Part 14 (1/2)
”Sure. But I'm kinda hoping I'm a man, too.” His eyes lightened a little while they rested upon her.
”But you've got the poison of it--it's like a traitor in your fort, ready to open the door. You can't do it! I--oh, you'll never understand why, but I can't let you risk it. You've got to let me help; give it to me, Ford!”
”No, You go on to the house, and don't bother about me. You can't help--n.o.body can. It's up to me.”
She struck her hands together in a nervous rage. ”You want to keep it because you want to drink it! If you didn't want it, you'd hate to be near it. You'd want some one to take it away. You just want to get drunk, and be a beast. You--you--oh--you don't know what you're doing, or how much it means! You don't know!” Her hands went up suddenly and covered her face.
Ford walked the length of the room away from her, turned and came back until he faced her where she stood leaning against the door, with her face still hidden behind her palms. He reached out his arms to her, hesitated, and drew them back.
”I wish you'd go,” he said. ”There are some things harder to fight than whisky. You only make it worse.”
”I'll go when you give me that.” She flung a hand out toward the jug.
”You'll go anyway!” He took her by the arm, quietly pulled her away from the door, opened it, and then closed it while, for just a breath or two, he held her tightly clasped in his arms. Very gently, after that, he pushed her out upon the doorstep and shut the door behind her. The lock clicked a hint which she could not fail to hear and understand. He waited until he heard her walk away, sat down with the air of a man who is very, very weary, rested his elbows upon his knees, and with his hands clasped loosely together, he glowered at the jug on the floor.
Then the soul of Ford Campbell went deep down into the pit where all the devils dwell.
CHAPTER XIII
A Plan Gone Wrong
It was Mose cras.h.i.+ng headlong into the old messbox where he kept rattly basins, empty lard pails, and such, that roused Ford. He got up and went into the kitchen, and when he saw what was, the matter, extricated Mose by the simple method of grabbing his shoulders and pulling hard; then he set the cook upon his feet, and got full in his face the unmistakable fumes of whisky.
”What? You got another jug?” he asked, with some disgust, steadying Mose against the wall.
”Ah--I ain't got any jug uh nothin',” Mose protested, rather thickly.
”And I never took them bottles outa the stack; that musta been d.i.c.k done that. Get after him about it; he's the one told me where yuh hid 'em--but I never touched 'em, honest I never. If they're gone, you get after d.i.c.k. Don't yuh go 'n' lay it on me, now!” He was whimpering with maudlin pathos before he finished. Ford scowled at him thoughtfully.
”d.i.c.k told you about the bottles in the haystack, did he?” he asked.
”Which stack was it? And how many bottles?”
Mose gave him a bleary stare. ”Aw, you know. You hid 'em there yourself!
d.i.c.k said so. I ain't goin' to say which stack, or how many bottles--or--any other--darn thing about it.” He punctuated his phrases by prodding a finger against Ford's chest, and he wagged his head with all the self-consciousness of spurious virtue. ”Promised d.i.c.k I wouldn't, and I won't. Not a--darn--word about it. Wanted some--for m'
mince-meat, but I never took any outa the haystack.” Whereupon he began to show a p.r.o.nounced limpness in his good leg, and a tendency to slide down upon the floor.
Ford piloted him to a chair, eased him into it, and stood over him in frowning meditation. Mose was drunk; absolutely, undeniably drunk. It could not have been the jug, for the jug was full. Till then the oddity of a full jug of whisky in Mose's kitchen after at least twenty-four hours must have elapsed since its arrival, had not occurred to him. He had been too preoccupied with his own fight to think much about Mose.
”Shay, I never took them bottles outa the stack,” Mose looked up to protest solemnly. ”d.i.c.k never told me about 'em, neither. d.i.c.k tol'
me--” tapping Ford's arm with his finger for every word, ”--'at there was aigs down there, for m' mince-meat.” He stopped suddenly and goggled up at Ford. ”Shay, yuh don't put aigs in--mince-meat,” he informed him earnestly. ”Not a darn aig! That's what d.i.c.k tol' me--aigs for m'
mince-meat. Oh, I knowed right off what he meant, all right,” he explained proudly. ”He didn't wanta come right out 'n' shay what it was--an' I--got--the--aigs!”
”Yes--how many--eggs?” Ford held himself rigidly quiet.
”Two quart--aigs!” Mose laughed at the joke. ”I wisht,” he added pensively, ”the hens'd all lay them kinda aigs. I'd buy up all the s.h.i.+ckens in--the whole worl'.” He gazed raptly upon the vision the words conjured. ”Gee! Quart aigs--'n' all the s.h.i.+ckens in the worl' layin'
reg'lar!”
”Have you got any left?”