Dangerous Ground Part 58

Papa comes forward, chuckling softly, but keeping cautiously out of range of the two weapons. And Mamma begins to scramble to her feet.

"Hullo!" says Franz, as he seems to notice Mamma's position for the first time; "wot ails _you_?"

Papa is so amused that he giggles audibly; he was never heard to laugh an honest laugh.

"Git up, old lady," commands Franz, withdrawing his eyes from Mamma; and he stands as at first, until she has risen.

Then he glances sharply about the room, and asks impatiently: "Come, now, what have ye been up to?"

"Ye see, Franzy," begins Mamma in a conciliating tone, "I went ter take a look at ye--"

"Oh, ye did!"

"With the candle in my hand."

"Jest so; an' to get a good look, ye stuck it pretty close to my eyes.

Wanted to see ef I was asleep, or playin' possum, eh? Wall," replacing one revolver in a hip-pocket, and trifling carelessly with the other, while he seats himself upon the couch, "what did ye find out?"

Though his tone was one of quiet mockery, there was an angry gleam in his eyes, and neither Papa nor Mamma ventured a reply.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Mamma brings the candle very near to the closed eyes, waving it to and fro, rapidly."--page 309.]

"I'll tell ye what ye discovered, an' it may be a good lesson fer ye,"

he goes on in a low tone that was full of fierce intensity. "Ye have discovered that Franz Francoise asleep, and the same feller awake, are pretty much alike. It's jest as onsafe to trifle with one as with the other. I've slept nearly ten years o' my life with every nerve in me waitin' fer a sign to wake quick and active. I've taught myself to go to sleep always with the same idea runnin' in my head. An' since I got out o' that pen down there, I'm always armed, and I'm always ready. The brush of a fly'll wake me, and it'll take me just five seconds to shoot.

So when ye experiment 'round me agin, ye want to fly kinder light. And, old woman, ye may thank yer stars that ye was so close ter me that ye didn't come in for nothin' more'n a tumble."

He sits quite still for a few moments, and then rising slowly, goes over and seats himself on the edge of the table near which Papa stands.

"When I stowed myself away over there," resumes Franz, "I was more or less muddled. But I'm straight enough now, an' my head's clear. I've just reckelected about that gal's comin', an'--I say, old woman, can she hear us if she happens to be awake?"

"No," replies Mamma, "she can't--not unless we talk louder than we're likely to."

"Then haul up yer stool. We're goin' ter settle about her."

The look which Mamma casts toward her worser half says, as plainly as looks can speak: "It's coming." And then she compresses her lips, and draws a chair near the table, while Papa occupies another, and Franz looks down upon the pair from his more elevated perch.

"Now, then," begins Franz, "Who's that 'ere gal?"

No answer from the two on the witness-stand. They exchange glances, and remain mute.

"Next," goes on Franz, as if quite content with their silence, "wot's all this talk about child-stealin'?"

Still no answer. Franz remains tranquil as before, and by way of diversion probably, squints along the shining barrel of his six shooter, and snaps the trigger playfully.

"Have ye got that gal's young un?" he asks, still seeming to find the revolver an object of interest, "or hain't ye?" Down comes the dangerous weapon upon the knee of its owner, and quite by accident, of course, it has Papa's head directly in range.

Seeing which, that worthy moves quickly aside with an exclamation of remonstrance. But Mamma is made of other stuff. She leans forward and leers up into the face of her Prodigal.

"It seems ter me, youngster," she sneers, "that gal's took a strong hold on yer sympathies. Ain't ye gettin' terrible curious?"

"May_be_," retorts Franz, returning her gaze with interest; "an'

may_be_, now, 'tain't so much _sympathy_ as ye may suppose. I don't think sympathy runs in this 'ere family. The pint's right here, and this is a good time to settle it. You two's hung onter me ter stay by yer, an' strike together fer luck, but I'm blessed ef I'm goin' ter strike in ther dark. _I'm_ goin' ter see ter the bottom o' things, er let 'em alone. An' afore we drop this, I want these 'ere questions answered: Who is that gal, an' why does she talk about bein' your gal? Who is the young-un she talks of, an' have you got it? I'm goin' ter know yer lay afore _I_ move."

"Franz," breaks in Papa deprecatingly, "jest give yer mother a chance.

Maybe ye won't ride sich a high horse when ye hear her plans fer yer good."

And then, as if she has just received her cue, Mamma breaks in:

"Ah-h, Franz," she says contemptuously, "I'm disappinted in ye! Wot were ye thinkin' on, ter go an' weaken afore a slip of a gal like that, talkin' such chicken talk, an' goin' back on yer old mother!"

"I thought ye said ye'd got ter hang onto that gal, an' she'd make all our fortin's," comments Franz.

"An' so I did."

"Well," and he favors her with a knowing leer, "if that's a fact, somebody needs ter git inter her good books, an' she don't 'pear to take much stock in you two."

He points this sentence with a wink at Papa. And this gentleman, seeming to see his son's gallantry in a new light, indulges in one of his giggles. Even Mamma grins visibly as she leans forward and pats him on his knee.

"Ah, you sly dog, ah-h! Look what luck's throwed in our way, my boy!

Ye're bound ter be rich, if ye jest listen to yer mother."

"It'll take a power o' listenin' unless yer git down ter business. An'

now, once more, wot does the gal mean by talkin' about a child that's stole?"

"Never mind the young un, boy," replies Mamma, her face hardening again; "how do ye like the _gal_?"

"Like the gal? Wot's that got ter do with it?"

"Listen, Franz," and Mamma bends forward with uplifted forefinger; "I'll explain all that needs explainin' by an by. S'pose it should turn out as that gal, that's come here and throwed herself into our hands, should fall heir to--well, to a pile o' money. What would you be willin' to do ter git the heft of it?"

"Most anything," replies Franz coolly, and letting his eyes drop to the weapon in his hand. "I shouldn't 'weaken,' nor play 'chicken,' old un.

But I'd want ter see the fortin' ahead."

"Hear the boy!" chuckles Mamma in delight. "But we don't want none o'

_that_," nodding toward the revolver. "It's a live gal ye want." Then leaning forward, she whispers sharply: "_You have got ter marry the gal_!"

Franz stares at his mother for full ten seconds. Then slowly lowering first one leg and next the other, he stands upon his feet, and embracing himself with both arms, he indulges in what appears to be a violent fit of noiseless laughter.

"Marry the gal!" he articulates between these spasms. "Oh, gimmini!

won't she be delighted!"

"Delighted or not," snarls Mamma, considerably annoyed by this levity on the part of her Prodigal, "she'll be brought to consent."

But the spasm has pa.s.sed. Franz resumes his position on the table, and looks at Mamma, this time with the utmost gravity, while he says:

"Look here, old woman, that's a gal as can't be drove. Ye can't force her ter marry yer han'some son. An' ye can't force yer han'some son ter marry her--not unless he sees some strong inducements. An' then, ye don't expect ter make a prisoner o' that gal, do yer? That racket's played out, 'cept in the theatres. I don't know what sent her here, but I'm pretty sure she'll be satisfied with a short visit."

"Franz," remonstrates Mamma, "listen to me. That gal, the minit we step for'ard an' prove her ident.i.ty, is goin' to come into a fortin' as big as a silver mine. And we shan't prove her ident.i.ty--till she's married ter you."