The Man from Jericho Part 13

"I think not, Scribbens--cheer up! You're not that sick yet."

"But ye can't tell!" persisted d.i.n.k. "Th' ketchin' small-pox is orful.

I've heerd uv it before. It gits ye w'en ye're not watchin'. 'N' say, doc, I've got somethin' to tell--"

He raised himself on a sharp elbow and glanced dreadfully at the back door.

"'Fore the woman gits back. 'Tain't wuth while to bother 'bout a preacher ur a priest. I've never j'ined a church--ain't Cath'lic--ain't nothin'. But I've got to tell somebody. It'll make it easier. I'm goin'

to tell you, doc."

He fell back, and his hands strayed about nervously over his breast.

"Tell me if you wish," said Glenning, gently; "if it will help you."

"Oh, it will, doc! It's been eatin' on me ever' since I done it. I's never sh.o.r.e 'nough bad till that man made me bad. I'm always been pore as a dawg, 'n' wuthless, 'n' no 'count fur nothin'. I've stole, sometimes, w'en the kids was hongry, but that don't bother me none. Them that I got frum never missed some cawn ur a chick'n now'n then. 'Tain't that, doc."

He stopped again, breathing fast. It was hard for him to lay bare the story of his wrong-doing.

"I heer ye tell th' woman that ye come a few days ago," he resumed, in a steadier tone. "Then ye don't know many folks 'bout here, I reck'n. But thar's some mighty bad uns, 'n' I reck'n Devil Marston's the wust. I 'low yo's heerd uv how a stable wuz burned a few nights ago, at the aidge o' town? Thar wuz a hoss in that stable, 'n' some feller ur 'nother drug 'im out. It wuz Major Dudley's. Thar's a good man, doc.

He's give to me w'en I'd go to 'im with a tale o' no work 'n' hongry kids at home, 'n' maybe he wuz hongry at the same time, fur all his big house he's nigh bad off as I am. But his hoss's a wonder, 'n' Devil Marston's got some hisself whut kin run some. He comes to me one day, Marston did, 'n' shows me a ten-dollar greenback, 'n' said he'd give it to me ef I'd take some powders he had with 'im, all wropped up, 'n' slip in 'n' put that stuff in th' hoss's feed. I knowed it wuz wrong, doc. I knowed it wuz p'izen, but I tuk it, 'n' the money, too, 'n' that night I slipped in 'n' done whut he tol' me to do. The nex' day he come to me b'ilin' mad, 'n' 'lowed I'd tricked 'im. He said the hoss's still alive, 'cause he'd saw 'im, 'n' that I'd took 'is money 'n' didn't do whut I'd said I'd do. But he lied, doc, 'cause I toted fa'r. But he tore up snakes, and said he's gunta hosswhip me, 'n' come put nigh hittin' me.

'N' he cussed me some more 'n' pulled out another ten-dollar bill, 'n'

th'owed it at me, 'n' 'lowed that ef I'd go that night 'n' burn the stable up with the hoss locked in it he'd call it squar. I didn't want to do it, doc, I sw'ar I didn't, 'cause Major Dudley's been good to me, but I's skeered not to. That Devil Marston jist looked at me with his snake eyes 'n' 'lowed that if I failed 'im ag'in he'd come 'n' shoot me daid. 'N' I went, nigh onto midnight, 'n' I got some straw out'n the lof'--a hull big armful o' dry straw, 'n' piled it ag'in the door o' the stable, 'n' sot fire to it. Then I run. I run till I got home, but I saw the light in the sky, 'n' knowed the hoss wuz gone this time. But the nex' day I heered o' some feller draggin' 'im out! Then I tuk sick, 'n'

I s'pose it's a jedgment on me fur bein' so wicked. But he _made_ me do it! He _made_ me! 'Twarn't so much his money, but I's skeered uv 'im.

You don't know Devil Marston, doc. His name's fittin'. 'N' now I feel better, doc; I sw'ar I do!"

For a moment Glenning sat silent.

"Yes, I know Devil Marston," he said at last, "and he is a bad man. And I know the Dudleys, too, and I know the man who went in for the colt."

"Ye won't tell, doc, will ye?" asked Scribbens, in sudden alarm. "Ye won't give me 'way?"

"I'll promise that no harm shall come to you because of the things that you've told me. But you're a bad man, too, d.i.n.k Scribbens--a low down, dastardly coward!"

The figure below shrank back under the stern, accusing voice.

"I know it! I know it! It's kep' me 'wake ever since I done it!"

He was almost whimpering now, and John realized the utter futility of a sermon at this time. The arrival of Mrs. Scribbens at this juncture with her corps of satellites put an end to further confidences. John arose.

"I've het the water!" announced Mrs. Scribbens, standing with a chunk of lye soap in one hand and a battered and dented tin washpan in the other from which steam was rising.

"Very well," said Glenning. "Get him clean. Give him one of these when you have finished, another at midnight, and a third in the morning. Have you a clock?"

His gaze swept the pitifully bare room and failed to reveal one.

"Humph!" sniffed Mrs. Scribbens. "The roosters crow, don't they? He'll git his dose at midnight!"

"Keep the children out of doors as much as you can; make each of them bathe every day and do the same yourself. I'll come back in the morning and bring something for each of you to take to keep you from catching the small-pox. Good-day."

The sweet summer afterglow which immediately follows the going down of the sun was spread mysteriously over all the landscape as John got in his buggy and began his return trip. The confession to which he had just given ear did not occupy his mind much. He knew beforehand that it must have been some creature like this; some degraded, conscienceless, cast-off devil. d.i.n.k Scribbens didn't matter, but Marston did--Marston, whose heavy figure was beginning already to loom on his life's horizon portentously. Now, since the occurrence on the streets of Macon a couple of hours before, he knew that trouble was ahead for him, swift and sure.

Marston hated him well enough before that incident, providing Travers had delivered his message properly, but now--to be struck on the chest and almost knocked down! Glenning heard the little voice which always speaks to us when we are alone saying that he had done right, that his course all along had been true and proper, and that he had no cause to regret anything. He must simply keep his eyes open, and at the same time not let his brain get rusty. Innocent people were in actual distress at that moment, and the girl of the trusting brown eyes, proud and brave, would soon be hungry. _Hungry!_ The word stung his brain like something hot would sting the flesh, and he clicked his teeth and drew up his lines, urging his horse faster. He was pa.s.sing a gloomy looking house set considerably off the road, surrounded by doleful firs and funereal cedars. It was of brick, square and not ugly, but the shutters to all windows visible were closed, and the front doors were inhospitably shut.

Some gaunt dogs of ferocious breed were stalking about the yard. He had not noticed this house when coming out, but he might well have pa.s.sed it unseeingly, all of his attention at that time being demanded by Mr.

Hoonover. But instinctively he knew who lived there. The place savoured of its master; forbidding, grim, merciless. John was not sorry when it lay behind him.

Deep twilight had come. The time when vague stars shine shyly, uncertain whether or not to show their faces. Objects along the roadside were becoming slightly blurred, and the unsightly things of the garish day were softened into pleasant lines and tones. The man riding townward felt the witchery of the hour. It entered into him and lay upon his soul, speaking of peace. He breathed more gently, and let his horse take its time. From the gates of the west which had unclosed to receive the going day, a breeze had surely blown from Paradise. And alone there, in the soft dusk, two faces rose up before the man. One was fresh, unfretted, appealing, beautiful, with brown eyes which looked innocence and trust. The one beside it was crowned with a bewildering glory of bronze-gold hair, full of sullen splendours, like a stormy sunset; an oval face of perfect lines and charm ineffable, and winey eyes which lured. He looked upon the two, and his eyes grew strained; that look of awful weariness stole over his face, as though the battle were almost too hard, and he groaned in his throat while a shudder swept him, making him tremble from head to foot. He was conscious of a sound, far away, but growing more distinct. _Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack!

Clickety-clack!_ It was a horse on the highway ahead, running fast.

_Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack!_ It was just around the bend in front of him. In a dull way he drew his horse somewhat to one side. A huge black shape thundered into view, seemingly of mammoth proportions in the dim light. Straight to the middle of the road it clung, its hoofs striking fire at every leap, its rider making no effort to swerve it.

Glenning called, and pulled his horse sharply aside. Horse and rider swept by, so close that the man's knee brushed John's sleeve. In that fraction of a second their eyes met, and each recognized the other. But neither stopped. Marston rode on till his horse drew up quivering at his gate, and Glenning, a new, strange light in his eyes, drove on towards town.

Arriving at the livery stable he inquired for Judge Colver. That gentleman lived in the country, and had gone home. He would have to make his report in the morning, when the people could be advised by bulletin of the presence of small-pox in the county, the proper quarantine established, and measures taken for preventing the disease from spreading. He suddenly remembered that, in the business of getting established, he had neglected opening the account at the bank, and had also forgotten his hotel bill. It was too late to keep his promise to Dillard that day, so he turned down street towards the hotel, resolving to settle his bill there. Supper was in progress when he entered the office, and the place was comparatively empty. He paid his reckoning to the smiling Jones, and was preparing to leave, when Travers came out of the pa.s.sage leading to the hotel bar, and called his name. John turned, and coldly faced him. The landlord beckoned, and retreated to the pa.s.sage. John hesitated a moment, for he desired no further dealings with this person, but upon second thought he followed. Travers' nervous manner had returned. He fidgeted, and shifted his weight, and toyed with his watch chain.

"I want to tell you I have kept my word," he said, in a low, cautious voice. "You played fair with me, and I have some appreciation. I went out to Marston's place this morning and told him all about it, to his face, and I told him what you said, word for word. I did, 'pon my honor!"

"That's more than I expected," answered Glenning, icily. "But I admire your pluck. It took a man to do that."

"I did it, doctor, and for a while I thought he was going to kill me.

But he didn't touch me."

"I suppose he made some threats?"

"Yes, he talked mighty ugly about you. I'd advise you to be on your guard. You'd better carry a gun with you all the time."

"I've never carried a gun, and I don't intend to begin now. I fancy I can take care of myself without that. Thank you, Mr. Travers. I'm glad you told me this. Good evening."

He had turned to go, when he heard his name spoken in an agitated whisper. He stopped, and faced about.

"That ain't all, doctor. You've done me a fine turn, and I want to break even."

"Well?"

"Marston's just left here. He's been in the bar drinking for an hour or more, and he's been talkin' mighty reckless. It was about you, and he boasted he was going to make you sorry you ever came here--that he was going to run you out of town. He'd just been at the long distance telephone, and he said he'd found out something, and would know more tomorrow. He'd been drinking heavily, you know, and didn't care what he said. He leaves on the early mornin' train. I was standin' close to that swingin' door, and heard every word he said. He wasn't talkin' to anybody in particular--just easin' himself. But he'll hurt you if he can."

Glenning's voice was very low as he asked--

"Where is he going?"

"To Jericho," said Travers.

CHAPTER IX

John slept very poorly that night. The news which Dan Travers had given him was enough to keep him awake. Marston was going to Jericho the next morning! What would he bring back? What would he have to tell upon his return? Ah, G.o.d! could a man never escape the slightest misstep? Must it dog him to his grave, even though he had won through by days of anguish and hours of wrestling in the silent night? What a morsel this would be for vile tongues to handle! What possibilities for enlargement, and opportunities for misrepresentation! Haggard with wide-eyed watching as the black moments slowly pa.s.sed--it was not new to him, this grim facing of an ever-present spectre--he managed to gain a few hours sleep just before day. But his cheek bones showed more plainly when he appeared upon the street the following morning, and the faint lines about his strong mouth had deepened.

He found Judge Colver and made his report; there was a caucus of the board of health in Doctor Kale's office; dodgers were ordered printed and distributed telling the fearsome news and instructing the public as to what sanitary measures they should employ to keep down the plague.

The local physicians gave him respectful attention when he talked, and adopted his suggestions cheerfully. This was pleasant, but it did not lift the weight which had fallen upon him. When the business meeting was over, John found a piece of yellow cloth at one of the dry goods stores, armed himself with a supply of disinfectants, and started on his second trip to his pauper patient.