Freaks of Fortune Part 4

"I ain't wuth that," added Mr. Fairfield, testily; for, like all misers, he desired to conceal his possessions, as much to blind the a.s.sessors as to avoid the peril of robbery.

"Well, you are worth something."

"A little or sunthin," answered Mr. Fairfield, conceding this for the sake of argument.

"Have you made a will, Squire Fairfield?"

"No, I hain't made no will. I hain't got nothin' to leave wuth makin' a will for."

Dock did not believe this statement, but he took no notice of it.

"You haven't any children, and if you should die, half of your money would go to Levi, and half to your wife. If you should die, Levi would make ten or fifteen thousand dollars by it. Don't you see now what he gives you chickens and turkeys for? He means to keep things smooth till you step out. If you shouldn't come back, when you go out after dog-fish to-morrow morning, Levi wouldn't feel half so bad about it as I should."

This was a disagreeable topic to the miser, and he cut it short; but the idea that Levi was ready to have him die took fast hold of his shattered mind. Dock Vincent had produced the impression he desired; he had added fresh fuel to the flame of the old man's hatred; and he was content to let the subject drop for the present.

Dock, finding himself a person of no consequence at the Cape, had already announced his intention to emigrate to Australia with his family; and he appeared to be waiting only to wreak his vengeance upon Levi Fairfield, who had defeated his plan to swindle Mr. Watson out of twenty thousand dollars. The young man had exposed and ruined him, in his estimation--not the crime; and he could not leave the country till he had "paid him off," though he was not so particular about his honest debts.

The next morning Dock went down to the landing-place. When he reached the chasm, he saw Levi coming across the beach. His eyes glowed with hatred, as they always did when he looked upon the author of his misfortunes, the one whose testimony had sent him to the state prison.

He did not care to meet him, and it was evident that Levi was coming for his boat. Stooping down, he adjusted the plank over the chasm in such a way that his victim would be pitched down upon the sharp rocks beneath, the instant he stepped upon it. The fall would not kill him--it would only bruise and maim him. Levi was beneath the rocky precipice, and could not see him.

There was a smile on the villain's countenance as he retreated to a place of concealment near the spot, to wait for the disaster that should lay his victim upon the bed of pain and suffering.

He waited ten minutes for the crash of the falling plank; but it did not come. Rising from his seat, he moved to a position where, looking through the chasm, he saw The Starry Flag standing over towards Mr.

Watson's house. Levi had walked on the shelving rocks, and reached the landing without crossing the bridge. Dock was disappointed, and began to climb the rocks to readjust the plank. As he ascended, he discovered Mr. Fairfield, just stepping on the bridge. He shouted, but it was too late; the end of the plank slipped off, the old man danced upon nothing, and sank in the abyss below.

CHAPTER V.

AN INDUCTIVE ARGUMENT.

Dock Vincent was appalled to find that he had tumbled Mr. Fairfield into the chasm; not that he was disturbed by any compunctions of conscience, but because he wished to keep on the right side of the old man, from prudential motives. He was in doubt whether to exhibit himself to the injured man or not. If he showed himself, he might be suspected of setting the trap into which the miser had fallen.

The old man might be dead, and curiosity, if no stronger motive, induced him to inquire into his condition; but he took the precaution to reach the path by a roundabout way, and approach the chasm as though he had just come from his house. When he reached the abyss, he found Mr. Fairfield had risen, and was trying to climb up the rocks. He was groaning and taking on as though he had been badly hurt.

"What's the matter, Squire Fairfield?" demanded Dock. "What you doing down there?"

"O! O!" groaned the miser.

"Looking for your money in there?"

"O! No! O! I fell in," said the sufferer, in gasps.

"Fell in! Why, how did that happen?" asked Dock, with well-feigned astonishment.

"I donno. O! that plank gin away, O, and let me down."

"Are you hurt?"

"Most killed," replied Mr. Fairfield, holding his breath, and then exploding the words.

Dock walked down the shelving bank above the water, and then entered the chasm.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked.

"My hips is both broke, and I'm jarred e'enamost to pieces."

[Ill.u.s.tration: DOCK VINCENT'S VICTIM.--Page 54.]

"I guess your hips aren't broke; you couldn't stand up if they were,"

suggested Dock.

"Sunthin's broke, I know."

"Sit down on this rock, and let me see what is broke."

Mr. Fairfield complied, and Dock, who, as the master of a vessel, had had some experience with sickness and injuries, carefully examined the old man's limbs. He was badly bruised in several places, on the legs and arms, but no bones appeared to be broken, so far as Dock's surgical skill could discern. The jar of the fall had doubtless racked his frame severely; but the miser was still a strong man, physically, and could bear a pretty hard rap.

After resting a while, and rubbing his limbs, the sufferer was able, with the a.s.sistance of Dock, to walk home. He went to bed, and his wife bathed his limbs, and dressed the bruises on his legs and arms.

"Shall I go for the doctor, Squire Fairfield?" asked Dock, when he had a.s.sisted the patient into his bed.

"The doctor? No; he charges a dollar a visit," replied the old man, fearfully; for the idea of paying a physician's bill filled him with horror. "You say there ain't no bones broke; so I don't need no doctor."

"He don't need no doctor," added Mrs. Fairfield.

"I don't think you do myself. I've had worse cases than this aboard my vessel, and I got along without any doctors. You'll be all right in a week or two, Squire Fairfield."

"It's jest my luck," sighed the miser. "Everything's goin' wrong with me. I shouldn't be a grain surprised if the house burned down over my head afore I got out agin. I shan't ketch no dog-fish to-day, that's sartain. There's ten dollars out o' my pocket, as sure's you live!"

Dock was a rough comforter; but he spoke such words of consolation as the occasion required and his vocabulary contained.

"It's jest my luck," repeated the miser. "Every other man in town might have walked over that plank, and it wouldn't gin away. I walked over that plank last night, and airly this morning. I see, when I stepped on to it, that somebody had been a movin' on it; but I didn't know the 'tother eend was only just ketched on to the rock."

"Who moved it?" asked Dock, rather disturbed by this suggestion of a suspicion.

"I don't know nothin' about it; but somebody's been a movin' on it, or it wouldn't a gin away under me, and let me down."

"But who could have moved the plank?" persisted Dock.

"I donno; the eend I stepped on was kinder hauled up."

"You say the plank was all right in the morning, when you went down?"

"Sartin it was. I went over it, and fixed the dory, ready to go arter dog-fish, arter breakfast."