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"Why, I don't know," said Mother Borton. "I'm tellin' you what Henry Wilton told me." This was maddening. I began to suspect that she knew nothing after all. "Do you know where he is?" I asked, taking the questioning into my own hands. "No," sullenly. "Who is protecting him?" "I don't know." "Who is trying to get him?"
"Why, if you should touch him the people of the city would tear you to pieces." "I shall not touch him. I'm no assassin!" I exclaimed indignantly. "The law shall take him, and I'll see him hanged as high as Haman." Mother Borton gave a low gurgling laugh. "The law! oh, my liver, the law! How young you are, my boy! Oh, ho, oh ho!"
Mother Borton sniffed contemptuously. "I s'pose you come down here alone?" "No." And I explained the disposition of my forces. "That's not so bad," she said. "They could git up here soon enough, I reckon, if there was a row. But I guess you didn't think I sent for ye jest to tell ye you was a fool in Chinatown."
So there, can't nobody git in unless he comes from inside the house. There, git to bed. Look out you don't set fire to nothing. And put out the candle. Now good night, dearie." Mother Borton closed the door behind her, and left me to the shadows. Her departure did not leave me wholly at my ease.
I admitted that I should have expected to wait till morning for such a piece of information. "Well," said Mother Borton, "that ain't it. Something's up." "And what might it be?" I inquired. "The moon?" Mother Borton did not take this flippancy kindly. Her face grew darker and more evil as it was framed in the dancing shadows behind her.
To me, the map, the absence of Darby Meeker and his men, the mysterious hints of murder and death that had come from the lips of Mother Borton, were but vaguely suggestive. But to the Unknown, with her full knowledge of the objects sought by the enemy and the motives that animated their ceaseless pursuit, the darkness might be luminous, the obscurity clear.
I reckon my mind's going," grunted Mother Borton. "But I'm afeard of their knives for ye." "I wish I could give warning," said I, much disturbed by the information. "The protector of the boy ought to know about this. I'm afraid I have done wrong." Mother Borton looked at me fixedly. "Don't you worry, my dear. She'll know about it all right."
"Well, Mother Borton, Tom Terrill's laid up in Livermore with a broken head, and I'm safe here with you, ready to serve you in any way that a man may." "Safe safe?" mused Mother Borton, an absent look coming over her skinny features, as though her mind wandered. Then she turned to me impressively. "You'll never be safe till you change your work and your name.
Mother Borton clutched it, held it up to the candle, and studied it for two or three minutes. "Where did you get it?" I described the circumstances in which it had come into my possession, and repeated the essentials of Corson's story. Mother Borton's sharp, evil face was impassive during my recital. When it was done she muttered: "Gimme a fool for luck."
I was near forgetting to tell ye. Send your men to get him to-night, for he's hurt and like to die. They may have to fight. No, don't leave me now." "I wasn't going to leave you." Mother Borton put her hand to her throat as though she choked, and was silent for a moment. Then she continued: "I'll be to blame if I don't tell you I must tell you. Are you listening?"
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