The trouble at Pinelands A detective story
I drew my nephew into the room, almost by force. “You cool off, boy,” I
ordered, “or else let me talk to him. You’re making a show of yourself;
this thing’ll be all over town before night.”
Thus adjured, Lewis took a fresh grip on himself and turned more quietly
to Satterfield. The latter was a tall, gaunt, slab-sided individual in
overalls and a battered slouch hat.
“Look here, Satterfield,” he began, “I thought I was taking care of
Johnny?”
The other rasped a stubbly chin and pulled at his drooping mustache, in
obvious embarrassment.
“We-ell, doc, y’see----” He paused, shuffled his feet and took a fresh
start. “W’y, th’ woman got kinda panicky yestiddy after you was there.
Says th’ boy was worse, sez she, an’ you was too young, she sez, an’ we
gotta have Doc Gaskell, ’at she knowed, she sez, an’ took care o’ her
w’en th’ kids was borned, sez she.”
“Huh. And he came running, didn’t he? Glad enough to steal one of my
patients from me.”
“W’y, no, doc,” Satterfield answered. “Couldn’t hardly git ’im out
there. Says we’d got another doctor, and we’d ought to have him.
Wouldn’t come until finely I got Bill Sears to’ drap you a post card,
sayin’ we didn’t want yuh t’ come no longer. Ain’t yuh got it yit?”
Lewis glared, open-mouthed, taken aback by this revelation. But I think
his anger against Gaskell only burned the brighter for the knowledge
that he had done the older man an injustice.
“He’s a dirty hound, anyway,” he retorted. “And as for you, Satterfield,
you must think a lot of yourself, begging help from the man who put you
in jail last month.”
The other reddened, scowling sullenly. “That’s between him an’ me,” he
said.
Gaskell was one of the town commissioners, and he had been acting mayor
for two months, during the absence of Frank Hayes. And, when Satterfield
had been brought before him, charged with bootlegging, Gaskell had given
the countryman thirty days on the roads.
“That’s between him an’ me,” said Satterfield. “Cain’t nobody send me to
th’ jail house ’ithout payin’ f’r it. I’ll settle with Doc Gaskell
yit--you see! But that ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with this here; we-all
quit doctorin’ with you an’ sent f’r Doc Gaskell, see? Yuh got anythin’
t’ say about that, huh?”
He glared belligerently at Lewis. I fancy that his own conscience was
something less than easy, which naturally made him irritable.
“No, no!” I told him. “It’s all right; the doctor is perfectly
satisfied. Come along, Lewis!”
My aged nerves had stood all they could this morning. I hurried my
nephew out of the place before he could start a new quarrel. At last I
got the boy off on his rounds, in a tolerably calm frame of mind, and I
walked slowly back to the house.
My heart was heavy. Unless he learned to curb his hot temper Lewis could
not hope to do well here. In any open break the sympathy of the
townspeople would naturally go to Doctor Gaskell, the older and
better-known man. Lewis would suffer, whatever the merits of the case.
It worried me deeply.
As I turned onto our street, I noticed a team of mules standing before
Doctor Gaskell’s house, and a deep, angry roar drew my eyes to his front
porch.
A huge old man, bearded to the waist, stood on the doctor’s porch, a
wide-brimmed felt hat thrust far back on his massive head. He was
shouting at a thoroughly frightened negro maid.
“Out, huh? Gone away, huh? He better be gone away! Where’s he at, huh?”
“G-gone to th’ h-hospital, suh,” answered the girl in a quavering voice.
“He’s done gone, suh; ain’t gwine be back ontwel evenin’.”
“Huh?” A terrifying snort shook the air. “You tell ’em this word f’om
me, f’om Lafe Rutledge, gyurl. Tell ’im he’s got till sunup t’ settle,
an’ that’s all. I’ll be down to th’ Pinelands Hotel all evenin’. Ontel
sunup, you hear me?”
“Yassuh! Oh, yassuh. I shore will tell th’ doctah!”
The giant snorted once more, tugged at his flowing beard and turned
away. His heavy cowhide boots stamped down the steps; then he clambered
into his wagon, gathered the lines and lashed his mules to a run.
Well, Doctor Gaskell’s troubles were his own. I was more concerned with
my nephew’s, and I feared that his hot temper would provide plenty for
him.
CHAPTER V
A TRAGEDY
The rest of that day passed uneventfully enough. When he returned from
his rounds Lewis seemed quite himself again, and that afternoon he went
off to Raleigh cheerfully enough, to hurry the tailor with his wedding
clothes.
The wedding was to be on Wednesday, at noon; but Dorothy had planned a
rehearsal for Monday, when her Brother Peter would be back, and Lewis’
best man, Doctor Somers, would be here. And Tuesday would be a very busy
day, what with receiving and caring for the many out-of-town guests.
Saturday was the boy’s last chance to get his new clothes.
Peter McGregor would not return until Sunday afternoon, so it was
arranged that I should stay at Fort House another night. I did not look
forward to it with any great joy; but I hoped that the Poltergeist would
allow me a few hours’ rest, though I could hardly look for a like
forbearance from bobwhite.
The evening went off tolerably well. Aunt Mary was quite cheerful, and
she had surprisingly little to say about her throat and her “limbs” and
the knots in the back of her neck. I dozed comfortably in a big
sleepy-hollow chair, half listening to Dorothy’s chatter over some
intimate bit of finery. And the nurse, Miss Christie, slept quite
frankly on a couch in the corner. She was never at a loss how to spend
her time.
At last Dorothy threw her embroidery frame at me. “Go to bed, Uncle
George! You haven’t heard one thing I’ve been saying for an hour. You
poor thing! You’re all tired out.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Indeed I have; I was very much interested. But,
perhaps, I’d better go to bed now. First, though, I must get out Peter’s
shotgun and set it beside the back door, where Lewis can get it in the
morning. He’s going after those quail, you know, and he made me promise
to set out the gun. He won’t be back till midnight.”
“It’s up in Peter’s room. Come along, I’ll show you. But you’ll have to
load it and all that, Uncle George. I don’t know a thing about guns.”
Aunt Mary sniffed. “It used to be the pride of the McGregors of Maryland
that the ladies of the family were all thorough sportswomen. Many have
been the days I spent riding to hounds, when I was your age, Dorothy; on
many a morning I turned out early with my gun for duck shooting, or to
go out with the dogs after quail. I never asked any help to care for my
guns, either. But that’s long, long ago, and here I am, a poor, crippled
old woman, tied to a chair, these fourteen years. Ah, well! Young folks
aren’t what they were in my day!”
Her lips trembled; her eyes suffused with tears. Fearing another
outbreak like the one of the morning I cast about me for some new topic.
Just then two powerful lights flashed briefly through the windows and
vanished again. I glanced out; Doctor Gaskell’s big car had just swept
round the corner toward his garage.
“The doctor’s back,” said I casually. “Wonder if he’s seen Lafe
Rutledge.”
“Who?”
I jumped at the sudden, sharp question and wheeled. Miss Christie, whom
I had supposed asleep, as usual, had leaped up from her couch and stood
facing me, half crouched. For once her eyes were wide open; her round,
dimpled face was pale and drawn; her hands, clasped at her breast,
trembled.
“Who did you say?”
“Why,” I answered, wondering, “a man called Rutledge. He was asking for
Doctor Gaskell this morning, as I came past. The doctor was out, but he
left a message. I heard it; nobody within half a mile could have helped
hearing it. Said his name was Lafe Rutledge, and he’d give the doctor
until sunup to settle--whatever that means.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the nurse, and the vivid horror in her face made her
suddenly beautiful. I had never noticed her looks before; she was so
sleepily indifferent; but now fear transfigured her.
“Oh, Lafe Rutledge! Are you sure? A great, big old man, with a long
beard?”
“And a voice like the bull of Bashan--and enormous boots! Yes, that’s
the gentleman.”
Without another word Miss Christie ran to the door, bareheaded as she
was, and tore it open.
“Miss Christie! Nurse!” It was Aunt Mary’s voice, sharp, domineering,
and angry. “What do you mean by this? Come back here at once! Take me to
my room!”
The girl never glanced back. “In a minute,” she answered. “I can’t stop
now. I’ll come back directly.” The door slammed after her.
We three stared at each other. “Well!” cried Dorothy. “What do you
suppose waked her up?”
Aunt Mary bridled. “Ungrateful minx! What does she mean by it, leaving
me this way? I’m tired, and I want her to rub my limbs at once!”
“She’ll be right back, I’m sure,” said Dorothy. “Something upset her;
she must be afraid of this man Rutledge for some reason. The poor girl
looked scared to death.”
“She should consider me,” insisted Miss McGregor inexorably. “I have
enough to bear, without my nurse rushing off and cutting up like this.
This settles it! She shall go, as soon as I can find some one to take
her place! I never liked her; I might have known that any one whom that
wretch Gaskell recommended would be untrustworthy.”
“Oh,” said I, wondering, “Doctor Gaskell sent her here?”
Dorothy nodded. “Miss O’Brien had to leave, and we got this nurse
through Doctor Gaskell. She comes from the western part of the State, up
in the mountains somewhere, near the Tennessee border.”
The front door opened, and Miss Christie reappeared, rather out of
breath, but sleepily calm as ever.
“You have upset me seriously,” declared Aunt Mary severely. “My limbs
tingle, and the knots are coming in my neck. Take me to my room at once.
What do you mean by dashing off this way?”
Her voice was harsh, almost abusive. I sighed a little, to think how
intimacy was shattering my faith in Aunt Mary’s saintliness. It was a
myth, I began to suspect. Behind the old lady’s angelic front lurked a
temper quite the reverse of angelic.
“I’m sorry, Miss McGregor,” answered the nurse meekly. “I had to go; it
was a matter of life and death, almost.”
Aunt Mary sniffed. “Life and death, indeed! How about my life and death?
But that’s of no importance, I suppose; I’m only a poor, helpless old
woman that everybody’ll be glad to get rid of.” Then yielding, I
suppose, to the curiosity which touched us all, she asked: “What did you
run off for, anyway?”
“I can’t tell you.” The girl’s sleepy face set determinedly.
“Mf!” exclaimed Aunt Mary. “I don’t like mysteries. I’ll give you until
morning; then you can explain--or leave!”
“Very well, Miss McGregor. Shall I take you to your room now?”
She pushed the wheeled chair out, and Dorothy, still wide-eyed, beckoned
to me. “Come along, Uncle George. Let’s get the shotgun. What do you
suppose ailed Miss Christie?”
I shrugged. “She’s from the mountains. They still have feuds out there,
you know, along the North Carolina border. Perhaps this fellow Rutledge
comes from her home, and she’s afraid he’ll do some mischief down here.
Maybe she’ll explain herself in the morning, unless Aunt Mary is too
cranky.”
Dorothy shivered a little. “I don’t like mysteries, either,” she
confessed. “And there’s trouble coming, Uncle George; I can feel it. Oh,
dear! I wish we were out of Fort House for good! Everything’s going
wrong. That horrid ghost, or whatever it is, scared me about sick; and
then Lewis had to go and quarrel with Doctor Gaskell, and now Miss
Christie begins to act so queer, and--and everything. Oh, dear! I wish
all these things could have happened to some other body. Here’s Peter’s
gun, Uncle George, in this closet.”