Free 3stalwarts by Unknown Page B

It hadn’t been an Indian. The bed would have had the sickish sweet smell, a little greasy, that Indians had. It had been a white man. Gil sat down on the bed.
    Whoever it was, the man must have cooked downstairs, or have got food from Wolff’s, for the bed had the appearance of being used often. But the man could not have used the fireplaces except at night or the smoke would have given him away.
    Without being quite sure of what he looked for, Gil began poking round. He couldn’t find anything except the old dottles of pipes and some small bits of paper. They didn’t have writing on them. He got up and began a circuit of the attic. Coming back, he noticed that when the chimneys be-gan to slope towards the roof the bricks were laid in tiers, making small shelves. He went back to the bed and stood on it. On one of the chimneys he found a piece of black cloth. He could just reach it.
    For a minute he could not tell what it was. But as he held it in his fingers, his mind went back, for some strange reason, to his wedding day. He remembered how they had left Fox’s Mills and how he had hardly been able to take his eyes off Lana, and how pretty and bashful she had seemed when they came to Billy Rose’s tavern. They had had the place to themselves except for the one-eyed man who had talked so brashly against the Continental Congress.
    Gil caught his breath. It was the patch for a blind eye.
    George Weaver’s voice came through the trap rather plaintively.
    “You up there, Gil?”
    “Come up here, George.”
    George grunted and the ladder shook as he climbed. He took a slow look round him, and listened to what Gil had to tell.
    “You’re right, Gil.”
    “The man’s name was Caldwell.”
    “Well, he ain’t here now.”
    “You’re going to scold me, ain’t you?”
    “Come here.”
    She obeyed meekly.
    He fished the green silk out of his pocket and put it round her neck.
    “I ought to take you out back of the woodshed and shingle you proper.”
    “Isn’t it beautiful? Oh, Gil, where did you get it?”
    “The company marched up to Cosby’s. We had to break into Thompson’s house. Somebody had thrown this down when they was clearing out, as if they didn’t want it.” He felt shamefaced to tell her. “It’s hardly a real present. Only when I saw it I thought how pretty it would look on you.”
    “Imagine leaving a thing like that. I wouldn’t; not if I was being driven out naked to the north pole. Oh, it’s lovely, Gil.”
    She had no compunctions about wearing the thing.
    “Look at those birds, those little white ones. Oh, look! Do you know what they are?”
    “No.”
    “They’re peacocks.”
    “No!” exclaimed Gil. It made him feel better about the whole business. He put up his gun over the door and loosened his hatchet.
    “You got supper ready?”
    “Pretty near. I bet you’re hungry. You set down there on the stool and tell me what you did.”
    He told her the whole business, seeing the Indians on the way down, mustering, the return, finding the place in the attic, and the discarded patch for a blind eye.
    Lana turned white at the recital.
    “Oh, Gil, supposing he’d been there! He might have killed you.”
    “He wouldn’t dast shoot with all the rest downstairs. And I didn’t give him a chance to get hold of me.”
    “I was afraid of that man in the tavern. He didn’t have a nice face. It wasn’t just the eye. It was all of him.”
    Gil became serious.
    “Suppose you’d found him here when you came home alone, Lana.”
    “Him? What do you mean? What would he want here?”
    “I don’t know, exactly. But this is the house furthest west in the valley except at Fort Stanwix.” He said very seriously, “You see, Lana, that’s what I meant about you waiting at Weaver’s.”
    “I never thought. I will next time, Gil. It’s awful.” She returned to her cooking, speaking to him over her shoulder. Gil sat down and watched her. Even though they had been married more than a month now,