The Lady of Big Shanty Part 30

"So Billy told me, and so did my father--but I 'most give up bein'

helped."

"How long have you been in this misery of yours?"

"A long time," he replied nervously; "a long time. Thar's been days and nights when I wished I was dead."

"After you killed Bailey?" asked Thayor quietly, meeting the eyes of the outcast. The figure beside him began to tremble, clenching his bony hands in an effort to steady them; then he looked up.

"You know?" he faltered huskily. "You know?" he repeated.

Thayor nodded.

"You know what I done! G.o.d knows I had a right to! They say I ain't fit to live among men."

Again Thayor stared into the fire.

"How they've hounded me," Dinsmore went on, clearing his thin voice as best he could--a voice unaccustomed to conversation. "The winter's the worst; you ain't never been hounded in winter. You ain't never knowed what it is to go hongry and alone. It'll give ye a new idee consarnin'

folks. I used to think I knew the woods, but I tell ye I know 'em _now_. I've got friends in 'em now," he went on, as if confiding a secret; "sometimes a fox will leave me what he ain't ate--I've known a wolverine git a dum sight more human than them that's been huntin'

me. Him and me shared the same cave--he got to know me--he was a great fisher. I got him out of a trap twice--he see I warn't goin' to hurt him."

Thayor sat looking steadily into the hollow, tired eyes like a man in a dream, forgetting even to question him further. Moreover, he knew he was telling the truth, and that Dinsmore's frankness was proof enough that he had much to say to him of importance. Somehow he felt that in his disconnected narrative he would slowly lead to it. His character in this respect was much like his father's.

"Winter's the worst," repeated Dinsmore, the effort of speaking already perceptible in his drawn features--"nights when yer heart seems froze and ye wait for mornin' and the sun to thaw in; the sun's most as good as food when yer that way. I tried, twice, to git across the line into Canady, but I come back. I hadn't no friends thar, and somehow these here woods I knowed seemed kinder. Besides, I always had the chance of seein' father and sometimes Billy and Freme; and sometimes--my little gal." He paused, trying to proceed more directly with the drift of what he wished to say. For some moments his mind seemed vacant. At length he resumed:

"I knowed ye couldn't git clear of them fellers by way of Morrison's.

I was layin' hid when I see the fire start; I see some fellers from whar I was run across the road; thar was more of 'em sneakin' off back to the camp. They was someways off from me, but I could see 'em plain.

I'd hev got to ye then but I da.s.sent run no risk; thar's a reward out on me dead or alive. Bimeby I see ye all cross the brook and I knowed ye was safe and that father'd do the best he knowed how fer ye. When it come night I begun to travel, hopin' to strike yer tracks, but the fire cut me off and I had to lay hid till the wind shifted. Soon's I see it was safe to travel I come along huntin' for ye and father. 'T warn't till I come through the swamp at Bear Pond that I struck yer tracks--seen 'em plain then and the way ye was a-goin'. Long 'bout four o'clock to-day I heared some fellers' voices ahead of me down in a holler. Then I see smoke and knowed they was camped close by. Bimeby I crawled out from whar I was hid and clum a tree. I see 'em plain then--six of 'em; they was eatin' dinner--all of 'em lumber jacks from the lower shanty; one was a Frenchy from his talk. Thar warn't none of 'em I knowed in perticlar 'cept Eph Edmunds, and he was layin'

drunk 'longside the fire. I heared one of 'em say thar warn't no use follerin' ye further; that ye'd most likely got to the cars. Then another feller says, says he, "I tell ye we've _got_ to find him; 't won't do to let him git away--there'll be h.e.l.l to pay."

Thayor shook his head gloomily.

"What have I done, Dinsmore, that I should be hunted even like you?"

he sighed. For some moments the hide-out did not speak. Finally he continued:

"I had a reason for what I done," and a strange glitter came into his eyes. "See here, Mr. Thayor, you're human and maybe you'll understand; I'm goin' to tell ye the truth. I give Bailey all the chance in the world; I even come to him like a friend and says to him what's mine ain't yours; I ain't never troubled ye nor your woman--we was happy--me and my wife, 'fore he begun to put notions in her head. 'T warn't long 'fore she begun to think thar warn't n.o.body like Bailey.

He kep' store then close by whar we lived, and he give her most anythin' she wanted. She called it 'credit'.

"One day Bailey went off to Montreal, where Bergstein had a place fixed up for her. I'd been off trappin' up Big Shanty, and when I come back home next night she was gone. She didn't come back for most a week, and when she come I see she was drunk. Bailey come back the next day. I sot waitin' for him on the store porch. When he see me he come up to me uglier'n sin. 'Who in h.e.l.l invited _you_? he says. He weighed twice as much as me, and I see he was fightin' mad. He leapt like a cat to one side of me and 'fore I knowed it he had me down. Them what was in the store come out, but thar warn't one of 'em that darst lay hands on Bailey. We wrastled some in the road--the dust blinded me.

Then he begun to kick me in the mouth and back; I couldn't see for the blood. When I woke up I was to home and I seen she was gone. Bimeby I crawled out of bed into the kitchen and I see Ed Sumner settin'

'longside the stove. 'Bob,' says he, 'he used ye awful, no use talkin'--he liked to killed ye; I hauled him clear o' ye and carried ye back home. Ye'd better git back into bed,' says he. 'Doc' Rand'll be here 'fore long; I'll be back in an hour,' says he. 'Fore I knowed it he was gone. That was 'bout three o'clock; the sun was shinin'

warm in the kitchen and I sot thar thinkin' and gittin' steadier and madder. Bimeby I filled the magazine of my Winchester and started to find Bailey. Thar was more'n a dozen on the store porch when I come up. When they seen me they slunk back in the store and shut the door.

I stood thar waitin' in the road; then I see Bailey come out. 'Hain't you got your satisfy?' he says, 'you--' and I see him jerk out a revolver. He was jest steppin' off the porch when my first ball hit him. He give a scream, tumbled in the road and started to git up on his hands and knees; the second ball broke his neck. Then I walked into the store. 'I'm through,' I says, 'but the first man that lays hands on me I'll kill same's I killed him.' Thar warn't none of 'em that spoke or moved. What I needed I took and paid for; a box of ca'tridges, matches and a can of beef. I had a dollar bill and I laid it on the counter and walked out the store and started into the woods.

That's the hull of it, Mr. Thayor. 'Sposin it had been your wife, or your leetle gal. You'd hev done the same's I done, wouldn't ye?"

Thayor breathed heavily.

"Wouldn't ye?" insisted Dinsmore. "He ruined her, body and soul--he stole her, I tell ye; he warn't satisfied with that--he got her to drinkin'. Wouldn't ye a-killed him, Mr. Thayor?"

Thayor's eyes sought the shadows between the pines; for an instant he did not reply. Suddenly Sperry's face loomed before him and as instantly vanished, only to appear again as certain excuses. .h.i.therto explainable became for the first time obscure and suggestive. Then the words of Alice's song rang in his ears and a thrill of joy quivered through him.

Again the hide-out repeated the question.

"Wouldn't ye, Mr. Thayor?"

Thayor turned his head and faced the hide-out.

"Yes," he said slowly, between his clenched teeth; "I would have killed him too, Mr. Dinsmore."

"And yet they say I ain't fit to live 'mong men," murmured the thin voice, grown fainter from speaking. "G.o.d knows they've made me suffer for what I done."

"Where is she?" asked Thayor, a certain tenderness creeping into his voice.

There was no reply.

"Have you no news of your wife?"

"I dunno; I ain't never laid eyes on her since," he answered wearily.

"I can't even ask no one; father said he heard she was in Montreal, where Bergstein had some hold on her. I'd have took her back if I'd been free. 'T won't never be no use now--I won't never be free, Mr.

Thayor."

Again silence fell upon the group; each one was occupied with his own thoughts. The old man had slouched closer and had settled himself beside his son, his hand on the outcast's knee. Thayor's voice broke the silence.

"Where are these men you ran across, Dinsmore?" he asked abruptly, a ring of determination in his voice.

"'Bout eight mile from here, I figger it--in a holler southeast of Alder Swamp," answered the hide-out, returning to a sense of his surroundings.

"And you say they were camped?"

"Yes, I see them cut some timber for a lean-to. Like as not they cal'lated to make it a kind of headquarters for a day or so, strikin'

off by twos to find ye. That's what I come to tell ye; I didn't want ye to be took. I knowed I'd find ye if I kep' on--I'm more used than most of 'em to travellin' in the dark."

"Could you find them again, Dinsmore?"

"Yes, but I'd hev to be twice as keerful. It'd be all up with me if they was to see me."

"I will take care of that," replied Thayor briskly.

"What do ye mean?" stammered Dinsmore.

"I mean that you shall take me to them to-morrow."

"But I ain't goin' to let ye risk yer life if I--"

"I mean what I say, Dinsmore. I start at daylight."