There"s a spare tick up in the attic what we use fer strangers when they happen along, an" Zachariah has put your blankets right here by the door,--an" your pistols, too, I see,--so whenever you"re ready, I"ll lead the way up the ladder an" show you where you"re to roost. There"s a little winder at one end, so"s you c"n have all the air you want,--an", my stars, there"s a lot of it to-night, ain"t there? Jist listen to her whistle. Sounds like winter. She"s changed, though, an" I wouldn"t be surprised if we"d find the moon is shinin"."
CHAPTER IV
VIOLA GWYN
They stepped outside the cabin, into the fresh, brisk gale that was blowing. A gibbous moon hung in the eastern star-specked sky.
Scurrying moonlit clouds off in the west sped northward on the sweep of the inconstant wind, which had shifted within the hour. A light shone dimly through the square little window of the bedroom.
Kenneth"s imagination penetrated to sacred precincts beyond the solid logs: he pictured her in the other frock, moving gracefully before the fascinated eyes of the settler"s wife, proud as a peac.o.c.k and yet as gay as the lark.
"Women like to talk," observed Striker, with a sidelong glance at the lighted window. He led the way to the opposite end of the cabin and pointed off into the night. "Lafayette"s off in yan direction.
There"s a big stretch of open prairie in between, once you git out"n these woods, an" further on there"s more timber. The town"s down in a sort of valley, shaped somethin" like a saucer, with hills on all sides an" the river cuttin" straight through the middle.
Considerable buildin" goin" on this spring. There"s talk of the Baptists an" the Methodists puttin" up new churches an" havin"
regular preachers instead of the circuit riders. But you"ll see all this fer yourself when you git there. Plenty of licker to be had at Sol Hamer"s grocery,--mostly Mononga-Durkee whisky,--in case you git the Wabash shakes or suddenly feel homesick."
"I drink very little," said Kenneth.
"Well, you"ll soon git over that," prophesied his host. "Everybody does. A spell of aguer like we have along the river every fall an"
winter an" spring will make you mighty thankful fer Sol Hamer"s medicine, an" by the time summer comes you"ll be able to stand more"n you ever thought you could stand. What worries me is how the women manage to git along without it. You see big strong men goin" around shakin" their teeth out an" docterin" day an" night at Sol"s, but I"ll be doggoned if you ever see a woman takin" it.
Seems as if they"d ruther shake theirselves to death than tetch a drop o" whisky."
"You would not have them otherwise, would you?"
"Why, if I ever caught my wife takin" a swaller o" whisky, I"d--well, by gosh, I don"t know what I would do. First place, I"d think the world was comin" to an end, and second place, I guess I"d be glad it was. No, sirree, I don"t want to see whisky goin" down a woman"s gullet. But that don"t explain how they come to git along without it when they"ve got the aguer. They won"t even take it when a rattlesnake bites "em. Sooner die. An" in spite of all that, they bring he-children into the world that can"t git over a skeeter bite unless they drink a pint or two of whisky. Well, I guess we better go to roost, Mr. Gwynne. Must be nine o"clock. Everything"s all right out at the barn an" the chicken coops. Wolves an" foxes an"
weasels visit us sometimes at night, but I got things fixed so"s they go away hungry. In the day time, Eliza"s got an ole musket o" mine standin" in the kitchen to skeer the hawks away, an" I got a rifle in the settin" room fer whatever varmint comes along at night,--includin" hoss-thieves an" setch-like."
"Horse-thieves?"
"Yep. Why, only last month a set of hoss-thieves from down the river went through the Wea plains an" stole sixteen yearlin" colts, drove "em down to the river, loaded "em on a flat-boat an" got away without losin" a hair. Done it on a Sunday night, too."
It was a few minutes past nine when Kenneth followed his host up the ladder and through the trap-door into the stuffy attic. He carried his rough riding-boots, which Zachariah had cleaned and greased with a piece of bacon-rind.
"I"ll leave the ladder here," said Striker, depositing the candlestick on the floor. "So"s I c"n stick my head in here in the mornin" an"
rouse you up. There"s your straw-tick over yander, an" I"ll fotch your blankets up in a minute or two. I reckon you"ll have to crawl on your hands an" knees; this attic wasn"t built fer full-size men."
"I will be all right," his guest a.s.sured him. "Beggars cannot be choosers. A place to lay my head, a roof to keep the rain off, and a generous host--what more can the wayfarer ask?"
The clapboard roof was a scant three feet above the dusty floor of the attic. Stooping, the young man made his way to the bed-tick near the little window. He did not sniff with scorn at his humble surroundings. He had travelled long and far and he had slept in worse places than this. He was drawing off his boots when Striker again stuck his head and shoulders through the opening and laid his roll of blankets on the floor.
"Eliza jist stuck her head out to tell me to shut this trap-door, so"s my snorin" won"t keep you awake. I fergot all about my snorin".
Like as not if I left this door open the whole danged roof would be lifted right off"m the cabin "fore I"d been asleep five minutes.
Well, good night. I"ll call you in the mornin" bright an" early."
The trap-door was slowly lowered into place as the s.h.a.ggy head and broad shoulders of the settler disappeared. The young man heard the sc.r.a.ping of the ladder as it was being removed to a place against the wall.
He pried open the tight little window, letting a draft of fresh air rush into the stifling attic. Then he sat on the edge of the tick for a few minutes, ruminating, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the sputtering, imperilled candle. Finally he shook his head, sighed, and began to unstrap his roll of blankets. He had decided to remove only his coat and waistcoat. The sharp, staccato barking of a fox up in the woods fell upon his ears. He paused to listen. Then came the faraway, unmistakable howl of a wolf, the solemn, familiar hoot of the wilderness owl and the raucous call of the great night heron.
But there was no sound from the farmyard. He said his prayers--he never forgot to say the prayer his mother had taught him--blew out the candle, pulled the blankets up to his chin, and was soon fast asleep.
He did not know what time it was when he was aroused by the barking of Striker"s dogs, loud, furious barking and ugly growls, signifying the presence in the immediate neighbourhood of the house of some intruder, man or beast. Shaking off the sleep that held him, he crept to the window and looked out. The moon was gone and the stars had almost faded from the inky black dome. He guessed the hour with the acute instinct of one to whom the vagaries of night have become familiar through long understanding. It would now be about three o"clock in the morning, with the creeping dawn an hour and a half away.
Suddenly his gaze fell upon a light moving among the trees some distance from the cabin. It appeared and disappeared, like a jack o" lantern, but always it moved southward, obscured every few feet by an intervening trunk or a clump of brush. As he watched the bobbing light, he heard some one stirring in the room below. Then the cabin door creaked on its rusty hinges and almost immediately a jumble of subdued hoa.r.s.e voices came up to him. He felt for his pistols and realized with something of a shock that he had left them in the kitchen with Zachariah. For the first time in his travels he had neglected to place them beside his bed.
The dogs, admonished by a sharp word or two, ceased their barking.
This rea.s.sured him, for they would obey no one except Phineas Striker. Whoever was at the cabin door, there was no longer any question in his mind as to the peaceful nature of the visit. He crept over to the trap-door and cautiously attempted to lift it an inch or so, the better to hear what was going on, but try as he would he could not budge the covering. The murmur of voices went on for a few minutes longer, and then he heard the soft, light pad of feet on the floor below; sibilant, penetrating whispers; a suppressed feminine e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n followed by the low laugh of a man, a laugh that might well have been described as a chuckle.
For a long time he lay there listening to the confused sound of whispers, the stealthy shuffling of feet, the quiet opening and closing of a door, and then there was silence.
Several minutes pa.s.sed. He stole back to the window. The light in the forest had vanished. Just as he was on the point of crawling into bed again, another sound struck his ear: the unmistakable rattle of wagon wheels on their axles, the straining of harness, the rasp of tug chains,--quite near at hand. The clack-clack of the hubs gradually diminished as the heavy vehicle made its slow, tortuous way off through the ruts and mire of the road. Presently the front door of the cabin squealed on its hinges, the latch snapped and the bolt fell carefully into place.
He could not go to sleep again. His brain was awake and active, filled with unanswered questions, beset by endless speculation.
The first faint sign of dawn, creeping through the window, found him watching eagerly, impatiently for its appearance. The presence of a wagon, even at that black hour of the night, while perhaps unusual, was readily to be accounted for in more ways than one, none of them possessing a sinister significance. A neighbouring farmer making an early start for town stopping to carry out some friendly commission for Phineas Striker; a settler calling for a.s.sistance in the case of illness at his home; hunters on their way to the marshes for wild ducks and geese; or even guardians of the law in search of malefactors. But the mysterious light in the woods,--that was something not so easily to be explained.
The square little aperture was clearly defined against the greying sky before he distinguished signs of activity in the room below.
Striker was up and moving about. He could hear him stacking logs in the fireplace, and presently there came up to him the welcome crackle of kindling-wood ablaze. A door opened and a gruff voice spoke. The settler was routing Zachariah out of his slumbers.
Far off in some unknown, remote land a rooster crowed,--the day"s champion, the first of all to greet the rising sun. Almost instantly, a c.o.c.k in Striker"s barnyard awoke in confusion and dismay, and sent up a hurried, raucous c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo,--too late by half a minute to claim the honours of the day, but still a valiant challenger. Then other chanticleers, big and little, sounded their clarion call,--and the day was born.
Kenneth, despite his longing for this very hour to come, now perversely wished to sleep. A belated but beatific drowsiness seized him. He was only half-conscious of the noise that attended the lifting of the trap-door.
"Wake up! Time to git up," a distant voice was calling, and he suddenly opened his eyes very wide and found himself staring at a s.h.a.ggy, unkempt head sticking up out of the floor, rendered grim and terrifying by the fitful play of a ruddy light from the depths below. For a second he was bewildered.
"That you, Striker?" he mumbled.
"Yep,--it"s me. Time to git up. Five o"clock. Breakfa.s.s"ll soon be ready. You c"n wash up out at the well. Sleep well?"
"Pa.s.sably. I was awakened some time in the night by your visitors."
He was sitting up on the edge of the tick, drawing on his boots.
Striker was silent for a moment.
"Thought maybe you"d be disturbed, spite of all we could do to be as quiet as possible. People from a farm "tother side of the plains."
The head disappeared, and in a very few minutes Gwynne, carrying his coat and waistcoat, descended the ladder into the presence of a roaring fire. He shot a glance at the closed bedroom door, and then hastily made his way out of the cabin and around to the well.
Eliza was preparing breakfast. In the grey half-light he made out Striker and Zachariah moving about the barnlot. A rough but clean towel hung across the board wall of the well, while a fresh bucket of water stood on the shelf inside, its chain hanging limply from the towering end of the "h"isting pole."
As he completed his ablutions, the darkey boy approached.
"Good morning, Zachariah," he spluttered, over the edge of the towel. "Did you sleep well?"
"No, suh, Ma.r.s.e Kenneth, Ah slep" powerful porely. Ah don"t reckon Ah had mah eyes close" more"n fifteen seconds all night long, suh."
His master peered at him. Zachariah"s eyes were not yet thoroughly open.
"You mean you did not have them open more than fifteen seconds, you rascal. Why, you were asleep and snoring by nine o"clock."
"Yas, suh, yas, suh,--but Ah done got "em wide open ag"in "side o"
no time. Ah jes" couldn"t holp worryin", Ma.r.s.e Kenneth, "bout you all. Ah sez to mahself, ef Ma.r.s.e Kenneth he ain" got no fitten place to lay his weary haid--"