cried again. "I showed them!"
I simply could not ignore the strange muttering in his voice.
"Tell me," I cried. "Uncle Seth, tell me what he has done."
"Not yet! Not yet!"
"Tell me!"
"Not yet!"
"Or I'll not go another step!"
My uncle gasped and staggered. My importunity seemed to be one thing more than he could bear, poor man! and even in my temper, pity sobered me and cooled my anger. For a moment he touched my wrist. His hand was icy cold. But his face, when I looked at him, was set and hard, and my temper flashed anew.
"Not another step! Tell me."
Glancing apprehensively about, my uncle gasped in a hoarse undertone, "He has killed Jed Matthews."
As people were appearing now on all sides and running to fight the fire, Uncle Seth and I tried our best to lead Gleazen into a by-path and so home by a back way; but with drunken obstinacy he refused to yield an inch. "No, no," he roared, "I'm going to walk home past all the people. I'm not afraid of them. If they say aught to me, I'll show 'em."
So back we marched, supporting between us, hatless but with the diamonds still flashing on his finger and in his stock, that maudlin wretch, Cornelius Gleazen. I felt my own face redden as the curious turned to stare at us, and for Uncle Seth it was a sad and bitter experience; but we pushed on as fast as we could go, driven always by fear of what would follow when the people should learn the whole story of the brawl in the burning barn.
Back into the village we came, now loitering for a moment in the deeper shadows to avoid observation, now pushing at top speed across a lighter open space, always dragging Cornelius Gleazen between us, and so up to the open door of the tavern.
"Now," murmured Uncle Seth, "heaven send us help! Neil, Neil—Neil, I say!"
"Well?"
"We must get your chests and run. Your money, your papers—are they packed?"
"Money? What money?"
"Your fortune! You can never come back here. Sober up, Neil, sober up! You killed Jed Matthews."
"Served him right. Despicable cur, villain, scoundrel! I'll show them."
"Neil, Neil Gleazen!" cried my uncle, now all but frantic.
"Well, I hear you."
"Oh, oh, will he not listen to reason? Take his arm again, Joe."
We lifted him up the steps and led him into the inn, and there in the door of the bar-room came face to face with the landlord, who was hot with anger.
"Don't bring him in here, Mr. Upham," he cried; "I keep no house for sots and swine."
"What!" gasped my uncle, "you'll not receive him?"
"Not I!"
"But what's come over you? But you never would treat Mr. Gleazen like this!"
"But, but, but!" the landlord snarled. "This very night he threw my good claret in my own face and called it a brew for pigs. Let him seek his lodgings elsewhere."
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