Rayton: A Backwoods Mystery Part 22

Doctor Nash, after brief greetings, set to work on Rayton's wounded shoulder. He made a close examination, but asked no questions. He worked swiftly for about half an hour.

"That's done," he said. "All you have to do now is to keep still for a while." He paused and turned to Banks. "Has he been insulting and a.s.saulting somebody else lately?" he asked.

"Don't know," returned the New Yorker. "Why?"

"Just an idea of mine," replied Nash. "Some men are not as good-natured as I am, you know. Somebody took a shot at him--and I was just wondering why. It does not often happen 'round here."

"You are the only person I have behaved like that to," said Rayton, "and--and--well, I am dashed sorry I lost my temper. I beg your pardon, Nash. I am very sorry, honestly. I behaved like a cad."

"You should have thought of that before," sneered Nash.

At that moment old Captain Wigmore entered the room on the tips of his neat little toes, smiling behind his whiskers.

"I see you've brought your company manners with you," said Nash. "I thought you saved them up for the ladies." He had the old fellow on his black list.

"Is that you, doctor?" returned the captain pleasantly. "So you have been patching up this young man, I see. What do you think of your work?"

"Of my work? Oh, I guess my work is good enough. Have you anything to say about it?"

"Why, yes, now that you ask me. Five or six inches to the side would have done the job. Why didn't you do it when you were at it?"

d.i.c.k Goodine guessed what was coming; but the other three stared at the old man in frank amazement. Nash looked bewildered.

"Six inches?" he queried. "Done the job? What the devil are you talking about?"

"There are none so blind as those who won't see," replied Wigmore, leering.

"What d'you mean? What are you grinning at?"

"Don't get excited, doctor. Bl.u.s.ter and bluff don't frighten me." He stepped close to Rayton. "Who d'you think put that hole through your shoulder, Reginald?" he asked.

"Haven't the least idea. Wish I had," replied the invalid.

"Dear me! What a dull young man you are," jeered Wigmore.

"Don't follow you," said the Englishman.

"Same here," said Banks.

Captain Wigmore chuckled. "I don't suppose you have an enemy anywhere within five hundred miles of here?" he queried.

"Not to my knowledge," said Rayton.

"Then why did you and Nash fly at each other day before yesterday, in the middle of the road? Why did you knock your dear friend flat in the mud?"

"Oh, give us a rest!" exclaimed Nash, flus.h.i.+ng darkly, and scowling at the old man.

"That was nothing more than--than a sudden explosion of bad temper,"

said Rayton.

Wigmore nodded his head briskly, and turned to the doctor.

"And I noticed," he said, "that you did not wait to be knocked down a second time. You hopped into your rig, and drove away at top speed. He who fights and runs away--ah?"

"Really, captain, what is the necessity of all this?" protested Mr.

Banks.

Wigmore waved his hand toward the big New Yorker, as if at a fly that had buzzed in his ear. His keen, glinting eyes were fixed with a terrible, rejoicing intentness upon Doctor Nash.

"What were you doing in the woods yesterday afternoon?" he asked.

"Confound you!" cried Nash furiously. "What are you talking about? What do you mean to imply? You skinny little runt, you must be mad!"

Wigmore laughed with a sound like the clattering together of dry bones.

Mr. Banks gripped him roughly by a thin, hard arm.

"Enough of this!" cried the big sportsman. "Either speak out like a man, or shut up!"

"Very good," returned the captain, with another mirthless laugh. "All I want to know is what Doctor Nash was doing in the woods to the west of here yesterday afternoon, with a rifle. What game were you after, doctor? I have always heard that you were not very keen on that kind of sport."

"I wasn't in the woods!" cried Nash. "You are a liar!"

"Don't call _me_ a liar, _please_," protested the old man. "It is Benjamin Samson who is the liar, in this case. He told me that you borrowed his rifle yesterday, just before noon, and struck into the woods."

Nash gasped, and his face faded to the sickly tint of a tallow candle.

He stared wildly at Wigmore, then wildly around at the others. He opened and closed his mouth several times noiselessly, like a big fish newly landed on the bank. But at last his voice returned to him suddenly and shrilly.

"I forgot!" he cried. "I was out yesterday--with Samson's rifle--after all. But what about it? Why shouldn't I go shooting if I want to? This is a free country! But I know what you are--trying to make Rayton think--you dirty little gray badger! You are hinting that I shot him!

I'll have the law on you for this, you--you----"

"I'll not wait to hear the rest of it, though it is sure to be apt and picturesque," said the captain, flas.h.i.+ng his dazzling "store" teeth.

"Good-by, Reginald, Good-by, all. See you to-morrow."

He bowed, skipped from the room, and hurried downstairs, and out of the house. Doctor Nash sprang after him to the top of the stairs, trembling and stuttering with rage; but he did not go any farther. He turned, after a moment or two, and re-entered the room. He strode up to the bed.

"Do you believe that?" he cried. "Do you believe that I shot you, Reginald Rayton?"

"Certainly not," replied Rayton promptly. "You wouldn't be such a fool as to borrow a rifle to do it with, even if you wanted to kill me."

Nash turned upon Banks and d.i.c.k Goodine.

"And you two?" he cried. "Do you think that I tried to murder Rayton?

That I fired that shot?"

d.i.c.k Goodine, who stood by the window, with his face averted, answered with a silent shake of the head. Mr. Banks did not let the question pa.s.s so lightly, however. For several seconds he gazed steadily, keenly, inquiringly into Nash's angry eyes. He was very cool and ponderous. The scene suggested to Reginald Rayton the judgment of a mortal by a just but inexorable G.o.d. Only his ever-ready sense of politeness kept him from smiling broadly. Nash glared, and began to mutter uneasily. At last the big New Yorker spoke.

"Circ.u.mstances are against you, Nash," he said slowly. "n.o.body can deny that. There is bad blood between you and Reginald. Reginald loses his temper, and gives you a tr.i.m.m.i.n.g. On the following day you borrow a rifle, and go into the woods, and that evening the man who punched you in the jaw is shot through the shoulder. It looks bad, Nash--mighty bad!

But--keep quiet!--but, in spite of appearances, I don't think you are the guilty person."