THE VOODOO CHARM
The crucial point of the game had been in that first half of the
eighth. Before the inning was over the Blue Stockings had discovered
the weak points of the substitute pitcher, and hammered out three runs.
In the beginning of the ninth Locke proved invincible on the slab, and
the game ended with the Big Leaguers in very good humor again.
Lefty glanced curiously about for Savage. The busher was nowhere to
be seen, so the southpaw led the crowd at a lope back to the hotel.
Turning into Main Street, he saw ahead of him the lanky figure of
Kennedy, striding along at a speed plainly evincing some fixed purpose.
He had left the field before the finish of the game. That in itself was
significant.
“Something doing,” murmured Locke.
Quickening his pace, he entered the lobby almost on the manager’s
heels. The first person his eyes rested on was Savage, lounging against
the desk, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from one corner of his
mouth. Kennedy walked straight up to him.
“You can pack up,” he said. “There’s a train out at three. Don’t miss
it. If you’re hanging around this town to-morrow there’ll be something
happen that you won’t forget. Get me?”
The busher exhaled a cloud of smoke and surveyed Kennedy defiantly from
under drooping lids.
“I ought to,” he drawled. “You talk loud enough. Supposin’ I don’t care
about leaving? You don’t happen to own this hotel, and――”
Half the witnesses thought the manager was going to knock Savage down.
The look upon Kennedy’s face must have awed the insolent man, for he
hesitated an instant before adding slowly:
“Oh, very well. I hadn’t any idea of staying. I was just interested in
finding out how far you’d go.”
He took a step or two toward the stairs; then, with the lithe quickness
of a panther, whirled and strode over to Lefty. The latter’s muscles
tensed, ready for an attack. Savage stopped abruptly, scarcely a foot
away, and thrust out his face until his baleful, hate-filled eyes were
separated from Locke’s only by inches.
“Maybe you think you’ve pulled off a clever stunt in getting me fired,”
he said in a voice that quivered with passion. “But I’m going to get
you, and get you good and plenty!”
“Why don’t you start something?” Lefty invited. “So far you’ve managed
to duck every time. Just kick in now, and see what happens.”
“Too easy!” sneered the busher. “I’ll play the game my own way, and
I’ll put it across on you, bet your sweet life!”
Wheeling, he hurried toward the narrow hallway out of which the stairs
led. As he turned the corner, he collided with a negro boy just coming
through the door.
“Get outa my way!” he snarled.
A blow of his open hand sent the boy spinning, and Savage passed on,
leaving behind a feeling as if a tornado had swept through the lobby.
For a second the negro cowered against the wall. Then, with a
frightened whimper, he ran straight for Lefty, catching the southpaw’s
sweater tightly in both hands.
“Doan let him git me, mistah!” he gasped, his voice shaking with
fright. “Doan let him tech me! Ah’ll done be turn inter a stone, or
suthin’! Ah――Ah knows dat man, mistah! He――he am de dibbil hisself――wif
horns!”
A glance only was needed to show that the boy was half crazed with
fear. His face had turned a mottled gray, his eyes rolled, his teeth
were chattering like castanets. Locke put aside an impulse to get
after Savage and chastise him then and there, and gave his attention to
calming the negro.
“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “I won’t let him touch you.” A
sudden recollection brought a glint of curiosity into his eyes. “You’re
new in the hotel, aren’t you?” he went on. “How do you come to know
anything about that man?”
“Ah――Ah knowed him ’fo’ I cum hyer, boss,” was the hesitating reply.
By this time Dalton, Ogan, Jack Stillman, and several others had
gathered around. Lefty glanced at the reporter, with uplifted eyebrows,
and turned swiftly back to the boy.
“Where was that?” he asked. “Tell us about it. You needn’t be afraid of
him,” he added, as the boy glanced fearfully toward the stairs. “He’s
going away from here in a hurry.”
“Dat ain’t nuffin’,” sighed the boy. “He put de ebil eye on me jes’
de same.” His eyes grew round and large; his voice sank to an awed
whisper: “He’s frien’s wif ole Mammy Bunce, ober de ribber. She done
give him a voodoo chahm. Wif dat an’ his ebil eye he do anythin’ he
want. He make a hoss jump clean across de ribber. Ya-yassir, he done
it.”
“What!” ejaculated Lefty, in amused surprise. “Why, you young sinner,
you――”
“Fo’ de Lawd, mistah, thass gospel!” protested the boy earnestly. “Ah
done seen him do it. Ah was ridin’ Marse Liv’mo’s roan to de blacksmif
along down ribber――de hoss Mistah Tet’ridge want fo’ to buy. Marse
Liv’more wouldn’t go fo’ to sell nohow, an’――”
“Tethridge!” interrupted Locke suddenly. “Who’s he?”
“He am de gemman dat’s train’ hosses for de big race over to Marse
Liv’mo’s.”
Lefty’s eyes narrowed the least bit as he remembered that the name
of the Englishman who had been Savage’s companion that wintry day on
the train was Tethridge. He also recalled something Dalton had said
about an Englishman who was entering a couple of horses in the race at
the county seat two days hence. It began to seem as if there might be
points of interest in the boy’s fantastic tale.
“All right,” he said briefly. “Go ahead.”
“Ah was ridin’ de roan down ribber,” resumed the youth, “when Ah meet
up wif dat man. Ah see him at Mammy Bunce once, an’ Ah was pow’ful
sca’t. When he stop an’ look at me wif dem debbil eyes, Ah was sca’t
worse. He say to me: ‘Boy, dat hoss am gwine to jump across de ribber;
better git off.’ But Ah’s so sca’t Ah jes’ couldn’t move noways. Den he
comes up close, his eyes gettin’ bigger an’ bigger, lak dey was gwine
jump out’n his haid an’ bite me. Woo! He doan’ say nothin’ mo’, but I
git outa de saddle an’ he jump on. Seems lak Ah couldn’t do nothin’ but
jes’ stan’ dere an’ watch him. He rid straight down to de ribber, an’
jab de roan wif his heels, an’――whiff!――over de ribber dey goes, clean
to de odder side――one jump!”
A snicker went round the circle, and several of the men lounged off,
chuckling at the boy’s infinite capacity for lying. Dalton and Stillman
remained with Locke, however, to see if there might be any further
developments.
“And when you woke up the horse was gone?” Lefty inquired skeptically.
“Yassah. Ah’s jes’ tellin’ you-all dat he jump de ribber.”
“Are you sure he jumped, or did you only dream it? How about the
tracks? Did they lead down to the water?”
“Ah――Ah didn’t stop fo’ to look. Ah’s so sca’t dat man might come back
Ah jes’ run an’ run. Ah didn’t dare go back to Marse Liv’mo’s wifout no
hoss, so I hangs aroun’ down to Holt Ferry fo’ right long time, an’ den
comes up hyer, an’ Majah Hol’cum done hire me.”
“How long ago did this happen?” inquired Lefty.
“Ah doan rightly ’member, boss, but Ah reckon close on three
weeks――mebbe fo’.”
Locke hesitated an instant, his face thoughtful. Then he shrugged his
shoulders and smiled.
“All right, Snowball,” he said carelessly. “Chase yourself, and don’t
worry about this devil of yours. We won’t let him swallow you.”
With a voluble burst of thanks, the boy scuttled out of the room. Locke
turned back to his two companions.
“Some imagination there, eh?” chuckled Dalton.
“Wish I knew what it was founded on,” muttered the reporter
thoughtfully. “He’s evidently met Savage somewhere, and has been
thoroughly scared. Do you suppose that blackguard could really have
stolen a horse, Lefty? Of course that jumping-the-river stuff is all
bunk, but it looks to me as if the kid had been hypnotized by our
two-sided friend.”
“Oh, I guess he’s quite equal to anything,” the southpaw returned.
“Between three and four weeks ago would place it just before the
training season opened, and make it possible for him to be there.
Moreover, this Tethridge, who was so anxious to buy the roan, was
chumming with Savage the first time I laid eyes on the latter up North.
You can take that for what it’s worth, Jack.”
“Jove!” exclaimed the newspaper man, his eyes brightening. “Looks as
if there might be more to that Arabian Nights tale than you’d think at
first. Isn’t it up to us to find out from Livermore whether the horse
was stolen, and――”
“You can do anything you like, but cut me out.” Locke’s tone was a bit
heated. “I’m sick of the sound of the name of Savage. I’d be thankful
if I knew I was never going to hear it again. What’s more, with the
bunch moving on so soon, I haven’t the least intention of getting mixed
up in any criminal cases and being held here for weeks, perhaps.”
He wheeled and made for the stairs without further delay, leaving
Dalton and the reporter alone.
“Right off the bat!” the former grinned. “Say, Jack, what about that
voodoo dope the kid was giving us? Anything to it?”
“You’ve got me,” said Stillman. “I happen to know that there is an old
black woman across the river with a reputation for holding talkfests
with his satanic majesty. Whether Savage kicked into the game or not I
can’t say.” They turned to follow the southpaw. “I reckon Lefty’s right
about it,” he went on regretfully; “but after what he did to-day I’d
certainly like to put that Savage proposition where he couldn’t play
anything but solitaire for a while.”