An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West. Rice Alfred Ernest
and left the matter in your hands and she was unwilling at that time to shock your home-coming with a knowledge of the truth.”
“Enough! Enough! Oh, God, what a vile thing has nestled here!” And John Thorpe pressed both hands tightly over his heart in a vain endeavor to suppress the emotion that filled his throat and choked his utterances, and tears of shame gathered in his eyes as he continued slowly:
“When – I – wedded Constance – I took to myself the purest angel out of heaven. But now – ! Farewell happiness – farewell peace – forever! Oh, Corway, I want to clutch you by the throat!”
Turning to Rutley, he added tensely, “Follow me.”
“Now for satisfaction,” muttered Rutley exultantly, and with a sinister smile on his lips he followed John Thorpe up the broad steps and into the blaze of the brilliantly lighted ballroom.
A shadow straightened itself up behind a bed of massed asters, deepened, grew thicker and resolved itself into the solid form of a man. It was Jack Shore. He had dodged them unseen and overheard their conversation.
Perhaps it was through hearing the conspiracy and its masterly execution that shocked him into moralizing on man’s inhumanity to man.
At any rate, he exclaimed half aloud, “As cold-blooded a bit of villainy as possible to conceive. I didn’t think Phil had it in him.” Suddenly he shrugged his shoulders.
“I say, old man,” cut in Sam, appearing from the east side of the piazza, “you want to look alive there. You are getting too near the front. First thing you know uncle will have you sent up as a vag.”
Though taken by surprise, Jack, having just turned to move off into the deeper shadow, halted and, removing his hat, faced Sam in an assumed most humble and abject terror, “Signor, I don-a mean to come-a da close. Jess-a tried to get-a da peep ov-a da grand-a fete of-a much-a da rich people. Eesa da all, Signor.”
“It’s all right, old man, but take my advice and keep off the grounds. ’Twill be better for your health.”
In the meantime Dorothy had fluttered down the great steps and ran toward Sam.
“Hello, little one! Having lots of fun, eh!”
And with the same, he caught Dorothy’s hands and he commenced to dance her about as he sang the words, “Little Bo-peep had lost her sheep and couldn’t tell where to find them.”
“Oh, don’t Sam; I want to find papa!” replied the child, impatiently.
“You do, eh? Now, don’t you want me to be your escort?”
“Come, I’ll tell you how to find him. You shall sit on my shoulder and be the tallest queen of the party, while I be the horse to ’lope about in search of your papa.”
“Thank you, Sam, but I can’t stay for a ride now. I’m in such a hurry; some other time,” and the child turned from him and ran toward the slowly retreating form of Jack.
“You are, eh? All right, and while you are looking for papa, I’m going to look for the fair party you call auntie. I guess so!” Whereupon Sam quickly sprang up the steps. Arriving on the piazza he halted, turned around and looked toward the child as though the premonition of something wrong – something associated with the child’s insecurity, being alone – had suddenly darted into his brain; but seeing others of the guests at that moment emerging from the east front of the house on the well lighted grounds, he dismissed the “still small voice” of warning from his mind and passed in among the dancers.
“Papa, papa! Where is my papa?” called Dorothy.
Jack, while pretending to leave the grounds, had kept a sly eye on Sam, and upon that individual’s disappearance, at once turned and answered the child in a voice soft and gentle, and soothing as that of dreamy Italy.
“Yous-a tink-a your-a papa was-a da here-a. What eesa da name?”
“Thorpe!” replied Dorothy, without the faintest fear or hesitation. “That is my name, too. I want to find him right away. Can you tell me where he is? Mama sent me to ask him to come and dance.”
“Yes-a da child-a. Eesa da know where eesa papa be. Eef-a youse-a be note-a fraid and will-a come wid-a me, Eesa take-a youse-a da papa,” and the sly old man looked into her eyes with such beaming kindness that at once won her confidence.
“I’m not afraid of you. I like old men. Mama says we should respect old men. But I’m in such a hurry, you know. Mama is waiting for me.”
“Well, geeve-a me youse-a da hand and Eesa take-a you straight-a da heem.”
Without the least suspicion or timidity, she instantly placed her little hand in his and the two proceeded toward the river, much faster than his supposed crippled condition would lead an older person to expect.
“Youse-a love-a da papa and da mama much-a, donn-a youse?” he continued.
“Oh, yes! Ever so much.”
“Eesa good-a girl. We’ll soon-a da fine eem,” and he added to himself, “when the horn of plenty pours its golden stream into Jack’s pocket.”
While they were crossing a depression, or rather a long hollow formation in the contour of the grassy slope, and close to some locust trees, the thick foliage of which threw a deep shadow on the spot, Jack thrust his free hand into his pocket and removed the stopper from a bottle of chloroform which he had provided for this occasion, and saturated a colored handkerchief with it. Some of it passed through the lining of his pocket and immediately impregnated the air with its odor.
Dorothy got a whiff of it and drew away with the remark, “Dear me, what a funny smell!”
“Naw, eesa – nicey da smell, jes like-a da poppy, so beautiful-a da flower,” replied Jack, reassuringly.
“Well, I don’t like it, anyway,” she said.
At that moment she was standing a couple of yards from him, they had come to a halt, and it was necessary for him to act adroitly and with promptness, to reassure her and avoid arousing her suspicion, so he pretended to stumble and then fell to the ground.
Arising to his knees, he groaned as though in seeming pain, and gripped his right wrist with his left hand.
“Oh, oh! Eesa da hurt-a bad. Break-a da arm; oh, oh!” And in order to get her close to him, he said, “Get-a da bot’ in-a da pock’.”
The cunning fellow knew well how to touch the chord of sympathy that is ever present in the guileless heart of innocent childhood.
The response came in a wondering look of infinite tenderness and compassion, for the child did not clearly comprehend Jack’s request and she asked:
“Did you break your arm?”
“Eesa da hurt-a bad. Oh, oh!” he groaned, “get-a da bot’, da bot’-a, child; get-a da bot’.”
“Poor man! Shall I run for the doctor?”
“No, no, no, note-a da dock! Help-a me get-a da bot’ in-a da pock! Quick-a, deeze-a side. Put in-a da hand. Take eem out – oh, oh!”
Perceiving that he meant her to take something out of his pocket, on the right side of his coat, and not understanding the significance of the word “bot,” she drew near to thrust in her hand.
That instant Jack’s left arm encircled her form and his right hand clapped the saturated handkerchief over her mouth and nostrils and held her to him.
She struggled in his arms to free herself, but without avail.
As a feeling of stupor stole over her senses, Jack, still on his knees, watched her with the keenest of eyes, and muttered soothingly, “Eesa nice-a da girl. Nice-a da smell lak-a da dreamy Italy.”
Some rascals would have made short work of the matter, but Jack was by nature very tender and considerate of children, which accounted for his slow application of the powerful drug. It soon had her under its influence, and when she became limp and nerveless he laid her on the grass. Again he saturated the handkerchief and held it to her