While the Rain Fell
Watson, his feet on the table and his pipe alight, glanced across at
Smythe, who was standing before the window. It was evening, and the
falling rain made soothing, swishing music against the pane and upon the
low roof of the Bridgetown store. Watson watched the storekeeper
speculatively. At last he spoke.
“I told you we were playing a losing game,” he growled, “and here we are
waiting like a pair of trapped fox for the end. A mighty shrewd pair
we’ve been, to be sure. This double game don’t go, Smythe. I’ve played
it all my life—and what have I got by it? Nothing—absolutely nothing.”
Mr. Smythe smiled a faint smile and smoothed his hair with a thin hand.
“I will admit it looks as though we have been a little indiscreet,” he
returned. “That last move of ours was foolish—very foolish; but,
Thomas, we had to protect ourselves, and—ahem! we had to do what
Simpson wished. Otherwise——”
“Do you think I would have let that cur lay a finger on that little
girl?” cried Watson. “Look here, Smythe, I may be a cheat and a villain,
but I tell you I’m not all bad. Simpson’s threat that he would tell
Hallibut everything didn’t frighten me. But, drunken fool I was—and you
were too—to think that those Bushwhackers could be forced into yielding
up their rights through fear for the safety of the girl. Bah! it makes
me sick to think of what a fool I’ve been.”
“And I,” murmured Smythe; “I too, Thomas.”
Watson made a jesture of disgust.
“Yes, you, too. Well, what are we going to do about it? Of course, the
Colonel will go over to Bushwhackers’ Place, now the trail is clear.”
“He will likely go as soon as he can,” said Smythe in a low voice. “If
the weather hadn’t stopped him from going before now——”
“But there’s nothing to stop him now,” broke in Watson. “The trail’s
clear, as you know, and winter is about spent. Cursed one it has been,
too,” he added with a shiver.
Smythe came over and sat on the edge of the table. He picked up a fork
and toyed with it thoughtfully. At length, his light eyes shifting about
the room, and his voice softened almost to a whisper, he said:
“The dear Colonel is taking a big chance in visiting Bushwhackers’ Place
now. It’s almost suicide for him to attempt it.”
Watson glanced at the speaker and wiped his face on his hand.
“I wish there was some way to prevent his going,” he returned, “—if
only for a day or two. We’ve got to get out of here—that’s all.”
Smythe crept over to the window and pulled down the blind. The rain was
falling heavily now and the wind had risen to a roar that shook the
solid structure.
“My friend,” he smiled, “kindly invite our guest up to the
council-chamber.”
Watson bent and lifted a heavy trap-door in the floor.
“Come up, Satan,” he commanded.
In another instant a man’s head and shoulders were thrust through the
opening and Amos Broadcrook swung himself up into the room. He stood
squinting his good eye at the candlelight and rolling a quid of tobacco
from one side of his cadaverous mouth to the other. The man’s cheeks
were sunken and his whole attitude was one of abject fear.
“They ain’t comin’, be they?” he asked with a shudder. “You ain’t givin’
me up t’ them, men, be you?”
“Amos,” spoke Smythe, “playing ground-hog for over three months has used
you up. I guess a glass of whiskey wouldn’t come amiss, would it?”
“Whiskey,” whispered the wretched man; “be I goin’ t’ get whiskey? I
need it now if I ever did. What noise be that?” he asked, gripping
Watson’s arm with trembling hand.
Watson shook off the hand and said something in an undertone. Broadcrook
drank the whiskey which Smythe brought him and sank upon a stool.
“When are you goin’ t’ let me go?” he asked eagerly. “It’s rainin’ now,
and the snow’ll be gone by mornin’. Oh, men, let me go t’-night,” he
begged cringingly.
Mr. Smythe raised him gently and patted his shoulder in a fatherly way.
“Amos,” he chided, “you must be a man. You must bear up, my poor fellow.
Aye, truly but ‘conscience doth make cowards of us all.’ You should
strive to bear up under the burden, Amos.”
Broadcrook rolled his eyes about the room.
“I ain’t sayin’ as I’m sorry fer anythin’,” he growled, “an’ I ain’t
sayin’ as I wouldn’t like t’ do more ner I have fer some o’ them
Bushwhackers neither. It’s ’cause I’m scared Hallibut ’ll get me that
I’m shaky, and besides, old Noah’s ghost has been ha’ntin’ me again.
Gimme more whiskey an’ I’ll be all right.”
Watson poured out more of the spirits, and Amos drank greedily.
Watson’s eyes sought Smythe’s.
“They will be hunting you soon, Amos,” he said. “Colonel Hallibut has
sworn to run you down. He says he will put his dogs on your track.”
“Lor’,” shuddered Amos, taking his head in his hands.
Smythe edged closer and whispered:
“We have ascertained that he will go to Bushwhackers’ Place before
putting the dogs on you. Perhaps he wants something of yours to give the
dogs a scent.”
Broadcrook lifted his haggard face.
“An’ he’s goin’ t’ Bushwhackers’ Place?”
He sat nodding his big head up and down, evolving some wicked plan in
his slow-working brain.
“If I start away to-night I kin get across th’ border afore he kin let
th’ dogs out,” he said eagerly.
Watson shook his head.
“You couldn’t make it in four days, not in this weather,” he asserted.
“Besides, you’d leave a track that anybody could follow. Those dogs are
swift and they would have you in two days if you tried that way.”
“When d’ye think Hallibut’ll be goin’ over?” asked Amos, standing up.
The liquor had steadied his nerves and he spoke in his old voice.
Smythe shrugged his shoulders.
“A man from St. Thomas was in to-night,” he said slowly. “He says the
trail was pretty well blocked yesterday. We know Hallibut will go as
soon as it is possible for him to do so, and we know this rain means a
clear trail to-morrow. Also,” he added sinisterly, “we know that
Hallibut will surely call here on his way over, and that he is taking
his life in his hands by going at all.”
“Do you think he’ll get shot?” asked Amos.
“No danger,” said Watson. “You know what the Bushwhackers are like,
Broadcrook. It was over three months ago they made that threat. They
will never fire on the Colonel now.”
Smythe was walking to and fro, his hands in his pockets, his slippered
feet padding the floor with a soft tread like that of an animal.
“Of course,” he explained, his face smiling and his eyes on the floor,
“Mr. Watson and I both know that the Bushwhackers threatened to kill
Colonel Hallibut. But,” lifting his head and clasping his claw-like
hands together, “let us hope that a Higher Power will guide his
footsteps aright, even though his action in visiting those people is
suicidal to a degree.”
Watson made a wry face and relit his pipe.
Smythe continued to pace up and down, his lips moving as though in
prayer. Broadcrook sat huddled up in his chair, his great hands gripping
each other.
“I orter go back home jest for some things I left as I should have,” he
said craftily. He flashed a look from one to the other of the men, then
his gaze fell. “I’d sorter like company on account o’ the wolves. I
ain’t sayin’ as I’d go along with Hallibut, ’cause I know too much fer
that. But I could foller him like an’ keep close an’ he’d be company fer
me without knowin’ it.”
He settled lower in his chair, and Watson spoke.
“You will make tracks as fast as God’ll let you out of this country, and
if you get away safe it’s more than you deserve. A pretty pickle you’ve
put us in! Now, then, swear you’ll get for the States and never show
your face in these parts again, or down there in that hole you stay
until you can’t tell anything you know. See?”
Watson took a roll of greenbacks from his pocket and held it up.
“When you’re ready to swear that you never heard Smythe here suggest
anything, and that you will go where we want you to go—it’s yours.”
Amos glared up and opened his mouth as though to voice a protest, but at
sight of the money settled back trembling.
“Be you goin’ t’ give me the money as you promised?” he asked, looking
at Smythe and pointing to the bills.
“As soon as you confess that you were lying when you said I hinted
anything to you.”
“Course I was lyin’,” said Amos with a leer. “You never told me t’ do
nuthin’. You hear me, Watson,” he cried, “Smythe thar never told me what
I said he did; I were lyin’.”
“Heaven forgive you, as I do,” murmured Smythe.
“Gimme the money,” cried Amos. “I promise to get across the border right
smart.”
“I think,” said Smythe, taking the greenbacks from Watson’s hand and
counting them slowly, “I think we had better give you the money,
Amos—all but the sixty dollars coming to me for three months’ board,
and allow you to go in hiding in the cellar again. When the dear Colonel
comes, which I am sure he will very soon now, you will wait until he has
left for Bushwhackers’ Place, then you will bid good-by to this place
forever. No one will miss you, Amos, because you have no friends—but
that is your own fault. You will always have a troubled conscience for a
companion, but that is also your own fault. Remember, if you are
caught——”
Mr. Smythe slipped his long fingers about his thin neck and winked his
watery eyes.
“If you are caught, it’s all up with you, Amos.”
Broadcrook arose, his gaunt face twitching.
“Gimme another drink and I’ll go down in my hole again,” he said
hoarsely. “You call me arter Hallibut has been here and gone. I wanter
get away inter the States. You’ll let me have a rifle, won’t you, men?”
he begged. “I’m scart o’ the wolves—they’ve been bad this winter.”
Watson wheeled upon him.
“You swear you won’t shoot anybody,” he said.
“Haven’t I enough t’ answer fer?” groaned the wretch.
“All right, then, you can have the rifle.”
Then the trap-door fell, and Watson, resuming his seat by the table,
looked at Smythe.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
Smythe shivered and glanced about him.
“You haven’t anything to hold you here, have you?” asked Watson. “This
place is mortgaged for all it’s worth—and you owe for everything in the
store, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“I think we will not tempt Providence by remaining much longer,” said
Smythe. “We’ll flit to some far-off land and begin life anew.”
“And it won’t be a partnership affair, either,” said Watson.