CHAPTER XXI
ON THE TRAIL OF THE WILD-CAT WOMAN
MEANWHILE, the pursuing party had made the trip to Brewster and were ontheir way home. At the various small towns where they stopped to askquestions, they found that the patent-medicine vendors had invariablyfollowed one course. They had taken supper at the hotel, but after eachevening's performance had driven into the country a little way to campfor the night in the open. At Orleans an acquaintance of Mr. Milford'sin a feed store had much to say about them.
"I don't know whether they camp out of consideration for the wild-cat,or whether it's because they're attached to that rovin', gypsy life.They're good spenders, and from the way they sold their liniment herelast night, you'd think they could afford to put up at a hotel all thetime and take a room for the cat in the bargain. You needn't tell methat beast ever saw the banks of the Brazos. I'll bet they caught it upin the Maine woods some'rs. But they seem such honest, straightforwardsort of folks, somehow you have to believe 'em. They're a friendly pair,too, specially the old lady. Seems funny to hear you speak of her asthe wild-cat woman. That name is sure a misfit for her."
Mr. Milford thought so himself, when a little later he came across her,a mile out of Brewster. She was sitting in the wooden rocking chair inone end of the wagon, placidly darning a pair of socks, while she waitedfor her husband to bring the horses from some place up in the woodswhere he had taken them for water. They had been staked by the roadsideall night to graze. The wild-cat was blinking drowsily in its cage,having just been fed.
Some charred sticks and a little pile of ashes by the roadside, showedwhere she had cooked dinner over a camp-fire, but the embers werecarefully extinguished and the frying pan and dishes were stowed out ofsight in some mysterious compartment under the wagon bed, as compactlyas if they had been parts of a Chinese puzzle. Long experience on theroad had taught her how to pack with ease and dexterity.
She looked up with interest as the automobile drew out of the road, andstopped alongside the wagon. She was used to purchasers following themout of town for the liniment after a successful show like last night'sperformance.
Despite the feedman's description of her, Mr. Milford had expected tosee some sort of an adventuress such as one naturally associates withsuch a business, and when he saw the placid old lady with the smooth,gray hair, and met the gaze of the motherly eyes peering over herspectacles at him, he scarcely knew how to begin. Uncle Darcy, growingimpatient at the time consumed in politely leading up to the object oftheir coming, fidgetted in his seat. At last he could wait no longer forremarks about weather and wild-cats. Such conversational paths lednowhere. He interrupted abruptly.
"I'm the Towncrier from Provincetown, ma'am. Did you lose anything whileyou were there?"
"Well, now," she began slowly. "I can't say where I lost it. I didn'tthink it was in Provincetown though. I made sure it was some placebetween Harwichport and Orleans, and I had my man post notices in boththose places."
"And what was it you lost?" inquired Mr. Milford politely. He hadcautioned his old friend on the way down at intervals of every fewmiles, not to build his hopes up too much on finding that this woman wasthe owner of the pouch.
"You may have to follow a hundred different clues before you get hold ofthe right one," he warned him. "We're taking this trip on the merechance that we'll find the owner, just because two children associatedthe pouch in their memory with the odor of liniment. It is more thanlikely they're mistaken and that this is all a wild-goose chase."
But Uncle Darcy _had_ built his hopes on it, had set his heart onfinding this was the right clue, and his beaming face said, "I told youso," when she answered:
"It was a little tobacco pouch, and I'm dreadfully put out over losingit, because aside from the valuables and keep-sakes in it there was aletter that's been following me all over the country. It didn't reach metill just before I got to Provincetown. It's from some heathen countrywith such an outlandish name I couldn't remember it while I was readingit, scarcely, and now I'll never think of it again while the world wags,and there's no way for me to answer it unless I do."
"Oh, don't say that!" exclaimed Uncle Darcy. "You _must_ think of it.And I _must_ know. How did this come into your hands?"
He held out the little watch-fob charm, the compass set in a nut and sheseized it eagerly.
"Well, you did find my pouch, didn't you?" she exclaimed. "I made surethat was what you were aiming to tell me. That's a good-luck charm. Itwas given to me as much as eight years ago, by a young fellow who wastaken sick on our ranch down in Texas. He'd been working around thedocks in Galveston, but came on inland because somebody roped him in tobelieve he could make a fortune in cattle in a few months. He was ridingfences for Henry, and he came down with a fever and Henry and me nursedhim through."
Always talkative, she poured out her information now in a stream, drawnon by the compelling eagerness of the old man's gaze.
"He was a nice boy and the most grateful soul you ever saw. But hedidn't take to the cattle business, and he soon pushed on. He was allbroke up when it came to saying good-bye. You could see that, althoughhe's one of your quiet kind, hiding his real feelings like an Indian. Hegave me this good-luck charm when he left, because he didn't haveanything else to give, to show he appreciated our nursing him and doingfor him, and he said that he'd _make_ it bring us good luck or diea-trying and we'd hear from him some of these days."
"And you did?"
The old man's face was twitching with eagerness as he asked thequestion.
"Yes, about five years ago he sent us a nice little check at Christmas.Said he had a good job with a wealthy Englishman who spent his timegoing around the world discovering queer plants and writing books aboutthem. He was in South America then. We've heard from him several timessince. This last letter followed me around from pillar to post, alwaysjust missing me and having to have the address scratched out and writtenover till you could hardly make head or tail of what was on it.
"He asked me to write to the address he gave me, but whether it was in'Afric's sunny fountain or India's coral strand,' I can't tell now. Itwas some heathenish 'land in error's chain,' as the missionary hymnsays. I was so worried over losing the letter on account of the address,for he did seem so bent on hearing from us, and he's a nice boy. I'dhate to lose track of him. So I'm mighty thankful you found the pouch."
She stopped, expecting them to hand it over. Mr. Milford made thenecessary explanation. He told of Captain Kidd finding it and bringingit home, of the two children burying it in play and the storm sweepingaway every trace of the markers. While he told the story severalautomobiles passed them and the occupants leaned out to look at thestrange group beside the road. It was not every day one could see an oldlady seated in a rocking chair in one end of an unattached wagon with awild-cat in the other. These passing tourists would have thought itstranger still, could they have known how fate had been tangling thelife threads of these people who were in such earnest conversation, orhow it had wound them together into a queer skein of happenings.
"And the only reason this compass was saved," concluded Mr. Milford,"was because it had the initials 'D. D.' scratched on it, which standsfor this little boy's name when he plays pirate--Dare-devil Dick."
The motherly eyes smiled on Richard. "If you want to know the real namethose letters stand for," she said, "it's Dave Daniels. That's the nameof the boy who gave it to me."
Richard looked alarmed, and even Mr. Milford turned with a questioningglance towards Uncle Darcy, about to say something, when the old manleaned past him and spoke quickly, almost defiantly, as a child mighthave done.
"That's all right. I don't care what he told you his name was. He had agood reason for changing it. And I'm going to tell you this much nomatter what I promised. _I_ scratched those initials on there my ownself, over forty years ago. And the boy who gave it to you _is_ namedDaniel, but it's his first name, same as mine. Dan'l Darcy. And theboy's mine, and I've been hunting him for ten long yea
rs, and I've faithto believe that the good Lord isn't going to disappoint me now that I'mthis near the end of my hunt. He had a good reason for going away fromhome the way he did. He'd a good reason for changing his name as he did,but the time has come now when it's all right for him to come back and,"shaking his finger solemnly and impressively at the woman, "_I want youto get that word back to him without fail_."
"But this is only circumstantial evidence, Uncle Dan'l," said Mr.Milford, soothingly. "You haven't any real proof that this Dave is yourDanny."
"Proof, proof," was the excited answer. "I tell you, man, I've all theproof I need. All I ask for is the address in that letter. I'll find myboy quick enough."
"But I don't know," was all the woman could answer. "The only way in theworld to find it is to dig up that pouch."
"But even if you can't remember the new address tell me one of the oldones," he pleaded. "I'll take a chance on writing there and having itforwarded."
But the woman could not recall the name of a single city. South America,Australia, New Zealand, she remembered he had been in those countries,but that was all. Richard, upon being cross-questioned again, "b'leeved"the stamp was from Siam or China but couldn't be certain which.
"Here comes Henry!" exclaimed the woman in a relieved tone. "Maybe he'llremember."
Henry, a tall, raw-boned man with iron-gray hair under his Texassombrero, in his shirt sleeves and with his after-dinner pipe still inhis mouth, came leisurely out of the woods, leading the horses. Theywere already harnessed, ready to be hitched to the wagon. He backed themup to the tongue and snapped the chains in place before he paused togive the strangers more than a passing nod of greeting. Then he camearound to the side of the wagon nearest the machine, and putting onefoot up on a spoke of his front wheel, leaned over in a listeningattitude, while the whole story was repeated for his benefit.
"So you're his father," he said musingly, looking at Uncle Darcy withshrewd eyes that were used to appraising strangers.
"Who ever would a thought of coming across Dave Daniels' tracks up hereon old Cape Cod? You look like him though. I bet at his age you were asmuch alike as two peas in a pod. I never did know where he hailed from.He was a close-mouthed chap. But I somehow got the idea he must havebeen brought up near salt water. He talked so much sailor lingo."
"Put on your thinking-cap, Henry," demanded his wife. "The gentlemenwants to know where that last letter was written from, what the postmarkwas, or the address inside, or what country the stamp belonged to. Andif you don't know that, what are some of the other places he wrote to usfrom?"
"You're barking up the wrong tree when you ask _me_ any such questions,"was the only answer he could give. "I didn't pay any attention toanything but the reading matter."
Questions, surmises, suggestions, everything that could be brought up asaids to memory were of no avail. Henry's memory was a blank in that oneimportant particular. Finally, Mr. Milford took two five-dollar goldpieces out of his pocket and a handful of small change which he droppedinto the woman's lap despite her protests.
"We'll square up the damage the children did as far as possible," hesaid with a laugh. "But we can't get the letter back until the wind isready to turn the dunes topsy-turvy again. That may be in years and itmay be never. Let me have your address and if ever it is found it shallbe sent directly back to you, and the children can inherit the money ifI'm not here to claim it."
The man made a wry face at mention of his address. "We sort of belong towhat they call the floating population now. Home with us means any oldplace where Mother happens to set her rocking chair. We've turned theranch over to my daughter and her husband while we see something of theworld, and as long as things go as smoothly as they do, we're in nogreat shakes of a hurry to get back."
"But the ranch address will always find us, Henry," she insisted. "Writeit down for the gentlemen. Ain't this been a strange happening?" shecommented, as she received Mr. Milford's card in return with theTowncrier's name penciled on the back. She looked searchingly atRichard.
"I remember you, now," she said. "There was such a pretty little girlwith you--climbed up on the wagon to touch Tim's tail through the bars.She had long curls and a smile that made me want to hug her. She boughta bottle of liniment, I remember, and I've thought of her a dozen timessince then, thought how a little face like that brightens up all theworld around it."
"That was Georgina Huntingdon," volunteered Richard.
"Well, now, that's a pretty name. Write it down on the other side ofthis piece of paper, sonny, and yours, too. Then when I go about thecountry I'll know what to call you when I think about you. This is justlike a story. If there was somebody who knew how to write it up 'twouldmake a good piece for the papers, wouldn't it?"
They were ready to start back now, since there was no more informationto be had, but on one pretext or another Uncle Darcy delayed. He was sopitifully eager for more news of Danny. The smallest crumb about the wayhe looked, what he did and said was seized upon hungrily, although itwas news eight years old. And he begged to hear once more just what itwas Danny had said about the Englishman, and the work they were doingtogether. He could have sat there the rest of the day listening to herrepeat the same things over and over if he had had his wish. Then sheasked a question.
"Who is Belle? I mind when he was out of his head so long with the feverhe kept saying, '_Belle_ mustn't suffer. No matter what happens _Belle_must be spared.' I remembered because that's my name, and hearing itcalled out in the dead of night the way a man crazy with fever wouldcall it, naturally makes you recollect it."
"That was just a friend of his," answered Uncle Darcy, "the girl who wasgoing to marry his chum."
"Oh," was the answer in a tone which seemed to convey a shade ofdisappointment. "I thought maybe----"
She did not finish the sentence, for the engine had begun to shakenoisily, and it seemed to distract her thoughts. And now there beingreally nothing more to give them an excuse for lingering they saidgood-bye to their wayside acquaintances, feeling that they were partingfrom two old friends, so cordial were the good wishes which accompaniedthe leave-taking.