The Gentleman from Indiana - Page 27/212

"You're no Plattville girl," he said sharply.

"You lie!" cried the child. "You lie! I am! You leave me go, will you? I'm

lookin' fer pap and you're a liar!"

"You crawled in here to sleep, after your seven-mile walk, didn't you?"

Martin went on.

"You're a liar," she screamed again.

"Look here," said Martin, slowly, "you go back to Six-Cross-Roads and tell

your folks that if anything happens to a hair of Mr. Harkless's head every

shanty in your town will burn, and your grandfather and your father and

your uncles and your brothers and your cousins and your second-cousins and

your third-cousins will never have the good luck to see the penitentiary.

Reckon you can remember that message? But before I let you go to carry it,

I guess you might as well hand out the paper they sent you over here

with."

His prisoner fell into a paroxysm of rage, and struck at him.

"I'll git pap to kill ye," she shrieked. "I don' know nothin' 'bout yer

Six-Cross-Roads, ner no papers, ner yer dam Mister Harkels neither, ner

you, ye razor-backed ole devil! Pap'll kill ye; leave me go--leave me

go!--Pap'll kill ye; I'll git him to kill ye!" Suddenly her struggles

ceased; her eyes closed; her tense little muscles relaxed and she drooped

toward the floor; the old man shifted his grip to support her, and in an

instant she twisted out of his hands and sprang out of reach, her eyes

shining with triumph and venom.

"Ya-hay, Mister Razor-back!" she shrilled. "How's that fer hi? Pap'll kill

ye, Sunday. You'll be screechin' in hell in a week, an' we 'ull set up an'

drink our apple-jack an' laff!" Martin pursued her lumberingly, but she

was agile as a monkey, and ran dodging up and down the counters and mocked

him, singing "Gran' mammy Tipsy-Toe," till at last she tired of the game

and darted out of the door, flinging back a hoarse laugh at him as she

went. He followed; but when he reached the street she was a mere shadow

flitting under the courthouse trees. He looked after her forebodingly,

then turned his eyes toward the Palace Hotel. The editor of the "Herald"

was seated under the awning, with his chair tilted back against a post,

gazing dreamily at the murky red afterglow in the west.

"What's the use of tryin' to bother him with it?" old Tom asked himself.

"He'd only laugh." He noted that young William Todd sat near the editor,

whittling absently. Martin chuckled. "William's turn to-night," he

muttered. "Well, the boys take mighty good care of him." He locked the

doors of the Emporium, tried them, and dropped the keys in his pocket.