While this was going on, John had literally held Uncle Billy captive. The touchy old man's ire was aflame at its highest pitch, and he wanted to fight. When the coast was clear John reminded him of the urgent need which called them to the country, and escorted him to his buggy. Then, assuring him that he would return immediately, and begging him to remain in his buggy, Glenning hastily sought the livery stable. While he was waiting for his horse to be gotten ready he saw, diagonally across the street, a brick building with the words Macon National Bank, in large letters over the door.
CHAPTER VIII
By the time the start was made Mr. Hoonover had cooled down somewhat. He went in front, of course, in his capacity as guide, but all along the two and a half miles drive he was constantly jerking about in his seat to look back and shout some question or remark to the man in his wake. Thus before their destination was reached he had proven, in tones loud enough for all the countryside to hear, that the man who had attacked him was indeed part negro, that he himself always lived at peace with his neighbours, and that from this day forward he intended to go "loaded" for Marston. The garrulity of the old farmer annoyed Glenning somewhat, who had his own forebodings as to the result of the unfortunate encounter on the street, and he replied to Mr. Hoonover's demonstrations only by a nod of the head, or a smile. So busy was that gentleman looking behind to see that his remarks were heard, that his horse drew him almost in front of the Scribbenses before he knew it. When he suddenly discovered his proximity to the infected shack, and realized that his horse was moving in a slow jog, he tightened his reins and began to belabour his beast with the staff he held. As he dashed at a gallop past the dreaded spot he shouted some unintelligible communication wildly over his shoulder, and was out of sight before Glenning drew up at a broken down stake-and-rider fence skirting the road. He looked about him as he got out and hitched his horse. The spot seemed the abomination of desolation. The by-road was rutty and not kept; deep sluices showed on either side of it, where no effort had been made to check the ravages of heavy rains. A worthless species of grass grew in sickly clumps, dust-covered. Blackberry vines, sassafras and sumac bushes made one inextricable tangle of vegetation along the zigzag fence. There was a gap in the fence which served for a gate. John went through, then stopped for a moment. Not from fear at entering the stricken place. He had no bodily fear, nor ever had. But the awful loneliness of the spot weighed upon him. Low hills, bush-dotted and gullied, arose on every side except the southern one, where a small field, untilled and marshy, lay along a creek bed, now nearly dry. Beyond this, and perhaps half a mile away, on higher ground, was a rather pretentious looking farmhouse which he guessed, rightly, to be the home of Mr. Hoonover. The miserable log shanty facing him was pitiful in its decay and loneliness. The ground all about it was bare, and a few stunted, shrivelled cedars stood at one side. The chinking had fallen from the stick-and-mud chimney, and it looked like the torso of some giant skeleton. The door was shut; the one window darkened from the inside by what appeared to be a ragged quilt. A lean brown cur lay by the rotten log serving for a door step, too lazy or too near dead from starvation to lift its voice at the intrusion of a stranger. The dog was the only sign of life. All the rest, was silence, poverty, desolation. No birds sang here; not even the shrilling of an insect cut the great stillness. A feeling almost of awe came over John Glenning, standing there alone in the strong sunlight, vigorous, assertive, confident of his power to do. He scarcely wondered that Doctor Kale had refused the case. But he was glad he had taken it. Not alone to get a start in the community, for this was a beginning at practice which most men would not value, but here was a fellow being, sick, friendless and helpless. He would save him if he could, although the pauper's life could scarcely be of use to anyone, and he would be better off dead.
John's grip tightened on the handle of his medicine case and he walked briskly and firmly to the door, and knocked. The cur arose and slunk a few paces to one side, then lay down again, with his yellow eyes fixed on the man. The door was opened a crack, and a rasping female voice said:
"Go 'way. My man's got the small-pox!"
"I'm the doctor," answered Glenning; "let me in."
There was a moment's hesitation, during which a brief argument took place between the woman and some one else inside, then the door was grudgingly opened wide enough for John to enter, when it was promptly closed.
"Thar he is," said the woman. "Go to 'im; he's purty bad."
The sudden transition from the bright sunlight to the gloom of the cabin made it impossible for Glenning to see distinctly. He was vaguely conscious of the presence of a number of persons, and he could barely discern the outlines of a figure stretched on a bunk in a corner.