3stalwarts (99 page)

“Well, I’d heard a remark here and there,” said Solomon. “But not enough to pick up and believe.”

“He’s been dead two years now. He died after a hard blizzard. Rube, here, found him.”

“Stopped in to get the loan of a chew,” said the bat-eared man.

“Yeanh, Rube found him sitting in his chair, holding his horn, and dead. Didn’t you, Rube?”

“Hard as a post.”

“He saw he was dead right off.”

“Whiter’n cheese.”

“So he come right along.”

“Wasn’t a chew in the house,” explained the bat-eared man.

“It was awful cold that week,” Murphy went on. “But we turned out and had a funeral and buried him. It was hard work digging his grave.”

“Got up a sweat at twelve below,” said the bat-eared man.

“Rube used the pick,” said Murphy. “I can remember him down in the snow and the pick head coming up and glancing and going down. Tunk!”

“A handy tool,” observed the bat-eared man.

“So we shoveled in the dirt and locked up the house.”

“Been down there since?”

“Once,” said Murphy, a little white. “Went down with Rube to borrow a chair my old lady’d took a fancy to. Just to borrow it against some of Riddle’s folks turning up. Just a loan it was to be. But when we turned into the holler we heard a horn blow out loud. It was his horn and blew out loud, didn’t it, Rube?”

“Dismal,” said the bat-eared man in a low voice.

“So we come away.”

“How’d you know it was his’n?”

“Why we buried it with him. Who else’s could it be?”

“Had it in his fist,” said the bat-eared man.

“Heard it again?”

“Rube heard it last week.”

“Fact.”

“Anyone seen round the house?” asked Solomon.

“That’s what give me such a start,” said Murphy. “There was a man here this afternoon, just afore you come in, wanted to know about the house. Said he was going down to look it over. He said he was going to buy it, maybe, offn the estate.”

The three boaters perked their ears.

“Yeanh. What did he look like?”

“Fat man. Had on a hard hat. Said his name was Henderson. He smoked a cigar.”

“Gol,” said Dan.

Solomon swore.

“What’s it all about?” asked Murphy.

“Nothing,” Solomon said. “I used to know Riddle, the old bezabor.”

“Well, it’s all right by me,” said Murphy.

“We’d ought to be getting along back,” Fortune said.

“That’s right. Lucy’ll be getting nervous. Good night.”

“Fifty cents will cover it,” said Murphy.

They paid and went out.

“What do you know about that?” Solomon exclaimed, as they paused on the stoop to turn up their collars. “The fat little twerk. No, sir. I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“We ought to go down and see if he’s all right,” said Fortune, “even if we don’t come in on the reward.”

Solomon nodded sharply. He took the lead, carrying the lantern under his coat to protect the chimney from the rain. A dim rim of light was cast about his heavy shoes. Now and then it glistened on a puddle. It was raining harder; the drops had begun to bounce on the water of the canal; they could hear the heavy roar of it out of sight upon the hills.

Except for the little spot of lantern light that marked Solomon’s feet, squelching along the road and picking up great clouts of mud, the night closed in on them, as black as tar. In intervals in which the rain appeared to be catching its breath, they could hear the river, far down on their left, muttering over the rapids.

The Sarsey Sal loomed up beside the towpath, its windows dark; but Dan heard one of the bays grunting as it lay down in the stable. Then a little way ahead the lights from the cabin of the Nancy poked out onto the towpath. As they passed, Dan had a glimpse of Mrs. Gurget playing solitaire at the table, and of Molly knitting beside the stove, a yellow glow on her brown hair. She looked up, as he came abreast, but her eyes were on the wrong window to see him.

They turned down a road toward the river, the rain roaring on invisible trees to their right and left, and stirring a heavy smell of rotting leaves out of the ground. Dan’s feet kept slipping in the mud; he followed the jerking patch of light blindly. The little man stepped sturdily on, as though he were well acquainted with the road, and Fortune, treading at his heels, made easy progress.

After a while Solomon stopped, scattering a rim of drops from his coat and holding up the lantern. The light picked out their faces redly, a-shine with wet, against the dim veil of rain. They looked at each other, counting noses.

“I’ll bet he didn’t go down,” Solomon said.

“Maybe not,” said the ex-preacher.

“He probably went back after help.”

Dan did not feel so sure; he had a growing respect for the fat man— he had seen him so often on Gentleman Joe’s heels.

“I don’t want no share of the reward,” he said suddenly.

Solomon stared up at his big bulk, then shifted his gaze to where a little channel of rain ran off his hat.

“What?”

“I don’t want no share of the reward.”

“You’re coming with us, ain’t you?”

“Yeanh.”

Fortune’s smooth face poked close to theirs.

“What do you know about that?” exclaimed the little man, snatching the trickle from the end of his long nose.

The ex-preacher grinned.

“It makes that much more for you and me, Tinkle.”

A drop pinged against the glass, and Solomon hurriedly lowered the lantern.

“It ain’t natural.”

He took up the lead again, and for a while the others found it hard to follow the feeble light about his feet. The lantern had left a red glow in their eyes.

It was perhaps ten minutes later when Solomon stopped again, and again they stared at each other in the close light of the lantern.

“Riddle’s road branches off on the right pretty quick,” said Solomon. “You want to keep watching for it and let me know if you see it afore I do.”

They pushed on. Dan became conscious of the weight of his hat and of the beat of rain upon it. The ex-preacher’s trousers were soaked through and moulded close round his thin shanks. He walked with a long, lurching stride, his hands in his pockets. Now and then he chuckled as though he were enjoying himself. Dan’s hands swung limply from the wrist, close to his legs. Solomon’s feet, leading the way, went with a martial tread. Once in a while one stumbled, or slipped over a stone; and then the light would escape from his coat for an instant and shine on the twisted branches of the trees.

Suddenly Dan caught hold of Fortune’s shoulder. The ex-preacher whirled round, and then laughed under his breath.

“Hey, Sol!” Dan called.

“Yeanh?”

“Ain’t that the road?”

Solomon walked back.

“I don’t see how it could be so soon.”

He was disgruntled.

He swung the lantern up, and great shadows were evolved against the rain and fled away. He lifted the chimney and blew the flame off the wick. The darkness struck them, leaving an ache under their eyelids.

“It’s all right. Take hold of my coat, and, Dan, you take hold of Friendly.”

He began to move into the side road marked by two ridges of grass between the ruts and the horse tread. Fortune shuffled along at his heels, Dan behind him; the three bent over, moving stealthily in the invisible rain, like monkeys holding each other’s tails.

For a hundred yards they went ahead at a fair speed, the road easy to their feet. Then Solomon stopped and they felt for each other and laid their heads close together.

“The ruts has stopped,” the little man said in a low voice. “We must be in the yard.”

Dan and Fortune lifted their heads, but saw nothing.

“It ought to be dead ahead,” said Solomon.

“How’re we going to do it?” Fortune asked.

The little man took hold of his long nose in the darkness. Dan kept his eyes searching for the shadow of the house.

“First,” Solomon said, “we’ll get up close to the house. If he’s inside, he’s asleep. If we don’t hear nothing, we’ll open the door if we can, and I’ll sneak inside on my stummick with my revolver. I’ve got a-hold of it now.”

To know that somehow comforted all of them.

“Don’t be scared,” said the little man. “I’m pretty good at using it. When we’re inside, Dan goes left and Friendly goes right; and when I thump, you stop. There ain’t any back door and the stairs comes down facing front. Then I’ll light the candle I got in my pocket and we’ll wait under the stairs for him to come down.”

“What if we can’t get in the door.”

“We’ll have to find another way.”

“It sounds all right to me,” said Fortune.

“All right.”

Once more taking hold of each other, they crept ahead. The rain found the collars of their coats now, and ran down inside, but they did not notice it.

Then Solomon’s outstretched fingers bumped against clapboards.

“We’ll try left,” he whispered. “Look out for the well. It’s got boards on it, but I wouldn’t trust a trained flea on to them.”

Again they crept forward. Dan’s ankle scraped against a board, and a loosened bit of wood struck water somewhere far down.

“Shhh!”

Solomon was crawling up the stoop steps to the vague grey blur of a white door. His hand reached up and found the latch. It lifted silently, and to their surprise the door swung gently open. Wriggling, Solomon crawled inside. After a moment Fortune followed him. Then Dan started.

Through the front door he turned to the left, keeping close to the wall. He came to a shallow corner and went on. Then there was another shallow corner, and he realized that the ground-floor room must be eight-sided, like the outside of the house. A little farther ahead his hand came against the belly of a stove. It was still warm, but the fire must have died down two or three hours before.

He crouched beside it as a thump on the board floor sounded back by the door. A plank creaked faintly as Fortune stopped opposite him. For an instant they all lay still in the darkness, listening. At first, through the monotonous drum of rain on the roof, the silence seemed breathless; then Dan became aware of a fourth person in the room. He was not sure of hearing anything. It was impossible to see. He could not be certain of the position of the fourth person; but he was convinced, suddenly, that it was not Gentleman Joe. For he smelled a faint, stale smell of burnt woolen.

A spit of blue fizzling burst out beside the door, turned into a cloud of greenish biting smoke, caught in a yellow flame upon the candlewick. The flame lowered, then climbed up, tremblingly. The candle balanced on the floor, stood upright, and Solomon Tinkle scurried to one side, his blinking eyes on the stairs.

Water filled Dan’s eyes for a moment; he noticed Fortune staring foolishly at the lone candle in the door and the grey rain beyond, drumming on the mud of the yard; Fortune, with his back to the stairs, squatting, his hands on his knees, helpless if Gentleman Joe had been in the room. Only Solomon Tinkle was looking in the right direction, and his gun was wavering in his hand, and his staring eyes wept after the darkness.

“Jeepers!” he said.

Dan felt the blood in his face, and turned round from the door. In a rocking-chair against the wall beyond the stove sat Henderson. A revolver, in his hand, rested its muzzle on the floor. A fat cigar had caught in his lap, and the ashes were smudged all over his waistcoat. He was slumped down on the small of his back, his fat legs sprawled out in front of him. He seemed to be sleeping; his tight little nostrils stirred to an uneven breathing very faintly. His coat on the left side was wet and dark, and there was a small pool on the floor, spread out.

Fortune chuckled ridiculously.

“You shut up!”

Solomon moved forward to the stairs. Hunkering down, Dan watched his small bowlegs out of sight into the shadow. His feet trod forward over their heads, sending down a faint silt of dust through the board ceiling.

Then he came down.

“I knowed he was gone,” he said, pocketing his revolver. “I knowed it as soon as I saw that twerk. Is he dead?”

Fortune stepped forward and pushed his hand against Henderson’s side.

“No. It’s lucky it wasn’t one of us. Calash could have nailed Dan and me and then knocked you on the head afore you could’ve seen him.”

“Cripus!” snorted Solomon. “I’d have nailed him first. I’d have screwed the lid on him right there.”

He pulled a red handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face.

“What’U we do with him?” he asked, nodding his head at Henderson.

“He’s hit pretty bad,” Fortune said. “But he ain’t bleeding now to speak of. We’d ought to carry him back.”

“He’s heavy.”

“I guess I can shoulder him part of the way,” Dan said. He felt relieved; he had not wanted to find Calash. Now that the man was safe away, he had nothing to worry about.

“We could go back and get a wagon. I’ll go back,” said Solomon, “and you could stay here.”

“It would take too long,” said Dan. He wanted to get back to the boats, to see Molly. An unexplainable enthusiasm took hold of him. “I can carry him all right.”

“It’s better than half a mile.”

“Let him try,” said Fortune, looking at Dan’s big shoulders, “I’ll bet he can.”

Solomon went out for the lantern. When he had lit it, Dan picked Henderson up across his shoulders. The man’s head swung sharply down and bumped against his cheek. They blew out the candle and closed the door. The house faded behind them, eight-sided in the rain.

It was easier walking with the lantern only partially shielded, but Dan’s shoulders ached by the time they got to the towpath.

“Had we ought to take him on the boats?” Fortune asked.

“Why not?”

“It might scare the women.”

“It’d take a fatter dead man than she’s a woman to scare Lucy,” Solomon said.

The women had heard them, for they came on deck.

“Lord, what rain!” Mrs. Gurget exclaimed. “That you, Sol?”

“Yeanh.”

“Is that him?”

“No, it’s the Department of Justice man. We’re going to bring him on board.”

“Say,” she cried. “Spinning’s down by the store. He’d got a letter from him to be here tonight. You’d better fetch him down there. I’ll come along with some whiskey and a towel.”