“Ma’s actin’ so queer,” she cried. “I can’t wake her up!”
Sure enough. We rushed to the house, and there was Mrs. Sullivan lying on the floor, stone dead. By her side were the twelve empty Jamaica-ginger bottles, with another smaller bottle, smelling of camphor or some such drug, which in her stupor, she had reached for and drunk.
“Doc” behaved himself at the funeral, swearing only at the end of the ceremony. That was Christmas Eve. On New-Year’s night there was a full moon and the same snow. The whole town was again sleeping peacefully, when it was awakened by a loud and barbarous noise. There was “Doc” Sullivan standing in his wagon—he was the head of a road menders’ gang—beating his horses with an ax. He had stopped at every milepost along the highway and clipped off the number, saying that he wanted no lies on his road. He had gone suddenly raving mad!
There was a man named Charley Williams living near by, and he and I followed up to the Sullivan house. Charley was old, but he was fearless. I once saw him walk right up to a man who was pointing a loaded pistol at him and take it out of his hand. He always said:
“There ain’t no danger in a gun.”
When we arrived at “Doc’s” we saw a strange sight. There he was, kneeling on the floor, praying, with Sammy in his arms, and every time he uttered “O Lord!” he jumped, with the strength of a giant, six inches in the air, coming down upon his knees again until they were nothing but a mass of huckleberry jelly. While Charley went for help I promised to keep watch over this maniac, and it took all of my mental powers to control him. He seemed to realize, in his subconscious mind, that his children had a terrible heritage, so he decided to destroy them. First he started to lug all of the things out of the house, smashing them, as he did so, with the ax. His intention, he confided to me, was to burn it and then start out after his children. All the time he kept muttering about “those chains at Stockton—you bet I’ll keep the kids away from those chains at Stockton.” On the promise that I would marry Sally and take him East he gave up his ax, and by the time Charley had come back he was quite willing to go down to Sissons.
Charley had got the one physician of the countryside to go on ahead and say we were coming, and, although the men had all promised to help, there was not one in sight when we “hit” the town.
From here “Doc’s” nephew, a puny kid; old Charley Williams, who was brave but physically weak, and myself, started to drive him on to Yreka, the physician going ahead once more to make the arrangements and warn the police. The thought of that trip is one long nightmare. His mind worked so fast it was almost impossible to keep up with him. I was his especial friend and pal, and, getting it into his head that I had a cold, nothing would do but that I must have some mountain balm. This we procured after much trouble, and my whole journey was enlivened by eating whole bunches of this herb and washing it down with gallons of water. His chief amusement was to jump up in the air, kick the horses, and land with both feet and with such force that he finally knocked the bottom out of the wagon.
All of a sudden, without the slightest sign, he was over the dashboard and rushing across the fields toward a farmhouse we were passing. When I got up to him, there was “Doc,” kneeling beside the pump, drinking water, while beside him stood Mrs. Hall, the farmer’s wife, stroking his head, petting him, and talking to him in a low, controlled voice. Strange is this power of women to realize a situation. I got him away, but we learned afterward that when her husband came back home, an hour later, Mrs. Hall was lying at the pump in a dead faint.
We arrived in Yreka at six. The police showed up at nine. We tried to keep “Doc” in a barn, but his spirits were rising every moment, and I decided to tire him out; besides, I had a grudge against the police and citizens for being such cowards and deserting us. I had to play the game with “Doc,” and ours was certainly a tour of destruction. Every place we went into was wrecked—bottles broken and bars smashed. It looked as if a cyclone had hit Yreka. Finally, he said he was hungry, so we found a restaurant. As soon as we went into a place it was ours, as everyone faded away. There was no waiter in sight, so the proprietor waited on us himself, bringing in a huge steak and—I had hard work to keep my balance—an enormous butcher knife to carve it with! But “Doc” did not want to cut his meat. He merely grabbed it up in his hands and wolfed it.