then light shot over his face. One -stride, and his arms were around her.</p> - -<p>“Who says I’m not?” he challenged.</p> - -<p>“That’s—that’s better!”</p> - -<p>Her arms clasped tight around his neck. Her lips -rose, tremulous, questing, waiting. His head dropped, -and his embrace tightened. And then between the -crusted crags there stood no longer a girl of the hills -and a man from outside. Lip to lip, heart to heart, -soul to soul—the twain had become one.</p> - -<p>After a time his head lifted. Passive, clinging, -trembling, she lay back in his arms.</p> - -<p>“Are you—sure we can find a—a parson down to -Paltz?” she whispered.</p> - -<p>He laughed, and drew her up to him again. Yielding -lips stopped his breath, and the laugh died. But -faintly from the south sounded an echo of his tender -mirth—a bubbling, gabbling sound which in turn died<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[333]</span> -out and was gone: the honking hilarity of the sharp-eyed -wild geese.</p> - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> - -<p>The original book did not contain pages labelled 11 or 12. 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