MR. HINTER MAKES A CONFESSION
It was the evening of the next day. Frank Stanhope lay on a couch in
a darkened room, a black bandage across his eyes. Erie Landon sat
beside him, holding his hand. The pungent odor of ether hung in the
air. Out in the dining room old Doctor Allworth, from Bridgetown,
was discussing with the specialist things known only to those men of
science.
Erie was very happy--happier than she had ever expected to be again.
Doctor Cavinalt had pronounced the operation a success; in a week or
ten days the bandage might be taken off. God's world of light and
beauty was to be his again--and hers!
Stanhope felt the unconscious tightening of her fingers and spoke her
name ever so softly. She gave a little, contented sigh, and nestled
her cool cheek against his own.
"I was dreaming of the foot of the Causeway," he whispered, "and the
light."
"And it reached straight across through the blackness to you?" she
asked.
"Straight to me, dear; and at the farther end of its misty radiance I
saw you standing. You stretched your dear arms out to me and along
the shimmering track, drawn by your great and tender woman's love, I
sped to you."
"And found me, Frank?"
"Found you," he echoed joyfully. "Found you as I have prayed through
lightless days I might, some day, find you, blue-eyed girl with heart
of gold; found you with your hope, your loyalty, your tenderness and
your forgiveness."
"And now," she whispered, "there lie the days of sunshine and
happiness ahead of us, Frank; and oh, how we will enjoy them, you and
I and Billy."
"Yes, we mustn't forget Billy, God bless him."
In the outer room the learned discussion was terminated suddenly by a
loud exclamation from the old doctor.
"God love us, it's a crow!" he cried, "and the rascal has
appropriated my glasses! Laid 'em on my chair-arm for an instant and
the cheeky beggar swooped in through the open window and picked 'em
up."
"That's Croaker," laughed Erie. "Billy won't be far behind him. I
had better go out and explain things, Frank."
She touched her warm lips to his and went into the adjoining room to
find Croaker perched on a curtain-pole, animatedly congratulating
himself on the new and wonderful shiny thing he had been so fortunate
as to discover.
"Croaker," Erie called. At the sound of her voice the crow stopped
trying to tear the nosepiece from the lens and cocked his head
side-wise.
"Kowakk," he gurgled, which meant "I thought I knew you, Miss, but I
guess I don't."
"Croaker, good old Croaker, come down and I'll get you a cookie,"
Erie begged.
Croaker considered this last statement a moment. Then he carefully
raised one foot and twisted half way around on the bar.
"A cookie, a nice fat cookie, with a raisin in its centre," coaxed
the girl.
The crow lifted the other foot and with much fluttering and
complaining managed to get all the way around.
Mrs. Burke had brought in a plate of cookies. Erie took one and held
it up, as an enticement to Croaker.
"Want it?" she asked. "Then come down and be a good crow."
Then it was that Croaker, gripping the glasses in one black claw,
burst into a cry of joyful recognition.
Just at this juncture the shed door was nosed softly open and a
striped, furry animal rolled into the room like a ball and, raising
himself on his hind legs, took the cookie from Erie's hand.
"Ringdo, you old sweetheart!" cried the girl and, reaching for the
big swamp-coon, gathered him into her arms.
Doctor Allworth, after one startled look at the ferocious-looking
newcomer, had climbed upon the table and now gazed wildly at the
strange sight of a golden haired girl holding to her bosom a wild
animal which might be anything from a wolf to a grizzly, for aught he
knew.
At the sound of the girl's voice the swamp coon had dropped the
cookie, and as she swept him into her arms his slender red tongue
darted forth to give the curling tress above her ear an affectionate
caress. Ringdo recognized in Erie the playmate who used to romp with
him and stray with him along spongy moss and clayey ditches.
At this particular moment Croaker, from whom attention had for the
time being been diverted, came into evidence again. At first sight
of his old enemy the crow had grown rigid with anger; his black
neck-ruff had stood up like the feathers on an Indian warrior's head
dress and into his beady eyes had sprung the fighting-fire. When
Ringdo got possession of the cookie he raised his short wings and
prepared to swoop, strike, and if luck held, swoop again. But when
the coon dropped the cookie that he might show the girl who had come
back to the old playground that he was glad Croaker promptly changed
his mind. He swooped, but on the precious cookie instead of on
Ringdo, and with the prize in his black beak and the glasses dangling
from one black claw, he went out of the open window like a dark
streak.
The old doctor sighed dolefully. "Well, my glasses are gone," he
murmured. "And how I will ever do without 'em, I don't know." Then,
becoming suddenly aware of his ridiculous position, he stepped
ponderously down from the table to his chair.
Hiding her laughing face in Ringdo's long fur, Erie reassured him.
"Please, Doctor Allworth, don't be frightened of this old coon," she
said. "Indeed, he is quite harmless."
"Perhaps so," returned the old gentleman dryly, "but, you see, I
happen to have heard an opinion of friend Ringdo's gentle nature from
a certain learned pedagogue, whose wounds I dressed recently. So, my
dear young lady, if you will be good enough to keep tight hold of him
for a moment, I'll follow my renowned friend into the parlor and
learn how Frank is coming along." And suiting the action to the
words he edged slowly around the table and, backing into the parlor,
closed the door.
"Ringdo," cried Erie, slapping the coon's fat sides, "you can't
possibly see your friend, Frank, now so come along. We'll have a
race down the path and a scramble among the leaves."
She caught her hat from a peg, opened the door, and Ringdo gamboled
out before her. Down the path to the gate they sped and out into the
tree-hedged road. Already the frost-pinched leaves, crimson-veined
and golden, were being swung to earth by a soft wind that promised
snow. With Ringdo galloping clumsily beside her Erie went down the
road, trilling a snatch of a song.
She did not realize what a perfect picture she presented, with her
golden hair wind-strewn, her red lips parted, and the old joy singing
in her heart and kindling a light in her eyes. But the boy who met
her at the curve in the road realized it, and his face grew wistful
as he asked: "Is he all right, Erie?"
"He is all right, Billy," she answered softly.
Billy's grey eyes grew big with realization and a long sigh escaped
his lips. He bent above the coon, who had sprawled in the dust, all
four feet in the air, inviting a tussle. The girl saw something
glitter and splash on the dark fur and her throat tightened. "Oh
Billy, Billy," she choked, and with all the abandon of her nature
stooped and gathered boy and animal close to her.
A little later they went back up the road, side by side. Ringdo
having heard the call of the forest-creek had strayed into the
tangle, perhaps hoping to find a fat frog which had not yet sought
its winter sleeping-bog. They paused to watch a red squirrel flash
along the zig-zag fence and halt, with twitching tail, as the chatter
of the black he was pursuing came down to him from swaying hickory
tree-top. High overhead a flock of crows passed silently, black
hurtling bodies seeming to brush the grey, low hanging skies as they
melted into distance. High above, the shrill whistle of wings told
of wild ducks seeking the marshes and the celery beds of the bay.
"Erie," spoke the boy as they turned to resume their way, "Ma told me
to tell you that she'd be over ag'in tonight to stay with you. She's
had an awful time keepin' teacher's friends from swarmin' over to see
how he was gettin' along an' she says she simply had to promise that
they could come over after supper. I guess the whole Settlement is
over to our place. I better lope along an' tell 'em the good news."
He turned away as they reached the gate--then hesitated.
"Anything I can tell him, Billy?" asked Erie, noticing his reluctance.
"No, but there's somethin' I ought'a tell you, I guess," he answered.
"I've jest come from old Swanson's boardin' house, at the foot. Mr.
Maddoc an' the specialist doctor are goin' to leave there an' stay at
teacher's, as you likely know?"
Erie nodded. "They told me all about it. How they are going to
shoot from your Mud Point, and how good it was of you to let them,"
she smiled.
Billy grinned. "Say!" he murmured, "as if there was anythin' any of
us wouldn't do fer them now. Well, Mr. Maddoc, who's havin' Joe
Scraff drive down fer their stuff tonight, was comin' along up with
me when we met Hinter, 'bout a mile back on the road."
He paused and searched the girl's face. "You see, Erie," he said
slowly, "I'd been tellin' Mr. Maddoc all about how Hinter an'
Scroggie had been tryin' to find water fer us, an' how they had had a
barrel of oil explode, an' every thin'. Somehow he didn't seem a bit
like a stranger. I didn't mind tellin' him at all. Why, I even told
him about the Twin Oaks store robbery, an' about Hinter wantin' to
get hold of Lost Man's Swamp, an' everythin'.
"He was awful interested, an' asked me to show him the fenced-in
well. So we took 'cross the fields an' he saw it. He went all
around the walls an' even climbed up one side of 'em, an' looked
over. When he came down he said: 'Jest as I thought, Billy. That
explosion you spoke of was a charge of nitro glycerine.' We struck
back fer the road an' I guess he was thinkin' hard, 'cause he didn't
talk any more. Then, as we was climbin' the fence to the road he
asks: 'What kind of a chap is this man, Hinter, Billy?"
"'Why,' I says, 'there he is now.' Hinter had jest climbed the
opposite fence an' stepped into the road. Mr. Maddoc slid down an'
went right up to him. Hinter's face turned white when he saw Mr.
Maddoc. He couldn't speak fer a minute, an' then all he did was
mumble somethin'.
"'Billy,' Mr. Maddoc says to me, 'would you go on a piece an' leave
me alone with this man. You see we've met before an' I want'a ask
him some questions.'
"So I come on an' I guess Mr. Maddoc had a whole lot of questions to
ask fer he ain't come yet."
Erie was standing against the gate, her arms stretched along its top,
hands clenching its rough pickets.
"There, he's coming now, Billy," she whispered, as the lawyer's tall
form swung about the curve in the road. "No, don't go yet; perhaps
he will have something more to tell us."
But the lawyer, apparently, had nothing to tell them. Gravely he
lifted his hat to Erie, threw a smile of good-fellowship to Billy and
turned up the path to the cottage.
* * * * *
No sooner had Billy gone, leaving Maddoc alone with Hinter, than the
lawyer's manner underwent a lightning change. His big face lost its
jovial look and the bushy eyebrows contracted to sinister juts on his
puckered brow, as the cold eyes beneath them probed the man before
him.
"Well, Jacobs--or whatever your name happens to be now--what are you
doing here?" he asked.
Hinter, with an effort, shook off his first cringing fear.
"Supposing I tell you that it's none of your business, Mr. Maddoc,"
he said, with a poor attempt at bluff. "I am not under your
jurisdiction here."
"Oh, is that so? Well, my smooth friend, you're liable to learn that
my jurisdiction extends further than you think. Now see here,
Jacobs. You know--and I know--that I have enough on you already to
put you away where you'll do little harm for several years to come.
Do you want me to do it?"
"No." The man's answer was nothing more than a spiritless murmur.
Maddoc, he knew, had his record and had spoken truly when he said he
had the goods on him. "No," he repeated with a shudder.
"Then come clean, Jacobs. Now then, what's your game?"
"I came here after you drove me from the Pennsylvania oil fields,"
said the other, realizing the uselessness of lying.
"Why?"
"To prospect; to look for a new field. I figured that the
Pennsylvania vein would come out about here and extend northward."
"Sounds reasonable. And you still think so, eh?"
"Yes."
"Is that your well with the jail-wall about it, yonder?"
"No, I bored it but it belongs to Pennsylvania Scroggie, the man whom
you helped defeat the Southern lease ring."
If Maddoc was surprised, he did not show it. "You struck oil, I see,
Jacobs."
"Yes, about an eight-a-day well."
"Deep?"
"No, surface."
"And Scroggie--does he know your record?"
"Certainly not. Oh for God's sake stop probing me this way. I'm
willing to tell all there is to tell."
"That suits me, Jacobs. Go on."
"As I say, I came here to prospect. I found plenty of surface
evidence of oil and gas but without capital I was helpless. I
learned that a thousand-acre tract of woods, rich in oil indications,
was owned by Pennsylvania Scroggie. I knew that he was a hog and
that if I showed my hand too clearly he would kick me under and go it
alone. Through a friend who owned a lake schooner I made Scroggie a
proposition. I guaranteed to show him a virgin oil territory and
operate his rigs for a certain percentage of the output. This he
agreed to. Then he came and when he found that the vein lay on his
own land he was furious and tried to break the contract.
"I had anticipated his doing something like this and had provided
against it. Old man Scroggie, the original owner of this land, had
left a will, bequeathing all he owned to a young man of this
district, Stanhope by name. Scroggie, I knew, was afraid of the will
coming to light and I worked on this fear. It was known throughout
this community that the one friend old Scroggie had trusted was
Spencer, the store-keeper, who, having quarreled with the elder
Stanhope over a survey of property, held a secret grudge against his
son, Frank."
"And," said the lawyer as Jacobs paused to wipe his beaded brow, "you
thought the will lay in Spencer's safe, and that he was holding it
away because of petty malice?"
"Exactly."
"And knowing that in spite of his many short-comings Pennsylvania
Scroggie wouldn't deliberately rob young Stanhope of the property,
providing he knew for sure that his uncle had made the young man his
heir, you made up your mind to blow Spencer's safe and get hold of
the will yourself--supposing it was there, and so make sure of your
own little rake-off."
Jacobs gazed at the lawyer wonderingly. "How did you know?" he
stammered.
"I know, Jacobs, that you and your henchmen, Tom Standish and Jack
Blake, robbed Twin Oaks store and blew the safe; also that you were
disappointed. There was no will there. Where you made your big
mistake, my friend, was in misjudging Pennsylvania Scroggie. For
instance, when you lied to him and told him that you had found the
will, and threatened to turn it over to the rightful heir, providing
he did not give you a clear deed to Lost Man's Swamp--what did he say
to you?"
The question stung the other as a leather lash stings quivering flesh.
"What did he say to you?" repeated the lawyer, and the wretched man
on the rack answered hopelessly: "He told me that if I didn't give
the will up to Stanhope he would have me arrested and sent to the
pen."
A little smile curled the corners of Maddoc's stern mouth. "Well,
that's Pennsylvania Scroggie," he said, as though to himself. "Hard,
bull-headed and a sharper in every legitimate sense but square as
they make 'em. And you," he asked, pointedly, "what did you do?"
"Of course I had to own up that I had lied. He had me down on my
knees all right, but I was valuable to him right then. We had
started boring on his land. He said that he would give me another
chance but that I would have to keep honest."
The man who had the reputation of being able to read criminals
unerringly glanced keenly at the man's face.
"And you've found the condition too difficult; isn't that so?" he
asked.
"No, Mr. Maddoc, as God is my witness, I was keeping honest and
intended to go on." Jacobs had drawn his drooping form erect, and
now spoke with a certain dignity.
Maddoc was silent for a moment. Then his square chin shot forward.
"Jacobs," he said, crisply, "I'll give you twenty-four hours in which
to lose yourself. You can't stay here."
Something like a sigh escaped the man who listened to this edict. He
took a lagging step or two forward.
"Wait," said the lawyer. "Tell me, Jacobs, is there anything in this
world you care for outside of yourself and your ambition to climb to
fortune over the necks of others? I'm curious to know."
"Yes," answered the other, without hesitation. "There is something;
there are dogs and children."
"Dogs and children," repeated the lawyer. "Dogs and children." He
stood looking away through the failing light to where a strip of
mauve-lined sky peeked through the heavy tissue of cloud.
"And what do dogs and children think of you?" he asked, abruptly.
"Both trust me," said Jacobs simply and Maddoc knew that he spoke the
truth. He strode across and put his hands on the shoulders of the
man from whom he had wrung confession.
"Listen!" he said harshly. "You know me and you know I don't often
give a man like you more than a second chance. You have had your
second chance and failed. But see here, I'm not infallible. If dogs
and children trust you there must be some good in you, and by George!
I'm going to do something which is either going to prove the biggest
piece of damn foolishness or the biggest coup I have ever pulled off
in my life. I'm going to take my grip from your throat, Jacobs, and
leave you to the dogs and the children.
"Now, here's some news for you. The will has been found and Frank
Stanhope is heir to the Scroggie forest-lands. But if there is oil
here--and there is--both you and Pennsylvania Scroggie will be
needed. I have no doubt but a satisfactory arrangement on a share
producing plan can be made with the owner of the land. I'll see
Pennsylvania Scroggie tonight and he'll do what I ask. I pulled him
out of a rather tight hole and I guess he won't have forgotten. Come
over to Stanhope's cottage in the morning. Now remember what the
children and dogs expect of you, my friend; good-bye until tomorrow."
He smiled and held out his hand. The other man took it dazedly, then
slowly and with head lifted towards the darkening skies, he passed
down the road.