Page 28 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
“What else can we do?” said Doc Hatch. “And anyway, English John wasn’t assassinated. The man died of liver failure if ever anyone did.”
“He could have been poisoned,” said Steady shrewdly. “With the amount of liquids he consumed, anyone in camp could have slipped him something. You had a fine opportunity yourself while you were dosin’ him, Doc.”
Doc made a sound of derision. “For that matter, so did Mrs. Mulligan. She had him entirely in her hands his last few days.”
“If Mrs. Mulligan was a spy,” said Steady, “she wouldn’t have come to us with the little ’un’s story. She’d have kept quiet and done away with the kids in her own time.”
“Steady, I do believe you are suffering from delirium tremens yourself,” pronounced the doctor.
“Maybe I am and maybe I ain’t,” said Steady determinedly, “but I don’t think we oughter let the kids leave Flat Rock till the Queen sends a—what was it?—another retainer for ’em.”
“The woman can’t send for them if she doesn’t know her brother is dead,” said Doc Hatch in exasperation. “Whit Forster will be back in a few days, and he can see about getting them to the Home. What harm can they come to with a U.S. marshal?”
“Well, you remember what happened when Pay-Dirt Malloy was lynched, and he had three deputies guardin’him,” said Butch Donnell.
“If the rabble of Flat Rock can be stirred up to espouse the cause of a Balkan usurper, I’m a Cherokee medicine man,” said Doc Hatch flatly. “I suggest the three of you return to your customary occupations, avoid strong drink and unusual activity of the brain, and let the proper authorities handle this case. Those children will be all right.”
“I reckon this leadin’ citizen business goes to the head after all,” said Steady, rather stung. “You aim to charge for that prescription?”
“Oh, who would ever wear a crown!” groaned Doc Hatch. “Get out, all of you. Out.”
The committee retired. Outside, they lingered for a minute, concerned but indecisive.
“Maybe Doc’s right,” said Steady, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. “The whole thing might be a mare’s nest. Are you so blame certain about this rigamarole you heard?”
Mrs. Mulligan folded her arms, and since scrubbing clothes develops the muscles, the effect was imposing. “Are you calling me drunk or crazy?”
“I’m sayin’ you might not have heard right, or it might not have meant what you thought it did.”
“What elsedoassassins and Queens mean, I’d like to know?”
“Chess,” said Butch, inspired.
Steady rubbed his jaw again and sighed. “Well, we’ve got a few days anyway,” he said. “When Forster comes by, we’ll talk to him. But I think the little ’uns ought to be guarded, just in case thereissomebody in Flat Rock who means ’em harm. Butch and I’ll keep watch outside the cabin tonight, turn and turn about.”
Mrs. Mulligan nodded shortly. “I’d best get back there now. You be there sharp to sundown, and if you hear me raise a holler before then, come a-running. I’ve got my little pistol and plenty of boiling water, but there’s no telling what foreigners might have.”
Night came to Flat Rock.
In the cabin, Margot had helped Mrs. Mulligan wash and wipe the tin plates and cups after supper, and a bed of pine boughs covered with blankets was made up for the children on the floor. Theodore and Dominic were rather pleased with these rugged accommodations, and seemed to have forgotten their troubles as they crawled between the blankets, talking eagerly about exploring the camp and seeing the mines tomorrow. If they had been paying attention they might have seen Mrs. Mulligan frown over this, but they could hardly have guessed that she was mentally reckoning up every man in camp and speculating which was most likely to be a foreign spy.
Around midnight they were wakened by a sudden clatter and the sound of muffled yells from outside the cabin. Mrs. Mulligan lurched from her bunk, a warlike ghost in flannel nightgown and bristling braid with pistol in hand, and fumbled her way to the one window.
“What is it?” said Margot in a frightened voice, from the pallet on the floor.
“Probably a bear,” whispered Theodore.
The noise ceased suddenly. Mrs. Mulligan conversed with someone in angry whispers at the window, then lumbered back to bed, breathing hard, for she had stubbed her bare toe on a washtub in the dark.
“It’s all right,” she said. “Just some fool miner lost his way goin’ home. Nothin’ to be scared of.”
What had really happened was that Butch Donnell, waiting to be relieved of sentry-duty at midnight, had stretched out on the woodpile against the back of the cabin and fallen into a doze, and when Steady Shaffler arrived to relieve him and shook him by the arm, he had come awake believing an assassin was at hand and an impromptu wrestling-match took place. Having been scoldedsotto voceby both his fellow-conspirators, Butch slunk away, and Steady settled himself rather uncomfortably on thewoodpile with his Colt beside him and prepared to watch out the rest of the night.
Morning came, and the camp stirred and went about its business, with a ring of tools and the smoke of cooking fires. The children, doing their best to ingratiate themselves with Mrs. Mulligan by collecting sticks for firewood and helping with other small chores, had no idea they were being carefully guarded. Steady had a claim that required some attention, so Butch was on duty for the morning, loitering around Mrs. Mulligan’s in a way that would have gotten him chased off with a pail of hot water at ordinary times—suspiciously eyeing every man who came to deposit or collect laundry, and entertaining Theodore by answering a hundred questions about bears, wolves, Indians, and gold-mines.
“I dunno, Steady,” he said when they met at noon. “They seem like ordinary kids to me. The little girl’s been fetchin’ and carryin’ for Mrs. Mulligan, and now she’s sittin’ an’ darnin’ socks.DoPrincesses darn socks?”
“Who knows what they do when they’re in hiding?” said Steady a little irritably.
