The Great Quest Part 10

"Uncle Seth," I gasped, "Uncle Seth, _what has he done_?"

"Quick! quick! We must hurry!"

"What has he done?"

"Come, come, Joe, never mind that now!"

For the moment I yielded, and we stumbled along, arm in arm, with Gleazen now all but a dead weight between us.

"I showed them!" he cried again. "I showed them!"

I simply could not ignore the strange muttering in his voice.

"Tell me," I cried. "Uncle Seth, tell me what he has done."

"Not yet! Not yet!"

"Tell me!"

"Not yet!"

"Or I'll not go another step!"

My uncle gasped and staggered. My importunity seemed to be one thing more than he could bear, poor man! and even in my temper, pity sobered me and cooled my anger. For a moment he touched my wrist.

His hand was icy cold. But his face, when I looked at him, was set and hard, and my temper flashed anew.

"Not another step! Tell me."

Glancing apprehensively about, my uncle gasped in a hoa.r.s.e undertone, "He has killed Jed Matthews."

As people were appearing now on all sides and running to fight the fire, Uncle Seth and I tried our best to lead Gleazen into a by-path and so home by a back way; but with drunken obstinacy he refused to yield an inch. "No, no," he roared, "I'm going to walk home past all the people. I'm not afraid of them. If they say aught to me, I'll show 'em."

So back we marched, supporting between us, hatless but with the diamonds still flas.h.i.+ng on his finger and in his stock, that maudlin wretch, Cornelius Gleazen. I felt my own face redden as the curious turned to stare at us, and for Uncle Seth it was a sad and bitter experience; but we pushed on as fast as we could go, driven always by fear of what would follow when the people should learn the whole story of the brawl in the burning barn.

Back into the village we came, now loitering for a moment in the deeper shadows to avoid observation, now pus.h.i.+ng at top speed across a lighter open s.p.a.ce, always dragging Cornelius Gleazen between us, and so up to the open door of the tavern.

"Now," murmured Uncle Seth, "heaven send us help! Neil, Neil--Neil, I say!"

"Well?"

"We must get your chests and run. Your money, your papers--are they packed?"

"Money? What money?"

"Your fortune! You can never come back here. Sober up, Neil, sober up! You killed Jed Matthews."

"Served him right. Despicable cur, villain, scoundrel! I'll show them."

"Neil, Neil Gleazen!" cried my uncle, now all but frantic.

"Well, I hear you."

"Oh, oh, will he not listen to reason? Take his arm again, Joe."

We lifted him up the steps and led him into the inn, and there in the door of the bar-room came face to face with the landlord, who was hot with anger.

"Don't bring him in here, Mr. Upham," he cried; "I keep no house for sots and swine."

"What!" gasped my uncle, "you'll not receive him?"

"Not I!"

"But what's come over you? _But you never would treat Mr. Gleazen like this!_"

"But, but, but!" the landlord snarled. "This very night he threw my good claret in my own face and called it a brew for pigs. Let him seek his lodgings elsewhere."

"Where are his chests, then?" my uncle demanded. "We'll take his chests and go."

"Not till he's paid my bill."

For a moment we stood at deadlock, Uncle Seth and I, with Gleazen between us, and the landlord in the bar-room door. Every sound from outside struck terror to us lest the village had discovered the worst; lest at any moment we should have the people about our ears.

But the landlord, who, of course, knew nothing of what had been going forward all this time, and Gleazen, who seemed too drunk to care, were imperturbable, until Gleazen raised his head and with inflamed eyes stared at the man.

"Who's a swine?" he demanded. "Who's a sot?"

Lurching forward, he broke away from us and crashed against the landlord and knocked him into the bar-room, whither he himself followed.

"You blackfaced bla'guard!" the landlord cried; and, raising a chair, he started to bring it down on Gleazen's head.

I had thought that the man was too drunk to move quickly, but now, as if a new brawl were all that he needed to bring him again to his faculties, he stepped back like a flash and raised his hand.

A sharp, hook-like instrument used to pull corks was kept stuck into the beam above his head, where, so often was it used, it had worn a hollow place nearly as big as a bowl. This he seized and, holding it like a foil, lunged at the landlord as the chair descended.

The chair struck Gleazen on the head and knocked him down, but the cork-puller went into the landlord's shoulder, and when Gleazen, clutching it as he fell, pulled it out again, the hooked end tore a great hole in the muscles, from which blood spurted.

Clapping his hand to the wound, the landlord went white and leaned back against the bar; but Gleazen, having received a blow that might have killed a horse, got up nimbly and actually appeared to be sobered by the shock. Certainly he thought clearly and spoke to a purpose.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Clapping his hand to the wound the landlord went white and leaned back against the bar._]

"Now, by heaven!" he cried, "I _have_ got to leave town. Come, Seth, come, Joe."

"But your chests! Your money!" my uncle repeated in a dazed way. The events of the night were quite too much for his wits.

"Let him keep them for the bill," said Gleazen with a harsh laugh.

"Come, I say!"

"But--but--"