"Get her out, and keep her out," Blaze rumbled. "She ain't right; she
ain't--human. Why, what d'you reckon I saw her do, the other day? Makes
me shiver now. You remember that big bull-snake that lives under the
barn, the one I've been layin' for? Well, you won't believe me, but him
and her are friends. Fact! I saw her pick him up and play with him.
WHO-EE! The goose-flesh popped out on me till it busted the buttons off
my vest. She ain't my kind of people, Paloma. 'Strange' ain't no name
for her; no, sir! That woman's dam' near peculiar."
Paloma remained unmoved. "I thought you knew. She used to be a
snake-charmer."
"A--WHAT?" There was no doubt about it. Blaze's hair lifted. He blinked
through his big spectacles; he pawed the air feebly with his hands.
"How can you let her touch you? I couldn't. I'll bet she carries a
pocketful of dried toads and--and keeps live lizards in her hair. I
knew an old voodoo woman that ate cockroaches. Get shed of her, Paloma,
and we'll fumigate the house."
At that moment Mrs. Strange herself opened the kitchen door to inquire,
"Is anything wrong?" Misreading Blaze's expression for one of pain, she
exclaimed: "Mercy! Now, what have you done to yourself?"
But the object of her solicitude backed away, making peculiar clucking
sounds deep in his throat. Paloma was saying:
"This is my father, Mrs. Strange. You and he have never happened to
meet before."
"Why, yes we have! I know you," the seamstress exclaimed. Then a
puzzled light flickered in her black eyes. "Seems to me we've met
somewhere, but--I've met so many people." She extended her hand, and
Blaze took it as if expecting to find it cold and scaly. He muttered
something unintelligible. "I've been dying to see you," she told him,
"and thank you for giving me Paloma's work. I love you both for it."
Blaze was immensely relieved that this dreaded crisis had come and
gone; but wishing to make assurance doubly sure, he contorted his
features into a smile the like of which his daughter had never seen,
and in a disguised voice inquired, "Now where do you reckon you ever
saw me?"
The seamstress shook her head. "I don't know, but I'll place you before
long. Anyhow, I'm glad you aren't hurt. From the way you called Paloma
I thought you were. I'm handy around sick people, so I--"
"Listen!" Paloma interrupted. "There's some one at the front door." She
left the room; Blaze was edging after her when he heard her utter a
stifled scream and call his name.
Now Paloma was not the kind of girl to scream without cause, and her
cry brought Blaze to the front of the house at a run. But what he saw
there reassured him momentarily; nothing was in sight more alarming
than one of the depot hacks, in the rear seat of which was huddled the
figure of a man. Paloma was flying down the walk toward the gate, and
Phil Strange was waiting on the porch. As Blaze flung himself into view
the latter explained:
"I brought him straight here, Mr. Jones, 'cause I knew you was his best
friend."
"Who? Who is it?"
"Dave Law. He must have came in on the noon train. Anyhow, I found
him--like that." The two men hurried toward the road, side by side.
"What's wrong with him?" Blaze demanded.
"I don't know. He's queer--he's off his bean. I've had a hard time with
him."
Paloma was in the carriage at Dave's side now, and calling his name;
but Law, it seemed, was scarcely conscious. He had slumped together;
his face was vacant, his eyes dull. He was muttering to himself a
queer, delirious jumble of words.
"Oh, Dad! He's sick--sick," Paloma sobbed. "Dave, don't you know us?
You're home, Dave. Everything is--all right now."
"Why, you'd hardly recognize the boy!" Blaze exclaimed; then he added
his appeal to his daughter's. But they could not arouse the sick man
from his coma.
"He asked me to take him to Las Palmas," Strange explained. "Looks to
me like a sunstroke. You'd ought to hear him rave when he gets started."
Paloma turned an agonized face to her father. "Get a doctor, quick,"
she implored; "he frightens me."
But Mrs. Strange had followed, and now she spoke up in a matter-of-fact
tone: "Doctor nothing," she said. "I know more than all the doctors.
Paloma, you go into the house and get a bed ready for him, and you men
lug him in. Come, now, on the run, all of you! I'll show you what to
do." She took instant charge of the situation, and when Dave refused to
leave the carriage and began to fight off his friends, gabbling wildly,
it was she who quieted him. Elbowing Blaze and her husband out of the
way, she loosed the young man's frenzied clutch from the carriage and,
holding his hands in hers, talked to him in such a way that he
gradually relaxed. It was she who helped him out and then supported him
into the house. It was she who got him up-stairs and into bed, and it
was she who finally stilled his babble.
"The poor man is burning up with a fever," she told the others, "and
fevers are my long suit. Get me some towels and a lot of ice."
Blaze, who had watched the snake-charmer's deft ministrations with
mingled amazement and suspicion, inquired: "What are you going to do
with ice? Ice ain't medicine."
"I'm going to pack his head in it."
"God'l'mighty!" Blaze was horrified. "Do you want to freeze his brain?"
Mrs. Strange turned on him angrily. "You get out of my way and mind
your own business. 'Freeze his brain!'" With a sniff of indignation she
pushed past the interloper.
But Blaze was waiting for her when she returned a few moments later
with bowls and bottles and various remedies which she had commandeered.
He summoned sufficient courage to block her way and inquire:
"What you got there, now, ma'am?"
Mrs. Strange glared at him balefully. With an effort at patience she
inquired: "Say! What ails you, anyhow?"
Jones swallowed hard. "Understand, he's a friend of mine. No damned
magic goes."
"Magic?"
"No--cockroaches or snakes' tongues, or--"
Mrs. Strange fingered a heavy china bowl as if tempted to bounce it
from Blaze's head. Then, not deigning to argue, she whisked past him
and into the sick-room. It was evident from her expression that she
considered the master of the house a harmless but offensive old
busybody.
For some time longer Blaze hung about the sick-room; then, his presence
being completely ignored, he risked further antagonism by telephoning
for Jonesville's leading doctor. Not finding the physician at home, he
sneaked out to the barn and, taking Paloma's car, drove away in search
of him. It was fully two hours later when he returned to discover that
Dave was sleeping quietly.