Rayton: A Backwoods Mystery Part 9

"I guess he holds something else against me," admitted the guide.

"What is it? What have you ever done to him?" asked Harley.

David s.h.i.+fted about uneasily in his chair, and became very red in the face. In the depth of his heart he feared Jim Harley.

"I ain't done anything to him," he said falteringly. "I--I ain't said one uncivil word to him, except that time we had the tongue fight. He just don't like me, that's all. He don't like me because I'm a smarter guide than him, and get hold of all the rich sports; and--and I guess he thinks--well, he thinks----"

"What? What does he think?" demanded Harley.

"Well, you see, Jim, he--I guess he kinder thinks I've got the--the inside track, so to speak."

"Inside track? You mean with the sportsmen? You have the best camps, and all that sort of thing. I guess he's right, Davy."

"That ain't just exactly what I mean, Jim. I ain't talking about guidin'

and campin' now. Lookee here, you know as how I'm kinder--well, as how I am almighty fond o' Nell. You know that, Jim, for I've told you before.

Well, d.i.c.k Goodine's struck a bit that way, too, far's I can make out.

Durned cheek; but that's the truth. So I guess that's maybe why he's got an axe behind his back for me."

Jim Harley sighed and shook his head mournfully.

"I hadn't thought about that," he said; "but now that you mention it, Davy, I see that it may be so. I've always found d.i.c.k a good-hearted fellow--but I guess he goes on the rip now and again. Not extra steady--and not the kind to marry my sister. He's not steady, you see--and he's so danged ignorant."

Jim made these last remarks in a low, reflective voice, as if he were talking only to himself. Tone and words fanned David's old suspicions into sudden flame.

"Yes, he's danged ignorant!" he cried. "Danged ignorant, just like me.

That's what you mean, ain't it? You don't want Nell to marry a bushwhacker like d.i.c.k Goodine--nor like me. That's about right, ain't it, Jim? My first guess was right t'other night, I do believe."

Harley stared at him in angry amazement.

"You are talking like a blasted fool!" he exclaimed. "You were on the same string before, and I went to a good deal of trouble to set you right. Too much trouble, I see now. But I tell you again, if I objected seriously to you, David, you'd d.a.m.n soon know it. You make me tired."

"I didn't mean to rile you, Jim," returned the guide, "but what with the gnawin' pain in my arm, and--and that story you told me about them marks on the card--and them marks being dealt to me--I tell you, Jim, I don't feel easy. I feel jumpy as a cat. Here I am with my arm busted already, and a canoe and outfit gone clear to the devil. I never lost a canoe before--nor bust my arm before."

"I am sorry, David. I am mighty sorry," said Harley. "It is hard luck, no mistake about that, but all I can say is, I don't wish you any harm, and never have. If you think Goodine is laying for you, keep your eye on him. If you think there is anything in those marks on the card--well, you know the story. Act as you think best for yourself, Davy."

"Thankee. I'll keep my eye skinned; but I tell you now, Jim, I ain't scart o' them marks on the card. I believe all you told me--but I guess it was just luck that brought them marks to this settlement and handed them out to me. I don't think fer one minute they busted my arm or upset my canoe."

After the evening meal, Jim Harley visited Rayton. The Englishman was in his sitting room, writing letters before a good fire. He pushed his papers aside and received his visitor with that manner of perfect hospitality which was as natural to him as his frequent laughter. He had already heard rumors of David's accident, but when Jim told the full story, he replied in forceful terms that d.i.c.k Goodine had no part in it.

"But it looks queer," persisted Jim Harley.

"Looks!" retorted the Englishman. "My dear Harley, didn't a canoe pole ever break before? Is this the first man who ever smashed his arm? Rot!

I know Goodine, and he's the right sort. He's a man."

Harley had great faith in Reginald Rayton's opinions; but he could not get his suspicions of the trapper out of his head.

"Don't think any more about it," urged his host. "You might as well suspect Ben Samson--or old Wigmore. Drop it--and have a drink."

So Jim dropped it and had a drink. But he was worried and preoccupied throughout the evening. When he was about to leave, however, he shook himself together.

"If you are ever lonely," he said, "come over and see us."

"Thanks very much," returned Rayton, gripping his hand. "I get a bit lonely, sometimes. Ah--perhaps you'll see me to-morrow night, if that will be convenient."

At that moment Turk jumped to his feet, uttered a low growl, and ran to the window. Rayton jumped after him and s.n.a.t.c.hed the curtain aside.

Nothing was to be seen, though a pale half-moon was s.h.i.+ning clearly.

"That's queer," said Rayton. "Turk never gives false alarms."

CHAPTER VII

MR. BANKS TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME

Mr. Harvey P. Banks, of New York, was an angry and dejected man when he arrived at Samson's Mill Settlement, only to learn that his guide of several past seasons--in fact, the only available professional guide in the district--was laid up with a broken arm. He poured the full stream of his wrath upon the unfortunate David Marsh. He was a big man--tall, thick, broad, and big of face and hand, big of voice, foot, and outlook upon life--and his size seemed to fill the little farmhouse bedroom and press poor David against the wall. After expressing himself at length, he asked why the guide had not wired to him, so as to give him time to make other arrangements.

Now that was a question that David had asked himself, too late. He answered truthfully, his courage reviving as he realized that his excuse was a pretty good one. He told of his accident in detail, of his suspicion of d.i.c.k Goodine, and then, after another question or two, he went back and described the game of poker, the marked card, and told Jim Harley's story. Thus he explained a state of mind that had turned big business considerations into unimportant shadows and meaningless whisperings.

Through it all Mr. Harvey P. Banks sat in a splint-bottomed chair--bulging generously over the edges of the seat--smoking a long cigar, and gazing unblinkingly at the young woodsman. He nodded his big head when David finished, and flipped a two-inch white ash from the end of his cigar to the hooked mat at his feet.

"That's good enough for me, Marsh," he said. "I take back the hard names I called you a few minutes ago. No wonder you forgot to send me a wire."

He turned his head and gazed through the window at a field of buckwheat stubble, rusty-red, and a green-black wall of spruces and firs.

"Jim Harley told you the story, you say?"

"Yes, sir; Jim Harley. Doctor Nash don't believe it."

"Nash be blowed! And you say Jim acted very strangely when he saw the marks on the card in your hand."

"Yes, sir; he acted mighty queer. Doctor Nash says it was all a bluff, though."

"T'h.e.l.l with Nas.h.!.+ How did the others take the sight of the red crosses?"

"Quiet enough, sir. They was all took up with Jim's queer look and words."

"And Rayton?"

"He just looked like an astonished horse, Mr. Banks. That's his natural look."

"And Captain Wigmore?"

"Oh, it didn't bother him none, you can bet yer hat on that."

Mr. Banks nodded again. "It wouldn't," he said reflectively. "A mark on a card wouldn't interest that old clam, I imagine, unless it was on the back, where it might be of some use to him."