The Hills of Refuge Part 23

"Well, I'll bet there is one true explanation. The thing you are--are involved in--the thing that caused you to leave home, has to do with the welfare of others."

"Why do you think that?" he asked, half fearfully.

"Because you are that rare type of man," she returned.

"I have nothing in the way of self-defense to offer," he answered. "My early life was a mistake. I may be atoning for it a little. I sometimes hope so. You are right in one guess--some others are the better and happier for my absence. It is so that I can never return; that is settled for all time. The new life is all that I have, but I a.s.sure you it isn't bad. It is heaven compared to the one I renounced."

So the night pa.s.sed. The rain ceased toward dawn, but there was little light till the sun was up. Then they fared forth over the wet, rain-washed ground for home. The sun was breaking through a cloud when they reached the old house.

Rowland was on the back porch when they appeared before him, wet to the waist from contact with the dripping weeds and bushes through which they had made their way. He seemed not much surprised.

"I thought you'd find shelter somewhere," he said, casually. "I sat up most of the night on my book. I was trying to tie the main branch of the Westleighs to our line through the Barbadoes record, and I noticed how hard it rained."

"How is Tobe Keith?" the girl broke in to ask.

"He is just the same--no better and no worse," Rowland answered. "That is a late report, too. I got it from Tom Gibbs, who pa.s.sed along just now and stopped to let me know."

"Oh, I'm glad, I'm glad he is not worse!" Mary's face beamed faintly. "I was afraid we'd get bad news. Poor Martin! He may think the worst has happened." She turned to Charles. "Will you get your breakfast now, or wait till you change your clothing?"

"I don't mind the dampness," he smiled. "Is it ready?"

It was on the table and he went in alone, while Mary ran up to her room.

Returning half an hour later, she found that he was gone.

"He was in de kitchen des now, young miss," explained Zilla, "en' he seed de basket er stuff I had fixed raidy fer de boys t' eat, en' picked it up en' said he was gwine tek it ter um."

"What?" Mary asked. "You don't mean that he has gone back?"

"Ya.s.sum. Mr. Brown say Martin is worried, en' he wants ter tell 'im dat Tobe Keith ain't no wuss dan he was yistiddy. I tol' Mr. Brown ter wait till you come down, but he said dar wasn't no time to lose. He said Martin looked sorter puny-like en' needed 'couragement. Yo' pa seed 'im start out, en' didn't say nothin' erginst it."

It was as if Mary had something further to say, but she restrained herself. She went back to her room, ascending the stairs rapidly. Her window looked out toward the hiding-place of her brothers, and crossing a little glade beyond the barn she saw Charles, the basket on his arm.

He was striding vigorously toward the forest. In a moment he was out of sight and Mary turned from the window. By her bureau she stood motionless, full of thought. Presently she heard Zilla calling to her, and, answering, she went slowly down the stairs.

CHAPTER XI

About noon Charles returned. Mary, at the window of the kitchen, saw him emerge from the wood back of the barn and come toward the house. There was a vague droop of weariness on him of which he seemed unaware. She met him in the front hall; his eyes fell under her stare and he flushed.

"Why did you go?" she asked, reproachfully.

He gave one of his characteristic shrugs and began to fumble in his coat pocket for a note which he finally handed her.

"It is from Martin," he said. "They managed to keep dry last night, I understand. They were glad to get the basket. The water spoiled most of the other things and they were hungry."

She read the note.

It ran: "DEAR SIS,--How sweet and good of you to send Mr. Brown back so quickly! I couldn't have stood the suspense any longer.

I was afraid Tobe was dead--I thought it all night during that awful rain. I couldn't sleep, but maybe I can now. Don't let Mr. Brown leave us. He sat and talked to us this morning for an hour, and I've never heard from human lips the sort of things he said. He helped me a lot; he was so kind and gentle and kept putting himself up as a man who had made mistakes and suffered.

Oh, he is wonderful, wonderful! Even Ken listened close and seemed affected. He is our friend. He shows that. He wants to help us, and he will if he can. He used to drink, but gave it up; he says it is easy. He has made me decide to act differently in the future--that is, if Tobe lives."

Mary read the rest of the note, folded the paper, and thrust it into the bosom of her dress. Charles stood at the foot of the stairs, his hat in his hand, his boots covered with mud.

"I didn't want you to tire yourself out like that," she said, gratefully, "but I'm glad you went. From this note I see how much good you have done my poor brothers. Now listen to me--I will have my way about this. Go up to your room, take off those damp things and go to bed. I am going to be your nurse for to-day, anyway. I'll bring you your lunch and you may take it in bed, and then go to sleep."

He laughed lightly and shrugged his shoulders. "Really, you must not make a baby of a great hulk like me, Miss Rowland. I've been through things ten times as bad as that little walk. I simply couldn't eat in bed. I'll be down in a few minutes."

She was about to protest, but he left her and ascended the stairs.

Coming down a few minutes afterward, he saw a saddled horse at the gate and heard voices in the parlor.

His spirits sank, for he recognized the horse as the one Albert Frazier had ridden when he had first seen him. He caught a few words the visitor was saying in his gruff, unpolished way.

"You are too high-strung and nervous, little girl. All is well so far.

Leave my brother to me. I'm pulling the wool over his eyes, all right.

I've made 'im think the boys are on their way to Texas, and if Tobe lives--"

Unwilling to listen, Charles pa.s.sed on into the sitting-room. Glancing through the open doorway into the dining-room, he saw that the cloth was not yet spread on the table for luncheon, and he sat down to wait. The voices still came from the parlor, but he did not catch any part of what was being said. Zilla entered the dining-room and spread the cloth on the table. Presently Frazier was heard leaving. His heavy boots clattered on the steps, and the gate-latch clicked as he went out. Then Mary came in. She did not know that he was there and he surprised an unreadable, almost hunted expression on her face.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, on seeing him, "so dinner is not ready? Mr. Frazier could not stop. He is working hard to keep the sheriff off my brothers'

track. He says when he left town Tobe Keith was just the same. The doctors at Carlin are afraid to probe for the--the ball. They have held a consultation, and agreed that the great specialist, Doctor Elliot of Atlanta, might operate and save him. They refuse to undertake it themselves."

"Then this Doctor Elliot ought to come and see him," Charles said.

"But Doctor Elliot is so busy that he never leaves Atlanta, except in instances where enormous fees are paid. The Carlin doctors say that Tobe ought to be taken to him. They say it would be safe to move him that distance."

"Then he must be moved," said Charles.

"Yes, he must go," Mary agreed. "The only thing is that it will cost considerable. You see, Tobe and his mother (she is a widow) are awfully poor. Yes, the money must be gotten up, and I must get it."

"You?" Charles cried. "Why should you?"

"Because no one else will do it. Even my father has the silly idea that we ought not to have anything to do with it, because it would look as if we admitted the boys' guilt. That is rubbish. A man's life--three lives--are at stake. Yes, I must raise four hundred dollars. They say it will cost that much, including transportation, nurses, and the like. I may be able to borrow it from some one, but we are hard run. Father is over his head in debt. I know where I can get the money--in fact, it has been offered to me already--but I don't like to take it. I have my reasons for--for not _wanting_ to take it."

"It was offered you this morning--not many minutes ago," Charles said, fiercely and impulsively.

She looked up in mild surprise at his tone and the rebellious glare in his eyes, and then said, slowly and wonderingly:

"Why do you think _that_?"

"I don't know, but I am sure of it," he blurted from the depths of his restrained pa.s.sion. "Something tells me that this Mr. Frazier wants to furnish it, and also that you shrink from being in his debt."

Mary avoided his desperate gaze. "You are a great reader of minds," she faltered. "Many men would make me angry by saying what you are saying, but I can't be offended with you. It is strange, but nothing you could do or say would annoy me. Well, you are right. As I told you once, Mr.

Frazier and I are not actually engaged. Somehow, I want to be free in that way a little longer. I'm so young, you know, that marriage does not appeal to me yet. Mr. Frazier has helped my father raise money in several instances, but I have never felt that those transactions bound me in any way; but I know, and he feels, that this particular offer of his--" Her voice sank and trailed away into inaudibility.