AN ACT OF FORGETFULNESS
It would be supposed that common gratitude would have filled the heart
of Jim McGovern after his rescue from death by the very lad whom he
had sought to injure, but when he returned to the tent, changed his
draggled garments, helped himself to strong spirits and began puffing
a cigarette, he was angered at seeing the smile on the face of his
companion.
“What’s the matter with you?” he growled.
“Nothing, only I think you and I ought to learn how to swim.”
“I don’t see any need of it,” replied Jim, who was in a savage humor.
“Then you won’t have to yell for Dick Halliard to help you out when
you tumble into the mill-pond.”
“He didn’t help me out; what are you talking about?” “He said so, and
you didn’t deny it.”
“It was _me_ that helped _him_ out,” was the unblushing
response of young McGovern, growing angrier every minute; “and I’m
going to get even with him.”
“Get even for what? For helping him out?”
“For lying about me; I don’t allow any chap to do that.”
“How are you going to do it, Jim?” asked Tom, glad of a chance to
tantalize his companion.
“Why, how do you suppose? I’ll lay for him.”
“Ah, that reminds me!” said his companion; “I forgot it until this
minute.”
“What’s that?”
“Why, when Bob started out this evening, he said he was going to do
that very thing—lay for young Halliard.”
“What’s _he_ got against him?” demanded Jim, resenting the idea
that any one should rob him of his anticipated pleasure.
“You heard what he said last night; Halliard holds himself so much
better than he that he feels it his duty to bring him down a peg or
two; he told me that while you and I took a stroll wherever we chose,
he would go down to Piketon to get some things at the store and before
he came back would fix Halliard.”
“I wonder if he did it before Halliard pulled me out of the pond—I
mean before I pulled him out.”
“If he did, it couldn’t have amounted to much, for he didn’t act like
a chap suffering harm. No, it must be that Bob has missed him; but
he’s likely to catch him on the way back. It’s so late that Bob must
be coming home, and he’ll be sure to meet the young gentleman and will
give him a laying-out that he will remember for years.”
Jim smoked a few minutes in silence. It is a principle of human nature
that if we do another a kindness we are apt to feel more friendly
disposed toward him than before, while the one receiving the favor is
inclined to resent it. His gratitude may overmaster this mean emotion,
but there is something in the thought of being under obligations to
another which is unpleasant, and results in stirring up emotions that
are no credit to us.
Jim McGovern could not forget that he was trying to injure an innocent
person when that person saved him from drowning. Had he not been thus
engaged, probably he might not have felt so ugly toward him. But his
situation was so humiliating, considered in all aspects, that he
looked upon Dick Halliard with more dislike than upon his bitterest
enemy.
“Tom,” said he, rising to his feet and flinging away the remnant of a
cigarette, “I aint going to stand it.”
“You are standing it this minute after sitting all the evening.”
“Stop trying to be funny; I’m going after that Halliard.”
“When—to-morrow?”
“No, to-night; right away.”
“Nonsense, it is very late; wait until to-morrow.”
“I can’t do it; I’m mad clear through; I’m off!”
He started toward the opening, but Tom sprang up and caught his arm.
“If you are bent on going take your weapons with you. There’s no
telling how badly you’ll need ’em.”
“No; I don’t intend to shoot anybody, but I mean to give that fellow
the biggest whipping of his life.”
“How are you going to manage it?”
“I can’t stop to explain. I’ll tell you when I come back;” and,
without saying anything more, the wrathful Ranger strode toward the
mill-pond, where he took the main path leading to the highway. As he
saw the gleam of the water he shuddered to recall how near he came to
death; but his evil nature had no room at that time for the sweet,
tender emotions that should have filled him.
At the moment of leaving camp he had fixed upon no clear method of
procedure, and he gave his meditations now to the best plan for
punishing his preserver.
“It’s easy enough,” he added, after walking a short way; “I’ll go to
the door and knock, and if it isn’t young Halliard that opens it, I’ll
ask for him, saying I must see him on something important. Then, when
I get him outside, I’ll jump on him. I can do him up before anybody
comes to his help. If he’s the first one to show himself, it’ll be all
the better.”
Bob had pointed out the modest little home of Dick Halliard that day,
while the three Piketon Rangers were returning from their call at
their leader’s house. Consequently McGovern had no trouble in finding
the place. He was surprised to observe the twinkle of a light from an
upper window, which he accepted as proof that Dick was in the act of
retiring.
I wonder whether, if he had known it was the light burning in the sick
chamber of his preserver’s parent, it would have restrained him from
pushing on with his scheme of revenge. I fear not.
Standing in front of the gate the Ranger spent several minutes in
making what might be called a reconnoissance.
So far as he could discover everything was silent and no one was
astir. It was the only house in sight, and the lamp, showing through
the curtain, was the solitary sign of wakefulness in Dick Halliard’s
home. No shadows passed in front of the light, and he wondered why it
was that all was so strangely quiet.
But the impressiveness of the hour did not deter the evil youth from
carrying out his purpose. He softly opened the gate and moved as
stealthily as a burglar along the short path leading to the front
door.
Here he paused a few seconds to make sure his plan would work
perfectly.
“When he shows himself, I’ll step back and ask him to come outside, as
I don’t want any one to hear me. I’ll get him to shut the door and
leave the porch; then when I’ve got him where I want him, I’ll let him
have a half-dozen right and left-handers, and run as hard I can down
the road. Nobody round here knows me and he won’t get a good look at
my face. If he does and makes a kick over it, I’ll prove an alibi.”
Nothing seemed amiss, and the expectant McGovern reached up his hand
to sound the old-fashioned knocker.
“More than likely it will be young Halliard himself that will come to
the door—gracious! I never thought of that!”
At that moment Bowser, the big bull-dog belonging to Dick Halliard,
having heard a slight noise in front, came trotting around the corner
of the house to see whether there were any tramps for him to devour.
Had Jim kept his place he would not have been molested, for Bowser was
too well trained to harm any one calling in the right way, and whose
appearance was not against him. But the instant the youth caught sight
of the ferocious canine, he did the very worst thing possible—he
started to run.
Bowser accepted this as proof that he was there on wrong business, and
he dashed after him like a runaway engine. Before Jim could open and
pass through the gate, the dog was nipping at the calves of his legs
with a vigor that compelled the terrified youth to yell at the top of
his voice.
Dick Halliard heard the shout, and, springing from his bed, threw up
the window and called to the animal to forbear. Bowser disliked to
obey, for he was just getting fairly at work; but he came trotting
back with his head down and a reproachful glance at his young master,
for having interfered at such an unlucky time for him.
Inasmuch as it is impossible to do justice to Jim McGovern’s feelings,
while making his way back to the tent in the woods, we will not
attempt to do so. Silence is the more eloquent under such
circumstances.