by Unknown
Now I’d thought of the paper, I felt a little happier. It might tell something interesting; and even if it didn’t, it’d give me something to do. And if it did tell something, I could testify about it in the morning.
“I’ll go out to the cabin now,” I said. And as I said it, I couldn’t help shuddering a little. It was already getting dark and I thought of that cabin, alone there in the woods—and what was in it.
However, I jumped down and started off. Before I went, though, I crept around the corner.
There was nobody at Burnet’s house, and I ran up the path. They never lock the door, for they haven’t got anything to steal, so I opened it and went inside.
I went into the living-room. Everything was sort of upside down. It made me feel rather bad, for Irene is usually awful particular, but you could tell she didn’t care what happened now. The waste-paper basket was beside the big center table, and I picked a sheet of paper out of it that was almost clean. Then I wrote on it in big letters:
“Irene!
“Don’t worry! Forces are working for you and Al!”
I started to sign “Jack” to it, but then I thought I wouldn’t, and I put “A Friend.” It sounds more important and mysterious.
Then I ran outside and started for the woods. Before I could reach them, though, I had to pass the foot of the Avenue. And who should I run into of all people, but Horace Sparton. He grabbed me by the shoulder.
“Here, boy!” he said. “Where were you this afternoon?”
Well, I was trying to think of about a million things at once, so I said the first thing that popped into my head.
“In church, sir,” I answered meekly.
Then Old Sparton shook me.
“Don’t try to be funny with me, boy!” he grunted. “You are supposed to be a witness for the state. We had to call off the trial because of you.… But I’ll see that you’re there tomorrow morning,” he muttered between his teeth, and he started to march me off toward the lock-up.
I went along with him a ways, because I wanted to do some wondering, and it was easy to do it and walk with his hand on my collar. I didn’t have to see where I was going. Finally, however, I craned my neck up and looked at him.
“Please, Mr. Sparton,” I said, “won’t you let me go?”
“No, I won’t,” he said; and he looked as if that was settled.
“Well, look, Mr. Sparton,” I went on, “if you let me go now, I’ll show up first thing in the morning! Honest I will! I swear on the Bible!”
“I don’t care if you swear on the Wall Street Journal,” he said. “You’re coming along with me. And don’t talk so much. You annoy me enough by just living.”
“Well, look, Mr. Sparton! If you let me go, I’ll find out the murderer for you!”
Well, then he swung around and stared down at me.
“What do you mean, the murderer?” he shouted. “We’ve got the murderer in the lock-up—unless they’ve already lynched him.”
And then he looked at me sort of thoughtful and started shaking me, offhand like.
I waited until he got through. Then I decided the best thing to do was take him into my confidence.
“Well, look, Mr. Sparton,” I began; “I know where I can get some dope on who murdered Old Man—Mr. Carr—a place in the woods where—”
And then I stopped. His eyes were glaring and his face kept coming lower and lower as if he was going to rub noses with me. Then he said, kind of hoarse:
“What kind of dope?”
“Well, look, Mr. Sparton, you just let me go and—”
But he had started shaking me again and the rest of my words came out funny; all twisted and different-sounding from the way they started out to be.
“You tell me all about it,” he said, “and I’ll tell the police and they can go out and investigate.”
That made me just turn cold and sweat at the same time. If Sparton had let go of me then, I would have just dropped right through the sidewalk and come up in China or Ireland or some place. Because if any police had gone out to my cabin and seen Jane lying there, murdered, and known that I was there alone with her the night before—well, the boys would be tying two ropes to the same branch. And it didn’t make me any more cheerful when Sparton squinted at me and said:
“It’s mighty funny what you do by yourself all alone in the woods! I think the police had better go out and take a look at the place anyhow!”
I thought a while to think of some good reply to get him off of the track; and finally I said:
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, come along!” he said, starting off.
And I said:
“Yes, sir,” as I dragged along after him.
And then, suddenly, I threw up my arms and slipped out of my coat. It was a cold night, and he had thick gloves on, and hadn’t been able to get a good grip on my body.
Sparton just had time enough to say:
“Well, I’ll be—” as if he was displeased, when I turned the corner. In two minutes I passed the last house and the last street lamp in town and was looping across the dark meadow. Then I beat it into the wood.
It was as dark as blazes (only blazes is awfully light), and I had a job finding the path even with my pocket flashlight. I reckon it must have been after eight o’clock when I went flying over the stump where I found Jane sitting the day before; and when I reached the sharp corner in the path just this side of the cabin and started to go straight ahead, it was almost nine. I’ve got so I can tell time by the stars and things.
And then I slowed down. I wanted to go faster; I knew I ought to go faster; and the path was wide and clear—but I just couldn’t make it. I don’t know why, but my feet just dragged as if they were tied to a ball and chain.
And when I came in sight of that cabin, standing black and quiet underneath the trees at the end of the path, I just had to pinch myself in the back to make me go on.
The front window was just beside the path. I opened it and stuck my head in. I couldn’t see anything. It was just all black.
And yet I couldn’t help turning my head and looking to the left. It was black and silent like the rest. But I knew I was looking at the screen; and beyond that screen—
Well, I turned around and gave a last look at the outdoors, at the black, bare trunks and limbs, sticking up into the dark sky. There were five miles of thick woods between me and any other living human being.
I was thinking of that when I hoisted myself up to the window sill, and my arms sort of wobbled and I fell back again.
“Come on, you yellow baby!” I sneered at me.
Then I gave a big jump up and landed clear through on my nose.
I sat up in the dark, listening, while it got all quiet again. Then I stood up and felt around for the candle and lighted it.
Nothing had changed. The fire had gone out and my chair stood beside it. It was facing the screen as I left it.… And there was the screen, keeping Jane’s body in her own part of the room.
I set the candle on the table and the wind blew it and made big, funny shadows on the ceiling. But I didn’t want to close that window. I knew there wasn’t anything but black woods all around. But that was better than being shut up alone with … Jane.
I stood a long while looking at that big staring screen. I started to go over to it, and then I decided I ought to eat my supper first. I reckon it was just an excuse, but I hadn’t eaten anything since Jane and I had our supper the night before, and I suddenly found I was mighty hungry.
So I got the pail and unlocked the door and felt my way through the dark until I found the stream. Then I came back.
I’d left the door open, so’s I could see, but I wished I hadn’t. The path was oblique, so all the time I walked up it, I was just looking at that screen, standing there, and just a tiny bit of white—the bed.
Well, after I got in and closed the door, I sat down and carefully washed my potatoes. (I don’t usually do that.) Then I started to pare them. (I don�
�t do that, either.) I reckon I spent an hour doing that.… But all the time I was looking at the screen, that was so silent and big, and thinking of what was on the other side of it.
Then I got down and looked under the bed to see if there was something else to eat, although I knew there wasn’t.
Finally I stood up and looked at the screen.
“Now, see here, crazy!” I said. “Dead people can’t hurt you! You’ve got to go right over there and show Jane you’re a man!”
I stood a second getting up nerve. Then, suddenly, I walked over to it and peeked.
She was lying just as I left her, with the wind coming through the window over her head and blowing her pretty hair.
And she was staring up at me, sort of reproachfully.
I felt terrible. First, I’d let her get killed without lifting a hand. And then I was so scared and addle-headed I’d run off and left her body lying there.
“I’m awfully sorry, Jane,” I whispered. “I’ll fix you nice, now, and then in the morning, after I testify, I’ll tell them about you and we’ll come up and bury you.”
Then I pulled the bedclothes down and made her all straight. I folded her arms across her breast and covered her up again. I started to close her eyes, but I couldn’t seem to get up nerve enough for that. Then I stood looking at her.
The candle was on the other side of the screen and she and I were in a shadow. Finally I leaned over the bed to put down the window. It was awfully black outside!
I just had my fingers on the window, when I heard a little noise.
I listened a minute. It was just the wind in the trees, I told myself. They were making that noise that cold branches make when the wind blows.
“Yes, that’s all it is,” I said to myself; “so don’t get so scared.”
And while I was saying it, I knew it was something else.
… It was footsteps, creeping along through the trees behind the cabin!
Well, I came from behind the screen and went to the middle of the room. And then I stood there, staring like a gawk and wondering what I ought to do. From the corners of my eyes I could see the gloomy room with the shadows moving back and forth as the candle flickered. And straight ahead of me I was looking at the middle window that I had left open.
… And while I looked there, a man passed in front of it, on his way to the door!
Well, I stood there, trying to think of something to do. Then I started to run and lock the door and shut the window. But I hadn’t put one foot forward, when I saw the handle move.
Slowly the door opened and a man looked in!
He was a big woodsman with a fur cap and a thick black beard. He had on a mackinaw and heavy woolen gloves. And he had a knife in his belt.
He stood looking at me for a moment without saying a word. Then he stepped inside and shut the door.
“How d’y!” he said.
I made a little noise with my mouth. It was funny and dry. I reckon I must have been thirsty.
The man looked around. His eyes rested for a minute on the screen and I thought I’d drop. Finally he looked back at me.
“You live here?” he asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Alone?” And his eyes squinted as he looked at me.
I wet my mouth with my tongue. Then I said:
“I got a friend staying with me.”
The man sort of frowned.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“My friend’s right around here.” Which was true. Jane was right behind the bed.
The man looked around again. Then he looked back at me. And he sort of smiled.
“Well, will you give me some supper?” he asked. “I’m starved.… I’ll pay you for it.”
“Do you like potatoes?” I said.
“Pretty well.”
“All right. Stick around.” I was acting perky, but I wasn’t feeling that way at all.
I had already built my fire, and put the potatoes in, and now they were boiling merrily. I got a fork and jabbed it into them to see if they were done.
While I was doing it, I heard the window close. I swung around.
The man was looking at me.
“It’s coming up cold,” he said. But a funny little smile flickered around the corner of his mouth. And then: “Is that window behind the screen closed?” he asked, taking a step forward.
“Yes, it is! It’s shut tight!” I said, feeling sort of pale.
He hesitated a minute. Then he dropped into a chair by the table.
I fooled around, preparing supper and trying to get my nerve back. It seemed to have all dribbled out through my pores like sweat. It wasn’t that I was a-scared of woodsmen. They’re a pretty good sort, although they’re hard-boiled eggs. But the dead body, lying just about three feet in back of him, and the general commotion of the last two days sort of made me wobbly. Besides, there was something about that man’s face that wasn’t what you’d call just friendly.
But I got hold of myself at last and lugged the potatoes over to the table—and my heart just went plunk in my boots again.
The man had thrown off his coat and moved up to the table and was taking off his gloves; and on the finger you point with was a long, funny-shaped bloodstone!
I just sat and stared, and the pan with the potatoes dropped lower and lower until it touched my pants. Then I hopped up with a yell and the potatoes went flying. The man jumped up and leaned over the table.
“What do you mean, throwing those potatoes around like that!” he yelled.
I was down on my knees, trying to pick them up.
“It’s a quick way to cool them off,” I said, not to be funny, but because I couldn’t think of anything better.
“I’ll cool you off,” he muttered.
But he sat down again and started pulling the peelings off with his sharp, gleaming knife.
Well, we ate there, awfully quiet, except for the funny noises we were making with our mouths. I say “we.” I wasn’t doing much eating. Every time I lifted my knife to my mouth I saw that black beard with the candle light on it; and behind that, in the shadow, the big screen.
Finally he’d eaten all he wanted, which I’d done before I started. Then he got up and stretched.
“What bed does your friend sleep in?” he asked.
“That one behind the screen,” I told him.
I didn’t know his game, but I knew he wanted to pretend he didn’t know what was behind the screen. And I wasn’t hankering after any showdown.
“Well,” he said, “I’ll take this middle bed and you can take the other end one.”
Then, just as if we’d settled everything long ago, he pulled the table toward him and sat down on the bed.
“Better hurry up,” he said. “I’m going to blow the candle out.”
Well, I couldn’t see anything else to do, so I went over to the other bed and sat on it. He took off his belt and laid it on the table, right within arm’s reach. It was right under the candle and the light glinted on a bit of the blade that showed. It made my back feel itchy. He turned and looked at me a minute. He had tiny, gleaming eyes.
“Good-night,” he said.
Then he blew out the candle and lay down, boots and all.
I lay in the dark, hearing him breathe. It was a sort of heavy breathing; you couldn’t tell whether he was asleep or awake. Then I started wondering what to do.
I mustn’t go to sleep! That was the first thing. I could just see that dagger sink down inside of me if I did. No, I mustn’t go to sleep. Mustn’t go to sleep … mustn’t go …
Whether I’d been asleep an hour, or just a second, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was still alive when I woke up.
And I could hear that breathing, loud and regular, but you couldn’t tell if he was asleep or awake. I lay, looking at darkness, and thinking.
I had to get out of there. But I had to get that paper first of all. I could have choked myself for not getting it before. The only thing to do was to g
et it quietly and then run for it.
And then I remembered a noise I heard while I was cooking the potatoes and I suddenly knew what it was. When my back was turned he had locked the door!
“Well,” I said to myself, “the more you think, the harder it gets, so you better quit thinking and act!”
And with that I sat up in bed—and lay down again. That bed squeaked as if all the devils in hell were tied inside!
The man moved a little, but he kept breathing hard.
I lay a while longer, looking up and wondering why the noise my heart was making didn’t wake him. Then I got up, oh, so quiet, and put my feet on the floor.
I stood up. Then I took a tiny little step and the boards didn’t creak. And I took another one.
All the time I was staring as hard as I could in the direction of his bed. There was a little night-light that came through the window across the room to his bed, but at first I couldn’t see anything. When I could make out something, I stopped short and so did my heart.
The man was sitting up in bed and looking right at me!
Well, I thought quick and walked on. I walked to the stove, right under his nose, and opened the door and stuck a log inside. Then I shut it and went back to bed.
I waited for him to lie down again. I turned over on my side, so’s I could make out the outline of his body in the dark.… And I could just see him sitting there, not moving an inch, and staring at me. I knew he was staring at me, although I couldn’t make out his eyes. And he couldn’t see me at all, because I was in complete darkness.
Then his hand went out toward the table. It felt around, slowly and carefully, just as it did when he was behind the screen. It felt around … and then I saw, in the faint light, his knife gleaming as it rose from its sheath.
He put one foot on the floor. I couldn’t see it, and I couldn’t hear it, but I could make out his great body moving. He stood up; I could see his body rise.
All the time he looked in my direction, while I lay trembling all over and trying to remember how “Now I lay me” goes.
And then he turned and disappeared in the gloom.
