Part 10 (1/2)
He silently made room for me, and bending down so as to bring my eye upon a level with his, I managed to gain some slight glimpse of the scene within the cabin.
Mrs. Bungay stood with her back to the fireplace, an iron skillet firmly gripped in one hand. Her face was red with indignation, and there was a look in her eyes, together with a defiant set to her chin, which promised trouble. In front of her, carelessly resting on the table, his feet dangling in the air, was a st.u.r.dy-looking fellow of forty or so, with red, straggling beard covering all the lower half of his face, and a weather-worn black hat pulled so low as almost to conceal his eyes. His attire was nondescript, as though he had patronized the junk-shop of both armies. In his belt were thrust a revolver and a knife, while within easy reach of his hand a musket leaned against a chair. Two others of the party, younger men, but even more roughly dressed than their leader, were lounging between him and the door.
Bungay chuckled expectantly.
”O Lord! if they only git the ol' gal just a little more riled,” he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, jumping up and down on one foot in his excitement, ”they'll hev ther fight of their life.”
”Do you know the fellows?” I asked. ”Is that Red Lowrie?”
He shook his head.
”Never laid eyes on any of 'em afore, but ye bet they're no good.
Reckon they're a part o' his crowd.”
The man who posed as the leader of the party picked up the empty coffee-pot beside him and shook it.
”Come, now, Mrs. Bungay,” he commanded, ”I tell you we 're hungry, so trot out some hoecake and fill up this pot, unless you want to reckon with Red Lowrie.”
The woman stood facing him, yet never moved. I could see a red spot begin to glow in either cheek. If I had ever doubted it, I knew now that Maria possessed a temper of her own.
”You ain't no Red Lowrie,” she retorted.
The fellow laughed easily.
”No more I ain't, old woman, but I reckon we ain't so durn far apart when it comes to getting what we go after. Come, honest now, where is the little white-livered cur that runs this shebang?”
Whatever Maria might venture to call her lord and master in the privacy of home, it evidently did not soothe her spirit to hear him thus spoken of by another.
”If Jed Bungay wus hum,” she answered fiercely, her eyes fairly blazing, ”I reckon you wouldn't be sprawlin' on thet thar table fer long.”
”Wouldn't I, now? Well, old hen, we've fooled here with you about as long as I care to. Bill, go over there and put some of that bacon on to fry. If she doesn't get out of the way I'll give her something to jump for.” And he patted the stock of his gun.
Instinctively I drew my revolver, and pushed its black muzzle into the light under Jed's nose.
”Shall I give him a dose?” I asked eagerly.
”Not yit; O Lord, not yit!” he exclaimed, dancing from one foot to the other in excitement. ”Let ther ol' gal hev a show. I reckon she's good fer ther whole three of 'em, 'less they shoot.”
Bill came up grinning. He evidently antic.i.p.ated some fun, and as he reached out a grimy hand for the slab of bacon, took occasion to make some remark. What it was I could not hear, but I noted the quick responsive flash in the woman's eyes, and the next instant with a crash she brought the iron skillet down with all her strength on top of the fellow's head. Without even a groan he went plunging down, face foremost, in front of the fire. In another moment she was battling like a wild fury with the other two.
It was a quick, intense struggle. The man near the door chanced to be the first in, and he received a blow from the skillet that most a.s.suredly would have crushed his skull had he not dodged; as it was it landed upon his shoulder and he reeled back sick and helpless. By this time the fellow with the red beard had closed upon her, and wrested the skillet from her hand. Struggling fiercely back and forth across the floor, Maria tripped over the body of the dead dog and fell, but as she did so her fingers grasped the red beard of her antagonist. It yielded to her hand, and bare of face, save for a dark moustache, the man stood there, panting for breath, above her. Then suddenly, almost at my very ear, a voice cried, ”Frank! Frank! I am here!”
CHAPTER IX
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY
In the first surprise of that unexpected joyful cry ringing at my very ears all my senses seemed confused, and I stood motionless. Then I heard Bungay utter a smothered oath, and knew he had wheeled about in the darkness. Unable to distinguish the slightest outline of his figure, I was yet impressed with the thought that he was endeavoring to m.u.f.fle the girl, to prevent her uttering a second cry. Impelled by this intuition I flung out my arm hastily, and by rare good luck it came in contact with his hand.
”None of that, you little cur!” I muttered sternly, unmindful of his efforts to break away. ”No hand on her, mind you! Mrs. Brennan, what does this mean?”