Part 23 (1/2)

At the sound of Guard's voice, regardless of caution, and waiting only to raise the hammer of the rifle that I held ready in my hand, I ran forward. Guard evidently had his eyes on me, although I could not see him; his yelps ceased for an instant to break forth with redoubled energy as I came within sight of him. He was standing over a heap of rubbish, into which he was glaring with vindictive watchfulness, but with one alert ear bent in my direction and the tip of his bushy tail quivered in joyful recognition as I advanced toward him. Before reaching him, however, I had found my bearings, as the hunters say, and knew the locality. Still, the place had an unfamiliar air. It was a minute or two before I saw the cause of this; then I missed the one thing that particularly designated the spot, setting it apart to that extent from many similar places. I had not seen the lonely, secluded little park more than two or three times in all the years that we had lived so near it, but whenever I had seen it, hitherto, a hunter's shack, long abandoned, had stood on the farther edge of the opening.

It had always seemed on the verge of falling, and, as I neared Guard, I saw that this was the thing that had happened: the cabin had collapsed, and, more than that, Guard had run something to earth under it.

The dog's excited yelping, now that relief was at hand, was ear-splitting, but his vigilant watch did not for an instant relax.

”What is it, Guard--have you got a wildcat in there?” I panted, breathlessly, halting beside him. ”Well; you just wait, now; we're going to get him this time!” So speaking, I cautiously trained the muzzle of the rifle on the spot that his vigilant eyes never left off watching. Then I cast a hasty glance around. If half the wildcat stories that I had been hearing of late were true, it would be well to have some place of retreat to fall back upon, in case the cat, proving obdurate, should decline to die easily. Fortunately, as I thought, there was a large pine tree close at hand; it was, indeed, immensely large. I could no more have swarmed up that scaly trunk, had I flown to it for protection, than I could have spread out a pair of wings and flown to its topmost branches. In my excitement, I never thought of that, nor of the equally unpleasant fact that wildcats are expert climbers. Sure that the refuge at hand would suit, I dropped on one knee, training the rifle-muzzle into a crevice between a couple of fallen logs, and sighting along the barrel. I could see nothing, but, with my finger on the trigger, I was prepared to fire whether I sighted the enemy or not. Guard drew back, silent, now, but trembling with excitement.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”HOLD ON, I AIN'T NO WILDCAT!” (Page 306)]

”Hold on!” cried a voice from the rubbish heap, ”I ain't no wildcat!”

The voice was shrill and sharp with terror, but I knew it instantly for that of Jacob Horton. The rifle slipped unheeded from my nerveless hand, while Guard, since there was evidently to be no shooting, resumed his former post and growled menacingly.

”Why--why,” I stammered, ”if you are not a wildcat--if you are a man--I thought you had gone to town!”

”Gone to town!” the voice, losing its tone of terror, degenerated into a snarl. ”I've been here all night. I've met up with an accident. I'm pinned down under a log, and that infernal dog of yours has stood and growled at me all night; I ain't dared to say my soul was my own.”

”I don't believe that any one else would care to claim it.”

The words broke from me involuntarily. I had the grace to feel ashamed the minute they were spoken. Guard's prisoner answered my unfeeling observation with a groan, and I looked reproachfully at Guard, who returned the look with a hopeful glance of his bright eye and wagged his tail cheerfully. I think that he quite expected to receive orders to go in and drag his fallen enemy out to the light of day. Realizing that as a general thing Guard understood his own business I forbore to reproach him, at the moment, for having treed or grounded Mr. Horton.

”Are you badly hurt?” I inquired, falling on my knees before the crevice, and trying to catch a glimpse of the victim of an accident.

”I do' no's I'm hurt in none of my limbs,” was the cautious reply, ”but I'm covered with bruises, and I'm pinned fast. I couldn't 'a' got away if I hadn't been, for that brute was determined to have my life.

Turn about's fair play; we'll see how he comes out after this!”

Clearly, the victim's temper had not been improved by the night's adventures, and it was easy to see that he had made almost no effort at all to escape from a position which, although certainly uncomfortable, had the great advantage of keeping the dog at bay. I thought of the Land Office in Fairplay and of the business that was probably being transacted there at that moment, and resolved to give Guard the whole of the roast that was left over from yesterday's dinner when we reached home again.

”Ain't you even goin' to try to help me? Goin' to let me lay here an'

die?” demanded the angry voice from under the ruins.

”Oh, no, certainly not. I'll try to help you out. I guess you've been here long enough,” I replied, cheerfully.

”Huh! I should think I had been here long enough. This night's work'll prob'ly cost me thousands of dollars--but I'll have that whelp's life when I do git out; that's one comfort.”

For a wicked instant I was tempted to turn away and leave our unrepentant enemy where he was. The impulse pa.s.sed as quickly as it came, but I am not ashamed to confess that before setting to work to try to extricate the prisoner I threw my arms around Guard's neck and hugged him ecstatically. ”It's all right; we're safe!” I whispered in his ear, as if he could understand me--and I am not sure to this day that he could not. Then I began tugging away at the rotten pieces of wood that, fallen in a heap, formed a rough sort of wickiup, under which Mr. Horton reclined at length. It was a pretty hard task, for some of the timbers were heavy enough to tax all my strength; but an opening was made at last, and through it Mr. Horton slowly crawled into the light. He was compelled to advance backward, after the manner of the crawfish, and as he finally got clear of the ruins and staggered to his feet, he was a most disreputable-looking figure.

Apart from a good many scratches and bruises, he did not seem to be injured in the least. The timbers had fallen in such a way that their weight did not rest on him. His scowling face, as he turned it to the light, was further disfigured by several long scratches and by a dry coating of blood and dirt. His coat--the coat, again--was torn, his hat gone, and his bushy iron-gray hair stood fiercely upright. The change from the semi-darkness of his place of imprisonment to the full light of day partially blinded him, and he stood, blinking and winking for a full minute after getting on his feet; then he apprehensively examined his arms and legs.

”I reckon there ain't none of 'em broken,” he said at last, grudgingly. ”But it's no thanks to that dog of your'n that I ain't chawed into mince-meat--confound you!”--this to Guard, who was sniffing inquiringly at the legs of his late quarry. The words were further emphasized by a vicious kick, which, missing its intended victim, did astounding execution on something else.

We were standing, at the moment, on a drift of leaves that had lain inside the hut. Mr. Horton's vigorous kick sent a shower of these leaves flying in all directions, and disclosed, half hidden beneath them, a large, square, leather-bound volume, on which my eyes rested in amazed recognition, while Guard, with a bark of delight, took his station beside it, wagging his tail joyfully.

I looked at Mr. Horton, whose face, under its mask of blood and dirt, had turned the color of gray ashes. He began to back slowly away toward his horse.

”Wait!” I cried; ”I want you to tell me--you must tell me, Mr. Horton, what you were doing last night. How came Jessie's dictionary here?”

”Jessie's dictionary?” His voice rose in a shrill cry, that made me jump, and drew a warning growl from Guard.