Kitabı oku: «Belford's Magazine, Vol 2, December 1888», sayfa 15

CHAPTER XIV.
HUNCH AND BLIND BENNER VISIT BILL KELLAR

"I know somethin' I won't tell," was Hunch's greeting to his blind friend on the Monday following the secret meeting of the McAnays in the school-house.

"Yer allers knowin' somethin', and it ain't nothin' when a feller finds it out."

"But it's somethin'; no little niggers in a peanut-shell this here time."

Hunch lowered his voice to a whisper, as he led Benner to the rear of the store. There he continued:

"Levi, Cassi, and Matthi's gone ter find Gill."

Benner gave a start, and would have uttered an exclamation, had not Hunch prevented him by laying a hand over his mouth and saying:

"Hush."

"They'll mebbe kill him," he continued.

"What fer?"

"Fer not marryin' Lizzī right."

"Lizzī don't know," Benner asserted.

"Yes, she does," Hunch replied.

"Yer a liar," and Blind Benner struck at Hunch.

He dodged, and said:

"Can't yer keep quiet? Lizzī don't want nobody ter know it."

"Yer a bigger liar than ever, an' yer ain't no friend uv mine."

Benner spoke louder than before, and sprang at Hunch, but missed him, and would have fallen against the counter had not Hunch caught him.

"Hello, there, boys! What are you fighting about?" Colonel Hornbeger called from the desk.

"Nothin'," Benner replied surlily; and Hunch said, "Benner's mad 'cause I told him somethin' he didn't like."

"Well, no fighting here."

"Say, Benner, what'd yer call me a liar fer?" Hunch asked when the Colonel's back was turned.

"'Cause yer sed Lizzī knowed she was married wrong."

This was spoken in a whisper so the Colonel would not hear it.

"Didn't say nothin' uv the kind. I sed she knowed the boys hed gone huntin' fer Gill."

"They won't ketch him," the blind man stated. "If he's run off, he'll hide from 'em, but he couldn't hide from me."

Hunch did not laugh at this declaration. He had equal faith in the blind man's ability as a detective, and expressed it.

"They orter hev took yer with 'em."

"Yes, they orter."

"Hunch!" called the clerk who had succeeded Gill. He responded, and was sent to the cellar. When he returned, Blind Benner had formed his plan and was ready to disclose it.

"Hunch, Gill must be brung back ter Lizzī, an' I want yer ter take me ter the McAnay boys an' I'll help find him."

"I'll do it, Benner."

"Hand, then, Hunch."

They closed the compact, which had been made in whispers, with a vigorous hand shaking.

Bill Kellar stood before the door of his house, shouting at the top of his voice as if he bayed the moon, just rising over the top of Bald Mountain. Echo, hiding in the shadow, replied to him. He would shout, then listen to his voice coming back, mellowed and musical.

"Bill's got 'nuther crazy fit," said Hunch, pausing at the gate, while Benner leaned against the fence to rest. In one hand the dwarf carried his cornet, in the other Blind Benner's fiddle, enclosed in a green bag.

"You fellows are always welcome on this plantation," said Bill, coming to meet them, and grasping Benner's hand affectionately, while he playfully knocked Hunch's hat over his eyes.

"Say, Bill," inquired the dwarf, "what 'er yellin' at, the sky?"

"Well, Hunch, I'll tell you and Benner, for I know you will keep it secret. I'm working on an invention that will be a blessing to the folks that live in cities. I mean a sound-softener."

"Sound-softener, thet runs off yer tongue slick as soft-soap."

Blind Benner was very angry at this lack of reverence, but Bill only laughed, and replied:

"It does slip easily, too much so, or I'd have found it out before now and had the right thing patented."

"Why don't yer set a trap fer it?" Hunch inquired seriously.

"Hunch, yer a fool!" Benner exclaimed angrily.

"Jist find it out?" the dwarf asked serenely.

Bill continued:

"I've been experimenting, but I have only one voice, and it makes the same echo. Now, you boys shout when I do, one short loud yell. Then pause and listen. Now, ready: one, two, go."

They shouted loudly as they could, and became instantly still. Echo sent back to them their voices, Hunch's shrill scream dominant over Bill's round full tone. In the wave of sound Benner's plaintive cry was almost drowned. Bill clapped his hands; he was overjoyed.

"It'll work, it'll work," he exclaimed, "and the dwellers in cities will thank me, thank Bill Kellar when he perfects his Echo Sound-softener. I am going to rig up a combination of walls that will reverberate sounds, most of which will die before they reach the drum of the ear. It will just slip over the ear easily and fit it comfortably. Two people wearing sound-softeners can converse easily on the streets, undisturbed by the noise of drays, street-cars, stages, and the shouts of the drivers."

Bill broke off abruptly here. He had become excited, and was nervously afraid his hearers did not understand him, so he ceased description and remarked:

"You will see just how it works when I get it done."

Blind Benner said he was sure it would succeed. Hunch was silent for a while. Presently he observed:

"Last winter my ear-lugs shet up my hearin' purty near, and I hed ter punch a hole in 'em, and then I didn't hear very loud."

Bill looked at the goblin leering at him in the moonlight and wondered how much mockery, how much earnestness there was in his words. As for Blind Benner, he was so much vexed as to lose his patience. Yet, willing to avoid a quarrel, he asked Bill how his violin did.

"Well, very well," Bill replied. "Last night I named her Magdalene, for in her dwell seven devils of fascination. She went before me, and I followed. We climbed heights, we plunged into depths, until I fell prostrate, worn out in the chase after the phantom, Music, who smiled on me pityingly as she stepped into her star chariot drawn by flying meteors."

Blind Benner, enraptured, cried:

"Go on, go on."

But Hunch again checked Bill's enthusiasm by pointing to the Milky Way, dim through the moonlight, and remarking:

"Jerushy! What a lot uv crazy fiddlers' girls must be out ridin' ternight."

Benner's face at first expressed contempt, but it softened to compassion as he said:

"'Tain't yer fault, Hunch. Yer ain't got it in yer head."

But Bill thought Hunch had it in his head, and resolved never to mention the sound-softener nor use high-sounding phrases before him. Becoming more practical, he invited his guests indoors, curious to know the object of their visit, yet too courteous to inquire. Benner did not keep him long in ignorance.

"The McAnay boys is gone ter hunt Gill, but they'll never find him, an' me an' Hunch is goin' ter find the boys an' help 'em git Gill. Then they'll bring him back an' make him marry Lizzī right."

"How can you help find him?" Bill asked gently and not incredulously.

"By my ears. He can't fool 'em if they'd ever hear him laugh er speak, but he might fool the boys' eyes."

"That's so," Bill assented. "But how are you and Hunch goin' to keep up with the big McAnays? They wouldn't want to be bothered with you."

He was considering the plan practically.

"We thought mebbe you'd lend us yer spring wagon," Benner said timidly.

"Of course I would, and drive it too, if I had somebody to look after the place."

"Gee-whitaker!" shouted Hunch. "Wouldn't that be the dandy fun, though."

"We could give concerts to pay expenses," Bill continued, "only I'm afraid of the devil."

"Thunder! I'd blow the devil up his own chimney with my horn," Hunch fairly screamed, greatly excited by the proposed tour.

Benner trembled in silent joy. He was afraid to speak lest he should suggest some objection to the plan and overthrow the whole scheme.

"We'd have to practice awhile together, then I'd know if the devil meant to bother me." Bill spoke meditatively, and continued his thought in silence. Presently Hunch broke the quiet.

"Say, Bill, listen ter me. It's my thinkin' thet if there's enybody this side uv heaven that Satan's afeard uv, it's Parson Lawrence; an' ef yer hed somethin' uv his'n 'long with yer, I don't think the devil'd come near yer."

"Right, boy, right." Bill rushed at Hunch and shook him nervously. "Maybe you have freed the devil-bound slave."

Blind Benner expressed his gratitude by saying:

"Yer ain't no fool, Hunch, but yer an awful tease."

No king ever received homage more gracefully than Hunch.

"What'll it be?" he asked; and when the others failed to suggest anything he gave them further reason to admire his cleverness.

"I don't think Satan'd dare put his split foot on a lock uv Parson Lawrence's hair."

That was decisive; but how to obtain a lock of Parson Lawrence's hair was not so easily agreed upon. Finally, Hunch asserted with something of a swagger.

"I'll git it, don't be afeard, fellers."

Before him rose a vision of the good man asleep upon his bed. A malformed figure creeps silently across the floor. It is Hunch. He reaches the bed. He stretches out a hand, which holds a pair of shears. There is a snap in the stillness. Soon the dwarf departs through the window, bearing with him a lock of the snow-white hair.

Blind Benner spoiled this possible adventure.

"Don't steal it, Hunch," he said, "'cause if yer do, the devil will walk on it jest like he would on his own carpet, fer all stole things is his."

Hunch's countenance fell and his manner became less confident, but yet he declared he would be able to procure the lock of hair. However, he made an effort to prepare Bill for disappointment by asking:

"Wouldn't cotton in yer ears do as well as the hair in the box?"

Bill shook his head despondently, and replied:

"No, no; that makes me deaf for a while to the sweet voice of the violin, become a devil's witch when my bow crosses the strings. When I refuse to listen, the old Tempter gets into the fibre of the violin and pleads by the touch of the vibrating, throbbing instrument, tender and thrilling as the caress of the woman you love."

Blind Benner's thoughts went to Lizzī. He knew what her touch was to him.

While talking, Bill had got the violin and was tuning it. Hunch caught up his horn and blew a series of discordant notes. A frown settled on Bill's brow as he put the violin back into the box, while Hunch exclaimed:

"That devil of yers couldn't stand a brass band, ef one horn scares him, an' I guess there's no use in gittin' a lock uv hair from Parson Lawrence."

"Yes, there is. Get it for me. When I'm alone I can't resist the temptation sometimes, and I haven't got you to drive Satan away. Yes, Hunch," he pleaded, "please get it for me."

Early the next morning Hunch started for Parson Lawrence's home, near the Boomer Creek church. On his way he met the mail-carrier going to Three-Sisters, and sent a note to Lizzī. It read:

"Lizzī: Me and Benner is visitin' Bill Kellar fer fun.

Hunch."

The dwarf never gave a thought to the store or his father, nor for a moment regretted the loss of a situation, which he knew would be the penalty of his unceremonious departure. The note to Lizzī would inform Benner's friends of his whereabouts and quiet their uneasiness.

"Parson," Hunch said, meeting the reverend gentleman at the church door, "what der yer think crazy Bill Kellar's got inter his head now?"

"I am sure I cannot imagine. A crazy man's notions are hard to guess."

"He still thinks the devil's got him by the ear an' makes him play the fiddle in spite of hisself."

"That is his old delusion, and I'm afraid he will never be rid of it."

"But he thinks yer kin cure him, Parson."

"How?" asked the kindly man, much amused, but willing to be of assistance to the violinist.

"By givin' him a lock uv yer hair ter keep in the fiddle-box, and thet'll keep the devil out so he can't coax Bill."

"He wants a fetich," the clergyman replied sharply, not inclined to encourage the superstition.

"Oh! he's crazy enough ter want anythin'," Hunch remarked innocently, not knowing what a fetich was, but thinking it a queer name for a lock of hair.

The minister laughed. He did not think it wrong to humor the fancies of the insane, and so complied with the request.

Bill received the lock of hair with demonstrative joy and effusive thanks, and Benner shook the dwarf's hand gratefully.

Within a week the trio departed on their tour. A man whom Bill could trust was left in charge of his farm, and a note was sent to Lizzī by her laconic correspondent:

"Lizzī: Bill, Benner and me is gon' consertin'.

Hunch."

CHAPTER XV.
THE BROTHERS LEARN SOMETHING ABOUT GILL

The McAnay brothers went direct to the town where Gill had said his mother lived. There they learned that he had not been seen in the village since his mother died.

"How long ago was that?" Levi asked their informant.

"'Bout five year."

"Five years? You must be mistaken."

Levi was staggered by the realization of the cruelty of Gill's plot against his sister, while Matthi and Cassi ground their teeth and clenched their hands.

"If yer don't believe me," said the indifferent villager, "yer kin ask his mother-'n-law; she lives jist over there."

"His mother-in-law? Has he a wife?" Levi would not believe Gill was so depraved.

"He hed one here; nobody knows how many he's got scattered 'round. The one here died 'bout a month ago. She heard he'd marrid agin, an' the news didn't 'gree with her. She was sickly ennyhow. Gill's a slick un, he is."

"Did they call him Gill here?" Levi asked.

"Yes; nobody but his mother an' his wife called him John. Gillfillan's too long, so folks jist called him Gill, 'cept his mother-'n-law, an' she didn't call him nuthin'."

Levi laughed in a forced way at this, but Matthi and Cassi scowled. With his sinister smile lighting up his face, Levi said, lightly as he could:

"We didn't know Gill was so gay. We used to work where he did, and as we were out of a job, thought we'd hunt him up and get something to do, since we were passing his way."

"He ain't ben here fer more'n five year, as I was tellin' yer. Guess he's somewheres in jail. He was honest 'nuff, but would go courtin' the gurls in spite uv enything."

The garrulous fellow was laughing at his own wit, when Levi said in a careless way:

"Since we have heard so much about Gill, I would like to know one thing more. He was always bragging about his rich mother and the fortune he was going to get at her death."

The villager exploded in a loud guffaw at this, and, after a vigorous shaking of his sides and slapping his thighs, said, between the gasps and swallows which were distressing him:

"Why, she – well, thet's – by jiminy – well, heng it, she was a wash an' scrub woman, an' the neighburs buri'd her."

By this time Levi had obtained the mastery of himself, and laughed heartily, apparently, as he said:

"He was a very tall liar, and he fooled us all. Lord, how we used to envy him when he told of his rich mother, that she was mighty fine-looking and could write such beautiful letters, and all that! Guess it was all a lie, eh?"

"Couldn't write her own name; never went to school in her life."

Matthi and Cassi were becoming restless, and their black looks attracted the villager's attention. The brothers had met him just at the beginning of a street, and were able to have this conversation with him alone; but presently two or three curious men came up to learn the reason of the visit of the stalwart strangers.

"These fellers knowed Gill somewheres, an' they thought he was livin' here. Guess from the looks uv two uv 'em it wouldn't go easy fer him ef they was ter git their han's on him."

The villager vouchsafed this explanation to his fellow-townsmen.

"Well, we have got a crow to pick with him if we happen to find him," said Levi, who persisted in talking for himself and his brothers, feeling he could not trust them, they were so angry.

"Where yer from?" asked one of the new-comers.

"Three-Sisters."

"Why, thet's where Gill got his last wife," exclaimed another.

Levi was thankful that it was growing so dark that faces could not be clearly distinguished. He stated frankly, believing the quickest way out of the difficulty to be the truth:

"That wife was our sister, and we are looking for him."

"I hope yer will ketch him an' bring him back here, an' I'll help yer settle with him."

"Who are you?" asked Levi, struck by the fierce earnestness of the man who had come up just in time to learn the object of the McAnays' quest.

"One uv his fathers-'n-law," the man replied, with brutal sarcasm.

"The father of the wife he had here?"

"Who told yer 'bout thet?" asked the man, angrily. "Bet 'twas thet little gossipin' woman, Pete Dunn, thet I seen yer talkin' ter."

He made a rush at Pete Dunn, but Matthi interfered.

"He was only obligin'. Natur'ly we'd ask the first person we met 'bout Gill. So don't put the blame on our friend here."

Matthi's position was so reasonable that even the angry man agreed with him.

The brothers went in company of the villagers to the town, and stopped all night at the inn. When they departed next morning, a crowd gathered and wished them success in bringing to justice the man who had injured them.

They went from town to town, stopping a week or more at a place, doing what work they could obtain, and keeping a sharp lookout for Gill. Their reticence and mutual understanding, coupled with their constant watchfulness, excited suspicion when they first entered a village or town, but when they departed from it they left behind many friends.

CHAPTER XVI.
BILL BENNER AND HUNCH JOIN A CIRCUS

The musicians went first to Barberry, where they gave a concert, at which the advance agent of a circus was present on a complimentary ticket given him by Bill Kellar.

There was a small audience, but the performers were not discouraged. They began the programme with a trio, which was rather noisy than melodious. Of this Bill was rather glad, for, although not discordant, it was sufficiently vigorous to warn the devil that there was ample discord in reserve to overcome the wooing of the violin should he instigate it to tempt the violinist.

Next came a violin solo by Bill, which he began nervously but played to the end without distress. The audience demanded more, and he gave an improvisation, a slow, insinuating thing that held the senses of the hearers with the winsome spell of an opiate.

Hunch followed as the "Human Bagpipes," introduced by Bill, who spoke of him as "the unpremeditated, one of impulsive Nature's whims, a man full of unexpected things and bountifully provided with breathing apparatus."

"The hump on his back," Bill continued, "is not a deformity, but an abundance. Consumption would grow weary in trying to absorb his lungs, and pneumonia hesitates to attack him. He is triple-lunged, and the bump on his back is the home of the third one. In this curved space the superfluous, yet useful, lung inflates and collapses, and from it are emitted the musical notes which you will now listen to. It is with great pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, that I introduce to you Mr. Blair."

Hunch got up on the platform and made a bow that caused everybody to laugh, it was so comically affected. Bill noticed with pride that the circus agent paid more attention to the bagpipe imitation than he had done to his own solo. A veritable Scotchman Hunch seemed as he wriggled his back and piped the "Campbells are coming." For an encore he gave "Annie Laurie." He himself could not give an explanation of the manner of producing the peculiar tones that so closely resembled the bagpipes. He knew only that his mouth was partly open while it emitted the sounds, and that instinctive, rather than intended, movements of his jaws, assisted by nervous contractions and expansions of his throat and chest, forced out the notes. When he finished the encore he was loudly applauded, and a repetition was insisted upon. Hunch was obliging, and played on his larynx the ever-popular "Bessie, the Maid of Dundee."

The next thing on the programme was a series of magical tricks performed by Bill, who claimed to have been a pupil of Signor Blitz. These pleased the audience, and they cried for more. He executed all he knew, and then treated them to some ventriloquism, which was not good, but delighted them nevertheless.

The musicians remained in Barberry another night, and the school-house would not hold the crowd that came to hear the demon-driven fiddler, his blind second, and the human bagpipes.

The circus agent was again in attendance, and concluded that it would be wise to compromise with the opposition show. So he made the musicians a liberal offer, which they accepted, thus becoming a part of Barkup's Colossal Aggregation. With it they wandered from town to town, exhibiting twice a day, but doing none of the drudgery attendant upon the pitching and striking of the tents.

They gave their performances in a side-show, and during the exhibition in the big tent played with the band. Only here Blind Benner handled the bow, playing second to Bill, who was leading violin.

The season was almost over, and the circus was working towards the Eastern city whence it started. One dismal night the flickering fires of pine-knots in the iron crates on the posts in front of the tents shot long quivering lances into the darkness without seeming to illuminate it. The glib ticket-seller stood before the side-show, active and picturesque in the ruddy gleams. One minute he was half in shadow, at the next in bold relief, as the blaze of the fires bent toward him as though giving him its undivided attention, while he cried the list of curiosities, phenomena, and attractions to be seen inside the tent for the small sum of a dime.

Just as the words "human bagpipes" fell from his lips, three men emerged from the darkness and stopped a few paces from the tent. They were tall, muscular, and seemed to be listening to his fluent and wordy narrative of the annex-show. He noticed them and, beginning anew, he directed his harangue to them. Amused smiles spread over their faces when they realized to whom his descriptions applied, and, buying tickets, they entered with the other sight-seers.

Hunch mounted the platform and began his bagpipe imitations. The peculiar position of his head in this vocal exercise required him to look towards the top of the centre-pole of the tent, so that he could not see his audience except when making his bow.

When he finished, and the audience was tumultuously encoring him, a hand was laid on the arm of the tallest of the three men, who stood apart from the crowd. Hunch, who was bowing to the mixed assemblage, missed Blind Benner from his accustomed seat, just before the stage. Hunch soon caught sight of his blind friend, who was saying:

"Oh, I'm so glad ter see yer, Levi."

Levi started in surprise at the naturalness of the greeting. After scrutinizing the blind eyes for a moment, he waved a hand close to them, but they stared at him without blinking.

Hunch jumped from the platform and elbowed a way through the astonished spectators.

"Gee-whittaker, fellers! we thought yer was dead, er lost, er back in the Sisters. We've been huntin' yer."

"Say, Benner, when did you leave the Sisters?" Cassi asked.

"'Bout a week after yer fellers."

"And Lizzī was well then?"

"Yes, she was well."

The blind man had turned toward the stage, where Bill was standing violin in hand, and was waiting reverently to hear the music.

Hunch shouted familiarly:

"Say, Bill, don't yer know yer old frien's?"

The audience laughed at this ingenuous inquiry.

Signor Kellar, as he was denominated on the bills, did not smile, but bowed gravely and slipped the violin under his chin.

"They might 'Signor' Hunch Blair all they'd a mind ter, he'd stop the biggest show on earth ter shake han's with Lizzī's brothers," the dwarf muttered.

The liquid notes of "Home, Sweet Home" floated to him as he stood by the exit. The air seemed to rise and fall in long undulations set in motion by the violin. In these waves the brothers bathed their weary souls. The melody caressed them, and, thinking of their own home, they wept silently.

Blind Benner crouched at Bill's feet. A silence almost of pain held the incongruous crowd.

Hunch alone seemed untouched – apparently he was beyond the power of spells. He made no effort to guard Bill from the fascination of the instrument.

"Bill don't need no horn ter let him loose," he growled. "There ain't no devil in that tune. He don't kick his feet ter eny sech. Guess Bill's playin' fer the angels."