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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-13 15:33:33 -0800 |
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diff --git a/30093-h/30093-h.htm b/30093-h/30093-h.htm index 020328a..864091d 100644 --- a/30093-h/30093-h.htm +++ b/30093-h/30093-h.htm @@ -1,10387 +1,10387 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
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-<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Shepherd of the North, by Richard Aumerle Maher.</title>
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-<body>
-<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30093 ***</div>
-
-<p class='tp' style='margin-top:30px;font-size:2.2em;margin-bottom:50px;'>THE SHEPHERD OF<br />THE NORTH</p>
-<p class='tp' >BY</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:20px;'>RICHARD AUMERLE MAHER</p>
-<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:120px;'>Author of<br />“The Heart of a Man,” etc.</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;'>M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;margin-bottom:30px;'>CHICAGO NEW YORK</p>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<p class='tp' style='margin-top:20px;'>Copyright 1916</p>
-<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'><span class='smcap'>By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Set up and electrotyped. Published, March, 1916.</p>
-<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:20px;font-size:smaller;'>Reprinted March, 1916 June, 1916 October, 1916 February, 1917.</p>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
-<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>CHAPTER</span></td>
- <td />
- <td valign='top' align='right'><span style='font-size:0.8em;'>PAGE</span></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The White Horse Chaplain</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_THE_WHITE_HORSE_CHAPLAIN'>3</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Choir Unseen</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_THE_CHOIR_UNSEEN'>35</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Glow of Dawn</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_GLOW_OF_DAWN'>64</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Answer</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_THE_ANSWER'>103</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Mon Pere Je Me ’Cuse</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_MON_PERE_JE_ME_CUSE'>137</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Business of the Shepherd</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_THE_BUSINESS_OF_THE_SHEPHERD'>174</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Inner Citadel</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_THE_INNER_CITADEL'>210</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Seigneur Dieu, Whither Go I?</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_SEIGNEUR_DIEU_WHITHER_GO_I'>243</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Coming of the Shepherd</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_THE_COMING_OF_THE_SHEPHERD'>277</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>That They Be Not Afraid</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_THAT_THEY_BE_NOT_AFRAID'>311</a></td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<h1>THE SHEPHERD OF THE NORTH</h1>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span></div>
-<h2>THE SHEPHERD OF THE NORTH</h2>
-<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'>
-<a name='I_THE_WHITE_HORSE_CHAPLAIN' id='I_THE_WHITE_HORSE_CHAPLAIN'></a>
-<h2>I</h2>
-<h3>THE WHITE HORSE CHAPLAIN</h3>
-</div>
-<p>The Bishop of Alden was practising his French
-upon Arsene LaComb. It was undoubtedly good
-French, this of M’sieur the Bishop, Arsene assured
-himself. It must be. But it certainly was
-not any kind of French that had ever been spoken
-by the folks back in Three Rivers.</p>
-<p>Still, what did it matter? If Arsene could not
-understand all that the Bishop said, it was equally
-certain that the Bishop could not understand all
-that Arsene said. And truly the Bishop was a
-cheery companion for the long road. He took
-his upsets into six feet of Adirondack snow, as
-man and Bishop must when the drifts are soft
-and the road is uncertain.</p>
-<p>In the purple dawn they had left Lowville and
-the railroad behind and had headed into the hills.
-For thirty miles, with only one stop for a bite
-of lunch and a change of ponies, they had pounded
-along up the half-broken, logging roads. Now
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span>
-they were in the high country and there were no
-roads.</p>
-<p>Arsene had come this way yesterday. But a
-drifting storm had followed him down from Little
-Tupper, covering the road that he had made
-and leaving no trace of the way. He had stopped
-driving and held only a steady, even rein to keep
-his ponies from stumbling, while he let the tough,
-willing little Canadian blacks pick their own road.</p>
-<p>Twice in the last hour the Bishop and Arsene
-had been tossed off the single bobsled out into
-the drifts. It was back-breaking work, sitting all
-day long on the swaying bumper, with no back
-rest, feet braced stiffly against the draw bar in
-front to keep the dizzy balance. But it was the
-only way that this trip could be made.</p>
-<p>The Bishop knew that he should not have let
-the confirmation in French Village on Little Tupper
-go to this late date in the season. He had
-arranged to come a month before. But Father
-Ponfret’s illness had put him back at that time.</p>
-<p>Now he was worried. The early December
-dark was upon them. There was no road. The
-ponies were tiring. And there were yet twelve
-bad miles to go.</p>
-<p>Still, things might be worse. The cold was not
-bad. He had the bulkier of his vestments and regalia
-in his stout leather bag lashed firmly to the
-sled. They could take no harm. The holy oils
-and the other sacred essentials were slung securely
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span>
-about his body. And a tumble more or less in
-the snow was a part of the day’s work. They
-would break their way through somehow.</p>
-<p>So, with the occasional interruptions, he was
-practising his amazing French upon Arsene.</p>
-<p>Bishop Joseph Winthrop of Alden was of old
-Massachusetts stock. He had learned the French
-that was taught at Harvard in the fifties. Afterwards,
-after his conversion to the Catholic
-Church, he had gone to Louvain for his seminary
-studies. There he had heard French of another
-kind. But to the day he died he spoke his
-French just as it was written in the book, and with
-an aggressive New England accent.</p>
-<p>He must speak French to the children in French
-Village to-morrow, not because the children would
-understand, but because it would please Father
-Ponfret and the parents.</p>
-<p>They were struggling around the shoulder of
-Lansing Mountain and the Bishop was rounding
-out an elegant period to the bewildered admiration
-of Arsene, when the latter broke in with a
-sharp:</p>
-<p>“Jomp, M’sieur l’Eveque, <i>jomp</i>!”</p>
-<p>The Bishop jumped––or was thrown––ten
-feet into a snow-bank.</p>
-<p>While he gathered himself out of the snow and
-felt carefully his bulging breast pockets to make
-sure that everything was safe, he saw what had
-happened.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span></div>
-<p>The star-faced pony on the near side had
-slipped off the trail and rolled down a little bank,
-dragging the other pony and Arsene and the sled
-with him. It looked like a bad jumble of ponies,
-man and sled at the bottom of a little gully, and
-as the Bishop floundered through the snow to help
-he feared that it was serious.</p>
-<p>Arsene, his body pinned deep in the snow under
-the sled, his head just clear of the ponies’
-heels, was talking wisely and craftily to them in
-the <i>patois</i> that they understood. He was within
-inches of having his brains beaten out by the quivering
-hoofs; he could not, literally, move his head
-to save his life, and he talked and reasoned with
-them as quietly as if he stood at their heads.</p>
-<p>They kicked and fought each other and the sled,
-until the influence of the calm voice behind them
-began to work upon them. Then their own craft
-came back to them and they remembered the many
-bitter lessons they had gotten from kicking and
-fighting in deep snow. They lay still and waited
-for the voice to come and get them out of this.</p>
-<p>As the Bishop tugged sturdily at the sled to
-release Arsene, he remembered that he had seen
-men under fire. And he said to himself that he
-had never seen a cooler or a braver man than this
-little French-Canadian storekeeper.</p>
-<p>The little man rolled out unhurt, the snow had
-been soft under him, and lunged for the ponies’
-heads.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span></div>
-<p>“Up, Maje! Easee, Lisette, easee! Now!
-Ah-a! Bien!”</p>
-<p>He had them both by their bridles and dragged
-them skilfully to their feet and up the bank.
-With a lurch or two and a scramble they were all
-safe back on the hard under-footing of the trail.</p>
-<p>Arsene now looked around for the Bishop.</p>
-<p>“Ba Golly! M’sieur l’Eveque, dat’s one fine
-jomp. You got hurt, you?”</p>
-<p>The Bishop declared that he was not in any
-way the worse from the tumble, and Arsene turned
-to his team. As the Bishop struggled back up
-the bank, the little man looked up from his inspection
-of his harness and said ruefully:</p>
-<p>“Dat’s bad, M’sieur l’Eveque. She’s gone
-bust.”</p>
-<p>He held the frayed end of a broken trace in his
-hand. The trouble was quite evident.</p>
-<p>“What can we do?” asked the Bishop.
-“Have you any rope?”</p>
-<p>“No. Dat’s how I been one big fool, me.
-I lef’ new rope on de sled las’ night on Lowville.
-Dis morning she’s gone. Some t’ief.”</p>
-<p>“We must get on somehow,” said the Bishop,
-as he unbuckled part of the lashing from his bag
-and handed the strap to Arsene. “That will hold
-until we get to the first house where we can get the
-loan of a trace. We can walk behind. We’re
-both stiff and cold. It will do us good. Is it
-far?”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span></div>
-<p>“Dat’s Long Tom Lansing in de hemlocks,
-’bout quarter mile, maybe.” The little man
-looked up from his work long enough to point
-out a clump of hemlocks that stood out black and
-sharp against the white world around them. As
-the Bishop looked, a light peeped out from among
-the trees, showing where life and a home
-fought their battle against the desolation of the
-hills.</p>
-<p>“I donno,” said Arsene speculatively, as he and
-the Bishop took up their tramp behind the sled;
-“Dat Long Tom Lansing; he don’ like Canuck.
-Maybe he don’ lend no harness, I donno.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, yes; he will surely,” answered the Bishop
-easily. “Nobody would refuse a bit of harness
-in a case like this.”</p>
-<p>It was full dark when they came to where
-Tom Lansing’s cabin hid itself among the hemlocks.
-Arsene did not dare trust his team off the
-road where they had footing, so the Bishop
-floundered his way through the heavy snow to
-find the cabin door.</p>
-<p>It was a rude, heavy cabin, roughly hewn out
-of the hemlocks that had stood around it and
-belonged to a generation already past. But it
-was still serviceable and tight, and it was a home.</p>
-<p>The Bishop halloed and knocked, but there was
-no response from within. It was strange. For
-there was every sign of life about the place.
-After knocking a second time without result, he
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span>
-lifted the heavy wooden latch and pushed quietly
-into the cabin.</p>
-<p>A great fire blazed in the fireplace directly opposite
-the door. On the hearth stood a big black
-and white shepherd dog. The dog gave not the
-slightest heed to the intruder. He stood rigid, his
-four legs planted squarely under him, his whole
-body quivering with fear. His nose was pointed
-upward as though ready for the howl to which
-he dared not give voice. His great brown eyes
-rolled in an ecstasy of fright but seemed unable
-to tear themselves from the side of the room
-where he was looking.</p>
-<p>Along the side of the room ran a long, low
-couch covered with soft, well worn hides. On it
-lay a very long man, his limbs stretched out awkwardly
-and unnaturally, showing that he had been
-dragged unconscious to where he was. A candle
-stood on the low window ledge and shone down
-full into the man’s face.</p>
-<p>At the head of the couch knelt a young girl,
-her arm supporting the man’s head and shoulder,
-her wildly tossed hair falling down across his
-chest.</p>
-<p>She was speaking to the man in a voice low
-and even, but so tense that her whole slim body
-seemed to vibrate with every word. It was as
-though her very soul came to the portals of her lips
-and shouted its message to the man. The power
-of her voice, the breathless, compelling strength
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span>
-of her soul need seemed to hold everything between
-heaven and earth, as she pleaded to the
-man. The Bishop stood spellbound.</p>
-<p>“Come back, Daddy Tom! Come back, My
-Father!” she was saying over and over. “Come
-back, come back, Daddy Tom! It’s not true!
-God doesn’t want you! He doesn’t want to take
-you from Ruth! How could He! It’s not never
-true! A tree couldn’t kill my Daddy Tom!
-Never, never! Why, he’s felled whole slopes of
-trees! Come back, Daddy Tom! Come back!”</p>
-<p>For a time which he could not measure the
-Bishop stood listening to the pleading of the girl’s
-voice. But in reality he was not listening to the
-sound. The girl was not merely speaking. She
-was fighting bitterly with death. She was calling
-all the forces of love and life to aid her in her
-struggle. She was following the soul of her
-loved one down to the very door of death. She
-would pull him back out of the very clutches of
-the unknown.</p>
-<p>And the Bishop found that he was not merely
-listening to what the girl said. He was going
-down with her into the dark lane. He was echoing
-every word of her pleading. The force of
-her will and her prayer swept him along so that
-with all the power of his heart and soul he prayed
-for the man to open his eyes.</p>
-<p>Suddenly the girl stopped. A great, terrible
-fear seemed to grip and crush her, so that she
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span>
-cowered and hid her face against the big, grizzled
-white head of the man, and cried out and sobbed
-in terror.</p>
-<p>The Bishop crossed the room softly and touched
-the girl on the head, saying:</p>
-<p>“Do not give up yet, child. I once had some
-skill. Let me try.”</p>
-<p>The girl turned and looked up blankly at him.
-She did not question who he was or whence he
-had come. She turned again and wrapped her
-arms jealously about the head and shoulders of
-her father. Plainly she was afraid and resentful
-of any interference. But the Bishop insisted
-gently and in the end she gave him place beside
-her.</p>
-<p>He had taken off his cap and overcoat and he
-knelt quickly to listen at the man’s breast.</p>
-<p>Life ran very low in the long, bony frame; but
-there was life, certainly. While the Bishop fumbled
-through the man’s pockets for the knife that
-he was sure he would find, he questioned the girl
-quietly.</p>
-<p>“It was just a little while ago,” she answered,
-in short, frightened sentences. “My dog came
-yelping down from the mountain where Father
-had been all day. He was cutting timber. I ran
-up there. He was pinned down under a limb.
-I thought he was dead, but he spoke to me and
-told me where to cut the limb. I chopped it away
-with his axe. But it must be I hurt him; he
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span>
-fainted. I can’t make him speak. I cut boughs
-and made a sledge and dragged him down here.
-But I can’t make him speak. Is he?–– Is
-he?–– Tell me,” she appealed.</p>
-<p>The Bishop was cutting skilfully at the arm and
-shoulder of the man’s jacket and shirt.</p>
-<p>“You were all alone, child?” he said.
-“Where could you get the strength for all this?
-My driver is out on the road,” he continued, as
-he worked on. “Call him and send him for the
-nearest help.”</p>
-<p>The girl rose and with a lingering, heart-breaking
-look back at the man on the couch, went out
-into the snow.</p>
-<p>The Bishop worked away deftly and steadily.</p>
-<p>The man’s shoulder was crushed hopelessly,
-but there was nothing there to constitute a fatal
-injury. It was only when he came to the upper
-ribs that he saw the real extent of the damage.
-Several of them were caved in frightfully, and it
-seemed certain that one or two of them must have
-been shattered and the splinters driven into the
-lung on that side.</p>
-<p>The cold had driven back the blood, so that
-the wounds had bled outwardly very little. The
-Bishop moved the crushed shoulder a little, and
-something black showed out of a torn muscle under
-the scapula.</p>
-<p>He probed tenderly, and the thing came out in
-his hand. It was a little black ball of steel.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div>
-<p>While the Bishop stood there wondering at the
-thing in his hand, a long tremor ran through the
-body on the couch. The man stirred ever so
-slightly. A gasping moan of pain escaped from
-his lips. His eyes opened and fixed themselves
-searchingly upon the Bishop. The Bishop
-thought it best not to speak, but to give the man
-time to come back naturally to a realisation of
-things.</p>
-<p>While the man stared eagerly, disbelievingly,
-and the Bishop stood holding the little black ball
-between thumb and fore-finger, Ruth Lansing
-came back into the room.</p>
-<p>Seeing her father’s eyes open, the girl rushed
-across the room and was about to throw herself
-down by the side of the couch when her father’s
-voice, scarcely more than a whisper, but audible
-and clear, stopped her.</p>
-<p>“The White Horse Chaplain!” he said in a
-voice of slow wonder. “But I always knew he’d
-come for me sometime. And I suppose it’s
-time.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop started. He had not heard the
-name for twenty-five years.</p>
-<p>The girl stopped by the table, trembling and
-frightened. She had heard the tale of the White
-Horse Chaplain many times. Her sense told her
-that her father was delirious and raving. But he
-spoke so calmly and so certainly. He seemed so
-certain that the man he saw was an apparition
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span>
-that she could not think or reason herself out of
-her fright.</p>
-<p>The Bishop answered easily and quietly:</p>
-<p>“Yes, Lansing, I am the Chaplain. But I did
-not think anybody remembered now.”</p>
-<p>Tom Lansing’s eyes leaped wide with doubt
-and question. They stared full at the Bishop.
-Then they turned and saw the table standing in
-its right place; saw Ruth Lansing standing by the
-table; saw the dog at the fireplace. The man
-there was real!</p>
-<p>Tom Lansing made a little convulsive struggle
-to rise, then fell back gasping.</p>
-<p>The Bishop put his hand gently under the man’s
-head and eased him to a better position, saying:</p>
-<p>“It was just a chance, Lansing. I was driving
-past and had broken a trace, and came in to
-borrow one from you. You got a bad blow.
-But your girl has just sent my driver for help.
-They will get a doctor somewhere. We cannot
-tell anything until he comes. It perhaps is not so
-bad as it looks.” But, even as he spoke, the
-Bishop saw a drop of blood appear at the corner
-of the man’s white mouth; and he knew that it was
-as bad as the worst.</p>
-<p>The man lay quiet for a moment, while his eyes
-moved again from the Bishop to the girl and the
-everyday things of the room.</p>
-<p>It was evident that his mind was clearing
-sharply. He had rallied quickly. But the Bishop
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span>
-knew instinctively that it was the last, flashing rally
-of the forces of life––in the face of the on-crowding
-darkness. The shock and the internal
-hemorrhage were doing their work fast. The
-time was short.</p>
-<p>Evidently Tom Lansing realised this, for, with
-a look, he called the girl to him.</p>
-<p>Through the seventeen years of her life, since
-the night when her mother had laid her in her
-father’s arms and died, Ruth Lansing had hardly
-ever been beyond the reach of her father’s voice.
-They had grown very close together, these two.
-They had little need of clumsy words between
-them.</p>
-<p>As the girl dropped to her knees, her eyes, wild,
-eager, rebellious, seared her father with their terror-stricken,
-unbelieving question.</p>
-<p>But she quickly saw the stab of pain that her
-wild questioning had given him. She crushed
-back a great, choking sob, and fought bravely with
-herself until she was able to force into her eyes
-a look of understanding and great mothering tenderness.</p>
-<p>Her father saw the struggle and the look,
-and blessed her for it with his eyes. Then he
-said:</p>
-<p>“You’ll never blame me, Ruth, girl, will you?
-I know I’m desertin’ you, little comrade, right in
-the mornin’ of your battle with life. But you
-won’t be afraid. I know you won’t.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></div>
-<p>The girl shook her head bravely, but it was
-clear that she dared not trust herself to speak.</p>
-<p>“I’m goin’ to ask this man here to look to you.
-He came here for a sign to me. I see it. I see
-it plain. I will trust him with your life. And so
-will you, little comrade. I––I’m droppin’ out.
-He’ll take you on.</p>
-<p>“He saved my life once. So he gave you your
-life. It’s a sign, my Ruth.”</p>
-<p>The girl slipped her hands gently under his head
-and looked deep and long into the glazing eyes.</p>
-<p>Her heart quailed, for she knew that she was
-facing death––and life alone.</p>
-<p>Obedient to her father’s look, she rose and
-walked across the room. She saw that he had
-something to say to this strange man and that the
-time was short.</p>
-<p>In the doorway of the inner room of the cabin
-she stood, and throwing one arm up against the
-frame of the door she buried her face in it. She
-did not cry or sob. Later, there would be plenty
-of time for that.</p>
-<p>The Bishop, reading swiftly, saw that in an instant
-an irrevocable change had come over her.
-She had knelt a frightened, wondering, protesting
-child. A woman, grown, with knowledge of
-death and its infinite certainty, of life and its infinite
-chance, had risen from her knees.</p>
-<p>As the Bishop leaned over him, Lansing spoke
-hurriedly:</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></div>
-<p>“I never knew your name, Chaplain; or if I
-did I forgot it, and it don’t matter.</p>
-<p>“I’m dying. I don’t need any doctor to tell
-me. I’ll be gone before he gets here.</p>
-<p>“You remember that day at Fort Fisher, when
-Curtis’ men were cut to pieces in the second charge
-on the trenches. They left me there, because it
-was every man for himself.</p>
-<p>“A ball in my shoulder and another in my leg.
-And you came drivin’ mad across the field on a
-big, crazy white horse and slid down beside me
-where I lay. You threw me across your saddle
-and walked that wild horse back into our lines.</p>
-<p>“Do you remember? Dying men got up on
-their elbows and cheered you. I lay six weeks in
-fever, and I never saw you since. Do you remember?”</p>
-<p>“I do, now,” said the Bishop. “Our troop
-came back to the Shenandoah, and I never knew
-what––”</p>
-<p>That terrible, unforgettable day rolled back
-upon him. He was just a few months ordained.
-He had just been appointed chaplain in the Union
-army. All unseasoned and unschooled in the
-ways and business of a battlefield, he had found
-himself that day in the sand dunes before Fort
-Fisher. Red, reeking carnage rioted all about
-him. Hail, fumes, lightning and thunder of battle
-rolled over him and sickened him. He saw
-his own Massachusetts troop hurl itself up against
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span>
-the Confederate breastworks, crumple up on itself,
-and fade away back into the smoke. He lost it,
-and lost himself in the smoke. He wandered
-blindly over the field, now stumbling over a dead
-man, now speaking to a living stricken one: Here
-straightening a torn body and giving water; there
-hearing the confession of a Catholic.</p>
-<p>Now the smoke cleared, and Curtis’ troops
-came yelling across the flat land. Once, twice
-they tried the trenches and were driven back into
-the marshes. A captain was shot off the back of a
-big white horse. The animal, mad with fright and
-blood scent, charged down upon him as he bent
-over a dying man. He grabbed the bridle and
-fought the horse. Before he realised what he was
-doing, he was in the saddle riding back and forth
-across the field. Right up to the trenches the
-horse carried him.</p>
-<p>Within twenty paces of their guns lay a boy,
-a thin, long-legged boy with a long beardless face.
-He lay there marking the high tide of the last
-charge––the farthest of the fallen. The chaplain,
-tumbling down somehow from his mount,
-picked up the writhing boy and bundled him across
-the saddle. Then he started walking back looking
-for his own lines.</p>
-<p>Now here was the boy talking to him across
-the mists of twenty-five years. And the boy, the
-man, was dying. He had picked the boy, Tom
-Lansing, up out of the sand where he would have
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span>
-died from fever bloat or been trampled to death
-in the succeeding charges. He had given him life.
-And, as Tom Lansing had said to his daughter, he
-had given that daughter life. Now he knew what
-Lansing was going to say.</p>
-<p>“I didn’t know you then,” said Lansing. “I
-don’t know who you are now, Chaplain, or what
-you are.</p>
-<p>“But,” he went on slowly, “if I’d agiven you a
-message that day you’d have taken it on for me,
-wouldn’t you?”</p>
-<p>“Of course I would.”</p>
-<p>“Suppose it had been to my mother, say:
-You’da risked your life to get it on to her?”</p>
-<p>“I hope I would,” said the Bishop evenly.</p>
-<p>“I believe you would. That’s what I think
-of you,” said Tom Lansing.</p>
-<p>“I went back South after the war,” he began
-again. “I stole my girl’s mother from her grandfather,
-an old, broken-down Confederate colonel
-that would have shot me if he ever laid eyes on
-me. I brought her up here into the hills and she
-died when the baby was just a few weeks old.</p>
-<p>“There ain’t a relation in the world that my
-little girl could go to. I’m goin’ to die in half
-an hour. But what better would she be if I lived?
-What would I do with her? Keep her here and
-let her marry some fightin’ lumber jack that’d beat
-her? Or see her break her heart tryin’ to make
-a livin’ on one of these rock hills? She’d fret
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span>
-herself to death. She knows more now than I
-do and she’d soon be wantin’ to know more.
-She’s that kind.</p>
-<p>“She’d ought to have her chance the way I’ve
-seen girls in towns havin’ a chance. A chance to
-study and learn and grow the way she wants to.
-And now I’m desertin’; goin’ out like a smoky
-lamp.</p>
-<p>“It was a crime, a crime!” he groaned, “ever
-to bring her mother up into this place!”</p>
-<p>“You could not think of all that then. No
-man ever does,” said the Bishop calmly. “And
-I will do my best to see that she gets her chance.
-I think that’s what you want to ask me, isn’t it,
-Lansing?”</p>
-<p>“Do you swear it?” gasped Lansing, struggling
-and choking in an effort to raise his head.
-“Do you swear to try and see that she gets a
-chance?”</p>
-<p>“God will help me to do the best for her,” said
-the Bishop quietly. “I am the Bishop of Alden.
-I can do something.”</p>
-<p>With the definiteness of a man who has heard a
-final word, Tom Lansing’s eyes turned to his
-daughter.</p>
-<p>Obediently she came again and knelt at his side,
-holding his head.</p>
-<p>To the very last, as long as his eyes could see,
-they saw her smiling bravely and sweetly down
-into them; giving her sacrament and holding her
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span>
-light of cheering love for the soul out-bound.</p>
-<p>When the last twinging tremour had run
-through the racked body, she leaned over and
-kissed her father full on the lips.</p>
-<p>Then her heart broke. She ran blindly out into
-the night.</p>
-<p>While the Bishop was straightening the body
-on the couch, a young man and two women came
-into the room.</p>
-<p>They were Jeffrey Whiting and his mother and
-her sister, neighbours whom Arsene had brought.</p>
-<p>The Bishop was much relieved with their coming.
-He could do nothing more now, and the
-long night ride was still ahead of him.</p>
-<p>He told the young man that the girl, Ruth, had
-gone out into the cold, and asked him to find her.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting went out quickly. He had
-played with Ruth Lansing since she was a baby,
-for they were the only children on Lansing Mountain.
-He knew where he would find her.</p>
-<p>Mrs. Whiting, a keen-faced, capable woman of
-the hills, where people had to meet their problems
-and burdens alone, took command at once.</p>
-<p>“No, sir,” she replied to the Bishop’s question,
-“there’s nobody to send for. The Lansings
-didn’t have a relation living that anybody
-ever heard of, and I knew the old folks, too, Tom
-Lansing’s father and mother. They’re buried out
-there on the hill where he’ll be buried.</p>
-<p>“There’s some old soldiers down the West
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span>
-Slope towards Beaver River. They’ll want to
-take charge, I suppose. The funeral must be on
-Monday,” she went on rapidly, sketching in the
-programme. “We have a preacher if we can
-get one. But when we can’t my sister Letty here
-sings something.”</p>
-<p>“Tom Lansing was a comrade of mine, in a
-way,” said the Bishop slowly. “At least, I was
-at Fort Fisher with him. I think I should like
-to––”</p>
-<p>“Were you at Fort Fisher?” broke in the
-sister Letty, speaking for the first time. “And
-did you see Curtis’ colour bearer? He was killed
-in the first charge. A tall, dark boy, Jay Hamilton,
-with long, black hair?”</p>
-<p>“He had an old scar over his eye-brow.”
-The Bishop supplemented the description out of
-the memory of that day.</p>
-<p>“He got it skating on Beaver Run, thirty-five
-years ago to-morrow,” said the woman trembling.
-“You saw him die?”</p>
-<p>“He was dead when I came to him,” said the
-Bishop quietly, “with the stock of the colour
-standard still clenched in his hand.”</p>
-<p>“He was my––my––” Sweetheart, she
-wanted to say. But the hill women do not say
-things easily.</p>
-<p>“Yes?” said the Bishop gently. “I understand.”
-She was a woman of his people.
-Clearly as if she had taken an hour to tell it, he
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span>
-could read the years of her faithfulness to the
-memory of that lean, dark face which he had once
-seen, with the purple scar above the eye-brow.</p>
-<p>Mrs. Whiting put her arm protectingly about
-her sister.</p>
-<p>“Are you––?” she questioned, hesitating
-strangely. “Are you the White Horse Chaplain?”</p>
-<p>“The boys called me that,” said the Bishop.
-“Though it was only a name for a day,” he
-added.</p>
-<p>“It was true, then?” she said slowly, as if
-still unready to believe. “We never half believed
-our boys when they came home from the
-war––the ones that did come home––and told
-about the white horse and the priest riding the
-field. We thought it was one of the things men
-see when they’re fighting and dying.”</p>
-<p>Then Jeffrey Whiting came back into the room
-leading Ruth Lansing by the hand.</p>
-<p>The girl was shaking with cold and grief. The
-Bishop drew her over to the fire.</p>
-<p>“I must go now, child,” he said. “To-morrow
-I must be in French Village. Monday I will
-be here again.</p>
-<p>“Our comrade is gone. Did you hear what he
-said to me, about you?”</p>
-<p>The girl looked up slowly, searchingly into the
-Bishop’s face, then nodded her head.</p>
-<p>“Then, we must think and pray, child, that we
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span>
-may know how to do what he wanted us to do.
-God will show us what is the best. That is what
-he wanted.</p>
-<p>“God keep you brave now. Your friends here
-will see to everything for you. I have to go
-now.”</p>
-<p>He crossed the room and laid his hand for a
-moment on the brow of the dead man, renewing in
-his heart the promise he had made.</p>
-<p>Then, with a hurried word to Mrs. Whiting
-that he would be back before noon Monday, he
-went out to where Arsene and his horses were
-stamping in the snow.</p>
-<p>The little man had replaced the broken trace,
-and the ponies, fretting with the cold and eager
-to get home, took hungrily to the trail.</p>
-<p>But the Bishop forgot to practise his French
-further upon Arsene. He told him briefly what
-had happened, then lapsed into silence.</p>
-<p>Now the Bishop remembered what Tom Lansing
-had said about the girl. She knew more now
-than he did. Not more than Tom Lansing knew
-now. But more than Tom Lansing had known
-half an hour ago.</p>
-<p>She would want to see the world. She would
-want to know life and ask her own questions from
-life and the world. In the broad open space between
-her eye-brows it was written that she would
-never take anybody’s word for the puzzles of the
-world. She was marked a seeker; one of those
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span>
-who look unafraid into the face of life, and demand
-to know what it means. They never find
-out. But, heart break or sparrow fall, they must
-go on ever and ever seeking truth in their own
-way. The world is infinitely the better through
-them. But their own way is hard and lonely.</p>
-<p>She must go out. She must have education.
-She must have a chance to face life and wrest its
-lessons from it in her own way. It did not
-promise happiness for her. But she could go no
-other way. For hers was the high, stony way of
-those who demand more than jealous life is ready
-to give.</p>
-<p>The Bishop only knew that he had this night
-given a promise which had sent a man contentedly
-on his way. Somehow, God would show him how
-best to keep that promise.</p>
-<p>And when they halloed at Father Ponfret’s
-house in French Village he had gotten no farther
-than that.</p>
-<p>Tom Lansing lay in dignified state upon his
-couch. Clean white sheets had been draped over
-the skins of the couch. The afternoon sun looking
-in through the west window picked out every
-bare thread of his service coat and glinted on the
-polished brass buttons. His bayonet was slung
-into the belt at his side.</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing sat mute in her grief at the head
-of the couch, listening to the comments and
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span>
-stumbling condolences of neighbours from the
-high hills and the lower valleys. They were good,
-kindly people, she knew. But why, why, must
-every one of them repeat that clumsy, monotonous
-lie–– How natural he looked!</p>
-<p>He did not. He did not. He did <i>not</i> look
-natural. How could her Daddy Tom look natural,
-when he lay there all still and cold, and would
-not speak to his Ruth!</p>
-<p>He was dead. And what was death–– And
-why? <i>Why?</i></p>
-<p>Who had ordered this? And <i>why?</i></p>
-<p>And still they came with that set, borrowed
-phrase––the only thing they could think to say––upon
-their lips.</p>
-<p>Out in Tom Lansing’s workshop on the horse-barn
-floor, Jacque Lafitte, the wright, was nailing
-soft pine boards together.</p>
-<p>Ruth could not stand it. Why could they not
-leave Daddy Tom to her? She wanted to ask him
-things. She knew that she could make him understand
-and answer.</p>
-<p>She slipped away from the couch and out of
-the house. At the corner of the house her dog
-joined her and together they circled away from the
-horse-barn and up the slope of the hill to where
-her father had been working yesterday.</p>
-<p>She found her father’s cap where it had been
-left in her fright of yesterday, and sat down
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span>
-fondling it in her hands. The dog came and slid
-his nose along her dress until he managed to snuggle
-into the cap between her hands.</p>
-<p>So Jeffrey Whiting found her when he came following
-her with her coat and hood.</p>
-<p>“You better put these on, Ruth,” he said, as
-he dropped the coat across her shoulder. “It’s
-too cold here.”</p>
-<p>The girl drew the coat around her obediently,
-but did not look up at him. She was grateful for
-his thought of her, but she was not ready to speak
-to any one.</p>
-<p>He sat down quietly beside her on the stump and
-drew the dog over to him.</p>
-<p>After a little he asked timidly:</p>
-<p>“What are you going to do, Ruth? You can’t
-stay here. I’ll tend your stock and look after the
-place for you. But you just can’t stay here.”</p>
-<p>“You?” she questioned finally. “You’re going
-to that Albany school next week. You said
-you were all ready.”</p>
-<p>“I was all ready. But I ain’t going. I’ll stay
-here and work the two farms for you.”</p>
-<p>“For me?” she said. “And not be a lawyer
-at all?”</p>
-<p>“I––I don’t care anything about it any more,”
-he lied. “I told mother this morning that I
-wasn’t going. She said she’d have you come and
-stay with her till Spring.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></div>
-<p>“And then?” the girl faced the matter, looking
-straight and unafraid into his eyes. “And
-then?”</p>
-<p>“Well, then,” he hesitated. “You see, then
-I’ll be twenty. And you’ll be old enough to
-marry me,” he hurried. “Your father, you
-know, he always wanted me to take care of you,
-didn’t he?” he pleaded, awkwardly but subtly.</p>
-<p>“I know you don’t want to talk about it now,”
-he went on hastily. “But you’ll come home with
-mother to-morrow, won’t you? You know she
-wants you, and I––I never had to tell you that I
-love you. You knew it when you wasn’t any
-higher than Prince here.”</p>
-<p>“Yes. I always knew it, and I’m glad,” the
-girl answered levelly. “I’m glad now, Jeff. But
-I can’t let you do it. Some day you’d hate me
-for it.”</p>
-<p>“Ruth! You know better than that!”</p>
-<p>“Oh, you’d never tell me; I know that. You’d
-do your best to hide it from me. But some day
-when your chance was gone you’d look back and
-see what you might have been, ’stead of a humpbacked
-farmer in the hills. Oh, I know. You’ve
-told me all your dreams and plans, how you’re
-going down to the law school, and going to be a
-great lawyer and go to Albany and maybe to
-Washington.”</p>
-<p>“What’s it all good for?” said the boy
-sturdily. “I’d rather stay here with you.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></div>
-<p>The girl did not answer. In the strain of the
-night and the day, she had almost forgotten the
-things that she had heard her father say to the
-White Horse Chaplain, as she continued to call
-the Bishop.</p>
-<p>Now she remembered those things and tried to
-tell them.</p>
-<p>“That strange man that said he was the
-Bishop of Alden told my father that he would see
-that I got a chance. My father called him the
-White Horse Chaplain and said that he had been
-sent here just on purpose to look after me. I
-didn’t know there were bishops in this country. I
-thought it was only in books about Europe.”</p>
-<p>“What did they say?”</p>
-<p>“My father said that I would want to go out
-and see things and know things; that I mustn’t be
-married to a––a lumber jack. He said it was
-no place for me in the hills.”</p>
-<p>“And this man, this bishop, is going to send
-you away somewhere, to school?” he guessed
-shrewdly.</p>
-<p>“I don’t know, I suppose that was it,” said
-the girl slowly. “Yesterday I wanted to go so
-much. It was just as father said. He had
-taught me all he knew. And I thought the world
-outside the hills was full of just the most wonderful
-things, all ready for me to go and see and pick
-up. And to-day I don’t care.”</p>
-<p>She looked down at the cap in her hands, at the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span>
-dog at her feet, and down the hillside to the little
-cabin in the hemlocks. They were all she had
-in the world.</p>
-<p>The boy, watching her eagerly, saw the look
-and read it rightly.</p>
-<p>He got up and stood before her, saying pleadingly:</p>
-<p>“Don’t forget to count me, Ruth. You’ve got
-me, you know.”</p>
-<p>Perhaps it was because he had so answered
-her unspoken thought. Perhaps it was because
-she was afraid of the bare world. Perhaps it was
-just the eternal surrender of woman.</p>
-<p>When she looked up at him her eyes were full
-of great, shining tears, the first that they had
-known since she had kissed Daddy Tom and run
-out into the night.</p>
-<p>He lifted her into his arms, and, together, they
-faced the white, desolate world all below them
-and plighted to each other their untried troth.</p>
-<p>When Tom Lansing had been laid in the white
-bosom of the hillside, and the people were dispersing
-from the house, young Jeffrey Whiting
-came and stood before the Bishop. The Bishop’s
-sharp old eyes had told him to expect something of
-what was coming. He liked the look of the boy’s
-clean, stubborn jaw and the steady, level glance
-of his eyes. They told of dependableness and
-plenty of undeveloped strength. Here was not a
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span>
-boy, but a man ready to fight for what should be
-his.</p>
-<p>“Ruth told me that you were going to take
-her away from the hills,” he began. “To a
-school, I suppose.”</p>
-<p>“I made a promise to her father,” said the
-Bishop, “that I would try to see that she got the
-chance that she will want in the world.”</p>
-<p>“But I love her. She’s going to marry me in
-the Spring.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop was surprised. He had not
-thought matters had gone so far.</p>
-<p>“How old are you?” he asked thoughtfully.</p>
-<p>“Twenty in April.”</p>
-<p>“You have some education?” the Bishop suggested.
-“You have been at school?”</p>
-<p>“Just what Tom Lansing taught me and Ruth.
-And last Winter at the Academy in Lowville. I
-was going to Albany to law school next week.”</p>
-<p>“And you are giving it all up for Ruth,” said
-the Bishop incisively. “Does it hurt?”</p>
-<p>The boy winced, but caught himself at once.</p>
-<p>“It don’t make any difference about that. I
-want Ruth.”</p>
-<p>“And Ruth? What does she want?” the
-Bishop asked. “You are offering to make a sacrifice
-for her. You are willing to give up your
-hopes and work yourself to the bone here on these
-hills for her. And you would be man enough
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span>
-never to let her see that you regretted it. I believe
-that. But what of her? You find it hard
-enough to give up your chance, for her, for love.</p>
-<p>“Do you know that you are asking her to give
-up her chance, for nothing, for less than nothing;
-because in giving up her chance she would
-know that she had taken away yours, too. She
-would be a good and loving companion to you
-through all of a hard life. But, for both your
-sakes, she would never forgive you. Never.”</p>
-<p>“You’re asking me to give her up. If she went
-out and got a start, she’d go faster than I could.
-I know it,” said the boy bitterly. “She’d go away
-above me. I’d lose her.”</p>
-<p>“I am not asking you to give her up,” the
-Bishop returned steadily. “If you are the man
-I think you are, you will never give her up. But
-are you afraid to let her have her chance in the
-sun? Are you afraid to let her have what you
-want for yourself? Are you afraid?”</p>
-<p>The boy looked steadily into the Bishop’s eyes
-for a moment. Then he turned quickly and
-walked across the room to where Ruth sat.</p>
-<p>“I can’t give it up, Ruth,” he said gruffly.
-“I’m going to Albany to school. I can’t give it
-up.”</p>
-<p>The girl looked up at him, and said quietly:</p>
-<p>“You needn’t have tried to lie, Jeff; though
-it’s just like you to put the blame on yourself. I
-know what he said. I must think.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></div>
-<p>The boy stood watching her eyes closely. He
-saw them suddenly light up. He knew what that
-meant. She was seeing the great world with all
-its wonderful mysteries beckoning her. So he
-himself had seen it. Now he knew that he had
-lost.</p>
-<p>The Bishop had put on his coat and was ready
-to go. The day was slipping away and before
-him there were thirty miles and a train to be
-caught.</p>
-<p>“We must not be hurried, my children,” he
-said, standing by the boy and girl. “The Sacred
-Heart Academy at Athens is the best school
-this side of Albany. The Mother Superior will
-write you in a few days, telling you when and
-how to come. If you are ready to go, you will go
-as she directs.</p>
-<p>“You have been a good, brave little girl. A
-soldier’s daughter could be no more, nor less.
-God bless you now, and you, too, my boy,” he
-added.</p>
-<p>When he was settled on the sled with Arsene
-and they were rounding the shoulder of Lansing
-Mountain, where the pony had broken the trace,
-he turned to look back at the cabin in the hemlocks.</p>
-<p>“To-day,” he said to himself, “I have set two
-ambitious, eager souls upon the high and stony
-paths of the great world. Should I have left them
-where they were?</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></div>
-<p>“I shall never know whether I did right or not.
-Even time will mix things up so that I’ll never be
-able to tell. Maybe some day God will let me
-see. But why should he? One can only aim
-right, and trust in Him.”</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span>
-<a name='II_THE_CHOIR_UNSEEN' id='II_THE_CHOIR_UNSEEN'></a>
-<h2>II</h2>
-<h3>THE CHOIR UNSEEN</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Ruth Lansing sat in one of the music rooms
-of the Sacred Heart convent in Athens thrumming
-out a finger exercise that a child of six would have
-been able to do as well as she.</p>
-<p>It was a strange, little, closely-crowded world,
-this, into which she had been suddenly transplanted.
-It was as different from the great world
-that she had come out to see as it was from the
-wild, sweet life of the hills where she had ruled
-and managed everything within reach. Mainly it
-was full of girls of her own age whose talk and
-thoughts were of a range entirely new to her.</p>
-<p>She compared herself with them and knew that
-they were really children in the comparison.
-Their talk was of dress and manners and society
-and the thousand little and big things that growing
-girls look forward to. She knew that in any
-real test, anything that demanded common sense
-and action, she was years older than they. But
-they had things that she did not have.</p>
-<p>They talked of things that she knew nothing
-about. They could walk across waxed floors as
-though waxed floors were meant to be walked on.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span>
-They could rise to recite lessons without stammering
-or choking as she did. They could take reproof
-jauntily, where she, who had never in her
-life received a scolding, would have been driven
-into hysterics. They could wear new dresses just
-as though all dresses were supposed to be new.
-She knew that these were not things that they had
-learned by studying. They just grew up to them,
-just as she knew how to throw a fishing line and
-hold a rifle.</p>
-<p>But she wanted all those things that they had;
-wanted them all passionately. She had the sense
-to know that those were not great things. But
-they were the things that would make her like
-these other girls. And she wanted to be like
-them.</p>
-<p>Because she had not grown up with other girls,
-because she had never even had a girl playmate,
-she wanted not to miss any of the things that they
-had and were.</p>
-<p>They baffled her, these girls. Her own quick,
-eager mind sprang at books and fairly tore the
-lessons from them. She ran away from the girls
-in anything that could be learned in that way.
-But when she found herself with two or three of
-them they talked a language that she did not know.
-She could not keep up with them. And she
-was stupid and awkward, and felt it. It was not
-easy to break into their world and be one of them.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></div>
-<p>Then there was that other world, touching the
-world of the girls but infinitely removed from it––the
-world of the sisters.</p>
-<p>That mysterious cloister from which the sisters
-came and gave their hours of teaching or duty and
-to which they retreated back again was a world all
-by itself.</p>
-<p>What was there in there behind those doors
-that never banged? What was there in there
-that made the sisters all so very much alike?
-They must once have been as different as every
-girl is different from every other girl.</p>
-<p>How was it that they could carry with them
-all day long that air of never being tired or fretted
-or worried? What wonderful presence was there
-behind the doors of that cloistered house that
-seemed to come out with them and stay with them
-all the time? What was the light that shone in
-their faces?</p>
-<p>Was it just because they were always contented
-and happy? What did they have to be happy
-about?</p>
-<p>Ruth had tried to question the other girls about
-this. They were Catholics. They ought to
-know. But Bessie Donnelly had brushed her
-question aside with a stare:</p>
-<p>“Sisters always look like that.”</p>
-<p>So Ruth did not ask any more. But her mind
-kept prying at that world of the sisters behind
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span>
-those walls. What did they do in there? Did
-they laugh and talk and scold each other, like people?
-Or did they just pray all the time? Or
-did they see wonderful, starry visions of God and
-Heaven that they were always talking about?
-They seemed so familiar with God. They knew
-just when He was pleased and especially when He
-was displeased.</p>
-<p>She had come down out of her hills where
-everything was so open, where there were no mysteries,
-where everything from the bark on the trees
-to the snow clouds on Marcy, fifty miles away,
-was as clear as a printed book. Everything up
-there told its plain lesson. She could read the
-storm signs and the squirrel tracks. Nothing had
-been hidden. Nothing in nature or life up there
-had ever shut itself away from her.</p>
-<p>Here were worlds inside of worlds, every one of
-them closing its door in the face of her sharp,
-hungry mind.</p>
-<p>And there was that other world, enveloping all
-the other lesser worlds about her––the world of
-the Catholic Church.</p>
-<p>Three weeks ago those two words had meant
-to her a little green building in French Village
-where the “Canucks” went to church.</p>
-<p>Now her day began and ended with it. It was
-on all sides of her. The pictures and the images
-on every wall, the signs on every classroom door.
-The books she read, the talk she heard was all
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span>
-filled with it. It came and went through every
-door of life.</p>
-<p>All the inherited prejudices of her line of New
-England fathers were alive and stirring in her
-against this religion that demanded so much.
-The untrammelled spirit that the hills had given
-her fought against it. It was so absolute. It was
-so sure of everything. She wanted to argue with
-it, to quarrel with it. She was sure that it must
-be wrong sometimes.</p>
-<p>But just when she was sure that she had found
-something false, something that she knew was not
-right in the things they taught her, she was always
-told that she had not understood. Some one was
-always ready to tell her, in an easy, patient,
-amused way, that she had gotten the thing wrong.
-How could they always be so sure? And what
-was wrong with her that she could not understand?
-She could learn everything else faster and more
-easily than the other girls could.</p>
-<p>Suddenly her fingers slipped off the keys and her
-hands fell nervelessly to her sides. Her eyes were
-blinded with great, burning tears. A wave of intolerable
-longing and loneliness swept over her.</p>
-<p>The wonderful, enchanting world that she had
-come out of her hills to conquer was cut down
-to the four little grey walls that enclosed her.
-Everything was shut away from her. She did not
-understand these strange women about her.
-Would never understand them.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div>
-<p>Why? Why had she ever left her hills, where
-Daddy Tom was near her, where there was love
-for her, where the people and even the snow and
-the wild winds were her friends?</p>
-<p>She threw herself forward on her arms and
-gave way utterly, crying in great, heart-breaking,
-breathless sobs for her Daddy Tom, for her home,
-for her hills.</p>
-<p>At five o’clock Sister Rose, coming to see that
-the music rooms were aired for the evening use,
-found Ruth an inert, shapeless little bundle of
-broken nerves lying across the piano.</p>
-<p>She took the girl to her room and sent for the
-sister infirmarian.</p>
-<p>But Ruth was not sick. She begged them only
-to leave her alone.</p>
-<p>The sisters, thinking that it was the fit of homesickness
-that every new pupil in a boarding school
-is liable to, sent some of the other girls in during
-the evening, to cheer Ruth out of it. But she
-drove them away. She was not cross nor pettish.
-But her soul was sick for the sweeping freedom
-of her hills and for people who could understand
-her.</p>
-<p>She rose and dragged her little couch over to
-the window, where she could look out and up to
-the friendly stars, the same ones that peeped down
-upon her in the hills.</p>
-<p>She did not know the names that they had in
-books, but she had framed little pet names for
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span>
-them all out of her baby fancies and the names had
-clung to them all the years.</p>
-<p>She recognised them, although they did not
-stand in the places where they belonged when she
-looked at them from the hills.</p>
-<p>Out among them somewhere was Heaven.
-Daddy Tom was there, and her mother whom she
-had never seen.</p>
-<p>Suddenly, out of the night, from Heaven it
-seemed, there came stealing into her sense a sound.
-Or was it a sound? It was so delicate, so illusive.
-It did not stop knocking at the portals of the ear
-as other sounds must do. It seemed, rather, to
-steal past the clumsy senses directly into the spirit
-and the heart.</p>
-<p>It was music. Yes. But it was as though the
-Soul of Music had freed itself of the bondage and
-the body of sound and notes and came carrying its
-unutterable message straight to the soul of the
-world.</p>
-<p>It was only the sisters in their chapel gently
-hymning the <i>Salve</i> of the Compline to their Queen
-in Heaven.</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing might have heard the same subdued,
-sweetly poignant evensong on every other
-night. Other nights, her mind filled with books
-and its other business, the music had scarcely
-reached her. To-night her soul was alive. Her
-every sense was like a nerve laid bare, ready to be
-thrilled and hurt by the most delicate pressures.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></div>
-<p>She did not think of the sisters. She saw the
-deep rose flush of the windows in the dimly lighted
-chapel across the court, and knew vaguely, perhaps,
-that the music came from there. But it carried
-her beyond all thought.</p>
-<p>She did not hear the words of the hymn.
-Would not have understood them if she had heard.
-But the lifting of hearts to <i>Our Life, our Sweetness
-and our Hope</i> caught her heart up into a
-world where words were never needed.</p>
-<p>She heard the cry of the <i>Banished children of
-Eve</i>. The <i>Mourning and weeping in this vale
-of tears</i> swept into her soul like the flood-tide of
-all the sorrow of all the world.</p>
-<p>On and upwards the music carried her, until she
-could hear the triumph, until her soul rang with
-the glory and the victory of <i>The Promises of
-Christ</i>.</p>
-<p>The music ceased. She saw the light fade from
-the chapel windows, leaving only the one little
-blood-red spot of light before the altar. She lay
-there trembling, not daring to move, while the
-echo of that unseen choir caught her heartstrings
-and set them ringing to the measure of the heart
-of the world.</p>
-<p>It was not the unembodied cry of the pain and
-helplessness but the undying hope of the world
-that she had heard. It was the cry of the little
-blind ones of all the earth. It was the cry of
-martyrs on their pyres. It was the cry of strong
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span>
-men and valiant women crushed under the forces
-of life. And it was the voice of the Catholic
-Church, which knows what the soul of the world
-is saying. Ruth Lansing knew this. She realised
-it as she lay there trembling.</p>
-<p>Always, as long as life was in her; always,
-whether she worked or laughed, cried or played;
-always that voice would grip her heart and play
-upon it and lead her whether she would or no.</p>
-<p>It would lead her. It would carry her. It
-would send her.</p>
-<p>Through all the long night she fought it. She
-would not! She would not give up her life, her
-will, her spirit! Why? Why? Why must she?</p>
-<p>It would take her spirit out of the freedom of
-the hills and make it follow a trodden way. It
-would take her life out of her hands and maybe
-ask her to shut herself up, away from the sun and
-the wind, in a darkened convent. It would take
-her will, the will of a soldier’s daughter, and break
-it into little pieces to make a path for her to walk
-upon!</p>
-<p>No! No! No! Through all the endless
-night she moaned her protest. She would not!
-She would not give in to it.</p>
-<p>It would never let her rest. Through all her
-life that voice of the Choir Unseen would strike
-the strings of her heart. She knew it.</p>
-<p>But she would not. Never would she give in
-to it.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></div>
-<p>In the morning, even before the coming of the
-dawn, the music came again; and it beat upon her
-worn, ragged nerves, and tore and wrenched at
-her heart until she could stand it no longer.</p>
-<p>The sisters were taking up again the burden and
-the way of the day.</p>
-<p>She could not stand it! She could not stay
-here! She must go back to her hills, where there
-was peace for her.</p>
-<p>She heard the sister going down to unlock the
-street door so that Father Tenney could walk in
-when it was time and go up to the chapel for the
-sisters’ early mass.</p>
-<p>That was her chance! The sisters would be in
-chapel. The girls would be still in their rooms.</p>
-<p>She dressed hastily and threw her books into a
-bag. She would take only these and her money.
-She had enough to get home on. The rest did
-not matter.</p>
-<p>When she heard the priest’s step pass in the
-hall, she slipped out and down the dim, broad
-stairs.</p>
-<p>The great, heavy door of the convent stood
-like the gate of the world. It swung slowly, deliberately,
-on its well-oiled, silent hinges.</p>
-<p>She stood in the portal a moment, drinking
-hungrily the fresh, free air of the morning that
-had come down from her hills. Then she fled
-away into the dawn.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></div>
-<p>The sun was just showing over Lansing mountain
-as Jeffrey Whiting came out of his mother’s
-house dragging a hair trunk by the handle. His
-uncle, Cassius Bascom, drove up from the barn
-with the team and sled. Jeffrey threw his trunk
-upon the sled and bent to lash it down safe. It
-was twenty-five miles of half broken road and
-snowdrifts to Lowville and the railroad.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting was doing what the typical
-American farm boy has been doing for the last
-hundred years and what he will probably continue
-to do as long as we Americans are what we are.
-He is not always a dreamer, your farm boy, when
-he starts down from his hills or his cross-roads
-farm to see the big world and conquer it. More
-often than you would think, he knows that he is
-not going to conquer it at all. And he is not, on
-the other hand, merely running away from the
-drudgery of the farm. He knows that he will
-probably have to work harder than he would ever
-have worked on the farm. But he knows that he
-has things to sell. And he is going down into the
-markets of men. He has a good head and a
-strong body. He has a power of work in him.
-He has grit and energy.</p>
-<p>He is going down into the markets where men
-pay the price for these things that he has. He is
-going to fight men for that price which he knows
-his things are worth.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></div>
-<p>Jeffrey’s mother came out carrying a canvas
-satchel which she put on the sled under Cassius
-Bascom’s feet.</p>
-<p>“Don’t kick that, Catty,” she warned, “Jeff’s
-lunch is in it. And, Jeff, don’t you go and check
-it with the trunk.” There was just a little catch
-in the laugh with which she said this. She was
-remembering a day more than twenty years before
-when she had started, a bride, with big, lumbering,
-slow-witted, adoring Dan Whiting, Jeffrey’s
-father, on her wedding trip to Niagara Falls, with
-their lunch in that same satchel. Dan Whiting
-checked the satchel through from Lowville to Buffalo,
-and they had nearly starved on the way. It
-was easy to forgive Dan Whiting his stupidity.
-But she never quite forgave him for telling it on
-himself when they got back. It had been a standing
-joke in the hills all these years.</p>
-<p>She was just a typical mother of the hills. She
-loved her boy. She needed him. She knew that
-she would never have him again. The boys do
-not come back from the market place. She knew
-that she would cry for him through many a lonely
-night, as she had cried all last night. But she was
-not crying now.</p>
-<p>Her deep grey eyes smiled steadily up into his
-as she stretched her arms up around the neck of
-her tall boy and drew his head down to kiss her.</p>
-<p>He was not a dull boy. He was quick of heart.
-He knew his mother very well. So he began with
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span>
-the old, old lie; the lie that we all tried to tell
-when we were leaving.</p>
-<p>“It’ll only be a little while, Mother. You
-won’t find the time slipping by, and I’ll be back.”</p>
-<p>She knew it was a lie. All the mothers of boys
-always knew it was a lie. But she backed him up
-sturdily:</p>
-<p>“Why, of course, Jeff. Don’t worry about me.
-You’ll be back in no time.”</p>
-<p>Miss Letitia Bascom came hurrying out of the
-house with a dark, oblong object in her hands.</p>
-<p>“There now, Jeff Whiting, I know you just
-tried to forget this on purpose. It’s too late to
-put it in the trunk now; so you’ll just have to put
-it in your overcoat pocket.”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey groaned in spirit. It was a full-grown
-brick covered with felt, a foot warmer. Aunt
-Letty had made him take one with him when he
-went down to the Academy at Lowville last winter,
-and he and his brick had furnished much of the
-winter’s amusement there. The memory of his
-humiliations on account of that brick would last a
-lifetime. He wondered why maiden aunts could
-not understand. His mother, now, would have
-known better. But he dutifully put the thing into
-the pocket of his big coat––he could drop it into
-the first snowback––and turned to kiss his aunt.</p>
-<p>“I know all about them hall bedrooms in Albany,”
-she lectured. “Make your landlady heat
-it for you every night.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></div>
-<p>A noise in the road made them all turn.</p>
-<p>Two men in a high-backed, low-set cutter were
-driving into the yard.</p>
-<p>It was evident from the signs that the men
-had been having a hard time on the road. They
-must have been out all night, for they could not
-have started from anywhere early enough to be
-here now at sunrise.</p>
-<p>Their harness had been broken and mended in
-several places. The cutter had a runner broken.
-The horses were cut and bloody, where they had
-kicked themselves and each other in the drifts.</p>
-<p>As they drove up beside the group in the yard,
-one of the men shouted:</p>
-<p>“Say, is there any place we can put in here?
-We’ve been on that road all night.”</p>
-<p>“Drive in onto the barn floor, and come in and
-warm yourselves,” said Mrs. Whiting.</p>
-<p>“Rogers,” said the man who had spoken, addressing
-the other, “if I ever get into a place that’s
-warm, I’ll stay there till spring.”</p>
-<p>Rogers laid the lines down on the dashboard of
-the cutter and stepped stiffly out into the snow.
-He swept the group with a sharp, a praising eye,
-and asked:</p>
-<p>“Who’s the one to talk to here?”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting stepped forward naturally and
-replied with another question.</p>
-<p>“What do you want?”</p>
-<p>Rogers, a large, square-faced man, with a stubby
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span>
-grey moustache and cold grey eyes, looked the
-youth over carefully as he spoke.</p>
-<p>“I want a man that knows this country and can
-get around in it in this season. I was brought up
-in the country, but I never saw anything like this.
-I wouldn’t take a trip like this again for any
-money. I can’t do this sort of thing. I want a
-man that knows the country and the people and
-can do it.”</p>
-<p>“Well, I’m going away now,” said Jeffrey
-slowly, “but Uncle Catty here knows the people
-and the country better than most and he can go
-anywhere.”</p>
-<p>The big man looked doubtfully at the little, oldish
-man on the sled. Then he turned away decisively.
-Uncle Cassius, his kindly, ugly old face
-all withered and puckered to one side, where a
-splinter of shell from Fort Fisher had taken away
-his right eye, was evidently not the kind of man
-that the big man wanted.</p>
-<p>“Where are you going?” he asked Jeffrey
-sharply.</p>
-<p>“Albany Law School,” said Jeffrey promptly.</p>
-<p>“Unstrap the trunk, young man. You’re not
-going. I’ve got something for you right here at
-home that’ll teach you more than ten law schools.
-Put both teams into the barn,” the big man commanded
-loudly.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey stood still a moment, as though he would
-oppose the will of this brusque stranger. But he
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span>
-knew that he would not do so. In that moment
-something told him that he would not go to law
-school; would never go there; that his life was
-about to take a twist away from everything that he
-had ever intended.</p>
-<p>Mrs. Whiting broke the pause, saying simply:</p>
-<p>“Come into the house.”</p>
-<p>In the broad, low kitchen, while Letitia Bascom
-poured boiling tea for the two men, Rogers, cup
-in hand, stood squarely on the hearth and explained
-himself. The other man, whose name
-does not matter, sank into a great wooden chair
-at the side of the fire and seemed to be ready to
-make good his threat of staying until spring.</p>
-<p>“I represent the U. & M. railroad. We are
-coming up through here in the spring. All these
-farms have to be given up. We have eminent domain
-for this whole section,” said Rogers.</p>
-<p>“What do you mean?” asked Jeffrey. “The
-railroad can’t run <i>all over</i> the country.”</p>
-<p>“No. But the road will need the whole strip
-of hills for timber. They’ll cut off what is standing
-and then they’ll stock the whole country with
-cedar, for ties. That’s all the land’s good for,
-anyway.”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting’s mouth opened for an answer
-to this, but his mother’s sharp, warning glance
-stopped him. He understood that it was his place
-to listen and learn. There would be time enough
-for questions and arguments afterward.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></div>
-<p>“Now these people here won’t understand what
-eminent domain means,” the big man went on.
-“I’m going to make it clear to you, young man.
-I know who you are and I know more about you
-than you think. I’m going to make it clear to you
-and then I’m going to send you out among them
-to make them see it. They wouldn’t understand
-me and they wouldn’t believe me. You can make
-them see it.”</p>
-<p>“How do you know that I’ll believe you?”
-asked Jeffrey.</p>
-<p>“You’ve got brains. You don’t have to <i>believe</i>.
-I can <i>show</i> it to you.”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting was a big, strong boy, well accustomed
-to taking responsibilities upon himself.
-He had never been afraid of anything and this
-perhaps had given him more than the average
-boy’s good opinion of himself. Nothing could
-have appealed to him more subtly than this man’s
-bluff, curt flattery. He was being met man to
-man by a man of the world. No boy is proof
-against the compliment that he is a man, to be
-dealt with as a man and equal of older, more experienced
-men. Jeffrey was ready to listen.</p>
-<p>“Do you know what an option is?” the man
-began again.</p>
-<p>“Of course I do.”</p>
-<p>“I thought so,” said Rogers, in a manner that
-seemed to confirm his previous judgment of
-Jeffrey’s brains. “Now then, the railroad has got
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span>
-to have all these farms from Beaver River right
-up to the head of Little Tupper Lake. I say these
-people won’t know what eminent domain means.
-You’re going to tell them. It means that they can
-sell at the railroad’s price or they can hold off
-and a referee will be appointed to name a price.
-The railroad will have a big say in appointing
-those referees. Do you understand me?”</p>
-<p>“Yes. I see,” said Jeffrey. “But––”</p>
-<p>“No buts at all about it, young man,” said Rogers,
-waving his hand. “The people have got to
-sell. If they give options at once––within thirty
-days––they’ll get more than a fair price for their
-land. If they don’t––if they hold off––their
-farms will be condemned as forest land. And you
-know how much that brings.</p>
-<p>“You people will be the first. You can ask almost
-anything for your land. You’ll get it.
-And, what is more, I am able to offer you, Whiting,
-a very liberal commission on every option
-you can get me within the time I have said. This
-is the thing that I can’t do. It’s the thing that I
-want you to do.</p>
-<p>“You’ll do it. I know you will, when you get
-time to think it over. Here are the options,” said
-the big man, pulling a packet of folded papers
-out of his pocket. “They cover every farm in
-the section. All you have to do is to get the
-people to write their names once. Then your
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span>
-work is done. We’ll do the rest and your commissions
-will be waiting for you. Some better
-than law school, eh?”</p>
-<p>“But say,” Jeffrey stammered, “say, that
-means, why, that means my mother and the folks
-here, why, they’d have to get out; they’d have to
-leave their home!”</p>
-<p>“Of course,” said Rogers easily. “A man
-like you isn’t going to keep his family up on top of
-this rock very long. Why, young fellow, you’ll
-have the best home in Lowville for them, where
-they can live in style, in less than six months. Do
-you think your mother wants to stay here after
-you’re gone. You were going away. Did you
-think,” he said shrewdly, “what life up here would
-be worth to your mother while you were away.
-No, you’re just like all boys. You wanted to get
-away yourself. But you never thought what a
-life this is for her.</p>
-<p>“Why, boy, she’s a young woman yet. You
-can take her out and give her a chance to live.
-Do you hear, a chance to live.</p>
-<p>“Think it over.”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting thought, harder and faster than
-he had ever tried to think in his life. But he could
-make nothing of it.</p>
-<p>He thought of the people, old and young, on
-the hills, suddenly set adrift from their homes.
-He thought of his mother and Uncle Cassius and
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span>
-Aunt Letitia without their real home to come back
-to. And he thought of money––illimitable
-money: money that could do everything.</p>
-<p>He did not want to look at his mother for counsel.
-The man’s talk had gone to his head. But,
-slowly, unwillingly his eyes came to his mother’s,
-and he saw in hers that steady, steadfast look
-which told him to wait, wait. He caught the
-meaning and spoke it brusquely:</p>
-<p>“All right. Leave the options here. I’ll see
-what we’ll do. And I’ll write to you next week.”</p>
-<p>No. That would not do. The big man must
-have his answer at once. He stormed at Jeffrey.
-He appealed to Mrs. Whiting. He blandished
-Miss Letitia. He even attacked Uncle Cassius,
-but that guileless man led him off into such a discussion
-of cross grafting and reforestation that he
-was glad to drop him.</p>
-<p>In the end, he saw that, having committed himself,
-he could do no better than leave the matter
-to Jeffrey, trusting that, with time for thought,
-the boy could not refuse his offer.</p>
-<p>So the two men, having breakfasted and rested
-their horses, set out on the down trip to Lowville.</p>
-<p>Late that night Jeffrey Whiting and his mother
-came to a decision.</p>
-<p>“It is too big for us, Jeff,” she said. “We do
-not know what it means. Nobody up here can tell
-us. The man was lying. But we do not know
-why, or what about.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></div>
-<p>“There is one man that could tell us. The
-White Horse Chaplain, do you remember him,
-Jeffrey?”</p>
-<p>“I guess I do. He sent Ruth away from me.”</p>
-<p>“Only to give her her chance, my son. Do
-not forget that. He could tell us what this means.
-I don’t care anything about his religion. Your
-Uncle Catty thinks he was a ghost even that day
-at Fort Fisher. I don’t. He is the Catholic
-Bishop of Alden. You’ll go to him to-morrow.
-He’ll tell you what it means.”</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>Bishop Joseph Winthrop of Alden was very
-much worried. For the third time he picked up
-and read a telegram from the Mother Superior of
-the Sacred Heart Convent at Athens, telling him
-that Ruth Lansing had left the convent that morning.
-But the third perusal of the message did not
-give him any more light on the matter than the
-two previous readings had done.</p>
-<p>Why should the girl have gone away? What
-could have happened? Only the other day he
-had received a letter from her telling of her studies
-and her progress and of every new thing that was
-interesting her.</p>
-<p>The Bishop thought of the lonely hill home
-where he had found her “Daddy Tom” dying,
-and where he had buried him on the hillside.
-Probably the girl would go back and try to live
-there. And he thought of the boy who had told
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span>
-him of his love and that he wanted to keep Ruth
-there in the hills.</p>
-<p>As he laid down the telegraph form, his secretary
-came to the door to tell him that the boy,
-Jeffrey Whiting, was in the waiting room asking
-to see him and refusing even to indicate the nature
-of his business to any one but the Bishop himself.</p>
-<p>The Bishop was startled. He had understood
-that the young man was in Albany at school.
-Now he thought that he would get a very clear
-light upon Ruth Lansing’s disappearance.</p>
-<p>“I came to you, sir,” said Jeffrey when the
-Bishop had given him a chair, “because you could
-tell us what to do.”</p>
-<p>“You mean you and your––neighbour, Ruth
-Lansing?”</p>
-<p>“Why, no, sir. What about her?” said
-Jeffrey quickly.</p>
-<p>The Bishop gave the boy one keen, searching
-look, and saw his mistake. The boy knew nothing.</p>
-<p>“This,” the Bishop answered, as he handed
-Jeffrey the open telegram.</p>
-<p>“But where’s she gone? Why did she go?”
-Jeffrey broke out, as he read the message.</p>
-<p>“I thought you were coming to tell me that.”</p>
-<p>“No,” said Jeffrey, reading the Bishop’s
-meaning quickly. “She didn’t write to me, not
-at all. I suppose the sisters wouldn’t have it.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span>
-But she wrote to my mother and she didn’t say
-anything about leaving there.”</p>
-<p>“I suppose not,” said the Bishop. “She seems
-to have gone away suddenly. But, I am forgetting.
-You came to talk to me.”</p>
-<p>“Yes.” And Jeffrey went on to tell, clearly
-and shortly, of the coming of Rogers and his
-proposition. Though it hurt, he did not fail to
-tell how he had been carried away by the man’s
-offer and his flattery. He made it plain that it
-was only his mother’s insight and caution that had
-held him back from accepting the offer on the instant.</p>
-<p>The Bishop, listening, was proud of the down-rightness
-of the young fellow. It was good to
-hear. When he had heard all he bowed in his
-old-fashioned, stiff way and said:</p>
-<p>“Your mother, young man, is a rare and wise
-woman. You will convey to her my deepest respect.</p>
-<p>“I do not know what it all means,” he went on,
-in another tone. “But I can soon find out.”</p>
-<p>He rang a bell, and as his secretary opened the
-door the Bishop said:</p>
-<p>“Will you see, please, if General Chandler is
-in his office across the street. If he is, give him
-my respects and ask him to step over here a moment.”</p>
-<p>The secretary bowed, but hesitated a little in the
-doorway.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div>
-<p>“What is it?” asked the Bishop.</p>
-<p>“There is a young girl out there, Bishop. She
-says she must see you, but she will not give a name.
-She seems to be in trouble, or frightened.”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting was on his feet and making for
-the door.</p>
-<p>“Sit down where you were, young man,” said
-the Bishop sharply. If Ruth Lansing were out
-there––and the Bishop half believed that she was––well,
-it <i>might</i> be coincidence. But it was too
-much for the Bishop’s credulity.</p>
-<p>“Send the girl in here,” he said shortly.</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing walked into the room and went
-straight to the Bishop. She did not see Jeffrey.</p>
-<p>“I came straight here all the way,” she said,
-“to tell you, Bishop, that I couldn’t stay in the
-convent any longer. I am going home. I could
-not stay there.”</p>
-<p>“I am very glad to see you, Ruth,” said the
-Bishop easily, “and if you’ll just turn around, I
-think you’ll see some one who is even more
-pleased.”</p>
-<p>Her startled cry of surprise and pleasure at
-sight of Jeffrey was abundant proof to the Bishop
-that the coming of these two to his door was indeed
-a coincidence.</p>
-<p>“Now,” said the Bishop quickly, “you will
-both sit down and listen. It concerns both of you
-deeply. A man is coming here in a moment, General
-Chandler. You have both heard of him.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span>
-He is the political power of this part of the State.
-He can, if he will, tell us just how serious your situation
-is up there, Jeffrey. Say nothing. Just
-listen.”</p>
-<p>Ruth looked from one to the other with surprise
-and perhaps a little resentment. For hours
-she had been bracing her courage for this ordeal
-of meeting the Bishop, and here she was merely
-told to sit down and listen to something, she did
-not know what.</p>
-<p>The Bishop rose as General Oliver Chandler
-was ushered into the room and the two veterans
-saluted each other with the stiffest of military precision.</p>
-<p>“These are two young friends of mine from
-the hills, General,” said the Bishop, as he seated
-his old friend. “They both own farms in the
-Beaver Run country. They have come to me to
-find out what the U. & M. Railroad wants with
-options on all that country. Can you, will you
-tell them?”</p>
-<p>The General plucked for a moment at the empty
-left sleeve of his coat.</p>
-<p>“No, Bishop,” he said finally, “I cannot give
-out what I know of that matter. The interests
-behind it are too large for me. I would not dare.
-I do not often have to say that.”</p>
-<p>“No,” said the Bishop slowly, “I never heard
-you say that before.”</p>
-<p>“But I can do this, Bishop,” said the General,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span>
-rising. “If you will come over here to the end
-of the room, I can tell you, privately, what I know.
-You can then use your own prudence to judge
-how much you can tell these young people.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop followed to the window at the other
-end of the room, where the two men stood and
-talked in undertones.</p>
-<p>“Jeffrey,” said Ruth through teeth that gritted
-with impatience, “if you don’t tell me this instant
-what it’s all about, I’ll––I’ll <i>bite</i> you!”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey laughed softly. It took just that little
-wild outbreak of hers to convince him that the
-young lady who had swept into the room and faced
-the Bishop was really his little playmate, his Ruth,
-after all.</p>
-<p>In quick whispers, he told her all he knew.</p>
-<p>The Bishop walked to the door with the General,
-thanking him. From the door the General
-saluted gravely and stalked away.</p>
-<p>“The answer,” said the Bishop quietly, as he
-came back to them, “is one word––Iron.”</p>
-<p>To Ruth, it seemed that these men were making
-a mysterious fuss about nothing. But Jeffrey saw
-the whole matter instantly.</p>
-<p>“No one knows how much there is, or how little
-there is,” said the Bishop. “The man lied to you,
-Jeffrey. The road has no eminent domain. But
-they can get it if they get the options on a large
-part of the farms. Then, when they have the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span>
-right of eminent domain, they will let the options
-lapse and buy the properties at their own prices.”</p>
-<p>“I’ll start back to warn the people to-night,”
-said Jeffrey, jumping up. “Maybe they made
-that offer to other people besides me!”</p>
-<p>“Wait,” said the Bishop, “there is more to
-think of. The railroad, if you serve it well, will,
-no doubt, buy your farm for much more than it is
-worth to you. There is your mother to be considered
-first. And they will, very likely, give you
-a chance to make a small fortune in your commissions,
-if you are faithful to them. If you go to
-fight them, they will probably crush you all in the
-end, and you will be left with little or nothing.
-Better go slowly, young man.”</p>
-<p>“What?” cried Jeffrey. “Take their bribe!
-Take their money, for fooling and cheating the
-other people out of their homes! Why, before
-I’d do that, I’d leave that farm and everything
-that’s there and go up into the big woods with
-only my axe, as my grandfather did. And my
-mother would follow me! You know that! My
-mother would be glad to go with me, with nothing,
-nothing in her hands!”</p>
-<p>“And so would I!” said Ruth, springing to her
-feet. “I <i>would</i>! I <i>would</i>!” she chanted defiantly.</p>
-<p>“Well, well, well!” said the Bishop, smiling.</p>
-<p>“But you are not going up into the big woods,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span>
-Jeffrey,” Ruth said demurely. “You are going
-back home to fight them. If I could help you I
-would go back with you. I would not be of any
-use. So, I’m going back, to the convent, to face
-my fight.”</p>
-<p>“But, but,” said Jeffrey, “I thought you were
-running away.”</p>
-<p>“I did. I was,” said Ruth. “Last night I
-heard the voice of something calling to me. It
-was such a big thing,” she went on, turning to the
-Bishop; “it seemed such a pitiless, strong thing
-that I thought it would crush me. It would take
-my life and make me do what <i>it</i> wanted, not what
-I wanted. I was afraid of it. I ran away. It
-was like a Choir Unseen singing to me to follow,
-and I didn’t dare follow.</p>
-<p>“But I heard it again, just now when Jeffrey
-spoke that way. Now I know what it was. It
-was the call of life to everybody to face life, to
-take our souls in our hands and go forward. I
-thought I could turn back. I can’t. God, or
-life won’t let us turn back.”</p>
-<p>“I know what you mean, child. Fear nothing,”
-said the Bishop. “I’m glad you came away,
-to have it out with yourself. And you will be
-very glad now to go back.”</p>
-<p>“As for you, young man,” he turned to
-Jeffrey, “I should say that your mother <i>would</i> be
-proud to go anywhere, empty-handed with you.
-Remember that, when you are in the worst of this
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span>
-fight that is before you. When you are tempted,
-as you will be tempted, remember it. When you
-are hard pressed, as you will be hard pressed,
-<i>remember it</i>.”</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span>
-<a name='III_GLOW_OF_DAWN' id='III_GLOW_OF_DAWN'></a>
-<h2>III</h2>
-<h3>GLOW OF DAWN</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Twinkle-tail was gliding up Beaver Run to
-his breakfast. It was past the middle of June, or,
-as Twinkle-tail understood the matter, it was the
-time when the snow water and the water from the
-spring rains had already gone down to the Big
-River: Beaver Run was still a fresh, rushing
-stream of water, but it was falling fast. Soon
-there would not be enough water in it to make it
-safe for a trout as large as he. Then he would
-have to stay down in the low, deep pond of Beaver
-River, where the saw-dust came to bother him.</p>
-<p>He was going up to lie all the morning in the
-shallow little pond at the very head of Beaver
-Run, where the hot, sweet sun beat down and drew
-the flies to the surface of the pond. He was very
-fond of flies and the pond was his own. He had
-made it his own now through four seasons, by his
-speed and his strong teeth. Even the big, greedy,
-quarrelsome pike that bullied the river down below
-did not dispute with him this sweet upper stretch
-of his own stream. No large fish ever came up
-this way now, and he did not bother with the little
-ones. He liked flies better.</p>
-<p>His pond lay all clean and silvery and a little
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span>
-cool yet, for the sun was not high enough to have
-heated it through: a beautiful breakfast room at
-the bottom of the great bowl of green banks that
-ran away up on every side to the rim of the high
-hills.</p>
-<p>Twinkle-tail was rather early for breakfast.
-The sun had not yet begun to draw the flies from
-their hiding places to buzz over the surface of
-the water. As he shot into the centre of the pool
-only one fly was in sight. A rather decrepit looking
-black fly was doddering about a cat-tail stalk
-at the edge of the pond. One quick flirt of his
-body, and Twinkle-tail slid out of the water and
-took the fly in his leap. But that was no breakfast.
-He would have to settle down by the cat-tails,
-in the shadows, and wait for the flies to come.</p>
-<p>Twinkle-tail missed something from his pond
-this season. Always, in other years, two people,
-a boy and a girl, had come and watched him as he
-ate his breakfast. The girl had called him
-Twinkle-tail the very first time they had seen him.
-But Twinkle-tail had no illusions. They were not
-friends to him. He loved to lie in the shadow
-of the cat-tails and watch them as they crept along
-the edge of the bank. But he knew they came to
-catch him. When they were there the most
-tempting flies seemed to appear. Some of those
-flies fell into the water, others just skimmed the
-surface in the most aggravating and challenging
-manner. But Twinkle-tail had always stayed in
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span>
-the cat-tails and watched, and if the boy and girl
-came to his side of the pond, then a lightning
-twinkle of his tail was all that told them that he
-had scooted out of the pool and down into the
-stream. Once the girl had trailed a piece of
-flashing red flannel across the water, and Twinkle-tail
-could not resist. He leaped for it. A terrible
-hook caught him in the side of the mouth!
-In his fury and terror he dove and fought until he
-broke the hook. He had never forgotten that
-lesson.</p>
-<p>But he was forgetting a little this season. No
-one came to his pool. He was growing big and
-fat, and a little careless.</p>
-<p>As he lay there in the warming sand by the
-cat-tails, the biggest, juiciest green bottle fly that
-Twinkle-tail had ever seen came skimming down
-to the very line of the water. It circled once.
-Twinkle-tail did not move. It circled twice, not
-an inch from the water!</p>
-<p>A single, sinuous flash of his whole body, and
-Twinkle-tail was out of the water! He had the
-fly in his mouth.</p>
-<p>Then the struggle began.</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing sprang up, pole in hand, from the
-shoulder of the bank behind which she had been
-hiding.</p>
-<p>The trout dove and started for the stream, the
-line ripping through the water like a shot.</p>
-<p>The girl ran, leaping from rock to rock, her
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span>
-strong, slender, boy-like body giving and swaying
-cunningly to every tug of the fish.</p>
-<p>He turned and shot swiftly back into the pool,
-throwing her off her balance and down into the
-water. She rose wet and angry, clinging grimly
-to the pole, and splashed her way to the other side
-of the pond. She did not dare to stand and pull
-against him, for fear of breaking the hook. She
-could only race around, giving him all the line she
-could until he should tire a little.</p>
-<p>Three times they fought around the circle of the
-pool, the taut line singing like a wire in the wind.
-Ruth’s hand was cut where she had fallen on the
-rocks. She was splashed and muddy from head
-to foot. Her breath came in great, gulping sobs.
-But she fought on.</p>
-<p>Twice he dragged her a hundred yards down
-the Run, but she headed him back each time to the
-pond where she could handle him better. She
-had never before fought so big a fish all alone.
-Jeffrey or Daddy Tom had always been with her.
-Now she found herself calling desperately under
-her breath to Jeffrey to come to help her. She
-bit back the words and took a new hold on the
-pole.</p>
-<p>The trout was running blindly now from side
-to side of the pond. He had lost his cunning.
-He would soon weaken. But Ruth knew that her
-strength was nearly gone too. She must use her
-head quickly.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></div>
-<p>She gathered herself on the bank for one desperate
-effort. She must catch him as he ran
-toward her and try to flick him out of the water.
-It was her only chance. She might break the line
-or the pole and lose him entirely, but she would
-try it.</p>
-<p>Twinkle-tail came shooting through the water,
-directly at her. She suddenly threw her strength
-on the pole. It bent nearly double but it held.
-And the fish, adding his own blind rush to her
-strength, was whipped clear out on to the grass.
-Dropping the pole, she dove desperately at him
-where he fought on the very edge of the bank.
-Finally she caught the line a few inches above his
-mouth, and her prize was secure.</p>
-<p>“It’s you, Twinkle-tail,” she panted, as she held
-him up for a good look, “sure enough!”</p>
-<p>She carried him back to a large stone and
-despatched him painlessly with a blunt stick.
-Then she sat down to rest, for she was weak and
-dizzy from her struggle.</p>
-<p>Looking down at Twinkle-tail where he lay, she
-said aloud:</p>
-<p>“I wish Jeffrey was here. He’ll never believe
-it was you unless he sees you.”</p>
-<p>“Yes, that’s him all right,” said a voice behind
-her. “I’d know him in a thousand.”</p>
-<p>She sprang up and faced Jeffrey Whiting.</p>
-<p>“Why, where did you come from? Your mother
-told me you wouldn’t be back till to-morrow.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span></div>
-<p>“Well, I can go back again and stay till to-morrow
-if you want me to,” said Jeffrey,
-smiling.</p>
-<p>“Oh, Jeff, you know I’m glad to see you. I
-was awfully disappointed when I got home and
-found that you were away up in the hills. How
-is your fight going on? And look at Twinkle-tail,”
-she hurried on a little nervously, for Jeffrey
-had her hand and was drawing her determinedly
-to him. She reached for the trout and held him
-up strategically between them.</p>
-<p>“Oh, <i>Fish</i>!” said Jeffrey discontentedly as he
-saw himself beaten by her ruse.</p>
-<p>The girl laughed provokingly up into his sullenly
-handsome face. Then she seemed to relent,
-and with a friendly little tug at his arm led
-him over to the edge of the pool and made him sit
-down.</p>
-<p>“Now tell me,” she commanded, “all about
-your battle with the railroad people. Your
-mother told me some things, but I want it all,
-from yourself.”</p>
-<p>But Jeffrey was still unappeased. He looked
-at her dress and shoes and said with a show of
-meanness:</p>
-<p>“Ruth, you didn’t catch Twinkle-tail fair, on
-your line. You just walked into the pond and got
-him in a corner and kicked him to death brutally.
-I know you did. You’re always cruel.”</p>
-<p>Ruth laughed, and showed him the jagged
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span>
-cut in her hand where she had fallen on the
-rocks.</p>
-<p>Instantly he was all interest and contrition.
-He must wash the hand and dress it! But she
-made him sit where he was, while she knelt down
-by the water and bathed the smarting hand and
-bound it with her handkerchief.</p>
-<p>“Now,” she said, “tell me.”</p>
-<p>“Well,” he began, when he saw that there was
-nothing to be gained by delay, “the very night that
-the Bishop of Alden told me that they had found
-iron in the hills here and that they were going to
-try to push us all out of our homes, I started out
-to warn the people. I found I wasn’t the only
-man that the railroad had tried to buy. They had
-Rafe Gadbeau, you know he’s a kind of a political
-boss of the French around French Village; and a
-man named Sayres over on Forked Lake.</p>
-<p>“Gadbeau had no farm of his own to sell, but
-he’d been spending money around free, and I knew
-the railroad must have given it to him outright.
-I told him what I had found out, about the iron
-and what the land would be worth if the farmers
-held on to it. But I might as well have held my
-breath. He didn’t care anything about the interests
-of the people that had land. He was getting
-paid well for every option that he could get. And
-he was going to get all he could. I will have
-trouble with that man yet.</p>
-<p>“The other man, Sayres, is a big land-owner,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span>
-and a good man. They had fooled him, just as
-that man Rogers I told you about fooled me. He
-had started out in good faith to help the railroad
-get the properties over on that side of the mountains,
-thinking it was the best thing for the people
-to do to sell out at once. When I told him about
-their finding iron, he saw that they had made a
-catspaw of him; and he was the maddest man you
-ever saw.</p>
-<p>“He is a big man over that way, and his word
-was worth ten of mine. He went right out with
-me to warn every man who had a piece of land
-not to sign anything.</p>
-<p>“Three weeks ago Rogers, who is handling
-the whole business for the railroad, came up here
-and had me arrested on charges of extortion and
-conspiring to intimidate the land-owners. They
-took me down to Lowville, but Judge Clemmons
-couldn’t find anything in the charges. So I was let
-go. But they are not through. They will find
-some way to get me away from here yet.”</p>
-<p>“How does it stand now?” said Ruth thoughtfully.
-“Have they actually started to build the
-railroad?”</p>
-<p>“Oh, yes. You know they have the right of
-way to run the road through. But they wouldn’t
-build it, at least not for years yet, only that they
-want to get this iron property opened up. Why,
-the road is to run from Welden to French Village
-and there is not a single town on the whole line!
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span>
-The road wouldn’t have business enough to keep
-the rust off. They’re building the road just the
-same, so that shows that they intend to get our
-property some way, no matter what we do. And
-I suppose they will, somehow,” he added sullenly.
-“They always do, I guess.”</p>
-<p>“But the people,” said Ruth, “can’t you get
-them all to join and agree to sell at a fair price?
-Wouldn’t that be all right?”</p>
-<p>“They don’t want to buy. They won’t buy
-at any fair price. They only want to get options
-enough to show the Legislature and the Governor,
-and then they will be granted eminent domain and
-they can have the land condemned and can buy it
-at the price of wild land.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, yes; I remember now. That’s what the
-Bishop said. Isn’t it strange,” she went on
-slowly, “how he seems to come into everything
-we do. How he saved my Daddy Tom’s life that
-time at Fort Fisher. And how he came here that
-night when Daddy was hurt. And how he picked
-us up and turned us around and sent me off to
-convent. And now how he seems to come into all
-this.</p>
-<p>“Everybody calls him the Shepherd of the
-North,” she went on. “I wonder if he comes
-into the lives of <i>all</i> the people that way. At the
-convent everybody seems to think of him as belonging
-to them personally. I resented it at first,
-because I thought I had more reason to know him
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span>
-than anybody. But I found that everybody felt
-the same way.”</p>
-<p>“He’s just like the Catholic Church,” said
-Jeffrey suddenly, and a little sharply; “he comes
-into everything.”</p>
-<p>“Why, Jeffrey,” said Ruth in surprise, “what
-do you know about the Church?”</p>
-<p>“I know,” he answered. “I’ve read some.
-And I’ve had to deal a lot with the French people
-up toward French Village. And I’ve talked with
-their priest up there. You know you have to talk
-to the priest before it’s any use talking to them.
-That’s the way with the Catholic Church. It
-comes into everything. I don’t like it.”</p>
-<p>He sat looking across the pool for a moment,
-while Ruth quietly studied the stubborn, settling
-lines of his face. She saw that a few months had
-made a big change in the boy and playmate that
-she had known. He was no longer the bright-faced,
-clear-eyed boy. His face was turning into
-a man’s face. Sharp, jagged lines of temper and
-of harshness were coming into it. It showed
-strength and doggedness and will, along with some
-of the dour grimness of his fathers. She did not
-dislike the change altogether. But it began to
-make her a little timid. She was quick to see from
-it that there would be certain limits beyond which
-she could not play with this new man that she
-found.</p>
-<p>“It’s all right to be religious,” he went on argumentatively.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span>
-“Mother’s religious. And Aunt
-Letty’s just full of it. But it don’t interfere with
-their lives. It’s all right to have a preacher for
-marrying or dying or something like that; and to
-go to hear him if you want to. But the Catholic
-Church comes right in to where those people live.
-It tells them what to do and what to think about
-everything. They don’t dare speak without looking
-back to it to find out what they must say. I
-don’t like it.”</p>
-<p>“Why, Jeffrey, I’m a Catholic!”</p>
-<p>“I <i>knew</i> it!” he said stubbornly. “I knew it!
-I knew there was something that had changed you.
-And I might have known it was that.”</p>
-<p>“That’s funny!” said the girl, breaking in
-quickly. “When you came I was just wondering
-to myself why it had not seemed to change me at
-all. I think I was half disappointed with myself,
-to think that I had gone through a wonderful
-experience and it had left me just the same as I
-was before.”</p>
-<p>“But it has changed you,” he persisted. “And
-it’s going to change you a lot more. I can see it.
-Please, Ruth,” he said, suddenly softening, “you
-won’t let it change you? You won’t let it make
-any difference, with us, I mean?”</p>
-<p>The girl looked soberly and steadily up into his
-face, and said:</p>
-<p>“No, Jeffrey. It won’t make any difference
-with us, in the way you mean.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></div>
-<p>“So long as we are what we are,” she said again
-after a pause, “we will be just the same to each
-other. If it should make something different out
-of me than what I am, then, of course, I would
-not be the same to you. Or if you should change
-into something else, then you would not be the
-same to me.</p>
-<p>“It’s too soon,” she continued decisively.
-“Nothing is clear to me, yet. I’ve just entered
-into a great, wonderful world of thought and feeling
-that I never knew existed. Where it leads
-to, I do not know. When I do know, Jeffrey
-dear, I’ll tell you.”</p>
-<p>He looked up sharply at her as she rose to her
-feet, and he understood that she had said the last
-word that was to be said. He saw something in
-her face with which he did not dare to argue.</p>
-<p>He got up saying:</p>
-<p>“I have to be gone. I’m glad I found you here
-at the old place. I’ll be back to-night to help you
-eat the trout.”</p>
-<p>“Where are you going?”</p>
-<p>“Over to Wilbur’s Fork. There’s a couple of
-men over there that are shaky. I’ve had to keep
-after them or they’d be listening to Rafe Gadbeau
-and letting their land go.”</p>
-<p>“But,” Ruth exclaimed, “now when they
-know, can’t they see what is to their own interest!
-Are they blind?”</p>
-<p>“I know,” said Jeffrey dully. “But you know
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span>
-how it is with those people. Their land is hard
-to work. It is poor land. They have to scratch
-and scrape for a little money. They don’t see
-many dollars together from one year’s end to the
-other. Even a little money, ready, green money,
-shaken in their faces looks awful big to them.”</p>
-<p>“Good luck, then, Jeff,” she said cheerily;
-“and get back early if you can.”</p>
-<p>“Sure,” he said easily as he picked up his hat.</p>
-<p>“And, say, Ruth.” He turned back quietly to
-her. “If––if I shouldn’t be back to-night, or to-morrow;
-why, watch Rafe Gadbeau. Will you?
-I wouldn’t say anything to mother. And Uncle
-Catty, well, he’s not very sharp sometimes. Will
-you?”</p>
-<p>“Of course I will. But be careful, Jeff,
-please.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, sure,” he sang back, as he walked quickly
-around the edge of the pond and slipped into the
-alder bushes through which ran the trail that went
-up over the ridge to the Wilbur Fork country on
-the other side.</p>
-<p>Ruth stood watching him as he pushed sturdily
-up the opposite slope, his grey felt hat and wide
-shoulders showing above the undergrowth.</p>
-<p>This boy was a different being from the Jeffrey
-that she had left when she went down to the convent
-five months before. She could see it in his
-walk, in the way he shouldered the bushes aside
-just as she had seen it in his face and his talk.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span>
-He was fighting with a power that he had found
-to be stronger and bigger than himself. He was
-not discouraged. He had no thought of giving
-up. But the airy edge of his boyish confidence
-in himself was gone. He had become grim and
-thoughtful and determined. He had settled
-down to a long, dogged struggle.</p>
-<p>He had asked her to watch Rafe Gadbeau.
-How much did he mean? Why should he have
-said this to her? Would it not have been better
-to have warned some of the men that were associated
-with him in his fight? And what was
-there to be feared? She laughed at the idea of
-physical fear in connection with Jeffrey. Why,
-nothing ever happened in the hills, anyway.
-Crimes of violence were never heard of. It was
-true, the lumber jacks were rough when they came
-down with the log drives in the spring. But they
-only fought among themselves. And they did not
-stop in the hills. They hurried on down to the
-towns where they could spend their money.</p>
-<p>What had Jeffrey to fear?</p>
-<p>Yet, he must have meant a good deal. He
-would not have spoken to her unless he had good
-reason to think that something might happen to
-him.</p>
-<p>Withal, Ruth was not deceived. She knew the
-temper of the hills. The men were easy-going.
-They were slow of speech. They were generally
-ruled by their more energetic women. But they
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span>
-or their fathers had all been fighting men, like her
-own father. And they were rooted in the soil of
-the hills. Any man or any power that attempted
-to drive them from the land which their hands had
-cleared and made into homes, where the bones of
-their fathers and mothers lay, would have to
-reckon with them as bitter, stubborn fighting men.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting was just coming to the bare top
-of the ridge. In another moment he would drop
-down the other side out of sight. She wondered
-whether he would turn and wave to her; or had he
-forgotten that she would surely be standing where
-he had left her?</p>
-<p>He had not forgotten. He turned and waved
-briskly to her. Then he stepped down quickly
-out of sight. His act was brusque and businesslike.
-It showed that he remembered. He could
-hardly have seen her standing there in all the
-green by the pond. He had just known that she
-was there. But it showed something else, too.
-He had plunged down over the edge of the hill
-upon a business with which his mind was filled, to
-the exclusion, almost, of her and of everything
-else.</p>
-<p>The girl did not feel any of the little pique or
-resentment that might have been very natural.
-It was so that she would wish him to go about the
-business that was going to be so serious for all of
-them. But it gave her a new and startling flash
-of insight into what was coming.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></div>
-<p>She had always thought of her hills as the place
-where peace lived. Out in the great crowded
-market places of the world she knew men fought
-each other for money. But why do that in the
-hills? There was a little for all. And a man
-could only get as much as his own labour and good
-judgment would make for him out of the land.</p>
-<p>Now she saw that it was not a matter of hills
-or of cities. Wherever, in the hills or the city or
-in the farthest desert, there was wealth or the hope
-of wealth, there greedy men with power would
-surely come to look for it and take it. That was
-why men fought. Wealth, even the scent of
-wealth whetted their appetites and drew them on
-to battle.</p>
-<p>A cloud passed between her and the morning
-sun. She felt the premonition of tragedy and suffering
-lowering down like a storm on her hills.
-How foolishly she had thought that all life and all
-the great, seething business of life was to be done
-down in the towns and the cities. Here was life
-now, with its pressure and its ugly passions, pushing
-right into the very hills.</p>
-<p>She shivered as she picked up her prize of the
-morning and her fishing tackle and started slowly
-up the hill toward her home.</p>
-<p>Her farm had been rented to Norman Apgarth
-with the understanding that Ruth was to spend the
-summer there in her own home. The rent was
-enough to give Ruth what little money she needed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span>
-for clothes and to pay her modest expenses at the
-convent at Athens. So her life was arranged for
-her at least up to the time when she should have
-finished school.</p>
-<p>It seemed very strange to come home and find
-her home in the hands of strangers. It was odd
-to be a sort of guest in the house that she had
-ruled and managed from almost the time that she
-was a baby. It would be very hard to keep from
-telling Mrs. Apgarth where things belonged and
-how other things should be done. It would be
-hard to stand by and see others driving the horses
-that had never known a hand but hers and Daddy
-Tom’s. Still she had been very glad to come
-home. It was her place. It held all the memories
-and all the things that connected her with
-her own people. She wanted to be able always
-to come back to it and call it her own. Looking
-down over it from the crest of the hill, at the little
-clump of trees under which lay her Daddy Tom
-and her mother, at the little house that had seen
-their love and in which she had been born, she
-could understand the fierceness with which men
-would fight to hold the farms and homes which
-were threatened.</p>
-<p>Until now she had hardly realised that those
-men whom people vaguely called “the railroad”
-would want to take <i>her</i> home and farm away from
-her. Now it came suddenly home to her and she
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span>
-felt a swelling rage of indignation rising in her
-throat. She hurried down the hill to the house,
-as though she saw it already threatened.</p>
-<p>She deftly threw her fishpole up on to the roof
-of the wood shed and went around to the front of
-the house. There she found Mrs. Apgarth weeding
-in what had been Ruth’s own flower beds.</p>
-<p>“Why, what a how-dye-do you did give us, Miss
-Ruth!” the woman exclaimed at sight of her.
-“I called you <i>three</i> times, and when you didn’t
-answer I went to your door; and there you were
-gone! I told Norman Apgarth somebody must
-have took you off in the night.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, no,” said Ruth. “No danger. I’m
-used to getting up early, you see. So I just took
-some cakes––Didn’t you miss them?––and
-some milk and slipped out without waking any one.
-I wanted to catch this fish. Jeffrey Whiting and I
-tried to catch him for four years. And I had to
-do it myself this morning.”</p>
-<p>“So young Whiting’s gone away, eh?”</p>
-<p>“Why, no,” said Ruth quickly. “He went
-over to Wilbur’s Fork about half an hour ago.
-Who said he’d gone away?”</p>
-<p>“Oh, nobody,” said the woman hastily; “it’s
-only what they was sayin’ up at French Village
-yesterday.”</p>
-<p>“What were they saying?” Ruth demanded.</p>
-<p>“Oh, just talk, I suppose,” Mrs. Apgarth
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span>
-evaded. “Still, I dunno’s I blame him. I guess
-if I got as much money as they say he’s got out of
-it, I’d skedaddle, too.”</p>
-<p>Ruth stepped over and caught the woman
-sharply by the arm.</p>
-<p>“What did they say? Tell me, please.
-Mrs. Apgarth saw that the girl was trembling
-with excitement and anxiety. She saw that she
-herself had said too much, or too little. She
-could not stop at that. She must tell everything
-now.</p>
-<p>“Well,” she began, “they say he’s just fooled
-the people up over their eyes.”</p>
-<p>“How?” said Ruth impatiently. “Tell me.”</p>
-<p>“He’s been agoin’ round holdin’ the people
-back and gettin’ them to swear that they won’t
-sign a paper or sell a bit of land to the railroad.
-Now it turns out he was just keepin’ the rest of
-the people back till he could get a good big lot of
-money from the railroad for his own farm and
-for this one of yours. Oh, yes, they say he’s sold
-this farm and his own and five other ones that he’d
-got hold of, for four times what they’re worth.
-And that gives the railroad enough to work on,
-so the rest of the people’ll just have to sell for
-what they can get. He’s gone now; skipped out.”</p>
-<p>“But he has <i>not</i> gone!” Ruth snapped out indignantly.
-“I saw him only half an hour ago.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, well, of course,” said the woman knowingly,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span>
-“you’d know more about it than anybody
-else. It’s all talk, I suppose.”</p>
-<p>Ruth blushed and dropped the fish forgotten
-on the grass. She said shortly:</p>
-<p>“I’m going to spend the day with Mrs. Whiting.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, then, don’t say a word to her about this.
-She’s an awful good neighbour. I wouldn’t for
-the world have her think that I––”</p>
-<p>“Why, it doesn’t matter at all,” said Ruth, as
-she turned toward the road. “You only said
-what people were saying.”</p>
-<p>“But I wouldn’t for anything,” the woman
-called nervously after her, “have her think that–– And
-what’ll I do with this?”</p>
-<p>“Eat it,” said Ruth over her shoulder. The
-prize for which she had fought so desperately in
-the early morning meant nothing to her now.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting did not come home that night.
-Through the long twilight of one of the longest
-days of the year, Ruth sat reading in the old place
-on the hill, where Jeffrey would be sure to find
-her. Suddenly, when it was full dark, she knew
-that he would not come.</p>
-<p>She did not try to argue with herself. She did
-not fight back the nervous feeling that something
-had happened. She was sure that she had been
-all day expecting it. When the moon came up
-over the hill and the long purple shadows of the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span>
-elm trees on the crest came stalking down in the
-white light, she went miserably into the house and
-up to the little room they had fitted up for her in
-the loft of her own home.</p>
-<p>She cried herself into a wearied, troubled sleep.
-But with the elasticity of youth and health she was
-awake at the first hint of morning, and the cloud
-of the night had passed.</p>
-<p>She dressed and hurried down into the yard
-where Norman Apgarth was just stirring about
-with his milk pails. She was glad to face daylight
-and action. A man had put his trust in her before
-all others. She was eager to answer to his
-faith.</p>
-<p>“Where is Brom Bones?” she demanded of the
-still drowsy Apgarth as she caught him crossing
-the yard from the milk house.</p>
-<p>“The colt? He’s up in the back pasture, just
-around the knob of the mountain. What was you
-calc’latin’ to do with him, Miss?”</p>
-<p>“I want to use him,” said Ruth. “May I?”</p>
-<p>“Use him? Certainly, if you want to. But,
-say, Miss, that colt ain’t been driv’ since the
-Spring’s work. An’ he’s so fat an’ silky he’s liable
-to act foolish.”</p>
-<p>“I’m going to <i>ride</i> him,” said Ruth briefly, as
-she stepped to the horse barn door for a bridle.</p>
-<p>“Now, say, Miss,” the man opposed feebly,
-“you could take the brown pony just as well; I
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span>
-don’t need her a bit. And I tell you that colt is
-just a lun-<i>at</i>-ic, when he’s been idle so long.”</p>
-<p>“Thank you,” said Ruth, as she started up the
-hill. “But I think I’ll find work enough to satisfy
-even Brom Bones to-day.”</p>
-<p>The big black colt followed her peaceably down
-the mountain, and stood champing at the door
-while she went in to get something to eat. When
-she brought out a shining new side saddle he
-looked suspiciously at the strange thing, but he
-made no serious objection as she fastened it on.
-Ruth herself, when she had buckled it tight, stood
-looking doubtfully at it. A side saddle was as
-new to her as it was to the horse. She had bought
-it on her way home the other day, as a concession
-to the fact that she was now a young lady who
-could no longer go stampeding over the hills on a
-bare-backed horse.</p>
-<p>She mounted easily, but Brom Bones, seeming
-to know in the way of his kind that she was uneasy
-and uncomfortable, began at once to act badly.
-His intention seemed to be to walk into the open
-well on his hind feet. The girl caught a short
-hold on her lines and cut him sharply across the
-ear. He wheeled on two feet and bolted for the
-hill, clearing the woodshed by mere inches.</p>
-<p>The path led straight up to the top of the slope.
-Ruth did not try to hold him. The sooner he ran
-the conceit out of himself, she thought, the better.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></div>
-<p>He hurled himself down the other slope, past
-the pool, and into the trail which Jeffrey had taken
-yesterday. It was break-neck riding, in a strange
-saddle. But the girl’s anxiety rose with the excitement
-of the horse’s wild rush, so that when
-they reached the top of the divide where she had
-last seen Jeffrey it was the horse and not the girl
-that was ready to settle down to a sober and safer
-pace.</p>
-<p>Her common sense told her that she was probably
-foolish; that Jeffrey had merely stayed over
-night somewhere and that she would meet him on
-the way. But another and a subtler sense kept
-whispering to her to hurry on, that she was
-needed, that the good name, if not the life, of the
-boy she loved was in danger!</p>
-<p>She had found out from Mrs. Whiting just
-who were the men whom Jeffrey had gone to see.
-But she did not know how she could dash up to
-their doors and demand to know where he was.
-It was eleven miles up the stony trail that followed
-Wilbur’s Fork, and the girl’s nerves now keyed
-up to expect she knew not what jangled at every
-turn of the road. Jeffrey had meant to come
-straight back this way to her. That he had not
-done so meant that <i>something</i> had stopped him on
-the way. What was it?</p>
-<p>On one side the trail was flanked by giant hemlocks
-and the underbrush was grown into an impenetrable
-wall. On the other it ran sheer along
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span>
-the edge of Wilbur’s Fork, a rock-bottomed, rushing
-stream that tumbled and brawled its way down
-the long slope of the country.</p>
-<p>Time after time the girl shuddered and gripped
-her saddle as she pushed on past a place where the
-undergrowth came right down to the trail, and
-six feet away the path dropped off thirty feet to
-the rock bed of the stream. She caught herself
-leaning across the saddle to look down. A man
-might have stood in the brush as Jeffrey came
-carelessly along. And that man might have
-swung a cant-stick once––a single blow at the
-back of the head––and Jeffrey would have gone
-stumbling and falling over the edge of the path.
-There would not be even the sign of a struggle.</p>
-<p>Once she stopped and took hold of her nerves.</p>
-<p>“Ruth Lansing,” she scolded aloud, “you’re
-making a little fool of yourself. You’ve been
-down there in that convent living among a lot of
-girls, and you’re forgetting that these hills are
-your own, that there never was and never is any
-danger in them for us who belong here. Just
-keep that in your mind and hustle on about your
-business.”</p>
-<p>When she came out into the open country near
-the head of the Fork she met old Darius Wilbur
-turning his cattle to pasture. The old man
-did not know the girl, but he knew the Lansing
-colt and he looked sharply at the steaming withers
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span>
-of Brom Bones before he would give any attention
-to her question.</p>
-<p>“What’s the tarnation hurry, young lady?” he
-inquired exasperatingly. “Jeff Whiting? Yes,
-he was here yest’day. Why?”</p>
-<p>“Did he start home by this trail?” asked Ruth
-eagerly. “Or did he go on up country?”</p>
-<p>“He went on up country.”</p>
-<p>Ruth headed Brom Bones up the trail again
-without a word.</p>
-<p>“But stay!” the old man yelled after her,
-when she had gone twenty yards. “He came
-back again.”</p>
-<p>Ruth pulled around so sharply that she nearly
-threw Brom Bones to his knees.</p>
-<p>“Didn’t ask me that,” the old man chortled, as
-she came back, “but if I didn’t tell you I reckon
-you’d run that colt to death up the hills.”</p>
-<p>“Then he <i>did</i> take the Forks trail back.”</p>
-<p>“Didn’t do that, nuther.”</p>
-<p>“Then where <i>did</i> he go? Please tell me!”
-cried the girl, the tears of vexation rising into her
-voice.</p>
-<p>“Why, what’s the matter, girl? He crossed
-the Fork just there,” said the old man, pointing,
-“and he took over the hill for French Village.
-You his wife? You’re mighty young.”</p>
-<p>But Ruth did not hear. She and Brom Bones
-were already slipping down the rough bank in a
-shower of dirt and stones.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></div>
-<p>In the middle of the ford she stopped and
-loosened the bridle, let the colt drink a little, then
-drove him across, up the other bank and on up the
-stiff slope.</p>
-<p>She did not know the trail, but she knew the
-general run of the country that way and had no
-doubt of finding her road.</p>
-<p>Now she told herself that it was certainly a
-wild goose chase. Jeffrey had merely found that
-he had to see some one in French Village and had
-gone there and, of course, had spent the night
-there.</p>
-<p>By the time she had come over the ridge of the
-hill and was dropping down through the heavily
-wooded country toward French Village, she had
-begun to feel just a little bit foolish. But she suddenly
-remembered that it was Saint John the Baptist’s
-day. It was not a holy day of obligation
-but she knew it was a feast day in French Village.
-There would be Mass. She should have gone,
-anyway. And she would hear with her own ears
-the things they were saying about Jeffrey Whiting.</p>
-<p>Arsene LaComb sat on the steps of his store
-in French Village in the glory of a stiff white shirt
-and a festal red vest. The store was closed, of
-course, in honour of the day. In a few minutes he
-would put on his black coat, in his official capacity
-of trustee of the church, and march solemnly over
-to ring the bell for Mass.</p>
-<p>The spectacle of a smartly-dressed young lady
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span>
-whom he seemed to know vaguely, riding down
-the dusty street on a shiny yellow side saddle on
-the back of a big, vicious-looking black colt, made
-the little man reach hastily for his coat of ceremony.</p>
-<p>“M’m’selle Lansing!” he said, bowing in
-friendly pomp as Ruth drove up.</p>
-<p>“How do you do, Mr. LaComb? I came
-down to go to Mass. Can you tell me what time
-it begins?”</p>
-<p>“I shall ring the bell when I have put away
-your horse, M’m’selle.” Now no earthly power
-could have made Arsene LaComb deviate a minute
-from the exact time for ringing that bell.
-But, he was a Frenchman. His manner intimated
-that the ringing of all bells whatsoever must await
-her convenience.</p>
-<p>He stepped forward jauntily to help her down.
-Ruth kicked her feet loose and slid down
-deftly.</p>
-<p>“I am glad to see you again, Mr. LaComb,”
-said Ruth as she took his hand. “Did you see
-Jeffrey Whiting in the Village last night?”</p>
-<p>A girl of about Ruth’s own age had come
-quietly up the street and stood beside them, recording
-in one swift inspection every detail of
-Ruth from her little riding cap to the tips of her
-brown boots.</p>
-<p>“’Cynthe,” said the little man briskly, “you
-show Miss Lansing on my pew for Mass.” He
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span>
-took the bridle from Ruth’s hand and led the horse
-away to the shed in the rear of the store.</p>
-<p>The fear and uneasiness of the early morning
-leaped back to Ruth. The little man had certainly
-run away from her question. Why should
-he not answer?</p>
-<p>She would have liked to linger a while among
-the people standing about the church door. She
-knew some of them. She might have asked questions
-of them. But her escort led her straight into
-the church and up to a front pew.</p>
-<p>At the end of the Mass the people filed out
-quietly, but at the church door they broke into volleys
-of rapid-fire French chatter of which Ruth
-could only catch a little here and there.</p>
-<p>“You will come by the <i>fête</i>, M’m’selle. You
-will not dance <i>non</i>, I s’pose. But you will eat,
-and you will see the fun they make, one <i>jolie</i> time!
-Till I ring the Vesper bell they will dance.”
-Arsene led Ruth and the other girl, whom she
-now learned was Hyacinthe Cardinal, across the
-road to a little wood that stood opposite the
-church. There were tables, on which the women
-had already begun to spread the food that they had
-brought from home, and a dancing platform. On
-a great stump which had been carved rudely into
-a chair sat Soriel Brouchard, the fiddler of the
-hills, twiddling critically at his strings.</p>
-<p>It seemed strange to Ruth that these people who
-had a moment before been so devout and concentrated
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span>
-in church should in an instant switch
-their whole thought to a day of eating and merrymaking.
-But she soon found their light-hearted
-gaiety very infectious. Before she knew it, she
-was sputtering away in the best French she had
-and entering into the fun with all her heart.</p>
-<p>“Which is Rafe Gadbeau?” she suddenly
-asked Cynthe Cardinal. “I want to know him.”</p>
-<p>“Why for you want to know him?” the girl
-asked sharply in English.</p>
-<p>“Oh, nothing,” said Ruth carelessly, “only
-I’ve heard of him.”</p>
-<p>The other girl reached out into the crowd and
-plucked at the sleeve of a tall, beak-nosed man.
-The man was evidently flattered by Ruth’s request,
-and wanted her to dance with him immediately.</p>
-<p>“No,” said Ruth, “I do not know how to dance
-your dances, and we’d only break up the sets if
-I tried to learn now. We’ve heard a lot about
-you, Mr. Gadbeau, so, of course, I wanted to
-know you. And we’ve heard some things about
-Jeffrey Whiting. I’m sure you could tell me if
-they are true.”</p>
-<p>“You don’ dance? Well, we sit then. I tell
-you. One rascal, this young Whiting!”</p>
-<p>Ruth bit back an angry protest, and schooled
-herself to listen quietly as he led her to a seat.</p>
-<p>As they left the other girl standing in the middle
-of the platform, Ruth, looking back, caught
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span>
-a swift glance of what she knew was jealous anger
-in her eyes. Ruth was sorry. She did not want
-to make an enemy of this girl. But she felt that
-she must use every effort to get this man to tell
-her all he would.</p>
-<p>“One rascal, I tell you,” repeated Gadbeau.
-“First he stop all the people. He say don’ sell
-nodding. Den he sell his own farm, him. He
-sell some more; he got big price. Now he skip
-the country, right out. An’ he leave these poor
-French people in the soup.</p>
-<p>“But I”––he sat back tapping himself on the
-chest––“I got hinfluence with that railroad.
-They buy now from us. To-morrow morning,
-nine o’clock, here comes that railroad lawyer on
-French Village. We sell out everything on the
-option to him.”</p>
-<p>“But,” objected Ruth, trying to draw him out,
-“if Jeffrey Whiting should come back before
-then?”</p>
-<p>“He don’ come back, that fellow.”</p>
-<p>“How do you know?”</p>
-<p>“I know, I–– He don’ come back. I tell
-you that.”</p>
-<p>“Jeffrey Whiting will be here before nine
-o’clock to-morrow,” she said, turning suddenly
-upon him.</p>
-<p>“Eh? M’m’selle, what you mean? What
-you know?” he questioned excitedly.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></div>
-<p>“Never mind. I see Miss Cardinal looking at
-us,” she smiled as she arose, “and I think you are
-in for a lecture.”</p>
-<p>Through all the long day, while she ate and
-listened to the fun and talked to Father Ponfret
-about her convent life, she did not let Rafe Gadbeau
-out of her sight or mind for an instant. She
-knew that she had alarmed him. She was certain
-that he knew what had happened to Jeffrey
-Whiting. And she was waiting for him to betray
-himself in some way.</p>
-<p>When Arsene LaComb rang the bell for Vespers,
-she waited by the bell ringer to see that
-Gadbeau came into the church. He took his place
-among the men, and then Ruth dropped quietly
-into a pew near the door. When the people rose
-to sing the <i>Tantum Ergo</i>, she saw Gadbeau slip
-unnoticed out of the church. She waited tensely
-until the singing was finished, then she almost ran
-to the door.</p>
-<p>Gadbeau, mounted on one of the ponies that
-had been standing all day in the little woods, was
-riding away in the direction of the trail which she
-had come down this morning. She fairly flew
-down the street to Arsene LaComb’s store.
-There was not a pony in the hills that Brom Bones
-could not overtake easily, but she must see by what
-trail the man left the Village.</p>
-<p>Brom Bones was very willing to make a race
-for home, and she let him have his head until she
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span>
-again caught sight of the man. She pulled up
-sharply and forced the colt down to a walk. The
-man was still on the main road, and he might turn
-any moment. Finally she saw him pull into the
-trail that led over to Wilbur’s Fork. Then she
-knew. Jeffrey was somewhere on the trail between
-French Village and Wilbur’s Fork. And
-he was alive! The man was going now to make
-sure that he was still there.</p>
-<p>For an hour, the long, high twilight was enough
-to assure her that the man was still following
-the trail. Then, just when the real darkness had
-fallen, she heard a pony whinny in the woods at
-her left. The man had turned off into the woods!
-She had almost passed him! She threw herself
-out upon Brom Bones’ neck and caught him by
-the nose. He threw up his head indignantly and
-tried to bolt, but she blessed him for making no
-noise. She drove on quietly a couple of hundred
-yards, slipped down, and drew Brom Bones into
-the bushes away from the road and tied him. She
-talked to him, patting his head and neck, pleading
-with him to be quiet. Then she left him and
-stole back to where she had heard the pony.</p>
-<p>In the gloom of the woods she could see nothing.
-But her feet found themselves on what
-seemed to be a path and she followed it blindly.
-She almost walked into a square black thing that
-suddenly confronted her. Within what seemed a
-foot of her she heard voices. Her heart stopped
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span>
-beating, but the blood rang in her ears so that she
-could not distinguish a word. One of the voices
-was certainly Gadbeau’s. The other–– It
-was!–– It was! Though it was only a mumble,
-she knew it was Jeffrey Whiting who tried to
-speak!</p>
-<p>She took a step forward, ready to dash into
-the place, whatever it was. But the caution of the
-hills made her back away noiselessly into the
-brush. What could she do? Why? Oh, <i>why</i>
-had she not brought a rifle? Gadbeau was sure to
-be armed. Jeffrey was a prisoner, probably
-wounded and bound.</p>
-<p>She backed farther into the bushes and started
-to make a circuit of the place. She understood
-now that it was a sugar hut, built entirely of logs,
-even the roof. It was as strong as a blockhouse.
-She knew that she was helpless. And she knew
-that Jeffrey would not be a prisoner there unless
-he were hurt.</p>
-<p>She could only wait. Gadbeau had not come
-to injure Jeffrey further. He had merely come to
-make himself sure that his prisoner was secure.
-He would not stay long.</p>
-<p>As she stole around away from the path and
-the pony she saw a little stream of light shoot
-out through a chink between the logs of the hut.
-Gadbeau had made a light. Probably he had
-brought something for Jeffrey to eat. She pulled
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span>
-off the white collar of her jacket, the only white
-thing that showed about her and settled down for
-a long wait.</p>
-<p>First she had thought that she ought to steal
-away to her horse and ride for help. But she
-could not bear the thought of even getting beyond
-the sound of Jeffrey’s voice. She knew
-where he was now. He might be taken away
-while she was gone. And, besides, Ruth Lansing
-had always learned to do things for herself. She
-had always disliked appealing for help.</p>
-<p>Hour after hour she sat in the darkest place
-she could find, leaning against the bole of a great
-tree. The light, candles, of course, burned on;
-and the voices came irregularly through the living
-silence of the woods. She did not dare to
-creep nearer to hear what was being said. That
-did not matter. The important thing was to have
-Gadbeau go away without any suspicion that he
-had been followed. Then she would be free to
-release Jeffrey. She had no fear but that she
-would be able to get him down to French Village
-in the morning. She could easily have him there
-before nine o’clock.</p>
-<p>When she saw by the stars that it was long
-past midnight she began to be worried. Just then
-the light went out. Ah! The man was going
-away at last! She waited a long, nervous half
-hour. But there was no sound. She dared not
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span>
-move, for even when she shifted her position
-against the tree the oppressive silence seemed to
-crackle with her motion.</p>
-<p>Would he never come out? It seemed not.
-Was he going to stay there all night?</p>
-<p>Noiseless as a cat, she rose and crept to the
-door of the cabin. Apparently both men were
-asleep within. She pushed the door ever so
-quietly. It was firmly barred on the inside.</p>
-<p>What could she do? Nothing, absolutely
-nothing! Oh, why, <i>why</i> had she not brought a
-rifle? She would shoot. She <i>would</i>, if she had
-it now, and that man opened the door! It was
-too late now to think of riding for help, too late!</p>
-<p>She sank down again beside her tree and raged
-helplessly at herself, at her conceit in herself that
-would not let her go for help in the first place,
-at her foolishness in coming on this business without
-a gun. The hours dragged out their weary
-minutes, every minute an age to the taut, ragged
-nerves of the girl.</p>
-<p>The dawn came stealing across the tree-tops,
-while the ground still lay in utter darkness. Ruth
-rose and slipped farther back into the bushes.</p>
-<p>Suddenly she found herself upon her knees in
-the soft grass, and the hot, angry tears of desperation
-and rage at herself were softened. Her
-heart was lighted up with the glow of dawn and
-sang its prayer to God; a thrilling, lifting little
-prayer of confidence and wonder. The words
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span>
-that the night before would not form themselves
-for her now sprang up ready in her soul––the
-words of all the children of earth, to Our Father
-Who Art in Heaven––paused an instant to bless
-her lips, then sped away to God in His Heaven.
-Fear was gone, and doubt, and anxiety. She
-would save Jeffrey, and she would save the poor,
-befooled people from ruin. God had told her so,
-as He walked abroad in the <i>Glow</i> of <i>Dawn</i>.</p>
-<p>Two long hours more she waited, but now with
-patience and a sure confidence. Then Rafe Gadbeau
-came out of the hut and strode down the
-path to his pony.</p>
-<p>Ruth rose stiff and wet from the ground and
-ran to the door, and called to Jeffrey. The only
-answer was a moan. The door was locked with
-a great iron clasp and staple joined by a heavy
-padlock. She reached for the nearest stone and
-attacked the lock frantically. She beat it out of
-all semblance to a lock, but still it defied her.
-There was no window in the hut. She had to
-come back again to the lock. Her hands, softened
-by the months in the convent, left bloody marks on
-the tough brass of the lock. In the end it gave,
-and she threw herself against the door.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey was lying trussed, face down, on a bunk
-beside the furnace where they boiled the sugar
-sap. His arms were stretched out and tied together
-down under the narrow bunk. She saw
-that his left arm was broken. For an instant the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span>
-girl’s heart leaped back to the rage of the night
-when she had almost prayed for her rifle. But
-pity swallowed up every other feeling as she cut
-the cords from his hands and loosened the rope
-that they had bound in between his teeth.</p>
-<p>“Don’t talk, Jeff,” she commanded. “I can
-see just what happened. Lie easy and get your
-strength. I’ve got to take you to French Village
-at once.”</p>
-<p>She ran out to bring water. When she returned
-he was sitting dizzily on the edge of the bunk.
-While she bathed his head with the water and
-gave him a little to drink, she talked to him and
-crooned over him as she would over a baby for
-she saw that he was shaken and half delirious with
-pain.</p>
-<p>Brom Bones was standing munching twigs
-where she had left him. He had never before
-been asked to carry double and he did not like it.
-But the girl pleaded so pitifully and so gently into
-his silky black ear that he finally gave in.</p>
-<p>When they were mounted, she fastened the
-white collar of her jacket into a sling for the
-boy’s broken arm, and with a prayer to the heathen
-Brom Bones to go tenderly they were off down
-the trail.</p>
-<p>When they were half way down the trail Jeffrey
-spoke suddenly:</p>
-<p>“Say, Ruth, what’s the use trying to save these
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span>
-people? Let’s sell out while we can and take
-mother and go away.”</p>
-<p>“Why, Jeff, dear,” she said lightly, “this fight
-hasn’t begun yet. Wait till we get to French Village.
-You’ll say something different. You’ll say
-just what you said to the Shepherd of the North;
-remember?”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey said no more. The girl’s heart was
-weak with the pain she knew he was bearing, but
-she knew that they must go through with this.</p>
-<p>All French Village and the farmers of Little
-Tupper country were gathered in front of Arsene
-Lacomb’s store. Rafe Gadbeau was standing on
-the steps haranguing them. He had stayed with
-his prisoner as he thought up to the last possible
-moment, so he stammered in his speech when he
-saw a big black horse come tearing down the street
-carrying a girl and a white-faced, black-headed boy
-behind her. Rogers, the railroad lawyer beside
-him, said:</p>
-<p>“Go on, man. What’s the matter with you?”</p>
-<p>The girl drove the horse right in through the
-crowd until Jeffrey Whiting faced Rogers. Then
-Jeffrey, gritting his teeth on his pain, took up his
-fight again.</p>
-<p>“Rogers,” he shouted, “you did this. You
-got Rafe Gadbeau and the others to knock me on
-the head and put me out of the way, so that you
-could spread your lies about me. And you’d have
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span>
-won out, too, if it hadn’t been for this brave girl
-here.</p>
-<p>“Now, Rogers, you liar,” he shouted louder,
-“I dare you, dare you, to tell these people here
-that I or any of our people have sold you a foot
-of land. I dare you!”</p>
-<p>Rogers would have argued, but Rafe Gadbeau
-pulled him away. Gadbeau knew that crowd.
-They were a crowd of Frenchmen, volatile and
-full of potential fury. They were already cheering
-the brave girl. In a few minutes they would
-be hunting the life of the man who had lied to
-them and nearly ruined them.</p>
-<p>A hundred hands reached up to lift Ruth from
-the saddle, but she waved them away and pointed
-to Jeffrey’s broken arm. They helped him down
-and half carried him into Doctor Napoleon Goodenough’s
-little office.</p>
-<p>Ruth saw that her business was finished. She
-wheeled Brom Bones toward home, and gave him
-his head.</p>
-<p>For three glorious miles they fairly flew through
-the pearly morning air along the hard mountain
-road, and the girl never pulled a line. Breakfastless
-and weary in body, her heart sang the
-song that it had learned in the Glow of Dawn.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span>
-<a name='IV_THE_ANSWER' id='IV_THE_ANSWER'></a>
-<h2>IV</h2>
-<h3>THE ANSWER</h3>
-</div>
-<p>The Committee on Franchises was in session in
-one of the committee rooms outside the chamber
-of the New York State Senate. It was not a routine
-session. A bill was before it, the purpose of
-which was virtually to dispossess some four or
-five hundred families of their homes in the counties
-of Hamilton, Tupper and Racquette. The
-bill did not say this. It cited the need of adequate
-transportation in that part of the State and
-proposed that the U. & M. Railroad should be
-granted the right of eminent domain over three
-thousand square miles of the region, in order to
-help the development of the country.</p>
-<p>The committee was composed of five members,
-three of the majority party in the Senate and two
-of the minority. A political agent of the railroad
-who drew a salary from Racquette County as a
-judge had just finished presenting to the committee
-the reasons why the people of that part of
-the State were unanimous in the wish that the bill
-should become a law. He had drawn a pathetic
-picture of the condition of the farmers, so long
-deprived of the benefits of a railroad. He had
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span>
-almost wept as he told of the rich loads of produce
-left to rot up there in the hills because the men
-who toiled to produce it had no means of bringing
-it down to the starving thousands of the cities.
-The scraggy rocks and thinly soiled farms of that
-region became in his picture vast reservoirs of
-cheap food, only waiting to be tapped by the
-beneficent railroad for the benefit of the world’s
-poor.</p>
-<p>When the judge had finished, one minority
-member of the committee looked at his colleague,
-the other minority member, and winked. It was
-a grave and respectful wink. It meant that the
-committee was not often privileged to listen to
-quite such bare-faced effrontery. If the hearing
-had been a secret one they would not have listened
-to it. But the bill had already aroused a storm.
-So the leader of the majority had given orders
-that the hearing should be public.</p>
-<p>So far not a word had been said as to the fact
-which underlay the motives of the bill. Iron had
-been found in workable quantities in those three
-thousand square miles of hill country. Not a
-word had been said about iron.</p>
-<p>No one in the room had listened to the speech
-with any degree of interest. It was intended entirely
-for the consumption of the outside public.
-Even the reporters had sat listless and bored during
-its delivery. They had been furnished with
-advance copies of it and had already turned them
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span>
-in to their papers. But with the naming of the
-next witness a stir of interest ran sharply around
-the room.</p>
-<p>Bishop Joseph Winthrop of Alden rose from
-his place in the rear of the room and walked
-briskly forward to the chair reserved. A tall,
-spare figure of a man coming to his sixty years,
-his hair as white as the snow of his hills, with a
-large, firm mouth and the nose of a Puritan governor,
-he would have attracted attention under almost
-any circumstances.</p>
-<p>Nathan Gorham, the chairman of the committee,
-had received his orders from the leader of the
-majority in the Senate that the bill should be reported
-back favourably to that body before night.
-He had anticipated no difficulty. The form of a
-public hearing had to be gone through with. It
-was the most effective way of disarming the suspicions
-that had been aroused as to the nature of
-the bill. The speech of the Racquette County
-Judge was the usual thing at public hearings. The
-chairman had expected that one or two self-advertising
-reformers of the opposition would come before
-the committee with time-honoured, stock diatribes
-against the rapacity and greed of railroads
-in general and this one in particular. Then he
-and his two majority colleagues would vote to report
-the bill favourably, while the two members
-of the minority would vote to report adversely.
-This, the chairman said, was about all a public
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span>
-hearing ever amounted to. He had not counted
-on the coming of the Bishop of Alden.</p>
-<p>“The committee would like to hear, sir,” began
-the chairman, as the Bishop took his place, “whom
-you represent in the matter of this bill.”</p>
-<p>The reporters, scenting a welcome sensation in
-what had been a dull session of a dull committee,
-sat with poised pencils while the Bishop turned a
-look of quiet gravity upon the chairman and said:</p>
-<p>“I represent Joseph Winthrop, a voter of
-Racquette County.”</p>
-<p>“I beg pardon, sir, of course. The committee
-quite understands that you do not come here in the
-interest of any one. But the gentleman who has
-just been before us spoke for the farmers who
-would be most directly affected by the prosperity
-of the railroad, including those of your county.
-Are we to understand that there is opposition in
-your county to the proposed grant?”</p>
-<p>“Your committee,” said the Bishop, “cannot be
-ignorant that there is the most stubborn opposition
-to this grant in all three counties. If there had
-not been that opposition, there would have been no
-call for the bill which you are now considering.
-If the railroad could have gotten the options which
-it tried to get on those farms the grant would have
-been given without question. Your committee
-knows this better than I.”</p>
-<p>“But,” returned the chairman, “we have been
-advised that the railroad was not able to get those
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span>
-options because a boy up there in the Beaver River
-country, who fancied that he had some grievance
-against the railroad people, banded the people together
-to oppose the options in unfair and unlawful
-ways.”</p>
-<p>The chairman paused an impressive moment.</p>
-<p>“In fact,” he resumed, “from what this committee
-has been able to gather, it looks very much
-as though there were conspiracy in the matter,
-against the U. & M. Railroad. It almost would
-seem that some rival of the railroad in question
-had used the boy and his fancied grievance to
-manufacture opposition. Conspiracy could not be
-proven, but there was every appearance.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop smiled grimly as he dropped his
-challenge quietly at the feet of the committee.</p>
-<p>“The boy, Jeffrey Whiting,” he said, “was
-guided by me. I directed his movements from the
-beginning.”</p>
-<p>The whole room sat up and leaned forward as
-one man, alive to the fact that a novel and stirring
-situation was being developed. Everybody had
-understood that the Bishop had come to plead the
-cause of the French-Canadian farmers of the
-hills.</p>
-<p>They had supposed that he would speak only
-on what was a side issue of the case. No one had
-expected that he would attack the main question
-of the bill itself. And here he was openly proclaiming
-himself the principal in that silent, stubborn
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span>
-fight that had been going on up in the hills
-for six months!</p>
-<p>The reporters doubled down to their work and
-wrote furiously. They were trying to throw this
-unusual man upon a screen before their readers.
-It was not easy. He was an unmistakable product
-of New England, and what was more he had been
-one of the leaders of that collection of striking
-men who made the Brook Farm “Experiment.”
-He had endeared himself to the old generation of
-Americans by his war record as a chaplain. To
-some of the new generation he was known as the
-Yankee Bishop. But in the hill country, from
-the Mohawk Valley to the Canadian line and to
-Lake Champlain, he had one name, The Shepherd
-of the North. From Old Forge to Ausable to
-North Creek men knew his ways and felt the beating
-of the great heart of him behind the stern,
-ascetic set of his countenance.</p>
-<p>As much as they could of this the reporters
-were trying to put into their notes while Nathan
-Gorham was recovering from his surprise. That
-well-trained statesman saw that he had let himself
-into a trap. He had been too zealous in announcing
-his impression that the opposition to the
-U. & M. Railroad was the work of a jealous rival.
-The Bishop had taken that ground from under
-him by a simple stroke of truth. He could
-neither go forward with his charge nor could he
-retract it.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></div>
-<p>“Would you be so kind, then, as to tell this
-committee,” he temporised, “just why you wished
-to arouse this opposition to the railroad?”</p>
-<p>“There is not and has never been any opposition
-whatever to the railroad,” said the Bishop.
-“The bill before your committee has nothing to
-do with the right of way of the railroad. That
-has already been granted. Your bill proposes to
-confiscate, practically, from the present owners a
-strip of valuable land forty miles wide by nearly
-eighty miles long. That land is valuable because
-the experts of the railroad know, and the people
-up there know, and, I think, this committee knows
-that there is iron ore in these hills.</p>
-<p>“I have said that I do not represent any one
-here,” the Bishop went on. “But there are four
-hundred families up there in our hills who stand
-to suffer by this bill. They are a silent people.
-They have no voice to reach the world. I have
-asked to speak before your committee because
-only in this way can the case of my people reach
-the great, final trial court of publicity before the
-whole State.</p>
-<p>“They are a silent people, the people of the
-hills. You will have heard that they are a stubborn
-people. They are a stubborn people, for
-they cling to their rocky soil and to the hillside
-homes that their hands have made just as do the
-hardy trees of the hills. You cannot uproot them
-by the stroke of a pen.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span></div>
-<p>“These people are my friends and my neighbours.
-Many of them were once my comrades.
-I know what they think. I know what they feel.
-I would beg your committee to consider very
-earnestly this question before bringing to bear
-against these people the sovereign power of the
-State. They love their State. Many of them
-have loved their country to the peril of their
-lives. They live on the little farms that their
-fathers literally hewed out of a resisting wilderness.</p>
-<p>“Not through prejudice or ignorance are they
-opposing this development, which will in the end
-be for the good of the whole region. They are
-opposed to this bill before you because it would
-give a corporation power to drive them from the
-homes they love, and that without fair compensation.</p>
-<p>“They are opposed to it because they are
-Americans. They know what it has meant and
-what it still means to be Americans. And they
-know that this bill is directly against everything
-that is American.</p>
-<p>“They are ever ready to submit themselves to
-the sovereign will of the State, but you will never
-convince them that this bill is the real will of the
-State. They are fighting men and the sons of
-fighting men. They have fought the course of the
-railroad in trying to get options from them by
-coercion and trickery. They have been aroused.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span>
-Their homes, poor and wretched as they often
-are, mean more to them than any law you can set
-on paper. They will fight this law, if you pass it.
-It will set a ring of fire and murder about our
-peaceful hills.</p>
-<p>“In the name of high justice, in the name of
-common honesty, in the name––to come to lower
-levels––of political common sense, I tell you this
-bill should never go back to the Senate.</p>
-<p>“It is wrong, it is unjust, and it can only rebound
-upon those who are found weak enough to
-let it pass here.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop paused, and the racing, jabbing pencils
-of the reporters could be plainly heard in the
-hush of the room.</p>
-<p>Nathan Gorham broke the pause with a hesitating
-question which he had been wanting to put
-from the beginning.</p>
-<p>“Perhaps the committee has been badly informed,”
-he began to the Bishop; “we understood
-that your people, sir, were mostly Canadian
-immigrants and not usually owners of land.”</p>
-<p>“Is it necessary for me to repeat,” said the
-Bishop, turning sharply, “that I am here, Joseph
-Winthrop, speaking of and for my neighbours and
-my friends? Does it matter to them or to this
-committee that I wear the badge of a service that
-they do not understand? I do not come before
-you as the Catholic bishop. Neither do I come
-as an owner of property. I come because I think
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span>
-the cause of my friends will be served by my coming.</p>
-<p>“The facts I have laid before you, the warning
-I have given might as well have been sent out
-direct through the press. But I have chosen to
-come before you, with your permission, because
-these facts will get a wider hearing and a more
-eager reading coming from this room.</p>
-<p>“I do not seek to create sensation here. I
-have no doubt that some of you are thinking that
-the place for a churchman to speak is in his church.
-But I am willing to face that criticism. I am willing
-to create sensation. I am willing that you
-should say that I have gone far beyond the privilege
-of a witness invited to come before your
-committee. I am willing, in fact, that you should
-put any interpretation you like upon my use of my
-privilege here, only so that my neighbours of the
-hills shall have their matter put squarely and fully
-before all the people of the State.</p>
-<p>“When this matter is once thoroughly understood
-by the people, then I know that no branch
-of the lawmaking power will dare make itself responsible
-for the passage of this bill.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop stood a moment, waiting for further
-questions. When he saw that none were
-forthcoming, he thanked the committee and
-begged leave to retire.</p>
-<p>As the Bishop passed out of the room the
-chairman arose and declared the public hearing
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span>
-closed. Witnesses, spectators and reporters
-crowded out of the room and scattered through
-the corridors of the Capitol. Four or five reporters
-bunched themselves about the elevator
-shaft waiting for a car. One of them, a tow-haired
-boy of twenty, summed up the matter with
-irreverent brevity.</p>
-<p>“Well, it got a fine funeral, anyway,” he said.
-“Not every bad bill has a bishop at the obsequies.”</p>
-<p>“You can’t tell,” said the Associated Press
-man slowly; “they might report it out in spite
-of all that.”</p>
-<p>“No use,” said the youngster shortly. “The
-Senate wouldn’t dare touch it once this stuff is
-in the papers.” And he jammed a wad of flimsy
-down into his pocket.</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>Three weeks of a blistering August sun had
-withered the grasses of the hills almost to a powder.
-The thin soil of the north country, where
-the trees have been cut away, does not hold moisture;
-so that the heat of the short, vicious summer
-goes down through the roots of the vegetation to
-the rock beneath and heats it as a cooking stone.</p>
-<p>Since June there had been no rain. The
-tumbling hill streams were reduced to a trickle
-among the rocks of their beds. The uplands were
-covered with a mat of baked, dead grass. The
-second growth of stunted timber, showing everywhere
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span>
-the scars of the wasting rapacity of man,
-stood stark and wilted to the roots. All roving
-life, from the cattle to the woodchucks and even
-the field mice, had moved down to hide itself in
-the thicker growths near the water courses or had
-stolen away into the depths of the thick woods.</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing reined Brom Bones in under a
-scarred pine on the French Village road and sat
-looking soberly at the slopes that stretched up
-away from the road on either side. Every child
-of the hills knew the menace that a hot dry summer
-brought to us in those days. The first, ruthless
-cutting of the timber had followed the water
-courses. Men had cut and slashed their way up
-through the hills without thought of what they
-were leaving behind. They had taken only the
-prime, sound trees that stood handiest to the roll-ways.
-They had left dead and dying trees standing.
-Everywhere they had strewn loose heaps of
-brush and trimmings. The farmers had come
-pushing into the hills in the wake of the lumbermen
-and had cleared their pieces for corn and potatoes
-and hay land. But around every piece of
-cleared land there was an ever-encroaching ring of
-brush and undergrowth and fallen timber that held
-a constant threat for the little home within the
-ring.</p>
-<p>A summer without rain meant a season of grim
-and unrelenting watchfulness. Men armed themselves
-and tramped through the woods on unbidden
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span>
-sentry duty, to see that no campfires were
-made. Strangers and outsiders who were likely
-to be careless were watched from the moment they
-came into the hills until they were seen safely out
-of them again. Where other children scouted for
-and fought imaginary Indians, the children of our
-hills hunted and fought imaginary fires. The
-forest fire was to them not a tradition or a bugaboo.
-It was an enemy that lurked just outside the
-little clearing of the farm, out there in the underbrush
-and fallen timber.</p>
-<p>Ruth was waiting for Jeffrey Whiting. He had
-ridden up to French Village for mail. For some
-weeks they had known that the railroad would try
-to have its bill for eminent domain passed at the
-special session of the Legislature. And they
-knew that the session would probably come to a
-close this week.</p>
-<p>If that bill became a law, then the resistance of
-the people of the hills had been in vain: Jeffrey
-had merely led them into a bitter and useless fight
-against a power with which they could not cope.
-They would have to leave their homes, taking
-whatever a corrupted board of condemnation
-would grant for them. It would be hard on all,
-but it would fall upon Jeffrey with a crushing bitterness.
-He would have to remember that he had
-had the chance to make his mother and himself
-independently rich. He had thrown away that
-chance, and now if his fight had failed he would
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span>
-have nothing to bring back to his mother but his
-own miserable failure.</p>
-<p>Ruth remembered that day in the Bishop’s house
-in Alden when Jeffrey had said proudly that his
-mother would be glad to follow him into poverty.
-And she smiled now at her own outburst at that
-time. They had both meant it, every word; but
-the ashes of failure are bitter. And she had seen
-the iron of this fight biting into Jeffrey through
-all the summer.</p>
-<p>She, too, would lose a great deal if the railroad
-had succeeded. She would not be able to go back
-to school, and would probably have to go somewhere
-to get work of some kind, for the little that
-she would get for her farm now would not keep
-her any time. But that was a little matter, or at
-least it seemed little and vague beside the imminence
-of Jeffrey’s failure and what he would
-consider his disgrace. She did not know how he
-would take it, for during the summer she had seen
-him in vicious moods when he seemed capable of
-everything.</p>
-<p>She saw the speck which he made against the
-horizon as he came over Argyle Mountain three
-miles away and she saw that he was riding fast.
-He was bringing good news!</p>
-<p>It needed only the excited, happy touch of her
-hand to set Brom Bones whirling up the road, for
-the big colt understood her ways and moods and
-followed them better than he would have followed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span>
-whip or rein of another. Half-way, she pulled
-the big fellow down to a decorous canter and
-gradually slowed down to a walk as Jeffrey came
-thundering down upon them. He pulled up
-sharply and turned on his hind feet. The two
-horses fell into step, as they knew they were expected
-to do and their two riders gave them no
-more heed than if they had been wooden horses.</p>
-<p>“How did you know it was all right, Ruth?”</p>
-<p>“I saw you coming down Argyle Mountain,”
-Ruth laughed. “You looked as though you were
-riding Victory down the top side of the earth.
-How did it all come out?”</p>
-<p>“Here’s the paper,” he said, handing her an
-Albany newspaper of the day previous; “it tells
-the story right off. But I got a letter from the
-Bishop, too,” he added.</p>
-<p>“Oh, did you?” she exclaimed, looking up
-from the headline––U. & M. Grab Killed in
-Committee––which she had been feverishly trying
-to translate into her own language. “Please
-let me hear. I’m never sure what headlines mean
-till I go down to the fine print, and then it’s generally
-something else. I can understand what the
-Bishop says, I’m sure.”</p>
-<p>“Well, it’s only short,” said Jeffrey, unfolding
-the letter. “He leaves out all the part that he
-did himself.”</p>
-<p>“Of course,” said Ruth simply. “He always
-does.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></div>
-<p>“He says:</p>
-<p>“‘You will see from the Albany papers, which
-will probably reach you before this does, that the
-special session of the Legislature closed to-night
-and that the railroad’s bill was not reported to
-the Senate. It had passed the Assembly, as you
-know. The bill aroused a measure of just public
-anger through the newspapers and its authors evidently
-thought it the part of wisdom not to risk
-a contest over it in the open Senate. So there can
-be no legislative action in favour of the railroad
-before December at the earliest, and I regard it as
-doubtful that the matter will be brought up even
-then.’</p>
-<p>“You see,” said Jeffrey, “from this you’d never
-know that he was there present at all. And
-it was just his speech before the committee
-that aroused that public anger. Then he goes
-on:</p>
-<p>“‘But we must not make the mistake of presuming
-that the matter ends here. You and your
-people are just where you were in the beginning.
-Nothing has been lost, nothing gained. It is not
-in the nature of things that a corporation which
-has spent an enormous amount of money in constructing
-a line with the one purpose of getting
-to your lands should now give up the idea of getting
-them by reason of a mere legislative setback.
-They have not entered into this business
-in any half-hearted manner. They are bound to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span>
-carry it through somehow––anyhow. We must
-realise that.</p>
-<p>“‘We need not speculate upon the soul or the
-conscience of a corporation or the lack of those
-things. We know that this corporation will have
-an answer to this defeat of its bill. We must
-watch for that answer. What their future methods
-or their plans may be I think no man can tell.
-Perhaps those plans are not yet even formed.
-But there will be an answer. While rejoicing that
-a fear of sound public opinion has been on your
-side, we must never forget that there will be an
-answer.</p>
-<p>“‘In this matter, young sir, I have gone beyond
-the limits which men set for the proper activities
-of a priest of the church. I do not apologise.
-I have done this, partly because your
-people are my own, my friends and my comrades
-of old, partly because you yourself came to me in
-a confidence which I do not forget, partly––and
-most, perhaps––because where my people and
-their rights are in question I have never greatly
-respected those limits which men set. I put these
-things before you so that when the answer comes
-you will remember that you engaged yourself in
-this business solely in defence of the right. So it
-is not your personal fight and you must try to
-keep from your mind and heart the bitterness of a
-quarrel. The struggle is a larger thing than that
-and you must keep your heart larger still and
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span>
-above it. I fear that you will sorely need to remember
-this.</p>
-<p>“‘My sincerest regards to your family and to
-all my friends in the hills, not forgetting your
-friend Ruth.’ That’s all,” said Jeffrey, folding
-the letter. “I wish he’d said more about how he
-managed the thing.”</p>
-<p>“Isn’t it enough to know that he did manage it,
-without bothering about how? That is the way
-he does everything.”</p>
-<p>“I suppose I ought to be satisfied,” said Jeffrey
-as he gathered up his reins. “But I wonder what
-he means by that last part of the letter. It sounds
-like a warning to me.”</p>
-<p>“It is a warning to you,” said Ruth thoughtfully.</p>
-<p>“Why, what does it mean? What does he
-think I’m likely to do?”</p>
-<p>“Maybe he does not mean what you are likely
-to do exactly,” said Ruth, trying to choose her
-words wisely; “maybe he is thinking more of what
-you are likely to feel. Maybe he is talking to
-your heart rather than to your head or about your
-actions.”</p>
-<p>“Now I don’t know what you mean, either,”
-said Jeffrey a little discontentedly.</p>
-<p>“I know I oughtn’t to try to tell you what the
-Bishop means, for I don’t know myself. But I’ve
-been worried and I’m sure your mother has too,”
-said Ruth reluctantly.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span></div>
-<p>“But what is it?” said Jeffrey quickly.
-“What have I been doing?”</p>
-<p>“I’m sure it isn’t anything you’ve done, nor
-anything maybe that you’re likely to do. I don’t
-know just what it is, or how to say it. But,
-Jeffrey, you remember what you said that day in
-the Bishop’s house at Alden?”</p>
-<p>“Yes, and I remember what you said, too.”</p>
-<p>“We both meant it,” Ruth returned gravely,
-not attempting to evade any of the meaning that
-he had thrown into his words. “And we both
-mean it now, I’m sure. But there’s a difference,
-Jeffrey, a difference with you.”</p>
-<p>“I don’t know it,” he said a little shortly.
-“I’m still doing just the thing I started out to do
-that day.”</p>
-<p>“Yes. But that day you started out to fight
-for the people. Now you are fighting for yourself–– Oh,
-not for anything selfish! Not for
-anything you want for yourself! I know that.
-But you have made the fight your own. It is your
-own quarrel now. You are fighting because you
-have come to hate the railroad people.”</p>
-<p>“Well, you wouldn’t expect me to love them?”</p>
-<p>“No. I’m not blaming you, Jeff. But––but,
-I’m afraid. Hate is a terrible thing. I wish you
-were out of it all. Hate can only hurt you. I’m
-afraid of a scar that it might leave on you through
-all the long, long years of life. Can you see?
-I’m afraid of something that might go deeper
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span>
-than all this, something that might go as deep as
-life. After all, that’s what I’m afraid of, I
-guess––Life, great, big, terrible, menacing,
-Life!”</p>
-<p>“My life?” Jeffrey asked gruffly.</p>
-<p>“I have faced that,” the girl answered evenly,
-“just as you have faced it. And I am not afraid
-of that. No. It’s what you might do in anger––if
-they hurt you again. Something that would
-scar your heart and your soul. Jeffrey, do you
-know that sometimes I’ve seen the worst, the worst––even
-<i>murder</i> in your eyes!”</p>
-<p>“I wish,” the boy returned shortly, “the
-Bishop would keep his religion out of all this.
-He’s a good man and a good friend,” he went on,
-“but I don’t like this religion coming into everything.”</p>
-<p>“But how can he? He cannot keep religion
-apart from life and right and wrong. What
-good would religion be if it did not go ahead of
-us in life and show us the way?”</p>
-<p>“But what’s the use?” the boy said grudgingly.
-“What good does it do? You wouldn’t have
-thought of any of this only for that last part of
-his letter. Why does that have to come into
-everything? It’s the Catholic Church all over
-again, always pushing in everywhere.”</p>
-<p>“Isn’t that funny,” the girl said, brightening;
-“I have cried myself sick thinking just that same
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span>
-thing. I have gone almost frantic thinking that
-if I once gave in to the Church it would crush
-me and make me do everything that I didn’t want
-to do. And now I never think of it. Life goes
-along really just as though being a Catholic didn’t
-make any difference at all.”</p>
-<p>“That’s because you’ve given in to it altogether.
-You don’t even know that you want to
-resist. You’re swallowed up in it.”</p>
-<p>The girl flushed angrily, but bit her lips before
-she answered.</p>
-<p>“It’s the queerest thing, isn’t it, Jeff,” she said
-finally in a thoughtful, friendly way, “how two
-people can fight about religion? Now you don’t
-care a particle about it one way or the other.
-And I––I’d rather not talk about it. And yet,
-we were just now within an inch of quarrelling bitterly
-about it. Why is it?”</p>
-<p>“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Ruth,” the boy
-apologised slowly. “It’s none of my business,
-anyway.”</p>
-<p>They were just coming over the long hill above
-Ruth’s home. Below them stretched the long
-sweep of the road down past her house and up
-the other slope until it lost itself around the
-shoulder of Lansing Mountain.</p>
-<p>Half a mile below them a rider was pushing his
-big roan horse up the hill towards them at a heart-breaking
-pace.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></div>
-<p>“That’s ‘My’ Stocking’s roan,” said Jeffrey,
-straightening in his saddle; “I’d know that horse
-three miles away.”</p>
-<p>“But what’s he carrying?” cried Ruth excitedly,
-as she peered eagerly from under her
-shading hand. “Look. Across his saddle.
-Rifles! <i>Two</i> of them!”</p>
-<p>Brom Bones, sensing the girl’s excitement, was
-already pulling at his bit, eager for a wild race
-down the hill. But Jeffrey, after one long, sharp
-look at the oncoming horseman, pulled in quietly
-to the side of the road. And Ruth did the same.
-She was too well trained in the things of the hills
-not to know that if there was trouble, then it was
-no time to be weakening horses’ knees in mad and
-useless dashes downhill.</p>
-<p>The rider was Myron Stocking from over in
-the Crooked Lake country, as Jeffrey had supposed.
-He pulled up as he recognised the two
-who waited for him by the roadside, and when
-he had nodded to Ruth, whom he knew by sight,
-he drew over close to Jeffrey. Ruth, eager as
-she was to hear, pushed Brom Bones a few paces
-farther away from them. They would not talk
-freely in her hearing, she knew. And Jeffrey
-would tell her all that she needed to know.</p>
-<p>The two men exchanged a half dozen rapid sentences
-and Ruth heard Stocking conclude:</p>
-<p>“Your Uncle Catty slipped me this here gun
-o’ yours. Your Ma didn’t see.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></div>
-<p>Jeffrey nodded and took the gun. Then he
-came to Ruth.</p>
-<p>“There’s some strangers over in the hills that
-maybe ought to be watched. The country’s awful
-dry,” he added quietly. He knew that Ruth
-would need no further explanation.</p>
-<p>He pulled the Bishop’s letter from his pocket
-and handed it to Ruth, saying:</p>
-<p>“Take this and the paper along to Mother.
-She’ll want to see them right away. And say,
-Ruth,” he went on, as he looked anxiously at the
-great sloping stretches of bone-dry underbrush that
-lay between them and his home on the hill three
-miles away, “the country’s awful dry. If anything
-happens, get Mother and Aunt Letty down
-out of this country. You can make them go.
-Nobody else could.”</p>
-<p>The girl had not yet spoken. There was no
-need for her to ask questions. She knew what
-lay under every one of Jeffrey’s pauses and
-silences. It was no time for many words. He
-was laying upon her a trust to look after the ones
-whom he loved.</p>
-<p>She put out her hand to his and said simply:</p>
-<p>“I’m glad we didn’t quarrel, Jeff.”</p>
-<p>“I was a fool,” said Jeffrey gruffly, as he wrung
-her hand. “But I’ll remember. Forgive me,
-please, Ruth.”</p>
-<p>“There’s nothing to forgive––ever––between
-us, Jeffrey. Go now,” she said softly.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></div>
-<p>Jeffrey wheeled his horse and followed the
-other man back over the hill on the road which
-he and Ruth had come. Ruth sat still until they
-were out of sight. At the very last she saw
-Jeffrey swing his rifle across the saddle in front of
-him, and a shadow fell across her heart. She
-would have given everything in her world to have
-had back what she had said of seeing murder in
-Jeffrey’s eyes.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey and Myron Stocking rode steadily up
-the French Village road for an hour or so. Then
-they turned off from the road and began a long
-winding climb up into the higher levels of the
-Racquette country.</p>
-<p>“We might as well head for Bald Mountain
-right away,” said Jeffrey, as they came about sundown
-to a fork in their trail. “The breeze comes
-straight down from the east. That’s where the
-danger is, if there is any.”</p>
-<p>“I suppose you’re right, Jeff. But it means
-we’ll have to sleep out if we go that way.”</p>
-<p>“I guess that won’t hurt us,” Jeffrey returned.
-“If anything happens we might have to sleep out
-a good many nights––and a lot of other people
-would have to do the same.”</p>
-<p>“All right then,” Stocking agreed. “We’ll
-get a bite and give the horses a feed and a rest at
-Hosmer’s, that’s about two miles over the hills
-here; and then we can go on as far as you like.”</p>
-<p>At Hosmer’s they got food enough for two
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span>
-days in the hills, and having fed and breathed the
-horses they rode on up into the higher woods.
-They were now in the region of the uncut timber
-where the great trees were standing from the beginning,
-because they had been too high up to be
-accessible to the lumbermen who had ravaged the
-lower levels. Though the long summer twilight
-of the North still lighted the tops of the trees, the
-two men rode in impenetrable darkness, leaving
-the horses to pick their own canny footing up the
-trail.</p>
-<p>“Did anybody see Rogers in that crowd?”
-Jeffrey asked as they rode along. “You know,
-the man that was in French Village this summer.”</p>
-<p>“I don’t know,” Stocking answered. “You
-see they came up to the end of the rails, at Grafton,
-on a handcar. And then they scattered.
-Nobody’s sure that he’s seen any of ’em since.
-But they must be in the hills somewhere. And
-Rafe Gadbeau’s with ’em. You can bet on that.
-That’s all we’ve got to go on. But it may be
-a-plenty.”</p>
-<p>“It’s enough to set us on the move, anyway,”
-said Jeffrey. “They have no business in the
-hills. They’re bound to be up to mischief of some
-sort. And there’s just one big mischief that they
-can do. Can we make Bald Mountain before daylight?”</p>
-<p>“Oh, certainly; that’ll be easy. We’ll get a
-little light when we’re through this belt of heavy
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span>
-woods and then we can push along. We ought
-to get up there by two o’clock. It ain’t light till
-near five. That’ll give us a little sleep, if we feel
-like it.”</p>
-<p>True to Stocking’s calculation they came out
-upon the rocky, thinly grassed knobs of Bald
-Mountain shortly before two o’clock. It was a
-soft, hazy night with no moon. There was rain
-in the air somewhere, for there was no dew; but
-it might be on the other side of the divide or it
-might be miles below on the lowlands.</p>
-<p>Others of the men of the hills were no doubt in
-the vicinity of the mountain, or were heading
-toward here. For the word of the menace had
-gone through the hills that day, and men would decide,
-as Jeffrey had done, that the danger would
-come from this direction. But they had not
-heard anything to show the presence of others,
-nor did they care to give any signals of their own
-whereabouts.</p>
-<p>As for those others, the possible enemy, who
-had left the railroad that morning and had scattered
-into the hills, if their purpose was the one
-that men feared, they, too, would be near here.
-But it was useless to look for them in the dark:
-neither was anything to be feared from them before
-morning. Men do not start forest fires in
-the night. There is little wind. A fire would
-probably die out of itself. And the first blaze
-would rouse the whole country.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span></div>
-<p>The two hobbled their horses with the bridle
-reins and lay down in the open to wait for morning.
-Neither had any thought of sleep. But the
-softness of the night, the pungent odour of the
-tamarack trees floating up to them from below,
-and their long ride, soon began to tell on them.
-Jeffrey saw that they must set a watch.</p>
-<p>“Curl up and go to sleep, ‘My,’” he said,
-shaking himself. “You might as well. I’ll wake
-you in an hour.”</p>
-<p>A ready snore was the only answer.</p>
-<p>Morning coming over the higher eastern hills
-found them stiff and weary, but alert. The
-woods below them were still banked in darkness
-as they ate their dry food and caught their horses
-for the day that was before them. There was
-no water to be had up here, and they knew their
-horses must be gotten down to some water course
-before night.</p>
-<p>A half circle of open country belted by heavy
-woods lay just below them. Eagerly, as the light
-crept down the hill, they scanned the area for sign
-of man or horse. Nothing moved. Apparently
-they had the world to themselves. A fresh morning
-breeze came down over the mountain and
-watching they could see the ripple of it in the tops
-of the distant trees. The same thought made
-both men grip their rifles and search more carefully
-the ground below them, for that innocent
-breeze blowing straight down towards their homes
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span>
-and loved ones was a potential enemy more to be
-feared than all the doings of men.</p>
-<p>Down to the right, two miles or more away, a
-man came out of the shadow of the woods. They
-could only see that he was a big man and stout.
-There was nothing about him to tell them whether
-he was friend or foe, of the hills or a stranger.
-Without waiting to see who he was or what he
-did, the two dove for their saddles and started
-their horses pell-mell down the hill towards him.</p>
-<p>He saw them at once against the bare brow of
-the hill, and ran back into the wood.</p>
-<p>In another instant they knew what he was and
-what was his business.</p>
-<p>They saw a light moving swiftly along the
-fringe of the woods. Behind the light rose a trail
-of white smoke. And behind the smoke ran a
-line of living fire. The man was running, dragging
-a flaming torch through the long dried grass
-and brush!</p>
-<p>The two, riding break-neck down over the rocks,
-regardless of paths or horses’ legs, would gladly
-have killed the man as he ran. But it was too far
-for even a random shot. They could only ride on
-in reckless rage, mad to be at the fire, to beat
-it to death with their hands, to stamp it into the
-earth, but more eager yet for a right distance and
-a fair shot at the fiend there within the wood.</p>
-<p>Before they had stumbled half the distance
-down the hill, a wave of leaping flame a hundred
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span>
-feet long was hurling itself upon the forest.
-They could not stamp that fire out. But they
-could kill that man!</p>
-<p>The man ran back behind the wall of fire to
-where he had started and began to run another
-line of fire in the other direction. At that moment
-Stocking yelled:</p>
-<p>“There’s another starting, straight in front!”</p>
-<p>“Get him,” Jeffrey shouted over his shoulder.
-“I’m going to kill this one.”</p>
-<p>Stocking turned slightly and made for a second
-light which he had seen starting. Jeffrey rode on
-alone, unslinging his rifle and driving madly. His
-horse, already unnerved by the wild dash down
-the hill, now saw the fire and started to bolt off at
-a tangent. Jeffrey fought with him a furious
-moment, trying to force him toward the fire and
-the man. Then, seeing that he could not conquer
-the fright of the horse and that his man was
-escaping, he threw his leg over the saddle, and
-leaping free with his gun ran towards the
-man.</p>
-<p>The man was dodging in and out now among
-the trees, but still using his torch and moving
-rapidly away.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey ran on, gradually overhauling the man
-in his zigzag until he was within easy distance.
-But the man continued weaving his way among the
-trees so that it was impossible to get a fair aim.
-Jeffrey dropped to one knee and steadied the sights
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span>
-of his rifle until they closed upon the running
-man and clung to him.</p>
-<p>Suddenly the man turned in an open space and
-faced about. It was Rogers, Jeffrey saw. He
-was unarmed, but he must be killed.</p>
-<p>“I am going to kill him,” said Jeffrey under
-his breath, as he again fixed the sights of his rifle,
-this time full on the man’s breast.</p>
-<p>A shot rang out in front somewhere. Rogers
-threw up his hands, took a half step forward, and
-fell on his face.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey, his finger still clinging to the trigger
-which he had not pulled, ran forward to where
-the man lay.</p>
-<p>He was lying face down, his arms stretched out
-wide at either side, his fingers convulsively clutching
-at tufts of grass.</p>
-<p>He was dying. No need for a second look.</p>
-<p>His hat had fallen off to a little distance.
-There was a clean round hole in the back of the
-skull. The close-cropped, iron grey hair showed
-just the merest streak of red.</p>
-<p>Just out of reach of one of his hands lay a still
-flaming railroad torch, with which he had done his
-work.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey peered through the wood in the direction
-from which the shot had come. There was
-no smoke, no noise of any one running away, no
-sign of another human being anywhere.</p>
-<p>Away back of him he heard shots, one, two,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span>
-three; Stocking, probably, or some of the other
-men who must be in the neighbourhood, firing at
-other fleeing figures in the woods.</p>
-<p>He grabbed the burning torch, pulled out the
-wick and stamped it into a patch of burnt ground,
-threw the torch back from the fire line, and started
-clubbing the fire out of the grass with the butt of
-his rifle.</p>
-<p>He was quickly brought to his senses, when the
-forgotten cartridge in his gun accidentally exploded
-and the bullet went whizzing past his ear.
-He dropped the gun nervously and finding a sharp
-piece of sapling he began to work furiously, but
-systematically at the line of fire.</p>
-<p>The line was thin here, where it had really only
-that moment been started, and he made some
-headway. But as he worked along to where it
-had gotten a real start he saw that it was useless.
-Still he clung to his work. It was the only thing
-that his numbed brain could think of to do for the
-moment.</p>
-<p>He dug madly with the sapling, throwing the
-loose dirt furiously after the fire as it ran away
-from him. He leaped upon the line of the fire
-and stamped at it with his boots until the fire crept
-up his trousers and shirt and up even to his hair.
-And still the fire ran away from him, away down
-the hill after its real prey. He looked farther
-on along the line and saw that it was not now a line
-but a charging, rushing river of flame that ran
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span>
-down the hill, twenty feet at a jump. Nothing,
-nothing on earth, except perhaps a deluge of rain
-could now stop that torrent of fire.</p>
-<p>He stepped back. There was nothing to be
-done here now, behind the fire. Nothing to be
-done but to get ahead of it and save what could
-be saved. He looked around for his horse.</p>
-<p>Just then men came riding along the back of the
-line, Stocking and old Erskine Beasley in the lead.
-They came up to where Jeffrey was standing and
-looked on beyond moodily to where the body of
-Rogers lay.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey turned and looked, too. A silence fell
-upon the little group of horsemen and upon the
-boy standing there.</p>
-<p>Myron Stocking spoke at last:</p>
-<p>“Mine got away, Jeff,” he said slowly.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey looked up quickly at him. Then the
-meaning of the words flashed upon him.</p>
-<p>“I didn’t do that!” he exclaimed hastily.
-“Somebody else shot him from the woods. My
-gun went off accidental.”</p>
-<p>Silence fell again upon the little group of men.
-They did not look at Jeffrey. They had heard
-but one shot. The shot from the woods had been
-too muffled for them to hear.</p>
-<p>Again Stocking broke the silence.</p>
-<p>“What difference does it make,” he said.
-“Any of us would have done it if we could.”</p>
-<p>“But I didn’t! I tell you I didn’t,” shouted
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span>
-Jeffrey. “The shot from the woods got ahead of
-me. That man was facing me. He was shot
-from behind!”</p>
-<p>Old Erskine Beasley took command.</p>
-<p>“What difference does it make, as Stocking
-says. We’ve got live men and women and children
-to think about to-day,” he said. “Straighten
-him out decent. Then divide and go around the
-fire both ways. The alarm can’t travel half fast
-enough for this breeze, and it’s rising, too,” he
-added.</p>
-<p>“But I tell you––!” Jeffrey began again.
-Then he saw how useless it was.</p>
-<p>He looked up the hill and saw his horse, which
-even in the face of this unheard-of terror had preferred
-to venture back toward his master.</p>
-<p>He caught the horse, mounted, and started to
-ride south with the party that was to try to get
-around the fire from that side.</p>
-<p>He rode with them. They were his friends.
-But he was not with them. There was a circle
-drawn around him. He was separated from
-them. They probably did not feel it, but he felt
-it. It is a circle which draws itself ever around
-a man who, justly or unjustly, is thought guilty of
-blood. Men may applaud his deed. Men may
-say that they themselves would wish to have done
-it. But the circle is there.</p>
-<p>Then Jeffrey thought of his Mother. She
-would not see that circle.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></div>
-<p>Also he thought of a girl. The girl had only a
-few hours before said that she had sometimes seen
-even murder in his eyes.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span>
-<a name='V_MON_PERE_JE_ME_CUSE' id='V_MON_PERE_JE_ME_CUSE'></a>
-<h2>V</h2>
-<h3>MON PERE JE ME ’CUSE</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Down the wide slope of Bald Mountain the
-fire raved exultingly, leaping and skipping fantastically
-as it ran. It was a prisoner released
-from the bondage of the elements that had held
-it. It was a spirit drunk with sudden-found freedom.
-It was a flood raging down a valley. It
-was a maniac at large.</p>
-<p>The broad base of the mountain where it sat
-upon the backs of the lower hills spread out fanwise
-to a width of five miles. The fire spread its
-wings as it came down until it swept the whole
-apron of the mountain. A five-mile wave of solid
-flame rolled down upon the hills.</p>
-<p>Sleepy cattle on the hills rising for their early
-browse missed the juicy dew from the grass.
-They looked to where the sun should be coming
-over the mountain and instead they saw the sun
-coming down the side of the mountain in a blanket
-of white smoke. They left their feed and began
-to huddle together, mooing nervously to each
-other about this thing and sniffing the air and
-pawing the earth.</p>
-<p>Sleepy hired men coming out to drive the cattle
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span>
-in to milking looked blinking up at the mountain,
-stood a moment before their numb minds understood
-what their senses were telling them, then
-ran shouting back to the farm houses, throwing
-open pasture gates and knocking down lengths of
-fence as they ran. Some, with nothing but fear
-in their hearts, ran straight to the barns and
-mounting the best horses fled down the roads to
-the west. For the hireling flees because he is a
-hireling.</p>
-<p>Sleepy men and women and still sleeping children
-came tumbling out of the houses, to look up
-at the death that was coming down to them.
-Some cried in terror. Some raged and cursed and
-shook foolish fists at the oncoming enemy. Some
-fell upon their knees and lifted hands to the God
-of fire and flood. Then each ran back into the
-house for his or her treasure; a little bag of money
-under a mattress, or a babe in its crib, or a little
-rifle, or a dolly of rags.</p>
-<p>Frantic horses were hastily hitched to farm
-wagons. The treasures were quickly bundled in.
-Women pushed their broods up ahead of them into
-the wagons, ran back to kiss the men standing at
-the heads of the sweating horses, then climbed to
-their places in the wagons and took the reins.
-For twenty miles, down break-neck roads, behind
-mad horses, they would have to hold the lives of
-the children, the horses, and, incidentally, of themselves
-in their hands. But they were capable
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span>
-hands, brown, and strong and steady as the mother
-hearts that went with them.</p>
-<p>They would have preferred to stay with the
-men, these women. But it was the law that they
-should take the brood and run to safety.</p>
-<p>Men stood watching the wagons until they shot
-out of sight behind the trees of the road. Then
-they turned back to the hopeless, probably useless
-fight. They could do little or nothing. But it
-was the law that men must stay and make the
-fight. They must go out with shovels to the very
-edge of their own clearing and dig up a width of
-new earth which the running fire could not cross.
-Thus they might divert the fire a little. They
-might even divide it, if the wind died down a little,
-so that it would roll on to either side of their
-homes.</p>
-<p>This was their business. There was little
-chance that they would succeed. Probably they
-would have to drop shovels at the last moment
-and run an unequal foot race for their lives. But
-this was the law, that every man must stay and try
-to make his own little clearing the point of an entering
-wedge to that advancing wall of fire. No
-man, no ten thousand men could stop the fire.
-But, against all probabilities, some one man might
-be able, by some chance of the lay of the ground,
-or some freak of the wind, to split off a sector of
-it. That sector might be fought and narrowed
-down by other men until it was beaten. And so
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span>
-something would be gained. For this men stayed,
-stifled and blinded, and fought on until the last
-possible moment, and then ran past their already
-smoking homes and down the wind for life.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting rode southward in the wake
-of four other men down a long spiral course
-towards the base of the mountain. Yesterday he
-would have ridden at their head. He would have
-taken the place of leadership and command among
-them which he had for months been taking in the
-fight against the railroad. Probably he could still
-have had that place among them if he had tried to
-assert himself, for men had come to have a habit
-of depending upon him. But he rode at the rear,
-dispirited and miserable.</p>
-<p>They were trying to get around the fire, so that
-they might hang upon its flank and beat it in upon
-itself. There was no thought now of getting
-ahead of it: no need to ride ahead giving alarm.
-That rolling curtain of smoke would have already
-aroused every living thing ahead of it.
-They could only hope to get to the end of the line
-of fire and fight it inch by inch to narrow the path
-of destruction that it was making for itself.</p>
-<p>If the wind had held stiff and straight down the
-mountain it would have driven the fire ahead in a
-line only a little wider than its original front.
-But the shape of the mountain caught the light
-breeze as it came down and twisted it away always
-to the side. So that the end of the fire line was
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span>
-not a thin edge of scattered fire that could be
-fought and stamped back but was a whirling inverted
-funnel of flame that leaped and danced ever
-outward and onward.</p>
-<p>Half way down the mountain they thought that
-they had outflanked it. They slid from their
-horses and began to beat desperately at the brush
-and grasses among the trees. They gained upon
-it. They were doing something. They shouted
-to each other when they had driven it back even a
-foot. They fought it madly for the possession of
-a single tree. They were gaining. They were
-turning the edge of it in. The hot sweat began to
-streak the caking grime upon their faces. There
-was no air to breathe, only the hot breath of fire.
-But it was heartsome work, for they were surely
-pushing the fire in upon itself.</p>
-<p>A sudden swirl of the wind threw a dense cloud
-of hot white smoke about them. They stood still
-with the flannel of their shirt-sleeves pressed over
-eyes and nostrils, waiting for it to pass.</p>
-<p>When they could look they saw a wall of fire
-bearing down upon them from three sides. The
-wind had whirled the fire backward and sidewise
-so that it had surrounded the meagre little space
-that they had cleared and had now outflanked
-them. Their own manœuvre had been turned
-against them. There was but one way to run,
-straight down the hill with the fire roaring and
-panting after them. It was a playful, tricky
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span>
-monster that cackled gleefully behind them, laughing
-at their puny efforts.</p>
-<p>Breathless and spent, they finally ran themselves
-out of the path of the flames and dropped
-exhausted in safety as the fire went roaring by
-them on its way.</p>
-<p>Their horses were gone, of course. The fire
-in its side leap had caught them and they had fled
-shrieking down the hill, following their instinct
-to hunt water.</p>
-<p>The men now began to understand the work
-that was theirs. They were five already weary
-men. All day and all night, perhaps, they must
-follow the fire that travelled almost as fast as they
-could run at their best. And they must hang upon
-its edge and fight every inch of the way to fold
-that edge back upon itself, to keep that edge from
-spreading out upon them. A hundred men who
-could have flanked the fire shoulder to shoulder for
-a long space might have accomplished what these
-five were trying to do. For them it was impossible.
-But they hung on in desperation.</p>
-<p>Three times more they made a stand and
-pushed the edge of the fire back a little, each time
-daring to hope that they had done something.
-And three times more the treacherous wind
-whirled the fire back behind and around them so
-that they had to race for life.</p>
-<p>Now they were down off the straight slope of
-the mountain and among the broken hills. Here
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span>
-their work was entirely hopeless and they knew it.
-They knew also that they were in almost momentary
-danger of being cut off and completely surrounded.
-Here the fire did not keep any steady
-edge that they could follow and attack. The
-wind eddied and whirled about among the broken
-peaks of the hills in every direction and with it
-the fire ran apparently at will.</p>
-<p>When they tried to hold it to one side of a
-hill and were just beginning to think that they had
-won, a sudden sweep of the wind would send a
-ring of fire around to the other side so that they
-saw themselves again and again surrounded and
-almost cut off.</p>
-<p>Ahead of them now there was one hope: to hold
-the fire to the north side of the Chain. The
-Chain is a string of small lakes running nearly east
-and west. It divides the hill country into fairly
-even portions. If they could keep the fire north
-of the lakes they would save the southern half of
-the country. Their own homes all lay to the
-north of the lakes and they were now doomed.
-But that was a matter that did not enter here.
-What was gone was gone. Their loved ones
-would have had plenty of warning and would be
-out of the way by now. The men were fighting
-the enemy merely to save what could be saved.
-And as is the way of men in fight they began to
-make it a personal quarrel with the fire.</p>
-<p>They began to grow blindly angry at their opponent.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span>
-It was no longer an impersonal, natural
-creature of the elements, that fire. It was a cunning,
-a vicious, a mocking enemy. It hated them.
-They hated it. Its eyes were red with gloating
-over them. Their eyes were red and bloodshot
-with the fury of their battle. Its voice was hoarse
-with the roar of its laughing at them. Their
-voices were thick and their lips were cracking with
-the hot curses they hurled back at it.</p>
-<p>They had forgotten the beginning of the quarrel.
-All but one of them had forgotten the men
-whom they had tracked into the hills last night
-and who had started the fire. All but one of them
-had forgotten those other men, far away and safe
-and cowardly, who had sent those men into the
-hills to do this thing.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting had not forgotten. But as the
-day wore on and the fight waxed more bitter and
-more hopeless, even he began to lose sight of the
-beginning and to make it his own single feud with
-the fire. He fought and was beaten back and
-ran and went back to fight again, until there was
-but one thought, if it could be called a thought, in
-his brain: to fight on, bitterly, doggedly, without
-mercy, without quarter given or asked with the
-demon of the fire.</p>
-<p>Now other men came from scattered, far-flung
-homes to the south and joined the five. Two hills
-stood between them and Sixth Lake, where the
-Chain began and stretched away to the west. If
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span>
-they could hold the fire to the north of these two
-hills then it would sweep along the north side of
-the lakes and the other half of the country would
-be safe.</p>
-<p>The first hill was easy. They took their stand
-along its crest. The five weary, scarred, singed
-men, their voices gone, their swollen tongues protruding
-through their splitting lips, took new
-strength from the help that had come to them.
-They fought the enemy back down the north side
-of the hill, foot by foot, steadily, digging with
-charred sticks and throwing earth and small stones
-down upon it.</p>
-<p>They were beating it at last! Only another
-hill like this and their work would be done. They
-would strike the lake and water. Water! God
-in Heaven! Water! A whole big lake of it!
-To throw themselves into it! To sink into its
-cool, sweet depth! And to drink, and drink and
-<i>drink</i>!</p>
-<p>Between the two hills ran a deep ravine heavy
-with undergrowth. Here was the worst place.
-Here they stood and ran shoulder to shoulder,
-fighting waist deep in the brush and long grass,
-the hated breath of the fire in their nostrils. And
-they held their line. They pushed the fire on past
-the ravine and up the north slope of the last hill.
-They had won! It could not beat them now!</p>
-<p>As he came around the brow of the hill and saw
-the shining body of the placid lake below him one
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span>
-of the new men, who still had voice, raised a shout.
-It ran back along the line, even the five who had
-no voice croaking out what would have been a
-cry of triumph.</p>
-<p>But the wind heard them and laughed.
-Through the ravine which they had safely crossed
-with such mighty labour the playful wind sent a
-merry, flirting little gust, a draught. On the
-draught the lingering flames went dancing swiftly
-through the brush of the ravine and spread out
-around the southern side of the hill. Before the
-men could turn, the thing was done. The hill
-made itself into a chimney and the flames went
-roaring to the top of it.</p>
-<p>The men fled over the ridge of the hill and
-down to the south, to get themselves out of that
-encircling death.</p>
-<p>When they were beyond the circle of fire on
-that side, they saw the full extent of what had befallen
-them in what had been their moment of
-victory.</p>
-<p>Not only would the fire come south of the lake
-and the Chain––but they themselves could not
-get near the lake.</p>
-<p>Water! There it lay, below them, at their feet
-almost! And they could not reach it! The fire
-was marching in a swift, widening line between
-them and the lake. Not so much as a little finger
-might they wet in the lake.</p>
-<p>Men lay down and wept, or cursed, or gritted
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span>
-silent teeth, according to the nature that was in
-each.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting stood up, looking towards the
-lake. He saw two men pushing a boat into the
-lake. Through the shifting curtain of smoke and
-waving fire he studied them out of blistered eyes.
-They were not men of the hills.</p>
-<p>They were!––They were the real enemy!––They
-were two of those who had set the fire!
-They had not stopped to fight fire. They had
-headed straight for the lake and had gotten there.
-<i>They</i> were safe. And <i>they</i> had <i>water</i>!</p>
-<p>All the hot rage of the morning, seared into him
-by the fighting fire fury of the day, rushed back
-upon him.</p>
-<p>He had not killed a man this morning. Men
-said he had, but he had not.</p>
-<p>Now he would kill. The fire should not stop
-him. He would kill those two there in the water.
-<i>In the water!</i></p>
-<p>He ran madly down the slope and into the
-flaming, fuming maw of the fire. He went blind.
-His foot struck a root. He fell heavily forward,
-his face buried in a patch of bare earth.</p>
-<p>Men ran to the edge of the fire and dragged
-him out by the feet. When they had brought him
-back to safety and had fanned breath into him with
-their hate, he opened bleared eyes and looked at
-them. As he understood, he turned on his face
-moaning:</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></div>
-<p>“I didn’t kill Rogers. I wish I had––I wish
-I had.”</p>
-<p>And south and north of the Chain the fire rolled
-away into the west.</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>The Bishop of Alden looked restlessly out of
-the window as the intolerable, sooty train jolted
-its slow way northward along the canal and the
-Black River. He had left Albany in the very
-early hours of the morning. Now it was nearing
-noon and there were yet eighty miles, four hours,
-of this interminable journey before he could find
-a good wash and rest and some clean food. But
-he was not hungry, neither was he querulous.
-There were worse ways of travel than even by a
-slow and dusty train. And in his wide-flung, rock-strewn
-diocese the Bishop had found plenty of
-them. He was never one to complain. A gentle
-philosophy of all life, a long patience that saw and
-understood the faults of high and low, a slow,
-quiet gleam of New England humour at the back
-of his light blue eyes; with Christ, and these
-things, Joseph Winthrop contrived to be a very
-good man and a very good bishop.</p>
-<p>But to-day he was not content with things. He
-had done one thing in Albany, or rather, he would
-have said, he had seen it done. He had appealed
-to the conscience of the people of the State. And
-the conscience of the people had replied in no mistakable
-terms that the U. & M. Railroad must not
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span>
-dare to drive the people of the hills from their
-homes for the sake of what might lie beneath their
-land. Then the conscience of the people of the
-State had gone off about its business, as the public
-conscience has a way of doing. The public would
-forget. The public always forgets. He had furnished
-it with a mild sensation which had aroused
-it for a time, a matter of a few days at most.
-He did not hope for even the proverbial nine days.
-But the railroad would not forget. It never slept.
-For there were men behind it who said, and kept
-on saying, that they must have results.</p>
-<p>He was sure that the railroad would strike back.
-And it would strike in some way that would be effective,
-but that yet would hide the hand that
-struck.</p>
-<p>Thirty miles to the right of him as he rode
-north lay the line of the first hills. Beyond them
-stood the softly etched outlines of the mountains,
-their white-blue tones blending gently into the
-deep blue of the sky behind them.</p>
-<p>Forty miles away he could make out the break
-in the line where Old Forge lay and the Chain began.
-Beyond that lay Bald Mountain and the divide.
-But he could not see Bald Mountain.
-That was strange. The day was very clear. He
-had noticed that there had been no dew that morning.
-There might have been a little haze on the
-hills in the early morning. But this sun would
-have cleared that all away by now.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></div>
-<p>Bald Mountain was as one of the points of the
-compass on his journey up this side of his diocese.
-He had never before missed it on a fair
-day. It was something more to him than a mere
-bare rock set on the top of other rocks. It was
-one of his marking posts. And when you remember
-that his was a charge of souls scattered
-over twenty thousand square miles of broken
-country, you will see that he had need of marking
-posts.</p>
-<p>Bald Mountain was the limit of the territory
-which he could reach from the western side of his
-diocese. When he had to go into the country to
-the east of the mountain he must go all the way
-south to Albany and around by North Creek or
-he must go all the way north and east by Malone
-and Rouses Point and then south and west again
-into the mountains. The mountain was set in almost
-the geographical centre of his diocese and
-he had travelled towards it from north, east, south
-and west.</p>
-<p>He missed his mountain now and rubbed his
-eyes in a troubled, perplexed way. When the
-train stopped at the next little station he went out
-on the platform for a clearer, steadier view.</p>
-<p>Again he rubbed his eyes. The clear gap between
-the hills where he knew Old Forge nestled
-was gone. The open rift of sky that he had
-recognised a few moments before was now filled,
-as though a mountain had suddenly been moved
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span>
-into the gap. He went back to his seat and sat
-watching the line of the mountains. As he
-watched, the whole contour of the hills that he
-had known was changed under his very eyes.
-Peaks rose where never were peaks before, and
-rounded, smooth skulls of mountains showed
-against the sky where sharp peaks should have
-been.</p>
-<p>He looked once more, and a sharp, swift suspicion
-shot into his mind, and stayed. Then a
-just and terrible anger rose up in the soul of
-Joseph Winthrop, Bishop of Alden, for he was a
-man of gentle heart whose passions ran deep below
-a placid surface.</p>
-<p>At Booneville he stepped off the train before
-it had stopped and hurried to the operator’s window
-to ask if any news had gone down the wire of
-a fire in the hills.</p>
-<p>Jerry Hogan, the operator, sat humped up over
-his table “listening in” with shameless glee to
-a flirtatious conversation that was going over the
-wire, contrary to all rules and regulations of the
-Company, between the young lady operator at
-Snowden and the man in the office at Steuben.</p>
-<p>The Bishop asked a hurried, anxious question.</p>
-<p>Without looking up, Jerry answered sorrowfully:</p>
-<p>“This ain’t the bulletin board. We’re busy.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop stood quiet a moment.</p>
-<p>Then Jerry looked up. The face looking
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span>
-calmly through the window was the face of one
-who had once tapped him on the cheek as a reminder
-of certain things.</p>
-<p>Jerry fell off his high stool, landing, miraculously,
-on his feet. He grabbed at his front lock
-of curly red hair and gasped:</p>
-<p>“I––I’m sorry, Bishop! I––I––didn’t hear
-what you said.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop––if one might say it––grinned.
-Then he said quickly:</p>
-<p>“I thought I saw signs of fire in the hills.
-Have you heard anything on the wire?”</p>
-<p>Jerry had seen the wrinkles around the Bishop’s
-mouth. The beet red colour of his face had gone
-down several degrees. The freckles were coming
-back. He was now coherent.</p>
-<p>No he had not heard anything. He was sure
-nothing had come down the wire. Just then the
-rapid-fire, steady clicking of the key changed
-abruptly to the sharp, staccato insistence of a
-“call.”</p>
-<p>Jerry held up his hand. “Lowville calling
-Utica,” he said. They waited a little and then:
-“Call State Warden. Fire Beaver Run country.
-Call everything,” Jerry repeated from the
-sounder, punctuating for the benefit of the Bishop.</p>
-<p>“It must be big, Bishop,” he said, turning, “or
-they wouldn’t call––”</p>
-<p>But the Bishop was already running for the
-steps of his departing train.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></div>
-<p>At Lowville he left the train and hurried to
-Father Brady’s house. Finding the priest out on
-a call, he begged a hasty lunch from the housekeeper,
-and, commandeering some riding clothes
-and Father Brady’s saddle horse, he was soon on
-the road to French Village and the hills.</p>
-<p>It was before the days of the rural telephone
-and there was no telegraph up the hill road. A
-messenger had come down from the hills a half
-hour ago to the telegraph office. But there was
-no alarm among the people of Lowville, for there
-lay twenty miles of well cultivated country between
-them and the hills. If they noticed Father
-Brady’s clothes riding furiously out toward
-the hill road, they gave the matter no more than
-a mild wonder.</p>
-<p>For twenty-two miles the Bishop rode steadily
-up the hard dirt road over which he and Arsene
-LaComb had struggled in the beginning of the
-winter before. He thought of Tom Lansing, who
-had died that night. He thought of the many
-things that had in some way had their beginning
-on that night, all leading up, more or less, to this
-present moment. But more than all he thought
-of Jeffrey Lansing and other desperate men up
-there in the hills fighting for their lives and their
-little all.</p>
-<p>He did not know who had started this fire. It
-might well have started accidentally. He did not
-know that the railroad people had sent men into
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span>
-the hills to start it. But if they had, and if those
-men were caught by the men of the hills, then
-there would be swift and bloody justice done.
-The Bishop thought of this and he rode Father
-Brady’s horse as that good animal had never been
-ridden in the course of his well fed life.</p>
-<p>Nearing Corben’s, he saw that the horse could
-go but little farther. Registering a remonstrance
-to Father Brady, anent the matter of keeping
-his horse too fat, he rode up to bargain with
-Corben for a fresh horse. Corben looked at the
-horse from which the Bishop had just slid
-swiftly down. He demanded to know the Bishop’s
-destination in the hills––which was vague,
-and his business––which was still more vague.
-He looked at the Bishop. He closed one eye and
-reviewed the whole matter critically. Finally he
-guessed that the Bishop could have the fresh
-horse if he bought and paid for it on the spot.</p>
-<p>The Bishop explained that he did not have the
-money about him. Corben believed that. The
-Bishop explained that he was the bishop of the
-diocese. Corben did not believe that.</p>
-<p>In the end the Bishop, chafing at the delay,
-persuaded the man to believe him and to accept
-his surety for the horse. And taking food in his
-pockets he pressed on into the high hills.</p>
-<p>Already he had met wagons loaded with women
-and children on the road. But he knew that they
-would be of those who lived nearest the fringe of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span>
-the hills. They would know little more than he
-did himself of the origin of the fire or of what
-was going on up there under and beyond that pall
-of smoke. So he did not stop to question them.</p>
-<p>Now the road began to be dotted with these
-wagons of the fleeing ones, and some seemed to
-have come far. Twice he stopped long enough
-to ask a question or two. But their replies gave
-him no real knowledge of the situation. They
-had been called from their beds in the early morning
-by the fire. Their men had stayed, the
-women had fled with the children. That was all
-they could tell.</p>
-<p>As he came to Lansing Mountain, he met Ruth
-Lansing on Brom Bones escorting Mrs. Whiting
-and Letitia Bascom. From this the Bishop knew
-without asking that the fire was now coming near,
-for these women would not have left their homes
-except in the nearness of danger.</p>
-<p>In fact the two older women had only yielded
-to the most peremptory authority, exercised by
-Ruth in the name of Jeffrey Whiting. Even to
-the end gentle Letitia Bascom had rebelled vigorously
-against the idea that Cassius Bascom, who
-was notoriously unable to look after himself in
-the most ordinary things of life, should now be
-left behind on the mere argument that he was a
-man.</p>
-<p>The Bishop’s first question concerned Jeffrey
-Whiting. Ruth told what she knew. That a
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span>
-man had met herself and Jeffrey on the road yesterday;
-that the man had brought news of strange
-men being seen in the hills; that Jeffrey had ridden
-away with him toward Bald Mountain.</p>
-<p>The Bishop understood. Bald Mountain
-would be the place to be watched. He could even
-conjecture the night vigil on the mountain, and
-the breaking of the fire in the dawn. He could
-see the desperate and futile struggle with the fire
-as it reached down to the hills. Back of that
-screen of fire there was the setting of a tragedy
-darker even than the one of the fire itself.</p>
-<p>“He had my letter?” the Bishop asked, when
-he had heard all that Ruth had to tell.</p>
-<p>“Yes. We had just read it.”</p>
-<p>“He went armed?” said the Bishop quietly.</p>
-<p>“Myron Stocking brought Jeffrey’s gun to
-him,” the girl answered simply, with a full knowledge
-of all that the question and answer implied.
-The men had gone armed, prepared to kill.</p>
-<p>“They will all be driven in upon French Village,”
-said the Bishop slowly. “The wind will
-not hold any one direction in the high hills. Little
-Tupper Lake may be the only refuge for all
-in the end. The road from here there, is it open,
-do you know?”</p>
-<p>“No one has come down from that far,” said
-Ruth. “We have watched the people on the
-road all day. But probably they would not leave
-the lake. And if they did they would go north
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span>
-by the river. But the road certainly won’t be
-open long. The fire is spreading north as it
-comes down.”</p>
-<p>“I must hurry, then,” said the Bishop, gripping
-his reins.</p>
-<p>“Oh, but you cannot, you must not!” exclaimed
-Ruth. “You will be trapped. You can never go
-through. We are the last to leave, except a few
-men with fast horses who know the country every
-step. You cannot go through on the road, and if
-you leave it you will be lost.”</p>
-<p>“Well, I can always come back,” said the
-Bishop lightly, as he set his horse up the hill.</p>
-<p>“But you cannot. Won’t you listen, please,
-Bishop,” Ruth pleaded after him. “The fire may
-cross behind you, and you’ll be trapped on the
-road!”</p>
-<p>But the Bishop was already riding swiftly up
-the hill. Whether he heard or not, he did not
-answer or look back.</p>
-<p>Ruth sat in her saddle looking up the road after
-him. She did not know whether or not he realised
-his danger. Probably he did, for he was a
-quick man to weigh things. Even the knowledge
-of his danger would not drive him back. She
-knew that.</p>
-<p>She knew the business upon which he went.
-No doubt it was one in which he was ready to
-risk his life. He had said that they would all
-be driven in upon Little Tupper. In that he
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span>
-meant hunters and hunted alike. For there were
-the hunters and the hunted. The men of the hills
-would be up there behind the wall of fire or working
-along down beside it. But while they fought
-the fire they would be hunting the brush and the
-smoke for the traces of other men. Those other
-men would maybe be trapped by the swift running
-of the fire. All might be driven to seek safety
-together. The hunted men would flee from the
-fire to a death just as certain but which they would
-prefer to face.</p>
-<p>The Bishop was riding to save the lives of
-those men. Also he was riding to keep the men
-of the hills from murder. Jeffrey would be
-among them. Only yesterday she had spoken
-that word to him.</p>
-<p>But he can do neither, she thought. He will
-be caught on the road, and before he will give in
-and turn back he will be trapped.</p>
-<p>“I am going back to the top of the hill,” she
-said suddenly to Mrs. Whiting. “I want to see
-what it looks like now. Go on down. I will
-catch you before long.”</p>
-<p>“No. We will pull in at the side of the road
-here and wait for you. Don’t go past the hill.
-We’ll wait. There’s no danger down here yet,
-and won’t be for some time.”</p>
-<p>Brom Bones made short work of the hill, for
-he was fresh and all day long he had been held
-in tight when he had wanted to run away. He
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span>
-did not know what that thing was from which he
-had all day been wanting to run. But he knew
-that if he had been his own master he would have
-run very far, hunting water. So now he bolted
-quickly to the top of the hill.</p>
-<p>But the Bishop, too, was riding a fresh horse
-and was not sparing him. When Ruth came to
-the top of the hill she saw the Bishop nearly a
-mile away, already past her own home and mounting
-the long hill.</p>
-<p>She stood watching him, undecided what to do.
-The chances were all against him. Perhaps he
-did not understand how certainly those chances
-stood against him. And yet, he looked and rode
-like a man who knew the chances and was ready
-to measure himself against them.</p>
-<p>“Brom Bones could catch him, I think,” she
-said as she watched him up the long hill. “But
-we could not make him come back until it was too
-late. I wonder if I am afraid to try. No, I
-don’t think I’m afraid. Only somehow he seems––seems
-different. He doesn’t seem just like a
-man that was reckless or ignorant of his danger.
-No. He knows all about it. But it doesn’t
-count. He is a man going on business––God’s
-business. I wonder.”</p>
-<p>Now she saw him against the rim of the sky
-as he went over the brow of the hill, where
-Jeffrey and she had stopped yesterday. He was
-not a pretty figure of a rider. He rode stiffly,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span>
-for he was very tired from the unusual ride, and
-he crouched forward, saving his horse all that he
-could, but he was a figure not easily to be forgotten
-as he disappeared over the crown of the hill,
-seeming to ride right on into the sky.</p>
-<p>Suddenly she felt Brom Bones quiver under her.
-He was looking away to the right of the long, terraced
-hill before her. The fire was coming,
-sweeping diagonally down across the face of the
-hill straight toward her home.</p>
-<p>All her life she had been hearing of forest fires.
-Hardly a summer had passed within her memory
-when the menace of them had not been present
-among the hills. She had grown up, as all hill
-children did, expecting to some day have to fly
-for her life before one. But she had never before
-seen a wall of breathing fire marching down
-a hill toward her.</p>
-<p>For moments the sight held her enthralled in
-wonder and awe. It was a living thing, moving
-down the hillside with an intelligent, defined
-course for itself. She saw it chase a red deer
-and a silver fox down the hill. It could not catch
-those timid, fleet animals in the open chase. But
-if they halted or turned aside it might come upon
-them and surround them.</p>
-<p>While she looked, one part of her brain was
-numbed by the sight, but the other part was thinking
-rapidly. This was not the real fire. This
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span>
-was only one great paw of fire that shot out before
-the body, to sweep in any foolish thing that
-did not at first alarm hurry down to the level lands
-and safety.</p>
-<p>The body of the fire, she was sure, was coming
-on in a solid front beyond the hill. It would not
-yet have struck the road up which the Bishop was
-hurrying. He might think that he could skirt past
-it and get into French Village before it should
-cross the road. But she was sure he could not
-do so. He would go on until he found it
-squarely before him. Then he would have to turn
-back. And here was this great limb of fire already
-stretching out behind him. In five minutes
-he would be cut off. The formation of the
-hills had sent the wind whirling down through a
-gap and carrying one stream of fire away ahead
-of the rest. The Bishop did not know the country
-to the north of the road. If he left the road
-he could only flounder about and wander aimlessly
-until the fire closed in upon him.</p>
-<p>Ruth’s decision was taken on the instant. The
-two women did not need her. They would
-know enough to drive on down to safety when
-they saw the fire surely coming. There was a
-man gone unblinking into a peril from which he
-would not know how to escape. He had gone to
-save life. He had gone to prevent crime. If he
-stayed in the road she could find him and lead him
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span>
-out to the north and probably to safety. If he did
-not stay in the road, well, at least, she could only
-make the attempt.</p>
-<p>Brom Bones went flying along the slope of the
-road towards his home. For the first time in his
-life, he felt the cut of a whip on his flanks––to
-make him go faster. He did not know what it
-meant. Nothing like that had ever been a part
-of Brom Bones’ scheme of life, for he had always
-gone as fast as he was let go. But it did
-not need the stroke of the whip to madden him.</p>
-<p>Down across the slope of the hill in front of
-him he saw a great, red terror racing towards the
-road which he travelled. If he could not understand
-the girl’s words, he could feel the thrill of
-rising excitement in her voice as she urged him
-on, saying over and over:</p>
-<p>“You can make it, Brom! I know you can!
-I never struck you this way before, did I? But
-it’s for life––a good man’s life! You can make
-it. I know you can make it. I wouldn’t ask you
-to if I didn’t know. You can make it! It won’t
-hurt us a bit. It <i>can’t</i> hurt us! Bromie, dear,
-I tell you it can’t hurt us. It just can’t!”</p>
-<p>She crouched out over the horse’s shoulder,
-laying her weight upon her hands to even it for
-the horse. She stopped striking him, for she saw
-that neither terror nor punishment could drive him
-faster than he was going. He was giving her the
-best of his willing heart and fleet body.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span></div>
-<p>But would it be enough? Fast as she raced
-along the road she saw that red death whirling
-down the hillside, to cross the road at a
-point just above her home. Could she pass that
-point before the fire came? She did not know.
-And when she came to within a hundred yards of
-where the fire would strike the road she still did
-not know whether she could pass it. Already she
-could feel the hot breath of it panting down upon
-her. Already showers of burning leaves and
-branches were whirling down upon her head and
-shoulders. If her horse should hesitate or bolt
-sidewise now they would both be burned to death.
-The girl knew it. And, crouching low, talking
-into his mane, she told him so. Perhaps he, too,
-knew it. He did not falter. Head down, he
-plunged straight into the blinding blast that swept
-across the road.</p>
-<p>A wave of heavy, choking smoke struck him in
-the face. He reeled and reared a little, and a
-moaning whinny of fright broke from him. But
-he felt the steady, strong little hands in his mane
-and he plunged on again, through the smoke and
-out into the good air.</p>
-<p>The fire laughed and leaped across the road
-behind them. It had missed them, but it did not
-care. The other way, it would not have cared,
-either.</p>
-<p>Ruth eased Brom Bones up a little on the long
-slope of the hill, and turning looked back at her
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span>
-home. The farmer had long since gone away
-with his family. The place was not his. The
-flames were already leaping up from the grass
-to the windows and the roof was taking fire from
-the cinders and burning branches in the air. But,
-where everything was burning, where a whole
-countryside was being swept with the broom of
-destruction, her personal loss did not seem to matter
-much.</p>
-<p>Only when she saw the flames sweep on past
-the house and across the hillside and attack the
-trees that stood guard over the graves of her
-loved ones did the bitterness of it enter her soul.
-She revolted at the cruel wickedness of it all.
-Her heart hated the fire. Hated the men who
-had set it. (She was sure that men <i>had</i> set it.)
-She wanted vengeance. The Bishop was wrong.
-Why should he interfere? Let men take revenge
-in the way of men.</p>
-<p>But on the instant she was sorry and breathed
-a little prayer of and for forgiveness. You see,
-she was rather a downright young person. And
-she took her religion at its word. When she
-said, “Forgive us our trespasses,” she meant just
-that. And when she said, “As we forgive those
-who trespass against us,” she meant that, too.</p>
-<p>The Bishop was right, of course. One horror,
-one sin, would not heal another.</p>
-<p>Coming to the top of the hill, the full wonder
-and horror of the fire burst upon her with appalling
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span>
-force. What she had so far seen was but
-a little finger of the fire, crooked around a hill.
-Now in front and to the right of her, in an unbroken
-quarter circle of the whole horizon, there
-ranged a living, moving mass of flame that seemed
-to be coming down upon the whole world.</p>
-<p>She knew that it was already behind her. If
-she had thought of herself, she would have turned
-Brom Bones to the left, away from the road and
-have fled away, by paths she knew well, to the
-north and out of the range of the moving terror.
-But only for one quaking little moment did she
-think of herself. Along that road ahead of her
-there was a man, a good man, who rode bravely,
-unquestioningly, to almost certain death, for
-others. She could save him, perhaps. So far as
-she could see, the fire was not yet crossing the
-road in front. The Bishop would still be on the
-road. She was sure of that. Again she asked
-Brom Bones for his brave best.</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>The Bishop was beginning to think that he
-might yet get through to French Village. His
-watch told him that it was six o’clock. Soon the
-sun would be going down, though in the impenetrable
-tenting of white smoke that had spread high
-over all the air there was nothing to show that
-a sun had ever shone upon the earth. With the
-going down of the sun the wind, too, would probably
-die away. The fire had not yet come to the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span>
-road in front of him. If the wind fell the fire
-would advance but slowly, and would hardly
-spread to the north at all.</p>
-<p>He was not discrediting the enemy in front.
-He had seen the mighty sweep of the fire and
-he knew that it would need but the slightest shift
-of the wind to send a wall of flame down upon
-him from which he would have to run for his
-life. He did not, of course, know that the fire
-had already crossed the road behind him. But
-even if he had, he would probably have kept on
-trusting to the chance of getting through somehow.</p>
-<p>He was ascending another long slope of country
-where the road ran straight up to the east.
-The fire was already to the right of him, sweeping
-along in a steady march to the west. It was
-spreading steadily northward, toward the road;
-but he was hoping that the hill before him had
-served to hold it back, that it had not really
-crossed the road at any point, and that when he
-came to the top of this hill he would be able to
-see the road clear before him up to French Village.
-He was wearied to the point of exhaustion,
-and his nervous horse fought him constantly in
-an effort to bolt from the road and make off to
-the north. But, he argued, he had suffered nothing
-so far from the fire; and there was no real
-reason to be discouraged.</p>
-<p>Then he came to the top of the hill.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></div>
-<p>He rubbed his eyes, as he had done a long, long
-time before on that same day. Five hundred
-yards before him as he looked down a slight
-slope, a belt of pine trees was burning high to
-the sky. The road ran straight through that.
-Behind and beyond the belt of pines he could see
-the whole country banked in terraces of flame.
-There was no road. This hill had divided the
-wind, and thus, temporarily, it had divided the
-fire. Already the fire had run away to the north,
-and it was still moving northward as it also advanced
-more slowly to the top of the hill where
-he stood.</p>
-<p>Well, the road was still behind him. Nothing
-worse had happened than he had, in reason, anticipated.
-He must go back. He turned the
-horse and looked.</p>
-<p>Across the ridge of the last hill that he had
-passed the fire was marching majestically. The
-daylight, such as it had been, had given its place
-to the great glow of the fire. Ten minutes ago
-he could not have distinguished anything back
-there. Now he could see the road clearly marked,
-nearly five miles away, and across it stood a solid
-wall of fire.</p>
-<p>There were no moments to be lost. He was cut
-off on three sides. The way out lay to the north,
-over he knew not what sort of country. But at
-least it was a way out. He must not altogether
-run away from the fire, for in that way he might
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span>
-easily be caught and hemmed in entirely. He
-must ride along as near as he could in front of
-it. So, if he were fast enough, he might turn the
-edge of it and be safe again. He might even
-be able to go on his way again to French Village.</p>
-<p>Yes, if he were quick enough. Also, if the
-fire played no new trick upon him.</p>
-<p>His horse turned willingly from the road and
-ran along under the shelter of the ridge of the hill
-for a full mile as fast as the Bishop dared let
-him go. He could not drive. He was obliged
-to trust the horse to pick his own footing. It
-was mad riding over rough pasture land and brush,
-but it was better to let the horse have his own
-way.</p>
-<p>Suddenly they came to the end of the ridge
-where the Bishop might have expected to be able
-to go around the edge of the fire. The horse
-stood stock still. The Bishop took one quiet,
-comprehensive look.</p>
-<p>“I am sorry, boy,” he said gently to the horse.
-“You have done your best. And I––have done
-my worst. You did not deserve this.”</p>
-<p>He was looking down toward Wilbur’s Fork,
-a dry water course, two miles away and a thousand
-feet below.</p>
-<p>The fire had come clear around the hill and
-had been driven down into the heavy timber along
-the water course. There it was raging away to
-the west down through the great trees, travelling
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span>
-faster than any horse could have been driven.</p>
-<p>The Bishop looked again. Then he turned in
-his saddle, thinking mechanically. To the east
-the fire was coming over the ridge in an unbroken
-line––death. From the south it was advancing
-slowly but with a calm and certain steadiness of
-purpose––death. On the hill to the west it was
-burning brightly and running speedily to meet that
-swift line of fire coming down the northern side
-of the square––death. One narrowing avenue
-of escape was for the moment open. The lines
-on the north and the west had not met. For some
-minutes, a pitifully few minutes, there would be
-a gap between them. The horse, riderless and
-running by the instinct of his kind might make
-that gap in time. With a rider and stumbling
-under weight, it was useless to think of it.</p>
-<p>With simple, characteristic decision, the Bishop
-slid a tired leg over the horse and came heavily
-to the ground.</p>
-<p>“You have done well, boy, you shall have your
-chance,” he said, as he hurried to loosen the heavy
-saddle and slip the bridle.</p>
-<p>He looked again. There was no chance. The
-square of fire was closed.</p>
-<p>“We stay together, then.” And the Bishop
-mounted again.</p>
-<p>Within the four walls of breathing death that
-were now closing around them there was one
-slender possibility of escape. It was not a hope.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span>
-No. It was just a futile little tassel on the fringe
-of life. Still it was to be played with to the
-last. For that again is the law, applying equally
-to this bishop and to the little hunted furry things
-that ran through the grass by his horse’s feet.</p>
-<p>One fire was burning behind the other. There
-was just a possibility that a place might be found
-where the first fire would have burned away a
-breathing place before the other fire came up to
-it. It might be possible to live in that place until
-the second fire, finding nothing to eat, should
-die. It might be possible. Thinking of this, the
-Bishop started slowly down the hill toward the
-west.</p>
-<p>Also, Joseph Winthrop, Bishop of Alden,
-thought of death. How should a bishop die?
-He remembered Saint Paul, on bishops. But
-there seemed to be nothing in those passages that
-bore on the matter immediately in hand.</p>
-<p>Joseph Winthrop, a simple man, direct and unafraid,
-guessed that he would die very much as
-another man would die, with his rosary in his
-hand.</p>
-<p>But was there not a certain ignominy in being
-trapped here as the dumb and senseless brute creatures
-were being trapped? For the life of him,
-the Bishop could no more see ignominy in the
-matter or the manner of the thing than he could
-see heroism.</p>
-<p>He had come out on a bootless errand, to save
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span>
-the lives of certain men, if it might be. God had
-not seen wisdom in his plan. That was all. He
-had meant well. God meant better.</p>
-<p>Into these quiet reflections the voice of a girl
-broke insistently with a shrill hail. A horse somewhere
-neighed to his horse, and the Bishop realised
-with a start of horror that a woman was here
-in this square of fire.</p>
-<p>“It’s you, Bishop, isn’t it?” the voice cried
-frantically. “I thought I’d never find you.
-Over here to the right. Let your horse come.
-He’ll follow mine. The Gaunt Rocks,” she
-yelled back over her shoulder, “we can make them
-yet! There’s nothing there to burn. We may
-smother. But we won’t <i>burn</i>!”</p>
-<p>Thus the Bishop found himself and his horse
-taken swiftly under command. It was Ruth
-Lansing, he recognised, but there was no time to
-think how she had gotten into this fortress of
-death. His horse followed Brom Bones through
-a whirl of smoke and on up a break-neck path of
-loose stones. Before the Bishop had time to get
-a fair breath or any knowledge of where he was
-going, he found himself on the top of what seemed
-to be a pile of flat, naked rocks.</p>
-<p>They stopped, and Ruth was already down and
-talking soothingly to Brom Bones when the Bishop
-got his feet to the rocks. Looking around he
-saw that they were on a plateau of rock at least
-several acres in extent and perhaps a hundred feet
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span>
-above the ground about them. Looking down he
-saw the sea of fire lapping now at the very foot
-of the rocks below. They had not been an instant
-too soon. As he turned to speak to the
-girl, his eye was caught by something that ran
-out of one of the lines of fire. It ran and fell
-headlong upon the lowest of the rocks. Then it
-stirred and began crawling up the rocks.</p>
-<p>It was a man coming slowly, painfully, on hands
-and knees up the side of the refuge. The Bishop
-went down a little to help. As the two came
-slowly to the top of the plateau, Ruth stood there
-waiting. The Bishop brought the man to his feet
-and stood there holding him in the light. The
-face of the newcomer was burned and swollen beyond
-any knowing. But in the tall, loose-jointed
-figure Ruth easily recognised Rafe Gadbeau.</p>
-<p>The man swayed drunkenly in the Bishop’s
-arms for a moment, then crumpled down inert.
-The Bishop knelt, loosening the shirt at the neck
-and holding the head of what he was quick to fear
-was a dying man.</p>
-<p>The man’s eyes opened and in the strong light
-he evidently recognised the Bishop’s grimy collar,
-for out of his cracked and swollen lips there came
-the moan:</p>
-<p><i>“Mon Pere, je me ’cuse––”</i></p>
-<p>With a start, Ruth recognised the words.
-They were the form in which the French people
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span>
-began the telling of their sins in confession. And
-she hurriedly turned away toward the horses.</p>
-<p>She smiled wearily as she leaned against Brom
-Bones, thinking of Jeffrey Whiting. Here was
-one of the things that he did not like––the Catholic
-Church always turning up in everything.</p>
-<p>She wondered where he was and what he was
-doing and thinking, up there behind that awful
-veil of red.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span>
-<a name='VI_THE_BUSINESS_OF_THE_SHEPHERD' id='VI_THE_BUSINESS_OF_THE_SHEPHERD'></a>
-<h2>VI</h2>
-<h3>THE BUSINESS OF THE SHEPHERD</h3>
-</div>
-<p>The Bishop laid the man’s head back so that
-he lay as easy as it was possible and spoke a word
-or two in that astonishing French of his which
-was the wonder and the peculiar pride of all the
-North Country.</p>
-<p>But for a long time the man seemed unable to
-go farther. He saw the Bishop slip the little
-pocket stole around his neck and seemed to know
-what it was and what it was for. The swollen
-lips, however, only continued to mumble the words
-with which they had begun:</p>
-<p><i>“Mon Pere, je me ’cuse</i>––”</p>
-<p>Rafe Gadbeau could speak English as well as or
-better than he could speak French. But there
-are times when a man reverts to the tongue of his
-mother. And confession, especially in the face
-of death, is one of these.</p>
-<p>Again the Bishop lowered the man’s head and
-changed the position of the body, while he fanned
-what air there was across the gasping mouth with
-his hat.</p>
-<p>Now the man tried to gather his straying wits
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span>
-to him. With a sharp effort that seemed to send
-a tremor through his whole long body he forced
-his faculties back into their grooves. With a muttered
-word of encouragement from the Bishop,
-he began hoarsely that precise, recitative form of
-confession that the good priests of Lower Canada
-have been drilling into the children for the last
-three hundred years.</p>
-<p>Once the memory found itself going the long-accustomed
-way it worked easily, mechanically.
-Since five years he had not confessed. At that
-time he had received the Sacrament. He went
-through the “table of sins” with the methodical
-care of a man who knows that if he misses a step
-in the sequence he will lose his way. It was the
-story of the young men of his people in the hills,
-in the lumber camps, in the sawmills, in the
-towns. A thousand men of his kind in the hill
-country would have told the same story, of hard
-work and anger and fighting in the camps, of
-drink and debauch in the towns when they went
-down to spend their money; and would have told
-it in exactly the same way. The Bishop had
-heard the story ten thousand times.</p>
-<p>But now––<i>Mon Pere, je me ’cuse</i>––there
-was something more, something that would not
-fall into the catalogue of the sins of every day.
-It had begun a long time ago and it was just coming
-to an end here at the feet of the Bishop.
-Yes, it was undoubtedly coming to an end. For
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span>
-the Bishop had found blood caked on the man’s
-shirt, in the back, just below the shoulder blade.
-There was a wound there, a bullet wound, a
-wound from which ordinarily the man would have
-fallen and stayed lying where he fell.</p>
-<p>He must tell this thing in his own way, backwards,
-as it unrolled itself to his mind.</p>
-<p>“I die, Mon Pere, I die,” he began between
-gasps. “I die. Since the afternoon I have been
-dying. If I could have found a spot to lie down,
-if I could have had two minutes free from the
-fire, I would have lain down to die. But shall a
-man lie down in hell before he is dead? No.</p>
-<p>“All day I have run from the fire. I could
-not lie down to die till I had found a free place
-where my soul could breathe out. Here I
-breathe. Here I die. The rabbits and the foxes
-and the deer ran out from the fire, and they ran
-no faster than I ran. But I could not run out of
-its way. All day long men followed the line of
-the fire and fought around its edge. They fought
-the fire, but they hunted me. All the day long
-they hunted me and drove me always back into the
-fire when I would run out.</p>
-<p>“They hunted me because in the early morning
-they had seen me with the men who set the
-fire. No. I did not do that. I did not set hand
-to the fire. Why was I with those men? Why
-did I go with them when they went to set the fire?
-Ah, that is a longer tale.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></div>
-<p>“Four years ago I was in Utica. It was in
-a drinking place. All were drinking. There was
-a fight. A man was killed. I struck no blow.
-<i>Mon Pere</i>, I struck no blow. But my knife––my
-knife was found in the man’s heart. Who
-struck? I know not. A detective for this railroad
-that comes now into the hills found my knife.
-He traced it to me. He showed the knife to me.
-It was mine. I could not deny. But he said no
-word to the law. With the knife he could hang
-me. But he said no word. Only to me he said,
-‘Some day I may need you.’</p>
-<p>“Last winter that man the detective came into
-the hills. Now he was not a detective. He was
-Rogers. He was the agent for the railroad. He
-would buy the land from the people.</p>
-<p>“The people would not sell. You know of
-the matter. In June he came again. He was
-angry, because other men above him were angry.
-He must force the people to sell. He must trick
-the people. He saw me. ‘You,’ he said, ‘I
-need you.’</p>
-<p>“<i>Mon Pere</i>, that man owned me. On the
-point of my knife, like a pinch of salt, he held my
-life. Never a moment when I could say, I will
-do this, I will do that. Always I must do his
-bidding. For him I lied to my own people. For
-him I tricked my friends. For him I nearly killed
-the young Whiting. Always I must do as he told.
-He called and I came. He bade me do and I did.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></div>
-<p>“M’sieur does not know the sin of hate. It
-is the wild beast of all sins. And fear, too, that
-is the father of sin. For fear begets hate. And
-hate goes raging to do all sin.</p>
-<p>“So, after fear, came hate into my heart. Before
-my eyes was always the face of this man,
-threatening with that knife of mine.</p>
-<p>“Yesterday, in the morning came a message
-that I must meet him at the railroad. He would
-come to the end of the rail and we would go up
-into the high hills. I knew what was to be done.
-To myself, I rebelled. I would not go. I swore
-I would not go. A girl, a good girl that loved me,
-begged me not to go. To her I swore I would
-not go.</p>
-<p>“I went. Fear, <i>Mon Pere</i>, fear is the father
-of all. I went because there was that knife before
-my eyes. I believe that good girl followed
-into the high hills, hoping, maybe, to bring me
-back at the last moment. I do not know.</p>
-<p>“I went because I must go. I must be there
-in case any one should see. If any of us that went
-was to be caught, I was to be caught. I must be
-seen. I must be known to have been there. If
-any one was to be punished, I was that one.
-Rogers must be free, do you see. I would have
-to take the blame. I would not dare to
-speak.</p>
-<p>“Through the night we skulked by Bald Mountain.
-We were seven. And of the seven I alone
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span>
-was to take the blame. They would swear it upon
-me. I knew.</p>
-<p>“Never once did Rogers let me get beyond the
-reach of his tongue. And his speech was, ‘You
-owe me this. Now you must pay.’</p>
-<p>“In the first light the torches were got ready.
-We scattered along the fringe of the highest trees.
-Rogers kept me with him. A moment he went
-out into the clearing. Then he came running
-back. He had seen other men watching for us.
-I ran a little way. He came running behind with
-a lighted torch, setting fire as he ran. He yelled
-to me to light my torch. Again I ran, deeper
-into the wood. Again he came after me, the red
-flare of the fire running after him.</p>
-<p>“Mon Dieu! The red flare of the fire in the
-wood! The red rush of fire in the air! The red
-flame of fire in my heart! Fear! Hate!
-Fire!” With a terrible convulsion the man drew
-himself up in the Bishop’s arms, gazing wildly at
-the fire all about them, and screaming:</p>
-<p>“On my knee I dropped and shot him, shot
-Rogers when he stopped!”</p>
-<p>He fell back as the scream died in his throat.</p>
-<p>The Bishop began the words of the Absolution.
-Some whisper of the well-remembered sound must
-have reached down to the soul of Rafe Gadbeau
-in its dark place, for, as though unconsciously,
-his lips began to form the words of the Act of
-Contrition.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span></div>
-<p>As the Bishop finished, the tremor of death ran
-through the body in his arms. He knelt there
-holding the empty shell of a man.</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing, standing a little distance away,
-resting against the flank of her horse, had time to
-be awed and subdued by the terrific forces of this
-world and the other that were at work about her.
-This world, with the exception of this little island
-on which she stood, was on fire. The wind had
-almost entirely died out. On every side the flames
-rose evenly to the very heavens. Direction, distance,
-place, all were blotted out. There was no
-east, no west; no north, no south. Only an impenetrable
-ring of fire, no earth, no sky. Only
-these few bare rocks and this inverted bowl of
-lurid, hot, cinder-laden air out of which she must
-get the breath of life.</p>
-<p>Into this ring of fire a hunted man had burst,
-just as she had seen a rabbit and a belated woodchuck
-bursting. And that man had lain himself
-down to die. And here, of all places, he had
-found the hand of the mighty, the omnipresent
-Catholic Church reached out ready to him!</p>
-<p>She was only a young girl. But since that night
-when the Bishop had come to her as she held her
-father dying in her arms she had thought much.
-Thought had been pressed upon her. Forces had
-pressed themselves in upon her mind. The things
-that she had been hearing and reading since her
-childhood, the thoughts of the people among
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span>
-whom she had grown up, the feeling of loyalty to
-her own kind, all these had fought in her against
-the dominion of the Catholic Church which challenged
-them all.</p>
-<p>Because she had so recently come under its influence,
-the Catholic Church seemed ever to be unfolding
-new wonders to her. It seemed as though
-she stepped ever from one holy of holies into another
-more wonderful, more awesome. Yet always
-there seemed to be something just beyond,
-some deeper, more mysterious meaning to which
-she could not quite attain. Always a door opened,
-only to disclose another closed door beyond it.</p>
-<p>Here surely she stood as near to naked truth
-as it was possible to get. Here were none of the
-forms of words, none of the explanations, none
-of the ready-made answers of the catechism.
-Here were just two men. One was a bad man,
-a man of evil life. He was dying. In a few moments
-his soul must go––somewhere. The other
-was a good man. To-day he had risked his life
-to save the lives of this man and others––for
-Ruth was quick to suspect that Gadbeau had been
-caught in the fire because other men were chasing
-him.</p>
-<p>Now these two men had a question to settle between
-them. In a very few minutes these two
-men must settle whether this bad man’s soul was
-presently going to Hell or to Heaven for all eternity.
-You see, she was a very direct young
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span>
-person. She took her religion at its word,
-straight in the eyes, literally.</p>
-<p>So far she had not needed to take any precautions
-against hearing anything that was said. The
-dull roar of the fire all about them effectually
-silenced every other sound. Then, without warning,
-high above the noise of the fire, came the
-shrill, breaking voice of Gadbeau, screaming:</p>
-<p>“On my knee I dropped and shot him, shot
-Rogers as he stopped!”</p>
-<p>Involuntarily she turned and started towards
-the men. Gadbeau had fallen back in the
-Bishop’s arms and the Bishop was leaning over,
-apparently talking to him. She knew that she
-must not go near until the Bishop gave her leave.
-She turned back and putting her hands up to her
-ears buried her face in Brom Bones’ mane.</p>
-<p>But she could not put away the words that she
-had heard. Never, so long as she lived, was she
-able to forget them. Like the flash of the shot
-itself, they leaped to her brain and seared themselves
-there. Years afterwards she could shut
-her eyes and fairly see those words burning in her
-mind.</p>
-<p>When it was ended, the Bishop called to her and
-she went over timidly. She heard the Bishop say:</p>
-<p>“He is gone. Will you say a prayer, Ruth?”</p>
-<p>Then the Bishop began to read slowly, in the
-light of the flames, the Prayers for the Departed.
-Ruth kneeling drew forth her beads and among
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span>
-the Mysteries she wept gently––why, she knew
-not.</p>
-<p>When the Bishop had finished, he knelt a while
-in silence, looking into the face of the dead.
-Then he arose and folded the long arms on the
-tattered breast and straightened the body.</p>
-<p>Ruth rose and watched him in a troubled way.
-Once, twice she opened her lips to speak. But
-she did not know what to say or how to say it.
-Finally she began:</p>
-<p>“Bishop, I––I heard––”</p>
-<p>“No, child. You heard nothing,” the Bishop
-interrupted quietly, “nothing.”</p>
-<p>Ruth understood. And for a little space the
-two stood there looking down. The dead man’s
-secret lay between them, buried under God’s awful
-seal.</p>
-<p>The Bishop went to his horse and unstrapping
-Father Brady’s storm coat which he had brought
-wrapped it gently over the head and body of the
-dead man as a protection from the showers of
-glowing cinders that rained down upon everything.</p>
-<p>Then they took up the interminable vigil of the
-night, standing at their horses’ heads, their faces
-buried in the manes, their arms thrown over the
-horses’ eyes.</p>
-<p>As the night wore on the fire, having consumed
-everything to the east and south, moved on deliberately
-into the west and north. But the sharp,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span>
-acrid smoke of trees left smouldering behind still
-kept them in exquisite, blinded torture.</p>
-<p>The murky, grey pall of the night turned almost
-to black as the fires to the east died almost out in
-that last, lifeless hour of the night. The light
-of the morning showed a faint, sickly white
-through the smoke banks on the high hills. When
-it was time for the sun to be rising over Bald
-Mountain, the morning breezes came down lifting
-the heavy clouds of smoke and carrying them overhead
-and away into the west. They saw the
-world again, a grey, ash-strewn world, with not a
-land-mark left but the bare knobs of the hills and
-here and there a great tree still standing smoking
-like a burnt-out torch.</p>
-<p>They mounted wearily, and taking a last look at
-the figure of the man lying there on his rocky
-bier, picked their way down to the sloping hillside.
-The Gaunt Rocks had saved their lives.
-Now they must reach Little Tupper and water if
-they would have their horses live. Intolerable,
-frightful thirst was already swelling their own
-lips and they knew that the plight of the horses
-was inevitably worse.</p>
-<p>Ruth took the lead, for she knew the country.
-They must travel circuitously, avoiding the places
-that had been wooded for the fallen trees would
-still be burning and would block them everywhere.
-The road was impossible because it had
-largely run through wooded places and the trees
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span>
-would have fallen across it. Their situation was
-not desperate, but at any moment a horse might
-drop or turn mad for water.</p>
-<p>For two hours they plodded steadily over the
-hills through the hot, loose-lying ashes. In all the
-world it seemed that not man nor beast nor bird
-was alive. The top of the earth was one grey
-ruin, draped with the little sworls of dust and
-ashes that the playful wind sent drifting up into
-their mouths and eyes.</p>
-<p>They dared not ride faster than a walk, for the
-ashes had blown level over holes and traps of all
-sorts in which a galloping horse would surely break
-his leg. Nor would it have been safe to put the
-horses to any rapid expenditure of energy. The
-little that was left in them must be doled out to the
-very last ounce. For they did not yet know what
-lay between them and French Village and the lake.
-If the fire had not reached the lake during the
-night then it was always a possibility that, with
-this fresh morning wind, a new fire might spring
-up from the ashes of the old and place an impassable
-barrier between them and the water.</p>
-<p>When this thought came to them, as it must,
-they involuntarily quickened their pace. The impulse
-was to make one wild dash for the lake.
-But they knew that it would be nothing short of
-madness. They must go slowly and carefully, enduring
-the torture with what fortitude they could.</p>
-<p>The story which the Bishop had heard from the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span>
-lips of the dying man had stirred him profoundly.
-He now knew definitely, what yesterday he had
-suspected, that men had been sent into the hills
-by the railroad people to set fire to the forests,
-thereby driving the people out of that part of the
-country which the railroad wished to possess. He
-was moved to anger by the knowledge, but he
-knew that he must try to drive that knowledge
-back into the deepest recess of his mind; must try
-to hide it even from himself, lest in some unguarded
-moment, some time of stress and mental
-conflict, he should by word or look, by a gesture
-or even by an omission, reveal even his consciousness
-of that knowledge. Now he knew that
-the situation which last night he had thought to
-meet in French Village would almost certainly
-confront him there this morning, if indeed he ever
-succeeded in reaching there. And he must be
-doubly on his guard lest the things which he might
-learn to-day should in his mind confuse themselves
-with what he had last night learned under the seal
-of the confessional.</p>
-<p>Through all the night Ruth Lansing had been
-hearing the words of that last cry of the dying
-man. She did not know how near they came to
-her. She did not know that Jeffrey Whiting had
-stood with his gun levelled upon the man whom
-Gadbeau had killed. But, try as she would to
-keep back the knowledge which she knew she must
-never under any circumstances reveal, those words
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span>
-came ringing upon her ears. And she knew that
-the secret would haunt her and taunt her always.</p>
-<p>As they came over the last of the ridges, the
-grey waste of the country sloping from all sides to
-the lake lay open before them. There was not a
-ruin, not a standing stick to show them where
-little French Village had once stood along the
-lake. The fire had gone completely around the
-lake to the very water edge and a back draught
-had drawn it up in a circle around the east slope.
-There it had burned itself out along the forest
-line of the higher hills. It had gone on toward
-the west, burning its way down to the settled farm
-lands. But there would be no more fire in this
-region.</p>
-<p>“Would the people make their way down the
-river,” the Bishop asked; “or did they escape back
-into the higher hills?”</p>
-<p>“I don’t think they did either,” Ruth answered
-as she scanned the lake sharply. “There is something
-out there in the middle of the lake, and I
-wouldn’t be surprised if they made rafts out of the
-logs and went through the fire that way. They’d
-be better off than we were, and that way they
-could save some things. If they had run away
-they would have had to drop everything.”</p>
-<p>The horses, sniffing the moist air from the lake,
-pricked up their ears and started briskly down the
-slope. It was soon plain that Ruth was right in
-her conjecture. They could now make out five
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span>
-or six large rafts which the people had evidently
-thrown together out of the logs that had been
-lying in the lake awaiting their turn at the sawmill.
-These were crowded with people, standing
-as they must have stood all through the night;
-and now the freshening wind, aided by such help
-as the people could give it with boards and poles,
-was moving all slowly toward the shore where
-their homes had been.</p>
-<p>The heart of the Shepherd was very low as he
-rode fetlock deep through the ashes of what had
-been the street of a happy little village and
-watched his people coming sadly back to land.
-There was nothing for them to come back to.
-They might as well have gone to the other side
-of the lake to begin life again. But they would
-inevitably, with that dumb loyalty to places, which
-people share with birds, come back and begin
-their nests over again.</p>
-<p>For nearly an hour they stood on the little
-beach, letting the horses drink a little now and
-then, and watching the approach of the rafts.
-When they came to the shallow water, men and
-boys jumped yelling from the rafts and came wading
-ashore. In a few moments the rafts were
-emptied of all except the very aged or the crippled
-who must be carried off.</p>
-<p>They crowded around the grimy, unrecognisable
-Bishop and the girl with wonder and a little
-superstition, for it was plain that these two people
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span>
-must have come straight through the fire. But
-when Father Ponfret came running forward and
-knelt at the Bishop’s feet, a great glad cry of
-wondering recognition went up from all the French
-people. It was their Bishop! He who spoke
-the French of the most astonishing! His coming
-was a sign! A deliverance! They had come
-through horrors. Now all was well! The good
-God had hidden His face through the long night.
-Now, in the morning He had sent His messenger
-to say that all was well!</p>
-<p>Laughing and crying in the quick surcharge of
-spirits that makes their race what it is, they threw
-themselves on their knees begging his blessing.
-The Bishop bared his head and raised his hand
-slowly. He was infinitely humbled by the quick,
-spontaneous outburst of their faith. He had done
-nothing for them; could do nothing for them.
-They were homeless, pitiable, without a hope or a
-stick of shelter. Yet it had needed but the sight
-of his face to bring out their cheery unbounded
-confidence that God was good, that the world was
-right again.</p>
-<p>The other people, the hill people of the Bishop’s
-own blood and race, stood apart. They did not
-understand the scene. They were not a kind of
-people that could weep and laugh at once. But
-they were not unmoved. For years they had
-heard of the White Horse Chaplain. Some two
-or three old men of them saw him now through
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span>
-a mist of memory and battle smoke riding a mad
-horse across a field. They knew that this was the
-man. That he should appear out of the fire after
-the nightmare through which they had passed was
-not so much incredible as it was a part of the
-strange things that they had always half believed
-about him.</p>
-<p>Then rose the swift, shrill cackle of tongues
-around the Bishop. Father Ponfret, a quick,
-eager little man of his people, would drag the
-Bishop’s story from him by very force. Had he
-dropped from Heaven? How had he come to be
-in the hills? Had a miracle saved him from the
-fire?</p>
-<p>The Bishop told the tale simply, accenting the
-folly of his own imprudence, and how he had been
-saved from the consequences of it by the quickness
-and wisdom of the young girl. Father Ponfret
-translated freely and with a fine flourish.
-Then the Bishop told of the coming of Rafe Gadbeau
-and how the man had died with the Sacrament.
-They nodded their heads in silence.
-There was nothing to be said. They knew who
-the man was. He had done wickedly. But the
-good God had stretched out the wing of His great
-Church over him at the last. Why say more?
-God was good. No?</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing went among her own hill people,
-grouped on the outskirts of the crowd that pressed
-around the Bishop, answering their eager questions
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span>
-and asking questions of her own. There was just
-one question that she wanted to ask, but something
-kept it back from her lips. There was no reason
-at all why she should not ask them about Jeffrey
-Whiting. Some of them must at least have heard
-news of him, must know in what direction he had
-gone to fight the fire. But some unnamed dread
-seemed to take possession of her so that she dared
-not put her crying question into words.</p>
-<p>Some one at her elbow, who had heard what
-the French people were saying, asked:</p>
-<p>“You’re sure that was Gadbeau that crawled
-out of the fire and died, Miss Lansing?”</p>
-<p>“Yes. I knew him well, of course. It was
-Gadbeau, certainly,” Ruth answered without looking
-up.</p>
-<p>Then a tall young fellow in front of her said:</p>
-<p>“Then that’s two of ’em done for. That was
-Gadbeau. And Jeff Whiting shot Rogers.”</p>
-<p>“He did not!” Ruth blazed up in the young
-man’s face. “Jeffrey Whiting did <i>not</i> shoot Rogers!
-Rafe––!”</p>
-<p>The horror of the thing she had been about to
-do rushed upon her and blinded her. The blood
-came rushing up into her throat and brain, choking
-her, stunning her, so that she gasped and staggered.
-The young man, Perry Waite, caught her
-by the arm as she seemed about to fall. She
-struggled a moment for control of herself, then
-managed to gasp:</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></div>
-<p>“It’s nothing–– Let me go.”</p>
-<p>Perry Waite looked sharply into her face.
-Then he took his hand from her arm.</p>
-<p>Trembling and horror-stricken, Ruth slipped
-away and crowded herself in among the people
-who stood around the Bishop. Here no one
-would be likely to speak to her. And here, too,
-she felt a certain relief, a sense of security, in being
-surrounded by people who would understand.
-Even though they knew nothing of her secret, yet
-the mere feeling that she stood among those who
-could have understood gave her strength and a
-feeling of safety even against herself which she
-could not have had among her own kind.</p>
-<p>But she was not long left with her feeling of
-security. A wan, grey-faced girl with burning
-eyes caught Ruth fiercely by the arm and drew her
-out of the crowd. It was Cynthe Cardinal,
-though Ruth found it difficult to recognise in her
-the red-cheeked, sprightly French girl she had met
-in the early summer.</p>
-<p>“You saw Rafe Gadbeau die,” the girl said
-roughly, as she faced Ruth sharply at a little distance
-from the crowd. “You were there, close?
-No?”</p>
-<p>“Yes, the fire was all around,” Ruth answered,
-quaking.</p>
-<p>“How did he die? Tell me. How?”</p>
-<p>“Why––why, he died quickly, in the Bishop’s
-arms.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></div>
-<p>“I know. Yes. But how? He <i>confessed</i>?”</p>
-<p>“He––he went to confession, you mean.
-Yes, I think so.”</p>
-<p>But the girl was not to be evaded in that way.</p>
-<p>“I know that,” she persisted. “I heard
-M’sieur the Bishop. But did he <i>confess</i>––about
-Rogers?”</p>
-<p>“Why, Cynthe, you must be crazy. You know
-I didn’t hear anything. I couldn’t––”</p>
-<p>“He didn’t say nothing, except in confession?”
-the girl questioned swiftly.</p>
-<p>“Nothing at all,” Ruth answered, relieved.</p>
-<p>“And you heard?” the girl returned shrewdly.</p>
-<p>“Why, Cynthe, I heard nothing. You know
-that.”</p>
-<p>“I know you are lying,” Cynthe said slowly.
-“That is right. But I do not know. Will you
-always be able to lie? I do not know. You are
-Catholic, yes. But you are new. You are not
-like one of us. Sometime you will forget. It is
-not bred in the bone of you as it is bred in us.
-Sometime when you are not thinking some one will
-ask you a question and you will start and your
-tongue will slip, or you will be silent––and that
-will be just as bad.”</p>
-<p>Ruth stood looking down at the ground. She
-dared not speak, did not even raise her eyes, for
-any assurance of silence or even a reassuring look
-to the girl would be an admission that she must not
-make.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></div>
-<p>“Swear it in your heart! Swear that you did
-not hear a word! You cannot speak to me. But
-swear it to your soul,” said the girl in a low, tense
-whisper; “swear that you will never, sleeping or
-waking, laughing or crying, in joy or in sorrow, let
-woman or man know that you heard. Swear it.
-And while you swear, remember.” She drew
-Ruth close to her and almost hissed into her ear:</p>
-<p>“Remember–– You love Jeffrey Whiting!”</p>
-<p>She dropped Ruth’s arm and turned quickly
-away.</p>
-<p>Ruth stood there trembling weakly, her mind
-lost in a whirl of fright and bewilderment. She
-did not know where to turn. She could not grapple
-with the racing thoughts that went hurtling
-through her mind.</p>
-<p>This girl had loved Rafe Gadbeau. She was
-half crazed with her love and her grief. And she
-was determined to protect his name from the dark
-blot of murder. With the uncanny insight that is
-sometimes given to those beside themselves with
-some great grief or strain, the girl had seen Ruth’s
-terrible secret bare in its hiding place and had
-plucked it out before Ruth’s very eyes.</p>
-<p>The awful, the unbelievable thing had happened,
-thought Ruth. She had broken the seal of
-the confessional! She had been entrusted with
-the most terrible secret that a man could have to
-tell, under the most awful bond that God could put
-upon a secret. And the secret had escaped her!</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></div>
-<p>She had said no word at all. But, just as surely
-as if she had repeated the cry of the dying man in
-the night, Ruth knew that the other girl had taken
-her secret from her.</p>
-<p>And with that same uncanny insight, too, the
-girl had looked into the future and had shown
-Ruth what a burden the secret was to be to her.
-Nay, what a burden it was already becoming.
-For already she was afraid to speak to any one,
-afraid to go near any person that she had ever
-known.</p>
-<p>And that girl had stripped bare another of
-Ruth’s secrets, one that had been hidden even
-from herself. She had said:</p>
-<p>“Remember–– You love Jeffrey Whiting.”</p>
-<p>In ways, she had always loved him. But she
-now realised that she had never known what love
-was. Now she knew. She had seen it flame up
-in the eyes of the half mad French girl, ready to
-clutch and tear for the dead name of the man
-whom she had loved. Now Ruth knew what it
-was, and it came burning up in her heart to protect
-the dear name of her own beloved one, her man.
-Already men were putting the brand of Cain upon
-him! Already the word was running from mouth
-to mouth over the hills–– The word of blood!
-And with it ran the name of her love! Jeffrey,
-the boy she had loved since always, the man she
-would love forever!</p>
-<p>He would hear it from other mouths. But,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span>
-oh! the cruel, unbearable taunt was that only two
-days ago he had heard it first from her own lips!
-Why? Why? How? How had she ever said
-such a thing? Ever thought of such a thing?</p>
-<p>But she could not speak as the French girl had
-spoken for her man. She could not swear the
-mouths to silence. She could not cry out the
-bursting, torturing truth that alone would close
-those mouths. No, not even to Jeffrey himself
-could she ever by word, or even by the faintest
-whisper, or even by a look, show that she knew
-more than his and other living mouths could tell
-her! Never would she be able to look into his
-eyes and say:</p>
-<p>I <i>know</i> you did not do it.</p>
-<p>Only in her most secret heart of hearts could
-she be glad that she knew. And even that knowledge
-was the sacred property of the dead man.
-It was not hers. She must try to keep it out of
-her mind. Love, horror, and the awful weight of
-God’s seal pressed in upon her to crush her.
-There was no way to turn, no step to take. She
-could not meet them, could not cope with them.</p>
-<p>Stumbling blindly, she crept out of the crowd
-and down to where Brom Bones stood by the lake.
-There the kindly French women found her, her
-face buried in the colt’s mane, crying hysterically.
-They bathed her hands and face and soothed her,
-and when she was a little quieted they gave her
-drink and food. And Ruth, reviving, and knowing
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span>
-that she would need strength above all things,
-took what was given and silently faced the galling
-weight of the burden that was hers.</p>
-<p>The Bishop had taken quick charge of the whole
-situation. The first thing to be decided was
-whether the people should try to hold out where
-they were or should attempt at once to walk out
-to the villages on the north or west. To the west
-it would mean forty miles of walking over ashes
-with hardly any way of carrying water. To the
-north it would mean a longer walk, but they could
-follow the river and have water at hand. The
-danger in that direction was that they might come
-into the path of a new fire that would cut them
-off from all help.</p>
-<p>Even if they did come out safe to the villages,
-what would they do there? They would be scattered,
-penniless, homeless. There was nothing
-left for them here but the places where their
-homes had been, but at least they would be together.
-The cataclysm through which they had
-all passed, which had brought the prosperous and
-the poverty-stricken alike to the common level of
-just a few meals away from starvation, would here
-bind them together and give them a common
-strength for a new grip on life. If there was
-food enough to carry them over the four or five
-days that would be required to get supplies up
-from Lowville or from the head of the new railroad,
-then they should stay here.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></div>
-<p>The Bishop went swiftly among them, where
-already mothers were drawing family groups aside
-and parcelling out the doles of food. Already
-these mothers were erecting the invisible roof-tree
-and drawing around them and theirs the circle of
-the hearth, even though it was a circle drawn only
-in hot, drifting ashes. The Bishop was an inquisitor
-kindly of eye and understanding of heart,
-but by no means to be evaded. Unsuspected
-stores of bread and beans and tinned meats came
-forth from nondescript bundles of clothing and
-were laid under his eye. It appeared that Arsene
-LaComb had stayed in his little provision store
-until the last moment portioning out what was his
-with even hand, to each one as much as could be
-carried. The Bishop saw that it was all pitifully
-little for those who had lived in the village and
-for those refugees who had been driven in from
-the surrounding hills. But, he thought, it would
-do. These were people born to frugality, inured
-to scanty living.</p>
-<p>The thing now was to give them work for their
-hands, to put something before them that was to
-be accomplished. For even in the ruin of all
-things it is not well for men to sit down in the
-ashes and merely wait. They had no tools left
-but the axes which they had carried in their hands
-to the rafts, but with these they could hew some
-sort of shelter out of the loose logs in the lake.
-A rough shack of any kind would cover at least
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span>
-the weaker ones until lumber could be brought up
-or until a saw could be had for the ruined mill at
-the outlet of the lake. It would be slow work and
-hard and a makeshift at the best. But it would
-put heart into them to see at least something, anything,
-begin to rise from the hopeless level of the
-ashes.</p>
-<p>Three of the hill men had managed to keep
-their horses by holding desperately to them all
-through the day before and swimming and wading
-them through the night in the lake. These
-the Bishop despatched to what, as near as he could
-judge, were the nearest points from which messages
-could be gotten to the world outside the
-burnt district. They bore orders to dealers in the
-nearest towns for all the things that were immediately
-necessary for the life and rebuilding of the
-little village. With the orders went the notes of
-hand of all the men gathered here who had had
-a standing of credit or whose names would mean
-anything to the dealers. And, since the world
-outside would well know that these men had now
-nothing that would make the notes worth while,
-each note bore the endorsement of the Bishop of
-Alden. For the Bishop knew that there was no
-time to wait for charity and its tardy relief.
-Credit, that intangible, indefinable thing that alone
-makes the life of the world go on, must be established
-at once. And it was characteristic of
-Joseph Winthrop that, in endorsing the notes of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span>
-penniless, broken men, he did not feel that he
-was signing obligations upon himself and his diocese.
-He was simply writing down his gospel
-of his unbounded, unafraid faith in all true men.
-And it is a commentary upon that faith of his that
-he was never presented with a single one of the
-notes he signed that day.</p>
-<p>All the day long men toiled with heart and will,
-dragging logs and driftwood from the lake and
-cutting, splitting, shaping planks and joists for a
-shanty, while the women picked burnt nails and
-spikes from the ruins of what had been their
-homes. So that when night came down over the
-hills there was an actual shelter over the heads of
-women and children. And the light spirited,
-sanguine people raised cheer after cheer as their
-imagination leaped ahead to the new French Village
-that would rise glorious out of the ashes of
-the old. Then Father Ponfret, catching their
-mood, raised for them the hymn to the Good
-Saint Anne. They were all men from below
-Beaupre and from far Chicothomi where the Good
-Saint holds the hearts of all. That hymn had
-never been out of their childhood hearing. They
-sang it now, old and young, good and bad, their
-eyes filling with the quick-welling tears, their
-hearts rising high in hope and love and confidence
-on the lilt of the air. Even the Bishop, whose
-singing voice approached a scandal and whose
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span>
-French has been spoken of before, joined in loud
-and unashamed.</p>
-<p>Then mothers clucking softly to their offspring
-in the twilight brooded them in to shelter
-from the night damp of the lake, and men, sharing
-odd pieces and wisps of tobacco, lay down to
-talk and plan and dropped dead asleep with the
-hot pipes still clenched in their teeth.</p>
-<p>Also, a bishop, a very tired, weary man, a very
-old man to-night, laid his head upon a saddle and
-a folded blanket and considered the Mysteries of
-God and His world, as the beads slipped through
-his fingers and unfolded their story to him.</p>
-<p>Two men were stumbling fearfully down
-through the ashes of the far slope to the lake.
-All day long they had lain on their faces in the
-grass just beyond the highest line of the fire. The
-fire had gone on past them leaving them safe.
-But behind them rose tier upon tier of barren
-rocks, and behind those lay a hundred miles nearly
-of unknown country. They could not go that
-way. They were not, in fact, fit for travel in any
-direction. For all the day before they had run,
-dodging like hunted rats, between a line of fire––of
-their own making––before them, and a line of
-armed men behind them. They had outrun the
-fire and gotten beyond its edge. They had outrun
-the men and escaped them. They were free
-of those two enemies. But a third enemy had
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span>
-run with them all through the day yesterday and
-had stayed with them through all the horror of
-last night and it had lain with them through all the
-blistering heat of to-day, thirst. Thirst, intolerable,
-scorching thirst, drying their bones, splitting
-their lips, bulging their eyes. And all day long,
-down there before their very eyes, taunting them,
-torturing them by its nearness, lay a lake cool and
-sweet and deep and wide. It was worse than the
-mirage of any desert, for they knew that it was
-real. It was not merely the illusion of the sense
-of sight. They could perhaps have stood the torture
-of one sense. But this lake came up to them
-through all their senses. They could feel the air
-from it cool upon their brows. The wind brought
-the smell of water up to taunt their nostrils.
-And, so near did it seem, they could even fancy
-that they heard the lapping of the little waves
-against the rocks. This last they knew was an
-illusion. But, for the matter of that, all might
-as well have been an illusion. Armed men, their
-enemies who had yesterday chased them with
-death in their hearts, were scattered around the
-shore of the lake, alert and watching for any one
-who might come out of the fringe of shrub and
-grass beyond the line of the burnt ground. No
-living thing could move down that bare and
-whitened hillside toward the lake without being
-marked by those armed men. And, for these two
-men, to be seen meant to die.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></div>
-<p>So they had lain all day on their faces and raved
-in their torture. Now when they saw the fires on
-the shore where French Village had been beginning
-to die down they were stumbling painfully
-and crazily down to the water.</p>
-<p>They threw themselves down heavily in the
-burnt grass at the edge of the lake and drank
-greedily, feverishly until they could drink no
-more. Then they rolled back dizzily upon the
-grass and rested until they could return to drink.
-When they had fully slaked their thirst and rested
-to let the nausea of weakness pass from them they
-realised now that thirst was not the only thing in
-the world. It had taken up so much of their recent
-thought that they had forgotten everything
-else. Now a terrible and gnawing hunger came
-upon them and they knew that if they would live
-and travel––and they must travel––they would
-have to have food at once.</p>
-<p>Over there at the end of the lake where the
-cooking fires had now died out there were men
-lying down to sleep with full stomachs. There
-was food over there, food in plenty, food to be
-had for the taking! Now it did not seem that
-thirst was so terrible, nor were armed men any
-great thing to be feared. Hunger was the only
-real enemy. Food was the one thing that they
-must have, before all else and in spite of all else.
-They would go over there and take the food in
-the face of all the world!</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div>
-<p>Brom Bones was hobbled down by the water
-side picking drowsily at a few wisps of half-burnt
-grass and sniffing discontentedly to himself.
-There was a great deal wrong with the world.
-He had not, it seemed, seen a spear of fresh grass
-for an age. And as for oats, he did not remember
-when he had had any. It was true that Ruth
-had dug up some baked potatoes out of a field for
-him and he had been glad to eat them, but––Fresh
-grass! Or oats!</p>
-<p>Just then he felt a strange hand slipping his
-hobbles. It was nothing to be alarmed at, of
-course. But he did not like strange hands around
-him. He let fly a swift kick into the dark, and
-thought no more of the matter.</p>
-<p>A few moments later a man went running softly
-toward the horse. He carried a bundle of tinned
-meats and preserves slung in a coat. At peril of
-his life he had crept up and stolen them from the
-common pile that was stacked up at the very door
-of the shanty where the women and children
-slept. As he came running he grabbed for Brom
-Bones’ bridle and tried to launch himself across
-the colt’s back. In his leap a can of meat fell and
-a sharp corner of it struck and cut deep into Brom
-Bones’ hock. The colt squealed and leaped aside.</p>
-<p>A man sprang up from the side of a fire, gripping
-a rifle and kicking the embers into a blaze.
-He saw the man struggling with the horse and
-fired. The colt with one unearthly scream of terror
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span>
-leaped and plunged head down towards the
-water, shot dead through his stout, faithful
-heart.</p>
-<p>In a moment twenty men were running into the
-dark, shouting and shooting at everything that
-seemed to move, while the women and children
-screamed and wailed their fright within the little
-building.</p>
-<p>The two men running with the food for which
-they had been willing to give their lives dropped
-flat on the ground unhurt. The pursuing men
-running wildly stumbled over them. They were
-quickly secured and hustled and kicked to their
-feet and brought back to the fire.</p>
-<p>They must die. And they must die now.
-They were in the hands of men whose homes they
-had burned, whose dear ones they had menaced
-with the most terrible of deaths; men who for
-thirty-six hours now had been thirsting to kill
-them. The hour had come.</p>
-<p>“Take them down to the gully. Build a fire
-and dig their graves.” Old Erskine Beasley
-spoke the sentence.</p>
-<p>A short, sharp cry of satisfaction was the answer.
-A cry that suggested the snapping of jaws
-let loose upon the prey.</p>
-<p>Then Joseph Winthrop stood in the very midst
-of the crowd, laying hands upon the two cowering
-men, and spoke. A moment before he had
-caught his heart saying: This is justice, let it be
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span>
-done. But he had cried to God against the sin
-that had whispered at his heart, and he spoke now
-calmly, as one assured.</p>
-<p>“Do we do wisely, men?” he questioned.
-“These men are guilty. We know that, for you
-saw them almost in the act. The sentence is just,
-for they planned what might have been death for
-you and yours. But shall only these two be punished?
-Are there not others? And if we silence
-these two now forever, how shall we be ever able
-to find the others?”</p>
-<p>“We’ll be sure of these two,” said a sullen
-voice in the crowd.</p>
-<p>“True,” returned the Bishop, raising his voice.
-“But I tell you there are others greater than any
-of these who have come into the hills risking their
-lives. How shall we find and punish those other
-greater ones? And I tell you further there is one,
-for it is always one in the end. I tell you there is
-one man walking the world to-night without a
-thought of danger or disgrace from whose single
-mind came all this trouble upon us. That one
-man we must find. And I pledge you, my friends
-and my neighbours,” he went on raising his hand,
-“I pledge you that that one man will be found
-and that he will do right by you.</p>
-<p>“Before these men die, bring a justice––there
-is one of the village––and let them confess before
-the world and to him on paper what they
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span>
-know of this crime and of those who commanded
-it.”</p>
-<p>A grudging silence was the only answer, but the
-Bishop had won for the time. Old Toussaint
-Derossier, the village justice, was brought forward,
-fumbling with his beloved wallet of papers,
-and made to sit upon an up-turned bucket with a
-slab across his knee and write in his long hand of
-the <i>rue Henri</i> the story that the men told.</p>
-<p>They were ready to tell. They were eager to
-spin out every detail of all they knew for they felt
-that men stood around them impatient for the
-ending of the story, that they might go on with
-their task.</p>
-<p>The Bishop knew that the real struggle was yet
-to come. He must save these men, not only because
-it was his duty as a citizen and a Christian
-and a priest, but because he foresaw that his
-friend, Jeffrey Whiting, might one day be accused
-of the killing of a certain man, and that these
-men might in that day be able to tell something of
-that story which he himself could but must not
-tell.</p>
-<p>The temper of the crowd was perhaps running
-a little lower when the story of the men was
-finished. But the Bishop was by no means sure
-that he could hold them back from their purpose.
-Nevertheless he spoke simply and with a determination
-that was not to be mistaken. At the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span>
-first move of the leaders of the hill men to carry
-out their intention, he said:</p>
-<p>“My men, you shall not do this thing. Shall
-not, I say. Shall not. I will prevent. I will
-put this old body of mine between. You shall
-not move these men from this spot. And if they
-are shot, then the bullets must pass through me.</p>
-<p>“You will call this thing justice. But you know
-in your hearts it is just one thing––Revenge.”</p>
-<p>“What business is it of yours?” came an angry
-voice out of the crowd.</p>
-<p>“It is <i>not</i> my business,” said the Bishop solemnly.
-“It is the business of God. Of your
-God. Of my God. Am I a meddling priest?
-Have I no right to speak God’s name to you, because
-we do not believe all the same things? My
-business is with the souls of men––of all men.
-And never in my life have I so attended to my own
-business as I am doing this minute, when I say to
-you in the name of God, of the God of my fathers
-and your fathers, do not put this sin of murder
-upon your souls this night. Have you wives?
-Have you mothers? Have you sweethearts?
-Can you go back to them with blood upon your
-hands and say: A man warned us, but he had no
-<i>business</i>!</p>
-<p>“Bind these men, I say. Hold them. Fear
-not. Justice shall be done. And you will see
-right in the end. As you believe in your God,
-oh! believe me now! You shall see right!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></div>
-<p>The Bishop stopped. He had won. He saw
-it in the faces of the men about him. God had
-spoken to their hearts, he saw, even through his
-feeble and unthought words. He saw it and was
-glad.</p>
-<p>He saw the men bound. Saw a guard put over
-them.</p>
-<p>Then he went down near to the lake where a
-girl kneeling beside her dead pet wept wildly.
-The proud-standing, stout-hearted horse had done
-his noble part in saving the life of Joseph
-Winthrop, Bishop of Alden. But that Bishop of
-Alden, that mover of men, that man of powerful
-words, had now no word that he could dare to
-say in comfort to this grief.</p>
-<p>He covered his face and turned, walking away
-through the ashes into the dark. And as he
-walked, fingering his beads, he again considered
-the things of God and His world.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span>
-<a name='VII_THE_INNER_CITADEL' id='VII_THE_INNER_CITADEL'></a>
-<h2>VII</h2>
-<h3>THE INNER CITADEL</h3>
-</div>
-<p>“And, gentlemen of this jury, I propose to
-prove to your absolute satisfaction that this defendant,
-Jeffrey Whiting, did wilfully and with
-prepared design, murder Samuel Rogers on the
-morning of August twentieth last. I shall not
-only prove to you the existence of a long-standing
-hatred harboured by this defendant against the
-murdered man, but I will show to you a direct motive
-for the crime. And I shall not only prove
-circumstantially to you that he and no other could
-have done the deed but I shall also convict him out
-of the unwilling mouths of his friends and neighbours
-who were, to all intents and purposes, actual
-eye-witnesses of the crime.”</p>
-<p>In the red sandstone courthouse of Racquette
-County the District Attorney of the county was
-opening the case for the State against Jeffrey
-Whiting, charged with the murder of Samuel Rogers,
-who had died by the hand of Rafe Gadbeau
-that grim morning on the side of Bald Mountain.</p>
-<p>From early morning the streets of Danton, the
-little county seat of Racquette County, had been
-filled with the wagons and horses of the hill people
-who had come down for this, the second day
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span>
-of the trial. Yesterday the jury had been selected.
-They were all men of the villages and of
-the one little city of Racquette County, men whose
-lives or property had never been endangered by
-forest fires. Judge Leslie in questioning them and
-in ruling their selection had made it plain that the
-circumstances surrounding the killing of the man
-Rogers must have no weight in their minds.
-They must be prepared to judge the guilt or innocence
-of the prisoner purely on the charge of murder
-itself, with no regard for what rumour might
-say the victim had been doing at the time.</p>
-<p>For the prisoner, it seemed unfortunate that the
-man had been killed just a mile or so within the
-line of Racquette County. Only a little of the extreme
-southeastern corner of that county had been
-burned over in the recent fire and in general it had
-meant very little to these people. In Tupper
-County where Jeffrey Whiting had lived and which
-had suffered terribly from the fire it should have
-been nearly impossible to select a jury which would
-have been willing to convict the slayer of Rogers
-under the circumstances. But to the people of
-the villages of Racquette County the matter did
-not come home. They only knew that a man had
-been killed up the corner of the county. A forest
-fire had started at about the same time and place.
-But few people had any clear version of the story.
-And there seemed to be little doubt as to the identity
-of the slayer.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></div>
-<p>There was another and far more potent reason
-why it was unfortunate for Jeffrey Whiting that
-Samuel Rogers had died within the lines of
-Racquette County. The Judge who sat upon the
-bench was the same man who only a few weeks
-before had pleaded so unctuously before the Senate
-committee for the rights of the downtrodden U.
-& M. Railroad against the lawless people of the
-hills. He had given the District Attorney every
-possible assistance toward the selection of a jury
-who would be at least thoughtful of the interests
-of the railroad. For this was not merely a murder
-trial. It was the case of the people of the
-hills against the U. & M. Railroad.</p>
-<p>Racquette County was a “railroad” county.
-The life of every one of its rising villages depended
-absolutely upon the good will of the railroad
-system that had spread itself beneficently
-over the county and that had given it a prosperity
-beyond that of any other county of the North.
-Racquette County owed a great deal to the railroad,
-and it was not in the disposition or the plans
-of the railroad to leave the county in a position
-where it might forget the debt. So the railroad
-saw to it that only men personally known to its
-officials should have public office in the county.
-It had put this judge upon this bench. And the
-railroad was no niggard to its servants. It paid
-him well for the very timely and valuable services
-which he was able to render it.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></div>
-<p>The grip which the railroad corporation had
-upon the life of Racquette County was so complex
-and varied that it extended to every money-making
-affair in the community. It was an intangible
-but impenetrable mesh of interests and influences
-that extended in every direction and crossed and
-intercrossed so that no man could tell where it
-ended. But all men could surely tell that these
-lines of influence ran from all ends of the county
-into the hand of the attorney for the railroad in
-Alden and that from his hand they passed on into
-the hands of the single great man in New York
-whose money and brain dominated the whole
-transportation business of the State. All men
-knew, too, that those lines passed through the
-Capitol at Albany and that no man there, from
-the Executive down to the youngest page in the
-legislative corridors, was entirely immune from
-their influence.</p>
-<p>Now the U. & M. Railroad had been openly
-charged with having procured the setting of the
-fire that had left five hundred hill people homeless
-in Tupper and Adirondack Counties. It would,
-of course, be impossible to bring the railroad to
-trial on such a charge in any county of the State.
-The company had really nothing to fear in the way
-of criminal prosecution. But the matter had
-touched the temper and roused the suspicions of
-the great, headless body called the public. The
-railroad felt that it must not be silent under even
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span>
-a muttered and vague charge of such nature. It
-must strike first, and in a spectacular manner. It
-must divert the public mind by a counter charge.</p>
-<p>Before the rain had come down to wet the ashes
-of the fire, the Grand Jury of Racquette County
-had been prepared to find an indictment against
-Jeffrey Whiting for the murder of Samuel Rogers.
-They had found that Samuel Rogers was an agent
-of the railroad engaged upon a peaceable and lawful
-journey through the hills in the interests of his
-company. He had been found shot through the
-back of the head and the circumstances surrounding
-his death were of such a nature and disposition
-as to warrant the finding of a bill against the
-young man who for months had been leading a
-stubborn fight against the railroad.</p>
-<p>The case had been advanced over all others on
-the calendar in Judge Leslie’s court, for the railroad
-was determined to occupy the mind of the
-public with this case until the people should have
-had time to forget the sensation of the fire. The
-mind at the head of the railroad’s affairs argued
-that the mind of the public could hold only one
-thing at a time. Therefore it was better to put
-this murder case into that mind and keep it there
-until some new thing should arise.</p>
-<p>The celerity with which Jeffrey Whiting had
-been brought to trial; the well-oiled smoothness
-with which the machinery of the Grand Jury had
-done its work, and the efficient way in which judge
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span>
-and prosecuting attorney had worked together for
-the selection of what was patently a “railroad”
-jury, were all evidence that a strong and confident
-power was moving its forces to an assured and
-definite end. This judge and this jury would
-allow no confusion of circumstances to stand in
-the way of a clear-cut verdict. The fact that the
-man had been caught in the act of setting fire to the
-forests, if the Judge allowed it to appear in the
-record at all, would not stand with the jury as
-justification, or even extenuation of the deed of
-murder charged. The fate of the accused must
-hang solely on the question of fact, whether or
-not his hand had fired the fatal shot. No other
-question would be allowed to enter.</p>
-<p>And on that question it seemed that the minds
-of all men were already made up. The prisoner’s
-friends and associates in the hills had been at first
-loud in their commendation of the act which they
-had no doubt was his. Now, though they talked
-less and less, they still did not deny their belief.
-It was known that they had congratulated him on
-the very scene of the murder. What room was
-there in the mind of any one for doubt as to the
-actual facts of the killing? And since his conviction
-or acquittal must hinge on that single question,
-what room was there to hope for his acquittal?</p>
-<p>The hill people had come down from their
-ruined homes, where they had been working night
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span>
-and day to put a roof over their families before
-the cold should come. They were bitter and sullen
-and nervous. They had no doubt whatever
-that Jeffrey Whiting had killed the man, and they
-had been forced to come down here to tell what
-they knew––every word of which would count
-against them. They had come down determined
-that he should not suffer for his act, which had
-been done, as it were, in the name of all of them.
-But the rapid certainty in which the machinery
-of the law moved on toward its sacrifice unnerved
-them. There was nothing for them to do, it
-seemed, but to sit there, idle and glum, waiting
-for the end.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting sat listening stolidly to the
-opening arraignment by the District Attorney.
-He was not surprised by any of it. The chain of
-circumstances which had begun to wrap itself
-around him that morning on Bald Mountain had
-never for a moment relaxed its tightening hold
-upon him. He had followed his friends that day
-and all of that night and had reached Lowville
-early the next day. He had found his mother
-there safe and his aunt and even Cassius Bascom,
-but had been horrified to learn that Ruth Lansing
-had turned back into the face of the fire in an effort
-to find and bring back the Bishop of Alden. No
-word had been had of either of them. He had
-told his mother exactly what had happened in the
-hills. He had been ready to kill the man. He
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span>
-had wished to do so. But another had fired before
-he did. He had not, in fact, used his gun at
-all. She had believed him implicitly, of course.
-Why should she not? If he had actually shot the
-man he would have told her that just as exactly
-and truthfully. But Jeffrey was aware that she
-was the only person who did or would believe him.</p>
-<p>He was just on the point of mounting one of his
-mother’s horses, to go up into the lower hills in
-the hope of finding Ruth wandering somewhere,
-when he was placed under arrest for the murder of
-Rogers. The two men who had escaped down
-the line of the chain had gotten quickly to a telegraph
-line and had made their report. The railroad
-people had taken their decision and had acted
-on the instant. The warrant was ready and waiting
-for Jeffrey before he even reached Lowville.</p>
-<p>When he had been taken out of his own county
-and brought before the Grand Jury in Racquette
-County, he realised that any hope he might have
-had for a trial on the moral merits of the case was
-thereby lost. Unless he could find and actually
-produce that other man, whoever he was, who had
-fired the shot, his own truthful story was useless.
-His own friends who had been there at hand
-would not believe his oath.</p>
-<p>His mother and Ruth Lansing sat in court in
-the front seats just to the right of him. From time
-to time he turned to smile reassuringly at them
-with a confidence that he was far from feeling.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span>
-His mother smiled back through glistening grey
-eyes, all the while marking with a twinge at her
-heart the great sharp lines that were cutting deep
-into the big boyish face of her son. Mostly she
-was thinking of the morning, just a few months
-ago when her little boy, suddenly and unaccountably
-grown to the size of a tall man, had been
-obliged to lift up her face to kiss her. He was
-going down into the big world, to conquer it and
-bring it home for her. With that boyish forgetfulness
-of everything but his own plans of conquest,
-which is at once the pride and the heart-stab
-of every mother with her man child, he had kissed
-her and told her the old, old lie that we all have
-told––that he would be back in a little while, that
-all would be the same again. And she had smiled
-up into his face and had compounded the lie with
-him.</p>
-<p>Then in that very moment the man Rogers had
-come. And the mother heart in her was not
-gentle at the thought of him. He had come like
-a trail of evil across their lives, embittering the
-hearts of all of them. Never since she had seen
-him had she slept a good night. Never had she
-been able to drop asleep without a hard thought of
-him. Even now, the thought of him lying in an
-unhonoured grave among the ashes of the hills
-could not soften her heart toward him. The
-gentle, kindly heart of her was very near to hating
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span>
-even the dead as she thought of her boy brought
-to this pass because of that man.</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing had come twice to the county jail
-in Danton with his mother to see Jeffrey. They
-had not been left alone, but she had clung to him
-and kissed him boldly as though by her right before
-all men. The first time he had watched her
-sharply, looking almost savagely to see her shrink
-away from him in pity and fear of his guilt, as
-he had seen men who had been his friends shrink
-away from him. But there had been not a shadow
-of that in Ruth, and his heart leaped now as he
-remembered how she had walked unafraid into
-his arms, looking him squarely and bravely in the
-eyes and crying to him to forget the foolish words
-that she had said to him that last day in the hills.
-In that pulsing moment Jeffrey had looked into
-her eyes and had seen there not the love of the
-little girl that he had known but the unbounded
-love and confidence of the woman who would give
-herself to him for life or death. He had seen
-it; the look of all the women of earth who love,
-whose feet go treading in tenderness and undying
-pity, whose hands are fashioned for the healing of
-torn hearts.</p>
-<p>It was only when she had gone, and when he in
-the loneliness of his cell was reliving the hour,
-that he remembered that she had scarcely listened
-to his story of the morning in the hills. Of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span>
-course, she had heard his story from his mother
-and was probably already so familiar with it that
-it had lost interest for her. But no, that was not
-like Ruth. She was always a direct little person,
-who wanted to know the exact how and why of
-everything first hand. She would not have been
-satisfied with anybody’s telling of the matter but
-his own.</p>
-<p>Then a horrible suspicion leaped into his mind
-and struck at his heart. Could it be that she had
-over-acted it all? Could it be that she had
-brushed aside his story because she really did not
-believe it and could not listen to it without betraying
-her doubt? And had she blinded him
-with her pity? Had she acted all––!</p>
-<p>He threw himself down on his cot and writhed
-in blind despair. Might not even his mother have
-deceived him! Might not she too have been acting!
-What did he care now for name or liberty,
-or life itself! The girl had mocked him with
-what he thought was love, when it was only––!</p>
-<p>But his good sense brought him back and set
-him on his feet. Ruth was no actress. And if
-she had been the greatest actress the world had
-ever seen she could not have acted that flooding
-love light into her eyes.</p>
-<p>He threw back his head, laughing softly, and
-began to pace his cell rapidly. There was some
-other explanation. Either she had deliberately
-put his story aside in order to keep the whole of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span>
-their little time together entirely to themselves, or
-Ruth knew something that made his story unimportant.</p>
-<p>She had been through the fire herself. Both
-she and the Bishop must have gone straight
-through it from their home in its front line to the
-rear of it at French Village. How, no one could
-tell. Jeffrey had heard wild tales of the exploit–– The
-French people had made many
-wonders of the coming of these two to them in
-the hour of their deliverance, the one the Bishop
-of their souls, the other the young girl just baptised
-by Holy Church and but little differing from
-the angels.</p>
-<p>Who could tell, thought Jeffrey, what the fire
-might have revealed to one or both of these two
-as they went through it. Perhaps there were
-other men who had not been accounted for.
-Then he remembered Rafe Gadbeau. He had
-been with Rogers. He had once waylaid Jeffrey
-at Rogers’ command. Might it not be that the
-bullet which killed Rogers was intended for
-Jeffrey himself! He must have been almost in
-the line of that bullet, for Rogers had been facing
-him squarely and the bullet had struck Rogers
-fairly in the back of the head.</p>
-<p>Or again, people had said that Rogers had possessed
-some sort of mysterious hold over Rafe
-Gadbeau, and that Gadbeau did his bidding unwillingly,
-under a pressure of fear. What if
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span>
-Gadbeau there under the excitement of the fire,
-and certain that another man would be charged
-with the killing, had decided that here was the
-time and place to rid himself of the man who had
-made him his slave!</p>
-<p>The thing fascinated him, as was natural; and,
-pacing his cell, stopping between mouthfuls of his
-food as he sat at the jail table, sitting up in his cot
-in the middle of the night to think, Jeffrey caught
-at every scrap of theory and every thread of fact
-that would fit into the story as it must have happened.
-He wandered into many blind trails of
-theory and explanation, but, strange as it was, he
-at last came upon the truth––and stuck to it.</p>
-<p>Gadbeau had killed Rogers. Gadbeau had
-been caught in the fire and had almost burned to
-death. He had managed to reach the place where
-Ruth and the Bishop had found refuge. He had
-died there in their presence. He had confessed.
-The Catholics always told the truth when they
-were going to die. Ruth and the Bishop had
-heard him. Ruth <i>knew</i>. The Bishop <i>knew</i>.</p>
-<p>When Ruth came again, he watched her closely;
-and saw––just what he had expected to see.
-Ruth <i>knew</i>. It was not only her love and her
-confidence in him. She had none of the little whispering,
-torturing doubts that must sometimes, unbidden,
-rise to frighten even his mother. Ruth
-<i>knew</i>.</p>
-<p>That she should not tell him, or give him any
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span>
-outward hint of what she was hiding in her mind,
-did not surprise him. It was a very serious matter
-this with Catholics. It was a sacred matter
-with anybody, to carry the secret of a dead man.
-Ruth would not speak unnecessarily of it. When
-the proper time came, and there was need, she
-would speak. For the present––Ruth <i>knew</i>.
-That was enough.</p>
-<p>When the Bishop came down from Alden to see
-him, Jeffrey watched him as he had watched Ruth.
-He had never been very observant. He had
-never had more than a boy’s careless indifference
-and disregard of details in his way of looking at
-men and things. But much thinking in the dark
-had now given him intuitions that were now sharp
-and sensitive as those of a woman. He was
-quick to know that the grip of the Bishop’s hand
-on his, the look of the Bishop’s eye into his, were
-not those of a man who had been obliged to fight
-against doubts in order to keep his faith in him.
-That grip and that look were not those of a man
-who wished to believe, who tried to believe, who
-told himself and was obliged to keep on telling
-himself that he believed in spite of all. No.
-Those were the grip and the look of a man who
-<i>knew</i>. The Bishop <i>knew</i>.</p>
-<p>It was even easier to understand the Bishop’s
-silence than it had been to see why Ruth might not
-speak of what she knew. The Bishop was an
-official in a high place, entrusted with a dark secret.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span>
-He must not speak of such things without a very
-serious cause. But, of course, there was nothing
-in this world so sacred as the life of an innocent
-man. Of course, when the time and the need
-came, the Bishop would speak.</p>
-<p>So Jeffrey had pieced together his fragments of
-fact and deduction. So he had watched and discovered
-and reasoned and debated with himself.
-He had not, of course, said a word of these things
-to any one. The result was that, while he listened
-to the plans which his lawyer, young Emmet
-Dardis, laid for his defence––plans which, in
-the face of the incontestable facts which would be
-brought against them, would certainly amount to
-little or nothing––he really paid little attention
-to them. For, out of his reasoning and out of
-the things his heart felt, he had built up around
-himself an inner citadel, as it were, of defence
-which no attack could shake. He had come to
-feel, had made himself feel, that his life and his
-name were absolutely safe in the keeping of these
-two people––the one a girl who loved him and
-who would give her life for him, and the other a
-true friend, a man of God, a true man. He had
-nothing to fear. When the time came these two
-would speak. It was true that he was outwardly
-depressed by the concise and bitter conviction in
-the words of the prosecuting attorney. For
-Lemuel Squires was of the character that makes
-the most terrible of criminal prosecutors––an
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span>
-honest, narrow man who was always absolutely
-convinced of the guilt of the accused from the
-moment that a charge had been made. But inwardly
-he had no fear.</p>
-<p>The weight of evidence that would be brought
-against him, the fact that his own best friends
-would be obliged to give their oaths against him,
-the very feeling of being accused and of having
-to scheme and plan to prove his innocence to a
-world that––except here and there––cared not
-a whit whether he was innocent or guilty, all these
-things bowed his head and brought his eyes down
-to the floor. But they could not touch that inner
-wall that he had built around himself. Ruth
-<i>knew</i>; the Bishop <i>knew</i>.</p>
-<p>The rasping speech of the prosecutor was
-finished at last.</p>
-<p>Old Erskine Beasley was the first witness called.</p>
-<p>The prosecuting attorney took him sharply in
-hand at once for though he had been called as a
-witness for the prosecution it was well known
-that he was unwilling to testify at all. So the attorney
-had made no attempt to school him beforehand,
-and he was determined now to allow him
-to give only direct answers to the questions put to
-him.</p>
-<p>Two or three times the old man attempted to
-explain, at the end of an answer, just why he had
-gone up into the high hills the night before the
-twentieth of August––that he had heard that
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span>
-Rogers and a band of men had gone into the
-woods to start fires. But he was ordered to stop,
-and these parts of his answers were kept out of the
-record. Finally he was rebuked savagely by the
-Judge and ordered to confine himself to answering
-the lawyer’s questions, on pain of being arrested
-for contempt. It was a high-handed proceeding
-that showed the temper and the intention of the
-Judge and a stir of protest ran around the courtroom.
-But old Erskine Beasley was quelled.
-He gave only the answers that the prosecutor
-forced from him.</p>
-<p>“Did you hear a shot fired?” he was asked.</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Did you hear two shots fired?”</p>
-<p>“No.”</p>
-<p>“Did you see Jeffrey Whiting’s gun?”</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Did you examine it?”</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Had it been fired off?”</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Excused,” snapped the prosecutor. And the
-old man, almost in tears, came down from the
-stand. He knew that his simple yes and no answers
-had made the most damaging sort of evidence.</p>
-<p>Then the prosecutor went back in the story to
-establish a motive. He called several witnesses
-who had been agents of the railroad and associated
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span>
-in one way or another with the murdered
-man in his efforts to get options on the farm lands
-in the hills. Even these witnesses, though they
-were ready to give details and opinions which
-might have been favorable to his side of the case,
-he held down strictly to answering with a word
-his own carefully thought out questions.</p>
-<p>With these answers the prosecutor built up a
-solid continuity of cause and effect from the day
-when Rogers had first come into the hills to offer
-Jeffrey Whiting a part in the work with himself
-right up to the moment when the two had faced
-each other that morning on Bald Mountain.</p>
-<p>He showed that Jeffrey Whiting had begun to
-undermine and oppose Rogers’ work from the
-first. He showed why. Jeffrey Whiting came of
-a family well known and trusted in the hills. The
-young man had been quick to grasp the situation
-and to believe that he could keep the people from
-dealing at all with Rogers. Rogers’ work would
-then be a failure. Jeffrey Whiting would then
-be pointed to as the only man who could get the
-options from the people. They would sell or
-hold out at his word. The railroad would have
-to deal with him direct, and at his terms.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting had gotten promises from
-many of the owners that they would not sell or
-even sign any paper until such time as he gave
-them the word. Did those promises bind the
-people to him? They did. Did they have the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span>
-same effect as if Jeffrey Whiting had obtained
-actual options on the property? Yes. Would
-the people stand by their promises? Yes. Then
-Whiting had actually been obtaining what were
-really options to himself, while pretending to hold
-the people back in their own interest? Yes.</p>
-<p>The prosecutor went on to draw out answer
-after answer tending to show that it was not really
-a conflict between the people and the railroad
-that had been making trouble in the hills all summer;
-that it was, in fact, merely a personal struggle
-for influence and gain between Jeffrey Whiting
-and the man who had been killed. It was skilfully
-done and drawn out with all the exaggerated
-effect of truth which bald negative and affirmative
-answers invariably carry.</p>
-<p>He went on to show that a bitter hatred had
-grown up between the two men. Rogers had been
-accused of hiring men to get Whiting out of the
-way at a time in the early summer when many of
-the people about French Village had been prepared
-to sign Rogers’ options. Rogers had been
-obliged to fly from the neighbourhood on account
-of Whiting’s anger. He had not returned to the
-hills until the day before he was killed.</p>
-<p>The people in the hills had talked freely of
-what had happened on Bald Mountain on the
-morning of August twentieth and in the hills during
-the afternoon and night preceding. The
-prosecutor knew the incidents and knew what men
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span>
-had said to each other. He now called Myron
-Stocking.</p>
-<p>“Did you meet Jeffrey Whiting on the afternoon
-of August nineteenth?” was the question.</p>
-<p>“I went lookin’ for him, to tell––”</p>
-<p>“Answer, yes or no?” shouted the attorney.</p>
-<p>“Yes,” the witness admitted sullenly.</p>
-<p>“Did you tell him that Rogers was in the
-hills?”</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Did he take his gun from you and start immediately?”</p>
-<p>“He followed me,” the witness began. But
-the Judge rapped warningly and the attorney
-yelled:</p>
-<p>“Yes or no?”</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Did you see Rogers in the morning?”</p>
-<p>“Yes, he was settin’ fire to––” The Judge
-hammering furiously with his gavel drowned his
-words. The attorney went on:</p>
-<p>“Did you hear a shot?”</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Did you hear two shots?”</p>
-<p>“The fire”––was making a lot of noise, he
-tried to say. But his voice was smothered by
-eruptions from the court and the attorney. He
-was finally obliged to say that he had heard but
-one shot. Then he was asked:</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></div>
-<p>“What did you say when you came up and saw
-the dead man?”</p>
-<p>“I said, ‘Mine got away, Jeff.’”</p>
-<p>“What else did you say?”</p>
-<p>“I said, ‘What’s the difference, any of us
-would’ve done it if we had the chance.’”</p>
-<p>“Whiting’s gun had been fired?” asked the attorney,
-working back.</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“One question more and I will excuse you,”
-said the attorney, with a show of friendliness––“I
-see it is hard for you to testify against your
-friend. Did you, standing there with the facts
-fresh before you, conclude that Jeffrey Whiting
-had fired the shot which killed Rogers?”</p>
-<p>To this Emmet Dardis vigorously objected that
-it was not proper, that the answer would not be
-evidence. But the Judge overruled him sharply,
-reminding him that this witness had been called
-by the prosecution, that it was not the business of
-opposing counsel to protect him. The witness
-found himself forced to answer a simple yes.</p>
-<p>One by one the other men who had been present
-that fatal morning were called. Their answers
-were identical, and as each one was forced
-to give his yes to that last fateful question, condemning
-Jeffrey Whiting out of the mouths of his
-friends who had stood on the very ground of the
-murder, it seemed that every avenue of hope for
-him was closing.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></div>
-<p>On cross-examination, Emmet Dardis could do
-little with the witnesses. He was gruffly reminded
-by the Judge that the witnesses were not
-his, that he must not attempt to draw any fresh
-stories from them, that he might only examine
-them on the facts which they had stated to the
-District Attorney. And as the prosecutor had
-pinned his witnesses down absolutely to answers
-of known fact, there was really nothing in their
-testimony that could be attacked.</p>
-<p>With a feeling of uselessness and defeat, Emmet
-Dardis let the last witness go. The State
-promptly rested its case.</p>
-<p>Dardis began calling his witnesses. He realised
-how pitifully inadequate their testimony
-would be when placed beside the chain of facts
-which the District Attorney had pieced together.
-They were in the main character witnesses, hardly
-more. They could tell only of their long acquaintance
-with Jeffrey Whiting, of their belief in
-him, of their firm faith that in holding the people
-back from giving the options to Rogers and the
-railroad he had been acting in absolute good faith
-and purely in the interests of the people. Not
-one of these men had been near the scene of the
-murder, for the railroad had planned its campaign
-comprehensively and had subpœnaed for its
-side every man who could have had any direct
-knowledge of the events leading up to the tragedy.
-As line after line of their testimony was
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span>
-stricken from the record, as being irrelevant, it
-was seen that the defence had little or no case.
-Finally the Judge, tiring of ruling on the single
-objections, made a general ruling that no testimony
-which did not tend to reveal the identity
-of the man who had shot Rogers could go into the
-record.</p>
-<p>Bishop Joseph Winthrop of Alden sat anxiously
-watching the course of the trial. Beside
-him sat little Father Ponfret from French Village.
-The little French priest looked up from
-time to time and guardedly studied the long angular
-white head of his bishop as it towered above
-him. He did not know, but he could guess some
-of the struggle that was going on in the mind and
-the heart of the Bishop.</p>
-<p>The Bishop had come down to the trial to give
-what aid he could, in the way of showing his confidence
-and faith, to the case of the boy who stood
-in peril of his life. In the beginning, when he
-had first heard of Jeffrey’s arrest, he had not
-thought it possible that, even had he been guilty
-of actually firing the shot, Jeffrey could be convicted
-under such circumstances. Men must see
-that the act was in defence of life and property.
-But as he listened to the progress of the trial he
-realised sadly that he had very much underestimated
-the seriousness of the railroad people in the
-matter and the hold which they had upon the machinery
-of justice in Racquette County.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div>
-<p>He had gladly offered to go upon the stand and
-tell the reason why Jeffrey Whiting had entered
-into this fight against the railroad. He would associate
-himself and his own good name with the
-things that Jeffrey Whiting had done, so that the
-two might stand before men together. But he
-now saw that it would be of no avail. His words
-would be swept aside as irrelevant.</p>
-<p>One thing and only one thing would now avail
-Jeffrey Whiting. This morning on his arrival in
-Danton, the Bishop had been angered at learning
-that the two men whose lives he had
-saved that night by the lake at French Village
-had escaped from the train as they were being
-brought from Lowville to Danton to testify at
-this trial.</p>
-<p>Whether they could have told anything of value
-to Jeffrey Whiting was not known. Certainly
-they were now gone, and, almost surely, by the
-connivance of the railroad people. The Bishop
-had their confession in his pocket at this minute,
-but there was nothing in it concerning the murder.
-He had intended to read it into the record of the
-trial. He saw that he would not be allowed to
-do so.</p>
-<p>One thing and only one thing would now avail
-Jeffrey Whiting. Jeffrey Whiting would be condemned
-to death, unless, within the hour, a man
-or woman should rise up in this room and swear:
-Jeffrey Whiting did not kill Samuel Rogers.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span>
-Rafe Gadbeau did the deed. I saw him. Or––He
-told me so.</p>
-<p>The Bishop remembered how that day last winter
-he had set the boy upon this course which had
-brought him here into this court and into the
-shadow of public disgrace and death. If Jeffrey
-Whiting had actually fired the shot that had cut
-off a human life, would not he, Joseph, Bishop of
-Alden, have shared a measure of the responsibility?
-He would.</p>
-<p>And if Jeffrey Whiting, through no fault of
-his own, but through a chain of circumstances,
-stood now in danger of death, was not he, Joseph
-Winthrop, who had started the boy into the midst
-of these circumstances, in a way responsible? He
-was.</p>
-<p>Could Joseph Winthrop by rising up in this
-court and saying: “Rafe Gadbeau killed Samuel
-Rogers––He told me so”––could he thus
-save Jeffrey Whiting from a felon’s fate? He
-could. Nine words, no more, would do.</p>
-<p>And if he could so save Jeffrey Whiting and
-did not do what was necessary––did not speak
-those nine words––would he, Joseph Winthrop,
-be responsible for the death or at least the imprisonment
-and ruin of Jeffrey Whiting? He
-would.</p>
-<p>Then what would Joseph Winthrop do?
-Would he speak those nine words? He would
-not.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span></div>
-<p>There was no claim of life or death that had
-the force to break the seal and let those nine words
-escape his lips.</p>
-<p>There was no conflict, no battle, no indecision
-in the Bishop’s mind as he sat there waiting for
-his name to be called. He loved the boy who sat
-there in the prisoner’s stand before him. He felt
-responsible for him and the situation in which he
-was. He cared nothing for the dead man or the
-dead man’s secret, as such. Yet he would go
-up there and defy the law of humanity and the
-law of men, because he was bound by the law that
-is beyond all other law; the law of the eternal salvation
-of men’s souls.</p>
-<p>But there was no reasoning, no weighing of
-the issue in his mind. His course was fixed by the
-eternal Institution of God. There was nothing
-to be determined, nothing to be argued. He was
-caught between the greater and the lesser law and
-he could only stand and be ground between the
-working of the two.</p>
-<p>If he had reasoned he would have said that Almighty
-God had ordained the salvation of men
-through the confession of sin. Therefore the salvation
-of men depended on the inviolability of the
-seal of the confessional. But he did not reason.
-He merely sat through his torture, waiting.</p>
-<p>When his name was called, he walked heavily
-forward and took his place standing beside the
-chair that was set for him.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></div>
-<p>At Dardis’ question, the Bishop began to speak
-freely and rapidly. He told of the coming of
-Jeffrey Whiting to him for advice. He repeated
-what he had said to the boy, and from that point
-went on to sketch the things that had been happening
-in the hills. He wanted to get clearly before
-the minds of the jurymen the fact that he
-had advised and directed Jeffrey Whiting in everything
-that the boy had done.</p>
-<p>The Judge was loath to show any open discourtesy
-to the Bishop. But he saw that he must
-stop him. His story could not but have a powerful
-effect upon even this jury. Looking past the
-Bishop and addressing Dardis, he said:</p>
-<p>“Is this testimony pertinent?”</p>
-<p>“It is, if Your Honor pardon me,” said
-the Bishop, turning quickly. “It goes to prove
-that Jeffrey Whiting could not have committed
-the crime charged, any more than I could have
-done so.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop did not stop to consider carefully
-the logic or the legal phraseology of his answer.
-He hurried on with his story to the jury. He
-related his message from Albany to Jeffrey Whiting.
-He told of his ride into the hills. He told
-of the capture of the two men in the night at
-French Village. They should be here now as
-witnesses. They had escaped. But he held in his
-hand a written confession, written and sealed by a
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span>
-justice of the peace, made by the two men. He
-would read this to the jury.</p>
-<p>He began reading rapidly. But before he had
-gotten much past the opening sentences, the Judge
-saw that this would not do. It was the story of
-the plan to set the fire, and it must not be read in
-court.</p>
-<p>He rapped sharply with his gavel, and when
-the Bishop stopped, he asked:</p>
-<p>“Is the murder of Samuel Rogers mentioned
-in that paper?”</p>
-<p>“No, Your Honor. But there are––”</p>
-<p>“It is irrelevant,” interrupted the Judge
-shortly. “It cannot go before the jury.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop was beaten; he knew he could do
-no more.</p>
-<p>Emmet Dardis was desperate. There was not
-the slightest hope for his client––unless––unless.
-He knew that Rafe Gadbeau had made confession
-to the Bishop. He had wanted to ask
-the Bishop this morning, if there was not some
-way. He had not dared. Now he dared. The
-Bishop stood waiting for his further questions.
-There might be some way or some help, thought
-Dardis; maybe some word had dropped which was
-not a part of the real confession. He said
-quickly:</p>
-<p>“You were with Rafe Gadbeau at his death?”</p>
-<p>“I was.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></div>
-<p>“What did he say to you?”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting leaned forward in his chair,
-his eyes eager and confident. His heart shouting
-that here was his deliverance. Here was the
-hour and the need! The Bishop would speak!</p>
-<p>The Bishop’s eyes fell upon the prisoner for
-an instant. Then he looked full into the eyes of
-his questioner and he answered:</p>
-<p>“Nothing.”</p>
-<p>“That will do. Thank you, Bishop,” said
-Dardis in a low, broken voice.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting fell back in his chair. The
-light of confidence died slowly, reluctantly out of
-his eyes. The Bishop had spoken. The Bishop
-had <i>lied</i>! He <i>knew</i>! And he had <i>lied</i>!</p>
-<p>As the Bishop walked slowly back to his seat,
-Ruth Lansing saw the terrible suffering of the
-spirit reflected in his face. If she were questioned
-about that night, she must do as he had done.</p>
-<p>Mother in Heaven, she prayed in agony, must
-I do that? <i>Can</i> I do that?</p>
-<p>Oh! She had never thought it would come to
-this. How <i>could</i> it happen like this! How could
-any one think that she would ever stand like this,
-alone in all the world, with the fate of her love
-in her hands, and not be able to speak the few
-little words that would save him to her and life!</p>
-<p>She <i>would</i> save him! She <i>would</i> speak the
-words! What did she care for that wicked man
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span>
-who had died yelling out that he was a murderer?
-Why should she keep a secret of his? One night
-in the early summer she had lain all through the
-night in the woods outside a cabin and wished
-for a way to kill that man. Why should she
-guard a secret that was no good to him or to any
-one now?</p>
-<p>Who was it that said she must not speak?
-The Catholic Church. Then she would be a Catholic
-no longer. She would renounce it this minute.
-She had never promised anything like this.
-But, on the instant, she knew that that would not
-free her. She knew that she could throw off the
-outward garment of the Church, but still she
-would not be free to speak the words. The
-Church itself could not free her from the seal of
-the secret. What use, then, to fly from the
-Church, to throw off the Church, when the bands
-of silence would still lie mighty and unbreakable
-across her lips.</p>
-<p>That awful night on the Gaunt Rocks flamed up
-before her, and what she saw held her.</p>
-<p>What she saw was not merely a church giving
-a sacrament. It was not the dramatic falling of
-a penitent at the feet of a priest. It was not a
-poor Frenchman of the hills screaming out his
-crime in the agony and fear of death.</p>
-<p>What she saw was a world, herself standing all
-alone in it. What she saw was the soul of the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span>
-world giving up its sin into the scale of God from
-which––Heart break or world burn!––that sin
-must never be disturbed.</p>
-<p>As she went slowly across the front of the room
-in answer to her name, a girl came out of one of
-the aisles and stood almost in her path. Ruth
-looked up and found herself staring dully into
-the fierce, piercing eyes of Cynthe Cardinal. She
-saw the look in those eyes which she had recognised
-for the first time that day at French Village––the
-terrible mother-hunger look of love,
-ready to die for its own. And though the girl
-said nothing, Ruth could hear the warning words:
-Remember! You love Jeffrey Whiting.</p>
-<p>How well that girl knew!</p>
-<p>Dardis had called Ruth only to contradict a
-point which he had not been able to correct in the
-testimony of Myron Stocking. But since he had
-dared to bring up the matter of Rafe Gadbeau to
-the Bishop, he had become more desperate, and
-bolder. Ruth might speak. And there was always
-a chance that the dying man had said something
-to her.</p>
-<p>“You were with Jeffrey Whiting on the afternoon
-when word was brought to him that suspicious
-men had been seen in the hills?” he
-asked.</p>
-<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
-<p>“Was the name of Rogers mentioned by either
-Stocking or Whiting?”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></div>
-<p>“No, sir.”</p>
-<p>Then he flashed the question upon her:</p>
-<p>“What did Rafe Gadbeau say when he was
-dying?”</p>
-<p>Ruth staggered, quivering in every nerve.
-The impact of the sudden, startling question leaping
-upon her over-wrought mind was nothing to
-what followed. For, in answer to the question,
-there came a scream, a terrified, agonised scream,
-mingled of fright and remorse and––relief. A
-scream out of the fire. A scream from death.
-<i>On my knee I dropped and shot him, shot Rogers
-as he stood.</i></p>
-<p>Again Jeffrey Whiting leaned forward smiling.
-Again the inner citadel of his hope stood
-strong about him. Ruth was there to speak the
-word that would free him! Her love would set
-him free! It was the time. Ruth <i>knew</i>. He
-would rather have it this way. He was almost
-glad that the Bishop had lied. Ruth <i>knew</i>.
-Ruth would speak.</p>
-<p>The words of that terrible scream went searing
-through Ruth’s brain and down into the very
-roots of her being. Oh! for the power to shout
-them out to the ends of the earth!</p>
-<p>But she looked levelly at Dardis and in a clear
-voice answered:</p>
-<p>“Nothing.”</p>
-<p>Then, at his word, she stumbled down out of
-the stand.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></div>
-<p>Again Jeffrey Whiting fell back into his seat.</p>
-<p><i>Ruth</i> had <i>lied</i>!</p>
-<p>The walls of his inner citadel had fallen in and
-crushed him.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span>
-<a name='VIII_SEIGNEUR_DIEU_WHITHER_GO_I' id='VIII_SEIGNEUR_DIEU_WHITHER_GO_I'></a>
-<h2>VIII</h2>
-<h3>SEIGNEUR DIEU, WHITHER GO I?</h3>
-</div>
-<p>The Bishop walked brokenly from the courthouse
-and turned up the street toward the little
-church. He had not been the same man since his
-experience of those two terrible nights in the
-hills. They had aged him and shaken him visibly.
-But those nights of suffering and superhuman effort
-had only attacked him physically. They had
-broken the spring of his step and had drawn
-heavily upon the vigour and the vital reserves
-which his years of simple living had left stored
-up in him. He had fought with fire. He had
-looked death in the face. He had roused his soul
-to master the passions of men. No man who has
-already reached almost the full allotted span of
-life may do these things without showing the outward
-effects of them. But these things had struck
-only at the clay of the body. They had not
-touched the quick spirit of the man within.</p>
-<p>The trial through which he had passed to-day
-had cut deep into the spiritual fibre of his being.
-If Joseph Winthrop had been given the alternative
-of speaking his secret or giving up his life, he
-would have offered the few years that might be
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span>
-his, without question or halting. For he was a
-man of simple, single mind. He never quibbled
-or thought of taking back any of the things which
-he had given to Christ. Thirty years ago he had
-made his compact with the Master, and he had
-never blinked the fact that every time a priest puts
-on a stole to receive the secret of another’s soul
-he puts his life in pledge for the sanctity of that
-secret. It was a simple business, unclouded by
-any perplexities or confusion.</p>
-<p>Never had he thought of the alternative which
-had this day been forced upon him. Years ago
-he had given his own life entire to Christ. The
-snapping of it here at this point or a few spaces
-farther on would be a matter of no more moment
-than the length of a thread. This world had
-nothing to give him, nothing to withhold from
-him. But to guard his secret at the cost of another
-life, and that a young, vigorous, battling
-life full of future and promise, full of youth and
-the glory of living, the life of a boy he loved––that
-was another matter. Never had he reckoned
-with a thing such as that. Life had always been
-so direct, so square-cut for Joseph Winthrop. To
-think right, to do right, to serve God; these things
-had always seemed very simple. But the thing
-that he had done to-day was breaking his heart.
-He could not have done otherwise. He had been
-given no choice, to be sure.</p>
-<p>But was it possible that God would have allowed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span>
-things to come to that issue, if somewhere,
-at some turn in that line of circumstances which
-had led up to this day, Joseph Winthrop had not
-done a wrong? It did not seem possible. Somewhere
-he had done wrong or he had done foolishly––and,
-where men go to direct the lives of
-others, to do unwisely is much the same as to do
-wickedly.</p>
-<p>What use to go over the things that he had
-done, the things that he had advised? What use
-to say, here he had done his best, there he thought
-only of the right and the wise thing. Somewhere
-he had spoken foolishly, or he had been headstrong
-in his interference, or he had acted without
-thought and prayer. What use to go over the
-record? He could only carry this matter to God
-and let Him see his heart.</p>
-<p>He stumbled in the half light of the darkened
-little church and sank heavily into the last pew.
-Out of the sorrow and anguish of his heart he
-cried out from afar to the Presence on the little
-altar, where he, Bishop of Alden, had often
-spoken with much authority.</p>
-<p>When Cynthe Cardinal saw Ruth Lansing go up
-into the witness stand she sank down quietly into
-a front seat and seemed fairly to devour the other
-girl with the steady gaze of her fierce black eyes.
-She hung upon every fleeting wave of the contending
-emotions that showed themselves on Ruth’s
-face. She was convinced that this girl knew that
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span>
-Rafe Gadbeau had confessed to the murder of
-Samuel Rogers and that Jeffrey Whiting was innocent.
-She had not thought that Ruth would be
-called as a witness, and Dardis, in fact, had only
-decided upon it at the last moment.</p>
-<p>Once Cynthe Cardinal had been very near to
-hating this girl, for she had seen Rafe Gadbeau
-leave herself at a dance, one afternoon a very long
-time ago, and spend the greater part of the afternoon
-talking gaily to Ruth Lansing. Now Rafe
-Gadbeau was gone. There was nothing left of
-him whom Cynthe Cardinal had loved but a memory.
-But that memory was as much to her as was
-the life of Jeffrey Whiting to this other girl. She
-was sorry for the other girl. Who would not be?
-What would that girl do? If the question was not
-asked directly, it was not likely that the girl would
-tell what she knew. She would not wish to tell.
-She would certainly try to avoid it. But if the
-question came to her of a sudden, without warning,
-without time for thought? What then?
-Would that girl be strong enough to deny, to deny
-and to keep on denying?</p>
-<p>Who could tell? The girl was a Catholic.
-But she was a convert. She did not know the
-terrible secret of the confessional as they knew it
-who had been born to the Faith.</p>
-<p>Cynthe herself had meant to keep away from
-this trial. She knew it was no place for her to
-carry the awful secret that she had hidden away
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span>
-in her heart. No matter how deeply she might
-have it hidden, the fear hung over her that men
-would probe for it. A word, a look, a hint might
-be enough to set some on the search for it and
-she had had a superstition that it was a secret of a
-nature that it could not be hidden forever. Some
-day some one would tear it from her heart. She
-knew that it was dangerous for her to be in Danton
-during these days when the hill people were
-talking of nothing but the killing of Rogers and
-hunting for any possible fact that might make
-Jeffrey Whiting’s story believable. But she had
-been drawn irresistibly to the trial and had sat all
-day yesterday and to-day listening feverishly,
-avidly to every word that was said, waiting to
-hear, and praying against hearing the name of
-the man she had loved. The idea of protecting
-his name and his memory from the blight of his
-deed had become more than a religion, more than
-a sacred trust to her. It filled not only her own
-thought and life but it seemed even to take up that
-great void in her world which Rafe Gadbeau had
-filled.</p>
-<p>When she had heard his name mentioned in that
-sudden questioning of the Bishop, she had almost
-jumped from her seat to cry out to him that he
-must know nothing. But that was foolish, she
-reflected. They might as well have asked the
-stones on the top of the Gaunt Rocks to tell Rafe
-Gadbeau’s secret as to ask it from the Bishop.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></div>
-<p>But this girl was different. You could not tell
-what she might do under the test. If she stood
-the test, if she kept the seal unbroken upon her
-lips, then would Cynthe be her willing slave for
-life. She would love that girl, she would fetch
-for her, work for her, die for her!</p>
-<p>When that point-blank question came leaping
-upon the tortured girl in the stand, Cynthe rose
-to her feet. She expected to hear the girl stammer
-and blurt out something that would give them
-a chance to ask her further questions. But when
-she saw the girl reel and quiver in pain, when she
-saw her gasp for breath and self-control, when she
-saw the hunted agony in her eyes, a great light
-broke in upon the heart of Cynthe Cardinal.
-Here was not a pale girl of the convent who could
-not know what love was! Here was a woman,
-a sister woman, who could suffer, who for the sake
-of one greater thing could trample her love under
-foot, and who could and did sum it all up in one
-steady word––“Nothing.”</p>
-<p>Cynthe Cardinal revolted. Her quickened
-heart could not look at the torture of the other
-girl. She wanted to run forward and throw herself
-at the feet of the other girl as she came staggering
-down from the stand and implore her pardon.
-She wanted to cry out to her that she must
-tell! That no man, alive or dead, was worth
-all this! For Cynthe Cardinal knew that truth
-bitterly. Instead, she turned and ran like a
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span>
-frightened, wild thing out of the room and up the
-street.</p>
-<p>She had seen the Bishop come direct from the
-little church to the court. And as she watched
-his face when he came down from the stand, she
-knew instinctively that he was going back there.
-Cynthe understood. Even M’sieur the Bishop
-who was so wise and strong, he was troubled. He
-thought much of the young Whiting. He would
-have business with God.</p>
-<p>She slipped noiselessly in at the door of the
-church and saw the Bishop kneeling there at the
-end of the pew, bowed and broken.</p>
-<p>He was first aware of her when he heard a
-frightened, hurrying whisper at his elbow. Some
-one was kneeling in the aisle beside him, saying:</p>
-<p><i>Mon Pere, je me ’cuse.</i></p>
-<p>The ritual would have told him to rise and go to
-the confessional. But here was a soul that was
-pouring its secret out to him in a torrential rush of
-words and sobs that would not wait for ritual.
-The Bishop listened without raising his head. He
-had neither the will nor the power to break in upon
-that cruel story that had been torturing its keeper
-night and day. He knew that it was true, knew
-what the end of it would be. But still he must be
-careful to give no word that would show that he
-knew what was coming. The French of the hills
-and of Beaupre was a little too rapid for him but
-it was easy to follow the thread of the story.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span>
-When she had finished and was weeping quietly,
-the Bishop prompted gently.</p>
-<p>“And now? my daughter.”</p>
-<p>“And now, <i>Mon Pere</i>, must I tell? I would
-not tell. I loved Rafe Gadbeau. As long as I
-shall live I shall love him. For his good name
-I would die. But I cannot see the suffering of
-that girl, Ruth. <i>Mon Pere</i>, it is too much! I
-cannot stand it. Yet I cannot go there before
-men and call my love a murderer. Consider,
-<i>Mon Pere</i>. There is another way. I, too, am
-guilty. I wished for the death of that man. I
-would have killed him myself, for he had made
-Rafe Gadbeau do many things that he would not
-have done. He made my love a murderer. I
-went to keep Rafe Gadbeau from the setting of
-the fire. But I would have killed that man myself
-with the gun if I could. So I hated him.
-When I saw him fall, I clapped my hands in glee.
-See, <i>Mon Pere</i>, I am guilty. And I called joyfully
-to my love to run with me and save himself,
-for he was now free from that man forever. But
-he ran in the path of the fire because he feared
-those other men.</p>
-<p>“But see, <i>Mon Pere</i>, I am guilty. I will go
-and tell the court that I am the guilty one. I will
-say that my hand shot that man. See, I will tell
-the story. I have told it many times to myself.
-Such a straight story I shall tell. And they will
-believe. I will make them believe. And they
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span>
-will not hurt a girl much,” she said, dropping back
-upon her native shrewdness to strengthen her plea.
-“The railroad does not care who killed Rogers.
-They want only to punish the young Whiting.
-And the court will believe, as I shall tell it.”</p>
-<p>“But, my daughter,” said the Bishop, temporising.
-“It would not be true. We must not lie.”</p>
-<p>“But M’sieur the Bishop, himself,” the girl
-argued swiftly, evidently separating the priest in
-the confessional from the great bishop in his public
-walk, “he himself, on the stand––”</p>
-<p>The girl stopped abruptly.</p>
-<p>The Bishop held the silence of the grave.</p>
-<p>“<i>Mon Pere</i> will make me tell, then––the
-truth,” she began. “<i>Mon Pere</i>, I cannot!
-I––!”</p>
-<p>“Let us consider,” the Bishop broke in deliberately.
-“Suppose he had told this thing to you
-when he was dying. You would have said to him:
-Your soul may not rest if you leave another to
-suffer for your deed. Would he not have told
-you to tell and clear the other man?”</p>
-<p>“To escape Hell,” said the girl quickly, “yes.
-He would have said: Tell everything; tell anything!”
-In the desolate forlornness of her grief
-she had not left to her even an illusion. Just as
-he was, she had known the man, good and bad,
-brave and cowardly––and had loved him.
-Would always love him.</p>
-<p>“We will not speak of Hell,” said the Bishop
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span>
-gently. “In that hour he would have seen the
-right. He would have told you to tell.”</p>
-<p>“But he confessed to M’sieur the Bishop himself,”
-she retorted quickly, still seeming to forget
-that she was talking to the prelate in person, but
-springing the trap of her quick wit and sound
-Moral Theology back upon him with a vengeance,
-“and he gave <i>him</i> no leave to speak.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop in a panic hurried past the dangerous
-ground.</p>
-<p>“If he had left a debt, would you pay it for him,
-my daughter?”</p>
-<p>“<i>Mon Pere</i>, with the bones of my hands!”</p>
-<p>“Consider, then, he is not now the man that
-you knew. The man who was blind and walked
-in dark places. He is now a soul in a world where
-a great light shines about him. He knows now
-that which he did not know here––Truth.
-He sees the things which here he did not see. He
-stands alone in the great open space of the Beyond.
-He looks up to God and cries: <i>Seigneur
-Dieu</i>, whither go I?</p>
-<p>“And God replying, asks him why does he hesitate,
-standing in the open place. Would he come
-back to the world?</p>
-<p>“And he answers: ‘No, my God; but I have
-left a debt behind and another man’s life stands
-in pledge for my debt; I cannot go forward with
-that debt unpaid.’</p>
-<p>“Then God: ‘And is there none to cancel the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span>
-debt? Is there not one in all that world who
-loved you? Were you, then, so wicked that none
-loved you who will pay the debt?’</p>
-<p>“And he will answer with a lifted heart: ‘My
-God, yes; there was one, a girl; in spite of me, she
-loved me; she will make the debt right; only because
-she loved me may I be saved; she will speak
-and the debt will be right; my God, let me go.’”</p>
-<p>The Bishop’s French was sometimes wonderfully
-and fearfully put together. But the girl
-saw the pictures. The imagery was familiar to
-her race and faith. She was weeping softly, with
-almost a little break of joy among the tears. For
-she saw the man, whom she had loved in spite of
-what he was, lifted now out of the weaknesses and
-sins of life. And her love leaped up quickly to
-the ideal and the illusions that every woman craves
-for and clings to.</p>
-<p>“This,” the Bishop was going on quietly, “is
-the new man we are to consider; the one who
-stands in the light and sees Truth. We must not
-hear the little mouthings of the world. Does he
-care for the opinions or the words that are said
-here? See, he stands in the great open space,
-all alone, and dares to look up to the Great God
-and tell Him all. Will you be afraid to stand in
-the court and tell these people, who do not matter
-at all?</p>
-<p>“Remember, it is not for Jeffrey Whiting. It
-is not for the sake of Ruth Lansing. It is because
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span>
-the man you loved calls back to you, from
-where he has gone, to do the thing which the wisdom
-he has now learned tells him must be done.
-He has learned the lesson of eternal Truth. He
-would have you tell.”</p>
-<p>“<i>Mon Pere</i>, I will tell the tale,” said the girl
-simply as she rose from her knees. “I will go
-quickly, while I have yet the courage.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop went with her to one of the counsel
-rooms in the courthouse and sent for Dardis.</p>
-<p>“This girl,” he told the lawyer, “has a story
-to tell. I think you would do wisely to put her
-on the stand and let her tell it in her own way.
-She will make no mistakes. They will not be able
-to break her down.”</p>
-<p>Then the Bishop went back to take up again his
-business with God.</p>
-<p>As a last, and almost hopeless, resort, Jeffrey
-Whiting had been put upon the stand in his own
-defence. There was nothing he could tell which
-the jurors had not already heard in one form or
-another. Everybody had heard what he had said
-that morning on Bald Mountain. He had not
-been believed even then, by men who had never
-had a reason to doubt his simple word. There
-was little likelihood that he would be believed here
-now by these jurors, whose minds were already
-fixed by the facts and the half truths which they
-had been hearing. But there was some hope that
-his youth and the manly sincerity with which he
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span>
-clung to his simple story might have some effect.
-It might be that a single man on that jury would
-be so struck with his single sturdy tale that he
-would refuse to disbelieve it altogether. You
-could never tell what might strike a man on a jury.
-So Dardis argued.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting did not care. If his counsel
-wished him to tell his story he would do so. It
-would not matter. His own friends did not believe
-his story. Nobody believed it. Two people
-<i>knew</i> that it was true. And those two people
-had stood up there upon the stand and sworn that
-they did not know. One of them was a good man,
-a man of God, a man he would have trusted with
-every dear thing that life held. That man had
-stood up there and lied. The other was a girl
-whom he loved, and who, he was sure, loved him.</p>
-<p>It had not been easy for Ruth to tell that lie––or
-maybe she did not consider it a lie: he had seen
-her suffer terribly in the telling of it. He was
-beginning to feel that he did not care much what
-was the outcome of the trial. Life was a good
-thing, it was true. And death, or a life of death,
-as a murderer, was worse than twenty common
-deaths. But that had all dropped into the background.
-Only one big thing stood before him.
-It laid hold upon him and shook him and took
-from him his interest in every other fact in the
-world.</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing, he thought he could say, had
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span>
-never before in her life told a lie. Why should
-she have ever told a lie. She had never had reason
-to fear any one; and they only lie who fear.
-He would have said that the fear of death could
-not have made Ruth Lansing lie. Yet she had
-stood up there and lied.</p>
-<p>For what? For a church. For a religion to
-which she had foolishly given herself. For that
-she had given up him. For that she had given up
-her conscience. For that she had given up her
-own truth!</p>
-<p>It was unbelievable. But he had sat here and
-listened to it.</p>
-<p>He had heard her lie simply and calmly in answer
-to a question which meant life or death to
-him. She had known that. She could not have
-escaped knowing it if she had tried. There was
-no way in which she could have fooled herself or
-been persuaded into believing that she was not
-lying or that she was not taking from him his last
-hope of life.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting did not try to grapple or reason
-with the fact. What was the use? It was the
-end of all things. He merely sat and gazed
-dumbly at the monstrous thing that filled his whole
-mental vision.</p>
-<p>He went forward to the witness chair and stood
-woodenly until some one told him to be seated.
-He answered the questions put him automatically,
-without looking either at the questioner or at the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span>
-jury who held his fate in their hands. Men who
-had been watching the alert, keen-faced boy all day
-yesterday and through to-day wondered what had
-happened to him. Was he breaking down?
-Would he confess? Or had he merely ceased
-hoping and turned sullen and dumb?</p>
-<p>Without any trace of emotion or interest, he
-told how he had raced forward, charging upon the
-man who was setting the fire. He looked vacantly
-at the Judge while the latter ordered that part of
-his words stricken out which told what the man
-was doing. He showed no resentment, no feeling
-of any kind. He related how the man had run
-away from him, trailing the torch through the
-brush, and again he did not seem to notice the
-Judge’s anger in cautioning him not to mention
-the fire again.</p>
-<p>At his counsel’s direction, he went through a
-lifeless pantomime of falling upon one knee and
-pointing his rifle at the fleeing man. Now the
-man turned and faced him. Then he heard the
-shot which killed Rogers come from the woods.
-He dropped his own rifle and went forward to
-look at the dying man. He picked up the torch
-and threw it away.</p>
-<p>Then he turned to fight the fire. (This time
-the Judge did not rule out the word.) Then his
-rifle had exploded in his hands, the bullet going
-just past his ear. The charge had scorched his
-neck. It was a simple story. The thing <i>might</i>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span>
-have happened. It was entirely credible. There
-were no contradictions in it. But the manner of
-Jeffrey Whiting, telling it, gave no feeling of
-reality. It was not the manner of a man telling
-one of the most stirring things of his life. He
-was not telling what he saw and remembered and
-felt and was now living through. Rather, he
-seemed to be going over a wearying, many-times-told
-tale that he had rehearsed to tedium. A
-sleeping man might have told it so. The jury
-was left entirely unconvinced, though puzzled by
-the manner of the recital.</p>
-<p>Even Lemuel Squires’ harping cross questions
-did not rouse Jeffrey to any attention to the story
-that he had told. At each question he went back
-to the point indicated and repeated his recital dully
-and evenly without any thought of what the District
-Attorney was trying to make him say. He
-was not thinking of the District Attorney nor of
-the story. He was still gazing mentally in stupid
-wonder at the horrible fact that Ruth Lansing had
-lied his life away at the word of her church.</p>
-<p>When he had gotten back to the little railed enclosure
-where he was again the prisoner, he sat
-down heavily to wait for the end of this wholly
-irrelevant business of the trial. Another witness
-was called. He did not know that there was another.
-He had expected that Squires would begin
-his speech at once.</p>
-<p>He noticed that this witness was a girl from
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span>
-French Village whom he had seen several times.
-Now he remembered that she was Rafe Gadbeau’s
-girl. What did they bring her here for? She
-could not know anything, and why did they want
-to pester the poor thing? Didn’t the poor little
-thing look sorry and troubled enough without
-fetching her down here to bring it all up to her?
-He roused himself to look reassuringly at the girl,
-as though to tell her not to mind, that it did not
-matter anyway, that he knew she could not help
-him, and that she must not let them hurt her.</p>
-<p>Dardis, to forestall objections and to ensure
-Cynthe against interruptions from the prosecutor
-or the Judge, had told her to say nothing about
-fire but to speak directly about the killing of Rogers
-and nothing else. So when, after she had been
-sworn, he told her to relate the things that led up
-to the killing, she began at the very beginning:</p>
-<p>“Four years ago,” she said, “Rafe Gadbeau
-was in Utica. A man was killed in a crowd.
-His knife had been used to kill the man. Rafe
-Gadbeau did not do that. Often he has sworn
-to me that he did not know who had done it. But
-a detective, a man named Rogers, found the knife
-and traced it to Rafe Gadbeau. He did not arrest
-him. No, he kept the knife, saying that some day
-he would call upon Rafe Gadbeau for the price
-of his silence.</p>
-<p>“Last summer this man Rogers came into the
-woods looking for some one to help get the people
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span>
-to sell their land. He saw Rafe Gadbeau. He
-showed him the knife. He told him that whatever
-he laid upon him to do, that he must do. He
-made him lie to the people. He made him attack
-the young Whiting. He made him do many
-things that he would not do, for Rafe Gadbeau
-was not a bad man, only foolish sometimes. And
-Rafe Gadbeau was sore under the yoke of fear
-that this man had put upon him.</p>
-<p>“At times he said to me, ‘Cynthe, I will kill
-this man one day, and that will be the end of all.’
-But I said, ‘<i>Non, non, mon Rafe</i>, we will marry in
-the fall, and go away to far Beaupre where he will
-never see you again, and we will not know that he
-ever lived.’”</p>
-<p>Cynthe had forgotten her audience. She was
-telling over to herself the tragedy of her little life
-and her great love. Genius could not have told
-her how better to tell it for the purpose for which
-her story was here needed. Dardis thanked his
-stars that he had taken the Bishop’s advice, to let
-her get through with it in her own way.</p>
-<p>“But it was not time for us to marry yet,” she
-went on. “Then came the morning of the nineteenth
-August. I was sitting on the back steps
-of my aunt’s house by the Little Tupper, putting
-apples on a string to hang up in the hot sun to
-dry.” The Judge turned impatiently on his bench
-and shrugged his shoulders. The girl saw and
-her eyes blazed angrily at him. Who was he to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span>
-shrug his shoulders! Was it not important, this
-story of her love and her tragedy! Thereafter
-the Judge gave her the most rigid attention.</p>
-<p>“Rafe Gadbeau came and sat down on the steps
-at my feet. I saw that he was troubled. ‘What
-is it, <i>mon Rafe</i>?’ I asked. He groaned and said
-one bad word. Then he told me that he had just
-had a message from Rogers to meet him at the
-head of the rail with three men and six horses.
-‘What to do, <i>mon Rafe</i>?’ ‘I do not know,’ he
-said, ‘though I can guess. But I will not tell you,
-Cynthe.’</p>
-<p>“‘You will not go, <i>mon Rafe</i>. Promise me
-you will not go. Hide away, and we will slip
-down to the Falls of St. Regis and be married––me,
-I do not care for the grand wedding in the
-church here––and then we will get away to
-Beaupre. Promise me.’</p>
-<p>“‘<i>Bien</i>, Cynthe, I promise. I will not go to
-him.’</p>
-<p>“But it was a man’s promise. I knew he would
-go in the end.</p>
-<p>“I watched and followed. I did not know
-what I could do. But I followed, hoping that
-somewhere I could get Rafe before they had done
-what they intended and we could run away together
-with clean hands.</p>
-<p>“When I saw that they had gone toward the
-railroad I turned aside and climbed up to the Bald
-Mountain. I knew they would all come back
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span>
-there together. I waited until it was dark and
-they came. They would do nothing in the night.
-I waited for the morning. Then I would find
-Rafe and bring him away. I was desperate. I
-was a wild girl that night. If I could have found
-that Rogers and come near him I would have killed
-him myself. I hated him, for he had made me
-much suffering.</p>
-<p>“In the morning I was in the woods near them.
-I saw Rafe. But that Rogers kept him always
-near him.</p>
-<p>“I saw Rogers go out of the wood a little to
-look. Rafe was a little way from him and coming
-slowly toward me. I called to him. He did
-not hear. I saw the look in his face. It was the
-look of one who has made up his mind to kill.
-Again I called to him. But he did not hear.</p>
-<p>“I saw Rogers go running along the edge of the
-wood. Now he came running back toward Rafe.
-He stopped and turned.</p>
-<p>“The young Whiting was on his knee with the
-rifle raised to shoot. I looked to Rafe. The
-sound of his gun struck me as I turned my face.
-The bullet struck Rogers in the back of the head.
-I saw. The young Whiting had not fired at all.</p>
-<p>“I turned and ran, calling to Rafe to follow me.
-‘Come with me, <i>mon Rafe</i>,’ I called. ‘I, too, am
-guilty. I would have killed him in the night.
-Come with me. We will escape. The fire will
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span>
-cover all. None will ever know but you and me,
-and I am guilty as you. Come.’</p>
-<p>“But he did not hear. And I wished him to
-hear. Oh! I wished him at least to hear me say
-that I took the share of the guilt, for I did not
-wish to be separated from him in this world or the
-next.</p>
-<p>“But he ran back always into the path of the
-fire, for those other men, the old M’sieur Beasley
-and the others, were closing behind him and the
-fire.”</p>
-<p>She was speaking freely of the fire now, but
-it did not matter. Her story was told. The big,
-hot tears were flowing freely and her voice rose
-into a cry of farewell as she told the end.</p>
-<p>“Then he was down and I saw the fire roll over
-him. Oh, the great God, who is good, was cruel
-that day! Again, at the last, I saw him up and
-running on again. Then the fire shut him out
-from my sight, and God took him away.</p>
-<p>“That is all. I ran for the Little Tupper and
-was safe.”</p>
-<p>Dardis did not try to draw another word from
-her on any part of the story. He was artist
-enough to know that the story was complete in its
-naïve and tragic simplicity. And he was judge
-enough of human nature to understand that the
-jury would remember better and hold more easily
-her own unthought, clipped expressions than they
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span>
-would any more connected elaborations he might
-try to make her give.</p>
-<p>Lemuel Squires was a narrow man, a born prosecutor.
-He had always been a useful officer to the
-railroad powers because he was convinced of the
-guilt of any prisoner whom it was his business to
-bring into court. He regarded a verdict of acquittal
-as hardly less than a personal insult. He
-denied that there were ever two sides to any case.
-But his very narrowness now confounded him
-here. This girl’s story was true. It was astounding,
-impossible, subversive of all things. But it
-was true.</p>
-<p>His mind, one-sided as it was always, had room
-for only the one thing. The story was true. He
-asked her a few unimportant questions, leading
-nowhere, and let her go. Then he began his summing
-up to the jury.</p>
-<p>It was a half-hearted, wholly futile plea to them
-to remember the facts by which the prisoner had
-already been convicted and to put aside the girl’s
-dramatic story. He was still convinced that the
-prisoner was guilty. But––the girl’s story was
-true. His mind was not nimble enough to escape
-the shock of that fact. He was helpless under it.
-His pleading was spiritless and wandering while
-his mind stood aside to grapple with that one
-astounding thing.</p>
-<p>The Judge, however, in charging the jury was
-troubled by none of these hampering limitations
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span>
-of mind. He had always regarded the taking and
-discussion of evidence as a rather wearisome and
-windy business. All democracy was full of such
-wasteful and time-killing ways of coming to a conclusion.
-The boy was guilty. The powers who
-controlled the county had said he was guilty.
-Why spoil good time, then, quibbling.</p>
-<p>He charged the jury that the girl’s testimony
-was no more credible than that of a dozen other
-witnesses––which was quite true. All had told
-the truth as they understood it, and saw it. But
-he glided smoothly over the one important difference.
-The girl had seen the act. No other, not
-even the accused himself, had been able to say that.</p>
-<p>He delivered an extemporaneous and daringly
-false lecture on the comparative force of evidence,
-intended only to befog the minds of the jurors.
-But the effect of it was exactly the opposite to that
-which he had intended, for, whereas they had up
-to now held a fairly clear view of the things that
-had been proven by the adroit handling of his facts
-by the District Attorney, they now forgot all that
-structure of guilt which he so laboriously built up
-and remembered only one thing clearly. And
-that thing was the story of Cynthe Cardinal.</p>
-<p>Without leaving their seats, they intimated that
-they had come to an agreement.</p>
-<p>The Judge, glowering dubiously at them, demanded
-to know what it was.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting stood up.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div>
-<p>The foreman rose and faced the Judge stubbornly,
-saying:</p>
-<p>“Not guilty.”</p>
-<p>The Judge polled the jury, glaring fiercely at
-each man as his name was called, but one after
-another the men arose and answered gruffly for
-acquittal. The hill people rushed from the courthouse,
-running for their horses and shouting the
-verdict as they ran. Then sleepy little Danton
-awoke from its September drowse and was aware
-that something real had happened. The elaborate
-machinery of prosecution, the whole political
-power of the county, the mighty grip and pressure
-of the railroad power had all been set at nothing
-by the tragic little love story of an ignorant French
-girl from the hills.</p>
-<p>Dardis led Jeffrey Whiting down from the place
-where he had been a prisoner and brought him to
-his mother.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey turned a long searching gaze down into
-his mother’s eyes as he stooped to kiss her. What
-he saw filled him with a bitterness that all the
-years of his life would not efface. What he saw
-was not the sprightly, cheery, capable woman who
-had been his mother, but a grey, trembling old
-woman, broken in body and heart, who clung to
-him fainting and crying weakly. What men had
-done to him, he could shake off. They had not
-hurt him. He could still defy them. But what
-they had done to his little mother, that would
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span>
-rankle and turn in his heart forever. He would
-never forgive them for the things they had done
-to her in these four weeks and in these two days.</p>
-<p>And here at his elbow stood the one person who
-had to-day done more to hurt his mother and himself
-than any other in the world could have done.
-She could have told his mother weeks ago, and
-have saved her all that racking sorrow and anxiety.
-But no, for the sake of that religion of hers, for
-the sake of what some priest told her, she had
-stuck to what had turned out to be a useless lie,
-to save a dead man’s name.</p>
-<p>Ruth stood there reaching out her hands to him.
-But he turned upon her with a look of savage,
-fleering contempt; a look that stunned the girl as
-a blow in the face would have done. Then in a
-strange, hard voice he said brutally:</p>
-<p>“You lied!”</p>
-<p>Ruth dropped her eyes pitifully under the shock
-of his look and words. Even now she could not
-speak, could not appeal to his reason, could not
-tell him that she had heard nothing but what had
-come under the awful seal of the confessional.
-The secret was out. She had risked his life and
-lost his love to guard that secret, and now the
-world knew it. All the world could talk freely
-about what she had done except only herself.
-Even if she could have reached up and drawn his
-head down to her lips, even then she could not so
-much as whisper into his ear that he was right, or
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span>
-try to tell him why she had not been able to
-speak. She saw the secret standing forever between
-their two lives, unacknowledged, embittering
-both those lives, yet impassable as the line of
-death.</p>
-<p>When she looked up, he was gone out to his
-freedom in the sunlight.</p>
-<p>The hill people were jammed about the door
-and in the street as he came out. Twenty hands
-reached forward to grasp him, to draw him into
-the midst of their crowd, to mount him upon his
-own horse which they had caught wandering in
-the high hills and had brought down for him.
-They were happy, triumphant and loud, for them––the
-hill people were not much given to noise or
-demonstration. But under their triumph and their
-noise there was a current of haste and anxious eagerness
-which he was quick to notice.</p>
-<p>During the weeks in jail, when his own fate had
-absorbed most of his waking moments, he had let
-slip from him the thought of the battle that yet
-must be waged in the hills. Now, among his people
-again, and once more their unquestioned
-leader, his mind went back with a click into the
-grooves in which it had been working so long.
-He pushed his horse forward and led the men at
-a gallop over the Racquette bridge and out toward
-the hills, the families who had come down from
-the nearer hills in wagons stringing along behind.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></div>
-<p>When they were well clear of the town, he
-halted and demanded the full news of the last four
-weeks.</p>
-<p>It must not be forgotten that while this account
-of these happenings has been obliged to turn aside
-here and there, following the vicissitudes and doings
-of individuals, the railroad powers had never
-for a moment turned a step aside from the single,
-unemotional course upon which they had set out.
-Orders had gone out that the railroad must get
-title to the strip of hill country forty miles wide
-lying along the right of way. These orders must
-be executed. The titles must be gotten. Failures
-or successes here or there were of no account.
-The incidents made use of or the methods employed
-were of importance only as they contributed
-to the general result.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting had blocked the plans once.
-That was nothing. There were other plans.
-The Shepherd of the North before the Senate
-committee had blocked another set of plans.
-That was merely an obstacle to be gone around.
-The railroad people had gone around it by procuring
-the burning of the country. The people, left
-homeless for the most part and well-nigh ruined,
-would be glad now to take anything they could
-get for their lands. There had been no vindictiveness,
-no animus on the part of the railroad.
-Its programme had been as impersonal and detached
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span>
-as the details in any business transaction.
-Certain aims were to be accomplished. The
-means were purely incidental.</p>
-<p>Rogers, whom the railroad had first used as an
-agent and afterwards as an instrument, was now
-gone––a broken tool. Rafe Gadbeau, who had
-been Rogers’ assistant, was gone––another broken
-tool. The fire had been used for its purpose.
-The fire was a thing of the past. Jeffrey Whiting
-had been put out of the way––definitely, the railroad
-had hoped. He was now free again to make
-difficulties. All these things were but changes
-and moves and temporary checks in the carrying
-through of the business. In the end the railroad
-must attain its end.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting saw all these things as he sat
-his horse on the old Piercefield road and listened
-to what had been happening in the hills during the
-four weeks of his removal from the scene.</p>
-<p>The fire, because it had seemed the end of all
-things to the people of the hills, had put out of
-their minds all thought of what the railroad would
-do next. Now they were realising that the railroad
-had moved right on about its purpose in the
-wake of the fire. It had learned instantly of Rogers’
-death and had instantly set to work to use that
-as a means of removing Jeffrey Whiting from its
-path. But that was only a side line of activity.
-It had gone right on with its main business.
-Other men had been sent at once into the hills with
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span>
-what seemed like liberal offers for six-month
-options on all the lands which the railroad
-coveted.</p>
-<p>They had gotten hold of discouraged families
-who had not yet begun to rebuild. The offer of
-any little money was welcome to these. The
-whole people were disorganised and demoralised
-as a result of the scattering which the fire had
-forced upon them. They were not sure that it
-was worth while to rebuild in the hills. The fire
-had burned through the thin soil in many places
-so that the land would be useless for farming for
-many years to come. They had no leader, and
-the fact that Jeffrey Whiting was in jail charged
-with murder, and, as they heard, likely to be convicted,
-forced upon them the feeling that the railroad
-would win in the end. Where was the use
-to struggle against an enemy they could not see
-and who could not be hurt by anything they might
-do?</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting saw that the fight which had
-gone before, to keep the people in line and prevent
-them from signing enough options to suit the railroad’s
-purpose, had been easy in comparison with
-the one that was now before him. The people
-were disheartened. They had begun to fear the
-mysterious, unassailable power of the railroad. It
-was an enemy of a kind to which their lives and
-training had not accustomed them. It struck in
-the dark, and no man’s hand could be raised to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span>
-punish. It hid itself behind an illusive veil of law
-and a bulwark of officials.</p>
-<p>The people were for the large part still homeless.
-Many were still down in the villages, living
-upon neighbourhood kindness and the scant help
-of public charity. Only the comparative few who
-could obtain ready credit had been able even to
-begin rebuilding. If they were not roused to
-prodigious efforts at once, the winter would be
-upon them before the hills were resettled. And
-with the coming of the pinch of winter men would
-be ready to sell anything upon which they had a
-claim, for the mere privilege of living.</p>
-<p>When they came up into the burnt country, the
-bitterness which had been boiling up in his heart
-through those weeks and which he had thought
-had risen to its full height during the scenes of to-day
-now ran over completely. His heart raved
-in an agony of impotent anger and a thirst for revenge.
-His life had been in danger. Gladly
-would he now put it ten times in danger for the
-power to strike one free, crushing blow at this insolent
-enemy. He would grapple with it, die with
-it only for the power to bring it to the ground
-with himself!</p>
-<p>The others had become accustomed to the look
-of the country, but the full desolation of it broke
-upon his eyes now for the first time. The hills
-that should have glowed in their wonderful russets
-from the red sun going down in the west,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span>
-were nothing but streaked ash heaps, where the
-rain had run down in gullies. The valleys between,
-where the autumn greens should have run
-deep and fresh, where snug homes should have
-stood, where happy people should now be living,
-were nothing but blackened hollows of destitution.
-From Bald Mountain, away up on the east, to far,
-low-lying Old Forge to the south, nothing but a
-circle of ashes. Ashes and bitterness in the
-mouth; dirt and ashes in the eye; misery and the
-food of hate in the heart!</p>
-<p>Very late in the night they came to French Village.
-The people here were still practically living
-in the barrack which the Bishop had seen built,
-the women and children sleeping in it, the men
-finding what shelter they could in the new houses
-that were going up. There were enough of these
-latter to show that French Village would live
-again, for the notes which the Bishop had endorsed
-had carried credit and good faith to men
-who were judges of paper on which men’s names
-were written and they had brought back supplies
-of all that was strictly needful.</p>
-<p>Here was food and water for man and beast.
-Men roused themselves from sleep to cheer the
-young Whiting and to hobble the horses out and
-feed them. And shrill, voluminous women came
-forth to get food for the men and to wave hands
-and skillets wildly over the story of Cynthe
-Cardinal.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></div>
-<p>The mention of the girl’s name brought things
-back to Jeffrey Whiting. Till now he had hardly
-given a thought to the girl who, by a terrible sacrifice
-of the man she loved, had saved him. He
-owed that girl a great deal. And the thought
-brought to his mind another girl. He struck himself
-viciously across the eyes as though he would
-crush the memory, and went out to tramp among
-the ashes till the dawn. His body had no need of
-rest, for the exercise he had taken to-day had
-merely served to throw off the lethargy of the jail;
-and sleep was beyond him.</p>
-<p>At the first light he roused the hill men and told
-them what the night had told him. Unless they
-struck one desperate, destroying blow at the railroad,
-it would come up mile by mile and farm by
-farm and take from them the little that was left
-to them. They had been fools that they had not
-struck in the beginning when they had first found
-that they were being played falsely. If they had
-begun to fight in the early summer their homes
-would not have been burned and they would not
-be now facing the cold and hunger of an unsheltered,
-unprovided winter.</p>
-<p>Why had they not struck? Because they were
-afraid? No. They had not struck because their
-fathers had taught them a fear and respect of the
-law. They had depended upon law. And here
-was law for them: the hills in ashes, their families
-scattered and going hungry!</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span></div>
-<p>If no man would go with him, he would ride
-alone down to the end of the rails and sell his life
-singly to drive back the work as far as he could,
-to rouse the hill people to fight for themselves and
-their own.</p>
-<p>If ten men would come with him they could
-drive back the workmen for days, days in which
-the hill people would come rallying back into the
-hills to them. The people were giving up in
-despair because nothing was being done. Show
-them that even ten men were ready to fight for
-them and their rights and they would come
-trooping back, eager to fight and to hold their
-homes. There was yet wealth in the hills. If
-the railroad was willing to fight and to defy law
-and right to get it, were there not men in the
-hills who would fight for it because it was their
-own?</p>
-<p>If fifty men would come with him they could
-destroy the railroad clear down below the line of
-the hills and put the work back for months.
-They would have sheriffs’ posses out against them.
-They would have to fight with hired fighters that
-the railroad would bring up against them. In the
-end they would perhaps have to fight the State
-militia, but there were men among them, he
-shouted, who had fought more than militia.
-Would they not dare face it now for their homes
-and their people!</p>
-<p>Some men would die. But some men always
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span>
-died, in every cause. And in the end the people
-of the whole State would judge the cause!</p>
-<p>Would one man come? Would ten? Would
-fifty?</p>
-<p>Seventy-two grim, sullen men looked over the
-knobs and valleys of ashes where their homes had
-been, took what food the French people could
-spare them, and mounted silently behind him.</p>
-<p>Up over the ashes of Leyden road, past the cellars
-of the homes of many of them, for half the
-day they rode, saving every strain they could upon
-their horses. A three-hour rest. Then over the
-southern divide and down the slope they thundered
-to strike the railroad at Leavit’s bridge.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span>
-<a name='IX_THE_COMING_OF_THE_SHEPHERD' id='IX_THE_COMING_OF_THE_SHEPHERD'></a>
-<h2>IX</h2>
-<h3>THE COMING OF THE SHEPHERD</h3>
-</div>
-<p>The wires coming down from the north were
-flashing the railroad’s call for help. A band of
-madmen had struck the end of the line at Leavit’s
-Creek and had destroyed the half-finished bridge.
-They had raced down the line, driving the frightened
-labourers before them, tearing up the ties and
-making huge fires of them on which they threw
-the new rails, heating and twisting these beyond
-any hope of future usefulness.</p>
-<p>Labourers, foremen and engineers of construction
-had fled literally for their lives. The men
-of the hills had no quarrel with them. They preferred
-not to injure them. But they were infuriated
-men with their wrongs fresh in mind and
-with deadly hunting rifles in hand. The workmen
-on the line needed no second warning. They
-would take no chances with an enemy of this kind.
-They were used to violence and rioting in their own
-labour troubles, but this was different. This was
-war. They threw themselves headlong upon
-handcars and work engines and bolted down the
-line, carrying panic before them.</p>
-<p>In a single night the hill men with Jeffrey Whiting
-at their head had ridden down and destroyed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span>
-nearly twenty miles of very costly construction
-work. There were yet thirty miles of the line left
-in the hills and if the men were not stopped they
-would not leave a single rail in all the hill country
-where they were masters.</p>
-<p>The call of the railroad was at first frantic with
-panic and fright. That was while little men who
-had lost their wits were nominally in charge of a
-situation in which nobody knew what to do.
-Then suddenly the tone of the railroad’s call
-changed. Big men, used to meeting all sorts of
-things quickly and efficiently, had taken hold.
-They had the telegraph lines of the State in their
-hands. There was no more frightened appeal.
-Orders were snapped over the wires to sheriffs in
-Adirondack and Tupper and Alexander counties.
-They were told to swear in as many deputies as
-they could lead. They were to forget the consideration
-of expense. The railroad would pay and
-feed the men. They were to think of nothing but
-to get the greatest possible number of fighting men
-upon the line at once.</p>
-<p>Then a single great man, a man who sat in a
-great office building in New York and held his
-hand upon every activity in the State, saw the gravity
-of the business in the hills and put himself to
-work upon it. He took no half measures. He
-had no faith in little local authorities, who would
-be bound to sympathise somewhat with the hill
-people in this battle.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></div>
-<p>He called the Governor of the State from Albany
-to his office. He ordered the Governor to
-turn out the State’s armed forces and set them in
-motion toward the hills. He wondered autocratically
-that the Governor had not had the sense
-to do this of himself. The Governor bridled and
-hesitated. The Governor had been living on the
-fiction that he was the executive head of the State.
-It took Clifford W. Stanton just three minutes to
-disabuse him completely and forever of this illusion.
-He explained to him just why he was Governor
-and by whose permission. Also he pointed
-out that the permission of the great railroad system
-that covered the State would again be necessary
-in order that Governor Foster might succeed
-himself. Then the great man sent Wilbur Foster
-back to Albany to order out the nearest regiment
-of the National Guard for service in the hills.</p>
-<p>Before the second night three companies of the
-militia had passed through Utica and had gone up
-the line of the U. & M. Their orders were to
-avoid killing where possible and to capture all of
-the hill men that they could. The railroad wished
-to have them tried and imprisoned by the impartial
-law of the land. For it was characteristic of the
-great power which in those days ruled the State
-that when it had outraged every sense of fair play
-and common humanity to attain its ends it was then
-ready to spend much money creating public opinion
-in favour of itself.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></div>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting stood in the evening in the
-cover of the woods above Milton’s Crossing and
-watched a train load of soldiers on flat cars come
-creeping up the grade from the south. This was
-the last of the hills. He had refused to let his
-men go farther. Behind him lay fifty miles of
-new railroad in ruins. Before him lay the open,
-settled country. His men, once the fever of destruction
-had begun to run in their blood, had
-wished to sweep on down into the villages and
-carry their work through them. But he had stood
-firm. This was their own country where they belonged
-and where the railroad was the interloper.
-Here they were at home. Here there was a certain
-measure of safety for them even in the destructive
-and lawless work that they had begun.
-They had done enough. They had pushed the
-railroad back to the edge of the hills. They had
-roused the men of the hills behind them. Where
-he had started with his seventy-two friends, there
-were now three hundred well-armed men in the
-woods around him. Here in their cover they
-could hold the line of the railroad indefinitely
-against almost any force that might be sent against
-them.</p>
-<p>But the inevitable sobering sense of leadership
-and responsibility was already at work upon him.
-The burning, rankling anger that had driven him
-onward so that he had carried everything and
-everybody near him into this business of destruction
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span>
-was now dulled down to a slow, dull hate that
-while it had lost nothing of its bitterness yet gave
-him time to think. Those men coming up there
-on the cars were not professional soldiers, paid
-to fight wherever there was fighting to be done.
-Neither did they care anything for the railroad
-that they should come up here to fight for it.
-Why did they come?</p>
-<p>They had joined their organisation for various
-reasons that usually had very little to do with fighting.
-They were clerks and office men, for the
-most part, from the villages and factories of the
-central part of the State. The militia companies
-had attracted them because the armouries in the
-towns had social advantages to offer, because uniforms
-and parade appeal to all boys, because they
-were sons of veterans and the military tradition
-was strong in them. Jeffrey Whiting’s strong
-natural sense told him the substance of these
-things. He could not regard these boys as deadly
-enemies to be shot down without mercy or warning.
-They had taken their arms at a word of command
-and had come up here to uphold the arm of
-the State. If the railroad was able to control the
-politics of the State and so was able to send these
-boys up here on its own business, then other people
-were to blame for the situation. Certainly these
-boys, coming up here to do nothing but what their
-duty to the State compelled them to do; they were
-not to be blamed.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></div>
-<p>His men were now urging him to withdraw a
-little distance into the hills to where the bed of the
-road ran through a defile between two hills. The
-soldiers would no doubt advance directly up the
-line of what had been the railroad, covering the
-workmen and engineers who would be coming on
-behind them. If they were allowed to go on up
-into the defile without warning or opposition they
-could be shot down by the hill men from almost absolute
-safety. If he had been dealing with a hated
-enemy Jeffrey Whiting perhaps could have agreed
-to that. But to shoot down from ambush these
-boys, who had come up here many of them probably
-thinking they were coming to a sort of picnic
-or outing in the September woods, was a thing
-which he could not contemplate. Before he would
-attack them these boys must know just what they
-were to expect.</p>
-<p>He saw them leave the cars at the end of the
-broken line and take up their march in a rough
-column of fours along the roadbed. He was surprised
-and puzzled. He had expected them to
-work along the line only as fast as the men repaired
-the rails behind them. He had not thought
-that they would go away from their cars.</p>
-<p>Then he understood. They were not coming
-merely to protect the rebuilding of the railroad.
-They had their orders to come straight into the
-hills, to attack and capture him and his men. The
-railroad was not only able to call the State to protect
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span>
-itself. It had called upon the State to avenge
-its wrongs, to exterminate its enemies. His men
-had understood this better than he. Probably
-they were right. This thing might as well be
-fought out from the first. In the end there would
-be no quarter. They could defeat this handful of
-troops and drive them back out of the hills with
-an ease that would be almost ridiculous. But that
-would not be the end.</p>
-<p>The State would send other men, unlimited
-numbers of them, for it must and would uphold
-the authority of its law. Jeffrey Whiting did
-not deceive himself. Probably he had not from
-the beginning had any doubt as to what would be
-the outcome of this raid upon the railroad. The
-railroad itself had broken the law of the State
-and the law of humanity. It had defied every
-principle of justice and common decency. It had
-burned the homes of law-supporting, good men in
-the hills. Yet the law had not raised a hand to
-punish it. But now when the railroad itself had
-suffered, the whole might of the State was ready to
-be set in motion to punish the men of the hills
-who had merely paid their debt.</p>
-<p>But Jeffrey Whiting could not say to himself
-that he had not foreseen all this from the outset.
-Those days of thinking in jail had given him an
-insight into realities that years of growth and observation
-of things outside might not have produced
-in him. He had been given time to see that
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span>
-some things are insurmountable, that things may
-be wrong and unsound and utterly unjust and still
-persist and go on indefinitely. Youth does not
-readily admit this. Jeffrey Whiting had recognised
-it as a fact. And yet, knowing this, he had
-led these men, his friends, men who trusted him,
-upon this mad raid. They had come without the
-clear vision of the end which he now realised had
-been his from the start. They had thought that
-they could accomplish something, that they had
-some chance of winning a victory over the railroad.
-They had believed that the power of the
-State would intervene to settle the differences between
-them and their enemy. Jeffrey Whiting
-knew, must have known all along, that the moment
-a tie was torn up on the railroad the whole strength
-of the State would be put forth to capture these
-men and punish them. There would be no compromise.
-There would be no bargaining. If
-they surrendered and gave themselves up now they
-would be jailed for varying terms. If they did
-not, if they stayed here and fought, some of them
-would be killed and injured and in one way or another
-all would suffer in the end.</p>
-<p>He had done them a cruel wrong. The truth
-of this struck him with startling clearness now.
-He had led them into this without letting them see
-the full extent of what they were doing, as he must
-have seen it.</p>
-<p>There was but one thing to do. If they dispersed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span>
-now and scattered themselves through the
-hills few of them would ever be identified. And
-if he went down and surrendered alone the railroad
-would be almost satisfied with punishing him.
-It was the one just and right thing to do.</p>
-<p>He went swiftly among the men where they
-stood among the trees, waiting with poised rifles
-for the word to fire upon the advancing soldiers,
-and told them what they must do. He had deceived
-them. He had not told them the whole
-truth as he himself knew it. They must leave at
-once, scattering up among the hills and keeping
-close mouths as to where they had been and what
-they had done. He would go down and give himself
-up, for if the railroad people once had him in
-custody they would not bother so very much about
-bringing the others to punishment.</p>
-<p>His men looked at him in a sort of puzzled wonder.
-They did not understand, unless it might be
-that he had suddenly gone crazy. There was an
-enemy marching up the line toward them, bent
-upon killing or capturing them. They turned
-from him and without a spoken word, without a
-signal of any sort, loosed a rifle volley across the
-front of the oncoming troops. The battle was
-on!</p>
-<p>The volley had been fired by men who were accustomed
-to shoot deer and foxes from distances
-greater than this. The first two ranks of the
-soldiers fell as if they had been cut down with
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span>
-scythes. Not one of them was hit above the
-knees. The firing stopped suddenly as it had begun.
-The hill men had given a terse, emphatic
-warning. It was as though they had marked a
-dead line beyond which there must be no advance.</p>
-<p>These soldiers had never before been shot at.
-The very restraint which the hill men had shown
-in not killing any of them in that volley proved
-to the soldiers even in their fright and surprise
-how deadly was the aim and the judgment of the
-invisible enemy somewhere in the woods there before
-them. To their credit, they did not drop
-their arms or run. They stood stunned and
-paralysed, as much by the suddenness with which
-the firing had ceased as by the surprise of its beginning.</p>
-<p>Their officers ran forward, shouting the superfluous
-command for them to halt, and ordering
-them to carry the wounded men back to the cars.
-For a moment it seemed doubtful whether they
-would again advance or would put themselves into
-some kind of defence formation and hold the
-ground on which they stood.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting, looking beyond them, saw two
-other trains come slowly creeping up the line.
-From the second train he saw men leaping down
-who did not take up any sort of military formation.
-These he knew were sheriffs’ posses, fighting
-men sworn in because they were known to be
-fighters. They were natural man hunters who delighted
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span>
-in the chase of the human animal. He had
-often seen them in the hills on the hunt, and he
-knew that they were an enemy of a character far
-different from those harmless boys who could not
-hit a mark smaller than the side of a hill. These
-men would follow doggedly, persistently into the
-highest of the hills, saving themselves, but never
-letting the prey slip from their sight, dividing the
-hill men, separating them, cornering them until
-they should have tracked them down one by one
-and either captured or killed them all.</p>
-<p>These men did not attempt to advance along the
-line of the road. They stepped quickly out into
-the undergrowth and began spreading a thin line
-of men to either side.</p>
-<p>Then he saw that the third train, although they
-were soldiers, took their lesson from the men who
-had just preceded them. They left the tracks
-and spreading still farther out took up the wings
-of a long line that was now stretching east to west
-along the fringe of the hills. The soldiers in the
-centre retired a little way down the roadbed, stood
-bunched together for a little time while their officers
-evidently conferred together, then left the
-road by twos and fours and began spreading out
-and pushing the other lines out still farther. It
-was perfect and systematic work, he agreed, that
-could not have been better done if he and his companions
-had planned it for their own capture.</p>
-<p>There were easily eight hundred men there in
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span>
-front, he judged; men well armed and ready for
-an indefinite stay in the hills, with a railroad at
-their back to bring up supplies, and with the entire
-State behind them. And the State was ready to
-send more and more men after these if it should be
-necessary. He had no doubt that hundreds of
-other men were being held in readiness to follow
-these or were perhaps already on their way. He
-saw the end.</p>
-<p>Those lines would sweep up slowly, remorselessly
-and surround his men. If they stood together
-they would be massacred. If they separated
-they would be hunted down one by one.</p>
-<p>Their only chance was to scatter at once and
-ride back to where their homes had been. This
-time he implored them to take their chance,
-begged them to save themselves while they could.
-But he might have known that they would do nothing
-of the kind. Already they were breaking
-away and spreading out to meet that distending
-line in front of them. Nothing short of a miracle
-could now save them from annihilation, and
-Jeffrey Whiting was not expecting a miracle.
-There was nothing to be done but to take command
-and sell his life along with theirs as dearly
-as possible.</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>The echoes of the outbreak in the hills ran up
-and down the State. Men who had followed the
-course of things through the past months, men who
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span>
-knew the spoken story of the fire in the hills which
-no newspaper had dared to print openly, understood
-just what it meant. The men up there had
-been goaded to desperation at last. But wise men
-agreed quietly with each other that they had done
-the very worst thing that could have been done.
-The injury they had done the railroad would
-amount to very little, comparatively, in the end,
-while it would give the railroad an absolutely free
-hand from now on. The people would be driven
-forever out of the lands which the railroad wished
-to possess. There would be no legislative hindrances
-now. The people had doomed themselves.</p>
-<p>The echoes reached also to two million other
-men throughout the State who did not understand
-the matter in the least. These looked up a moment
-from the work of living and earning a living
-to sympathise vaguely with the foolish men up
-there in the hills who had attacked the sacred and
-awful rights of railroad property. It was too bad.
-Maybe there were some rights somewhere in the
-case. But who could tell? And the two million,
-the rulers and sovereigns of the State, went back
-again to their business.</p>
-<p>The echo came to Joseph Winthrop, Bishop of
-Alden, almost before a blow had been struck. It
-is hardly too much to say that he was listening for
-it. He knew his people, kindly, lagging of speech,
-slow to anger; but, once past a certain point of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span>
-aggravation, absolutely heedless and reckless of
-consequences.</p>
-<p>He did not stop to compute just how much he
-himself was bound up in the causes and consequences
-of what had happened and what was happening
-in the hills. He had given advice. He
-had thought with the people and only for the
-people.</p>
-<p>He saw, long before it was told him in words,
-the wild ride down through the hills to strike the
-railroad, the fury of destruction, the gathering
-of the forces of the State to punish.</p>
-<p>Here was no time for self-examination or self-judgment.
-Wherein Joseph Winthrop had done
-well, or had failed, or had done wrong, was of no
-moment now.</p>
-<p>One man there was in all the State, in all the
-nation, who could give the word that would now
-save the people of the hills. Clifford W. Stanton
-who had sat months ago in his office in New York
-and had set all these things going, whose ruthless
-hand was to be recognised in every act of those
-which had driven the people to this madness, his
-will and his alone could stay the storm that was
-now raging in the hills.</p>
-<p>Once the Bishop had seen that man do an act
-of supreme and unselfish bravery. It was an act
-of both physical and moral courage the like of
-which the Bishop had never witnessed. It was
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span>
-an act which had revealed in Clifford W. Stanton
-a depth of strong fineness that no man would have
-suspected. It was done in the dim, dead time of
-faraway youth, but the Bishop had not forgotten.
-And he knew that men do not rise to such heights
-without having very deep in them the nobility to
-make it possible and at times inevitable that they
-should rise to those heights.</p>
-<p>After these years and the encrusting strata of
-compromise and cowardice and selfishness which
-years and life lay upon the fresh heart of the youth
-of men, could that depth of nobility in the soul of
-Clifford W. Stanton again be touched?</p>
-<p>Almost before the forces of the State were in
-motion against the people of the hills, the Bishop,
-early of a morning, walked into the office of Clifford
-Stanton.</p>
-<p>Stanton was a smaller man than the Bishop, and
-though younger than the latter by some half-dozen
-years, it was evident that he had burned up the fuel
-of life more rapidly. Where the Bishop looked
-and spoke and moved with the deliberate fixity of
-the settling years, Stanton acted with a quick nervousness
-that shook just a perceptible little. The
-spiritual strength of restraint and inward thinking
-which had chiselled the Bishop’s face into a single,
-simple expression of will power was not to be
-found in the other’s face. In its stead there was
-a certain steel-trap impression, as though the man
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span>
-behind the face had all his life refused to be certain
-of anything until the jaws of the trap had set upon
-the accomplished fact.</p>
-<p>Physically the two men were much of a type.
-You would have known them anywhere for New
-Englanders of the generation that has disappeared
-almost completely in the last twenty years. They
-had been boys at Harvard together, though not of
-the same class. They had been together in the
-Civil War, though the nature of their services had
-been infinitely diverse. They had met here and
-there casually and incidentally in the business of
-life. But they faced each other now virtually as
-strangers, and with a certain tightening grip upon
-himself each man realised that he was about to
-grapple with one of the strongest willed men that
-he had ever met, and that he must test out the
-other man to the depths and be himself tried out
-to the limit of his strength.</p>
-<p>“It is some years since I’ve seen you, Bishop.
-But we are both busy men. And––well–– You
-know I am glad to have you come to see me.
-I need not tell you that.”</p>
-<p>The Bishop accepted the other man’s frank
-courtesy and took a chair quietly. Stanton
-watched him carefully. The Bishop was showing
-the last few years a good deal, he thought. In
-reality it was the last month that the Bishop was
-showing. But it did not show in the steady, untroubled
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span>
-glow of his eyes. The Bishop wasted no
-time on preliminaries.</p>
-<p>“I have come on business, of course, Mr.
-Stanton,” he began. “It is a very strange and
-unusual business. And to come at it rightly I
-must tell you a story. At the end of the story I
-will ask you a question. That will be my whole
-business.”</p>
-<p>The other man said nothing. He did not understand
-and he never spoke until he was sure that
-he understood. The Bishop plunged into his
-story.</p>
-<p>“One January day in ‘Sixty-five’ I was going
-up the Shenandoah alone. My command had left
-me behind for two days of hospital service at Cross
-Keys. They were probably some twenty miles
-ahead of me and would be crossing over the divide
-towards Five Forks and the east. I thought I
-knew a way by which I could cut off a good part of
-the distance that separated me from them, so I
-started across the Ridge by a path which would
-have been impossible for troops in order.</p>
-<p>“I was right. I did cut off the distance which
-I had expected and came down in the early afternoon
-upon a good road that ran up the eastern side
-of the Ridge. I was just congratulating myself
-that I would be with my men before dark, when
-a troop of Confederate cavalry came pelting over
-a rise in the road behind me.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></div>
-<p>“I leaped my horse back into the brush at the
-side of the road and waited. They would sweep
-on past and allow me to go on my way. Behind
-them came a troop of our own horse pursuing
-hotly. The Confederate horses were well spent.
-I saw that the end of the pursuit was not far off.
-The Confederates––some detached band of
-Early’s men, I imagine––realised that they would
-soon be run down. Just where I had left the road
-there was a sharp turn. Here the Confederates
-threw themselves from their horses and drew
-themselves across the road. They were in perfect
-ambush, for they could be seen scarcely fifteen
-yards back on the narrow road.</p>
-<p>“I broke from the bush and fled back along the
-road to warn our men. But I did no good.
-They were beyond all stopping, or hearing even,
-as they came yelling around the turn of the
-road.</p>
-<p>“For three minutes there was some of the
-sharpest fighting I ever saw, there in the narrow
-road, before what remained of the Confederates
-broke after their horses and made off again. In
-the very middle of the fight I noticed two young
-officers. One was a captain, the other a lieutenant.
-I knew them. I knew their story. I
-believe I was the only man living who knew that
-story. Probably <i>I</i> did not know the whole of
-that story.</p>
-<p>“The lieutenant had maligned the captain.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span>
-He had said of him the one thing that a soldier
-may not say of another. They had fought once.
-Why they had been kept in the same command I
-do not know.</p>
-<p>“Now in the very hottest of this fight, without
-apparently the slightest warning, the lieutenant
-threw himself upon the captain, attacking
-him viciously with his sword. For a moment
-they struggled there, unnoticed in the dust of the
-conflict. Then the captain, swinging free, struck
-the lieutenant’s sword from his hand. The latter
-drew his pistol and fired, point blank. It
-missed. By what miracle I do not know. All
-this time the captain had held his sword poised to
-lunge, within easy striking distance of the other’s
-throat. But he had made no attempt to thrust.
-As the pistol missed I saw him stiffen his arm to
-strike. Instead he looked a long moment into
-the lieutenant’s eyes. The latter was screaming
-what were evidently taunts into his face. The
-captain dropped his arm, wheeled, and plunged at
-the now breaking line of Confederates.</p>
-<p>“I have seen brave men kill bravely. I have
-seen brave men bravely refrain from killing.
-That was the bravest thing I ever saw.”</p>
-<p>Clifford Stanton sat staring directly in front of
-him. He gave no sign of hearing. He was living
-over for himself that scene on a lonely, forgotten
-Virginia road. At last he said as to himself:</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span></div>
-<p>“The lieutenant died, a soldier’s death, the
-next day.”</p>
-<p>“I knew,” said the Bishop quietly. “My
-question is: Are you the same brave man with
-a soldier’s brave, great heart that you were that
-day?”</p>
-<p>For a long time Clifford Stanton sat staring
-directly at something that was not in the visible
-world. The question had sprung upon him out
-of the dead past. What right had this man, what
-right had any man to face him with it?</p>
-<p>He wheeled savagely upon the Bishop:</p>
-<p>“You sat by the roadside and got a glimpse of
-the tragedy of my life as it whirled by you on
-the road! How dare you come here to tell me the
-little bit of it you saw?”</p>
-<p>“Because,” said the Bishop swiftly, “you have
-forgotten how great and brave a man you are.”</p>
-<p>Stanton stared uncomprehendingly at him. He
-was stirred to the depths of feelings that he had
-not known for years. But even in his emotion
-and bewilderment the steel trap of silence set
-upon his face. His lifetime of never speaking
-until he knew what he was going to say kept him
-waiting to hear more. It was not any conscious
-caution; it was merely the instinct of self-defence.</p>
-<p>“For months,” the Bishop was going on
-quietly, “the people of my hills have been harassed
-by you in your unfair efforts to get possession
-of the lands upon which their fathers built
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span>
-their homes. You have tried to cheat them.
-You have sent men to lie to them. You tried to
-debauch a legislature in your attempt to overcome
-them. I have here in my pocket the sworn
-confessions of two men who stood in the shadow
-of death and said that they had been sent to burn
-a whole countryside that you and your associates
-coveted––to burn the people in their homes like
-the meadow birds in their nests. I can trace that
-act to within two men of you. And I can sit here,
-Clifford Stanton, and look you in the eye man to
-man and tell you that I <i>know</i> you gave the suggestion.
-And you cannot look back and deny it.
-I cannot take you into a court of law in this State
-and prove it. We both know the futility of talking
-of that. But I can take you, I do take you
-this minute into the court of your own heart––where
-I know a brave man lives––and convict
-you of this thing. You know it. I know it. If
-the whole world stood here accusing you would
-we know it any the better?</p>
-<p>“Now my people have made a terrible mistake.
-They have taken the law into their own hands and
-have thought to punish you themselves. They
-have done wrong, they have done foolishly.
-Who can punish you? You have power above the
-law. Your interests are above the courts of the
-land. They did not understand. They did not
-know you. They have been misled. They have
-listened to men like me preaching: ‘Right shall
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span>
-prevail: Justice shall conquer.’ And where
-does right prevail? And when shall justice conquer?
-No doubt you have said these phrases
-yourself. Because your fathers and my fathers
-taught us to say them. But are they true? Does
-justice conquer? Does right prevail? You can
-say. I ask you, who have the answer in your
-power. Does right prevail? Then give my
-stricken people what is theirs. Does justice conquer?
-Then see that they come to no harm.</p>
-<p>“I dare to put this thing raw to your face because
-I know the man that once lived within you.
-I saw you––!”</p>
-<p>“Don’t harp on that,” Stanton cut in viciously.
-“You know nothing about it.”</p>
-<p>“I <i>do</i> harp on that. I have come here to
-harp on that. Do you think that if I had not
-with my eyes seen that thing I would have come
-near you at all? No. I would have branded
-you before all men for the thing that you have
-done. I would have given these confessions
-which I hold to the world. I would have denounced
-you as far as tongue and pen would go
-to every man who through four years gave blood
-at your side. I would have braved the rebuke
-of my superiors and maybe the discipline of my
-Church to bring upon you the hard thoughts of
-men. I would have made your name hated in
-the ears of little children. But I would not have
-come to you.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></div>
-<p>“If I had not seen that thing I would not have
-come to you, for I would have said: What
-good? The man is a coward without a heart.
-A <i>coward</i>, do you remember that word?”</p>
-<p>The man groaned and struck out with his hand
-as though to drive away a ghastly thing that would
-leap upon him.</p>
-<p>“A coward without a heart,” the Bishop repeated
-remorselessly, “who has men and women
-and children in his power and who, because he has
-no heart, can use his power to crush them.</p>
-<p>“If I had not seen, I would have said that.</p>
-<p>“But I saw. I <i>saw</i>. And I have come here
-to ask you: Are you the same brave man with a
-heart that I saw on that day?</p>
-<p>“You shall not evade me. Do you think you
-can put me off with defences and puling arguments
-of necessity, or policy, or the sacredness of
-property? No. You and I are here looking at
-naked truth. I will go down into your very soul
-and have it out by the roots, the naked truth.
-But I will have my answer. Are you that same
-man?</p>
-<p>“If you are not that same man; if you have
-killed that in you which gave life to that man;
-if that man no longer lives in you; if you are not
-capable of being that same man with the heart
-of a great and tender hero, then tell me and I
-will go. But you shall answer me. I will have
-my answer.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span></div>
-<p>Clifford Stanton rose heavily from his chair
-and stood trembling as though in an overpowering
-rage, and visibly struggling for his command
-of mind and tongue.</p>
-<p>“Words, words, words,” he groaned at last.
-“Your life is made of words. Words are your
-coin. What do you know?</p>
-<p>“Do you think that words can go down into
-my soul to find the man that was once there? Do
-you think that words can call him up? When
-did words ever mean anything to a man’s real
-heart! You come here with your question. It’s
-made of words.</p>
-<p>“When did men ever do anything for <i>words</i>?
-Honour is a word. Truth is a word. Bravery
-is a word. Loyalty is a word. Hero is a word.
-Do you think men do things for words? No!
-What do you know? What <i>could</i> you know?</p>
-<p>“Men do things and you call them by words.
-But do they do them for the words? No!</p>
-<p>“They do them–– Because <i>some woman
-lives, or once lived!</i> What do <i>you</i> know?</p>
-<p>“Go out there. Stay there.” He pointed.
-“I’ve got to think.”</p>
-<p>He fell brokenly into his chair and lay against
-his desk. The Bishop rose and walked from the
-room.</p>
-<p>When he heard the door close, the man got up
-and going to the door barred it.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></div>
-<p>He came back and sat awhile, his head leaning
-heavily upon his propped hands.</p>
-<p>He opened a drawer of his desk and looked
-at a smooth, glinting black and steel thing that
-lay there. Then he shut the drawer with a bang
-that went out to the Bishop listening in the
-outer office. It was a sinister, suggestive noise,
-and for an instant it chilled that good man’s
-heart. But his ears were sharp and true and he
-knew immediately that he had been mistaken.</p>
-<p>Stanton pulled out another drawer, unlocked
-a smaller compartment within it, and from the
-latter took a small gold-framed picture. He set
-it up on the desk between his hands and looked
-long at it, questioning the face in the frame with
-a tender, diffident expression of a wonder that
-never ceased, of a longing never to be stilled.</p>
-<p>The face that looked out of the picture was
-one of a quiet, translucent beauty. At first
-glance the face had none of the striking features
-that men associate with great beauty. But behind
-the eyes there seemed to glow, and to grow
-gradually, and softly stronger, a light, as though
-diffused within an alabaster vase, that slowly radiated
-from the whole countenance an impression of
-indescribable, gentle loveliness.</p>
-<p>Clifford Stanton had often wondered what was
-that light from within. He wondered now, and
-questioned. Never before had that light seemed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span>
-so wonderful and so real. Now there came to
-him an answer. An answer that shook him, for
-it was the last answer he would have expected.
-The light within was truth––truth. It seemed
-that in a world of sham and illusions and evasions
-this one woman had understood, had lived with
-truth.</p>
-<p>The man laughed. A low, mirthless, dry
-laugh that was nearer to a sob.</p>
-<p>“Was that it, Lucy?” he queried. “Truth?
-Then let us have a little truth, for once! I’ll tell
-you some truth!</p>
-<p>“I lied a while ago. He did <i>not</i> die a soldier’s
-death. I told the same lie to you long ago.
-Words. Words. And yet you went to Heaven
-happy because I lied to you and kept on lying to
-you. Words. And yet you died a happy woman,
-because of that lie.</p>
-<p>“He lied to you. He took you from me with
-lies. Words. Lies. And yet they made you
-happy. Where is truth?</p>
-<p>“You lived happy and died happy with a lie.
-Because I lied like what they call a man and a
-gentleman. <i>Truth!</i>”</p>
-<p>He looked searchingly, wonderingly at the face
-before him. Did he expect to see the light fade
-out, to see the face wither under the bitter
-revelation?</p>
-<p>“I’ve been everything,” he went on, still trying
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span>
-to make his point, “I’ve done everything,
-that men say I’ve been and done. Why?</p>
-<p>“Well––Why?” he asked sharply. “Did
-it make any difference?</p>
-<p>“Hard, grasping, tricky, men call me that to my
-face––sometimes. Well––Why not? Does
-it make any difference? Did it make any difference
-with you? If I had thought it would–– But
-it didn’t. Lies, trickery, words! They
-served with you. They made you happy.
-<i>Truth!</i>”</p>
-<p>But as he looked into the face and the smiling
-light of truth persisted in it, there came over
-his soul the dawn of a wonder. And the dawn
-glowed within him, so that it came to his eyes and
-looked out wondering at a world remade.</p>
-<p>“Is it true, Lucy?” he asked gently. “Can
-that be <i>truth</i>, at last? Is that what you mean?
-Did you, deep down, somewhere beneath words
-and beneath thoughts, did you, did you really understand––a
-little? And do you, somewhere,
-understand now?</p>
-<p>“Then tell me. Was it worth the lies?
-Down underneath, when you understood, which
-was the truth? The thing I did––which men
-would call fine? Or was it the words?</p>
-<p>“Is that it? Is that the truth, Lucy? Was
-it the fine thing that was really the truth, and
-did you, do you, know it, after all? Is there
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span>
-truth that lives deep down, and did you, who were
-made of truth, did you somehow understand all
-the time?”</p>
-<p>He sat awhile, wondering, questioning; finally
-believing. Then he said:</p>
-<p>“Lucy, a man out there wants his answer. I
-will not speak it to him. But I’ll say it to you:
-Yes, I am that same man who once did what they
-call a fine, brave thing. I didn’t do it because
-it was a great thing, a brave thing. I did it for
-you.</p>
-<p>“And––I’ll do this for you.”</p>
-<p>He looked again at the face in the picture, as
-if to make sure. Then he locked it away quickly
-in its place.</p>
-<p>He thought for a moment, then drew a pad
-abruptly to him and began writing. He wrote
-two telegrams, one to the Governor of the State,
-the other to the Sheriff of Tupper County. Then
-he took another pad and wrote a note, this to his
-personal representative who was following the
-state troops into the hills.</p>
-<p>He rose and walked briskly to the door.
-Throwing it open he called a clerk and gave him
-the two telegrams. He held the note in his hand
-and asked the Bishop back into the office.</p>
-<p>Closing the door quickly, he said without
-preface:</p>
-<p>“This note will put my man up there at your
-service. You will prefer to go up into the hills
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span>
-yourself, I think. The officers in command of the
-troops will know that you are empowered to act
-for all parties. The Governor will have seen to
-that before you get there, I think. There will
-be no attempt at prosecutions, now or afterwards.
-You can settle the whole matter in no time.</p>
-<p>“We will not buy the land, but we’ll give a
-fair rental, based on what ores we find to take
-out. You can give <i>your</i> word––mine wouldn’t
-go for much up there, I guess,” he put in grimly––“that
-it will be fair. You can make that the
-basis of settlement.</p>
-<p>“They can go back and rebuild. I will help,
-where it will do the most good. Our operations
-won’t interfere much with their farm land, I find.</p>
-<p>“You will want to start at once. That is all,
-I guess, Bishop,” he concluded abruptly.</p>
-<p>The Bishop reached for the smaller man’s hand
-and wrung it with a sudden, unwonted emotion.</p>
-<p>“I will not cheapen this, sir,” he said evenly,
-“by attempting to thank you.”</p>
-<p>“A mere whim of mine, that’s all,” Stanton
-cut in almost curtly, the steel-trap expression snapping
-into place over his face. “A mere whim.”</p>
-<p>“Well,” said the Bishop slowly, looking him
-squarely in the eyes, “I only came to ask a question,
-anyhow.” Then he turned and walked
-briskly from the office. He had no right and no
-wish to know what the other man chose to conceal
-beneath that curt and incisive manner.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></div>
-<p>So these two men parted. In words, they had
-not understood each other. Neither had come
-near the depths of the other. But then, what man
-does ever let another man see what is in his
-heart?</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>All day long the line of armed men had gone
-spreading itself wider and wider, to draw itself
-around the edges of the shorter line of men hidden
-in the protecting fringe of the hills. All day
-long clearly and more clearly Jeffrey Whiting
-had been seeing the inevitable end. His line was
-already stretched almost to the breaking point.
-If the enemy had known, there were dangerous
-gaps in it now through which a few daring men
-might have pushed and have begun to divide up
-the strength of the men with him.</p>
-<p>All the afternoon as he watched he saw other
-and yet other groups and troops of men come
-up the railroad, detrain and push out ever
-farther upon the enveloping wings to east and
-west.</p>
-<p>Twice during the afternoon the ends of his line
-had been driven in and almost surrounded.
-They had decided in the beginning to leave their
-horses in the rear, and so use them only at the
-last. But the spreading line in front had become
-too long to be covered on foot by the few men he
-had. They were forced to use the speed of the
-animals to make a show of greater force than
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span>
-they really had. The horses furnished marks that
-even the soldiers could occasionally hit. All the
-afternoon long, and far into the night, the screams
-of terrified, wounded horses rang horribly through
-the woods above the pattering crackle of the irregular
-rifle fire. Old men who years before had
-learned to sleep among such sounds lay down and
-fell asleep grumbling. Young men and boys who
-had never heard such sounds turned sick with horror
-or wandered frightened through the dark,
-nervously ready to fire on any moving twig or
-scraping branch.</p>
-<p>In the night Jeffrey Whiting went along the
-line, talking aside to every man; telling them to
-slip quietly away through the dark. They could
-make their way out through the loose lines of
-soldiers and sheriffs’ men and get down to the villages
-where they would be unknown and where
-nobody would bother with them.</p>
-<p>The inevitable few took his word–– There is
-always the inevitable few. They slipped away
-one by one, each man telling himself a perfectly
-good reason for going, several good reasons, in
-fact; any reason, indeed, but that they were afraid.
-Most of them were gathered in by the soldier
-pickets and sent down to jail.</p>
-<p>Morning came, a grey, lowering morning with
-a grim, ugly suggestion in it of the coming winter.
-Jeffrey Whiting and his men drew wearily
-out to their posts, munching dryly at the last of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span>
-the stores which they had taken from the construction
-depots along the line which they had destroyed.
-This was the end. It was not far from
-the mind of each man that this would probably be
-his last meal.</p>
-<p>The firing began again as the outer line came
-creeping in upon them. They had still the great
-advantage of the shelter of the woods and the
-formation of the soldiers, while their marksmanship
-kept those directly in front of them almost
-out of range. But there was nothing in sight before
-them but that they would certainly all be surrounded
-and shot down or taken.</p>
-<p>Suddenly the fire from below ceased. Those
-who had been watching the most distant of the
-two wings creeping around them saw these men
-halt and slowly begin to gather back together.
-What was it? Were they going to rush at last?
-Here would be a fight in earnest!</p>
-<p>But the soldiers, still keeping their spread formation,
-merely walked back in their tracks until
-they were entirely out of range. It must be a
-ruse of some sort. The hill men stuck to their
-shelter, puzzled, but determined not to be drawn
-out.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting, watching near the middle of
-the line, saw an old man walking, barehead, up
-over the lines of half-burnt ties and twisted
-rails. That white head with the high, wide brow,
-the slightly stooping, spare shoulders, the long,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span>
-swinging walk–– That was the Bishop of Alden!</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting dropped his gun and, yelling to
-the men on either side to stay where they were,
-jumped down into the roadbed and ran to meet the
-Bishop.</p>
-<p>“Are any men killed?” the Bishop asked before
-Jeffrey had time to speak as they met.</p>
-<p>“Old Erskine Beasley was shot through the
-chest––we don’t know how bad it is,” said
-Jeffrey, stopping short. “Ten other men are
-wounded. I don’t think any of them are bad.”</p>
-<p>“Call in your men,” said the Bishop briefly.
-“The soldiers are going back.”</p>
-<p>At Jeffrey’s call the men came running from
-all sides as he and the Bishop reached the line.
-Haggard, ragged, powder-grimed they gathered
-round, staring in dull unbelief at this new appearance
-of the White Horse Chaplain, for so one
-and all they knew and remembered him. Men
-who had seen him years ago at Fort Fisher slipped
-back into the scene of that day and looked about
-blankly for the white horse. And young men who
-had heard that tale many times and had seen and
-heard of his coming through the fire to French
-Village stared round-eyed at him. What did this
-coming mean?</p>
-<p>He told them shortly the terms that Clifford
-W. Stanton, their enemy, was willing to make with
-them. And in the end he added:</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span></div>
-<p>“You have only my word that these things will
-be done as I say. <i>I</i> believe. If you believe, you
-will take your horses and get back to your families
-at once.”</p>
-<p>Then, in the weakness and reaction of relief,
-the men for the first time knew what they had
-been through. Their knees gave under them.
-They tried to cheer, but could raise only a croaking
-quaver. Many who had thought never to see
-loved ones again burst out sobbing and crying
-over the names of those they were saved to.</p>
-<p>The Bishop, taking Jeffrey Whiting with him,
-walked slowly back down the roadbed. Suddenly
-Jeffrey remembered something that had gone
-completely out of his mind in these last hours.</p>
-<p>“Bishop,” he stammered, “that day––that
-day in court. I––I said you lied. Now I know
-you didn’t. You told the truth, of course.”</p>
-<p>“My boy,” said the Bishop queerly, “yesterday
-I asked a man, on his soul, for the truth––the
-truth. I got no answer.</p>
-<p>“But I remembered that Pontius Pilate, in the
-name of the Emperor of all the World, once
-asked what was truth. And <i>he</i> got no answer.
-Once, at least, in our lives we have to learn that
-there are things bigger than we are. We get no
-answer.”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey inquired no more for truth that day.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span>
-<a name='X_THAT_THEY_BE_NOT_AFRAID' id='X_THAT_THEY_BE_NOT_AFRAID'></a>
-<h2>X</h2>
-<h3>THAT THEY BE NOT AFRAID</h3>
-</div>
-<p>It was morning in the hills; morning and Spring
-and the bud of Promise.</p>
-<p>The snow had been gone from the sunny places
-for three weeks now. He still lingered three feet
-deep on the crown of Bald Mountain, from which
-only the hot June sun and the warm rains would
-drive him. He still held fastnesses on the northerly
-side of high hills, where the sun could not
-come at him and only the trickling rain-wash
-running down the hill could eat him out from
-underneath. But the sun had chased him away
-from the open places and had beckoned lovingly to
-the grass and the germinant life beneath to come
-boldly forth, for the enemy was gone.</p>
-<p>But the grass was timid. And the hardy little
-wild flowers, the forget-me-nots and the little
-wild pansies held back fearfully. Even the
-bold dandelions, the hobble-de-hoys and tom-boys
-of meadow and hill, peeped out with a wary circumspection
-that belied their nature. For all of
-them had been burned to the very roots of the
-roots. But the sun came warmer, more insistent,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span>
-and kissed the scarred, brown body of earth and
-warmed it. Life stirred within. The grass and
-the little flowers took courage out of their very
-craving for life and pushed resolutely forth.
-And, lo! The miracle was accomplished! The
-world was born again!</p>
-<p>Cynthe Cardinal was coming up Beaver Run
-on her way back to French Village. She had been
-to put the first flowers of the Spring on the grave
-of Rafe Gadbeau, where Father Ponfret had
-blessed the ground for him and they had laid him,
-there under the sunny side of the Gaunt Rocks
-that had given him his last breathing space that
-he might die in peace. They had put him here,
-for there was no way in that time to carry him
-to the little cemetery in French Village. And
-Cynthe was well satisfied that it was so. Here,
-under the Gaunt Rocks, she would not have to
-share him with any one. And she would not have
-to hear people pointing out the grave to each other
-and to see them staring.</p>
-<p>The water tumbling down the Run out of the
-hills sang a glad, uproarious song, as is the way
-of all brooks at their beginnings, concerning the
-necessity of getting down as swiftly as possible
-to the big, wide life of the sea. The sea would
-not care at all if that brook never came down to
-it. But the brook did not know that. Would not
-have believed it if it had been told.</p>
-<p>And Cynthe hummed herself, a sad little song
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span>
-of old Beaupre––which she had never seen, for
-Cynthe was born here in the hills. Cynthe was
-sad, beyond doubt; for here was the mating time,
-and–– But Cynthe was not unhappy. The
-Good God was still in his Heaven, and still good.
-Life beckoned. The breath of air was sweet.
-There was work in the world to do. And––when
-all was said and done––Rafe Gadbeau was
-in Heaven.</p>
-<p>As she left the Run and was crossing up to
-the divide she met Jeffrey Whiting coming down.
-He had been over in the Wilbur’s Fork country
-and was returning home. He stopped and
-showed that he was anxious to talk with her.
-Cynthe was not averse. She was ever a chatty,
-sociable little person, and, besides, for some time
-she had had it in mind that she would some day
-take occasion to say a few pertinent things to this
-scowling young gentleman with the big face.</p>
-<p>“You’re with Ruth Lansing a lot, aren’t you?”
-he said, after some verbal beating about the bush;
-“how is she?”</p>
-<p>“Why don’t you come see, if you want to
-know?” retorted Cynthe sharply.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey had no ready answer. So Cynthe went
-on:</p>
-<p>“If you wanted to know why didn’t you come
-up all Winter and see? Why didn’t you come
-up when she was nursing the dirty French babies
-through the black diphtheria, when their own
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span>
-mothers were afraid of them? Why didn’t you
-come see when she was helping the mothers up
-there to get into their houses and make the houses
-warm before the coming of the Winter, though
-she had no house of her own? Why didn’t you
-come see when she nearly got her death from
-the ’mmonia caring for old Robbideau Laclair
-in his house that had no roof on it, till she shamed
-the lazy men to go and fix that roof? Did you
-ask somebody then? Why didn’t you come
-see?”</p>
-<p>“Well,” Jeffrey defended, “I didn’t know
-about any of those things. And we had plenty
-to do here––our place and my mother and all.
-I didn’t see her at all till Easter Sunday. I
-sneaked up to your church, just to get a look at
-her. She saw me. But she didn’t seem to want
-to.”</p>
-<p>“But she should have been delighted to see
-you,” Cynthe snapped back. “Don’t you think
-so? Certainly, she should have been overjoyed.
-She should have flown to your arms! Not so?
-You remember what you said to her the last time
-you saw her before that. No? I will tell you.
-You called her ‘liar’ before the whole court, even
-the Judge! Of one certainty, she should have
-flown to you. No?”</p>
-<p>Now if Jeffrey had been wise he would have
-gone away, with all haste. But he was not wise.
-He was sore. He felt ill-used. He was sure
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span>
-that some of this was unjust. He foolishly stayed
-to argue.</p>
-<p>“But she––she cared for me,” he blurted out.
-“I know she did. I couldn’t understand why she
-couldn’t tell––the truth; when you––you did so
-much for me.”</p>
-<p>“For you? For <i>you</i>!” the girl flamed up in
-his face. “Oh, villainous monster of vanity! For
-<i>you</i>! Ha! I could laugh! For <i>you</i>! I put
-<i>mon Rafe</i>––dead in his grave––to shame before
-all the world, called him murderer, blackened
-his name, for <i>you</i>!</p>
-<p>“No! No! <i>No!</i> <i>Never!</i></p>
-<p>“I would not have said a word against him to
-save you from the death. <i>Never!</i></p>
-<p>“I did what I did, because there was a debt.
-A debt which <i>mon Rafe</i> had forgotten to pay.
-He was waiting outside of Heaven for me to pay
-that debt. I paid. I paid. His way was made
-straight. He could go in. I did it for <i>you</i>!
-Ha!”</p>
-<p>The theology of this was beyond Jeffrey. And
-the girl had talked so rapidly and so fiercely that
-he could not gather even the context of the matter.
-He gave up trying to follow it and went back
-to his main argument.</p>
-<p>“But why couldn’t she have told the truth?”</p>
-<p>“The truth, eh! You must have the truth!
-The girl must tell the truth for you! No matter
-if she was to blacken her soul before God,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span>
-you must have the truth told for you. The truth!
-It was not enough for you to know that the
-girl loved you, with her heart, with her life, that
-she would have died for you if she might! No.
-The poor girl must tear out the secret lining of her
-heart for you, to save you!</p>
-<p>“Think you that if <i>mon Rafe</i> was alive and
-stood there where you stood, in peril of his life;
-think you that he would ask me to give up the
-secret of the Holy Confession to save him. <i>Non!</i>
-<i>Mon Rafe</i> was a <i>man</i>! He would die, telling me
-to keep that which God had trusted me with!</p>
-<p>“Name of a Woodchuck! Who were you to
-be saved; that the Good God must come down
-from His Heaven to break the Seal of the Unopened
-Book for <i>you</i>!</p>
-<p>“You ask for truth! <i>Tiens!</i> I will tell you
-truth!</p>
-<p>“You sat in the place of the prisoner and cried
-that you were an innocent man. <i>Mon Rafe</i> was
-the guilty man. The whole world must come
-forth, the secrets of the grave must come forth
-to declare you innocent and him guilty! You
-were innocent! You were persecuted! The
-earth and the Heaven must come to show that you
-were innocent and he was guilty! <i>Bah!</i> <i>You
-were as guilty as he!</i></p>
-<p>“I was there. I saw. Your finger was on
-the trigger. You only waited for the man to stop
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span>
-moving. Murder was in your heart. Murder
-was in your soul. Murder was in your finger.
-But you were innocent and <i>mon Rafe</i> was guilty.
-By how much?</p>
-<p>“By one second. That was the difference between
-<i>mon Rafe</i> and you. Just that second that
-he shot before you were ready. <i>That</i> was the
-difference between you the innocent man and <i>mon
-Rafe</i>!</p>
-<p>“You were guilty. In your heart you were
-guilty. In your soul you were guilty. M’sieur
-Cain himself was not more guilty than you!</p>
-<p>“You were more guilty than <i>mon Rafe</i>, for he
-had suffered more from that man. He was
-hunted. He was desperate, crazy! You were
-cool. You were ready. Only <i>mon Rafe</i> was a
-little quicker, because he was desperate. Before
-the Good God you were more guilty.</p>
-<p>“And <i>mon Rafe</i> must be blackened more than
-the fire had blackened his poor body. And the
-poor Ruth must break the Holy Secret. And the
-good M’sieur the Bishop must break his holiest
-oath. All to make you innocent!</p>
-<p>“Bah! <i>Innocent!</i>”</p>
-<p>She flung away from him and ran up the hill.
-Cynthe had not said quite all that she intended to
-say to this young gentleman. But then, also, she
-had said a good deal more than she had intended
-to say. So it was about even. She had
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span>
-said enough. And it would do him no harm.
-She had felt that she owed <i>mon Rafe</i> a little plain
-speaking. She was much relieved.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting stood where she had left him
-digging up the tender roots of the new grass with
-his toe. He did not look after the girl. He had
-forgotten her.</p>
-<p>He felt no resentment at the things that she had
-said. He did not argue with himself as to
-whether these things were just or unjust. Of all
-the things that she had said only one thing mattered.
-And that not because she had said it. It
-mattered because it was true. The quick, jabbing
-sentences from the girl had driven home to him
-just one thing.</p>
-<p>Guilty? He <i>was</i> guilty. He was as guilty as––Rafe
-Gadbeau.</p>
-<p>Provocation? Yes, he had had provocation,
-bitter, blinding provocation. But so had Rafe
-Gadbeau: and he had never thought of Rafe Gadbeau
-as anything but guilty of murder.</p>
-<p>He turned on his heel and walked down the
-Run with swift, swinging strides, fighting this conviction
-that was settling upon him. He fought it
-viciously, with contempt, arguing that he was a
-man, that the thing was done and past, that men
-have no time for remorse and sickish, mawkish
-repentance. Those things were for brooding
-women, and Frenchmen. He fought it reasonably,
-sagaciously; contending that he had not, in
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span>
-fact, pulled the trigger. How did he know that
-he would ever have done so? Maybe he had not
-really intended to kill at all. Maybe he would not
-have killed. The man might have spoken to him.
-Perhaps he was going to speak when he turned
-that time. Who could tell? Ten thousand
-things might have happened, any one of which
-would have stood between him and killing the man.
-He fought it defiantly. Suppose he had killed the
-man? What about it? The man deserved it.
-He had a right to kill him.</p>
-<p>But he knew that he was losing at every angle
-of the fight. For the conviction answered not a
-word to any of these things. It merely fastened
-itself upon his spirit and stuck to the original indictment:
-“As guilty as Rafe Gadbeau.”</p>
-<p>And when he came over the top of the hill,
-from where he could look down upon the grave of
-Rafe Gadbeau there under the Gaunt Rocks, the
-conviction pointed out to him just one enduring
-fact. It said: “There is the grave of Rafe
-Gadbeau; as long as memory lives to say anything
-about that grave it will say: a murderer was buried
-here.”</p>
-<p>Then he fought no more with the conviction.
-It gripped his spirit and cowed him. It sat upon
-his shoulders and rode home with him. His
-mother saw it in his face, and, not understanding,
-began to look for some fresh trouble.</p>
-<p>She need not have looked for new trouble, so
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span>
-far as concerned things outside himself. For
-Jeffrey was doing very well in the world of men.
-He had gotten the home rebuilt, a more comfortable
-and finer home than it had ever been.
-He had secured an excellent contract from the railroad
-to supply thousands of ties out of the timber
-of the high hills. He had made money out
-of that. And once he had gotten a taste of money-making,
-in a business that was his by the traditions
-of his people and his own liking, he knew that he
-had found himself a career.</p>
-<p>He was working now on a far bigger project,
-the reforesting of thirty thousand acres of the
-higher hill country. In time there would be unlimited
-money in that. But there was more than
-money in it. It was a game and a life which he
-knew and which he loved. To make money by
-making things more abundant, by covering the
-naked peaks of the hill country with sturdy, growing
-timber, that was a thing that appealed to him.</p>
-<p>All the Winter nights he had spent learning the
-things that men had done in Germany and elsewhere
-in this direction, and in adding this knowledge
-to what he knew could be done here in the
-hills. Already he knew it was being said that
-he was a young fellow who knew more about growing
-timber than any two old men in the hills.
-And he knew how much this meant, coming from
-among a people who are not prone to give youth
-more than its due. Already he was being picked
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span>
-as an expert. Next week he was going down to
-Albany to give answers to a legislative committee
-for the Forest Commission, which was trying to
-get appropriations from the State for cleaning up
-brush and deadfalls from out of standing timber––a
-thing that if well done would render forest
-fires almost harmless.</p>
-<p>He was getting a standing and a recognition
-which now made that law school diploma––the
-thing that he had once regarded as the portal of
-the world––look cheap and little.</p>
-<p>But, as he sat late that night working on his
-forestry calculations, the roadway of his dreams
-fell away from under him. The high colour of
-his ambitions faded to a grey wall that stood before
-him and across the grey wall in letters of
-black he could only see the word––<i>guilty</i>.</p>
-<p>What was it all worth? Why work? Why
-fight? Why dream? Why anything? when at
-the end and the beginning of all things there stood
-that wall with the word written across it.
-Guilty––guilty as Rafe Gadbeau. And Ruth
-Lansing––!</p>
-<p>A flash of sudden insight caught him and held
-him in its glaring light. He had been doing all
-this work. He had built this home. He had
-fought the roughest timber-jacks and the high hills
-and the raging winter for money. He had
-dreamt and laboured on his dreams and built them
-higher. Why? For Ruth Lansing.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></div>
-<p>He had fought the thought of her. He had
-put her out of his mind. He had said that she
-had failed him in need. He had even, in the
-blackest time of the night, called her liar. He
-had forgotten her, he said.</p>
-<p>Now he knew that not for an instant had she
-been out of his mind. Every stroke of work had
-been for her. She had stood at the top of the
-high path of every struggling dream.</p>
-<p>Between him and her now rose that grey wall
-with the one word written on it. Was that what
-they had meant that day there in the court, she
-and the Bishop? Had they not lied, after all?
-Was there some sort of uncanny truth or insight
-or hidden justice in that secret confessional of
-theirs that revealed the deep, the real, the everlasting
-truth, while it hid the momentary, accidental
-truth of mere words? In effect, they had
-said that he was guilty. And he <i>was</i> guilty!</p>
-<p>What was that the Bishop had said when he
-had asked for truth that day on the railroad line?
-“Sooner or later we have to learn that there is
-something bigger than we are.” Was this what
-it meant? Was this the thing bigger than he was?
-The thing that had seen through him, had looked
-down into his heart, had measured him; was this
-the thing that was bigger than he?</p>
-<p>He was whirled about in a confusing, distorting
-maze of imagination, misinformation, and
-some unreadable facts.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span></div>
-<p>He was a guilty man. Ruth Lansing knew that
-he was guilty. That was why she had acted as
-she had. He would go to her. He would––!
-But what was the use? She would not talk to
-him about this. She would merely deny, as she
-had done before, that she knew anything at all.
-What could he do? Where could he turn?
-They, he and Ruth, could never speak of that
-thing. They could never come to any understanding
-of anything. This thing, this wall––with
-that word written on it––would stand between
-them forever; this wall of guilt and the secret that
-was sealed behind her lips. Certainly this was the
-thing that was stronger than he. There was no
-answer. There was no way out.</p>
-<p>Guilty! Guilty as Rafe Gadbeau!</p>
-<p>But Rafe Gadbeau had found a way out. He
-was not guilty any more. Cynthe had said so.
-He had gotten past that wall of guilt somehow.
-He had merely come through the fire and thrown
-himself at a man’s feet and had his guilt wiped
-away. What was there in that uncanny thing they
-called confession, that a man, guilty, guilty as––as
-Rafe Gadbeau, could come to another man,
-and, by the saying of a few words, turn over and
-face death feeling that his guilt was wiped away?</p>
-<p>It was a delusion, of course. The saying of
-words could never wipe away Rafe Gadbeau’s
-guilt, any more than it could take away this guilt
-from Jeffrey Whiting. It was a delusion, yes.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span>
-But Rafe Gadbeau <i>believed</i> it! Cynthe believed
-it! And Cynthe was no fool. <i>Ruth</i> believed it!</p>
-<p>It was a delusion, yes. But––<i>What</i> a delusion!
-What a magnificent, soul-stirring delusion!
-A delusion that could lift Rafe Gadbeau
-out of the misery of his guilt, that carried the
-souls of millions of guilty people through all the
-world up out of the depths of their crimes to a
-confidence of relief and freedom!</p>
-<p>Then the soul of Jeffrey Whiting went down
-into the abyss of despairing loneliness. It trod
-the dark ways in which there was no guidance.
-It did not look up, for it knew not to whom or
-to what it might appeal. It travelled an endless
-round of memory, from cause to effect and back
-again to cause, looking for the single act, or
-thought, that must have been the starting point,
-that must have held the germ of his guilt.</p>
-<p>Somewhere there must have been a beginning.
-He knew that he was not in any particular a different
-person, capable of anything different, likely
-to anything different, that morning on Bald Mountain
-from what he had been on any other morning
-since he had become a man. There was never
-a time, so far as he could see, when he would not
-have been ready to do the thing which he was
-ready to do that morning––given the circumstances.
-Nor had he changed in any way since
-that morning. What had been essentially his act,
-his thought, a part of him, that morning was just
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span>
-as much a part of him, was himself, in fact, this
-minute. There was no thing in the succession
-of incidents to which he could point and say:
-That was not I who did that: I did not mean
-that: I am sorry I did that. Nor would there
-ever be a time when he could say any of these
-things. It seemed that he must always have been
-guilty of that thing; that in all his life to come
-he must always be guilty of it. There had been
-no change in him to make him capable of it, to
-make him wish it; there had been no later change
-in him by which he would undo it. It seemed
-that his guilt was something which must have begun
-away back in the formation of his character,
-and which would persist as long as he was the
-being that he was. There was no beginning of
-it. There was no way that it might ever end.</p>
-<p>And, now that he remembered, Ruth Lansing
-had seen that guilt, too. She had seen it in his
-eyes before ever the thought had taken shape in
-his mind.</p>
-<p>What had she seen? What was that thing written
-so clear in his eyes that she could read and
-tell him of it that day on the road from French
-Village?</p>
-<p>He would go to her and ask her. She should
-tell him what was that thing she had seen. He
-would make her tell. He would have it from
-her!</p>
-<p>But, no. Where was the use? It would only
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span>
-bring them to that whole, impossible, bewildering
-business of the confessional. And he did not
-want to hear any more of that. His heart was
-sick of it. It had made him suffer enough. And
-he did not doubt now that Ruth had suffered
-equally, or maybe more, from it.</p>
-<p>Where could he go? He must tell this thing.
-He <i>must</i> talk of it to some one! That resistless,
-irrepressible impulse for confession, that call
-of the lone human soul for confidence, was upon
-him. He must find some other soul to share with
-him the burden of this conviction. He must find
-some one who would understand and to whom he
-could speak.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting was not subtle. He could not
-have analysed what this craving meant. He only
-knew that it was very real, that his soul was staggering
-alone and blind under the weight of this
-thing.</p>
-<p>There was one man who would understand.
-The man who had looked upon the faces of life
-and death these many years, the man of strange
-comings and goings, the Bishop who had set him
-on the way of all this, and who from what he had
-said in his house in Alden, that day so long ago
-when all this began, may have foreseen this very
-thing, the man who had heard Rafe Gadbeau cry
-out his guilt; that man would understand. He
-would go to him.</p>
-<p>He wrote a note which his mother would find in
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span>
-the morning, and slipping quietly out of the
-house he saddled his horse for the ride to Lowville.</p>
-<p>“I came because I had to come,” Jeffrey began,
-when the Bishop had seated him. “I don’t know
-why I should come to you. I know you cannot
-do anything. There is nothing for any one to do.
-But I had to tell some one. I <i>had</i> to say it to
-somebody.”</p>
-<p>“I sat that day in the courtroom,” he went on
-as the Bishop waited, “and thought that the whole
-world was against me. It seemed that everybody
-was determined to make me guilty––even you,
-even Ruth. And I was innocent. I had done
-nothing. I was bitter and desperate with the idea
-that everybody was trying to make me out guilty,
-when I was innocent. I had done nothing. I had
-not killed a man. I told the men there on the
-mountain that I was innocent and they would not
-believe me. Ruth and you knew in your hearts
-that I had not done the thing, but you would not
-say a word for me, an innocent man.”</p>
-<p>“It was that as much as anything, that feeling
-that the whole world wanted to condemn me knowing
-that I was innocent, that drove me on to the
-wild attack upon the railroad. I was fighting
-back, fighting back against everybody.</p>
-<p>“And––this is what I came to say––all the
-time I was guilty––guilty: guilty as Rafe Gadbeau!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span></div>
-<p>“I am not sure I understand,” said the Bishop
-slowly, as Jeffrey stopped.</p>
-<p>“Oh, there’s nothing to understand. It is just
-as I say. I was guilty of that man’s death before
-I saw him at all that morning. I was guilty of it
-that instant when Rafe Gadbeau fired. I am
-guilty now. I will always be guilty. Rafe Gadbeau
-could say a few words to you and turn over
-into the next world, free. I cannot,” he ended,
-with a sort of grim finality as though he saw again
-before him that wall against which he had come
-the night before.</p>
-<p>“You mean––” the Bishop began slowly.
-Then he asked suddenly, “What brought your
-mind to this view of the matter?”</p>
-<p>“A girl,” said Jeffrey, “the girl that saved me;
-that French girl that loved Rafe Gadbeau. She
-showed me.”</p>
-<p>Ah, thought the Bishop, Cynthe has been relieving
-her mind with some plain speaking. But he
-did not feel at all easy. He knew better than to
-treat the matter lightly. Jeffrey Whiting was not
-a boy to be laughed out of a morbid notion, or to
-be told to grow older and forget the thing. His
-was a man’s soul, standing in the dark, grappling
-with a thing with which it could not cope. The
-wrong word here might mar his whole life. Here
-was no place for softening away the realities with
-reasoning. The man’s soul demanded a man’s
-straight answer.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></div>
-<p>“Before you could be guilty,” said the Bishop
-decisively, “you must have injured some one by
-your thought, your intention. Whom did you injure?”</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting leaped at the train of thought,
-to follow it out from the maze which his mind
-had been treading. Here was the answer. This
-would clear the way. Whom had he injured?</p>
-<p>Well, <i>whom</i> had he injured? <i>Who</i> had been
-hurt by his thought, his wish, to kill a man? Had
-it hurt the man, Samuel Rogers? No. He was
-none the worse of it.</p>
-<p>Had it hurt Rafe Gadbeau? No. He did not
-enter into this at all.</p>
-<p>Had it hurt Jeffrey Whiting, himself? Not till
-yesterday; and not in the way meant.</p>
-<p>Whom, then? And if it had hurt nobody, then––then
-why all this––? Jeffrey Whiting rose
-from his chair as though to go. He did not look
-at the Bishop. He stood with his eyes fixed unseeing
-upon the floor, asking:</p>
-<p>Whom?</p>
-<p>Suddenly, from within, just barely audible
-through his lips there came the answer; a single
-word:</p>
-<p>“<i>God!</i>”</p>
-<p>“Your business is with Him, then,” said the
-Bishop, rising with what almost seemed brusqueness.
-“You wanted to see Him.”</p>
-<p>“But––but,” Jeffrey Whiting hesitated to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span>
-argue, “men come to you, to confess. Rafe Gadbeau––!”</p>
-<p>“No,” said the Bishop quickly, “you are
-wrong. Men come to me to <i>confession</i>. They
-come to <i>confess</i> to God.”</p>
-<p>He took the young man’s hand, saying:</p>
-<p>“I will not say another word. You have found
-your own answer. You would not understand better
-if I talked forever. Find God, and tell Him,
-what you have told me.”</p>
-<p>In the night Jeffrey Whiting rode back up the
-long way to the hills and home. He was still bewildered,
-disappointed, and a little resentful of the
-Bishop’s brief manners with him. He had gone
-looking for sympathy, understanding, help. And
-he had been told to find God.</p>
-<p>Find God? How did men go about to find
-God? Wasn’t all the world continually on the
-lookout for God, and who ever found Him? Did
-the preachers find Him? Did the priests find
-Him? And if they did, what did they say to
-Him? Did people who were sick, and people who
-said God had answered their prayers and punished
-their enemies for them; did they find God?</p>
-<p>Did they find Him when they prayed? Did
-they find Him when they were in trouble? What
-did the Bishop mean? Find God? He must
-have meant something? How did the Bishop
-himself find God? Was there some word, some
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span>
-key, some hidden portal by which men found God?
-Was God to be found here on the hills, in the
-night, in the open?</p>
-<p>God! God! his soul cried incoherently, how
-can I come, how can I find! A wordless, baffled,
-impotent cry, that reached nowhere.</p>
-<p>The Bishop had once said it. We get no answer.</p>
-<p>Then the sense of his guilt, unending, ineradicable
-guilt, swept down upon him again and
-beat him and flattened him and buffeted him. It
-left him shaken and beaten. He was not able to
-face this thing. It was too big for him. He was
-after all only a boy, a lost boy, travelling alone in
-the dark, under the unconcerned stars. He had
-been caught and crushed between forces and passions
-that were too much for him. He was little
-and these things were very great.</p>
-<p>Unconsciously the heart within him, the child
-heart that somehow lives ever in every man, began
-to speak, to speak, without knowing it, direct
-to God.</p>
-<p>It was not a prayer. It was not a plea. It was
-not an excuse. It was the simple unfolding of the
-heart of a child to the Father who made it. The
-heart was bruised. A weight was crushing it. It
-could not lift itself. That was all; the cry of helplessness
-complete, of dependence utter and unreasoning.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span></div>
-<p>Suddenly the man raised his head and looked at
-the stars, blinking at him through the starting
-tears.</p>
-<p>Was that God? Had some one spoken?
-Where was the load that had lain upon him all
-these weary hours?</p>
-<p>He stopped his horse and looked about him,
-breathing in great, free, hungry breaths of God’s
-air about him. For it <i>was</i> God’s air. That was
-the wonder of it. The world was God’s! And it
-was new made for him to live in!</p>
-<p>He breathed his thanks, a breath and a prayer
-of thanks, as simple and unreasoning, unquestioning,
-as had been the unfolding of his heart. He
-had been bound: he was free!</p>
-<p>Then his horse went flying up the hill road,
-beating a tattoo of new life upon the soft, breathing
-air of the spring night.</p>
-<p>With the inconsequence of all of us children
-when God has lifted the stone from our hearts,
-Jeffrey had already left everything of the last thirty-six
-hours behind him as completely as if he had
-never lived through those hours. (That He lets
-us forget so easily, shows that He is the Royal
-God in very deed.)</p>
-<p>Before the sun was well up in the morning
-Jeffrey was on his way to French Village, to look
-out the cabin where Ruth had cared for old Robbideau
-Laclair, and had shamed the lazy men into
-fixing that roof.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span></div>
-<p>What he had heard the other day from Cynthe
-was by no means all that he had heard of the
-doings of Ruth during the last seven months.
-For the French people had taken her to their
-hearts and had made of her a wonderful new kind
-of saint. They had seen her come to them out of
-the fire. They had heard of her silence at the
-trial of the man she loved. They had seen her
-devoting herself with a careless fearlessness to
-their loved ones in the time when the black diphtheria
-had frightened the wits out of the best of
-women. All the while they knew that she was not
-happy. And they had explained fully to the
-countryside just what was their opinion of the
-whole matter.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey, remembering these things, and suddenly
-understanding many things that had been hidden
-from him, was very humble as he wondered what
-he could say to Ruth.</p>
-<p>At the outskirts of the little unpainted village he
-met Cynthe.</p>
-<p>“Where is she?” he asked without preface.</p>
-<p>Cynthe looked at him curiously, a long, searching
-look, and was amazed at the change she
-saw.</p>
-<p>Here was not the heady, thoughtless boy to
-whom she had talked the other day. Here was a
-man, a thinking man, a man who had suffered and
-had learned some things out of unknown places of
-his heart.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span></div>
-<p>I hurt him, she thought. Maybe I said too
-much. But I am not sorry. <i>Non.</i></p>
-<p>“The last house,” she answered, “by the crook
-of the lake there. She will be glad,” she remarked
-simply, and turned on her way.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey rode on, thanking the little French girl
-heartily for the word that she had thought to add.
-It was a warrant, it seemed, of forgiveness––and
-of all things.</p>
-<p>Old Robbideau Laclair and his crippled wife
-Philomena sat in the sun by the side of the house
-watching Ruth, who with strong brown arms bare
-above the elbow was working away contentedly
-in their little patch of garden. They nudged each
-other as Jeffrey rode up and left his horse, but
-they made no sign to Ruth.</p>
-<p>So Jeffrey stepping lightly on the soft new earth
-came to her unseen and unheard. He took the
-hoe from her hand as she turned to face him. Up
-to that moment Jeffrey had not known what he
-was to say to her. What was there to say? But
-as he looked into her startled, pain-clouded eyes
-he found himself saying:</p>
-<p>“I hurt God once, very much. I did not know
-what to say to Him. Last night He taught me
-what to say. I hurt you, once, very much. Will
-you tell me what to say to you, Ruth?”</p>
-<p>It was a surprising, disconcerting greeting.
-But Ruth quickly understood. There was no irreverence
-in it, only a man’s stumbling, wholehearted
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span>
-confession. It was a plea that she had no
-will to deny. The quick, warm tears of joy came
-welling to her eyes as she silently took his hand
-and led him out of the little garden and to where
-his horse stood.</p>
-<p>There, she leaning against his horse, her fingers
-slipping softly through the big bay’s mane, Jeffrey
-standing stiff and anxious before her, with the glad
-morning and the high hills and all French Village
-observing them with kindly eyes, these two faced
-their question.</p>
-<p>But after all there was no question. For
-when Jeffrey had told all, down to that moment in
-the dark road when he had found God in his heart,
-Ruth, with that instinct of mothering tenderness
-that is born in every woman, said:</p>
-<p>“Poor boy, you have suffered too much!”</p>
-<p>“What I suffered was that I made for myself,”
-he said thickly. “Cynthe Cardinal told me what
-a fool I was.”</p>
-<p>“What did Cynthe tell you?”</p>
-<p>“She told me that you loved me.”</p>
-<p>“Did you need to be told that, Jeffrey?” said
-the girl very quietly.</p>
-<p>“Yes, it seems so. I’d known your little white
-soul ever since you were a baby. I knew that in
-all your life you’d never had a thought that was
-not the best, the truest, the loyalest for me. I
-knew that there was never a time when you
-wouldn’t have given everything, even life, for me.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span>
-I knew it that day in the Bishop’s house. I knew
-it that morning when you came to me in the sugar
-cabin.”</p>
-<p>“Yes, I knew all that,” he went on bitterly.
-“I knew you loved me, and I knew what a love it
-was. I knew it. And yet that day––that day
-in the courtroom, the only thing I could do was
-to call you liar!”</p>
-<p>She put up her hands with an appeal to stop him,
-but he went on doggedly.</p>
-<p>“Yes, I did. That was all I could think of.
-I threw it at you like a blow in the face. I saw
-you quiver and shrink, as though I had struck you.
-And even that sight wasn’t enough for me. I
-kept on saying it, when I knew in my heart it
-wasn’t so. I couldn’t help but know it. I knew
-you. But I kept on telling myself that you lied;
-kept on till yesterday. I wasn’t big enough. I
-wasn’t man enough to see that you were just facing
-something that was bigger than both of us––something
-that was bigger and truer than words––that
-there was no way out for you but to do
-what you did.”</p>
-<p>“Jeffrey, dear,” the girl hurried to say, “you
-know that’s a thing we can’t speak about––”</p>
-<p>“Yes, we can, now. I know and I understand.
-You needn’t say anything. I <i>understand</i>.”</p>
-<p>“And I understand a lot more,” he began
-again. “It took that little French girl to tell me
-what was the truth. I know it now. There was
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span>
-a deeper, a truer truth under everything. That
-was why you had to do as you did. That’s why
-everything was so. I wasn’t innocent. Things
-don’t <i>happen</i> as those things did. They work out,
-because they have to.”</p>
-<p>The girl was watching him with fright and
-wonder in her eyes. What was he going to say?
-But she let him go on.</p>
-<p>“No, I wasn’t innocent,” he said, as though to
-himself now. “I fooled myself into thinking that
-I was. But I was not. I meant to kill a man.
-I had meant to for a long time. Nothing but
-Rafe Gadbeau’s quickness prevented me. No, I
-wasn’t innocent. I was guilty in my heart. I was
-a murderer. I was guilty. I was as guilty as
-Rafe Gadbeau! As guilty as Ca––!”</p>
-<p>The girl had suddenly sprung forward and
-thrown her arms around his neck. She caught
-the word that was on his lips and stopped it with
-a kiss, a kiss that dared the onlooking world to say
-what he had been going to say.</p>
-<p>“You shall not say that!” she panted. “I
-will not let you say it! Nobody shall say it! I
-defy the whole world to say it!”</p>
-<p>“But it’s––it’s true,” said the boy brokenly as
-he held her.</p>
-<p>“It is not true! Never! Nothing’s true, only
-the truth that God has hidden in His heart!
-And that is hidden! How can we say? How
-dare we say what we would have done, when we
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span>
-didn’t do it? How do we know what’s really in
-our hearts? Don’t you see, Jeffrey boy, we cannot
-say things like that! We don’t know! I
-won’t let you say it.</p>
-<p>“And if you do say it,” she argued, “why, I’ll
-have to say it, too.”</p>
-<p>“You?”</p>
-<p>“Yes, I. Do you remember that night you
-were in the sugar cabin? I was outside looking
-through the chinks at Rafe Gadbeau. What was
-I thinking? What was in my heart? I’ll tell
-you. I was out there stalking like a panther. I
-wanted just one thing out of all the world. Just
-one thing! My rifle! To kill him! I would
-have done it gladly––with joy in my heart! I
-could have sung while I was doing it!</p>
-<p>“Now,” she gasped, “now, if you’re going to
-say that thing, why, we’ll say it together!”</p>
-<p>The big boy, holding the trembling girl closer
-in his arms, understood nothing but that she
-wanted to stand with him, to put herself in whatever
-place was his, to take that black, terrible
-shadow that had fallen on him and wrap it around
-herself too.</p>
-<p>“My poor little white-souled darling,” he said
-through tears that choked him, “I can’t take this
-from you! It’s too much, I can’t!”</p>
-<p>After a little the girl relaxed, tiredly, against
-his shoulder and argued dreamily:</p>
-<p>“I don’t see what you can do. You’ll have to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span>
-take <i>me</i>. And I don’t see how you can take me
-any way but just as I am.”</p>
-<p>Then she was suddenly conscious that the world
-was observing. She drew quickly away, and
-Jeffrey, still dazed and shaken, let her go.</p>
-<p>Standing, looking at her with eyes that hungered
-and adored, he began to speak in wonder and
-self-abasement.</p>
-<p>“After all I’ve made you suffer––!”</p>
-<p>But Ruth would have none of this. It had been
-nothing, she declared. She had found work to
-do. She had been happy, in a way. God had
-been very kind.</p>
-<p>At length Jeffrey said: “Well, I guess we’ll
-never have to misunderstand again, anyway, Ruth.
-I had to find God because I was––I needed Him.
-Now I want to find Him––your way.”</p>
-<p>“You mean––you mean that you <i>believe</i>!”</p>
-<p>“Yes,” said Jeffrey slowly. “I didn’t think I
-ever would. I certainly didn’t want to. But I
-do. And it isn’t just to win with you, Ruth, or
-to make you happier. I can’t help it. It’s the
-thing the Bishop once told me about––the thing
-that’s bigger than I am.”</p>
-<p>Now Ruth, all zeal and thankfulness, was for
-leading him forthwith to Father Ponfret, that he
-might begin at once his course of instructions
-which she assured him was essential.</p>
-<p>But Jeffrey demurred. He had been reading
-books all winter, he said. Though he admitted
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span>
-that until last night he had not understood much
-of it. Now it was all clear and easy, thank God!
-Could she not come home, then, to his mother,
-who was pining for her––and––and they would
-have all their lives to finish the instructions.</p>
-<p>On this, however, Ruth was firm. Here she
-would stay, among these good people where she
-had made for herself a place and a home. He
-must come every week to Father Ponfret for his
-instructions, like any other convert. If on those
-occasions he also came to see her, well, she would,
-of course, be glad to see him and to know how he
-was progressing.</p>
-<p>Afterwards? Well, afterwards, they would
-see.</p>
-<p>And to this Jeffrey was forced to agree.</p>
-<p>Old Robbideau Laclair, when he heard of this
-arrangement, grumbled that the way of the heretic
-was indeed made easy in these days. But his wife
-Philomena, scraping sharply with her stick, informed
-him that if the good Ruth saw fit to convert
-even a heathen Turk into a husband for herself
-she would no doubt make a good job of it.</p>
-<p>So love came and went through the summer,
-practically unrebuked.</p>
-<p>Again the Bishop came riding up to French
-Village with Arsene LaComb. But this time they
-rode in a jogging, rattling coach that swung up
-over the new line of railroad that came into the
-hills from Welden Junction. And Arsene was
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span>
-very glad of this, for as he looked at his beloved
-M’sieur l’Eveque he saw that he was not now the
-man to have faced the long road up over the hills.
-He was not two, he was many years older and less
-sturdy.</p>
-<p>The Bishop practised his French a little, but
-mostly he was silent and thoughtful. He was
-remembering that day, nearly two years ago now,
-when he had set two ambitious young souls upon
-a way which they did not like. What a coil of
-good and bad had come out of that doing of his.
-And again he wondered, as he had wondered then,
-whether he had done right. Who was to tell?</p>
-<p>And again to-morrow he was to set those two
-again upon their way of life, for he was coming up
-to French Village to the wedding of Ruth Lansing
-to Jeffrey Whiting.</p>
-<p>Jeffrey Whiting knelt by Ruth Lansing’s side in
-the little rough-finished sanctuary of the chapel
-which Father Ponfret had somehow managed to
-raise during that busy, poverty-burdened summer.
-But Jeffrey Whiting saw none of the poor makeshifts
-out of which the little priest had contrived
-a sanctuary to the high God. He was back again,
-in the night, on a dark, lone road, under the unconcerned
-stars, crying out to find God. Then
-God had come to him, with merciful, healing touch
-and lifted him out of the dust and agony of the
-road, and, finally, had brought him here, to this
-moment.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></div>
-<p>He had just received into his body the God of
-life. His soul stood trembling at its portal, receiving
-its Guest for the first time. He was
-amazed with a great wonder, for here was the
-very God of the dark night speaking to him in
-words that beat upon his heart. And his wonder
-was that from this he should ever arise and go on
-with any other business whatever.</p>
-<p>Ruth Lansing knelt, adoring and listening to
-the music of that <i>choir unseen</i> which had once
-given her the call of life. She had followed it, not
-always in the perfect way, but at least bravely, unquestioningly.
-And it had brought her now to a
-holy and awed happiness. Neither life nor death
-would ever rob her of this moment.</p>
-<p>Presently they rose and stood before the Bishop.
-And as the Shepherd blessed their joined hands he
-prayed for these two who were dear to him, as
-well as for his other little ones, and, as always,
-for those “other sheep.” And the breathing of
-his prayer was:</p>
-<p>That they be not afraid, my God, with any fear;
-but trust long in Thee and in each other.</p>
-<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>THE END</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Printed in the United States of America.</p>
-
-<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.15 -->
-<!-- timestamp: Sat Sep 26 03:46:52 -0400 2009 -->
-
-<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30093 ***</div>
-</body>
-</html>
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Shepherd of the North, by Richard Aumerle Maher.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + h1 {font-size:1.6em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h2 {font-size:1.4em;} + h3 {font-size:1.2em;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + td.chalgn {text-align:right; margin-top:0; padding-right:1em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30093 ***</div> + +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:30px;font-size:2.2em;margin-bottom:50px;'>THE SHEPHERD OF<br />THE NORTH</p> +<p class='tp' >BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:20px;'>RICHARD AUMERLE MAHER</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:120px;'>Author of<br />“The Heart of a Man,” etc.</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;'>M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;margin-bottom:30px;'>CHICAGO NEW YORK</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:20px;'>Copyright 1916</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:10px;'><span class='smcap'>By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Set up and electrotyped. Published, March, 1916.</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:20px;font-size:smaller;'>Reprinted March, 1916 June, 1916 October, 1916 February, 1917.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'><span style='font-size:0.8em'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right'><span style='font-size:0.8em;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The White Horse Chaplain</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_THE_WHITE_HORSE_CHAPLAIN'>3</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Choir Unseen</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_THE_CHOIR_UNSEEN'>35</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Glow of Dawn</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_GLOW_OF_DAWN'>64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Answer</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_THE_ANSWER'>103</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Mon Pere Je Me ’Cuse</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_MON_PERE_JE_ME_CUSE'>137</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Business of the Shepherd</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_THE_BUSINESS_OF_THE_SHEPHERD'>174</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Inner Citadel</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_THE_INNER_CITADEL'>210</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Seigneur Dieu, Whither Go I?</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_SEIGNEUR_DIEU_WHITHER_GO_I'>243</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Coming of the Shepherd</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_THE_COMING_OF_THE_SHEPHERD'>277</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>That They Be Not Afraid</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_THAT_THEY_BE_NOT_AFRAID'>311</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>THE SHEPHERD OF THE NORTH</h1> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span></div> +<h2>THE SHEPHERD OF THE NORTH</h2> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='I_THE_WHITE_HORSE_CHAPLAIN' id='I_THE_WHITE_HORSE_CHAPLAIN'></a> +<h2>I</h2> +<h3>THE WHITE HORSE CHAPLAIN</h3> +</div> +<p>The Bishop of Alden was practising his French +upon Arsene LaComb. It was undoubtedly good +French, this of M’sieur the Bishop, Arsene assured +himself. It must be. But it certainly was +not any kind of French that had ever been spoken +by the folks back in Three Rivers.</p> +<p>Still, what did it matter? If Arsene could not +understand all that the Bishop said, it was equally +certain that the Bishop could not understand all +that Arsene said. And truly the Bishop was a +cheery companion for the long road. He took +his upsets into six feet of Adirondack snow, as +man and Bishop must when the drifts are soft +and the road is uncertain.</p> +<p>In the purple dawn they had left Lowville and +the railroad behind and had headed into the hills. +For thirty miles, with only one stop for a bite +of lunch and a change of ponies, they had pounded +along up the half-broken, logging roads. Now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +they were in the high country and there were no +roads.</p> +<p>Arsene had come this way yesterday. But a +drifting storm had followed him down from Little +Tupper, covering the road that he had made +and leaving no trace of the way. He had stopped +driving and held only a steady, even rein to keep +his ponies from stumbling, while he let the tough, +willing little Canadian blacks pick their own road.</p> +<p>Twice in the last hour the Bishop and Arsene +had been tossed off the single bobsled out into +the drifts. It was back-breaking work, sitting all +day long on the swaying bumper, with no back +rest, feet braced stiffly against the draw bar in +front to keep the dizzy balance. But it was the +only way that this trip could be made.</p> +<p>The Bishop knew that he should not have let +the confirmation in French Village on Little Tupper +go to this late date in the season. He had +arranged to come a month before. But Father +Ponfret’s illness had put him back at that time.</p> +<p>Now he was worried. The early December +dark was upon them. There was no road. The +ponies were tiring. And there were yet twelve +bad miles to go.</p> +<p>Still, things might be worse. The cold was not +bad. He had the bulkier of his vestments and regalia +in his stout leather bag lashed firmly to the +sled. They could take no harm. The holy oils +and the other sacred essentials were slung securely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +about his body. And a tumble more or less in +the snow was a part of the day’s work. They +would break their way through somehow.</p> +<p>So, with the occasional interruptions, he was +practising his amazing French upon Arsene.</p> +<p>Bishop Joseph Winthrop of Alden was of old +Massachusetts stock. He had learned the French +that was taught at Harvard in the fifties. Afterwards, +after his conversion to the Catholic +Church, he had gone to Louvain for his seminary +studies. There he had heard French of another +kind. But to the day he died he spoke his +French just as it was written in the book, and with +an aggressive New England accent.</p> +<p>He must speak French to the children in French +Village to-morrow, not because the children would +understand, but because it would please Father +Ponfret and the parents.</p> +<p>They were struggling around the shoulder of +Lansing Mountain and the Bishop was rounding +out an elegant period to the bewildered admiration +of Arsene, when the latter broke in with a +sharp:</p> +<p>“Jomp, M’sieur l’Eveque, <i>jomp</i>!”</p> +<p>The Bishop jumped––or was thrown––ten +feet into a snow-bank.</p> +<p>While he gathered himself out of the snow and +felt carefully his bulging breast pockets to make +sure that everything was safe, he saw what had +happened.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span></div> +<p>The star-faced pony on the near side had +slipped off the trail and rolled down a little bank, +dragging the other pony and Arsene and the sled +with him. It looked like a bad jumble of ponies, +man and sled at the bottom of a little gully, and +as the Bishop floundered through the snow to help +he feared that it was serious.</p> +<p>Arsene, his body pinned deep in the snow under +the sled, his head just clear of the ponies’ +heels, was talking wisely and craftily to them in +the <i>patois</i> that they understood. He was within +inches of having his brains beaten out by the quivering +hoofs; he could not, literally, move his head +to save his life, and he talked and reasoned with +them as quietly as if he stood at their heads.</p> +<p>They kicked and fought each other and the sled, +until the influence of the calm voice behind them +began to work upon them. Then their own craft +came back to them and they remembered the many +bitter lessons they had gotten from kicking and +fighting in deep snow. They lay still and waited +for the voice to come and get them out of this.</p> +<p>As the Bishop tugged sturdily at the sled to +release Arsene, he remembered that he had seen +men under fire. And he said to himself that he +had never seen a cooler or a braver man than this +little French-Canadian storekeeper.</p> +<p>The little man rolled out unhurt, the snow had +been soft under him, and lunged for the ponies’ +heads.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span></div> +<p>“Up, Maje! Easee, Lisette, easee! Now! +Ah-a! Bien!”</p> +<p>He had them both by their bridles and dragged +them skilfully to their feet and up the bank. +With a lurch or two and a scramble they were all +safe back on the hard under-footing of the trail.</p> +<p>Arsene now looked around for the Bishop.</p> +<p>“Ba Golly! M’sieur l’Eveque, dat’s one fine +jomp. You got hurt, you?”</p> +<p>The Bishop declared that he was not in any +way the worse from the tumble, and Arsene turned +to his team. As the Bishop struggled back up +the bank, the little man looked up from his inspection +of his harness and said ruefully:</p> +<p>“Dat’s bad, M’sieur l’Eveque. She’s gone +bust.”</p> +<p>He held the frayed end of a broken trace in his +hand. The trouble was quite evident.</p> +<p>“What can we do?” asked the Bishop. +“Have you any rope?”</p> +<p>“No. Dat’s how I been one big fool, me. +I lef’ new rope on de sled las’ night on Lowville. +Dis morning she’s gone. Some t’ief.”</p> +<p>“We must get on somehow,” said the Bishop, +as he unbuckled part of the lashing from his bag +and handed the strap to Arsene. “That will hold +until we get to the first house where we can get the +loan of a trace. We can walk behind. We’re +both stiff and cold. It will do us good. Is it +far?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span></div> +<p>“Dat’s Long Tom Lansing in de hemlocks, +’bout quarter mile, maybe.” The little man +looked up from his work long enough to point +out a clump of hemlocks that stood out black and +sharp against the white world around them. As +the Bishop looked, a light peeped out from among +the trees, showing where life and a home +fought their battle against the desolation of the +hills.</p> +<p>“I donno,” said Arsene speculatively, as he and +the Bishop took up their tramp behind the sled; +“Dat Long Tom Lansing; he don’ like Canuck. +Maybe he don’ lend no harness, I donno.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; he will surely,” answered the Bishop +easily. “Nobody would refuse a bit of harness +in a case like this.”</p> +<p>It was full dark when they came to where +Tom Lansing’s cabin hid itself among the hemlocks. +Arsene did not dare trust his team off the +road where they had footing, so the Bishop +floundered his way through the heavy snow to +find the cabin door.</p> +<p>It was a rude, heavy cabin, roughly hewn out +of the hemlocks that had stood around it and +belonged to a generation already past. But it +was still serviceable and tight, and it was a home.</p> +<p>The Bishop halloed and knocked, but there was +no response from within. It was strange. For +there was every sign of life about the place. +After knocking a second time without result, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +lifted the heavy wooden latch and pushed quietly +into the cabin.</p> +<p>A great fire blazed in the fireplace directly opposite +the door. On the hearth stood a big black +and white shepherd dog. The dog gave not the +slightest heed to the intruder. He stood rigid, his +four legs planted squarely under him, his whole +body quivering with fear. His nose was pointed +upward as though ready for the howl to which +he dared not give voice. His great brown eyes +rolled in an ecstasy of fright but seemed unable +to tear themselves from the side of the room +where he was looking.</p> +<p>Along the side of the room ran a long, low +couch covered with soft, well worn hides. On it +lay a very long man, his limbs stretched out awkwardly +and unnaturally, showing that he had been +dragged unconscious to where he was. A candle +stood on the low window ledge and shone down +full into the man’s face.</p> +<p>At the head of the couch knelt a young girl, +her arm supporting the man’s head and shoulder, +her wildly tossed hair falling down across his +chest.</p> +<p>She was speaking to the man in a voice low +and even, but so tense that her whole slim body +seemed to vibrate with every word. It was as +though her very soul came to the portals of her lips +and shouted its message to the man. The power +of her voice, the breathless, compelling strength +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +of her soul need seemed to hold everything between +heaven and earth, as she pleaded to the +man. The Bishop stood spellbound.</p> +<p>“Come back, Daddy Tom! Come back, My +Father!” she was saying over and over. “Come +back, come back, Daddy Tom! It’s not true! +God doesn’t want you! He doesn’t want to take +you from Ruth! How could He! It’s not never +true! A tree couldn’t kill my Daddy Tom! +Never, never! Why, he’s felled whole slopes of +trees! Come back, Daddy Tom! Come back!”</p> +<p>For a time which he could not measure the +Bishop stood listening to the pleading of the girl’s +voice. But in reality he was not listening to the +sound. The girl was not merely speaking. She +was fighting bitterly with death. She was calling +all the forces of love and life to aid her in her +struggle. She was following the soul of her +loved one down to the very door of death. She +would pull him back out of the very clutches of +the unknown.</p> +<p>And the Bishop found that he was not merely +listening to what the girl said. He was going +down with her into the dark lane. He was echoing +every word of her pleading. The force of +her will and her prayer swept him along so that +with all the power of his heart and soul he prayed +for the man to open his eyes.</p> +<p>Suddenly the girl stopped. A great, terrible +fear seemed to grip and crush her, so that she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +cowered and hid her face against the big, grizzled +white head of the man, and cried out and sobbed +in terror.</p> +<p>The Bishop crossed the room softly and touched +the girl on the head, saying:</p> +<p>“Do not give up yet, child. I once had some +skill. Let me try.”</p> +<p>The girl turned and looked up blankly at him. +She did not question who he was or whence he +had come. She turned again and wrapped her +arms jealously about the head and shoulders of +her father. Plainly she was afraid and resentful +of any interference. But the Bishop insisted +gently and in the end she gave him place beside +her.</p> +<p>He had taken off his cap and overcoat and he +knelt quickly to listen at the man’s breast.</p> +<p>Life ran very low in the long, bony frame; but +there was life, certainly. While the Bishop fumbled +through the man’s pockets for the knife that +he was sure he would find, he questioned the girl +quietly.</p> +<p>“It was just a little while ago,” she answered, +in short, frightened sentences. “My dog came +yelping down from the mountain where Father +had been all day. He was cutting timber. I ran +up there. He was pinned down under a limb. +I thought he was dead, but he spoke to me and +told me where to cut the limb. I chopped it away +with his axe. But it must be I hurt him; he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +fainted. I can’t make him speak. I cut boughs +and made a sledge and dragged him down here. +But I can’t make him speak. Is he?–– Is +he?–– Tell me,” she appealed.</p> +<p>The Bishop was cutting skilfully at the arm and +shoulder of the man’s jacket and shirt.</p> +<p>“You were all alone, child?” he said. +“Where could you get the strength for all this? +My driver is out on the road,” he continued, as +he worked on. “Call him and send him for the +nearest help.”</p> +<p>The girl rose and with a lingering, heart-breaking +look back at the man on the couch, went out +into the snow.</p> +<p>The Bishop worked away deftly and steadily.</p> +<p>The man’s shoulder was crushed hopelessly, +but there was nothing there to constitute a fatal +injury. It was only when he came to the upper +ribs that he saw the real extent of the damage. +Several of them were caved in frightfully, and it +seemed certain that one or two of them must have +been shattered and the splinters driven into the +lung on that side.</p> +<p>The cold had driven back the blood, so that +the wounds had bled outwardly very little. The +Bishop moved the crushed shoulder a little, and +something black showed out of a torn muscle under +the scapula.</p> +<p>He probed tenderly, and the thing came out in +his hand. It was a little black ball of steel.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div> +<p>While the Bishop stood there wondering at the +thing in his hand, a long tremor ran through the +body on the couch. The man stirred ever so +slightly. A gasping moan of pain escaped from +his lips. His eyes opened and fixed themselves +searchingly upon the Bishop. The Bishop +thought it best not to speak, but to give the man +time to come back naturally to a realisation of +things.</p> +<p>While the man stared eagerly, disbelievingly, +and the Bishop stood holding the little black ball +between thumb and fore-finger, Ruth Lansing +came back into the room.</p> +<p>Seeing her father’s eyes open, the girl rushed +across the room and was about to throw herself +down by the side of the couch when her father’s +voice, scarcely more than a whisper, but audible +and clear, stopped her.</p> +<p>“The White Horse Chaplain!” he said in a +voice of slow wonder. “But I always knew he’d +come for me sometime. And I suppose it’s +time.”</p> +<p>The Bishop started. He had not heard the +name for twenty-five years.</p> +<p>The girl stopped by the table, trembling and +frightened. She had heard the tale of the White +Horse Chaplain many times. Her sense told her +that her father was delirious and raving. But he +spoke so calmly and so certainly. He seemed so +certain that the man he saw was an apparition +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +that she could not think or reason herself out of +her fright.</p> +<p>The Bishop answered easily and quietly:</p> +<p>“Yes, Lansing, I am the Chaplain. But I did +not think anybody remembered now.”</p> +<p>Tom Lansing’s eyes leaped wide with doubt +and question. They stared full at the Bishop. +Then they turned and saw the table standing in +its right place; saw Ruth Lansing standing by the +table; saw the dog at the fireplace. The man +there was real!</p> +<p>Tom Lansing made a little convulsive struggle +to rise, then fell back gasping.</p> +<p>The Bishop put his hand gently under the man’s +head and eased him to a better position, saying:</p> +<p>“It was just a chance, Lansing. I was driving +past and had broken a trace, and came in to +borrow one from you. You got a bad blow. +But your girl has just sent my driver for help. +They will get a doctor somewhere. We cannot +tell anything until he comes. It perhaps is not so +bad as it looks.” But, even as he spoke, the +Bishop saw a drop of blood appear at the corner +of the man’s white mouth; and he knew that it was +as bad as the worst.</p> +<p>The man lay quiet for a moment, while his eyes +moved again from the Bishop to the girl and the +everyday things of the room.</p> +<p>It was evident that his mind was clearing +sharply. He had rallied quickly. But the Bishop +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +knew instinctively that it was the last, flashing rally +of the forces of life––in the face of the on-crowding +darkness. The shock and the internal +hemorrhage were doing their work fast. The +time was short.</p> +<p>Evidently Tom Lansing realised this, for, with +a look, he called the girl to him.</p> +<p>Through the seventeen years of her life, since +the night when her mother had laid her in her +father’s arms and died, Ruth Lansing had hardly +ever been beyond the reach of her father’s voice. +They had grown very close together, these two. +They had little need of clumsy words between +them.</p> +<p>As the girl dropped to her knees, her eyes, wild, +eager, rebellious, seared her father with their terror-stricken, +unbelieving question.</p> +<p>But she quickly saw the stab of pain that her +wild questioning had given him. She crushed +back a great, choking sob, and fought bravely with +herself until she was able to force into her eyes +a look of understanding and great mothering tenderness.</p> +<p>Her father saw the struggle and the look, +and blessed her for it with his eyes. Then he +said:</p> +<p>“You’ll never blame me, Ruth, girl, will you? +I know I’m desertin’ you, little comrade, right in +the mornin’ of your battle with life. But you +won’t be afraid. I know you won’t.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></div> +<p>The girl shook her head bravely, but it was +clear that she dared not trust herself to speak.</p> +<p>“I’m goin’ to ask this man here to look to you. +He came here for a sign to me. I see it. I see +it plain. I will trust him with your life. And so +will you, little comrade. I––I’m droppin’ out. +He’ll take you on.</p> +<p>“He saved my life once. So he gave you your +life. It’s a sign, my Ruth.”</p> +<p>The girl slipped her hands gently under his head +and looked deep and long into the glazing eyes.</p> +<p>Her heart quailed, for she knew that she was +facing death––and life alone.</p> +<p>Obedient to her father’s look, she rose and +walked across the room. She saw that he had +something to say to this strange man and that the +time was short.</p> +<p>In the doorway of the inner room of the cabin +she stood, and throwing one arm up against the +frame of the door she buried her face in it. She +did not cry or sob. Later, there would be plenty +of time for that.</p> +<p>The Bishop, reading swiftly, saw that in an instant +an irrevocable change had come over her. +She had knelt a frightened, wondering, protesting +child. A woman, grown, with knowledge of +death and its infinite certainty, of life and its infinite +chance, had risen from her knees.</p> +<p>As the Bishop leaned over him, Lansing spoke +hurriedly:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></div> +<p>“I never knew your name, Chaplain; or if I +did I forgot it, and it don’t matter.</p> +<p>“I’m dying. I don’t need any doctor to tell +me. I’ll be gone before he gets here.</p> +<p>“You remember that day at Fort Fisher, when +Curtis’ men were cut to pieces in the second charge +on the trenches. They left me there, because it +was every man for himself.</p> +<p>“A ball in my shoulder and another in my leg. +And you came drivin’ mad across the field on a +big, crazy white horse and slid down beside me +where I lay. You threw me across your saddle +and walked that wild horse back into our lines.</p> +<p>“Do you remember? Dying men got up on +their elbows and cheered you. I lay six weeks in +fever, and I never saw you since. Do you remember?”</p> +<p>“I do, now,” said the Bishop. “Our troop +came back to the Shenandoah, and I never knew +what––”</p> +<p>That terrible, unforgettable day rolled back +upon him. He was just a few months ordained. +He had just been appointed chaplain in the Union +army. All unseasoned and unschooled in the +ways and business of a battlefield, he had found +himself that day in the sand dunes before Fort +Fisher. Red, reeking carnage rioted all about +him. Hail, fumes, lightning and thunder of battle +rolled over him and sickened him. He saw +his own Massachusetts troop hurl itself up against +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +the Confederate breastworks, crumple up on itself, +and fade away back into the smoke. He lost it, +and lost himself in the smoke. He wandered +blindly over the field, now stumbling over a dead +man, now speaking to a living stricken one: Here +straightening a torn body and giving water; there +hearing the confession of a Catholic.</p> +<p>Now the smoke cleared, and Curtis’ troops +came yelling across the flat land. Once, twice +they tried the trenches and were driven back into +the marshes. A captain was shot off the back of a +big white horse. The animal, mad with fright and +blood scent, charged down upon him as he bent +over a dying man. He grabbed the bridle and +fought the horse. Before he realised what he was +doing, he was in the saddle riding back and forth +across the field. Right up to the trenches the +horse carried him.</p> +<p>Within twenty paces of their guns lay a boy, +a thin, long-legged boy with a long beardless face. +He lay there marking the high tide of the last +charge––the farthest of the fallen. The chaplain, +tumbling down somehow from his mount, +picked up the writhing boy and bundled him across +the saddle. Then he started walking back looking +for his own lines.</p> +<p>Now here was the boy talking to him across +the mists of twenty-five years. And the boy, the +man, was dying. He had picked the boy, Tom +Lansing, up out of the sand where he would have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +died from fever bloat or been trampled to death +in the succeeding charges. He had given him life. +And, as Tom Lansing had said to his daughter, he +had given that daughter life. Now he knew what +Lansing was going to say.</p> +<p>“I didn’t know you then,” said Lansing. “I +don’t know who you are now, Chaplain, or what +you are.</p> +<p>“But,” he went on slowly, “if I’d agiven you a +message that day you’d have taken it on for me, +wouldn’t you?”</p> +<p>“Of course I would.”</p> +<p>“Suppose it had been to my mother, say: +You’da risked your life to get it on to her?”</p> +<p>“I hope I would,” said the Bishop evenly.</p> +<p>“I believe you would. That’s what I think +of you,” said Tom Lansing.</p> +<p>“I went back South after the war,” he began +again. “I stole my girl’s mother from her grandfather, +an old, broken-down Confederate colonel +that would have shot me if he ever laid eyes on +me. I brought her up here into the hills and she +died when the baby was just a few weeks old.</p> +<p>“There ain’t a relation in the world that my +little girl could go to. I’m goin’ to die in half +an hour. But what better would she be if I lived? +What would I do with her? Keep her here and +let her marry some fightin’ lumber jack that’d beat +her? Or see her break her heart tryin’ to make +a livin’ on one of these rock hills? She’d fret +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +herself to death. She knows more now than I +do and she’d soon be wantin’ to know more. +She’s that kind.</p> +<p>“She’d ought to have her chance the way I’ve +seen girls in towns havin’ a chance. A chance to +study and learn and grow the way she wants to. +And now I’m desertin’; goin’ out like a smoky +lamp.</p> +<p>“It was a crime, a crime!” he groaned, “ever +to bring her mother up into this place!”</p> +<p>“You could not think of all that then. No +man ever does,” said the Bishop calmly. “And +I will do my best to see that she gets her chance. +I think that’s what you want to ask me, isn’t it, +Lansing?”</p> +<p>“Do you swear it?” gasped Lansing, struggling +and choking in an effort to raise his head. +“Do you swear to try and see that she gets a +chance?”</p> +<p>“God will help me to do the best for her,” said +the Bishop quietly. “I am the Bishop of Alden. +I can do something.”</p> +<p>With the definiteness of a man who has heard a +final word, Tom Lansing’s eyes turned to his +daughter.</p> +<p>Obediently she came again and knelt at his side, +holding his head.</p> +<p>To the very last, as long as his eyes could see, +they saw her smiling bravely and sweetly down +into them; giving her sacrament and holding her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +light of cheering love for the soul out-bound.</p> +<p>When the last twinging tremour had run +through the racked body, she leaned over and +kissed her father full on the lips.</p> +<p>Then her heart broke. She ran blindly out into +the night.</p> +<p>While the Bishop was straightening the body +on the couch, a young man and two women came +into the room.</p> +<p>They were Jeffrey Whiting and his mother and +her sister, neighbours whom Arsene had brought.</p> +<p>The Bishop was much relieved with their coming. +He could do nothing more now, and the +long night ride was still ahead of him.</p> +<p>He told the young man that the girl, Ruth, had +gone out into the cold, and asked him to find her.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting went out quickly. He had +played with Ruth Lansing since she was a baby, +for they were the only children on Lansing Mountain. +He knew where he would find her.</p> +<p>Mrs. Whiting, a keen-faced, capable woman of +the hills, where people had to meet their problems +and burdens alone, took command at once.</p> +<p>“No, sir,” she replied to the Bishop’s question, +“there’s nobody to send for. The Lansings +didn’t have a relation living that anybody +ever heard of, and I knew the old folks, too, Tom +Lansing’s father and mother. They’re buried out +there on the hill where he’ll be buried.</p> +<p>“There’s some old soldiers down the West +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +Slope towards Beaver River. They’ll want to +take charge, I suppose. The funeral must be on +Monday,” she went on rapidly, sketching in the +programme. “We have a preacher if we can +get one. But when we can’t my sister Letty here +sings something.”</p> +<p>“Tom Lansing was a comrade of mine, in a +way,” said the Bishop slowly. “At least, I was +at Fort Fisher with him. I think I should like +to––”</p> +<p>“Were you at Fort Fisher?” broke in the +sister Letty, speaking for the first time. “And +did you see Curtis’ colour bearer? He was killed +in the first charge. A tall, dark boy, Jay Hamilton, +with long, black hair?”</p> +<p>“He had an old scar over his eye-brow.” +The Bishop supplemented the description out of +the memory of that day.</p> +<p>“He got it skating on Beaver Run, thirty-five +years ago to-morrow,” said the woman trembling. +“You saw him die?”</p> +<p>“He was dead when I came to him,” said the +Bishop quietly, “with the stock of the colour +standard still clenched in his hand.”</p> +<p>“He was my––my––” Sweetheart, she +wanted to say. But the hill women do not say +things easily.</p> +<p>“Yes?” said the Bishop gently. “I understand.” +She was a woman of his people. +Clearly as if she had taken an hour to tell it, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +could read the years of her faithfulness to the +memory of that lean, dark face which he had once +seen, with the purple scar above the eye-brow.</p> +<p>Mrs. Whiting put her arm protectingly about +her sister.</p> +<p>“Are you––?” she questioned, hesitating +strangely. “Are you the White Horse Chaplain?”</p> +<p>“The boys called me that,” said the Bishop. +“Though it was only a name for a day,” he +added.</p> +<p>“It was true, then?” she said slowly, as if +still unready to believe. “We never half believed +our boys when they came home from the +war––the ones that did come home––and told +about the white horse and the priest riding the +field. We thought it was one of the things men +see when they’re fighting and dying.”</p> +<p>Then Jeffrey Whiting came back into the room +leading Ruth Lansing by the hand.</p> +<p>The girl was shaking with cold and grief. The +Bishop drew her over to the fire.</p> +<p>“I must go now, child,” he said. “To-morrow +I must be in French Village. Monday I will +be here again.</p> +<p>“Our comrade is gone. Did you hear what he +said to me, about you?”</p> +<p>The girl looked up slowly, searchingly into the +Bishop’s face, then nodded her head.</p> +<p>“Then, we must think and pray, child, that we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +may know how to do what he wanted us to do. +God will show us what is the best. That is what +he wanted.</p> +<p>“God keep you brave now. Your friends here +will see to everything for you. I have to go +now.”</p> +<p>He crossed the room and laid his hand for a +moment on the brow of the dead man, renewing in +his heart the promise he had made.</p> +<p>Then, with a hurried word to Mrs. Whiting +that he would be back before noon Monday, he +went out to where Arsene and his horses were +stamping in the snow.</p> +<p>The little man had replaced the broken trace, +and the ponies, fretting with the cold and eager +to get home, took hungrily to the trail.</p> +<p>But the Bishop forgot to practise his French +further upon Arsene. He told him briefly what +had happened, then lapsed into silence.</p> +<p>Now the Bishop remembered what Tom Lansing +had said about the girl. She knew more now +than he did. Not more than Tom Lansing knew +now. But more than Tom Lansing had known +half an hour ago.</p> +<p>She would want to see the world. She would +want to know life and ask her own questions from +life and the world. In the broad open space between +her eye-brows it was written that she would +never take anybody’s word for the puzzles of the +world. She was marked a seeker; one of those +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +who look unafraid into the face of life, and demand +to know what it means. They never find +out. But, heart break or sparrow fall, they must +go on ever and ever seeking truth in their own +way. The world is infinitely the better through +them. But their own way is hard and lonely.</p> +<p>She must go out. She must have education. +She must have a chance to face life and wrest its +lessons from it in her own way. It did not +promise happiness for her. But she could go no +other way. For hers was the high, stony way of +those who demand more than jealous life is ready +to give.</p> +<p>The Bishop only knew that he had this night +given a promise which had sent a man contentedly +on his way. Somehow, God would show him how +best to keep that promise.</p> +<p>And when they halloed at Father Ponfret’s +house in French Village he had gotten no farther +than that.</p> +<p>Tom Lansing lay in dignified state upon his +couch. Clean white sheets had been draped over +the skins of the couch. The afternoon sun looking +in through the west window picked out every +bare thread of his service coat and glinted on the +polished brass buttons. His bayonet was slung +into the belt at his side.</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing sat mute in her grief at the head +of the couch, listening to the comments and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +stumbling condolences of neighbours from the +high hills and the lower valleys. They were good, +kindly people, she knew. But why, why, must +every one of them repeat that clumsy, monotonous +lie–– How natural he looked!</p> +<p>He did not. He did not. He did <i>not</i> look +natural. How could her Daddy Tom look natural, +when he lay there all still and cold, and would +not speak to his Ruth!</p> +<p>He was dead. And what was death–– And +why? <i>Why?</i></p> +<p>Who had ordered this? And <i>why?</i></p> +<p>And still they came with that set, borrowed +phrase––the only thing they could think to say––upon +their lips.</p> +<p>Out in Tom Lansing’s workshop on the horse-barn +floor, Jacque Lafitte, the wright, was nailing +soft pine boards together.</p> +<p>Ruth could not stand it. Why could they not +leave Daddy Tom to her? She wanted to ask him +things. She knew that she could make him understand +and answer.</p> +<p>She slipped away from the couch and out of +the house. At the corner of the house her dog +joined her and together they circled away from the +horse-barn and up the slope of the hill to where +her father had been working yesterday.</p> +<p>She found her father’s cap where it had been +left in her fright of yesterday, and sat down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +fondling it in her hands. The dog came and slid +his nose along her dress until he managed to snuggle +into the cap between her hands.</p> +<p>So Jeffrey Whiting found her when he came following +her with her coat and hood.</p> +<p>“You better put these on, Ruth,” he said, as +he dropped the coat across her shoulder. “It’s +too cold here.”</p> +<p>The girl drew the coat around her obediently, +but did not look up at him. She was grateful for +his thought of her, but she was not ready to speak +to any one.</p> +<p>He sat down quietly beside her on the stump and +drew the dog over to him.</p> +<p>After a little he asked timidly:</p> +<p>“What are you going to do, Ruth? You can’t +stay here. I’ll tend your stock and look after the +place for you. But you just can’t stay here.”</p> +<p>“You?” she questioned finally. “You’re going +to that Albany school next week. You said +you were all ready.”</p> +<p>“I was all ready. But I ain’t going. I’ll stay +here and work the two farms for you.”</p> +<p>“For me?” she said. “And not be a lawyer +at all?”</p> +<p>“I––I don’t care anything about it any more,” +he lied. “I told mother this morning that I +wasn’t going. She said she’d have you come and +stay with her till Spring.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></div> +<p>“And then?” the girl faced the matter, looking +straight and unafraid into his eyes. “And +then?”</p> +<p>“Well, then,” he hesitated. “You see, then +I’ll be twenty. And you’ll be old enough to +marry me,” he hurried. “Your father, you +know, he always wanted me to take care of you, +didn’t he?” he pleaded, awkwardly but subtly.</p> +<p>“I know you don’t want to talk about it now,” +he went on hastily. “But you’ll come home with +mother to-morrow, won’t you? You know she +wants you, and I––I never had to tell you that I +love you. You knew it when you wasn’t any +higher than Prince here.”</p> +<p>“Yes. I always knew it, and I’m glad,” the +girl answered levelly. “I’m glad now, Jeff. But +I can’t let you do it. Some day you’d hate me +for it.”</p> +<p>“Ruth! You know better than that!”</p> +<p>“Oh, you’d never tell me; I know that. You’d +do your best to hide it from me. But some day +when your chance was gone you’d look back and +see what you might have been, ’stead of a humpbacked +farmer in the hills. Oh, I know. You’ve +told me all your dreams and plans, how you’re +going down to the law school, and going to be a +great lawyer and go to Albany and maybe to +Washington.”</p> +<p>“What’s it all good for?” said the boy +sturdily. “I’d rather stay here with you.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></div> +<p>The girl did not answer. In the strain of the +night and the day, she had almost forgotten the +things that she had heard her father say to the +White Horse Chaplain, as she continued to call +the Bishop.</p> +<p>Now she remembered those things and tried to +tell them.</p> +<p>“That strange man that said he was the +Bishop of Alden told my father that he would see +that I got a chance. My father called him the +White Horse Chaplain and said that he had been +sent here just on purpose to look after me. I +didn’t know there were bishops in this country. I +thought it was only in books about Europe.”</p> +<p>“What did they say?”</p> +<p>“My father said that I would want to go out +and see things and know things; that I mustn’t be +married to a––a lumber jack. He said it was +no place for me in the hills.”</p> +<p>“And this man, this bishop, is going to send +you away somewhere, to school?” he guessed +shrewdly.</p> +<p>“I don’t know, I suppose that was it,” said +the girl slowly. “Yesterday I wanted to go so +much. It was just as father said. He had +taught me all he knew. And I thought the world +outside the hills was full of just the most wonderful +things, all ready for me to go and see and pick +up. And to-day I don’t care.”</p> +<p>She looked down at the cap in her hands, at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +dog at her feet, and down the hillside to the little +cabin in the hemlocks. They were all she had +in the world.</p> +<p>The boy, watching her eagerly, saw the look +and read it rightly.</p> +<p>He got up and stood before her, saying pleadingly:</p> +<p>“Don’t forget to count me, Ruth. You’ve got +me, you know.”</p> +<p>Perhaps it was because he had so answered +her unspoken thought. Perhaps it was because +she was afraid of the bare world. Perhaps it was +just the eternal surrender of woman.</p> +<p>When she looked up at him her eyes were full +of great, shining tears, the first that they had +known since she had kissed Daddy Tom and run +out into the night.</p> +<p>He lifted her into his arms, and, together, they +faced the white, desolate world all below them +and plighted to each other their untried troth.</p> +<p>When Tom Lansing had been laid in the white +bosom of the hillside, and the people were dispersing +from the house, young Jeffrey Whiting +came and stood before the Bishop. The Bishop’s +sharp old eyes had told him to expect something of +what was coming. He liked the look of the boy’s +clean, stubborn jaw and the steady, level glance +of his eyes. They told of dependableness and +plenty of undeveloped strength. Here was not a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +boy, but a man ready to fight for what should be +his.</p> +<p>“Ruth told me that you were going to take +her away from the hills,” he began. “To a +school, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“I made a promise to her father,” said the +Bishop, “that I would try to see that she got the +chance that she will want in the world.”</p> +<p>“But I love her. She’s going to marry me in +the Spring.”</p> +<p>The Bishop was surprised. He had not +thought matters had gone so far.</p> +<p>“How old are you?” he asked thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Twenty in April.”</p> +<p>“You have some education?” the Bishop suggested. +“You have been at school?”</p> +<p>“Just what Tom Lansing taught me and Ruth. +And last Winter at the Academy in Lowville. I +was going to Albany to law school next week.”</p> +<p>“And you are giving it all up for Ruth,” said +the Bishop incisively. “Does it hurt?”</p> +<p>The boy winced, but caught himself at once.</p> +<p>“It don’t make any difference about that. I +want Ruth.”</p> +<p>“And Ruth? What does she want?” the +Bishop asked. “You are offering to make a sacrifice +for her. You are willing to give up your +hopes and work yourself to the bone here on these +hills for her. And you would be man enough +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +never to let her see that you regretted it. I believe +that. But what of her? You find it hard +enough to give up your chance, for her, for love.</p> +<p>“Do you know that you are asking her to give +up her chance, for nothing, for less than nothing; +because in giving up her chance she would +know that she had taken away yours, too. She +would be a good and loving companion to you +through all of a hard life. But, for both your +sakes, she would never forgive you. Never.”</p> +<p>“You’re asking me to give her up. If she went +out and got a start, she’d go faster than I could. +I know it,” said the boy bitterly. “She’d go away +above me. I’d lose her.”</p> +<p>“I am not asking you to give her up,” the +Bishop returned steadily. “If you are the man +I think you are, you will never give her up. But +are you afraid to let her have her chance in the +sun? Are you afraid to let her have what you +want for yourself? Are you afraid?”</p> +<p>The boy looked steadily into the Bishop’s eyes +for a moment. Then he turned quickly and +walked across the room to where Ruth sat.</p> +<p>“I can’t give it up, Ruth,” he said gruffly. +“I’m going to Albany to school. I can’t give it +up.”</p> +<p>The girl looked up at him, and said quietly:</p> +<p>“You needn’t have tried to lie, Jeff; though +it’s just like you to put the blame on yourself. I +know what he said. I must think.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></div> +<p>The boy stood watching her eyes closely. He +saw them suddenly light up. He knew what that +meant. She was seeing the great world with all +its wonderful mysteries beckoning her. So he +himself had seen it. Now he knew that he had +lost.</p> +<p>The Bishop had put on his coat and was ready +to go. The day was slipping away and before +him there were thirty miles and a train to be +caught.</p> +<p>“We must not be hurried, my children,” he +said, standing by the boy and girl. “The Sacred +Heart Academy at Athens is the best school +this side of Albany. The Mother Superior will +write you in a few days, telling you when and +how to come. If you are ready to go, you will go +as she directs.</p> +<p>“You have been a good, brave little girl. A +soldier’s daughter could be no more, nor less. +God bless you now, and you, too, my boy,” he +added.</p> +<p>When he was settled on the sled with Arsene +and they were rounding the shoulder of Lansing +Mountain, where the pony had broken the trace, +he turned to look back at the cabin in the hemlocks.</p> +<p>“To-day,” he said to himself, “I have set two +ambitious, eager souls upon the high and stony +paths of the great world. Should I have left them +where they were?</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></div> +<p>“I shall never know whether I did right or not. +Even time will mix things up so that I’ll never be +able to tell. Maybe some day God will let me +see. But why should he? One can only aim +right, and trust in Him.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +<a name='II_THE_CHOIR_UNSEEN' id='II_THE_CHOIR_UNSEEN'></a> +<h2>II</h2> +<h3>THE CHOIR UNSEEN</h3> +</div> +<p>Ruth Lansing sat in one of the music rooms +of the Sacred Heart convent in Athens thrumming +out a finger exercise that a child of six would have +been able to do as well as she.</p> +<p>It was a strange, little, closely-crowded world, +this, into which she had been suddenly transplanted. +It was as different from the great world +that she had come out to see as it was from the +wild, sweet life of the hills where she had ruled +and managed everything within reach. Mainly it +was full of girls of her own age whose talk and +thoughts were of a range entirely new to her.</p> +<p>She compared herself with them and knew that +they were really children in the comparison. +Their talk was of dress and manners and society +and the thousand little and big things that growing +girls look forward to. She knew that in any +real test, anything that demanded common sense +and action, she was years older than they. But +they had things that she did not have.</p> +<p>They talked of things that she knew nothing +about. They could walk across waxed floors as +though waxed floors were meant to be walked on. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +They could rise to recite lessons without stammering +or choking as she did. They could take reproof +jauntily, where she, who had never in her +life received a scolding, would have been driven +into hysterics. They could wear new dresses just +as though all dresses were supposed to be new. +She knew that these were not things that they had +learned by studying. They just grew up to them, +just as she knew how to throw a fishing line and +hold a rifle.</p> +<p>But she wanted all those things that they had; +wanted them all passionately. She had the sense +to know that those were not great things. But +they were the things that would make her like +these other girls. And she wanted to be like +them.</p> +<p>Because she had not grown up with other girls, +because she had never even had a girl playmate, +she wanted not to miss any of the things that they +had and were.</p> +<p>They baffled her, these girls. Her own quick, +eager mind sprang at books and fairly tore the +lessons from them. She ran away from the girls +in anything that could be learned in that way. +But when she found herself with two or three of +them they talked a language that she did not know. +She could not keep up with them. And she +was stupid and awkward, and felt it. It was not +easy to break into their world and be one of them.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></div> +<p>Then there was that other world, touching the +world of the girls but infinitely removed from it––the +world of the sisters.</p> +<p>That mysterious cloister from which the sisters +came and gave their hours of teaching or duty and +to which they retreated back again was a world all +by itself.</p> +<p>What was there in there behind those doors +that never banged? What was there in there +that made the sisters all so very much alike? +They must once have been as different as every +girl is different from every other girl.</p> +<p>How was it that they could carry with them +all day long that air of never being tired or fretted +or worried? What wonderful presence was there +behind the doors of that cloistered house that +seemed to come out with them and stay with them +all the time? What was the light that shone in +their faces?</p> +<p>Was it just because they were always contented +and happy? What did they have to be happy +about?</p> +<p>Ruth had tried to question the other girls about +this. They were Catholics. They ought to +know. But Bessie Donnelly had brushed her +question aside with a stare:</p> +<p>“Sisters always look like that.”</p> +<p>So Ruth did not ask any more. But her mind +kept prying at that world of the sisters behind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +those walls. What did they do in there? Did +they laugh and talk and scold each other, like people? +Or did they just pray all the time? Or +did they see wonderful, starry visions of God and +Heaven that they were always talking about? +They seemed so familiar with God. They knew +just when He was pleased and especially when He +was displeased.</p> +<p>She had come down out of her hills where +everything was so open, where there were no mysteries, +where everything from the bark on the trees +to the snow clouds on Marcy, fifty miles away, +was as clear as a printed book. Everything up +there told its plain lesson. She could read the +storm signs and the squirrel tracks. Nothing had +been hidden. Nothing in nature or life up there +had ever shut itself away from her.</p> +<p>Here were worlds inside of worlds, every one of +them closing its door in the face of her sharp, +hungry mind.</p> +<p>And there was that other world, enveloping all +the other lesser worlds about her––the world of +the Catholic Church.</p> +<p>Three weeks ago those two words had meant +to her a little green building in French Village +where the “Canucks” went to church.</p> +<p>Now her day began and ended with it. It was +on all sides of her. The pictures and the images +on every wall, the signs on every classroom door. +The books she read, the talk she heard was all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +filled with it. It came and went through every +door of life.</p> +<p>All the inherited prejudices of her line of New +England fathers were alive and stirring in her +against this religion that demanded so much. +The untrammelled spirit that the hills had given +her fought against it. It was so absolute. It was +so sure of everything. She wanted to argue with +it, to quarrel with it. She was sure that it must +be wrong sometimes.</p> +<p>But just when she was sure that she had found +something false, something that she knew was not +right in the things they taught her, she was always +told that she had not understood. Some one was +always ready to tell her, in an easy, patient, +amused way, that she had gotten the thing wrong. +How could they always be so sure? And what +was wrong with her that she could not understand? +She could learn everything else faster and more +easily than the other girls could.</p> +<p>Suddenly her fingers slipped off the keys and her +hands fell nervelessly to her sides. Her eyes were +blinded with great, burning tears. A wave of intolerable +longing and loneliness swept over her.</p> +<p>The wonderful, enchanting world that she had +come out of her hills to conquer was cut down +to the four little grey walls that enclosed her. +Everything was shut away from her. She did not +understand these strange women about her. +Would never understand them.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div> +<p>Why? Why had she ever left her hills, where +Daddy Tom was near her, where there was love +for her, where the people and even the snow and +the wild winds were her friends?</p> +<p>She threw herself forward on her arms and +gave way utterly, crying in great, heart-breaking, +breathless sobs for her Daddy Tom, for her home, +for her hills.</p> +<p>At five o’clock Sister Rose, coming to see that +the music rooms were aired for the evening use, +found Ruth an inert, shapeless little bundle of +broken nerves lying across the piano.</p> +<p>She took the girl to her room and sent for the +sister infirmarian.</p> +<p>But Ruth was not sick. She begged them only +to leave her alone.</p> +<p>The sisters, thinking that it was the fit of homesickness +that every new pupil in a boarding school +is liable to, sent some of the other girls in during +the evening, to cheer Ruth out of it. But she +drove them away. She was not cross nor pettish. +But her soul was sick for the sweeping freedom +of her hills and for people who could understand +her.</p> +<p>She rose and dragged her little couch over to +the window, where she could look out and up to +the friendly stars, the same ones that peeped down +upon her in the hills.</p> +<p>She did not know the names that they had in +books, but she had framed little pet names for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +them all out of her baby fancies and the names had +clung to them all the years.</p> +<p>She recognised them, although they did not +stand in the places where they belonged when she +looked at them from the hills.</p> +<p>Out among them somewhere was Heaven. +Daddy Tom was there, and her mother whom she +had never seen.</p> +<p>Suddenly, out of the night, from Heaven it +seemed, there came stealing into her sense a sound. +Or was it a sound? It was so delicate, so illusive. +It did not stop knocking at the portals of the ear +as other sounds must do. It seemed, rather, to +steal past the clumsy senses directly into the spirit +and the heart.</p> +<p>It was music. Yes. But it was as though the +Soul of Music had freed itself of the bondage and +the body of sound and notes and came carrying its +unutterable message straight to the soul of the +world.</p> +<p>It was only the sisters in their chapel gently +hymning the <i>Salve</i> of the Compline to their Queen +in Heaven.</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing might have heard the same subdued, +sweetly poignant evensong on every other +night. Other nights, her mind filled with books +and its other business, the music had scarcely +reached her. To-night her soul was alive. Her +every sense was like a nerve laid bare, ready to be +thrilled and hurt by the most delicate pressures.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></div> +<p>She did not think of the sisters. She saw the +deep rose flush of the windows in the dimly lighted +chapel across the court, and knew vaguely, perhaps, +that the music came from there. But it carried +her beyond all thought.</p> +<p>She did not hear the words of the hymn. +Would not have understood them if she had heard. +But the lifting of hearts to <i>Our Life, our Sweetness +and our Hope</i> caught her heart up into a +world where words were never needed.</p> +<p>She heard the cry of the <i>Banished children of +Eve</i>. The <i>Mourning and weeping in this vale +of tears</i> swept into her soul like the flood-tide of +all the sorrow of all the world.</p> +<p>On and upwards the music carried her, until she +could hear the triumph, until her soul rang with +the glory and the victory of <i>The Promises of +Christ</i>.</p> +<p>The music ceased. She saw the light fade from +the chapel windows, leaving only the one little +blood-red spot of light before the altar. She lay +there trembling, not daring to move, while the +echo of that unseen choir caught her heartstrings +and set them ringing to the measure of the heart +of the world.</p> +<p>It was not the unembodied cry of the pain and +helplessness but the undying hope of the world +that she had heard. It was the cry of the little +blind ones of all the earth. It was the cry of +martyrs on their pyres. It was the cry of strong +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +men and valiant women crushed under the forces +of life. And it was the voice of the Catholic +Church, which knows what the soul of the world +is saying. Ruth Lansing knew this. She realised +it as she lay there trembling.</p> +<p>Always, as long as life was in her; always, +whether she worked or laughed, cried or played; +always that voice would grip her heart and play +upon it and lead her whether she would or no.</p> +<p>It would lead her. It would carry her. It +would send her.</p> +<p>Through all the long night she fought it. She +would not! She would not give up her life, her +will, her spirit! Why? Why? Why must she?</p> +<p>It would take her spirit out of the freedom of +the hills and make it follow a trodden way. It +would take her life out of her hands and maybe +ask her to shut herself up, away from the sun and +the wind, in a darkened convent. It would take +her will, the will of a soldier’s daughter, and break +it into little pieces to make a path for her to walk +upon!</p> +<p>No! No! No! Through all the endless +night she moaned her protest. She would not! +She would not give in to it.</p> +<p>It would never let her rest. Through all her +life that voice of the Choir Unseen would strike +the strings of her heart. She knew it.</p> +<p>But she would not. Never would she give in +to it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></div> +<p>In the morning, even before the coming of the +dawn, the music came again; and it beat upon her +worn, ragged nerves, and tore and wrenched at +her heart until she could stand it no longer.</p> +<p>The sisters were taking up again the burden and +the way of the day.</p> +<p>She could not stand it! She could not stay +here! She must go back to her hills, where there +was peace for her.</p> +<p>She heard the sister going down to unlock the +street door so that Father Tenney could walk in +when it was time and go up to the chapel for the +sisters’ early mass.</p> +<p>That was her chance! The sisters would be in +chapel. The girls would be still in their rooms.</p> +<p>She dressed hastily and threw her books into a +bag. She would take only these and her money. +She had enough to get home on. The rest did +not matter.</p> +<p>When she heard the priest’s step pass in the +hall, she slipped out and down the dim, broad +stairs.</p> +<p>The great, heavy door of the convent stood +like the gate of the world. It swung slowly, deliberately, +on its well-oiled, silent hinges.</p> +<p>She stood in the portal a moment, drinking +hungrily the fresh, free air of the morning that +had come down from her hills. Then she fled +away into the dawn.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></div> +<p>The sun was just showing over Lansing mountain +as Jeffrey Whiting came out of his mother’s +house dragging a hair trunk by the handle. His +uncle, Cassius Bascom, drove up from the barn +with the team and sled. Jeffrey threw his trunk +upon the sled and bent to lash it down safe. It +was twenty-five miles of half broken road and +snowdrifts to Lowville and the railroad.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting was doing what the typical +American farm boy has been doing for the last +hundred years and what he will probably continue +to do as long as we Americans are what we are. +He is not always a dreamer, your farm boy, when +he starts down from his hills or his cross-roads +farm to see the big world and conquer it. More +often than you would think, he knows that he is +not going to conquer it at all. And he is not, on +the other hand, merely running away from the +drudgery of the farm. He knows that he will +probably have to work harder than he would ever +have worked on the farm. But he knows that he +has things to sell. And he is going down into the +markets of men. He has a good head and a +strong body. He has a power of work in him. +He has grit and energy.</p> +<p>He is going down into the markets where men +pay the price for these things that he has. He is +going to fight men for that price which he knows +his things are worth.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></div> +<p>Jeffrey’s mother came out carrying a canvas +satchel which she put on the sled under Cassius +Bascom’s feet.</p> +<p>“Don’t kick that, Catty,” she warned, “Jeff’s +lunch is in it. And, Jeff, don’t you go and check +it with the trunk.” There was just a little catch +in the laugh with which she said this. She was +remembering a day more than twenty years before +when she had started, a bride, with big, lumbering, +slow-witted, adoring Dan Whiting, Jeffrey’s +father, on her wedding trip to Niagara Falls, with +their lunch in that same satchel. Dan Whiting +checked the satchel through from Lowville to Buffalo, +and they had nearly starved on the way. It +was easy to forgive Dan Whiting his stupidity. +But she never quite forgave him for telling it on +himself when they got back. It had been a standing +joke in the hills all these years.</p> +<p>She was just a typical mother of the hills. She +loved her boy. She needed him. She knew that +she would never have him again. The boys do +not come back from the market place. She knew +that she would cry for him through many a lonely +night, as she had cried all last night. But she was +not crying now.</p> +<p>Her deep grey eyes smiled steadily up into his +as she stretched her arms up around the neck of +her tall boy and drew his head down to kiss her.</p> +<p>He was not a dull boy. He was quick of heart. +He knew his mother very well. So he began with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +the old, old lie; the lie that we all tried to tell +when we were leaving.</p> +<p>“It’ll only be a little while, Mother. You +won’t find the time slipping by, and I’ll be back.”</p> +<p>She knew it was a lie. All the mothers of boys +always knew it was a lie. But she backed him up +sturdily:</p> +<p>“Why, of course, Jeff. Don’t worry about me. +You’ll be back in no time.”</p> +<p>Miss Letitia Bascom came hurrying out of the +house with a dark, oblong object in her hands.</p> +<p>“There now, Jeff Whiting, I know you just +tried to forget this on purpose. It’s too late to +put it in the trunk now; so you’ll just have to put +it in your overcoat pocket.”</p> +<p>Jeffrey groaned in spirit. It was a full-grown +brick covered with felt, a foot warmer. Aunt +Letty had made him take one with him when he +went down to the Academy at Lowville last winter, +and he and his brick had furnished much of the +winter’s amusement there. The memory of his +humiliations on account of that brick would last a +lifetime. He wondered why maiden aunts could +not understand. His mother, now, would have +known better. But he dutifully put the thing into +the pocket of his big coat––he could drop it into +the first snowback––and turned to kiss his aunt.</p> +<p>“I know all about them hall bedrooms in Albany,” +she lectured. “Make your landlady heat +it for you every night.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></div> +<p>A noise in the road made them all turn.</p> +<p>Two men in a high-backed, low-set cutter were +driving into the yard.</p> +<p>It was evident from the signs that the men +had been having a hard time on the road. They +must have been out all night, for they could not +have started from anywhere early enough to be +here now at sunrise.</p> +<p>Their harness had been broken and mended in +several places. The cutter had a runner broken. +The horses were cut and bloody, where they had +kicked themselves and each other in the drifts.</p> +<p>As they drove up beside the group in the yard, +one of the men shouted:</p> +<p>“Say, is there any place we can put in here? +We’ve been on that road all night.”</p> +<p>“Drive in onto the barn floor, and come in and +warm yourselves,” said Mrs. Whiting.</p> +<p>“Rogers,” said the man who had spoken, addressing +the other, “if I ever get into a place that’s +warm, I’ll stay there till spring.”</p> +<p>Rogers laid the lines down on the dashboard of +the cutter and stepped stiffly out into the snow. +He swept the group with a sharp, a praising eye, +and asked:</p> +<p>“Who’s the one to talk to here?”</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting stepped forward naturally and +replied with another question.</p> +<p>“What do you want?”</p> +<p>Rogers, a large, square-faced man, with a stubby +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +grey moustache and cold grey eyes, looked the +youth over carefully as he spoke.</p> +<p>“I want a man that knows this country and can +get around in it in this season. I was brought up +in the country, but I never saw anything like this. +I wouldn’t take a trip like this again for any +money. I can’t do this sort of thing. I want a +man that knows the country and the people and +can do it.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m going away now,” said Jeffrey +slowly, “but Uncle Catty here knows the people +and the country better than most and he can go +anywhere.”</p> +<p>The big man looked doubtfully at the little, oldish +man on the sled. Then he turned away decisively. +Uncle Cassius, his kindly, ugly old face +all withered and puckered to one side, where a +splinter of shell from Fort Fisher had taken away +his right eye, was evidently not the kind of man +that the big man wanted.</p> +<p>“Where are you going?” he asked Jeffrey +sharply.</p> +<p>“Albany Law School,” said Jeffrey promptly.</p> +<p>“Unstrap the trunk, young man. You’re not +going. I’ve got something for you right here at +home that’ll teach you more than ten law schools. +Put both teams into the barn,” the big man commanded +loudly.</p> +<p>Jeffrey stood still a moment, as though he would +oppose the will of this brusque stranger. But he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +knew that he would not do so. In that moment +something told him that he would not go to law +school; would never go there; that his life was +about to take a twist away from everything that he +had ever intended.</p> +<p>Mrs. Whiting broke the pause, saying simply:</p> +<p>“Come into the house.”</p> +<p>In the broad, low kitchen, while Letitia Bascom +poured boiling tea for the two men, Rogers, cup +in hand, stood squarely on the hearth and explained +himself. The other man, whose name +does not matter, sank into a great wooden chair +at the side of the fire and seemed to be ready to +make good his threat of staying until spring.</p> +<p>“I represent the U. & M. railroad. We are +coming up through here in the spring. All these +farms have to be given up. We have eminent domain +for this whole section,” said Rogers.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” asked Jeffrey. “The +railroad can’t run <i>all over</i> the country.”</p> +<p>“No. But the road will need the whole strip +of hills for timber. They’ll cut off what is standing +and then they’ll stock the whole country with +cedar, for ties. That’s all the land’s good for, +anyway.”</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting’s mouth opened for an answer +to this, but his mother’s sharp, warning glance +stopped him. He understood that it was his place +to listen and learn. There would be time enough +for questions and arguments afterward.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></div> +<p>“Now these people here won’t understand what +eminent domain means,” the big man went on. +“I’m going to make it clear to you, young man. +I know who you are and I know more about you +than you think. I’m going to make it clear to you +and then I’m going to send you out among them +to make them see it. They wouldn’t understand +me and they wouldn’t believe me. You can make +them see it.”</p> +<p>“How do you know that I’ll believe you?” +asked Jeffrey.</p> +<p>“You’ve got brains. You don’t have to <i>believe</i>. +I can <i>show</i> it to you.”</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting was a big, strong boy, well accustomed +to taking responsibilities upon himself. +He had never been afraid of anything and this +perhaps had given him more than the average +boy’s good opinion of himself. Nothing could +have appealed to him more subtly than this man’s +bluff, curt flattery. He was being met man to +man by a man of the world. No boy is proof +against the compliment that he is a man, to be +dealt with as a man and equal of older, more experienced +men. Jeffrey was ready to listen.</p> +<p>“Do you know what an option is?” the man +began again.</p> +<p>“Of course I do.”</p> +<p>“I thought so,” said Rogers, in a manner that +seemed to confirm his previous judgment of +Jeffrey’s brains. “Now then, the railroad has got +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +to have all these farms from Beaver River right +up to the head of Little Tupper Lake. I say these +people won’t know what eminent domain means. +You’re going to tell them. It means that they can +sell at the railroad’s price or they can hold off +and a referee will be appointed to name a price. +The railroad will have a big say in appointing +those referees. Do you understand me?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I see,” said Jeffrey. “But––”</p> +<p>“No buts at all about it, young man,” said Rogers, +waving his hand. “The people have got to +sell. If they give options at once––within thirty +days––they’ll get more than a fair price for their +land. If they don’t––if they hold off––their +farms will be condemned as forest land. And you +know how much that brings.</p> +<p>“You people will be the first. You can ask almost +anything for your land. You’ll get it. +And, what is more, I am able to offer you, Whiting, +a very liberal commission on every option +you can get me within the time I have said. This +is the thing that I can’t do. It’s the thing that I +want you to do.</p> +<p>“You’ll do it. I know you will, when you get +time to think it over. Here are the options,” said +the big man, pulling a packet of folded papers +out of his pocket. “They cover every farm in +the section. All you have to do is to get the +people to write their names once. Then your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +work is done. We’ll do the rest and your commissions +will be waiting for you. Some better +than law school, eh?”</p> +<p>“But say,” Jeffrey stammered, “say, that +means, why, that means my mother and the folks +here, why, they’d have to get out; they’d have to +leave their home!”</p> +<p>“Of course,” said Rogers easily. “A man +like you isn’t going to keep his family up on top of +this rock very long. Why, young fellow, you’ll +have the best home in Lowville for them, where +they can live in style, in less than six months. Do +you think your mother wants to stay here after +you’re gone. You were going away. Did you +think,” he said shrewdly, “what life up here would +be worth to your mother while you were away. +No, you’re just like all boys. You wanted to get +away yourself. But you never thought what a +life this is for her.</p> +<p>“Why, boy, she’s a young woman yet. You +can take her out and give her a chance to live. +Do you hear, a chance to live.</p> +<p>“Think it over.”</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting thought, harder and faster than +he had ever tried to think in his life. But he could +make nothing of it.</p> +<p>He thought of the people, old and young, on +the hills, suddenly set adrift from their homes. +He thought of his mother and Uncle Cassius and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +Aunt Letitia without their real home to come back +to. And he thought of money––illimitable +money: money that could do everything.</p> +<p>He did not want to look at his mother for counsel. +The man’s talk had gone to his head. But, +slowly, unwillingly his eyes came to his mother’s, +and he saw in hers that steady, steadfast look +which told him to wait, wait. He caught the +meaning and spoke it brusquely:</p> +<p>“All right. Leave the options here. I’ll see +what we’ll do. And I’ll write to you next week.”</p> +<p>No. That would not do. The big man must +have his answer at once. He stormed at Jeffrey. +He appealed to Mrs. Whiting. He blandished +Miss Letitia. He even attacked Uncle Cassius, +but that guileless man led him off into such a discussion +of cross grafting and reforestation that he +was glad to drop him.</p> +<p>In the end, he saw that, having committed himself, +he could do no better than leave the matter +to Jeffrey, trusting that, with time for thought, +the boy could not refuse his offer.</p> +<p>So the two men, having breakfasted and rested +their horses, set out on the down trip to Lowville.</p> +<p>Late that night Jeffrey Whiting and his mother +came to a decision.</p> +<p>“It is too big for us, Jeff,” she said. “We do +not know what it means. Nobody up here can tell +us. The man was lying. But we do not know +why, or what about.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></div> +<p>“There is one man that could tell us. The +White Horse Chaplain, do you remember him, +Jeffrey?”</p> +<p>“I guess I do. He sent Ruth away from me.”</p> +<p>“Only to give her her chance, my son. Do +not forget that. He could tell us what this means. +I don’t care anything about his religion. Your +Uncle Catty thinks he was a ghost even that day +at Fort Fisher. I don’t. He is the Catholic +Bishop of Alden. You’ll go to him to-morrow. +He’ll tell you what it means.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Bishop Joseph Winthrop of Alden was very +much worried. For the third time he picked up +and read a telegram from the Mother Superior of +the Sacred Heart Convent at Athens, telling him +that Ruth Lansing had left the convent that morning. +But the third perusal of the message did not +give him any more light on the matter than the +two previous readings had done.</p> +<p>Why should the girl have gone away? What +could have happened? Only the other day he +had received a letter from her telling of her studies +and her progress and of every new thing that was +interesting her.</p> +<p>The Bishop thought of the lonely hill home +where he had found her “Daddy Tom” dying, +and where he had buried him on the hillside. +Probably the girl would go back and try to live +there. And he thought of the boy who had told +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +him of his love and that he wanted to keep Ruth +there in the hills.</p> +<p>As he laid down the telegraph form, his secretary +came to the door to tell him that the boy, +Jeffrey Whiting, was in the waiting room asking +to see him and refusing even to indicate the nature +of his business to any one but the Bishop himself.</p> +<p>The Bishop was startled. He had understood +that the young man was in Albany at school. +Now he thought that he would get a very clear +light upon Ruth Lansing’s disappearance.</p> +<p>“I came to you, sir,” said Jeffrey when the +Bishop had given him a chair, “because you could +tell us what to do.”</p> +<p>“You mean you and your––neighbour, Ruth +Lansing?”</p> +<p>“Why, no, sir. What about her?” said +Jeffrey quickly.</p> +<p>The Bishop gave the boy one keen, searching +look, and saw his mistake. The boy knew nothing.</p> +<p>“This,” the Bishop answered, as he handed +Jeffrey the open telegram.</p> +<p>“But where’s she gone? Why did she go?” +Jeffrey broke out, as he read the message.</p> +<p>“I thought you were coming to tell me that.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Jeffrey, reading the Bishop’s +meaning quickly. “She didn’t write to me, not +at all. I suppose the sisters wouldn’t have it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +But she wrote to my mother and she didn’t say +anything about leaving there.”</p> +<p>“I suppose not,” said the Bishop. “She seems +to have gone away suddenly. But, I am forgetting. +You came to talk to me.”</p> +<p>“Yes.” And Jeffrey went on to tell, clearly +and shortly, of the coming of Rogers and his +proposition. Though it hurt, he did not fail to +tell how he had been carried away by the man’s +offer and his flattery. He made it plain that it +was only his mother’s insight and caution that had +held him back from accepting the offer on the instant.</p> +<p>The Bishop, listening, was proud of the down-rightness +of the young fellow. It was good to +hear. When he had heard all he bowed in his +old-fashioned, stiff way and said:</p> +<p>“Your mother, young man, is a rare and wise +woman. You will convey to her my deepest respect.</p> +<p>“I do not know what it all means,” he went on, +in another tone. “But I can soon find out.”</p> +<p>He rang a bell, and as his secretary opened the +door the Bishop said:</p> +<p>“Will you see, please, if General Chandler is +in his office across the street. If he is, give him +my respects and ask him to step over here a moment.”</p> +<p>The secretary bowed, but hesitated a little in the +doorway.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div> +<p>“What is it?” asked the Bishop.</p> +<p>“There is a young girl out there, Bishop. She +says she must see you, but she will not give a name. +She seems to be in trouble, or frightened.”</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting was on his feet and making for +the door.</p> +<p>“Sit down where you were, young man,” said +the Bishop sharply. If Ruth Lansing were out +there––and the Bishop half believed that she was––well, +it <i>might</i> be coincidence. But it was too +much for the Bishop’s credulity.</p> +<p>“Send the girl in here,” he said shortly.</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing walked into the room and went +straight to the Bishop. She did not see Jeffrey.</p> +<p>“I came straight here all the way,” she said, +“to tell you, Bishop, that I couldn’t stay in the +convent any longer. I am going home. I could +not stay there.”</p> +<p>“I am very glad to see you, Ruth,” said the +Bishop easily, “and if you’ll just turn around, I +think you’ll see some one who is even more +pleased.”</p> +<p>Her startled cry of surprise and pleasure at +sight of Jeffrey was abundant proof to the Bishop +that the coming of these two to his door was indeed +a coincidence.</p> +<p>“Now,” said the Bishop quickly, “you will +both sit down and listen. It concerns both of you +deeply. A man is coming here in a moment, General +Chandler. You have both heard of him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +He is the political power of this part of the State. +He can, if he will, tell us just how serious your situation +is up there, Jeffrey. Say nothing. Just +listen.”</p> +<p>Ruth looked from one to the other with surprise +and perhaps a little resentment. For hours +she had been bracing her courage for this ordeal +of meeting the Bishop, and here she was merely +told to sit down and listen to something, she did +not know what.</p> +<p>The Bishop rose as General Oliver Chandler +was ushered into the room and the two veterans +saluted each other with the stiffest of military precision.</p> +<p>“These are two young friends of mine from +the hills, General,” said the Bishop, as he seated +his old friend. “They both own farms in the +Beaver Run country. They have come to me to +find out what the U. & M. Railroad wants with +options on all that country. Can you, will you +tell them?”</p> +<p>The General plucked for a moment at the empty +left sleeve of his coat.</p> +<p>“No, Bishop,” he said finally, “I cannot give +out what I know of that matter. The interests +behind it are too large for me. I would not dare. +I do not often have to say that.”</p> +<p>“No,” said the Bishop slowly, “I never heard +you say that before.”</p> +<p>“But I can do this, Bishop,” said the General, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +rising. “If you will come over here to the end +of the room, I can tell you, privately, what I know. +You can then use your own prudence to judge +how much you can tell these young people.”</p> +<p>The Bishop followed to the window at the other +end of the room, where the two men stood and +talked in undertones.</p> +<p>“Jeffrey,” said Ruth through teeth that gritted +with impatience, “if you don’t tell me this instant +what it’s all about, I’ll––I’ll <i>bite</i> you!”</p> +<p>Jeffrey laughed softly. It took just that little +wild outbreak of hers to convince him that the +young lady who had swept into the room and faced +the Bishop was really his little playmate, his Ruth, +after all.</p> +<p>In quick whispers, he told her all he knew.</p> +<p>The Bishop walked to the door with the General, +thanking him. From the door the General +saluted gravely and stalked away.</p> +<p>“The answer,” said the Bishop quietly, as he +came back to them, “is one word––Iron.”</p> +<p>To Ruth, it seemed that these men were making +a mysterious fuss about nothing. But Jeffrey saw +the whole matter instantly.</p> +<p>“No one knows how much there is, or how little +there is,” said the Bishop. “The man lied to you, +Jeffrey. The road has no eminent domain. But +they can get it if they get the options on a large +part of the farms. Then, when they have the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +right of eminent domain, they will let the options +lapse and buy the properties at their own prices.”</p> +<p>“I’ll start back to warn the people to-night,” +said Jeffrey, jumping up. “Maybe they made +that offer to other people besides me!”</p> +<p>“Wait,” said the Bishop, “there is more to +think of. The railroad, if you serve it well, will, +no doubt, buy your farm for much more than it is +worth to you. There is your mother to be considered +first. And they will, very likely, give you +a chance to make a small fortune in your commissions, +if you are faithful to them. If you go to +fight them, they will probably crush you all in the +end, and you will be left with little or nothing. +Better go slowly, young man.”</p> +<p>“What?” cried Jeffrey. “Take their bribe! +Take their money, for fooling and cheating the +other people out of their homes! Why, before +I’d do that, I’d leave that farm and everything +that’s there and go up into the big woods with +only my axe, as my grandfather did. And my +mother would follow me! You know that! My +mother would be glad to go with me, with nothing, +nothing in her hands!”</p> +<p>“And so would I!” said Ruth, springing to her +feet. “I <i>would</i>! I <i>would</i>!” she chanted defiantly.</p> +<p>“Well, well, well!” said the Bishop, smiling.</p> +<p>“But you are not going up into the big woods, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +Jeffrey,” Ruth said demurely. “You are going +back home to fight them. If I could help you I +would go back with you. I would not be of any +use. So, I’m going back, to the convent, to face +my fight.”</p> +<p>“But, but,” said Jeffrey, “I thought you were +running away.”</p> +<p>“I did. I was,” said Ruth. “Last night I +heard the voice of something calling to me. It +was such a big thing,” she went on, turning to the +Bishop; “it seemed such a pitiless, strong thing +that I thought it would crush me. It would take +my life and make me do what <i>it</i> wanted, not what +I wanted. I was afraid of it. I ran away. It +was like a Choir Unseen singing to me to follow, +and I didn’t dare follow.</p> +<p>“But I heard it again, just now when Jeffrey +spoke that way. Now I know what it was. It +was the call of life to everybody to face life, to +take our souls in our hands and go forward. I +thought I could turn back. I can’t. God, or +life won’t let us turn back.”</p> +<p>“I know what you mean, child. Fear nothing,” +said the Bishop. “I’m glad you came away, +to have it out with yourself. And you will be +very glad now to go back.”</p> +<p>“As for you, young man,” he turned to +Jeffrey, “I should say that your mother <i>would</i> be +proud to go anywhere, empty-handed with you. +Remember that, when you are in the worst of this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +fight that is before you. When you are tempted, +as you will be tempted, remember it. When you +are hard pressed, as you will be hard pressed, +<i>remember it</i>.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +<a name='III_GLOW_OF_DAWN' id='III_GLOW_OF_DAWN'></a> +<h2>III</h2> +<h3>GLOW OF DAWN</h3> +</div> +<p>Twinkle-tail was gliding up Beaver Run to +his breakfast. It was past the middle of June, or, +as Twinkle-tail understood the matter, it was the +time when the snow water and the water from the +spring rains had already gone down to the Big +River: Beaver Run was still a fresh, rushing +stream of water, but it was falling fast. Soon +there would not be enough water in it to make it +safe for a trout as large as he. Then he would +have to stay down in the low, deep pond of Beaver +River, where the saw-dust came to bother him.</p> +<p>He was going up to lie all the morning in the +shallow little pond at the very head of Beaver +Run, where the hot, sweet sun beat down and drew +the flies to the surface of the pond. He was very +fond of flies and the pond was his own. He had +made it his own now through four seasons, by his +speed and his strong teeth. Even the big, greedy, +quarrelsome pike that bullied the river down below +did not dispute with him this sweet upper stretch +of his own stream. No large fish ever came up +this way now, and he did not bother with the little +ones. He liked flies better.</p> +<p>His pond lay all clean and silvery and a little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +cool yet, for the sun was not high enough to have +heated it through: a beautiful breakfast room at +the bottom of the great bowl of green banks that +ran away up on every side to the rim of the high +hills.</p> +<p>Twinkle-tail was rather early for breakfast. +The sun had not yet begun to draw the flies from +their hiding places to buzz over the surface of +the water. As he shot into the centre of the pool +only one fly was in sight. A rather decrepit looking +black fly was doddering about a cat-tail stalk +at the edge of the pond. One quick flirt of his +body, and Twinkle-tail slid out of the water and +took the fly in his leap. But that was no breakfast. +He would have to settle down by the cat-tails, +in the shadows, and wait for the flies to come.</p> +<p>Twinkle-tail missed something from his pond +this season. Always, in other years, two people, +a boy and a girl, had come and watched him as he +ate his breakfast. The girl had called him +Twinkle-tail the very first time they had seen him. +But Twinkle-tail had no illusions. They were not +friends to him. He loved to lie in the shadow +of the cat-tails and watch them as they crept along +the edge of the bank. But he knew they came to +catch him. When they were there the most +tempting flies seemed to appear. Some of those +flies fell into the water, others just skimmed the +surface in the most aggravating and challenging +manner. But Twinkle-tail had always stayed in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +the cat-tails and watched, and if the boy and girl +came to his side of the pond, then a lightning +twinkle of his tail was all that told them that he +had scooted out of the pool and down into the +stream. Once the girl had trailed a piece of +flashing red flannel across the water, and Twinkle-tail +could not resist. He leaped for it. A terrible +hook caught him in the side of the mouth! +In his fury and terror he dove and fought until he +broke the hook. He had never forgotten that +lesson.</p> +<p>But he was forgetting a little this season. No +one came to his pool. He was growing big and +fat, and a little careless.</p> +<p>As he lay there in the warming sand by the +cat-tails, the biggest, juiciest green bottle fly that +Twinkle-tail had ever seen came skimming down +to the very line of the water. It circled once. +Twinkle-tail did not move. It circled twice, not +an inch from the water!</p> +<p>A single, sinuous flash of his whole body, and +Twinkle-tail was out of the water! He had the +fly in his mouth.</p> +<p>Then the struggle began.</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing sprang up, pole in hand, from the +shoulder of the bank behind which she had been +hiding.</p> +<p>The trout dove and started for the stream, the +line ripping through the water like a shot.</p> +<p>The girl ran, leaping from rock to rock, her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +strong, slender, boy-like body giving and swaying +cunningly to every tug of the fish.</p> +<p>He turned and shot swiftly back into the pool, +throwing her off her balance and down into the +water. She rose wet and angry, clinging grimly +to the pole, and splashed her way to the other side +of the pond. She did not dare to stand and pull +against him, for fear of breaking the hook. She +could only race around, giving him all the line she +could until he should tire a little.</p> +<p>Three times they fought around the circle of the +pool, the taut line singing like a wire in the wind. +Ruth’s hand was cut where she had fallen on the +rocks. She was splashed and muddy from head +to foot. Her breath came in great, gulping sobs. +But she fought on.</p> +<p>Twice he dragged her a hundred yards down +the Run, but she headed him back each time to the +pond where she could handle him better. She +had never before fought so big a fish all alone. +Jeffrey or Daddy Tom had always been with her. +Now she found herself calling desperately under +her breath to Jeffrey to come to help her. She +bit back the words and took a new hold on the +pole.</p> +<p>The trout was running blindly now from side +to side of the pond. He had lost his cunning. +He would soon weaken. But Ruth knew that her +strength was nearly gone too. She must use her +head quickly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></div> +<p>She gathered herself on the bank for one desperate +effort. She must catch him as he ran +toward her and try to flick him out of the water. +It was her only chance. She might break the line +or the pole and lose him entirely, but she would +try it.</p> +<p>Twinkle-tail came shooting through the water, +directly at her. She suddenly threw her strength +on the pole. It bent nearly double but it held. +And the fish, adding his own blind rush to her +strength, was whipped clear out on to the grass. +Dropping the pole, she dove desperately at him +where he fought on the very edge of the bank. +Finally she caught the line a few inches above his +mouth, and her prize was secure.</p> +<p>“It’s you, Twinkle-tail,” she panted, as she held +him up for a good look, “sure enough!”</p> +<p>She carried him back to a large stone and +despatched him painlessly with a blunt stick. +Then she sat down to rest, for she was weak and +dizzy from her struggle.</p> +<p>Looking down at Twinkle-tail where he lay, she +said aloud:</p> +<p>“I wish Jeffrey was here. He’ll never believe +it was you unless he sees you.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s him all right,” said a voice behind +her. “I’d know him in a thousand.”</p> +<p>She sprang up and faced Jeffrey Whiting.</p> +<p>“Why, where did you come from? Your mother +told me you wouldn’t be back till to-morrow.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span></div> +<p>“Well, I can go back again and stay till to-morrow +if you want me to,” said Jeffrey, +smiling.</p> +<p>“Oh, Jeff, you know I’m glad to see you. I +was awfully disappointed when I got home and +found that you were away up in the hills. How +is your fight going on? And look at Twinkle-tail,” +she hurried on a little nervously, for Jeffrey +had her hand and was drawing her determinedly +to him. She reached for the trout and held him +up strategically between them.</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>Fish</i>!” said Jeffrey discontentedly as he +saw himself beaten by her ruse.</p> +<p>The girl laughed provokingly up into his sullenly +handsome face. Then she seemed to relent, +and with a friendly little tug at his arm led +him over to the edge of the pool and made him sit +down.</p> +<p>“Now tell me,” she commanded, “all about +your battle with the railroad people. Your +mother told me some things, but I want it all, +from yourself.”</p> +<p>But Jeffrey was still unappeased. He looked +at her dress and shoes and said with a show of +meanness:</p> +<p>“Ruth, you didn’t catch Twinkle-tail fair, on +your line. You just walked into the pond and got +him in a corner and kicked him to death brutally. +I know you did. You’re always cruel.”</p> +<p>Ruth laughed, and showed him the jagged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +cut in her hand where she had fallen on the +rocks.</p> +<p>Instantly he was all interest and contrition. +He must wash the hand and dress it! But she +made him sit where he was, while she knelt down +by the water and bathed the smarting hand and +bound it with her handkerchief.</p> +<p>“Now,” she said, “tell me.”</p> +<p>“Well,” he began, when he saw that there was +nothing to be gained by delay, “the very night that +the Bishop of Alden told me that they had found +iron in the hills here and that they were going to +try to push us all out of our homes, I started out +to warn the people. I found I wasn’t the only +man that the railroad had tried to buy. They had +Rafe Gadbeau, you know he’s a kind of a political +boss of the French around French Village; and a +man named Sayres over on Forked Lake.</p> +<p>“Gadbeau had no farm of his own to sell, but +he’d been spending money around free, and I knew +the railroad must have given it to him outright. +I told him what I had found out, about the iron +and what the land would be worth if the farmers +held on to it. But I might as well have held my +breath. He didn’t care anything about the interests +of the people that had land. He was getting +paid well for every option that he could get. And +he was going to get all he could. I will have +trouble with that man yet.</p> +<p>“The other man, Sayres, is a big land-owner, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +and a good man. They had fooled him, just as +that man Rogers I told you about fooled me. He +had started out in good faith to help the railroad +get the properties over on that side of the mountains, +thinking it was the best thing for the people +to do to sell out at once. When I told him about +their finding iron, he saw that they had made a +catspaw of him; and he was the maddest man you +ever saw.</p> +<p>“He is a big man over that way, and his word +was worth ten of mine. He went right out with +me to warn every man who had a piece of land +not to sign anything.</p> +<p>“Three weeks ago Rogers, who is handling +the whole business for the railroad, came up here +and had me arrested on charges of extortion and +conspiring to intimidate the land-owners. They +took me down to Lowville, but Judge Clemmons +couldn’t find anything in the charges. So I was let +go. But they are not through. They will find +some way to get me away from here yet.”</p> +<p>“How does it stand now?” said Ruth thoughtfully. +“Have they actually started to build the +railroad?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. You know they have the right of +way to run the road through. But they wouldn’t +build it, at least not for years yet, only that they +want to get this iron property opened up. Why, +the road is to run from Welden to French Village +and there is not a single town on the whole line! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +The road wouldn’t have business enough to keep +the rust off. They’re building the road just the +same, so that shows that they intend to get our +property some way, no matter what we do. And +I suppose they will, somehow,” he added sullenly. +“They always do, I guess.”</p> +<p>“But the people,” said Ruth, “can’t you get +them all to join and agree to sell at a fair price? +Wouldn’t that be all right?”</p> +<p>“They don’t want to buy. They won’t buy +at any fair price. They only want to get options +enough to show the Legislature and the Governor, +and then they will be granted eminent domain and +they can have the land condemned and can buy it +at the price of wild land.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; I remember now. That’s what the +Bishop said. Isn’t it strange,” she went on +slowly, “how he seems to come into everything +we do. How he saved my Daddy Tom’s life that +time at Fort Fisher. And how he came here that +night when Daddy was hurt. And how he picked +us up and turned us around and sent me off to +convent. And now how he seems to come into all +this.</p> +<p>“Everybody calls him the Shepherd of the +North,” she went on. “I wonder if he comes +into the lives of <i>all</i> the people that way. At the +convent everybody seems to think of him as belonging +to them personally. I resented it at first, +because I thought I had more reason to know him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +than anybody. But I found that everybody felt +the same way.”</p> +<p>“He’s just like the Catholic Church,” said +Jeffrey suddenly, and a little sharply; “he comes +into everything.”</p> +<p>“Why, Jeffrey,” said Ruth in surprise, “what +do you know about the Church?”</p> +<p>“I know,” he answered. “I’ve read some. +And I’ve had to deal a lot with the French people +up toward French Village. And I’ve talked with +their priest up there. You know you have to talk +to the priest before it’s any use talking to them. +That’s the way with the Catholic Church. It +comes into everything. I don’t like it.”</p> +<p>He sat looking across the pool for a moment, +while Ruth quietly studied the stubborn, settling +lines of his face. She saw that a few months had +made a big change in the boy and playmate that +she had known. He was no longer the bright-faced, +clear-eyed boy. His face was turning into +a man’s face. Sharp, jagged lines of temper and +of harshness were coming into it. It showed +strength and doggedness and will, along with some +of the dour grimness of his fathers. She did not +dislike the change altogether. But it began to +make her a little timid. She was quick to see from +it that there would be certain limits beyond which +she could not play with this new man that she +found.</p> +<p>“It’s all right to be religious,” he went on argumentatively. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +“Mother’s religious. And Aunt +Letty’s just full of it. But it don’t interfere with +their lives. It’s all right to have a preacher for +marrying or dying or something like that; and to +go to hear him if you want to. But the Catholic +Church comes right in to where those people live. +It tells them what to do and what to think about +everything. They don’t dare speak without looking +back to it to find out what they must say. I +don’t like it.”</p> +<p>“Why, Jeffrey, I’m a Catholic!”</p> +<p>“I <i>knew</i> it!” he said stubbornly. “I knew it! +I knew there was something that had changed you. +And I might have known it was that.”</p> +<p>“That’s funny!” said the girl, breaking in +quickly. “When you came I was just wondering +to myself why it had not seemed to change me at +all. I think I was half disappointed with myself, +to think that I had gone through a wonderful +experience and it had left me just the same as I +was before.”</p> +<p>“But it has changed you,” he persisted. “And +it’s going to change you a lot more. I can see it. +Please, Ruth,” he said, suddenly softening, “you +won’t let it change you? You won’t let it make +any difference, with us, I mean?”</p> +<p>The girl looked soberly and steadily up into his +face, and said:</p> +<p>“No, Jeffrey. It won’t make any difference +with us, in the way you mean.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></div> +<p>“So long as we are what we are,” she said again +after a pause, “we will be just the same to each +other. If it should make something different out +of me than what I am, then, of course, I would +not be the same to you. Or if you should change +into something else, then you would not be the +same to me.</p> +<p>“It’s too soon,” she continued decisively. +“Nothing is clear to me, yet. I’ve just entered +into a great, wonderful world of thought and feeling +that I never knew existed. Where it leads +to, I do not know. When I do know, Jeffrey +dear, I’ll tell you.”</p> +<p>He looked up sharply at her as she rose to her +feet, and he understood that she had said the last +word that was to be said. He saw something in +her face with which he did not dare to argue.</p> +<p>He got up saying:</p> +<p>“I have to be gone. I’m glad I found you here +at the old place. I’ll be back to-night to help you +eat the trout.”</p> +<p>“Where are you going?”</p> +<p>“Over to Wilbur’s Fork. There’s a couple of +men over there that are shaky. I’ve had to keep +after them or they’d be listening to Rafe Gadbeau +and letting their land go.”</p> +<p>“But,” Ruth exclaimed, “now when they +know, can’t they see what is to their own interest! +Are they blind?”</p> +<p>“I know,” said Jeffrey dully. “But you know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +how it is with those people. Their land is hard +to work. It is poor land. They have to scratch +and scrape for a little money. They don’t see +many dollars together from one year’s end to the +other. Even a little money, ready, green money, +shaken in their faces looks awful big to them.”</p> +<p>“Good luck, then, Jeff,” she said cheerily; +“and get back early if you can.”</p> +<p>“Sure,” he said easily as he picked up his hat.</p> +<p>“And, say, Ruth.” He turned back quietly to +her. “If––if I shouldn’t be back to-night, or to-morrow; +why, watch Rafe Gadbeau. Will you? +I wouldn’t say anything to mother. And Uncle +Catty, well, he’s not very sharp sometimes. Will +you?”</p> +<p>“Of course I will. But be careful, Jeff, +please.”</p> +<p>“Oh, sure,” he sang back, as he walked quickly +around the edge of the pond and slipped into the +alder bushes through which ran the trail that went +up over the ridge to the Wilbur Fork country on +the other side.</p> +<p>Ruth stood watching him as he pushed sturdily +up the opposite slope, his grey felt hat and wide +shoulders showing above the undergrowth.</p> +<p>This boy was a different being from the Jeffrey +that she had left when she went down to the convent +five months before. She could see it in his +walk, in the way he shouldered the bushes aside +just as she had seen it in his face and his talk. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +He was fighting with a power that he had found +to be stronger and bigger than himself. He was +not discouraged. He had no thought of giving +up. But the airy edge of his boyish confidence +in himself was gone. He had become grim and +thoughtful and determined. He had settled +down to a long, dogged struggle.</p> +<p>He had asked her to watch Rafe Gadbeau. +How much did he mean? Why should he have +said this to her? Would it not have been better +to have warned some of the men that were associated +with him in his fight? And what was +there to be feared? She laughed at the idea of +physical fear in connection with Jeffrey. Why, +nothing ever happened in the hills, anyway. +Crimes of violence were never heard of. It was +true, the lumber jacks were rough when they came +down with the log drives in the spring. But they +only fought among themselves. And they did not +stop in the hills. They hurried on down to the +towns where they could spend their money.</p> +<p>What had Jeffrey to fear?</p> +<p>Yet, he must have meant a good deal. He +would not have spoken to her unless he had good +reason to think that something might happen to +him.</p> +<p>Withal, Ruth was not deceived. She knew the +temper of the hills. The men were easy-going. +They were slow of speech. They were generally +ruled by their more energetic women. But they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +or their fathers had all been fighting men, like her +own father. And they were rooted in the soil of +the hills. Any man or any power that attempted +to drive them from the land which their hands had +cleared and made into homes, where the bones of +their fathers and mothers lay, would have to +reckon with them as bitter, stubborn fighting men.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting was just coming to the bare top +of the ridge. In another moment he would drop +down the other side out of sight. She wondered +whether he would turn and wave to her; or had he +forgotten that she would surely be standing where +he had left her?</p> +<p>He had not forgotten. He turned and waved +briskly to her. Then he stepped down quickly +out of sight. His act was brusque and businesslike. +It showed that he remembered. He could +hardly have seen her standing there in all the +green by the pond. He had just known that she +was there. But it showed something else, too. +He had plunged down over the edge of the hill +upon a business with which his mind was filled, to +the exclusion, almost, of her and of everything +else.</p> +<p>The girl did not feel any of the little pique or +resentment that might have been very natural. +It was so that she would wish him to go about the +business that was going to be so serious for all of +them. But it gave her a new and startling flash +of insight into what was coming.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></div> +<p>She had always thought of her hills as the place +where peace lived. Out in the great crowded +market places of the world she knew men fought +each other for money. But why do that in the +hills? There was a little for all. And a man +could only get as much as his own labour and good +judgment would make for him out of the land.</p> +<p>Now she saw that it was not a matter of hills +or of cities. Wherever, in the hills or the city or +in the farthest desert, there was wealth or the hope +of wealth, there greedy men with power would +surely come to look for it and take it. That was +why men fought. Wealth, even the scent of +wealth whetted their appetites and drew them on +to battle.</p> +<p>A cloud passed between her and the morning +sun. She felt the premonition of tragedy and suffering +lowering down like a storm on her hills. +How foolishly she had thought that all life and all +the great, seething business of life was to be done +down in the towns and the cities. Here was life +now, with its pressure and its ugly passions, pushing +right into the very hills.</p> +<p>She shivered as she picked up her prize of the +morning and her fishing tackle and started slowly +up the hill toward her home.</p> +<p>Her farm had been rented to Norman Apgarth +with the understanding that Ruth was to spend the +summer there in her own home. The rent was +enough to give Ruth what little money she needed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +for clothes and to pay her modest expenses at the +convent at Athens. So her life was arranged for +her at least up to the time when she should have +finished school.</p> +<p>It seemed very strange to come home and find +her home in the hands of strangers. It was odd +to be a sort of guest in the house that she had +ruled and managed from almost the time that she +was a baby. It would be very hard to keep from +telling Mrs. Apgarth where things belonged and +how other things should be done. It would be +hard to stand by and see others driving the horses +that had never known a hand but hers and Daddy +Tom’s. Still she had been very glad to come +home. It was her place. It held all the memories +and all the things that connected her with +her own people. She wanted to be able always +to come back to it and call it her own. Looking +down over it from the crest of the hill, at the little +clump of trees under which lay her Daddy Tom +and her mother, at the little house that had seen +their love and in which she had been born, she +could understand the fierceness with which men +would fight to hold the farms and homes which +were threatened.</p> +<p>Until now she had hardly realised that those +men whom people vaguely called “the railroad” +would want to take <i>her</i> home and farm away from +her. Now it came suddenly home to her and she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +felt a swelling rage of indignation rising in her +throat. She hurried down the hill to the house, +as though she saw it already threatened.</p> +<p>She deftly threw her fishpole up on to the roof +of the wood shed and went around to the front of +the house. There she found Mrs. Apgarth weeding +in what had been Ruth’s own flower beds.</p> +<p>“Why, what a how-dye-do you did give us, Miss +Ruth!” the woman exclaimed at sight of her. +“I called you <i>three</i> times, and when you didn’t +answer I went to your door; and there you were +gone! I told Norman Apgarth somebody must +have took you off in the night.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” said Ruth. “No danger. I’m +used to getting up early, you see. So I just took +some cakes––Didn’t you miss them?––and +some milk and slipped out without waking any one. +I wanted to catch this fish. Jeffrey Whiting and I +tried to catch him for four years. And I had to +do it myself this morning.”</p> +<p>“So young Whiting’s gone away, eh?”</p> +<p>“Why, no,” said Ruth quickly. “He went +over to Wilbur’s Fork about half an hour ago. +Who said he’d gone away?”</p> +<p>“Oh, nobody,” said the woman hastily; “it’s +only what they was sayin’ up at French Village +yesterday.”</p> +<p>“What were they saying?” Ruth demanded.</p> +<p>“Oh, just talk, I suppose,” Mrs. Apgarth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +evaded. “Still, I dunno’s I blame him. I guess +if I got as much money as they say he’s got out of +it, I’d skedaddle, too.”</p> +<p>Ruth stepped over and caught the woman +sharply by the arm.</p> +<p>“What did they say? Tell me, please. +Mrs. Apgarth saw that the girl was trembling +with excitement and anxiety. She saw that she +herself had said too much, or too little. She +could not stop at that. She must tell everything +now.</p> +<p>“Well,” she began, “they say he’s just fooled +the people up over their eyes.”</p> +<p>“How?” said Ruth impatiently. “Tell me.”</p> +<p>“He’s been agoin’ round holdin’ the people +back and gettin’ them to swear that they won’t +sign a paper or sell a bit of land to the railroad. +Now it turns out he was just keepin’ the rest of +the people back till he could get a good big lot of +money from the railroad for his own farm and +for this one of yours. Oh, yes, they say he’s sold +this farm and his own and five other ones that he’d +got hold of, for four times what they’re worth. +And that gives the railroad enough to work on, +so the rest of the people’ll just have to sell for +what they can get. He’s gone now; skipped out.”</p> +<p>“But he has <i>not</i> gone!” Ruth snapped out indignantly. +“I saw him only half an hour ago.”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, of course,” said the woman knowingly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +“you’d know more about it than anybody +else. It’s all talk, I suppose.”</p> +<p>Ruth blushed and dropped the fish forgotten +on the grass. She said shortly:</p> +<p>“I’m going to spend the day with Mrs. Whiting.”</p> +<p>“Oh, then, don’t say a word to her about this. +She’s an awful good neighbour. I wouldn’t for +the world have her think that I––”</p> +<p>“Why, it doesn’t matter at all,” said Ruth, as +she turned toward the road. “You only said +what people were saying.”</p> +<p>“But I wouldn’t for anything,” the woman +called nervously after her, “have her think that–– And +what’ll I do with this?”</p> +<p>“Eat it,” said Ruth over her shoulder. The +prize for which she had fought so desperately in +the early morning meant nothing to her now.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting did not come home that night. +Through the long twilight of one of the longest +days of the year, Ruth sat reading in the old place +on the hill, where Jeffrey would be sure to find +her. Suddenly, when it was full dark, she knew +that he would not come.</p> +<p>She did not try to argue with herself. She did +not fight back the nervous feeling that something +had happened. She was sure that she had been +all day expecting it. When the moon came up +over the hill and the long purple shadows of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +elm trees on the crest came stalking down in the +white light, she went miserably into the house and +up to the little room they had fitted up for her in +the loft of her own home.</p> +<p>She cried herself into a wearied, troubled sleep. +But with the elasticity of youth and health she was +awake at the first hint of morning, and the cloud +of the night had passed.</p> +<p>She dressed and hurried down into the yard +where Norman Apgarth was just stirring about +with his milk pails. She was glad to face daylight +and action. A man had put his trust in her before +all others. She was eager to answer to his +faith.</p> +<p>“Where is Brom Bones?” she demanded of the +still drowsy Apgarth as she caught him crossing +the yard from the milk house.</p> +<p>“The colt? He’s up in the back pasture, just +around the knob of the mountain. What was you +calc’latin’ to do with him, Miss?”</p> +<p>“I want to use him,” said Ruth. “May I?”</p> +<p>“Use him? Certainly, if you want to. But, +say, Miss, that colt ain’t been driv’ since the +Spring’s work. An’ he’s so fat an’ silky he’s liable +to act foolish.”</p> +<p>“I’m going to <i>ride</i> him,” said Ruth briefly, as +she stepped to the horse barn door for a bridle.</p> +<p>“Now, say, Miss,” the man opposed feebly, +“you could take the brown pony just as well; I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +don’t need her a bit. And I tell you that colt is +just a lun-<i>at</i>-ic, when he’s been idle so long.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Ruth, as she started up the +hill. “But I think I’ll find work enough to satisfy +even Brom Bones to-day.”</p> +<p>The big black colt followed her peaceably down +the mountain, and stood champing at the door +while she went in to get something to eat. When +she brought out a shining new side saddle he +looked suspiciously at the strange thing, but he +made no serious objection as she fastened it on. +Ruth herself, when she had buckled it tight, stood +looking doubtfully at it. A side saddle was as +new to her as it was to the horse. She had bought +it on her way home the other day, as a concession +to the fact that she was now a young lady who +could no longer go stampeding over the hills on a +bare-backed horse.</p> +<p>She mounted easily, but Brom Bones, seeming +to know in the way of his kind that she was uneasy +and uncomfortable, began at once to act badly. +His intention seemed to be to walk into the open +well on his hind feet. The girl caught a short +hold on her lines and cut him sharply across the +ear. He wheeled on two feet and bolted for the +hill, clearing the woodshed by mere inches.</p> +<p>The path led straight up to the top of the slope. +Ruth did not try to hold him. The sooner he ran +the conceit out of himself, she thought, the better.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></div> +<p>He hurled himself down the other slope, past +the pool, and into the trail which Jeffrey had taken +yesterday. It was break-neck riding, in a strange +saddle. But the girl’s anxiety rose with the excitement +of the horse’s wild rush, so that when +they reached the top of the divide where she had +last seen Jeffrey it was the horse and not the girl +that was ready to settle down to a sober and safer +pace.</p> +<p>Her common sense told her that she was probably +foolish; that Jeffrey had merely stayed over +night somewhere and that she would meet him on +the way. But another and a subtler sense kept +whispering to her to hurry on, that she was +needed, that the good name, if not the life, of the +boy she loved was in danger!</p> +<p>She had found out from Mrs. Whiting just +who were the men whom Jeffrey had gone to see. +But she did not know how she could dash up to +their doors and demand to know where he was. +It was eleven miles up the stony trail that followed +Wilbur’s Fork, and the girl’s nerves now keyed +up to expect she knew not what jangled at every +turn of the road. Jeffrey had meant to come +straight back this way to her. That he had not +done so meant that <i>something</i> had stopped him on +the way. What was it?</p> +<p>On one side the trail was flanked by giant hemlocks +and the underbrush was grown into an impenetrable +wall. On the other it ran sheer along +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +the edge of Wilbur’s Fork, a rock-bottomed, rushing +stream that tumbled and brawled its way down +the long slope of the country.</p> +<p>Time after time the girl shuddered and gripped +her saddle as she pushed on past a place where the +undergrowth came right down to the trail, and +six feet away the path dropped off thirty feet to +the rock bed of the stream. She caught herself +leaning across the saddle to look down. A man +might have stood in the brush as Jeffrey came +carelessly along. And that man might have +swung a cant-stick once––a single blow at the +back of the head––and Jeffrey would have gone +stumbling and falling over the edge of the path. +There would not be even the sign of a struggle.</p> +<p>Once she stopped and took hold of her nerves.</p> +<p>“Ruth Lansing,” she scolded aloud, “you’re +making a little fool of yourself. You’ve been +down there in that convent living among a lot of +girls, and you’re forgetting that these hills are +your own, that there never was and never is any +danger in them for us who belong here. Just +keep that in your mind and hustle on about your +business.”</p> +<p>When she came out into the open country near +the head of the Fork she met old Darius Wilbur +turning his cattle to pasture. The old man +did not know the girl, but he knew the Lansing +colt and he looked sharply at the steaming withers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +of Brom Bones before he would give any attention +to her question.</p> +<p>“What’s the tarnation hurry, young lady?” he +inquired exasperatingly. “Jeff Whiting? Yes, +he was here yest’day. Why?”</p> +<p>“Did he start home by this trail?” asked Ruth +eagerly. “Or did he go on up country?”</p> +<p>“He went on up country.”</p> +<p>Ruth headed Brom Bones up the trail again +without a word.</p> +<p>“But stay!” the old man yelled after her, +when she had gone twenty yards. “He came +back again.”</p> +<p>Ruth pulled around so sharply that she nearly +threw Brom Bones to his knees.</p> +<p>“Didn’t ask me that,” the old man chortled, as +she came back, “but if I didn’t tell you I reckon +you’d run that colt to death up the hills.”</p> +<p>“Then he <i>did</i> take the Forks trail back.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t do that, nuther.”</p> +<p>“Then where <i>did</i> he go? Please tell me!” +cried the girl, the tears of vexation rising into her +voice.</p> +<p>“Why, what’s the matter, girl? He crossed +the Fork just there,” said the old man, pointing, +“and he took over the hill for French Village. +You his wife? You’re mighty young.”</p> +<p>But Ruth did not hear. She and Brom Bones +were already slipping down the rough bank in a +shower of dirt and stones.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></div> +<p>In the middle of the ford she stopped and +loosened the bridle, let the colt drink a little, then +drove him across, up the other bank and on up the +stiff slope.</p> +<p>She did not know the trail, but she knew the +general run of the country that way and had no +doubt of finding her road.</p> +<p>Now she told herself that it was certainly a +wild goose chase. Jeffrey had merely found that +he had to see some one in French Village and had +gone there and, of course, had spent the night +there.</p> +<p>By the time she had come over the ridge of the +hill and was dropping down through the heavily +wooded country toward French Village, she had +begun to feel just a little bit foolish. But she suddenly +remembered that it was Saint John the Baptist’s +day. It was not a holy day of obligation +but she knew it was a feast day in French Village. +There would be Mass. She should have gone, +anyway. And she would hear with her own ears +the things they were saying about Jeffrey Whiting.</p> +<p>Arsene LaComb sat on the steps of his store +in French Village in the glory of a stiff white shirt +and a festal red vest. The store was closed, of +course, in honour of the day. In a few minutes he +would put on his black coat, in his official capacity +of trustee of the church, and march solemnly over +to ring the bell for Mass.</p> +<p>The spectacle of a smartly-dressed young lady +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +whom he seemed to know vaguely, riding down +the dusty street on a shiny yellow side saddle on +the back of a big, vicious-looking black colt, made +the little man reach hastily for his coat of ceremony.</p> +<p>“M’m’selle Lansing!” he said, bowing in +friendly pomp as Ruth drove up.</p> +<p>“How do you do, Mr. LaComb? I came +down to go to Mass. Can you tell me what time +it begins?”</p> +<p>“I shall ring the bell when I have put away +your horse, M’m’selle.” Now no earthly power +could have made Arsene LaComb deviate a minute +from the exact time for ringing that bell. +But, he was a Frenchman. His manner intimated +that the ringing of all bells whatsoever must await +her convenience.</p> +<p>He stepped forward jauntily to help her down. +Ruth kicked her feet loose and slid down +deftly.</p> +<p>“I am glad to see you again, Mr. LaComb,” +said Ruth as she took his hand. “Did you see +Jeffrey Whiting in the Village last night?”</p> +<p>A girl of about Ruth’s own age had come +quietly up the street and stood beside them, recording +in one swift inspection every detail of +Ruth from her little riding cap to the tips of her +brown boots.</p> +<p>“’Cynthe,” said the little man briskly, “you +show Miss Lansing on my pew for Mass.” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +took the bridle from Ruth’s hand and led the horse +away to the shed in the rear of the store.</p> +<p>The fear and uneasiness of the early morning +leaped back to Ruth. The little man had certainly +run away from her question. Why should +he not answer?</p> +<p>She would have liked to linger a while among +the people standing about the church door. She +knew some of them. She might have asked questions +of them. But her escort led her straight into +the church and up to a front pew.</p> +<p>At the end of the Mass the people filed out +quietly, but at the church door they broke into volleys +of rapid-fire French chatter of which Ruth +could only catch a little here and there.</p> +<p>“You will come by the <i>fête</i>, M’m’selle. You +will not dance <i>non</i>, I s’pose. But you will eat, +and you will see the fun they make, one <i>jolie</i> time! +Till I ring the Vesper bell they will dance.” +Arsene led Ruth and the other girl, whom she +now learned was Hyacinthe Cardinal, across the +road to a little wood that stood opposite the +church. There were tables, on which the women +had already begun to spread the food that they had +brought from home, and a dancing platform. On +a great stump which had been carved rudely into +a chair sat Soriel Brouchard, the fiddler of the +hills, twiddling critically at his strings.</p> +<p>It seemed strange to Ruth that these people who +had a moment before been so devout and concentrated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +in church should in an instant switch +their whole thought to a day of eating and merrymaking. +But she soon found their light-hearted +gaiety very infectious. Before she knew it, she +was sputtering away in the best French she had +and entering into the fun with all her heart.</p> +<p>“Which is Rafe Gadbeau?” she suddenly +asked Cynthe Cardinal. “I want to know him.”</p> +<p>“Why for you want to know him?” the girl +asked sharply in English.</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing,” said Ruth carelessly, “only +I’ve heard of him.”</p> +<p>The other girl reached out into the crowd and +plucked at the sleeve of a tall, beak-nosed man. +The man was evidently flattered by Ruth’s request, +and wanted her to dance with him immediately.</p> +<p>“No,” said Ruth, “I do not know how to dance +your dances, and we’d only break up the sets if +I tried to learn now. We’ve heard a lot about +you, Mr. Gadbeau, so, of course, I wanted to +know you. And we’ve heard some things about +Jeffrey Whiting. I’m sure you could tell me if +they are true.”</p> +<p>“You don’ dance? Well, we sit then. I tell +you. One rascal, this young Whiting!”</p> +<p>Ruth bit back an angry protest, and schooled +herself to listen quietly as he led her to a seat.</p> +<p>As they left the other girl standing in the middle +of the platform, Ruth, looking back, caught +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +a swift glance of what she knew was jealous anger +in her eyes. Ruth was sorry. She did not want +to make an enemy of this girl. But she felt that +she must use every effort to get this man to tell +her all he would.</p> +<p>“One rascal, I tell you,” repeated Gadbeau. +“First he stop all the people. He say don’ sell +nodding. Den he sell his own farm, him. He +sell some more; he got big price. Now he skip +the country, right out. An’ he leave these poor +French people in the soup.</p> +<p>“But I”––he sat back tapping himself on the +chest––“I got hinfluence with that railroad. +They buy now from us. To-morrow morning, +nine o’clock, here comes that railroad lawyer on +French Village. We sell out everything on the +option to him.”</p> +<p>“But,” objected Ruth, trying to draw him out, +“if Jeffrey Whiting should come back before +then?”</p> +<p>“He don’ come back, that fellow.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“I know, I–– He don’ come back. I tell +you that.”</p> +<p>“Jeffrey Whiting will be here before nine +o’clock to-morrow,” she said, turning suddenly +upon him.</p> +<p>“Eh? M’m’selle, what you mean? What +you know?” he questioned excitedly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></div> +<p>“Never mind. I see Miss Cardinal looking at +us,” she smiled as she arose, “and I think you are +in for a lecture.”</p> +<p>Through all the long day, while she ate and +listened to the fun and talked to Father Ponfret +about her convent life, she did not let Rafe Gadbeau +out of her sight or mind for an instant. She +knew that she had alarmed him. She was certain +that he knew what had happened to Jeffrey +Whiting. And she was waiting for him to betray +himself in some way.</p> +<p>When Arsene LaComb rang the bell for Vespers, +she waited by the bell ringer to see that +Gadbeau came into the church. He took his place +among the men, and then Ruth dropped quietly +into a pew near the door. When the people rose +to sing the <i>Tantum Ergo</i>, she saw Gadbeau slip +unnoticed out of the church. She waited tensely +until the singing was finished, then she almost ran +to the door.</p> +<p>Gadbeau, mounted on one of the ponies that +had been standing all day in the little woods, was +riding away in the direction of the trail which she +had come down this morning. She fairly flew +down the street to Arsene LaComb’s store. +There was not a pony in the hills that Brom Bones +could not overtake easily, but she must see by what +trail the man left the Village.</p> +<p>Brom Bones was very willing to make a race +for home, and she let him have his head until she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +again caught sight of the man. She pulled up +sharply and forced the colt down to a walk. The +man was still on the main road, and he might turn +any moment. Finally she saw him pull into the +trail that led over to Wilbur’s Fork. Then she +knew. Jeffrey was somewhere on the trail between +French Village and Wilbur’s Fork. And +he was alive! The man was going now to make +sure that he was still there.</p> +<p>For an hour, the long, high twilight was enough +to assure her that the man was still following +the trail. Then, just when the real darkness had +fallen, she heard a pony whinny in the woods at +her left. The man had turned off into the woods! +She had almost passed him! She threw herself +out upon Brom Bones’ neck and caught him by +the nose. He threw up his head indignantly and +tried to bolt, but she blessed him for making no +noise. She drove on quietly a couple of hundred +yards, slipped down, and drew Brom Bones into +the bushes away from the road and tied him. She +talked to him, patting his head and neck, pleading +with him to be quiet. Then she left him and +stole back to where she had heard the pony.</p> +<p>In the gloom of the woods she could see nothing. +But her feet found themselves on what +seemed to be a path and she followed it blindly. +She almost walked into a square black thing that +suddenly confronted her. Within what seemed a +foot of her she heard voices. Her heart stopped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +beating, but the blood rang in her ears so that she +could not distinguish a word. One of the voices +was certainly Gadbeau’s. The other–– It +was!–– It was! Though it was only a mumble, +she knew it was Jeffrey Whiting who tried to +speak!</p> +<p>She took a step forward, ready to dash into +the place, whatever it was. But the caution of the +hills made her back away noiselessly into the +brush. What could she do? Why? Oh, <i>why</i> +had she not brought a rifle? Gadbeau was sure to +be armed. Jeffrey was a prisoner, probably +wounded and bound.</p> +<p>She backed farther into the bushes and started +to make a circuit of the place. She understood +now that it was a sugar hut, built entirely of logs, +even the roof. It was as strong as a blockhouse. +She knew that she was helpless. And she knew +that Jeffrey would not be a prisoner there unless +he were hurt.</p> +<p>She could only wait. Gadbeau had not come +to injure Jeffrey further. He had merely come to +make himself sure that his prisoner was secure. +He would not stay long.</p> +<p>As she stole around away from the path and +the pony she saw a little stream of light shoot +out through a chink between the logs of the hut. +Gadbeau had made a light. Probably he had +brought something for Jeffrey to eat. She pulled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +off the white collar of her jacket, the only white +thing that showed about her and settled down for +a long wait.</p> +<p>First she had thought that she ought to steal +away to her horse and ride for help. But she +could not bear the thought of even getting beyond +the sound of Jeffrey’s voice. She knew +where he was now. He might be taken away +while she was gone. And, besides, Ruth Lansing +had always learned to do things for herself. She +had always disliked appealing for help.</p> +<p>Hour after hour she sat in the darkest place +she could find, leaning against the bole of a great +tree. The light, candles, of course, burned on; +and the voices came irregularly through the living +silence of the woods. She did not dare to +creep nearer to hear what was being said. That +did not matter. The important thing was to have +Gadbeau go away without any suspicion that he +had been followed. Then she would be free to +release Jeffrey. She had no fear but that she +would be able to get him down to French Village +in the morning. She could easily have him there +before nine o’clock.</p> +<p>When she saw by the stars that it was long +past midnight she began to be worried. Just then +the light went out. Ah! The man was going +away at last! She waited a long, nervous half +hour. But there was no sound. She dared not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +move, for even when she shifted her position +against the tree the oppressive silence seemed to +crackle with her motion.</p> +<p>Would he never come out? It seemed not. +Was he going to stay there all night?</p> +<p>Noiseless as a cat, she rose and crept to the +door of the cabin. Apparently both men were +asleep within. She pushed the door ever so +quietly. It was firmly barred on the inside.</p> +<p>What could she do? Nothing, absolutely +nothing! Oh, why, <i>why</i> had she not brought a +rifle? She would shoot. She <i>would</i>, if she had +it now, and that man opened the door! It was +too late now to think of riding for help, too late!</p> +<p>She sank down again beside her tree and raged +helplessly at herself, at her conceit in herself that +would not let her go for help in the first place, +at her foolishness in coming on this business without +a gun. The hours dragged out their weary +minutes, every minute an age to the taut, ragged +nerves of the girl.</p> +<p>The dawn came stealing across the tree-tops, +while the ground still lay in utter darkness. Ruth +rose and slipped farther back into the bushes.</p> +<p>Suddenly she found herself upon her knees in +the soft grass, and the hot, angry tears of desperation +and rage at herself were softened. Her +heart was lighted up with the glow of dawn and +sang its prayer to God; a thrilling, lifting little +prayer of confidence and wonder. The words +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +that the night before would not form themselves +for her now sprang up ready in her soul––the +words of all the children of earth, to Our Father +Who Art in Heaven––paused an instant to bless +her lips, then sped away to God in His Heaven. +Fear was gone, and doubt, and anxiety. She +would save Jeffrey, and she would save the poor, +befooled people from ruin. God had told her so, +as He walked abroad in the <i>Glow</i> of <i>Dawn</i>.</p> +<p>Two long hours more she waited, but now with +patience and a sure confidence. Then Rafe Gadbeau +came out of the hut and strode down the +path to his pony.</p> +<p>Ruth rose stiff and wet from the ground and +ran to the door, and called to Jeffrey. The only +answer was a moan. The door was locked with +a great iron clasp and staple joined by a heavy +padlock. She reached for the nearest stone and +attacked the lock frantically. She beat it out of +all semblance to a lock, but still it defied her. +There was no window in the hut. She had to +come back again to the lock. Her hands, softened +by the months in the convent, left bloody marks on +the tough brass of the lock. In the end it gave, +and she threw herself against the door.</p> +<p>Jeffrey was lying trussed, face down, on a bunk +beside the furnace where they boiled the sugar +sap. His arms were stretched out and tied together +down under the narrow bunk. She saw +that his left arm was broken. For an instant the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +girl’s heart leaped back to the rage of the night +when she had almost prayed for her rifle. But +pity swallowed up every other feeling as she cut +the cords from his hands and loosened the rope +that they had bound in between his teeth.</p> +<p>“Don’t talk, Jeff,” she commanded. “I can +see just what happened. Lie easy and get your +strength. I’ve got to take you to French Village +at once.”</p> +<p>She ran out to bring water. When she returned +he was sitting dizzily on the edge of the bunk. +While she bathed his head with the water and +gave him a little to drink, she talked to him and +crooned over him as she would over a baby for +she saw that he was shaken and half delirious with +pain.</p> +<p>Brom Bones was standing munching twigs +where she had left him. He had never before +been asked to carry double and he did not like it. +But the girl pleaded so pitifully and so gently into +his silky black ear that he finally gave in.</p> +<p>When they were mounted, she fastened the +white collar of her jacket into a sling for the +boy’s broken arm, and with a prayer to the heathen +Brom Bones to go tenderly they were off down +the trail.</p> +<p>When they were half way down the trail Jeffrey +spoke suddenly:</p> +<p>“Say, Ruth, what’s the use trying to save these +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +people? Let’s sell out while we can and take +mother and go away.”</p> +<p>“Why, Jeff, dear,” she said lightly, “this fight +hasn’t begun yet. Wait till we get to French Village. +You’ll say something different. You’ll say +just what you said to the Shepherd of the North; +remember?”</p> +<p>Jeffrey said no more. The girl’s heart was +weak with the pain she knew he was bearing, but +she knew that they must go through with this.</p> +<p>All French Village and the farmers of Little +Tupper country were gathered in front of Arsene +Lacomb’s store. Rafe Gadbeau was standing on +the steps haranguing them. He had stayed with +his prisoner as he thought up to the last possible +moment, so he stammered in his speech when he +saw a big black horse come tearing down the street +carrying a girl and a white-faced, black-headed boy +behind her. Rogers, the railroad lawyer beside +him, said:</p> +<p>“Go on, man. What’s the matter with you?”</p> +<p>The girl drove the horse right in through the +crowd until Jeffrey Whiting faced Rogers. Then +Jeffrey, gritting his teeth on his pain, took up his +fight again.</p> +<p>“Rogers,” he shouted, “you did this. You +got Rafe Gadbeau and the others to knock me on +the head and put me out of the way, so that you +could spread your lies about me. And you’d have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +won out, too, if it hadn’t been for this brave girl +here.</p> +<p>“Now, Rogers, you liar,” he shouted louder, +“I dare you, dare you, to tell these people here +that I or any of our people have sold you a foot +of land. I dare you!”</p> +<p>Rogers would have argued, but Rafe Gadbeau +pulled him away. Gadbeau knew that crowd. +They were a crowd of Frenchmen, volatile and +full of potential fury. They were already cheering +the brave girl. In a few minutes they would +be hunting the life of the man who had lied to +them and nearly ruined them.</p> +<p>A hundred hands reached up to lift Ruth from +the saddle, but she waved them away and pointed +to Jeffrey’s broken arm. They helped him down +and half carried him into Doctor Napoleon Goodenough’s +little office.</p> +<p>Ruth saw that her business was finished. She +wheeled Brom Bones toward home, and gave him +his head.</p> +<p>For three glorious miles they fairly flew through +the pearly morning air along the hard mountain +road, and the girl never pulled a line. Breakfastless +and weary in body, her heart sang the +song that it had learned in the Glow of Dawn.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +<a name='IV_THE_ANSWER' id='IV_THE_ANSWER'></a> +<h2>IV</h2> +<h3>THE ANSWER</h3> +</div> +<p>The Committee on Franchises was in session in +one of the committee rooms outside the chamber +of the New York State Senate. It was not a routine +session. A bill was before it, the purpose of +which was virtually to dispossess some four or +five hundred families of their homes in the counties +of Hamilton, Tupper and Racquette. The +bill did not say this. It cited the need of adequate +transportation in that part of the State and +proposed that the U. & M. Railroad should be +granted the right of eminent domain over three +thousand square miles of the region, in order to +help the development of the country.</p> +<p>The committee was composed of five members, +three of the majority party in the Senate and two +of the minority. A political agent of the railroad +who drew a salary from Racquette County as a +judge had just finished presenting to the committee +the reasons why the people of that part of +the State were unanimous in the wish that the bill +should become a law. He had drawn a pathetic +picture of the condition of the farmers, so long +deprived of the benefits of a railroad. He had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +almost wept as he told of the rich loads of produce +left to rot up there in the hills because the men +who toiled to produce it had no means of bringing +it down to the starving thousands of the cities. +The scraggy rocks and thinly soiled farms of that +region became in his picture vast reservoirs of +cheap food, only waiting to be tapped by the +beneficent railroad for the benefit of the world’s +poor.</p> +<p>When the judge had finished, one minority +member of the committee looked at his colleague, +the other minority member, and winked. It was +a grave and respectful wink. It meant that the +committee was not often privileged to listen to +quite such bare-faced effrontery. If the hearing +had been a secret one they would not have listened +to it. But the bill had already aroused a storm. +So the leader of the majority had given orders +that the hearing should be public.</p> +<p>So far not a word had been said as to the fact +which underlay the motives of the bill. Iron had +been found in workable quantities in those three +thousand square miles of hill country. Not a +word had been said about iron.</p> +<p>No one in the room had listened to the speech +with any degree of interest. It was intended entirely +for the consumption of the outside public. +Even the reporters had sat listless and bored during +its delivery. They had been furnished with +advance copies of it and had already turned them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +in to their papers. But with the naming of the +next witness a stir of interest ran sharply around +the room.</p> +<p>Bishop Joseph Winthrop of Alden rose from +his place in the rear of the room and walked +briskly forward to the chair reserved. A tall, +spare figure of a man coming to his sixty years, +his hair as white as the snow of his hills, with a +large, firm mouth and the nose of a Puritan governor, +he would have attracted attention under almost +any circumstances.</p> +<p>Nathan Gorham, the chairman of the committee, +had received his orders from the leader of the +majority in the Senate that the bill should be reported +back favourably to that body before night. +He had anticipated no difficulty. The form of a +public hearing had to be gone through with. It +was the most effective way of disarming the suspicions +that had been aroused as to the nature of +the bill. The speech of the Racquette County +Judge was the usual thing at public hearings. The +chairman had expected that one or two self-advertising +reformers of the opposition would come before +the committee with time-honoured, stock diatribes +against the rapacity and greed of railroads +in general and this one in particular. Then he +and his two majority colleagues would vote to report +the bill favourably, while the two members +of the minority would vote to report adversely. +This, the chairman said, was about all a public +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +hearing ever amounted to. He had not counted +on the coming of the Bishop of Alden.</p> +<p>“The committee would like to hear, sir,” began +the chairman, as the Bishop took his place, “whom +you represent in the matter of this bill.”</p> +<p>The reporters, scenting a welcome sensation in +what had been a dull session of a dull committee, +sat with poised pencils while the Bishop turned a +look of quiet gravity upon the chairman and said:</p> +<p>“I represent Joseph Winthrop, a voter of +Racquette County.”</p> +<p>“I beg pardon, sir, of course. The committee +quite understands that you do not come here in the +interest of any one. But the gentleman who has +just been before us spoke for the farmers who +would be most directly affected by the prosperity +of the railroad, including those of your county. +Are we to understand that there is opposition in +your county to the proposed grant?”</p> +<p>“Your committee,” said the Bishop, “cannot be +ignorant that there is the most stubborn opposition +to this grant in all three counties. If there had +not been that opposition, there would have been no +call for the bill which you are now considering. +If the railroad could have gotten the options which +it tried to get on those farms the grant would have +been given without question. Your committee +knows this better than I.”</p> +<p>“But,” returned the chairman, “we have been +advised that the railroad was not able to get those +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +options because a boy up there in the Beaver River +country, who fancied that he had some grievance +against the railroad people, banded the people together +to oppose the options in unfair and unlawful +ways.”</p> +<p>The chairman paused an impressive moment.</p> +<p>“In fact,” he resumed, “from what this committee +has been able to gather, it looks very much +as though there were conspiracy in the matter, +against the U. & M. Railroad. It almost would +seem that some rival of the railroad in question +had used the boy and his fancied grievance to +manufacture opposition. Conspiracy could not be +proven, but there was every appearance.”</p> +<p>The Bishop smiled grimly as he dropped his +challenge quietly at the feet of the committee.</p> +<p>“The boy, Jeffrey Whiting,” he said, “was +guided by me. I directed his movements from the +beginning.”</p> +<p>The whole room sat up and leaned forward as +one man, alive to the fact that a novel and stirring +situation was being developed. Everybody had +understood that the Bishop had come to plead the +cause of the French-Canadian farmers of the +hills.</p> +<p>They had supposed that he would speak only +on what was a side issue of the case. No one had +expected that he would attack the main question +of the bill itself. And here he was openly proclaiming +himself the principal in that silent, stubborn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +fight that had been going on up in the hills +for six months!</p> +<p>The reporters doubled down to their work and +wrote furiously. They were trying to throw this +unusual man upon a screen before their readers. +It was not easy. He was an unmistakable product +of New England, and what was more he had been +one of the leaders of that collection of striking +men who made the Brook Farm “Experiment.” +He had endeared himself to the old generation of +Americans by his war record as a chaplain. To +some of the new generation he was known as the +Yankee Bishop. But in the hill country, from +the Mohawk Valley to the Canadian line and to +Lake Champlain, he had one name, The Shepherd +of the North. From Old Forge to Ausable to +North Creek men knew his ways and felt the beating +of the great heart of him behind the stern, +ascetic set of his countenance.</p> +<p>As much as they could of this the reporters +were trying to put into their notes while Nathan +Gorham was recovering from his surprise. That +well-trained statesman saw that he had let himself +into a trap. He had been too zealous in announcing +his impression that the opposition to the +U. & M. Railroad was the work of a jealous rival. +The Bishop had taken that ground from under +him by a simple stroke of truth. He could +neither go forward with his charge nor could he +retract it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></div> +<p>“Would you be so kind, then, as to tell this +committee,” he temporised, “just why you wished +to arouse this opposition to the railroad?”</p> +<p>“There is not and has never been any opposition +whatever to the railroad,” said the Bishop. +“The bill before your committee has nothing to +do with the right of way of the railroad. That +has already been granted. Your bill proposes to +confiscate, practically, from the present owners a +strip of valuable land forty miles wide by nearly +eighty miles long. That land is valuable because +the experts of the railroad know, and the people +up there know, and, I think, this committee knows +that there is iron ore in these hills.</p> +<p>“I have said that I do not represent any one +here,” the Bishop went on. “But there are four +hundred families up there in our hills who stand +to suffer by this bill. They are a silent people. +They have no voice to reach the world. I have +asked to speak before your committee because +only in this way can the case of my people reach +the great, final trial court of publicity before the +whole State.</p> +<p>“They are a silent people, the people of the +hills. You will have heard that they are a stubborn +people. They are a stubborn people, for +they cling to their rocky soil and to the hillside +homes that their hands have made just as do the +hardy trees of the hills. You cannot uproot them +by the stroke of a pen.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span></div> +<p>“These people are my friends and my neighbours. +Many of them were once my comrades. +I know what they think. I know what they feel. +I would beg your committee to consider very +earnestly this question before bringing to bear +against these people the sovereign power of the +State. They love their State. Many of them +have loved their country to the peril of their +lives. They live on the little farms that their +fathers literally hewed out of a resisting wilderness.</p> +<p>“Not through prejudice or ignorance are they +opposing this development, which will in the end +be for the good of the whole region. They are +opposed to this bill before you because it would +give a corporation power to drive them from the +homes they love, and that without fair compensation.</p> +<p>“They are opposed to it because they are +Americans. They know what it has meant and +what it still means to be Americans. And they +know that this bill is directly against everything +that is American.</p> +<p>“They are ever ready to submit themselves to +the sovereign will of the State, but you will never +convince them that this bill is the real will of the +State. They are fighting men and the sons of +fighting men. They have fought the course of the +railroad in trying to get options from them by +coercion and trickery. They have been aroused. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +Their homes, poor and wretched as they often +are, mean more to them than any law you can set +on paper. They will fight this law, if you pass it. +It will set a ring of fire and murder about our +peaceful hills.</p> +<p>“In the name of high justice, in the name of +common honesty, in the name––to come to lower +levels––of political common sense, I tell you this +bill should never go back to the Senate.</p> +<p>“It is wrong, it is unjust, and it can only rebound +upon those who are found weak enough to +let it pass here.”</p> +<p>The Bishop paused, and the racing, jabbing pencils +of the reporters could be plainly heard in the +hush of the room.</p> +<p>Nathan Gorham broke the pause with a hesitating +question which he had been wanting to put +from the beginning.</p> +<p>“Perhaps the committee has been badly informed,” +he began to the Bishop; “we understood +that your people, sir, were mostly Canadian +immigrants and not usually owners of land.”</p> +<p>“Is it necessary for me to repeat,” said the +Bishop, turning sharply, “that I am here, Joseph +Winthrop, speaking of and for my neighbours and +my friends? Does it matter to them or to this +committee that I wear the badge of a service that +they do not understand? I do not come before +you as the Catholic bishop. Neither do I come +as an owner of property. I come because I think +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +the cause of my friends will be served by my coming.</p> +<p>“The facts I have laid before you, the warning +I have given might as well have been sent out +direct through the press. But I have chosen to +come before you, with your permission, because +these facts will get a wider hearing and a more +eager reading coming from this room.</p> +<p>“I do not seek to create sensation here. I +have no doubt that some of you are thinking that +the place for a churchman to speak is in his church. +But I am willing to face that criticism. I am willing +to create sensation. I am willing that you +should say that I have gone far beyond the privilege +of a witness invited to come before your +committee. I am willing, in fact, that you should +put any interpretation you like upon my use of my +privilege here, only so that my neighbours of the +hills shall have their matter put squarely and fully +before all the people of the State.</p> +<p>“When this matter is once thoroughly understood +by the people, then I know that no branch +of the lawmaking power will dare make itself responsible +for the passage of this bill.”</p> +<p>The Bishop stood a moment, waiting for further +questions. When he saw that none were +forthcoming, he thanked the committee and +begged leave to retire.</p> +<p>As the Bishop passed out of the room the +chairman arose and declared the public hearing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +closed. Witnesses, spectators and reporters +crowded out of the room and scattered through +the corridors of the Capitol. Four or five reporters +bunched themselves about the elevator +shaft waiting for a car. One of them, a tow-haired +boy of twenty, summed up the matter with +irreverent brevity.</p> +<p>“Well, it got a fine funeral, anyway,” he said. +“Not every bad bill has a bishop at the obsequies.”</p> +<p>“You can’t tell,” said the Associated Press +man slowly; “they might report it out in spite +of all that.”</p> +<p>“No use,” said the youngster shortly. “The +Senate wouldn’t dare touch it once this stuff is +in the papers.” And he jammed a wad of flimsy +down into his pocket.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Three weeks of a blistering August sun had +withered the grasses of the hills almost to a powder. +The thin soil of the north country, where +the trees have been cut away, does not hold moisture; +so that the heat of the short, vicious summer +goes down through the roots of the vegetation to +the rock beneath and heats it as a cooking stone.</p> +<p>Since June there had been no rain. The +tumbling hill streams were reduced to a trickle +among the rocks of their beds. The uplands were +covered with a mat of baked, dead grass. The +second growth of stunted timber, showing everywhere +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +the scars of the wasting rapacity of man, +stood stark and wilted to the roots. All roving +life, from the cattle to the woodchucks and even +the field mice, had moved down to hide itself in +the thicker growths near the water courses or had +stolen away into the depths of the thick woods.</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing reined Brom Bones in under a +scarred pine on the French Village road and sat +looking soberly at the slopes that stretched up +away from the road on either side. Every child +of the hills knew the menace that a hot dry summer +brought to us in those days. The first, ruthless +cutting of the timber had followed the water +courses. Men had cut and slashed their way up +through the hills without thought of what they +were leaving behind. They had taken only the +prime, sound trees that stood handiest to the roll-ways. +They had left dead and dying trees standing. +Everywhere they had strewn loose heaps of +brush and trimmings. The farmers had come +pushing into the hills in the wake of the lumbermen +and had cleared their pieces for corn and potatoes +and hay land. But around every piece of +cleared land there was an ever-encroaching ring of +brush and undergrowth and fallen timber that held +a constant threat for the little home within the +ring.</p> +<p>A summer without rain meant a season of grim +and unrelenting watchfulness. Men armed themselves +and tramped through the woods on unbidden +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +sentry duty, to see that no campfires were +made. Strangers and outsiders who were likely +to be careless were watched from the moment they +came into the hills until they were seen safely out +of them again. Where other children scouted for +and fought imaginary Indians, the children of our +hills hunted and fought imaginary fires. The +forest fire was to them not a tradition or a bugaboo. +It was an enemy that lurked just outside the +little clearing of the farm, out there in the underbrush +and fallen timber.</p> +<p>Ruth was waiting for Jeffrey Whiting. He had +ridden up to French Village for mail. For some +weeks they had known that the railroad would try +to have its bill for eminent domain passed at the +special session of the Legislature. And they +knew that the session would probably come to a +close this week.</p> +<p>If that bill became a law, then the resistance of +the people of the hills had been in vain: Jeffrey +had merely led them into a bitter and useless fight +against a power with which they could not cope. +They would have to leave their homes, taking +whatever a corrupted board of condemnation +would grant for them. It would be hard on all, +but it would fall upon Jeffrey with a crushing bitterness. +He would have to remember that he had +had the chance to make his mother and himself +independently rich. He had thrown away that +chance, and now if his fight had failed he would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +have nothing to bring back to his mother but his +own miserable failure.</p> +<p>Ruth remembered that day in the Bishop’s house +in Alden when Jeffrey had said proudly that his +mother would be glad to follow him into poverty. +And she smiled now at her own outburst at that +time. They had both meant it, every word; but +the ashes of failure are bitter. And she had seen +the iron of this fight biting into Jeffrey through +all the summer.</p> +<p>She, too, would lose a great deal if the railroad +had succeeded. She would not be able to go back +to school, and would probably have to go somewhere +to get work of some kind, for the little that +she would get for her farm now would not keep +her any time. But that was a little matter, or at +least it seemed little and vague beside the imminence +of Jeffrey’s failure and what he would +consider his disgrace. She did not know how he +would take it, for during the summer she had seen +him in vicious moods when he seemed capable of +everything.</p> +<p>She saw the speck which he made against the +horizon as he came over Argyle Mountain three +miles away and she saw that he was riding fast. +He was bringing good news!</p> +<p>It needed only the excited, happy touch of her +hand to set Brom Bones whirling up the road, for +the big colt understood her ways and moods and +followed them better than he would have followed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +whip or rein of another. Half-way, she pulled +the big fellow down to a decorous canter and +gradually slowed down to a walk as Jeffrey came +thundering down upon them. He pulled up +sharply and turned on his hind feet. The two +horses fell into step, as they knew they were expected +to do and their two riders gave them no +more heed than if they had been wooden horses.</p> +<p>“How did you know it was all right, Ruth?”</p> +<p>“I saw you coming down Argyle Mountain,” +Ruth laughed. “You looked as though you were +riding Victory down the top side of the earth. +How did it all come out?”</p> +<p>“Here’s the paper,” he said, handing her an +Albany newspaper of the day previous; “it tells +the story right off. But I got a letter from the +Bishop, too,” he added.</p> +<p>“Oh, did you?” she exclaimed, looking up +from the headline––U. & M. Grab Killed in +Committee––which she had been feverishly trying +to translate into her own language. “Please +let me hear. I’m never sure what headlines mean +till I go down to the fine print, and then it’s generally +something else. I can understand what the +Bishop says, I’m sure.”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s only short,” said Jeffrey, unfolding +the letter. “He leaves out all the part that he +did himself.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” said Ruth simply. “He always +does.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></div> +<p>“He says:</p> +<p>“‘You will see from the Albany papers, which +will probably reach you before this does, that the +special session of the Legislature closed to-night +and that the railroad’s bill was not reported to +the Senate. It had passed the Assembly, as you +know. The bill aroused a measure of just public +anger through the newspapers and its authors evidently +thought it the part of wisdom not to risk +a contest over it in the open Senate. So there can +be no legislative action in favour of the railroad +before December at the earliest, and I regard it as +doubtful that the matter will be brought up even +then.’</p> +<p>“You see,” said Jeffrey, “from this you’d never +know that he was there present at all. And +it was just his speech before the committee +that aroused that public anger. Then he goes +on:</p> +<p>“‘But we must not make the mistake of presuming +that the matter ends here. You and your +people are just where you were in the beginning. +Nothing has been lost, nothing gained. It is not +in the nature of things that a corporation which +has spent an enormous amount of money in constructing +a line with the one purpose of getting +to your lands should now give up the idea of getting +them by reason of a mere legislative setback. +They have not entered into this business +in any half-hearted manner. They are bound to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +carry it through somehow––anyhow. We must +realise that.</p> +<p>“‘We need not speculate upon the soul or the +conscience of a corporation or the lack of those +things. We know that this corporation will have +an answer to this defeat of its bill. We must +watch for that answer. What their future methods +or their plans may be I think no man can tell. +Perhaps those plans are not yet even formed. +But there will be an answer. While rejoicing that +a fear of sound public opinion has been on your +side, we must never forget that there will be an +answer.</p> +<p>“‘In this matter, young sir, I have gone beyond +the limits which men set for the proper activities +of a priest of the church. I do not apologise. +I have done this, partly because your +people are my own, my friends and my comrades +of old, partly because you yourself came to me in +a confidence which I do not forget, partly––and +most, perhaps––because where my people and +their rights are in question I have never greatly +respected those limits which men set. I put these +things before you so that when the answer comes +you will remember that you engaged yourself in +this business solely in defence of the right. So it +is not your personal fight and you must try to +keep from your mind and heart the bitterness of a +quarrel. The struggle is a larger thing than that +and you must keep your heart larger still and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +above it. I fear that you will sorely need to remember +this.</p> +<p>“‘My sincerest regards to your family and to +all my friends in the hills, not forgetting your +friend Ruth.’ That’s all,” said Jeffrey, folding +the letter. “I wish he’d said more about how he +managed the thing.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it enough to know that he did manage it, +without bothering about how? That is the way +he does everything.”</p> +<p>“I suppose I ought to be satisfied,” said Jeffrey +as he gathered up his reins. “But I wonder what +he means by that last part of the letter. It sounds +like a warning to me.”</p> +<p>“It is a warning to you,” said Ruth thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Why, what does it mean? What does he +think I’m likely to do?”</p> +<p>“Maybe he does not mean what you are likely +to do exactly,” said Ruth, trying to choose her +words wisely; “maybe he is thinking more of what +you are likely to feel. Maybe he is talking to +your heart rather than to your head or about your +actions.”</p> +<p>“Now I don’t know what you mean, either,” +said Jeffrey a little discontentedly.</p> +<p>“I know I oughtn’t to try to tell you what the +Bishop means, for I don’t know myself. But I’ve +been worried and I’m sure your mother has too,” +said Ruth reluctantly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span></div> +<p>“But what is it?” said Jeffrey quickly. +“What have I been doing?”</p> +<p>“I’m sure it isn’t anything you’ve done, nor +anything maybe that you’re likely to do. I don’t +know just what it is, or how to say it. But, +Jeffrey, you remember what you said that day in +the Bishop’s house at Alden?”</p> +<p>“Yes, and I remember what you said, too.”</p> +<p>“We both meant it,” Ruth returned gravely, +not attempting to evade any of the meaning that +he had thrown into his words. “And we both +mean it now, I’m sure. But there’s a difference, +Jeffrey, a difference with you.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know it,” he said a little shortly. +“I’m still doing just the thing I started out to do +that day.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But that day you started out to fight +for the people. Now you are fighting for yourself–– Oh, +not for anything selfish! Not for +anything you want for yourself! I know that. +But you have made the fight your own. It is your +own quarrel now. You are fighting because you +have come to hate the railroad people.”</p> +<p>“Well, you wouldn’t expect me to love them?”</p> +<p>“No. I’m not blaming you, Jeff. But––but, +I’m afraid. Hate is a terrible thing. I wish you +were out of it all. Hate can only hurt you. I’m +afraid of a scar that it might leave on you through +all the long, long years of life. Can you see? +I’m afraid of something that might go deeper +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +than all this, something that might go as deep as +life. After all, that’s what I’m afraid of, I +guess––Life, great, big, terrible, menacing, +Life!”</p> +<p>“My life?” Jeffrey asked gruffly.</p> +<p>“I have faced that,” the girl answered evenly, +“just as you have faced it. And I am not afraid +of that. No. It’s what you might do in anger––if +they hurt you again. Something that would +scar your heart and your soul. Jeffrey, do you +know that sometimes I’ve seen the worst, the worst––even +<i>murder</i> in your eyes!”</p> +<p>“I wish,” the boy returned shortly, “the +Bishop would keep his religion out of all this. +He’s a good man and a good friend,” he went on, +“but I don’t like this religion coming into everything.”</p> +<p>“But how can he? He cannot keep religion +apart from life and right and wrong. What +good would religion be if it did not go ahead of +us in life and show us the way?”</p> +<p>“But what’s the use?” the boy said grudgingly. +“What good does it do? You wouldn’t have +thought of any of this only for that last part of +his letter. Why does that have to come into +everything? It’s the Catholic Church all over +again, always pushing in everywhere.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t that funny,” the girl said, brightening; +“I have cried myself sick thinking just that same +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +thing. I have gone almost frantic thinking that +if I once gave in to the Church it would crush +me and make me do everything that I didn’t want +to do. And now I never think of it. Life goes +along really just as though being a Catholic didn’t +make any difference at all.”</p> +<p>“That’s because you’ve given in to it altogether. +You don’t even know that you want to +resist. You’re swallowed up in it.”</p> +<p>The girl flushed angrily, but bit her lips before +she answered.</p> +<p>“It’s the queerest thing, isn’t it, Jeff,” she said +finally in a thoughtful, friendly way, “how two +people can fight about religion? Now you don’t +care a particle about it one way or the other. +And I––I’d rather not talk about it. And yet, +we were just now within an inch of quarrelling bitterly +about it. Why is it?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Ruth,” the boy +apologised slowly. “It’s none of my business, +anyway.”</p> +<p>They were just coming over the long hill above +Ruth’s home. Below them stretched the long +sweep of the road down past her house and up +the other slope until it lost itself around the +shoulder of Lansing Mountain.</p> +<p>Half a mile below them a rider was pushing his +big roan horse up the hill towards them at a heart-breaking +pace.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></div> +<p>“That’s ‘My’ Stocking’s roan,” said Jeffrey, +straightening in his saddle; “I’d know that horse +three miles away.”</p> +<p>“But what’s he carrying?” cried Ruth excitedly, +as she peered eagerly from under her +shading hand. “Look. Across his saddle. +Rifles! <i>Two</i> of them!”</p> +<p>Brom Bones, sensing the girl’s excitement, was +already pulling at his bit, eager for a wild race +down the hill. But Jeffrey, after one long, sharp +look at the oncoming horseman, pulled in quietly +to the side of the road. And Ruth did the same. +She was too well trained in the things of the hills +not to know that if there was trouble, then it was +no time to be weakening horses’ knees in mad and +useless dashes downhill.</p> +<p>The rider was Myron Stocking from over in +the Crooked Lake country, as Jeffrey had supposed. +He pulled up as he recognised the two +who waited for him by the roadside, and when +he had nodded to Ruth, whom he knew by sight, +he drew over close to Jeffrey. Ruth, eager as +she was to hear, pushed Brom Bones a few paces +farther away from them. They would not talk +freely in her hearing, she knew. And Jeffrey +would tell her all that she needed to know.</p> +<p>The two men exchanged a half dozen rapid sentences +and Ruth heard Stocking conclude:</p> +<p>“Your Uncle Catty slipped me this here gun +o’ yours. Your Ma didn’t see.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></div> +<p>Jeffrey nodded and took the gun. Then he +came to Ruth.</p> +<p>“There’s some strangers over in the hills that +maybe ought to be watched. The country’s awful +dry,” he added quietly. He knew that Ruth +would need no further explanation.</p> +<p>He pulled the Bishop’s letter from his pocket +and handed it to Ruth, saying:</p> +<p>“Take this and the paper along to Mother. +She’ll want to see them right away. And say, +Ruth,” he went on, as he looked anxiously at the +great sloping stretches of bone-dry underbrush that +lay between them and his home on the hill three +miles away, “the country’s awful dry. If anything +happens, get Mother and Aunt Letty down +out of this country. You can make them go. +Nobody else could.”</p> +<p>The girl had not yet spoken. There was no +need for her to ask questions. She knew what +lay under every one of Jeffrey’s pauses and +silences. It was no time for many words. He +was laying upon her a trust to look after the ones +whom he loved.</p> +<p>She put out her hand to his and said simply:</p> +<p>“I’m glad we didn’t quarrel, Jeff.”</p> +<p>“I was a fool,” said Jeffrey gruffly, as he wrung +her hand. “But I’ll remember. Forgive me, +please, Ruth.”</p> +<p>“There’s nothing to forgive––ever––between +us, Jeffrey. Go now,” she said softly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></div> +<p>Jeffrey wheeled his horse and followed the +other man back over the hill on the road which +he and Ruth had come. Ruth sat still until they +were out of sight. At the very last she saw +Jeffrey swing his rifle across the saddle in front of +him, and a shadow fell across her heart. She +would have given everything in her world to have +had back what she had said of seeing murder in +Jeffrey’s eyes.</p> +<p>Jeffrey and Myron Stocking rode steadily up +the French Village road for an hour or so. Then +they turned off from the road and began a long +winding climb up into the higher levels of the +Racquette country.</p> +<p>“We might as well head for Bald Mountain +right away,” said Jeffrey, as they came about sundown +to a fork in their trail. “The breeze comes +straight down from the east. That’s where the +danger is, if there is any.”</p> +<p>“I suppose you’re right, Jeff. But it means +we’ll have to sleep out if we go that way.”</p> +<p>“I guess that won’t hurt us,” Jeffrey returned. +“If anything happens we might have to sleep out +a good many nights––and a lot of other people +would have to do the same.”</p> +<p>“All right then,” Stocking agreed. “We’ll +get a bite and give the horses a feed and a rest at +Hosmer’s, that’s about two miles over the hills +here; and then we can go on as far as you like.”</p> +<p>At Hosmer’s they got food enough for two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +days in the hills, and having fed and breathed the +horses they rode on up into the higher woods. +They were now in the region of the uncut timber +where the great trees were standing from the beginning, +because they had been too high up to be +accessible to the lumbermen who had ravaged the +lower levels. Though the long summer twilight +of the North still lighted the tops of the trees, the +two men rode in impenetrable darkness, leaving +the horses to pick their own canny footing up the +trail.</p> +<p>“Did anybody see Rogers in that crowd?” +Jeffrey asked as they rode along. “You know, +the man that was in French Village this summer.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” Stocking answered. “You +see they came up to the end of the rails, at Grafton, +on a handcar. And then they scattered. +Nobody’s sure that he’s seen any of ’em since. +But they must be in the hills somewhere. And +Rafe Gadbeau’s with ’em. You can bet on that. +That’s all we’ve got to go on. But it may be +a-plenty.”</p> +<p>“It’s enough to set us on the move, anyway,” +said Jeffrey. “They have no business in the +hills. They’re bound to be up to mischief of some +sort. And there’s just one big mischief that they +can do. Can we make Bald Mountain before daylight?”</p> +<p>“Oh, certainly; that’ll be easy. We’ll get a +little light when we’re through this belt of heavy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +woods and then we can push along. We ought +to get up there by two o’clock. It ain’t light till +near five. That’ll give us a little sleep, if we feel +like it.”</p> +<p>True to Stocking’s calculation they came out +upon the rocky, thinly grassed knobs of Bald +Mountain shortly before two o’clock. It was a +soft, hazy night with no moon. There was rain +in the air somewhere, for there was no dew; but +it might be on the other side of the divide or it +might be miles below on the lowlands.</p> +<p>Others of the men of the hills were no doubt in +the vicinity of the mountain, or were heading +toward here. For the word of the menace had +gone through the hills that day, and men would decide, +as Jeffrey had done, that the danger would +come from this direction. But they had not +heard anything to show the presence of others, +nor did they care to give any signals of their own +whereabouts.</p> +<p>As for those others, the possible enemy, who +had left the railroad that morning and had scattered +into the hills, if their purpose was the one +that men feared, they, too, would be near here. +But it was useless to look for them in the dark: +neither was anything to be feared from them before +morning. Men do not start forest fires in +the night. There is little wind. A fire would +probably die out of itself. And the first blaze +would rouse the whole country.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span></div> +<p>The two hobbled their horses with the bridle +reins and lay down in the open to wait for morning. +Neither had any thought of sleep. But the +softness of the night, the pungent odour of the +tamarack trees floating up to them from below, +and their long ride, soon began to tell on them. +Jeffrey saw that they must set a watch.</p> +<p>“Curl up and go to sleep, ‘My,’” he said, +shaking himself. “You might as well. I’ll wake +you in an hour.”</p> +<p>A ready snore was the only answer.</p> +<p>Morning coming over the higher eastern hills +found them stiff and weary, but alert. The +woods below them were still banked in darkness +as they ate their dry food and caught their horses +for the day that was before them. There was +no water to be had up here, and they knew their +horses must be gotten down to some water course +before night.</p> +<p>A half circle of open country belted by heavy +woods lay just below them. Eagerly, as the light +crept down the hill, they scanned the area for sign +of man or horse. Nothing moved. Apparently +they had the world to themselves. A fresh morning +breeze came down over the mountain and +watching they could see the ripple of it in the tops +of the distant trees. The same thought made +both men grip their rifles and search more carefully +the ground below them, for that innocent +breeze blowing straight down towards their homes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +and loved ones was a potential enemy more to be +feared than all the doings of men.</p> +<p>Down to the right, two miles or more away, a +man came out of the shadow of the woods. They +could only see that he was a big man and stout. +There was nothing about him to tell them whether +he was friend or foe, of the hills or a stranger. +Without waiting to see who he was or what he +did, the two dove for their saddles and started +their horses pell-mell down the hill towards him.</p> +<p>He saw them at once against the bare brow of +the hill, and ran back into the wood.</p> +<p>In another instant they knew what he was and +what was his business.</p> +<p>They saw a light moving swiftly along the +fringe of the woods. Behind the light rose a trail +of white smoke. And behind the smoke ran a +line of living fire. The man was running, dragging +a flaming torch through the long dried grass +and brush!</p> +<p>The two, riding break-neck down over the rocks, +regardless of paths or horses’ legs, would gladly +have killed the man as he ran. But it was too far +for even a random shot. They could only ride on +in reckless rage, mad to be at the fire, to beat +it to death with their hands, to stamp it into the +earth, but more eager yet for a right distance and +a fair shot at the fiend there within the wood.</p> +<p>Before they had stumbled half the distance +down the hill, a wave of leaping flame a hundred +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +feet long was hurling itself upon the forest. +They could not stamp that fire out. But they +could kill that man!</p> +<p>The man ran back behind the wall of fire to +where he had started and began to run another +line of fire in the other direction. At that moment +Stocking yelled:</p> +<p>“There’s another starting, straight in front!”</p> +<p>“Get him,” Jeffrey shouted over his shoulder. +“I’m going to kill this one.”</p> +<p>Stocking turned slightly and made for a second +light which he had seen starting. Jeffrey rode on +alone, unslinging his rifle and driving madly. His +horse, already unnerved by the wild dash down +the hill, now saw the fire and started to bolt off at +a tangent. Jeffrey fought with him a furious +moment, trying to force him toward the fire and +the man. Then, seeing that he could not conquer +the fright of the horse and that his man was +escaping, he threw his leg over the saddle, and +leaping free with his gun ran towards the +man.</p> +<p>The man was dodging in and out now among +the trees, but still using his torch and moving +rapidly away.</p> +<p>Jeffrey ran on, gradually overhauling the man +in his zigzag until he was within easy distance. +But the man continued weaving his way among the +trees so that it was impossible to get a fair aim. +Jeffrey dropped to one knee and steadied the sights +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +of his rifle until they closed upon the running +man and clung to him.</p> +<p>Suddenly the man turned in an open space and +faced about. It was Rogers, Jeffrey saw. He +was unarmed, but he must be killed.</p> +<p>“I am going to kill him,” said Jeffrey under +his breath, as he again fixed the sights of his rifle, +this time full on the man’s breast.</p> +<p>A shot rang out in front somewhere. Rogers +threw up his hands, took a half step forward, and +fell on his face.</p> +<p>Jeffrey, his finger still clinging to the trigger +which he had not pulled, ran forward to where +the man lay.</p> +<p>He was lying face down, his arms stretched out +wide at either side, his fingers convulsively clutching +at tufts of grass.</p> +<p>He was dying. No need for a second look.</p> +<p>His hat had fallen off to a little distance. +There was a clean round hole in the back of the +skull. The close-cropped, iron grey hair showed +just the merest streak of red.</p> +<p>Just out of reach of one of his hands lay a still +flaming railroad torch, with which he had done his +work.</p> +<p>Jeffrey peered through the wood in the direction +from which the shot had come. There was +no smoke, no noise of any one running away, no +sign of another human being anywhere.</p> +<p>Away back of him he heard shots, one, two, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +three; Stocking, probably, or some of the other +men who must be in the neighbourhood, firing at +other fleeing figures in the woods.</p> +<p>He grabbed the burning torch, pulled out the +wick and stamped it into a patch of burnt ground, +threw the torch back from the fire line, and started +clubbing the fire out of the grass with the butt of +his rifle.</p> +<p>He was quickly brought to his senses, when the +forgotten cartridge in his gun accidentally exploded +and the bullet went whizzing past his ear. +He dropped the gun nervously and finding a sharp +piece of sapling he began to work furiously, but +systematically at the line of fire.</p> +<p>The line was thin here, where it had really only +that moment been started, and he made some +headway. But as he worked along to where it +had gotten a real start he saw that it was useless. +Still he clung to his work. It was the only thing +that his numbed brain could think of to do for the +moment.</p> +<p>He dug madly with the sapling, throwing the +loose dirt furiously after the fire as it ran away +from him. He leaped upon the line of the fire +and stamped at it with his boots until the fire crept +up his trousers and shirt and up even to his hair. +And still the fire ran away from him, away down +the hill after its real prey. He looked farther +on along the line and saw that it was not now a line +but a charging, rushing river of flame that ran +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +down the hill, twenty feet at a jump. Nothing, +nothing on earth, except perhaps a deluge of rain +could now stop that torrent of fire.</p> +<p>He stepped back. There was nothing to be +done here now, behind the fire. Nothing to be +done but to get ahead of it and save what could +be saved. He looked around for his horse.</p> +<p>Just then men came riding along the back of the +line, Stocking and old Erskine Beasley in the lead. +They came up to where Jeffrey was standing and +looked on beyond moodily to where the body of +Rogers lay.</p> +<p>Jeffrey turned and looked, too. A silence fell +upon the little group of horsemen and upon the +boy standing there.</p> +<p>Myron Stocking spoke at last:</p> +<p>“Mine got away, Jeff,” he said slowly.</p> +<p>Jeffrey looked up quickly at him. Then the +meaning of the words flashed upon him.</p> +<p>“I didn’t do that!” he exclaimed hastily. +“Somebody else shot him from the woods. My +gun went off accidental.”</p> +<p>Silence fell again upon the little group of men. +They did not look at Jeffrey. They had heard +but one shot. The shot from the woods had been +too muffled for them to hear.</p> +<p>Again Stocking broke the silence.</p> +<p>“What difference does it make,” he said. +“Any of us would have done it if we could.”</p> +<p>“But I didn’t! I tell you I didn’t,” shouted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +Jeffrey. “The shot from the woods got ahead of +me. That man was facing me. He was shot +from behind!”</p> +<p>Old Erskine Beasley took command.</p> +<p>“What difference does it make, as Stocking +says. We’ve got live men and women and children +to think about to-day,” he said. “Straighten +him out decent. Then divide and go around the +fire both ways. The alarm can’t travel half fast +enough for this breeze, and it’s rising, too,” he +added.</p> +<p>“But I tell you––!” Jeffrey began again. +Then he saw how useless it was.</p> +<p>He looked up the hill and saw his horse, which +even in the face of this unheard-of terror had preferred +to venture back toward his master.</p> +<p>He caught the horse, mounted, and started to +ride south with the party that was to try to get +around the fire from that side.</p> +<p>He rode with them. They were his friends. +But he was not with them. There was a circle +drawn around him. He was separated from +them. They probably did not feel it, but he felt +it. It is a circle which draws itself ever around +a man who, justly or unjustly, is thought guilty of +blood. Men may applaud his deed. Men may +say that they themselves would wish to have done +it. But the circle is there.</p> +<p>Then Jeffrey thought of his Mother. She +would not see that circle.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></div> +<p>Also he thought of a girl. The girl had only a +few hours before said that she had sometimes seen +even murder in his eyes.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +<a name='V_MON_PERE_JE_ME_CUSE' id='V_MON_PERE_JE_ME_CUSE'></a> +<h2>V</h2> +<h3>MON PERE JE ME ’CUSE</h3> +</div> +<p>Down the wide slope of Bald Mountain the +fire raved exultingly, leaping and skipping fantastically +as it ran. It was a prisoner released +from the bondage of the elements that had held +it. It was a spirit drunk with sudden-found freedom. +It was a flood raging down a valley. It +was a maniac at large.</p> +<p>The broad base of the mountain where it sat +upon the backs of the lower hills spread out fanwise +to a width of five miles. The fire spread its +wings as it came down until it swept the whole +apron of the mountain. A five-mile wave of solid +flame rolled down upon the hills.</p> +<p>Sleepy cattle on the hills rising for their early +browse missed the juicy dew from the grass. +They looked to where the sun should be coming +over the mountain and instead they saw the sun +coming down the side of the mountain in a blanket +of white smoke. They left their feed and began +to huddle together, mooing nervously to each +other about this thing and sniffing the air and +pawing the earth.</p> +<p>Sleepy hired men coming out to drive the cattle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +in to milking looked blinking up at the mountain, +stood a moment before their numb minds understood +what their senses were telling them, then +ran shouting back to the farm houses, throwing +open pasture gates and knocking down lengths of +fence as they ran. Some, with nothing but fear +in their hearts, ran straight to the barns and +mounting the best horses fled down the roads to +the west. For the hireling flees because he is a +hireling.</p> +<p>Sleepy men and women and still sleeping children +came tumbling out of the houses, to look up +at the death that was coming down to them. +Some cried in terror. Some raged and cursed and +shook foolish fists at the oncoming enemy. Some +fell upon their knees and lifted hands to the God +of fire and flood. Then each ran back into the +house for his or her treasure; a little bag of money +under a mattress, or a babe in its crib, or a little +rifle, or a dolly of rags.</p> +<p>Frantic horses were hastily hitched to farm +wagons. The treasures were quickly bundled in. +Women pushed their broods up ahead of them into +the wagons, ran back to kiss the men standing at +the heads of the sweating horses, then climbed to +their places in the wagons and took the reins. +For twenty miles, down break-neck roads, behind +mad horses, they would have to hold the lives of +the children, the horses, and, incidentally, of themselves +in their hands. But they were capable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +hands, brown, and strong and steady as the mother +hearts that went with them.</p> +<p>They would have preferred to stay with the +men, these women. But it was the law that they +should take the brood and run to safety.</p> +<p>Men stood watching the wagons until they shot +out of sight behind the trees of the road. Then +they turned back to the hopeless, probably useless +fight. They could do little or nothing. But it +was the law that men must stay and make the +fight. They must go out with shovels to the very +edge of their own clearing and dig up a width of +new earth which the running fire could not cross. +Thus they might divert the fire a little. They +might even divide it, if the wind died down a little, +so that it would roll on to either side of their +homes.</p> +<p>This was their business. There was little +chance that they would succeed. Probably they +would have to drop shovels at the last moment +and run an unequal foot race for their lives. But +this was the law, that every man must stay and try +to make his own little clearing the point of an entering +wedge to that advancing wall of fire. No +man, no ten thousand men could stop the fire. +But, against all probabilities, some one man might +be able, by some chance of the lay of the ground, +or some freak of the wind, to split off a sector of +it. That sector might be fought and narrowed +down by other men until it was beaten. And so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +something would be gained. For this men stayed, +stifled and blinded, and fought on until the last +possible moment, and then ran past their already +smoking homes and down the wind for life.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting rode southward in the wake +of four other men down a long spiral course +towards the base of the mountain. Yesterday he +would have ridden at their head. He would have +taken the place of leadership and command among +them which he had for months been taking in the +fight against the railroad. Probably he could still +have had that place among them if he had tried to +assert himself, for men had come to have a habit +of depending upon him. But he rode at the rear, +dispirited and miserable.</p> +<p>They were trying to get around the fire, so that +they might hang upon its flank and beat it in upon +itself. There was no thought now of getting +ahead of it: no need to ride ahead giving alarm. +That rolling curtain of smoke would have already +aroused every living thing ahead of it. +They could only hope to get to the end of the line +of fire and fight it inch by inch to narrow the path +of destruction that it was making for itself.</p> +<p>If the wind had held stiff and straight down the +mountain it would have driven the fire ahead in a +line only a little wider than its original front. +But the shape of the mountain caught the light +breeze as it came down and twisted it away always +to the side. So that the end of the fire line was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +not a thin edge of scattered fire that could be +fought and stamped back but was a whirling inverted +funnel of flame that leaped and danced ever +outward and onward.</p> +<p>Half way down the mountain they thought that +they had outflanked it. They slid from their +horses and began to beat desperately at the brush +and grasses among the trees. They gained upon +it. They were doing something. They shouted +to each other when they had driven it back even a +foot. They fought it madly for the possession of +a single tree. They were gaining. They were +turning the edge of it in. The hot sweat began to +streak the caking grime upon their faces. There +was no air to breathe, only the hot breath of fire. +But it was heartsome work, for they were surely +pushing the fire in upon itself.</p> +<p>A sudden swirl of the wind threw a dense cloud +of hot white smoke about them. They stood still +with the flannel of their shirt-sleeves pressed over +eyes and nostrils, waiting for it to pass.</p> +<p>When they could look they saw a wall of fire +bearing down upon them from three sides. The +wind had whirled the fire backward and sidewise +so that it had surrounded the meagre little space +that they had cleared and had now outflanked +them. Their own manœuvre had been turned +against them. There was but one way to run, +straight down the hill with the fire roaring and +panting after them. It was a playful, tricky +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +monster that cackled gleefully behind them, laughing +at their puny efforts.</p> +<p>Breathless and spent, they finally ran themselves +out of the path of the flames and dropped +exhausted in safety as the fire went roaring by +them on its way.</p> +<p>Their horses were gone, of course. The fire +in its side leap had caught them and they had fled +shrieking down the hill, following their instinct +to hunt water.</p> +<p>The men now began to understand the work +that was theirs. They were five already weary +men. All day and all night, perhaps, they must +follow the fire that travelled almost as fast as they +could run at their best. And they must hang upon +its edge and fight every inch of the way to fold +that edge back upon itself, to keep that edge from +spreading out upon them. A hundred men who +could have flanked the fire shoulder to shoulder for +a long space might have accomplished what these +five were trying to do. For them it was impossible. +But they hung on in desperation.</p> +<p>Three times more they made a stand and +pushed the edge of the fire back a little, each time +daring to hope that they had done something. +And three times more the treacherous wind +whirled the fire back behind and around them so +that they had to race for life.</p> +<p>Now they were down off the straight slope of +the mountain and among the broken hills. Here +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +their work was entirely hopeless and they knew it. +They knew also that they were in almost momentary +danger of being cut off and completely surrounded. +Here the fire did not keep any steady +edge that they could follow and attack. The +wind eddied and whirled about among the broken +peaks of the hills in every direction and with it +the fire ran apparently at will.</p> +<p>When they tried to hold it to one side of a +hill and were just beginning to think that they had +won, a sudden sweep of the wind would send a +ring of fire around to the other side so that they +saw themselves again and again surrounded and +almost cut off.</p> +<p>Ahead of them now there was one hope: to hold +the fire to the north side of the Chain. The +Chain is a string of small lakes running nearly east +and west. It divides the hill country into fairly +even portions. If they could keep the fire north +of the lakes they would save the southern half of +the country. Their own homes all lay to the +north of the lakes and they were now doomed. +But that was a matter that did not enter here. +What was gone was gone. Their loved ones +would have had plenty of warning and would be +out of the way by now. The men were fighting +the enemy merely to save what could be saved. +And as is the way of men in fight they began to +make it a personal quarrel with the fire.</p> +<p>They began to grow blindly angry at their opponent. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +It was no longer an impersonal, natural +creature of the elements, that fire. It was a cunning, +a vicious, a mocking enemy. It hated them. +They hated it. Its eyes were red with gloating +over them. Their eyes were red and bloodshot +with the fury of their battle. Its voice was hoarse +with the roar of its laughing at them. Their +voices were thick and their lips were cracking with +the hot curses they hurled back at it.</p> +<p>They had forgotten the beginning of the quarrel. +All but one of them had forgotten the men +whom they had tracked into the hills last night +and who had started the fire. All but one of them +had forgotten those other men, far away and safe +and cowardly, who had sent those men into the +hills to do this thing.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting had not forgotten. But as the +day wore on and the fight waxed more bitter and +more hopeless, even he began to lose sight of the +beginning and to make it his own single feud with +the fire. He fought and was beaten back and +ran and went back to fight again, until there was +but one thought, if it could be called a thought, in +his brain: to fight on, bitterly, doggedly, without +mercy, without quarter given or asked with the +demon of the fire.</p> +<p>Now other men came from scattered, far-flung +homes to the south and joined the five. Two hills +stood between them and Sixth Lake, where the +Chain began and stretched away to the west. If +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +they could hold the fire to the north of these two +hills then it would sweep along the north side of +the lakes and the other half of the country would +be safe.</p> +<p>The first hill was easy. They took their stand +along its crest. The five weary, scarred, singed +men, their voices gone, their swollen tongues protruding +through their splitting lips, took new +strength from the help that had come to them. +They fought the enemy back down the north side +of the hill, foot by foot, steadily, digging with +charred sticks and throwing earth and small stones +down upon it.</p> +<p>They were beating it at last! Only another +hill like this and their work would be done. They +would strike the lake and water. Water! God +in Heaven! Water! A whole big lake of it! +To throw themselves into it! To sink into its +cool, sweet depth! And to drink, and drink and +<i>drink</i>!</p> +<p>Between the two hills ran a deep ravine heavy +with undergrowth. Here was the worst place. +Here they stood and ran shoulder to shoulder, +fighting waist deep in the brush and long grass, +the hated breath of the fire in their nostrils. And +they held their line. They pushed the fire on past +the ravine and up the north slope of the last hill. +They had won! It could not beat them now!</p> +<p>As he came around the brow of the hill and saw +the shining body of the placid lake below him one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +of the new men, who still had voice, raised a shout. +It ran back along the line, even the five who had +no voice croaking out what would have been a +cry of triumph.</p> +<p>But the wind heard them and laughed. +Through the ravine which they had safely crossed +with such mighty labour the playful wind sent a +merry, flirting little gust, a draught. On the +draught the lingering flames went dancing swiftly +through the brush of the ravine and spread out +around the southern side of the hill. Before the +men could turn, the thing was done. The hill +made itself into a chimney and the flames went +roaring to the top of it.</p> +<p>The men fled over the ridge of the hill and +down to the south, to get themselves out of that +encircling death.</p> +<p>When they were beyond the circle of fire on +that side, they saw the full extent of what had befallen +them in what had been their moment of +victory.</p> +<p>Not only would the fire come south of the lake +and the Chain––but they themselves could not +get near the lake.</p> +<p>Water! There it lay, below them, at their feet +almost! And they could not reach it! The fire +was marching in a swift, widening line between +them and the lake. Not so much as a little finger +might they wet in the lake.</p> +<p>Men lay down and wept, or cursed, or gritted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +silent teeth, according to the nature that was in +each.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting stood up, looking towards the +lake. He saw two men pushing a boat into the +lake. Through the shifting curtain of smoke and +waving fire he studied them out of blistered eyes. +They were not men of the hills.</p> +<p>They were!––They were the real enemy!––They +were two of those who had set the fire! +They had not stopped to fight fire. They had +headed straight for the lake and had gotten there. +<i>They</i> were safe. And <i>they</i> had <i>water</i>!</p> +<p>All the hot rage of the morning, seared into him +by the fighting fire fury of the day, rushed back +upon him.</p> +<p>He had not killed a man this morning. Men +said he had, but he had not.</p> +<p>Now he would kill. The fire should not stop +him. He would kill those two there in the water. +<i>In the water!</i></p> +<p>He ran madly down the slope and into the +flaming, fuming maw of the fire. He went blind. +His foot struck a root. He fell heavily forward, +his face buried in a patch of bare earth.</p> +<p>Men ran to the edge of the fire and dragged +him out by the feet. When they had brought him +back to safety and had fanned breath into him with +their hate, he opened bleared eyes and looked at +them. As he understood, he turned on his face +moaning:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></div> +<p>“I didn’t kill Rogers. I wish I had––I wish +I had.”</p> +<p>And south and north of the Chain the fire rolled +away into the west.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The Bishop of Alden looked restlessly out of +the window as the intolerable, sooty train jolted +its slow way northward along the canal and the +Black River. He had left Albany in the very +early hours of the morning. Now it was nearing +noon and there were yet eighty miles, four hours, +of this interminable journey before he could find +a good wash and rest and some clean food. But +he was not hungry, neither was he querulous. +There were worse ways of travel than even by a +slow and dusty train. And in his wide-flung, rock-strewn +diocese the Bishop had found plenty of +them. He was never one to complain. A gentle +philosophy of all life, a long patience that saw and +understood the faults of high and low, a slow, +quiet gleam of New England humour at the back +of his light blue eyes; with Christ, and these +things, Joseph Winthrop contrived to be a very +good man and a very good bishop.</p> +<p>But to-day he was not content with things. He +had done one thing in Albany, or rather, he would +have said, he had seen it done. He had appealed +to the conscience of the people of the State. And +the conscience of the people had replied in no mistakable +terms that the U. & M. Railroad must not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +dare to drive the people of the hills from their +homes for the sake of what might lie beneath their +land. Then the conscience of the people of the +State had gone off about its business, as the public +conscience has a way of doing. The public would +forget. The public always forgets. He had furnished +it with a mild sensation which had aroused +it for a time, a matter of a few days at most. +He did not hope for even the proverbial nine days. +But the railroad would not forget. It never slept. +For there were men behind it who said, and kept +on saying, that they must have results.</p> +<p>He was sure that the railroad would strike back. +And it would strike in some way that would be effective, +but that yet would hide the hand that +struck.</p> +<p>Thirty miles to the right of him as he rode +north lay the line of the first hills. Beyond them +stood the softly etched outlines of the mountains, +their white-blue tones blending gently into the +deep blue of the sky behind them.</p> +<p>Forty miles away he could make out the break +in the line where Old Forge lay and the Chain began. +Beyond that lay Bald Mountain and the divide. +But he could not see Bald Mountain. +That was strange. The day was very clear. He +had noticed that there had been no dew that morning. +There might have been a little haze on the +hills in the early morning. But this sun would +have cleared that all away by now.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></div> +<p>Bald Mountain was as one of the points of the +compass on his journey up this side of his diocese. +He had never before missed it on a fair +day. It was something more to him than a mere +bare rock set on the top of other rocks. It was +one of his marking posts. And when you remember +that his was a charge of souls scattered +over twenty thousand square miles of broken +country, you will see that he had need of marking +posts.</p> +<p>Bald Mountain was the limit of the territory +which he could reach from the western side of his +diocese. When he had to go into the country to +the east of the mountain he must go all the way +south to Albany and around by North Creek or +he must go all the way north and east by Malone +and Rouses Point and then south and west again +into the mountains. The mountain was set in almost +the geographical centre of his diocese and +he had travelled towards it from north, east, south +and west.</p> +<p>He missed his mountain now and rubbed his +eyes in a troubled, perplexed way. When the +train stopped at the next little station he went out +on the platform for a clearer, steadier view.</p> +<p>Again he rubbed his eyes. The clear gap between +the hills where he knew Old Forge nestled +was gone. The open rift of sky that he had +recognised a few moments before was now filled, +as though a mountain had suddenly been moved +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +into the gap. He went back to his seat and sat +watching the line of the mountains. As he +watched, the whole contour of the hills that he +had known was changed under his very eyes. +Peaks rose where never were peaks before, and +rounded, smooth skulls of mountains showed +against the sky where sharp peaks should have +been.</p> +<p>He looked once more, and a sharp, swift suspicion +shot into his mind, and stayed. Then a +just and terrible anger rose up in the soul of +Joseph Winthrop, Bishop of Alden, for he was a +man of gentle heart whose passions ran deep below +a placid surface.</p> +<p>At Booneville he stepped off the train before +it had stopped and hurried to the operator’s window +to ask if any news had gone down the wire of +a fire in the hills.</p> +<p>Jerry Hogan, the operator, sat humped up over +his table “listening in” with shameless glee to +a flirtatious conversation that was going over the +wire, contrary to all rules and regulations of the +Company, between the young lady operator at +Snowden and the man in the office at Steuben.</p> +<p>The Bishop asked a hurried, anxious question.</p> +<p>Without looking up, Jerry answered sorrowfully:</p> +<p>“This ain’t the bulletin board. We’re busy.”</p> +<p>The Bishop stood quiet a moment.</p> +<p>Then Jerry looked up. The face looking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +calmly through the window was the face of one +who had once tapped him on the cheek as a reminder +of certain things.</p> +<p>Jerry fell off his high stool, landing, miraculously, +on his feet. He grabbed at his front lock +of curly red hair and gasped:</p> +<p>“I––I’m sorry, Bishop! I––I––didn’t hear +what you said.”</p> +<p>The Bishop––if one might say it––grinned. +Then he said quickly:</p> +<p>“I thought I saw signs of fire in the hills. +Have you heard anything on the wire?”</p> +<p>Jerry had seen the wrinkles around the Bishop’s +mouth. The beet red colour of his face had gone +down several degrees. The freckles were coming +back. He was now coherent.</p> +<p>No he had not heard anything. He was sure +nothing had come down the wire. Just then the +rapid-fire, steady clicking of the key changed +abruptly to the sharp, staccato insistence of a +“call.”</p> +<p>Jerry held up his hand. “Lowville calling +Utica,” he said. They waited a little and then: +“Call State Warden. Fire Beaver Run country. +Call everything,” Jerry repeated from the +sounder, punctuating for the benefit of the Bishop.</p> +<p>“It must be big, Bishop,” he said, turning, “or +they wouldn’t call––”</p> +<p>But the Bishop was already running for the +steps of his departing train.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></div> +<p>At Lowville he left the train and hurried to +Father Brady’s house. Finding the priest out on +a call, he begged a hasty lunch from the housekeeper, +and, commandeering some riding clothes +and Father Brady’s saddle horse, he was soon on +the road to French Village and the hills.</p> +<p>It was before the days of the rural telephone +and there was no telegraph up the hill road. A +messenger had come down from the hills a half +hour ago to the telegraph office. But there was +no alarm among the people of Lowville, for there +lay twenty miles of well cultivated country between +them and the hills. If they noticed Father +Brady’s clothes riding furiously out toward +the hill road, they gave the matter no more than +a mild wonder.</p> +<p>For twenty-two miles the Bishop rode steadily +up the hard dirt road over which he and Arsene +LaComb had struggled in the beginning of the +winter before. He thought of Tom Lansing, who +had died that night. He thought of the many +things that had in some way had their beginning +on that night, all leading up, more or less, to this +present moment. But more than all he thought +of Jeffrey Lansing and other desperate men up +there in the hills fighting for their lives and their +little all.</p> +<p>He did not know who had started this fire. It +might well have started accidentally. He did not +know that the railroad people had sent men into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +the hills to start it. But if they had, and if those +men were caught by the men of the hills, then +there would be swift and bloody justice done. +The Bishop thought of this and he rode Father +Brady’s horse as that good animal had never been +ridden in the course of his well fed life.</p> +<p>Nearing Corben’s, he saw that the horse could +go but little farther. Registering a remonstrance +to Father Brady, anent the matter of keeping +his horse too fat, he rode up to bargain with +Corben for a fresh horse. Corben looked at the +horse from which the Bishop had just slid +swiftly down. He demanded to know the Bishop’s +destination in the hills––which was vague, +and his business––which was still more vague. +He looked at the Bishop. He closed one eye and +reviewed the whole matter critically. Finally he +guessed that the Bishop could have the fresh +horse if he bought and paid for it on the spot.</p> +<p>The Bishop explained that he did not have the +money about him. Corben believed that. The +Bishop explained that he was the bishop of the +diocese. Corben did not believe that.</p> +<p>In the end the Bishop, chafing at the delay, +persuaded the man to believe him and to accept +his surety for the horse. And taking food in his +pockets he pressed on into the high hills.</p> +<p>Already he had met wagons loaded with women +and children on the road. But he knew that they +would be of those who lived nearest the fringe of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +the hills. They would know little more than he +did himself of the origin of the fire or of what +was going on up there under and beyond that pall +of smoke. So he did not stop to question them.</p> +<p>Now the road began to be dotted with these +wagons of the fleeing ones, and some seemed to +have come far. Twice he stopped long enough +to ask a question or two. But their replies gave +him no real knowledge of the situation. They +had been called from their beds in the early morning +by the fire. Their men had stayed, the +women had fled with the children. That was all +they could tell.</p> +<p>As he came to Lansing Mountain, he met Ruth +Lansing on Brom Bones escorting Mrs. Whiting +and Letitia Bascom. From this the Bishop knew +without asking that the fire was now coming near, +for these women would not have left their homes +except in the nearness of danger.</p> +<p>In fact the two older women had only yielded +to the most peremptory authority, exercised by +Ruth in the name of Jeffrey Whiting. Even to +the end gentle Letitia Bascom had rebelled vigorously +against the idea that Cassius Bascom, who +was notoriously unable to look after himself in +the most ordinary things of life, should now be +left behind on the mere argument that he was a +man.</p> +<p>The Bishop’s first question concerned Jeffrey +Whiting. Ruth told what she knew. That a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +man had met herself and Jeffrey on the road yesterday; +that the man had brought news of strange +men being seen in the hills; that Jeffrey had ridden +away with him toward Bald Mountain.</p> +<p>The Bishop understood. Bald Mountain +would be the place to be watched. He could even +conjecture the night vigil on the mountain, and +the breaking of the fire in the dawn. He could +see the desperate and futile struggle with the fire +as it reached down to the hills. Back of that +screen of fire there was the setting of a tragedy +darker even than the one of the fire itself.</p> +<p>“He had my letter?” the Bishop asked, when +he had heard all that Ruth had to tell.</p> +<p>“Yes. We had just read it.”</p> +<p>“He went armed?” said the Bishop quietly.</p> +<p>“Myron Stocking brought Jeffrey’s gun to +him,” the girl answered simply, with a full knowledge +of all that the question and answer implied. +The men had gone armed, prepared to kill.</p> +<p>“They will all be driven in upon French Village,” +said the Bishop slowly. “The wind will +not hold any one direction in the high hills. Little +Tupper Lake may be the only refuge for all +in the end. The road from here there, is it open, +do you know?”</p> +<p>“No one has come down from that far,” said +Ruth. “We have watched the people on the +road all day. But probably they would not leave +the lake. And if they did they would go north +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +by the river. But the road certainly won’t be +open long. The fire is spreading north as it +comes down.”</p> +<p>“I must hurry, then,” said the Bishop, gripping +his reins.</p> +<p>“Oh, but you cannot, you must not!” exclaimed +Ruth. “You will be trapped. You can never go +through. We are the last to leave, except a few +men with fast horses who know the country every +step. You cannot go through on the road, and if +you leave it you will be lost.”</p> +<p>“Well, I can always come back,” said the +Bishop lightly, as he set his horse up the hill.</p> +<p>“But you cannot. Won’t you listen, please, +Bishop,” Ruth pleaded after him. “The fire may +cross behind you, and you’ll be trapped on the +road!”</p> +<p>But the Bishop was already riding swiftly up +the hill. Whether he heard or not, he did not +answer or look back.</p> +<p>Ruth sat in her saddle looking up the road after +him. She did not know whether or not he realised +his danger. Probably he did, for he was a +quick man to weigh things. Even the knowledge +of his danger would not drive him back. She +knew that.</p> +<p>She knew the business upon which he went. +No doubt it was one in which he was ready to +risk his life. He had said that they would all +be driven in upon Little Tupper. In that he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +meant hunters and hunted alike. For there were +the hunters and the hunted. The men of the hills +would be up there behind the wall of fire or working +along down beside it. But while they fought +the fire they would be hunting the brush and the +smoke for the traces of other men. Those other +men would maybe be trapped by the swift running +of the fire. All might be driven to seek safety +together. The hunted men would flee from the +fire to a death just as certain but which they would +prefer to face.</p> +<p>The Bishop was riding to save the lives of +those men. Also he was riding to keep the men +of the hills from murder. Jeffrey would be +among them. Only yesterday she had spoken +that word to him.</p> +<p>But he can do neither, she thought. He will +be caught on the road, and before he will give in +and turn back he will be trapped.</p> +<p>“I am going back to the top of the hill,” she +said suddenly to Mrs. Whiting. “I want to see +what it looks like now. Go on down. I will +catch you before long.”</p> +<p>“No. We will pull in at the side of the road +here and wait for you. Don’t go past the hill. +We’ll wait. There’s no danger down here yet, +and won’t be for some time.”</p> +<p>Brom Bones made short work of the hill, for +he was fresh and all day long he had been held +in tight when he had wanted to run away. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +did not know what that thing was from which he +had all day been wanting to run. But he knew +that if he had been his own master he would have +run very far, hunting water. So now he bolted +quickly to the top of the hill.</p> +<p>But the Bishop, too, was riding a fresh horse +and was not sparing him. When Ruth came to +the top of the hill she saw the Bishop nearly a +mile away, already past her own home and mounting +the long hill.</p> +<p>She stood watching him, undecided what to do. +The chances were all against him. Perhaps he +did not understand how certainly those chances +stood against him. And yet, he looked and rode +like a man who knew the chances and was ready +to measure himself against them.</p> +<p>“Brom Bones could catch him, I think,” she +said as she watched him up the long hill. “But +we could not make him come back until it was too +late. I wonder if I am afraid to try. No, I +don’t think I’m afraid. Only somehow he seems––seems +different. He doesn’t seem just like a +man that was reckless or ignorant of his danger. +No. He knows all about it. But it doesn’t +count. He is a man going on business––God’s +business. I wonder.”</p> +<p>Now she saw him against the rim of the sky +as he went over the brow of the hill, where +Jeffrey and she had stopped yesterday. He was +not a pretty figure of a rider. He rode stiffly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +for he was very tired from the unusual ride, and +he crouched forward, saving his horse all that he +could, but he was a figure not easily to be forgotten +as he disappeared over the crown of the hill, +seeming to ride right on into the sky.</p> +<p>Suddenly she felt Brom Bones quiver under her. +He was looking away to the right of the long, terraced +hill before her. The fire was coming, +sweeping diagonally down across the face of the +hill straight toward her home.</p> +<p>All her life she had been hearing of forest fires. +Hardly a summer had passed within her memory +when the menace of them had not been present +among the hills. She had grown up, as all hill +children did, expecting to some day have to fly +for her life before one. But she had never before +seen a wall of breathing fire marching down +a hill toward her.</p> +<p>For moments the sight held her enthralled in +wonder and awe. It was a living thing, moving +down the hillside with an intelligent, defined +course for itself. She saw it chase a red deer +and a silver fox down the hill. It could not catch +those timid, fleet animals in the open chase. But +if they halted or turned aside it might come upon +them and surround them.</p> +<p>While she looked, one part of her brain was +numbed by the sight, but the other part was thinking +rapidly. This was not the real fire. This +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +was only one great paw of fire that shot out before +the body, to sweep in any foolish thing that +did not at first alarm hurry down to the level lands +and safety.</p> +<p>The body of the fire, she was sure, was coming +on in a solid front beyond the hill. It would not +yet have struck the road up which the Bishop was +hurrying. He might think that he could skirt past +it and get into French Village before it should +cross the road. But she was sure he could not +do so. He would go on until he found it +squarely before him. Then he would have to turn +back. And here was this great limb of fire already +stretching out behind him. In five minutes +he would be cut off. The formation of the +hills had sent the wind whirling down through a +gap and carrying one stream of fire away ahead +of the rest. The Bishop did not know the country +to the north of the road. If he left the road +he could only flounder about and wander aimlessly +until the fire closed in upon him.</p> +<p>Ruth’s decision was taken on the instant. The +two women did not need her. They would +know enough to drive on down to safety when +they saw the fire surely coming. There was a +man gone unblinking into a peril from which he +would not know how to escape. He had gone to +save life. He had gone to prevent crime. If he +stayed in the road she could find him and lead him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +out to the north and probably to safety. If he did +not stay in the road, well, at least, she could only +make the attempt.</p> +<p>Brom Bones went flying along the slope of the +road towards his home. For the first time in his +life, he felt the cut of a whip on his flanks––to +make him go faster. He did not know what it +meant. Nothing like that had ever been a part +of Brom Bones’ scheme of life, for he had always +gone as fast as he was let go. But it did +not need the stroke of the whip to madden him.</p> +<p>Down across the slope of the hill in front of +him he saw a great, red terror racing towards the +road which he travelled. If he could not understand +the girl’s words, he could feel the thrill of +rising excitement in her voice as she urged him +on, saying over and over:</p> +<p>“You can make it, Brom! I know you can! +I never struck you this way before, did I? But +it’s for life––a good man’s life! You can make +it. I know you can make it. I wouldn’t ask you +to if I didn’t know. You can make it! It won’t +hurt us a bit. It <i>can’t</i> hurt us! Bromie, dear, +I tell you it can’t hurt us. It just can’t!”</p> +<p>She crouched out over the horse’s shoulder, +laying her weight upon her hands to even it for +the horse. She stopped striking him, for she saw +that neither terror nor punishment could drive him +faster than he was going. He was giving her the +best of his willing heart and fleet body.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span></div> +<p>But would it be enough? Fast as she raced +along the road she saw that red death whirling +down the hillside, to cross the road at a +point just above her home. Could she pass that +point before the fire came? She did not know. +And when she came to within a hundred yards of +where the fire would strike the road she still did +not know whether she could pass it. Already she +could feel the hot breath of it panting down upon +her. Already showers of burning leaves and +branches were whirling down upon her head and +shoulders. If her horse should hesitate or bolt +sidewise now they would both be burned to death. +The girl knew it. And, crouching low, talking +into his mane, she told him so. Perhaps he, too, +knew it. He did not falter. Head down, he +plunged straight into the blinding blast that swept +across the road.</p> +<p>A wave of heavy, choking smoke struck him in +the face. He reeled and reared a little, and a +moaning whinny of fright broke from him. But +he felt the steady, strong little hands in his mane +and he plunged on again, through the smoke and +out into the good air.</p> +<p>The fire laughed and leaped across the road +behind them. It had missed them, but it did not +care. The other way, it would not have cared, +either.</p> +<p>Ruth eased Brom Bones up a little on the long +slope of the hill, and turning looked back at her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +home. The farmer had long since gone away +with his family. The place was not his. The +flames were already leaping up from the grass +to the windows and the roof was taking fire from +the cinders and burning branches in the air. But, +where everything was burning, where a whole +countryside was being swept with the broom of +destruction, her personal loss did not seem to matter +much.</p> +<p>Only when she saw the flames sweep on past +the house and across the hillside and attack the +trees that stood guard over the graves of her +loved ones did the bitterness of it enter her soul. +She revolted at the cruel wickedness of it all. +Her heart hated the fire. Hated the men who +had set it. (She was sure that men <i>had</i> set it.) +She wanted vengeance. The Bishop was wrong. +Why should he interfere? Let men take revenge +in the way of men.</p> +<p>But on the instant she was sorry and breathed +a little prayer of and for forgiveness. You see, +she was rather a downright young person. And +she took her religion at its word. When she +said, “Forgive us our trespasses,” she meant just +that. And when she said, “As we forgive those +who trespass against us,” she meant that, too.</p> +<p>The Bishop was right, of course. One horror, +one sin, would not heal another.</p> +<p>Coming to the top of the hill, the full wonder +and horror of the fire burst upon her with appalling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +force. What she had so far seen was but +a little finger of the fire, crooked around a hill. +Now in front and to the right of her, in an unbroken +quarter circle of the whole horizon, there +ranged a living, moving mass of flame that seemed +to be coming down upon the whole world.</p> +<p>She knew that it was already behind her. If +she had thought of herself, she would have turned +Brom Bones to the left, away from the road and +have fled away, by paths she knew well, to the +north and out of the range of the moving terror. +But only for one quaking little moment did she +think of herself. Along that road ahead of her +there was a man, a good man, who rode bravely, +unquestioningly, to almost certain death, for +others. She could save him, perhaps. So far as +she could see, the fire was not yet crossing the +road in front. The Bishop would still be on the +road. She was sure of that. Again she asked +Brom Bones for his brave best.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The Bishop was beginning to think that he +might yet get through to French Village. His +watch told him that it was six o’clock. Soon the +sun would be going down, though in the impenetrable +tenting of white smoke that had spread high +over all the air there was nothing to show that +a sun had ever shone upon the earth. With the +going down of the sun the wind, too, would probably +die away. The fire had not yet come to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +road in front of him. If the wind fell the fire +would advance but slowly, and would hardly +spread to the north at all.</p> +<p>He was not discrediting the enemy in front. +He had seen the mighty sweep of the fire and +he knew that it would need but the slightest shift +of the wind to send a wall of flame down upon +him from which he would have to run for his +life. He did not, of course, know that the fire +had already crossed the road behind him. But +even if he had, he would probably have kept on +trusting to the chance of getting through somehow.</p> +<p>He was ascending another long slope of country +where the road ran straight up to the east. +The fire was already to the right of him, sweeping +along in a steady march to the west. It was +spreading steadily northward, toward the road; +but he was hoping that the hill before him had +served to hold it back, that it had not really +crossed the road at any point, and that when he +came to the top of this hill he would be able to +see the road clear before him up to French Village. +He was wearied to the point of exhaustion, +and his nervous horse fought him constantly in +an effort to bolt from the road and make off to +the north. But, he argued, he had suffered nothing +so far from the fire; and there was no real +reason to be discouraged.</p> +<p>Then he came to the top of the hill.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></div> +<p>He rubbed his eyes, as he had done a long, long +time before on that same day. Five hundred +yards before him as he looked down a slight +slope, a belt of pine trees was burning high to +the sky. The road ran straight through that. +Behind and beyond the belt of pines he could see +the whole country banked in terraces of flame. +There was no road. This hill had divided the +wind, and thus, temporarily, it had divided the +fire. Already the fire had run away to the north, +and it was still moving northward as it also advanced +more slowly to the top of the hill where +he stood.</p> +<p>Well, the road was still behind him. Nothing +worse had happened than he had, in reason, anticipated. +He must go back. He turned the +horse and looked.</p> +<p>Across the ridge of the last hill that he had +passed the fire was marching majestically. The +daylight, such as it had been, had given its place +to the great glow of the fire. Ten minutes ago +he could not have distinguished anything back +there. Now he could see the road clearly marked, +nearly five miles away, and across it stood a solid +wall of fire.</p> +<p>There were no moments to be lost. He was cut +off on three sides. The way out lay to the north, +over he knew not what sort of country. But at +least it was a way out. He must not altogether +run away from the fire, for in that way he might +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +easily be caught and hemmed in entirely. He +must ride along as near as he could in front of +it. So, if he were fast enough, he might turn the +edge of it and be safe again. He might even +be able to go on his way again to French Village.</p> +<p>Yes, if he were quick enough. Also, if the +fire played no new trick upon him.</p> +<p>His horse turned willingly from the road and +ran along under the shelter of the ridge of the hill +for a full mile as fast as the Bishop dared let +him go. He could not drive. He was obliged +to trust the horse to pick his own footing. It +was mad riding over rough pasture land and brush, +but it was better to let the horse have his own +way.</p> +<p>Suddenly they came to the end of the ridge +where the Bishop might have expected to be able +to go around the edge of the fire. The horse +stood stock still. The Bishop took one quiet, +comprehensive look.</p> +<p>“I am sorry, boy,” he said gently to the horse. +“You have done your best. And I––have done +my worst. You did not deserve this.”</p> +<p>He was looking down toward Wilbur’s Fork, +a dry water course, two miles away and a thousand +feet below.</p> +<p>The fire had come clear around the hill and +had been driven down into the heavy timber along +the water course. There it was raging away to +the west down through the great trees, travelling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +faster than any horse could have been driven.</p> +<p>The Bishop looked again. Then he turned in +his saddle, thinking mechanically. To the east +the fire was coming over the ridge in an unbroken +line––death. From the south it was advancing +slowly but with a calm and certain steadiness of +purpose––death. On the hill to the west it was +burning brightly and running speedily to meet that +swift line of fire coming down the northern side +of the square––death. One narrowing avenue +of escape was for the moment open. The lines +on the north and the west had not met. For some +minutes, a pitifully few minutes, there would be +a gap between them. The horse, riderless and +running by the instinct of his kind might make +that gap in time. With a rider and stumbling +under weight, it was useless to think of it.</p> +<p>With simple, characteristic decision, the Bishop +slid a tired leg over the horse and came heavily +to the ground.</p> +<p>“You have done well, boy, you shall have your +chance,” he said, as he hurried to loosen the heavy +saddle and slip the bridle.</p> +<p>He looked again. There was no chance. The +square of fire was closed.</p> +<p>“We stay together, then.” And the Bishop +mounted again.</p> +<p>Within the four walls of breathing death that +were now closing around them there was one +slender possibility of escape. It was not a hope. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +No. It was just a futile little tassel on the fringe +of life. Still it was to be played with to the +last. For that again is the law, applying equally +to this bishop and to the little hunted furry things +that ran through the grass by his horse’s feet.</p> +<p>One fire was burning behind the other. There +was just a possibility that a place might be found +where the first fire would have burned away a +breathing place before the other fire came up to +it. It might be possible to live in that place until +the second fire, finding nothing to eat, should +die. It might be possible. Thinking of this, the +Bishop started slowly down the hill toward the +west.</p> +<p>Also, Joseph Winthrop, Bishop of Alden, +thought of death. How should a bishop die? +He remembered Saint Paul, on bishops. But +there seemed to be nothing in those passages that +bore on the matter immediately in hand.</p> +<p>Joseph Winthrop, a simple man, direct and unafraid, +guessed that he would die very much as +another man would die, with his rosary in his +hand.</p> +<p>But was there not a certain ignominy in being +trapped here as the dumb and senseless brute creatures +were being trapped? For the life of him, +the Bishop could no more see ignominy in the +matter or the manner of the thing than he could +see heroism.</p> +<p>He had come out on a bootless errand, to save +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +the lives of certain men, if it might be. God had +not seen wisdom in his plan. That was all. He +had meant well. God meant better.</p> +<p>Into these quiet reflections the voice of a girl +broke insistently with a shrill hail. A horse somewhere +neighed to his horse, and the Bishop realised +with a start of horror that a woman was here +in this square of fire.</p> +<p>“It’s you, Bishop, isn’t it?” the voice cried +frantically. “I thought I’d never find you. +Over here to the right. Let your horse come. +He’ll follow mine. The Gaunt Rocks,” she +yelled back over her shoulder, “we can make them +yet! There’s nothing there to burn. We may +smother. But we won’t <i>burn</i>!”</p> +<p>Thus the Bishop found himself and his horse +taken swiftly under command. It was Ruth +Lansing, he recognised, but there was no time to +think how she had gotten into this fortress of +death. His horse followed Brom Bones through +a whirl of smoke and on up a break-neck path of +loose stones. Before the Bishop had time to get +a fair breath or any knowledge of where he was +going, he found himself on the top of what seemed +to be a pile of flat, naked rocks.</p> +<p>They stopped, and Ruth was already down and +talking soothingly to Brom Bones when the Bishop +got his feet to the rocks. Looking around he +saw that they were on a plateau of rock at least +several acres in extent and perhaps a hundred feet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +above the ground about them. Looking down he +saw the sea of fire lapping now at the very foot +of the rocks below. They had not been an instant +too soon. As he turned to speak to the +girl, his eye was caught by something that ran +out of one of the lines of fire. It ran and fell +headlong upon the lowest of the rocks. Then it +stirred and began crawling up the rocks.</p> +<p>It was a man coming slowly, painfully, on hands +and knees up the side of the refuge. The Bishop +went down a little to help. As the two came +slowly to the top of the plateau, Ruth stood there +waiting. The Bishop brought the man to his feet +and stood there holding him in the light. The +face of the newcomer was burned and swollen beyond +any knowing. But in the tall, loose-jointed +figure Ruth easily recognised Rafe Gadbeau.</p> +<p>The man swayed drunkenly in the Bishop’s +arms for a moment, then crumpled down inert. +The Bishop knelt, loosening the shirt at the neck +and holding the head of what he was quick to fear +was a dying man.</p> +<p>The man’s eyes opened and in the strong light +he evidently recognised the Bishop’s grimy collar, +for out of his cracked and swollen lips there came +the moan:</p> +<p><i>“Mon Pere, je me ’cuse––”</i></p> +<p>With a start, Ruth recognised the words. +They were the form in which the French people +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +began the telling of their sins in confession. And +she hurriedly turned away toward the horses.</p> +<p>She smiled wearily as she leaned against Brom +Bones, thinking of Jeffrey Whiting. Here was +one of the things that he did not like––the Catholic +Church always turning up in everything.</p> +<p>She wondered where he was and what he was +doing and thinking, up there behind that awful +veil of red.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +<a name='VI_THE_BUSINESS_OF_THE_SHEPHERD' id='VI_THE_BUSINESS_OF_THE_SHEPHERD'></a> +<h2>VI</h2> +<h3>THE BUSINESS OF THE SHEPHERD</h3> +</div> +<p>The Bishop laid the man’s head back so that +he lay as easy as it was possible and spoke a word +or two in that astonishing French of his which +was the wonder and the peculiar pride of all the +North Country.</p> +<p>But for a long time the man seemed unable to +go farther. He saw the Bishop slip the little +pocket stole around his neck and seemed to know +what it was and what it was for. The swollen +lips, however, only continued to mumble the words +with which they had begun:</p> +<p><i>“Mon Pere, je me ’cuse</i>––”</p> +<p>Rafe Gadbeau could speak English as well as or +better than he could speak French. But there +are times when a man reverts to the tongue of his +mother. And confession, especially in the face +of death, is one of these.</p> +<p>Again the Bishop lowered the man’s head and +changed the position of the body, while he fanned +what air there was across the gasping mouth with +his hat.</p> +<p>Now the man tried to gather his straying wits +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +to him. With a sharp effort that seemed to send +a tremor through his whole long body he forced +his faculties back into their grooves. With a muttered +word of encouragement from the Bishop, +he began hoarsely that precise, recitative form of +confession that the good priests of Lower Canada +have been drilling into the children for the last +three hundred years.</p> +<p>Once the memory found itself going the long-accustomed +way it worked easily, mechanically. +Since five years he had not confessed. At that +time he had received the Sacrament. He went +through the “table of sins” with the methodical +care of a man who knows that if he misses a step +in the sequence he will lose his way. It was the +story of the young men of his people in the hills, +in the lumber camps, in the sawmills, in the +towns. A thousand men of his kind in the hill +country would have told the same story, of hard +work and anger and fighting in the camps, of +drink and debauch in the towns when they went +down to spend their money; and would have told +it in exactly the same way. The Bishop had +heard the story ten thousand times.</p> +<p>But now––<i>Mon Pere, je me ’cuse</i>––there +was something more, something that would not +fall into the catalogue of the sins of every day. +It had begun a long time ago and it was just coming +to an end here at the feet of the Bishop. +Yes, it was undoubtedly coming to an end. For +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +the Bishop had found blood caked on the man’s +shirt, in the back, just below the shoulder blade. +There was a wound there, a bullet wound, a +wound from which ordinarily the man would have +fallen and stayed lying where he fell.</p> +<p>He must tell this thing in his own way, backwards, +as it unrolled itself to his mind.</p> +<p>“I die, Mon Pere, I die,” he began between +gasps. “I die. Since the afternoon I have been +dying. If I could have found a spot to lie down, +if I could have had two minutes free from the +fire, I would have lain down to die. But shall a +man lie down in hell before he is dead? No.</p> +<p>“All day I have run from the fire. I could +not lie down to die till I had found a free place +where my soul could breathe out. Here I +breathe. Here I die. The rabbits and the foxes +and the deer ran out from the fire, and they ran +no faster than I ran. But I could not run out of +its way. All day long men followed the line of +the fire and fought around its edge. They fought +the fire, but they hunted me. All the day long +they hunted me and drove me always back into the +fire when I would run out.</p> +<p>“They hunted me because in the early morning +they had seen me with the men who set the +fire. No. I did not do that. I did not set hand +to the fire. Why was I with those men? Why +did I go with them when they went to set the fire? +Ah, that is a longer tale.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></div> +<p>“Four years ago I was in Utica. It was in +a drinking place. All were drinking. There was +a fight. A man was killed. I struck no blow. +<i>Mon Pere</i>, I struck no blow. But my knife––my +knife was found in the man’s heart. Who +struck? I know not. A detective for this railroad +that comes now into the hills found my knife. +He traced it to me. He showed the knife to me. +It was mine. I could not deny. But he said no +word to the law. With the knife he could hang +me. But he said no word. Only to me he said, +‘Some day I may need you.’</p> +<p>“Last winter that man the detective came into +the hills. Now he was not a detective. He was +Rogers. He was the agent for the railroad. He +would buy the land from the people.</p> +<p>“The people would not sell. You know of +the matter. In June he came again. He was +angry, because other men above him were angry. +He must force the people to sell. He must trick +the people. He saw me. ‘You,’ he said, ‘I +need you.’</p> +<p>“<i>Mon Pere</i>, that man owned me. On the +point of my knife, like a pinch of salt, he held my +life. Never a moment when I could say, I will +do this, I will do that. Always I must do his +bidding. For him I lied to my own people. For +him I tricked my friends. For him I nearly killed +the young Whiting. Always I must do as he told. +He called and I came. He bade me do and I did.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></div> +<p>“M’sieur does not know the sin of hate. It +is the wild beast of all sins. And fear, too, that +is the father of sin. For fear begets hate. And +hate goes raging to do all sin.</p> +<p>“So, after fear, came hate into my heart. Before +my eyes was always the face of this man, +threatening with that knife of mine.</p> +<p>“Yesterday, in the morning came a message +that I must meet him at the railroad. He would +come to the end of the rail and we would go up +into the high hills. I knew what was to be done. +To myself, I rebelled. I would not go. I swore +I would not go. A girl, a good girl that loved me, +begged me not to go. To her I swore I would +not go.</p> +<p>“I went. Fear, <i>Mon Pere</i>, fear is the father +of all. I went because there was that knife before +my eyes. I believe that good girl followed +into the high hills, hoping, maybe, to bring me +back at the last moment. I do not know.</p> +<p>“I went because I must go. I must be there +in case any one should see. If any of us that went +was to be caught, I was to be caught. I must be +seen. I must be known to have been there. If +any one was to be punished, I was that one. +Rogers must be free, do you see. I would have +to take the blame. I would not dare to +speak.</p> +<p>“Through the night we skulked by Bald Mountain. +We were seven. And of the seven I alone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +was to take the blame. They would swear it upon +me. I knew.</p> +<p>“Never once did Rogers let me get beyond the +reach of his tongue. And his speech was, ‘You +owe me this. Now you must pay.’</p> +<p>“In the first light the torches were got ready. +We scattered along the fringe of the highest trees. +Rogers kept me with him. A moment he went +out into the clearing. Then he came running +back. He had seen other men watching for us. +I ran a little way. He came running behind with +a lighted torch, setting fire as he ran. He yelled +to me to light my torch. Again I ran, deeper +into the wood. Again he came after me, the red +flare of the fire running after him.</p> +<p>“Mon Dieu! The red flare of the fire in the +wood! The red rush of fire in the air! The red +flame of fire in my heart! Fear! Hate! +Fire!” With a terrible convulsion the man drew +himself up in the Bishop’s arms, gazing wildly at +the fire all about them, and screaming:</p> +<p>“On my knee I dropped and shot him, shot +Rogers when he stopped!”</p> +<p>He fell back as the scream died in his throat.</p> +<p>The Bishop began the words of the Absolution. +Some whisper of the well-remembered sound must +have reached down to the soul of Rafe Gadbeau +in its dark place, for, as though unconsciously, +his lips began to form the words of the Act of +Contrition.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span></div> +<p>As the Bishop finished, the tremor of death ran +through the body in his arms. He knelt there +holding the empty shell of a man.</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing, standing a little distance away, +resting against the flank of her horse, had time to +be awed and subdued by the terrific forces of this +world and the other that were at work about her. +This world, with the exception of this little island +on which she stood, was on fire. The wind had +almost entirely died out. On every side the flames +rose evenly to the very heavens. Direction, distance, +place, all were blotted out. There was no +east, no west; no north, no south. Only an impenetrable +ring of fire, no earth, no sky. Only +these few bare rocks and this inverted bowl of +lurid, hot, cinder-laden air out of which she must +get the breath of life.</p> +<p>Into this ring of fire a hunted man had burst, +just as she had seen a rabbit and a belated woodchuck +bursting. And that man had lain himself +down to die. And here, of all places, he had +found the hand of the mighty, the omnipresent +Catholic Church reached out ready to him!</p> +<p>She was only a young girl. But since that night +when the Bishop had come to her as she held her +father dying in her arms she had thought much. +Thought had been pressed upon her. Forces had +pressed themselves in upon her mind. The things +that she had been hearing and reading since her +childhood, the thoughts of the people among +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +whom she had grown up, the feeling of loyalty to +her own kind, all these had fought in her against +the dominion of the Catholic Church which challenged +them all.</p> +<p>Because she had so recently come under its influence, +the Catholic Church seemed ever to be unfolding +new wonders to her. It seemed as though +she stepped ever from one holy of holies into another +more wonderful, more awesome. Yet always +there seemed to be something just beyond, +some deeper, more mysterious meaning to which +she could not quite attain. Always a door opened, +only to disclose another closed door beyond it.</p> +<p>Here surely she stood as near to naked truth +as it was possible to get. Here were none of the +forms of words, none of the explanations, none +of the ready-made answers of the catechism. +Here were just two men. One was a bad man, +a man of evil life. He was dying. In a few moments +his soul must go––somewhere. The other +was a good man. To-day he had risked his life +to save the lives of this man and others––for +Ruth was quick to suspect that Gadbeau had been +caught in the fire because other men were chasing +him.</p> +<p>Now these two men had a question to settle between +them. In a very few minutes these two +men must settle whether this bad man’s soul was +presently going to Hell or to Heaven for all eternity. +You see, she was a very direct young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +person. She took her religion at its word, +straight in the eyes, literally.</p> +<p>So far she had not needed to take any precautions +against hearing anything that was said. The +dull roar of the fire all about them effectually +silenced every other sound. Then, without warning, +high above the noise of the fire, came the +shrill, breaking voice of Gadbeau, screaming:</p> +<p>“On my knee I dropped and shot him, shot +Rogers as he stopped!”</p> +<p>Involuntarily she turned and started towards +the men. Gadbeau had fallen back in the +Bishop’s arms and the Bishop was leaning over, +apparently talking to him. She knew that she +must not go near until the Bishop gave her leave. +She turned back and putting her hands up to her +ears buried her face in Brom Bones’ mane.</p> +<p>But she could not put away the words that she +had heard. Never, so long as she lived, was she +able to forget them. Like the flash of the shot +itself, they leaped to her brain and seared themselves +there. Years afterwards she could shut +her eyes and fairly see those words burning in her +mind.</p> +<p>When it was ended, the Bishop called to her and +she went over timidly. She heard the Bishop say:</p> +<p>“He is gone. Will you say a prayer, Ruth?”</p> +<p>Then the Bishop began to read slowly, in the +light of the flames, the Prayers for the Departed. +Ruth kneeling drew forth her beads and among +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +the Mysteries she wept gently––why, she knew +not.</p> +<p>When the Bishop had finished, he knelt a while +in silence, looking into the face of the dead. +Then he arose and folded the long arms on the +tattered breast and straightened the body.</p> +<p>Ruth rose and watched him in a troubled way. +Once, twice she opened her lips to speak. But +she did not know what to say or how to say it. +Finally she began:</p> +<p>“Bishop, I––I heard––”</p> +<p>“No, child. You heard nothing,” the Bishop +interrupted quietly, “nothing.”</p> +<p>Ruth understood. And for a little space the +two stood there looking down. The dead man’s +secret lay between them, buried under God’s awful +seal.</p> +<p>The Bishop went to his horse and unstrapping +Father Brady’s storm coat which he had brought +wrapped it gently over the head and body of the +dead man as a protection from the showers of +glowing cinders that rained down upon everything.</p> +<p>Then they took up the interminable vigil of the +night, standing at their horses’ heads, their faces +buried in the manes, their arms thrown over the +horses’ eyes.</p> +<p>As the night wore on the fire, having consumed +everything to the east and south, moved on deliberately +into the west and north. But the sharp, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +acrid smoke of trees left smouldering behind still +kept them in exquisite, blinded torture.</p> +<p>The murky, grey pall of the night turned almost +to black as the fires to the east died almost out in +that last, lifeless hour of the night. The light +of the morning showed a faint, sickly white +through the smoke banks on the high hills. When +it was time for the sun to be rising over Bald +Mountain, the morning breezes came down lifting +the heavy clouds of smoke and carrying them overhead +and away into the west. They saw the +world again, a grey, ash-strewn world, with not a +land-mark left but the bare knobs of the hills and +here and there a great tree still standing smoking +like a burnt-out torch.</p> +<p>They mounted wearily, and taking a last look at +the figure of the man lying there on his rocky +bier, picked their way down to the sloping hillside. +The Gaunt Rocks had saved their lives. +Now they must reach Little Tupper and water if +they would have their horses live. Intolerable, +frightful thirst was already swelling their own +lips and they knew that the plight of the horses +was inevitably worse.</p> +<p>Ruth took the lead, for she knew the country. +They must travel circuitously, avoiding the places +that had been wooded for the fallen trees would +still be burning and would block them everywhere. +The road was impossible because it had +largely run through wooded places and the trees +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +would have fallen across it. Their situation was +not desperate, but at any moment a horse might +drop or turn mad for water.</p> +<p>For two hours they plodded steadily over the +hills through the hot, loose-lying ashes. In all the +world it seemed that not man nor beast nor bird +was alive. The top of the earth was one grey +ruin, draped with the little sworls of dust and +ashes that the playful wind sent drifting up into +their mouths and eyes.</p> +<p>They dared not ride faster than a walk, for the +ashes had blown level over holes and traps of all +sorts in which a galloping horse would surely break +his leg. Nor would it have been safe to put the +horses to any rapid expenditure of energy. The +little that was left in them must be doled out to the +very last ounce. For they did not yet know what +lay between them and French Village and the lake. +If the fire had not reached the lake during the +night then it was always a possibility that, with +this fresh morning wind, a new fire might spring +up from the ashes of the old and place an impassable +barrier between them and the water.</p> +<p>When this thought came to them, as it must, +they involuntarily quickened their pace. The impulse +was to make one wild dash for the lake. +But they knew that it would be nothing short of +madness. They must go slowly and carefully, enduring +the torture with what fortitude they could.</p> +<p>The story which the Bishop had heard from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +lips of the dying man had stirred him profoundly. +He now knew definitely, what yesterday he had +suspected, that men had been sent into the hills +by the railroad people to set fire to the forests, +thereby driving the people out of that part of the +country which the railroad wished to possess. He +was moved to anger by the knowledge, but he +knew that he must try to drive that knowledge +back into the deepest recess of his mind; must try +to hide it even from himself, lest in some unguarded +moment, some time of stress and mental +conflict, he should by word or look, by a gesture +or even by an omission, reveal even his consciousness +of that knowledge. Now he knew that +the situation which last night he had thought to +meet in French Village would almost certainly +confront him there this morning, if indeed he ever +succeeded in reaching there. And he must be +doubly on his guard lest the things which he might +learn to-day should in his mind confuse themselves +with what he had last night learned under the seal +of the confessional.</p> +<p>Through all the night Ruth Lansing had been +hearing the words of that last cry of the dying +man. She did not know how near they came to +her. She did not know that Jeffrey Whiting had +stood with his gun levelled upon the man whom +Gadbeau had killed. But, try as she would to +keep back the knowledge which she knew she must +never under any circumstances reveal, those words +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +came ringing upon her ears. And she knew that +the secret would haunt her and taunt her always.</p> +<p>As they came over the last of the ridges, the +grey waste of the country sloping from all sides to +the lake lay open before them. There was not a +ruin, not a standing stick to show them where +little French Village had once stood along the +lake. The fire had gone completely around the +lake to the very water edge and a back draught +had drawn it up in a circle around the east slope. +There it had burned itself out along the forest +line of the higher hills. It had gone on toward +the west, burning its way down to the settled farm +lands. But there would be no more fire in this +region.</p> +<p>“Would the people make their way down the +river,” the Bishop asked; “or did they escape back +into the higher hills?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think they did either,” Ruth answered +as she scanned the lake sharply. “There is something +out there in the middle of the lake, and I +wouldn’t be surprised if they made rafts out of the +logs and went through the fire that way. They’d +be better off than we were, and that way they +could save some things. If they had run away +they would have had to drop everything.”</p> +<p>The horses, sniffing the moist air from the lake, +pricked up their ears and started briskly down the +slope. It was soon plain that Ruth was right in +her conjecture. They could now make out five +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +or six large rafts which the people had evidently +thrown together out of the logs that had been +lying in the lake awaiting their turn at the sawmill. +These were crowded with people, standing +as they must have stood all through the night; +and now the freshening wind, aided by such help +as the people could give it with boards and poles, +was moving all slowly toward the shore where +their homes had been.</p> +<p>The heart of the Shepherd was very low as he +rode fetlock deep through the ashes of what had +been the street of a happy little village and +watched his people coming sadly back to land. +There was nothing for them to come back to. +They might as well have gone to the other side +of the lake to begin life again. But they would +inevitably, with that dumb loyalty to places, which +people share with birds, come back and begin +their nests over again.</p> +<p>For nearly an hour they stood on the little +beach, letting the horses drink a little now and +then, and watching the approach of the rafts. +When they came to the shallow water, men and +boys jumped yelling from the rafts and came wading +ashore. In a few moments the rafts were +emptied of all except the very aged or the crippled +who must be carried off.</p> +<p>They crowded around the grimy, unrecognisable +Bishop and the girl with wonder and a little +superstition, for it was plain that these two people +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +must have come straight through the fire. But +when Father Ponfret came running forward and +knelt at the Bishop’s feet, a great glad cry of +wondering recognition went up from all the French +people. It was their Bishop! He who spoke +the French of the most astonishing! His coming +was a sign! A deliverance! They had come +through horrors. Now all was well! The good +God had hidden His face through the long night. +Now, in the morning He had sent His messenger +to say that all was well!</p> +<p>Laughing and crying in the quick surcharge of +spirits that makes their race what it is, they threw +themselves on their knees begging his blessing. +The Bishop bared his head and raised his hand +slowly. He was infinitely humbled by the quick, +spontaneous outburst of their faith. He had done +nothing for them; could do nothing for them. +They were homeless, pitiable, without a hope or a +stick of shelter. Yet it had needed but the sight +of his face to bring out their cheery unbounded +confidence that God was good, that the world was +right again.</p> +<p>The other people, the hill people of the Bishop’s +own blood and race, stood apart. They did not +understand the scene. They were not a kind of +people that could weep and laugh at once. But +they were not unmoved. For years they had +heard of the White Horse Chaplain. Some two +or three old men of them saw him now through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +a mist of memory and battle smoke riding a mad +horse across a field. They knew that this was the +man. That he should appear out of the fire after +the nightmare through which they had passed was +not so much incredible as it was a part of the +strange things that they had always half believed +about him.</p> +<p>Then rose the swift, shrill cackle of tongues +around the Bishop. Father Ponfret, a quick, +eager little man of his people, would drag the +Bishop’s story from him by very force. Had he +dropped from Heaven? How had he come to be +in the hills? Had a miracle saved him from the +fire?</p> +<p>The Bishop told the tale simply, accenting the +folly of his own imprudence, and how he had been +saved from the consequences of it by the quickness +and wisdom of the young girl. Father Ponfret +translated freely and with a fine flourish. +Then the Bishop told of the coming of Rafe Gadbeau +and how the man had died with the Sacrament. +They nodded their heads in silence. +There was nothing to be said. They knew who +the man was. He had done wickedly. But the +good God had stretched out the wing of His great +Church over him at the last. Why say more? +God was good. No?</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing went among her own hill people, +grouped on the outskirts of the crowd that pressed +around the Bishop, answering their eager questions +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +and asking questions of her own. There was just +one question that she wanted to ask, but something +kept it back from her lips. There was no reason +at all why she should not ask them about Jeffrey +Whiting. Some of them must at least have heard +news of him, must know in what direction he had +gone to fight the fire. But some unnamed dread +seemed to take possession of her so that she dared +not put her crying question into words.</p> +<p>Some one at her elbow, who had heard what +the French people were saying, asked:</p> +<p>“You’re sure that was Gadbeau that crawled +out of the fire and died, Miss Lansing?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I knew him well, of course. It was +Gadbeau, certainly,” Ruth answered without looking +up.</p> +<p>Then a tall young fellow in front of her said:</p> +<p>“Then that’s two of ’em done for. That was +Gadbeau. And Jeff Whiting shot Rogers.”</p> +<p>“He did not!” Ruth blazed up in the young +man’s face. “Jeffrey Whiting did <i>not</i> shoot Rogers! +Rafe––!”</p> +<p>The horror of the thing she had been about to +do rushed upon her and blinded her. The blood +came rushing up into her throat and brain, choking +her, stunning her, so that she gasped and staggered. +The young man, Perry Waite, caught her +by the arm as she seemed about to fall. She +struggled a moment for control of herself, then +managed to gasp:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></div> +<p>“It’s nothing–– Let me go.”</p> +<p>Perry Waite looked sharply into her face. +Then he took his hand from her arm.</p> +<p>Trembling and horror-stricken, Ruth slipped +away and crowded herself in among the people +who stood around the Bishop. Here no one +would be likely to speak to her. And here, too, +she felt a certain relief, a sense of security, in being +surrounded by people who would understand. +Even though they knew nothing of her secret, yet +the mere feeling that she stood among those who +could have understood gave her strength and a +feeling of safety even against herself which she +could not have had among her own kind.</p> +<p>But she was not long left with her feeling of +security. A wan, grey-faced girl with burning +eyes caught Ruth fiercely by the arm and drew her +out of the crowd. It was Cynthe Cardinal, +though Ruth found it difficult to recognise in her +the red-cheeked, sprightly French girl she had met +in the early summer.</p> +<p>“You saw Rafe Gadbeau die,” the girl said +roughly, as she faced Ruth sharply at a little distance +from the crowd. “You were there, close? +No?”</p> +<p>“Yes, the fire was all around,” Ruth answered, +quaking.</p> +<p>“How did he die? Tell me. How?”</p> +<p>“Why––why, he died quickly, in the Bishop’s +arms.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></div> +<p>“I know. Yes. But how? He <i>confessed</i>?”</p> +<p>“He––he went to confession, you mean. +Yes, I think so.”</p> +<p>But the girl was not to be evaded in that way.</p> +<p>“I know that,” she persisted. “I heard +M’sieur the Bishop. But did he <i>confess</i>––about +Rogers?”</p> +<p>“Why, Cynthe, you must be crazy. You know +I didn’t hear anything. I couldn’t––”</p> +<p>“He didn’t say nothing, except in confession?” +the girl questioned swiftly.</p> +<p>“Nothing at all,” Ruth answered, relieved.</p> +<p>“And you heard?” the girl returned shrewdly.</p> +<p>“Why, Cynthe, I heard nothing. You know +that.”</p> +<p>“I know you are lying,” Cynthe said slowly. +“That is right. But I do not know. Will you +always be able to lie? I do not know. You are +Catholic, yes. But you are new. You are not +like one of us. Sometime you will forget. It is +not bred in the bone of you as it is bred in us. +Sometime when you are not thinking some one will +ask you a question and you will start and your +tongue will slip, or you will be silent––and that +will be just as bad.”</p> +<p>Ruth stood looking down at the ground. She +dared not speak, did not even raise her eyes, for +any assurance of silence or even a reassuring look +to the girl would be an admission that she must not +make.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></div> +<p>“Swear it in your heart! Swear that you did +not hear a word! You cannot speak to me. But +swear it to your soul,” said the girl in a low, tense +whisper; “swear that you will never, sleeping or +waking, laughing or crying, in joy or in sorrow, let +woman or man know that you heard. Swear it. +And while you swear, remember.” She drew +Ruth close to her and almost hissed into her ear:</p> +<p>“Remember–– You love Jeffrey Whiting!”</p> +<p>She dropped Ruth’s arm and turned quickly +away.</p> +<p>Ruth stood there trembling weakly, her mind +lost in a whirl of fright and bewilderment. She +did not know where to turn. She could not grapple +with the racing thoughts that went hurtling +through her mind.</p> +<p>This girl had loved Rafe Gadbeau. She was +half crazed with her love and her grief. And she +was determined to protect his name from the dark +blot of murder. With the uncanny insight that is +sometimes given to those beside themselves with +some great grief or strain, the girl had seen Ruth’s +terrible secret bare in its hiding place and had +plucked it out before Ruth’s very eyes.</p> +<p>The awful, the unbelievable thing had happened, +thought Ruth. She had broken the seal of +the confessional! She had been entrusted with +the most terrible secret that a man could have to +tell, under the most awful bond that God could put +upon a secret. And the secret had escaped her!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></div> +<p>She had said no word at all. But, just as surely +as if she had repeated the cry of the dying man in +the night, Ruth knew that the other girl had taken +her secret from her.</p> +<p>And with that same uncanny insight, too, the +girl had looked into the future and had shown +Ruth what a burden the secret was to be to her. +Nay, what a burden it was already becoming. +For already she was afraid to speak to any one, +afraid to go near any person that she had ever +known.</p> +<p>And that girl had stripped bare another of +Ruth’s secrets, one that had been hidden even +from herself. She had said:</p> +<p>“Remember–– You love Jeffrey Whiting.”</p> +<p>In ways, she had always loved him. But she +now realised that she had never known what love +was. Now she knew. She had seen it flame up +in the eyes of the half mad French girl, ready to +clutch and tear for the dead name of the man +whom she had loved. Now Ruth knew what it +was, and it came burning up in her heart to protect +the dear name of her own beloved one, her man. +Already men were putting the brand of Cain upon +him! Already the word was running from mouth +to mouth over the hills–– The word of blood! +And with it ran the name of her love! Jeffrey, +the boy she had loved since always, the man she +would love forever!</p> +<p>He would hear it from other mouths. But, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +oh! the cruel, unbearable taunt was that only two +days ago he had heard it first from her own lips! +Why? Why? How? How had she ever said +such a thing? Ever thought of such a thing?</p> +<p>But she could not speak as the French girl had +spoken for her man. She could not swear the +mouths to silence. She could not cry out the +bursting, torturing truth that alone would close +those mouths. No, not even to Jeffrey himself +could she ever by word, or even by the faintest +whisper, or even by a look, show that she knew +more than his and other living mouths could tell +her! Never would she be able to look into his +eyes and say:</p> +<p>I <i>know</i> you did not do it.</p> +<p>Only in her most secret heart of hearts could +she be glad that she knew. And even that knowledge +was the sacred property of the dead man. +It was not hers. She must try to keep it out of +her mind. Love, horror, and the awful weight of +God’s seal pressed in upon her to crush her. +There was no way to turn, no step to take. She +could not meet them, could not cope with them.</p> +<p>Stumbling blindly, she crept out of the crowd +and down to where Brom Bones stood by the lake. +There the kindly French women found her, her +face buried in the colt’s mane, crying hysterically. +They bathed her hands and face and soothed her, +and when she was a little quieted they gave her +drink and food. And Ruth, reviving, and knowing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +that she would need strength above all things, +took what was given and silently faced the galling +weight of the burden that was hers.</p> +<p>The Bishop had taken quick charge of the whole +situation. The first thing to be decided was +whether the people should try to hold out where +they were or should attempt at once to walk out +to the villages on the north or west. To the west +it would mean forty miles of walking over ashes +with hardly any way of carrying water. To the +north it would mean a longer walk, but they could +follow the river and have water at hand. The +danger in that direction was that they might come +into the path of a new fire that would cut them +off from all help.</p> +<p>Even if they did come out safe to the villages, +what would they do there? They would be scattered, +penniless, homeless. There was nothing +left for them here but the places where their +homes had been, but at least they would be together. +The cataclysm through which they had +all passed, which had brought the prosperous and +the poverty-stricken alike to the common level of +just a few meals away from starvation, would here +bind them together and give them a common +strength for a new grip on life. If there was +food enough to carry them over the four or five +days that would be required to get supplies up +from Lowville or from the head of the new railroad, +then they should stay here.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></div> +<p>The Bishop went swiftly among them, where +already mothers were drawing family groups aside +and parcelling out the doles of food. Already +these mothers were erecting the invisible roof-tree +and drawing around them and theirs the circle of +the hearth, even though it was a circle drawn only +in hot, drifting ashes. The Bishop was an inquisitor +kindly of eye and understanding of heart, +but by no means to be evaded. Unsuspected +stores of bread and beans and tinned meats came +forth from nondescript bundles of clothing and +were laid under his eye. It appeared that Arsene +LaComb had stayed in his little provision store +until the last moment portioning out what was his +with even hand, to each one as much as could be +carried. The Bishop saw that it was all pitifully +little for those who had lived in the village and +for those refugees who had been driven in from +the surrounding hills. But, he thought, it would +do. These were people born to frugality, inured +to scanty living.</p> +<p>The thing now was to give them work for their +hands, to put something before them that was to +be accomplished. For even in the ruin of all +things it is not well for men to sit down in the +ashes and merely wait. They had no tools left +but the axes which they had carried in their hands +to the rafts, but with these they could hew some +sort of shelter out of the loose logs in the lake. +A rough shack of any kind would cover at least +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +the weaker ones until lumber could be brought up +or until a saw could be had for the ruined mill at +the outlet of the lake. It would be slow work and +hard and a makeshift at the best. But it would +put heart into them to see at least something, anything, +begin to rise from the hopeless level of the +ashes.</p> +<p>Three of the hill men had managed to keep +their horses by holding desperately to them all +through the day before and swimming and wading +them through the night in the lake. These +the Bishop despatched to what, as near as he could +judge, were the nearest points from which messages +could be gotten to the world outside the +burnt district. They bore orders to dealers in the +nearest towns for all the things that were immediately +necessary for the life and rebuilding of the +little village. With the orders went the notes of +hand of all the men gathered here who had had +a standing of credit or whose names would mean +anything to the dealers. And, since the world +outside would well know that these men had now +nothing that would make the notes worth while, +each note bore the endorsement of the Bishop of +Alden. For the Bishop knew that there was no +time to wait for charity and its tardy relief. +Credit, that intangible, indefinable thing that alone +makes the life of the world go on, must be established +at once. And it was characteristic of +Joseph Winthrop that, in endorsing the notes of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +penniless, broken men, he did not feel that he +was signing obligations upon himself and his diocese. +He was simply writing down his gospel +of his unbounded, unafraid faith in all true men. +And it is a commentary upon that faith of his that +he was never presented with a single one of the +notes he signed that day.</p> +<p>All the day long men toiled with heart and will, +dragging logs and driftwood from the lake and +cutting, splitting, shaping planks and joists for a +shanty, while the women picked burnt nails and +spikes from the ruins of what had been their +homes. So that when night came down over the +hills there was an actual shelter over the heads of +women and children. And the light spirited, +sanguine people raised cheer after cheer as their +imagination leaped ahead to the new French Village +that would rise glorious out of the ashes of +the old. Then Father Ponfret, catching their +mood, raised for them the hymn to the Good +Saint Anne. They were all men from below +Beaupre and from far Chicothomi where the Good +Saint holds the hearts of all. That hymn had +never been out of their childhood hearing. They +sang it now, old and young, good and bad, their +eyes filling with the quick-welling tears, their +hearts rising high in hope and love and confidence +on the lilt of the air. Even the Bishop, whose +singing voice approached a scandal and whose +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +French has been spoken of before, joined in loud +and unashamed.</p> +<p>Then mothers clucking softly to their offspring +in the twilight brooded them in to shelter +from the night damp of the lake, and men, sharing +odd pieces and wisps of tobacco, lay down to +talk and plan and dropped dead asleep with the +hot pipes still clenched in their teeth.</p> +<p>Also, a bishop, a very tired, weary man, a very +old man to-night, laid his head upon a saddle and +a folded blanket and considered the Mysteries of +God and His world, as the beads slipped through +his fingers and unfolded their story to him.</p> +<p>Two men were stumbling fearfully down +through the ashes of the far slope to the lake. +All day long they had lain on their faces in the +grass just beyond the highest line of the fire. The +fire had gone on past them leaving them safe. +But behind them rose tier upon tier of barren +rocks, and behind those lay a hundred miles nearly +of unknown country. They could not go that +way. They were not, in fact, fit for travel in any +direction. For all the day before they had run, +dodging like hunted rats, between a line of fire––of +their own making––before them, and a line of +armed men behind them. They had outrun the +fire and gotten beyond its edge. They had outrun +the men and escaped them. They were free +of those two enemies. But a third enemy had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +run with them all through the day yesterday and +had stayed with them through all the horror of +last night and it had lain with them through all the +blistering heat of to-day, thirst. Thirst, intolerable, +scorching thirst, drying their bones, splitting +their lips, bulging their eyes. And all day long, +down there before their very eyes, taunting them, +torturing them by its nearness, lay a lake cool and +sweet and deep and wide. It was worse than the +mirage of any desert, for they knew that it was +real. It was not merely the illusion of the sense +of sight. They could perhaps have stood the torture +of one sense. But this lake came up to them +through all their senses. They could feel the air +from it cool upon their brows. The wind brought +the smell of water up to taunt their nostrils. +And, so near did it seem, they could even fancy +that they heard the lapping of the little waves +against the rocks. This last they knew was an +illusion. But, for the matter of that, all might +as well have been an illusion. Armed men, their +enemies who had yesterday chased them with +death in their hearts, were scattered around the +shore of the lake, alert and watching for any one +who might come out of the fringe of shrub and +grass beyond the line of the burnt ground. No +living thing could move down that bare and +whitened hillside toward the lake without being +marked by those armed men. And, for these two +men, to be seen meant to die.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></div> +<p>So they had lain all day on their faces and raved +in their torture. Now when they saw the fires on +the shore where French Village had been beginning +to die down they were stumbling painfully +and crazily down to the water.</p> +<p>They threw themselves down heavily in the +burnt grass at the edge of the lake and drank +greedily, feverishly until they could drink no +more. Then they rolled back dizzily upon the +grass and rested until they could return to drink. +When they had fully slaked their thirst and rested +to let the nausea of weakness pass from them they +realised now that thirst was not the only thing in +the world. It had taken up so much of their recent +thought that they had forgotten everything +else. Now a terrible and gnawing hunger came +upon them and they knew that if they would live +and travel––and they must travel––they would +have to have food at once.</p> +<p>Over there at the end of the lake where the +cooking fires had now died out there were men +lying down to sleep with full stomachs. There +was food over there, food in plenty, food to be +had for the taking! Now it did not seem that +thirst was so terrible, nor were armed men any +great thing to be feared. Hunger was the only +real enemy. Food was the one thing that they +must have, before all else and in spite of all else. +They would go over there and take the food in +the face of all the world!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div> +<p>Brom Bones was hobbled down by the water +side picking drowsily at a few wisps of half-burnt +grass and sniffing discontentedly to himself. +There was a great deal wrong with the world. +He had not, it seemed, seen a spear of fresh grass +for an age. And as for oats, he did not remember +when he had had any. It was true that Ruth +had dug up some baked potatoes out of a field for +him and he had been glad to eat them, but––Fresh +grass! Or oats!</p> +<p>Just then he felt a strange hand slipping his +hobbles. It was nothing to be alarmed at, of +course. But he did not like strange hands around +him. He let fly a swift kick into the dark, and +thought no more of the matter.</p> +<p>A few moments later a man went running softly +toward the horse. He carried a bundle of tinned +meats and preserves slung in a coat. At peril of +his life he had crept up and stolen them from the +common pile that was stacked up at the very door +of the shanty where the women and children +slept. As he came running he grabbed for Brom +Bones’ bridle and tried to launch himself across +the colt’s back. In his leap a can of meat fell and +a sharp corner of it struck and cut deep into Brom +Bones’ hock. The colt squealed and leaped aside.</p> +<p>A man sprang up from the side of a fire, gripping +a rifle and kicking the embers into a blaze. +He saw the man struggling with the horse and +fired. The colt with one unearthly scream of terror +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +leaped and plunged head down towards the +water, shot dead through his stout, faithful +heart.</p> +<p>In a moment twenty men were running into the +dark, shouting and shooting at everything that +seemed to move, while the women and children +screamed and wailed their fright within the little +building.</p> +<p>The two men running with the food for which +they had been willing to give their lives dropped +flat on the ground unhurt. The pursuing men +running wildly stumbled over them. They were +quickly secured and hustled and kicked to their +feet and brought back to the fire.</p> +<p>They must die. And they must die now. +They were in the hands of men whose homes they +had burned, whose dear ones they had menaced +with the most terrible of deaths; men who for +thirty-six hours now had been thirsting to kill +them. The hour had come.</p> +<p>“Take them down to the gully. Build a fire +and dig their graves.” Old Erskine Beasley +spoke the sentence.</p> +<p>A short, sharp cry of satisfaction was the answer. +A cry that suggested the snapping of jaws +let loose upon the prey.</p> +<p>Then Joseph Winthrop stood in the very midst +of the crowd, laying hands upon the two cowering +men, and spoke. A moment before he had +caught his heart saying: This is justice, let it be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +done. But he had cried to God against the sin +that had whispered at his heart, and he spoke now +calmly, as one assured.</p> +<p>“Do we do wisely, men?” he questioned. +“These men are guilty. We know that, for you +saw them almost in the act. The sentence is just, +for they planned what might have been death for +you and yours. But shall only these two be punished? +Are there not others? And if we silence +these two now forever, how shall we be ever able +to find the others?”</p> +<p>“We’ll be sure of these two,” said a sullen +voice in the crowd.</p> +<p>“True,” returned the Bishop, raising his voice. +“But I tell you there are others greater than any +of these who have come into the hills risking their +lives. How shall we find and punish those other +greater ones? And I tell you further there is one, +for it is always one in the end. I tell you there is +one man walking the world to-night without a +thought of danger or disgrace from whose single +mind came all this trouble upon us. That one +man we must find. And I pledge you, my friends +and my neighbours,” he went on raising his hand, +“I pledge you that that one man will be found +and that he will do right by you.</p> +<p>“Before these men die, bring a justice––there +is one of the village––and let them confess before +the world and to him on paper what they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +know of this crime and of those who commanded +it.”</p> +<p>A grudging silence was the only answer, but the +Bishop had won for the time. Old Toussaint +Derossier, the village justice, was brought forward, +fumbling with his beloved wallet of papers, +and made to sit upon an up-turned bucket with a +slab across his knee and write in his long hand of +the <i>rue Henri</i> the story that the men told.</p> +<p>They were ready to tell. They were eager to +spin out every detail of all they knew for they felt +that men stood around them impatient for the +ending of the story, that they might go on with +their task.</p> +<p>The Bishop knew that the real struggle was yet +to come. He must save these men, not only because +it was his duty as a citizen and a Christian +and a priest, but because he foresaw that his +friend, Jeffrey Whiting, might one day be accused +of the killing of a certain man, and that these +men might in that day be able to tell something of +that story which he himself could but must not +tell.</p> +<p>The temper of the crowd was perhaps running +a little lower when the story of the men was +finished. But the Bishop was by no means sure +that he could hold them back from their purpose. +Nevertheless he spoke simply and with a determination +that was not to be mistaken. At the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +first move of the leaders of the hill men to carry +out their intention, he said:</p> +<p>“My men, you shall not do this thing. Shall +not, I say. Shall not. I will prevent. I will +put this old body of mine between. You shall +not move these men from this spot. And if they +are shot, then the bullets must pass through me.</p> +<p>“You will call this thing justice. But you know +in your hearts it is just one thing––Revenge.”</p> +<p>“What business is it of yours?” came an angry +voice out of the crowd.</p> +<p>“It is <i>not</i> my business,” said the Bishop solemnly. +“It is the business of God. Of your +God. Of my God. Am I a meddling priest? +Have I no right to speak God’s name to you, because +we do not believe all the same things? My +business is with the souls of men––of all men. +And never in my life have I so attended to my own +business as I am doing this minute, when I say to +you in the name of God, of the God of my fathers +and your fathers, do not put this sin of murder +upon your souls this night. Have you wives? +Have you mothers? Have you sweethearts? +Can you go back to them with blood upon your +hands and say: A man warned us, but he had no +<i>business</i>!</p> +<p>“Bind these men, I say. Hold them. Fear +not. Justice shall be done. And you will see +right in the end. As you believe in your God, +oh! believe me now! You shall see right!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></div> +<p>The Bishop stopped. He had won. He saw +it in the faces of the men about him. God had +spoken to their hearts, he saw, even through his +feeble and unthought words. He saw it and was +glad.</p> +<p>He saw the men bound. Saw a guard put over +them.</p> +<p>Then he went down near to the lake where a +girl kneeling beside her dead pet wept wildly. +The proud-standing, stout-hearted horse had done +his noble part in saving the life of Joseph +Winthrop, Bishop of Alden. But that Bishop of +Alden, that mover of men, that man of powerful +words, had now no word that he could dare to +say in comfort to this grief.</p> +<p>He covered his face and turned, walking away +through the ashes into the dark. And as he +walked, fingering his beads, he again considered +the things of God and His world.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +<a name='VII_THE_INNER_CITADEL' id='VII_THE_INNER_CITADEL'></a> +<h2>VII</h2> +<h3>THE INNER CITADEL</h3> +</div> +<p>“And, gentlemen of this jury, I propose to +prove to your absolute satisfaction that this defendant, +Jeffrey Whiting, did wilfully and with +prepared design, murder Samuel Rogers on the +morning of August twentieth last. I shall not +only prove to you the existence of a long-standing +hatred harboured by this defendant against the +murdered man, but I will show to you a direct motive +for the crime. And I shall not only prove +circumstantially to you that he and no other could +have done the deed but I shall also convict him out +of the unwilling mouths of his friends and neighbours +who were, to all intents and purposes, actual +eye-witnesses of the crime.”</p> +<p>In the red sandstone courthouse of Racquette +County the District Attorney of the county was +opening the case for the State against Jeffrey +Whiting, charged with the murder of Samuel Rogers, +who had died by the hand of Rafe Gadbeau +that grim morning on the side of Bald Mountain.</p> +<p>From early morning the streets of Danton, the +little county seat of Racquette County, had been +filled with the wagons and horses of the hill people +who had come down for this, the second day +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +of the trial. Yesterday the jury had been selected. +They were all men of the villages and of +the one little city of Racquette County, men whose +lives or property had never been endangered by +forest fires. Judge Leslie in questioning them and +in ruling their selection had made it plain that the +circumstances surrounding the killing of the man +Rogers must have no weight in their minds. +They must be prepared to judge the guilt or innocence +of the prisoner purely on the charge of murder +itself, with no regard for what rumour might +say the victim had been doing at the time.</p> +<p>For the prisoner, it seemed unfortunate that the +man had been killed just a mile or so within the +line of Racquette County. Only a little of the extreme +southeastern corner of that county had been +burned over in the recent fire and in general it had +meant very little to these people. In Tupper +County where Jeffrey Whiting had lived and which +had suffered terribly from the fire it should have +been nearly impossible to select a jury which would +have been willing to convict the slayer of Rogers +under the circumstances. But to the people of +the villages of Racquette County the matter did +not come home. They only knew that a man had +been killed up the corner of the county. A forest +fire had started at about the same time and place. +But few people had any clear version of the story. +And there seemed to be little doubt as to the identity +of the slayer.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></div> +<p>There was another and far more potent reason +why it was unfortunate for Jeffrey Whiting that +Samuel Rogers had died within the lines of +Racquette County. The Judge who sat upon the +bench was the same man who only a few weeks +before had pleaded so unctuously before the Senate +committee for the rights of the downtrodden U. +& M. Railroad against the lawless people of the +hills. He had given the District Attorney every +possible assistance toward the selection of a jury +who would be at least thoughtful of the interests +of the railroad. For this was not merely a murder +trial. It was the case of the people of the +hills against the U. & M. Railroad.</p> +<p>Racquette County was a “railroad” county. +The life of every one of its rising villages depended +absolutely upon the good will of the railroad +system that had spread itself beneficently +over the county and that had given it a prosperity +beyond that of any other county of the North. +Racquette County owed a great deal to the railroad, +and it was not in the disposition or the plans +of the railroad to leave the county in a position +where it might forget the debt. So the railroad +saw to it that only men personally known to its +officials should have public office in the county. +It had put this judge upon this bench. And the +railroad was no niggard to its servants. It paid +him well for the very timely and valuable services +which he was able to render it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></div> +<p>The grip which the railroad corporation had +upon the life of Racquette County was so complex +and varied that it extended to every money-making +affair in the community. It was an intangible +but impenetrable mesh of interests and influences +that extended in every direction and crossed and +intercrossed so that no man could tell where it +ended. But all men could surely tell that these +lines of influence ran from all ends of the county +into the hand of the attorney for the railroad in +Alden and that from his hand they passed on into +the hands of the single great man in New York +whose money and brain dominated the whole +transportation business of the State. All men +knew, too, that those lines passed through the +Capitol at Albany and that no man there, from +the Executive down to the youngest page in the +legislative corridors, was entirely immune from +their influence.</p> +<p>Now the U. & M. Railroad had been openly +charged with having procured the setting of the +fire that had left five hundred hill people homeless +in Tupper and Adirondack Counties. It would, +of course, be impossible to bring the railroad to +trial on such a charge in any county of the State. +The company had really nothing to fear in the way +of criminal prosecution. But the matter had +touched the temper and roused the suspicions of +the great, headless body called the public. The +railroad felt that it must not be silent under even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +a muttered and vague charge of such nature. It +must strike first, and in a spectacular manner. It +must divert the public mind by a counter charge.</p> +<p>Before the rain had come down to wet the ashes +of the fire, the Grand Jury of Racquette County +had been prepared to find an indictment against +Jeffrey Whiting for the murder of Samuel Rogers. +They had found that Samuel Rogers was an agent +of the railroad engaged upon a peaceable and lawful +journey through the hills in the interests of his +company. He had been found shot through the +back of the head and the circumstances surrounding +his death were of such a nature and disposition +as to warrant the finding of a bill against the +young man who for months had been leading a +stubborn fight against the railroad.</p> +<p>The case had been advanced over all others on +the calendar in Judge Leslie’s court, for the railroad +was determined to occupy the mind of the +public with this case until the people should have +had time to forget the sensation of the fire. The +mind at the head of the railroad’s affairs argued +that the mind of the public could hold only one +thing at a time. Therefore it was better to put +this murder case into that mind and keep it there +until some new thing should arise.</p> +<p>The celerity with which Jeffrey Whiting had +been brought to trial; the well-oiled smoothness +with which the machinery of the Grand Jury had +done its work, and the efficient way in which judge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +and prosecuting attorney had worked together for +the selection of what was patently a “railroad” +jury, were all evidence that a strong and confident +power was moving its forces to an assured and +definite end. This judge and this jury would +allow no confusion of circumstances to stand in +the way of a clear-cut verdict. The fact that the +man had been caught in the act of setting fire to the +forests, if the Judge allowed it to appear in the +record at all, would not stand with the jury as +justification, or even extenuation of the deed of +murder charged. The fate of the accused must +hang solely on the question of fact, whether or +not his hand had fired the fatal shot. No other +question would be allowed to enter.</p> +<p>And on that question it seemed that the minds +of all men were already made up. The prisoner’s +friends and associates in the hills had been at first +loud in their commendation of the act which they +had no doubt was his. Now, though they talked +less and less, they still did not deny their belief. +It was known that they had congratulated him on +the very scene of the murder. What room was +there in the mind of any one for doubt as to the +actual facts of the killing? And since his conviction +or acquittal must hinge on that single question, +what room was there to hope for his acquittal?</p> +<p>The hill people had come down from their +ruined homes, where they had been working night +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +and day to put a roof over their families before +the cold should come. They were bitter and sullen +and nervous. They had no doubt whatever +that Jeffrey Whiting had killed the man, and they +had been forced to come down here to tell what +they knew––every word of which would count +against them. They had come down determined +that he should not suffer for his act, which had +been done, as it were, in the name of all of them. +But the rapid certainty in which the machinery +of the law moved on toward its sacrifice unnerved +them. There was nothing for them to do, it +seemed, but to sit there, idle and glum, waiting +for the end.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting sat listening stolidly to the +opening arraignment by the District Attorney. +He was not surprised by any of it. The chain of +circumstances which had begun to wrap itself +around him that morning on Bald Mountain had +never for a moment relaxed its tightening hold +upon him. He had followed his friends that day +and all of that night and had reached Lowville +early the next day. He had found his mother +there safe and his aunt and even Cassius Bascom, +but had been horrified to learn that Ruth Lansing +had turned back into the face of the fire in an effort +to find and bring back the Bishop of Alden. No +word had been had of either of them. He had +told his mother exactly what had happened in the +hills. He had been ready to kill the man. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +had wished to do so. But another had fired before +he did. He had not, in fact, used his gun at +all. She had believed him implicitly, of course. +Why should she not? If he had actually shot the +man he would have told her that just as exactly +and truthfully. But Jeffrey was aware that she +was the only person who did or would believe him.</p> +<p>He was just on the point of mounting one of his +mother’s horses, to go up into the lower hills in +the hope of finding Ruth wandering somewhere, +when he was placed under arrest for the murder of +Rogers. The two men who had escaped down +the line of the chain had gotten quickly to a telegraph +line and had made their report. The railroad +people had taken their decision and had acted +on the instant. The warrant was ready and waiting +for Jeffrey before he even reached Lowville.</p> +<p>When he had been taken out of his own county +and brought before the Grand Jury in Racquette +County, he realised that any hope he might have +had for a trial on the moral merits of the case was +thereby lost. Unless he could find and actually +produce that other man, whoever he was, who had +fired the shot, his own truthful story was useless. +His own friends who had been there at hand +would not believe his oath.</p> +<p>His mother and Ruth Lansing sat in court in +the front seats just to the right of him. From time +to time he turned to smile reassuringly at them +with a confidence that he was far from feeling. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +His mother smiled back through glistening grey +eyes, all the while marking with a twinge at her +heart the great sharp lines that were cutting deep +into the big boyish face of her son. Mostly she +was thinking of the morning, just a few months +ago when her little boy, suddenly and unaccountably +grown to the size of a tall man, had been +obliged to lift up her face to kiss her. He was +going down into the big world, to conquer it and +bring it home for her. With that boyish forgetfulness +of everything but his own plans of conquest, +which is at once the pride and the heart-stab +of every mother with her man child, he had kissed +her and told her the old, old lie that we all have +told––that he would be back in a little while, that +all would be the same again. And she had smiled +up into his face and had compounded the lie with +him.</p> +<p>Then in that very moment the man Rogers had +come. And the mother heart in her was not +gentle at the thought of him. He had come like +a trail of evil across their lives, embittering the +hearts of all of them. Never since she had seen +him had she slept a good night. Never had she +been able to drop asleep without a hard thought of +him. Even now, the thought of him lying in an +unhonoured grave among the ashes of the hills +could not soften her heart toward him. The +gentle, kindly heart of her was very near to hating +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +even the dead as she thought of her boy brought +to this pass because of that man.</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing had come twice to the county jail +in Danton with his mother to see Jeffrey. They +had not been left alone, but she had clung to him +and kissed him boldly as though by her right before +all men. The first time he had watched her +sharply, looking almost savagely to see her shrink +away from him in pity and fear of his guilt, as +he had seen men who had been his friends shrink +away from him. But there had been not a shadow +of that in Ruth, and his heart leaped now as he +remembered how she had walked unafraid into +his arms, looking him squarely and bravely in the +eyes and crying to him to forget the foolish words +that she had said to him that last day in the hills. +In that pulsing moment Jeffrey had looked into +her eyes and had seen there not the love of the +little girl that he had known but the unbounded +love and confidence of the woman who would give +herself to him for life or death. He had seen +it; the look of all the women of earth who love, +whose feet go treading in tenderness and undying +pity, whose hands are fashioned for the healing of +torn hearts.</p> +<p>It was only when she had gone, and when he in +the loneliness of his cell was reliving the hour, +that he remembered that she had scarcely listened +to his story of the morning in the hills. Of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +course, she had heard his story from his mother +and was probably already so familiar with it that +it had lost interest for her. But no, that was not +like Ruth. She was always a direct little person, +who wanted to know the exact how and why of +everything first hand. She would not have been +satisfied with anybody’s telling of the matter but +his own.</p> +<p>Then a horrible suspicion leaped into his mind +and struck at his heart. Could it be that she had +over-acted it all? Could it be that she had +brushed aside his story because she really did not +believe it and could not listen to it without betraying +her doubt? And had she blinded him +with her pity? Had she acted all––!</p> +<p>He threw himself down on his cot and writhed +in blind despair. Might not even his mother have +deceived him! Might not she too have been acting! +What did he care now for name or liberty, +or life itself! The girl had mocked him with +what he thought was love, when it was only––!</p> +<p>But his good sense brought him back and set +him on his feet. Ruth was no actress. And if +she had been the greatest actress the world had +ever seen she could not have acted that flooding +love light into her eyes.</p> +<p>He threw back his head, laughing softly, and +began to pace his cell rapidly. There was some +other explanation. Either she had deliberately +put his story aside in order to keep the whole of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +their little time together entirely to themselves, or +Ruth knew something that made his story unimportant.</p> +<p>She had been through the fire herself. Both +she and the Bishop must have gone straight +through it from their home in its front line to the +rear of it at French Village. How, no one could +tell. Jeffrey had heard wild tales of the exploit–– The +French people had made many +wonders of the coming of these two to them in +the hour of their deliverance, the one the Bishop +of their souls, the other the young girl just baptised +by Holy Church and but little differing from +the angels.</p> +<p>Who could tell, thought Jeffrey, what the fire +might have revealed to one or both of these two +as they went through it. Perhaps there were +other men who had not been accounted for. +Then he remembered Rafe Gadbeau. He had +been with Rogers. He had once waylaid Jeffrey +at Rogers’ command. Might it not be that the +bullet which killed Rogers was intended for +Jeffrey himself! He must have been almost in +the line of that bullet, for Rogers had been facing +him squarely and the bullet had struck Rogers +fairly in the back of the head.</p> +<p>Or again, people had said that Rogers had possessed +some sort of mysterious hold over Rafe +Gadbeau, and that Gadbeau did his bidding unwillingly, +under a pressure of fear. What if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +Gadbeau there under the excitement of the fire, +and certain that another man would be charged +with the killing, had decided that here was the +time and place to rid himself of the man who had +made him his slave!</p> +<p>The thing fascinated him, as was natural; and, +pacing his cell, stopping between mouthfuls of his +food as he sat at the jail table, sitting up in his cot +in the middle of the night to think, Jeffrey caught +at every scrap of theory and every thread of fact +that would fit into the story as it must have happened. +He wandered into many blind trails of +theory and explanation, but, strange as it was, he +at last came upon the truth––and stuck to it.</p> +<p>Gadbeau had killed Rogers. Gadbeau had +been caught in the fire and had almost burned to +death. He had managed to reach the place where +Ruth and the Bishop had found refuge. He had +died there in their presence. He had confessed. +The Catholics always told the truth when they +were going to die. Ruth and the Bishop had +heard him. Ruth <i>knew</i>. The Bishop <i>knew</i>.</p> +<p>When Ruth came again, he watched her closely; +and saw––just what he had expected to see. +Ruth <i>knew</i>. It was not only her love and her +confidence in him. She had none of the little whispering, +torturing doubts that must sometimes, unbidden, +rise to frighten even his mother. Ruth +<i>knew</i>.</p> +<p>That she should not tell him, or give him any +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +outward hint of what she was hiding in her mind, +did not surprise him. It was a very serious matter +this with Catholics. It was a sacred matter +with anybody, to carry the secret of a dead man. +Ruth would not speak unnecessarily of it. When +the proper time came, and there was need, she +would speak. For the present––Ruth <i>knew</i>. +That was enough.</p> +<p>When the Bishop came down from Alden to see +him, Jeffrey watched him as he had watched Ruth. +He had never been very observant. He had +never had more than a boy’s careless indifference +and disregard of details in his way of looking at +men and things. But much thinking in the dark +had now given him intuitions that were now sharp +and sensitive as those of a woman. He was +quick to know that the grip of the Bishop’s hand +on his, the look of the Bishop’s eye into his, were +not those of a man who had been obliged to fight +against doubts in order to keep his faith in him. +That grip and that look were not those of a man +who wished to believe, who tried to believe, who +told himself and was obliged to keep on telling +himself that he believed in spite of all. No. +Those were the grip and the look of a man who +<i>knew</i>. The Bishop <i>knew</i>.</p> +<p>It was even easier to understand the Bishop’s +silence than it had been to see why Ruth might not +speak of what she knew. The Bishop was an +official in a high place, entrusted with a dark secret. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +He must not speak of such things without a very +serious cause. But, of course, there was nothing +in this world so sacred as the life of an innocent +man. Of course, when the time and the need +came, the Bishop would speak.</p> +<p>So Jeffrey had pieced together his fragments of +fact and deduction. So he had watched and discovered +and reasoned and debated with himself. +He had not, of course, said a word of these things +to any one. The result was that, while he listened +to the plans which his lawyer, young Emmet +Dardis, laid for his defence––plans which, in +the face of the incontestable facts which would be +brought against them, would certainly amount to +little or nothing––he really paid little attention +to them. For, out of his reasoning and out of +the things his heart felt, he had built up around +himself an inner citadel, as it were, of defence +which no attack could shake. He had come to +feel, had made himself feel, that his life and his +name were absolutely safe in the keeping of these +two people––the one a girl who loved him and +who would give her life for him, and the other a +true friend, a man of God, a true man. He had +nothing to fear. When the time came these two +would speak. It was true that he was outwardly +depressed by the concise and bitter conviction in +the words of the prosecuting attorney. For +Lemuel Squires was of the character that makes +the most terrible of criminal prosecutors––an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +honest, narrow man who was always absolutely +convinced of the guilt of the accused from the +moment that a charge had been made. But inwardly +he had no fear.</p> +<p>The weight of evidence that would be brought +against him, the fact that his own best friends +would be obliged to give their oaths against him, +the very feeling of being accused and of having +to scheme and plan to prove his innocence to a +world that––except here and there––cared not +a whit whether he was innocent or guilty, all these +things bowed his head and brought his eyes down +to the floor. But they could not touch that inner +wall that he had built around himself. Ruth +<i>knew</i>; the Bishop <i>knew</i>.</p> +<p>The rasping speech of the prosecutor was +finished at last.</p> +<p>Old Erskine Beasley was the first witness called.</p> +<p>The prosecuting attorney took him sharply in +hand at once for though he had been called as a +witness for the prosecution it was well known +that he was unwilling to testify at all. So the attorney +had made no attempt to school him beforehand, +and he was determined now to allow him +to give only direct answers to the questions put to +him.</p> +<p>Two or three times the old man attempted to +explain, at the end of an answer, just why he had +gone up into the high hills the night before the +twentieth of August––that he had heard that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +Rogers and a band of men had gone into the +woods to start fires. But he was ordered to stop, +and these parts of his answers were kept out of the +record. Finally he was rebuked savagely by the +Judge and ordered to confine himself to answering +the lawyer’s questions, on pain of being arrested +for contempt. It was a high-handed proceeding +that showed the temper and the intention of the +Judge and a stir of protest ran around the courtroom. +But old Erskine Beasley was quelled. +He gave only the answers that the prosecutor +forced from him.</p> +<p>“Did you hear a shot fired?” he was asked.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Did you hear two shots fired?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Did you see Jeffrey Whiting’s gun?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Did you examine it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Had it been fired off?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Excused,” snapped the prosecutor. And the +old man, almost in tears, came down from the +stand. He knew that his simple yes and no answers +had made the most damaging sort of evidence.</p> +<p>Then the prosecutor went back in the story to +establish a motive. He called several witnesses +who had been agents of the railroad and associated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +in one way or another with the murdered +man in his efforts to get options on the farm lands +in the hills. Even these witnesses, though they +were ready to give details and opinions which +might have been favorable to his side of the case, +he held down strictly to answering with a word +his own carefully thought out questions.</p> +<p>With these answers the prosecutor built up a +solid continuity of cause and effect from the day +when Rogers had first come into the hills to offer +Jeffrey Whiting a part in the work with himself +right up to the moment when the two had faced +each other that morning on Bald Mountain.</p> +<p>He showed that Jeffrey Whiting had begun to +undermine and oppose Rogers’ work from the +first. He showed why. Jeffrey Whiting came of +a family well known and trusted in the hills. The +young man had been quick to grasp the situation +and to believe that he could keep the people from +dealing at all with Rogers. Rogers’ work would +then be a failure. Jeffrey Whiting would then +be pointed to as the only man who could get the +options from the people. They would sell or +hold out at his word. The railroad would have +to deal with him direct, and at his terms.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting had gotten promises from +many of the owners that they would not sell or +even sign any paper until such time as he gave +them the word. Did those promises bind the +people to him? They did. Did they have the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +same effect as if Jeffrey Whiting had obtained +actual options on the property? Yes. Would +the people stand by their promises? Yes. Then +Whiting had actually been obtaining what were +really options to himself, while pretending to hold +the people back in their own interest? Yes.</p> +<p>The prosecutor went on to draw out answer +after answer tending to show that it was not really +a conflict between the people and the railroad +that had been making trouble in the hills all summer; +that it was, in fact, merely a personal struggle +for influence and gain between Jeffrey Whiting +and the man who had been killed. It was skilfully +done and drawn out with all the exaggerated +effect of truth which bald negative and affirmative +answers invariably carry.</p> +<p>He went on to show that a bitter hatred had +grown up between the two men. Rogers had been +accused of hiring men to get Whiting out of the +way at a time in the early summer when many of +the people about French Village had been prepared +to sign Rogers’ options. Rogers had been +obliged to fly from the neighbourhood on account +of Whiting’s anger. He had not returned to the +hills until the day before he was killed.</p> +<p>The people in the hills had talked freely of +what had happened on Bald Mountain on the +morning of August twentieth and in the hills during +the afternoon and night preceding. The +prosecutor knew the incidents and knew what men +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +had said to each other. He now called Myron +Stocking.</p> +<p>“Did you meet Jeffrey Whiting on the afternoon +of August nineteenth?” was the question.</p> +<p>“I went lookin’ for him, to tell––”</p> +<p>“Answer, yes or no?” shouted the attorney.</p> +<p>“Yes,” the witness admitted sullenly.</p> +<p>“Did you tell him that Rogers was in the +hills?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Did he take his gun from you and start immediately?”</p> +<p>“He followed me,” the witness began. But +the Judge rapped warningly and the attorney +yelled:</p> +<p>“Yes or no?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Did you see Rogers in the morning?”</p> +<p>“Yes, he was settin’ fire to––” The Judge +hammering furiously with his gavel drowned his +words. The attorney went on:</p> +<p>“Did you hear a shot?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Did you hear two shots?”</p> +<p>“The fire”––was making a lot of noise, he +tried to say. But his voice was smothered by +eruptions from the court and the attorney. He +was finally obliged to say that he had heard but +one shot. Then he was asked:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></div> +<p>“What did you say when you came up and saw +the dead man?”</p> +<p>“I said, ‘Mine got away, Jeff.’”</p> +<p>“What else did you say?”</p> +<p>“I said, ‘What’s the difference, any of us +would’ve done it if we had the chance.’”</p> +<p>“Whiting’s gun had been fired?” asked the attorney, +working back.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“One question more and I will excuse you,” +said the attorney, with a show of friendliness––“I +see it is hard for you to testify against your +friend. Did you, standing there with the facts +fresh before you, conclude that Jeffrey Whiting +had fired the shot which killed Rogers?”</p> +<p>To this Emmet Dardis vigorously objected that +it was not proper, that the answer would not be +evidence. But the Judge overruled him sharply, +reminding him that this witness had been called +by the prosecution, that it was not the business of +opposing counsel to protect him. The witness +found himself forced to answer a simple yes.</p> +<p>One by one the other men who had been present +that fatal morning were called. Their answers +were identical, and as each one was forced +to give his yes to that last fateful question, condemning +Jeffrey Whiting out of the mouths of his +friends who had stood on the very ground of the +murder, it seemed that every avenue of hope for +him was closing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></div> +<p>On cross-examination, Emmet Dardis could do +little with the witnesses. He was gruffly reminded +by the Judge that the witnesses were not +his, that he must not attempt to draw any fresh +stories from them, that he might only examine +them on the facts which they had stated to the +District Attorney. And as the prosecutor had +pinned his witnesses down absolutely to answers +of known fact, there was really nothing in their +testimony that could be attacked.</p> +<p>With a feeling of uselessness and defeat, Emmet +Dardis let the last witness go. The State +promptly rested its case.</p> +<p>Dardis began calling his witnesses. He realised +how pitifully inadequate their testimony +would be when placed beside the chain of facts +which the District Attorney had pieced together. +They were in the main character witnesses, hardly +more. They could tell only of their long acquaintance +with Jeffrey Whiting, of their belief in +him, of their firm faith that in holding the people +back from giving the options to Rogers and the +railroad he had been acting in absolute good faith +and purely in the interests of the people. Not +one of these men had been near the scene of the +murder, for the railroad had planned its campaign +comprehensively and had subpœnaed for its +side every man who could have had any direct +knowledge of the events leading up to the tragedy. +As line after line of their testimony was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +stricken from the record, as being irrelevant, it +was seen that the defence had little or no case. +Finally the Judge, tiring of ruling on the single +objections, made a general ruling that no testimony +which did not tend to reveal the identity +of the man who had shot Rogers could go into the +record.</p> +<p>Bishop Joseph Winthrop of Alden sat anxiously +watching the course of the trial. Beside +him sat little Father Ponfret from French Village. +The little French priest looked up from +time to time and guardedly studied the long angular +white head of his bishop as it towered above +him. He did not know, but he could guess some +of the struggle that was going on in the mind and +the heart of the Bishop.</p> +<p>The Bishop had come down to the trial to give +what aid he could, in the way of showing his confidence +and faith, to the case of the boy who stood +in peril of his life. In the beginning, when he +had first heard of Jeffrey’s arrest, he had not +thought it possible that, even had he been guilty +of actually firing the shot, Jeffrey could be convicted +under such circumstances. Men must see +that the act was in defence of life and property. +But as he listened to the progress of the trial he +realised sadly that he had very much underestimated +the seriousness of the railroad people in the +matter and the hold which they had upon the machinery +of justice in Racquette County.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div> +<p>He had gladly offered to go upon the stand and +tell the reason why Jeffrey Whiting had entered +into this fight against the railroad. He would associate +himself and his own good name with the +things that Jeffrey Whiting had done, so that the +two might stand before men together. But he +now saw that it would be of no avail. His words +would be swept aside as irrelevant.</p> +<p>One thing and only one thing would now avail +Jeffrey Whiting. This morning on his arrival in +Danton, the Bishop had been angered at learning +that the two men whose lives he had +saved that night by the lake at French Village +had escaped from the train as they were being +brought from Lowville to Danton to testify at +this trial.</p> +<p>Whether they could have told anything of value +to Jeffrey Whiting was not known. Certainly +they were now gone, and, almost surely, by the +connivance of the railroad people. The Bishop +had their confession in his pocket at this minute, +but there was nothing in it concerning the murder. +He had intended to read it into the record of the +trial. He saw that he would not be allowed to +do so.</p> +<p>One thing and only one thing would now avail +Jeffrey Whiting. Jeffrey Whiting would be condemned +to death, unless, within the hour, a man +or woman should rise up in this room and swear: +Jeffrey Whiting did not kill Samuel Rogers. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +Rafe Gadbeau did the deed. I saw him. Or––He +told me so.</p> +<p>The Bishop remembered how that day last winter +he had set the boy upon this course which had +brought him here into this court and into the +shadow of public disgrace and death. If Jeffrey +Whiting had actually fired the shot that had cut +off a human life, would not he, Joseph, Bishop of +Alden, have shared a measure of the responsibility? +He would.</p> +<p>And if Jeffrey Whiting, through no fault of +his own, but through a chain of circumstances, +stood now in danger of death, was not he, Joseph +Winthrop, who had started the boy into the midst +of these circumstances, in a way responsible? He +was.</p> +<p>Could Joseph Winthrop by rising up in this +court and saying: “Rafe Gadbeau killed Samuel +Rogers––He told me so”––could he thus +save Jeffrey Whiting from a felon’s fate? He +could. Nine words, no more, would do.</p> +<p>And if he could so save Jeffrey Whiting and +did not do what was necessary––did not speak +those nine words––would he, Joseph Winthrop, +be responsible for the death or at least the imprisonment +and ruin of Jeffrey Whiting? He +would.</p> +<p>Then what would Joseph Winthrop do? +Would he speak those nine words? He would +not.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span></div> +<p>There was no claim of life or death that had +the force to break the seal and let those nine words +escape his lips.</p> +<p>There was no conflict, no battle, no indecision +in the Bishop’s mind as he sat there waiting for +his name to be called. He loved the boy who sat +there in the prisoner’s stand before him. He felt +responsible for him and the situation in which he +was. He cared nothing for the dead man or the +dead man’s secret, as such. Yet he would go +up there and defy the law of humanity and the +law of men, because he was bound by the law that +is beyond all other law; the law of the eternal salvation +of men’s souls.</p> +<p>But there was no reasoning, no weighing of +the issue in his mind. His course was fixed by the +eternal Institution of God. There was nothing +to be determined, nothing to be argued. He was +caught between the greater and the lesser law and +he could only stand and be ground between the +working of the two.</p> +<p>If he had reasoned he would have said that Almighty +God had ordained the salvation of men +through the confession of sin. Therefore the salvation +of men depended on the inviolability of the +seal of the confessional. But he did not reason. +He merely sat through his torture, waiting.</p> +<p>When his name was called, he walked heavily +forward and took his place standing beside the +chair that was set for him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></div> +<p>At Dardis’ question, the Bishop began to speak +freely and rapidly. He told of the coming of +Jeffrey Whiting to him for advice. He repeated +what he had said to the boy, and from that point +went on to sketch the things that had been happening +in the hills. He wanted to get clearly before +the minds of the jurymen the fact that he +had advised and directed Jeffrey Whiting in everything +that the boy had done.</p> +<p>The Judge was loath to show any open discourtesy +to the Bishop. But he saw that he must +stop him. His story could not but have a powerful +effect upon even this jury. Looking past the +Bishop and addressing Dardis, he said:</p> +<p>“Is this testimony pertinent?”</p> +<p>“It is, if Your Honor pardon me,” said +the Bishop, turning quickly. “It goes to prove +that Jeffrey Whiting could not have committed +the crime charged, any more than I could have +done so.”</p> +<p>The Bishop did not stop to consider carefully +the logic or the legal phraseology of his answer. +He hurried on with his story to the jury. He +related his message from Albany to Jeffrey Whiting. +He told of his ride into the hills. He told +of the capture of the two men in the night at +French Village. They should be here now as +witnesses. They had escaped. But he held in his +hand a written confession, written and sealed by a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +justice of the peace, made by the two men. He +would read this to the jury.</p> +<p>He began reading rapidly. But before he had +gotten much past the opening sentences, the Judge +saw that this would not do. It was the story of +the plan to set the fire, and it must not be read in +court.</p> +<p>He rapped sharply with his gavel, and when +the Bishop stopped, he asked:</p> +<p>“Is the murder of Samuel Rogers mentioned +in that paper?”</p> +<p>“No, Your Honor. But there are––”</p> +<p>“It is irrelevant,” interrupted the Judge +shortly. “It cannot go before the jury.”</p> +<p>The Bishop was beaten; he knew he could do +no more.</p> +<p>Emmet Dardis was desperate. There was not +the slightest hope for his client––unless––unless. +He knew that Rafe Gadbeau had made confession +to the Bishop. He had wanted to ask +the Bishop this morning, if there was not some +way. He had not dared. Now he dared. The +Bishop stood waiting for his further questions. +There might be some way or some help, thought +Dardis; maybe some word had dropped which was +not a part of the real confession. He said +quickly:</p> +<p>“You were with Rafe Gadbeau at his death?”</p> +<p>“I was.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></div> +<p>“What did he say to you?”</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting leaned forward in his chair, +his eyes eager and confident. His heart shouting +that here was his deliverance. Here was the +hour and the need! The Bishop would speak!</p> +<p>The Bishop’s eyes fell upon the prisoner for +an instant. Then he looked full into the eyes of +his questioner and he answered:</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>“That will do. Thank you, Bishop,” said +Dardis in a low, broken voice.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting fell back in his chair. The +light of confidence died slowly, reluctantly out of +his eyes. The Bishop had spoken. The Bishop +had <i>lied</i>! He <i>knew</i>! And he had <i>lied</i>!</p> +<p>As the Bishop walked slowly back to his seat, +Ruth Lansing saw the terrible suffering of the +spirit reflected in his face. If she were questioned +about that night, she must do as he had done.</p> +<p>Mother in Heaven, she prayed in agony, must +I do that? <i>Can</i> I do that?</p> +<p>Oh! She had never thought it would come to +this. How <i>could</i> it happen like this! How could +any one think that she would ever stand like this, +alone in all the world, with the fate of her love +in her hands, and not be able to speak the few +little words that would save him to her and life!</p> +<p>She <i>would</i> save him! She <i>would</i> speak the +words! What did she care for that wicked man +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +who had died yelling out that he was a murderer? +Why should she keep a secret of his? One night +in the early summer she had lain all through the +night in the woods outside a cabin and wished +for a way to kill that man. Why should she +guard a secret that was no good to him or to any +one now?</p> +<p>Who was it that said she must not speak? +The Catholic Church. Then she would be a Catholic +no longer. She would renounce it this minute. +She had never promised anything like this. +But, on the instant, she knew that that would not +free her. She knew that she could throw off the +outward garment of the Church, but still she +would not be free to speak the words. The +Church itself could not free her from the seal of +the secret. What use, then, to fly from the +Church, to throw off the Church, when the bands +of silence would still lie mighty and unbreakable +across her lips.</p> +<p>That awful night on the Gaunt Rocks flamed up +before her, and what she saw held her.</p> +<p>What she saw was not merely a church giving +a sacrament. It was not the dramatic falling of +a penitent at the feet of a priest. It was not a +poor Frenchman of the hills screaming out his +crime in the agony and fear of death.</p> +<p>What she saw was a world, herself standing all +alone in it. What she saw was the soul of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +world giving up its sin into the scale of God from +which––Heart break or world burn!––that sin +must never be disturbed.</p> +<p>As she went slowly across the front of the room +in answer to her name, a girl came out of one of +the aisles and stood almost in her path. Ruth +looked up and found herself staring dully into +the fierce, piercing eyes of Cynthe Cardinal. She +saw the look in those eyes which she had recognised +for the first time that day at French Village––the +terrible mother-hunger look of love, +ready to die for its own. And though the girl +said nothing, Ruth could hear the warning words: +Remember! You love Jeffrey Whiting.</p> +<p>How well that girl knew!</p> +<p>Dardis had called Ruth only to contradict a +point which he had not been able to correct in the +testimony of Myron Stocking. But since he had +dared to bring up the matter of Rafe Gadbeau to +the Bishop, he had become more desperate, and +bolder. Ruth might speak. And there was always +a chance that the dying man had said something +to her.</p> +<p>“You were with Jeffrey Whiting on the afternoon +when word was brought to him that suspicious +men had been seen in the hills?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“Was the name of Rogers mentioned by either +Stocking or Whiting?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></div> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>Then he flashed the question upon her:</p> +<p>“What did Rafe Gadbeau say when he was +dying?”</p> +<p>Ruth staggered, quivering in every nerve. +The impact of the sudden, startling question leaping +upon her over-wrought mind was nothing to +what followed. For, in answer to the question, +there came a scream, a terrified, agonised scream, +mingled of fright and remorse and––relief. A +scream out of the fire. A scream from death. +<i>On my knee I dropped and shot him, shot Rogers +as he stood.</i></p> +<p>Again Jeffrey Whiting leaned forward smiling. +Again the inner citadel of his hope stood +strong about him. Ruth was there to speak the +word that would free him! Her love would set +him free! It was the time. Ruth <i>knew</i>. He +would rather have it this way. He was almost +glad that the Bishop had lied. Ruth <i>knew</i>. +Ruth would speak.</p> +<p>The words of that terrible scream went searing +through Ruth’s brain and down into the very +roots of her being. Oh! for the power to shout +them out to the ends of the earth!</p> +<p>But she looked levelly at Dardis and in a clear +voice answered:</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>Then, at his word, she stumbled down out of +the stand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></div> +<p>Again Jeffrey Whiting fell back into his seat.</p> +<p><i>Ruth</i> had <i>lied</i>!</p> +<p>The walls of his inner citadel had fallen in and +crushed him.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +<a name='VIII_SEIGNEUR_DIEU_WHITHER_GO_I' id='VIII_SEIGNEUR_DIEU_WHITHER_GO_I'></a> +<h2>VIII</h2> +<h3>SEIGNEUR DIEU, WHITHER GO I?</h3> +</div> +<p>The Bishop walked brokenly from the courthouse +and turned up the street toward the little +church. He had not been the same man since his +experience of those two terrible nights in the +hills. They had aged him and shaken him visibly. +But those nights of suffering and superhuman effort +had only attacked him physically. They had +broken the spring of his step and had drawn +heavily upon the vigour and the vital reserves +which his years of simple living had left stored +up in him. He had fought with fire. He had +looked death in the face. He had roused his soul +to master the passions of men. No man who has +already reached almost the full allotted span of +life may do these things without showing the outward +effects of them. But these things had struck +only at the clay of the body. They had not +touched the quick spirit of the man within.</p> +<p>The trial through which he had passed to-day +had cut deep into the spiritual fibre of his being. +If Joseph Winthrop had been given the alternative +of speaking his secret or giving up his life, he +would have offered the few years that might be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +his, without question or halting. For he was a +man of simple, single mind. He never quibbled +or thought of taking back any of the things which +he had given to Christ. Thirty years ago he had +made his compact with the Master, and he had +never blinked the fact that every time a priest puts +on a stole to receive the secret of another’s soul +he puts his life in pledge for the sanctity of that +secret. It was a simple business, unclouded by +any perplexities or confusion.</p> +<p>Never had he thought of the alternative which +had this day been forced upon him. Years ago +he had given his own life entire to Christ. The +snapping of it here at this point or a few spaces +farther on would be a matter of no more moment +than the length of a thread. This world had +nothing to give him, nothing to withhold from +him. But to guard his secret at the cost of another +life, and that a young, vigorous, battling +life full of future and promise, full of youth and +the glory of living, the life of a boy he loved––that +was another matter. Never had he reckoned +with a thing such as that. Life had always been +so direct, so square-cut for Joseph Winthrop. To +think right, to do right, to serve God; these things +had always seemed very simple. But the thing +that he had done to-day was breaking his heart. +He could not have done otherwise. He had been +given no choice, to be sure.</p> +<p>But was it possible that God would have allowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +things to come to that issue, if somewhere, +at some turn in that line of circumstances which +had led up to this day, Joseph Winthrop had not +done a wrong? It did not seem possible. Somewhere +he had done wrong or he had done foolishly––and, +where men go to direct the lives of +others, to do unwisely is much the same as to do +wickedly.</p> +<p>What use to go over the things that he had +done, the things that he had advised? What use +to say, here he had done his best, there he thought +only of the right and the wise thing. Somewhere +he had spoken foolishly, or he had been headstrong +in his interference, or he had acted without +thought and prayer. What use to go over the +record? He could only carry this matter to God +and let Him see his heart.</p> +<p>He stumbled in the half light of the darkened +little church and sank heavily into the last pew. +Out of the sorrow and anguish of his heart he +cried out from afar to the Presence on the little +altar, where he, Bishop of Alden, had often +spoken with much authority.</p> +<p>When Cynthe Cardinal saw Ruth Lansing go up +into the witness stand she sank down quietly into +a front seat and seemed fairly to devour the other +girl with the steady gaze of her fierce black eyes. +She hung upon every fleeting wave of the contending +emotions that showed themselves on Ruth’s +face. She was convinced that this girl knew that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +Rafe Gadbeau had confessed to the murder of +Samuel Rogers and that Jeffrey Whiting was innocent. +She had not thought that Ruth would be +called as a witness, and Dardis, in fact, had only +decided upon it at the last moment.</p> +<p>Once Cynthe Cardinal had been very near to +hating this girl, for she had seen Rafe Gadbeau +leave herself at a dance, one afternoon a very long +time ago, and spend the greater part of the afternoon +talking gaily to Ruth Lansing. Now Rafe +Gadbeau was gone. There was nothing left of +him whom Cynthe Cardinal had loved but a memory. +But that memory was as much to her as was +the life of Jeffrey Whiting to this other girl. She +was sorry for the other girl. Who would not be? +What would that girl do? If the question was not +asked directly, it was not likely that the girl would +tell what she knew. She would not wish to tell. +She would certainly try to avoid it. But if the +question came to her of a sudden, without warning, +without time for thought? What then? +Would that girl be strong enough to deny, to deny +and to keep on denying?</p> +<p>Who could tell? The girl was a Catholic. +But she was a convert. She did not know the +terrible secret of the confessional as they knew it +who had been born to the Faith.</p> +<p>Cynthe herself had meant to keep away from +this trial. She knew it was no place for her to +carry the awful secret that she had hidden away +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +in her heart. No matter how deeply she might +have it hidden, the fear hung over her that men +would probe for it. A word, a look, a hint might +be enough to set some on the search for it and +she had had a superstition that it was a secret of a +nature that it could not be hidden forever. Some +day some one would tear it from her heart. She +knew that it was dangerous for her to be in Danton +during these days when the hill people were +talking of nothing but the killing of Rogers and +hunting for any possible fact that might make +Jeffrey Whiting’s story believable. But she had +been drawn irresistibly to the trial and had sat all +day yesterday and to-day listening feverishly, +avidly to every word that was said, waiting to +hear, and praying against hearing the name of +the man she had loved. The idea of protecting +his name and his memory from the blight of his +deed had become more than a religion, more than +a sacred trust to her. It filled not only her own +thought and life but it seemed even to take up that +great void in her world which Rafe Gadbeau had +filled.</p> +<p>When she had heard his name mentioned in that +sudden questioning of the Bishop, she had almost +jumped from her seat to cry out to him that he +must know nothing. But that was foolish, she +reflected. They might as well have asked the +stones on the top of the Gaunt Rocks to tell Rafe +Gadbeau’s secret as to ask it from the Bishop.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></div> +<p>But this girl was different. You could not tell +what she might do under the test. If she stood +the test, if she kept the seal unbroken upon her +lips, then would Cynthe be her willing slave for +life. She would love that girl, she would fetch +for her, work for her, die for her!</p> +<p>When that point-blank question came leaping +upon the tortured girl in the stand, Cynthe rose +to her feet. She expected to hear the girl stammer +and blurt out something that would give them +a chance to ask her further questions. But when +she saw the girl reel and quiver in pain, when she +saw her gasp for breath and self-control, when she +saw the hunted agony in her eyes, a great light +broke in upon the heart of Cynthe Cardinal. +Here was not a pale girl of the convent who could +not know what love was! Here was a woman, +a sister woman, who could suffer, who for the sake +of one greater thing could trample her love under +foot, and who could and did sum it all up in one +steady word––“Nothing.”</p> +<p>Cynthe Cardinal revolted. Her quickened +heart could not look at the torture of the other +girl. She wanted to run forward and throw herself +at the feet of the other girl as she came staggering +down from the stand and implore her pardon. +She wanted to cry out to her that she must +tell! That no man, alive or dead, was worth +all this! For Cynthe Cardinal knew that truth +bitterly. Instead, she turned and ran like a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +frightened, wild thing out of the room and up the +street.</p> +<p>She had seen the Bishop come direct from the +little church to the court. And as she watched +his face when he came down from the stand, she +knew instinctively that he was going back there. +Cynthe understood. Even M’sieur the Bishop +who was so wise and strong, he was troubled. He +thought much of the young Whiting. He would +have business with God.</p> +<p>She slipped noiselessly in at the door of the +church and saw the Bishop kneeling there at the +end of the pew, bowed and broken.</p> +<p>He was first aware of her when he heard a +frightened, hurrying whisper at his elbow. Some +one was kneeling in the aisle beside him, saying:</p> +<p><i>Mon Pere, je me ’cuse.</i></p> +<p>The ritual would have told him to rise and go to +the confessional. But here was a soul that was +pouring its secret out to him in a torrential rush of +words and sobs that would not wait for ritual. +The Bishop listened without raising his head. He +had neither the will nor the power to break in upon +that cruel story that had been torturing its keeper +night and day. He knew that it was true, knew +what the end of it would be. But still he must be +careful to give no word that would show that he +knew what was coming. The French of the hills +and of Beaupre was a little too rapid for him but +it was easy to follow the thread of the story. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +When she had finished and was weeping quietly, +the Bishop prompted gently.</p> +<p>“And now? my daughter.”</p> +<p>“And now, <i>Mon Pere</i>, must I tell? I would +not tell. I loved Rafe Gadbeau. As long as I +shall live I shall love him. For his good name +I would die. But I cannot see the suffering of +that girl, Ruth. <i>Mon Pere</i>, it is too much! I +cannot stand it. Yet I cannot go there before +men and call my love a murderer. Consider, +<i>Mon Pere</i>. There is another way. I, too, am +guilty. I wished for the death of that man. I +would have killed him myself, for he had made +Rafe Gadbeau do many things that he would not +have done. He made my love a murderer. I +went to keep Rafe Gadbeau from the setting of +the fire. But I would have killed that man myself +with the gun if I could. So I hated him. +When I saw him fall, I clapped my hands in glee. +See, <i>Mon Pere</i>, I am guilty. And I called joyfully +to my love to run with me and save himself, +for he was now free from that man forever. But +he ran in the path of the fire because he feared +those other men.</p> +<p>“But see, <i>Mon Pere</i>, I am guilty. I will go +and tell the court that I am the guilty one. I will +say that my hand shot that man. See, I will tell +the story. I have told it many times to myself. +Such a straight story I shall tell. And they will +believe. I will make them believe. And they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +will not hurt a girl much,” she said, dropping back +upon her native shrewdness to strengthen her plea. +“The railroad does not care who killed Rogers. +They want only to punish the young Whiting. +And the court will believe, as I shall tell it.”</p> +<p>“But, my daughter,” said the Bishop, temporising. +“It would not be true. We must not lie.”</p> +<p>“But M’sieur the Bishop, himself,” the girl +argued swiftly, evidently separating the priest in +the confessional from the great bishop in his public +walk, “he himself, on the stand––”</p> +<p>The girl stopped abruptly.</p> +<p>The Bishop held the silence of the grave.</p> +<p>“<i>Mon Pere</i> will make me tell, then––the +truth,” she began. “<i>Mon Pere</i>, I cannot! +I––!”</p> +<p>“Let us consider,” the Bishop broke in deliberately. +“Suppose he had told this thing to you +when he was dying. You would have said to him: +Your soul may not rest if you leave another to +suffer for your deed. Would he not have told +you to tell and clear the other man?”</p> +<p>“To escape Hell,” said the girl quickly, “yes. +He would have said: Tell everything; tell anything!” +In the desolate forlornness of her grief +she had not left to her even an illusion. Just as +he was, she had known the man, good and bad, +brave and cowardly––and had loved him. +Would always love him.</p> +<p>“We will not speak of Hell,” said the Bishop +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +gently. “In that hour he would have seen the +right. He would have told you to tell.”</p> +<p>“But he confessed to M’sieur the Bishop himself,” +she retorted quickly, still seeming to forget +that she was talking to the prelate in person, but +springing the trap of her quick wit and sound +Moral Theology back upon him with a vengeance, +“and he gave <i>him</i> no leave to speak.”</p> +<p>The Bishop in a panic hurried past the dangerous +ground.</p> +<p>“If he had left a debt, would you pay it for him, +my daughter?”</p> +<p>“<i>Mon Pere</i>, with the bones of my hands!”</p> +<p>“Consider, then, he is not now the man that +you knew. The man who was blind and walked +in dark places. He is now a soul in a world where +a great light shines about him. He knows now +that which he did not know here––Truth. +He sees the things which here he did not see. He +stands alone in the great open space of the Beyond. +He looks up to God and cries: <i>Seigneur +Dieu</i>, whither go I?</p> +<p>“And God replying, asks him why does he hesitate, +standing in the open place. Would he come +back to the world?</p> +<p>“And he answers: ‘No, my God; but I have +left a debt behind and another man’s life stands +in pledge for my debt; I cannot go forward with +that debt unpaid.’</p> +<p>“Then God: ‘And is there none to cancel the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +debt? Is there not one in all that world who +loved you? Were you, then, so wicked that none +loved you who will pay the debt?’</p> +<p>“And he will answer with a lifted heart: ‘My +God, yes; there was one, a girl; in spite of me, she +loved me; she will make the debt right; only because +she loved me may I be saved; she will speak +and the debt will be right; my God, let me go.’”</p> +<p>The Bishop’s French was sometimes wonderfully +and fearfully put together. But the girl +saw the pictures. The imagery was familiar to +her race and faith. She was weeping softly, with +almost a little break of joy among the tears. For +she saw the man, whom she had loved in spite of +what he was, lifted now out of the weaknesses and +sins of life. And her love leaped up quickly to +the ideal and the illusions that every woman craves +for and clings to.</p> +<p>“This,” the Bishop was going on quietly, “is +the new man we are to consider; the one who +stands in the light and sees Truth. We must not +hear the little mouthings of the world. Does he +care for the opinions or the words that are said +here? See, he stands in the great open space, +all alone, and dares to look up to the Great God +and tell Him all. Will you be afraid to stand in +the court and tell these people, who do not matter +at all?</p> +<p>“Remember, it is not for Jeffrey Whiting. It +is not for the sake of Ruth Lansing. It is because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +the man you loved calls back to you, from +where he has gone, to do the thing which the wisdom +he has now learned tells him must be done. +He has learned the lesson of eternal Truth. He +would have you tell.”</p> +<p>“<i>Mon Pere</i>, I will tell the tale,” said the girl +simply as she rose from her knees. “I will go +quickly, while I have yet the courage.”</p> +<p>The Bishop went with her to one of the counsel +rooms in the courthouse and sent for Dardis.</p> +<p>“This girl,” he told the lawyer, “has a story +to tell. I think you would do wisely to put her +on the stand and let her tell it in her own way. +She will make no mistakes. They will not be able +to break her down.”</p> +<p>Then the Bishop went back to take up again his +business with God.</p> +<p>As a last, and almost hopeless, resort, Jeffrey +Whiting had been put upon the stand in his own +defence. There was nothing he could tell which +the jurors had not already heard in one form or +another. Everybody had heard what he had said +that morning on Bald Mountain. He had not +been believed even then, by men who had never +had a reason to doubt his simple word. There +was little likelihood that he would be believed here +now by these jurors, whose minds were already +fixed by the facts and the half truths which they +had been hearing. But there was some hope that +his youth and the manly sincerity with which he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +clung to his simple story might have some effect. +It might be that a single man on that jury would +be so struck with his single sturdy tale that he +would refuse to disbelieve it altogether. You +could never tell what might strike a man on a jury. +So Dardis argued.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting did not care. If his counsel +wished him to tell his story he would do so. It +would not matter. His own friends did not believe +his story. Nobody believed it. Two people +<i>knew</i> that it was true. And those two people +had stood up there upon the stand and sworn that +they did not know. One of them was a good man, +a man of God, a man he would have trusted with +every dear thing that life held. That man had +stood up there and lied. The other was a girl +whom he loved, and who, he was sure, loved him.</p> +<p>It had not been easy for Ruth to tell that lie––or +maybe she did not consider it a lie: he had seen +her suffer terribly in the telling of it. He was +beginning to feel that he did not care much what +was the outcome of the trial. Life was a good +thing, it was true. And death, or a life of death, +as a murderer, was worse than twenty common +deaths. But that had all dropped into the background. +Only one big thing stood before him. +It laid hold upon him and shook him and took +from him his interest in every other fact in the +world.</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing, he thought he could say, had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +never before in her life told a lie. Why should +she have ever told a lie. She had never had reason +to fear any one; and they only lie who fear. +He would have said that the fear of death could +not have made Ruth Lansing lie. Yet she had +stood up there and lied.</p> +<p>For what? For a church. For a religion to +which she had foolishly given herself. For that +she had given up him. For that she had given up +her conscience. For that she had given up her +own truth!</p> +<p>It was unbelievable. But he had sat here and +listened to it.</p> +<p>He had heard her lie simply and calmly in answer +to a question which meant life or death to +him. She had known that. She could not have +escaped knowing it if she had tried. There was +no way in which she could have fooled herself or +been persuaded into believing that she was not +lying or that she was not taking from him his last +hope of life.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting did not try to grapple or reason +with the fact. What was the use? It was the +end of all things. He merely sat and gazed +dumbly at the monstrous thing that filled his whole +mental vision.</p> +<p>He went forward to the witness chair and stood +woodenly until some one told him to be seated. +He answered the questions put him automatically, +without looking either at the questioner or at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +jury who held his fate in their hands. Men who +had been watching the alert, keen-faced boy all day +yesterday and through to-day wondered what had +happened to him. Was he breaking down? +Would he confess? Or had he merely ceased +hoping and turned sullen and dumb?</p> +<p>Without any trace of emotion or interest, he +told how he had raced forward, charging upon the +man who was setting the fire. He looked vacantly +at the Judge while the latter ordered that part of +his words stricken out which told what the man +was doing. He showed no resentment, no feeling +of any kind. He related how the man had run +away from him, trailing the torch through the +brush, and again he did not seem to notice the +Judge’s anger in cautioning him not to mention +the fire again.</p> +<p>At his counsel’s direction, he went through a +lifeless pantomime of falling upon one knee and +pointing his rifle at the fleeing man. Now the +man turned and faced him. Then he heard the +shot which killed Rogers come from the woods. +He dropped his own rifle and went forward to +look at the dying man. He picked up the torch +and threw it away.</p> +<p>Then he turned to fight the fire. (This time +the Judge did not rule out the word.) Then his +rifle had exploded in his hands, the bullet going +just past his ear. The charge had scorched his +neck. It was a simple story. The thing <i>might</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +have happened. It was entirely credible. There +were no contradictions in it. But the manner of +Jeffrey Whiting, telling it, gave no feeling of +reality. It was not the manner of a man telling +one of the most stirring things of his life. He +was not telling what he saw and remembered and +felt and was now living through. Rather, he +seemed to be going over a wearying, many-times-told +tale that he had rehearsed to tedium. A +sleeping man might have told it so. The jury +was left entirely unconvinced, though puzzled by +the manner of the recital.</p> +<p>Even Lemuel Squires’ harping cross questions +did not rouse Jeffrey to any attention to the story +that he had told. At each question he went back +to the point indicated and repeated his recital dully +and evenly without any thought of what the District +Attorney was trying to make him say. He +was not thinking of the District Attorney nor of +the story. He was still gazing mentally in stupid +wonder at the horrible fact that Ruth Lansing had +lied his life away at the word of her church.</p> +<p>When he had gotten back to the little railed enclosure +where he was again the prisoner, he sat +down heavily to wait for the end of this wholly +irrelevant business of the trial. Another witness +was called. He did not know that there was another. +He had expected that Squires would begin +his speech at once.</p> +<p>He noticed that this witness was a girl from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +French Village whom he had seen several times. +Now he remembered that she was Rafe Gadbeau’s +girl. What did they bring her here for? She +could not know anything, and why did they want +to pester the poor thing? Didn’t the poor little +thing look sorry and troubled enough without +fetching her down here to bring it all up to her? +He roused himself to look reassuringly at the girl, +as though to tell her not to mind, that it did not +matter anyway, that he knew she could not help +him, and that she must not let them hurt her.</p> +<p>Dardis, to forestall objections and to ensure +Cynthe against interruptions from the prosecutor +or the Judge, had told her to say nothing about +fire but to speak directly about the killing of Rogers +and nothing else. So when, after she had been +sworn, he told her to relate the things that led up +to the killing, she began at the very beginning:</p> +<p>“Four years ago,” she said, “Rafe Gadbeau +was in Utica. A man was killed in a crowd. +His knife had been used to kill the man. Rafe +Gadbeau did not do that. Often he has sworn +to me that he did not know who had done it. But +a detective, a man named Rogers, found the knife +and traced it to Rafe Gadbeau. He did not arrest +him. No, he kept the knife, saying that some day +he would call upon Rafe Gadbeau for the price +of his silence.</p> +<p>“Last summer this man Rogers came into the +woods looking for some one to help get the people +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +to sell their land. He saw Rafe Gadbeau. He +showed him the knife. He told him that whatever +he laid upon him to do, that he must do. He +made him lie to the people. He made him attack +the young Whiting. He made him do many +things that he would not do, for Rafe Gadbeau +was not a bad man, only foolish sometimes. And +Rafe Gadbeau was sore under the yoke of fear +that this man had put upon him.</p> +<p>“At times he said to me, ‘Cynthe, I will kill +this man one day, and that will be the end of all.’ +But I said, ‘<i>Non, non, mon Rafe</i>, we will marry in +the fall, and go away to far Beaupre where he will +never see you again, and we will not know that he +ever lived.’”</p> +<p>Cynthe had forgotten her audience. She was +telling over to herself the tragedy of her little life +and her great love. Genius could not have told +her how better to tell it for the purpose for which +her story was here needed. Dardis thanked his +stars that he had taken the Bishop’s advice, to let +her get through with it in her own way.</p> +<p>“But it was not time for us to marry yet,” she +went on. “Then came the morning of the nineteenth +August. I was sitting on the back steps +of my aunt’s house by the Little Tupper, putting +apples on a string to hang up in the hot sun to +dry.” The Judge turned impatiently on his bench +and shrugged his shoulders. The girl saw and +her eyes blazed angrily at him. Who was he to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +shrug his shoulders! Was it not important, this +story of her love and her tragedy! Thereafter +the Judge gave her the most rigid attention.</p> +<p>“Rafe Gadbeau came and sat down on the steps +at my feet. I saw that he was troubled. ‘What +is it, <i>mon Rafe</i>?’ I asked. He groaned and said +one bad word. Then he told me that he had just +had a message from Rogers to meet him at the +head of the rail with three men and six horses. +‘What to do, <i>mon Rafe</i>?’ ‘I do not know,’ he +said, ‘though I can guess. But I will not tell you, +Cynthe.’</p> +<p>“‘You will not go, <i>mon Rafe</i>. Promise me +you will not go. Hide away, and we will slip +down to the Falls of St. Regis and be married––me, +I do not care for the grand wedding in the +church here––and then we will get away to +Beaupre. Promise me.’</p> +<p>“‘<i>Bien</i>, Cynthe, I promise. I will not go to +him.’</p> +<p>“But it was a man’s promise. I knew he would +go in the end.</p> +<p>“I watched and followed. I did not know +what I could do. But I followed, hoping that +somewhere I could get Rafe before they had done +what they intended and we could run away together +with clean hands.</p> +<p>“When I saw that they had gone toward the +railroad I turned aside and climbed up to the Bald +Mountain. I knew they would all come back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +there together. I waited until it was dark and +they came. They would do nothing in the night. +I waited for the morning. Then I would find +Rafe and bring him away. I was desperate. I +was a wild girl that night. If I could have found +that Rogers and come near him I would have killed +him myself. I hated him, for he had made me +much suffering.</p> +<p>“In the morning I was in the woods near them. +I saw Rafe. But that Rogers kept him always +near him.</p> +<p>“I saw Rogers go out of the wood a little to +look. Rafe was a little way from him and coming +slowly toward me. I called to him. He did +not hear. I saw the look in his face. It was the +look of one who has made up his mind to kill. +Again I called to him. But he did not hear.</p> +<p>“I saw Rogers go running along the edge of the +wood. Now he came running back toward Rafe. +He stopped and turned.</p> +<p>“The young Whiting was on his knee with the +rifle raised to shoot. I looked to Rafe. The +sound of his gun struck me as I turned my face. +The bullet struck Rogers in the back of the head. +I saw. The young Whiting had not fired at all.</p> +<p>“I turned and ran, calling to Rafe to follow me. +‘Come with me, <i>mon Rafe</i>,’ I called. ‘I, too, am +guilty. I would have killed him in the night. +Come with me. We will escape. The fire will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +cover all. None will ever know but you and me, +and I am guilty as you. Come.’</p> +<p>“But he did not hear. And I wished him to +hear. Oh! I wished him at least to hear me say +that I took the share of the guilt, for I did not +wish to be separated from him in this world or the +next.</p> +<p>“But he ran back always into the path of the +fire, for those other men, the old M’sieur Beasley +and the others, were closing behind him and the +fire.”</p> +<p>She was speaking freely of the fire now, but +it did not matter. Her story was told. The big, +hot tears were flowing freely and her voice rose +into a cry of farewell as she told the end.</p> +<p>“Then he was down and I saw the fire roll over +him. Oh, the great God, who is good, was cruel +that day! Again, at the last, I saw him up and +running on again. Then the fire shut him out +from my sight, and God took him away.</p> +<p>“That is all. I ran for the Little Tupper and +was safe.”</p> +<p>Dardis did not try to draw another word from +her on any part of the story. He was artist +enough to know that the story was complete in its +naïve and tragic simplicity. And he was judge +enough of human nature to understand that the +jury would remember better and hold more easily +her own unthought, clipped expressions than they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +would any more connected elaborations he might +try to make her give.</p> +<p>Lemuel Squires was a narrow man, a born prosecutor. +He had always been a useful officer to the +railroad powers because he was convinced of the +guilt of any prisoner whom it was his business to +bring into court. He regarded a verdict of acquittal +as hardly less than a personal insult. He +denied that there were ever two sides to any case. +But his very narrowness now confounded him +here. This girl’s story was true. It was astounding, +impossible, subversive of all things. But it +was true.</p> +<p>His mind, one-sided as it was always, had room +for only the one thing. The story was true. He +asked her a few unimportant questions, leading +nowhere, and let her go. Then he began his summing +up to the jury.</p> +<p>It was a half-hearted, wholly futile plea to them +to remember the facts by which the prisoner had +already been convicted and to put aside the girl’s +dramatic story. He was still convinced that the +prisoner was guilty. But––the girl’s story was +true. His mind was not nimble enough to escape +the shock of that fact. He was helpless under it. +His pleading was spiritless and wandering while +his mind stood aside to grapple with that one +astounding thing.</p> +<p>The Judge, however, in charging the jury was +troubled by none of these hampering limitations +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +of mind. He had always regarded the taking and +discussion of evidence as a rather wearisome and +windy business. All democracy was full of such +wasteful and time-killing ways of coming to a conclusion. +The boy was guilty. The powers who +controlled the county had said he was guilty. +Why spoil good time, then, quibbling.</p> +<p>He charged the jury that the girl’s testimony +was no more credible than that of a dozen other +witnesses––which was quite true. All had told +the truth as they understood it, and saw it. But +he glided smoothly over the one important difference. +The girl had seen the act. No other, not +even the accused himself, had been able to say that.</p> +<p>He delivered an extemporaneous and daringly +false lecture on the comparative force of evidence, +intended only to befog the minds of the jurors. +But the effect of it was exactly the opposite to that +which he had intended, for, whereas they had up +to now held a fairly clear view of the things that +had been proven by the adroit handling of his facts +by the District Attorney, they now forgot all that +structure of guilt which he so laboriously built up +and remembered only one thing clearly. And +that thing was the story of Cynthe Cardinal.</p> +<p>Without leaving their seats, they intimated that +they had come to an agreement.</p> +<p>The Judge, glowering dubiously at them, demanded +to know what it was.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting stood up.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div> +<p>The foreman rose and faced the Judge stubbornly, +saying:</p> +<p>“Not guilty.”</p> +<p>The Judge polled the jury, glaring fiercely at +each man as his name was called, but one after +another the men arose and answered gruffly for +acquittal. The hill people rushed from the courthouse, +running for their horses and shouting the +verdict as they ran. Then sleepy little Danton +awoke from its September drowse and was aware +that something real had happened. The elaborate +machinery of prosecution, the whole political +power of the county, the mighty grip and pressure +of the railroad power had all been set at nothing +by the tragic little love story of an ignorant French +girl from the hills.</p> +<p>Dardis led Jeffrey Whiting down from the place +where he had been a prisoner and brought him to +his mother.</p> +<p>Jeffrey turned a long searching gaze down into +his mother’s eyes as he stooped to kiss her. What +he saw filled him with a bitterness that all the +years of his life would not efface. What he saw +was not the sprightly, cheery, capable woman who +had been his mother, but a grey, trembling old +woman, broken in body and heart, who clung to +him fainting and crying weakly. What men had +done to him, he could shake off. They had not +hurt him. He could still defy them. But what +they had done to his little mother, that would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +rankle and turn in his heart forever. He would +never forgive them for the things they had done +to her in these four weeks and in these two days.</p> +<p>And here at his elbow stood the one person who +had to-day done more to hurt his mother and himself +than any other in the world could have done. +She could have told his mother weeks ago, and +have saved her all that racking sorrow and anxiety. +But no, for the sake of that religion of hers, for +the sake of what some priest told her, she had +stuck to what had turned out to be a useless lie, +to save a dead man’s name.</p> +<p>Ruth stood there reaching out her hands to him. +But he turned upon her with a look of savage, +fleering contempt; a look that stunned the girl as +a blow in the face would have done. Then in a +strange, hard voice he said brutally:</p> +<p>“You lied!”</p> +<p>Ruth dropped her eyes pitifully under the shock +of his look and words. Even now she could not +speak, could not appeal to his reason, could not +tell him that she had heard nothing but what had +come under the awful seal of the confessional. +The secret was out. She had risked his life and +lost his love to guard that secret, and now the +world knew it. All the world could talk freely +about what she had done except only herself. +Even if she could have reached up and drawn his +head down to her lips, even then she could not so +much as whisper into his ear that he was right, or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +try to tell him why she had not been able to +speak. She saw the secret standing forever between +their two lives, unacknowledged, embittering +both those lives, yet impassable as the line of +death.</p> +<p>When she looked up, he was gone out to his +freedom in the sunlight.</p> +<p>The hill people were jammed about the door +and in the street as he came out. Twenty hands +reached forward to grasp him, to draw him into +the midst of their crowd, to mount him upon his +own horse which they had caught wandering in +the high hills and had brought down for him. +They were happy, triumphant and loud, for them––the +hill people were not much given to noise or +demonstration. But under their triumph and their +noise there was a current of haste and anxious eagerness +which he was quick to notice.</p> +<p>During the weeks in jail, when his own fate had +absorbed most of his waking moments, he had let +slip from him the thought of the battle that yet +must be waged in the hills. Now, among his people +again, and once more their unquestioned +leader, his mind went back with a click into the +grooves in which it had been working so long. +He pushed his horse forward and led the men at +a gallop over the Racquette bridge and out toward +the hills, the families who had come down from +the nearer hills in wagons stringing along behind.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></div> +<p>When they were well clear of the town, he +halted and demanded the full news of the last four +weeks.</p> +<p>It must not be forgotten that while this account +of these happenings has been obliged to turn aside +here and there, following the vicissitudes and doings +of individuals, the railroad powers had never +for a moment turned a step aside from the single, +unemotional course upon which they had set out. +Orders had gone out that the railroad must get +title to the strip of hill country forty miles wide +lying along the right of way. These orders must +be executed. The titles must be gotten. Failures +or successes here or there were of no account. +The incidents made use of or the methods employed +were of importance only as they contributed +to the general result.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting had blocked the plans once. +That was nothing. There were other plans. +The Shepherd of the North before the Senate +committee had blocked another set of plans. +That was merely an obstacle to be gone around. +The railroad people had gone around it by procuring +the burning of the country. The people, left +homeless for the most part and well-nigh ruined, +would be glad now to take anything they could +get for their lands. There had been no vindictiveness, +no animus on the part of the railroad. +Its programme had been as impersonal and detached +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +as the details in any business transaction. +Certain aims were to be accomplished. The +means were purely incidental.</p> +<p>Rogers, whom the railroad had first used as an +agent and afterwards as an instrument, was now +gone––a broken tool. Rafe Gadbeau, who had +been Rogers’ assistant, was gone––another broken +tool. The fire had been used for its purpose. +The fire was a thing of the past. Jeffrey Whiting +had been put out of the way––definitely, the railroad +had hoped. He was now free again to make +difficulties. All these things were but changes +and moves and temporary checks in the carrying +through of the business. In the end the railroad +must attain its end.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting saw all these things as he sat +his horse on the old Piercefield road and listened +to what had been happening in the hills during the +four weeks of his removal from the scene.</p> +<p>The fire, because it had seemed the end of all +things to the people of the hills, had put out of +their minds all thought of what the railroad would +do next. Now they were realising that the railroad +had moved right on about its purpose in the +wake of the fire. It had learned instantly of Rogers’ +death and had instantly set to work to use that +as a means of removing Jeffrey Whiting from its +path. But that was only a side line of activity. +It had gone right on with its main business. +Other men had been sent at once into the hills with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +what seemed like liberal offers for six-month +options on all the lands which the railroad +coveted.</p> +<p>They had gotten hold of discouraged families +who had not yet begun to rebuild. The offer of +any little money was welcome to these. The +whole people were disorganised and demoralised +as a result of the scattering which the fire had +forced upon them. They were not sure that it +was worth while to rebuild in the hills. The fire +had burned through the thin soil in many places +so that the land would be useless for farming for +many years to come. They had no leader, and +the fact that Jeffrey Whiting was in jail charged +with murder, and, as they heard, likely to be convicted, +forced upon them the feeling that the railroad +would win in the end. Where was the use +to struggle against an enemy they could not see +and who could not be hurt by anything they might +do?</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting saw that the fight which had +gone before, to keep the people in line and prevent +them from signing enough options to suit the railroad’s +purpose, had been easy in comparison with +the one that was now before him. The people +were disheartened. They had begun to fear the +mysterious, unassailable power of the railroad. It +was an enemy of a kind to which their lives and +training had not accustomed them. It struck in +the dark, and no man’s hand could be raised to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +punish. It hid itself behind an illusive veil of law +and a bulwark of officials.</p> +<p>The people were for the large part still homeless. +Many were still down in the villages, living +upon neighbourhood kindness and the scant help +of public charity. Only the comparative few who +could obtain ready credit had been able even to +begin rebuilding. If they were not roused to +prodigious efforts at once, the winter would be +upon them before the hills were resettled. And +with the coming of the pinch of winter men would +be ready to sell anything upon which they had a +claim, for the mere privilege of living.</p> +<p>When they came up into the burnt country, the +bitterness which had been boiling up in his heart +through those weeks and which he had thought +had risen to its full height during the scenes of to-day +now ran over completely. His heart raved +in an agony of impotent anger and a thirst for revenge. +His life had been in danger. Gladly +would he now put it ten times in danger for the +power to strike one free, crushing blow at this insolent +enemy. He would grapple with it, die with +it only for the power to bring it to the ground +with himself!</p> +<p>The others had become accustomed to the look +of the country, but the full desolation of it broke +upon his eyes now for the first time. The hills +that should have glowed in their wonderful russets +from the red sun going down in the west, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +were nothing but streaked ash heaps, where the +rain had run down in gullies. The valleys between, +where the autumn greens should have run +deep and fresh, where snug homes should have +stood, where happy people should now be living, +were nothing but blackened hollows of destitution. +From Bald Mountain, away up on the east, to far, +low-lying Old Forge to the south, nothing but a +circle of ashes. Ashes and bitterness in the +mouth; dirt and ashes in the eye; misery and the +food of hate in the heart!</p> +<p>Very late in the night they came to French Village. +The people here were still practically living +in the barrack which the Bishop had seen built, +the women and children sleeping in it, the men +finding what shelter they could in the new houses +that were going up. There were enough of these +latter to show that French Village would live +again, for the notes which the Bishop had endorsed +had carried credit and good faith to men +who were judges of paper on which men’s names +were written and they had brought back supplies +of all that was strictly needful.</p> +<p>Here was food and water for man and beast. +Men roused themselves from sleep to cheer the +young Whiting and to hobble the horses out and +feed them. And shrill, voluminous women came +forth to get food for the men and to wave hands +and skillets wildly over the story of Cynthe +Cardinal.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></div> +<p>The mention of the girl’s name brought things +back to Jeffrey Whiting. Till now he had hardly +given a thought to the girl who, by a terrible sacrifice +of the man she loved, had saved him. He +owed that girl a great deal. And the thought +brought to his mind another girl. He struck himself +viciously across the eyes as though he would +crush the memory, and went out to tramp among +the ashes till the dawn. His body had no need of +rest, for the exercise he had taken to-day had +merely served to throw off the lethargy of the jail; +and sleep was beyond him.</p> +<p>At the first light he roused the hill men and told +them what the night had told him. Unless they +struck one desperate, destroying blow at the railroad, +it would come up mile by mile and farm by +farm and take from them the little that was left +to them. They had been fools that they had not +struck in the beginning when they had first found +that they were being played falsely. If they had +begun to fight in the early summer their homes +would not have been burned and they would not +be now facing the cold and hunger of an unsheltered, +unprovided winter.</p> +<p>Why had they not struck? Because they were +afraid? No. They had not struck because their +fathers had taught them a fear and respect of the +law. They had depended upon law. And here +was law for them: the hills in ashes, their families +scattered and going hungry!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span></div> +<p>If no man would go with him, he would ride +alone down to the end of the rails and sell his life +singly to drive back the work as far as he could, +to rouse the hill people to fight for themselves and +their own.</p> +<p>If ten men would come with him they could +drive back the workmen for days, days in which +the hill people would come rallying back into the +hills to them. The people were giving up in +despair because nothing was being done. Show +them that even ten men were ready to fight for +them and their rights and they would come +trooping back, eager to fight and to hold their +homes. There was yet wealth in the hills. If +the railroad was willing to fight and to defy law +and right to get it, were there not men in the +hills who would fight for it because it was their +own?</p> +<p>If fifty men would come with him they could +destroy the railroad clear down below the line of +the hills and put the work back for months. +They would have sheriffs’ posses out against them. +They would have to fight with hired fighters that +the railroad would bring up against them. In the +end they would perhaps have to fight the State +militia, but there were men among them, he +shouted, who had fought more than militia. +Would they not dare face it now for their homes +and their people!</p> +<p>Some men would die. But some men always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +died, in every cause. And in the end the people +of the whole State would judge the cause!</p> +<p>Would one man come? Would ten? Would +fifty?</p> +<p>Seventy-two grim, sullen men looked over the +knobs and valleys of ashes where their homes had +been, took what food the French people could +spare them, and mounted silently behind him.</p> +<p>Up over the ashes of Leyden road, past the cellars +of the homes of many of them, for half the +day they rode, saving every strain they could upon +their horses. A three-hour rest. Then over the +southern divide and down the slope they thundered +to strike the railroad at Leavit’s bridge.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +<a name='IX_THE_COMING_OF_THE_SHEPHERD' id='IX_THE_COMING_OF_THE_SHEPHERD'></a> +<h2>IX</h2> +<h3>THE COMING OF THE SHEPHERD</h3> +</div> +<p>The wires coming down from the north were +flashing the railroad’s call for help. A band of +madmen had struck the end of the line at Leavit’s +Creek and had destroyed the half-finished bridge. +They had raced down the line, driving the frightened +labourers before them, tearing up the ties and +making huge fires of them on which they threw +the new rails, heating and twisting these beyond +any hope of future usefulness.</p> +<p>Labourers, foremen and engineers of construction +had fled literally for their lives. The men +of the hills had no quarrel with them. They preferred +not to injure them. But they were infuriated +men with their wrongs fresh in mind and +with deadly hunting rifles in hand. The workmen +on the line needed no second warning. They +would take no chances with an enemy of this kind. +They were used to violence and rioting in their own +labour troubles, but this was different. This was +war. They threw themselves headlong upon +handcars and work engines and bolted down the +line, carrying panic before them.</p> +<p>In a single night the hill men with Jeffrey Whiting +at their head had ridden down and destroyed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +nearly twenty miles of very costly construction +work. There were yet thirty miles of the line left +in the hills and if the men were not stopped they +would not leave a single rail in all the hill country +where they were masters.</p> +<p>The call of the railroad was at first frantic with +panic and fright. That was while little men who +had lost their wits were nominally in charge of a +situation in which nobody knew what to do. +Then suddenly the tone of the railroad’s call +changed. Big men, used to meeting all sorts of +things quickly and efficiently, had taken hold. +They had the telegraph lines of the State in their +hands. There was no more frightened appeal. +Orders were snapped over the wires to sheriffs in +Adirondack and Tupper and Alexander counties. +They were told to swear in as many deputies as +they could lead. They were to forget the consideration +of expense. The railroad would pay and +feed the men. They were to think of nothing but +to get the greatest possible number of fighting men +upon the line at once.</p> +<p>Then a single great man, a man who sat in a +great office building in New York and held his +hand upon every activity in the State, saw the gravity +of the business in the hills and put himself to +work upon it. He took no half measures. He +had no faith in little local authorities, who would +be bound to sympathise somewhat with the hill +people in this battle.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></div> +<p>He called the Governor of the State from Albany +to his office. He ordered the Governor to +turn out the State’s armed forces and set them in +motion toward the hills. He wondered autocratically +that the Governor had not had the sense +to do this of himself. The Governor bridled and +hesitated. The Governor had been living on the +fiction that he was the executive head of the State. +It took Clifford W. Stanton just three minutes to +disabuse him completely and forever of this illusion. +He explained to him just why he was Governor +and by whose permission. Also he pointed +out that the permission of the great railroad system +that covered the State would again be necessary +in order that Governor Foster might succeed +himself. Then the great man sent Wilbur Foster +back to Albany to order out the nearest regiment +of the National Guard for service in the hills.</p> +<p>Before the second night three companies of the +militia had passed through Utica and had gone up +the line of the U. & M. Their orders were to +avoid killing where possible and to capture all of +the hill men that they could. The railroad wished +to have them tried and imprisoned by the impartial +law of the land. For it was characteristic of the +great power which in those days ruled the State +that when it had outraged every sense of fair play +and common humanity to attain its ends it was then +ready to spend much money creating public opinion +in favour of itself.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></div> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting stood in the evening in the +cover of the woods above Milton’s Crossing and +watched a train load of soldiers on flat cars come +creeping up the grade from the south. This was +the last of the hills. He had refused to let his +men go farther. Behind him lay fifty miles of +new railroad in ruins. Before him lay the open, +settled country. His men, once the fever of destruction +had begun to run in their blood, had +wished to sweep on down into the villages and +carry their work through them. But he had stood +firm. This was their own country where they belonged +and where the railroad was the interloper. +Here they were at home. Here there was a certain +measure of safety for them even in the destructive +and lawless work that they had begun. +They had done enough. They had pushed the +railroad back to the edge of the hills. They had +roused the men of the hills behind them. Where +he had started with his seventy-two friends, there +were now three hundred well-armed men in the +woods around him. Here in their cover they +could hold the line of the railroad indefinitely +against almost any force that might be sent against +them.</p> +<p>But the inevitable sobering sense of leadership +and responsibility was already at work upon him. +The burning, rankling anger that had driven him +onward so that he had carried everything and +everybody near him into this business of destruction +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +was now dulled down to a slow, dull hate that +while it had lost nothing of its bitterness yet gave +him time to think. Those men coming up there +on the cars were not professional soldiers, paid +to fight wherever there was fighting to be done. +Neither did they care anything for the railroad +that they should come up here to fight for it. +Why did they come?</p> +<p>They had joined their organisation for various +reasons that usually had very little to do with fighting. +They were clerks and office men, for the +most part, from the villages and factories of the +central part of the State. The militia companies +had attracted them because the armouries in the +towns had social advantages to offer, because uniforms +and parade appeal to all boys, because they +were sons of veterans and the military tradition +was strong in them. Jeffrey Whiting’s strong +natural sense told him the substance of these +things. He could not regard these boys as deadly +enemies to be shot down without mercy or warning. +They had taken their arms at a word of command +and had come up here to uphold the arm of +the State. If the railroad was able to control the +politics of the State and so was able to send these +boys up here on its own business, then other people +were to blame for the situation. Certainly these +boys, coming up here to do nothing but what their +duty to the State compelled them to do; they were +not to be blamed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></div> +<p>His men were now urging him to withdraw a +little distance into the hills to where the bed of the +road ran through a defile between two hills. The +soldiers would no doubt advance directly up the +line of what had been the railroad, covering the +workmen and engineers who would be coming on +behind them. If they were allowed to go on up +into the defile without warning or opposition they +could be shot down by the hill men from almost absolute +safety. If he had been dealing with a hated +enemy Jeffrey Whiting perhaps could have agreed +to that. But to shoot down from ambush these +boys, who had come up here many of them probably +thinking they were coming to a sort of picnic +or outing in the September woods, was a thing +which he could not contemplate. Before he would +attack them these boys must know just what they +were to expect.</p> +<p>He saw them leave the cars at the end of the +broken line and take up their march in a rough +column of fours along the roadbed. He was surprised +and puzzled. He had expected them to +work along the line only as fast as the men repaired +the rails behind them. He had not thought +that they would go away from their cars.</p> +<p>Then he understood. They were not coming +merely to protect the rebuilding of the railroad. +They had their orders to come straight into the +hills, to attack and capture him and his men. The +railroad was not only able to call the State to protect +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +itself. It had called upon the State to avenge +its wrongs, to exterminate its enemies. His men +had understood this better than he. Probably +they were right. This thing might as well be +fought out from the first. In the end there would +be no quarter. They could defeat this handful of +troops and drive them back out of the hills with +an ease that would be almost ridiculous. But that +would not be the end.</p> +<p>The State would send other men, unlimited +numbers of them, for it must and would uphold +the authority of its law. Jeffrey Whiting did +not deceive himself. Probably he had not from +the beginning had any doubt as to what would be +the outcome of this raid upon the railroad. The +railroad itself had broken the law of the State +and the law of humanity. It had defied every +principle of justice and common decency. It had +burned the homes of law-supporting, good men in +the hills. Yet the law had not raised a hand to +punish it. But now when the railroad itself had +suffered, the whole might of the State was ready to +be set in motion to punish the men of the hills +who had merely paid their debt.</p> +<p>But Jeffrey Whiting could not say to himself +that he had not foreseen all this from the outset. +Those days of thinking in jail had given him an +insight into realities that years of growth and observation +of things outside might not have produced +in him. He had been given time to see that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +some things are insurmountable, that things may +be wrong and unsound and utterly unjust and still +persist and go on indefinitely. Youth does not +readily admit this. Jeffrey Whiting had recognised +it as a fact. And yet, knowing this, he had +led these men, his friends, men who trusted him, +upon this mad raid. They had come without the +clear vision of the end which he now realised had +been his from the start. They had thought that +they could accomplish something, that they had +some chance of winning a victory over the railroad. +They had believed that the power of the +State would intervene to settle the differences between +them and their enemy. Jeffrey Whiting +knew, must have known all along, that the moment +a tie was torn up on the railroad the whole strength +of the State would be put forth to capture these +men and punish them. There would be no compromise. +There would be no bargaining. If +they surrendered and gave themselves up now they +would be jailed for varying terms. If they did +not, if they stayed here and fought, some of them +would be killed and injured and in one way or another +all would suffer in the end.</p> +<p>He had done them a cruel wrong. The truth +of this struck him with startling clearness now. +He had led them into this without letting them see +the full extent of what they were doing, as he must +have seen it.</p> +<p>There was but one thing to do. If they dispersed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +now and scattered themselves through the +hills few of them would ever be identified. And +if he went down and surrendered alone the railroad +would be almost satisfied with punishing him. +It was the one just and right thing to do.</p> +<p>He went swiftly among the men where they +stood among the trees, waiting with poised rifles +for the word to fire upon the advancing soldiers, +and told them what they must do. He had deceived +them. He had not told them the whole +truth as he himself knew it. They must leave at +once, scattering up among the hills and keeping +close mouths as to where they had been and what +they had done. He would go down and give himself +up, for if the railroad people once had him in +custody they would not bother so very much about +bringing the others to punishment.</p> +<p>His men looked at him in a sort of puzzled wonder. +They did not understand, unless it might be +that he had suddenly gone crazy. There was an +enemy marching up the line toward them, bent +upon killing or capturing them. They turned +from him and without a spoken word, without a +signal of any sort, loosed a rifle volley across the +front of the oncoming troops. The battle was +on!</p> +<p>The volley had been fired by men who were accustomed +to shoot deer and foxes from distances +greater than this. The first two ranks of the +soldiers fell as if they had been cut down with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +scythes. Not one of them was hit above the +knees. The firing stopped suddenly as it had begun. +The hill men had given a terse, emphatic +warning. It was as though they had marked a +dead line beyond which there must be no advance.</p> +<p>These soldiers had never before been shot at. +The very restraint which the hill men had shown +in not killing any of them in that volley proved +to the soldiers even in their fright and surprise +how deadly was the aim and the judgment of the +invisible enemy somewhere in the woods there before +them. To their credit, they did not drop +their arms or run. They stood stunned and +paralysed, as much by the suddenness with which +the firing had ceased as by the surprise of its beginning.</p> +<p>Their officers ran forward, shouting the superfluous +command for them to halt, and ordering +them to carry the wounded men back to the cars. +For a moment it seemed doubtful whether they +would again advance or would put themselves into +some kind of defence formation and hold the +ground on which they stood.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting, looking beyond them, saw two +other trains come slowly creeping up the line. +From the second train he saw men leaping down +who did not take up any sort of military formation. +These he knew were sheriffs’ posses, fighting +men sworn in because they were known to be +fighters. They were natural man hunters who delighted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +in the chase of the human animal. He had +often seen them in the hills on the hunt, and he +knew that they were an enemy of a character far +different from those harmless boys who could not +hit a mark smaller than the side of a hill. These +men would follow doggedly, persistently into the +highest of the hills, saving themselves, but never +letting the prey slip from their sight, dividing the +hill men, separating them, cornering them until +they should have tracked them down one by one +and either captured or killed them all.</p> +<p>These men did not attempt to advance along the +line of the road. They stepped quickly out into +the undergrowth and began spreading a thin line +of men to either side.</p> +<p>Then he saw that the third train, although they +were soldiers, took their lesson from the men who +had just preceded them. They left the tracks +and spreading still farther out took up the wings +of a long line that was now stretching east to west +along the fringe of the hills. The soldiers in the +centre retired a little way down the roadbed, stood +bunched together for a little time while their officers +evidently conferred together, then left the +road by twos and fours and began spreading out +and pushing the other lines out still farther. It +was perfect and systematic work, he agreed, that +could not have been better done if he and his companions +had planned it for their own capture.</p> +<p>There were easily eight hundred men there in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +front, he judged; men well armed and ready for +an indefinite stay in the hills, with a railroad at +their back to bring up supplies, and with the entire +State behind them. And the State was ready to +send more and more men after these if it should be +necessary. He had no doubt that hundreds of +other men were being held in readiness to follow +these or were perhaps already on their way. He +saw the end.</p> +<p>Those lines would sweep up slowly, remorselessly +and surround his men. If they stood together +they would be massacred. If they separated +they would be hunted down one by one.</p> +<p>Their only chance was to scatter at once and +ride back to where their homes had been. This +time he implored them to take their chance, +begged them to save themselves while they could. +But he might have known that they would do nothing +of the kind. Already they were breaking +away and spreading out to meet that distending +line in front of them. Nothing short of a miracle +could now save them from annihilation, and +Jeffrey Whiting was not expecting a miracle. +There was nothing to be done but to take command +and sell his life along with theirs as dearly +as possible.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The echoes of the outbreak in the hills ran up +and down the State. Men who had followed the +course of things through the past months, men who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +knew the spoken story of the fire in the hills which +no newspaper had dared to print openly, understood +just what it meant. The men up there had +been goaded to desperation at last. But wise men +agreed quietly with each other that they had done +the very worst thing that could have been done. +The injury they had done the railroad would +amount to very little, comparatively, in the end, +while it would give the railroad an absolutely free +hand from now on. The people would be driven +forever out of the lands which the railroad wished +to possess. There would be no legislative hindrances +now. The people had doomed themselves.</p> +<p>The echoes reached also to two million other +men throughout the State who did not understand +the matter in the least. These looked up a moment +from the work of living and earning a living +to sympathise vaguely with the foolish men up +there in the hills who had attacked the sacred and +awful rights of railroad property. It was too bad. +Maybe there were some rights somewhere in the +case. But who could tell? And the two million, +the rulers and sovereigns of the State, went back +again to their business.</p> +<p>The echo came to Joseph Winthrop, Bishop of +Alden, almost before a blow had been struck. It +is hardly too much to say that he was listening for +it. He knew his people, kindly, lagging of speech, +slow to anger; but, once past a certain point of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +aggravation, absolutely heedless and reckless of +consequences.</p> +<p>He did not stop to compute just how much he +himself was bound up in the causes and consequences +of what had happened and what was happening +in the hills. He had given advice. He +had thought with the people and only for the +people.</p> +<p>He saw, long before it was told him in words, +the wild ride down through the hills to strike the +railroad, the fury of destruction, the gathering +of the forces of the State to punish.</p> +<p>Here was no time for self-examination or self-judgment. +Wherein Joseph Winthrop had done +well, or had failed, or had done wrong, was of no +moment now.</p> +<p>One man there was in all the State, in all the +nation, who could give the word that would now +save the people of the hills. Clifford W. Stanton +who had sat months ago in his office in New York +and had set all these things going, whose ruthless +hand was to be recognised in every act of those +which had driven the people to this madness, his +will and his alone could stay the storm that was +now raging in the hills.</p> +<p>Once the Bishop had seen that man do an act +of supreme and unselfish bravery. It was an act +of both physical and moral courage the like of +which the Bishop had never witnessed. It was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +an act which had revealed in Clifford W. Stanton +a depth of strong fineness that no man would have +suspected. It was done in the dim, dead time of +faraway youth, but the Bishop had not forgotten. +And he knew that men do not rise to such heights +without having very deep in them the nobility to +make it possible and at times inevitable that they +should rise to those heights.</p> +<p>After these years and the encrusting strata of +compromise and cowardice and selfishness which +years and life lay upon the fresh heart of the youth +of men, could that depth of nobility in the soul of +Clifford W. Stanton again be touched?</p> +<p>Almost before the forces of the State were in +motion against the people of the hills, the Bishop, +early of a morning, walked into the office of Clifford +Stanton.</p> +<p>Stanton was a smaller man than the Bishop, and +though younger than the latter by some half-dozen +years, it was evident that he had burned up the fuel +of life more rapidly. Where the Bishop looked +and spoke and moved with the deliberate fixity of +the settling years, Stanton acted with a quick nervousness +that shook just a perceptible little. The +spiritual strength of restraint and inward thinking +which had chiselled the Bishop’s face into a single, +simple expression of will power was not to be +found in the other’s face. In its stead there was +a certain steel-trap impression, as though the man +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +behind the face had all his life refused to be certain +of anything until the jaws of the trap had set upon +the accomplished fact.</p> +<p>Physically the two men were much of a type. +You would have known them anywhere for New +Englanders of the generation that has disappeared +almost completely in the last twenty years. They +had been boys at Harvard together, though not of +the same class. They had been together in the +Civil War, though the nature of their services had +been infinitely diverse. They had met here and +there casually and incidentally in the business of +life. But they faced each other now virtually as +strangers, and with a certain tightening grip upon +himself each man realised that he was about to +grapple with one of the strongest willed men that +he had ever met, and that he must test out the +other man to the depths and be himself tried out +to the limit of his strength.</p> +<p>“It is some years since I’ve seen you, Bishop. +But we are both busy men. And––well–– You +know I am glad to have you come to see me. +I need not tell you that.”</p> +<p>The Bishop accepted the other man’s frank +courtesy and took a chair quietly. Stanton +watched him carefully. The Bishop was showing +the last few years a good deal, he thought. In +reality it was the last month that the Bishop was +showing. But it did not show in the steady, untroubled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +glow of his eyes. The Bishop wasted no +time on preliminaries.</p> +<p>“I have come on business, of course, Mr. +Stanton,” he began. “It is a very strange and +unusual business. And to come at it rightly I +must tell you a story. At the end of the story I +will ask you a question. That will be my whole +business.”</p> +<p>The other man said nothing. He did not understand +and he never spoke until he was sure that +he understood. The Bishop plunged into his +story.</p> +<p>“One January day in ‘Sixty-five’ I was going +up the Shenandoah alone. My command had left +me behind for two days of hospital service at Cross +Keys. They were probably some twenty miles +ahead of me and would be crossing over the divide +towards Five Forks and the east. I thought I +knew a way by which I could cut off a good part of +the distance that separated me from them, so I +started across the Ridge by a path which would +have been impossible for troops in order.</p> +<p>“I was right. I did cut off the distance which +I had expected and came down in the early afternoon +upon a good road that ran up the eastern side +of the Ridge. I was just congratulating myself +that I would be with my men before dark, when +a troop of Confederate cavalry came pelting over +a rise in the road behind me.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></div> +<p>“I leaped my horse back into the brush at the +side of the road and waited. They would sweep +on past and allow me to go on my way. Behind +them came a troop of our own horse pursuing +hotly. The Confederate horses were well spent. +I saw that the end of the pursuit was not far off. +The Confederates––some detached band of +Early’s men, I imagine––realised that they would +soon be run down. Just where I had left the road +there was a sharp turn. Here the Confederates +threw themselves from their horses and drew +themselves across the road. They were in perfect +ambush, for they could be seen scarcely fifteen +yards back on the narrow road.</p> +<p>“I broke from the bush and fled back along the +road to warn our men. But I did no good. +They were beyond all stopping, or hearing even, +as they came yelling around the turn of the +road.</p> +<p>“For three minutes there was some of the +sharpest fighting I ever saw, there in the narrow +road, before what remained of the Confederates +broke after their horses and made off again. In +the very middle of the fight I noticed two young +officers. One was a captain, the other a lieutenant. +I knew them. I knew their story. I +believe I was the only man living who knew that +story. Probably <i>I</i> did not know the whole of +that story.</p> +<p>“The lieutenant had maligned the captain. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +He had said of him the one thing that a soldier +may not say of another. They had fought once. +Why they had been kept in the same command I +do not know.</p> +<p>“Now in the very hottest of this fight, without +apparently the slightest warning, the lieutenant +threw himself upon the captain, attacking +him viciously with his sword. For a moment +they struggled there, unnoticed in the dust of the +conflict. Then the captain, swinging free, struck +the lieutenant’s sword from his hand. The latter +drew his pistol and fired, point blank. It +missed. By what miracle I do not know. All +this time the captain had held his sword poised to +lunge, within easy striking distance of the other’s +throat. But he had made no attempt to thrust. +As the pistol missed I saw him stiffen his arm to +strike. Instead he looked a long moment into +the lieutenant’s eyes. The latter was screaming +what were evidently taunts into his face. The +captain dropped his arm, wheeled, and plunged at +the now breaking line of Confederates.</p> +<p>“I have seen brave men kill bravely. I have +seen brave men bravely refrain from killing. +That was the bravest thing I ever saw.”</p> +<p>Clifford Stanton sat staring directly in front of +him. He gave no sign of hearing. He was living +over for himself that scene on a lonely, forgotten +Virginia road. At last he said as to himself:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span></div> +<p>“The lieutenant died, a soldier’s death, the +next day.”</p> +<p>“I knew,” said the Bishop quietly. “My +question is: Are you the same brave man with +a soldier’s brave, great heart that you were that +day?”</p> +<p>For a long time Clifford Stanton sat staring +directly at something that was not in the visible +world. The question had sprung upon him out +of the dead past. What right had this man, what +right had any man to face him with it?</p> +<p>He wheeled savagely upon the Bishop:</p> +<p>“You sat by the roadside and got a glimpse of +the tragedy of my life as it whirled by you on +the road! How dare you come here to tell me the +little bit of it you saw?”</p> +<p>“Because,” said the Bishop swiftly, “you have +forgotten how great and brave a man you are.”</p> +<p>Stanton stared uncomprehendingly at him. He +was stirred to the depths of feelings that he had +not known for years. But even in his emotion +and bewilderment the steel trap of silence set +upon his face. His lifetime of never speaking +until he knew what he was going to say kept him +waiting to hear more. It was not any conscious +caution; it was merely the instinct of self-defence.</p> +<p>“For months,” the Bishop was going on +quietly, “the people of my hills have been harassed +by you in your unfair efforts to get possession +of the lands upon which their fathers built +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +their homes. You have tried to cheat them. +You have sent men to lie to them. You tried to +debauch a legislature in your attempt to overcome +them. I have here in my pocket the sworn +confessions of two men who stood in the shadow +of death and said that they had been sent to burn +a whole countryside that you and your associates +coveted––to burn the people in their homes like +the meadow birds in their nests. I can trace that +act to within two men of you. And I can sit here, +Clifford Stanton, and look you in the eye man to +man and tell you that I <i>know</i> you gave the suggestion. +And you cannot look back and deny it. +I cannot take you into a court of law in this State +and prove it. We both know the futility of talking +of that. But I can take you, I do take you +this minute into the court of your own heart––where +I know a brave man lives––and convict +you of this thing. You know it. I know it. If +the whole world stood here accusing you would +we know it any the better?</p> +<p>“Now my people have made a terrible mistake. +They have taken the law into their own hands and +have thought to punish you themselves. They +have done wrong, they have done foolishly. +Who can punish you? You have power above the +law. Your interests are above the courts of the +land. They did not understand. They did not +know you. They have been misled. They have +listened to men like me preaching: ‘Right shall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +prevail: Justice shall conquer.’ And where +does right prevail? And when shall justice conquer? +No doubt you have said these phrases +yourself. Because your fathers and my fathers +taught us to say them. But are they true? Does +justice conquer? Does right prevail? You can +say. I ask you, who have the answer in your +power. Does right prevail? Then give my +stricken people what is theirs. Does justice conquer? +Then see that they come to no harm.</p> +<p>“I dare to put this thing raw to your face because +I know the man that once lived within you. +I saw you––!”</p> +<p>“Don’t harp on that,” Stanton cut in viciously. +“You know nothing about it.”</p> +<p>“I <i>do</i> harp on that. I have come here to +harp on that. Do you think that if I had not +with my eyes seen that thing I would have come +near you at all? No. I would have branded +you before all men for the thing that you have +done. I would have given these confessions +which I hold to the world. I would have denounced +you as far as tongue and pen would go +to every man who through four years gave blood +at your side. I would have braved the rebuke +of my superiors and maybe the discipline of my +Church to bring upon you the hard thoughts of +men. I would have made your name hated in +the ears of little children. But I would not have +come to you.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></div> +<p>“If I had not seen that thing I would not have +come to you, for I would have said: What +good? The man is a coward without a heart. +A <i>coward</i>, do you remember that word?”</p> +<p>The man groaned and struck out with his hand +as though to drive away a ghastly thing that would +leap upon him.</p> +<p>“A coward without a heart,” the Bishop repeated +remorselessly, “who has men and women +and children in his power and who, because he has +no heart, can use his power to crush them.</p> +<p>“If I had not seen, I would have said that.</p> +<p>“But I saw. I <i>saw</i>. And I have come here +to ask you: Are you the same brave man with a +heart that I saw on that day?</p> +<p>“You shall not evade me. Do you think you +can put me off with defences and puling arguments +of necessity, or policy, or the sacredness of +property? No. You and I are here looking at +naked truth. I will go down into your very soul +and have it out by the roots, the naked truth. +But I will have my answer. Are you that same +man?</p> +<p>“If you are not that same man; if you have +killed that in you which gave life to that man; +if that man no longer lives in you; if you are not +capable of being that same man with the heart +of a great and tender hero, then tell me and I +will go. But you shall answer me. I will have +my answer.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span></div> +<p>Clifford Stanton rose heavily from his chair +and stood trembling as though in an overpowering +rage, and visibly struggling for his command +of mind and tongue.</p> +<p>“Words, words, words,” he groaned at last. +“Your life is made of words. Words are your +coin. What do you know?</p> +<p>“Do you think that words can go down into +my soul to find the man that was once there? Do +you think that words can call him up? When +did words ever mean anything to a man’s real +heart! You come here with your question. It’s +made of words.</p> +<p>“When did men ever do anything for <i>words</i>? +Honour is a word. Truth is a word. Bravery +is a word. Loyalty is a word. Hero is a word. +Do you think men do things for words? No! +What do you know? What <i>could</i> you know?</p> +<p>“Men do things and you call them by words. +But do they do them for the words? No!</p> +<p>“They do them–– Because <i>some woman +lives, or once lived!</i> What do <i>you</i> know?</p> +<p>“Go out there. Stay there.” He pointed. +“I’ve got to think.”</p> +<p>He fell brokenly into his chair and lay against +his desk. The Bishop rose and walked from the +room.</p> +<p>When he heard the door close, the man got up +and going to the door barred it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></div> +<p>He came back and sat awhile, his head leaning +heavily upon his propped hands.</p> +<p>He opened a drawer of his desk and looked +at a smooth, glinting black and steel thing that +lay there. Then he shut the drawer with a bang +that went out to the Bishop listening in the +outer office. It was a sinister, suggestive noise, +and for an instant it chilled that good man’s +heart. But his ears were sharp and true and he +knew immediately that he had been mistaken.</p> +<p>Stanton pulled out another drawer, unlocked +a smaller compartment within it, and from the +latter took a small gold-framed picture. He set +it up on the desk between his hands and looked +long at it, questioning the face in the frame with +a tender, diffident expression of a wonder that +never ceased, of a longing never to be stilled.</p> +<p>The face that looked out of the picture was +one of a quiet, translucent beauty. At first +glance the face had none of the striking features +that men associate with great beauty. But behind +the eyes there seemed to glow, and to grow +gradually, and softly stronger, a light, as though +diffused within an alabaster vase, that slowly radiated +from the whole countenance an impression of +indescribable, gentle loveliness.</p> +<p>Clifford Stanton had often wondered what was +that light from within. He wondered now, and +questioned. Never before had that light seemed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +so wonderful and so real. Now there came to +him an answer. An answer that shook him, for +it was the last answer he would have expected. +The light within was truth––truth. It seemed +that in a world of sham and illusions and evasions +this one woman had understood, had lived with +truth.</p> +<p>The man laughed. A low, mirthless, dry +laugh that was nearer to a sob.</p> +<p>“Was that it, Lucy?” he queried. “Truth? +Then let us have a little truth, for once! I’ll tell +you some truth!</p> +<p>“I lied a while ago. He did <i>not</i> die a soldier’s +death. I told the same lie to you long ago. +Words. Words. And yet you went to Heaven +happy because I lied to you and kept on lying to +you. Words. And yet you died a happy woman, +because of that lie.</p> +<p>“He lied to you. He took you from me with +lies. Words. Lies. And yet they made you +happy. Where is truth?</p> +<p>“You lived happy and died happy with a lie. +Because I lied like what they call a man and a +gentleman. <i>Truth!</i>”</p> +<p>He looked searchingly, wonderingly at the face +before him. Did he expect to see the light fade +out, to see the face wither under the bitter +revelation?</p> +<p>“I’ve been everything,” he went on, still trying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +to make his point, “I’ve done everything, +that men say I’ve been and done. Why?</p> +<p>“Well––Why?” he asked sharply. “Did +it make any difference?</p> +<p>“Hard, grasping, tricky, men call me that to my +face––sometimes. Well––Why not? Does +it make any difference? Did it make any difference +with you? If I had thought it would–– But +it didn’t. Lies, trickery, words! They +served with you. They made you happy. +<i>Truth!</i>”</p> +<p>But as he looked into the face and the smiling +light of truth persisted in it, there came over +his soul the dawn of a wonder. And the dawn +glowed within him, so that it came to his eyes and +looked out wondering at a world remade.</p> +<p>“Is it true, Lucy?” he asked gently. “Can +that be <i>truth</i>, at last? Is that what you mean? +Did you, deep down, somewhere beneath words +and beneath thoughts, did you, did you really understand––a +little? And do you, somewhere, +understand now?</p> +<p>“Then tell me. Was it worth the lies? +Down underneath, when you understood, which +was the truth? The thing I did––which men +would call fine? Or was it the words?</p> +<p>“Is that it? Is that the truth, Lucy? Was +it the fine thing that was really the truth, and +did you, do you, know it, after all? Is there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +truth that lives deep down, and did you, who were +made of truth, did you somehow understand all +the time?”</p> +<p>He sat awhile, wondering, questioning; finally +believing. Then he said:</p> +<p>“Lucy, a man out there wants his answer. I +will not speak it to him. But I’ll say it to you: +Yes, I am that same man who once did what they +call a fine, brave thing. I didn’t do it because +it was a great thing, a brave thing. I did it for +you.</p> +<p>“And––I’ll do this for you.”</p> +<p>He looked again at the face in the picture, as +if to make sure. Then he locked it away quickly +in its place.</p> +<p>He thought for a moment, then drew a pad +abruptly to him and began writing. He wrote +two telegrams, one to the Governor of the State, +the other to the Sheriff of Tupper County. Then +he took another pad and wrote a note, this to his +personal representative who was following the +state troops into the hills.</p> +<p>He rose and walked briskly to the door. +Throwing it open he called a clerk and gave him +the two telegrams. He held the note in his hand +and asked the Bishop back into the office.</p> +<p>Closing the door quickly, he said without +preface:</p> +<p>“This note will put my man up there at your +service. You will prefer to go up into the hills +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +yourself, I think. The officers in command of the +troops will know that you are empowered to act +for all parties. The Governor will have seen to +that before you get there, I think. There will +be no attempt at prosecutions, now or afterwards. +You can settle the whole matter in no time.</p> +<p>“We will not buy the land, but we’ll give a +fair rental, based on what ores we find to take +out. You can give <i>your</i> word––mine wouldn’t +go for much up there, I guess,” he put in grimly––“that +it will be fair. You can make that the +basis of settlement.</p> +<p>“They can go back and rebuild. I will help, +where it will do the most good. Our operations +won’t interfere much with their farm land, I find.</p> +<p>“You will want to start at once. That is all, +I guess, Bishop,” he concluded abruptly.</p> +<p>The Bishop reached for the smaller man’s hand +and wrung it with a sudden, unwonted emotion.</p> +<p>“I will not cheapen this, sir,” he said evenly, +“by attempting to thank you.”</p> +<p>“A mere whim of mine, that’s all,” Stanton +cut in almost curtly, the steel-trap expression snapping +into place over his face. “A mere whim.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the Bishop slowly, looking him +squarely in the eyes, “I only came to ask a question, +anyhow.” Then he turned and walked +briskly from the office. He had no right and no +wish to know what the other man chose to conceal +beneath that curt and incisive manner.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></div> +<p>So these two men parted. In words, they had +not understood each other. Neither had come +near the depths of the other. But then, what man +does ever let another man see what is in his +heart?</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>All day long the line of armed men had gone +spreading itself wider and wider, to draw itself +around the edges of the shorter line of men hidden +in the protecting fringe of the hills. All day +long clearly and more clearly Jeffrey Whiting +had been seeing the inevitable end. His line was +already stretched almost to the breaking point. +If the enemy had known, there were dangerous +gaps in it now through which a few daring men +might have pushed and have begun to divide up +the strength of the men with him.</p> +<p>All the afternoon as he watched he saw other +and yet other groups and troops of men come +up the railroad, detrain and push out ever +farther upon the enveloping wings to east and +west.</p> +<p>Twice during the afternoon the ends of his line +had been driven in and almost surrounded. +They had decided in the beginning to leave their +horses in the rear, and so use them only at the +last. But the spreading line in front had become +too long to be covered on foot by the few men he +had. They were forced to use the speed of the +animals to make a show of greater force than +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +they really had. The horses furnished marks that +even the soldiers could occasionally hit. All the +afternoon long, and far into the night, the screams +of terrified, wounded horses rang horribly through +the woods above the pattering crackle of the irregular +rifle fire. Old men who years before had +learned to sleep among such sounds lay down and +fell asleep grumbling. Young men and boys who +had never heard such sounds turned sick with horror +or wandered frightened through the dark, +nervously ready to fire on any moving twig or +scraping branch.</p> +<p>In the night Jeffrey Whiting went along the +line, talking aside to every man; telling them to +slip quietly away through the dark. They could +make their way out through the loose lines of +soldiers and sheriffs’ men and get down to the villages +where they would be unknown and where +nobody would bother with them.</p> +<p>The inevitable few took his word–– There is +always the inevitable few. They slipped away +one by one, each man telling himself a perfectly +good reason for going, several good reasons, in +fact; any reason, indeed, but that they were afraid. +Most of them were gathered in by the soldier +pickets and sent down to jail.</p> +<p>Morning came, a grey, lowering morning with +a grim, ugly suggestion in it of the coming winter. +Jeffrey Whiting and his men drew wearily +out to their posts, munching dryly at the last of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +the stores which they had taken from the construction +depots along the line which they had destroyed. +This was the end. It was not far from +the mind of each man that this would probably be +his last meal.</p> +<p>The firing began again as the outer line came +creeping in upon them. They had still the great +advantage of the shelter of the woods and the +formation of the soldiers, while their marksmanship +kept those directly in front of them almost +out of range. But there was nothing in sight before +them but that they would certainly all be surrounded +and shot down or taken.</p> +<p>Suddenly the fire from below ceased. Those +who had been watching the most distant of the +two wings creeping around them saw these men +halt and slowly begin to gather back together. +What was it? Were they going to rush at last? +Here would be a fight in earnest!</p> +<p>But the soldiers, still keeping their spread formation, +merely walked back in their tracks until +they were entirely out of range. It must be a +ruse of some sort. The hill men stuck to their +shelter, puzzled, but determined not to be drawn +out.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting, watching near the middle of +the line, saw an old man walking, barehead, up +over the lines of half-burnt ties and twisted +rails. That white head with the high, wide brow, +the slightly stooping, spare shoulders, the long, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +swinging walk–– That was the Bishop of Alden!</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting dropped his gun and, yelling to +the men on either side to stay where they were, +jumped down into the roadbed and ran to meet the +Bishop.</p> +<p>“Are any men killed?” the Bishop asked before +Jeffrey had time to speak as they met.</p> +<p>“Old Erskine Beasley was shot through the +chest––we don’t know how bad it is,” said +Jeffrey, stopping short. “Ten other men are +wounded. I don’t think any of them are bad.”</p> +<p>“Call in your men,” said the Bishop briefly. +“The soldiers are going back.”</p> +<p>At Jeffrey’s call the men came running from +all sides as he and the Bishop reached the line. +Haggard, ragged, powder-grimed they gathered +round, staring in dull unbelief at this new appearance +of the White Horse Chaplain, for so one +and all they knew and remembered him. Men +who had seen him years ago at Fort Fisher slipped +back into the scene of that day and looked about +blankly for the white horse. And young men who +had heard that tale many times and had seen and +heard of his coming through the fire to French +Village stared round-eyed at him. What did this +coming mean?</p> +<p>He told them shortly the terms that Clifford +W. Stanton, their enemy, was willing to make with +them. And in the end he added:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span></div> +<p>“You have only my word that these things will +be done as I say. <i>I</i> believe. If you believe, you +will take your horses and get back to your families +at once.”</p> +<p>Then, in the weakness and reaction of relief, +the men for the first time knew what they had +been through. Their knees gave under them. +They tried to cheer, but could raise only a croaking +quaver. Many who had thought never to see +loved ones again burst out sobbing and crying +over the names of those they were saved to.</p> +<p>The Bishop, taking Jeffrey Whiting with him, +walked slowly back down the roadbed. Suddenly +Jeffrey remembered something that had gone +completely out of his mind in these last hours.</p> +<p>“Bishop,” he stammered, “that day––that +day in court. I––I said you lied. Now I know +you didn’t. You told the truth, of course.”</p> +<p>“My boy,” said the Bishop queerly, “yesterday +I asked a man, on his soul, for the truth––the +truth. I got no answer.</p> +<p>“But I remembered that Pontius Pilate, in the +name of the Emperor of all the World, once +asked what was truth. And <i>he</i> got no answer. +Once, at least, in our lives we have to learn that +there are things bigger than we are. We get no +answer.”</p> +<p>Jeffrey inquired no more for truth that day.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +<a name='X_THAT_THEY_BE_NOT_AFRAID' id='X_THAT_THEY_BE_NOT_AFRAID'></a> +<h2>X</h2> +<h3>THAT THEY BE NOT AFRAID</h3> +</div> +<p>It was morning in the hills; morning and Spring +and the bud of Promise.</p> +<p>The snow had been gone from the sunny places +for three weeks now. He still lingered three feet +deep on the crown of Bald Mountain, from which +only the hot June sun and the warm rains would +drive him. He still held fastnesses on the northerly +side of high hills, where the sun could not +come at him and only the trickling rain-wash +running down the hill could eat him out from +underneath. But the sun had chased him away +from the open places and had beckoned lovingly to +the grass and the germinant life beneath to come +boldly forth, for the enemy was gone.</p> +<p>But the grass was timid. And the hardy little +wild flowers, the forget-me-nots and the little +wild pansies held back fearfully. Even the +bold dandelions, the hobble-de-hoys and tom-boys +of meadow and hill, peeped out with a wary circumspection +that belied their nature. For all of +them had been burned to the very roots of the +roots. But the sun came warmer, more insistent, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +and kissed the scarred, brown body of earth and +warmed it. Life stirred within. The grass and +the little flowers took courage out of their very +craving for life and pushed resolutely forth. +And, lo! The miracle was accomplished! The +world was born again!</p> +<p>Cynthe Cardinal was coming up Beaver Run +on her way back to French Village. She had been +to put the first flowers of the Spring on the grave +of Rafe Gadbeau, where Father Ponfret had +blessed the ground for him and they had laid him, +there under the sunny side of the Gaunt Rocks +that had given him his last breathing space that +he might die in peace. They had put him here, +for there was no way in that time to carry him +to the little cemetery in French Village. And +Cynthe was well satisfied that it was so. Here, +under the Gaunt Rocks, she would not have to +share him with any one. And she would not have +to hear people pointing out the grave to each other +and to see them staring.</p> +<p>The water tumbling down the Run out of the +hills sang a glad, uproarious song, as is the way +of all brooks at their beginnings, concerning the +necessity of getting down as swiftly as possible +to the big, wide life of the sea. The sea would +not care at all if that brook never came down to +it. But the brook did not know that. Would not +have believed it if it had been told.</p> +<p>And Cynthe hummed herself, a sad little song +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +of old Beaupre––which she had never seen, for +Cynthe was born here in the hills. Cynthe was +sad, beyond doubt; for here was the mating time, +and–– But Cynthe was not unhappy. The +Good God was still in his Heaven, and still good. +Life beckoned. The breath of air was sweet. +There was work in the world to do. And––when +all was said and done––Rafe Gadbeau was +in Heaven.</p> +<p>As she left the Run and was crossing up to +the divide she met Jeffrey Whiting coming down. +He had been over in the Wilbur’s Fork country +and was returning home. He stopped and +showed that he was anxious to talk with her. +Cynthe was not averse. She was ever a chatty, +sociable little person, and, besides, for some time +she had had it in mind that she would some day +take occasion to say a few pertinent things to this +scowling young gentleman with the big face.</p> +<p>“You’re with Ruth Lansing a lot, aren’t you?” +he said, after some verbal beating about the bush; +“how is she?”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you come see, if you want to +know?” retorted Cynthe sharply.</p> +<p>Jeffrey had no ready answer. So Cynthe went +on:</p> +<p>“If you wanted to know why didn’t you come +up all Winter and see? Why didn’t you come +up when she was nursing the dirty French babies +through the black diphtheria, when their own +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +mothers were afraid of them? Why didn’t you +come see when she was helping the mothers up +there to get into their houses and make the houses +warm before the coming of the Winter, though +she had no house of her own? Why didn’t you +come see when she nearly got her death from +the ’mmonia caring for old Robbideau Laclair +in his house that had no roof on it, till she shamed +the lazy men to go and fix that roof? Did you +ask somebody then? Why didn’t you come +see?”</p> +<p>“Well,” Jeffrey defended, “I didn’t know +about any of those things. And we had plenty +to do here––our place and my mother and all. +I didn’t see her at all till Easter Sunday. I +sneaked up to your church, just to get a look at +her. She saw me. But she didn’t seem to want +to.”</p> +<p>“But she should have been delighted to see +you,” Cynthe snapped back. “Don’t you think +so? Certainly, she should have been overjoyed. +She should have flown to your arms! Not so? +You remember what you said to her the last time +you saw her before that. No? I will tell you. +You called her ‘liar’ before the whole court, even +the Judge! Of one certainty, she should have +flown to you. No?”</p> +<p>Now if Jeffrey had been wise he would have +gone away, with all haste. But he was not wise. +He was sore. He felt ill-used. He was sure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +that some of this was unjust. He foolishly stayed +to argue.</p> +<p>“But she––she cared for me,” he blurted out. +“I know she did. I couldn’t understand why she +couldn’t tell––the truth; when you––you did so +much for me.”</p> +<p>“For you? For <i>you</i>!” the girl flamed up in +his face. “Oh, villainous monster of vanity! For +<i>you</i>! Ha! I could laugh! For <i>you</i>! I put +<i>mon Rafe</i>––dead in his grave––to shame before +all the world, called him murderer, blackened +his name, for <i>you</i>!</p> +<p>“No! No! <i>No!</i> <i>Never!</i></p> +<p>“I would not have said a word against him to +save you from the death. <i>Never!</i></p> +<p>“I did what I did, because there was a debt. +A debt which <i>mon Rafe</i> had forgotten to pay. +He was waiting outside of Heaven for me to pay +that debt. I paid. I paid. His way was made +straight. He could go in. I did it for <i>you</i>! +Ha!”</p> +<p>The theology of this was beyond Jeffrey. And +the girl had talked so rapidly and so fiercely that +he could not gather even the context of the matter. +He gave up trying to follow it and went back +to his main argument.</p> +<p>“But why couldn’t she have told the truth?”</p> +<p>“The truth, eh! You must have the truth! +The girl must tell the truth for you! No matter +if she was to blacken her soul before God, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +you must have the truth told for you. The truth! +It was not enough for you to know that the +girl loved you, with her heart, with her life, that +she would have died for you if she might! No. +The poor girl must tear out the secret lining of her +heart for you, to save you!</p> +<p>“Think you that if <i>mon Rafe</i> was alive and +stood there where you stood, in peril of his life; +think you that he would ask me to give up the +secret of the Holy Confession to save him. <i>Non!</i> +<i>Mon Rafe</i> was a <i>man</i>! He would die, telling me +to keep that which God had trusted me with!</p> +<p>“Name of a Woodchuck! Who were you to +be saved; that the Good God must come down +from His Heaven to break the Seal of the Unopened +Book for <i>you</i>!</p> +<p>“You ask for truth! <i>Tiens!</i> I will tell you +truth!</p> +<p>“You sat in the place of the prisoner and cried +that you were an innocent man. <i>Mon Rafe</i> was +the guilty man. The whole world must come +forth, the secrets of the grave must come forth +to declare you innocent and him guilty! You +were innocent! You were persecuted! The +earth and the Heaven must come to show that you +were innocent and he was guilty! <i>Bah!</i> <i>You +were as guilty as he!</i></p> +<p>“I was there. I saw. Your finger was on +the trigger. You only waited for the man to stop +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +moving. Murder was in your heart. Murder +was in your soul. Murder was in your finger. +But you were innocent and <i>mon Rafe</i> was guilty. +By how much?</p> +<p>“By one second. That was the difference between +<i>mon Rafe</i> and you. Just that second that +he shot before you were ready. <i>That</i> was the +difference between you the innocent man and <i>mon +Rafe</i>!</p> +<p>“You were guilty. In your heart you were +guilty. In your soul you were guilty. M’sieur +Cain himself was not more guilty than you!</p> +<p>“You were more guilty than <i>mon Rafe</i>, for he +had suffered more from that man. He was +hunted. He was desperate, crazy! You were +cool. You were ready. Only <i>mon Rafe</i> was a +little quicker, because he was desperate. Before +the Good God you were more guilty.</p> +<p>“And <i>mon Rafe</i> must be blackened more than +the fire had blackened his poor body. And the +poor Ruth must break the Holy Secret. And the +good M’sieur the Bishop must break his holiest +oath. All to make you innocent!</p> +<p>“Bah! <i>Innocent!</i>”</p> +<p>She flung away from him and ran up the hill. +Cynthe had not said quite all that she intended to +say to this young gentleman. But then, also, she +had said a good deal more than she had intended +to say. So it was about even. She had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +said enough. And it would do him no harm. +She had felt that she owed <i>mon Rafe</i> a little plain +speaking. She was much relieved.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting stood where she had left him +digging up the tender roots of the new grass with +his toe. He did not look after the girl. He had +forgotten her.</p> +<p>He felt no resentment at the things that she had +said. He did not argue with himself as to +whether these things were just or unjust. Of all +the things that she had said only one thing mattered. +And that not because she had said it. It +mattered because it was true. The quick, jabbing +sentences from the girl had driven home to him +just one thing.</p> +<p>Guilty? He <i>was</i> guilty. He was as guilty as––Rafe +Gadbeau.</p> +<p>Provocation? Yes, he had had provocation, +bitter, blinding provocation. But so had Rafe +Gadbeau: and he had never thought of Rafe Gadbeau +as anything but guilty of murder.</p> +<p>He turned on his heel and walked down the +Run with swift, swinging strides, fighting this conviction +that was settling upon him. He fought it +viciously, with contempt, arguing that he was a +man, that the thing was done and past, that men +have no time for remorse and sickish, mawkish +repentance. Those things were for brooding +women, and Frenchmen. He fought it reasonably, +sagaciously; contending that he had not, in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +fact, pulled the trigger. How did he know that +he would ever have done so? Maybe he had not +really intended to kill at all. Maybe he would not +have killed. The man might have spoken to him. +Perhaps he was going to speak when he turned +that time. Who could tell? Ten thousand +things might have happened, any one of which +would have stood between him and killing the man. +He fought it defiantly. Suppose he had killed the +man? What about it? The man deserved it. +He had a right to kill him.</p> +<p>But he knew that he was losing at every angle +of the fight. For the conviction answered not a +word to any of these things. It merely fastened +itself upon his spirit and stuck to the original indictment: +“As guilty as Rafe Gadbeau.”</p> +<p>And when he came over the top of the hill, +from where he could look down upon the grave of +Rafe Gadbeau there under the Gaunt Rocks, the +conviction pointed out to him just one enduring +fact. It said: “There is the grave of Rafe +Gadbeau; as long as memory lives to say anything +about that grave it will say: a murderer was buried +here.”</p> +<p>Then he fought no more with the conviction. +It gripped his spirit and cowed him. It sat upon +his shoulders and rode home with him. His +mother saw it in his face, and, not understanding, +began to look for some fresh trouble.</p> +<p>She need not have looked for new trouble, so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +far as concerned things outside himself. For +Jeffrey was doing very well in the world of men. +He had gotten the home rebuilt, a more comfortable +and finer home than it had ever been. +He had secured an excellent contract from the railroad +to supply thousands of ties out of the timber +of the high hills. He had made money out +of that. And once he had gotten a taste of money-making, +in a business that was his by the traditions +of his people and his own liking, he knew that he +had found himself a career.</p> +<p>He was working now on a far bigger project, +the reforesting of thirty thousand acres of the +higher hill country. In time there would be unlimited +money in that. But there was more than +money in it. It was a game and a life which he +knew and which he loved. To make money by +making things more abundant, by covering the +naked peaks of the hill country with sturdy, growing +timber, that was a thing that appealed to him.</p> +<p>All the Winter nights he had spent learning the +things that men had done in Germany and elsewhere +in this direction, and in adding this knowledge +to what he knew could be done here in the +hills. Already he knew it was being said that +he was a young fellow who knew more about growing +timber than any two old men in the hills. +And he knew how much this meant, coming from +among a people who are not prone to give youth +more than its due. Already he was being picked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +as an expert. Next week he was going down to +Albany to give answers to a legislative committee +for the Forest Commission, which was trying to +get appropriations from the State for cleaning up +brush and deadfalls from out of standing timber––a +thing that if well done would render forest +fires almost harmless.</p> +<p>He was getting a standing and a recognition +which now made that law school diploma––the +thing that he had once regarded as the portal of +the world––look cheap and little.</p> +<p>But, as he sat late that night working on his +forestry calculations, the roadway of his dreams +fell away from under him. The high colour of +his ambitions faded to a grey wall that stood before +him and across the grey wall in letters of +black he could only see the word––<i>guilty</i>.</p> +<p>What was it all worth? Why work? Why +fight? Why dream? Why anything? when at +the end and the beginning of all things there stood +that wall with the word written across it. +Guilty––guilty as Rafe Gadbeau. And Ruth +Lansing––!</p> +<p>A flash of sudden insight caught him and held +him in its glaring light. He had been doing all +this work. He had built this home. He had +fought the roughest timber-jacks and the high hills +and the raging winter for money. He had +dreamt and laboured on his dreams and built them +higher. Why? For Ruth Lansing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></div> +<p>He had fought the thought of her. He had +put her out of his mind. He had said that she +had failed him in need. He had even, in the +blackest time of the night, called her liar. He +had forgotten her, he said.</p> +<p>Now he knew that not for an instant had she +been out of his mind. Every stroke of work had +been for her. She had stood at the top of the +high path of every struggling dream.</p> +<p>Between him and her now rose that grey wall +with the one word written on it. Was that what +they had meant that day there in the court, she +and the Bishop? Had they not lied, after all? +Was there some sort of uncanny truth or insight +or hidden justice in that secret confessional of +theirs that revealed the deep, the real, the everlasting +truth, while it hid the momentary, accidental +truth of mere words? In effect, they had +said that he was guilty. And he <i>was</i> guilty!</p> +<p>What was that the Bishop had said when he +had asked for truth that day on the railroad line? +“Sooner or later we have to learn that there is +something bigger than we are.” Was this what +it meant? Was this the thing bigger than he was? +The thing that had seen through him, had looked +down into his heart, had measured him; was this +the thing that was bigger than he?</p> +<p>He was whirled about in a confusing, distorting +maze of imagination, misinformation, and +some unreadable facts.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span></div> +<p>He was a guilty man. Ruth Lansing knew that +he was guilty. That was why she had acted as +she had. He would go to her. He would––! +But what was the use? She would not talk to +him about this. She would merely deny, as she +had done before, that she knew anything at all. +What could he do? Where could he turn? +They, he and Ruth, could never speak of that +thing. They could never come to any understanding +of anything. This thing, this wall––with +that word written on it––would stand between +them forever; this wall of guilt and the secret that +was sealed behind her lips. Certainly this was the +thing that was stronger than he. There was no +answer. There was no way out.</p> +<p>Guilty! Guilty as Rafe Gadbeau!</p> +<p>But Rafe Gadbeau had found a way out. He +was not guilty any more. Cynthe had said so. +He had gotten past that wall of guilt somehow. +He had merely come through the fire and thrown +himself at a man’s feet and had his guilt wiped +away. What was there in that uncanny thing they +called confession, that a man, guilty, guilty as––as +Rafe Gadbeau, could come to another man, +and, by the saying of a few words, turn over and +face death feeling that his guilt was wiped away?</p> +<p>It was a delusion, of course. The saying of +words could never wipe away Rafe Gadbeau’s +guilt, any more than it could take away this guilt +from Jeffrey Whiting. It was a delusion, yes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +But Rafe Gadbeau <i>believed</i> it! Cynthe believed +it! And Cynthe was no fool. <i>Ruth</i> believed it!</p> +<p>It was a delusion, yes. But––<i>What</i> a delusion! +What a magnificent, soul-stirring delusion! +A delusion that could lift Rafe Gadbeau +out of the misery of his guilt, that carried the +souls of millions of guilty people through all the +world up out of the depths of their crimes to a +confidence of relief and freedom!</p> +<p>Then the soul of Jeffrey Whiting went down +into the abyss of despairing loneliness. It trod +the dark ways in which there was no guidance. +It did not look up, for it knew not to whom or +to what it might appeal. It travelled an endless +round of memory, from cause to effect and back +again to cause, looking for the single act, or +thought, that must have been the starting point, +that must have held the germ of his guilt.</p> +<p>Somewhere there must have been a beginning. +He knew that he was not in any particular a different +person, capable of anything different, likely +to anything different, that morning on Bald Mountain +from what he had been on any other morning +since he had become a man. There was never +a time, so far as he could see, when he would not +have been ready to do the thing which he was +ready to do that morning––given the circumstances. +Nor had he changed in any way since +that morning. What had been essentially his act, +his thought, a part of him, that morning was just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +as much a part of him, was himself, in fact, this +minute. There was no thing in the succession +of incidents to which he could point and say: +That was not I who did that: I did not mean +that: I am sorry I did that. Nor would there +ever be a time when he could say any of these +things. It seemed that he must always have been +guilty of that thing; that in all his life to come +he must always be guilty of it. There had been +no change in him to make him capable of it, to +make him wish it; there had been no later change +in him by which he would undo it. It seemed +that his guilt was something which must have begun +away back in the formation of his character, +and which would persist as long as he was the +being that he was. There was no beginning of +it. There was no way that it might ever end.</p> +<p>And, now that he remembered, Ruth Lansing +had seen that guilt, too. She had seen it in his +eyes before ever the thought had taken shape in +his mind.</p> +<p>What had she seen? What was that thing written +so clear in his eyes that she could read and +tell him of it that day on the road from French +Village?</p> +<p>He would go to her and ask her. She should +tell him what was that thing she had seen. He +would make her tell. He would have it from +her!</p> +<p>But, no. Where was the use? It would only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +bring them to that whole, impossible, bewildering +business of the confessional. And he did not +want to hear any more of that. His heart was +sick of it. It had made him suffer enough. And +he did not doubt now that Ruth had suffered +equally, or maybe more, from it.</p> +<p>Where could he go? He must tell this thing. +He <i>must</i> talk of it to some one! That resistless, +irrepressible impulse for confession, that call +of the lone human soul for confidence, was upon +him. He must find some other soul to share with +him the burden of this conviction. He must find +some one who would understand and to whom he +could speak.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting was not subtle. He could not +have analysed what this craving meant. He only +knew that it was very real, that his soul was staggering +alone and blind under the weight of this +thing.</p> +<p>There was one man who would understand. +The man who had looked upon the faces of life +and death these many years, the man of strange +comings and goings, the Bishop who had set him +on the way of all this, and who from what he had +said in his house in Alden, that day so long ago +when all this began, may have foreseen this very +thing, the man who had heard Rafe Gadbeau cry +out his guilt; that man would understand. He +would go to him.</p> +<p>He wrote a note which his mother would find in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +the morning, and slipping quietly out of the +house he saddled his horse for the ride to Lowville.</p> +<p>“I came because I had to come,” Jeffrey began, +when the Bishop had seated him. “I don’t know +why I should come to you. I know you cannot +do anything. There is nothing for any one to do. +But I had to tell some one. I <i>had</i> to say it to +somebody.”</p> +<p>“I sat that day in the courtroom,” he went on +as the Bishop waited, “and thought that the whole +world was against me. It seemed that everybody +was determined to make me guilty––even you, +even Ruth. And I was innocent. I had done +nothing. I was bitter and desperate with the idea +that everybody was trying to make me out guilty, +when I was innocent. I had done nothing. I had +not killed a man. I told the men there on the +mountain that I was innocent and they would not +believe me. Ruth and you knew in your hearts +that I had not done the thing, but you would not +say a word for me, an innocent man.”</p> +<p>“It was that as much as anything, that feeling +that the whole world wanted to condemn me knowing +that I was innocent, that drove me on to the +wild attack upon the railroad. I was fighting +back, fighting back against everybody.</p> +<p>“And––this is what I came to say––all the +time I was guilty––guilty: guilty as Rafe Gadbeau!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span></div> +<p>“I am not sure I understand,” said the Bishop +slowly, as Jeffrey stopped.</p> +<p>“Oh, there’s nothing to understand. It is just +as I say. I was guilty of that man’s death before +I saw him at all that morning. I was guilty of it +that instant when Rafe Gadbeau fired. I am +guilty now. I will always be guilty. Rafe Gadbeau +could say a few words to you and turn over +into the next world, free. I cannot,” he ended, +with a sort of grim finality as though he saw again +before him that wall against which he had come +the night before.</p> +<p>“You mean––” the Bishop began slowly. +Then he asked suddenly, “What brought your +mind to this view of the matter?”</p> +<p>“A girl,” said Jeffrey, “the girl that saved me; +that French girl that loved Rafe Gadbeau. She +showed me.”</p> +<p>Ah, thought the Bishop, Cynthe has been relieving +her mind with some plain speaking. But he +did not feel at all easy. He knew better than to +treat the matter lightly. Jeffrey Whiting was not +a boy to be laughed out of a morbid notion, or to +be told to grow older and forget the thing. His +was a man’s soul, standing in the dark, grappling +with a thing with which it could not cope. The +wrong word here might mar his whole life. Here +was no place for softening away the realities with +reasoning. The man’s soul demanded a man’s +straight answer.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></div> +<p>“Before you could be guilty,” said the Bishop +decisively, “you must have injured some one by +your thought, your intention. Whom did you injure?”</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting leaped at the train of thought, +to follow it out from the maze which his mind +had been treading. Here was the answer. This +would clear the way. Whom had he injured?</p> +<p>Well, <i>whom</i> had he injured? <i>Who</i> had been +hurt by his thought, his wish, to kill a man? Had +it hurt the man, Samuel Rogers? No. He was +none the worse of it.</p> +<p>Had it hurt Rafe Gadbeau? No. He did not +enter into this at all.</p> +<p>Had it hurt Jeffrey Whiting, himself? Not till +yesterday; and not in the way meant.</p> +<p>Whom, then? And if it had hurt nobody, then––then +why all this––? Jeffrey Whiting rose +from his chair as though to go. He did not look +at the Bishop. He stood with his eyes fixed unseeing +upon the floor, asking:</p> +<p>Whom?</p> +<p>Suddenly, from within, just barely audible +through his lips there came the answer; a single +word:</p> +<p>“<i>God!</i>”</p> +<p>“Your business is with Him, then,” said the +Bishop, rising with what almost seemed brusqueness. +“You wanted to see Him.”</p> +<p>“But––but,” Jeffrey Whiting hesitated to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +argue, “men come to you, to confess. Rafe Gadbeau––!”</p> +<p>“No,” said the Bishop quickly, “you are +wrong. Men come to me to <i>confession</i>. They +come to <i>confess</i> to God.”</p> +<p>He took the young man’s hand, saying:</p> +<p>“I will not say another word. You have found +your own answer. You would not understand better +if I talked forever. Find God, and tell Him, +what you have told me.”</p> +<p>In the night Jeffrey Whiting rode back up the +long way to the hills and home. He was still bewildered, +disappointed, and a little resentful of the +Bishop’s brief manners with him. He had gone +looking for sympathy, understanding, help. And +he had been told to find God.</p> +<p>Find God? How did men go about to find +God? Wasn’t all the world continually on the +lookout for God, and who ever found Him? Did +the preachers find Him? Did the priests find +Him? And if they did, what did they say to +Him? Did people who were sick, and people who +said God had answered their prayers and punished +their enemies for them; did they find God?</p> +<p>Did they find Him when they prayed? Did +they find Him when they were in trouble? What +did the Bishop mean? Find God? He must +have meant something? How did the Bishop +himself find God? Was there some word, some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +key, some hidden portal by which men found God? +Was God to be found here on the hills, in the +night, in the open?</p> +<p>God! God! his soul cried incoherently, how +can I come, how can I find! A wordless, baffled, +impotent cry, that reached nowhere.</p> +<p>The Bishop had once said it. We get no answer.</p> +<p>Then the sense of his guilt, unending, ineradicable +guilt, swept down upon him again and +beat him and flattened him and buffeted him. It +left him shaken and beaten. He was not able to +face this thing. It was too big for him. He was +after all only a boy, a lost boy, travelling alone in +the dark, under the unconcerned stars. He had +been caught and crushed between forces and passions +that were too much for him. He was little +and these things were very great.</p> +<p>Unconsciously the heart within him, the child +heart that somehow lives ever in every man, began +to speak, to speak, without knowing it, direct +to God.</p> +<p>It was not a prayer. It was not a plea. It was +not an excuse. It was the simple unfolding of the +heart of a child to the Father who made it. The +heart was bruised. A weight was crushing it. It +could not lift itself. That was all; the cry of helplessness +complete, of dependence utter and unreasoning.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span></div> +<p>Suddenly the man raised his head and looked at +the stars, blinking at him through the starting +tears.</p> +<p>Was that God? Had some one spoken? +Where was the load that had lain upon him all +these weary hours?</p> +<p>He stopped his horse and looked about him, +breathing in great, free, hungry breaths of God’s +air about him. For it <i>was</i> God’s air. That was +the wonder of it. The world was God’s! And it +was new made for him to live in!</p> +<p>He breathed his thanks, a breath and a prayer +of thanks, as simple and unreasoning, unquestioning, +as had been the unfolding of his heart. He +had been bound: he was free!</p> +<p>Then his horse went flying up the hill road, +beating a tattoo of new life upon the soft, breathing +air of the spring night.</p> +<p>With the inconsequence of all of us children +when God has lifted the stone from our hearts, +Jeffrey had already left everything of the last thirty-six +hours behind him as completely as if he had +never lived through those hours. (That He lets +us forget so easily, shows that He is the Royal +God in very deed.)</p> +<p>Before the sun was well up in the morning +Jeffrey was on his way to French Village, to look +out the cabin where Ruth had cared for old Robbideau +Laclair, and had shamed the lazy men into +fixing that roof.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span></div> +<p>What he had heard the other day from Cynthe +was by no means all that he had heard of the +doings of Ruth during the last seven months. +For the French people had taken her to their +hearts and had made of her a wonderful new kind +of saint. They had seen her come to them out of +the fire. They had heard of her silence at the +trial of the man she loved. They had seen her +devoting herself with a careless fearlessness to +their loved ones in the time when the black diphtheria +had frightened the wits out of the best of +women. All the while they knew that she was not +happy. And they had explained fully to the +countryside just what was their opinion of the +whole matter.</p> +<p>Jeffrey, remembering these things, and suddenly +understanding many things that had been hidden +from him, was very humble as he wondered what +he could say to Ruth.</p> +<p>At the outskirts of the little unpainted village he +met Cynthe.</p> +<p>“Where is she?” he asked without preface.</p> +<p>Cynthe looked at him curiously, a long, searching +look, and was amazed at the change she +saw.</p> +<p>Here was not the heady, thoughtless boy to +whom she had talked the other day. Here was a +man, a thinking man, a man who had suffered and +had learned some things out of unknown places of +his heart.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span></div> +<p>I hurt him, she thought. Maybe I said too +much. But I am not sorry. <i>Non.</i></p> +<p>“The last house,” she answered, “by the crook +of the lake there. She will be glad,” she remarked +simply, and turned on her way.</p> +<p>Jeffrey rode on, thanking the little French girl +heartily for the word that she had thought to add. +It was a warrant, it seemed, of forgiveness––and +of all things.</p> +<p>Old Robbideau Laclair and his crippled wife +Philomena sat in the sun by the side of the house +watching Ruth, who with strong brown arms bare +above the elbow was working away contentedly +in their little patch of garden. They nudged each +other as Jeffrey rode up and left his horse, but +they made no sign to Ruth.</p> +<p>So Jeffrey stepping lightly on the soft new earth +came to her unseen and unheard. He took the +hoe from her hand as she turned to face him. Up +to that moment Jeffrey had not known what he +was to say to her. What was there to say? But +as he looked into her startled, pain-clouded eyes +he found himself saying:</p> +<p>“I hurt God once, very much. I did not know +what to say to Him. Last night He taught me +what to say. I hurt you, once, very much. Will +you tell me what to say to you, Ruth?”</p> +<p>It was a surprising, disconcerting greeting. +But Ruth quickly understood. There was no irreverence +in it, only a man’s stumbling, wholehearted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +confession. It was a plea that she had no +will to deny. The quick, warm tears of joy came +welling to her eyes as she silently took his hand +and led him out of the little garden and to where +his horse stood.</p> +<p>There, she leaning against his horse, her fingers +slipping softly through the big bay’s mane, Jeffrey +standing stiff and anxious before her, with the glad +morning and the high hills and all French Village +observing them with kindly eyes, these two faced +their question.</p> +<p>But after all there was no question. For +when Jeffrey had told all, down to that moment in +the dark road when he had found God in his heart, +Ruth, with that instinct of mothering tenderness +that is born in every woman, said:</p> +<p>“Poor boy, you have suffered too much!”</p> +<p>“What I suffered was that I made for myself,” +he said thickly. “Cynthe Cardinal told me what +a fool I was.”</p> +<p>“What did Cynthe tell you?”</p> +<p>“She told me that you loved me.”</p> +<p>“Did you need to be told that, Jeffrey?” said +the girl very quietly.</p> +<p>“Yes, it seems so. I’d known your little white +soul ever since you were a baby. I knew that in +all your life you’d never had a thought that was +not the best, the truest, the loyalest for me. I +knew that there was never a time when you +wouldn’t have given everything, even life, for me. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span> +I knew it that day in the Bishop’s house. I knew +it that morning when you came to me in the sugar +cabin.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I knew all that,” he went on bitterly. +“I knew you loved me, and I knew what a love it +was. I knew it. And yet that day––that day +in the courtroom, the only thing I could do was +to call you liar!”</p> +<p>She put up her hands with an appeal to stop him, +but he went on doggedly.</p> +<p>“Yes, I did. That was all I could think of. +I threw it at you like a blow in the face. I saw +you quiver and shrink, as though I had struck you. +And even that sight wasn’t enough for me. I +kept on saying it, when I knew in my heart it +wasn’t so. I couldn’t help but know it. I knew +you. But I kept on telling myself that you lied; +kept on till yesterday. I wasn’t big enough. I +wasn’t man enough to see that you were just facing +something that was bigger than both of us––something +that was bigger and truer than words––that +there was no way out for you but to do +what you did.”</p> +<p>“Jeffrey, dear,” the girl hurried to say, “you +know that’s a thing we can’t speak about––”</p> +<p>“Yes, we can, now. I know and I understand. +You needn’t say anything. I <i>understand</i>.”</p> +<p>“And I understand a lot more,” he began +again. “It took that little French girl to tell me +what was the truth. I know it now. There was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +a deeper, a truer truth under everything. That +was why you had to do as you did. That’s why +everything was so. I wasn’t innocent. Things +don’t <i>happen</i> as those things did. They work out, +because they have to.”</p> +<p>The girl was watching him with fright and +wonder in her eyes. What was he going to say? +But she let him go on.</p> +<p>“No, I wasn’t innocent,” he said, as though to +himself now. “I fooled myself into thinking that +I was. But I was not. I meant to kill a man. +I had meant to for a long time. Nothing but +Rafe Gadbeau’s quickness prevented me. No, I +wasn’t innocent. I was guilty in my heart. I was +a murderer. I was guilty. I was as guilty as +Rafe Gadbeau! As guilty as Ca––!”</p> +<p>The girl had suddenly sprung forward and +thrown her arms around his neck. She caught +the word that was on his lips and stopped it with +a kiss, a kiss that dared the onlooking world to say +what he had been going to say.</p> +<p>“You shall not say that!” she panted. “I +will not let you say it! Nobody shall say it! I +defy the whole world to say it!”</p> +<p>“But it’s––it’s true,” said the boy brokenly as +he held her.</p> +<p>“It is not true! Never! Nothing’s true, only +the truth that God has hidden in His heart! +And that is hidden! How can we say? How +dare we say what we would have done, when we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +didn’t do it? How do we know what’s really in +our hearts? Don’t you see, Jeffrey boy, we cannot +say things like that! We don’t know! I +won’t let you say it.</p> +<p>“And if you do say it,” she argued, “why, I’ll +have to say it, too.”</p> +<p>“You?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I. Do you remember that night you +were in the sugar cabin? I was outside looking +through the chinks at Rafe Gadbeau. What was +I thinking? What was in my heart? I’ll tell +you. I was out there stalking like a panther. I +wanted just one thing out of all the world. Just +one thing! My rifle! To kill him! I would +have done it gladly––with joy in my heart! I +could have sung while I was doing it!</p> +<p>“Now,” she gasped, “now, if you’re going to +say that thing, why, we’ll say it together!”</p> +<p>The big boy, holding the trembling girl closer +in his arms, understood nothing but that she +wanted to stand with him, to put herself in whatever +place was his, to take that black, terrible +shadow that had fallen on him and wrap it around +herself too.</p> +<p>“My poor little white-souled darling,” he said +through tears that choked him, “I can’t take this +from you! It’s too much, I can’t!”</p> +<p>After a little the girl relaxed, tiredly, against +his shoulder and argued dreamily:</p> +<p>“I don’t see what you can do. You’ll have to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +take <i>me</i>. And I don’t see how you can take me +any way but just as I am.”</p> +<p>Then she was suddenly conscious that the world +was observing. She drew quickly away, and +Jeffrey, still dazed and shaken, let her go.</p> +<p>Standing, looking at her with eyes that hungered +and adored, he began to speak in wonder and +self-abasement.</p> +<p>“After all I’ve made you suffer––!”</p> +<p>But Ruth would have none of this. It had been +nothing, she declared. She had found work to +do. She had been happy, in a way. God had +been very kind.</p> +<p>At length Jeffrey said: “Well, I guess we’ll +never have to misunderstand again, anyway, Ruth. +I had to find God because I was––I needed Him. +Now I want to find Him––your way.”</p> +<p>“You mean––you mean that you <i>believe</i>!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Jeffrey slowly. “I didn’t think I +ever would. I certainly didn’t want to. But I +do. And it isn’t just to win with you, Ruth, or +to make you happier. I can’t help it. It’s the +thing the Bishop once told me about––the thing +that’s bigger than I am.”</p> +<p>Now Ruth, all zeal and thankfulness, was for +leading him forthwith to Father Ponfret, that he +might begin at once his course of instructions +which she assured him was essential.</p> +<p>But Jeffrey demurred. He had been reading +books all winter, he said. Though he admitted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span> +that until last night he had not understood much +of it. Now it was all clear and easy, thank God! +Could she not come home, then, to his mother, +who was pining for her––and––and they would +have all their lives to finish the instructions.</p> +<p>On this, however, Ruth was firm. Here she +would stay, among these good people where she +had made for herself a place and a home. He +must come every week to Father Ponfret for his +instructions, like any other convert. If on those +occasions he also came to see her, well, she would, +of course, be glad to see him and to know how he +was progressing.</p> +<p>Afterwards? Well, afterwards, they would +see.</p> +<p>And to this Jeffrey was forced to agree.</p> +<p>Old Robbideau Laclair, when he heard of this +arrangement, grumbled that the way of the heretic +was indeed made easy in these days. But his wife +Philomena, scraping sharply with her stick, informed +him that if the good Ruth saw fit to convert +even a heathen Turk into a husband for herself +she would no doubt make a good job of it.</p> +<p>So love came and went through the summer, +practically unrebuked.</p> +<p>Again the Bishop came riding up to French +Village with Arsene LaComb. But this time they +rode in a jogging, rattling coach that swung up +over the new line of railroad that came into the +hills from Welden Junction. And Arsene was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +very glad of this, for as he looked at his beloved +M’sieur l’Eveque he saw that he was not now the +man to have faced the long road up over the hills. +He was not two, he was many years older and less +sturdy.</p> +<p>The Bishop practised his French a little, but +mostly he was silent and thoughtful. He was +remembering that day, nearly two years ago now, +when he had set two ambitious young souls upon +a way which they did not like. What a coil of +good and bad had come out of that doing of his. +And again he wondered, as he had wondered then, +whether he had done right. Who was to tell?</p> +<p>And again to-morrow he was to set those two +again upon their way of life, for he was coming up +to French Village to the wedding of Ruth Lansing +to Jeffrey Whiting.</p> +<p>Jeffrey Whiting knelt by Ruth Lansing’s side in +the little rough-finished sanctuary of the chapel +which Father Ponfret had somehow managed to +raise during that busy, poverty-burdened summer. +But Jeffrey Whiting saw none of the poor makeshifts +out of which the little priest had contrived +a sanctuary to the high God. He was back again, +in the night, on a dark, lone road, under the unconcerned +stars, crying out to find God. Then +God had come to him, with merciful, healing touch +and lifted him out of the dust and agony of the +road, and, finally, had brought him here, to this +moment.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></div> +<p>He had just received into his body the God of +life. His soul stood trembling at its portal, receiving +its Guest for the first time. He was +amazed with a great wonder, for here was the +very God of the dark night speaking to him in +words that beat upon his heart. And his wonder +was that from this he should ever arise and go on +with any other business whatever.</p> +<p>Ruth Lansing knelt, adoring and listening to +the music of that <i>choir unseen</i> which had once +given her the call of life. She had followed it, not +always in the perfect way, but at least bravely, unquestioningly. +And it had brought her now to a +holy and awed happiness. Neither life nor death +would ever rob her of this moment.</p> +<p>Presently they rose and stood before the Bishop. +And as the Shepherd blessed their joined hands he +prayed for these two who were dear to him, as +well as for his other little ones, and, as always, +for those “other sheep.” And the breathing of +his prayer was:</p> +<p>That they be not afraid, my God, with any fear; +but trust long in Thee and in each other.</p> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>THE END</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>Printed in the United States of America.</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.15 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Sep 26 03:46:52 -0400 2009 --> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30093 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |