Rayton: A Backwoods Mystery Part 6

"Me! What are you thinking of, d.i.c.k?" cried Rayton.

"That's all right," replied the trapper, and vanished in the underbrush.

Rayton tramped and scrambled along with his mind so busy with thoughts of d.i.c.k Goodine, of Nell Harley, and of David Marsh that, when he arrived at his own pasture fence shortly after sunset, he discovered that he had not added so much as one bird to his bag.

"The devil!" he exclaimed. "That comes of woolgathering. But never mind, Turk, we'll do better to-morrow."

When he reached the house he found Doctor Nash's buggy in front of the door, and the doctor inside.

"I thought I'd drop in and have a talk over that queer business of a couple of nights ago," said Nash.

This dealt a blow to Rayton's suspicion. "Drive 'round and we'll put the nag under cover, and give her a feed," he said.

CHAPTER V

DOCTOR NASH'S SUSPICIONS--YOUNG MARSH'S MISFORTUNE

Doctor Nash was a gentleman blessed with the deportment of early and untrained youth, and with the years of middle age. His manners were those of a first-year medical student, though he considered himself to be a polished and sophisticated man of the world. He had practised in four different parts of the country, but had nowhere impressed the people favorably by his cures, or his personality. He was a bachelor. He was narrow and lanky of build, but fat and ruddy of face. His hair was carroty on top of his head, but of a darker shade in mustache and close-trimmed beard. His eyes were small and light, and over the left, the lid drooped in a remarkable way. Whenever he happened to remember the dignity of his profession he became ridiculously consequential--and even when he forgot it he continued to make a fool of himself.

These traits of character did not endear Doctor Nash to Mr. Rayton, but they did not mar the perfection of the farmer's simple hospitality. He produced a cold venison pie for supper, made coffee and b.u.t.tered toast, and flanked these things with a decanter of whisky on one side and a jug of sweet cider on the other.

"Cold meat pie," remarked Nash slightingly--and immediately began to devour it. After saying that he had never heard of such a thing as b.u.t.tered toast for supper he ate more than half the supply. He lost no time in informing the other that he had always _dined_ in the evening before fate had thrown him away on a backwoods practice.

Rayton haw-hawed regularly, finding this the easiest way of hiding his feelings.

"Whisky!" exclaimed Nash, after his second cup of coffee with cream. "I believe you live for it, Rayton. I never have it in my own house except for medicinal purposes." Then he helped himself to a b.u.mper that fairly outraged his host's sense of proportions.

"I saw Miss Harley to-day," he said. "She told me that Jim had been to see you, last night."

"Well?" queried Rayton, puzzled. "She does not object, does she?" His mind had been furtively busy with the young woman throughout the meal.

"So I thought that he may have explained his queer behavior to you,"

said the other.

"Yes, he did."

"What did he say?"

"Really, Nash, I don't know that I have any right to repeat what he told me."

"Did he ask you not to?"

"No; but perhaps he intended to do so and forgot."

Nash laughed uproariously. "You are the limit!" he exclaimed. "You beat the band! Why should he tell you a thing that he would not want me to know?"

Rayton suspected several reasons; but he did not want to offend his guest by advancing them.

"Have you seen Jim since that night?" he asked.

"No."

"But saw his sister?"

"Yes. Jim wasn't at home."

Rayton lit his pipe, reflected for half a minute, and then gave his guest a brief and colorless version of the story. He told it grudgingly, wis.h.i.+ng all the while that Harley had asked him not to repeat it.

Nash straddled his long, thin legs toward the fire. "So that's the yarn, is it?" he sneered. "And do you believe it?"

"Believe it? What Harley told me?"

"Yes."

"Certainly I do."

"Then you are more of a fool than I took you for. Don't you see it's all a game of Harley's to keep that young cub away from his sister? He doesn't want to have such a lout hanging 'round all the time for fear it may scare some one else away--some one who'd be a better catch. So he rigged the card and invented the fine story."

Rayton withdrew his pipe from his lips and stared at his guest blankly.

"Oh! that was easy," continued Nash complacently. "I thought, until you told me that yarn, that I really had hold of a problem worth solving.

But it is easy as rolling off a log. Here is the marked card. See, it is marked in red chalk. A man could do that in two winks, right under our noses." He handed the card to Rayton--the cross-marked six of clubs.

Rayton took it, but did not even glance at it. His gaze was fixed steadily upon his guest.

"I don't quite follow you," he said--"or, at least, I hope I don't."

"Hope you don't follow me? What do you mean?"

"I mean just this, Doctor Nash. When you happen to be in my house be careful what you say about my friends."

Nash stared. Then he laughed unpleasantly. "Are you bitten, too?" he asked.

Rayton got to his feet. "See here, Nash, I don't want to cut up rusty, or be rude, or anything of that kind," he exclaimed, "but I warn you that if you don't drop this personal strain there'll be trouble."

"Personal strain!" retorted the other. "How the devil are we to talk about that card trick, and the cause of it, without becoming personal?"

Rayton was silent.

"But you know what I think about it," continued Nash, "so you can make what you please of it. I'll be going now. I'm not used to be jawed at by a--by a farmer."

The Englishman laughed, helped his offended guest into his overcoat, followed him to the stable, and hitched-in the nag for him.

"A word of advice to you," said Nash, when he was all ready to drive away. "If you have your eye on Miss Harley, take it off. Don't run away with any idea that Jim is trying to scare young Marsh out so as to clear the road for you."