Читать книгу Storm King Banner - H. A. Cody - Страница 14

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The ring of Solomon Jordan's hammer upon the anvil at Creek Corner was always a pleasant sound. The blacksmith shop was on the Shore Road, and here farmers and boatmen came to have their horses shod, chains mended, axes turned, and other work done. It was a favorite place for men to gather, especially on stormy winter afternoons, for the cheerful fire upon the forge was most alluring. It brightened up the smoke-laden walls and rafters, while the sparks flying from beneath the beating hammer fell like showers of fiery meteors upon the dusty floor.

The chief attraction, however, was the blacksmith himself. He was generally known as "Long Sol" to distinguish him from "Little Sol", a cousin, who lived in the same parish. Long Sol was a giant of a man, with great shoulders, long flowing beard, and gray hair. When he stood by the forge with his left arm working the bellows-lever, and his keen blue eyes watching the iron in the fire, he presented a striking appearance. He might have been Tubal-cain of patriarchal days, or the ancient Vulcan himself, so imposing a figure did he make. Then when he drew the white flaming iron from the fire and beat it into shape upon the ringing anvil, the skill and strength of the man became more apparent than ever. As the sparks flew, the watchers would close their eyes and shrink back a little, while conversation would cease until the danger had passed. Long Sol enjoyed this time of excitement, and always did his best to give his audience a real thrill. He was proud of his skill. He could do anything with iron, and under the magic touch of his deft hands wonderful work was produced.

"What I make, lasts," he truthfully boasted. "I never have to do a job over again. That's my motto, and everybody knows it."

Besides being an excellent workman, Long Sol was a most agreeable companion. He liked to hear the latest news, and he generally had something to tell himself, for no matter what took place in the parish it was soon known at Creek Corner.

Though fond of news, Long Sol drew a sharp line at injurious scandal and objectionable conversation. It was well known that he had once knocked a man down because he had refused to respect this rule of the shop. But he never had to do it twice, as that one example was quite sufficient for all who entered the building.

The only one who ever tempted him to do it again was Lank Jukins, son of Bill Jukins, of Storm King Valley. He was a useless and conceited young man who spent most of his time hanging around the Corner store, the blacksmith ship, and at any of the neighbors' houses where his presence would be endured. He could not keep any position, and although he had been given work in the woods in winter and in the shipyards in summer, he only remained a short time. In the woods he always quarrelled with his companions, and made so much trouble that he was discharged. And when he earned some money in the city, he spent it all upon liquor, and returning to the yards in a drunken condition, was dismissed. He had then returned to his home to add to his parents' burdens.

Long Sol had no use for Lank Jukins. But he suffered fools, if not gladly, at least patiently, within certain limits. So on one fine afternoon as he stood at his forge with his arm working the bellows, he listened to Lank seated on a box a short distance away.

"Yes, it's God's truth, fer Joe Burton told me so this mornin'. I saw him on his way to the wharf. Joe stopped a few minutes fer a drink of water at our house."

"I am surprised to hear that," Sol replied, as he turned the iron in the fire. "Maybe Joe wasn't telling the truth."

"Oh, it's true, a'right. Old Rayson's son came up with Joe to serve notice on Peter Horn. He hurt his foot and stayed all night at the Deans."

"Where is he now?"

"Took this mornin's boat to the city. Mr. Dean went to the wharf with him. I saw 'em go by our place. Het was all worked up when I told her about him. She thought he ought to have stopped to see the baby."

"What baby?" Sol asked, looking keenly at the young man.

"Het's, of course. She came from the city last week, an' now she's got a baby."

Sol's arm ceased working the bellows, and the leaping flame died down to a bright glow.

"What has Rayson's son to do with the baby?" he sharply demanded.

"It's hissen, so Het says. Anyway, he gave her a lot of money, so she's well fixed. But she thought he might have stopped to see her an' the brat. She took on mighty bad. But that's the way with them city fellers. They don't care a rap what happens to a girl so long's they git off with their dirty work by payin' money. But that cuss can't do the same up here an' git off with it, let me tell ye that."

"Is he trying to do so, Lank?"

"Looks like it. He stayed the night at the Deans, an' him an' Jacynth seemed mighty thick. They spent the whole evenin' together, and she played the fiddle fer him as he lay stretched out on the sofy. Girls are all alike, I guess, jist waitin' fer a chance to—"

Lank never finished his sentence, for with a bound Long Sol stood before him, laid a strong hand upon his shoulder, and glared into the face of the astonished youth.

"No more of that," he roared. "You've said too much already, and if I hear you repeat such an insinuation about Jacynth Dean again you'll have to reckon with me. Do you hear?"

"Sure I hear," Lank sullenly replied, freeing himself from Sol's grip. "D'ye think I'm deaf? You leave me alone."

"I'll only leave you alone when you keep your dirty tongue still. I won't allow you or anybody else to belittle girls in my shop, and get off with it."

"But s'pose it's true," Lank insisted. "See what that Rayson feller did to Het. He's a bad one, a'right. An' if he ruined one girl, what's to hinder him from ruinin' another.

"It's the girl, Lank. Jacynth is not like Hettie, remember, so that makes all the difference."

"I s'pose it does, Sol. Het was never careful about the company she kept. Yes, she's been a great trouble to Ma. She likes fine clothes an' a good time, an' she wasn't over perticler how she got 'em, either. But she's very pert now, 'cause she's got money. Wish t'goodness I could git hold of some of it."

Sol went back to his forge, and soon the flames were again leaping up the big stone chimney. There was fire, as well, in his heart, for what he had just heard angered him. He had known Hettie Jukins ever since she was a child, and she had often stood and watched him with big wondering eyes as he worked. She was a beautiful girl then, and that fatal gift had been her downfall. He recalled her sweet voice, and he had always listened with pleasure as she sang some simple song or hymn. As he had no children of his own, he had longed to have such a girl as Hettie. Would she have gone astray if she had received proper home training? He could not believe so. Her life was now ruined largely through no fault of her own.

As he thus stood lost in thought, Lank rose suddenly to his feet and turned towards the door. The sound of a horse's hoofs had arrested his attention, and at once Jacynth Dean appeared, mounted upon Midnight. She rode straight to the door, dismounted, and led the horse into the shop. She merely nodded to the now smiling young man, released her hand from the bridle-rein and stepped up to Sol.

"Midnight has a shoe loose, Mr. Jordan. Have you time to fix it?"

"Plenty of time for you, Jacynth," was the reply. "Which shoe is it?"

"The right fore one. It must have become loosened this morning. That road to the wharf is very rough. It should be repaired."

"Indeed it should, my dear," Sol agreed, as he stooped and lifted the horse's foot. "Roads and bridges are all going to pieces in this parish. Most of the men are busy on their farms, while others are boating or working in the shipyards."

"But all are not working, I see," Jacynth replied, glancing towards Lank.

Sol laughed as he drew his shoeing-box towards him, and picked up his hammer.

"Lank is resting this afternoon. His health is not very good, so he has to be careful. He's been that way for some time."

A scowl overspread the young man's face at this thrust. He made no reply, however, but kept his eyes fixed upon Jacynth. The latter knew that he was watching her, and felt annoyed. He was the only one in the whole parish she disliked and feared. Time and time again she had repulsed him when he had become too attentive, but the more she scorned him, the more determined he became, calling upon her so often that her father had to order him from the place. After that Jacynth always took Lad with her when walking along the road or through the woods.

"There, I guess that will do," Sol declared, as he placed Midnight's foot upon the floor. He then stroked the horse's neck. "He's the finest animal that comes into this shop. He's a real thoroughbred, all right, and knows how to behave himself. And you ride him well, Jacynth. You are well matched. When are you coming to see us again?"

"Just as soon as I can, Mr. Jordan, for I want to see the preserves your wife has made. She must have a great supply by now."

"She has more than enough to last us through the winter. She wants to send some to the Westons. They'll need help. Poor souls, they're very unfortunate. What is Jim doing today?"

"He's with father in the woods getting out a big ship-knee. We have a pile of lumber which we are going to let him have to build his house."

"Where are the Westons living now?"

"Jim is fixing up his waggon-shed, so I suppose they will live there for a while."

"Where did Mrs. Weston stay last night?"

"At our house," Lank explained. "She was there helpin' when Het's baby came."

Lank did not notice the startled expression that came into Jacynth's eyes at these words, for he was staring at Long Sol. The blacksmith had seized a hammer in his right hand, lifted it to the hurling point, aimed directly at the young man. Lank knew its meaning, shrank back and sprang towards the door, his face white with fear. He understood Sol's silent action, and knew the nature of the man who held the hammer.

Slowly the blacksmith's arm dropped, and his tense body relaxed. Jacynth watched him in surprise. Her curiosity was aroused, as well. She wondered what had caused Lank's sudden flight.

"Don't get frightened, my dear," Sol remarked, while a slight smile flitted across his face. "I just wanted to see Lank jump. It's the only time he's ever in a hurry when he sees me lift a hammer against him."

"But why did you do it just now, Mr. Jordan?"

"Because Lank has too glib a tongue. I don't want him to be blatting about his family affairs in my shop. They're too unhealthy, so the less said about them the better."

"But is it true about Hettie?" the girl asked in a low voice.

"Lank says so, and he should know. But, there, Midnight's all right now. You'll have to excuse me, my dear, as I haven't any more time to talk just now. Don't forget to come to see us soon. Mrs. Jordan will be looking for you."

As Jacynth led her horse out of the shop, Lank was waiting for her. Springing lightly into the saddle, she looked down at the young man.

"I am going to see Hettie," she announced. "I suppose it will be all right for me to go."

"Sure. Het'll be glad to see ye. She likes company. An' you had company, too, last night, hee, hee."

Jacynth's body stiffened, and an angry gleam leaped into her eyes. She looked sternly at the slouching creature at her side.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "Who told you I had company?"

"Oh, I know, a'right. Nice young fellow from the city. Hurt his foot, hee, hee. Ye made a great fuss over him, too."

Jacynth's cheeks crimsoned at Lank's words, and she felt inclined to lash him with her whip.

"What business is it of yours who stays at our house? I advise you to mind your own affairs, and keep your insulting tongue still."

"Oh, ye talk very big, don't ye? But you an' yer Dad didn't mind insultin' me. I was ordered away from yer place, an' Lank Jukins isn't a man to fergit."

"Man! You a man! Why, you're nothing but a low-down brute, a Caliban."

Lank was about to reply in fiery words, when Long Sol called sharply to him. He turned and saw the blacksmith standing in the door with the hammer in his hand.

"Come here, Lank, I want you."

The young fellow knew enough not to disobey such an imperious order. He hesitated a moment, however, and looked at Jacynth.

"A'right, me lady. Go yer way now. But by God, ye'll hear from me ag'in, so don't fergit it."

For the next five minutes Lank faced the fury of Long Sol's overwhelming wrath. He tried to stand up before the attack, to defend himself. But his efforts were all in vain. As the blacksmith towered above him, flourishing the hammer like a madman, he retreated from corner to corner of the shop. Coming at length to the door, he leaped out into the open, his face blanched with fear, and bounded for the main highway. Here he stopped and looked back. But only for an instant, for seeing Sol with a shotgun in his hand, he gave vent to a yelp of terror and sped along the road, expecting every second to hear the report of the gun, and to feel the shot plowing into his back.