Rayton: A Backwoods Mystery Part 30

"I guess he thinks he has, Mr. Rayton. You've cut him out--or he thinks so. But he weren't never in to be cut out."

"Oh, come now, Bill! I don't think you should talk that way about Marsh.

He means well enough. Who else?"

"Well, Mr. Rayton, what about old Cap'n Wigmore? He be mighty sweet on Miss Nell Harley--an' he's an all-fired wicked-lookin' old cuss. I guess if you knowed his heart you'd find him yer enemy."

Rayton laughed. "Poor old chap! I am sorry for him. But come now, Bill, you are not serious?"

"Yep. He be soft as mush on that girl. Father, he says so, too--an' so does ma."

"But you don't think he'd shoot me, do you?"

"Guess he would--if he got a good chance. Guess he'd as lief kill a feller as eat his supper--judgin' by the looks of him. Tell you what, Mr. Rayton, if I was you I wouldn't trust that old gent no farther'n I could chuck him over my shoulder. He's got a bad eye, he has, jist like Jim Wiggins' old hoss had--an' it ended by chawin' off two of his fingers when he wasn't lookin'."

"Whose fingers, Bill?"

"Jim's, in course."

"Oh! Of course. But, see here, Bill; you surely don't think old Captain Wigmore shot me in the shoulder?"

"That's what I think, Mr. Rayton. It be jist the kinder skunk trick he'd do. _I've_ watched him, many's the time--when he didn't know it. He talks to himself--an' sometimes he laughs, an' dances 'round on his toes. That's gospel, Mr. Rayton. An' he makes faces--lor'! I'll bet ye a dollar, Mr. Rayton, that 'twas him shot you. He's bin a pirate, I guess--an' 'u'd jist as soon kill a man as Jack Swim 'u'd kill a pig.

He's got a anchor thing inked in on his arm, anyhow--all red an' blue. I seen it one day when he didn't know I was lookin'."

"You seem to be greatly interested in him, Bill. You seem to have watched him pretty closely."

"That's right. First time I seen him and heard his name was Cap'n Wigmore, I began to spy on him. He brought to my mind some other cap's I've read about--Cap'n Kidd, an' Cap'n Flint. Yes, Mr. Rayton, I've watched him, you bet--'cept when he was lookin' at me. I'd jist as lief have a b'ar look at me as that old cuss!"

"For all that," replied Rayton, smiling, "I don't think Captain Wigmore is the man who shot me. He has an uncertain temper, I know, but I don't believe he would try to kill a man in cold blood. I can't think of any one who would try, deliberately, to kill me. It must have been an accident, Bill. That's what I think, anyway."

"Accident nothin'," returned Bill. "Pirates kill folks, don't they? You bet they do! Mr. Banks ain't so soft as you, Mr. Rayton. He's nosin'

round, I kin see that. I'll bet he's spyin' on Cap'n Wigmore this very minute. Smart gent, Mr. Banks. Most Yanks be smarter nor Englishmen, anyhow, I guess."

Rayton's laughter was interrupted by Turk. The dog jumped up from the rug before the fire, stood for a moment, then ran into the kitchen, with his plume waving. The kitchen door opened and closed, Turk yelped a welcome, and next moment d.i.c.k Goodine entered the sitting room. The trapper carried his snowshoes under one arm and his blanket-cased rifle under the other.

"You, d.i.c.k!" exclaimed Rayton. "Has anything gone wrong? What's brought you back, old chap?"

"Yes, it's me," answered the trapper, with an uneasy laugh. "Didn't make much of a start, did I? But nothing's gone wrong. I made camp twenty miles out, on Dorker Crick--an' then I lit out on the back trail--just to tell you something that's on my mind."

He leaned in the doorway, smiling at the Englishman and swinging his fur cap in his hand. Snowshoes and rifle lay on the floor. Rayton gazed at him with a puzzled shadow in his clear, kindly eyes.

"Why, d.i.c.k, that's too bad," he said. "But pull off your togs and get something to eat--and then let me hear what you have on your mind. If I can help you, I'll do it. If it's money for more traps, I'm your man, d.i.c.k."

"It isn't money," said the trapper quietly. He threw off his mittens and outer coat, and drew a chair close to Rayton. "It is something pretty private," he said, "_and_ important. It brought me all the way out of the woods, to see you."

Rayton was more deeply puzzled than ever, and a sharp anxiety awoke in him. Had this fate that had struck others also struck d.i.c.k Goodine? He inspected his friend anxiously, and was relieved to find that he had suffered no physical injury, at any rate.

"Bill," he said, "skip out and make a pot of coffee, there's a good chap. Shut the door after you."

Bill Long obeyed with dragging feet. He took half a minute to cross the threshold and shut the door.

"Now, d.i.c.k, fire away," said Rayton. "Get it off your chest. I'm your man, whatever your trouble may be."

The trapper leaned forward. Though his lips smiled, there were tears in his dark eyes.

"Is the shoulder gettin' along all right?" he asked huskily. "And the cold? How's it, Reginald?"

Rayton laughed with a note of astonishment and relief. "Did you come all the way out to ask about my shoulder and my cold?" he cried. "Well, you are a considerate chap, I must say! But it was foolish of you, d.i.c.k. I'm right as wheat; but it is mighty good of you to feel so anxious, my dear old chap--and you may be sure I'll never forget it."

Still the trapper smiled, and still the moisture gleamed in his dark eyes.

"I--I felt anxious--oh, yes," he said slowly. "I couldn't think o'

nothin' else all the time I was trailin' along through the woods an' all last night in camp. That's right. So I just up an' lit out to tell you--to tell you the truth. I was a fool an' a coward not to tell it before. I'm the man who shot you!"

"What?" cried Rayton, staring. "You? For Heaven's sake, d.i.c.k, don't be a fool! Have you been hitting the jug again?"

"It's the truth," said the trapper quietly. "I shot you--an' I was scart to own up to it. I didn't know it was you until--until I _guessed_ it. I thought I had come pretty near hittin' somebody--but not you. I didn't know who. I heard the yells--an' they sounded strong enough. I'll tell you just how it was, Reginald."

He paused, breathing quickly, and brushed his hand across his face.

Rayton went to the door and turned the key.

"Buck up, d.i.c.k," he said. "If you shot me--well, that's all right. No harm done; but tell me all about it if it will make you feel any better."

"It was this way," began the trapper. "I was trailin' 'round, lookin'

for a buck deer or anything that might happen along--and after a while I seen what I took to be the neck an' shoulders of a buck. The light was bad, you know. The thing moved a little. I was sure I could see its horns. So I let fly. Down he went--an' then I heard the durndest hollerin' an' cussin'--an' I knew I'd made a mistake. But the cussin'

was that strong I thought I'd missed. I cal'lated the best thing I could do was just to get away quietly an' keep my mouth shut; and just then came a bang like a cannon an' half a peck of pa'tridge shot peppered the bushes all round me. Then I was more'n sure I didn't hit the man, whoever he was, so I just lit out fer home, runnin' as quiet as I could.

"I got home all right, thinkin' it was all a mighty good joke on me, an'

turned in soon after supper. But I couldn't get to sleep. I began to wonder if I'd missed the mark, after all. The light was bad, of course; but I don't often miss a shot like that at two hundred yards. I commenced workin' it out in my mind, an' thinkin' it over an' over every way.

"Moose an' caribou, an' even deer, run miles with these here nickled bullets in them--aye, an' right through 'em; an' I've read about soldiers fightin' for five or ten minutes after they was. .h.i.t. Then why shouldn't the man I fired at by mistake holler an' cuss an' let fly at me, even if he was plugged? That's the way I figgered it out--an' pretty soon I began to think I had hit him.

"I couldn't get it out of my head. I saw him layin' out on the ground, maybe bleedin' to death. I reckoned the thing to do was hike over an'

tell you an' Mr. Banks about it an' see what you thought of it. So, after studyin' on it a while longer, I got up an' dressed an' sneaked out of the house. When I got to your house there was a light in the settin'-room window. That scart me, for it was past two o'clock in the mornin'--pretty near three. I let myself in, quiet; an' there was Mr.

Banks in the things he goes to bed in--the cotton pants an' little cotton jumpers--asleep in his chair by the settin'-room fire. That gave me another scare. I woke him up. He jumped like I'd stuck a pin into him.

"'Hullo, d.i.c.k,' says he. 'I thought it was Reginald. Where is Reginald, anyhow?'

"'Well, where is he?' says I, feelin' kinder faint in my stomach. 'Maybe he's gone to bed. It's three o'clock, anyhow.'

"Then he told me as how you an' him had gone out gunnin' together that mornin,' an' how you hadn't come home yet. Then I felt pretty sick; an'

I up an' told him what I was a feared of--but I was too scart and rattled to tell him all I knew about it. It was only guessin', anyhow--though I felt as certain I'd shot you as if I'd seen myself do it. I made up a bit of a yarn for him.

"I told him as how I was in the woods when, about sundown, I heard a rifle shot, an' then a lot of hollerin', an' then a gun shot. I told him what I thought--that maybe somebody had plugged somebody--and how that somebody might be you. Well, he fired a few questions at me, an' then he grabs the lamp an' hits the trail for upstairs. Inside ten minutes he's down again; an' we get lanterns an' brandy an' blankets, an' out we start. It took us a long time to find you--but we did--thank G.o.d!

"That's the truth of it, Reginald; an' I couldn't rest easy till you knew of it--an' until I'd had another look at you. What with all the queer things goin' on 'round here of late--an' them cards dealt to you--an' the bad name I have, I was scart to own up to it before."

"I understand," said Rayton slowly--"and I don't blame you, d.i.c.k."