Читать книгу Wigwag Weigand - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 7

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In truth if the shack that Delmar had called his quarters had been any less humble it would have been a shanty. Two rare books lying on the broken, rustic table were all that saved the old structure from being classed in the category of the sordidly decrepit.

A bunk at the left wall and a rusty stove under the back window gave it some semblance of a dwelling. There was also a front window that had long since lost its pane of glass. A suitcase stood under the table on a broken floorboard. Wig drank in the vagabond atmosphere of the place as he stood in the doorway. He liked it immensely.

Delmar looked at his eloquent face and smiled. “This is just the way I found it after I invited myself in,” he said. “That is, all except the books. I brought them in my suitcase.”

“You don’t know who the place belongs to then, huh?” Wig inquired.

“Nope,” Delmar answered seating himself carefully on the edge of the table. “I stayed here a day and a night before I unpacked my suitcase and rifle. There were a few of the necessities of life standing on the stove. Canned beans, canned soup and mouldy sugar. When I was certain no one was billeted here I just commandeered the shack, rations and all.”

Wig grinned. “Man, did you say you unpacked a rifle?” he queried enthusiastically.

A slight tinge of color crept into Delmar’s haggard cheeks, but his eyes smiled into Wig’s. “I guess I did say it all right. Maybe it’s because I’m conceited about it. I’m as crazy about my rifle as most men are about golf.”

“Oh boy,” Wig enthused. “That’s something I’d be crazy about too if I could use one, believe me! My father won’t let me have a rifle but I know I’d be a good shot if I could try it just once.”

“Is that a broad hint?” laughed Delmar.

Wig nodded. “Oh, gee! Will you?”

Delmar gazed into space. “I made a solemn resolution not to take it out again,” he answered smilingly. “But I might make a concession in your case, huh? Gosh, I know what a thrill it gives me to aim and bump a target on the first count. It makes a feller feel that his rifle is sort of human.”

Wig listened with rapt attention. “If you don’t want me to I won’t ask you again but I’d love to see it. Just to see it would please me very much.”

“But not wholly satisfy you,” laughed Delmar. “I don’t blame you, Wigwag. It’s a satisfaction to know that your arm and eye are steady.” He got down from the table and reached underneath for the suitcase which he opened and brought out the cherished possession—a gleaming army rifle.

“It’s a peacherino!” Wig exclaimed as Delmar handed it to him. “I wish it was mine.”

Delmar smiled. “I’ll tell you, Wigwag,” he said confidentially. “I put it away because I had a little trouble over it. It brought about an argument with a game-warden whose name is Andrews. Right after I came here it happened. He must have heard the shooting and traced it to me because he walked in and accused me.”

“What were you shooting at?” Wig asked quickly, knowing the stringency of the game laws in the Catskills.

“Nothing more than the target,” smiled Delmar. “That’s all I ever shot at in my life, so don’t worry. I take no delight in seeing living things expire. I wouldn’t want to use my rifle again if it were stained with blood. In a way I’m still a scout,” he laughed.

“In every way,” said Wig admiringly. “It’s lucky you are because they’re strict up here and if they found you really violated the law it would go hard with you. That Andrews feller must have found you pretty quick.”

“Yes. I hadn’t any idea that I’d see anyone in this wilderness and here you’re the second one in a week’s time.”

“Man, those game-wardens know the mountains like a book. They can find anything when they start out for it.”

The color rose in Delmar’s face again. When he spoke his voice sounded strained. “Well, I convinced Andrews that I was only a target shooter. I had to prove it though. He sure was suspicious. Wanted to know all my business.”

“Some of them do that,” Wig said. “They like to show their authority and act as if they suspect everybody of something.”

“I don’t think Andrews took to me anyway,” Delmar said musingly. “He was peeved because I didn’t tell him who I was and why. The last thing he said was that he’d keep an eye on me.”

“You should worry about him,” Wig said stoutly. Then: “Too bad you didn’t tell him about your scouting record—he would have to respect your word. Believe me, I’d have made him if I had been here!”

“I bet you would,” smiled Delmar.

Wig sat down on the bunk. He fumbled with his tie for a moment, then looked up. “Were you an Eagle Scout, Del—Delmar?”

“That’s it, kiddo. Del for short. I like it,” he said, and by way of answering Wig’s question he bent down and brought out from the suitcase two shining pieces of metal attached to fading ribbons. One was an Eagle Scout badge and the other an honor medal. He handed them to Wig. “I’ve carried them with me ever since I got them because they always keep me reminded that no matter what happens I must think of myself last. It isn’t my life that counts, it’s the other chap’s. That’s what I say to myself every time I look at those two chunks of metal. That’s what keeps me feeling like a scout!”

Wig stared hard and succeeded in untying the much abused tie. He was lost in admiration. “Didn’t I guess it right that you were a peach of a scout!” he exclaimed. “You don’t get an honor medal and an Eagle Scout badge without earning it—believe me! Man, I wish I was in your shoes!”

“No, you wouldn’t, young scout. Not if you knew what it felt like to be in my shoes,” Delmar laughed ironically.