The Brown Mouse Read online

  CHAPTER XV

  A MINOR CASTS HALF A VOTE

  March came in like neither a lion nor a lamb, but was scarcely a week oldbefore the wild ducks had begun to score the sky above Bronson's Slewlooking for open water and badly-harvested corn-fields. Wild geese, too,honked from on high as if in wonder that these great prairies on whichtheir forefathers had been wont fearlessly to alight had been changed intoa disgusting expanse of farms. If geese are favored with the long lives inwhich fable bids us believe, some of these venerable honkers must haveseen every vernal and autumnal phase of the transformation from boundlessprairie to boundless corn-land. I sometimes seem to hear in thebewildering trumpetings of wild geese a cry of surprise and protest at theruin of their former paradise. Colonel Woodruff's hired man, Pete, had nosuch foolish notions, however. He stopped Newton Bronson and Raymond Simmsas they tramped across the colonel's pasture, gun in hand, trying to makethemselves believe that the shooting was good.

  "This ain't no country to hunt in," said he. "Did either of you fellowsever have any real duck-shooting?"

  "The mountings," said Raymond, "air poor places for ducks."

  "Not big enough water," suggested Pete. "Some wood-ducks, I suppose?"

  "Along the creeks and rivers, yes seh," said Raymond, "and sometimes aflock of wild geese would get lost, and some bewildered, and a man wouldshoot one or two--from the tops of the ridges--but nothing to depend on."

  "I've never been nowhere," said Newton, "except once toMinnesota--and--and that wasn't in the shooting season."

  A year ago Newton would have boasted of having "bummed" his way toFaribault. His hesitant speech was a proof of the embarrassment his newrespectability sometimes inflicted upon him.

  "I used to shoot ducks for the market at Spirit Lake," said Pete. "I knowFred Gilbert just as well as I know you. If I'd 'a' kep' on shooting Icould have made my millions as champion wing shot as easy as he has. Hedidn't have nothing on me when we was both shooting for a livin'. Butthat's all over, now. You've got to go so fur now to get decent shootingwhere the farmers won't drive you off, that it costs nine dollars to senda postcard home."

  "I think we'll have fine shooting on the slew in a few days," saidNewton.

  "Humph!" scoffed Pete. "I give you my word, if I hadn't promised thecolonel I'd stay with him another year, I'd take a side-door Pullman forthe Sand Hills of Nebraska or the Devil's Lake country to-morrow--if I hada gun."

  "If it wasn't for a passel of things that keep me hyeh," said Raymond,"I'd like to go too."

  "The colonel," said Pete, "needs me. He needs me in the electionto-morrow. What's the matter of your ol' man, Newt? What for does he votefor that Bonner, and throw down an old neighbor?"

  "I can't do anything with him!" exclaimed Newton irritably. "He's alltangled up with Peterson and Bonner."

  "Well," said Pete, "if he'd just stay at home, it would help some. If hevotes for Bonner, it'll be just about a stand-off."

  "He never misses a vote!" said Newton despairingly.

  "Can't you cripple him someway?" asked Pete jocularly. "Darned funny whena boy o' your age can't control his father's vote! So long!"

  "I wish I _could_ vote!" grumbled Newton. "I wish I _could_! We know a lotmore about the school, and Jim Irwin bein' a good teacher than daddoes--and we can't vote. Why can't folks vote when they are interested inan election, and know about the issues. It's tyranny that you and I can'tvote."

  "I reckon," said Raymond, the conservative, "that the old-time people thatfixed it thataway knowed best."

  "Rats!" sneered Newton, the iconoclast. "Why, Calista knows more about theelection of school director than dad knows."

  "That don't seem reasonable," protested Raymond. "She's prejudyced, Ireckon, in favor of Mr. Jim Irwin."

  "Well, dad's prejudiced against him,--er, no, he hain't either. He likesJim. He's just prejudiced against giving up his old notions. No, he hain'tneither--I guess he's only prejudiced against seeming to give up some oldnotions he seemed to have once! And the kids in school would be prejudicedright, anyhow!"

  "Paw says he'll be on hand prompt," said Raymond. "But he had to bep'swaded right much. Paw's proud--and he cain't read."

  "Sometimes I think the more people read the less sense they've got," saidNewton. "I wish I could tie dad up! I wish I could get snakebit, and makehim go for the doctor!"

  The boys crossed the ridge to the wooded valley in which nestled the Simmscabin. They found Mrs. Simms greatly exercised in her mind because youngMcGeehee had been found playing with some blue vitriol used by Raymond inhis school work on the treatment of seed potatoes for scab.

  "His hands was all blue with it," said she. "Do you reckon, Mr. Newton,that it'll pizen him?"

  "Did he swallow any of it?" asked Newton.

  "Nah!" said McGeehee scornfully.

  Newton reassured Mrs. Simms, and went away pensive. He was in rebellionagainst the strange ways grown men have of discharging their duties ascitizens--a rather remarkable thing, and perhaps a proof that Jim Irwin'smethods had already accomplished much in preparing Newton and Raymond forcitizenship. He had shown them the fact that voting really has somerelation to life. At present, however, the new wine in the old bottles wascausing Newton to forget his filial duty, and his respect for his father.He wished he could lock him up in the barn so he couldn't go to the schoolelection. He wished he could become ill--or poisoned with blue vitriol orsomething--so his father would be obliged to go for a doctor. Hewished----well, why couldn't he get sick. Mrs. Simms had been about tosend for the doctor for Buddy when he had explained away the apparentnecessity. People got dreadfully scared about poison---- Newton mended hispace, and looked happier. He looked very much as he had done on the day headjusted the needle-pointed muzzle to his dog's nose. He looked, in fact,more like a person filled with deviltry, than one yearning for the rightto vote.

  "I'll fix him!" said he to himself.

  "What time's the election, Ez?" asked Mrs. Bronson at breakfast.

  "I'm goin' at four o'clock," said Ezra. "And I don't want to hear any morefrom any one"--looking at Newton--"about the election. It's none of thebusiness of the women an' boys."

  Newton took this reproof in an unexpectedly submissive spirit. In fact, heexhibited his very best side to the family that morning, like one going ona long journey, or about to be married off, or engaged in some deep darkplot.

  "I s'pose you're off trampin' the slews at the sight of a flock of ducksfour miles off as usual?" stated Mr. Bronson challengingly.

  "I thought," said Newton, "that I'd get a lot of raisin bait ready for thepocket-gophers in the lower meadow. They'll be throwing up their mounds bythe first of April."

  "Not them," said Mr. Bronson, somewhat mollified, "not before May. Where'dyou get the raisin idee?"

  "We learned it in school," answered Newton. "Jim had me study a bulletinon the control and eradication of pocket-gophers. You use raisins withstrychnine in 'em--and it tells how."

  "Some fool notion, I s'pose," said Mr. Bronson, rising. "But go ahead ifyou're careful about handlin' the strychnine."

  Newton spent the time from twelve-thirty to half after two in watching theclock; and twenty minutes to three found him seated in the woodshed with apen-knife in his hand, a small vial of strychnine crystals on a standbefore him, a saucer of raisins at his right hand, and one exactly likeit, partially filled with gopher bait--by which is meant raisins under theskin of each of which a minute crystal of strychnine had been inserted onthe point of the knife. Newton was apparently happy and was whistling _TheGlow-Worm_. It was a lovely scene if one can forget the gopher's point ofview.

  At three-thirty, Newton went into the house and lay down on the horsehairsofa, saying to his mother that he felt kind o' funny and thought he'd liedown a while. At three-forty he heard his father's voice in the kitchenand knew that his sire was preparing to start for the scene of battlebetween Colonel Woodruff and Con Bonner, on the result of which hinged thefuture of Jim Irwin and the Woodruff scho
ol.

  A groan issued from Newton's lips--a gruesome groan as of the painfuldeath of a person very sensitive to physical suffering. But his father'svoice from the kitchen door betrayed no agitation. He was scolding thehorses as they stood tied to the hitching-post, in tones that showed noknowledge of his son's distressed moans.

  "What's the matter?"

  It was Newton's little sister who asked the question, her facialexpression evincing appreciation of Newton's efforts in the line ofgroans, somewhat touched with awe. Even though regarded as a pure matterof make-believe, such sounds were terrible.

  "Oh, sister, sister!" howled Newton, "run and tell 'em that brother'sdying!"

  Fanny disappeared in a manner which expressed her balanced feelings--shefelt that her brother was making believe, but she believed for all that,that something awful was the matter. So she went rather slowly to thekitchen door, and casually remarked that Newton was dying on the sofa inthe sitting-room.

  "You little fraud!" said her father.

  "Why, Fanny!" said her mother--and ran into the sitting-room--whence in amoment, with a cry that was almost a scream, she summoned her husband, whoresponded at the top of his speed.

  Newton was groaning and in convulsions. Horrible grimaces contorted hisface, his jaws were set, his arms and legs drawn up, and his musclestense.

  "What's the matter?" His father's voice was stern as well as full ofanxiety. "What's the matter, boy?"

  "Oh!" cried Newton. "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

  "Newtie, Newtie!" cried his mother, "where are you in pain? Tell mother,Newtie!"

  "Oh," groaned Newtie, relaxing, "I feel awful!"

  "What you been eating?" interrogated his father.

  "Nothing," replied Newton.

  "I saw you eatin' dinner," said his father.

  Again Newton was convulsed by strong spasms, and again his groans filledthe hearts of his parents with terror.

  "That's all I've eaten," said he, when his spasms had passed, "except afew raisins. I was putting strychnine in 'em----"

  "Oh, heavens!" cried his mother. "He's poisoned! Drive for the doctor,Ezra! Drive!"

  Mr. Bronson forgot all about the election--forgot everything saveantidotes and speed. He leaped toward the door. As he passed out, heshouted "Give him an emetic!" He tore the hitching straps from the posts,jumped into the buggy and headed for the road. Skilfully avoiding anoverturn as he rounded into the highway, he gave the spirited horses theirheads, and fled toward town, carefully computing the speed the horsescould make and still be able to return. Mile after mile he covered,passing teams, keeping ahead of automobiles and advertising panic. Just atthe town limits, he met the doctor in Sheriff Dilly's automobile, thesheriff himself at the steering wheel. Mr. Bronson signaled them to stop,ignoring the fact that they were making similar signs to him.

  "We're just starting for your place," said the doctor. "Your wife got meon the phone."

  "Thank God!" replied Bronson. "Don't fool any time away on me. Drive!"

  "Get in here, Ez," said the sheriff. "Doc knows how to drive, and I'llcome on with your team. They need a slow drive to cool 'em off."

  "Why didn't you phone me?" asked the doctor.

  "Never thought of it," replied Bronson. "I hain't had the phone only a fewyears. Drive faster!"

  "I want to get there, or I would," answered the doctor. "Don't worry. Fromwhat your wife told me over the phone I don't believe the boy's eaten anymore strychnine than I have--and probably not so much."

  "He was alive, then?"

  "Alive and making an argument against taking the emetic," replied thedoctor. "But I guess she got it down him."

  "I'd hate to lose that boy, Doc!"

  "I don't believe there's any danger. It doesn't sound like a genuinepoisoning case to me."

  Thus reassured, Mr. Bronson was calm, even if somewhat tragic in calmness,when he entered the death chamber with the doctor. Newton was sitting up,his eyes wet, and his face pale. His mother had won the argument, andNewton had lost his dinner. Haakon Peterson occupied an armchair.

  "What's all this?" asked the doctor. "How you feeling, Newt? Any pain?"

  "I'm all right," said Newton. "Don't give me any more o' that nastystuff!"

  "No," said the doctor, "but if you don't tell me just what you've beeneating, and doing, and pulling off on us, I'll use this"--and the doctorexhibited a huge stomach pump.

  "What'll you do with that?" asked Newton faintly.

  "I'll put this down into your hold, and unload you, that's what I'll do."

  "Is the election over, Mr. Peterson?" asked Newton.

  "Yes," answered Mr. Peterson, "and the votes counted."

  "Who's elected?" asked Newton.

  "Colonel Woodruff," answered Mr. Peterson. "The vote was twelve toeleven."

  "Well, dad," said Newton, "I s'pose you'll be sore, but the only way Icould see to get in half a vote for Colonel Woodruff was to get poisonedand send you after the doctor. If you'd gone, it would 'a' been a tie,anyhow, and probably you'd 'a' persuaded somebody to change to Bonner.That's what's the matter with me. I killed your vote. Now, you can dowhatever you like to me--but I'm sorry I scared mother."

  Ezra Bronson seized Newton by the throat, but his fingers failed to close."Don't pinch, dad," said Newton. "I've been using that neck an' it'stired." Mr. Bronson dropped his hands to his sides, glared at his son fora moment and breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Why, you darned infernal little fool," said he. "I've a notion to take ahamestrap to you! If I'd been there the vote would have been eleven tothirteen!"

  "There was plenty wotes there for the colonel, if he needed 'em," saidHaakon, whose politician's mind was already fully adjusted to the changedconditions. "Ay tank the Woodruff District will have a junanimous schoolboard from dis time on once more. Colonel Woodruff is yust the man we haveneeded."

  "I'm with you there," said Bronson. "And as for you, young man, if one orboth of them horses is hurt by the run I give them, I'll lick you withinan inch of your life---- Here comes Dilly driving 'em in now---- I guessthey're all right. I wouldn't want to drive a good team to death for anyyoung hoodlum like him---- All right, how much do I owe you. Doc?"