The Mystery of the Locks

by E. W. Howe

  CHAPTER VI.

  PICTURES IN THE FIRE.

  Allan Dorris was seeing pleasant pictures in the cheerful fire whichburned in his room, for he watched it intently from early evening untildusk, and until after the night came on.

  The look of discontent that had distinguished his face was absent forthe first time since he had occupied the strange old house. Perhaps acheerful man may see pleasant pictures in a fire which produces onlytragedies for one who is sad; for it is certain that Allan Dorris hadwatched the same fire before, and cursed its pictures, and walked up anddown the room in excitement afterward with clenched fists and a wickedcountenance. But there was peace in his heart now, and it could not bedisturbed by the malicious darkness that looked in at his windows; forthe nights were so dark in Davy's Bend that they seemed not aninvitation to rest, but an invitation to prowl, and lurk, and do wickedthings.

  When Mrs. Wedge brought in the lamp, and put it down on the mantel, hedid not look up to say a cheerful word, as was his custom, but continuedgazing into the fire; and she noticed that he was in better humor thanhe had ever been before during their acquaintance. Usually his thinkingmade him frown, but to-night he seemed to be enjoying it.

  The worthy woman took pleasure in finding excuses to go to his room asoften as possible, for he seemed to bless her for the intrusion upon hisloneliness; but for once he did not seem to realize her presence, and hewas thinking more intensely than usual.

  Mrs. Wedge had come to greatly admire the new occupant of The Locks.That he was a man of intelligence and refinement there was no doubt; shebelieved this for so many reasons that she never pretended to enumeratethem. Besides being scrupulously neat in his habits, which was a greatdeal in the orderly woman's eyes, he was uniformly polite and pleasant,except when he was alone, when he seemed to storm at himself.

  There was a certain manly way about him--a disposition to be just toeveryone, even to his housekeeper--that won her heart; and she had lainawake a great many nights since he had come to The Locks, wonderingabout him; for he had never dropped the slightest hint as to where hecame from, or why he had selected Davy's Bend as a place of residence.

  She often said to herself that a bad man could not laugh as cheerfullyas Allan Dorris did when he dropped in at her little house to spend ahalf-hour, on which occasions he talked good-humoredly of matters whichmust have seemed trifling to one of his fine intelligence; and she wascertain that no one in hiding for the commission of a grave offencecould have captured the affections of Betty as completely as he haddone, for the child always cried when he returned to his own room, orwent out at the iron gate to ramble over the hills, and thought oflittle else except the time when she could see him again.

  Mrs. Wedge had heard that children shrink from the touch of hands thathave engaged in violence or dishonor, and watched the growing friendshipbetween the two with a great deal of interest.

  Mrs. Wedge believed that he had had trouble of some kind in the place hecame from, and that he was trying to hide from a few enemies, and agreat many friends, in Davy's Bend; for Mrs. Wedge could not believethat anyone would select Davy's Bend as a place of residence exceptunder peculiar circumstances; but she always came to the sameconclusion,--that Allan Dorris was in the right, whatever his difficultyhad been. She watched him narrowly from day to day, but he never gaveher reason to change her mind--he was in the right, and in the goodnessof her heart she defended him, as she went about her work.

  "Were it Betty's father come back to me, instead of a stranger of whom Iknow nothing," the good woman would say aloud, as she swept, or dusted,or scoured in her little house, "I could not find less fault with himthan I do, or be more fond of him. I know something about men, and AllanDorris is a gentleman; more than that, he is honest, and I don't believea word you say."

  "Grandmother," the child would inquire in wonder, "who are you talkingto?"

  "Oh, these people's tongues," Mrs. Wedge would reply, with greatearnestness, looking at Betty as though she were a guilty tongue whichhad just been caught in the act of slandering worthy people. "I have nopatience with them. Even Mr. Dorris is not free from their slander, andI am tired of it."

  "But who says anything against Mr. Dorris, grandmother?"

  Sure enough! Who had accused him? No one, save his friend Mrs. Wedge,unless his coming to Davy's Bend was an accusation; but she continued todefend him, and declared before she went to sleep every night; "I'llthink no more about it; he is a worthy man, of course."

  But whatever occupied his thoughts on the evening in question, AllanDorris was not displeased to hear an announcement, from thespeaking-tube behind the door, of visitors, for they were uncommonenough; and going to it, a voice came to him from the depths announcingthat Silas and Tug were at the gate, and would come up if he had noobjection. Pulling the lever down, which opened the gate, he went downto admit them at the door, and they came back with him.

  During his residence in the place he had met the two men frequently, forthey took credit to themselves that he was there at all, since hiscoming seemed to please the people (for it gave them something to talkabout, even if they did not admire him); and when he returned to hishouse in the evening, he often met the strange pair loitering about thegate. He had come to think well of them, and frequently invited them towalk in; but though they apparently wanted to accept his invitation,they acted as though they were afraid to: perhaps they feared he wouldlose the little respect he already entertained for them on acquaintance.But they had evidently concluded to make him a formal call now, inducedby friendliness and curiosity, for they were smartened up a little; andit had evidently been arranged that Silas should do the honors, for Tugkept crowding him to the front as they walked up the stairs.

  Apparently Tug did not expect a very warm reception at The Locks, for helagged behind, and sighted at Allan Dorris with his peculiar eyes, asthough he had half a mind to try a shot at him; and when he reached thelanding from the level of which the doors opened into the rooms of thesecond story, he looked eagerly and curiously around, as if recallingthe night when he traced the shadow there, but which had escaped him.

  Allan Dorris invited both men into the apartment he usually occupied,and there was a freedom in his manner that surprised them both. The pairhad decided to visit him from a curiosity that had grown out of theirexperience with the shadow; and although they expected to find him sternand silent, and angered at their presence, he was really in good humor,and seemed glad to see them; perhaps he was so lonely that he would havewelcomed a visit from a ghost. They both noticed that the ragged beardwhich he had worn on his face when he first arrived was now absent; forhe was clean shaven, and this made him appear ten years younger. Helooked a good deal more like a man in every way than he did on the nightof his arrival, when he sat moping in the hotel office; and Silas andTug both wondered at the change, but they were of one mind as to hisclean face; it was a disguise.

  Tug's suit of black glistened more than ever, from having been recentlybrushed; and as soon as he had seated himself, he set about watchingAllan Dorris with great persistency, staring him in the face preciselyas he would look at a picture or an ornament. Silas seated himself somedistance from the fire, and seemed greatly distressed at his friend'srudeness.

  "I like you," Mr. Whittle said finally, without moving his aim fromDorris's face.

  Dorris seemed amused, and, laughing quietly, was about to reply, whenTug interrupted him.

  "I know you don't like me, and I admire you for it, for every decent mandespises me. I am not only the meanest man in the world, but the mostworthless, and the ugliest. My teeth are snags, and my eyes are bad, andmy breath is sour, and I am lazy; but I like you, and I tell you of itto your teeth."

  Tug said this with so much seriousness that his companions both laughed;but if he understood the cause of their merriment, he pretended not to,for he said,--

  "What are you laughing at?" glaring fiercely from one to the other. "Iam not trying to be funny. I hate a funny man, or a joky man
. I havenothing for a funny man but poison, and I have it with me."

  Dorris paid no more attention to his fierce companion than he would to agrowling dog, and continued laughing; but Silas shut up like a knife, asTug took from his vest pocket a package carefully wrapped in newspaper,and after looking at it a moment with close scrutiny, continued,--

  "Whenever you find me telling jokes, expect me to giggle at my own wit,and then pour the contents of this package on my tongue, and swallow it;and it will be no more than I deserve. I have but one virtue; I am notfunny. You have no idea how I hate the low persons who advertisethemselves as comedians, or comediennes, or serio-comic singers, or youwould not accuse me of it."

  Silas had often seen this package before, for Tug had carried it eversince they had been acquainted, frequently finding it necessary to renewthe paper in which it was wrapped. From certain mysterious references toit Tug had dropped, Silas believed the powder was intended for arelative more objectionable than any of the others, though heoccasionally threatened to use it in a different manner, as in thepresent instance. Indeed, he seemed to carry it instead of a knife or apistol; and Silas had noticed on the night when they were following theshadow that his companion carried the package in his hand, ready forinstant use.

  "You are the kind of a man I intended to be," Tug continued, puttingaway his dangerous package with the air of a desperado who had beenflourishing a pistol and took credit to himself for not using it. "Imight have been worthy of your friendship but for my wife's relations,but I admire you whether you like it or not. Do your worst; I am yourfriend."

  Tug had not taken his huge eye from Dorris's face since entering, exceptto look at the poison; but he removed it as Mrs. Wedge came in toprepare the table for the evening meal.

  Dorris was a good deal like Tug in the particular that he did not sleepmuch at night, but he slept soundly when the morning light came up overthe woods to chase away the shadows which were always looking into hiswindow; therefore he frequently ate his breakfast at noon, and hissupper at midnight.

  There was a roast of beef, a tea urn, a pat of butter, and a loaf ofbread, on the platter carried by the housekeeper, while Betty followedwith the cups and saucers, and the potatoes, the napkins, and the sugar.

  "I am obliged to you for your good opinion," Dorris said, while thecloth was being laid, "and if you will remain to supper with me, we willbecome better acquainted."

  It occurred to Silas that Dorris looked at Tug, in spite of hispoliteness, as he might look at an amusing dog that had been taught tocatch a bacon rind from off his nose at the word of command, andwondered that Tug felt so much at home as he seemed to; for he waswatching the arrangements for supper with great eagerness. Silas wassure the invitation to supper would be accepted, too, for Tug had neverrefused an invitation of any kind in his life, except invitations to bea man and go to work, which the people were always giving him.

  At a look from Dorris, Mrs. Wedge went out, and soon returned withadditional plates, besides other eatables that seemed to be held inreserve; and during her absence the master had been placing the chairs,so that by the time the table was arranged, the three men were ready tosit down, which they did without further ceremony. Among other thingsMrs. Wedge brought in a number of bottles and glasses, which were putdown by the side of Dorris, and these now attracted the aim of Tug.

  "If you offer us drink," he said, "I give you fair warning that we willaccept, and get drunk, and disgrace you. We haven't a particle ofdecency, have we, you scoundrel?"

  This, accompanied by a prodigious poke in the ribs, was addressed toSilas Davy, who had been sitting meekly by, watching the proceedings.Tug had a habit of addressing Silas as "his dear old scoundrel," and"his precious cut-throat," although a milder man never lived; and heintently watched Dorris as he opened one of the bottles and filled threeof the glasses. Two of them were placed before Tug and Silas, and thoughSilas only sipped at his, Tug drank off the liquor apportioned to himgreedily. This followed in rapid succession, until two of the bottleshad been emptied, Dorris watching the proceedings with a queersatisfaction.

  He also helped them liberally to the roast beef and the gravy, and thepotatoes, and the bread and butter, to say nothing of the pickles andolives; but Tug seemed to prefer the liquor to the tea, for he partookof that very sparingly, though he was anxious to accept everything elseoffered; for he occasionally got up from the table to tramp heavilyaround the room, as if to settle that already eaten to make room formore.

  Allan Dorris enjoyed the presence of the two men, and encouraged theoddities of each by plying them with spirits. Although the drink hadlittle effect on Silas, who was very temperate, Tug paid tribute to itsstrength by opening his wide eye to its greatest extent, as if in wonderat his hospitable reception, and closing the other tighter, like a manwho had concluded to give one side of his body a rest.

  As the evening wore away, and the liquor circulated more freely throughhis blood, Tug recited, between frequent snorts, what a man he had beenuntil he had been broken up and disgraced by his wife's relations, Silasearnestly vouching for it all, besides declaring that it was a shame, towhich their host replied with enthusiasm that it was an outrage thatsuch a bright man and such a good-looking man as Tug had been treated sounjustly, at the same time filling up the glasses, and proposing thatthey drink to the confusion and disgrace of the relations. Neither ofthem seemed to realize that Dorris was making game of them; for Tuglistened to all he said--and he said a great deal--with an injured airthat was extremely ludicrous; and when Davy related that when Mr.Whittle was in practice, the judges begged the favor of his opinionbefore rendering their decisions on difficult legal questions, Dorrisregretted that he had not known the judges, for he felt sure that theywere wise and agreeable gentlemen. But at the same time Dorris feltcertain that if he should be invited to attend the man's funeral, hewould laugh to himself upon thinking how absurdly dignified he must lookin his coffin.

  Silas had never known Tug when he was great, of course, for he hadflourished in the time of Silas's father; but he nevertheless believedit, and seemed to have personal knowledge of the former magnificence ofthe rusty old lawyer. Indeed, but few of the present inhabitants ofDavy's Bend had known Tug when he was clean and respectable, for healways claimed that his triumphs were triumphs of the old days, whenDavy's Bend was important and prosperous, and among the energeticcitizens who had moved away and made decay possible.

  "I don't amount to anything except when I am drunk--now," Tug said,getting on his feet, and taking aim at his host, "but fill me witharistocratic liquor, and I am as cute as the best of them. Have you everheard the story of the beggar on horseback? Well, here he is, at yourservice. Will the rich and aristocratic owner of this house oblige thebeggar by pouring out his dram? Ha! the beggar is at full gallop."

  Dorris good-naturedly obeyed the request, and while Tug was on his feet,his aim happened to strike Silas.

  "Silas, you greatest of scoundrels," he said, "you thoroughly debasedvillain, loafer, and liar, I love you."

  Reaching across the table, Tug cordially shook hands with his friend,who had been doing nothing up to that time save enjoying Tug's humor,and indorsing whatever he said. Whether Silas enjoyed being called ascoundrel, a villain, a loafer, and a liar, is not known, but hecertainly heard these expressions very frequently; for Tug seemed totolerate him only because of his total and thorough depravity, thoughthe other acquaintances of Silas regarded him as a mild-mannered littleman without either vices or virtues.

  "I have but two friends," Tug said again, seating himself, and gazingstiffly at his host, "Rum and Davy; rum cheers me when I'm sad, and Davyfeeds me when I'm hungry, though the splendid thief does not feed me aswell as he might were he more industrious. Rum has a bad reputation, butI announce here that it is one of my friends. I am either ravenouslyhungry, or uncomfortable from having eaten too much, all the time, sothat I do not get much comfort from victuals; but rum hits me justright, and I love it. You say it will make me drunk.
Very well; I _want_to get drunk. If you argue that it will make me reckless, I will hotlyreply that I _want_ to be reckless, and that a few bottles will make meas famous as a lifetime of work and success will make a sober man.Therefore I hail rum as my best friend, next to the unscrupulous rascalknown for hailing purposes, when there are boots to be polished, orerrands to run, as Hup-avy."

  The eminent legal mind hurriedly put his hand to his mouth, as thoughthoroughly humiliated that he had hiccoughed, and, looking at Dorriswith the air of a man who commits an unpardonable indiscretion and hopesthat it has not been noticed, continued with more care, with a greatmany periods to enable him to guard against future weakness.

  "Although I have but two friends, I have a host of enemies. Among themTigley. My wife's cousin. When I was a reputable lawyer, Tigley appearedin Davy's Bend. Tigley was a fiddler. And spent his time in playing inthe beer halls for the drinks. The late Mrs. Whittle believed him to bea great man. She called him a mastero, though he played entirely by ear;and excused his dissipation on the ground that it was an eccentricitycommon to genius. If Tigley ever comes in my way again there will besomething to pay more disagreeable than gold. He taught me to like rum."

  Silas, who acted as a kind of chorus, intimated to Dorris that hisfriend referred to a word of four letters beginning with an "h," andending with an "l."

  "That's _one_ reason why I am a drunkard," the victim of too manyrelatives added, after a moment's thought. "The other is that I couldnever talk up to the old women except when I was drunk, and it wasnecessary to talk up to her so often that I finally craved spirits."

  Tug crooked his elbow and produced the package from his vest pocket,which he waved aloft as an intimation that Tigley's nose should be held,when next they met, until he swallowed its contents.

  "By-the-way," Tug said, as if something new had occurred to him, "I warnyou not to believe anything I say; I lie because I enjoy it. Drinkingwhiskey, and lying, and loving Davy, are my only recreations. Then therewas Veazy Vaughn, the Vagrant--my wife's uncle--he is responsible for myidleness. When he came here, twenty odd years ago, I tried to reclaimhim, and went around with him; but he enjoyed vagrancy so much, anddefended his position so well, that I took a taste of it myself. I likedit. I have followed it ever since."

  There was not the slightest animation about Tug, and he sat bolt uprightlike a post while he talked with slow and measured accent, to avoidanother hiccough, and his great eye was usually as motionless as hisbody.

  "The late Mrs. Whittle treated her relatives so well that otherworthless people who were no kin to her began to appear finally, andclaim to be her cousins and nieces and nephews," Tug said. "And she usedmy substance to get up good dinners for them. They came by railroad. Bywagon. On foot. And on horseback. I was worse than a Mormon, for Imarried a thousand, at least, on my wedding-day. Some of them called me'Uncle W,' while others spoke of me as their 'Dear Cousin T;' but whenthe last dollar of my money was invested in dried beef, and therelatives had eaten it, I protested, and then they turned me out. Therelations have my money, and I have their bad habits. I have nothingleft but the poison, and they are welcome to that."

  He once more produced the package, and as he laid it on the table,Dorris half expected to see a troop of ill-favored people come dashingin, grab up the paper, and run away with it. But none of them came, andTug went on:

  "I was a polite man until my wife's relations made me selfish. We alwayshad gravy when they were around, and good gravy at that; but by the timeI had helped them all, there was none left for me. I now help myselffirst. Will the Prince pass the Pauper the fresh bottle of rum?"

  The bottle was handed over, and the rare old scoundrel helped himself toa full glass of its contents, drinking as deliberately as he had talked,apparently taking nine big swallows without breathing, at the same timethinking of the one he loved the best, as a means of curing thehiccoughs.

  "I like Mrs. Wedge," Tug said, looking at that excellent woman with atipsy grin, as she came into the room with some new delicacy for heremployer's guests. "She looks so common, somehow, and I don't believeshe knows any more about manners than I do. Whenever you see her eatingher dinner, you'll find that she puts her arms on the table, as I do,though it's not polite. Polite things are not natural, in my opinion;mind I don't assert it as positive. I hate cold water, but it's politeto bathe; and your respectable shirt-collars rub all the hide off myneck. And anything that's good for me, I don't like. There's oatmeal,and graham grits, and such like--they are healthy, therefore I don'tlike their taste; but give me milk gravy, or salt risin' bread, or friedbeef, or anything else that's not good for me, and you'll find me athome, as the man who had the party said on his cards."

  During this discourse Mr. Whittle's great eye was following Mrs. Wedgeabout the room, but when she disappeared it lit on Dorris.

  "I'm with the crowd, though, when it comes to my wife's kin," he said,eyeing his host in an impudent way. "A good many don't say so; but itmakes them all hot to fill their houses with their relations. Wheneveryou go to see your relations, depend upon it that they are glad when youare gone. They may pretend to like you, but they don't, except when youare away from them. But in all other respects I'm common. Common! I'm socommon that I like boiled cabbage; and the olives you blow about--I'd assoon eat green pignuts soaked in brine. _Common!_" He yelled out thewords as though he were calling some one of that name in the cellar. "Ifmen were judged by their commonness, I would be a chief with plumes inmy hat."

  Allan Dorris and Silas Davy were seated with their backs to the windowsoverlooking the town, while Tug sat opposite them, and in transferringhis gaze from one to the other, in dignified preparation for resuminghis conversation, which both his companions were enjoying, he saw themysterious face he had seen once before peering into the room, and whichwas hastily withdrawn.

  Tug jumped up from his chair at sight of it, and hurried to the windowwith such haste that the table was almost upset; but the face, as wellas the figure to which it belonged, had disappeared. Throwing up thesash, Tug found that he could step out on to a porch, and from this hedropped into the yard with a great crash through the vines andlattice-work. Silas Davy quickly followed, by way of the stairs,suspecting the cause of Tug's disappearance; and Dorris was left alone.

  All this had occupied but a few moments, and he probably thought of thecircumstance as one of the many eccentricities of the two odd men; forafter pulling down the lever to close the gate (it is a wonder that hewas not surprised to find it open) he sat down before the fire andengaged in the pleasant thoughts that were interrupted early in theevening.

  * * * * *

  Silas did not come up with Tug until he reached the vicinity of thehotel, where a single street lamp burned all night, and while they werehurrying along without speaking, the figure they were pursuing passedquickly on the opposite side of the street from the hotel. The rays ofthe lamp were so feeble that the figure was only a shadow; but theyeasily recognized it as the one seen before--that of a man above themedium height, enveloped in a long cloak, not unlike those worn by womenin wet weather, with a slouch hat pulled down over his face.

  The two men hurried after it, but in the darkness they were frequentlycompelled to stop and listen for the footsteps of the pursued, in orderto detect his course. Each time the echoes were more indistinct, for thefellow was making good use of his legs; and in this manner they tracedhis course to the river bank, near the ferry landing, where theferry-boat itself was tied up for the night. They concluded that thefugitive had a skiff tied there somewhere, which he intended to use inleaving the place, and, hurrying on board the ferry-boat, they rappedloudly at the door of the little room on the upper deck where the crewusually slept, with a view of procuring means of following.

  The fellow who had charge of the ferry, a native of the low lands lyingalong the river, was known as "Young Bill Young," although he greatlydesired that the people call him "Old Captain Young;" therefore both menpounded vigorou
sly on the door, and loudly called "Captain Young," as atribute to his vanity. "Captain Young" soon appeared, for he alwaysslept in a bunk with his clothes on, which he said reminded him of hissea days, although he had never really seen any other water than that onwhich he operated his ferry. As the two hurriedly explained to him thatthey wanted a boat, Young Bill Young went to the lower deck, andunlocked one that floated at the stern, and soon Tug and his friend werepulling down the river with long strokes, for there were two pairs ofoars. Occasionally they stopped rowing to listen, but nothing could beheard save the gentle ripple of the current; whereupon they worked withgreater vigor than before.

  They had rowed in this manner for an hour or more, when, stopping tolisten again, the plash of oars was indistinctly heard on the waterahead of them. Lying down in the prow of the boat, Tug could see theboat and its occupants low down on the water, between him and the firstrays of light of the coming morning. There was a heavy fog on the river,which was lying close to the water, but this had lifted sufficiently topermit an inspection through the rising mist. There were two figures inthe boat; one rowing, who was evidently the man they had twice seenlooking in at them, and the other a much smaller person, who was seatedin the stern, and steering. This fact Tug regarded as so remarkable thathe told Davy to lie down, and take a look, and when Davy returned to hisoars, after a long inspection, he said:--

  "I make out two."

  "A big one and a little one," Tug replied, bending to the oars, andcausing the boat to hurry through the water. "Earn your supper up at TheLocks, and I'll introduce you to them."

  On the left hand a smaller stream put into the main river, and at itsmouth there was an immense growth of willows, besides a chute, anisland, and a bend. Into this labyrinth the boat they were pursuingeffectually disappeared; for though Tug and Silas rowed about untilbroad daylight they could find no trace of it or its occupants.

  A short distance up the smaller stream was a lonely station on arailroad that did not run into Davy's Bend, and while rowing around inthe river, the roar of an approaching train was heard, and the fact thatthis stopped at the station, with a blast from the engine-whistleindicating that it had been signalled, may have been important; but itdid not occur to either Silas or Tug, who pulled their boat back to townin silence.