The Brown Mouse Part 18

"Some fool notion, I s'pose," said Mr. Bronson, rising. "But go ahead if you're careful about handlin' the strychnine."

Newton spent the time from twelve-thirty to half after two in watching the clock; and twenty minutes to three found him seated in the woodshed with a pen-knife in his hand, a small vial of strychnine crystals on a stand before him, a saucer of raisins at his right hand, and one exactly like it, partially filled with gopher bait--by which is meant raisins under the skin of each of which a minute crystal of strychnine had been inserted on the point of the knife. Newton was apparently happy and was whistling _The Glow-Worm_. It was a lovely scene if one can forget the gopher's point of view.

At three-thirty, Newton went into the house and lay down on the horsehair sofa, saying to his mother that he felt kind o' funny and thought he'd lie down a while. At three-forty he heard his father's voice in the kitchen and knew that his sire was preparing to start for the scene of battle between Colonel Woodruff and Con Bonner, on the result of which hinged the future of Jim Irwin and the Woodruff school.

A groan issued from Newton's lips--a gruesome groan as of the painful death of a person very sensitive to physical suffering. But his father's voice from the kitchen door betrayed no agitation. He was scolding the horses as they stood tied to the hitching-post, in tones that showed no knowledge of his son's distressed moans.

"What's the matter?"

It was Newton's little sister who asked the question, her facial expression evincing appreciation of Newton's efforts in the line of groans, somewhat touched with awe. Even though regarded as a pure matter of make-believe, such sounds were terrible.

"Oh, sister, sister!" howled Newton, "run and tell 'em that brother's dying!"

f.a.n.n.y disappeared in a manner which expressed her balanced feelings--she felt that her brother was making believe, but she believed for all that, that something awful was the matter. So she went rather slowly to the kitchen door, and casually remarked that Newton was dying on the sofa in the sitting-room.

"You little fraud!" said her father.

"Why, f.a.n.n.y!" said her mother--and ran into the sitting-room--whence in a moment, with a cry that was almost a scream, she summoned her husband, who responded at the top of his speed.

Newton was groaning and in convulsions. Horrible grimaces contorted his face, his jaws were set, his arms and legs drawn up, and his muscles tense.

"What's the matter?" His father's voice was stern as well as full of anxiety. "What's the matter, boy?"

"Oh!" cried Newton. "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

"Newtie, Newtie!" cried his mother, "where are you in pain? Tell mother, Newtie!"

"Oh," groaned Newtie, relaxing, "I feel awful!"

"What you been eating?" interrogated his father.

"Nothing," replied Newton.

"I saw you eatin' dinner," said his father.

Again Newton was convulsed by strong spasms, and again his groans filled the hearts of his parents with terror.

"That's all I've eaten," said he, when his spasms had pa.s.sed, "except a few raisins. I was putting strychnine in 'em----"

"Oh, heavens!" cried his mother. "He's poisoned! Drive for the doctor, Ezra! Drive!"

Mr. Bronson forgot all about the election--forgot everything save antidotes and speed. He leaped toward the door. As he pa.s.sed out, he shouted "Give him an emetic!" He tore the hitching straps from the posts, jumped into the buggy and headed for the road. Skilfully avoiding an overturn as he rounded into the highway, he gave the spirited horses their heads, and fled toward town, carefully computing the speed the horses could make and still be able to return. Mile after mile he covered, pa.s.sing teams, keeping ahead of automobiles and advertising panic. Just at the town limits, he met the doctor in Sheriff Dilly's automobile, the sheriff himself at the steering wheel. Mr. Bronson signaled them to stop, ignoring the fact that they were making similar signs to him.

"We're just starting for your place," said the doctor. "Your wife got me on the phone."

"Thank G.o.d!" replied Bronson. "Don't fool any time away on me. Drive!"

"Get in here, Ez," said the sheriff. "Doc knows how to drive, and I'll come on with your team. They need a slow drive to cool 'em off."

"Why didn't you phone me?" asked the doctor.

"Never thought of it," replied Bronson. "I hain't had the phone only a few years. Drive faster!"

"I want to get there, or I would," answered the doctor. "Don't worry. From what your wife told me over the phone I don't believe the boy's eaten any more strychnine than I have--and probably not so much."

"He was alive, then?"

"Alive and making an argument against taking the emetic," replied the doctor. "But I guess she got it down him."

"I'd hate to lose that boy, Doc!"

"I don't believe there's any danger. It doesn't sound like a genuine poisoning case to me."

Thus rea.s.sured, Mr. Bronson was calm, even if somewhat tragic in calmness, when he entered the death chamber with the doctor. Newton was sitting up, his eyes wet, and his face pale. His mother had won the argument, and Newton had lost his dinner. Haakon Peterson occupied an armchair.

"What's all this?" asked the doctor. "How you feeling, Newt? Any pain?"

"I'm all right," said Newton. "Don't give me any more o' that nasty stuff!"

"No," said the doctor, "but if you don't tell me just what you've been eating, and doing, and pulling off on us, I'll use this"--and the doctor exhibited a huge stomach pump.

"What'll you do with that?" asked Newton faintly.

"I'll put this down into your hold, and unload you, that's what I'll do."

"Is the election over, Mr. Peterson?" asked Newton.

"Yes," answered Mr. Peterson, "and the votes counted."

"Who's elected?" asked Newton.

"Colonel Woodruff," answered Mr. Peterson. "The vote was twelve to eleven."

"Well, dad," said Newton, "I s'pose you'll be sore, but the only way I could see to get in half a vote for Colonel Woodruff was to get poisoned and send you after the doctor. If you'd gone, it would 'a' been a tie, anyhow, and probably you'd 'a' persuaded somebody to change to Bonner.

That's what's the matter with me. I killed your vote. Now, you can do whatever you like to me--but I'm sorry I scared mother."

Ezra Bronson seized Newton by the throat, but his fingers failed to close.

"Don't pinch, dad," said Newton. "I've been using that neck an' it's tired." Mr. Bronson dropped his hands to his sides, glared at his son for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Why, you darned infernal little fool," said he. "I've a notion to take a hamestrap to you! If I'd been there the vote would have been eleven to thirteen!"

"There was plenty wotes there for the colonel, if he needed 'em," said Haakon, whose politician's mind was already fully adjusted to the changed conditions. "Ay tank the Woodruff District will have a junanimous school board from dis time on once more. Colonel Woodruff is yust the man we have needed."

"I'm with you there," said Bronson. "And as for you, young man, if one or both of them horses is hurt by the run I give them, I'll lick you within an inch of your life---- Here comes Dilly driving 'em in now---- I guess they're all right. I wouldn't want to drive a good team to death for any young hoodlum like him---- All right, how much do I owe you. Doc?"

CHAPTER XVI