by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XXVII.
SPOTTY REFUSES TO TALK.
As they reached the street Lander broke into a hoarse, triumphantchuckle of satisfaction.
“They didn’t bluff us none, did they, Roddy, old chap?” he said. “Yousure did poke it to old man Barker and his measly cub. It done me goodto see you stand up to ’em that fashion. But say, what sort of a dirtyrinktum has Berlin Barker been tryin’ to put up on you now? He’s thelimit, that snake-in-the-grass. ’Twouldn’t surprise me if he shot hisown dog so’s to lay it onto you.”
“No, Bunk, I hardly think he did that.”
“Well, you don’t take no stock in that handkerchief gag, do ye? Henever found your handkerchief the way he claims he did.”
“I don’t know whether he did or not,” confessed Rod. “Not that Ibelieve him any too good to try to throw the blame of this thing ontome by a trick of that sort, but I can’t quite come to think thatSpringer or Piper would back him up.”
“Mebbe he fooled ’em. P’r’aps he had the handkerchief in his pocket andjest flung it on the bush when they wasn’t lookin’. Then he could calltheir attention to it and make b’lieve he’d jest seen it.”
“I have thought of that myself, Bunk, and I’m going to ask Springer andPiper a few questions. In the meantime, however, I’m some anxious tointerrogate another chap. I wonder where Davis is? He told me they hadyou up there in the lawyer’s office, and I left him out here.”
But Spotty had vanished, and he was not to be found anywhere in thevicinity.
“He’s a thin-blooded rat,” said Bunk. “I always knowed it, but he wasthe only feller who’d have anything to do with me arter I come back toOakdale, so I picked up with him. I say, Rod, it ain’t done you muchgood chummin’ with us two; for we’re both marked, and it don’t make nodifference what we do, folks is bound to say we’re tough nuts and can’tbe any different. That’s what makes me raw all the way through. If afeller happens to make one bad mistake and gits into a tight box peoplenever seem to forget it, and they’re always lookin’ for him to do thesame thing over again, or worse. It’s discouraging, Rod. Why, even if Iwanted to be a decent feller and tried to be, who’d give me anyencouragement? Not a blame soul.”
“You’re mistaken, Lander, old chap; I would.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right; but then, you’re different from thesenarrer-laced, hide-bound muckers ’round here. If they could only catchme foul now, so they could put me down and out for good, it would make’em bust wide open with glee. No, ’tain’t no use for a feller to try tobe square and decent.”
“Don’t you believe it, Lander; the fellow who will try to be decent,and stick to it in spite of everything, is right sure to come out ontop and win universal respect in the end. It’s only a matter ofstrength and resolution to fight to the finish, that’s all.”
“Mebbe so,” admitted the other boy, hunching his shoulders and shakinghis head doubtfully; “but I ain’t never seen nothing to make me believeit. Do you think you’re goin’ to come out on top here in Oakdale? Haveyou got a notion that you’ll succeed, in spite of Barker and everybodyelse that’s turned against ye, in winnin’ the respect of the majorityof folks ’round these parts? Say, old pal, forget it! You never will.It’s a losing game, and you might as well make up your mind to thatfust as last. You ain’t obliged to stay here, and if I was in yourplace I own up I wouldn’t stay no longer’n I could pack my duds andcatch a train bound for other parts.”
“Lander, my father sent me here to school because I have an aunt inthis town with whom I can live, and unless he takes me away inopposition to my wishes you can safely bet I’m going to stay here andfinish my course at Oakdale Academy. I’ll admit it’s not any toopleasant for me, but my blood is up, and I’m a Grant. I’ve never knowna quitter by that name.”
Bunk peered admiringly at the speaker, even as he observed: “Funny thefellers ’round here should size you up as a quitter, but I cal’lateyou’re to blame for that by the way you sorter let Barker run over youto start with. Why you done it I can’t make out, for I’ve seen enoughof ye to know that you ain’t no coward.”
“Thanks,” said Rod, with a short laugh. “Most persons have right goodreasons for their acts, and this was true in my case. I’m going to lookfor Spotty at his home now. Will you come along?”
“Guess I will, though you’ve got me guessin’ why you want to see him sobad.”
“If I get a chance to talk with him to-night, perhaps you’ll find out.”
But at the home of Davis they were informed by the boy’s mother that hehad not returned from the village. They waited a while outside thehouse, only to be disappointed by the failure of Spotty to put in anappearance. Finally Rod said:
“I’ll see him to-morrow; it will give me more time to think the matterover.”
Still wondering why Grant was so earnestly desirous to see Davis, Bunkbade him good night and they separated.
Ere Rod slept that night he spent a long time thinking the matter overand planning out a diplomatic method of handling Spotty and getting theexact truth from him; for somehow he felt strangely confident that thefellow could clear up the mystery connected with the shooting of SilverTongue.
Shortly after nine o’clock Sunday morning the boy from Texas againknocked at the door of Davis’ home. Mrs. Davis, a thin, care-worn,slatternly woman, answered that knock and informed him that Spotty wasstill in bed.
“He ain’t very well this morning; he says he’s sick,” she explained.“He wouldn’t git up to eat no breakfast.”
“I’d like very much to see him for a few minutes, Mrs. Davis,” urgedRod. “Can’t I do so?”
“Well, I dunno. He won’t like to be disturbed; he gits awful cross andsnappy when he is. Still, seein’s you and him is friendly, I guess youcan go up to his room. It’s the open chamber straight ahead at the topof the stairs.”
Grant opened the door at the head of the stairs and walked into thebarnlike, unfinished chamber beneath the roof. As he did so some onewrapped in several old quilts started up on a bed and looked at him. Itwas Spotty, who immediately sank down with a groan.
“What’s the matter, Spotty, old chap?” asked Rod kindly, as he stoppedbeside the bed. “Aren’t you feeling well this morning?”
“Oh, I’m sick—I’m sick!” moaned Davis. “Go ’way! I don’t want to seenobody.”
“What ails you?”
“I dunno, but I’m awful sick. My head aches terrible, and I feel rottenmean all over.”
“Perhaps you ought to have a doctor.”
“I don’t want no doctor. I guess I’ll be all right in a day or two.Don’t talk to me; it makes me worse.”
“But I want to talk to you a few minutes, Spotty,” said Rod, sittingdown on a broken chair close by and putting out a hand to touch thefellow’s forehead, which caused him to shrink and grumble. “Your headdoesn’t seem to be hot. Perhaps you’d feel better if you got up.”
“No, sir, I wouldn’t. Guess I know. How’d you git in, anyhow? I toldthe old lady I was feelin’ rotten and didn’t want nobody to bother me.”
“Your mother knew we were friends, and so she let me in to see you.”
“She’ll hear from me when I do get up. She ought to know better.”
“Oh, come, come, Spotty. Of course she reckoned I’d sympathize with youif you were sick. Have you heard about what happened to Barker’s dog?”
The body of the boy beneath the quilts twitched the least bit.
“Ain’t heard nothing,” he growled. “Don’t want to hear anything now.”
“Somebody shot Silver Tongue, and Berlin is pretty hot over it. Youknow how much I like Barker. It would do me good to find out who killedhis dog.”
One of Davis’ hands crept up to the edge of the quilt, which he pulleddown a bit, turning a foxy eye toward the visitor; but, immediately onmeeting Rod’s gaze, he sank his head back beneath those quilts, like aturtle pulling into its shell.<
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“I don’t care,” he mumbled under the covers; “I don’t care aboutnothing now.”
“He thinks I shot Silver Tongue,” said Rod, as if it was something of ajoke; “but I didn’t get the chance.”
No sound from Spotty.
“If I had,” Grant continued—“well, I won’t say what might havehappened.”
Still the boy in the bed remained silent.
“You know he threatened to shoot old Rouser,” Rod pursued, “and thereare some persons who might feel that he simply got a dose of his ownmedicine. Don’t you say so?”
“I’m sick,” persisted Spotty in a muffled tone. “I ain’t goin’ to talk.”
“I just thought I’d let you know about it, for I reckoned you’d beinterested. Oh, here’s one of the neckties I gave you hanging on ahook. Do you know, I lost my red silk handkerchief. You didn’t borrowit, did you, Spotty?”
“Borrer it!” growled Davis. “You know I didn’t. What are you talkin’about?”
“Oh, I didn’t know, seeing as we’re friends, but you took it for ajoke, or something like that.”
“Well, I didn’t, and now I won’t talk no more if you set there and chinfor a week.”
Nor could Rod get another word out of Spotty, and he was finallycompelled to depart in some disappointment, although more than halfsatisfied that his suspicions concerning the fellow were well grounded.
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