The cart jostled as we crossed through the twin bluffs and out of the valley, and the soft hide began to slide off the trapper. Charlie and I both grabbed for it, and in the darkness of the carriage my fingers caught hold of his, just for a moment. He smiled shyly and pulled back his hand, turning his attention to the trapper, but I saw his cheeks flush ever so slightly as we rattled onward.
We scarcely spoke again until the cart had rolled into Gadston, and then he hopped out and became a part of the busy rush to help Hudson into the small-town hospital. It was a meager facility, sharing a building with the barbershop, but it was better than the dirty trench or bumping carriage. The town physician was summoned, and lights began to glow up and down the street as curious neighbors awoke to the commotion. Once the trapper had been delivered into more capable hands, Charlie bid a hasty good-bye and rushed off to coordinate teams to combat the fires before they did too much damage in the valley.
When the commotion died down, I found myself standing beside my employer on the sidewalk. “Well,” he said, “he has a strong heartbeat. That’s a good sign.”
“You think Mr. Hudson will be all right, then?” I asked.
“Oh, he’ll survive. His aura is getting stronger already. You know, I think a good hook will suit him quite well, actually. He’ll look a bit like Tyr, the old Norse god who lost his hand to a monstrous wolf—which, I think, will make Hudson happy in the end. He is a remarkable man . . . but it wasn’t his heart I was talking about.”
“No?”
“That Barker fellow,” he said. “You mentioned botching things romantically earlier. I assume you meant with him. Your own heart nearly goes into palpitations in close proximity. Yes, I take it from your flushed complexion I’ve got it correctly. Good, I’m not always so keen when it comes to matters of affection.”
“Mr. Jackaby, I hardly think . . .”
“I’ve no intention of discussing your amorous preoccupations at any length—believe me, it’s no more pleasant for me than it is for you. I merely wish to remind you of what I said about failure. Chin up. March right through it. The only paths you can’t travel are the ones you block yourself—so don’t let the fear of failure stop you from trying in the first place. That boy has a good heart, and it was beating rather quickly back there, too.”
“Mr. Jackaby, if I’m not mistaken, you’re trying to be sweet.”
“I’m being factual. I might also add that canine heart rates are nearly double the average human’s, so my assessment may be moot. All the same”—he gave me a firm pat on the shoulder—“buck up. You’re dreadful company when you’re melancholy.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Gadston locals did a commendable job suppressing the forest fire. The unruly blaze had already begun to spread, but the villagers formed a brigade. They rushed the valley with wide water barrels and carts laden with rakes, pitchforks, and tarpaulins. I don’t know how they managed the feat, but somehow they kept the flames at bay during the night, and by morning the inferno had burned itself out. The sky was dark with heavy gray rain clouds that promised to open up at any moment and finish off the few errant embers.
I felt a little trepidation as I stepped out of my room at the inn. I had scarcely slept, and I was wearing a torn dress that smelled of smoke and earth—but I needn’t have worried. The little restaurant next door was full of tired, happy men slapping one another on the backs with soot-black hands. The whole town seemed to be talking about the fire. The general belief, as I gleaned from the snippets I overheard, was that one of the big metal tent poles up at Brisbee’s had probably attracted a lightning bolt. I could not bring myself to set the story straight. I had seen what really happened, and the lightning explanation sounded infinitely more plausible.
Jackaby came strolling across the street just as I emerged. He handed me a ticket. “We’re on the morning train to New Fiddleham,” he said. “Seven o’clock.”