Part 30 (1/2)
The farmer thought it over for a moment. ”All right. You can have the buggy for twenty dollars. When you get to the village take the nag to Doc Sanders' livery. He'll know what to do.”
”Thank you. Help me in with her.”
Vroon drove away without the least intention of going toward the village. As a result, when Florence came to her senses she found herself surrounded by strange and ominous faces. At first she thought they had taken her from the wreck out of kindness; but when she saw the cold, impa.s.sive face of the man Vroon she closed her eyes and lay back in the chair. Well, ill and weak as she was, they should find that she was not without a certain strength.
In the meantime Norton revived and looked about in vain for Florence.
He searched among the crowd of terrified pa.s.sengers, the hurt and the unharmed, but she was not to be found. He ran back to the countess and helped her out of the broken car.
”Where is Florence?” she asked dazedly.
”G.o.d knows! Here, come over and sit down by the fence till I see if there is a field telegraph.”
They had already erected one, and his message went off with a batch of others. This time he was determined not to trust to chance. The shock may have brought back Florence's recent mental disorder, and she may have wandered off without knowing what she was doing. On the other hand, she may have been carried off. And against such a contingency he must be fortified. Money! The curse of G.o.d was upon it; it was the trail of the serpent, spreading poison in its wake.
By and by the countess was able to walk; and, supporting her, he led her to the road, along which they walked slowly for at least an hour.
They might very well have waited for the relief train. But he could not stand the thought of inactivity. The countess had her choice of staying behind or going with him. He hated the woman, but he could not refuse her aid. She had a cut on the side of her head, and she limped besides.
They stopped at the first farmhouse, explained what had happened, and the mistress urged them to enter. She had seen no one, and certainly not a young woman. She must have wandered off in another direction.
She ran into the kitchen for a basin and towel and proceeded to patch the countess' hurts.
The latter was extremely uneasy. That she should be under obligation to Norton galled her. There was a spark of conscience left in her soul. She had tried to destroy him, and he had been kind to her. Was he a fool or was he deep, playing a game as shrewd as her own? She could not tell. Where was Vroon? Had he carried Florence off?
An hour later a man came in.
”Hullo! More folks from the wreck?”
”Where's the horse and buggy, Jake?” his wife asked.
”Rented it to a man whose daughter was hurt. He went to the village.”
”Will you describe the daughter?” asked Norton.
The countess twisted her fingers.
The farmer rudely described Florence.
”Have you another horse and a saddle?”
”What's your hurry?”
”I'll tell you later. What I want now is the horse.”
”What is to become of me?” asked the countess.
”You will be in good hands,” he answered briefly. ”I am going to find out what has become of Florence. Is there a deserted farmhouse hereabouts?” he asked of the farmer.
”Not that I recollect.”
”Why yes, there is, Jake. There's that old hut about two miles up the fork,” volunteered the wife. ”Where the Swede died last winter.”
”By jingo! I'm going into the village and see if that man brought in the rig.”