Jim could not find his employer at the hotel or in Main Street, but
remembered a tale he had heard whispered. Fanny Twist the milliner lived
in a little frame house in Garfield Street, far out at the eastern edge
of town, and he went there. He banged boldly on the door and the woman
appeared. "I've got to see Tom Butterworth," he said. "It's important. It's
about his daughter. Something has happened to her."
The door closed and presently Tom came around the corner of the house. He
was furious. Jim's horse stood in the road, and he went straight to him and
took hold of the bit. "What do you mean by coming here?" he asked sharply.
"Who told you I was here? What business you got coming here and making a
show of yourself? What's the matter of you? Are you drunk or out of your
head?"
Jim got off the horse and told Tom the news. For a moment the two stood
looking at each other. "Hugh McVey--Hugh McVey, by crackies, are you right,
Jim?" Tom exclaimed. "No missfire, eh? She's really gone and done it? Hugh
McVey, eh? By crackies!"
"They're on the way to the county seat now," Jim said softly. "Missfire!
Not on your life." His voice lost the cool, quiet tone he had so often
dreamed of maintaining in great emergencies. "I figure they'll be back by
twelve or one," he said eagerly. "We got to blow 'em out, Tom. We got to
give that girl and her husband the biggest blowout ever seen in this
county, and we got just about three hours to get ready for it.
Pages:
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319