CHAPTER XXVII

While the Rain Fell

Watson, his feet on the table and his pipe alight, glanced across at Smythe, who was standing before the window. It was evening, and the falling rain made soothing, swishing music against the pane and upon the low roof of the Bridgetown store. Watson watched the storekeeper speculatively. At last he spoke.

“I told you we were playing a losing game,” he growled, “and here we are waiting like a pair of trapped fox for the end. A mighty shrewd pair we’ve been, to be sure. This double game don’t go, Smythe. I’ve played it all my life—and what have I got by it? Nothing—absolutely nothing.”

Mr. Smythe smiled a faint smile and smoothed his hair with a thin hand.

“I will admit it looks as though we have been a little indiscreet,” he returned. “That last move of ours was foolish—very foolish; but, Thomas, we had to protect ourselves, and—ahem! we had to do what Simpson wished. Otherwise——”

“Do you think I would have let that cur lay a finger on that little girl?” cried Watson. “Look here, Smythe, I may be a cheat and a villain, but I tell you I’m not all bad. Simpson’s threat that he would tell Hallibut everything didn’t frighten me. But, drunken fool I was—and you were too—to think that those Bushwhackers could be forced into yielding up their rights through fear for the safety of the girl. Bah! it makes me sick to think of what a fool I’ve been.”

“And I,” murmured Smythe; “I too, Thomas.”

Watson made a jesture of disgust.

“Yes, you, too. Well, what are we going to do about it? Of course, the Colonel will go over to Bushwhackers’ Place, now the trail is clear.”

“He will likely go as soon as he can,” said Smythe in a low voice. “If the weather hadn’t stopped him from going before now——”

“But there’s nothing to stop him now,” broke in Watson. “The trail’s clear, as you know, and winter is about spent. Cursed one it has been, too,” he added with a shiver.

Smythe came over and sat on the edge of the table. He picked up a fork and toyed with it thoughtfully. At length, his light eyes shifting about the room, and his voice softened almost to a whisper, he said:

“The dear Colonel is taking a big chance in visiting Bushwhackers’ Place now. It’s almost suicide for him to attempt it.”

Watson glanced at the speaker and wiped his face on his hand.

“I wish there was some way to prevent his going,” he returned, “—if only for a day or two. We’ve got to get out of here—that’s all.”

Smythe crept over to the window and pulled down the blind. The rain was falling heavily now and the wind had risen to a roar that shook the solid structure.

“My friend,” he smiled, “kindly invite our guest up to the council-chamber.”

Watson bent and lifted a heavy trap-door in the floor.

“Come up, Satan,” he commanded.

In another instant a man’s head and shoulders were thrust through the opening and Amos Broadcrook swung himself up into the room. He stood squinting his good eye at the candlelight and rolling a quid of tobacco from one side of his cadaverous mouth to the other. The man’s cheeks were sunken and his whole attitude was one of abject fear.

“They ain’t comin’, be they?” he asked with a shudder. “You ain’t givin’ me up t’ them, men, be you?”

“Amos,” spoke Smythe, “playing ground-hog for over three months has used you up. I guess a glass of whiskey wouldn’t come amiss, would it?”

“Whiskey,” whispered the wretched man; “be I goin’ t’ get whiskey? I need it now if I ever did. What noise be that?” he asked, gripping Watson’s arm with trembling hand.

Watson shook off the hand and said something in an undertone. Broadcrook drank the whiskey which Smythe brought him and sank upon a stool.

“When are you goin’ t’ let me go?” he asked eagerly. “It’s rainin’ now, and the snow’ll be gone by mornin’. Oh, men, let me go t’-night,” he begged cringingly.

Mr. Smythe raised him gently and patted his shoulder in a fatherly way.

“Amos,” he chided, “you must be a man. You must bear up, my poor fellow. Aye, truly but ‘conscience doth make cowards of us all.’ You should strive to bear up under the burden, Amos.”

Broadcrook rolled his eyes about the room.

“I ain’t sayin’ as I’m sorry fer anythin’,” he growled, “an’ I ain’t sayin’ as I wouldn’t like t’ do more ner I have fer some o’ them Bushwhackers neither. It’s ’cause I’m scared Hallibut ’ll get me that I’m shaky, and besides, old Noah’s ghost has been ha’ntin’ me again. Gimme more whiskey an’ I’ll be all right.”

Watson poured out more of the spirits, and Amos drank greedily.

Watson’s eyes sought Smythe’s.

“They will be hunting you soon, Amos,” he said. “Colonel Hallibut has sworn to run you down. He says he will put his dogs on your track.”

“Lor’,” shuddered Amos, taking his head in his hands.

Smythe edged closer and whispered:

“We have ascertained that he will go to Bushwhackers’ Place before putting the dogs on you. Perhaps he wants something of yours to give the dogs a scent.”

Broadcrook lifted his haggard face.

“An’ he’s goin’ t’ Bushwhackers’ Place?”

He sat nodding his big head up and down, evolving some wicked plan in his slow-working brain.

“If I start away to-night I kin get across th’ border afore he kin let th’ dogs out,” he said eagerly.

Watson shook his head.

“You couldn’t make it in four days, not in this weather,” he asserted. “Besides, you’d leave a track that anybody could follow. Those dogs are swift and they would have you in two days if you tried that way.”

“When d’ye think Hallibut’ll be goin’ over?” asked Amos, standing up. The liquor had steadied his nerves and he spoke in his old voice.

Smythe shrugged his shoulders.

“A man from St. Thomas was in to-night,” he said slowly. “He says the trail was pretty well blocked yesterday. We know Hallibut will go as soon as it is possible for him to do so, and we know this rain means a clear trail to-morrow. Also,” he added sinisterly, “we know that Hallibut will surely call here on his way over, and that he is taking his life in his hands by going at all.”

“Do you think he’ll get shot?” asked Amos.

“No danger,” said Watson. “You know what the Bushwhackers are like, Broadcrook. It was over three months ago they made that threat. They will never fire on the Colonel now.”

Smythe was walking to and fro, his hands in his pockets, his slippered feet padding the floor with a soft tread like that of an animal.

“Of course,” he explained, his face smiling and his eyes on the floor, “Mr. Watson and I both know that the Bushwhackers threatened to kill Colonel Hallibut. But,” lifting his head and clasping his claw-like hands together, “let us hope that a Higher Power will guide his footsteps aright, even though his action in visiting those people is suicidal to a degree.”

Watson made a wry face and relit his pipe.

Smythe continued to pace up and down, his lips moving as though in prayer. Broadcrook sat huddled up in his chair, his great hands gripping each other.

“I orter go back home jest for some things I left as I should have,” he said craftily. He flashed a look from one to the other of the men, then his gaze fell. “I’d sorter like company on account o’ the wolves. I ain’t sayin’ as I’d go along with Hallibut, ’cause I know too much fer that. But I could foller him like an’ keep close an’ he’d be company fer me without knowin’ it.”

He settled lower in his chair, and Watson spoke.

“You will make tracks as fast as God’ll let you out of this country, and if you get away safe it’s more than you deserve. A pretty pickle you’ve put us in! Now, then, swear you’ll get for the States and never show your face in these parts again, or down there in that hole you stay until you can’t tell anything you know. See?”

Watson took a roll of greenbacks from his pocket and held it up.

“When you’re ready to swear that you never heard Smythe here suggest anything, and that you will go where we want you to go—it’s yours.”

Amos glared up and opened his mouth as though to voice a protest, but at sight of the money settled back trembling.

“Be you goin’ t’ give me the money as you promised?” he asked, looking at Smythe and pointing to the bills.

“As soon as you confess that you were lying when you said I hinted anything to you.”

“Course I was lyin’,” said Amos with a leer. “You never told me t’ do nuthin’. You hear me, Watson,” he cried, “Smythe thar never told me what I said he did; I were lyin’.”

“Heaven forgive you, as I do,” murmured Smythe.

“Gimme the money,” cried Amos. “I promise to get across the border right smart.”

“I think,” said Smythe, taking the greenbacks from Watson’s hand and counting them slowly, “I think we had better give you the money, Amos—all but the sixty dollars coming to me for three months’ board, and allow you to go in hiding in the cellar again. When the dear Colonel comes, which I am sure he will very soon now, you will wait until he has left for Bushwhackers’ Place, then you will bid good-by to this place forever. No one will miss you, Amos, because you have no friends—but that is your own fault. You will always have a troubled conscience for a companion, but that is also your own fault. Remember, if you are caught——”

Mr. Smythe slipped his long fingers about his thin neck and winked his watery eyes.

“If you are caught, it’s all up with you, Amos.”

Broadcrook arose, his gaunt face twitching.

“Gimme another drink and I’ll go down in my hole again,” he said hoarsely. “You call me arter Hallibut has been here and gone. I wanter get away inter the States. You’ll let me have a rifle, won’t you, men?” he begged. “I’m scart o’ the wolves—they’ve been bad this winter.”

Watson wheeled upon him.

“You swear you won’t shoot anybody,” he said.

“Haven’t I enough t’ answer fer?” groaned the wretch.

“All right, then, you can have the rifle.”

Then the trap-door fell, and Watson, resuming his seat by the table, looked at Smythe.

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

Smythe shivered and glanced about him.

“You haven’t anything to hold you here, have you?” asked Watson. “This place is mortgaged for all it’s worth—and you owe for everything in the store, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“I think we will not tempt Providence by remaining much longer,” said Smythe. “We’ll flit to some far-off land and begin life anew.”

“And it won’t be a partnership affair, either,” said Watson.