Читать книгу The Mystery of The Woods - W. H. H. Murray - Страница 12

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The position in which the Trapper was thus placed, through the cowardly trick of his enemies, was one of extremest peril. It is doubtful if, in his long life—much of which had been spent amid scenes of danger and of death—he had ever been in greater peril; for his enemies were on the alert and expectant of the very thing that had happened. Still, expectant as they were of his descent, the suddenness of it had taken them, as it were, by surprise, for an instant elapsed before they threw themselves forward upon the Trapper, who, they never doubted, was lying insensible at the foot of the stairs.

That instant's hesitation on their part saved his life. The old man, by the rarest of good fortune, had put his feet upon the stair with his body at such a pose that when it gave way under him it did not pitch him forward—in which case he would surely have struck upon his head—but shot him, like a stake driven at an oblique angle into the water, feet foremost down the stairway. It was a rapid descent, in truth, and one calculated to confuse the minds of most; but, habituated as he was to startling emergencies, his faculties were held well in hand, and even as he fell, his mind with lightning-like action had calculated the cause of the mishap and drawn the true conclusion, that his enemies themselves were in the cellar. As good luck would have it, the stout stair,—an oak slab some five feet long and as many inches wide, and of goodly thickness,—which had given way when he put his feet upon it as he started to descend, had gone into the cellar with him. And when he landed at the bottom it was actually in the grasp of one of his hands.

The cellar was in total darkness. Not an enemy could be seen, but the Trapper knew as well as if the cellar was flooded with light, that his enemies were there. Without hesitating an instant, therefore, he seized the stout slab in his hands, and with a yell that seemed to lift the very floor over his head he plunged into the darkness, swinging the rude but powerful weapon that merest chance had placed in his grasp, with all his force, right and left. His foes, crouching with their knives drawn, in the centre of the cellar, as he plunged into the gloom were in the very act of throwing themselves upon him. The first sweep that he made with the oaken stair hit the foremost one full in the breast and flung him back as if he had been but a bundle of straw. A scream of startling agony escaped him as he received the unexpected and painful blow.

The outlaws were caught in their own toils and taken in their own net. Their very numbers were to their disadvantage, for in the darkness they could but be governed by sounds. Nor did they dare to strike at any form that brushed by them, with their knives, lest they should stab one of their own number. Once, the Trapper stumbled over a barrel and fell prostrate, with two of his enemies on the top of him; but he threw them off as though they were but boys; and seizing the barrel by the ends he sent it flying through the darkness at a hazard—where it struck or whom it hit was of no account to him.

The uproar in the cellar was indescribable. The scurrying of feet, the thud of bodies as they struck against the wall, the scramble and plunge of forms across the floor, oaths, curses, and groans, rose out of the darkness and from every corner of the cellar as if pandemonium itself had broken loose. Amid it all the Trapper's voice rose wrathful and loud:—

"Come on, ye vagabonds!" he yelled. "Come on, ye knaves. I'll give ye a tech of the jedgment. Git into a man's cellar, will ye? Sneak in on him when he's gone to hide his pups from yer pizenin'. I'll lam ye a lesson that'll gin ye manners in yer devilment."

It was by a common movement, suggested by instinct and not by any command of their leader, that the outlaws, recognizing their inability to contend against their invisible enemy, broke in a wild rush for the stairway and scrambled to the room overhead. But the Trapper was not a man to be left behind in such circumstances. He heard their feet on the stairs, and he, too, joined them in their rush.

So quick, indeed, was he in his action that he reached the upper room in advance of one of the outlaws; and four of his enemies, with himself in their midst, landed on the floor overhead at the same instant.

Without giving them a moment to recover from their confusion, the Trapper renewed the contest the instant his feet struck the floor. Indeed, the rage of the old man was enough to appall any but the most desperate of characters. His eyes flamed, and his face was as the face of a lion when springing upon his prey,—set, wrathful, on fire.

The first man that aimed a blow at him he seized by the shoulder, and spun him round as if he had been a top; but the outlaws, confident in their numbers and determined as he, fought him with desperate energy. The fifth man had clomb from the cellar, and with a yell actually landed upon his back, but before he could collect himself to make a thrust with his knife, the Trapper's hand had seized him by the collar, and with a sudden wrench of supreme strength had dragged him over his head and sent him reeling against his comrades, who were in the act of rushing at him.

But successful as the old man had been thus far in his defence, he recognized the perilous odds with which he was contending, and his courage rose fiercely to the issue. There was no time to grasp his rifle, nor did the half-breed dare to use his pistol, for the fight was at close quarters and the antagonists inextricably mingled. Once had a knife drawn the old man's blood; twice had his clothes been cut, and his shirt had been torn from his breast leaving it bare. It was then that the Trapper,—perhaps from thought, perhaps in the wildness of his rage, as he swept past the fire-place in full pursuit of the half-breed, whom, above all others, he longed to get within his grasp,—seized a blazing brand from the fire and flung it full in the faces of his foes. Another followed, and another still, and then seizing the fore stick, flaming as it was in the middle, the old man turned upon his enemies like a lion at bay. The blazing brands which he flung at those thirsting for his blood, falling on floor and bed and skins alike, had set the cabin on fire, and smoke already began to fill the room.

At this juncture, when the confusion was at its height, and the shouts and noise of the combatants deadened all sounds, the door of the cabin was suddenly broken open, and, as the door swung inward, a man burst into the room. And a most remarkable looking man he was.

Tall? Yes, taller than the Trapper by half a head. Stout? No, lean to thinness; a man with legs and arms of such enormous length that the trunk of his body seemed but a handle created by facetious nature for their accommodation. His clothes, as compared to his body which they fractionally covered, looked like an abbreviated sentence. There was an expression of despair in his pantaloons, reaching as they did, barely to his ankle-joints, as if they had struggled to stretch themselves to the necessary limit, but had ignominiously failed, and were in a state of chronic disappointment at their want of success—perhaps of sublime resignation. His coat was of the "swallow-tail" cut, short in the waist, and disproportionally elongated in the tails. The bony wrists protruded beyond the sleeves, as if the hands intended some day to part company entirely with them. The collar rolled back from the spare, skinny neck, which was strongly individualized with an "Adam's apple" of awkward size. His head was small; and thatched with a light wisp of yellowish hair. Forehead narrow but high. Eyebrows of the thinnest. Eyes small, gray, and sparkling. Mouth large; lips thin; while a band of straggling whiskers—each hair standing apart from its fellows, like awkward country boys at a party before they have been introduced, and don't know what to do with themselves—ran their bushy hedge round the face from ear to ear. A Yankee? Undoubtedly. A thoroughbred Yankee? Decidedly. Not a cross of blue-blood in his veins. A pure, unadulterated Yankee; true to his type, individual, extraordinary.

Into the cabin, as we have said, this astonished and astonishing individual burst, as the door flew open—burst and stood! For a moment, we say, he stood staring with open mouth and bulging eyes at the dreadful scene. The old Trapper, brand in hand, facing his five enemies, only partially revealed amid the smoke: the blazing bed, the smoking skins, the overturned table, and scattered chairs, and as he took in the awful confusion of the scene, he breathed a long breath, slipped a pack from his back, and, as he straightened himself to his full height again, exclaimed,—

"Gosh!"

And then, fearless of danger and with a shout like a boy's when he breaks from the schoolhouse toward the play-ground, he launched himself into the midst of the outlaws.

His manner of fighting was as extraordinary as his appearance, and the spirit which he exhibited under the circumstances would have provoked generous laughter, from observers, for he went into the fight not merely with entire fearlessness of danger, but with the boisterous abandon with which a plucky but awkward youth at a New England "Training" goes into a wrestling match. In spite of his length and leanness, his agility was demonstrated by the first leap he made, for it landed him in the very midst of the outlaws.

Indeed, it was due to the suddenness of his attack, beyond doubt, that he escaped the deadly thrusts of the knives with which the villains were armed, and whose points otherwise would have met in his heart. As it was, he was in their very midst before they were aware of it, and before they could make a motion he had swept his long arms around two of them, and had started for the door.

One wriggled himself out of his clutch, and falling on to the floor, seized hold of the long tails of his coat, endeavoring to drag him down. But the pendant extremities of the garment parted from the body, and the Yankee reached the doorway with the kicking, screaming, and swearing outlaw in his grasp; and "canting" him up with a motion of his knee as if he had been a bag of meal, the Down-Easter pitched him headlong through the doorway into the darkness: then turned.

Nor did he turn an instant too soon, for the villain who had escaped his clutch had regained his feet, and vengefully mad, had bounded forward and was in the very act of plunging his knife into the Yankee's back.

"Darn ye!" yelled the Yankee, as he warded off the blow with one of his bony arms, "tear a feller's jacket, will ye? Take that!" and with the other hand he gave his antagonist a slap in the face that sent him reeling backward into the smoke.

The Trapper had, in the meantime, not been idle. The instant the Yankee had landed in the midst of the outlaws, the old man, dropping the blazing log he held in his hand, rushed headlong upon them. He struck the group with such violence that his three foes and himself rolled upon the floor together. And when the Yankee had knocked his assailant backward into the smoke, and looked for another antagonist, little could he see but a writhing bunch of legs and bodies. In an instant a man was flung headlong out of the smoke as if he were a log, and fell with a heavy thud, quivering at his feet.

"Pass 'em out, old man!" yelled the Yankee, as he grabbed the stunned outlaw by the nape of his neck and one leg, and pitched him through the doorway, "pass 'em out: and be darnation quick about it, for the chimney don't draw wuth a cent, and the damper's down. Jerusalem!" he shouted, as another body—this time the half-breed's—was pitched out of the smoke with such violence, that striking the Yankee full in the chest, it nearly knocked him over, "Jerusalem! there's somebody in that smoke that's good at wrastlin', I sweow. Go it, ye blue-skinned punkin," he yelled as he pitched the half-breed through the door, "that's the way we du it deown in Maine!" And as he grabbed another body as it reeled out of the smoke and passed it with a push into the darkness, he screamed, "Go it, old feller, you're a ripper.—'How doth the little busy bee improve each shinin' hour.' That's the dandruff!" he yelled, as still another form staggered towards him, and he lifted him with a kick, outward. "How many more have ye got in that hill? Rake 'em out; sling 'em this way, tops and all. Here's the boss tater," and he made a rush at a huge form as it plunged toward him out of the smoke, "whoop-p"—

But the yell died out in his mouth as he sent it, for instead of lifting the man as he intended, the man lifted him; lifted him as if he had been an infant, and then as suddenly dropped him upon the floor; and the Yankee, scrambling to his feet, stood face to face with the Trapper.

For a moment the two looked at each other, and then the Trapper said,—

"This isn't jest the time for talkin', young man. You've done me a good turn, and John Norton won't forgit it. You'll find three buckets of water to the left of the fire-place. The fire is of no great account, for blankets and skins burn slow. Open the winders and we'll put things to rights. No, no, leave it open," continued the old man, as the Yankee started to close the door, "the knaves have had enough of it for one night, and are more eager to git to their camp than to try us agi'n. Ef ye shet the door we'll be smoked like a ham in a barrel when the punk is under it. Lively, boy, or the skins and the blankets will look like a pelt with a dozen buckshot through it."

It was some ten minutes, perhaps, before the fire was wholly extinguished, and the smoke blown from the room. Then the Trapper shut and barred the door and closed the windows, which were made by cutting a section out of the solid logs which composed the sides of the building, the section cut out being hung on hinges so that the windows, in case of necessity, could be stopped like the port-holes of a man of war. When the door and windows had thus been securely fastened, the Trapper started the fire anew in the huge fire-place, and lighting a candle, placed it on the centre of the table, which had been put in its customary place; then took a survey of the premises. In different parts of the room, the Yankee had found three knives and the revolver of the half-breed. These he placed on the table and then he turned toward the Trapper.

The old man looked the younger one over from head to foot for at least a minute, and then he said,—

"Young man, what may I call ye?"

"Waal, neow," answered the Yankee, "that's a sticker. I've had so many names that I don't exactly know what to call myself; I sweow ef I du! But I reckon the old folks knew about what they was up to when they sot me a-goin', and they called me Jim."

"Jim who?" asked the Trapper.

"Waal, neow," answered the Yankee, "that's the fun of it, darn ef 'taint. I don't b'lieve ye could hit it ef ye guessed all night. Ye see I was born deown in Maine, and there's more long names deown in Maine than eny other state in Ameriky. Neow ye needn't b'lieve it, but there's lakes deown there that has names longer than the lakes they belong to, by a long shot; I'll be darned ef there aint. Ye can travel half a day and ye can't git reound the end of 'em."

"Is your name a long one?" asked the Trapper.

"That's the fun of it," answered the Yankee, "I'll be darned ef 'taint. There aint a long name in Maine that belongs to a man; the lakes used them all up, I sweow ef they didn't. There isn't a double-bladed, jack-knife name in the hull state. Long? Jerusalem, I reckon 'taint long. It's shorter than a rabbit's tail."

"Out with it, out with it," interrupted the Trapper; "what shall I call ye?"

"Waal, neow, it don't make eny difference what ye call me, darned ef it does; but I jest as soon tell ye the name the old folks started me with as not, It's the only thing they ever did give me eout and eout, and it aint wuth a copper, I sweow ef 'tis. My name is Jim."

"Jim what?" asked the Trapper again.

"BEAN," replied the Yankee, "Jim Bean. Darn mean name, ain't it?"

"I never heerd the name afore," replied the Trapper, "but it's good enough ef it sarves its parpose."

"Never heerd the name!" exclaimed the Yankee, "waal, I sweow that's funny. Why, there's more Beans deown in Maine than ye could put into a ten acre lot ef the stumps was all eout."

"What do ye do?" again interrupted the Trapper.

"Waal," answered the Yankee, "that's the fun of it. I kin du enything, I'll be blowed ef I can't. The Beans are a cute set. There aint one of the hull tribe that can't make money faster than thunder. We're mighty smart on a swap, I kin tell ye. Got enything to trade, eh? I haint made a cent in so long that I feel like a deacon at a funeral, darn ef I don't. Come, neow, I'll give ye twenty cents for that knife, sure as Moses," and the Yankee lifted one of the three knives from the table and rubbed the hilt—a plate of solid silver—on his breeches' leg, while the glitter of greed came into his little gray eyes.

"Ye be welcome to the knife, young man, ef ye want it. It belongs to the half-breed, and has done devil's work enough, for sartin."

"Jerusalem!" exclaimed the Yankee, "you don't mean to give me the knife, du ye? Darn ef I aint a fool. I thought the handle was silver?" and the Yankee looked searchingly up into the old man's face.

"So it is, boy, so it is," answered the Trapper; "solid silver it is, and the blade is a good un too."

"And du you give it to me,—me, Jim Bean?" gasped the Yankee; "why, it's wuth five dollars!"

"Twice that, twice that," responded the Trapper, "twice that at least, for the blade is a good un, and ye be welcome to it; and I wish it was wuth more'n it is, for ye have done me a good turn, and the Lord knows ye desarve it."

"Waal, I swear!" It was all the Yankee could say. His astonishment was too great for speech.

"How did ye happen to come as ye did?" asked the Trapper. "The Lord sartinly sent ye to help an old man in his trouble."

"No, he didn't," answered the Yankee. "I come in on my own hook, and a darn mean time I've had of it. Ye see I've got my pack full of stuff to peddle with—the Beans are great peddlers—and they told me at the Saranac where I was peddlin that ef I could git a boat I could peddle clear through the woods, and sell the boat when I got through for twice what I paid for it, and I swallered it hull—darn ef I didn't. And I've rowed that boat mor'n a thousand miles and never found a house. Ef I ever git back to them fellers, I'll sell them some watches that'll make them remember Jim Bean as long as they live, and half of eternity—darn ef I don't—and that's the way I come here."

"The Lord sent ye, boy, the Lord sartinly sent ye," answered the Trapper.

"Dunno abeout that," persisted the Yankee, "it's mighty pious to say so, and there never was a Bean that wasn't a church member, darn ef there was. Ye see we're a sort of religius and well-to-do family. The old man is a deacon, and the way he'd pray deown in the old red schoolhouse, at the crotch of the road, after the turnups was pulled, was amazin'. Jerusalem! how I've heerd dad jest go tearin' through the Scriptur', Friday nights, in that old schoolhouse when the elder was there, and he got fairly settled deown tu it; but it all depended on the start. I always knew when he was goin' to du it up brown by the way he started off; but ef he got a good square start—got the two or three fust verses of Scriptur' out right—there wasn't any power under Heaven could fetch him up till he landed with a regular Bean flourish on the other side of Jordan."