The Ledge on Bald Face Part 17

In the silence, his ears caught the sound of light feet padding down the sh.o.r.e. He jumped up, and peered through the bushes. A big black dog was galloping on his trail. He drew a long knife, and his mouth set itself so hard that the lips went white. The dog reached the edge of the bushes. The youth slipped behind the canoe.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He drew a long knife ... and slipped behind the canoe."]

"Jim," said he softly. The dog whined, wagged his tail, and plunged in through the bushes. The youth's stern lips relaxed. He slipped the knife back into its sheath, and fondled the dog, which was fawning upon him eagerly.

"You'd never go back on me, would you, Jim, no matter what I'd done?"

said he, in a gentle voice. Then, with an expert twist of his lithe young body, he shouldered the canoe and bore it down to the water's edge. One of his swarthy hands had suddenly grown much whiter, where Jim had been licking it.

Before stepping into the canoe, this peculiar youth took a sc.r.a.p of paper from his shirt pocket, and an envelope. He scribbled something, sealed it up, addressed the envelope, marked it "private," and gave it to Jim, who took it in his mouth.

"Give that to Tug Blackstock," ordered the youth clearly. Then he kissed the top of Jim's black head, pushed off, and paddled away swiftly down river. Jim, proud of his commission, set off up the sh.o.r.e at a gallop to meet his master.

Half-a-mile back he met him. Blackstock s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter from Jim's mouth, praising Heaven that the dog had for once failed in his duty.

He tore open the letter. It said!

Yes, I did it. I had to do it. But _you_ could have saved me, if you'd _dared_--for I do love you, Tug Blackstock.--MARY.

A month later, a parcel came from New York for Woolly Billy, containing an air-gun, and a toy steam-engine that would really go. But it contained no address. And Brine's Rip said that Tug Blackstock had been bested for once, because he never succeeded in finding out who burnt down the mills.

VI. The Man with the Dancing Bear

I

One day there arrived at Brine's Rip Mills, driving in a smart trap which looked peculiarly unsuited to the rough backwoods roads, an imposing gentleman who wore a dark green Homburg hat, heavy, tan, gauntletted gloves, immaculate linen, shining boots, and a well-fitting morning suit of dark pepper-and-salt, protected from the contaminations of travel by a long, fawn-coloured dust-coat. He also wore a monocle so securely screwed into his left eye that it looked as if it had been born there.

His red and black wheels labouring noiselessly through the sawdust of the village road, he drove up to the front door of the barn-like wooden structure, which staggered under the name, in huge letters, of the CONTINENTAL HOTEL. There was no one in sight to hold the horse, so he sat in the trap and waited, with severe impatience, for some one to come out to him.

In a few moments the landlord strolled forth in his shirt-sleeves, chewing tobacco, and inquired casually what he could do for his visitor.

"I'm looking for Mr. Blackstock--Mr. J. T. Blackstock," said the stranger with lofty politeness. "Will you be so good as to direct me to him?"

The landlord spat thoughtfully into the sawdust, to show that he was not unduly impressed by the stranger's appearance.

"You'll find him down to the furder end of the cross street yonder," he answered pointing with his thumb. "Last house towards the river.

Lives with old Mrs. Amos--him an' Woolly Billy."

The stranger found it without difficulty, and halted his trap in front of the door. Before he could alight, a tall, rather gaunt woodsman, with kind but piercing eyes and brows knitted in an habitual concentration, appeared in the doorway and gave him courteous greeting.

"Mr. Blackstock, I presume? The Deputy Sheriff, I should say,"

returned the stranger with extreme affability, descending from the trap.

"The same," a.s.sented Blackstock, stepping forward to hitch the horse to a fence post. A big black dog came from the house and, ignoring the resplendent stranger, went up to Blackstock's side to superintend the hitching. A slender little boy, with big china-blue eyes and a shock of pale, flaxen curls, followed the dog from the house and stopped to stare at the visitor.

The latter swept the child with a glance of scrutiny, swift and intent, then turned to his host.

"I am extraordinarily glad to meet you, Mr. Blackstock," he said, holding out his hand. "If, as I surmise, the name of this little boy here is Master George Harold Manners Watson, then I owe you a debt of grat.i.tude which nothing can repay. I hear that you not only saved his life, but have been as a father to him, ever since the death of his own unhappy father."

Blackstock's heart contracted. He accepted the stranger's hand cordially enough, but was in no hurry to reply. At last he said slowly:

"Yes, Stranger, you've got Woolly Billy's reel name all O.K. But why should you thank me? Whatever I've done, it's been for Woolly Billy's own sake--ain't it, Billy?"

For answer, Woolly Billy snuggled up against his side and clutched his great brown hand adoringly, while still keeping dubious eyes upon the stranger.

The latter took off his gloves, laughing amiably.

"Well, you see, Mr. Blackstock, I'm only his uncle, and his only uncle at that. So I have a right to thank you, and I see by the way the child clings to you how good you've been to him. My name is J.

Heathington Johnson, of Heathington Hall, Cramley, Blankshire. I'm his mother's brother. And I fear I shall have to tear him away from you in a great hurry, too."

"Come inside, Mr. Johnson," said Blackstock, "an' sit down. We must talk this over a bit. It is kind o' sudden, you see."

"I don't want to seem unsympathetic," said the visitor kindly, "and I know my little nephew is going to resent my carrying him off." (At these words Woolly Billy began to realize what was in the air, and clung to Blackstock with a storm of frightened tears.) "But you will understand that I have to catch the next boat from New York--and I have a thirty-mile drive before me now to the nearest railway station. You know what the roads are! So I'm sure you won't think me unreasonable if I ask you to get my nephew ready as soon as possible."

Blackstock devoted a few precious moments to quieting the child's sobs before replying. He remembered having found out in some way, from some papers in the drowned Englishman's pockets or somewhere, that the name of Woolly Billy's mother, before her marriage, was not Johnson, but O'Neill. Of course that discrepancy, he realized, might be easily explained, but his quick suspicions, sharpened by his devotion to the child, were aroused.

"We are not a rich family, by any means, Mr. Blackstock," continued the stranger, after a pause. "But we have enough to be able to reward handsomely those who have befriended us. All _possible_ expense that my nephew may have been to you, I want to reimburse you for at once.

And I wish also to make you a present as an expression of my grat.i.tude--not, I a.s.sure you, as a payment," he added, noticing that Blackstock's face had hardened ominously. He took out a thick bill-book, well stuffed with banknotes.

"Put away your money, Mr. Johnson," said Blackstock coldly. "I ain't taking any, thank you, for what I may have done for Woolly Billy. But what I want to know is, what authority have you to demand the child?"

"I'm his uncle, his mother's brother," answered the stranger sharply, drawing himself up.

"That may be, an' then again, it mayn't," said Blackstock. "Do you think I'm goin' to hand over the child to a perfect stranger, just because he comes and says he's the child's uncle? What proofs have you?"

The visitor glared angrily, but restrained himself and handed Blackstock his card.

Blackstock read it carefully.

"What does that prove?" he demanded sarcastically. "It might not be your card! An' even if you are 'Mr. Johnson' all right, that's not proving that Mr. Johnson is the little feller's uncle! I want legal proof, that would hold in a court of law."

"You insolent blockhead!" exclaimed the visitor. "How dare you interfere between my nephew and me? If you don't hand him over at once, I will make you smart for it. Come, child, get your cap and coat, and come with me immediately. I have no more time to waste with this foolery, my man." And he stepped forward as if to lay hands on Woolly Billy.

Blackstock interposed an inexorable shoulder. The big dog growled, and stiffened up the hair on his neck ominously.

"Look here," said Blackstock crisply, "you're goin' to git yourself into trouble before you go much further, my lad. You jest mind your manners. When you bring me them proofs, I'll talk to you, see!"

He took Woolly Billy's hand, and turned towards the door.

The stranger's righteous indignation, strangely enough, seemed to have been allayed by this speech. He followed eagerly.

"_Don't_ be unreasonable, Mr. Blackstock," he coaxed. "I'll send you the doc.u.ments, from my solicitors, at once. I'm sure you don't want to stand in the dear child's light this way, and prevent him getting back to his own people, and the life that is his right, a day longer than is necessary. Do listen to reason, now." And he patted his wad of bank-notes suggestively.

But at this stage, Woolly Billy and the big dog having already entered the cottage, Blackstock followed, and calmly shut the door. "You'll smart for this, you ignorant clod-hopper!" shouted Mr. Heathington Johnson. He clutched the door-k.n.o.b. But for all his rage, prudence came to his rescue. He did not turn the k.n.o.b. After a moment's hesitation he ground his heel upon the doorstep, stalked back to his gig, and drove off furiously. The three at the window watched his going.

"We won't see _him_ back here again," remarked the Deputy. "_He_ wasn't no uncle o' yours, Woolly Billy."