RAYTON:
_A BACKWOODS MYSTERY_
By THEODORE GOODRIDGE ROBERTS
_Author of "A Captain of Raleigh's," "Comrades of the Trails," "Red
Feathers," etc._
_Illustrated by
JOHN GOSS_
_BOSTON L. C. PAGE &
COMPANY MDCCCCXII_
_Copyright, 1910, by_
Street & Smith
_Copyright, 1910, by_
La Salle Publishing Company
_Copyright, 1912, by_
L. C. Page & Company
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, January, 1912
_Electrotyped and Printed by
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U. S. A._
[Illustration: NELL HARLEY]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE GAME THAT WAS NOT FINISHED 1
II. JIM HARLEY TELLS AN OLD STORY 17
III. DAVID MARSH DECIDES TO SPEAK--AND DOESN'T 33
IV. THE TRAPPER'S CONFESSION 46
V. DOCTOR NASH'S SUSPICIONS--YOUNG MARSH'S MISFORTUNE 61
VI. DAVID TAKES A MISFORTUNE IN A POOR SPIRIT 76
VII. MR. BANKS TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME 91
VIII. RAYTON GOES TO BORROW A SAUCEPAN 107
IX. RAYTON CONFESSES 122
X. RED CROSSES AGAIN 138
XI. AN UNFORTUNATE MOMENT FOR THE DOCTOR 154
XII. RAYTON IS REMINDED OF THE RED CROSSES 169
XIII. CAPTAIN WIGMORE SUGGESTS AN AMAZING THING 184
XIV. FEAR FORGOTTEN--AND RECALLED 200
XV. MR. BANKS IS STUNG 215
XVI. THE LITTLE CAT AND THE BIG MOUSE 230
XVII. AN ASTONISHING DISCOVERY 245
XVIII. DICK GOODINE RETURNS UNEXPECTEDLY 260
XIX. THE CAPTAIN'S CHARGE 275
XX. THE CHOSEN INSTRUMENT OF FATE 291
XXI. THE DEATH OF THE CURSE 302
XXII. IN THE WAY OF HAPPINESS 312
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
NELL HARLEY _Frontispiece_
"JIM HARLEY SNATCHED UP THE CARD" 5
"HE ADVANCED SLOWLY, PAINFULLY, A PITIFUL FIGURE" 72
"PLUNGED AT RAYTON, WITH HIS FISTS FLYING" 165
"'IT IS BECAUSE--BECAUSE I CARE SO FOR YOU--'" 201
"THEN HE HALTED AND RECOILED, CLUTCHING AT THE COLD WALLS!" 233
RAYTON:
A BACKWOODS MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
THE GAME THAT WAS NOT FINISHED
Samson's Mill Settlement had, for the past fifteen years, prided itself
on its absolute respectability; and then came Reginald Baynes Rayton,
with his unfailing good humor, his riding breeches, and constant
"haw-haw"--and corrupted the community. So it happened that five
representative men of the settlement, and Mr. Rayton, sat and played
poker one October night in Rayton's snug living room. They had done it
before--only last week, in fact--but the sense of guilty novelty had not
yet worn off. Only Rayton and old Wigmore were absolutely at their ease.
White beans had to do in the place of the usual chips. The standard of
play was very moderate--a one-cent _ante_ and a five-cent _limit_--but
it seemed reckless to some of those representative citizens.
"Jane questioned me pretty sharp, to-night," said Benjamin Samson, the
owner of the mill that sawed lumber and ground buckwheat for the whole
Beaver Brook valley; "but I give her a bagful of evasive answers. Yes,
sir-ee! I guess she suspicioned something. She's been kinder expectin'
me to fall from grace ever since she first married me."
"Haw-haw!" brayed Mr. Rayton. "Mrs. Samson is a clever woman. She knows
a bad egg, Benjamin, without having to break the shell."
The others chuckled.
"She ain't as smart as you think," replied Samson, awkwardly shuffling
the cards, "for at last I said to her, 'I'm goin' to see Rayton,' says
I. 'He's started a kinder lit'ry club for his male friends.' 'Then
you'll learn no harm from him,' says she, 'for I'm sure his morals is as
good as his manners. The way he lifts his hat to me is a regular treat.
_He_ knows what's my due, even if some other folks don't,' says she."
Five men, including Samson himself, roared at this; but Rayton's haw-haw
lacked, for once, its usual heartiness.
"Oh, come now," he protested shamefacedly. "It's not just the thing
to--to be making fun of a lady. Of course I raise my hat to Mrs. Samson.
Proud to do it, I'm sure; and I'm glad she appreciates it. Harley, you
are banker, I think. Pass me over fifty beans. Benjamin, when you've
finished shoveling those cards about--I don't call it shuffling--give us
a chance to cut for deal."
Jim Harley, a shrewd man of about thirty years of age, who farmed in the
summer and operated in the lumber woods, on a small but paying scale, in
the winter months, counted out beans to the company in return for
quarters and dimes. Samson shot the cards across the table, backs up,
and every one drew. Old Captain Wigmore won the deal. He brought the
cards together in a neat pile with one sweep of the hand, shuffled them
swiftly and skillfully, and dealt so fast as to keep three in the air at
once. It was a pleasure to watch him. Even Rayton was a fumbler with the
pasteboards beside him.
The six picked up their cards and looked at them, each in a way
characteristic of him. Honest Benjamin, catching sight of two kings and
feeling Doctor Nash's prying glance upon him, struggled to hide a smirk
of satisfaction that was too strong for him. Rayton beamed; but that
might mean anything. Old Wigmore's bewhiskered face expressed nothing,
as usual. The other visages showed hope or disgust as plainly as if the
words were printed across them. Discards were thrown to the centre of
the table, and Wigmore distributed others.
"What--?" queried young David Marsh, and immediately relapsed into
silence.
"What _what_?" asked Rayton.
"Oh, it will keep," replied Marsh.
"Davy wants to know if four aces are any good?" suggested the doctor,
winking at Rayton.
Benjamin Samson, torn with doubt, ventured three beans on the chances of
his pair of kings. That started things briskly; but on the second round
David Marsh went the limit. That brought things to a standstill, and the
pool went to David without a challenge; but he showed his cards for all
that.
"What I want to know is, who's marked this six of clubs?" he asked.
"That's what I began to ask, a minute back," he added, looking at Doctor
Nash.
"Four of a kind," murmured Samson enviously.
"But look at the six of clubs," urged Marsh. "Look at the two red
crosses in the middle of it, will you!"
All got to their feet and stared down at the card.
"What's it for?" demanded David Marsh. "If it was marked on the back,
now, it might be of some use. I've heard of such things."
"The marks weren't there last night," said Rayton, "for I was playing
patience with this very pack and would have seen them."
At that moment Jim Harley snatched up the card and held it close to his
eyes. "Hell!" he exclaimed. "The red crosses!"
[Illustration: "JIM HARLEY SNATCHED UP THE CARD"]
They gazed at him in astonishment, and saw that his face was colorless
under the tan. The stout, excitable Benjamin laughed hysterically and
fingered a pocket of his curving vest to make sure that his watch was
still there. He felt very uneasy; but perhaps Jim was only playing a
trick on them? That was not like Jim--but who can say what a man may not
do who has fallen to poker playing? Old Captain Wigmore shared this
suspicion evidently.
"Very amusing, James," he said. "You would have made a first-rate actor.
But suppose we go on with the game. Have you another deck,
Reginald--one that our smart young friend has not had a chance to monkey
with?"
"Do you mean that I marked this one?" cried Harley. "What the devil
would I do that for? Why, you--you old idiot, I'd sooner break my leg
than see----But what's the good of talkin'?"
Old Wigmore sighed patiently, sat down, and began to fill his pipe. The
others stared at Jim Harley in amazed consternation. They saw that he
was not joking and so thought that he had suddenly become insane.
"Yes, I quite agree with you, Jim," said Doctor Nash soothingly.
"Captain Wigmore is an old idiot, beyond a doubt, and it is a most
remarkable thing that the card should be marked with two red crosses.
Sit down and tell me all about it, like a good fellow."
"You go chase yourself, doc," returned the other unpleasantly. "You
think I'm off my nut, I guess; but I'm saner than _you_ are--by a long
sight."
"I never knew you to act so queer before, Jim," complained Benjamin
Samson. "You give me the twists, you do. Wish I'd stayed home, after
all. This card playin' ain't healthy, I guess."
"Have a drink, Jim. Something has upset you," said Rayton.
Harley accepted a glass of whisky and water. Then he sat down and again
examined the six of clubs, the others watching him keenly.
"Oh, of course it's all foolishness!" he exclaimed. "But it gave me a
turn, I must say--and it being dealt to Dave, and all that. Looked
queer, for a minute, I must say. But I guess Mr. Rayton just marked it
with red ink and forgot all about it."
Rayton shook his head. "Sorry," he replied, "but there's not a drop of
red ink in the house."
"Then some one else did it," said Harley. "It just _happened_, that's
all. No good in talking about it! Go on with the game, boys. I'll just
go home and get to bed."
"No, you don't, my son," cried Doctor Nash. "You'll just sit where you
are and tell us what all this rot is about. You've interrupted our game,
and now you have to explain things. You hinted that it was strange that
the marked card should go to Davy Marsh. Now what did you mean by that?
You've got something on your mind, I'll bet a dollar."
"I'm going home," repeated Harley firmly. "Are you stepping, too, Davy?
I want to have a word with you."
"Yes, I'll come," replied Marsh. He turned to the doctor and whispered:
"Safer to have somebody along with him, I guess. He don't seem himself,
to-night."
"I'm off, too," said Samson. "I don't feel right, I can tell you. Jim,
your queer actions has upset me. Wish I'd stayed quietly at home, with
Jane, and read last week's newspaper like a respectable Christian."
"I'm stepping, too," said the doctor. "It's my duty to keep an eye on
him, Rayton," he added, in an aside to his host.
The man who had caused the disturbance went over to Rayton and shook his
hand. His tanned cheeks had not yet regained the glow of health and
vitality that was usual to them.
"I guess I've broken up your party by my foolishness," he said, "and I'm
all-fired sorry. I wasn't myself, for a minute--nor I don't feel quite
right, even now. I don't know that I'm free to explain my actions. If I
am I'll let you know just how it was, next time I see you."
"Not another word, my dear fellow," returned Rayton. "I'm sorry you have
to go, of course--but don't worry about it. And hang explaining! Don't
tell me a word you don't want to. No doubt it's a private superstition
of some kind--or something of that sort. Why, there was my poor old
pater--and he was a parson--always got into a funk if three rooks
perched on top of his hat--or something of that kind. So I understand,
Jim. I'll look at the cards, next time, before we begin playing."
Reginald Baynes Rayton did not often say so much in one burst. It cost
him a serious effort.
"I believe you _do_ understand," said Harley gratefully. "You've shot
mighty close to the mark, anyhow. I guess you're smarter than some
people give you credit for, Mr. Rayton."
It was not until four of his guests had been sped into the night with
kindly words, that Rayton realized Jim Harley's tactless but well-meant
remark.
"Hah-hah!" he laughed. "That was too bad. Hah-hah!"
"What are you braying about, now, Reginald?" asked old Wigmore, who
still sat at the table, smoking his pipe and gazing at the scattered
cards.
"A joke of Harley's. It was quite unintentional, I think," returned
Rayton.
The old man shot a keen glance at the other from under his shaggy
eyebrows. "Those marks on the card seemed to hit him hard," he remarked.
"I can't make it out. He is a prosperous, steady-going chap, without any
crazy notions or troubles, and very clear-headed, I have always heard.
Now, why should two red marks on the six of clubs cause him to make a
fool of himself? It was young Marsh, I believe, who had the card dealt
to him."
"Yes, David Marsh got the card," replied Rayton.
"Then why didn't he raise a row, if there's anything terrible in those
marks?"
"It did not mean anything to him, evidently; but I'd swear it did to
Harley. I've heard of such things at home in England. I don't take any
stock in them myself."
"Neither do I. But it's queer that the marks should have been there."
"Yes," said Rayton, and stepped over to the table.
"You needn't look for the card," said the old man. "Nash took it away
with him. Last fall he tracked a moose across a plowed field, and he has
considered himself something of a detective ever since."
The young Englishman laughed with a preoccupied note. He stood in front
of the open stove, warming the seat of his London-cut breeches.
"It is queer that those marks should be there," he said, "but it is
still queerer that they should put Harley in such a wax. Suppose _I_ had
put the crosses there, for instance--well, the thing would be just as
queer, wouldn't it? A knowledge of how the marks got on the card would
not explain Harley's behavior."
"You are right," returned the old man dryly. "And Harley was right, too,
when he said that you are not such a fool as the people of Samson's Mill
Settlement think you."
Rayton laughed frankly.
"You spoke of not having a drop of red ink in the house; but you did not
mention--to me, at least--a drop of anything else," continued the other.
"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Rayton. "This mystery has quite muddled
me. I'm awfully sorry, really."
He bustled about and placed a bottle of whisky, a jug of fresh water,
and two glasses on the table.
"Don't apologize, Reginald," said Wigmore, with a thin smile. "It is not
often you forget to offer hospitality. The fact is, you are a bit too
hospitable. You'll be giving away the clothes off your back next--even
those elegant looking pants, perhaps."
"Oh, come now!" remonstrated the younger man, pulling at his
straw-colored mustache, and grinning sheepishly.
"You must have a pot of money, Reginald," said the other.
"Heavens! No!"
"Then why did you give all that tea and sugar to that old squaw, Molly
Canadian--and two barrels of potatoes to Frank Gorman?"
"How do you know that?" cried Rayton, astonished.
The captain helped himself to whisky. "I keep my eyes about me," he said
complacently. "I know pretty much everything that goes on 'round this
settlement."
"Then I wish you knew the secret of Jim Harley's queer behavior
to-night--and how that card came to be marked," replied Rayton.
The old man laughed aloud--a thing that was rare with him. "That is
asking too much," he said. "I'm not a wizard, Reginald. But I venture to
say that, if I gave my mind to it, I'd have the mystery entirely solved
before that Smart Alec of a Nash has so much as picked up the right
scent."
"I quite believe you," returned Rayton. "Do you know, captain," he
added, smiling frankly, "I wonder at your living in this place. You seem
to be--if you'll pardon my saying it--of quite another world than these
simple people."
"And what about you, Reginald?"
"Oh, I'm just an ordinary chap. Came out here to farm--and here I am.
All this suits me to the tick--working in the fields, fishing, feeding
cattle, and moose shooting. But you are not a farmer, and why you should
have selected Samson's Mill Settlement to live in, after the life you
must have lived, beats me. You have no relations here. I can't
understand it, captain."
Old Wigmore got to his feet, his gray beard aquiver with anger. "Really,
sir," he cried, "what business is it of yours where I choose to live?
Damn it all!--really, I did not expect you, at least, of prying into my
affairs. Where are my hat and coat? Thanks for your whisky--which might
be better--and good night to you."
"Oh, I say! Don't go, captain!" cried the good-natured Rayton; but the
old man had already stepped briskly from the room. In another moment,
the door banged behind him.
"Now that's too bad, really," soliloquized the Englishman. "Gad! I
wouldn't have offended him, intentionally, for fifty dollars. But he is
a cranky old Johnny, I must say."
He filled his pipe, cleared the cards from the table, and sat down
before the crackling stove. Old Wigmore's show of temper soon gave way,
in his mind, to the more startling and mysterious events of the evening.
The marks on the card were strange enough; but the way in which the
sight of those marks had affected Jim Harley was altogether
extraordinary. It was not what he would have expected from Harley--or
from any one in the settlement, for that matter. The incident smacked of
the Wild West of fiction rather than of the real backwoods of New
Brunswick. And Harley was such a sensible fellow, too; hard-working,
prosperous, with a fine wife, two children, and such a delightful
sister. Yes, a charming sister! And yet he had flown clean off the
handle at sight of two little red marks on the face of the six of clubs.
Really, it was preposterous! Idiotic! Perhaps the poor chap was ill--on
the verge of a nervous breakdown from overwork? Or perhaps some silly
old superstition was to blame for the distressing incident?
"Well, it beats me to a standstill," he murmured, at last; "but I think
Jim Harley will feel like a fool when he wakes up to-morrow morning and
remembers what an ass he has made of himself. I hope the other fellows
have kept him from making a scene at home and frightening that fine
little sister of his--or his wife, either, of course."
Then Mr. Rayton closed the drafts of the stove, fastened doors and
windows, and went upstairs to bed.
In the meantime, Jim Harley had walked up and down the country roads for
an hour and a half before he had convinced Doctor Nash and Benjamin
Samson that he was not insane, not feverish, and not to be forced into
an explanation of his remarkable behavior at Rayton's. They went off to
their homes at last, Samson disheartened, Nash sarcastic. Then Harley
turned to young David Marsh.
"Davy," he said, "I don't want you to think I have gone cracked in the
upper story; but I can't tell you, just now, why I've been acting so
queer to-night. I got a scare--but I guess there's nothing to it.
Anyhow, I want you to keep clear of my place for a day or two--to keep
clear of Nell."
"What's that!" exclaimed Marsh indignantly. "Keep clear of your place,
is it? What the devil is the matter with me--or with you? You think I
ain't good enough for your sister, do you--because you've got some money
and I haven't. Damn your place!"