Mrs. Snow hurried to her patient, but the latter impatiently bade her let him alone.
"Not you," he said, "I want Eri."
Captain Eri stooped down beside the bed.
"What is it, John?" he asked.
"Eri s'pose God called you to break man's law and keep his, what would you do?"
The Captain glanced anxiously at the house-keeper. Then he said soothingly:
"Oh, that's all right, John. Don't worry 'bout that. You and me settled that long ago. How are you feelin' now?"
"I know, I know," with the monotonous persistence of those whose minds are wandering,--and then cleanly once more, "Eri, I've been called."
"Ssh-h! That's all right, John; that's all right. Don't you want Mrs.
Snow to fix your piller? P'raps you'd lay a little easier, then. Now, Mrs. Snow, if you'll jest turn it while I lift him. So; that's better now, ain't it, shipmate, hey?" But the sick man muttered an unintelligible something, and relapsed once more into the half-doze, half-stupor that was his usual state.
Captain Eri sighed in relief.
"That was queer, wa'n't it?" he observed.
"He's had two or three of those spells in the last day or two," was the answer.
The Captain wondered what his friend might have said during those "spells," but he was afraid to inquire. Instead, he asked, "What did the doctor say when he was here this mornin'?"
"Nothin' very hopeful. I asked him plain what he thought of the case, and he answered jest as plain. He said Cap'n Baxter had failed dreadful in the last week, and that he wouldn't be s'prised if he dropped off most any time. Then again, he said he might live for months."
"I see, I see."
They were silent for a while, watching the sick man, whose sleep, or stupor, was not as tranquil as usual. Two or three times his eyes opened, and he muttered audibly.
"I never saw him so restless afore," commented Captain Eri anxiously.
"He was so last night."
"Did Elsie see him?"
"No, I was alone here, and she was asleep in the next room. I got up and shut the door."
The Captain glanced keenly at the housekeeper, but her face was placid and inscrutable. He shifted uneasily and then said, "Elsie's late to-night, ain't she? I wonder what's keepin' her."
"School work, I s'pose. She's workin' harder 'n she ought to, I think."
"FIRE!"
The word was shouted, and the room rang with it. John Baxter, whose weakness had hitherto been so great that he could not turn himself in bed, was leaning on his elbow and pointing with outstretched finger to the open stove door.
"Fire!" he shouted again. "It's blazin'! It's burnin'! It's wipin' the plague spot from the earth. I hear you, Lord! I'm old, but I hear you, and your servant's ready. Where will it be to-morrer? Gone! burnt up!
and the ways of the wicked shan't prevail."
They forced him back on the pillow, but he fought them fiercely for a moment or two. After they thought they had quieted him, he broke out again, talking rapidly and clearly.
"I hear the call, Lord," he said. "I thank thee for showin' it to me in your Book. 'And they burnt all their cities wherein they dwelt, and all their goodly castles, with fire.' With fire! With fire!"
"Ssh-h! There, there, John! Don't talk so," entreated the Captain.
"Where's the kerosene?" continued the old man. "And the matches? Now softly, softly. The shavin's. It's dark. Here, in the corner. Ah, ha!
ah, ha! 'And all their goodly castles with fire!' Now, Web Saunders, you wicked man! Now! Burn! I've done it, Lord! I've done it!"
"Hush!" almost shouted the agonized Captain Eri. "Hush, John! Be still!"
"There, there, Cap'n Baxter," said Mrs. Snow soothingly, laying her hand on the sick man's forehead. Somehow, the touch seemed to quiet him; his eyes lost their fire, and he muttered absently that he was tired. Then the eyes closed and he lay still, breathing heavily.
"Land of love!" exclaimed the Captain. "That was awful! Hadn't I better go for the doctor?"
"I don't think so, unless he gits worse. He had jest such a turn, as I told you, last night."
"Did he talk like he did jest now?"
"Jest the same."
"'Bout the same things?"
"Yes."
The Captain gasped. "Then you knew!" he said.
"That he set the billiard room afire? Yes. I've always rather suspicioned that he did, and last night, of course, made me sure of it."
"Well, well! You haven't said nothin' 'bout it to anybody?"
"Of course not."
"No, 'course you haven't. You must excuse me--I'm kind of upset, I guess. Dear! dear! Did you think _I_ knew it?"
"I sort of guessed that you did."
"Well, I did. I've known it ever sence that night he was found. He had his coat on when I found him, and 'twas all burnt, and there was an empty kerosene bottle in his pocket. I hid the coat, and threw the bottle away, and turned him so he was facin' towards the saloon 'stead of from it. And I lied when I told the doctor that he was jest as he fell. There! the murder's out! Now, what do you think of me?"
"Think? I think you did exactly right."
"You DO?"
"I sartinly do."
"Well, I snum! I've been over that thing time and time again, and I've felt like I was sort of a firebug myself sometimes. I've heard folks layin' it to fust one and then the other, and cal'latin' that Web did it himself to git the insurance, and all the time I've known who really did do it, and haven't said anything. I jest couldn't. You see, John and me's been brothers almost. But I didn't s'pose anybody else would see it the same way."