Chapter XVII: Conclusion

Neatly ensconced under the bed clothes, and with its horrible fleshless head laid in ghastly mockery upon his pillow, was a human skeleton.

For a moment Guy Hereford stared at the hideous object. Then recovering himself with a strong effort, he shouted violently for his boy Rufus.

The negro came into the room, showing a double row of magnificent ivories in a grin that stretched almost from ear to ear.

"What does this mean, Rufe?" demanded Guy angrily, pointing to the skull on his pillow.

"Doan' you get excited, boss," said the nigger, still grinning. "I done dat. I been all day gettin' him. Nebber had such a job in all my bawn days."

"Have you gone clean crazy?" cried Guy in amazed perplexity.

"No, sah. _Dat you!_" was Rufe's amazing reply. "Doan' you be angry, boss," he went on hurriedly, as Guy stepped suddenly toward him. "I done discovered a splendiferous plan to obfuscate dat dar Deacon, and dat am part ob de invention. I tell you dat am you."

Guy was beyond speech. He could only gaze helplessly at the beaming face of the negro.

Rufus, proud as a peacock, condescended to explain. "It dis way, sah. You going to build a new house soon, ain't you?"

"I was," replied Guy gloomily.

"Dat all right, den. Now, doan' you be down-hearted, sah. Dis niggah bossing dis heah job."

"For Heaven's sake explain, Rufe," exclaimed Guy.

"I goin' to, sah. It dis way. Dis am de time for burning de woods, ain't it?"

Guy nodded. For the life of him he could not imagine what the man was driving at.

"An' grass am good an' long right up to de back ob de garden?"

"Yes."

"Den dis my plan, sah. I set out fire in de woods to-night, set him in ten, twelve places. Dere's a win' blowin' from de west. Ef we doan' touch it de house burn down sure." He paused with an illuminating chuckle.

Light began to dawn on Guy.

"You mean," he said slowly, "that we're to burn down the shanty and make them think that I've burned in it. That skeleton's to be me."

"You done hit de bull's face in once, sah!" cried the negro in high delight. "Dat just de way I figure it out. In de morning dat no-'count Deacon, he come round to see you an' find out if you done got de money for him. Den he find nothin' but de burned-up house an' de burned-up bones."

"'Pon my soul, Rufe, I believe it's workable," exclaimed Guy, a light of hope appearing on his puzzled face.

"In course it am workable, sah. Deacon, he can't get no money from a daid man. Dat one thing mighty sure!"

"But won't he suspect anything?" suggested Guy.

"Not if dis niggah still alive," declared Rufe emphatically. "I tell you, Marse Guy, I goin' to do down dat man proper. He find me hyah, just a-howlin' and a-carryin' on ober dem ole bones, an' I tell him all about how de fire come in out ob de woods an' how it cotch de house, an' how I done try to pull you out. Oh, I fool him 'to eights.'"

Guy couldn't help laughing. Rufe's enjoyment over the prospective humbugging of Deacon was so intense.

"You see, Marse Guy," went on Rufe eagerly, "Deacon he be so glad to think you daid, he never bother to t'ink whether you foolin' him. He next heir, an' all he t'ink be to get de place an' all de t'ings dat belong to you. He nebber go to dat inquisition at all."

"And what's to become of me in the meantime?" asked Guy.

"You got money, ain't you?"

"Yes, luckily I've got twenty dollars or so in the house."

"Well, dat all right. Take de train an' go down to Tampa on de Gulf. Swimmin' in de sea do you a power o' good, boss. I reckon you better take some oder name an' den walk down an' cotch de train at some place furder down de line dan Pine Lake."

After a little more talk Guy and his man settled up all the details. It was agreed that the house should be sacrificed, and that Guy himself should temporarily disappear and go down to Tampa. After the inquest on Blissett, Rufe was to write to him there at the post office and tell him how things turned out.

The worst of it was that Dandy had to be left behind. It would arouse suspicion if the pony were taken away. But Guy, who was anxious above all things that his horse should not fall into Deacon's hands, even for a few days, thought of a way out of the difficulty. He gave Rufe a note for his wages for two months, and told him that on the following day he was to go into Pine Lake and file a lien on the pony for his pay.

Then the two set to work to take Guy's few articles of value out of the shanty and hide them. This they did by rolling them in a big rubber blanket and burying them in the dry, sandy soil in the orange grove.

This took some little time, and it was nearly eleven o'clock when Guy was at last ready to go.

"Now, mind you, Rufe," were his last words to the negro, "don't you overdo it, and don't let Deacon see that you hate him. A little soft sawder won't do any harm."

"Doan' you worry your haid, boss," replied Rufe consolingly. "I reckon I keep up my end agains' Deacon or any of dem folk. To-morrow, after I seen Deacon, I go to Pine Lake an' hear de inquest on Blissett. Den I write an' tell you all dat happen."

Guy nodded. "I shall be desperately anxious to hear the verdict," he said. "If Deacon doesn't give evidence, the worst they're likely to return is manslaughter."

"Doan' you worry, boss," said Rufe confidently. "I reckon it am going to be 'justificational homeyside.' Deacon, he won't give no evidence. He be too busy gettin' ready to move over heah."

"Only hope so," said Guy. "Now, good-by, Rufe. Remember all I've told you."

Master and man shook hands, and Guy, slinging a small bag across his shoulder on a stick, walked away from the shanty which had been his only home for four long years of hard work and happiness, and disappeared into the forest.

He had not gone far before a flickering glow gleamed redly on the serried ranks of tall, straight trunks.

He turned. Half a dozen pin points of fire were visible on the far side of the clearing. They grew rapidly, and presently the night sky was all aglow with leaping tongues of flame.

The soft breeze which soughed through the tops of the pines sent the flames sweeping down upon the little house, which stood a squat, black mass between the watcher and the blaze behind.

Fascinated by the sight, Guy stood motionless, watching the destruction sweep upon his home.

The many little fires joined forces, and Guy could plainly hear the roar and crackle as the tall, dry grass burst into hissing sparks. There was little chance of any one interfering to save the house. Now that Blissett was dead Guy had no neighbor within a mile, and in the spring of the year fires are too frequent in the Florida woods for any one to pay attention. The cattlemen are always busy burning off the old grass to get fresh pasture for their herds.

Now the whole sky was alight, and the blaze illuminated the sleeping woods far and near. Red-hot sparks were falling like rain upon the shingle roof of the cabin.

Another minute, and little streaks of red fire were winding like snakes about the eaves.

"She's going," muttered Guy sorrowfully.

Yes, once the fire got hold of the sun-dried pine of which the house was built the flames rushed up in great leaping columns. The place burned like a tar barrel, and the glow became so intense that Guy shrank away further into the woods for fear of being observed by any one who might possibly have been attracted by the blaze.

Still he could not tear himself away from the sight of the destruction of his old home. Sheltering behind a huge pine trunk, he watched till, with a loud crash and a hurricane of sparks, the roof fell in, and of the shanty no more remained than a shapeless pile.

With a deep sigh Guy Hereford turned away, and never stopped until at four o'clock in the morning he boarded the south-bound mail train at the small wayside station of Kissochee.

* * * * *

"Any letter for George Hatfield?"

The smart clerk took up a bundle of letters, ran them rapidly through, and flung them down. "Nope!"

Guy Hereford's face fell.

"Quite sure?" he asked.

The clerk glared.

"What do you think?" he asked sharply, and the other turned slowly away.

"What's happened?" he thought uneasily. "Why hasn't Rufe written?"

He was hardly outside the post office before a bare-legged nigger boy thrust a paper in his face. "Here y'are, boss. _Tampa Sentinel!_ All de details ob de horrific tragedy up in Orange County."

Guy grabbed a paper, shoved a quarter into the astonished youngster's hand, and, without waiting for change, was off like a shot.

He reached his room in the boarding house where he had put up, and tore the paper open.

Yes, here it was--a whole column!

"Strange double tragedy near Pine Lake! Well-known cattleman killed. His nearest neighbor burned to death. Two inquests in one day."

So much for the headlines.

Guy gave a deep sigh of relief. "Nothing about murder, anyhow," he muttered.

Then he began to read rapidly. Slowly his expression of anxiety changed to relief, and then to amusement. Finally he burst into a fit of laughter.

"Fine! Dandy!" he cried. "My good Oliver, you are a peach, and no mistake. This is the absolute limit." And dropping the paper he lay back in his chair and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Dat am too bad, Marse Guy. I nebber t'ink you heah it all from dat fool newspaper."

The deep voice made Guy fairly jump. Springing to his feet he swung round, and there was Rufe, dressed in his best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, and with an expression of deep annoyance on his ebony face.

"You Rufe?"

"Yes, sah. I come down all de way by de train to tell you de news, an' now dat blame paper done tole you de whole t'ing."

"Not a bit of it, Rufe. It hasn't told me half. If you hadn't turned up I should have taken the next train back to see you and find out just what has happened. Tell me, is Deacon in possession?"

Rufe, somewhat mollified, grinned. "Yes, boss, he dar right enough. He camping in de stable."

"Hasn't got Dandy, I hope?" put in Guy anxiously.

"No, sah. Dandy in de libery stable at Pine Lake."

"That's all right. Now go on. Tell me what happened. Did he come over yesterday morning?"

"Yes, sah; he come ober about ten. An' you ought to hab seen his face when he foun' de house burned!"

"He asked for me, I suppose?"

"Yes, he done ask for you at once, an' I show him de bones, an' tell him you all burned up. Fust he look flabbergasted, den he sort o' chuckle, and I feel like whanging him one ober de haid."

"What happened then?"

"He act like he think he boss an' I his niggah. He tell me go get a wagon an' carry de bones into Pine Lake. Say it sabe trouble hab one inquisition 'stead ob two. I act meek, an go borrow a spring wagon an' hitch Dandy up, an' we take de bones in, an' he tell de sheriff. I t'ink dat sheriff kind ob like you, Marse Guy. He mighty worried. Den he say; 'Quite right. Hab one inquisition on bofe de bodies.'"

"Did you go, Rufe?"

"You bet I go, boss. Firs' dey hab Blissett's body. All dem cracker chaps look at de haid, an' Deacon he gib evidence an say he seen it all. He say dat Blissett done tried to shoot you, and you didn't hab no pistol, but you was real brave an' ride hard at him, an' knock him off de hawse, an' de hawse kick him an' run away into de woods."

Rufe stopped to chuckle at the remembrance. Guy laughed too. He quite understood Deacon's motive.

His cousin wanted to pose in a good light before the jury, so that there could be no chance of suspicion falling on him that he was implicated in his--Guy's--death.

"Den de sheriff he get up an' say dat you was a very nice gen'elman," went on Rufe, "an' dat Mistah Deacon's evidence was very straight, an' dat dere was only one verdict for dem to give, an' dat he left de matter in dere hands.

"So dey just talk a bit among demselves, an' den de foreman, old Abe Mizell, he get up and say dat dey was all agreed dat Harvey Blissett was killed 'cause his skull not so hard as de heel ob his hawse.

"Den dey hab de bones in, an' I gib evidence." Rufe swelled with pride.

"What did you say, Rufe?"

"Dey ask me if I could 'dentify dem dere bones. I say I reckon dey mus' be you's, 'cause I find 'em in among de cinders ob your bed. I couldn't sw'ar, I tole 'em, because I warn't dar when it happens. I tell 'em I coming home from courting my gal, an' see de fire an' run; but t'ain't no good. I too late. All burned up before I get dar. Anyhow, I ain't seed you since."

"So they gave it accidental death?"

"Yes, sah. Dat's what dey said, and said dey was sorry, 'cause you was a promising young gen'elman."

"And what did Deacon do?" anxiously inquired Guy.

"He go round to de record office to get your land put in his name," chuckled Rufe. "Den I see him ride out on a libery stable hawse."

Guy roared.

"I reckon it going to be de wors' shock he ebber get in his life when you rides up to de ole place," remarked Rufe presently.

"I rather expect it will," replied Guy feebly, wiping his eyes. "Come on, Rufe. There's a train back at twelve-thirty. Just time for dinner, and then the sooner we're home again the better."

Guy's first task, when he arrived at Pine Lake, was to call on Anderson the sheriff.

Anderson, who was fat and fifty, went positively purple at sight of the man upon whom he had held an inquest!

Guy told him the whole story, all about the quarrel between himself and Blissett, about Deacon's threats and Rufe's plan. The only thing he did not mention was the fact that Deacon had stolen and sold Blissett's horse.

Anderson listened first in amazement, then with amusement, and finally went off into a fit of laughter.

"That Rufe's a wonder," he said. "I didn't reckon there was a nigger in Florida with that much sense. But, look here, young fellow, you've been taking mighty big liberties with the law. According to law you're dead, and buried, too. What d'ye reckon we're going to do about that?"

"Don't know, I'm sure, Mr. Anderson. That's what I came to you about," replied Guy coolly.

"Reckoned I could fix it for you, eh?" There was a sly twinkle in old Anderson's eyes. "I guess I'll have to try. But, say, don't you go wasting time in here. Ef that thar cousin o' yours hears as you ain't as dead as he hed supposed, chances are he'll be getting his gun."

"All right, sheriff," said Guy. "I'll get along. I am under obligations to you about the business. I'm afraid it's given you a lot of bother."

"I ain't kicking," said Anderson dryly. "The State pays my fees for an inquest. Good-by."

Ten minutes later Guy and Rufe were in a hired buggy, with Dandy in the shafts, spinning lightly homeward over the sandy roads.

It was dusk when they reached the gate.

"So you've brought the horse back," came a sharp voice as Rufe pulled up in front of the stable. "A mighty good job you did. Take him out and tie him up. Then you can sling your hook as fast as you like."

"What for should I git from my boss' land?" asked Rufe with such a delightfully innocent air that Guy, close by under a tree, almost laughed out loud.

"Git!" Deacon roared, "or by----"

A muscular hand gripped him by the back of the neck, and cut short his sentence.

Deacon squirmed round. His eyes fell on Guy Hereford; he gave a scream like a woman's, and dropped as if he'd been shot in the head.

"Now, Oliver," said Guy quietly. "Perhaps you'll be good enough to explain what the thunder you mean by coming and camping on my property."

The man rose slowly to his feet, and his eyes were venomous. "So you tricked me," he ground out between clinched teeth.

"Well, I rather think we did. Rufe and I between us," replied Guy coolly.

Deacon burst into a storm of furious invective. He cursed Guy by everything he could think of. At last he wound up.

"You needn't think you've got the best of me. I'll raise the country against you. They'll have to have one inquest over again. I'll see they have both. I don't care what happens to me. I'll see you hung yet. I swear it."

Guy waited until the other stopped, exhausted.

Then he said very quietly: "Oliver, what's the punishment for horse stealing? Five years' penitentiary, isn't it? I think that's the minimum."

It was quite enough. Deacon went white as ashes.

"Listen to me," said Guy with sudden sternness. "If you're anywhere in Orange County this time to-morrow I'll denounce you for stealing and selling Harvey Blissett's horse."

Without another word Deacon slunk off into the gloom.

Guy never again set eyes upon him, for less than six months later the ruffian was killed in a brawl with a Cuban cigar maker.

IDAHO TO FEED ELKS.

An effort will be made by the State to prevent as far as possible a repetition of the wanton destruction of large numbers of elk which took place in Fremont County last winter.

The animals had been driven by extreme hunger to approach the settlements, and, weak from starvation and struggling in the unusually deep snow when they reached the lowlands, were killed and skinned. In many cases, reduced to mere skeletons, their meat could not be used.

The idea of the game warden is to arrange if possible to have cheap hay shipped into the country where the elk abound and place it where the animals, when their natural food supply gives out, will be able to find food. Several of the ranches in the elk country have put out hay for the animals for a number of years, and they have not been long in locating it when the snow gets deep in the hills. In this manner they are enabled to keep in good condition throughout the winter, and when spring arrives return to their usual haunts.

The eastern part of the State forms the principal range for these animals which the authorities are endeavoring to protect from the pot hunters and specimen seekers. Stringent laws have been enacted, which, if carried out, will go a great way toward protecting the king of North American game animals.

NOISY AVIANS.

The bellbird, which makes perhaps, in its natural state, the greatest noise of any known avian, is found both in South America and certain parts of Africa. Its voice will carry on a still day a distance of quite three miles. Its note is like the tolling of a distant church bell, and is uttered during the heat of the day, when every other bird has ceased to sing and nature is hushed in silence. The hornbill, a bird which is widely distributed in India, the Malay Archipelago, and Africa, has also a very loud note. Its call has been described as "between the shriek of a locomotive and the bray of a donkey," and can be heard a distance of a couple of miles.

FISH THAT CANNOT SWIM.

More than one species of fish that cannot swim are known to naturalists. Perhaps the most singular of these is the maltha, a Brazilian fish, whose organs of locomotion only enable it to crawl or walk or hop. The anterior (pectoral) fins of the maltha, which are quite small, are not capable of acting on the water, but can only move backward and forward, having truly the form of thin paws. Both these and the ventral and anal fins are very different from the similar fins in other fishes, and could not serve for swimming at all. Other examples of non-swimming fishes include the sea-horse, another most peculiarly shaped inhabitant of the sea, and the starfish.

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18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.

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20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.

To be Published on July 12th.

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To be Published on July 19th.

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To be Published on July 26th.

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To be Published on August 2nd.

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Transcriber's Notes:

Added table of contents.

Italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=.

Replaced oe ligatures with "oe" (ligatures retained in HTML version).

Page 1, corrected "Tranquair" to "Traquair" ("keep Matt from flying the Traquair").

Page 5, added missing open quote before "Rather a peculiar way." Changed single quote to double quote before "No, there is no way out."

Page 6, added missing quote after "Yes, yes."

Page 17, corrected "Mat" to "Matt" ("Matt, taking from his pocket"). Added missing apostrophe to "Well, I haven't got it."

Page 19, changed single to double quote after "destroy that aëroplane?"

Page 20, added missing "with" to "'I'll go with you,' said Cameron promptly." Removed unnecessary comma from "my lad."

Page 25, changed "suspicious" to "suspicions" ("recalled his suspicious").

Page 28, changed "forune" to "fortune" ("little forune had come to her").

In "Noisy Avians," changed "can be heard" to "can be heard."

End of Project Gutenberg's Motor Matt on the Wing, by Stanley R. Matthews