Part 11

"'John McQuade o' the sunny shade an' the woodbine cottage' he calls himself, and he thinks, because he'd a long sight rather loaf and fish than work his honest farm, that he must surely be some sort of a character. I'm not sure but he half thinks he's a poet, or at the very least a philosopher. In five minutes he can give you more good reasons for vagabondin' than you could argue down in a long day's talk."

"This must be a man worth knowing," said Jimmie.

"He's jealous right away!" Augusta laughed. "He's afraid that somebody's been discovered who can talk more nonsense than he can."

"Nonsense," said the big man sententiously as he picked the potato pot off the fire and turned to drain off the water, "nonsense is the salt o' creation. The maxims of the unwise," he pronounced, hanging the pot back over the fire again, to dry for a moment, "are the gatherings of fools' experience. But, ye'll mind, the fools get far more experience than the wise folk. So, there you are."

He brought the potatoes from the fire and deftly turned them into the dish that Augusta had waiting. Augusta brought the baked fish, and he showed her how to slip it from the toaster, without disturbing the bacon which was cooked right into the fish.

Jimmie, seeing the dusk which seemed to be gathering in upon them from the shadows of the trees, brought the lantern from the wagon and was going to hang it lighted from a tree. But the big man would not hear of this. He would have no smelly lanterns around a sylvan feast, he said. And since he was seconded by Augusta he had his way. From under the house he dragged out a fire cradle, a wire basket on the end of an iron rod, which is used in the prow of a boat for spearing fish at night. This he drove fast into the top of a stump and filled it with knots of resinous wood.

The strong reddish light had the effect of drawing the darkness down upon them immediately, so that they could not see a thing beyond the radius of its rays. It gave them a feeling of complete isolation from all the world, such as only a campfire at night can give, and, in a way, a sense of security. But Wardwell could not help thinking, and only with difficulty refrained from saying, that it was a foolish thing for a hunted man to so advertise his whereabouts with a light that could attract attention for miles in the hills.

The big Irishman, however, seemed the most unworried fugitive at large.

"No," he declared, as though continuing an argument, "you couldn't do a thing in the world better than to stop right here till the snow flies." It was plain that Augusta had talked plans with him while Jimmie and Donahue were down at the lake. "Or if there is one thing better it'd be to stop right here through the winter."

"But, Lord Alive man!" said Jimmie, appalled at the idea, "we'd freeze to death! You don't know, and I don't want to know, what the cold is like here."

"I know it well. But I never knew anybody yet that froze to death in it."

"Yes, but we're city folks," Jimmie argued. "We wouldn't know how to keep ourselves alive. Don't forget that we've been brought up to hug radiators."

"An' that's the very thing that you must forget. The way to keep warm is not to get cold. Get an ax, there's a good one inside there, and go at the windfall wood here. Agen the time comes when ye'll want the wood for big rousing fires ye'll have a fire up inside of you shootin blood through your veins in a way that'll let you laugh at cold."

"I'm not sure that I'd have the nerve to try it," said Jimmie doubtfully. "But even if I had there are two things that seem to be objections."

"What two things?"

"Well, first, there's--my wife," Jimmie explained a little stiffly, "she couldn't chop wood, so she'd just naturally have to freeze."

"Leave it to a woman to face any dare," said the big man easily. "She'll come through and laugh, when you'll be fit to cry."

"I know that," Jimmie admitted. "But, besides, there's Mr. McQuade to be thought of. He hasn't yet given us any invitation to move into his camp and use his ax."

"Be easy, then," said the big man promptly. "I'll give me word for McQuade. He'll never miss any bit you use. And I'll warrant that he'll be only too glad to have someone gettin' good o' the camp. There's the big sugar house itself stuck in the hill back of us. The boilin' pans are out and the brick furnace is topped over with sheet iron. The very thing. When the real cold comes ye'll just move in there an' lay your open fire in the very door o' the furnace, an' there ye have a camp snug an' dry an' as warm as ever ye'll want to make it. An' there's full an' plenty of blankets there stowed away for the boys."

He went on expatiating at large and generously on the resources of the sugar cabin, while Augusta listened eagerly and dreamed of the snowbound winter nights with the big fire blazing. Jimmie with his eye fixed firmly on his plate was fighting back a grin. If he could have had Donahue's ear for a moment he would have pointed out to him that this making so free of other people's property was good philosophy but that it was rather discouraged by the laws of the state.

He did not, however, say any of these things, for, in spite of all, he found himself liking the big man, it was impossible to do otherwise, and Jimmie would have felt it a very ugly thing indeed to have hurt him by any smart reference to his unfortunate position.

"You'll need to get rid of the horse," the big man was advising Augusta, who, it seemed, was already in charge of the practical operations for the winter.

"Horse?" said Augusta vaguely. She was utterly unable to grasp the idea.

"Your horse, yes. It'd take all he's worth to feed him through the winter, and he'd be no use to you at all. In the spring you can buy another if you're wantin' one."

"But you mean--You mean _sell Donahue_!"

"Who else?" said the big man unconcernedly.

"Never, never! You don't understand at all. Why, Donahue is one of ourselves! We could never think of such a thing." And Augusta looked her indignation at Jimmie, as though he had offered the proposal.

"I suppose it would be the practical thing to do," said Jimmie without thinking. "But, of course, we needn't think of it. We haven't come that far yet, you know."

"Well, I don't think we _will_ think of it," Augusta returned warmly. "I don't see how you can suggest such a thing, Jimmie, when you know well enough we wouldn't be here at all if Donahue hadn't pulled us every step of the way!"

"Oh well, mam," the big man put in softly, "you see I was only saying what I'd do meself. You'll do whatever you think best, of course. But for your husband, now, as I was saying," he switched skillfully back to safe ground, "put the ax in his hand, an' don't let him hurt himself with it at first, an' agen the snow flies you'll see him a man as hard as nails an' twice as important, for, say what you will about the pride of brains, there's nothing that makes a man quite so sure proud of himself as to feel the strength bulgin' up in him."

Supper over, the two men helped Augusta with the dishes while the big Irishman dealt out sage counsels to provide for every emergency that might confront the two people who were to stay on here. He seemed to leave no room at all for doubt that they would stay. He refused to hear that they had no right to stay here and use Mr. McQuade's property. In the first place, he argued that McQuade was a rich old curmudgeon who would never know how much or how little of his property they might use. And in the next breath he represented McQuade to be a man of a heart of gold who would gladly move out of his own house and home to leave it to some one who had more need of it.

Jimmie reflected that the arguments were hopelessly contradictory, but as the whole manner of their evening's entertainment had been fantastic and more or less unbelievable he decided to leave study and decision over until the morning.

Augusta was not looking for logic. She had fallen under the spell of the big man's promises for Jimmie's health and she was willing to take Mr. McQuade's complacence for granted.

When they had settled down about the fire and the early evening noises of the woods were dying down to the occasional, lonely cheepings of a restless bird or the far distant, creepy baying of a hound somewhere in the hills, the talk became fitful and desultory.

Jimmie was keenly sorry for the big breezy man who was so cheerfully proposing to leave this place which apparently had been a safe haven and take the lonely, hopeless trail of a hunted man. And Augusta, always sensitive to Jimmie's moods and thoughts, was depressed and nervous with him. Every happy start of conversation which they tried to make seemed inevitably to turn back to something which must be avoided. They could not ask where "Mr. Smith" intended going, or hope that they might see him soon again, or even offer him provisions out of their own store, without bringing themselves upon the dismal question of what he had done and why he was "wanted."

"Can you shoot?" the big man asked in one of the pauses.

"I can hit things in a gallery, but I never hunted much," Jimmie explained.

"It's not the same thing at all. But if you've the eyes and the nerve you'll very soon learn. And you'll be wanting fresh meat. There'll be plenty of it hereabout in another month, birds and rabbits and later on deer. Get a good rifle and learn the times for shooting. Have your license right and see that you keep the law. You might think you wouldn't be bothered here. But the game people would spot you out in no time, and you being a stranger with a gypsy wagon you'd get no shrift at all." Jimmie commented to himself on the stranger's respect for what he himself in common with most people had always thought of as merely a formal law.

"You'll want to hunt, to kill things," the big man stated. "I don't know why it is, but it's a fact. No sooner does a man feel his own life and strength swellin' up in him than rightabout he wants to kill things. And, would you believe it, he thrives on it. Killing, do you know, is one of the healthiest occupations--"

A startling, ear-splitting noise broke out of the silence of the night and moved towards them with frightening rapidity.

Wardwell sprang to his feet and placed himself in front of Augusta. He did not know what he expected to see come driving upon them out of the dark. But the noise, to his city ears, had just one meaning. It was a sharp, staccato, drumming sound on a rising note, and it was apparently coming straight at them. In a way, Wardwell might be said to have been prepared for this. The noise, as he understood it, was quite familiar to him. He was certain that a badly firing motorcycle had been started just a little way off and was now dashing straight for their fire. He quite forgot the trees and rocks, for he could not see them, and stood peering defiantly out into the darkness that fell black and formless beyond the circle of the flare of light. He was convinced that a motorcycle policeman was bearing down upon them. But his only emotion seemed to be indignation at the fellow for driving without a light.

Around to the right another drumming, driving sound broke out and beat and purred upon the same note as the first. This sound also came toward them.

"Surrounded!" said Jimmie bravely, reaching back for Augusta's hand to pull her closer to him--one could never tell, there might be shooting here.

Augusta had risen and was standing right behind Jimmie. She did not understand, but she was frightened because Jimmie seemed to know what the danger was and would not tell her.

The whole action was a matter of seconds. Jimmie turned for a quick look at the big man whose doom was coming thus swiftly upon him. He sat on the stump where they had first seen him, his hands clutching tightly at his knees, his big face red in the glare of the light and plainly working with some strong emotion.

The noise ceased suddenly as the two partridges who had made it got wing in air at last and came flying over the fire. It took Jimmie some time to believe that these birds, beating with their wide bare wings like flat boards on the ground and underbrush as they ran along the ground until they had momentum enough to take the air, had caused all that noise. But when he did realize it and turned to try to explain to Augusta, he felt extremely foolish.

The big man did not wait for the explanation. He rose hastily from the stump and lurched toward the house, saying in a choking voice:

"I'm goin' in."

Jimmie's explanation, while he took down the flare light and buried the flaming knots in the ashes of the fire, was entirely true and fairly accurate. But it was wasted. Augusta was convinced that someone was trying to hide something from her. She listened patiently, but she had her own argument, which she kept to herself. Jimmie _might_ have been fooled that way by two birds. _But_, the other man had been visibly affected, too!

When Jimmie thought she was settled in her hammock for the night, he was surprised to hear her rustle out again and come to his side.

"What _do_ you think he can have done?" she worried as she cuddled down to his pillow. "And isn't there anything we can do for him?"

"Oh, don't be troubled, dear. He'll probably be able to take care of himself. I don't hardly think he's done anything himself. Maybe he's just keeping out of the way from something. You know there's always an investigation or some blamed thing going on. Maybe it's only that," he suggested reassuringly. "Get into bed and sleep. You're tired to death."

Augusta gave him a hit-or-miss kiss in the dark, climbed into her bed and went obediently to sleep like a child.

Jimmie listened gratefully to the gentle, even breathing that told him that she had forgotten everything. There was a curious feeling of worry upon him. The alarm which he had gotten from the strange noise had turned out ridiculously, of course, but the possibilities which his imagination had seen in it stayed about, to suggest new pictures of trouble and possible danger for Augusta.

He fell asleep, heartily wishing that they had never seen this man, whoever he was.

He awoke in the bright morning light, to find Augusta standing over him, fully dressed, shaking him with one hand and with the other waving a bit of paper accusingly at him.

"He's gone! He's gone, I tell you!" she was crying at Jimmie, as though he had spirited the big man away in the dark.

Jimmie sat up like a jacknife.

"Is the family silver safe?" he inquired anxiously.

"Stop your nonsense and listen." Augusta gave him another excited shake. "I tell you he's a fraud and a cheater. I said double prayers for him last night, and he isn't any criminal at all! I could be angry at him!"

Now at any other time Jimmie would have gleefully picked flaws in this bit of Augusta's theology. Instead he took the paper quite humbly and read:

"Dear Nice Folks, whoever you are:

"It was a shame of me to take you in like that. But I couldn't help it. It was the suspicious way you looked at me." (Jimmie took this as directed to himself alone.)

"I _am_ wanted. The wife wants me home to start the harvest. That was in my mind when I said the thing first. And I kept it up because I wanted to see what'd happen.

"But you will not be angry, I hope. This place is yours in welcome if you care to stay. I'll be up to see you in the Fall.

John McQuade o' the Sunny Shade."

Jimmie laid the paper down on his bunk and looked at it solemnly and stupidly. After a little he said softly:

"Yes, John, you did everlastingly put one over on me."

Augusta broke all her rules as she announced gravely:

"He had us kidded to death." Then she dropped laughing into Jimmie's arms.

"Augusta," Jimmie howled, between spasms of laughing, "do you remember how I stood nobly in the dense forest while the gatling guns were charging down upon us and announced in a dying whisper:

"'Surrounded!'"

"And I," Augusta cried through tears of laughing, "I was behind your back all the time motioning the man to take Donahue and fly for liberty!"

"It's a good thing we're married to each other," roared Jimmie. "It'd be a pity to spoil two houses with us."

Augusta got up suddenly. She had made a discovery.

"Do you know," she inquired indignantly, "why that man went away from the fire so suddenly like that. He went away some place to laugh at us!"

"He's laughing yet," said Wardwell, and he went off into another roar. "But, we'll be game, dear. We won't run away. We'll stay right here till John McQuade comes back and has his laugh out."

Augusta went out of the wagon and Jimmie began to dress. With one shoe on and the other in his hand he thought of something. He pulled the curtain of the wagon door about him and called Augusta in a bated whisper.

"For heavens' sake," he appealed, "don't let Donahue hear of this! I never could face him."

VII

Jimmie was coming down through the woods in triumph. All day he had tramped and hunted over the crests of the hills and he was returning with the spoil. His rifle was slung with just a little angle of careless swagger across the crook of his arm and from the same arm hung two pairs of fat partridges. He knew a great deal more now about partridges than he had known that night, weeks ago, when two of them had given him such a start.

He knew, in fact, a great deal more about many things than he had known that night. And he was a vastly different man. He was still thin, but it was not the pale thinness of before. He was lean and brown, his frame was filling slowly but evenly, and his one care was the procuring of food. For he had the perpetual hunger of the gaunt young animal whose growing cells are ever demanding more and more building materials.

His step had none of the nervous hurry of those who tread city streets. In his rough tramping boots he swung down through brush and over rocks with a long, sure, loping stride which showed that he had forgotten that he had such things as nerves, and though he was physically tired his face shone with the zest of a boy in the game and of the hunter hurrying to his mate with the kill.

As he came down behind the long sugar house he heard Augusta singing. She sang a wonderfully sweet natural contralto, but Jimmie had learned that she hardly ever sang except when she felt lonely--and he knew that there must be times when she was indeed very lonesome, for this was a life which might well have tested the constant cheerfulness of a staid woman, while Augusta was indeed, in many things, only a highly sensitive and impressionable child. He started to hurry, thinking of the many long hours he left her alone in this lonesome place. But the song arrested him--he had not heard it before--and he loitered a little, not wishing to break in until he had heard it through.

She was singing:

"Gyp, Gyp, me little horse?" "_Gyp-Gyp_, again sir." "How many miles to Dublin?" "Four score an' ten, sir."

"Gyp, Gyp, me little horse?" "_Gyp-Gyp_, again sir." "Can I get there by candle-light?" "Troth an' back again, sir."

"Gallopy, gallopy, gallopy "Trot! "I sold my buttermilk every drop. "_Ev-er-y_ drop."

It was a happy lilting little song that trotted merrily up and down an easy range of sweet and saucy notes, and Jimmie could see "Me Little Horse" dancing blithely along in front of a cart and answering back his part of the dialogue. From the song he knew that Augusta was not singing this time because she was lonely. She was happy. And it followed, therefore, that she was busy at something that her heart was proud of. Jimmie wondered if she had, perhaps, found some new and wonderfully neater way of turning a patch on his clothes. This he had found was one of Augusta's most thrilling and soul satisfying achievements. But there was another sound that came hammering into the song as he came nearer. It was a jerky, clicking, amateurish sort of noise, but it was unmistakable. Jimmie's head went up and one ear turned up into the air, listening with unbelief. But there came the stroke of the little bell near the end of the line, and he plainly heard the sound of the carriage being shifted.

"By the Poker of Moses!" said Jimmie to himself. "She's found a typewriter growing under a toadstool somewhere, and she's at it. It won't surprise me if she's got a couple of books written by now. I _knew_ she'd get loose sometime."

Sure enough, as he came softly around the corner of the camp house in which they were living, there sat Augusta in front of John McQuade's table, and, strangest of all, she was working on Jimmie's own old machine! The sight of that battered old machine brought Wardwell up stock still with a lump in his throat, for he went back on the instant to a black night, now long ago, when he had laid down such things as work and ambition and courage, and thought that he was done with them forever.

Augusta felt him standing there, though he had made no sound. She turned, laughing.

"I didn't want you to catch me yet," she confessed. "But, I don't care. I can do some whole lines without a mistake. And I just got pounding away at that old song--my Daddy used to trot me on his foot to it--and I was so happy that I didn't care whether you came or not."

"I'll smash the old fraud," said Jimmie looking with pretended savagery at the machine that he loved, "if it makes you feel that way about me."

"Oh, I didn't mean that way at all! Of course I wanted you to come every minute."

"But, how did the blamed thing get here?" Jimmie growled, still hunting for a pretended grievance. "It wasn't in the wagon."

"It was! It was!" shouted Augusta jumping up in glee. "Remember how you jeered at my hat box, the day we moved from the wagon into the house. When I wouldn't let you touch it, or let you see me move it, you swore that I had another man hidden in it. You said you'd get a divorce."

"But, honestly," she said, coming to lay her hand on his arm, "didn't you miss it, sometimes? I think I've seen you walking around at times and looking through your pockets."

Jimmie laughed. He remembered his nervous trick, when something was wanting to him, of walking about and rummaging unconsciously through one pocket after another.

"People that live in glass houses, shouldn't come home to roost--at least not near you, Augusta. I'm getting afraid of you. You see through me too completely."

"And you know I cleaned out your room at the last moment. I saved and brought every last scrap of your book, even the things that you had thrown away. If you're good, some day, when you've gotten thoroughly sick and tired of chopping wood and hunting, and when I've had some more practice, I'll let you have it all. And then you can start it again, dictating to me. I'll never let you sit over a typewriter again. I'm sure it was that sitting stooped over, and fretting, that made all your trouble before."

At last Jimmie understood the whole significance of the scheme. Augusta, serene and sure in her beautiful faith, had held the breaking bridges of life for him, and, while he had been weakly content to drift down into the depths of unhoping uselessness, she had looked calmly and surely ahead and had already seen him safely across and moving up the heights beyond.

Once he had loved Augusta as a big brother adores and guards a little sister. Again, in another time, their positions had become reversed and he had loved her and leaned upon her and taken strength from her, almost as a child takes strength from a fondling mother. Now in the light of the nobler, mating partnership that he began to understand, he was conscious of another and more wonderful love.

His gun and his game slid quietly to the ground and he took her gently into his arms with a new light of adoring tenderness in his eyes.