it was the evening of the next day. frank stanhope lay on a couch in a darkened room, a black bandage across his eyes. erie landon sat beside him, holding his hand. the pungent odor of ether hung in the air. out in the dining room old doctor allworth, from bridgetown, was discussing with the specialist things known only to those men of science.
erie was very happy—happier than she had ever expected to be again. doctor cavinalt had pronounced the operation a success; in a week or ten days the bandage might be taken off. god's world of light and beauty was to be his again—and hers!
stanhope felt the unconscious tightening of her fingers and spoke her name ever so softly. she gave a little, contented sigh, and nestled her cool cheek against his own.
"i was dreaming of the foot of the causeway," he whispered, "and the light."
"and it reached straight across through the blackness to you?" she asked.
"straight to me, dear; and at the farther end of its misty radiance i saw you standing. you stretched your dear arms out to me and along the shimmering track, drawn by your great and tender woman's love, i sped to you."
"and found me, frank?"
"found you," he echoed joyfully. "found you as i have prayed through lightless days i might, some day, find you, blue-eyed girl with heart of gold; found you with your hope, your loyalty, your tenderness and your forgiveness."
"and now," she whispered, "there lie the days of sunshine and happiness ahead of us, frank; and oh, how we will enjoy them, you and i and billy."
"yes, we mustn't forget billy, god bless him."
in the outer room the learned discussion was terminated suddenly by a loud exclamation from the old doctor.
"god love us, it's a crow!" he cried, "and the rascal has appropriated my glasses! laid 'em on my chair-arm for an instant and the cheeky beggar swooped in through the open window and picked 'em up."
"that's croaker," laughed erie. "billy won't be far behind him. i had better go out and explain things, frank."
she touched her warm lips to his and went into the adjoining room to find croaker perched on a curtain-pole, animatedly congratulating himself on the new and wonderful shiny thing he had been so fortunate as to discover.
"croaker," erie called. at the sound of her voice the crow stopped trying to tear the nosepiece from the lens and cocked his head side-wise.
"kowakk," he gurgled, which meant "i thought i knew you, miss, but i guess i don't."
"croaker, good old croaker, come down and i'll get you a cookie," erie begged.
croaker considered this last statement a moment. then he carefully raised one foot and twisted half way around on the bar.
"a cookie, a nice fat cookie, with a raisin in its centre," coaxed the girl.
the crow lifted the other foot and with much fluttering and complaining managed to get all the way around.
mrs. burke had brought in a plate of cookies. erie took one and held it up, as an enticement to croaker.
"want it?" she asked. "then come down and be a good crow."
then it was that croaker, gripping the glasses in one black claw, burst into a cry of joyful recognition.
just at this juncture the shed door was nosed softly open and a striped, furry animal rolled into the room like a ball and, raising himself on his hind legs, took the cookie from erie's hand.
"ringdo, you old sweetheart!" cried the girl and, reaching for the big swamp-coon, gathered him into her arms.
doctor allworth, after one startled look at the ferocious-looking newcomer, had climbed upon the table and now gazed wildly at the strange sight of a golden haired girl holding to her bosom a wild animal which might be anything from a wolf to a grizzly, for aught he knew.
at the sound of the girl's voice the swamp coon had dropped the cookie, and as she swept him into her arms his slender red tongue darted forth to give the curling tress above her ear an affectionate caress. ringdo recognized in erie the playmate who used to romp with him and stray with him along spongy moss and clayey ditches.
at this particular moment croaker, from whom attention had for the time being been diverted, came into evidence again. at first sight of his old enemy the crow had grown rigid with anger; his black neck-ruff had stood up like the feathers on an indian warrior's head dress and into his beady eyes had sprung the fighting-fire. when ringdo got possession of the cookie he raised his short wings and prepared to swoop, strike, and if luck held, swoop again. but when the coon dropped the cookie that he might show the girl who had come back to the old playground that he was glad croaker promptly changed his mind. he swooped, but on the precious cookie instead of on ringdo, and with the prize in his black beak and the glasses dangling from one black claw, he went out of the open window like a dark streak.
the old doctor sighed dolefully. "well, my glasses are gone," he murmured. "and how i will ever do without 'em, i don't know." then, becoming suddenly aware of his ridiculous position, he stepped ponderously down from the table to his chair.
hiding her laughing face in ringdo's long fur, erie reassured him. "please, doctor allworth, don't be frightened of this old coon," she said. "indeed, he is quite harmless."
"perhaps so," returned the old gentleman dryly, "but, you see, i happen to have heard an opinion of friend ringdo's gentle nature from a certain learned pedagogue, whose wounds i dressed recently. so, my dear young lady, if you will be good enough to keep tight hold of him for a moment, i'll follow my renowned friend into the parlor and learn how frank is coming along." and suiting the action to the words he edged slowly around the table and, backing into the parlor, closed the door.
"ringdo," cried erie, slapping the coon's fat sides, "you can't possibly see your friend, frank, now so come along. we'll have a race down the path and a scramble among the leaves."
she caught her hat from a peg, opened the door, and ringdo gamboled out before her. down the path to the gate they sped and out into the tree-hedged road. already the frost-pinched leaves, crimson-veined and golden, were being swung to earth by a soft wind that promised snow. with ringdo galloping clumsily beside her erie went down the road, trilling a snatch of a song.
she did not realize what a perfect picture she presented, with her golden hair wind-strewn, her red lips parted, and the old joy singing in her heart and kindling a light in her eyes. but the boy who met her at the curve in the road realized it, and his face grew wistful as he asked: "is he all right, erie?"
"he is all right, billy," she answered softly.
billy's grey eyes grew big with realization and a long sigh escaped his lips. he bent above the coon, who had sprawled in the dust, all four feet in the air, inviting a tussle. the girl saw something glitter and splash on the dark fur and her throat tightened. "oh billy, billy," she choked, and with all the abandon of her nature stooped and gathered boy and animal close to her.
a little later they went back up the road, side by side. ringdo having heard the call of the forest-creek had strayed into the tangle, perhaps hoping to find a fat frog which had not yet sought its winter sleeping-bog. they paused to watch a red squirrel flash along the zig-zag fence and halt, with twitching tail, as the chatter of the black he was pursuing came down to him from swaying hickory tree-top. high overhead a flock of crows passed silently, black hurtling bodies seeming to brush the grey, low hanging skies as they melted into distance. high above, the shrill whistle of wings told of wild ducks seeking the marshes and the celery beds of the bay.
"erie," spoke the boy as they turned to resume their way, "ma told me to tell you that she'd be over ag'in tonight to stay with you. she's had an awful time keepin' teacher's friends from swarmin' over to see how he was gettin' along an' she says she simply had to promise that they could come over after supper. i guess the whole settlement is over to our place. i better lope along an' tell 'em the good news." he turned away as they reached the gate—then hesitated.
"anything i can tell him, billy?" asked erie, noticing his reluctance.
"no, but there's somethin' i ought'a tell you, i guess," he answered. "i've jest come from old swanson's boardin' house, at the foot. mr. maddoc an' the specialist doctor are goin' to leave there an' stay at teacher's, as you likely know?"
erie nodded. "they told me all about it. how they are going to shoot from your mud point, and how good it was of you to let them," she smiled.
billy grinned. "say!" he murmured, "as if there was anythin' any of us wouldn't do fer them now. well, mr. maddoc, who's havin' joe scraff drive down fer their stuff tonight, was comin' along up with me when we met hinter, 'bout a mile back on the road."
he paused and searched the girl's face. "you see, erie," he said slowly, "i'd been tellin' mr. maddoc all about how hinter an' scroggie had been tryin' to find water fer us, an' how they had had a barrel of oil explode, an' every thin'. somehow he didn't seem a bit like a stranger. i didn't mind tellin' him at all. why, i even told him about the twin oaks store robbery, an' about hinter wantin' to get hold of lost man's swamp, an' everythin'.
"he was awful interested, an' asked me to show him the fenced-in well. so we took 'cross the fields an' he saw it. he went all around the walls an' even climbed up one side of 'em, an' looked over. when he came down he said: 'jest as i thought, billy. that explosion you spoke of was a charge of nitro glycerine.' we struck back fer the road an' i guess he was thinkin' hard, 'cause he didn't talk any more. then, as we was climbin' the fence to the road he asks: 'what kind of a chap is this man, hinter, billy?"
"'why,' i says, 'there he is now.' hinter had jest climbed the opposite fence an' stepped into the road. mr. maddoc slid down an' went right up to him. hinter's face turned white when he saw mr. maddoc. he couldn't speak fer a minute, an' then all he did was mumble somethin'.
"'billy,' mr. maddoc says to me, 'would you go on a piece an' leave me alone with this man. you see we've met before an' i want'a ask him some questions.'
"so i come on an' i guess mr. maddoc had a whole lot of questions to ask fer he ain't come yet."
erie was standing against the gate, her arms stretched along its top, hands clenching its rough pickets.
"there, he's coming now, billy," she whispered, as the lawyer's tall form swung about the curve in the road. "no, don't go yet; perhaps he will have something more to tell us."
but the lawyer, apparently, had nothing to tell them. gravely he lifted his hat to erie, threw a smile of good-fellowship to billy and turned up the path to the cottage.
* * * * *
no sooner had billy gone, leaving maddoc alone with hinter, than the lawyer's manner underwent a lightning change. his big face lost its jovial look and the bushy eyebrows contracted to sinister juts on his puckered brow, as the cold eyes beneath them probed the man before him.
"well, jacobs—or whatever your name happens to be now—what are you doing here?" he asked.
hinter, with an effort, shook off his first cringing fear. "supposing i tell you that it's none of your business, mr. maddoc," he said, with a poor attempt at bluff. "i am not under your jurisdiction here."
"oh, is that so? well, my smooth friend, you're liable to learn that my jurisdiction extends further than you think. now see here, jacobs. you know—and i know—that i have enough on you already to put you away where you'll do little harm for several years to come. do you want me to do it?"
"no." the man's answer was nothing more than a spiritless murmur. maddoc, he knew, had his record and had spoken truly when he said he had the goods on him. "no," he repeated with a shudder.
"then come clean, jacobs. now then, what's your game?"
"i came here after you drove me from the pennsylvania oil fields," said the other, realizing the uselessness of lying.
"why?"
"to prospect; to look for a new field. i figured that the pennsylvania vein would come out about here and extend northward."
"sounds reasonable. and you still think so, eh?"
"yes."
"is that your well with the jail-wall about it, yonder?"
"no, i bored it but it belongs to pennsylvania scroggie, the man whom you helped defeat the southern lease ring."
if maddoc was surprised, he did not show it. "you struck oil, i see, jacobs."
"yes, about an eight-a-day well."
"deep?"
"no, surface."
"and scroggie—does he know your record?"
"certainly not. oh for god's sake stop probing me this way. i'm willing to tell all there is to tell."
"that suits me, jacobs. go on."
"as i say, i came here to prospect. i found plenty of surface evidence of oil and gas but without capital i was helpless. i learned that a thousand-acre tract of woods, rich in oil indications, was owned by pennsylvania scroggie. i knew that he was a hog and that if i showed my hand too clearly he would kick me under and go it alone. through a friend who owned a lake schooner i made scroggie a proposition. i guaranteed to show him a virgin oil territory and operate his rigs for a certain percentage of the output. this he agreed to. then he came and when he found that the vein lay on his own land he was furious and tried to break the contract.
"i had anticipated his doing something like this and had provided against it. old man scroggie, the original owner of this land, had left a will, bequeathing all he owned to a young man of this district, stanhope by name. scroggie, i knew, was afraid of the will coming to light and i worked on this fear. it was known throughout this community that the one friend old scroggie had trusted was spencer, the store-keeper, who, having quarreled with the elder stanhope over a survey of property, held a secret grudge against his son, frank."
"and," said the lawyer as jacobs paused to wipe his beaded brow, "you thought the will lay in spencer's safe, and that he was holding it away because of petty malice?"
"exactly."
"and knowing that in spite of his many short-comings pennsylvania scroggie wouldn't deliberately rob young stanhope of the property, providing he knew for sure that his uncle had made the young man his heir, you made up your mind to blow spencer's safe and get hold of the will yourself—supposing it was there, and so make sure of your own little rake-off."
jacobs gazed at the lawyer wonderingly. "how did you know?" he stammered.
"i know, jacobs, that you and your henchmen, tom standish and jack blake, robbed twin oaks store and blew the safe; also that you were disappointed. there was no will there. where you made your big mistake, my friend, was in misjudging pennsylvania scroggie. for instance, when you lied to him and told him that you had found the will, and threatened to turn it over to the rightful heir, providing he did not give you a clear deed to lost man's swamp—what did he say to you?"
the question stung the other as a leather lash stings quivering flesh.
"what did he say to you?" repeated the lawyer, and the wretched man on the rack answered hopelessly: "he told me that if i didn't give the will up to stanhope he would have me arrested and sent to the pen."
a little smile curled the corners of maddoc's stern mouth. "well, that's pennsylvania scroggie," he said, as though to himself. "hard, bull-headed and a sharper in every legitimate sense but square as they make 'em. and you," he asked, pointedly, "what did you do?"
"of course i had to own up that i had lied. he had me down on my knees all right, but i was valuable to him right then. we had started boring on his land. he said that he would give me another chance but that i would have to keep honest."
the man who had the reputation of being able to read criminals unerringly glanced keenly at the man's face.
"and you've found the condition too difficult; isn't that so?" he asked.
"no, mr. maddoc, as god is my witness, i was keeping honest and intended to go on." jacobs had drawn his drooping form erect, and now spoke with a certain dignity.
maddoc was silent for a moment. then his square chin shot forward.
"jacobs," he said, crisply, "i'll give you twenty-four hours in which to lose yourself. you can't stay here."
something like a sigh escaped the man who listened to this edict. he took a lagging step or two forward.
"wait," said the lawyer. "tell me, jacobs, is there anything in this world you care for outside of yourself and your ambition to climb to fortune over the necks of others? i'm curious to know."
"yes," answered the other, without hesitation. "there is something; there are dogs and children."
"dogs and children," repeated the lawyer. "dogs and children." he stood looking away through the failing light to where a strip of mauve-lined sky peeked through the heavy tissue of cloud.
"and what do dogs and children think of you?" he asked, abruptly.
"both trust me," said jacobs simply and maddoc knew that he spoke the truth. he strode across and put his hands on the shoulders of the man from whom he had wrung confession.
"listen!" he said harshly. "you know me and you know i don't often give a man like you more than a second chance. you have had your second chance and failed. but see here, i'm not infallible. if dogs and children trust you there must be some good in you, and by george! i'm going to do something which is either going to prove the biggest piece of damn foolishness or the biggest coup i have ever pulled off in my life. i'm going to take my grip from your throat, jacobs, and leave you to the dogs and the children.
"now, here's some news for you. the will has been found and frank stanhope is heir to the scroggie forest-lands. but if there is oil here—and there is—both you and pennsylvania scroggie will be needed. i have no doubt but a satisfactory arrangement on a share producing plan can be made with the owner of the land. i'll see pennsylvania scroggie tonight and he'll do what i ask. i pulled him out of a rather tight hole and i guess he won't have forgotten. come over to stanhope's cottage in the morning. now remember what the children and dogs expect of you, my friend; good-bye until tomorrow."
he smiled and held out his hand. the other man took it dazedly, then slowly and with head lifted towards the darkening skies, he passed down the road.
