Joan of Arc of the North Woods - Holman Day (best book recommendations .txt) 📗

do know! I have been a woodsman in my time, too! After they have listened to you they'll hammer hell out of anything that gets in front of 'em."
His face lighted up. He beamed on her. "I told you that old age has its whims. A minute ago a whim made me want to keep you away from trouble. Now, by the gods! the same whim makes me want to send you north. You will stand for Eck Flagg, saying what he'd like to say to his men! The right spirit is in you! I ain't afraid that you won't make good!"
He pointed to an object on the wall of the room. It was a stout staff of ash tipped with a steel nose and provided with a hook of steel; it was the Flagg cant dog. The ash staff was banded with faded red stripes and there was a queer figure carved on the wood.
"Lift it down and bring it here and lay it across my knees," he commanded.
She ran and brought it.
"They know that stick along the Noda waters," he told her, caressing the staff with his hale hand. "I carried it at the head of the drive for many a year, my girl. You won't need letters of introduction if you go north with that stick in your hand. I would never give it into the hands of a man. It has propped the edge of my shelter tent, to keep the spring snow off my face when I caught a few winks of sleep; that steel dog has rattled nigh my ear when I couldn't afford to sleep and kept walking. Tell 'em your story, with that stick in your hand when you tell it! Take it and stand up in front of me!"
Her face was white; she trembled when she lifted the staff from his knees.
An old man's whim! The girl believed that she understood better than he the instinct which was prompting him to deliver over the scepter which he had treasured for so long.
And some sort of instinct, trickling in the blood from that riverman forebear, prompted her strike a pose, which brought a yelp of admiration from the old man. She had set the steel nose close to her right foot and propped the staff, with right arm fully extended, swinging the stick with a man-fashion sweep.
"Sis, where did ye learn the twist of the Flagg wrist when ye set that staff?" It was a compliment rather than a question, and the girl did not reply. She was not able to speak; a sob was choking her. Her grip on that badge of the family authority thrilled her; here was the last of her kin; he was intrusting to her, as his sole dependence, the mission of saving his pride and his fortunes. Her tear-wet eyes pledged him her devoted loyalty.
"God bless you!" he said.
"And may God help me," she added fervently. Impulse was irresistible. She succumbed. She dropped the staff and ran to the old man and threw her arms convulsively about his neck and kissed him.
"I'm sorry," she faltered, stepping back. "I'm afraid I startled you."
"No," he told her, after a moment of reflection, "I guess I rather expected you'd do that before you went away. Some more of that whim, maybe! When do you think of leaving?"
"I'd like to go at once. I cannot stay any longer in this village."
"You'd best get to my drivers as soon as the Three C's slander does."
He shouted at a door and old Dick appeared.
"Move spry now!" commanded the master. "Have Jeff hitch the big bays into the jumper. And Jeff will be able to tend and do for me whilst you're away. For here's the job I'm sending you on. Take this young woman north to the drive. She's tending to some business for me. See to it that she's taken good care of. And bring her back when she feels that she's ready to come."
"Am I to come here--back to your house to-to----" she faltered.
"To report? Of course you are!" He was suddenly curt and cold after his softness of the moment before. He looked as if he were impatient for her to be gone.
"Have Dick stop at the tavern for your belongings."
"There's only a small bag, sir."
"If you're short of clothes--well, I advise you to wear Latisan's cap and jacket. They'll keep you warm--and they'll keep you--reminded!" He put much meaning in his emphasis of the last word.
She bowed her head humbly; the clutch at her throat would not permit her to reply to him. Then, bearing with her the Flagg scepter, she went out to where the horses were being put to the jumper.
When he was alone the old man laid his hand on the Bible at his side. For a long time he gazed straight ahead, deep in his ponderings. Then he opened the volume and leaved the pages until he came to the family register, midway in the book. After the New England custom, there were inscribed in faded ink the names of the Flaggs who had been born, the names of those who had died, the records of the marriages. Echford Flagg's father had begun the register; the son had continued it. Across the marriage record of Alfred Kennard and Sylvia Flagg were rude penstrokes. On the page of births was the name of Lida Kennard, and he slowly ran his finger under it. When he gazed down at the floor again in meditation he met the stare of the cat that Rickety Dick loved and petted.
The cat was bestowing no friendly look on Flagg. He had often cuffed her whenever she ventured to leap into his lap. He had repulsed the cat as he repelled human beings who had sought to make up to him. Now he called to her softly, inviting her with his hand. She backed away with apprehensive haste.
"I'm starting late, pussy," he muttered. "And I was never much of a hand at coaxing anybody to come to me. But I wish you'd hop up here on my knee. Come, kitty! Please come!"
It was a long time before he was able to gain her confidence. He heard the big bays go trampling away down the ledges. At last the cat came cautiously, climbing up his leg, and sat on his knees and stared up at his face in a questioning way.
"She's too much like her mother for me not to know her--like her mother looked when she went away," he informed the cat. "I reckon I'm a whole lot different right now than I ever was before. I'm old and sick--and I'm different. I don't blame you for looking hard at me, kitty. I'm so lonesome that I'm glad to have a cat to talk to. She's got her mother's looks--and the Flagg grit. She wants to do it her own way--like I'd want to do it my way, without being bothered. And I'm letting her do it. It wouldn't be a square deal if I didn't let her. And she'll do it! It's in her! She's trying to pay back. It's the style of the Flaggs. She didn't come up here to smash me or Latisan. I didn't believe what she said--a Flagg knows when another Flagg is lying. She came to help--and she'll do it yet! She's Lida, kitty, Lida!" His tone caressed the name. His hand caressed the written name.
Then he turned the pages slowly, going forward in the volume--to the New Testament.
And after a time he found words which fitted his new mood and he read aloud to his feline auditor.
"'Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: and be ye kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another----'"
Jeff, the servitor, hearing the mumble of the old man's voice, tiptoed to the door and peeped in. He goggled at the tableau and listened to the words. He was in the state of mind of that oft-quoted doubter who spat on the giraffe's hoof and remarked to the bystanders, "Hell! There ain't no such animile!"


CHAPTER NINETEEN
Brophy was distinctly inhospitable when Lida walked into the tavern.
She curtly stated her errand as she passed him on her way to the stairs, and when she returned with her bag he allowed her to leave without opening his mouth. She took the money he offered and put it in her pocket without counting it.
The men who were about the place were silent, too. The fact that Flagg was sending her away in his own hitch stirred their curiosity and had considerable to do with keeping their rude tongues off a person who had evidently come to an understanding with the master of the big house.
"Where are ye headed, Dick?" asked a bystander while the girl was in the tavern.
"Up and down," stated the old man, cryptically.
"Well, if you want to overtake them chums of hers you'll have to lay on the braid pretty smart! If they kept on going at the rate they started off they're halfway to the junction by now."
When the girl was in her seat Dick sent the bays along at a sharp clip down the highway by which Crowley and his companion had departed.
Lida had conferred with Dick on the way down from the big house and had decided on a bit of guile to divert the attention of the gossips of Adonia from her real objective. According to all appearances she was in full flight toward the city, or else was chasing up Ward Latisan; the cynics, after that affair in the street when she had pleaded with the young man, opined that she was brazen enough to do almost anything that a girl should not.
Brophy watched her out of sight.
"If it ain't one thing it's another with these table girls," was his sour comment. "I don't know what I'm liable to draw next; the Queen of Sheby, maybe!"
When a hill shut off the view from Adonia the bays swung into a side lane which connected with the tote road leading north along the Noda waters.
A girl who wore for her armor Latisan's jacket and his cap, and carried as credentials the woods baton of the last of the independent timber barons of the Noda, was hastening on her mission with the same sort of fervent zeal that made Joan of Arc a conqueror.
Family fealty, the eager desire to right in some measure the wrong done by her father, anxious determination to repair her own fault--all these were animating impulses in this Joan of the Northland. But now especially was she aware that she was seeking by service to absolve herself in the estimation of a poor chap whose love for her had made him forget his duty.
There was no talk between the girl and her charioteer. She had plenty of thought to occupy her, and he drove on with his gaze straight between the ears of the nigh horse.
The road was crooked; when she glanced behind, the woods seemed to be shutting doors on her, closing out the world with which she had been familiar; and ahead, as the road turned, she was looking into vistas which led to the unknown--to a duty of tremendous import--to a task which seemed too great for a girl to accomplish. One knowledge comforted her--it was a knowledge which came from her childhood memories--she could trust those rough men of the woods to treat a girl with respect if she deserved it; but would she be able to convince them that the girl who wrought such mischief to Ward Latisan deserved respect? They might, as her grandfather said, ridicule