Part 51 (1/2)

CHAPTER x.x.xV

THE PRODUCT OF SUNLIGHT PATCH

As the weeks pa.s.sed, a great relief spread throughout the place when it became known that Mesmie would recover. The grafts had taken hold, and it now seemed as though her days might be long and prosperous. Fair judgment placed this to the credit of the young physician, and Jane had congratulated herself more than once for having transgressed the Colonel's wishes in calling him instead of Doctor Meal. For the slow moving, sympathetic Doctor Meal would have applied linseed oil, patted the child's head and called her a good little girl. Then, carried by his pacing mare, he might have started townward for a bag of candy or a doll; while she, on the speedier wings of deadly teta.n.u.s, would in all probability have gone to her ancestors.

This, at least, was the prevailing opinion of everyone except the Colonel, who would tolerate no suggestion of it. Doctor Meal had always cured his ailments, and he knew his skill from long experience. The fact of the matter was, the Colonel possessed a strong const.i.tution and happened to be lucky. His old friend and physician, if called professionally, had a way of beginning his examinations in this wise: ”Well, John, what you reckon ails you?” The Colonel would then give a diagnosis as suggested to him by a night of discomfort. ”Well, well!

You must feel right bad, John! What you reckon I'd better give you?” The Colonel would then name some nostrum, also decided upon during the long night. Old Doctor Meal would open his saddle-bags and mix it, along with a toddy to make it palatable; then he would build a toddy for himself, and sit down to talk. Of course, the Colonel swore by him!

Nancy had long since been brought over to the big house, because neither the Colonel nor Aunt Timmie would consent to her going home--both through purely different motives. It meant but one more addition to the Colonel's eleemosynary inst.i.tution (as Ann had acquired the habit of calling Arden) and gave Doctor Stone an additional reason for making his daily visits: thirty minutes at Mesmie's bedside, and anywhere from one to three hours walking beneath the trees with his older patient.

But in other directions matters were not so hopeful. For a fortnight Jess and his bloodhound had grimly searched the mountains. He felt the necessity of raising a posse, but the Colonel would have none of that; no others besides themselves and the trusted sheriff, he swore, must share the story, lest it be bandied from tongue to tongue and eventually distorted--too many characters, he said, were sacrificed every Sat.u.r.day night by those G.o.ds who whittled upon their thrones in front of the village store to take any chances. So Jess had searched alone and in vain.

Brent, working at the survey with an ardor that might have been inspired by the example of Dale, had each evening come home by way of the partly rebuilt cabin, hoping--praying--to get a glimpse of the outlaw. Nor had the Colonel remained pa.s.sive, but his activities progressed on the back of a horse. There had been one other watcher of whom neither of them knew.

This particular morning the engineer was in his room, plotting out an acc.u.mulation of field notes. By him, and bending over the large drawing board with as deep, though not as accurate, an interest, the Colonel stood. Not infrequently now did the old gentleman come up to watch this railroad grow upon paper, and talk as the other worked. They had been speculating on the whereabouts of Tusk, and Brent was supporting Jess'

theory that he had fled into Virginia; but it was a most unpleasant subject to them both and the Colonel exclaimed:

”I understand Tom has accepted my price!”

”Yes. He sent his wife to Dulany. They're leaving almost at once.”

The old gentleman chuckled. ”You've won the neighborhood's everlasting grat.i.tude, sir! And did he promise to brace up in the country of his adoption?”

”By proxy,” Brent mumbled, at the moment carefully drawing a line. ”But promises don't amount to a fiddle-de-dee. Men brace up when they want to. Have you seen Jane lately?”

”Not for some days. You know I urged her not to ride alone. Why?”

”I was just wondering if she had spoken to you about Dale. Have you noticed anything strange in him?”

”I've noticed that he is thinner,” a shade of worry pa.s.sed over the fine old face, ”and his eyes--” he hesitated.

”That's it,” Brent looked up. ”His eyes have a haunted look. He's sick, Colonel.”

”I should have spoken to Stone, Brent, but have been so worried over that dear girl! She seems changed, too. I don't know what is happening to us!”

”Better speak to him today, then. He's leaving for a few days'

pilgrimage to distant patients.”

The old gentleman went to the door and called down to Uncle Zack, sending him after the doctor whom he knew, since the little motor vehicle was in front, must be somewhere on the grounds.

In silence they waited; the Colonel meditative, Brent leaning above his drawing and making line after line which would weld the mountains with civilization. Still their man did not come, so without further comment the Colonel went slowly down stairs and out to the porch, there gazing sternly at the grouped lawn chairs where the attentive physician was sitting with Nancy. But, as he approached them, a measure of recollection must have returned to the man of science, for he looked hurriedly at his watch and began to stammer:

”Colonel, I am greatly to be excused! I was just--just giving Nancy a few--a few instructions till I come back for her!”

”For her, or to her?” the old gentleman's eyes twinkled.

”He said 'to her,'” she insisted, blus.h.i.+ng furiously.