NO CHANCES
A bunch of belated letters arrived next morning for Vane. They had been
hung up at the little town on the big river, where the postmaster had
mislaid the address for forwarding which Vane had left with him. Three
letters were from his mother, three from the lady whose indifference to
and skepticism concerning the backwoods descendants of Willoughby Girl
had stung him into making the journey to Forkville—and who had never
before addressed so much as a scratch of a pen to him—and several from
several firms of solicitors and attorneys. He read them all before he
went to see Joe. He found Joe waiting for him, all ready for the morning
walk.
“Let’s go out the Glen Road this morning,” she suggested.
“No, I think we had better get married this morning,” he said gravely.
“But that’s for Thursday—day after to-morrow. Had you forgotten? What’s
the matter, Rob?”
“I do believe I’m afraid. I got some letters to-day—and rather
startling news. My uncle and cousin are dead—killed in a railway
accident. It has put my wind up, I must admit. And when I think of what
you have gone through even since I came to this place—that fire, and
the night and day in the woods—without a scratch, I’m afraid our luck
may change any minute now. Why not to-day instead of Thursday—and take
no chances?”
“You afraid, Robert? No, it is only the shock of the bad news. We have
nothing to fear. Were you very fond of your uncle and cousin?”
“But life’s a chancy thing. Yes, I liked them. They were good
fellows—both old soldiers and all that sort of thing—and gone like
that, like nothing! Why wait until the day after to-morrow, dear? Why
drive my luck? We’ll catch the parson at home, and I have the license in
my pocket.”
“Are you serious, dear?”
“Dead serious. I’m afraid to take a chance—for the first time in my
life. I never realized before what a risky thing this is—this being
happy. My cousin was to be married, you know. They were on their way to
his wedding.”
The girl’s eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” she cried. And then, “All right, I’m ready,” she
whispered.
They returned to the McPhees’ house three hours later, man and wife.
They found the McPhees full of excitement.
“The deputy sheriff jist drove through here with old Luke Dangler,” said
Tom McPhee to Vane. “The old lad bust out of jail; an’ the deputy caught
him up on the Glen Road, layin’ for someone with a gun. He’s cracked. I
reckon what done it was the sight of Amos stoppin’ Pete Sledge’s axe
with his face that day. They won’t put him back into jail anyhow, the
deputy says. It’s the lunatic asylum for him.”
“Who was he gunning for on the Glen Road?” asked Vane.
“That’s what the deputy couldn’t make out. The old lad was cussin’ about
some feller who’d busted up the whole works jist because he didn’t have
courage enough to tell who he was an’ what he wanted.”
“He has no right to feel that way about it,” returned Vane gravely. “It
was coming to him.”
[Illustration]
THE END
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple
spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors
occur.