Читать книгу The Long Rifle - Stewart Edward White - Страница 15
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ОглавлениеWith swift strides he threaded his way through the crowd, shook himself free from the throng, and breaking into a long and easy lope hastened toward the village street. But before he had gained to the first of the houses he recognized to his left a small figure hurrying in the opposite direction, and so changed his course to encounter it.
“Have ye seen or heard aught of John Gladden?” called his host agitatedly as he neared, “for he hath not——”
“Master Farrell,” the young man cut him short, “I think I have unwittingly done to you the greatest disservice man has ever done another.”
So manifest was his distress that the gunmaker’s own anxiety was set aside.
“Why how can that be, lad?” he asked.
Almost breathlessly Don told of the incident of the two dogs and the little girl; and of how he had been forced against his will to take up the foolish quarrel; and of the fight in the stable yard on account of it; and of how it fared. The old man listened attentively.
“But that was well done,” he commented, “and I am much beholden to you.”
“But that is not all, suh,” insisted the young man. “So we fought, and I do not know how it would have gone with me, for he was very strong. At last he caught me in his grip, and then—then, suh, he sought to gouge my eyes! I had not thought men in fair fight would strive to maim; but he whom they called the Squire would have it so, and those standing about called it fair play. It is not thus with us on the border, suh; for when men settle disputes they wrestle fairly and fight as white men fight, not as savages do. So then I knew this was war.”
“Yes, lad, and then?”
“Then, suh, I fit as a man fights in war, when his piece is empty, and he cannot come at his tomahawk or his knife. I used a trick long known to the Injins, and which I learned from them. By it I broke his arm, and so the fight ended.”
“But, lad, that was well done,” the old man repeated, “and you can take no blame to yourself for that.”
“Nay, suh, I knew it not. I have but just now learned——” He hesitated, in obvious distress.
“What, lad?” the gunmaker had not yet guessed.
“The man was John Gladden.”
A long silence fell while Farrell digested this information.
“Meseems I would gladly have lost an eye had not this happed——” the young man faltered, but Farrell stopped him with a peremptory gesture.
“Nay,” he commanded. “You could do no different. I do not blame you. Nay, it was well done.”
He drooped visibly nevertheless; remained for some moments in thought; bowed his head, then straightened with an assumed cheerfulness.
“We must accept what fortune brings,” said he.
“Is it too late, suh, to seek out another——” began the young man anxiously.
The gunmaker cut him short with a decisive shake of the head.
“The Match is even now about to be called,” said he, “and every marksman worth the name is long since bespoke. Nor would I place the piece in the hands of any less.”
They stood there facing one another, the younger man almost wringing his hands in distress; the older contemplating the ground in a brown study. Suddenly he straightened.
“I have it!” he cried. “You shall take his place!”
“I, suh!” stammered the stranger, taken aback.
“Even you,” stated the old man with decision. “You can do no less.”
“But, suh,” expostulated Don, “I am not fitten to stand with these men. I would not do ye a further disservice. I am not practised in these affairs. I care not for myself, but the new piece, suh——”
“Enough!” the old man cut him short with authority. “If I am willing, how should you draw back?”
“But you know not that my aim is true.”
“I watched you last even as you handled the piece to your cheek. I marked you well, and I will stake my chances on your skill. Come, I ask it. You can do no less.”
“If you are set upon it, I can but make the trial,” agreed the young man, hesitating and troubled.
“I am set upon it.”
“I can but do my best,” then said he.
The volatile old man, his spirits popping up like a balloon, leaped into the air and cracked his heels together twice.
“That’s my lad!” he cried heartily. “And now we must haste; for an we be not there to answer when the match is called, we shall lose our place.”
He trotted back in the direction of his house, his very gait bouncing into a confidence evidently not shared by the troubled youth following at his heels. At the house Farrell carefully wrapped the new rifle in a blanket.
“They shall see no sight of it afore the time,” he babbled, thrusting the muffled piece into the lad’s hands. “And now let us see: here is the great powder horn, and the smaller with priming; and here is the stock of balls, and not one flawed one among them; and spare flints; yes, and a stout frizzen prick; and patches and grease in the butt—all is here; let us hasten back.”
“But, suh,” expostulated Don, “have I no chance to fire the piece first that I may test my holding?”
“No time now; no time,” returned the old man testily. “Come, hasten; or even yet we may be too late!”
“That is a hard task you place on me, suh,” observed the stranger, but more in comment than complaint.
“Hold a fine sight,” panted the gunmaker as he trotted along, “hold fine, and dead center. Allow for no error; merely hold true.”
The young man sighed resignedly.
“And the trigger pull, suh?” he suggested. “I have not even the feel of that.”
“You will find it smooth as a hound’s tooth,” rejoined the other, “so that a baby’s touch would suffice to trip the hammer. There is but one thing to watch. In your loading see that you center the ball on the patch, for if it be to one side or the other by any great span, the ball will not fly quite so true.”
