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"Will you oblige us with the initial story?" he asked. The windmill man sat as sits a Turk, with his hat well back on his head on account of the draughts. "Well," he began, without any embarrassment, "this is about the way I size up the difficulty: Of course Redruth was jostled a good deal by this duck who had money to play ball with who tried to cut him out of his girl.
'What! she cries indignantly, 'marry you! Never, she says, 'until this blows over, and I can do some shopping, and you see about the licence. There's a telephone next door if you want to call up the county clerk." The narrator paused to give vent to his cynical chuckle. "Did they marry?" he continued. "Did the duck swallow the June-bug? And then I take up the case of Old Boy Redruth.
If some go, you mark my words, sir, Silver'll bring 'em aboard again as mild as lambs." It was so decided; loaded pistols were served out to all the sure men. Hunter, Joyce, and Redruth were taken into our confidence, and received the news with less surprise and a better spirit than we had looked for, and then the captain went on deck and addressed the crew.
After leaving Redruth the travellers proceeded over the wildest and most desolate of moorlands, with blocks of stone scattered about, towards the wonderful Botallack Mine, on the Cornish coast. No mine in the world is so singularly placed. Descending to the shore below, on looking upwards, the view appeared fearfully grand.
Tired as we all were, two were sent out for firewood, two more were sent to dig a grave for Redruth, the doctor was named cook, I was put sentry at the door, and the captain himself went from one to another, keeping up our spirits and lending a hand wherever it was wanted.
Each one hastened to contribute his own quota toward the general optimism. Even the lady passenger was moved to expression. "I think it is quite charming," she said, in her slow, crystal tones. At intervals some one of the passengers would rise and humorously explore the room. There was little evidence to be collected of its habitation by old man Redruth.
We began to rejoice over our good success when just at that moment a pistol cracked in the bush, a ball whistled close past my ear, and poor Tom Redruth stumbled and fell his length on the ground. Both the squire and I returned the shot, but as we had nothing to aim at, it is probable we only wasted powder. Then we reloaded and turned our attention to poor Tom.
"Ready!" cried the squire. "Hold!" cried the captain, quick as an echo. And he and Redruth backed with a great heave that sent her stern bodily under water. The report fell in at the same instant of time. This was the first that Jim heard, the sound of the squire's shot not having reached him.
In a methodist chapel at Redruth, a man during divine service cried out with a loud voice, "What shall I do to be saved?" at the same time manifesting the greatest uneasiness and solicitude respecting the condition of his soul. Some other members of the congregation, following his example, cried out in the same form of words, and seemed shortly after to suffer the most excruciating bodily pain.
That leaves twenty years for him to account for, or else be docked. Where did he spend that ten and two fives? I'll give you my idea. Up for bigamy. Say there was the fat blonde in Saint Jo, and the panatela brunette at Skillet Ridge, and the gold tooth down in the Kaw valley. Redruth gets his cases mixed, and they send him up the road.
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