This was a new tone for him to take, and Checkers turned and looked at him surprisedly.

"The fact is," he went on, "you ain't got no head for bizness, and it 's providential things hez come round so 's I kin run this place and make what they is to be made out'n it." He looked up as though he expected to be interrogated.

"What's your lay?" asked Checkers.

"Wal, the situation, ez near ez I kin figger it out, accordin' to law, is this: _I owns this ranch_."

Checkers stood silent for a moment, and then laughed. "You owns it?"

he mimicked; "nit."

"This real estate," began Mr. Barlow dryly, as though repeating a well-conned lesson, "with the house upon it, was owned in fee by Persis Barlow Campbell at the time o' her death. Said Persis Campbell died intestate and without issue, and accordin' to th' laws o' the State of Arkansas all real and personal property standin' in her name, or belongin' to her at th' time o' her death, reverts to her next o' kin, who 's her father. Now, what d 'ye say?"

"It's a lie," exclaimed Checkers, trembling with anger at the thought of so outrageous a thing.

"It 's th' gospel truth," said Mr. Barlow, trying in vain to hide the look of satisfaction which sat upon his face. His words and the tone of his voice carried conviction. This was the final blow; the crowning evil. Checkers staggered under it. The house and the trees floated before his eyes like a stifling vapor, but with a mighty effort he gathered himself together.

"If this is so," he began, his voice hoa.r.s.e with pa.s.sion, "it's the most unG.o.dly outrage that ever--I 'm going down to ask Judge Martin if that's the law. But let me tell you," he added, "law or no law, you shall never live in this house while I 'm alive and able to shoot a gun. Do you understand?"

The old man was silent.

"Do you understand?" repeated Checkers, more vehemently.

"Pp-tttt," said the old man, and this time the "devil's-horse" fell a victim to its too great temerity.

X

Sadly enough, it was all too true. Judge Martin, while forced to admit the fact, cursed Mr. Barlow in no measured terms. "The d.a.m.ned old pachyderm!" he exclaimed; "suppose it is the letter of the law, by every sense of equity, justice, and decency, the place belongs to you, and if he tries to take it, damme, I 'll head a movement to tar and feather him."

Checkers went back in utter dejection.

Mandy had a tempting dinner ready, but he barely touched it. All the afternoon he sat under the shade of the trees, thinking deeply. Mr.

Barlow he knew too well to believe that he could be dissuaded from any purpose once formed, if he had the law on his side, and there was any question of money in it. He was already miserable; but to be forced to live with the old man, even with the mitigating circ.u.mstances of his wife--to have him around all the time--would be wholly unbearable.

Then, too, stronger than this was the feeling that such an invasion of the house would be a profanation. Every ornament, every chair, was standing just as Pert had left it. No vandal hand should move or break them, devoting them to secular use--not if he had power to help it; and he believed he had.

He jumped up and hurried into the house. For two hours he worked in eager haste, opening and closing drawers, and sorting articles into different piles on the floor.

As night approached he entered the Kendall store, and related the whole affair in a quiet tone to Mr. Bradley. That good old soul could hardly contain himself for righteous indignation; but Checkers cut him short by telling him he was in a hurry.

"There 's two things I want to ask of you, Mr. Bradley," said Checkers.

"I want that package of bonds you have for me in the safe, and I want you to cash a check for two hundred dollars--it's just the balance I have in the bank here. I 'm going away to-night--for a while, at least."

Mr. Bradley gave him the package, and luckily had enough money on hand to cash his check. "Thank you," said Checkers, "for this and for all your other kindness to me. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, my son, and G.o.d bless you!" and Mr. Bradley wrung Checkers'

hand, while the tears welled up in his kind old eyes and trickled down his wrinkled cheeks.

Outside, Checkers met Tobe, lumbering along with a pair of mules and a lumber wagon.

"Tobe, you 're the very man I want!" he exclaimed; "come, turn round, and drive up to my place." Tobe proceeded to obey without demur or questioning.

Since last we saw him, Tobe had tried his luck with a fifth "woman,"

and lived in a two-room shanty on a clearing in the mountains.

Checkers walked ahead until they reached the house. "Drive up as near to the door as you can, Tobe," he said. "I 'll be out in a minute."

Mandy was preparing his supper in the kitchen. "Mandy," said Checkers, "I 'm afraid I 've got bad news for you. I 'm going away to-night, and I may not come back again; so, Mandy, I 'm afraid I won't need you any more."

Mandy's honest black face took on a comically serious look. Her lip hung pendulously, as she slowly shook her gaudily turbaned head. "You aint goin' sho' 'nough, is you, Ma.r.s.e Checkahs?" she asked, for lack of something better to say.

"Yes, Mandy, I'm going to-night," he said, "and before I go I want to lock up this house. So after you 've washed the dishes and put things to rights, you 'd better arrange to go home. And, Mandy, there 's a number of things here I 'll never need, that would make your cabin very comfortable. Tobe is here with his wagon, and I 'll get him to give you a lift with them to-night."

"Thank you, Ma.r.s.e Checkahs, thank you, sah," was all the poor old soul could say.

Two hours later Tobe drove out of the gate with a wagonful of furniture, carpets, bedding, and kitchen utensils, en route for Mandy's cabin. Mandy sat beside him, rocking back and forth, and crooning to herself in a curious mixture of boundless grief and delirious joy.

Tobe returned and piled another wagon-load even higher. This was destined for the cabin in the mountains. Tobe's delight was indescribable, and his efforts to express his thanks were quite as futile as had been those of Mandy. Checkers had allowed the two to take every useful article they chose from all save the parlor and Pert's room. Those rooms remained inviolate.

"I will write to Judge Martin to-night, Tobe," said Checkers, "telling him what I have done for you and Mandy, in case any one should question how you came by all this plunder. This furniture belongs to me," he muttered to himself, "whatever the law may do with the house and ground, for I bought it and paid for it myself, and never gave it to anybody."

"Now, Tobe, one thing more, here 's my trunk; put it on your wagon and drop it off at the station on your way through town. That's it.

Good-bye, old fellow; my regards to the madam--I hope she 'll be pleased with my wedding-gift."

Tobe buried Checker's hand in his great h.o.r.n.y palm. "Mr. Checkers," he said, and his voice grew husky, "ye 're G.o.d's own kind; may He have ye in His keepin'!" and he climbed upon his wagon, and drove slowly out into the night.

Checkers was alone. He went slowly into the house. A clock upon the mantel was chiming ten. There was still two hours before train time.

He sat down and wrote a long letter to Judge Martin, sealed and stamped it, and put it in his pocket. His hat and light overcoat lay upon a chair beside him. He arose and put them on. His satchel, cane, and umbrella he then carefully laid on the stoop outside, and stood a while listening in the darkness. Apparently satisfied, he returned, and, taking one last, lingering look around, put out the lights.

For perhaps ten minutes he was busy at something under the stairway.

He then silently emerged and locked the door.

The people of Clarksville and that vicinity are given to retiring early. Had they been abroad, or even awake, as late as eleven o'clock that night, they might have seen a startling spectacle in the distance--that of a ma.s.s of ruthless, hungry flames devouring a little white dwelling; leaping up in their fierce ecstacy to the heavens, and painting the sky all about a lurid, smoky crimson.

Checkers sat perched upon the fence some distance off. One heel was caught upon the first rail below him. His elbow rested upon his knee, and his upturned palm supported his chin.

The poor little house writhed helpless in the withering grasp of the remorseless flames. "This, then, was the final ending," he thought--"ashes to ashes," literally. This was the awakening from his short dream of bliss. Here he had lived six happy months; then ill-fortune singled him out for a plaything. He laughed a bitter, mirthless laugh.

The night was perfectly still and the myriad sparks from the flames rose straight to heaven. "There 's one good thing about it all," he mused, "and that is that I kept neglecting to insure the house and furniture when I went to Little Rock. That being the case, it 's a wonder I did n't burn out before this. I guess it was coming. I probably got a lead of a couple of days on my luck, and beat it out a length or two."

He looked at his watch. He had still half an hour before train time.

The fire was burning lower. Suddenly the whole standing structure fell in with a m.u.f.fled crash. Again the flames rose high and fierce; but they rapidly died down, and soon there remained of the fair white cottage but a blackened, smouldering ruin.

Checkers climbed down and went over near by. Nothing of value was left. The very foundations were cracked and fallen in; but the sounds of voices on the road now warned him that he must be going.

He turned for an instant in the direction of the Barlow house, and bowed low. "Now, you thieving old highbinder," he said, "take the change;" and, diving into a grove of trees he took a roundabout way through the fields to avoid the gathering crows which, finally aroused, now flocked to the scene of the disaster. Breathless, he arrived on the nick of time. His trunk was thrown aboard the train; he entered the sleeper and was whisked away toward Little Rock.