CLEWS
Ira ambled along through the woods, emerging at Barrett’s where the
dubious rumors of his past career always assured him a ready welcome. He
had never been of the Barrett’s set, preferring the quiet of the farm,
and the adventurous game of quietly plaguing Aunt Mira. But they knew
him for a former sailor and soldier of fortune (or ill-fortune) and they
respected him for the dark traditions which were associated with his
name.
He sauntered along the shabby little street till he came to the house of
Luke Meadows. He had no better plan than just a quiet tour of
observation and inquiry. He intended to chat with Luke. But his
curiosity had been greatly enlivened since he had seen the deer.
But at Luke’s house he was doomed to surprise and disappointment. The
alien had gone away with his little girl. There had been no furniture
worth moving and the westerner’s few portable belongings (so the
loiterers said) had been taken in a shabby bag.
Luke had not vouchsafed his neighbors any information touching the cause
of his departure or his destination. There was a picture, unconsciously
and crudely drawn by “Missie Ellis,” the neighbor to whose care Meadows
had consigned his little daughter just before the scout had saved him
from arrest and jail. She seemed a motherly person, well chosen by the
man who, in his extremity, had thought only of his little daughter.
“I see them go,” said Mrs. Ellis, “and he was carryin’ her in one arm
and the bag in the other. They went up the road toward Dawson’s and I
says to my man, I says, sumpin is wrong and they’ve gone to git the
train. The county men was allus after him, houndin’ him and houndin’
him; Lord knows, I never knew him to do no harm but shoot game. And the
little kiddie, she was the livin’ image of her mother. I nursed the poor
woman when she died of the flu and Luke he jes stood there by the bed
and lookin’ at her and sayin’ not a word. Even after she went not a word
did he say.
“She was out of her head, she was, and she was sayin’ how they were back
in Cody where they came from and he says, ‘Yes, mommy, we’ll go back;
soon as you can travel we’ll go back.’ They was strangers here; I guess
they was allus thinkin’ and frettin’ about their big wild west. He says
once how he could see miles of prairies, poor man. Sech eyes as he had!
Seemed as if he could see across miles of prairies.
“To-day he had some trouble with Terry again. I don’t know what it was
all about, but there was a youngster over here, a fine likely lookin’
young lad and they took him away to Chandler. I says to my man, they’ve
gone to make the poor, frightened boy tell something and then come back
an’ arrest Luke. So I guess he goes away while it was yet time—Lord
knows what it was all about.”
Ira walked through the poor, little, deserted house and even he was
touched by its bareness. Curious, gossipy neighbors accompanied him,
commenting upon the brown, taciturn man who had gone and taken away with
him the one thing of value that he possessed, his little girl. If he had
gone for fear Westy might weaken, under some rustic third degree, and
incriminate him, he might have saved himself the slight inconvenience of
a hasty departure. The scout who had seen to it that the little
motherless girl and her father were not parted, was not likely to say
one word more than he intended to say to the authorities or to any one
else.
One thing Ira did find in the little house which interested him. This
was a collection of as many as a dozen empty tinfoil packages on the
wooden shelf above the cooking stove. According to the labels they had
contained Mechanic’s Delight Plug Cut tobacco.