The Postmaster Part 20

"Dead nothin'!" says I. "He's too tough to kill, and nothin' would make him sick but soap and water, which ain't one of his bad habits by a consider'ble sight. However, if it'll make you any easier, I'll take the mornin' train and locate him if I can."

"Go ahead," says he. "I'd do it myself, but I can't leave just now. Go ahead, Skipper, and don't come back till you've got him, or found out why he isn't on hand."

So I took the mornin' train and set out to locate the n.o.ble red man.

CHAPTER IX-ROSES-BY ANOTHER NAME

But locatin' him wa'n't such an easy matter. All we knew was he lived somewheres in Wampaquoit, and Wampaquoit is ten miles from nowhere, in the woods up around Coha.s.set Narrows. I got off the train at the Narrows depot, and, after considerable cruisin' and bargainin', I hired a horse and buggy, and started to drive over. I lost my way and got onto a wood road. Don't ask me about that road. I don't want to talk about it. I'd been on salt water for a good many years, and I'd seen some rough goin', but rockin' and bouncin' over that wood road come nigher to makin' me seasick than any of my Grand Banks trips. Narrow! And grown over! My land! I had to stoop to keep from bein' sc.r.a.ped off the seat; and, whenever I'd straighten up to ease my back, a pine branch would fetch me a slap in the face that you could hear half a mile.

As for my language, you could hear that _two_ miles. That road ruined my moral reputation, I'm afraid. They had a revival meetin' in the Narrows meetin'-house the follerin' week, but whether 'twas on my account or not I don't know.

However, I made port after a spell-that is, I run afoul of a house and lot in a clearin' sort of; and I asked a black-lookin' male critter, who was asleep under a tree, how to get to Wampaquoit. He riz upon one elbow, brushed the mosquitoes away from his mouth, and made answer that 'twas Wampaquoit I was in.

"But the town?" says I. "Where's the town?"

Well, it appeared that this was the town, or part of it. The rest was scattered along through the next three or four miles of wilderness.

Where was the center? Oh, there wa'n't any. There was a schoolhouse and a meetin'-house, and a blacksmith's, and such, on the main road up a piece, that was all.

"But where do the Injuns live?" I wanted to know. "The knittin' women, the Lamp Mat Trust-where does it-she-they, I mean, live?"

He couldn't seem to make much out of this; and by and by he went into the house and fetched out his wife. She was about as black as he was; and I cal'lated they was a Portygee family; but, no, lo and behold you, it turned out they was Injuns themselves! But they never heard of anybody named Rose, nor of anybody that knit centerpieces, nor of an "antique," nor anything. I give it up pretty soon, for my temper was beginnin' to heat up the surroundin' air, and the mosquitoes seemed to think I was "Old Home Week," and come for miles around and brought their relations. I give up and drove away over a fairly decent road this time, till I found another house. But this was just the same; Injuns in plenty-'most everybody was part Injun-but n.o.body had heard of our special Mohican nor of an "antique." And, which was queerer still, they never heard of anybody around that done knittin' or crochetin' or lace makin', or had sold any, if they did do it. And they didn't any of 'em talk story-book Injun dialect, same as Uncas did. They used pretty fair United States.

Well, to bile this yarn of mine down, I rode through those woods and around the settlement most of that afternoon. Then I was ready to give up, and so was my old livery-stable horse. He'd gone dead lame, and 'twould have been a sin and a shame to make him walk a step farther. I took him to the blacksmith's shop, and left him there. I pounded mosquitoes, and asked the blacksmith some questions, and he pounded iron and wanted to ask me a million; but neither of us got a heap of satisfaction out of the duet.

Two things seemed to be sure and sartin. One was that Solomon Uncas Rose, the "child of the forest" and chief of the tattin' tribe, was mistook when he give Wampaquoit as his home town; and t'other that, much as I wanted to, I couldn't get out of that town until evenin'. My horse wa'n't fit to travel, and I couldn't hire another, not until after the blacksmith had had his supper. Then he'd hitch up and drive me back to the Narrows.

But luck was with me for once. Up the road came b.u.mpin' a nice-lookin'

mare and runabout wagon, with a pleasant-faced, gray-haired man on the seat. The mare pulled up at the blacksmith's house, and the man got down and went inside.

"Who's that?" says I. "And what's he done to be sentenced to this place?"

"Doctor," says the blacksmith, with a grunt-he was one-quarter Injun, too. "Comes from West Ostable. My wife's sick."

"I sympathize with her," says I. "I'm sick, too-homesick. Maybe this doctor'll help me out. What I need is a change of scene; and I need it bad."

So, when the doctor come out of the house, I hailed him, and asked him if he'd do a kindness to a s.h.i.+pwrecked mariner stranded on a lee sh.o.r.e.

"Why, what's the matter?" says he, laughin'.

"Matter enough," I told him. "I want to go home. Besides, a merciful man is merciful to the beasts; and if I stay here much longer these mosquitoes'll die of rush of my blood to their heads. I understand you come from West Ostable, Doctor; but if 'twas Jericho 'twould be all the same. I want you to let me ride there with you. And you can charge anything you want to."

That doctor was a fine feller. He laughed some more, and told me to jump right in. Said he'd got to see one more patient on his way back; but, if I didn't mind that stop, he'd be glad of my company. So I told the blacksmith to keep my horse and buggy overnight, and when I got to West Ostable I'd telephone for the livery folks to send for 'em. Then I got into the doctor's runabout, and off we drove.

We did consider'ble talkin' durin' the drive; but 'twas all general, and nothin' definite on my part. 'Course, he was curious to know what I was doin' 'way over there; but I said I come on business, and let it go at that. I was beginnin' to have some suspicions, and I cal'lated not to be laughed at if I could help it. So we drove and drove; and, by and by, when I judged we must be pretty nigh to West Ostable, he turned the horse into a side road, and brought him to anchor alongside of an old ramshackle house, with a tumble-down barn and out-buildin's astern of it.

"Now, Cap'n," he says, "I'll have to ask you to wait a few minutes while I see that last patient of mine. 'Twon't take long."

"Patient?" says I. "Good land! Does anybody _live_ in this f.a.g end of nothin'ness?"

"Yes," says he. "'Twas empty for years, but now a couple of fellers live here all by themselves. Foreigners of some kind they are. Been here for a month or more. One of 'em let a packin' case fall on his foot, and-"

"I sympathize with him," says I. "The same thing happened to me a spell ago. But a packin' case! Cranberry crate, you mean, I guess."

"Maybe so," he says. "I didn't ask. But 'twas somethin' heavy, anyhow.

n.o.body seems to know much about these chaps or what they do. Well, be as comfort'ble as you can. I'll be back soon."

He took his medicine satchel and went into the house. Soon's he was out of sight, I climbed out of the buggy and started explorin'. I was curious.

I wandered around back of the house. Such a slapjack place you never see in your life! Windows plugged with papers and old rags, s.h.i.+ngles off the roof, chimneys shy of bricks-'twas a miracle it didn't blow down long ago. Whoever the tenants was, they was only temporary, I judged, and willin' to take chances.

From somewheres out in the barn I heard a scratchin' kind of noise, and I headed for there. The big door was open a little ways, and I squeezed through. 'Twas pretty dark, and I couldn't see much for a minute; but soon as my eyes got used to the gloominess, I saw lots of things. That barn was half filled with boxes and crates, some empty and some not.

There was a horse in the stall-an old white horse-and standin' in the middle of the floor was a wagon heaped with things, and covered with a piece of tarpaulin. I lifted the tarpaulin. Underneath it was a spinnin'

wheel, an old-fas.h.i.+oned table, two chairs, and a basket. There was embroidery and fancywork in the basket.

Then I took a few soundin's among the full boxes and crates standin'

round. I didn't do much of this, 'cause the scratchin' noise kept up in a room at the back of the barn, and I wa'n't anxious to disturb the scratcher, whoever he was. But I saw a plenty. There was enough bran-new "antiques" and "genuine" Injun knittin' work in them crates and boxes to stock the "Colonial Exchange" for six weeks, even with better trade than we'd had.

I'd seen all I wanted to in _that_ room, so I tiptoed into the other. A feller was in there, standin' back to me, and hard at work. He was sandpaperin' the polish off a mahogany sewin' table; the kind Mrs. Burke Smythe called a "find," and had in her best front parlor as an example of what our great-granddads used to make, and we wa'n't capable of in these cheap and shoddy days. There was another "find" on the floor side of him, a chair layin' on its side. Pasted on the under side of the seat was a paper label with "Grand Rivers Furniture Manufacturing Company"

printed on it. I judged that the hand of Time hadn't got to work on that chair yet, but it would as soon as it had antiqued the table.

I watched the mellowin' influence gettin' in its licks-much as twenty year pa.s.sed over that table in the three minutes I stood there-and then I spoke.

"h.e.l.lo, s.h.i.+pmate!" says I. "You're busy, ain't you?"

He jumped as if I'd stuck a sail needle in him, the table tipped over with a bang, and he swung around and faced me. And I'm blessed if he wa'n't that Armenian critter; the one that the clerk had talked to-the "last survivor of the peddlin' crew."

I was expectin' 'most anything to happen, and I was kind of hopin' it would. My fists sort of shut of themselves. But it didn't happen. I knew the feller; but, as luck would have it, he didn't recognize me. He swallered hard a couple of times, and then he says, pretty average ugly:

"Vat d'ye want?"

"Oh, nothin'," says I. "I just drove over with the doctor, and I cruised 'round the premises a little, that's all. You must do a good business here. Make this stuff yourself?"

"No," he snapped.

I could see that he was dyin' to chuck me out, and didn't dast to. I picked up the chair and looked at it.

"Humph!" I says. "Grand Rivers Company, hey? Buy of them, do you?"

"Yes," says he.

"And this?" I took a centerpiece out of one of the boxes. "This come from Grand Rivers, too?"

"No," says he. "Boston. Is dere anything else you vant to know?"