CHAPTER XXIVBad for Mike Murphy
When Gerald Buxton’s shotgun was fired by him, and the report rang out in the still night, it awoke several persons, who wondered what it meant. No one gave the matter further thought, however, until an old lady, facing the main street, looked through her bedroom window and saw the citizen chasing his boy, who toted a gun over his shoulder. At the first streakings of daylight she hurried to the Buxton home for the explanation. Within the following half hour the majority of the population of Beartown knew that an attempt had been made to rob the post office during the night. Then followed a hurrying thither, for no one could be satisfied until he had viewed the scene and talked with the postmistress herself.
It was the confusion and hurly-burly below stairs that awoke Mike Murphy early. He would have left at once to join Alvinand Chester if Nora had not forced him to eat breakfast before bidding them good-by. It must be said that the Irish youth did not require much urging to detain him that long.
He found he was attracting unpleasant attention. It was Nora who took pains to let it be known that but for him all the money in the safe would have been stolen. Mr. Jasper, the owner of the large sum, scrambled through the crowd, snatched up his big envelope and hurried off without so much as thanking Mike, who cared naught.
“You needn’t tell me,” said the keeper of the other grocery store to the husband of the town milliner. “That redheaded Irish chap is one of the gang.”
“How do you account for his preventing the other robber from carrying away the money in the safe?” asked his neighbor.
“Plain enough; they’d had a quarrel. He wanted it all for himself.”
“Why didn’t he take it then?”
“The widder and others bounced down on him afore he had the chance.”
“I don’t see why if the other villain run away this one didn’t do likewise.”
“He’ll do it quick enough, never you fear.”
“Why is he hanging round after they’ve gone?”
“To git the money. Seems to me, Rufe, you’re blamed stupid this morning. Why, you’ve only to take one look at that young ruffian’s face to see the wickedness wrote there. He oughter be in prison this very minute, and he’ll soon be there—take my word for it!”
“Where is he?”
“Sneaked off while he had the chance—wal, I’ll be gul darned!”
The grinning Mike Murphy was standing at his elbow, where he had heard every word of the pointed conversation. The gossip was so taken aback that he began stammering:
“I had—that is, I was thinking of the other robber.”
“I was told,” said Mike, “that there was a man hereabouts that looked so much like me he must be my lost brither that waslet out of jail in Boston a fortnight since. I’ve found him and begs the privilege of shaking his hand.”
And he caught the limp fingers of the gaping fellow and squeezed them hard, while he continued to gape and say nothing.
Since this unpleasant person bore not the slightest resemblance to the youth, being pale and effeminate looking, those who stood near broke into laughter. Mike turned about, and having bidden good-by to mother and daughter, passed into the street and turned down the road leading to the landing.
The hour was early and the fog of which I have spoken was beginning to creep over the village and through the woods. He kept his bearings, and when near the river plunged in among the trees to find theDeerfoot, remembering where she was moored the night before.
Some hours earlier Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes had boarded theWater Witch, never doubting that it was theDeerfoot, and started down the river. Consequently Mike could not make the samemistake, and came straight to the launch with which he was familiar. Standing for a brief period on the bank he looked admiringly at it.
“Where are the byes?” was the first question he asked himself, as a glance told him he had arrived ahead of them. “I wonder now if they have strayed off in the woods, where they may wander about like the two lost babes and be niver heerd of agin.”
Not doubting that they would soon show up, he sat down on the velvety ground to await them. By and by he became drowsy. The previous night had been so broken that he had not gained half the sleep he needed. It was natural, therefore, after his generous breakfast, that he should be inclined to slumber. Rousing up, he reflected:
“If I fall asleep here, the byes may not obsarve me and sail away and leave me behind. I shouldn’t mind that so much wid only a quarter of a dollar in me pocket, fur I could go back to Nora and her mother and spind the rest of me days. But the Captain and second mate would graivethemselves to death, and that would make me feel bad.”
Throwing off his drowsiness, he rose to his feet, reached out one hand and sprang lightly aboard the boat. Seats, cushions, flags, everything was as they had left it the night before. He sat down on one seat, rested his feet upon another and settled himself for a good nap, indifferent as to how long it should last.
“When they come they will obsarve that I’m sweetly draaming, and will respict me enough to refrain from disturbing me, as Bobbie Burns used to say whin he lay down beside the road late at night on his way home.”
His posture was so comfortable that his head soon bowed and he drifted into the land of dreams. His first essay was not so successful as he hoped it would be, for by and by the nodding head tipped too far forward, and he sprawled on his face. His first confused fancy was that he had been lying in his trundle bed at Tipperary with his cousin Garry Murphy.
“Arrah, now, what do ye maan by kickingme out on the floor, ye spalpeen? Whin I git me eyes open I’ll taich ye better manners,” he called, climbing carefully to his feet. After a brief spell he recalled the situation. His first fear was that the Captain and second mate had returned and witnessed his tumble, but looking around, he saw nothing of them. The mooring line lay looped around the base of the spruce and the launch was motionless.
Soon after, two persons came stealing their way among the trees, feeling each step like a couple of Indian scouts entering a hostile camp. They were Kit Woodford, leader of the post office burglars, and his young companion Graff Miller. You remember they acted as lookouts, while the third was busy inside. They had fled like the cowards they were on the first sign of danger, had managed to find each other and then set out to flee in their launch. What had become of “Nox” they did not know or care. He must do as they had done—save himself or go unsaved.
A shock of astonishment came to the miscreants when they reached the placewhere theWater Witchwas moored the night before, only to discover that it had vanished. To the alarmed ruffians there was but the one explanation: the men who had interfered with the work at the post office had learned of the launch and run off with it.
“This is a rum go!” was the disgusted exclamation of Woodford. “I thought we should have an easy thing of it, but we’ve got to turn back inland. We shouldn’t have any trouble, though it looks to me as if we shall have to part company.”
The younger man was not favorably impressed at first, but a moment’s reflection convinced him that this was one of the situations in which the proverb, “In union there is strength,” did not hold good. Two persons trying together to make their way out of the neighborhood without drawing suspicion would be in more danger than one. So he said:
“All right; I will go down stream.”
He moved away from his companion, who held his place for a brief while, still reflecting whether his plan was the betterone after all. He was turning over the problem in his mind, when he caught the sound of a guarded whistle. It was a familiar call from his companion and he did not hesitate to follow it. Only a little way off he paused with an exclamation of astonishment.
There was the swift launchDeerfootmoored against the bank so near the place where theWater Witchhad been left that it is no wonder that Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes failed to notice the difference of location. Not only that, but one of the youths belonging to the boat was seated near the stern with head bowed as if asleep.
What could the amazing fact mean? Woodford’s first thought was that a trap had been set for them. More than likely the seeming slumber on the part of the motionless figure was a pretence, and meant to tempt them to come out into the open.
“What do you make of it?” whispered Graff Miller.
“Some deviltry you may be sure; the others are near by.”
They stealthily withdrew deeper into thewood and watched and listened, but nothing occurred to cause alarm. Then a sudden resolution came to the elder.
“So long as there’s only one, let’s make him prisoner.”
“I’m willing,” assented the other.
As silently as two shadows, they stole to the edge of the water. Woodford deftly cast off the bow line and, leaning over, gently laid it on the deck. Then they stepped aboard and Miller took up the boathook, pressed it against the bank and the launch began moving away. When the boathook could be used no longer, it was softly laid down and the younger man took his place at the wheel. He understood the running of the launch better than his companions and generally acted as pilot.
“Shall I start?” he asked, in a guarded voice.
The other nodded. Miller slipped the switch plug in place, started the motor and put on the power, with just enough force to set the screw slowly revolving. He headed out in the river, where, because of the fog, he could barely see the flagstaffat the bow, and began a wide sweeping circle with the intention of descending the stream.
And still Mike Murphy dreamed on.
Now that the boat was under way with the screw revolving faster, Kit Woodford stepped closer to the sleeping youth and looked at his face. When he recognized him as the belligerent Irish lad, his feelings underwent a sudden change. He knew something of the sleeper and decided on the instant that he waspersona non grata. While one of the other boys might have been held with some vague idea of being used as a hostage, this one would make more trouble aboard than on land.
Without a word as to his purpose to his companion, Kit Woodford stooped over, and with the great strength he possessed, easily lifted the sleeping boy clear of the deck. Then he cautiously moved to the taffrail, and with a single toss flung Mike Murphy clear of the launch. And the water was fifty feet deep, and Mike had never swum a stroke, and there was no one to go to his help.
CHAPTER XXVWhat Saved Mike
Let us be just to all. I therefore make haste to say that when Kit Woodford thus threw Mike Murphy into the Back River he did not doubt for an instant that he was a swimmer, for whoever heard of a lusty youth seventeen years old who could not take care of himself in water? Of course there are such, but they are so few that they are a negligible number.
Graff Miller was startled when he heard the splash, and turning his head saw the lad disappear, but his belief was the same as his companion’s, and turning on more power, he shot beyond sight before the lad could come to the surface.
Now I wish to say further that it is a fact within the knowledge of more than one that a person who did not know how to swim has, upon being precipitated into deep water, struck out like a master of the natatorial art. A father standing on the shore of alake in northern England saw a boat upset when a hundred yards off and his little boy flung clear of the support. The lad had never even tried to swim, but as he was going down the parent shouted to him:
“If you don’t come right to land, I’ll whip you within an inch of your life!”
And the little fellow swam to where the frantic parent awaited him.
Moreover, I once witnessed the same strange occurrence. I was not six years old when I was waiting at the side of a deep pond, and watching my brother, four years older, construct a raft, with which he had promised to come over and take me a-sailing. He put a number of boards loosely together, and using a shingle for a paddle, worked out from shore and began making his way toward me, who was in high spirits over the promised treat.
In the very middle of the pond, where the water was fully twenty feet deep, the primitive raft began disintegrating. The boards slipped apart, so that those upon which my brother stood sank under his weight. Had he been older and more sensible, hewould have known that this need not mean danger to him, for the smallest board was buoyant enough to hold his head above water, and he could have worked his way to land with such support. But the sight of the structure breaking apart threw him into a panic. He made a frenzied leap as far out as he could, came up instantly, blew the water from his mouth and swam so easily to where I was standing that I never dreamed he was in peril. I should have said that never before had he tried to swim.
The explanation of what seems unaccountable is simple. Now and then it happens that when a sudden demand is made upon a person to save his life by swimming he instinctively does the right thing. He adjusts his body correctly, and uses his legs and arms properly—his action being exactly like those of a bullfrog when he starts on a voyage to the other side of the spring where he makes his home.
This thing does not often occur, but, as I have said, it does now and then. Let me beg you never to make the experimentunless it is forced upon you, for I dread what the result would be.
You have already guessed that this is what took place with Mike Murphy. I cannot think of a more startling awaking than that of a sleeping person who is flung into a deep stream of very cold water. Mike’s momentum took him several feet below the surface, but he quickly rose again, shook the water from his eyes, blew it out of his mouth, and then swam straight for land with the skill that you would show in a similar situation. Even in taking the right direction he was providentially guided, for at first the dense fog shut everything from sight, but after a few strokes, he saw the dim outlines of the trees, and never stopped the vigorous swimming until he reached up, grasped an overhanging limb of a near-by tree and felt his feet touch bottom.
And then he was so overcome by what had taken place and it was so beyond his comprehension that he believed it was a miracle. Standing on the bank in his dripping clothing, he was mute for a full minute. Thenhe sank on his knees and looking reverently upward said:
“I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, for saving me life when I didn’t desarve it. Why Ye took the trouble is beyond me, but I niver can thank Thee enough. I’m going to try me bist to be more desarving of Yer kindness, and now if it’s all the same to Yer blissed silf, plaise give me a chance at that spalpeen that treated me as he did.”
From down the river came the sound of theDeerfoot’sexhaust, growing fainter as the boat sped on its way. The hoarse blast of a steamer’s whistle shuddered through the mist, but the lad saw nothing of either craft. It was fog, fog on every hand.
He could not straighten out in his mind all that had taken place. More than one phase of the occurrences was beyond explanation. Overcoming in a degree the awe he felt for what had occurred in his own person, he thought:
“If the Captain and second mate didn’t know I couldn’t swim, I’d belave it wasthem that dropped me overboard by way of a joke, as the Barry brithers explained to the Judge was their raison for hanging Black Mike. It was thim spalpeens that wint fur the Captain whin he was journeying through the woods. Begorra! but they are piling up a big debt fur me to pay! But I’ll sittle the same wid int’rist at siven thousand per cent.
“Where’s Alvin and Chester all this time? Why didn’t they git to theDeerfutbefore me instead of laving it fur them chaps? What does it all maan, anyway?”
One of the singular coincidences of this series of adventures was that theDeerfootin going down the Back River passed within a few rods of theWater Witchcoming up. The noise of the respective engines prevented either party hearing the other, and the fog would have veiled them had the space between been considerably less.
Not knowing that the launch of their enemies had been moored anywhere near, Mike did not look for it. Ignorant also of how far he had been carried while asleep, he could not guess the distance to Beartownlanding. It might be half a mile or ten times as much. In truth, the former distance was about right.
The pressing question was as to what he should do. His clothing even to his cap was saturated. The morning was chilly, and he shivered. He must find a place where he could obtain warmth until his garments dried. When that was done he would decide upon the next step to take.
Had he suspected that he was so close to the landing, he would have picked his way thither and then followed the road to the home of Mrs. Friestone. It seemed to him that there must be a good many scattered houses, any one of which would give him welcome. He remembered that a broad highway runs the whole length of big Westport Island. Necessarily this was parallel with the course of Back River. If he therefore turned away from the latter and held a direct course, he must sooner or later reach the road named, where he would be sure soon to receive hospitality.
No doubt you know from experience how hard it is to hold a straight course whengoing through a wilderness, without landmarks to guide you and ignorant also of the “signs” which are as plain as print to the veteran hunter. The fog inclosed Mike on every hand, but his activity imparted a pleasant warmth to his frame, which otherwise would not have been felt, even though it was summer time.
He zigzagged sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, but, on the whole, held substantially to the right direction and gradually drew near the dusty avenue which, once reached, would bring the end of his discomforts. Good fortune stayed with him, for when he was beginning to feel somewhat discouraged with his failure to free himself from the dripping woods, he abruptly came upon a clearing, in the midst of which stood a small house, surrounded by a well-tilled garden and several smaller buildings. Chickens were scratching and picking at the earth, and a big dog, fortunately restrained by a chain, scrambled out of his kennel at sight of the stranger and barked and tugged to get at him.
Between him and Mike stretched aclothesline supported at intervals by leaning props, and despite the fact that the humidity in the air must have been close to ninety-nine degrees, a corpulent woman was hanging out clothes. Two or three wooden pins were in her mouth, and every now and then she reached up with one hand and squeezed the little conveniences over the cord which supported the flapping clothes. She wore no bonnet or hat, and the untied shoes evidently were an old pair belonging to her husband.
Hearing the dog bark, she looked around to learn the cause. She saw a freckle-faced youth in the act of doffing his cap and bowing.
“The top of the morning to yer ladyship, and would ye be willing to hang me across yer line till me clothes be dried?”
The woman snatched the pins from between her teeth and stared at him. Her face was broad, homely and good-natured.
“G’way now,” she answered; “I don’t hang up any clothes till the same isclaan. It will take a waak’s washing to rinder ye fit. If I straddle ye over the line wid yerfaat and rid head hanging down and bumping togither, ye’ll cut a purty figger a-flapping in the wind.”
Mike’s laughter rang out. She was Irish like him and his heart warmed to her.
“Begorra! I’ve met a leddy after me own heart. She’s from the ‘owld sod’ and it’s not mesilf that is going to have me own way in gay conversation wid the charming beauty.”
True enough, the woman was his match and Mike was glad to learn it.
CHAPTER XXVIThe Good Samaritans
She looked sharply at him through her bright blue eyes.
“Are ye saaking to make me belave ye are from Ireland?”
“Sartinly—Mike Murphy, from the town of Tipperary, County of Tipperary, at your sarvice,” and he bowed again.
“Arrah, poor Ireland, how many wrongs are heaped upon ye! I was sure from yer accint that ye were a Dutchman or Frinch.”
“May I ask yer name, me leddy?”
“Mrs. Maggie McCaffry, and me husband is Tam that is working for Mr. Burns at Beartown.”
Mike clasped his hands and with a glowing expression stepped forward.
“I knowed it! I knowed it!” he exclaimed, as if overrunning with joy.
“Knowed phwat?”
“That ye were my mither’s fourth cousin that lift Tipperary fur Noo York six yearsago, but by some mistake landed in Dublin jail—bad cess to them as made the same mistake!”
“It’s bad enough fur ye to be born in the same counthry wid mesilf, but I war-r-n ye to make no claim to relationship. There’s some things a respictable leddy can’t stand.”
“Did ye not almost break me heart by thinking I was a Dutchman?” asked Mike reprovingly.
“I’ll make the same roight by axing the pardon of ivery Dutchman I maats for the rist of me born days. ’Twas har-r-d on the poor haythen.”
“Aunt Maggie, I’ll give ye all me wealth if ye’ll consint to let me dry mesilf in front of yer fire.”
“Arrah, now, what are ye saying? Five cints is no object to me——”
Just then, in spite of an effort to prevent it, Mike’s teeth chattered. Now that he had ceased walking he quickly became chilled. The woman noticed it and her warm sympathy instantly welled up.
“’Tis a shame that I kipt ye talking nonsense wid me while ye was shivering.Do ye walk straight into the house and war-r-m yersilf till I come, which will be in a jiffy whin I have the rest of me clothes hung out. And if ye’re hungry ye shall have food.”
“I thank ye, aunty, but I am not in need of that.”
Two small wooden steps were in front of the only door on that side of the neat little cottage. He pressed his thumb on the latch, pushed open the door and the next instant faced one of the greatest surprises of his life.
The lower floor consisted of two rooms, a kitchen and a general living room. The fire in the former would have been enough for the interior, but for the fact that a visitor had preceded Mike, and because of his presence a roaring fire was burning on the hearth. In front of this sat a young man leaning back in a rocking chair, with a bandaged leg resting on a pillow laid upon a second chair in front of him. He was smoking a cigarette, and despite the fact that something ailed him, looked quite comfortable.
As the door opened, his eyes met those ofMike Murphy, who halted with one foot over the threshold, started and exclaimed:
“Can I belave what me eyes tell me! Is ityersilf?”
The young man sitting before him, smoking and nursing his injured limb, was Orestes Noxon, whom Mike chased away from the Beartown post office the night before, and who received a part of the charge from the shotgun of Gerald Buxton.
The face of the injured youth flushed and he laughed nervously, but with amazing coolness answered:
“I guess you don’t need spectacles. You’ve got the best of me; I’m down and you’re up.”
“There’s an old account to be squared atween us, but that can rist till ye become yersilf. Be the same token, are ye much hurt?”
Mike’s Irish sympathy immediately went out to the fellow, who certainly was at his mercy.
“I can’t say I am. But your clothing is wet. I heard a part of your talk with Mrs. McCaffry—God bless her splendid soul!—sosuppose you come closer where you will be in front of the fire and can dry yourself, and we’ll get on better.”
It was good advice and Mike acted upon it. Standing with his back to the blaze, he looked down in the face of the criminal whose self-possession he could not help admiring.
“You remember our little foot race from the back of the Beartown post office?” said Noxon, as if referring to an incident in which he felt no particular interest.
“I do, but I niver won a prize at running and ye give me the slip.”
“Only to get in front of that beefeater with a shotgun. Why didn’t you fire when you were chasing and threatening me?”
“I couldn’t have touched off that busted gun any more than I could have fired a broom handle.”
“I made the mistake of thinking the other fellow would be equally forbearing and kept on running, till all at once, bang! he let drive. I caught a good part of the charge in that leg below the knee. It didn’t hurt much at first, and after managing to gethold of his gun I made him dance for me. It would have killed you to see him,” and at the recollection the young man laughed hard.
“His boy Jim obsarved it all and told us and we laughed,” said Mike, with a grin. “The sight must have been very insthructive.”
“It was, to that old codger, who won’t get over his lesson for a month. Well, as the gun wasn’t of any use to me I threw it away and started to find my friends and the boat we came on. By and by my leg began to hurt, I suppose from walking so much and a tumble I got by catching my foot in the root of a tree. I sat down to rest awhile and when I got up it hurt so badly that I thought it was all up with me. You know it was night, and somehow I had gone astray in the infernal pine woods. The wound was bleeding, and I sat down again intending to wait till morning. By and by I heard a dog bark so near that I climbed to my feet again and made by way to this house. McCaffry and his wife were asleep and it took a good deal of banging andshouting for me to wake them. But when they found out what was the matter they took me in, and my own father and mother could not have been kinder.”
“What did they do fur yer fut?”
“The good woman not only washed the wound, but, by the light of the lamp which her husband held, picked out every one of the shot that had been buried there and were making the trouble. Then she bathed the hurt again and wrapped it about with the clean linen, as you see for yourself. All that remains is for me to keep quiet for a few days and nature will do the rest.”
“Wouldn’t it be well if I got a docther fur ye?”
Noxon looked up in the face of the Irish youth, who tried to keep a grave countenance.
“I think not,” replied the sufferer.
There was a world of significance in the words, and both understood.
Strange that these two who had never met before except as the bitterest of enemies should talk now as comrades. Mike kept pinching his clothing and turning every sideto the blaze, thus drying the garments quite rapidly. He was so interested in the story of Noxon that he grew careless.
“I think I see smoke coming from behind you,” finally said the sitter.
Mike reached back to investigate and with a gasp snatched back his fingers.
“I’m afire! Is there a well outside that I can dive into the same?”
“Turn around; I can help you,” said Noxon, laughing, dropping his foot and sitting forward.
Together they quenched the twist of blaze which if left alone would have played the mischief with Mike’s garments.
“I’m thinking this is a little different, Mr. Noxon, from last night.”
“It is, and I hope it will always stay that way.”
Mike was astonished and looked questioningly at the fellow.
“Phwat might ye be maaning?” he asked, lowering his voice.
Noxon tried to speak, but his voice broke. He snatched out his handkerchief from the side pocket of his coat and pressed it to hiseyes. Then his breast heaved and he broke into sobbing.
The heart of Mike melted at the sight. He had never dreamed of anything like this. Enmity and resentment gave way to an anguish of sympathy for the fellow. He longed to say something comforting, but could not think of a word, and remained mute. Very soon the youth regained his self-control. Dropping his handkerchief in his lap, and with eyes streaming, he exclaimed from the very depths of his despair:
“Oh, why didn’t that man aim better and kill me! I’m not fit to live! I’m the worst villain unhanged! I am lost—damned, and a curse to those who love me!”
Mike pulled himself together sufficiently to reply:
“I don’t think ye’re quite all them things. Cheer up! cheer up, old fellow!”
Noxon did not speak, but slowly swayed his head from side to side, like one from whom all hope had departed. Mike drew a chair beside him, and as tenderly as a mother lifted the white hand from whereit lay on the handkerchief, and held it in his own warm grasp.
“Noxy, me bye, Mike Murphy is yer frind through thick and thin—don’t ye forgetthat—and I’m going to see ye through this if I have to break a thrace in trying.”
“You!” repeated the despairing one, looking up in Mike’s honest blue eyes. “No one can save a wretch like me. I’m not worth saving!”
“Ye forget there’s One to whom the same is aisy, me bye. Ye feel down in the mouth jest now, as Jonah did respicting the whale, but bimeby this fog will clear away and the sun will shine forth again. I’ve been in some purty bad scrapes mesilf and He niver desarted me. Why, it ain’t two hours, since He raiched out His hand, grabbed me by the neck and saved me from drowning. I tell ye, Noxy, that He won’t fail ye.”
“But you never did what I have done.”
The Irish youth bent his head as if recalling his past life.
“I can’t say that I did, but I’m the meanest scamp that iver lived—barring yersilf,”he added, with the old twinkle in his eyes. “Come, now, be a man and we’ll have ye out of this scrape as quick as I jumped awhile ago whin I awoke to the fact that me trousers was afire.”
Noxon actually smiled at the recollection.
“You call yourself a scamp. Why, you are an angel compared with me—so is everybody! Kit Woodford and Graff Miller are a thousand times better than I.”
CHAPTER XXVIIAn Unwelcome Caller
With rare wisdom Mike now gave an abrupt turn to the conversation. Lowering his voice to a confidential tone, he asked:
“Does Mrs. McCaffry know anything of this?”
“If so, she hasn’t given me any reason to suspect it,” replied Noxon, brightening up and seizing the straw held out to him. “I told her I had met with an accident, and neither she nor her husband asked a question. Their big hearts had no room for any feeling other than of pity for the one who is not deserving of a particle of it.”
“She told me her husband works in Beartown. He wint there airly this morning; he’ll hear of the throuble at the post office and the beefeater, as ye call him, will let everybody know he winged the robber as he was running off. Did ye spakeany caution to the man before he lift this morning?”
“By good luck I thought of that. I asked him to make no mention of my being at his house and he promised me he would not.”
“Arrah, now, but that’s good, as me dad says whin he tips up the jug. All that ye have to do is to sit here and let Mrs. McCaffry nurse that game leg till ye’re able to thravel.”
“Ah, if that wasall! But I have a father and mother whose hearts I am breaking. I have two younger brothers and a sweet sister. What ofthem!” demanded Noxon almost fiercely.
“Ye have read the blissed story of the Prodigal Son, haven’t ye?”
“I am a thousandfold worse than that poor devil, who was simply foolish.”
“Do yer dad and mither know where ye are?”
“No; the one decent thing I did when I turned rascal was to change my name. Orestes Noxon is anom de plume.”
“I don’t know the fellow, but thatshows, me bye, ye ain’t such a big fool as ye look. I’m beginning to have hope for ye.”
A strange impulse came to Mike. It was to sing in a low, inexpressibly sweet voice a single stanza of a familiar hymn, just loud enough for the one auditor to hear. But he restrained himself, fearing the effect upon him. The “fountains of the deep” were already broken up, and the result might be regrettable. At that moment a heavy tread sounded on the little steps outside, the door was pushed inward, and the bulky form of the red-faced Mrs. McCaffry filled the whole space. She now stepped awkwardly and ponderously within.
“I begs that ye’ll oxcoose me for not coming in wid this blarney and inthrodoocing ye to aich ither. Have ye becoom acquainted?”
“It was an oversight which no Irish leddy should be guilty of,” gravely replied Mike, “espicially whin the same is the fourth cousin of me own mither. But ye have been away from the owld counthry solong that ye have forgot a good deal, Aunt Maggie.”
“I haven’t furgot to resint the insult of being accused of relationship wid the family of a spalpeen that is proud of the belaif. Whin Tam coomes home to-night I’ll explain the insult to him and lave ye two to sittle the same.”
“I’m thankful ye give me due notice, Aunt Maggie, so that I’ll have time to slip outside and climb a tree. Which reminds me to ask how fur it is to Beartown.”
“It’s a good half mile from our home, and nigh about the same distance back. Ye can figger out the rist for yersilf. Now, me darlint,” said she, coming to Noxon’s chair and bending over with her broad face radiating sympathy, “it’s toime I had a look at that leg, which would be a big ornamint if bestowed on the spalpeen wid the freckles and rid hair.”
“I don’t think it can need any attention,” said Noxon, pleased to listen to the sparring of the two; “but you are the doctor.”
Her hands were big and red, but no professional nurse could have handled apatient with more gentle deftness. The linen was unwound, and Mike for the first time inspected the wound inflicted by Gerald Buxton with his shotgun. Little as the lad knew of such things, he saw the hurt was not serious. With the removal of the leaden pellets went the cause of irritation. The stumble in the woods had aggravated the wound temporarily, but a rest for even a day would render it safe for the young man to use the leg.
When the bandage had been repinned in place, Noxon felt that he was being coddled more than was necessary. Dropping his foot to the floor, he asked impatiently:
“What’s the sense of my playing baby? I can walk as well as ever. All I need is an ordinary cane. I think I’ll stay with you till after dinner, Aunt Maggie—I suppose I may call you that—and then I’ll vamose the ranch.”
The woman stared wonderingly at Mike.
“Do ye know what he maanes by thim words? His mind I fear is afther wandering.”
“He wishes to say that ye and Tam have used him so well that he will take delight in spinding siveral days wid ye.”
“Ah, now his mind isn’t afther wandering when he do spake that way. All roight, me cherub, ye’ll stay where you be till I give you liberty to lave. Do ye mind that?”
And she shook her stubby finger in his face.
“Ah, what a tyrant you are, Aunt Maggie!”
“Phwat’s that?” she demanded, straightening up. “Are ye calling me out of me name?”
“You are the sweetest, kindest, most motherly woman and best wife in the State of Maine.”
She sprang to her feet and lumbered to the door.
“I haven’t finished hanging me duds; whin I have I’ll come back and wipe out the insoolt ye have put upon me.”
Noxon looked at Mike, who for the first time heard him laugh with real jollity in his voice.
“What a big heart! How unutterably ashamed she makes me feel! What can I weigh in the balance against her? She is pure gold and I am base dross.”
“Don’t forgit to include mesilf wid the dross, me bye. Ye won’t be able to get away from this here place for a few days, I guess.”
“Glad should I be if I could believe it safe to stay here.”
“And why not?”
“Her husband has already heard all about last night’s business.”
“He promised ye to say nothing.”
“When he did that, he had no suspicion of who I am. He will know that I was one of the gang and his disposition will be far different when he comes home to-night. In fact, he is likely to feel freed of any promise he made me.”
“Ye don’t know a real Irishman. I can’t say how he will be disposed, but I know he’ll kaap that pledge. Have no fear of that.”
Noxon sitting back in his chair and apparently without any thought of his injuredleg, pondered earnestly over the situation.
“I am disposed to believe as you do, but that isn’t my only danger.”
“Phwat have ye in mind now?”
“There will be lots of people scouring the country for the three persons who were in this business. We are so near Beartown that some of them are likely to call here before the day is over.”
“This house stands well back from the road wid only a path betwaan the two. Why should anyone sarch here fur ye?”
“And why should they not? I shouldn’t dare to stay here while this is going on. However, you have shown such goodwill toward me, I am willing to compromise. I’ll stay till to-night and then must make a change of base.”
“Whither will ye go?”
“I haven’t thought of that. My aim will be simply to get out of the zone of danger, and what follows must depend upon circumstances.”
“Noxy, will ye answer me one question?”
“I will.”