JOHN HEARS AN ACCOUNT OF HIS ADVENTURE.
The morning after his visit to Ratke's John left Mrs. Boyle's house.
To the very last she opposed his departure.
"I have special reasons for wanting you to stay, John," she said. "I
can't tell you what they are, but I wish you wouldn't go."
"It is impossible for me to stay longer," said John.
"Then," said Mrs. Boyle, "you'll tell me where you are going."
"I will write after I get settled," answered John. "But you will keep
the knowledge of my whereabouts to yourself. I wonder if a mother
were ever as kind as you have been to me. Good-bye."
John found Barton Junction to consist of a store and a depot. He had
been in the depot but a short time when two young men entered the
waiting-room and stood near an old lady whose baggage was strewn
about the seats. The young men had the appearance of rowdies,
although they were quite well dressed. Both wore dark suits and felt
hats. One hat was girt with a flat and one with a round braid. The
younger, who wore the flat-braided hat, seemed to be an ardent
admirer of the other, for he simulated many of his actions. He was
most anxious to acquire the dexterity which his companion exhibited
in ejecting tobacco-spittle through his teeth in a fine stream. He
attempted this feat so frequently, and his teacher gave him so
plentiful instruction that the floor was soon spotted with yellow
stains, and the old lady hastily began picking up the articles on the
seats to keep them from pollution.
"Where did you get that hat, Tom?" asked the younger man, trying to
train his mustache to curl upward and then lop down at the ends as
did that of his comrade.
"Oh, I got that to Port Huron," said the one addressed with the air
of an instructor. "They're all the rage now."
"It's nobby, sure enough. Guess I'll have to git one," said the
imitator, sending a small stream of tobacco-juice almost into the
satchel with a skill which until then he had not attained.
The good old lady was not fretful, but she was averse to having her
queer mixture of luggage subjected to such treatment. Without the
haste and nervousness with which most women would have performed the
task, she arranged the several parts of her baggage and prepared for
departure.
"Did you ever hear anything of that feller that stole Whipple's
colt?" said the young man, who was called Tom. "I ain't been around
here much this summer, you know, and I didn't learn much about it."
"No, they never heard anything of him. He was sharp, that feller was,
and they wanted to keep right out of his way."
"How do you know, Al? Did you see him?"
"See him?" repeated Al. "I guess I did! I was in a boat trying to
head him off, and he shot within four inches of my hand, and the next
time the ball just skipped over my head. I tell you that was a close
call, Tom."
"Why didn't you head him off?" inquired Tom.
"Oh, he slipped by some way and got away from us. He dove into them
tamaracks, and then all Michigan couldn't have caught him."
"Didn't you all feel kind o' timid?" asked Tom. "Wasn't you a little
afraid when he come close to you?"
"Timid? No, sir! I told him just what I thought of him, called him
every name I could lay my tongue to."
"The train's a comin'," said a rustic looking man who had been
watching from the outside.
Wrengell, who had been for some minutes uneasy in his quarters, yet
afraid to show any sign of impatience, made for the door as soon as
he heard the first rumble of the approaching wheels. He was aboard
while the cars were still butting each other back and forth in the
last few jerks before the total suspension of motion. A blue cloud
and an odor of tobacco announced to him that in his haste he had
taken the smoking-car. With the consolation that there were worse
odors than that of tobacco and that he was in the presence of
strangers, he seated himself, but his brief season of congratulation
was cut short by the entrance of the young men who had been
discussing his adventure.
After a few preliminary puffs and jerks the engine started with its
load from Barton Junction. As the little depot and the diminutive
store with its proprietor on the steps moved backward into the
separating distance, neither the voices about him nor the danger of
recognition by his former pursuer could keep him from sending a
protracted farewell look in the direction of Ratke's. It would be
long before he could retrace his steps. During the period of waiting,
whose extent was painfully uncertain, he would often in his boundless
fancy send the reverberations of his music through the major's
parlor, would wander through an orchard with springing leaves and
opening blossoms, would pass his arm about an object beside whose
attraction that of the richly-clad trees was insipid, if not
forgotten. And how, when he had fed on the husks of dreams and found
in them no nutriment, would he grow restless, waiting for the reality
which did not come, how his heart would sink if year after year the
struggle for respectability was continuous and unavailing. He was
aroused from his reverie by some negroes in front of him noisily
playing High, Low, Jack and the Game. Soon after, he became conscious
that the young men whom he had seen in the depot were engaged in a
talk, which was likely to prove interesting to him.
"They nabbed Wallace and Ab, nice," remarked the one who was called
Al.
"So I heard," answered his companion, "but I didn't learn how they
done it."
"Oh, that was Jerusalem Ratke's work," said Alf. "You know in the
spring they had what they called a 'committee of five,' to hunt out
the thieves. After they had the big hunt, everybody got disgusted and
didn't go a cent's worth on the committee. All of 'em laid the whole
blame off on Ole Jerus'lem, But, when they had such a time with that
feller, what was his name?--Wrengell--they found a road that had been
cut out in the swamp, yes, sir, a regular road, and a place where
horses had been kept. Then Ole Jerus'lem, he was hot, you know, he
raised a big rumpus. He said if anybody hurt his man, Wrengell,
they'd be sorry for it. Somebody noticed that Ab and the ole man
wasn't to home the next day, so what did Ole Jerus'lem do but hatch
up a plan with the committee (Green was dead, and this here Montcalm
had gone away), hatch up a plan with the committee, you know, to
watch the house nights. They didn't stay away only one day. They come
back, and one night Jim Turner was a watching--he thinks there never
was a man like Jerus'lem--he saw 'em go out of the house. He followed
'em down beyond Oakville, and there they got a horse from a barn that
belonged to a man by the name of Matthews. Jim saw 'em go to their
own barn with the horse, and then he went home. In the morning he got
out a warrant for 'em and took 'em to Jackson."
At the next station a young fellow walked into the smoking-car.
"Helloa, Jim," said Tom, "we was just a-talking about you."
"I hope it wasn't anything bad," said the new-comer.
John gave a start as he listened to the words. For a moment he vainly
tried to recollect where he had heard that voice, as he was certain
that he had met its owner, but he soon became assured of the young
fellow's identity. He was in the presence of Jim Turner, who has been
given in two preceding chapters the distinction only of being a
friend to Ratke and of wearing a peculiar white hat. He was alarmed
at the new arrival. A boy came into the car selling books, pamphlets
and papers. John bought a large pamphlet and held it so as to shield
him from the observation of Turner, who was seated with his back
toward him, but who would, according to all likelihood, occasionally
glance backward as he conversed with his companions. "Oh, yes. We was
giving you Jesse," said Tom. "We was talking about your getting that
horse away from Wallace.
"I didn't get him away," said Turner.
"I thought you followed 'em to the barn."
"Yes, I did," assented Turner, "That is, purty near there. I come
back, me and the sheriff, and we couldn't find a horse nor a track,
nothing but Wallace's old plugs."
"Well, now, that's funny," said Tom. "I don't see where they could
have gone to."
"Nor I neither," answered Turner. "Funniest thing I ever heard of. I
didn't know but maybe the major could help me out of that. He's got a
head on him, Mister Man, if he is cracked about his Jerusalem wagon.
Didn't he come it slick on that Boutwell, boys?"
"I guess so," said Tom. "The old man pummeled him, didn't he?"
"Larrupped him like all possessed," said Turner. "He turned him over
to me, and the fellow had some bad marks on him."
At this point Turner's companions got into a trivial discussion over
which they staked a quantity of beer. John ventured to look out of a
window. Fence posts and telegraph-poles were rushing swiftly by,
while far-away hills and woods seemed to move more slowly, the
apparent speed varying according to the proximity of the spectator to
the place of observation, the nearer objects seemed to pass between
him and the more distant ones. The country was comparatively level,
the hills, therefore, sloping, and the cuts through which the track
ran long and shallow. The land was well wooded and diversified, here
and there, by low and uncultivated strips. Traces of the terrible
drought were everywhere apparent. One marsh was blackened by fire and
still smoking. Next on the route was a small stream which was
overhung by stubby willows.
At Sharptown Jim Turner and the young men who had rode from Barton
Junction left the train. Sharptown was built on the first of a series
of hills which was spread over the greater part of Washtenaw County.
From this village eastward the track ran alternatively through deep
cuts and along elevated grades. The great bumps which roughened the
face of the country were scattered thickly about, hiding the smaller
ones, which in other places would have been called large. While they
were halting at a small station, John saw, even through the
smoke-dimmed atmosphere, five elevations, rising one behind the other
according to the order of size, the largest in the background.
Wrengell terminated his ride at Ann Arbor. He ascended a rise of
ground and came to the main part of the city.
"Can you tell me where the hospital is?" he inquired of a young
fellow who had the air of a student.
"Which one?" asked the fellow,
"I hardly know," answered John. "I thought there was only one."
"Well," said the young fellow, "there is but one that amounts to
anything. You don't want anything to do with those homeopathic
quacks. Go around the corner, and you will see a large square
building with parts built on it. Just beyond it you will see another
like it, and on that one you will see University Hospital in large
letters. You are sure you can find it?"
"I think so," said John.
"I think I had better go with you," said the fellow, turning about
and accompanying Wrengell. "If you should get in with those
Homeopathists, you wouldn't get a bit of help. What is the trouble
with you?"
"A trouble which I have had a long time," answered John.
"Excuse me," said the guide. "Patients don't always like to tell
their ailments. That is the building there, where that man is
standing."
"I am obliged to you for your trouble," said John as the young man
hurried away.