Читать книгу Head Tide - Joseph Crosby Lincoln - Страница 6

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The road was deserted when he reached it, but he hastened on in the direction of the South Side village. Soon he could hear the jolt of the wheels and an occasional low voice ahead and, a few minutes later, caught up with the stragglers at the rear of the crowd. They were strapping young fellows for the most part, and, to his surprise, not a boy among them. He learned afterwards that every boy had been ordered not to follow under threat of a licking. They plodded steadily on, speaking seldom and only in whispers; apparently this was a serious business.

He ventured to ask a question of the man nearest him. The answer was a peremptory demand to be told who the devil he was and where he came from. He hastily explained that he was a stranger in town, staying with the Dodsons.

“I’m not poking my nose in your affairs, understand,” he added. “I was awake and at the window when you went by, so I came along to watch the fun—if there was any.”

His companion grunted. “If you’re staying with ’Lish Dodson I guess likely it’s all right,” he said; “ ’Lish is a good square Four Corners man. Fun? Well, you’re liable to see some afore we get through, I shouldn’t wonder. The gang down yonder may be expectin’ us, though we’re hopin’ they ain’t. They most likely figure we don’t know they’ve got the guns; cal’late we won’t find it out till daylight. That’s where we’ll fool ’em,” vindictively.

“The guns? The old cannon, you mean? Why, they are locked up in Eldredge’s back shop, aren’t they?”

The man beside him swore in disgust.

“We thought they was locked up there,” he growled, “but there’s been some funny business somewhere. Somebody blew the gaff and we’ll find out who ’twas afore we finish. A few of us looked in Manasseh’s back room about half an hour ago to make sure everything was all right and we found the door open and the guns gone. We know well enough where they’re gone and now we’re goin’ after ’em. We’ll get ’em too, or know the reason why.”

It was not until the next day that Franklin learned the whole story. Some time between eleven and twelve that night a group of South Siders, with a cart and a pair of horses, had visited the Corners, had unlocked the Eldredge door—where and how they got a key to fit is still a mystery—loaded the cannon on the cart and departed as secretly as they came. In other words they had practically repeated their triumph of the previous Fourth. This time, however, the Four Corners had discovered the theft before the night was over, had hastily gathered a posse and set forth to retrieve what they considered their property.

Little by little Cobb moved forward in the crowd until he came abreast the slow moving team and the four wheels and under body of a lumber wagon which they drew. The leaders of the expedition walked beside the horses. One of them was, so he discovered to his surprise, the fussy Mr. Eldredge himself. Those nearest him were middle-aged men whom the young huskies forming the bulk of the expedition addressed with respect. Obviously this must be something more than a Fourth of July lark. The visitor from Cleveland began to understand. As Elisha Dodson had said, the cannon did not matter so much in themselves; it was what their transfer represented that had aroused the solid citizens of the Four Corners. It was one more piece of impertinence on the part of the upstart South Side, and the South Side must be kept in its place. Franklin Cobb began to feel a curious thrill of interest, almost of partisan bias. For the time, at least, he was a Four Cornerite.

Just before reaching the first clump of houses at the edge of South Side village the expedition halted. These houses were dark and quiet, but above the roofs ahead was a ruddy glow and from that direction sounded the occasional explosion of a firearm. The leaders drew together for consultation. Then Manasseh turned to the crowd pressing about him. He was perspiring and out of breath, but very earnest.

“We’re goin’ to turn the team off on this side road here,” he pointed. “No use goin’ straight up the main road. They’d see and hear us and we’d have to fight before the time came for it. They’ve got them guns hid somewheres, of course, and it’s ’most likely where they hid ’em last time, in Solomon Hawkes’s pines over back of the meetin’ house. May be somebody set to watch ’em there too, you can’t tell. We’ll drive the truck around this back road till we get abreast of the pines and wait there till we find out somethin’ definite. Anybody got any better notion? If they have we’d like to hear it.”

Apparently no one had. There was much whispered conversation but no helpful suggestions. The truck moved on and the crowd moved with it. The back road was little more than a bypath through the fields, rough and rutted. Several times they stopped to readjust the bagging and odds and ends of cloths with which the wheels were muffled. At last they reached the outer fringe of a pine grove.

“Now,” whispered Eldredge, “we can’t do no more till we find out somethin’. Is there anybody in this gang that ain’t known from one end of the South Side to the other? If there is I’d like to talk to him.”

No one came forward. Then Franklin felt a hand laid upon his shoulder. The man who had given him the information concerning the theft of the cannon was pushing him to the front.

“Say, Manasseh,” he whispered, “here’s a fellow I guess nobody knows. He’s from out of town, or so he says, and he’s stayin’ at ’Lish Dodson’s. Maybe he could spy out the lay of the land for us. How about it, boy?”

Cobb suddenly became the center of interest. Eldredge and the other leaders clustered about him. Manasseh bent to peer into his face.

“Who are you?” he asked, unceremoniously.

“My name is Cobb. I’m in town for a few days; staying with the Dodsons, as this chap says.”

“Anybody know you down here to the South Side?”

“No; that is, they don’t know who I am or where I’m staying.”

“Huh! Well, are you in on this game with us? Know what it’s all about, don’t you?”

“Yes.” And, impulsively, “Why, yes, I’m in it. Glad to help if I can.”

The leaders drew apart to whisper. Then Eldredge again came close to his side.

“You can help if anybody can, I guess,” he said. “Now, I’ll tell you what to do. You go on along this road till you come to the first one crossin’ it. Then turn left and keep on till you come out on the main road about abreast the new meetin’ house. There’s a little square there, as you might say, and that’s where the bonfire is and where the crowd will be, if there is one. ’Tain’t likely to be much but boys, for this drizzle will have drove most of the grown-ups inside; at least, we hope ’twill. Boys generally know what’s goin’ on and, if you listen, you may hear somethin’ about where those cannon are hid. Find out all you can, without lettin’ anybody know you’re tryin’ to find out anything, and then come back and tell us what you’ve heard. For thunder sakes don’t keep us waitin’ long. It’ll be daylight in an hour or so and all hands’ll be turnin’ out.... Oh, I know!” turning to the younger element who were muttering behind him. “Some of you fellers are lookin’ for a free fight. Well, I ain’t—not unless it’s needful. Now you, what’s-your-name—Mr. Cobb, you run along. And hurry!”

The crowd opened to let him through and, almost before he knew it, Franklin Cobb found himself alone and stumbling on through the wet grass and low bushes bordering the lane at the edge of the pines. He could not help thinking that perhaps he was a fool for letting himself into this business. He had done it entirely on impulse. The secrecy of the whole affair, the intense, solemn earnestness of the crowd from the Four Corners, the thrill of adventure, all these had lured him and trapped him. But it was fun, there was no doubt of that. Well, he was in it now and must go through with it.

When he reached the corner of the main road he saw the little open grass plot which Eldredge had called a square. It was directly opposite him on the other side of the road. A bonfire was burning in the center of it and perhaps a dozen boys, their coat collars turned up, were standing about it, trying their dismal best to believe they were having a glorious adventure. Not a grown person was in sight, as far as he could make out. The shops along the road were all dark and shuttered, but an occasional house beyond the little square showed a lighted window. One larger and more pretentious dwelling on the corner where he stood showed several. The drizzle was now a steady rain.

He crossed the road and, by a circuitous route, strolled toward the bonfire. The youngsters, their ages ranged from ten to fifteen, scarcely looked up at his approach. The rain was obviously dampening their enthusiasm. As a matter of fact, it was dampening his, and he was more certain than ever that he was a fool on a fool’s errand.

“Hello!” he hailed, stepping into the circle by the blaze. “Having a good time? Got a fine fire, haven’t you?”

The smaller boys edged away. One of the older ones sniffed.

“Ain’t much good,” he grumbled, with a shiver. “Darn rain’s spoilin’ everything. Aw, come on, fellows! I’m goin’ home. No use gettin’ soaked through.”

He walked off, his shotgun under his arm and his hands jammed in his trousers’ pockets. Several of the others followed him.

“Aw, Ike,” pleaded a comrade, who still lingered, “ain’t you goin’ to wait till they fire off the cannon?”

“Won’t fire ’em off afore half-past five or six. Might’s well keep dry till then. You can stay by your old bonfire if you want to, I’m goin’ home.”

There was a moment’s hesitation and then, to Cobb’s surprised chagrin, every boy in sight started to leave. He hastily detained one of them.

“Where will they fire the cannon?” he asked “I don’t want to miss that.”

“Eh? Why, right here, of course. They fired ’em here last year and wa’n’t the Four Corners folks mad? Aw, gee!”

“Where are the cannon now? I don’t see them anywhere.”

“ ’Course you don’t. They’ve hid ’em, that’s why. Hold on, Tom, can’t you! I’m a-comin’.”

He jerked free and ran. Another minute and Franklin Cobb was alone by the bonfire. Alone and with the conviction that his scouting expedition was so far a complete fizzle.

He wandered toward the church building and stood beneath the projecting roof above its wide doorway to keep out of the rain and think. The thinking did him no good and he had about decided to go back to Manasseh Eldredge and report failure when he heard the noise of wheels and the “clump” of horses’ hoofs approaching along the road. A covered carriage passed and drew up before the big house diagonally opposite, the house with the lighted windows. There was much youthful chatter and feminine laughter. He walked over to the clump of shrubs at the far end of the grass plot and stood there. He had no definite reason for doing so, other than the faint hope that he might hear something concerning those confounded cannon.

Two young men got out of the carriage, opened its door and assisted two young women to alight. By the lamplight shining from the door at the top of the house steps he could see that the quartette were dressed as if they had come from a party or dance. The young women’s flounces and furbelows were conspicuously noticeable. They ran up the steps out of the rain and the young men followed them.

“No, no, George,” protested one of the girls, “of course you can’t come in. It’s almost morning. We’ve had a perfectly gorgeous time, good night.”

“Good night, Maisie,” called one of their escorts. “Good night, Vic. See you both to-morrow—or to-day, I suppose it is. Good night. Sweet dreams.”

“Say, Maisie,” put in the other young fellow, “don’t let Vic lie awake thinking about those guns. Perhaps we hadn’t ought to have told her. She may be sneaking out and spiking them or something.”

The other girl, the one who had not before spoken, tossed her head.

“I only wish I could,” she declared, with a little stamp of her foot. “I only wish I had known about them while we were at the party. I should have put a word in somebody’s ear, you may be sure of that, Ed Howes.”

Her companion laughed. “Too bad, Vic, too bad!” jeered Ed. “Tough on the poor old Four Corners, that’s a fact. Well, you’ll have to own up that the South Side is the only live place. Good night.”

The door closed. The carriage moved off. Cobb strolled to the sidewalk and looked after it. Then, with a shrug, he turned and, crossing the main road, started along the lane which led to the juncture of the other lane bordering the pine grove where Manasseh and the rest were waiting. He did not look forward to meeting them.

The house on the corner stood in a good-sized yard which extended along the lane he was traveling. A white fence, scroll-sawed and fretted in the style of the period, bordered this yard. The wall of the house was but a short distance from the fence. Suddenly one of the windows on this side of the house sprang into light and, an instant later, it was opened.

Franklin paused involuntarily and turned to look. He could see into the room, a bedchamber evidently, for he saw the corner of a black walnut, marble-topped bureau, a marble-topped commode with a lamp on it, and the back of a walnut chair. He saw these, but only as a fleeting picture. Two young women were in the room, obviously the two he had just seen at the front door. They were talking and what they said caused him to halt in his tracks.

“I don’t care, Maisie,” said one. “I’m just as provoked about it as I can be. You South Side people are altogether too smart. If it wasn’t raining I honestly believe I would climb right out of this window and run all the way to the Corners to tell Manasseh Eldredge and father and the rest. They wouldn’t let those old cannons stay here long, indeed they wouldn’t! Oh, yes, yes! I know it’s all a joke, but I don’t like jokes when they are on the wrong side. And that Ed Howes is too fresh to live; he makes me mad all the way through. There, there, dear, I’ll get over it. Now run along to bed or your family will never invite me again. Good night.”

There were whispers and a feminine giggle, then the sound of a closing door. Franklin Cobb, a trifle ashamed of himself for listening, moved on again. He had taken but a few steps when he turned to look back. The window was still open and, against the lamplight, he could see the silhouette of one of the girls. She was leaning upon the window sill, looking out. She was, he was sure, the one who had expressed a wish that she might tell Eldredge about the cannon. He had half a mind—

The “half a mind” became a whole one. He stepped over the low fence and moved toward the window. She saw him and drew back with a startled exclamation. He took off his hat.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said, in an eager whisper. “It’s all right. I want to speak to you a minute, that’s all. Please listen.”

He could see her face now. She was a pretty girl, a very pretty girl.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she faltered.

“You don’t know me, but my name is Cobb and I am staying at Mr. Dodson’s up at the Corners. I heard you say something about the cannon. Do you know where they are now? Oh, don’t call any one! Don’t! If you do it will spoil everything. You see, we’ve come to get them.”

She had started toward the door, but now she hesitated. She came back to the window.

“Come to get them?” she repeated. “Who has? What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you. I heard you say—I was passing and the window was open and—and I couldn’t help hearing some things you said to that other girl. You’re from the Four Corners, aren’t you? You’d like to have Eldredge and the rest of us get those cannon back again, wouldn’t you? Well, if you know where they are maybe we can get them. We’ve come down here to do it. Honest, we have. Do you know?”

She was leaning on the sill again, peering out at him through the screen. She was a pretty girl; the prettiest he had ever seen, or so he thought at that moment.

“Tell me all about it—quick!” she whispered.

He told, in a half-dozen hurried sentences, of the discovery of the theft of the cannon, the expedition and its purposes, of his so far unsuccessful scouting excursion. She clasped her hands.

“Oh, lovely!” she exclaimed, with a little squeal of delight. “Splendid! Yes, I know where the cannon are. They have them hidden in the empty hearse house at the back of the old cemetery—not the one they use now, the old one. Mr. Eldredge knows where it is. Oh, do you think you can get them? You’ll have to hurry! They are going to fire them by six o’clock.”

“We’ll get them. And say, thanks a lot. Good night.”

He was over the fence and running up the lane. A glance over his shoulder showed her still leaning on the sill.

Manasseh and two or three more had, in their impatience, come part way to meet him. He breathlessly panted the news. Eldredge relaxed his grasp on his shoulder and turned to his followers.

“Come on, boys,” he ordered.

“Hold on, Manasseh,” said one. “They may have set somebody to watch them guns, you know. What’ll you do if they have?”

“Leave a couple of somebodies to watch him—yes, and keep him quiet. Get goin’, all hands. We haven’t got any spare time.”

It was half-past five when Franklin Cobb tiptoed up the Dodson stairs to his room. He hurriedly removed his wet clothes and lay down on the bed. The morning was dark and the rain was pouring. He was tired out, but somehow he could not get to sleep. The retrieving of the cannon had been exciting and lots of fun. He thought it all over from beginning to end. No, Wellmouth wasn’t such a dead place, at any rate on the day and night before the Fourth of July. There was his adventure on the Blake wharf and then this. And that girl at the window—he could see her now. Her hair—her eyes—her expression as she listened to his story! Who was she, anyway?

He was still wondering when, at last, he did drop off to sleep.

A “boom” which shook the windows woke him a half-hour later. He sat up in bed, realized what was going on, and grinned triumphantly.

“Boom!” thundered the other old cannon before the First Meeting House at Wellmouth Four Corners.