Rayton: A Backwoods Mystery Part 18

What d'you say, Mr. Banks?"

"You are right, d.i.c.k, according to your lights," replied the New Yorker.

The trapper looked puzzled.

"He means that you don't know all the particulars of what happened last night," said Rayton. "Captain Wigmore got the marked card, right enough, after supper--but I got it twice, before supper. That is the puzzling part of it, d.i.c.k."

The care-free smile fled from Goodine's handsome and honest countenance.

His dark cheeks paled, and a shadow, starting far down, came up to the surface of his eyes.

"You!" he exclaimed. "Twice--before supper! That--that looks bad to me.

That's the worst yet."

"My dear chap, if the silly thing was dealt to me every night, and chucked into my bedroom window every morning, it wouldn't be a jot less silly," replied Rayton. "Some idiot, who has heard Jim Harley's story, is trying to have some fun out of it. That is all. It amuses him evidently, and doesn't hurt us."

d.i.c.k Goodine shook his head. "I guess it hurt David Marsh," he said--"whatever it may be. It smashed his arm, an' pretty near drownded him, an' burned his camp, an' about fifty dollars' worth o' gear an'

grub. That don't look much like fun to me--not like fun for the man who gets the card, anyhow. I'll tell you right now, if ever it comes to me I'll light out within the hour, an' hit the trail for my trappin'

grounds over beyond the back o' nowhere."

"Don't believe it, d.i.c.k."

"But that's just what I'd do all the same. It ain't natural. It's more nor a game, I tell you--it's like something I've read about, somewheres or other."

"You're wrong there, d.i.c.k," said Mr. Banks. "It is a game--a dangerous one, maybe, but a game, for all that. I'll show you the player, one of these days, as sure as my name is Harvey P. Banks! In the meantime, d.i.c.k, I'll bet you five dollars that if you happened to be picked out to receive those red marks, as Reginald has been picked out--for the same reason, I mean, according to the family tradition--you'd not budge an inch or back water half a stroke. You'd just put your finger to your nose at the warning, as Reginald does, even if you thought Fate, family curses, Spanish ghosts, old Jackson, and the devil were all on your trail."

The color came back to the trapper's cheeks. He lowered his glance to the toes of his steaming boots on the hearth of the stove, and shifted uneasily in his chair.

"I guess yer right," he said huskily. "I guess I'd be brave enough to face it, devil an' all, if I had that reason to be brave. But I ain't got that reason, an' never will have--so I'm scart. I'm a durned ignorant bushwhacker, I reckon. Anyhow, I'm scart."

Rayton placed a hand on the other's shoulder for a second.

"That is like you," he said. "You are more frightened about your friend than you'll ever be about yourself. But cheer up, old man! I don't think Fate will break any canoe poles on me."

"Fate!" repeated Mr. Banks, laughing merrily. "Oh, you are safe enough from Fate, Reginald!"

But d.i.c.k Goodine shook his head.

During the morning, Rayton went over to the Harley place. The sun was glowing with a heat as of September, and the snow was already a mixture of slush and mud. d.i.c.k Goodine went about his business; and Mr. Banks sat by the kitchen stove, smoking and struggling with his puzzle. Rayton found Jim Harley in the barnyard. Jim's greeting was emotional. He gripped the Englishman's hand, and looked steadily into his face with troubled eyes.

"I was just going over to see you," he said. "I'm glad you're here. I--I feel pretty bad about you, Reginald--mighty bad, I can tell you!"

"For Heaven's sake, Jim, what's the trouble?" asked Rayton. "What have I done--or what d'you think I've done?"

Harley flushed. "You know what the trouble is--what is worrying me," he said. "You have not done anything. I am thinking of the marked card, as you know very well."

Rayton laughed, and slapped the other on the back.

"Laugh, if you choose," returned Harley; "but I tell you it is no laughing matter. Have you forgotten what I told you about those red crosses? Have you forgotten the manner of my father's death? Great heavens, man, it is nothing to laugh about! Those marks have brought two men to their death. And there's Marsh! He came within an inch of being drowned that day his pole broke. Of course, you think I am a fool. You may call me one if you want to. But, for G.o.d's sake, get out of here until the danger pa.s.ses! That's all I ask, Rayton. Get out! Get away from this settlement for a little while!"

The smile left the Englishman's face, and he gaped at his friend in utter astonishment.

"Get out?" he repeated, in a dazed voice. "Get out? What for? What good would that do to any one? What--in the name of all that's sensible--are you driving at?"

"Get away from here--away from me--and save yourself," replied Harley.

"Don't you understand? This trouble is all _our_ fault--all due to my sister. Don't you see that? Then get away from us! Drop us, and clear out!"

"To save myself from the curse of the little red marks on the card, I suppose?"

"Yes, yes. Go away and save yourself. That is what I ask you, Rayton."

"You really believe, then, in the power of those crosses? You really believe that my life is in danger--that I have been marked by Fate?"

"I only know what those crosses have done in the past. The evil is not in the marks, though. Don't think I'm quite a fool! But they are sent as a warning--by some unknown enemy of ours. Can't you see that, Rayton? My father was murdered after receiving a card marked with those crosses.

David Marsh's life was attempted! Don't you see? We have a bitter, hidden enemy!"

"No, I don't!" retorted Rayton, with spirit. "I don't think Marsh's life was attempted. Great heavens, Jim, didn't a canoe pole ever break in this country before? And didn't a shack ever burn down before? Buck up and look at the thing like a sensible man! What happened to that young bounder Marsh was nothing but chance. You make me angry, 'pon my word you do! But don't think for a minute that you can make me angry enough to run away--or that you can scare me away. I stand pat; but if my house catches fire, or anything of that kind happens, then I'll set to work and dig up the fool who hands out those marked cards, and land him in jail."

"I have asked you to go, for your own sake. I can't do anything more,"

returned Harley.

Rayton gazed at him earnestly, eye to eye; but Harley kept his eyes steady.

"Jim, that sounds queer," he said. "It sounds like some rot that Nash was talking, not long ago. Perhaps you know what I mean. Nash's idea was that you dealt the marked card to Marsh, and then invented the story, just to scare Marsh away from your sister. Now he will say that you are trying to frighten me away."

"He is a liar!" cried Harley.

"I know your story is true," said the Englishman, "and I know you are just as much in the dark about those cards as I am; but if you go on like this, old chap, other people will think as Nash thinks. Nash is not the only fool in these woods.

"And I want to tell you that even if you were trying to frighten me away from here you couldn't do it! That's my position, Jim. I am here--and here I stay! Whoever marks those cards is a harmless idiot. I love your sister--though she doesn't know it, yet--and the only thing that can chase me away from her is her own word. So save your anxiety for me, old chap, and keep your wind to cool your porridge. Also, think the thing over quietly; and, if it continues to worry you, go hunting for the man who makes a fool of you by marking those cards. Good morning."

Reginald Rayton turned and strode away without waiting for an answer to his last long speech. He was angry--hot and cold with it, from his head to his feet. He had been excited into a premature disclosure of his sentiments toward Nell Harley. He had been talked to like a fool--and he had talked like a fool. He was furious. He felt the need of some one to punch and kick. It was years since he had last been in such a wax.

And this was his mood when Doctor Nash appeared over the brow of a hill in front, driving toward him in a mud-splashed buggy. Nash drew rein within a yard of the Englishman. The Englishman halted. Nash leaned forward, and grinned.

"That was a good one, last night," he remarked. "A good joke on old Wigmore; but I don't quite see the point of it. Do you?"

"No. Is there supposed to be any point?" returned Rayton.

"Sure! What d'ye think it's all about if there isn't a point to it? You fellows are lobsters, I must say, if you are still cloudy on that business. Those marks are warnings--oh, yes! But they are not sent by Fate. They are sort of 'keep off the gra.s.s' signs issued and posted by a very dear friend of yours. Last night he felt my eye on him, and so threw the bluff. It worked pretty well, too. It had me guessing for about an hour; and then I thought it over after I went to bed, and got it all straight and clear."

"I am glad that some one has it straight and clear," said Rayton. "I am in the dark, myself; but I agree with you that the deal to Wigmore was a bluff. I am positive about this because a marked card came to me twice before supper."

Nash uttered a derisive whistle, then slapped his knee with an open hand.

"I might have guessed it!" he cried. "So it's your turn, is it? Keep off the gra.s.s, Reginald. Good old Jim! He knows what he's about."

"What are you driving at?" demanded the Englishman. "What has Jim to do with it?"

He had heard the doctor's theory before, but wanted first-hand proof of it--and he was looking for an excuse for letting loose.