Rayton: A Backwoods Mystery Part 31

He put out his free hand, and they shook heartily.

"You're a rare one," said the trapper. "You're white, clean through."

The Englishman laughed confusedly.

"Now, we'd better let Bill Long in and try that coffee," he suggested.

"About what you've just told me, d.i.c.k--well, I think we'd better keep it quiet for a few days. We'll tell Banks, of course; but n.o.body else.

Unlock the door, will you, d.i.c.k?"

They drank coffee and smoked. Bill Long went to bed, yawning, before eleven.

"Where's Mr. Banks, anyhow?" inquired d.i.c.k Goodine. "Is he makin' a call over to the Harleys'?"

"He went out to find the man who shot me," replied Reginald, with a smile; "but, as he has missed him, no doubt he is at the Harleys'. What time is it? Eleven! He should be home by now."

Half an hour later they both began to feel anxious. Banks was not in the habit of staying out after eleven o'clock. There was nothing in Samson's Mill Settlement to keep a man out late.

"He went out lookin' fer trouble," remarked the trapper, "an' maybe he's found it. Guess I may's well go over to Harleys' an' take a look 'round."

"Perhaps he has gone to see Nash," suggested Rayton.

"Or old Wigmore."

"That's so. Better turn out Bill Long, too. He can go one way and you another, d.i.c.k. Banks went out in search of trouble, as you say--and perhaps he has found it. What sort of night is it?"

"Cloudin' over. Looks like snow--and it's milder."

Fifteen minutes later the trapper and Bill Long left the house, each carrying a stable lantern. Bill Long returned within an hour. He had been to Doctor Nash's, Samson's, and several other houses, and had failed to see or hear anything of the New York sportsman. Twenty minutes later d.i.c.k Goodine returned, accompanied by Jim Harley. Jim had come in from one of his lumber camps early that evening, having heard of Reginald Rayton's accident. He looked worn and anxious; but expressed his relief at finding the Englishman alive.

"It is more than I expected when I first heard you had been shot," he said frankly.

Goodine told of the unsuccessful search for Banks. At the Harley house he had learned that Banks had not been there during the evening. Captain Wigmore had been there, however, for a little while, and had mentioned seeing Banks on the road. Then Jim Harley and d.i.c.k Goodine had called on the captain to make further inquiries.

By that time, it was snowing moderately. They had banged at the door for fully ten minutes; and at last the old man, yawning and draped about in a dressing gown, had let them in. No, he had seen nothing more of the New Yorker. He had persuaded them to enter and sit down for a little while, and had mixed hot toddy. He had suggested that Banks was safe home by that time. Then the two had left the yawning captain to return to his bed--and that was all.

"Well, he's not here," said Rayton. "What's to be done now? What do you suggest, Jim?"

Jim had nothing to suggest. His anxiety was written large on his face.

"Maybe he's gone into the woods an' got himself lost," said the trapper. "Anyhow, I reckon the best thing we can do is turn out an' hunt 'round again. Maybe he's hurt himself."

"That's right," returned Jim Harley. He laid his hand on Rayton's shoulder. "And the best thing you can do is to go to bed," he added solicitously.

Harley, Goodine, and Bill Long went out again with their lanterns. The snow had ceased, but the stars were still thinly veiled.

"I can't understand this," whispered Harley to the trapper. "Mr. Banks should be safe, anyway. He has never got the marked card."

"Can't a man get into trouble without the help of them danged cards? You seem to have 'em on the brain, Jim!" retorted d.i.c.k.

Jim sighed resignedly. The fate that made, dealt, and followed those little red crosses was a real and terrible thing to him.

The three took different roads after agreeing to inquire at every house they came to, and, if possible, to get others to help in the search. It was now after one o'clock.

d.i.c.k Goodine searched the sides of the road, the edges of fields, the pastures, and every clump of bushes and of timber he came to. He aroused the inmates of one house, made fruitless inquiries, and was informed that the only adult males of the family were away in the lumber woods, and so could not turn out to hunt for the missing sportsman. At last he found himself standing again before Captain Wigmore's residence.

He could not say what influence or suggestion had led him back to this spot. He had followed his feet--that is all. One window on the second floor was faintly lighted.

"I'd like to know what that old cuss is doin' up this time of night," he muttered.

He banged at the knocker of the front door until the captain came downstairs.

"You again, Richard!" exclaimed the old man. "Come in. Come in. Still looking for Mr. Banks?"

"Yes. He ain't turned up yet," answered the trapper, stepping into the hall.

"I'll dress and help you hunt for him," said the captain. "He is a particular friend of mine. I can't get to sleep for worrying about him."

CHAPTER XIX

THE CAPTAIN'S CHARGE

Captain Wigmore lit a lamp in the sitting room, and then went upstairs to dress. As soon as he was gone, the trapper commenced a noiseless tour of the room, of the hall, and of the rooms in the front of the house. He even searched beneath articles of furniture and behind every open door.

He explored the kitchen, the pantry, and the pot closet behind the stove.

"Guess I'm on the wrong track this time," he admitted at last, and when Wigmore came down he was sitting patiently on the edge of his chair, with his toes turned demurely inward and his hands on his knees. The captain eyed him keenly for a moment.

"Want anything?" he asked. "A drink, or anything?"

"No; thanks all the same, captain," returned the trapper.

"I heard you wandering around," said Wigmore. "I thought that perhaps you were looking for something. You were admiring my pictures, I suppose?"

The trapper's face flushed swiftly. "Guess again," he answered calmly.

His gaze met the old man's, and did not waver. The captain was the first to look away. He sighed as he did so.

"I am afraid you do not trust me entirely," he said. "But we must go and look for poor Banks. He may be freezing to death somewhere. Come along, Richard. There is no time to lose."

As the two pa.s.sed from the house, Goodine was in front, and for a moment his back was turned fairly to the captain. He heard a little gasp, and turned swiftly. The captain withdrew a hand quickly from an inner pocket, and stooped to lock the door.

"What's the trouble?" asked d.i.c.k.

"A twinge in my knee. I am growing old," answered Wigmore in pathetic tones. And to this day, the trapper has never fully realized how near he was at that moment to a sudden and choking oblivion.

The old man began to limp after half an hour of tramping the frozen roads and scrambling through underbrush and deep snow. At last he sat down on a hemlock stump and confessed that he had reached the end of his endurance and must go home. He was sorry; but it was better to drag himself home now than keep at it a few minutes longer and then have to be carried. Goodine agreed with him; and after a short rest the old man set out on his homeward journey. As long as he was in range of the trapper's vision he staggered wearily; but once beyond it he scuttled along like a little dog. He was anxious to get home and a.s.sure himself that none of his neighbors were exploring his house during his absence.

d.i.c.k Goodine continued his unsuccessful searching of woods, roads, and fields until dawn. He crossed the trails of other searchers several times, but not once the trail of Mr. Banks' big and familiar hunting boots. Upon returning to Rayton's, he found Jim Harley, Benjamin Samson, Doctor Nash, and several other men drinking coffee in the kitchen.