PLOTTING
It was two days after that Dod Hunter appeared at the clearing. Agnes
was busy outside the house at the hominy block; it took a deal of
hominy these days to satisfy so large a family.
“Park Willett here?” asked Dod, abruptly.
“No, he is not.” Agnes paused in her work and came forward.
“Humph!” ejaculated Uncle Dod. He looked at her sharply and appeared to
be considering something.
“Isn’t he at your house?” Agnes asked anxiously. Dod shook his head.
“He left here on Tuesday,” Agnes went on. “Tuesday evening just before
dark. I saw him get into his boat about sundown; he was going to your
house from the other side. Did you come around that way?”
“No, I come by the ford.”
“It is very strange, for he told me he would be staying at your house
till his own was ready for him.”
Dod moved uneasily in his saddle, then he slipped down and led the
horse away some distance. “Come here, Nance,” he said, “I’ve got
to look into this. You ain’t the faintin’ kind, I know, but there’s
something wrong, I’m satisfied. Now, don’t look so skeered; I reckon
we’ll get at the bottom of it. Is there anybody about here that ’ud be
likely to be an inimy o’ hisn?”
Agnes shook her head. “No one that I know of. He never seemed to have
any very intimate friends, but he is always pleasant to everybody, and
I think nearly every one has a good word for him.”
Dod wagged his head again. “Nobody want to rob him o’ anythin’?”
Agnes paused before she answered. She thought first of the miniatures,
but who would want such purely personal things? Then like a flash
came a thought of the will. Parker carried that. Humphrey Muirhead
knew it would be in his possession. “There is something,” she said
breathlessly; “it is the will, Uncle Dod, my grandfather Muirhead’s
will. Mr. Willett has that and Hump Muirhead knows it.”
Uncle Dod made an exclamation and said something under his breath.
“You’ve hit it, girl. Trust a woman’s wits. I’m glad I tackled you
first. You’ve hit the nail on the head. I’ll bet my shirt he’s up to
some sort of scheme to get that will. I remember he told me about it.
That’s good, too, fur I can testify to that. Oh, we’ll outwit Hump
Muirhead, don’t you fear.”
“What do you suppose he has done?”
“Kidnapped him, likely.” He brought his fist down with a thump into the
palm of his hand. “I’m an ijit! Why didn’t I think of that before?”
“What?”
“I heerd a pack o’ horses go by in the middle o’ the night. They turned
into Muirhead’s woods. I heerd some one say, ‘Keep quiet, boys, can’t
ye?’ I’ll bet it was them.”
“Where do you suppose they have taken him? Will they hurt him?”
“Reckon not. They’re after the will. I rayther think Hump’ll take him
to his place and hide him somewheres, drug him maybe, and get holt o’
the will, then he’ll brazen it out that there wa’n’t none, an’ never
had been.”
“But we’ve all seen it.”
“Don’t make no difference; he’ll say that it’s a scheme to defraud him,
an’ he’ll bring a lawsuit, an’ ef they ain’t no proof, likely he hopes
to win it. It’s jest like his contrivin’. Oh, I know Hump Muirhead from
A to izard. But we’ll get a holt o’ him. I will count on my boys. Jimmy
O’Neill at home?”
“No, he’s gone to the village.”
“Lemme see, then. Your father don’t count. Who’s nearest?”
“David Campbell; but he was going away to-day.”
“I’d like to scare up somebody like Jimmy, but with my three boys an’
any one else I may chanst to git a holt of, I reckon we’ll down ’em. I
don’t reckon they was more’n half a dozen in the pack. I kin count Hump
Muirhead’s gang on one hand. Well, Nancy, I’ll be off, the sooner the
better. S’posin’ you don’t say anything about this to yer mother. She’s
new here an’ don’t know the didos these here backwoodsmen kin cut up;
besides it’s part her affair, an’ Hump bein’ kin o’ hern, it might make
her feel bad. Kin ye keep yer mouth shet?”
“I should hope so,” Agnes returned proudly.
“’Pears to me land’s plenty enough not to be making such a hot fuss
about that place o’ Muirhead’s. Why don’t he give it up peaceable? Big,
heavy man like him could easy start an’ clar up another place in no
time. I believe in fightin’ fur my rights, but I’ll be switched if I
believe in bullyin’ wimmin folks. I declar, gal, ye look whiter’n my
old hoss. I’ve skeered ye good, hevn’t I?”
“I’m not scared, except--except for Mr. Willett. I feel as if that
Muirhead wouldn’t stop at anything.”
“Blest if she ain’t right,” said Dod to himself, but he put on a
cheerful face and said, “Don’t ye cross no bridges till ye come to ’em.
I’m off now, and I’d be willin’ to bet ye a pretty that Park’ll be
settin’ in my house inside o’ twenty-four hours. Keep yer mouth shet,
remember.” And he rode off.
Agnes, with palpitating heart, stood for a moment powerless. Then she
rushed to the house. “Mother,” she said, trying to speak calmly, “do
you mind if I go across the river to Hunter’s for a while?”
“So soon ready to leave your mother?” replied Mrs. Kennedy. “Ah, but
youth does love change.”
“It isn’t that I love change, but there is--it may be that I am needed
there.”
“Anybody sick at Hunter’s?” asked Polly, putting down the huge horn
spoon she held. “Didn’t I see Uncle Dod come in just now?”
“Yes, he was here, and some one is--perhaps--,” faltered Agnes. “It
really seemed important that I should go and see what is the matter.”
She gained courage as she went on.
“Oh, well, if it is a case of sickness, of course go,” her mother
returned, “but I really think Polly or I would be of more use.”
“But I might have to stay, and can be spared better than either of you.”
“That is true. But you will not go alone? Is Mr. Hunter waiting for
you?”
“Nothin’s goin’ to hurt her,” said Polly. “She’s used to runnin’
wild, ain’t ye, Nancy? She knows this country like a book, an’ it’s
no distance to Dod’s once ye cross the river, though it’s a good bit
furder if ye go around.”
Agnes had not waited to hear the last words. She was conscious that she
had misled her mother, and that it would grieve her who always set a
value upon the exact truth. “But I must go, I must,” she murmured to
herself. “I didn’t think to tell Uncle Dod, and I think I could maybe
tell the tale better than any one else, I who saw it all.”
She ran toward the hilltop, then down on the other side to the river’s
bank. Here she had last seen Parker standing. “Ah me, if he be but
safe,” she whispered. “Oh, my dear, my dear, if we can but save you. ‘I
will be as happy as you will let me,’ he said, and I was so glad, so
glad.” She had no difficulty in finding the little skiff always drawn
high up into the bushes; dragging it down she soon had it afloat, and
plied her oars with all haste. More than once had she rowed across, and
her strong young arms found it an easy task. Once on the other side she
made no tarrying, but struck off into the bridle-path, and was soon at
Dod Hunter’s gate. There were four men standing in the yard; a fifth
was just coming from the house.
“Nancy Kennedy! I’ll be switched if it ain’t the gal,” said Dod, as
Agnes appeared upon the scene. “What’s up?”
“I’m going to Muirhead’s with you.” One of the men turned and looked
at her. Agnes recognized him. He was Dr. Flint, a friend of Parker
Willett’s, and she remembered his history. A man well born, well
educated, but one who had been wild and dissipated, and who had drifted
west where he led a reckless, irregular life, sometimes practising
medicine, sometimes living for months among the backwoodsmen. Finally
he made the fatal error of giving a wrong medicine to a man who was not
on very friendly terms with him. When the man died, though Dr. Flint’s
friends knew that he was dazed with drink when he made the mistake,
an angry crowd of the dead man’s companions charged him with doing it
purposely. Dod Hunter, Parker Willett, and one other kept the crowd
at bay till they had convinced them of their injustice, and had swung
their sympathies around toward Dr. Flint. After this he would never
prescribe for any one. He did not object to practising surgery, and
he had kept perfectly sober for several years. Dod Hunter and Parker
Willett could claim any service from him, as well they might, since he
owed his life to them. Agnes remembered all this sad story, and was
glad to see the man there. She knew his devotion to Parker, and knew
that nothing would stand in the way of his defence of him.
As the doctor eyed her sharply Dod Hunter gave him a nod. “Friend o’
Park’s,” he said. “Good little gal. I shouldn’t wonder if Park was
sweet on her.” Then to Agnes who had not heard the aside, “So, lass,
yer ready to jine the s’arch party, are ye?”
“I am going to Muirhead’s.”
“What for?”
“To see Humphrey Muirhead and tell him who saved his little boy. If I
can’t see Hump, I will see his wife and tell her and make her promise
to tell her husband.”
Dod nodded approval. “Good scheme, but maybe it won’t work, and we
ain’t no full proof that he’s got Park.”
“It will do no harm if he hasn’t.”
“That’s true, too. Come along, then, if you want to go with us. We’re
not likely to have a pitch battle before we git there, and a gal that
has fit Injuns ain’t goin’ to squeal at sight of a gun. Will ye hoof it
or shall I git ye a hoss?”
“I’ll go as you do. I should think you would know that,” Agnes replied
with some asperity. “It’s not the first search-party I’ve gone with,
Uncle Dod. You know I was with them when they found my father.”
“Sure enough. I mind their tellin’ me of it at M’Clean’s. Start on,
boys.” The rescuing party set forth, but there was no sign of a human
being to be seen in any of the haunts to which the Hunters led them.
“I shall go to the house,” Agnes declared her intention, “and you may
come with me or I will go alone, whichever Uncle Dod thinks best.”
The men debated the proposition. “I don’t know as it would be well to
let Muirhead know we have wind of the thing,” said Dod Hunter, “but I
have my doubts about it’s bein’ the right thing for us to let a gal go
up there alone.”
“I’m not afraid, if that is all,” Agnes said.
“It ain’t whether you’re afraid,” said Jerry, “but I reckon four
good-sized men ain’t a-goin’ to see a gal do what they hev a right to.
I say we all go.” And his proposition was acted upon.
Meek little Mrs. Muirhead came out to meet them, and with a frightened
air replied to the questions put to her. No, Hump wasn’t at home; he
had gone off the night before, hunting, he said; had come back to
breakfast, and then had ridden in the direction of Mayo’s.
“Was he alone?” asked the doctor.
“When he went to Mayo’s? Yes.”
“No, I mean when he came in this morning.”
Mrs. Muirhead twisted her fingers nervously and looked furtively toward
the house. “No, he wasn’t,” she informed them in a low tone. “There was
half a dozen men with him. They were in the house for a while.” She
saw them coming, but they went in the front way, and Hump had told her
to keep away, that if she dared to disturb them or go into that room
where they were, she’d never go in there again. He didn’t mean that, of
course; he often talked so, but she thought she’d better keep out of
any fuss. They went away later; she heard, but did not see them, and
after Hump had his breakfast he went, too, but the door was bolted and
locked.
“When will he be back? Did he say?” questioned Agnes.
“Oh, soon.”
“We will wait, then.”
Mrs. Muirhead nervously asked them to come into the kitchen, an
invitation which Agnes and the doctor accepted. “We’ll keep watch
outside,” said Dod Hunter, in an undertone.
Agnes responded by a nod. The girl looked pale and tired from her long
tramp and from the strain put upon her, and she gratefully accepted the
drink of milk which Mrs. Muirhead timidly proffered her guests. The
three or four little children stood around open-eyed. Honey, with a
cry of joy, had run to Agnes, and she took comfort in sitting with the
child cuddled up to her.
“That’s his daddy’s favorite,” Mrs. Muirhead informed them. “He sets
great store by Honey, and went on like a wild creetur when he thought
he was drownded. I’m sure we all never expected to see him again, and
I’m in hopes some day I kin git over to Mis’ O’Neill’s and tell her how
thankful I am to him and her for taking care of him.”
Agnes was too perturbed to talk much. She listened for the least
sound. Every stir of a leaf seemed to her tense nerves to indicate the
approach of a horse. “I feel sure there is some one in that room,” she
said in a low tone to the doctor when Mrs. Muirhead stepped out for a
moment.
“Is there no way to get in from above?” he asked.
“No, the only stairway leads to this room.”
“Does your father always lock the door of that room when he goes out?”
asked the doctor of one of the children.
“No, only sometimes,” was the reply.
“How is it fastened?”
“It is bolted on the side this way, and locked on the other.”
The doctor sauntered out, and in a few minutes Agnes followed. She
found the doctor examining the door from the outside. “That’s a pretty
strong lock,” he said. “I thought perhaps we could see through the
window, but there is a heavy shutter, and it is closed tight. I suppose
if we break in we can be accounted burglars.”
“I’m willing to try it,” returned Agnes. “As matters stand this
property belongs to my mother, anyhow. I’ll try if you will.”
For answer the doctor drew a small case of instruments from his pocket,
and selecting one he prepared to cut away around the lock. There was a
subdued movement inside. Agnes clasped her hands. “Oh, hurry, hurry,”
she cried. “Let me help.” And by degrees weaker and weaker became the
barrier, and finally the door was forced open. In the dim light of the
room was seen upon the floor a man’s form. He was tied hand and foot.
“It is Mr. Willet! It is Parker!” cried Agnes, rushing forward.
“Open that other door and get some water,” ordered the doctor, as he
felt the cold face of his friend. Agnes obeyed. The children came
flocking in. Mrs. Muirhead stood anxiously upon the threshold, not
daring to go farther.
Presently the doctor lifted Parker to his feet, but at the same moment
a voice thundered, “Touch that man and I’ll shoot him dead!” And
turning, they saw in the doorway Humphrey Muirhead’s dark countenance
distorted with rage. The man was levelling a pistol at his prisoner.
As Agnes caught sight of the vindictive look, it seemed as if she might
be sure that Humphrey’s revenge would stop at nothing short of murder,
and, catching up little Honey, she interposed his form between that of
Parker Willett and the enraged man in the doorway. “Fire, if you dare!”
she cried. And the pistol dropped to Humphrey Muirhead’s side.
At the same moment Dr. Flint exclaimed, “Good heavens, man! would you
commit murder to accomplish your ends?”
Humphrey Muirhead wheeled around upon him. “You’re here, are you? You
talk of murder? What are you? If you had your deserts, where would you
be? There is fine set of you, your righteous partners who begged you
off, and yourself; all of you deserve to swing for cheating justice.”
The doctor turned as white as a sheet, and then with a cry of rage
sprang forward, but a firm hand held him back. “Now look here, Hump
Muirhead,” said the voice of Dod Hunter, “you’re too free with your
talk. I’d like to know what you’ve got against Dr. Flint and Park
Willett. Nothing at all, except that they are better men than you are.
You great, overgrown, hulking coward--No, I’m not afeard o’ ye; if I
had been, I’d not lived your neighbor all these years. I reckon ye
won’t pick crows with me. I know ye too well. Now, Nancy, you say your
say; there’s nothing dreadful goin’ to happen.” And drawing up a chair
before the open door, Dod Hunter seated himself, with his rifle across
his knees.
Parker Willett had been looking from one to the other in a dazed way as
though he only half understood what was going on.
“He’s been drugged,” declared the doctor. “He will be all right after
a while, Miss Agnes. Let him lie there on the bed.” Agnes still
stood with the child clinging to her neck, her mother’s half-brother
glowering at her.
“Just suppose you hand over that pistol, Hump,” remarked Dod Hunter,
blandly; “it’s not going to be of any use to you just now. Shucks!
man, but you do let your temper git a terrible holt on ye,” as the
discomfited Muirhead turned toward his neighbor with a savage grinding
of his teeth, but with no movement toward giving up his pistol.
“Here, Tom,” called Dod, to one of his sons, “Hump wants you to holt
his pistol awhile.” And the pistol dropped to the floor with a crash,
but fortunately was not discharged in the fall.
“You’re dreadful keerless, Hump,” Dod said smiling, “that might hev
sent ye to kingdom come.” And picking up the pistol he handed it to his
son.
“I’ll have it out of every one of you for breaking into my house,”
snarled Humphrey. “Here, you, what are you staring at? Take those
young uns out,” and he turned menacingly to his wife who retreated to
the back room, the children straggling after her, all but Honey, who
refused to leave the arms which held him.
“Shucks! Hump, I’d like to know if nabbing a man ain’t as bad as
breakin’ into a house. Perhaps you’ll call it quits on that,” suggested
Dod.
“Who said I nabbed any one?” questioned Humphrey.
“Park Willett was found bound and drugged on your premises.”
“What proof have you that I did it?”
“Oh, well, when it comes to that, I suppose there isn’t anything more
than the fact. I suppose he might have done it himself just for fun,
might have crawled in through the keyhole and tied himself up to see
how it would feel.”
“How do you know he is not a criminal, and that I am acting for the
law?”
Dod Hunter put back his head and laughed. “That’s a good un! What’s he
done accordin’ to your idea of it?”
“He attempted my life.”
“For why? I reckon most any man that’s set upon at night by a passel o’
ruffians is goin’ to fight for his freedom, his life, and anythin’ else
he wants to keep. You might as well give in, Hump.”
“If it’s a life for a life,” said Agnes, “perhaps you don’t know who
saved Honey from drowning and brought him back.” She turned to her
uncle.
“It was Jimmy O’Neill.”
“It was Jimmy O’Neill who first saved him, but it was Parker Willett
who rowed out when the raft was going to pieces, and who, at the risk
of his own life brought Jimmy and Honey ashore, and it was he who found
out where Honey belonged and brought him to Uncle Dod’s.”
Humphrey’s head dropped.
“That’s all so, Hump,” Dod said. “Park’s modest, and wouldn’t let me
tell it, but insisted on Jimmy’s having all the credit.”
“If I’d ’a’ known that,” muttered Hump--then he growled out “but he’s
got a forged will.”
“A forged will? Who says so?”
“My father left this place to me.”
“Who says that? And who has forged the will?” asked Dr. Flint.
“Them Kennedys; they hashed it up between ’em.”
“They did, did they? You seem to know a great deal about it. Suppose
you question Jimmy O’Neill. I think he’d be able to tell a different
tale,” said Dod.
“Jimmy O’Neill?”
“Yes, it was he who brought the will to us,” Agnes informed him.
“Didn’t Mr. Willett tell you that?” she asked.
“He told me some cock and bull story about a will being made in an
Injun camp, as if anybody’d believe that.”
“It is true, anyway,” declared Agnes. “Have you the will?”
“No,” the man growled, “the fool didn’t have it, after all. He’d have
been set free by night if you’d ha’ let him be. I don’t see why you
made all this fuss.”
“Well,” said Dod, “there’s an old sayin’ about givin’ a dog a bad name,
ye know, an’ we thought it was time Park was comin’ home.”
Parker, who was now sitting up with his head in his hands, looked up
drowsily. Agnes went toward him. “Have you the will?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “No, I gave it to some one. I’m so sleepy I can’t
talk.” His head dropped again.
“It is strange where it has gone, then,” said Agnes, “for I know he had
it when he left us; he told me so.”
“Well, I ain’t got it, worse luck,” snapped Humphrey.
“Then it don’t seem to me that there’s any use our settin’ around
here,” said Dod. “As long as Park ain’t got nothin’ about him that ye
want, ye’ll be willin’ we should take him home. Mebbe ye’d like us all
to turn over any little thing we’ve got about us. Ye’ve mistaken yer
callin’, Hump, ye’d ought a hev ben a pirate.”
Muirhead turned on him in impotent rage, but Dod only laughed in his
face. “I’ve not done with this yet,” said Humphrey. “I’ll admit I ain’t
nothin’ agin Willett, specially as he saved my boy, an’ I thank him fur
that act o’ hisn, but I’ve no call to be friendly with them Kennedys.”
“Your niece here took keer o’ the young un like a mother, an’ gave him
up with tears in her eyes even when she knew he was yours.”
“What’s her tears to me! She’d no right to the boy; he’s mine. Maybe
they’ll be tryin’ to steal him next.”
“Ah, but yer a black-hearted scoundrel, Hump Muirhead,” said Dod, in
wrath. “I’ve a mind to take a turn at givin’ ye a good lambastin’. I’ve
threatened myself to do it this many a day, an’ I’d ha’ done it before
now if ye hadn’t bore yer father’s name, pore misguided lad that he
was.”
Humphrey’s fist doubled up, but Dod faced him with a careless contempt.
“Yer day o’ reckonin’s cornin’,” he went on, “an’ I’m a-settin’ waitin’
fur it. Come, lads, we’ll git out o’ this. I hope the next time we’re
under this roof it’ll be to call on Mrs. Fergus Kennedy. Walkin’s the
best thing to rouse Park, so bring him along, Doc, you an’ Tom.” And
he marched out without further ado.
At the threshold Agnes darted back to give Honey a parting kiss, and
to say good-by to Mrs. Muirhead, who was shrinking away from the
back door. The little woman was trembling with excitement. She held
something under her apron, and after a furtive look around, she drew
it forth and thrust it into Agnes’s hand. “Hide it, hide it,” she said
in an excited whisper. “It dropped when they were bringing the man in,
and I picked it up.” And Agnes thrust into the bosom of her jacket the
little flat box belonging to Parker Willett.