Етюд у багряних тонах
A Flight for Life.
Outsideallwascalmandquiet. Thenightwasfine,andthestarsweretwinklingbrightlyoverhead. Thelittlefrontgardenlaybeforethefarmer’seyesboundedbythefenceandgate,butneithertherenorontheroadwasanyhumanbeingtobeseen. Withasighofrelief,Ferrierlookedtorightandtoleft,untilhappeningtoglancestraightdownathisownfeethesawtohisastonishmentamanlyingflatuponhisfaceupontheground,witharmsandlegsallasprawl.
Sounnervedwasheatthesightthatheleanedupagainstthewallwithhishandtohisthroattostiflehisinclinationtocallout. Hisfirstthoughtwasthattheprostratefigurewasthatofsomewoundedordyingman,butashewatchedithesawitwrithealongthegroundandintothehallwiththerapidityandnoiselessnessofaserpent. Oncewithinthehousethemansprangtohisfeet,closedthedoor,andrevealedtotheastonishedfarmerthefiercefaceandresoluteexpressionofJeffersonHope.
“GoodGod!”gaspedJohnFerrier. “Howyouscaredme! Whatevermadeyoucomeinlikethat.”
“Givemefood,”theothersaid,hoarsely. “Ihavehadnotimeforbiteorsupforeight-and-fortyhours.” Heflunghimselfuponthe21coldmeatandbreadwhichwerestilllyinguponthetablefromhishost’ssupper,anddevoureditvoraciously. “DoesLucybearupwell?”heasked,whenhehadsatisfiedhishunger.
“Yes.Shedoesnotknowthedanger,”herfatheranswered.
“Thatiswell. Thehouseiswatchedoneveryside. ThatiswhyIcrawledmywayuptoit. Theymaybedarnedsharp,butthey’renotquitesharpenoughtocatchaWashoehunter.”
