Capn Warrens Wards | Page 7

road, a lighted window gleaming cozily. And ever, as they moved, the storm seemed to gather force.
Graves noticed this and, at length, when his nervousness had reached the breaking point, screamed a question in his companion's ear. They had attempted no conversation during the ride, the lawyer, whose contemptuous opinion of the locality and all its inhabitants was now a conviction, feeling that the result would not be worth the effort, and the captain busy with his driving.
"It is blowing worse than ever, isn't it?" yelled the nervous Graves.
"Hey? No, just about the same. It's dead sou'-west and we're getting out of the woods, that's all. Up on those bare hills we catch the full force of it right off the Sound. Be there pretty soon now, if this Old Hundred of a horse would quit walkin' in his sleep and really move. Them lights ahead are South Denboro."
The lights were clustered at the foot of a long and rather steep hill. Down the declivity bounced and rocked the buggy. The horse's hoofs sounded hollow on the planks of a bridge. The road narrowed and became a village street, bordered and arched by tall trees which groaned and threshed in the hurricane. The rain, as it beat in over the boot, had, so the lawyer fancied, a salty taste.
The captain bent down. "Say, Mister," he shouted, "where was it you wanted to stop? Who is it you're lookin' for?"
"What?"
"I say--Heavens to Betsy! how that wind does screech!--I say where'bouts shall I land you. This is South Denboro. Whose house do you want to go to?"
"I'm looking for one of your leading citizens. Elisha Warren is his name."
"What?"
"Elisha Warren. I--"
He was interrupted. There was a sharp crack overhead, followed by a tremendous rattle and crash. Then down upon the buggy descended what, to Graves, appeared to be an avalanche of scratching, tearing twigs and branches. They ripped away the boot and laprobe and jammed him back against the seat, their sharp points against his breast. The buggy was jerked forward a few feet and stopped short.
He heard the clatter of hoofs and shouts of "Whoa!" and "Stand still!" He tried to rise, but the tangle of twigs before him seemed impenetrable, so he gave it up and remained where he was. Then, after an interval, came a hail from the darkness.
"Hi, there! Mr. Graves, ahoy! Hurt, be you?"
"No," the lawyer's tone was doubtful. "No--o, I--I guess not. That you, Captain?"
"Yes, it's me. Stand still, you foolhead! Quit your hoppin' up and down!" These commands were evidently addressed to the horse. "Glad you ain't hurt. Better get out, hadn't you?"
"I--I'm not sure that I can get out. What on earth has happened?"
"Tree limb carried away. Lucky for us we got the brush end, 'stead of the butt. Scooch down and see if you can't wriggle out underneath. I did."
Mr. Graves obediently "scooched." After a struggle he managed to slide under the tangle of branches and, at length, stood on his feet in the road beside the buggy. The great limb had fallen across the street, its heavy end near the walk. As the captain had said, it was fortunate for the travelers that the "brush" only had struck the carriage.
Graves found his companion standing at the horse's head, holding the frightened animal by the bridle. The rain was descending in a flood.
"Well!" gasped the agitated New Yorker. "I'll be hanged if this isn't--"
"Ain't it? But say, Mr. Graves, WHO did you say you was comin' to see?"
"Oh, a person named Elisha Warren. He lives in this forsaken hole somewhere, I believe. If I had known what an experience I must go through to reach him, I'd have seen him at the devil."
From the bulky figure at the horse's head came a chuckle.
"Humph! Well, Mr. Graves, if the butt of that limb had fetched us, instead of t'other end, I don't know but you MIGHT have seen him there. I'm Elisha Warren, and that's my house over yonder where the lights are."

CHAPTER II
"This is your room, Mr. Graves," said Miss Abigail Baker, placing the lighted lamp on the bureau. "And here's a pair of socks and some slippers. They belong to Elisha--Cap'n Warren, that is--but he's got more. Cold water and towels and soap are on the washstand over yonder; but I guess you've had enough COLD water for one night. There's plenty hot in the bathroom at the end of the hall. After you change your wet things, just leave 'em spread out on the floor. I'll come fetch 'em by and by and hang 'em to dry in the kitchen. Come right downstairs when you're ready. Anything else you want? No? All right then. You needn't hurry. Supper's waited an hour 'n' a half as 'tis. 'Twon't hurt it to wait