Part 17 (1/2)
Again the voice choked into silence and he closed the Book.
”I can't--I can't read it. I'm afraid you're going to give up!” he sobbed. ”O Ma, you won't, will you? Please say you won't?”
”No, no, I won't give up, my Boy,” she said soothingly. ”I'm just ready for anything He sends----”
”But I don't want you to say that!” he broke in pa.s.sionately. ”You must fight. You mustn't be ready. You mustn't think about dying. I won't let you die--I tell you!”
She stroked his forehead with gentle touch:
”I won't give up for your sake----”
”It's a promise now?” he cried.
”Yes, I promise----”
”Then I'm going for a doctor right away----”
”You can't find him, Boy,” his father said. ”It's thirty miles across the Ohio into Kentucky where he lives. An' in all this sickness he ain't at home. Hit's foolishness ter go----”
”I'll find him,” was the firm response.
The father made no further protest. He helped him saddle the horse, buckled the stirrups to fit his little bare legs and gave him as clear directions as he could.
”The moon'll be s.h.i.+nin' all night, Boy,” were his last words. ”Yer can cross the river before eight o'clock. Ef ye git lost on t'other side ax yer way frum the fust house ye come to----”
The Boy nodded, and when had fixed his bare toes in the stirrups he leaned low and whispered:
”You won't give up, Pa, will ye? You'll fight for her till I get back?”
The big gnarled fist closed over the little hand on the pommel of the saddle, and the father's voice was husky:
”As long as there's breath in her body--hurry now.”
The last command was not needed. The horse felt the quiver of tense suffering in the low voice and the nervous touch of the switch on his side. With a quick bound he was off at a full gallop down the trail toward the river.
The sun had set before they reached the open country beyond the great forest, but by seven o'clock the Boy saw from the hill top the s.h.i.+ning mirror of the river in the calm moonlit valley. Before night he had succeeded in rousing the ferryman and reached the opposite sh.o.r.e.
He lost the way once about nine o'clock and a settler whose light he saw in the woods called sharply from the door with his rifle in hand:
”Who are you?”
”I'm just a little boy,” the voice faltered. ”I'm trying to find the doctor's house. My mother's about to die and I'm lost. I want you to show me the road.”
The rifle was lowered and the cabin stirred. The man dropped back and a woman appeared in the door way.
”Won't ye come in, Honey, and rest a minute and me give ye somethin' to eat while Pa's gettin' ready to go with ye a piece?”
”No'm I can't eat nuthin'----”
He didn't dare go near that tender voice that spoke so clearly its sympathy in the night. He would be crying in a minute if he did and he couldn't afford that.