Chapter VI: Games--Aboveboard and Otherwise

The homestead of the Ducats consisted partly of the original structure of great pine logs and partly of a more modern erection of sawn frame and shingles, the two joined securely end to end. The kitchen was in the old part, and it was to the kitchen that Flora led her vanquished brother and his conqueror. Here they found the mother and the two grandfathers, to whom Mark described the battle without exaggeration or reservation. The girl with green eyes corroborated his statements, and Jim Todhunter maintained a modest silence.

"Did ye stand idle an' see yer brother bested by a stranger?" cried Mrs. Ducat.

"Sure I did," answered Flora.

"An' rightly, too," said old Archie McKim.

"I ain't kickin'," said Mark, good-humoredly. "I asked for it."

"But you kicked then, an' he didn't," retorted Flora.

"It's the way we fight in the woods," said Mark to Jim.

"What's that?" asked old McKim, with a cupped hand behind his good ear.

"Footin' it in a fight," replied Mark. "Throwin' the foot."

"A French trick," said Mr. McKim.

"An' what of it?" cried old Hercules Ducat. "What's agin it, Archie McKim? Ain't a man's foot as much his own as his hand? French, d'ye say! Wasn't Black Dave Davi'son a Scot? An' didn't he use his feet? Wasn't he the wickedest fighter on the river? An' he done it all with his feet an' his teeth. But one fine day he drummed his heels on my chest, an' I up an' hove 'im clear acrost the roof o' Widdy Mary McElroy's smoke house--an' he never fit agin."

"Black Dave Davi'son!" cried old Archie, his snow-white whiskers vibrating with scorn and excitement. "_Him_ a Scot! He was five quarters Madawaska French an' four thirds Tobique Injun. Reckon I'd oughter know! Didn't he chaw my ear once when him an' me was courtin' the same girl over to Kingswood Settlement?"

"An' but for the Ducats with their Injun blood an' good buckwheat pancakes an' roasted moose meat, all this here Scottish gentility would have starved to death an' froze to death a hundred years ago an' more."

Jim looked at Flora in amused embarrassment, and old Hercules saw it. He sat back in his chair and chuckled derisively.

"She be easier on the eye to goggle at nor her gran'pas," he said, ignoring old Archie. "She gits her looks from the Ducats, as ye kin see. But ye'll find more divil nor gentility in her afore ye've knowed her much longer."

"Grandpa Ducat always talks like that after he's lost at cards," explained the girl, seeing Jim's embarrassment. "I guess Grandpa McKim's been trimming him this afternoon."

"Yer dead right!" said old Archie. "I took eighty-six cents offen 'im since dinner."

Mark lay down until supper was ready. Upon his return to the kitchen he said that he felt as spry as ever. He didn't look exactly right, however. His nose was swollen, his lower lip was puffed and cut and one cheek was skinned and bruised. Peter and Sam Ducat arrived home from burning brush in the back pasture within a minute of Mark's reappearance. Mark made the introductions.

"This here's Jim Todhunter, the Yankee dood who's livin' with the Hammonds," he said.

The three shook hands heartily. Then Peter Ducat stared at his son, stepped closer and stared again.

"What the jumpin' tarnation hev you been hammerin' with yer face?" he asked.

"Jim's fists," answered Mark. "I hammered them real hard, but I didn't do 'em much hurt, I guess."

Then he repeated the story of the fight, without dissembling. His father and his uncle listened with keen attention, glancing frequently from the speaker to the silent guest, their tanned faces and dark eyes expressive of changing emotions.

"I told ye so!" exclaimed Peter. "I warned ye. Now when I was Cock o' the River, afore the rheumatiz put a crimp into me, I allers sized a stranger up--meanin' a man from outside--afore I give 'im the dare to fight. Cuffin' logs an' the like o' that's different, for there's ony one best way at that game an' that's the way we do right here on Racket River--but there's a dozen ways o' fightin'. Yes, a dozen ways an' maybe more, an' a man wants to be danged careful how he jumps into a scrap with a stranger."

"Where'd ye larn _yer_ way?" asked Sam of Jim.

"At school," replied Jim modestly.

"Hah! Hark ye to that, now!" cried old Archie McKim. "Ain't I allers been tellin' ye the vartues o' eddication? But ye didn't heed me. Oh, no! Reckoned I didn't know! Wouldn't go to school, laughed at book-larnin'. Serves ye damn well right!"

"Hell! An' it was the girl we sent downriver to school!" exclaimed Peter Ducat, looking at his wife.

Supper was a success. The food was plentiful and good. Conversation was general and lively. Mark ate and talked as well as any one and showed no chagrin over his defeat. The grandfathers argued, told stories of their youth and prime and constantly contradicted each other. The mother was kept busy with urging everyone to eat and drink and with bringing more food from stove and pantry to the table. The father and uncle talked of the river and the woods and their adventures.

Supper was over by seven o'clock, and no sooner was the table cleared than a knock sounded on the door and Melchior Hammond entered the kitchen. He was cordially received by all the Ducats.

"So here you are!" he said to Jim. "I'm supposed to be half-way to Bird's Corner this very minute on business. But as I ain't due back to Millbrook till to-morrow night or nex' day everything'll be hunkydory. Keep that in yer mind will ye, Jim, Bird's Corner. If the old man knew I ever come here he'd sure think I played cards, an' then little Mel would be cast out."

"I'll remember," said Jim. "I'm not telling on you."

"But ain't ye both on the same log, far's that goes?" queried Uncle Sam Ducat.

"Who, Jim here?" returned Melchior. "Not on yer sweet life! Jim don't give a hooray what the old man thinks of him or says to him--nor what any one else says or thinks, I guess. Why, he told pa where he got off at the first minute they met an' has been doin' it ever since. But what's wrong with yer lip, Mark? An' yer nose? They're all puffed up."

"Zat so, Mel?" returned Mark. "Puffed up, hey? Somethin' wrong with them, hey? They suit me all right. I wouldn't swap 'em for no other lip nor nose on this river. Take another look, Mel, an' then if ye're still in the same mind about 'em--if ye don't like their looks--tell me about it an' step outside an' see if ye kin fix 'em for me."

"Oh, if that's how ye're feelin', they look fine," answered Mel. "If they suit you, they suit me. I got one hour an' then I'll have to move along, for I left the mare down at the Fork. What about a little game?"

"I'm agreeable," said Sam. "Five cent ante, as usual, hey?"

"When I was a young man a-sparkin' round an' a-courtin' the girls, I didn't uster waste my time with the men an' the cards," said old Archie McKim.

"Yer dead right, Archie," retorted old Hercules Ducat. "Ye was too danged scart o' losin' a dollar! Courtin' was cheaper!"

"Maybe it was in them days," laughed Melchior, pulling a chair up to the table and seating himself as if he intended business.

"What about you, Jim?" asked Mark.

"Delighted," said Jim.

"D'ye know poker?"

"It's my middle name."

The grandfathers, Mrs. Ducat, and the girl did not join in the game. Jim played with discretion and luck. Mel lost for an hour and a quarter, then remembered his mare hitched in the woods at the fork of the roads four miles away, wished everyone good night and departed. Flora saw him to the door and stood in whispered conversation on the threshold for half a minute.

"Does he come here often?" asked Jim of Mark, in a low aside, as Uncle Sam dealt the cards with mighty heaves of the shoulders as if each bit of pasteboard weighed fifty pounds.

"Every chance he gets," replied Mark. "Whenever he kin give Amos the slip. Dang if I know if it's Flora or the cards fetches 'im! Reckon it's Flora. But she don't worry. They all look the same to her, I guess."

It was eight-thirty by the Ducats' kitchen clock when Melchior Hammond departed to return to his tethered mare four miles off and continue on his interrupted way toward Bird's Corner. It was ten by the same clock when Jim Todhunter left the Ducat kitchen, after cordial handshakes all around and a promise to return on the morrow or the day after, and set out briskly for Millbrook. He walked at his best pace, in a pleasant humor with himself and the world. He approved of Piper's Glen. Flora Ducat was a charming girl. He had enjoyed his evening and his fight with Mark Ducat. He liked Mark and all the Ducats. He reached the Hammond residence on the stroke of twelve, midnight, and found the front door unlocked. Amos Hammond was as mild of manner as a lamb next morning at breakfast. Jim made no pretense of working in the store that day or of inquiring into any branch of Hammond's business. Amos Hammond kept out of Jim's way as much as possible.

A week passed, during which period of time Jim made several trips up to Piper's Glen. On the eighth day after his first meeting with the Ducats, he visited them for the fourth time and remained in that hospitable kitchen until eleven o'clock at night. It was past one when he reached Millbrook. The front door was locked, the back door was locked, and he tossed gravel up against Hammond's window until lamplight shone forth. Up went the lower sash with a bang and rattle and the man of the house looked out and down.

"The doors are locked," said Jim.

"Spawn of the devil!" cried Amos. "Cumberer of the earth! Eater of the bread of idleness and corruption! I warn ye to go away from here! Ye've held me up to derision in the sight of my wife and children, but the Lord is on my side an' I charge ye never to darken my door again!"

"Very impressive, but it won't do," replied Jim. "I'm a part of your establishment. I must really insist upon darkening your door again."

At that, Mr. Hammond's language fell from the classical to the colloquial.

"Beat it!" he screamed. "Get to hell out o' this afore I lose my temper an' pull the triggers."

"Triggers?" queried Jim coolly.

"Aye, triggers! Two of 'em--an' both standin' at full-cock."

"What number shot, if you don't object to my asking?"

"Number two, dang ye! An' my fingers is twitchin'!"

"All right! Pass out my baggage and I'll go."

"Baggage? Ye got no baggage here!"

"Boxes, bags, trunks, and so on."

"Ye got nothin' in this house! Clear out or I'll be the death o' ye!"

"So you've turned my stuff out, have you? Well, that'll save time. Where did you put it?"

"There's nothin' of yers on my premises, inside nor out, an' never was; but if ye don't beat it before I count ten there'll be a dead corpse in the yard. Git!"

Jim got. He went around to the front door, stood his gun against the side of the house and kicked the door in with one terrific smash of the right heel against the lock. He entered the dark hall and was feeling his way toward the stairs with extended arms when his right hand touched something alive. Quick as thought, hard as iron, he grabbed and gripped with both hands.

"It's me, Jim! Leggo, for God's sake--an' run!" whispered the voice of Melchior. "I come down to warn ye. He's murderin' mad. Threw a knife at me an' missed by an inch--an' he'll shoot you. Here he comes!"

A light appeared at the top of the stairs. Jim turned and started for the open door on the jump, tripped over the threshold, and fell out on to the veranda and flung himself to one side at the very instant of touching the floor. And then a gun roared within and a shower of number two shot ripped into the flooring where he had been lying a moment before. Was that both barrels or only one? He didn't know. He scrambled to his feet, snatched his own gun from where it leaned and ran. As he jumped the fence, the gun banged again, but the charge went wide and high.

"He's off his nut and the gun's a breech-loader," he reflected; and he continued his flight.

A third bang proved the soundness of his reasoning and the wisdom of his course.