Try as I might I could not get the memory of my adventure in the "tempest" out of my head.I reviewed it from end to end, thinking of many things I might have done which, in the light of what followed, would have been better and more sensible.If, instead of leaving the coachman, I had remained to help him with the frightened horse, I should have been better employed.Between us we could have subdued the animal and Miss Colton might have ridden home.Iwondered what had become of Jenkins and the horse.I wondered if the girl knew I carried her through the brook.Victor had said the bridge was down; she must know.I wondered what she thought of the proceeding; probably that splashing about with young ladies in my arms was a habit of mine.
I told myself that I did not care what she thought.I resolved to forget the whole affair and to focus my attention upon cleaning the gun.But I could not forget.I waded that brook a dozen times as I sat there.I remembered every detail; how still she lay in my arms; how white her face looked as the distant lightning flashes revealed it to me; how her hair brushed my cheek as I bent over her.I was using a wad of cotton waste to polish the gun barrel, and I threw it into a corner, having the insane notion that, in some way, the association of ideas came from that bunch of waste.
It--the waste--was grimy and anything but fragrant, as different from the dark lock which the wind had blown against my face as anything well could be, but the hurry with which I discarded it proves my imbecility at that time.Confound the girl! she was a nuisance.I wanted to forget her and her family, and the sulphurous personage to whose care I had once consigned the head of the family apparently took a characteristic delight in arranging matters so that I could not.
The shot gun was, at last, so spotless that even a pretense of further cleaning was ridiculous.I held it level with my eye and squinted through the barrels.
"Don't shoot," said a voice from the doorway; "I'll come down."I lowered the gun, turned and looked."Big Jim" Colton was standing there, cigar in mouth, cap on the back of his head and both hands in his pockets, exactly as he had appeared in that same doorway when he and I first met.The expected had happened, part of it at least.He had come to see me; the disagreeable interview I had foreseen was at hand.
He nodded and entered without waiting for an invitation.
"Morning," he said.
"Good morning," said I, guardedly.I wondered how he would begin the conversation.Our previous meeting had ended almost in a fight.We had been fighting by proxy ever since.I was prepared for more trouble, for haughty condescension, for perfunctory apology, for almost anything except what happened.His next remark might have been addressed to an acquaintance upon whom he had casually dropped in for a friendly call.
"That's a good looking gun you've got there," he observed."Let's see it."I was too astonished to answer."Let's look at it," he repeated, holding out his hand.
Mechanically I passed him the gun.He examined it as if he was used to such things, broke it, snapped it shut, tried the locks with his thumb and handed it back to me.
"Anything worth shooting around here?" he asked, pulling the armchair toward him and sitting.
I think I did not let him see how astonished I was at his attitude.
I tried not to.
"Why yes," I answered, "in the season.Plenty of coots, some black duck, and quail and partridge in the woods.""That so! Peters, that carpenter of mine, said something of the sort, I remember, but I wouldn't believe him under oath.I could shoot HIM with more or less pleasure, but there seems to be no open session for his species.Where's your launch?""Out yonder." I pointed to the Comfort at her moorings.He looked, but made no comment.I rose and put the gun in the rack.
Then I returned to my chair.He swung around in his seat and looked at me.
"Well," he said, grimly, but with a twinkle in his eye, "the last time you and I chatted together you told me to go to the devil."This was quite true and I might have added that I was glad of it.
But what would be the use? I did not answer at all.
"I haven't gone there yet," he continued."Came over here instead.
Got dry yet?"
"Dry?"
"Yes.You were anything but dry when I saw you last night.Have many such cloudbursts as that in these parts?""Not many.No."
"I hope not.I don't want another until I sell that horse of mine.
The chap who stuck me with him is a friend of mine.He warranted the beast perfectly safe for an infant in arms to drive and not afraid of anything short of an earthquake.He is a lovely liar.Iadmire his qualifications in that respect, and hope to trade with him again.He bucks the stock market occasionally."He smiled as he said it.There was not the slightest malice in his tone, but, if I had been the "friend," I should have kept clear of stocks for awhile.
"What became of the horse?" I asked.
"Ran away again.Jenkins had just got back into the carriage when another one of those thunder claps started more trouble.The horse ran four miles, more or less, and stopped only when the wheels got jammed between two trees.I paid nine hundred dollars for that carriage.""And the coachman?"
"Oh, he lit on his head, fortunately, and wasn't hurt.Spent half the night trying to find a phone not out of commission but failed.
Got home about four o'clock, leading the horse.Paine--""Yes?"
"Of course you know what I've come here for.I'm much obliged to you.""That's all right.You're welcome."
"Maybe I am, but I am obliged, just the same.Not only for the help you gave Mabel--my daughter--last night, but for that business in the bay the other afternoon."So she had told him the whole story.Remembering her last words, as I left her in the hall, I had rather imagined she would.
"That didn't amount to anything," I said, shortly.
