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Page 47
"It is not there," Gordon said coolly.
"Shoot him, you--or--" croaked the man in his voice of unnatural rage.
"Time enough for that," said Gordon. He spoke coolly, but James saw him
shaking as if with the ague. He was deadly white, and his whole face
looked drawn and withered. Aaron came leading the team harnessed to the
wagon out of the stable. He had brought down the mattress and blankets,
as the doctor had directed, and the three men after the rude bed had
been made in the wagon lifted the man thereon. He seemed to be
conscious, but his muttering was so weak as to be almost inaudible, save
for occasional words.
After he was in the wagon Gordon, turning to James, said: "You had
better go in the house and stay with the women. Aaron will go with me. I
shall take this man to the hotel, to Georgie K.'s."
A perfect volley of mumbled remonstrances came from the prostrate figure
in the wagon. Gordon seemed to understand him. "No, I shall not take you
there," he said, "but to the hotel. You will be better cared for. I know
the proprietor."
He got in beside the man, and seated himself on the floor of the wagon.
Aaron mounted to the driver's seat.
"Tell Clemency and her mother not to worry if they are awake," Gordon
called to James as the horses started.
James said yes and went into the house. He entered through the office
door, and directly Clemency was in his arms, all trembling and
half-weeping. "Oh, what has happened? Has Uncle Tom taken him away?" she
quavered.
"Hush, dear, you will wake your mother. Yes, he has taken him away."
"What was the matter, tell me."
"He was unconscious. He had fallen."
"He came to. I heard him speak. Were any bones broken?"
"No, I think not. You must go to bed; it it very late, dear."
Clemency had put fresh wood on the hearth, and the little place was all
a-waver and a-flicker with firelight. Grotesque shadows danced over the
walls and ceiling, and sprawled uncertainly on the floor. Clemency
looked up in James's face, and her own had a shocked whiteness and
horror, in spite of the tenderness in his. "Tell--" she began.
"What, dear?"
"Was it--that man?"
James hesitated.
"Tell me," Clemency said imperiously.
"Yes, I think it was."
Clemency glanced as if instinctively at the dog, lying asleep in a white
coil on the hearth. "What was the matter with him?" she asked in a
hardly audible voice.
"He had fallen, dear, and was unconscious."
"Nothing--" Clemency glanced again at the dog, and did not complete her
question.
"He had recovered consciousness," James said hastily.
"Then he is not going to die." It was impossible to say what kind of
relief was in the girl's voice, but relief there was.
"I see no reason why he should. I don't think your uncle thought he
would die."
"Where have they taken him?"
"To the hotel. Now, Clemency dear, you must put all this out of your
mind and go to bed."
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