OLD HARRY TURNS A TRICK
Maurice Keeler, wan, hollow-eyed, and miserable, was seated on a
stool just outside the door in the early morning sunlight. Near him
sat his mother, peeling potatoes, her portly form obscured by a
trailing wistaria vine. What Maurice had endured during his two
weeks with the measles nobody knew but himself. His days had been
lonely, filled with remorse that he had ever been born to give people
trouble and care; his nights longer even than the days. Hideous
nightmares had robbed him of slumber. Old Scroggie's ghost had
visited him almost nightly. The Twin Oaks robbers, ugly, hairy
giants armed with red-hot pitch-forks, had bound him to a tree and
applied fire to his feet. What use to struggle or cry aloud for
help? Even Billy, his dearest chum, had sat and laughed with all the
mouths of his eight heads at his pain. Of course he had awakened to
learn these were but dreams; but to a boy dreams are closely akin to
reality.
And now, after days of loneliness and nights of terror, Maurice was
up again and outside where he could catch the wood-breeze and smell
the sweet odor of plants and clearing fires. He wondered how many
years he had been away from it all. How old was he now? Why didn't
his mother answer his questions? He did not realize that his voice
was weak; he had forgotten that his mother was deaf. All he knew was
that nobody cared a hang for him any more, not even his own mother.
His weak hands clutched at the bandage at his throat, as though to
tear it off and hurl it from him. His head sank weakly back against
the wall, and the tears came to his eyes.
Suddenly those eyes opened wide. Was he dreaming again or did he
hear the low croak of a crow? He twisted his head. There at his
feet sat Croaker. The crow's beady eyes were fastened on him.
Suspended from its neck was a cord and attached to the cord was a
piece of yellow wrapping paper.
Maurice's white face slowly expanded in a grin. He glanced in the
direction of his mother, then held out his hand to the crow with a
lowspoken, "Come Croaker, ol' feller."
But Croaker shook his head and backed away, emitting a string of
unintelligible utterances.
"Come Croaker," pleaded Maurice again. But the crow was obdurate.
It is barely possible that he failed to recognize Maurice owing to
the sick boy's altered looks or perhaps he expected a glimpse of the
reward which was always his for the performing of a service. With
one backward look from his bright eyes, he spread his short wings and
sailed across to Mrs. Keeler, settling on her shoulder with a harsh
croak, whereat that greatly-startled lady sat down on the gravel, her
lap full of dirty water and potatoes.
What Mrs. Keeler might have done is not known, for just at this
juncture a high-pitched voice came to her from the garden gate. "Get
hold of him, Missus Keeler an' wring his black neck."
Mrs. Keeler, who heard the voice without catching Mrs. Wilson's
words, struggled up. Croaker promptly sailed over to Maurice for
protection. The boy broke the string attached to the note from Billy
and reaching behind him secured from a plate a scrap of the dinner he
had left uneaten. "Here Croaker," he whispered, "grab it quick.
Now, back you go where things are safe," and he tossed the bird into
the air. Croaker flew to a tree-top and proceeded to enjoy the
reward of service well rendered.
Maurice glanced at the message, then his face fell. "Oh blame it
all!" he muttered, "another of Bill's sign letters; looks like a
fence that's been struck by lightnin'."
The several long perpendicular lines were possibly intended to
represent the forest, but what was meant by the two vertical lines
and the crosses directly beneath them Maurice did not know. Also
there was a crudely drawn circle and, inside it, a small square.
Maybe this was supposed to represent a hollow stump with a
squirrel-trap in it, thought the perplexed Maurice. With a sigh of
disgust he turned the paper over. Then his eyes brightened. Written
there in Billy's cramped hand were these words and characters:
[Illustration: Billy's message]
Maurice stared. So that was it! Billy and old Harry had found the
goods stolen from the Twin Oaks store. There were doin's--big
doin's, and Billy wanted him in on 'em. He leaned over to secure a
view of his mother and Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Keeler had removed her wet
apron and was now seated on the bench beside her neighbor, listening
to the latest gossip.
"That Jim Scroggie, the heir, has come back, an' he's rented the
Stanley house," Mrs. Wilson was saying. "They say he's goin' to cut
down the big woods an' sell the timber. I guess he intends stayin'
right on, 'cause he brought his housekeeper an' his two children, a
boy and a girl, with him."
"Is he tol'able well-to-do?" Mrs. Keeler asked.
"Why yes. I understand he's rich as porcupine stew," said Mrs.
Wilson. "What he wants to come here fer, stirrin' up trouble, is
beyond all knowin'. Him an' that man Hinter--they've been trampin'
all over the country examinin' the land, cricks an' everythin'. They
met up with my man, Tom, on the road yesterday an' they stopped him.
Scroggie told him any time he wanted to bore fer water he'd put in a
rig an' Tom needn't pay a cent if he didn't get him a well."
"Land o' Liberty! but he was generous!" cried Mrs. Keeler.
"Tom said he'd think it over an' let him know. I guess he was pretty
short with Scroggie, knowin' as he does that the woods an' land
rightly belong to young Stanhope."
"That it does," agreed Mrs. Keeler, indignantly. "An' him, poor
young man, helpless through loss of his eyesight and all. You heard,
of course, that Frank Stanhope and Erie Landon had broke their
engagement?"
"Yes, everybody who knows 'em both an' loves 'em both has heard that.
But what else could they do? He's not able to support a wife--the
little farm is only enough fer himself, after that Burke an' his wife
are paid fer workin' it and lookin' after the house, an' he's too
high-spirited to ask Erie to share his burden and poverty."
Mrs. Keeler gulped and reached for her apron but recollecting that
she had hung it up to dry, rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. "Cobin
says that young man is jest about heartbroke, spite o' the smile he
wears," she said. "Tries so hard to be cheerful, too, in spite of
all. Preacher Reddick had supper with us last Sunday night an' he
said the teacher was the finest specimen of Christly example he'd
ever seen."
Mrs. Wilson cleared her throat. "They do say that Mr. Hinter visits
the light-house regular every week. Have you heard that, Missus
Keeler?"
"Yes, an' I'm wonderin' why?"
Mrs. Wilson rose and smoothed down her skirt. "Well I wouldn't go so
far as to say I know why, but I have my suspicions," she declared.
"One thing I do know, it's not 'cause he's so interested in a man
sick with the asthma."
Mrs. Keeler looked at her sagely. "Erie would never marry any man
like Hinter," she asserted.
"You can't tell what a girl'll do fer her father," said the other
woman dubiously. "But there now," she broke off, "here I am visitin'
away with you, jest as though there wasn't a batch of bread riz and
kneaded at home, ready fer the oven. When I looked fer my bread-pans
blest a one could I find. I know that Billy has lugged 'em off
somewheres to use as bath-tubs fer his birds and lizards; so, thinks
I, I'll jest run over an' ask Mrs. Keeler fer the loan of hern."
"Why to be sure," rejoined her neighbor, "come right along in an'
I'll get 'em. I want you to see how nice my canned tomaters look."
As they turned towards the house, Mrs. Wilson caught sight of
Maurice, huddled in the big chair beneath the trailing vine.
"Well, fer the land sakes alive, Maurice!" she cried. "It is good to
see you up ag'in. You've had a hard pull of it, poor lad. Dear
heart! but it's thinned you a lot, too! Think of any mortal boy
changin' so in two short weeks."
Maurice squirmed. "It seemed a lot longer than two weeks," he said
faintly.
"There, there," cried the big-hearted woman, "of course it did."
Mrs. Keeler edged forward distrustfully. "What's that he says he's
goin' to do in two weeks?" she asked, suspicion in her tones. "Cause
if you think, young man, you be goin' to go in swimmin' ag'in, inside
two weeks--" she pointedly addressed Maurice, "you got another think
comin'. I'm goin' to see that you don't suffer no re-lapse."
"I don't want to go swimmin'" wailed Maurice, "but I do want'a walk a
bit out through the woods, Ma."
"No." Mrs. Keeler shook her head with finality, "I can't trust you
out o' my sight. You gotta set right there where you be."
"She don't know how awful lonesome it is settin' still so long,"
sighed Maurice, casting an appealing eye on Billy's mother. "I wisht
you'd ask her to let me go as far as your place with you, Missus
Wilson," he pleaded, lowering his voice. "Billy kin trail 'long back
with me an' see I don't cut up any."
"Maurice," remonstrated Mrs. Wilson, smothering the sympathy in her
heart in the clutch of duty, "it's wrong fer you to take advantage of
your pore ma's deefness this way. I wouldn't send Willium back with
you, anyways. What devilment you wouldn't think of he certainly
would. No, I'll ask your ma to let you come, but it's Anson I'll
have bring you home an' not Willium." And with a frown and a shake
of her head she followed her neighbor into the house.
Maurice waited hopefully until his mother and Mrs. Wilson came out
again. Then he turned eagerly towards them.
"Your Ma says you kin come," said Mrs. Wilson, "Providin' I don't let
you near the cookie jar, and see that Anson brings you back safe."
"Mind you," his mother admonished as he followed Mrs. Wilson down the
path, "if you come home with wet feet into bed you go and stay 'till
snow flies."
When they reached the meadow-path, with the outbuildings between them
and the watchful eyes of his mother, Maurice removed the shawl from
about his throat. "I won't be needin' it any more, now," he said in
answer to his companion's frown of protest. "It makes me too warm,
an' the doctor he said whatever I did I mustn't sweat." Mrs. Wilson
allowed the explanation to stand.
They climbed the rail fence and started to cross the stubble-field.
As they neared the long row of brown-fruited sumachs Mrs. Wilson
paused and stood in a listening attitude. "Say, isn't that Willium's
varmint of a crow settin' up there on that ash?" she asked, pointing
to the slender tree growing among the sumachs.
Maurice shook his head. "No ma'am, that ain't him," he said. "It's
too big fer Croaker; it's a wild crow."
"Is it?" The woman started on again, then halted abruptly. "Well,
it's queer how much his voice is like Willium's crow. Can't you hear
him mutterin' and croakin'?"
"Yep, I hear him, but all crows do that," Maurice hastened to
explain. Then as a shrill note, half a cluck and half a whistle,
sounded from the bushes, he added quickly. "That's a hen partridge
callin'. That crow's tryin' to scare her off her nest, most like,
so's he kin steal the eggs."
Again came the low whistle, and Maurice swayed, staggered and sank
down on the stubble, with a faint moan. With a cry of alarm Mrs.
Wilson bent above him. "Maurice! Maurice Keeler!" she gasped.
"Whatever is wrong? There now, I knowed you was up and out too soon.
Come along. I'm goin' to take you straight back home."
"Oh please don't do that," begged Maurice. "I'm jest a little weak,
that's all. You leave me here an' send Anse back to stay with me. I
do so want to go over in the woods fer a little while, Missus Wilson."
The woman stood frowning and considering. "Well," she said at
length. "I'll go an' have Anson come fer you but you see you don't
budge an inch till he comes."
"No ma'am, he'll find me right here."
Maurice watched her until she climbed the road fence and entered the
grove inside the Wilson gate. Then he started crawling towards the
sumachs. As he reached them Billy poked his head from the bushes, a
grin on his face.
"Have hard work gettin' away from her, Maurice?" he asked.
"Not very. Gee! Bill, it's good to see you ag'in."
"It's good to see you too, Maurice. You got my code message, didn't
you?"
"Yep. Have you found the stuff they stole from the store, Bill?"
"You bet. Me an' old Harry know right where it is. We ain't told
another soul but you and teacher Stanhope 'bout it yet, but we're
goin' to soon. Come on an' I'll show you where it's buried."
"I can't," said Maurice miserably. "Your Ma's goin' to send Anse out
to keep tabs on me. If he wasn't such a tattletale we might work it
but you know him."
Billy pursed up his lips in thought. "Say!" he cried, "I've got it.
You go on back there where you played possum, an' wait fer Anse.
When he comes he's goin' to beg a favor of you, sure as shootin'. He
played a dirty trick on me not long ago an' he's been keepin' out of
my way ever since. Lied to me so's to get me to thrash a feller that
licked him. I'll tell you all about it later. Anse is goin' to ask
you to square it with me; he's jest that kind. You promise to get
him off this time if he goes away an' leaves you by yourself. Then
you come back here, see?"
"Yes, but if he goes an' tells your Ma, what then?"
"But he won't. If he does she'll tan him good fer goin' off an'
leavin' you by yourself. You tell him he'll have to wait around here
till you get back. He'll do it, all right. There he comes through
the grove now. Better crawl back to where Ma left you."
Maurice dropped on all fours and started wriggling through the rough
stubble, sighing in relief as he reached the desired spot.
Anson was grinning as he came up. "Kind'a weak on the pins, eh?" he
greeted, "Ma told me I was to come across here an' see you didn't get
into no mischief."
Maurice wanted to knock that grin off Anson's sneering mouth, but he
was in no condition to do it. Besides it was a moment for diplomacy.
"Everybody seems to think I want'a fall in a well an' get drowned, er
somethin'," he grumbled. "Why do I need watchin', I'd like to know?"
Anson chuckled, "Well, you ain't goin' to get no chance to do any
funny stunts this afternoon," he promised. "I'm here to keep an eye
on you."
"Which one?" Maurice asked sarcastically. "The good one er the
blacked one?"
Anson's face reddened. "You needn't get funny!" he cried, angrily.
"Any feller's liable to black an eye runnin' agin a tree, in the
dark."
"Or a fist in the daylight," grinned Maurice. "Well, never mind,
Anse," he said consolingly, "you've got one good eye left, but
somethin' tells me you won't have it long."
"What you mean?" asked Anson suspiciously.
"Why, I've got a hunch that somebody's layin' for you, that's all,"
answered Maurice. "'Course, I may be wrong. Am I?"
Anson squatted down beside Maurice. "No, by gosh! you're not so far
wrong," he admitted, ruefully. "Somebody is layin' fer me, an'
layin' fer me right. It's Bill. Say, Maurice, won't you try an' get
him to let me off this time. If you will I won't ferget it in a
hurry."
Maurice stood up. "Where's Bill now?" he asked.
"I dunno. Down where he keeps his pets I s'pose. Why?"
"Cause I'm goin' down an' find him. I'll beg you off this time,
Anse, if you'll do as I say."
"What you mean, do as you say?"
"You're to stay here till I get back, no matter how long I'm away."
Anson considered. "An' you promise to get Bill to let me off?"
"Sure."
"All right, I'll stay."
"Course, if you ain't here when I get back the bargain's off.
Understand?"
Anson nodded. "I'll be here," he promised.
"Bill won't bother you none if you do what I say," said Maurice as he
made for the grove. Half an hour later he and Billy approached old
Harry's hut and knocked gently on the door. Harry's voice bade them
enter.
They found him seated on a stool, fondling the big grey-blue cat. He
placed the cat gently down as they entered.
"God love ye, byes," he cried, "it's a foine pair ye are, an' no
mistake; so it's sick y've been, Maurice?"
"Measles," said Maurice.
Harry nodded sympathetically. "Faith, measles are a blissin' in
disguise, as are many other afflictions," he said. "Would ye relish
a swate smell and the colors av God's big out av doors so much, think
ye, if kept prisoner from thim ye never were? I'm thinkin' not.
"Take meself," he went on, drawing his stool closer to the chairs of
his young friends. "All me life have I dhrunk more er less av the
cup that cheers; but I'm through now, byes, not so much either
because ut's a fit av the blue divils the stuff give me but because I
mane from now on to quaff the swate draft of Nature widout a bad
taste in me mouth. I'm through wid whisky feriver, and ut's Harry
O'Dule, siventh son av a siventh son, so declares himself this day.
Ut's out into God's blissid sunlight have I come afther bein' held
prisoner by a deadlier disease than measles, me byes."
The tears came to the old man's eyes as he felt the sincere pressure
of the hands held out to him. "Begobs! but ut's a foine pair ye be,"
he muttered. Then aloud. "And have ye told him, Billy?"
Billy nodded.
"Well, this much more I'll be tellin' both av ye," said Harry. "Just
a bit ago two strange min stopped at me cabin dure. A rough lookin'
pair they were, I'm sayin'. Says the big one av the two: 'Ould man,'
says he, 'do ye know wan in these parts named Hinter?'"
"'I know one such,' 'sez I.
"'Then,' sez he, 'wull yu do me the favor av deliverin' a missage to
him an' kin ye go now?' says he.
"'I kin that,' says I."
"'And the message,' he says, 'this is ut: "Off Gibson's Grove at tin
o'clock,"' says he."
"'All right,' says I, and he put a silver dollar in me fist and wint
away wid his companion.
"I delivered the missage to Hinter. And whin I returned to me cabin
I found everythin' in a jumble, an' no mistake. Somebody had
scattered the furs on me bunk and turned everythin' upside down, they
had, an' they had sought underneath the flure, too."
"An' did they find it?" gasped Billy.
"Begobs they did not," grinned Harry. "And I'll be tellin' ye fer
why. Only this blissid mornin', uts took the stuff from beneath me
flure, I did, and hid it in a new spot."
Billy sighed his relief. "Gee, but it's lucky you did," he cried.
"That's the very thing Trigger Finger Tim would'a done, ain't it,
Maurice?"
Maurice nodded. "I'm goin' to stick along here an help you watch the
stuff, Harry. Them men'll likely come prowlin' back here."
"An' torture you, Harry," put in Billy. "Tie you to a tree an' throw
knives at you till you weaken an' tell 'em where the stuff's hid.
That's what they did to Trigger Finger."
"Faith," cried Harry, "ut's divil a bit I know concernin' that man
Trigger Finger, but ut's small reward they'd be gettin' fer their
pains if they tied me up and tried torture, an' I'll be tellin' ye
fer why, byes. The stuff's gone back to Spencer. Load ut I did
meself on Joe Scraff's buckboard, not more than an hour agone. The
box wid the black fox skins an' two big jugs av whisky. Back I sent
ut all, byes, wid the compliments av the both av ye an' me poor self.
But now it'll be there, and the heart av ould Caleb'll be beatin' two
skips fer one wid jye at recoverin' all av his stolen possessions. I
did right, I hope now, in sindin' ut along back?" he finished.
"You bet you did!" cried the boys, together.
Maurice stood up. "Well, as there's no need to keep watch here,
maybe I best trail along home. Anse'll be gettin' tired waitin' fer
me."
"That won't hurt him; he's always tired anyway," rejoined Billy.
"But we'd best go."
At the door he paused and turned toward Harry. "Where's Gibson's
Grove?" he asked.
Harry, who had picked up his hat and taken his tin whistle from his
bosom, shook his head. "There's no sech place, I'm thinkin'," he
answered.
Billy frowned. "What did Hinter say when you gave him the message,
Harry?"
Harry chuckled. "Faith, ut's crazy he thought I was I guess," he
cried. "'Ould man,' sez he, 'somebody has been playin' a trick on
ye. I know no such place as Gibson's Grove.' Thin begobs! he
laughed, like he saw the humor av ut, and had me sate meself in the
shade and smoke a cigar while I risted. So I'm thinkin', byes, them
min jest wanted to get rid av me the while they ransacked me house
and belongin's, bad cess to 'em!"
Billy laughed. "Come along as far as the clearin', Harry," he
invited, "and play us a tune that'll cheer Maurice up, will you?"
"Faith, an' that I'll do," cried O'Dule. "Lilt him a chune I wull
that'll make his laggin' feet dance, and his laggin' spirit look up
above the slough av despond."
And so down the path ridged with the bronze bars of late afternoon
sunlight, they passed, Harry strutting in the lead, wrinkled face
lifted, scanty white locks streaming in the breeze as he drew from
his whistle a wild sweet melody.
"There now," he cried, when at last the clearing was reached, and the
whistle was tucked away in the bosom of his flannel shirt, "I'll be
partin' wid ye now, byes, fer a spell. Over to Spencer's store I'll
be goin', to glimpse the jye in his eyes, and axe him to trust me fer
a few groceries I'll be needin' till me next allowance arrives from
the home land. And ut's no doubt I have in me mind that he'll do ut
gladly, fer ut's a tinder man he is at heart an' no mistake."