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"I hearn there's orders come to change the place the boy's place, you know. You was to tell 'em where the new one was to be, I reckon, but Tom Terrill spoiled things. He's lightning, is Tom Terrill. But I guess he got it all out of Dicky, though where Dicky got it the Lord only knows." This was all that was to be had from Mother Borton.
Won't you fire a pistol into your mouth to show how easy you can stop the bullet?" "Why, you have been down there and are all right," I argued. "Well, there's nothing much to happen to me, but where would you be if they got hold of you? You're getting off your cabesa, old fellow," said Dicky anxiously. "If I could see Mother Borton I could fix it," I said confidently. "What!
"Come in," I said, unlocking the door and lighting up my room. "You can be as angry as you like in here, and it won't hurt anything." Mother Borton stormed a bit, and then sullenly walked in and took a chair. Silence fell on her as she crossed the threshold, but she glowered on us with fierce eyes.
"Maybe Black Dick struck the blow, but I know the man that stood behind him, and paid him, and protected him, and I'll see him on the gallows before I die." "Hush," cried Mother Borton trembling. "If he should hear you! Your throat will be cut yet, dearie, and I'm to blame. Drop it, dearie, drop it. The boy is nothing to you. Leave him go. Take your own name and get away. This is no place for you.
"I heerd of it," said Mother Borton sourly. "I reckon it ain't much good to sit up nights to tell you how to take keer of yourself. It's a wonder you ever growed up. Your mammy must 'a' been mighty keerful about herdin' ye under cover whenever it rained." "I was a little to blame," I admitted, "but your warning was not thrown away. I thought I was well-guarded."
"My throat can be cut as quick as yours, and maybe a damned sight quicker." Mother Borton had among her failings a weakness for profanity. I have omitted most of her references to sacred and other subjects of the kind in transcribing her remarks. "The ones that has the boy means all right. They're rich. The ones as is looking for the boy is all wrong. They'll be rich if they gits him." "How?"
The fresher air that crept in from the window cleared my mind, a dash of water refreshed my body, and I was ready once more to face whatever might befall. I looked at my watch. It was eight o'clock, and I had slept four hours in this place. Truly I had been imprudent after my adventure below, but I had been right in trusting Mother Borton.
The weird figure, thrown into bold relief by the candle-lighted wall beyond it while all else was in obscurity, gave an uncanny feeling that turned half to dread as I looked upon her. What secret did she hold? What was the danger she feared? Mother Borton appeared to have some difficulty in arranging her words to her liking. She seemed to be writing, but the pen did not flow smoothly.
I wondered what mystification had given rise to these absurd reports, but there was nothing to be gained by pursuing them. The killing of the Chinaman might have been something to my hand, but if Doddridge Knapp had such a perfect alibi it was a waste of time to look into it. "And is this all you know?" I asked in disappointment. Mother Borton tried to remember some other point.
There was a volley of curses, oaths mingled with sounds that reminded me of nothing so much as a spitting cat, and a familiar voice screamed in almost inarticulate rage: "Let me go, damn ye, or I'll knife ye!" "Good heavens!" I cried. "Let her go, Barkhouse. It's Mother Borton." Mother Borton freed herself with a vicious shake, and called down the wrath of Heaven and hell on the stalwart guard.
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