Читать книгу The Ark of 1803. A Story of Louisiana Purchase Times онлайн

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“Jimmy Claiborne, come in this minute, child!”

Jimmy slipped behind a tree.

“Jimmy?”

Still he made no answer. The warmth and the sight of the two women waiting for him, with nothing but kindness and tenderness in their hearts, moved him strangely. He was so unused to it. But he did not answer, and after waiting a moment longer they stepped back inside and the door shut them from his sight.

Choking down something that smarted in his throat, he strode away from the clearing.

Twenty minutes later he had reached the Claiborne home cabin. He knocked sharply on the door.

“Let me in,” he shouted. “Ma! It’s me. I want to get my gun.”

No answer came from within. He pounded with both fists. “Ma!” he repeated.

After awhile he realized that his mother must be awake, and he changed his voice from a shout to a conversational tone. “I only want my gun,” he said, persuasively. “There’s been a big fire at the shipyard, and all our whisky’s burned up. Let me in and I’ll tell you about it.”

He began to narrate the events of the night, taking heart as he heard a slight stir inside the cabin. He talked on, apparently telling the story to the panel of the thick, treenail-studded door. When he had finished he repeated his petition, “I only want my gun, Ma.”