Читать книгу The River Fury - H. A. Cody - Страница 4

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The Creek House stood about two hundred yards from the water. It was a bleak lonely building, hidden from the highway by a heavy thicket of pine and fir trees. It showed unmistakable signs of neglect. The storms of many seasons had rotted and loosened shingles and clapboards. The verandah, facing the creek, was a broken-down affair, and only a few sticks remained of the railing that once had been there.

This house which at one time had been the pride of the parish, had fallen upon evil days. Since the mysterious disappearance of old Henry Tatlow forty years before it had changed hands several times. It was haunted, so people believed, and Henry’s ghost had been seen roaming about the place at night. Ill luck had followed every family that had lived there since then. Tom Mixon, who defied the ghost, died suddenly while eating his dinner. The next owner had been struck by lightning while unloading hay in the barn one summer day. After that the place had remained vacant for several years, shunned by all, and the once well-cultivated fields were allowed to grow up in bushes.

The place looked more desolate than ever to Nat as he made his way along a path close to a steep bank on the left. He had not been near the house for years, and he was surprised at the changes he beheld on all sides. He knew well the stories that were in circulation, and as a boy he had often trembled when passing along the road at night on his way from the store. That same feeling returned to him now as he drew near the building. No sign of life could he see. There was something weird in the silence that brooded over the place, and the stark house standing there in the wilderness presented an unnatural appearance.

At length the front of the house became visible, and there upon the verandah he saw someone seated, looking out over the water. With almost noiseless footsteps Nat approached. Then he paused and looked intently upon the form huddled before him. It was that of an old man with long-flowing beard and white hair. In his right hand he held a stick upon which he was partly leaning as he peered forward. Nat turned his eyes upon the river, and there he saw the white sail of the little boat bending beneath the stiff breeze. It was some distance away, almost in the same position where he had seen it that morning. The old man was watching it. Again Nat looked at him. Was he anxious about his daughter? It seemed so. He hesitated about disturbing him, uncertain what kind of a reception he should receive. But he had come to see about that dog, so the sooner he was through with his disagreeable task the better it would be.

His step upon the verandah aroused the silent man. He turned quickly, and a startled expression came into his eyes as he beheld the visitor. This changed immediately to anger, and straightening himself up with much difficulty, he lifted his stick in a threatening attitude.

“Who are you?” he angrily shouted. “And what are you doing here?”

These ungracious words instead of intimidating Nat, caused him to step swiftly forward until he stood near the old man.

“Excuse me for disturbing you,” he began, “but I have come to speak to you about your dog. It has been worrying our sheep.”

The only reply the old man made was a blow with his stick. He was quick, but Nat was quicker, and ere the cane struck he had caught it in his hands and wrenched it from his assailant’s grasp. With a shriek the latter attempted to rise, and in doing so fell from his chair upon the verandah floor. Nat was about to pick up the prostrate creature, when the sound of hurrying footsteps was heard within the house. Glancing around, he saw a man standing in the doorway a short distance away. Quickly Nat turned to meet him, for he at once realised that here was no ordinary opponent. Tall and straight, lithe of limb, and with a well-proportioned body, he was worthy of more than a passing notice. Coatless and hatless he stood looking curiously at the scene before him. Almost intuitively he seemed to comprehend what had taken place. Without the slightest sign of emotion his clear blue eyes surveyed Nat from head to foot, and an expression of satisfaction overspread his face. He then smiled, and his smile was like a challenge. It nettled Nat and brought the blood surging to his cheeks. His hands gripped hard upon the stick he was holding. The next instant, however, his hands relaxed, and he tossed the cane from him. It fell upon the floor with a bang. Again the man in the doorway smiled.

By this time the old man had scrambled to his feet, and was steadying himself by means of the chair.

“Bob! Bob!” he cried. “Kill him! He knocked me down! Don’t stand there like a fool! Kill him, I say! He knocked me down!”

“There, there, Dad, don’t get excited,” the son replied, as he stepped forward to his side. “Sit down.”

“But kill him first, Bob,” he pleaded.

“All right. But I don’t want to do it just now, Dad. I haven’t got my coat on, and I don’t want to kill a man in my shirt-sleeves. I might injure the shirt. Just sit down and wait.”

Grumbling and muttering, the old man did as he was ordered. He kept his eyes, however, fixed upon Nat, as if longing to spring upon him and tear him to pieces. He then laughed.

“Yes, yes, you might injure your shirt, Bob, if you killed him now, ha, ha! But give me my stick and I’ll do it.”

The son, however, paid no heed to his father’s request but turned towards the visitor.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “And what are you doing here? We don’t allow strangers to see my father. They disturb him too much, as you can see for yourself.”

“How was I to know that?” and Nat shrugged his shoulders. “I came here merely to speak about a dog which has been worrying our sheep.”

“Why don’t you go to the owner, then? Why do you come here?”

“Because I have been told that the dog belongs to you. I have not seen it myself, as I only came home to-day.”

“What is your business?”

“Oh, just running a wood-boat on the river. I am captain and owner of the Flying Scud, and my name is Nat Royal.”

“So your place is near here?”

“Yes, just two lots away, up yonder.”

“So you think our dog has been worrying your sheep? Can you prove it?”

“I have only my mother’s word for it. She saw a big dog in the yard last night, which she chased away. She said it belonged to you.”

“She was mistaken, then. Our dog is chained up every night. I do it myself when I am here, and Sis looks after him when I am away. No, it can’t be our dog.”

Nat was certain that the man was lying, and a feeling of anger welled up in his heart.

“My mother could not be mistaken,” he declared. “The dog that has been worrying our sheep was the very one she saw several times with your sister. He was a big black brute, with a white spot on his chest.”

The man looked at Nat coolly, and half-pityingly as if he were a child.

“And if it is our dog, what are you going to do about it?”

“I have done all that I thought would be necessary. I came peaceably here and was insulted by your father who tried to hit me with that stick.”

“Oh, don’t mind Dad. He is not responsible for what he does. He acts the same way towards every stranger, and is anxious to have him killed. He then takes no further notice of him. Look, he has forgotten about you already, and pays no attention to what we are saying.”

Nat saw that this was so. The old man was staring as formerly out over the water, his eyes fixed upon the sail which was now closer to shore.

“Is he like that all the time?” he asked.

“He is when Sis is out in the boat. She generally keeps in sight so he can see her.”

“Your sister seems to be fond of boating.”

“She is, and spends much of her time on the river.”

“The dog is with her, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes. She always takes him along. They are great friends.”

As Nat looked out over the water his mind was very active. These people seemed to be quiet and inoffensive. He recalled what his mother had told him about the strange doings around the place at night, and the mysterious lights which were seen between the shore and the house. So far he had found nothing of a startling nature, except the crazy old man. The daughter spent most of her time upon the water, and the son stayed at home with his father. They seemed a harmless family. And yet he had the feeling that there was more than appeared upon the surface. Who were they, anyway? And why had they come to this lonely place to live in such a broken-down house? He longed to ask this man standing before him, but there was something about his manner which deterred him.

“I must go now,” he announced. “It is too bad I have disturbed you and your father to-day.”

“Oh, I don’t mind that. It is good to be disturbed at times. The loneliness of this place is getting on my nerves. I long for some excitement, and was just in the mood for a good fight when you arrived.”

“Why didn’t you start in, then? I was feeling the same way myself.”

“Because I wish to reserve that pleasure for the future. It will be something to look forward to.”

“What makes you think that we must fight?”

“Your make-up. It isn’t often I come across such a worthy specimen. You do fight sometimes, I suppose?”

Nat laughed outright. This man amused him.

“I only fight when it is necessary. I have too many other things to attend to. Why should a man want to fight just for fun?”

“Some do, and I’m one of them. Now, I’d rather fight than eat any day. And if I had your build, with such chest, shoulders, and muscles, I’d go in for fighting as a profession.”

Nat looked keenly into the man’s face and his eyes twinkled.

“Did you intend to kick me off the verandah when your father yelled?” he asked.

“I certainly did.”

“And thought better of it, eh?”

“Yes, when I saw you. Say, I wish Sis could see you. She likes big strong men.”

Nat was somewhat drawn towards this odd fellow in spite of himself. He was somewhat flattered, as well, by his words of admiration. And in reality, he wished to see his sister. He pictured her as very beautiful, and strong like her brother. That she was skilful and daring, he well knew by the way she handled her boat. He longed to wait until she came ashore that he might meet her. But judging by the distance she was away, he knew that it would take too long for her to return. He turned to go, when Bob detained him.

“Just a minute, captain. You came here to see about our dog. Are you satisfied?”

“In what way?”

“That it is not our dog that has been worrying your sheep.”

“I have only your word for it. Anyway, I shall find out.”

“How?”

“Oh, that remains to be seen. The owner will know, too.”

Bob took a step forward, and his eyes flashed.

“Look here, if you kill our dog, you will rue it.”

“I’ll not harm him if he leaves our sheep alone.”

“Sheep or no sheep, don’t hurt him. I have warned you, so be careful.”