Lost Farm Camp Part 48

"If you will let me go, I'll tell," she replied, a.s.suming a childish seriousness that made him laugh. She slipped from him and ran to her room. In the doorway she turned and, putting her finger on her lips, cast an absurdly penitential glance toward the floor. "Yes, we did race going down, and Dave won."

"Did the winner treat-?" began Avery.

"Mrs. Cameron was home," replied Swickey evasively. "Jim had gone to Tramworth. The sheriff sent for him. But I'm going to change my stockings. Ask Dave." And she closed the door.

"Jest like ole times-Swickey cuttin' up and actin' like the leetle Swickey ag'in."

"Better than that," said David absent-mindedly. Then, aware of Avery's twinkling eye, he added, "That is-Swickey-you know Smoke-she felt badly-"

"Ya-a-s," drawled Avery. "I reckon I know, and I'm pow'ful glad things is as they be."

After supper Swickey lay stretched lazily on a camp-blanket near the stove, with Beelzebub purring a satisfied monotone as he lay curled in the hollow of her arm. Avery questioned David as to Cameron's absence from home.

"I don't know," replied David. "Mrs. Cameron said the sheriff sent for him. Must be something important or he would have come up to see Jim himself."

"Thet Curious Jim's a queer cuss, always interestin' hisself in other folkses business-howcome they ain't nothin' mean about Jim."

"Maybe it's about Fisty Harrigan," said Swickey. "Mrs. Cameron said Fisty had been laying around Tramworth, drinking and making threats against-Dave." She glanced up at him, and he smiled rea.s.suringly. "And Jim knows more about-that time-than any one else."

"Mrs. Cameron didn't favor me with her confidence," said David, as Avery's eyes questioned him.

"Oh, well, you're only a man," said Swickey. "We talked about lots of things."

"Didn't talk about racin' on snowshoes with Dave, did you?"

"Now, Pop, that's mean-after my telling you-before supper-"

Avery laughed in huge good-humor.

Swickey's head nodded and drooped to her arm. Beelzebub, disturbed, stood up and arched his back, yawned, sat on his tail and, stretching his sleek neck, licked her chin with a quick dab of his little red tongue.

"Now-Dave-" murmured Swickey sleepily.

In the Homeric roar of laughter that made the cat jump over her and flatten himself beneath the stove, she wakened, gazed about her, and finally got up with considerable dignity and marched to her bedroom.

CHAPTER x.x.xI-THE BLUFF

The ruddy face of the sheriff was wreathed in benignant smiles as he sat in the office of the Tramworth House. Cameron was standing by the stove, his hands spread to the warmth. He had just come in from the Knoll in answer to a message from the sheriff.

"Whew! but it's howlin' cold. Three foot of snow and more comin'. What you doin'-keepin' house?"

"Yes," replied the sheriff. "Bill's gone over to Hike's for a minute."

Cameron rubbed his ear gingerly, then lapsed into frowning silence as the sheriff told him why he had sent for him.

"That's _one_ way of lookin' at it, Scotty," he said presently, "but it ain't accordin' to law."

"What is the law in such a case, Jim?"

Cameron's frown deepened. "To my thinkin'-it's jail."

"That's all right-but how would you go at it to prove to a Tramworth jury that he put Injun Pete up to it?"

"There's them three ca'tridges-and me."

"Do you think there's a jury up here would send Fisty down on that evidence?"

"I dunno-why not?"

"Well, I'll tell you, Jim. They'd be afraid of Fisty's friends, for one thing. Ross is an outsider, and there's always a bunch glad to see an outsider get the worst of it. Besides, Fisty isn't worth spending the money on to convict. He's all in, and I'm going to prove it to you. But here comes Bill," he said, as the clerk entered. "We'll go up to my room."

"Now," continued the sheriff, as he closed the door of his sanctum-sanctorum above, "I'm going to hand it to you straight."

Cameron, astride a chair, tilted back and forth expectantly.

"In the first place, Jim, you haven't got anything against Fisty but the shooting, have you?"

"Nope-ain't got no sc.r.a.p with him aside of that."

"All you're itching for is to see justice administered, isn't it?" The sheriff's eyes twinkled in a preternaturally grave face.

"That's it!" Cameron's chair thumped to the floor.

"And now that Barney Axel's over in Canada, you'd be the chief witness for the State?"

"That's me."

"And that's why you want to see Fisty on trial." Cameron's hand was raised in expostulation, but the sheriff continued hurriedly. "I thought so. Now, Jim, there's more ways than one of straightening a man out, and the law isn't always the best or surest way. I've found out that."

"What you goin' to do?" asked Cameron, forgetting for the moment his explanation that the other had interrupted.

"Well," said the sheriff, glancing at his watch, "if you can stand it for about ten minutes I think I can show you. How's Ross getting on at Lost Farm?"

"Great! Got the sidin' in to the asbestuff, and everything snug fur winter. He's trappin' with Hoss now. Say! and he's done more than that,"-Cameron paused that his news might have due effect,-"he's a-goin'

to marry Swickey Avery-him! as learned her her readin' and writin'.

That's what me and the missus has figured, from the way Swickey's actin'

of late."

"Why not? Swickey's a mighty fine girl and mighty pretty, too."

"Yes. But what I jest told you was privit calc'latin'-but seein' as you're a officer of the law, I guess it's O.K."

"Well, I'm glad of it. We need men like Ross up here. When are they going to get married?"