GUARD'S PRISONER
At the sound of Guard's voice, regardless of caution, and waiting only
to raise the hammer of the rifle that I held ready in my hand, I ran
forward. Guard evidently had his eyes on me, although I could not see
him; his yelps ceased for an instant to break forth with redoubled
energy as I came within sight of him. He was standing over a heap of
rubbish, into which he was glaring with vindictive watchfulness, but
with one alert ear bent in my direction and the tip of his bushy tail
quivered in joyful recognition as I advanced toward him. Before
reaching him, however, I had found my bearings, as the hunters say,
and knew the locality. Still, the place had an unfamiliar air. It was
a minute or two before I saw the cause of this; then I missed the one
thing that particularly designated the spot, setting it apart to that
extent from many similar places. I had not seen the lonely, secluded
little park more than two or three times in all the years that we had
lived so near it, but whenever I had seen it, hitherto, a hunter's
shack, long abandoned, had stood on the farther edge of the opening.
It had always seemed on the verge of falling, and, as I neared Guard,
I saw that this was the thing that had happened: the cabin had
collapsed, and, more than that, Guard had run something to earth under
it.
The dog's excited yelping, now that relief was at hand, was
ear-splitting, but his vigilant watch did not for an instant relax.
"What is it, Guard--have you got a wildcat in there?" I panted,
breathlessly, halting beside him. "Well; you just wait, now; we're
going to get him this time!" So speaking, I cautiously trained the
muzzle of the rifle on the spot that his vigilant eyes never left off
watching. Then I cast a hasty glance around. If half the wildcat
stories that I had been hearing of late were true, it would be well
to have some place of retreat to fall back upon, in case the cat,
proving obdurate, should decline to die easily. Fortunately, as I
thought, there was a large pine tree close at hand; it was, indeed,
immensely large. I could no more have swarmed up that scaly trunk, had
I flown to it for protection, than I could have spread out a pair of
wings and flown to its topmost branches. In my excitement, I never
thought of that, nor of the equally unpleasant fact that wildcats are
expert climbers. Sure that the refuge at hand would suit, I dropped on
one knee, training the rifle-muzzle into a crevice between a couple of
fallen logs, and sighting along the barrel. I could see nothing, but,
with my finger on the trigger, I was prepared to fire whether I
sighted the enemy or not. Guard drew back, silent, now, but trembling
with excitement.
[Illustration: "HOLD ON, I AIN'T NO WILDCAT!" (Page 306)]
"Hold on!" cried a voice from the rubbish heap, "I ain't no wildcat!"
The voice was shrill and sharp with terror, but I knew it instantly
for that of Jacob Horton. The rifle slipped unheeded from my nerveless
hand, while Guard, since there was evidently to be no shooting,
resumed his former post and growled menacingly.
"Why--why," I stammered, "if you are not a wildcat--if you are a
man--I thought you had gone to town!"
"Gone to town!" the voice, losing its tone of terror, degenerated into
a snarl. "I've been here all night. I've met up with an accident. I'm
pinned down under a log, and that infernal dog of yours has stood and
growled at me all night; I ain't dared to say my soul was my own."
"I don't believe that any one else would care to claim it."
The words broke from me involuntarily. I had the grace to feel ashamed
the minute they were spoken. Guard's prisoner answered my unfeeling
observation with a groan, and I looked reproachfully at Guard, who
returned the look with a hopeful glance of his bright eye and wagged
his tail cheerfully. I think that he quite expected to receive orders
to go in and drag his fallen enemy out to the light of day. Realizing
that as a general thing Guard understood his own business I forbore to
reproach him, at the moment, for having treed or grounded Mr. Horton.
"Are you badly hurt?" I inquired, falling on my knees before the
crevice, and trying to catch a glimpse of the victim of an accident.
"I do' no's I'm hurt in none of my limbs," was the cautious reply,
"but I'm covered with bruises, and I'm pinned fast. I couldn't 'a' got
away if I hadn't been, for that brute was determined to have my life.
Turn about's fair play; we'll see how he comes out after this!"
Clearly, the victim's temper had not been improved by the night's
adventures, and it was easy to see that he had made almost no
effort at all to escape from a position which, although certainly
uncomfortable, had the great advantage of keeping the dog at bay. I
thought of the Land Office in Fairplay and of the business that was
probably being transacted there at that moment, and resolved to give
Guard the whole of the roast that was left over from yesterday's
dinner when we reached home again.
"Ain't you even goin' to try to help me? Goin' to let me lay here an'
die?" demanded the angry voice from under the ruins.
"Oh, no, certainly not. I'll try to help you out. I guess you've been
here long enough," I replied, cheerfully.
"Huh! I should think I had been here long enough. This night's work'll
prob'ly cost me thousands of dollars--but I'll have that whelp's life
when I do git out; that's one comfort."
For a wicked instant I was tempted to turn away and leave our
unrepentant enemy where he was. The impulse passed as quickly as it
came, but I am not ashamed to confess that before setting to work to
try to extricate the prisoner I threw my arms around Guard's neck and
hugged him ecstatically. "It's all right; we're safe!" I whispered in
his ear, as if he could understand me--and I am not sure to this day
that he could not. Then I began tugging away at the rotten pieces of
wood that, fallen in a heap, formed a rough sort of wickiup, under
which Mr. Horton reclined at length. It was a pretty hard task, for
some of the timbers were heavy enough to tax all my strength; but an
opening was made at last, and through it Mr. Horton slowly crawled
into the light. He was compelled to advance backward, after the manner
of the crawfish, and as he finally got clear of the ruins and
staggered to his feet, he was a most disreputable-looking figure.
Apart from a good many scratches and bruises, he did not seem to be
injured in the least. The timbers had fallen in such a way that their
weight did not rest on him. His scowling face, as he turned it to the
light, was further disfigured by several long scratches and by a dry
coating of blood and dirt. His coat--the coat, again--was torn, his
hat gone, and his bushy iron-gray hair stood fiercely upright. The
change from the semi-darkness of his place of imprisonment to the full
light of day partially blinded him, and he stood, blinking and winking
for a full minute after getting on his feet; then he apprehensively
examined his arms and legs.
"I reckon there ain't none of 'em broken," he said at last,
grudgingly. "But it's no thanks to that dog of your'n that I ain't
chawed into mince-meat--confound you!"--this to Guard, who was
sniffing inquiringly at the legs of his late quarry. The words were
further emphasized by a vicious kick, which, missing its intended
victim, did astounding execution on something else.
We were standing, at the moment, on a drift of leaves that had lain
inside the hut. Mr. Horton's vigorous kick sent a shower of these
leaves flying in all directions, and disclosed, half hidden beneath
them, a large, square, leather-bound volume, on which my eyes rested
in amazed recognition, while Guard, with a bark of delight, took his
station beside it, wagging his tail joyfully.
I looked at Mr. Horton, whose face, under its mask of blood and dirt,
had turned the color of gray ashes. He began to back slowly away
toward his horse.
"Wait!" I cried; "I want you to tell me--you must tell me, Mr. Horton,
what you were doing last night. How came Jessie's dictionary here?"
"Jessie's dictionary?" His voice rose in a shrill cry, that made me
jump, and drew a warning growl from Guard.
I thought of the window beside Ralph's crib, that Jessie so stoutly
averred she did not leave open, and light dawned upon me. "Yes!" I
repeated, sternly, contempt for the wretch before me overcoming all
fear; "Jessie's dictionary." I had, by this time, picked up the book.
Mr. Horton extended his hand toward it; and his tone was almost humble
as he said:
"Let me see it."
When the book was in his hands, he turned over the leaves, examining
them with evident surprise and bewilderment. Finally:
"It is a dictionary, ain't it?" he said, feebly, and repeated, under
his breath. "It is a dictionary!"
"You thought, when you opened the window last night, and stole it off
the ledge, that it was the Bible, with our family record in it, didn't
you?" I recklessly inquired. But Mr. Horton was past being angry.
"Yes, I did," he said, making the admission as if still dazed.
"And you left the window open?" I went on.
"Yes, I did. The dog took after me--the dog has been hot on my trail
from first to last, it 'pears, and you ain't been fur behind him."
"No," I admitted, glancing at his torn coat, from which the upper
button was still absent, "I don't think I have. I even have a bit of
your property as a reward for some of my work. There's a button
missing from your coat. I found it."
"Where?" Mr. Horton inquired, in a low voice.
"Under the window that you are so fond of visiting; the one that you
started the fire under some weeks ago."
Mr. Horton stirred uneasily, and again glanced toward his horse. "You
think I lost the button there, do you?"
"I know you did."
Mr. Horton did not dispute the statement. He had dropped down on a
log, after the discovery of the dictionary, as if his knees were too
weak to sustain him. He looked at Guard, and then at me, studying us
both for a full minute.
"You make quite a pair of detectives, you and the dog," he said. Then,
suddenly, he rose to his feet, his bunched up figure straightened, he
lifted his head, as one might who had inwardly made some strong
resolve, and I felt, with a curious kind of thrill, that a new
atmosphere enveloped us both.
Quite irrelevantly, as it then seemed to me, some words that father
had spoken many weeks ago, came into my mind: "They all tell me," he
had said, "that Horton's as good a friend as one need ask for, once
let him be fairly beaten at his own game." Could that be true? Surely,
if ever a man was fairly and very badly beaten, this one was. The
result had been brought about, in a measure, by his own blundering,
but it was none the less effective for that. If he would but
acknowledge it--if he would cease to persecute us! At the very thought
of such a thing as that the world seemed suddenly to grow radiant. I
had not seemed to realize before how much of our trouble, our unspoken
apprehension and dread of impending calamity was due to this man.
"Say," Mr. Horton suddenly exclaimed, looking squarely in my face for
the first time, "I reckon I've been making an everlastin' fool of
myself long enough!"