Rayton: A Backwoods Mystery Part 8

"I thought you was sweet on d.i.c.k Goodine; but you don't seem much that way now, Maggie. What's he bin doin' to you?" asked David.

"Yer mind yer own business, Davy Marsh," retorted the young woman, "and don't you give none o' yer cheek to me. I'm helpin' you, ain't I? Then mind yer manners!"

Then, with a toss of her handsome head, she hurried from the shack.

Left alone under that low roof in the quiet forest, with the afternoon sunshine flooding in by open door and window, David gave his mind unreservedly to his accident, considering it from many points of view.

He had accepted Maggie Leblanc's suggestion without question--that Goodine had caused the disaster by injuring his canoe pole in some way.

Now, alone in the silent forest, he thought of the marks on the card, and remembered the story that Jim Harley had confided to him. It was foolishness, of course, to set any store by two red crosses on a playing card--and yet--and yet----

Queer things happen, he reflected. The devil still takes a hand in the games of men. The idea of the blow being the work of a supernatural agency, directed by the marked card, grew upon him. But even so, what more likely than that d.i.c.k Goodine had cut his canoe pole--had been chosen as the instrument of fate? One has strange fancies when lying faint and hurt in a silent wilderness, in a golden, empty afternoon.

The sunlight gradually died away from window and door. David thought of his loss and counted the money that would slip from his fingers, owing to the broken arm. This was bitter food for the mind of such a man as David Marsh. Mr. Banks, the rich and generous American sportsman, would soon be at Samson's Mill Settlement--only, alas, for the profit of some other than the unfortunate Davy. It was a hard fact to consider, but at last the sullen young man fell asleep with the weight of it on his mind.

He dreamed of a life-and-death struggle with a Spanish count, who looked like d.i.c.k Goodine dressed up in queer clothes. The Spanish n.o.bleman ran a knife into his arm and the pain was sickening. The count vanished, and beside him stood a young man in a blue coat with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, whom they called Jackson. This Mr. Jackson had a terrible leer on his face, and a huge pistol in his right hand. Seizing David by the collar, he hammered him with the pistol upon the wound made by the Spaniard's knife. David yelled with the pain of it--and woke up! Above him leaned Doctor Nash, holding a lantern, and with a finger on the broken arm.

"Quit it!" cried David. "Quit it, doc! That's the busted place yer pinchin'."

A painful period of twenty minutes followed, and at the end of it David's arm was in splints and bandages, and David's face was absolutely colorless. Nash brought him 'round with a long drink of brandy.

"h.e.l.l!" said David. "That's all I want to see of you for the rest o' my life, doc."

The doctor grinned, mopped his heated brow, and set the lantern on the table. "Oh, that's nothing," he said. "Booh! I've done ten times as much as that before breakfast. Keep still, now, and give it a chance. Your arm will be as good as new in a few months."

David groaned. Nash built up the fire.

"I'm hungry," he said. "Where d'you keep your grub? Got anything fit to eat?"

"I reckon yes," returned the woodsman. "There's plenty of grub in this camp, and every durn ounce of it is fit for anybody to eat. Well, I guess! There's eggs in that there box on the floor, and bacon in the cupboard, and tea and coffee, and everything. Help yourself, doc. It was bought to feed Mr. Banks--so I guess you'll find it good enough for you."

"Don't get excited, David," retorted the doctor. "Keep your hair on, or maybe you'll keep your arm from knitting."

He cooked a good meal, gave a little of it to his patient, and devoured the choicer, and by far the larger, share of it himself. Then he lit his pipe and drew a stool close up to the bunk in which David lay.

"You are not fit to move to-night," he said, "so I'll stay here and take you in to-morrow morning. I managed to get my rig through the mud-holes without breaking anything, I guess."

David moved his feet uneasily.

"Guess you'll be chargin' me pretty heavy for this, doc," he returned.

"Don't you worry," returned Nash. "I'll only charge what's fair, Davy.

Of course it was quite a serious operation, and a long drive--but don't you worry."

He drew at his pipe for a little while in silence. At last he said: "Maggie Leblanc tells me it was d.i.c.k Goodine who worked the dirty trick on you. Is that so?"

"I guess so. Don't see what else. The pole was a good one, far's I know."

"What's the trouble between you and d.i.c.k? I didn't know he was that kind."

"Well, we had an argyment a while back. Nothin' serious; but he's a spiteful kind of cuss. Dirty blood in him, I guess."

Nash nodded. "And perhaps you think the marks on that card had something to do with it. Isn't that so, Davy? I guess Jim Harley has told you what those marks mean."

"That's all durned foolishness. Marks on a card! How'd them little crosses break my pole and upset me into the rapids?"

"Sounds fine, Davy; but you are scared of that marked card, all the same. Don't lie to me--for it's no use. I think the marks on the card have something to do with your broken arm."

"How, doc? No, yer foolin'! Yer tryin' to make game of me. I ain't a scholar, like you, doc, but I ain't fool enough to believe in ghosts, just the same."

"I am not saying anything about ghosts, Davy. You just keep your hair on, and I'll tell you what I think. In the first place, just remember that I am a man with a trained mind and a wide knowledge of life."

"Guess yer right, doc. Fire away!"

"Jim Harley told you that long story of his about his grandmother?"

"That's so."

"Do you believe it?"

"Maybe I do--and maybe I don't. What's that to you?"

"Of course you believe it! That's because your mind is untrained, and you don't know anything of the ways of the world."

"You just leave my mind alone, doc. It ain't hurtin' you, I guess. You talk as if I hadn't any more brains than a sheep."

Nash grinned, and rubbed his long hands briskly together. He enjoyed this sort of thing.

"Right you are. You believe Jim's story--and I don't. What I think is this: Jim Harley marked the card, dealt it to you, and then invented the yarn. He is trying to scare you away--away from fooling around his sister."

"You just let his sister alone, doc! And mind yer own business, too!"

"Keep cool, my boy. Well, he scares you a bit with his story. Then he has a talk to d.i.c.k Goodine. He knows d.i.c.k and you are not very good friends. So he fixes d.i.c.k, and d.i.c.k fixes your canoe pole--and there you are! Jim and d.i.c.k do the busting, and I do the mending. What do you think of that?"

"Durned foolishness!" retorted David. "Maybe Goodine done it; but Jim didn't set him to it. I guess I know Jim Harley a durn sight better'n you do."

"Oh, yes! You are a devilish clever chap, David--in your own opinion.

Just the same, my smart young friend, take the hint from me and stop thinking about Nell Harley. You are not wanted 'round that vicinity, and if Jim can't scare you away with his card trick and his silly story, he'll scare you with something else."

David Marsh was raging; but he was helpless in the bunk, with a broken arm to remember. He swore like the proverbial trooper--and Doctor Nash sat and smoked, with his sneering grin broad on his fat face. He did not say a word in reply to the woodsman's tirade. At last David lay back weakly, breathless, and empty of oaths. Nash re-filled his pipe.

"Think it over quietly," he said. "Are the red marks after you? Or is d.i.c.k Goodine after you, on his own trick? Or is Jim Harley working a game on you? Think it over, Davy, and don't swear at your friends."

David's reply was a grunt; but he spent half the night in thinking it over. The harder he thought the more hopelessly confused he became.

During the drive to the Marsh farm next morning, Doctor Nash carefully avoided the subject of the marked cards and his suspicions. As there was not much else to talk of in Samson's Mill Settlement, just then, the drive was a quiet one. After helping his patient into the house the doctor drove away.

Jim Harley came over to see David in the afternoon. The sufferer received him with open suspicion, but Harley's manner soon drove the shadow away. He listened to the story of the accident with every sign of distress, and was impressed by the fact that d.i.c.k Goodine had helped load and launch the canoe. He knew that David and the trapper were not on friendly terms, and he believed the latter to be dangerously quick-tempered; but he could scarcely bring himself to believe that he would carry a grudge so far as to endanger a man's life.

"Have you and d.i.c.k had words about anything else?" he asked, "anything more than that argument about guiding sportsmen?"