GAMES--ABOVEBOARD AND OTHERWISE
The homestead of the Ducats consisted partly of the original
structure of great pine logs and partly of a more modern erection of
sawn frame and shingles, the two joined securely end to end. The
kitchen was in the old part, and it was to the kitchen that Flora led
her vanquished brother and his conqueror. Here they found the mother
and the two grandfathers, to whom Mark described the battle without
exaggeration or reservation. The girl with green eyes corroborated
his statements, and Jim Todhunter maintained a modest silence.
"Did ye stand idle an' see yer brother bested by a stranger?" cried
Mrs. Ducat.
"Sure I did," answered Flora.
"An' rightly, too," said old Archie McKim.
"I ain't kickin'," said Mark, good-humoredly. "I asked for it."
"But you kicked then, an' he didn't," retorted Flora.
"It's the way we fight in the woods," said Mark to Jim.
"What's that?" asked old McKim, with a cupped hand behind his good
ear.
"Footin' it in a fight," replied Mark. "Throwin' the foot."
"A French trick," said Mr. McKim.
"An' what of it?" cried old Hercules Ducat. "What's agin it, Archie
McKim? Ain't a man's foot as much his own as his hand? French, d'ye
say! Wasn't Black Dave Davi'son a Scot? An' didn't he use his feet?
Wasn't he the wickedest fighter on the river? An' he done it all
with his feet an' his teeth. But one fine day he drummed his heels
on my chest, an' I up an' hove 'im clear acrost the roof o' Widdy
Mary McElroy's smoke house--an' he never fit agin."
"Black Dave Davi'son!" cried old Archie, his snow-white whiskers
vibrating with scorn and excitement. "_Him_ a Scot! He was five
quarters Madawaska French an' four thirds Tobique Injun. Reckon I'd
oughter know! Didn't he chaw my ear once when him an' me was
courtin' the same girl over to Kingswood Settlement?"
"An' but for the Ducats with their Injun blood an' good buckwheat
pancakes an' roasted moose meat, all this here Scottish gentility
would have starved to death an' froze to death a hundred years ago
an' more."
Jim looked at Flora in amused embarrassment, and old Hercules saw it.
He sat back in his chair and chuckled derisively.
"She be easier on the eye to goggle at nor her gran'pas," he said,
ignoring old Archie. "She gits her looks from the Ducats, as ye kin
see. But ye'll find more divil nor gentility in her afore ye've
knowed her much longer."
"Grandpa Ducat always talks like that after he's lost at cards,"
explained the girl, seeing Jim's embarrassment. "I guess Grandpa
McKim's been trimming him this afternoon."
"Yer dead right!" said old Archie. "I took eighty-six cents offen
'im since dinner."
Mark lay down until supper was ready. Upon his return to the kitchen
he said that he felt as spry as ever. He didn't look exactly right,
however. His nose was swollen, his lower lip was puffed and cut and
one cheek was skinned and bruised. Peter and Sam Ducat arrived home
from burning brush in the back pasture within a minute of Mark's
reappearance. Mark made the introductions.
"This here's Jim Todhunter, the Yankee dood who's livin' with the
Hammonds," he said.
The three shook hands heartily. Then Peter Ducat stared at his son,
stepped closer and stared again.
"What the jumpin' tarnation hev you been hammerin' with yer face?" he
asked.
"Jim's fists," answered Mark. "I hammered them real hard, but I
didn't do 'em much hurt, I guess."
Then he repeated the story of the fight, without dissembling. His
father and his uncle listened with keen attention, glancing
frequently from the speaker to the silent guest, their tanned faces
and dark eyes expressive of changing emotions.
"I told ye so!" exclaimed Peter. "I warned ye. Now when I was Cock
o' the River, afore the rheumatiz put a crimp into me, I allers sized
a stranger up--meanin' a man from outside--afore I give 'im the dare
to fight. Cuffin' logs an' the like o' that's different, for there's
ony one best way at that game an' that's the way we do right here on
Racket River--but there's a dozen ways o' fightin'. Yes, a dozen
ways an' maybe more, an' a man wants to be danged careful how he
jumps into a scrap with a stranger."
"Where'd ye larn _yer_ way?" asked Sam of Jim.
"At school," replied Jim modestly.
"Hah! Hark ye to that, now!" cried old Archie McKim. "Ain't I
allers been tellin' ye the vartues o' eddication? But ye didn't heed
me. Oh, no! Reckoned I didn't know! Wouldn't go to school, laughed
at book-larnin'. Serves ye damn well right!"
"Hell! An' it was the girl we sent downriver to school!" exclaimed
Peter Ducat, looking at his wife.
Supper was a success. The food was plentiful and good. Conversation
was general and lively. Mark ate and talked as well as any one and
showed no chagrin over his defeat. The grandfathers argued, told
stories of their youth and prime and constantly contradicted each
other. The mother was kept busy with urging everyone to eat and
drink and with bringing more food from stove and pantry to the table.
The father and uncle talked of the river and the woods and their
adventures.
Supper was over by seven o'clock, and no sooner was the table cleared
than a knock sounded on the door and Melchior Hammond entered the
kitchen. He was cordially received by all the Ducats.
"So here you are!" he said to Jim. "I'm supposed to be half-way to
Bird's Corner this very minute on business. But as I ain't due back
to Millbrook till to-morrow night or nex' day everything'll be
hunkydory. Keep that in yer mind will ye, Jim, Bird's Corner. If
the old man knew I ever come here he'd sure think I played cards, an'
then little Mel would be cast out."
"I'll remember," said Jim. "I'm not telling on you."
"But ain't ye both on the same log, far's that goes?" queried Uncle
Sam Ducat.
"Who, Jim here?" returned Melchior. "Not on yer sweet life! Jim
don't give a hooray what the old man thinks of him or says to
him--nor what any one else says or thinks, I guess. Why, he told pa
where he got off at the first minute they met an' has been doin' it
ever since. But what's wrong with yer lip, Mark? An' yer nose?
They're all puffed up."
"Zat so, Mel?" returned Mark. "Puffed up, hey? Somethin' wrong with
them, hey? They suit me all right. I wouldn't swap 'em for no other
lip nor nose on this river. Take another look, Mel, an' then if
ye're still in the same mind about 'em--if ye don't like their
looks--tell me about it an' step outside an' see if ye kin fix 'em
for me."
"Oh, if that's how ye're feelin', they look fine," answered Mel. "If
they suit you, they suit me. I got one hour an' then I'll have to
move along, for I left the mare down at the Fork. What about a
little game?"
"I'm agreeable," said Sam. "Five cent ante, as usual, hey?"
"When I was a young man a-sparkin' round an' a-courtin' the girls, I
didn't uster waste my time with the men an' the cards," said old
Archie McKim.
"Yer dead right, Archie," retorted old Hercules Ducat. "Ye was too
danged scart o' losin' a dollar! Courtin' was cheaper!"
"Maybe it was in them days," laughed Melchior, pulling a chair up to
the table and seating himself as if he intended business.
"What about you, Jim?" asked Mark.
"Delighted," said Jim.
"D'ye know poker?"
"It's my middle name."
The grandfathers, Mrs. Ducat, and the girl did not join in the game.
Jim played with discretion and luck. Mel lost for an hour and a
quarter, then remembered his mare hitched in the woods at the fork of
the roads four miles away, wished everyone good night and departed.
Flora saw him to the door and stood in whispered conversation on the
threshold for half a minute.
"Does he come here often?" asked Jim of Mark, in a low aside, as
Uncle Sam dealt the cards with mighty heaves of the shoulders as if
each bit of pasteboard weighed fifty pounds.
"Every chance he gets," replied Mark. "Whenever he kin give Amos the
slip. Dang if I know if it's Flora or the cards fetches 'im! Reckon
it's Flora. But she don't worry. They all look the same to her, I
guess."
It was eight-thirty by the Ducats' kitchen clock when Melchior
Hammond departed to return to his tethered mare four miles off and
continue on his interrupted way toward Bird's Corner. It was ten by
the same clock when Jim Todhunter left the Ducat kitchen, after
cordial handshakes all around and a promise to return on the morrow
or the day after, and set out briskly for Millbrook. He walked at
his best pace, in a pleasant humor with himself and the world. He
approved of Piper's Glen. Flora Ducat was a charming girl. He had
enjoyed his evening and his fight with Mark Ducat. He liked Mark and
all the Ducats. He reached the Hammond residence on the stroke of
twelve, midnight, and found the front door unlocked. Amos Hammond
was as mild of manner as a lamb next morning at breakfast. Jim made
no pretense of working in the store that day or of inquiring into any
branch of Hammond's business. Amos Hammond kept out of Jim's way as
much as possible.
A week passed, during which period of time Jim made several trips up
to Piper's Glen. On the eighth day after his first meeting with the
Ducats, he visited them for the fourth time and remained in that
hospitable kitchen until eleven o'clock at night. It was past one
when he reached Millbrook. The front door was locked, the back door
was locked, and he tossed gravel up against Hammond's window until
lamplight shone forth. Up went the lower sash with a bang and rattle
and the man of the house looked out and down.
"The doors are locked," said Jim.
"Spawn of the devil!" cried Amos. "Cumberer of the earth! Eater of
the bread of idleness and corruption! I warn ye to go away from
here! Ye've held me up to derision in the sight of my wife and
children, but the Lord is on my side an' I charge ye never to darken
my door again!"
"Very impressive, but it won't do," replied Jim. "I'm a part of your
establishment. I must really insist upon darkening your door again."
At that, Mr. Hammond's language fell from the classical to the
colloquial.
"Beat it!" he screamed. "Get to hell out o' this afore I lose my
temper an' pull the triggers."
"Triggers?" queried Jim coolly.
"Aye, triggers! Two of 'em--an' both standin' at full-cock."
"What number shot, if you don't object to my asking?"
"Number two, dang ye! An' my fingers is twitchin'!"
"All right! Pass out my baggage and I'll go."
"Baggage? Ye got no baggage here!"
"Boxes, bags, trunks, and so on."
"Ye got nothin' in this house! Clear out or I'll be the death o' ye!"
"So you've turned my stuff out, have you? Well, that'll save time.
Where did you put it?"
"There's nothin' of yers on my premises, inside nor out, an' never
was; but if ye don't beat it before I count ten there'll be a dead
corpse in the yard. Git!"
Jim got. He went around to the front door, stood his gun against the
side of the house and kicked the door in with one terrific smash of
the right heel against the lock. He entered the dark hall and was
feeling his way toward the stairs with extended arms when his right
hand touched something alive. Quick as thought, hard as iron, he
grabbed and gripped with both hands.
"It's me, Jim! Leggo, for God's sake--an' run!" whispered the voice
of Melchior. "I come down to warn ye. He's murderin' mad. Threw a
knife at me an' missed by an inch--an' he'll shoot you. Here he
comes!"
A light appeared at the top of the stairs. Jim turned and started
for the open door on the jump, tripped over the threshold, and fell
out on to the veranda and flung himself to one side at the very
instant of touching the floor. And then a gun roared within and a
shower of number two shot ripped into the flooring where he had been
lying a moment before. Was that both barrels or only one? He didn't
know. He scrambled to his feet, snatched his own gun from where it
leaned and ran. As he jumped the fence, the gun banged again, but
the charge went wide and high.
"He's off his nut and the gun's a breech-loader," he reflected; and
he continued his flight.
A third bang proved the soundness of his reasoning and the wisdom of
his course.