The Best Wadsworth Camp Mysteries. Charles Wadsworth Camp
CHAPTER VII
THE FOREST VIGIL
Miller had no doubts from the first. He called with a queer catch in his voice :
“Jake!”
But Jake did not answer. The tortured posture cried out the reason.
Miller put his hand unsteadily on Morgan’s shoulder.
“Go ahead,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s see. Let’s do—”
“Do” Morgan echoed. “There’s nothing to do. He’s dead. Here—”
His voice broke off. He stepped forward haltingly. They reached the body and stared down at it with eyes that sought hope hopelessly.
There was no doubt as to the cause of death. The left trouser leg was drawn up. Two holes showed above the ankle. It was easy to reconstruct the tragedy.
Jake had heard enough about rattlesnakes since he had been on Captain’s Island to snatch at his only chance. So, instead of attempting to run to the coquina house or the plantation, he had evidently sat down in this jungle which had so justly terrified him and done his best to fasten a tourniquet above the wound. His torn handkerchief and a broken stick showed how hard he had tried. He had never risen again. Perhaps it was too late when his repeated experiments had failed, or, perhaps, his terror had held him prisoner. At any rate there they found him, doubtless within a few feet of where the snake had struck.
Anderson’s words of two nights ago when he had spoken of his fancy of the snakes rushed back to Miller.
“Lately we’ve feared they were growing daring, were getting ready to strike.”
And there also came back to Miller Anderson’s fear that the death of Molly’s pet had been a warning from the snakes.
A snake had struck and death had followed, yet. Miller told himself, there could be no possible connection between that tragedy and the alleged supernatural manifestations which had so torn the nerves of his friends. Morgan’s first words, however, reached him with a sense of shock.
“In this path! By heavens, it isn’t safe. It was here, just about here, that Mrs. Anderson’s cat was struck the other day. We didn’t think enough of that. We haven’t been careful enough.”
Morgan controlled himself with an effort.
“Poor devil! And this will hit the Andersons hard—all of us—”
As he stood, looking down at Jake, Miller thought he noticed something peculiar. He didn’t care to appear fanciful, nor did he wish to give Morgan the impression that his own nerves were running away with him. Moreover, he made up his mind he would have plenty of time to convince himself when Jake had been carried to the house. He spoke of that to Morgan.
“Yes, yes,” Morgan agreed.
He glanced at his watch.
“I wish Anderson was back. Maybe we’d better wait until then.”
“Yes,” Miller said, “and is there anything we ought to do—some formality? I don’t know much about such things, but it seems to me—”
“By all means. It’s a coroner’s case,” Morgan answered. “We must avoid getting tangled up in any unfamiliar red tape.”
Miller nodded.
“We’re practically certain to run against a country official who’ll probably use all the ceremony possible to impress us with his importance. But what can we do? I suppose Sandport—”
“It’s only a collection of fishermen’s huts,” Morgan answered, “but I believe the coroner for this coast section has his headquarters there. I guess it’s best to notify him.”
He turned away.
“This is hard to grasp.”
“It has to be grasped,” Miller said firmly. “It’s getting late. What we have to do should be done at once.”
“You’re right,” Morgan answered. “It’s the safest scheme. I’ll send my man to Sandport to report the case and bring back the coroner. If he hurries they ought to return a little after dark. Then he can authorise the removal. Besides Anderson ought to be back by that time.”
“If he only comes!” Miller muttered. “There’s a possibility he won’t, you know. Anyhow, go ahead. I’ll stay here with Jake until the errand’s done, until we’ve satisfied all the pitiful formalities.”
He paused. He bit his lip.
“But there’s Mrs. Anderson. Confound it! Why isn’t Anderson here? She must be told. If neither Jake nor I shows up as I arranged with her, she’ll be frantic with anxiety. If you don’t mind you’d better tell your man to stop and give her the facts.”
“It won’t do,” Morgan said. “One of us must take that task, unpleasant as it is. I’ll try to do it myself. I’ll hurry on to the plantation and get my man off, then I’ll go to the coquina house and do the best I can.”
Morgan started up the path, but after he had taken a few steps he turned back.
“You don’t mind staying here? It won’t be long.”
Miller shook his head, and Morgan went on. The forest closed behind him and hid his hurrying figure.
Miller lighted his pipe, but the smoke seemed to thicken the heavy atmosphere. Instead of soothing it irritated his nerves. After a moment he let the pipe go out. So this was the end of his joyous and determined plans to call at the plantation and force, if possible, another interview with the ” queer” girl! He frowned. It seemed that there was always something arising to limit his knowledge of her to that mystifying encounter on the beach.
In a few minutes Morgan appeared with his man. He had evidently explained the situation, for the fellow’s face was white and frightened, and he went by almost at a run with averted head.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Morgan said as he went on to the shore and his disquieting task at the coquina house.
Alone again, Miller settled himself to wait and watch. The light was already failing in that thick vegetation. For some moments he paced up and down, glancing at Jake, dead in this unspeakable way. But that peculiar impression he had received troubled him. He made up his mind, coroner or no coroner, to satisfy himself immediately. He approached the body on tiptoe. He knelt beside it. He leaned over. He even raised one of the wrists to examine the under side. His impression had not been pure fancy. The skin of the wrists appeared to have been bruised. He could detect what might have been abrasions. But it was all very little. As he arose and pondered, the picture Anderson had drawn of the tongue-tied, powerful fisherman, outlined against the coloured sky, came into his mind and lingered. Yet he had not even seen the man himself, and that picture was unquestionably the expression of the hatred Anderson had formed for him. Anyway these slight marks might merely be testimony of some escapade, some accident, several days old; for that matter, mute reminders of Jake’s struggles to fasten the tourniquet above the wound. But the feeling of the place crept into Miller’s material brain. While the light continued to fail he resumed his pacing.
Morgan was back in half an hour. He was breathing hard as though he had come quickly through the darkening path. He carried Anderson’s shot gun. He handed it to Miller.
“I thought it might be some company,” he explained, “because I—”
“And Mrs. Anderson?” Miller asked.
Morgan waved his hand in a helpless gesture.
“If her nerves hadn’t been in such a state anyway!” he said. “I did the best I could, but it was hard—hard. I offered to stay with her,