Read Ebook: Little Guzzy and other stories by Habberton John

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1920 lines and 94308 words, and 39 pages

The whole quartet galloped rapidly off. It was growing dark, but there was no danger of losing a road which was the only one in that part of the country. As they approached a clearing a short distance in front of them, they saw a dark mass in the centre of the road, its outlines indicating an emigrant wagon of the usual type.

"Reckon it did," said Pete Williamson, thrusting his head forward; "there's some kind of an animal hid behind that wagon, an' it don't enjoy bein' led along, for it's kickin' mighty lively--shouldn't wonder if 'twas Mansell's own pony."

"Yes," said Williamson's younger brother, "an' mebbe we're leavin' poor Charley a-dyin' along behind us in the bushes somewhere. Who'll go back an' help hunt for him!"

The quartet unconsciously slackened speed, and the members thereof gazed rather sheepishly at each other through the gathering twilight. At length the younger Williamson abruptly turned, dismounted, and walked slowly backward, peering in the bushes, and examining all indications in the road. The other three resumed their rapid gallop, Pete Williamson remarking:

The men gained steadily on the wagon, and finally Bill Braymer felt sure enough to shout:

"Halt, or we'll fire!"

The only response was a sudden flash at the rear of the wagon; at the same instant the challenger's horse fell dead.

Another shot came from the wagon, and Williamson's horse uttered a genuine cry of anguish and stumbled. The indignant rider hastily dismounted, and exclaimed:

"They can't keep up that gait for ever," said Bill Braymer. "I'm goin' to foller 'em on foot, if it takes all night; I'll get even with em' for that hoss they've done me out of."

The third man lifted up his voice. "I 'llow I've had enough of this here kind of thing," said he, "an' I'll get back to the settlement while there's anything for me to get there on. I reckon you'll make a haul, but--I don't care--I'd rather be poor than spend a counterfeiter's money."

And off he rode, just as the younger Williamson, with refreshed horse, dashed up, exclaiming:

"No signs of him back yonder, but there's blood-tracks beginnin' in the middle of the road, an' leanin' along this way. Come on!"

And away he galloped, while his brother remarked to his companion:

Jim Williamson rode rapidly in the direction of the wagon until, finding himself alone, and remembering what had befallen his companions, he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and pursued rapidly on foot. He soon saw the wagon looming up in front of him again, and was puzzled to know how to reach it and learn the truth, when the wagon turned abruptly off the road, and apparently into the forest.

Following as closely as he could under cover of the timber, he found that, after picking its way among the trees for a mile, it stopped before a small log cabin, of whose existence Jim had never known before.

There were some groans plainly audible as Jim saw one man get out of the wagon and half carry and half drag another man into the hut. A moment later, and a streak of light appeared under the door of the hut, and there seemed to be no windows in the structure; if there were, they were covered.

Jim remained behind a sheltering tree for what seemed two hours, and then stealthily approached the wagon. No one was in it. Then he removed his boots and stole on tip-toe to the hut. At first he could find no chink or crevice through which to look, but finally, on one side of the log chimney, he spied a ray of light. Approaching the hole and applying his eye to it, Jim beheld a picture that startled him into utter dumbness.

On the floor of the hut, which was entirely bare, lay a middle-aged man, with one arm bandaged and bleeding. Seated on the floor, holding the head of the wounded man, and raining kisses upon it, sat Bunker County's sheriff!

Then Jim heard some conversation which did not in the least allay his astonishment.

"Don't cry, daughter," said the wounded man, faintly, "I deserve to be shot by you--I haven't wronged any one else half so much as I have you."

Again the wounded man received a shower of kisses, and hot tears fell rapidly upon his face.

"Arrest me--take me back--send me to State's prison," continued the man; "nobody has so good a right. Then I'll feel as if your mother was honestly avenged. I'll feel better if you'll promise to do it."

"You sha'n't be made happy in that way," said the sheriff. I've got you again, and I'm going to keep you to myself. I'll nurse you here--you say that nobody ever found this hut but--but the gang, and when you're better the wagon shall take us both to some place where we can live or starve together. The county can get another sheriff easy enough."

"And they'll suspect you of being in league with counterfeiters," said the father.

"They may suspect me of anything they like!" exclaimed the sheriff, "so you love me and be--be your own best self and my good father. But this bare hut--not a comfort that you need--no food--nothing--oh, if there was only some one who had a heart, and could help us!"

"Don't be frightened," whispered Jim; "I'm yours, body and soul--the devil himself would be, if he'd been standin' at this hole the last five minutes. I'm Jim Williamson. Let me help you miss--sheriff."

The sheriff blew out the light, opened the door, called softly to Jim, led him into the hut, closed the door, relighted the candle and--blushed. Jim looked at the sheriff out of the top of his eyes, and then blushed himself--then he looked at the wounded man. There was for a moment an awkward silence, which Jim broke by clearing his throat violently, after which he said:

"No," said the counterfeiter, "but--but it runs in the family to shoot ugly."

Again the sheriff kissed the man repeatedly.

"Then you can move in two or three days," said Jim, "if you're taken care of rightly. Nobody'll suspect anything wrong about the sheriff, ef he don't turn up again right away. I'll go back to town, throw everybody off the track, and bring out a few things to make you comfortable."

Jim looked at the sheriff again, blushed again, and started for the door. The wounded man sprang to his feet, and hoarsely whispered:

"Swear--ask God to send you to hell if you play false--swear by everything you love and respect and hope for, that you won't let my daughter be disgraced because she happened to have a rascal for her father!"

Jim hesitated for a moment; then he seized the sheriff's hand.

"I ain't used to swearin' except on somethin' I can see," said he, "an' the bizness is only done in one way," with this he kissed the little hand in his own, and dashed out of the cabin with a very red face.

Within ten minutes Jim met his brother and Braymer.

"If he's dead," remarked Bill Braymer, "an' there's any pay due him, I hope part of it'll come for these horses. Mine's dead, an' Pete's might as well be."

"Well," said Jim, "I'll go on to town. I want to be out early in the mornin' an' see ef I can't get a deer, an' it's time I was in bed." And Jim galloped off.

The horse and man which might have been seen threading the woods at early daybreak on the following morning, might have set for a picture of one of Sherman's bummers. For a month afterward Jim's mother bemoaned the unaccountable absence of a tin pail, a meal-bag, two or three blankets, her only pair of scissors, and sundry other useful articles, while her sorrow was increased by the fact that she had to replenish her household stores sooner than she had expected.

The sheriff examined so eagerly the articles which Jim deposited in rapid succession on the cabin-floor, that Jim had nothing to do but look at the sheriff, which he did industriously, though not exactly to his heart's content. At last the sheriff looked up, and Jim saw two eyes full of tears, and a pair of lips which parted and trembled in a manner very unbecoming in a sheriff.

"Don't think about me at all," said the sheriff, quickly. "I care for nothing for myself. Forget that I'm alive."

"I--I can't," stammered Jim, looking as guilty as forty counterfeiters rolled into one. The sheriff turned away quickly, while the father called Jim to his side.

"I hadn't any idea who you were," interrupted the sheriff, with a face so full of mingled indignation, pain and tenderness, that Jim couldn't for the life of him take his eyes from it.

Two days later the sheriff rode into town, leading behind him the counterfeiter's horses, with the wagon and its contents, with thousands of dollars in counterfeit money. The counterfeiter had escaped, he said, and he had wounded him.

Bunkerville ran wild with enthusiasm, and when the sheriff insisted upon paying out of his own pocket the value of Braymer's and Williamson's horses, men of all parties agreed that Charley Mansell should be run for Congress on an independent ticket.

But the sheriff declined the honor, and, declaring that he had heard of the serious illness of his father, insisted upon resigning and leaving the country. Like an affectionate son, he purchased some dress-goods, which he said might please his mother, and then he departed, leaving the whole town in sorrow.

There was one man at Bunkerville who did not suffer so severely as he might have done by the sheriff's departure, had not his mind been full of strange thoughts. Pete Williamson began to regard his brother with suspicion, and there seemed some ground for his feeling. Jim was unnaturally quiet and abstracted; he had been a great deal with the sheriff before that official's departure, and yet did not seem to be on as free and pleasant terms with him as before. So Pete slowly gathered a conviction that the sheriff was on the track of a large reward from the bank injured by the counterfeiter; that Jim was to have a share for his services on the eventful night; that there was some disagreement between them on the subject, and that Jim was trying the unbrotherly trick of keeping his luck a secret from the brother who had resolved to fraternally share anything he might have obtained by the chase. Finally, when Pete charged his brother with the unkindness alluded to, and Jim looked dreadfully confused, Pete's suspicions were fully confirmed.

The next morning Jim and his horse were absent, ascertaining which fact, the irate Peter started in pursuit. For several days he traced his brother, and finally learned that he was at a hotel on the Iowa border. The landlord said that he couldn't be seen; he, and a handsome young fellow, with a big trunk, and a tall, thin man, and ex-Judge Bates, were busy together, and had left word they weren't to be disturbed for a couple of hours on any account. Could Pete hang about the door of the room, so as to see him as soon as possible?--he was his brother. Well, yes; the landlord thought there wouldn't be any harm in that.

The unscrupulous Peter put his eye to the keyhole; he saw the sheriff daintily dressed, and as pretty a lady as ever was, in spite of her short hair; he heard the judge say:

MAJOR MARTT'S FRIEND.

EAST PATTEN was one of the quietest places in the world. The indisposition of a family horse or cow was cause for animated general conversation, and the displaying of a new poster or prospectus on the post-office door was the signal for a spirited gathering of citizens.

Why, therefore, Major Martt had spent the whole of three successive leaves-of-absence at East Patten, where he hadn't a relative, and where no other soldier lived, no one could imagine. Even professional newsmakers never assigned any reason for it, for although their vigorous and experienced imaginations were fully capable of forming some plausible theory on the subject of the major's fondness for East Patten, they shrank from making public the results of any such labors.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet