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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-03-03 02:56:49 -0800 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-03-03 02:56:49 -0800 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/78103-0.txt b/78103-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fe8c0c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/78103-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8923 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78103 *** + + + + + THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +[Illustration: “I’ll tote yuh to death along of me, anyhow.”] + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + The Trouble at Pinelands + + + _A Detective Story_ + + + BY + ERNEST M. POATE + + + + + CHELSEA HOUSE + + 79 Seventh Avenue New York City + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + Copyright, 1922 + By CHELSEA HOUSE + + --- + + The Trouble at Pinelands + + + + + (Printed in the United States of America) + + All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign + languages, including the Scandinavian. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. THE POLTERGEIST 11 + II. BOBWHITE 23 + III. A BAD SPELL 37 + IV. A FEUD 47 + V. A TRAGEDY 54 + VI. UNCERTAINTY 63 + VII. INVESTIGATION 76 + VIII. THE INQUEST 86 + IX. A CONFLAGRATION 95 + X. MORE TROUBLE THREATENS 104 + XI. PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENSE 112 + XII. A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING 118 + XIII. “A LITTLE RELAXATION” 132 + XIV. THE POLTERGEIST AGAIN 141 + XV. A FISHING TRIP 151 + XVI. SOME CLEWS, AND A SUGGESTION 158 + XVII. AN UNUSUAL WEDDING 165 + XVIII. SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF 174 + XIX. AN EXPLANATION 183 + XX. A FLIRTATION 190 + XXI. AN ILLICIT ENTERPRISE 200 + XXII. THE SHOWDOWN 207 + XXIII. ANNE CHRISTIE’S STORY 216 + XXIV. A PROJECTED EXCURSION 227 + XXV. A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS 233 + XXVI. ROARING LAFE 240 + XXVII. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 250 + XXVIII. RUTLEDGE TALKS 256 + XXIX. THE RETURN 266 + XXX. AN AGITATED HOUSEHOLD 271 + XXXI. A BORROWED SHOTGUN 279 + XXXII. THE POLTERGEIST’S LAST VISIT 287 + XXXIII. THE FINAL EXPLANATION 296 + XXXIV. MATING TIME 310 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + The Trouble at Pinelands + + + ❧ + + + CHAPTER I + + THE POLTERGEIST + + +I could not sleep. I am an old man now and of settled habit; a +“confirmed bachelor,” the young folks call me. Even the smallest change +of routine irks me; and so, on this night, I found it very hard to be +comfortable in a strange bed. + +Peter McGregor had gone north. He was in Baltimore to order flowers, +consult the caterer, and make the final arrangements for the wedding +breakfast. Only women were left in the old stone mansion; the McGregors +called it “Fort House,” because it had something of the grim, forbidding +look of an old fort. Dorothy, Peter’s sister, her invalid aunt, and the +nurse, Miss Christie, were all here. + +Miss Christie was too indifferent to care, I think; she was a very +dormouse for contentment, and she slept so determinedly that I used to +wonder when she found time to care for her patient. But Dorothy was +timid, as most young girls are; and her Aunt Mary, who was paralyzed, +was highly nervous at the best and declared that she’d never close an +eye without a man in the house. And, indeed, I could not blame them +much, for Fort House was a gloomy, eerie place, with its big, silent +rooms and long, dark halls, wainscoted in time-stained oak and full of +unexpected nooks and corners. Also, though well within the village, it +stood far back from the street in a little grove of high, solemn pines; +leafy shrubs grew thick about its gray walls, and honeysuckle vines +climbed over its narrow windows and shaded them still further. + +A man must be had to protect these lone women, and there was I--not a +very efficient protector, I fear, since I am turned sixty-five and sadly +crippled with rheumatism, but the best available. For my nephew, Lewis, +Doctor C. Lewis Parker, Johns Hopkins Medical College, class of ’17, +though willing enough, was scarcely the man to come, since he was to +marry Dorothy in two days; whereas I was of discreet age and with none +to miss me at home. In spite of his assurances I knew well enough that I +was a nuisance and no help in my nephew’s house; he kept me with him +simply because I was his only surviving kinsman, as he was mine, and +because his kind heart would not leave me to end my days in some home +for the aged. Yes, I knew that I was but a burden upon his +goodness--knew it sadly, but without bitterness; a long old age tempers +one’s pride. + +But here I was, the guardian of my nephew’s bride to be; and I tossed +upon my bed and could not sleep for long, sad thoughts. I rejoiced in +the boy’s happiness; truly I rejoiced, for Dorothy McGregor was the +sweetest of girls and as tender to a useless old man as if I had been +her own kin. Yes, it was best, oh, surely it was best, that these two +kindly, handsome young folk should marry and make their own home. I +looked back through a vista of long, lonely years at my own friendless +life, a life that might have been so different if my Dorothy had lived. + +They would marry and be happy in each other. But--I am a very selfish +old man, I fear--but what of me? I had no other home; and, were she +never so tender of heart, what bride desires that her honeymoon should +have such a worthless, worn-out satellite as I? No, these two must build +their own nest; and it would have no place for me. Then I thought +briefly of Aunt Mary McGregor, paralyzed from the waist down, these +fourteen years, and bearing her troubles with such saintly patience; +where would she go, and how would she live after the wedding? We two +might marry also, I thought, and laughed mirthlessly at the idea. Old +maid and old bachelor, we might join our troubles and spend the evening +of our days together, enlivening each other with comparisons of our +various aches and pains. For I must admit that Aunt Mary, for all her +sweet patience, was overfond of discussing her symptoms. + +The old house was very quiet, except for those strange creakings and +rustlings which one hears at night in these old places. Faint, eerie +noises, these, which made the silence more profound; I fancied that Fort +House whispered to itself of days gone by. + +Without was the clear, cool hush of a North Carolina summer’s night. It +had been a hot June day, but the night was cool, as are all our nights, +and a round, bright moon hung high, flooding the lawn with pale light, +making the black shadows of the pines blacker yet, silvering the leaves +of the honeysuckle vine at my windows. The sweet, heavy scent of a few +late blossoms drifted in to me, bearing with it that faint, sinister +suggestion of mystery and crime that belongs peculiarly to the cloying +odor of honeysuckles in a hushed, dark night. + +That odor fretted me, awaking in my mind unpleasant fancies. This was a +dismal place, the old Fort House; no proper setting for such a vivid +young flower as Dorothy McGregor. I strove to fancy the house filled +with flowers, crowded with gay-dressed, laughing wedding guests, and I +could not, even now, with a wedding two days off. I was queerly thankful +that Dorothy and Lewis would not live here, but in a little white +bungalow, red-roofed, banked about with flowers, open to the kindly, +honest sun. For how could young lovers be happy here, in this grim stone +pile among the solemn pines, this mournful old house, which creaked and +whispered to itself so mysteriously of nights, whose dark, airless rooms +were heavy with the scent of honeysuckle? Somewhere I seemed to have +read or heard that the honeysuckle grows best and gives its strongest +odor about places of secret crime. The fancy obsessed me; I wondered +what might be the history of this old mansion--for I was but newly come +to Pinelands, a year ago--what dark deeds these walls had known in days +long gone; what dreadful histories were bared in the self-communings of +those ancient, creaking timbers. + +It was very late, and I was tired out. Moreover I was sad because I must +so soon give up my nephew to his new wife. My aged bones ached, and my +knee joints creaked and groaned, as I paced the floor. I was feverish, +perhaps, and so fanciful; or it may be that I was fey. Whatever the +explanation, a sudden conviction swept over me, as of actual knowledge. + +Fort House was haunted. I knew it. Without knowing how or why, that +knowledge swept over me in a chill wave of fear that raced up my spine +and plucked at the short hairs of my neck. It left me shaken and +dismayed, with a lump of ice where my heart had been. + +The place was deadly still. Even the indistinct complaints of aged +timbers were hushed, and there seemed no possibility of sound in all the +world. Then, from the hall below, came a whirring click, whereat I +gasped; the grandfather clock on the stair landing struck +twelve--deliberately, solemnly. The mellow chime of its old gong dropped +dead on the still air, without an echo. The silence of the tomb, a hush +intolerably profound. Then, with dreadful suddenness, a clanking as of +chains, the crash of broken crockery, a shrill, horrid screech! + +My veins seemed to freeze, and I could not breathe. As in nightmares, an +inescapable weight dragged at every limb, held me helpless. + +What was abroad I knew not, save that it could be no honest thing. Why, +I would have prayed for a palpable burglar; I could have fallen on his +neck with joyful tears, though he were the worst villain unhung! + +Then I heard a faint stir in the room beyond mine, where Dorothy +McGregor slept; the tiniest of frightened sobs. That sound heartened me. +I am no hero; but in a long life I have observed more than once that +terrors which will turn a solitary man craven may be faced almost with +boldness if he has but a weaker one beside him to protect. Alone, I +dared not stay in my room, much less venture forth; but there was +Dorothy next me, and downstairs her helpless aunt and the nurse. They +would look to me for aid, for courage; and knowing that, I made shift to +conquer my fears a very little. + +I threw a bath robe over my shoulders and padded out into the black +hall, barefoot. + +“Dorothy!” I whispered; somehow, I dared not call aloud. “My dear, are +you all right?” + +Her answer came muffled through the door. “Yes, Uncle George. It’s +nothing.” But her shaking voice belied the words. “It’s nothing to be +af-f-fraid of. We’ve heard it before. Wait, I’m coming out. Aunty’ll be +scared.” + +In a moment her door opened, and Dorothy appeared, faintly visible by +the pale moon that shone in her window. She was wrapped in some sort of +filmy, lacy robe, and her fine black hair, which lay across one +shoulder, in a braid thicker than my wrist, fell down the front of her +negligee, right to her knees. + +She groped for my arm and clutched it tight. Neither of us thought of +making a light. Perhaps we both feared what that light might reveal. + +“Let’s go down to Aunt Mary’s room,” she whispered. “She’ll be scared to +death, poor thing! I’m scared, my own self, and just think of her, not +able even to move!” + +A plump, delicious little thing, she huddled close against me. I felt +her tender body tremble and put an arm across one shoulder. + +“Come along, child,” said I. “But give me a hand on the stairs here, +because my rheumatism is pretty bad to-night. What was it?” + +Dorothy cuddled my arm. “Poor dear!” she whispered. “Careful of that +step; we’re just at the turn. Why, it was the Poltergeist.” + +“Huh?” I stopped short, repeating the outlandish word. “Poltergeist? +What’s that?” + +“Why, that scream and everything. It comes every few nights lately, only +I never said anything about it outside, because it upsets Aunt Mary so. +She won’t have me even mention it to Lewis, let alone any other body; +just says such things oughtn’t to be talked about. After I showed her +the broken dishes she----Oh-h-h!” + +She broke off, gripping my arm tighter still, pressing close against me, +to the detriment of my sorer shoulder; then she made a quaint little +sound, a sort of whispered scream. + +I stared violently, too; for there was a ghostly rustling in the lower +hall, just by our knees, and something dim and white and shapeless +seemed to whip past us and disappear. I say seemed; for it was too dark +to be sure, and I stretched out my hand toward it and felt nothing. It +might have been pure fancy, a breath of air through the hall, a mouse +scurrying along the wall. + +“There, Dotty!” I whispered. “It wasn’t anything--and, besides, it’s +gone. See?” + +“I know,” she agreed doubtfully. “I know it wasn’t anything, and Peter +always says so, too. He watched two nights to make sure; only he went to +sleep both times. But it scares me just the same.” + +By now we had groped our way to Aunt Mary’s room. She slept on the +ground floor, being, as I may have said, paralyzed from the waist down. +Her nurse, Miss Christie, slept in a little chamber which opened off of +her patient’s room. + +We listened, our heads close together, pressed against the closed door; +presently we heard the sound of heavy breathing--a ladylike snore. + +“That’s Miss Christie,” whispered Dorothy. “It didn’t wake her up. Uncle +George, she is the sleepingest thing! She makes me mad sometimes, she’s +so placid.” + +I heard the creak of springs, as some one moved in bed, and a weak, sad, +patient voice called: + +“Is any one there?” + +“It’s me, aunty,” replied Dorothy. “We came to see if you were all +right. Did you hear it?” + +In the room beyond us the bed creaked again, as if some one struggled to +sit up in it. Then Aunt Mary’s voice: + +“Miss Christie!” + +No answer. + +A sigh. Then louder, but still patiently, sweetly: “Miss Christie! +Nurse!” + +“Aw-ugh!” A yawn, a sleepy murmur, and then, when Aunt Mary had called +once more: “Yes, Miss McGregor, I’m comin’! Ho-hum!” + +Bare feet plumped to the floor and padded out toward us; I could fancy +the nurse digging her fists into sleep-blurred eyes. + +“Wha’s a matter?” + +“Snap on the lights, please; now help me to sit up. Hand me that shawl. +Open the door, please; Dorothy’s out there.” + +A line of light showed at our feet, along the threshold. We heard a +bustle within, and presently the door opened. I hesitated a moment, half +blinded by the sudden light. Yet I saw the retreating figure of the +nurse, dumpy and shapeless in a bath robe, her head an aureole of +tousled blond hair. She vanished into her own alcove room, and I heard +her drop upon the bed, with one more yawn, followed, without appreciable +pause, by gentle snores. + +Dorothy turned to me. The blue of her negligee matched her sea-blue +eyes, and her soft black hair was a cloud about her dimpled face, still +delicately flushed with sleep. Light and company had quite restored her +courage; she laughed at me merrily. + +“Come along in, Uncle George! You look lovely. No? Well, just a minute, +then.” + +She turned to her aunt. The old lady was propped high with pillows, a +beautiful old Paisley shawl wrapped about her thin shoulders. Her +snow-white hair was dressed exactly as for a ball. She was a wonderful +old lady, always precise and well groomed, in spite of her invalidism. +Her black eyes were bright, but her thin, patrician face bore a look of +patient sadness. She stretched out a slender hand. + +“There, child! What is it?” + +“Why--why, aunty, you know! Didn’t you hear it?” + +Aunt Mary sighed. “Yes, Dorothy, dear, but these are things best not +spoken about.” + +“Did it wake you up?” + +“No, child. I haven’t been asleep. Shift that pillow, please; the pain +is worse to-night.” She sighed again, with sad, upturned eyes. “It seems +as if I had enough to bear, without that. But it’s all for the best, no +doubt. I must be patient!” She had the sweet, resigned expression of +some aged saint. “I was just getting quieted down, too. There, child, +run back to bed. So sorry you were disturbed, Mr. Uhlman,” she told me +over her niece’s shoulder. “This child is fanciful--nervous.” + +“Did I disturb you, too, Aunt Mary?” Dorothy’s voice was remorseful. +“But I thought you’d be frightened, dear.” + +Aunt Mary made a little deprecatory gesture. “Why? I’m not afraid of +spirits, my child; I’ll be with them soon enough. Go now, but call Miss +Christie first. I want her to change my pillows.” + +She closed her eyes, sighed wearily, then spoke again to me, where I +stood in the dark hall. + +“You mustn’t mind what you heard, Mr. Uhlman. It’s nothing--merely a +materialization. Trivial spirits can’t harm us.” + +We were dismissed. As Dorothy closed the door very gently, I heard Aunt +Mary say: “Raise me a little more, Miss Christie. And another pillow, +please. My head’s very bad again. This has upset me.” She sighed +plaintively. Both tone and words were of an angelic resignation; I could +not understand Dorothy’s manner. + +For, now that we were alone in the dark hall, she gritted her little, +even teeth together. “Darn!” I heard her mutter. + +“What is it, child?” + +“Oh, nothing! Aunt Mary’s on another rampage. Wish I’d left her alone, +but you never know how to take her.” + +“My dear!” I reproved. “You oughtn’t to speak of your aunt so. She has a +hard time, poor lady!” + +Dorothy laughed shortly. “So do I! Oh, I know you think I’m horrid, but +you just stick around and see for yourself.” + +I sighed. The young are intolerant of invalidism. “But about the other +thing, Dorothy--the scream we heard, and all that? What did you mean by +‘Poltergeist?’” + +The girl shook her head. “Come away, Uncle George. She’ll hear us. Never +mind that now. Oh”--as I persisted--“that’s what Aunt Mary calls +‘manifestations,’ screams at night, broken dishes, things missing from +the pantry, and all that. She wrote to some learned society about it, +and they said it was a Poltergeist, a little, malicious ghost that plays +tricks like that. They wanted to send somebody here to investigate. +Come, we’ve got to get out of here; Aunt Mary has ears like a lynx. In +the morning she’ll tell how our talking kept her awake all night long. +Come on, Uncle George, do! Never mind the ghost. I hear enough about +that; Aunt Mary talks of it to me for hours on end, when she’s in the +right humor. She’s a great spiritualist, you know.” + +In silence she bustled me back to my room. One would have thought that +she was actually afraid of that sweet, patient old saint, her Aunt Mary. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + BOBWHITE + + +I went back to bed, but not to sleep. The moon had set, and the pitch +dark of the old house intensified all my foolish fancies. Over and over +I went through the round of morbid thought: my nephew’s marriage, the +bleak, friendless future that awaited me; this dismal old barracks, +pervaded by the sinister odor of honeysuckle; the faint, mysterious +creakings and stirrings of its ancient walls. I caught myself listening, +breathless, for a repetition of that awful screech; I vowed that nothing +should induce me to spend another night in the haunted place. I paid +Dorothy and her aunt the meed of a tremendous admiration because they +accepted this Poltergeist so calmly. + +Sleep stood far off from me, while the night dragged inexorably on, and +the deep-toned grandfather clock on the landing tolled out hour after +hour. At last I felt the first subtle changes of coming dawn. + +From somewhere a fugitive breeze, the merest vagrant breath of air, +stirred in the solemn pines, so that they whispered. The leaves of the +honeysuckle vines at my window moved, and the heavy scent of their +flowers poured in more strongly. The air seemed cleaner, cooler. One +could not say that it was lighter, but the darkness grew more bearable. +And then, little by little, the east faded, turned gray, lavender, pink; +then it began to flush with the first, faint, exquisite tints that +precede sunrise. + +I sighed deep and turned over. My weary, strained limbs relaxed. Now +that the night was gone, and daylight began to be a promise almost +fulfilled, ghosts troubled me no longer, nor did sad thoughts have power +to haunt me. “Joy cometh in the morning,” the psalmist said. To me came +peace at least, and I settled to rest. + +My lids were heavy with that delicious languor which welcomes sleep +after a long, troubled night; an insistent whistling, right under my +window, roused me. + +I sat up, muttering angrily. Some milkman, no doubt, or some furnace +boy, wooing the cook. There it was again; a fine hour for love-making! +Would she never wake up? Confound all cooks and their swains! + +Then my delightful drowse fled away, leaving me wide awake, my last hope +of slumber gone. I knew that this was no amorous milkman, whose racket +might be hushed by well-directed abuse. + +“Bob_white_! Bob_white_!” + +I held an aching head between my hands. That insistent two-toned +whistle, repeated again and again, in maddening iteration, came from no +man, but a bird--the “bobwhite,” the quail of North Carolina, which some +misguided idiots would have protected as a songbird! + +But now it was full light, and, I suppose, something after five o’clock. +With a dispirited sigh I arose and began to dress slowly. I had made +more of a sacrifice than I realized when I offered, in my innocence, to +spend the night at Fort House. + +I shaved and dressed leisurely, to the accompaniment of bobwhite’s +continual clamor; at last I descended the wide stairs silently, lest I +wake others. I heard no stir from Dorothy’s room; she, no doubt, was +well used to the song of quail. As I may have said, Fort House stood +apart and alone in its grove of pines, and wild quail might well nest in +the tangle of scrub oaks behind it. They sang under her window every +morning, I suppose, so that Dorothy heard them no longer. But I rejoiced +privately that the house I shared with my nephew, Lewis Parker, stood +close to its neighbors and far off from wild birds and, I hoped, wilder +ghosts. + +But, as I reached the ground floor and tiptoed past Aunt Mary’s door, I +had proof that bobwhite had disturbed others beside myself. For all her +long stay in this house, Miss McGregor was not yet used to the outcry of +quail, it appeared. + +“Miss Christie!” I heard. “Miss Christie! Dear me, has she gone to sleep +again? Miss Christie!” + +A sleepy murmur from the inner room. + +“Miss Christie! Get dressed, please, and go out. See if you can’t drive +that wretched bird away; I can’t stand it any longer!” + +I smiled to myself, for the sweet, resigned voice had turned sharp, +almost irritable. Plainly there were limits even to Aunt Mary’s +patience. And from without the whistle of that miserable quail continued +monotonously: “Bob_white_!” Three seconds, then: “Bob_white_!” + +Then I went on into the living room, selected a book and settled myself +to wait for breakfast. It might have been an hour before I heard voices +at the rear of the house; they came closer, sounded from the dining +room, just behind me. I listened frankly, welcoming any signs of human +companionship after my long vigil; for nothing is so lonely as a +deserted sitting room in the early morning, when all but yourself are +still in their rooms. + +“Yassum, Miss Dor’thy, thassall, ma’am. Them two gold-banded chiny cups +done gone bust, an’ th’ sweet potato pie all et up.” + +“Oh, dear!” That was Dorothy’s voice. “I don’t mind the pie so much, but +I do wish the ghost wouldn’t break my best dishes, Rosina.” + +The Poltergeist retained an appetite for material dainties, it seemed! +For some reason that touch rendered it less formidable to my fancy; +besides, it was now bright sunlight, and who fears ghosts in the +daytime? I felt very courageous. + +But the cook was speaking again, in a rich, throaty drawl. “Yassum, Miss +Dor’thy. Them ghosteses ain’t got no apershashun, is they? But, ma’am, I +done got my satisfy of ghosteses, Miss Dor’thy. I’se standed ’em too +long. Cain’t leave you-all ontwel th’ weddin’, a-course; but when +you-all gits safe married, Fort House is th’ place I’se a-gwine t’ be +anywheres else in No’th Ca’lina but! Yassum, Miss Dor’thy! You heahs +me!” + +Dorothy sighed. “We’ll all be leaving then, I hope, Rosina. It is a +spooky old place, I know, but Aunt Mary likes it here.” + +Rosina departed kitchenward, muttering something unintelligible which I +fancied was less than complimentary to Miss McGregor; and Dorothy pushed +aside the portière and saw me. + +“Why, good morning, Uncle George! You’re up early.” + +I rose rather stiffly, for this night had done my rheumatism no good, +and bowed. + +“Good morning, Dorothy! Did you sleep well?” + +“Not very.” However she looked fresh as a rose, and her blue eyes shone. +Her thick black hair was coiled simply about a shapely head; she wore +some sort of filmy silk robe of a pale blue color, and ravishingly +pretty she looked in it, too. + +“The Poltergeist upset my night,” she went on. “I got up early to see +what damage he’d done this time. You’ll excuse me for coming out so +informally?” She looked down at her negligee with a bright blush. “I’m +going to skip right back upstairs and dress now--honest I am.” + +“You look very sweet, my dear.” I am old enough to say such things quite +impersonally. “But tell me first about the ghost.” + +She blushed again. “Why--why, Uncle George, it seems so silly!” + +“Silly!” I repeated. “There was nothing silly about that scream in the +night; it brought the goose flesh out all over me.” + +“Well,” she admitted. “But you see I’ve heard it so often, and it’s +never done any harm.” + +“Often? You never mentioned it before.” + +Her color heightened further at my tone of reproach. She came closer and +perched on the arm of my chair, smoothing my old bald head gently. + +“No, I never spoke of it. Even Lewis doesn’t know--except he’s heard +Peter joking about it sometimes. Maybe I’ll tell him after we’re +married; but I couldn’t bear to have him laugh at me. It’s bad enough to +have your brother always making fun, without your--your fiancé, too. But +the ghost--well, it’s come a dozen times or more. The first time +was--let me see! It was about a year ago. I know it was after mother +died, and Aunt Mary came here to live, because I remember how indignant +she was. Just pooh-poohed and said it was all my imagination. But +afterward she heard it, too; and then she began to read and study about +spirits, until now she’s a confirmed spiritualist--uses the ouija board +and everything. But she never wants the Poltergeist talked about outside +the family. + +“What does it do? Why, little, mean tricks. It gets into the cupboards +and steals things and breaks dishes; and it bangs the furniture about, +and sometimes it screams like it did last night. Peter sat up to watch +several times, but he never saw anything, though one night it pulled the +chair out from under him. Peter claims he just went to sleep and fell +over, but I know better. It was the Poltergeist! Aunt Mary claims you +never can see them--they’re invisible. She says they never do any real +harm, only these little tricks, like breaking dishes and all that. But +it is kind of unsettling, Uncle George. I’ll be glad when Lewis and I +are married, and we can leave this old house for good. Only think, Uncle +George, three days more!” + +Then she jumped up with a cry. “My goodness, Lewis is coming over to +breakfast, and here it is seven o’clock and after, and me not even +dressed! I must run. Bother the Poltergeist! Aunt Mary’ll tell you all +about it, if you can once get her started. She loves to talk about +ghosts. I’ve often wondered how she refrained from telling Lewis. And +say”--she darted back to my side and whispered--“say, Uncle George, be +awful nice to her this morning; jolly her up a little, will you? She +will be in a terrible temper, I’m afraid.” + +She dropped a swift kiss upon my bald spot and ran out. + +I settled back to wait for breakfast, rather impatiently, I must admit, +for the night had tired me, and I craved hot coffee. But in twenty +minutes Dorothy was back, demure and immaculate in a little +blue-and-white gingham. + +“Come along,” she urged. “Let’s go in and get started. We won’t wait for +Lewis; he’ll be along directly. I want everything fixed and ready before +Aunt Mary comes out.” + +So she led the way into the dining room, and I followed gratefully. I +sat down, and Dorothy began to hurry Rosina. + +“Quick, Rosina,” she directed. “Bring in the coffeepot and those +muffins. And get a fresh pat of butter; this looks mussy. I hear aunty.” + +The fat, motherly black cook gave one apprehensive glance at the +doorway, smoothed her crisp apron and fled. I wondered briefly that her +household should be in such patent fear of that sweet, heroic old lady, +Miss Mary McGregor. + +Then I, too, heard the creak of her wheel chair, and presently Aunt Mary +appeared in the door, riding in the invalid’s chair in which she spent +all her waking hours. Miss Christie propelled it, looking fresh and +wholesome enough, in her clean white uniform, but yawning still. She was +a sleepy sort of girl, a very sleepy sort! + +Aunt Mary greeted us with her sad, patient smile, a smile to bring tears +to your eyes, it was so obviously a struggle against despair. My heart +went out to her for her pathetic bravery, poor, frail old lady! Her +high-bred face beneath the crown of snow-white hair was pale and worn; +she sighed deeply. + +“Good morning, all,” she quavered, her eyes bright with unshed tears; +then she bit her lip and smiled again determinedly. + +“Good morning, aunty. Why, you’re looking quite bright, aren’t you? +Wheel her right up here, Miss Christie; everything’s all ready. Here, +aunty, here’s your orange juice, all iced. Drink it right down, there’s +a dear. Rosina! A nice, hot cup of coffee for Aunty Mary--quick! I got +up early, Aunt Mary, on purpose to make muffins for you: don’t they look +nice and appetizing? I’ll butter one and just pop it into your mouth, +shall I? I’m sure you’re hungry this morning; you look so rested. You +must have had a very good night.” + +Breathlessly, with a sort of desperate gayety, Dorothy talked against +time. Her aunt listened impatiently, still wearing that pathetic smile; +with parted lips she evidently waited only an opportunity to interrupt. +And now she found it. + +“A good night!” She sighed deeply, tragically. “My dear! As though my +nights were ever restful. I’m used to wakeful nights, and you know I’m +not one to complain of the afflictions the Lord has seen fit to visit +upon me. I try to bear them patiently and to keep sweet. But last night +was terrible! It was so sweet of you, my dear, to come to my door in the +night. Dorothy is always so thoughtful of her poor old aunt, Mr. Uhlman. +I hadn’t heard a sound; I was just beginning to doze off, and I thought +to myself, ‘I do believe I’m going to rest an hour or two,’ when Dorothy +knocked at the door. It was very kindly; Dorothy is inclined to be timid +about the manifestations, Mr. Uhlman--the Poltergeist, you know. She +hasn’t studied spiritism as deeply as I have, of course. She naturally +thinks I am timid, too; and so, being the most unselfish of children, +she comes to me at once. Bless her! I hope you had no trouble getting +about, Mr. Uhlman; those stairs creak so, I’m always afraid some one may +stumble. I heard you going back to your room. I’d been feeling so +rested, but, after you two had gone, I had such a terrible palpitation, +and my neck knotted very badly. You know, Mr. Uhlman, I have so much +trouble with the back of my neck. I can’t think what brought it on. I +was resting so nicely before you two came in, but afterward I had such a +hard time!” + +She paused to heave a vast sigh and absorb an equally vast bite of +buttered muffin. “But I mustn’t complain. I’m only thankful that the +Lord sends me strength to bear my troubles patiently. I did get settled +a trifle about daybreak, and then the birds began. Those quail, you +know, bobwhites! I suppose it’s my condition and perfectly absurd, so, +of course, I never complain about it; but those birds set my nerves on +edge so I can feel it all down my spine and into my limbs. You’ve no +idea. I bore it as long as I could, but finally I was simply compelled +to call Miss Christie.” She paused to cough. “I’m rather hoarse, I’m +afraid. Miss Christie sleeps so soundly, the poor dear!” Here she gave +her nurse an affectionate smile. “I’m a dreadful trouble to you, am I +not? Eventually I managed to wake her, and she threw a stick out of the +window to drive the birds away. By that time my back was paining me so I +couldn’t possibly rest.” + +Aunt Mary stopped, beamed upon us with that plaintive, angelic look and +devoted herself to her muffins and coffee. Having succeeded so admirably +in putting us all three in the wrong, apportioning justly to each his +share in her discomforts of the night, all in the sweetest, most kindly +fashion in the world, she appeared to feel rather better. We others +looked at our plates. I, for one, felt my ears burn, and my appetite +seemed to have left me. I began to realize that it is not always easy to +live with the most sweetly patient of invalids. And yet Dorothy’s +attitude seemed rather callous. Poor Aunt Mary! She had a great deal to +bear, after all! I reproached myself for having added, however +unwittingly, to her discomforts. + +Upon the little hush came the sound of the doorbell, and Dorothy flew to +answer it, her face brightening beautifully. Presently she returned, +clinging to the arm of my nephew, Doctor C. Lewis Parker. Tall and spare +he towered above her, and his black eyes looked down adoringly into her +blue ones. + +“Good morning, Aunt Mary!” He bowed over her frail hand with a stately +courtesy that was not unbecoming. “Hello, Uncle George. Good morning, +Miss Christie. Sorry to be late, honey. I had to make a call. Did you +save me some coffee? Oh, good morning, Rosina! You didn’t forget me, did +you?” + +The fat cook beamed at him, rolling admiring eyes. Servants are always +fond of my nephew. “Nossuh, Mist’ Lewis--doctah, Ah means. Ah done +fetched yuh a special cup, made strong, suh.” + +The doctor sat down and unfolded his napkin. “Well, honey, what were you +talking about?” + +Dorothy smiled demurely, with a sly glance at me. “Why, about ghosts, +Lewis--about our ancestral spook.” + +Lewis stared and stroked his little black mustache. His face was square, +and his high cheek bones gave it a solemn look, almost Indian. “About +ghosts? Nonsense! There’s no such thing as a ghost!” If my nephew had a +fault, it was that he was a shade too serious, a bit too literal-minded. +He was not overendowed with humor. + +His pronouncement provoked a frank laugh from Dorothy. I think she +thoroughly enjoyed his solemnity. But Miss McGregor bridled. + +“Indeed! Young man----” Then she broke off quite suddenly and resumed +her normal sweetness of temper. One might have fancied that she did not +care to discuss spirits with Lewis. “My niece is jesting,” she went on, +with a pale, patient smile. “I’m afraid I wearied her. It is too easy to +bore the young and healthy, when one is an old, worthless invalid. I’m +sorry, my dear. I know I must be a great trial, but I’m thankful that I +can drop into the background gracefully. I bear my trials as best I can. +You all know I never complain. I realize that I can’t expect much +attention from happy, care-free young folks, and I don’t look for it. I +know an invalid is always a burden, so I try not to make things too hard +for poor Dorothy; she’s so self-sacrificing! Ah, if I were only able, +how I would love to turn in and help get ready for the wedding! But all +I can do is sit back and wish you well, children, and say nothing when +my few wants are forgotten. I know I can’t expect attention with a +wedding only three days off, and I don’t expect it. I just love the +happy stir and bustle of preparation; I seem to grow young again, +because I share Dorothy’s pleasure so keenly. Perhaps it’s that which +has made me so restless of late. I’ve suffered much more than usual this +week; no doubt it has been the excitement. But I wouldn’t have it +changed for worlds; I enjoy it so! What are a few more sleepless nights, +a few more pains, to me? I have had so many--so many!” She sighed +deeply, with that sweet, suffering smile of one too ethereal for this +rough world. “You must bear with me, children. A few days, and you’ll be +gone, happy in each other, leaving me to my solitude and suffering. Ah, +it’s better so! I shall be happy, knowing that I am no longer a damper +on your joys.” + +Aunt Mary wiped away a tear and looked more seraphic than ever. Dorothy +and Lewis, unreasonably enough, appeared rather downcast. + +The girl looked whimsically at Lewis; I fancy she squeezed his hand +under the table. Then she dropped her napkin and, under cover of +retrieving it, whispered swiftly to me: + +“Don’t mind aunty--in bad temper!” + +So she seemed to be. I was rather taken aback by the revelation. I +wondered how often Miss McGregor was in this mood, and my sympathy for +her niece increased momently. If the old lady had been humanly irritable +it wouldn’t have been so bad; but this pious, sweet-toned flood of +indirect complaint was hard to bear. One felt hopelessly in the wrong; +one felt that Aunt Mary was forbearing and magnanimous in spite of her +pains; and one rebelled thereat. + +“I’m sorry you’re having a bad time,” said Lewis apologetically. “Is +there anything I could do, Aunt Mary?” + +She sighed. “I think I could stand everything else if it weren’t for the +quail. Doctor Parker”--she never could be induced to call my nephew +“Lewis”--“Doctor Parker, those birds drive me almost mad! You know, I +sleep very poorly; about dawn I used to be able to settle down for a +little nap. But it’s just then that the quail begin: ‘Bob_white_! +bob_white_!’--until I could just scream with the knots in my neck. I +don’t know what’s going to become of me; I can’t stand it much longer. +You know I’m not one to complain; I try to bear my burdens patiently, +but I’ve reached the end of my strength. Dorothy and Peter don’t realize +how I’ve been tried, because I never talk about it; Peter just laughs, +when he could have taken his gun and driven them away. But, if those +quail keep whistling under my window much longer, I shall go mad!” + +She finished in a rush of words, as her face contorted queerly, and her +eyes reddened and filled with tears. + +“Oh, aunty!” cried Dorothy remorsefully. + +My nephew rose and came round the table to pat the old lady’s hand +comfortingly. “Never mind, Aunt Mary; I’ll see to it for you. Peter +won’t be back till to-morrow night, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind my +borrowing his shotgun. I’ll get up at daybreak in the morning and come +over here and shoot those quail for you. There can’t be more than three +or four, I don’t think; they’ve nested into the scrub oaks out back, +most likely. I’ll see to it, Aunt Mary, don’t you fret any more!” + +Miss McGregor seemed a little comforted. “I’m a troublesome old woman,” +she sighed, “but you don’t realize what I suffer!” Then she rewarded +Lewis with her sweet, patient smile, albeit a bit weak and watery. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + A BAD SPELL + + +The nurse wheeled Aunt Mary back to her room to rest, and we others +rose. Our breakfast had been pretty effectually spoiled; none of us, +except Aunt Mary, had managed to eat much. The old lady, however, had +put away an excellent meal in spite of her sufferings. + +“Poor old dear!” sighed Lewis. “Honey, I’m afraid we’ve been selfish in +our happiness; we haven’t thought enough of Aunt Mary. After all she’s a +great sufferer.” + +I started; that was so exactly Miss McGregor’s opinion. Dorothy looked +at her lover almost suspiciously, but he was perfectly serious. As I +have said, my nephew was very serious-minded. + +The girl sighed in relief and flashed an impudent glance at me. “Yes, +poor aunty,” she said. “She’s a great sufferer, and she never +complains.” + +“That’s what makes it so pitiful,” declared Lewis soberly. “But come out +doors a minute, honey; let’s look over things and see if we can’t locate +those quail.” + +Knowing very well that I wasn’t wanted, I watched through the window, as +the two young folks walked, hand in hand, down the path, which led +through the pines at the east of the old house, into the thick scrub oak +jungle behind it. Although in the heart of a sizable village, it was a +solitary spot. The grounds of Fort House took in an entire block; and in +its center one might well have fancied himself in the heart of the +wilderness. + +Thinking themselves out of sight, no doubt, the two lovers stood very +close. Dorothy’s head rested against my nephew’s shoulder; her face was +upturned to his. I sighed and turned away. I am a lonely old man. + +Then I heard Rosina’s voice behind me. “Mist’ Uhlman, is Mist’ Lewis +done gone? They’s a telegrum comed, an’ the boy done fotch it oveh, +seein’ they wa’n’t nobody home to his place.” + +I took the yellow envelope. “All right, Rosina. He’s out back with Miss +Dorothy. There they come, now!” I stepped through the open French doors +to meet them. + +Lewis took the telegram, with that hint of flurry which touches every +one at sight of the yellow envelope. + +“What? Oh, yes! It’s from old Floyd Somers. He was my classmate at +medical school, you know; he’s on the staff of some hospital for the +insane up North. See what he says.” He read the message over and scowled +and smiled rather doubtfully, then scowled again. “‘Sincere condolences. +Glad to act as chief mourner. Arrive Monday.’” + +Dorothy flushed and bit her lip. “I don’t care, I think that’s a great +way to promise he’ll be your best man. No wonder he’s in a lunatic +asylum.” + +My nephew laughed rather uneasily. “Oh, that’s just Somers’ way. He’s a +queer old chap, but I’m sure you’ll like him, honey.” + +“I’m not, then! ‘Condolences!’ The very idea!” Then she chuckled. “After +all, it is kind of a funny telegram. Maybe he won’t be so sure you need +condolences”--very demurely--“after he’s seen me!” + +“You little minx!” Lewis kissed her soundly. “But really, honey, Floyd +Somers is a fine old chap. He may seem queer at first, but, when you get +to know him, he’s one of the very best.” + +“Huh!” Dorothy made a little face. “Run along now, boy, and get to work. +You’re going to have a very expensive wife presently, and you can’t +afford to neglect your practice.” + +As we came down the front steps, Doctor Gaskell’s big twin-six coupe +backed silently out of the garage behind his house, just opposite, and +started down street. I caught a glimpse of the doctor’s face, +incongruously young beneath his crown of snow-white hair; he smiled and +raised an arm in greeting. + +I lifted my hat. To my mind Gaskell was a fine chap. Some twenty-five +years older than Lewis he had been located in Pinelands for more than +twenty years, and the cream of the practice was naturally his. But he +had been very gracious to my nephew and had sent him more than one case. + +Lewis, however, was less grateful. Now he scowled blackly. “Darn his +patronizing ways!” + +“My boy, he’s been awfully good to you.” + +“Huh? Oh, yes--very good! He’s sent me a few dead beats because he was +tired of treating them for nothing; and he’s turned over half a dozen +night calls because he hates to get out of bed. And he goes round +saying: ‘Parker? Oh, yes, Doctor Parker. Yes, hum, hum! Fine young chap, +that; bright, too. Of course he hasn’t had much experience yet.’ And it +does me more harm than if he’d slam me outright.” + +I was silenced. So we went on home, only a short block, and the boy got +out his modest flivver to begin his own rounds, which were short enough. +As I have said, Lewis had been only a year in Pinelands. He was making a +living--and no more. Fortunately I had some money. + +But he was not destined to make his calls yet. For, just as he climbed +into the little car, while I stood on the steps to watch him off, Rosina +came panting around the corner. + +“Oh, Mist’ Lewis!” she wheezed. “Mist’ Doctah! Come a-runnin’! Miss +Dor’thy’s Aunt Ma’y, she’s done been took dretful bad.” Rosina’s eyes +rolled fearsomely. “She’s a-hollerin’ an’ a-takin’ on terrible. Yassuh! +Whyn’t you-all answer the phone? Miss Dor’thy, she wants you t’ come +a-runnin’. Yassuh!” + +“Oh, the poor old lady! I’ll be there directly. Come along, Uncle +George; you can help, maybe. Quick!” + +Lewis urged me into the little car and, scarce waiting for me to close +its door, started at top speed for Fort House. In thirty seconds the +flivver was sliding to a stop, and my nephew leaped out, leaving me to +turn off the engine and follow. + +I entered to find Aunt Mary in her wheel chair in the big living room. +Dorothy, white-faced, stood at one side, wringing her hands; the nurse, +Miss Christie, was behind the chair, bathing the old lady’s forehead. As +I came in the nurse yawned widely. She did not seem one to distress +herself unduly. + +Lewis leaned over the chair, counting Miss McGregor’s pulse. The old +lady was very pale; her eyelids fluttered, her head drooped, as if she +were half fainting; she talked in a weak, trembling voice. + +“No, I can’t go to bed. I can’t lie down; I couldn’t breathe, my heart +pounds so. I--I think I’m going to faint. I have such queer feelings all +down my left arm, and my limbs are just numb, way up to the hips. Am I +having a stroke, doctor? I’m afraid so. Oh, my heart! There’s a great +ball in my throat, and the back of my neck knots so terribly! Miss +Christie! Not there? Please, rub my neck very gently. Ah-h-h! I’m a +great sufferer--a great sufferer! Don’t trouble about me, Dorothy--run +off and do your shopping. I know you’ve lots to do, getting ready to be +married. Ah, well! I shan’t be here long to be a trouble to you!” + +She groaned aloud; her face began to twitch alarmingly; her eyes rolled +up until only the whites were visible. “I--I’m f-fainting!” + +My nephew put his stethoscope to her chest, felt her pulse once more, +then stepped back, irresolute. + +“Lewis! Lewis!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Aren’t you going to do anything for +poor auntie? Quick!” + +The boy frowned deeper. He opened his bag and produced a bottle. “A +spoon, please, with a cup and some hot water.” + +When they were brought he poured out some potion that diffused a strong +scent of ammonia and ether. Aunt Mary swallowed it with faint gurglings, +and her eyelids drooped once more. + +Lewis scowled and rubbed his chin. “I don’t understand it,” he said. +“Her heart’s all right--strong and regular. But she’s in dreadful pain; +one can see that. I--I’d like to have somebody else see her. Well, we +must get her into bed first.” + +As she was wheeled back into her own room, where she was shut in with +nurse and physician, Dorothy and I looked at each other in some doubt. + +“It’s no wonder if Lewis is puzzled,” declared the girl loyally. “Aunt +Mary’s is a very unusual case; I don’t know how many doctors have +disagreed about it. She’s often told me so herself.” The girl paused, +looked guiltily about and then came very close. “You know, Uncle +George,” she whispered, her fragrant breath on my cheek, “sometimes I +wonder if auntie is really as bad off as she thinks. Oh, she’s +paralyzed, of course, and it’s an awful thing to be tied to a chair like +she is, not able to stand or walk or do anything for herself. But, I +know it’s just horrid of me, I do wonder if she suffers as much as she +makes out sometimes? I know I stayed with her one night, when Miss +Christie was away, and she slept every minute! And next morning she +swore up and down she’d never closed her eyes, and she was real mad at +me for saying she had.” + +“Your aunt has a hard time, my dear,” I told her. “And----” + +Lewis emerged from the sick room, still frowning. “She doesn’t seem a +bit better. I wish----” He was staring out of the window at Doctor +Gaskell’s big car, just stopping in front of his house. “I +believe----Darn it, I hate to ask any favors of Gaskell, but he’s older +than I am, and he is mighty clever. I believe I’ll ask him to come over +and see Aunt Mary. Something’s got to be done for her right away; she’s +in dreadful pain, one can see.” + +Without more words he ran out, calling aloud. + +I felt a surge of pride. It must have been hard for Lewis to admit any +uncertainty before his best-beloved, and doubly hard to ask aid of +Gaskell, whom he disliked so heartily. Yet the boy was big enough to +submerge his pride for the sake of his patient’s well-being. + +“He’s a good boy, Dorothy,” I whispered, and she nodded, squeezing my +hand. + +Then Lewis returned, escorting Doctor Gaskell. I had to admit that the +latter’s very manner inspired confidence. His deep-set eyes were bright +and steady, and his smile was disarmingly cordial. He smoothed back his +thick, snow-white hair. + +“Well, Miss Dorothy! In trouble? We’ll go right in, doctor. Have to do +something for the old lady right away; can’t have her sick now, with a +wedding coming on.” His smile broadened, and a dimple showed at the +corner of his mouth. + +Bowing, he turned away, and presently we heard his deep voice in the +bedroom. “What? Sitting up? Fine! Hum, hum. Just wheel her back out, +nurse. Better light in the big room.” + +Miss McGregor reappeared in her chair. “She wouldn’t get into bed, +doctor,” explained Miss Christie. “Said it would kill her to be moved.” + +“Hum, hum. Not quite that bad,” rumbled Doctor Gaskell, chuckling. + +Aunt Mary opened one eye to shoot a curiously vindictive glance at him, +then she groaned aloud and let her head drop limply forward again. + +“Hum, hum, hum,” remarked Doctor Gaskell, unmoved. “Let’s look at you +now.” + +With swift, practiced hands he made a brief examination; taking the old +lady’s pulse, listening to her heart, tapping her knees and doing all +the mysteriously impressive things that doctors do. + +Presently he straightened up. “She’s all right,” he declared brusquely. +“Not a thing the matter with her; a bit tired, that’s all. Go to bed, +madam, and get a nap, and you’ll feel better.” + +Miss McGregor’s head jerked up; she opened her eyes wide and fixed the +physician with a baleful glare. I caught my breath in wonder that an old +lady so patient and sweet-tempered could be capable of such viciousness. + +But it was over in a breath, and Aunt Mary’s features had resumed their +accustomed expression of suffering sweetness. + +“No doubt you’re right, doctor. I--I do feel better.” So gentle and +kindly was her smile that I wondered if my eyes had not deceived me just +now. “The worst is over, I hope. I’m in a great deal of pain, but I can +bear it!” + +She looked so white, so fragile; her weary face, her colorless, +quivering lips, told such a tale of suffering bravely borne that my +heart swelled with anger at the callousness of this doctor. + +Lewis shared my feelings, I think, for he drew Gaskell to one side and +seemed to remonstrate with him in low, angry whispers. The older man +shrugged and smiled. + +“It’s all right, my boy,” he answered aloud. “I admire your soft heart, +but this is plain hysteria. What? Paralyzed? Oh, yes, she’s paralyzed, +but she’s not suffering. When you’ve seen as many women as I have with +‘knots in the back of their necks,’ you’ll realize that the best thing +to do is treat ’em rough. Sympathy only makes ’em worse; and it’s the +poor folks that have to live with ’em who really need your sympathy. +Hum, hum! You go to bed, madam, and behave yourself. And, if you stop +taking out your bad temper on your family, with ‘bad spells’ like this, +you’ll feel better--and so will they.” + +It was brutal--even if it had been true it would have been brutal--but +it seemed efficacious. Aunt Mary straightened, with more color in her +thin face than I had ever seen there. Her voice was full and strong, not +sweet and gentle now, but sharp enough. + +“You get out!” she said. “Dorothy, pay him and send him away. +You--you’re no doctor! I’ve always said you didn’t know your business, +insulting poor, helpless women like me!” + +My nephew interposed. He was perfectly white, and he trembled visibly. + +“Let me, Aunt Mary! Doctor Gaskell, you are a cad, sir! A cad and an +ignoramus! You’re a disgrace to our profession. I--I”--he mouthed +inarticulately, almost beside himself with rage--“I--we’ll dispense with +your services, sir. I may be young and inexperienced, but I’m not +heartless. I--I----Get out, sir!” + +I caught the boy’s arm. “Softly, Lewis, softly! Don’t forget yourself. +You’d better go, Doctor Gaskell. I--I’m sorry. I apologize, sir. My +nephew is excited.” + +“Hum,” said Doctor Gaskell quite calmly. “Hum, hum! Yes, well--good +day!” He bowed to Aunt Mary, to Dorothy, to Lewis, and me, with the most +exact courtesy and went out. + +“The beast!” exclaimed Lewis. + +“Stop that!” I said to him severely. “He may have been wrong; he was too +abrupt, no doubt. But he gave his honest opinion; and that’s what you +wanted, wasn’t it? And he showed much more courtesy than you did, my +boy.” + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + A FEUD + + +My nephew calmed down presently and apologized to the ladies for his +outburst. It had been a distressing scene; but, whether it was Doctor +Gaskell’s rude pronouncement, or excitement, which caused her to forget +her troubles, or just coincidence, Aunt Mary seemed much better for it. +She replied rather shortly to our questions, saying that she was more +comfortable “for the moment,” that she didn’t want anything, and that +she’d lie down a while to recuperate. + +Miss Christie wheeled her back again into her bedroom, apparently quite +her usual sweetly, patient self. But I was convinced, none the less, +that she would not lightly forgive Doctor Gaskell. + +Poor Dorothy looked dreadfully flustered. As my nephew left us to give +the nurse some last directions, she drew me out into the dining room. + +“I--I don’t know what to think, Uncle George,” she declared. “I know +Doctor Gaskell was awfully harsh, and everything like that; and of +course Lewis is an awfully good doctor, and I’m sure he knows what he’s +talking about, but--but, Uncle George, I do believe there was some truth +in what Doctor Gaskell said. I do, I _do_! So there! You haven’t lived +with Aunt Mary a whole year like I have. I do believe she makes out her +pains are lots worse than they are--sometimes; I do believe she likes to +have folks say how patient she is, and how she suffers. If she’s cross +with me, or anything upsets her, I do believe she has one of these bad +spells, when other folks would just be cross and cranky. I just do! But +you won’t tell, will you? You won’t breathe it to a soul that I said +that, will you, Uncle George? Because, maybe, it’s just my meanness, +and, besides, Lewis wouldn’t like it.” + +So I promised. Then Lewis appeared, and I went out with him, my own mind +considerably unsettled by doubts. On the whole I was inclined to agree +with Dorothy that Aunt Mary, despite her repeated claims that she never +complained, managed to make the very most of her troubles. My nephew was +still incensed; he snorted wrathfully at intervals. I thought it best to +keep my suspicions to myself. + +“I’ll take you down to the post office, unk,” he said. “The mail must be +in by now, and I’ve got to stop at the drug store, anyhow.” + +We went to the latter place first, and the pharmacist, Walter Olsen, +hailed my nephew with joy. + +“Howdy, doc! Glad you came in. Come on back here.” + +He stooped over the high prescription counter at the back of the store, +his inch-wide blond eyebrows working up and down, as they did when he +was puzzled. He was conning over a slip of paper, and this he handed to +my nephew. + +“See if you can make that out, doc? Gaskell’s worse than usual lately; +can’t read his writing at all. And he’s gone off somewhere, and +Satterfield may be in any minute after this.” + +Lewis took the prescription and studied it for a moment. “Tincture +aconite, one drachm,” he read. “Bellonia--no, belladonna, a scruple.” +Then he paused, staring over the paper at the druggist. “Satterfield, +did you say? Ralph Satterfield? Why, the Satterfields are my patients! +What in thunder does Gaskell mean, stealing my cases?” + +He threw the prescription down angrily, his hot temper all aflame. My +nephew had a healthy opinion of his own dignity. “I won’t waste my time +on it!” he flared. “Let Gaskell translate his own scrawls. What a dirty +trick, stealing my patients! I never did think much of Gaskell, but I +supposed he had some idea of ethics. Wonder if he ever heard of +professional etiquette?” + +“Now, now, doc,” soothed Olsen. He was a mild, pacific chap. “Don’t let +it upset you. There must be some mistake. Doctor Gaskell wouldn’t do +that, I’m sure.” Stealing another man’s patients is one of the high +crimes of medicine. “You better just ask him about it; likely +Satterfield told him you’d stopped coming.” + +“Nonsense!” replied Lewis. “I was out there yesterday; I was on my way +there this morning. It’s the boy, Johnny, isn’t it?” He picked up the +prescription once more. “John Satterfield! That’s my case; I’m treating +that boy. Gaskell just butted in on me without a word. Confound him, +he’s always playing me some dirty trick!” + +His voice was high; one or two loafers in the front of the store heard +him and came back to peer over the high screen. Olsen looked troubled. + +“Wish I’d let Ralph wait till I could locate Gaskell,” Olsen said to me +helplessly. “I hate to start trouble like this.” He craned his neck to +peer over the screen, as the front door opened. “Here’s Satterfield +coming now!” he announced in vast relief. “You talk to him, doc; see if +he don’t explain this thing. You can talk right back here.” + +He beckoned the newcomer and led us to a small storeroom behind the +shop. “You-all can talk quiet in there.” He cast a worried look at the +loungers, who stared and whispered in front of the counter. + +I drew my nephew into the room, almost by force. “You cool off, boy,” I +ordered, “or else let me talk to him. You’re making a show of yourself; +this thing’ll be all over town before night.” + +Thus adjured, Lewis took a fresh grip on himself and turned more quietly +to Satterfield. The latter was a tall, gaunt, slab-sided individual in +overalls and a battered slouch hat. + +“Look here, Satterfield,” he began, “I thought I was taking care of +Johnny?” + +The other rasped a stubbly chin and pulled at his drooping mustache, in +obvious embarrassment. + +“We-ell, doc, y’see----” He paused, shuffled his feet and took a fresh +start. “W’y, th’ woman got kinda panicky yestiddy after you was there. +Says th’ boy was worse, sez she, an’ you was too young, she sez, an’ we +gotta have Doc Gaskell, ’at she knowed, she sez, an’ took care o’ her +w’en th’ kids was borned, sez she.” + +“Huh. And he came running, didn’t he? Glad enough to steal one of my +patients from me.” + +“W’y, no, doc,” Satterfield answered. “Couldn’t hardly git ’im out +there. Says we’d got another doctor, and we’d ought to have him. +Wouldn’t come until finely I got Bill Sears to’ drap you a post card, +sayin’ we didn’t want yuh t’ come no longer. Ain’t yuh got it yit?” + +Lewis glared, open-mouthed, taken aback by this revelation. But I think +his anger against Gaskell only burned the brighter for the knowledge +that he had done the older man an injustice. + +“He’s a dirty hound, anyway,” he retorted. “And as for you, Satterfield, +you must think a lot of yourself, begging help from the man who put you +in jail last month.” + +The other reddened, scowling sullenly. “That’s between him an’ me,” he +said. + +Gaskell was one of the town commissioners, and he had been acting mayor +for two months, during the absence of Frank Hayes. And, when Satterfield +had been brought before him, charged with bootlegging, Gaskell had given +the countryman thirty days on the roads. + +“That’s between him an’ me,” said Satterfield. “Cain’t nobody send me to +th’ jail house ’ithout payin’ f’r it. I’ll settle with Doc Gaskell +yit--you see! But that ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with this here; we-all +quit doctorin’ with you an’ sent f’r Doc Gaskell, see? Yuh got anythin’ +t’ say about that, huh?” + +He glared belligerently at Lewis. I fancy that his own conscience was +something less than easy, which naturally made him irritable. + +“No, no!” I told him. “It’s all right; the doctor is perfectly +satisfied. Come along, Lewis!” + +My aged nerves had stood all they could this morning. I hurried my +nephew out of the place before he could start a new quarrel. At last I +got the boy off on his rounds, in a tolerably calm frame of mind, and I +walked slowly back to the house. + +My heart was heavy. Unless he learned to curb his hot temper Lewis could +not hope to do well here. In any open break the sympathy of the +townspeople would naturally go to Doctor Gaskell, the older and +better-known man. Lewis would suffer, whatever the merits of the case. +It worried me deeply. + +As I turned onto our street, I noticed a team of mules standing before +Doctor Gaskell’s house, and a deep, angry roar drew my eyes to his front +porch. + +A huge old man, bearded to the waist, stood on the doctor’s porch, a +wide-brimmed felt hat thrust far back on his massive head. He was +shouting at a thoroughly frightened negro maid. + +“Out, huh? Gone away, huh? He better be gone away! Where’s he at, huh?” + +“G-gone to th’ h-hospital, suh,” answered the girl in a quavering voice. +“He’s done gone, suh; ain’t gwine be back ontwel evenin’.” + +“Huh?” A terrifying snort shook the air. “You tell ’em this word f’om +me, f’om Lafe Rutledge, gyurl. Tell ’im he’s got till sunup t’ settle, +an’ that’s all. I’ll be down to th’ Pinelands Hotel all evenin’. Ontel +sunup, you hear me?” + +“Yassuh! Oh, yassuh. I shore will tell th’ doctah!” + +The giant snorted once more, tugged at his flowing beard and turned +away. His heavy cowhide boots stamped down the steps; then he clambered +into his wagon, gathered the lines and lashed his mules to a run. + +Well, Doctor Gaskell’s troubles were his own. I was more concerned with +my nephew’s, and I feared that his hot temper would provide plenty for +him. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + A TRAGEDY + + +The rest of that day passed uneventfully enough. When he returned from +his rounds Lewis seemed quite himself again, and that afternoon he went +off to Raleigh cheerfully enough, to hurry the tailor with his wedding +clothes. + +The wedding was to be on Wednesday, at noon; but Dorothy had planned a +rehearsal for Monday, when her Brother Peter would be back, and Lewis’ +best man, Doctor Somers, would be here. And Tuesday would be a very busy +day, what with receiving and caring for the many out-of-town guests. +Saturday was the boy’s last chance to get his new clothes. + +Peter McGregor would not return until Sunday afternoon, so it was +arranged that I should stay at Fort House another night. I did not look +forward to it with any great joy; but I hoped that the Poltergeist would +allow me a few hours’ rest, though I could hardly look for a like +forbearance from bobwhite. + +The evening went off tolerably well. Aunt Mary was quite cheerful, and +she had surprisingly little to say about her throat and her “limbs” and +the knots in the back of her neck. I dozed comfortably in a big +sleepy-hollow chair, half listening to Dorothy’s chatter over some +intimate bit of finery. And the nurse, Miss Christie, slept quite +frankly on a couch in the corner. She was never at a loss how to spend +her time. + +At last Dorothy threw her embroidery frame at me. “Go to bed, Uncle +George! You haven’t heard one thing I’ve been saying for an hour. You +poor thing! You’re all tired out.” + +I rubbed my eyes. “Indeed I have; I was very much interested. But, +perhaps, I’d better go to bed now. First, though, I must get out Peter’s +shotgun and set it beside the back door, where Lewis can get it in the +morning. He’s going after those quail, you know, and he made me promise +to set out the gun. He won’t be back till midnight.” + +“It’s up in Peter’s room. Come along, I’ll show you. But you’ll have to +load it and all that, Uncle George. I don’t know a thing about guns.” + +Aunt Mary sniffed. “It used to be the pride of the McGregors of Maryland +that the ladies of the family were all thorough sportswomen. Many have +been the days I spent riding to hounds, when I was your age, Dorothy; on +many a morning I turned out early with my gun for duck shooting, or to +go out with the dogs after quail. I never asked any help to care for my +guns, either. But that’s long, long ago, and here I am, a poor, crippled +old woman, tied to a chair, these fourteen years. Ah, well! Young folks +aren’t what they were in my day!” + +Her lips trembled; her eyes suffused with tears. Fearing another +outbreak like the one of the morning I cast about me for some new topic. +Just then two powerful lights flashed briefly through the windows and +vanished again. I glanced out; Doctor Gaskell’s big car had just swept +round the corner toward his garage. + +“The doctor’s back,” said I casually. “Wonder if he’s seen Lafe +Rutledge.” + +“Who?” + +I jumped at the sudden, sharp question and wheeled. Miss Christie, whom +I had supposed asleep, as usual, had leaped up from her couch and stood +facing me, half crouched. For once her eyes were wide open; her round, +dimpled face was pale and drawn; her hands, clasped at her breast, +trembled. + +“Who did you say?” + +“Why,” I answered, wondering, “a man called Rutledge. He was asking for +Doctor Gaskell this morning, as I came past. The doctor was out, but he +left a message. I heard it; nobody within half a mile could have helped +hearing it. Said his name was Lafe Rutledge, and he’d give the doctor +until sunup to settle--whatever that means.” + +“Oh!” exclaimed the nurse, and the vivid horror in her face made her +suddenly beautiful. I had never noticed her looks before; she was so +sleepily indifferent; but now fear transfigured her. + +“Oh, Lafe Rutledge! Are you sure? A great, big old man, with a long +beard?” + +“And a voice like the bull of Bashan--and enormous boots! Yes, that’s +the gentleman.” + +Without another word Miss Christie ran to the door, bareheaded as she +was, and tore it open. + +“Miss Christie! Nurse!” It was Aunt Mary’s voice, sharp, domineering, +and angry. “What do you mean by this? Come back here at once! Take me to +my room!” + +The girl never glanced back. “In a minute,” she answered. “I can’t stop +now. I’ll come back directly.” The door slammed after her. + +We three stared at each other. “Well!” cried Dorothy. “What do you +suppose waked her up?” + +Aunt Mary bridled. “Ungrateful minx! What does she mean by it, leaving +me this way? I’m tired, and I want her to rub my limbs at once!” + +“She’ll be right back, I’m sure,” said Dorothy. “Something upset her; +she must be afraid of this man Rutledge for some reason. The poor girl +looked scared to death.” + +“She should consider me,” insisted Miss McGregor inexorably. “I have +enough to bear, without my nurse rushing off and cutting up like this. +This settles it! She shall go, as soon as I can find some one to take +her place! I never liked her; I might have known that any one whom that +wretch Gaskell recommended would be untrustworthy.” + +“Oh,” said I, wondering, “Doctor Gaskell sent her here?” + +Dorothy nodded. “Miss O’Brien had to leave, and we got this nurse +through Doctor Gaskell. She comes from the western part of the State, up +in the mountains somewhere, near the Tennessee border.” + +The front door opened, and Miss Christie reappeared, rather out of +breath, but sleepily calm as ever. + +“You have upset me seriously,” declared Aunt Mary severely. “My limbs +tingle, and the knots are coming in my neck. Take me to my room at once. +What do you mean by dashing off this way?” + +Her voice was harsh, almost abusive. I sighed a little, to think how +intimacy was shattering my faith in Aunt Mary’s saintliness. It was a +myth, I began to suspect. Behind the old lady’s angelic front lurked a +temper quite the reverse of angelic. + +“I’m sorry, Miss McGregor,” answered the nurse meekly. “I had to go; it +was a matter of life and death, almost.” + +Aunt Mary sniffed. “Life and death, indeed! How about my life and death? +But that’s of no importance, I suppose; I’m only a poor, helpless old +woman that everybody’ll be glad to get rid of.” Then yielding, I +suppose, to the curiosity which touched us all, she asked: “What did you +run off for, anyway?” + +“I can’t tell you.” The girl’s sleepy face set determinedly. + +“Mf!” exclaimed Aunt Mary. “I don’t like mysteries. I’ll give you until +morning; then you can explain--or leave!” + +“Very well, Miss McGregor. Shall I take you to your room now?” + +She pushed the wheeled chair out, and Dorothy, still wide-eyed, beckoned +to me. “Come along, Uncle George. Let’s get the shotgun. What do you +suppose ailed Miss Christie?” + +I shrugged. “She’s from the mountains. They still have feuds out there, +you know, along the North Carolina border. Perhaps this fellow Rutledge +comes from her home, and she’s afraid he’ll do some mischief down here. +Maybe she’ll explain herself in the morning, unless Aunt Mary is too +cranky.” + +Dorothy shivered a little. “I don’t like mysteries, either,” she +confessed. “And there’s trouble coming, Uncle George; I can feel it. Oh, +dear! I wish we were out of Fort House for good! Everything’s going +wrong. That horrid ghost, or whatever it is, scared me about sick; and +then Lewis had to go and quarrel with Doctor Gaskell, and now Miss +Christie begins to act so queer, and--and everything. Oh, dear! I wish +all these things could have happened to some other body. Here’s Peter’s +gun, Uncle George, in this closet.” + +I took it out, a plain, well-used, double-barreled shotgun. Then I broke +it to make sure it was unloaded. + +“There’s a box of shells on the shelf, I think. Come on, let’s leave it +out and go to bed. I’m tired, too.” + +She led the way down the back stairs. After making sure that both +barrels were unloaded I set the gun against the angle of the wall on the +back porch, just inside the screen door. + +“There! I told Lewis I’d put it there. I’ll just leave the cartridges +beside it, with the cleaning rod and rags, so he can put the gun in +shape when he’s through with it. I hope he gets those miserable quail; +they kept me awake, too.” + +“Poor Uncle George! He’s having a hard time, taking care of the McGregor +family, isn’t he?” she stood on tiptoe to kiss the end of my nose, then +she ran in. “I’m going to bed, too,” she called back. + +But as I labored up the front stairs--slowly enough, for my joints were +very stiff--she came out of Miss McGregor’s room to call after me. + +“Uncle George! Auntie’s nervous about that gun. Come in and tell her +where you left it.” + +I turned back. “On the back porch, Miss McGregor, inside the screen +door.” + +“Is it loaded?” querulously she asked. + +“No, ma’am. I set the box of shells beside it, ready.” + +“Like as not we’ll all be murdered in our beds, but I’d run that chance +even to get rid of those quail. Good night!” + +“Good night!” I resumed my interrupted climb. + +If the Poltergeist paid us a visit that night I did not know it. I could +scarcely keep my eyes open long enough to undress. I was tired out, and +the bed felt grateful enough. I slept sound and dreamlessly, which is +rather unusual for me, until about half past three. Then I half woke, to +hear the matutinal song--screech, rather--of those pestiferous quail. I +grinned sleepily, wondering if Aunt Mary had been awakened, too; +wondering how soon Lewis would be along, and whether he would bag them. + +Then I dropped off again, to dream that Lewis was stalking a covey of +sitting quail in my bedroom. They perched on the footboard; I struggled +hopelessly, as one does in dreams, to cry out, to warn him that I was in +his line of fire. I could not make a sound. Presently he raised his gun, +and I saw that it was a cannon, a field piece, with a muzzle as big +around as my head. He pulled the trigger--the thing went off with a most +horrible racket and blew the whole house apart. I seemed to be sailing +straight up into the air, with Lafe Rutledge beside me, his great white +beard fluttering. “There’ll be no wedding now,” I told him. Then Aunt +Mary McGregor came along, wearing roller skates, and explained that she +could get around better that way than in the wheel chair, and so she had +given the latter to Dorothy. And Rosina appeared, eyes rolling as if on +swivels, and said: “Come a-runnin’! Lafe’s eloped with Miss Dor’thy!” + +Just then I woke up, laughing aloud at the absurdity of it all. It was +broad daylight; my watch said five o’clock. The quail still whistled +persistently. I got up and went to the window, wondering if Lewis had +come yet; this would be a fine time to flush those birds. I was almost +tempted, in spite of my rheumatic joints, to slip down myself. + +The early sun struck through the tall pines and showed a moving figure +among them. Lewis was prompt evidently. He stepped out from the little +grove into the scrub-oak tangle behind it, gun at the ready. Then he +seemed to stumble. + +The shotgun came halfway to his shoulder, as if for a snapshot, +steadied, its barrel pointing straight ahead--and flamed! The heavy roar +of black powder reached my ears on the heels of the flash. + +“Good boy!” I cried aloud. “Get him?” + +Lewis took one step forward, then staggered back, dropping his gun; both +hands went to his face. It was too far to see what had happened; too far +even to shout a query from the open window. I turned away, my heart +throbbing, to hunt for my clothes. + +Then a stentorian shout brought me back, gasping, gripped by a +premonition of evil. Surely the boy could not have shot himself! The +muzzle of the gun had pointed well away from him. + +“Hey, there!” roared the same minatory voice, now closer. “What you-all +up to? Lay off o’ that there shootin’ in th’ corporation!” + +A huge figure threaded its way through the pines, following the path +that led from one street to the other, a favorite short cut for +pedestrians. It was our constable, Rufe Wakefield, a tremendous man, +whose apparent ferocity cloaked a rather timorous heart, so folk +whispered. + +He repeated his challenge, and now he was through the grove and beside +Lewis. + +“What you up to?” he demanded, and his leonine roar seemed louder than +the recent shot. + +Then he leaped back, both hands thrown up; presently he came forward +again and picked up my nephew’s fallen gun. They talked together; +Wakefield was accusing, Lewis apparently protesting; both were much +agitated. At last they turned and came slowly back toward the house. + +I could bear it no longer. I leaned far out of the window. “Say!” I +shouted, at the pitch of my lungs. “Hello, down there! What’s wrong?” + +Wakefield looked up. “Murder’s wrong!” he called excitedly. “This +feller’s done shot Doc Gaskell. Killed ’im daid!” + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + UNCERTAINTY + + +I staggered back. “What, murdered? Doctor Gaskell murdered! What’s that +about Lewis? You wait right there, Rufe, till I get dressed.” + +Without waiting to see whether he would obey, I turned from the window +and groped excitedly for my trousers. From the look of him, I fancied +that the constable would be glad of some guidance, even from me; he +seemed as flustered and at sea as poor Lewis himself. + +I dragged on my trousers over my pajamas, thrust bare feet into a pair +of slippers, and hurried out into the hall, my coat on my arm. + +“Uncle George!” + +It was a very shaky, frightened little voice. Dorothy, swathed in a blue +woolen robe, looking like a sleepy schoolgirl, with her black hair in +braids, clutched at my arm. + +“Uncle George, what is it? What’s happened? You can’t go out like +that--you’ll catch your death!” + +I must have presented an odd figure: bare-ankled, suspenders hanging +about my hips, a lavender pajama coat much in evidence. But I was too +upset to laugh at myself. + +“Let me go, child; there’s something wrong outside.” + +I had some vague thought of shielding her but her big eyes widened, as +she grew very white. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Lewis! Lewis is hurt--Lewis is killed, and you’re +afraid to tell me!” + +“No, no! It’s Gaskell--Doctor Gaskell’s been hurt. I don’t know what has +happened, but I’m going to find out. Let me go, child. Lewis is all +right, I tell you. Look out of the window, and you can see him.” + +Then I broke away, to limp and stumble down the stairs at top speed, +hoping I had pacified her; hoping she might go back to bed; hoping I +could settle this thing, get Wakefield away from the window before +Dorothy could hear that her fiancé was accused of murder. + +I plunged out of the door and raced around to the east side of the +house. Here I found Lewis and the constable, side by side, staring +silently at nothing. They turned to me helplessly. + +“Well!” I began impatiently. “What is it? What’s happened? Don’t stand +there staring like dummies--tell me!” + +Their befuddlement angered me; though, indeed, what with excitement, +rheumatic twinges, and the breathless hurry of my coming, I fear I was +in little better case myself. + +My nephew sighed heavily, as if awakened from an evil dream. “Come +along, unk,” he invited. + +“Yeah,” said the gigantic constable, “c’m’ on, an’ see what he done!” + +I followed them along the little winding path, through the pines and +into the tangle of scrub oaks; there I stopped, gasping. Before me, +supine, inert, lay the body of Doctor Gaskell. His face was deadly +white, his features sharpened curiously. He was fully dressed, and one +hand still clutched a small black bag. He lay on his back among the +thick bushes, his feet still in the little path. In the very center of +his body, just above the belt, was a horrid, gaping wound, about which +his white shirt was all tattered and stained. + +Needlessly I knelt and put my hand over his heart. It was quite still; +and his skin was cold already. I rose stiffly. + +“Good heavens,” I said. “Lewis----” + +“Yeah, Lewis! I sh’d think so,” declared the constable. “George, ain’t +this terrible?” He gripped the boy’s shoulder. “What’d ye do it f’r, +huh?” + +Lewis shook off his hand. “I--I didn’t,” he said thickly. His lips were +stiff, and his tongue seemed unmanageable. “I didn’t--or, anyway, I +didn’t know.” He groaned aloud. “I don’t know what happened. I thought I +saw a quail, and I cocked the gun and started to raise it, and then I +stumbled, and it went off. He must have been coming through the bushes; +I never saw him, or heard him--or anything. He never made a sound! I +supposed I was all alone out here until I heard Rufe yell; then I jumped +and looked round, and there he was--dead! You believe me, don’t you, +unk?” + +“Huh?” asked Wakefield. “Sounds kinda fishy t’ me.” He pointed down at +the body accusingly. “Hit plumb center,” he pronounced. “With a shotgun, +too; anybody c’d see that. An’ right close up! See th’ powder marks? +Musta seed him!” + +“He didn’t, either!” I put in. “I was watching from that window up +there; I saw Lewis raise his gun and trip, just like he said. Gaskell +wasn’t in sight, or anybody else!” + +“Huh!” asked the constable again. “We-ell, it’s kinda queer, anyways; +’specially after th’ way Doc Parker here was talkin’ in to Olsen’s +yestiddy. Yeah”--as I shrunk from the memory of the boy’s careless +threats--“I was there and heerd ’im m’self, making threats agin’ Doc +Gaskell. I reckon you’ll have a right smart o’ explainin’ t’ do, +Parker!” + +“Well,” I said, “don’t let’s argue about it now. We’ll have to look +after the body, and--whatever it is they do when anybody’s found dead +this way.” + +I looked questioningly at the constable, and he stared blankly back. The +habitual fierceness of his huge face was marred somewhat by a shifting, +uncertain eye. He fingered his chin irresolutely, and gazed about as for +inspiration. + +I scratched my head. Plainly there was no help in him. “I suppose,” I +began doubtfully, “I suppose the coroner ought to be notified and the +sheriff----” + +Wakefield brightened. Here was a chance to shift unwanted +responsibility. “Th’ sheriff? Yeah!” he said. “Sure! I’ll go phone ’im +right away.” + +He started off, then paused and turned back. “I--I s’pose I’d oughta +’rest ’im, hadn’t I?” he asked, looking at me as for advice on the +matter. “I’d oughta ’rest ’im an’ take ’im to th’ lockup first, mebbe.” + +For all the gravity of the situation, I had to laugh. He was so +ludicrously inept, this huge, ferocious-looking constable. + +“Nonsense!” said I. “Lewis won’t run away. I’ll be responsible for him. +We’ll come along while you phone; that’ll be the best way. And, when +Redden comes, you can turn my nephew right over to him.” + +“We-ell. If you think that’s th’ best way.” Then the constable started +toward Fort House. + +“No, not in there,” I said. “It would upset Miss McGregor terribly. +She’s an invalid, you know.” Really, it was Dorothy whom I wished to +spare. “We’d better go across to Gaskell’s house.” + +That started a new doubt in Mr. Wakefield’s slow mind. He stopped again. +“I don’t know as we’d oughta leave th’ body there all alone,” he +declared. “Mebbe we better go back an’----” + +“Nonsense!” I exclaimed. “We can go back and wait there as soon as +you’ve notified Sheriff Redden. Come along, now!” Then I dragged him on +by main force. + +Fortunately, Mrs. Gaskell was away, so we had not to break the dreadful +news to her. A frightened colored maid, just opening the back door, for +it was still early, showed us to the telephone, and Wakefield called for +the county jail. + +We claimed Pinelands for the county seat, but the courthouse and jail of +Carabas County were not in the town. When the new buildings were +projected some ten years before there was a bitter rivalry between +Pinelands and Smyrna, five miles off, for the honor of possessing them. +And finally, to settle this, the jail and courthouse were built upon the +dividing line of the two townships, over two miles from either village. +This singular arrangement, of course, pleased neither contingent. But +there our courthouse stood, alone in the wilderness, and I know of one +other similar case in North Carolina. + +The sheriff lived in the jail, which made this a long-distance call. We +had to wait for ten minutes or so to get a connection. + +“Hello!” said Wakefield. “Hello! Th’ jail?... Gimme th’ high sheriff. +Huh?... This here’s Rufe Wakefield, over to Pinelands.... Yeah, +Const’ble Wakefield. Hello, sheriff?... They’s been a killin’ here--Doc +Gaskell’s done been shot.... Huh?... Yeah, I got th’ feller did it.... +Huh?... Bring ’im out there? Nossir! I ain’t got no author’ty outside +th’ corporation, an’, anyways, I ain’t a-goin’ to.... Huh?... Nossir!... +Huh?” + +I pushed him aside; I could see that he was getting nowhere. “Hello! +Sheriff?... George Uhlman speaking.... Yes, Doctor Parker’s uncle. We +just found Doctor Gaskell out here in the bushes, near his house, dead. +He’d been killed with a shotgun. We don’t know how it happened; looks +like an accident. Wakefield thinks my nephew did it, but I don’t! +Anyway, it’s not clear, and it needs investigation. There’s nobody here +fit to take charge. Will you come right over, please?” + +“W’y sure!” came the sheriff’s high, whining falsetto. “I s’posed f’om +Rufe it wa’n’t nothin’, on’y just a plain killin’. Be over directly. You +sent f’r th’ coroner?” + +“No; we just found the body.” + +“Aw right! I’ll git Doc Burgess f’om Smyrna an’ carry him over there. +Git started soon as I c’n git my clothes on.” His shrill voice took on +an injured note. “Wisht you-all’d have y’r killin’s later in the day!” + +We went out into the fresh, bright morning, and walked toward the pine +grove. Even now Pinelands was scarcely awake. Thin curls of smoke began +lazily to mount from a chimney here and there; a colored servant or two +hurried up the street, fresh from Jimtown, across the creek. In an hour +they would be serving breakfast; the orderly life of Pinelands would +begin behind those white colonnaded house fronts, which were now so +still. It came to me as a shock, that peaceful life should be going on +all about, when I seemed caught into the whirl of another world +altogether--a fantastic, unreal world of sudden death and police +officers and all the sordid routine of criminal investigation. Perhaps I +felt the whole affair as deeply as Lewis did. I was fond of my nephew. + +We passed under Aunt Mary’s window, and I could hear Miss Christie’s +undisturbed snoring. There was no sound from Miss McGregor herself, +although the quail still whistled piercingly. I wondered if she could +really be asleep--if, perhaps, the bobwhites disturbed her less than she +fancied. Surely, with the shouting which had followed that fateful +explosion of Peter McGregor’s shotgun, even a sound sleeper might well +have been awakened. + +But one, at least, in Fort House, was stirring. As we passed the corner +of the old place Dorothy ran out, breathless, hastily dressed, but +distractingly pretty. Her thick braids were coiled carelessly on her +head; as she came toward us she thrust a hairpin home. + +“Oh, Lewis! What is it, boy? What’s happened? I just know it’s something +terrible!” + +“There, there, honey!” With a vast effort the boy shook himself into a +semblance of calm, and put an arm about her protectingly. “It’s nothing! +There’s been an accident, and Doctor Gaskell is hurt.” + +“Hurt?” She drew away from him a little, looking deep into his eyes. +“Oh, boy, boy! You didn’t quarrel with him again?” + +“No. I--I didn’t know he was there, dear. I never saw or heard a thing. +And the gun went off, and----” + +“Did you hit him? Is he hurt badly? Where is he? Can’t I help?” + +“Nobody can help him now,” I told her gravely. “The only way you can +help is to go back in the house and try to keep this from Aunt Mary as +long as you can. No!” I caught her sharply back, as she would have run +down the path. “You can’t do anything there; you must keep away.” + +She stared at me in agony. “You--you mean he’s dead?” She seemed unable +to understand; her face was quite blank. Indeed, all of us seemed +helplessly confused that fateful morning. I look back now and see how we +might have risen to the occasion, how we might have handled the +situation efficiently; but then we all seemed bound by the same +nightmare, gripped by that terrible helplessness of dreams, so that we +could only stare and gape. After all, it was no wonder! Doctor William +Gaskell had been killed in a very sudden and dreadful fashion--and my +nephew, Lewis Parker, was supposed to have killed him, however +unintentionally. And we loved the boy. + +“We-ell,” said Dorothy uncertainly, “I’ll try and be good. You come with +me, Lewis, please.” + +“I--I’m needed here,” he began, but Constable Wakefield’s stentorian +voice drowned his evasion. + +“He’s gotta stay right with me, ma’am,” he declared. “He’s under arrest, +he is, f’r murder!” He inflated his huge chest importantly, then shrank +suddenly back, fumbling at his hip, as my nephew turned upon him. “Here, +here! None o’ that, now!” + +“You fool!” said the boy. “I’ve a good mind to break your head--blurting +out that way.” + +“Quit, quit!” The constable tried to hide his vast bulk behind me, and +his voice shook. Here was a desperate criminal, a red-handed murderer, +threatening him! I read the thought in the sickly face of him. “You-all +make him quit! Resistin’ a officer’s serious, Parker!” + +Lewis had forgotten him already. His eyes were all for Dorothy. “It--it +was an accident!” he declared piteously. “Dorothy--honey--you believe +me, don’t you? I never even saw him; I supposed he was home in bed. Oh, +honey, you don’t think I really meant to shoot him?” + +The girl’s eyes shone, and she brushed the thought away with a +magnificent gesture. “Of course not! But, Lewis, boy, arrested! W-will +they put you in j-jail, dearest? They won’t keep you there, will they? +Why, our wedding’s only two days off!” + +“Come, dear,” I urged. “Run in, now. See, people are coming already. +It’s only a formality”--how I hoped it was not a lie--“just a form. +He’ll be out again and back in time for dinner. You go look after Aunt +Mary and be brave.” + +She turned away obediently, her slender shoulders shaking with sobs; +then she came back to kiss the boy, and fled. I sighed with relief as +she vanished into the house. “Come on, Wakefield, let’s get it over,” I +suggested. + +Already the news had spread. Perhaps it had been the telephone operator, +perhaps the mysterious wireless of small-town gossip. Anyhow men and +boys had begun to collect, to hang in whispering groups along the road. +A few bolder spirits advanced, full of questions, and followed us back +along the path to where Gaskell’s body still lay. + +“How come?” asked one man of the constable, who stood beside Lewis, +still rubbing his chin with unsteady fingers. He had made no move to +lift the dead man. + +“How come? Doc Parker, here, done it with his shotgun just now. I as +good as seen him!” + +The constable’s statement was relayed from one whispering group to +another. The crowd gathered, came closer, jostling and shoving through +the scrub for a better look. A little murmur started somewhere and grew +into a menacing growl: “Killed Doc Gaskell! Shot ’im down deliberate! +Dirty coward!” A high, excited voice from the rear shouted: “He ought to +be lynched!” + +At that sinister suggestion the crowd began to mill. The mutter of +unfriendly voices deepened, grew more ominous. “Git a rope!” exclaimed +another. Suddenly there was an outburst of howls, shrill, bitter, +inhuman, like the baying of hounds. “Git a rope! Git a rope! Hang +’im--lynch ’im!” + +Pushing and crowding, they drew closer, surrounding us and the body, +treading down the bushes, thrusting aside saplings. I looked into a +circle of flushed, ugly faces. The crowd had become a mob. + +Constable Wakefield straightened to the full of his six feet two, thrust +out his official chest and glowered at them fiercely. “Stand back, +boys!” he ordered. “Don’t interfere with th’ law!” + +His authoritative way had its effect for an instant; then some one +laughed. “Yah, Rufe! ’Member when Ralph Satterfield took y’r star off of +yuh that day? Knock his block off, fellers; take ’is gun away, if he +starts anythin’. He ain’t got the nerve to shoot.” Wakefield had now +produced a huge and ancient pistol. + +The big man paled, and his small eyes shifted uncertainly. His heavy, +bullying voice quavered. “Now, now, boys,” he said, suddenly pacific, +“don’t do nothin’ you’ll be sorry for.” + +“Gr-r-r-r!” The crowd swayed forward. Lewis, very white, clenched his +fists and crouched, prepared to sell his life dearly. I stood in front +of him; I would come to grips with Nate Buford who was nearest me; I +could hold him back for a minute, at least. And, even in that breathless +moment, I had to grin to myself to think of pitting my puny, rheumatic +sixty-odd years against the wrath of a mob. + +Presently the crowd began to waver. “Beat it!” shouted some one from the +rear. Those nearest us shifted, looked over shoulders, then stepped +back, each trying to hide behind his fellows and look like an innocent +bystander. A wide lane opened, and along it a shrunken, undistinguished +figure advanced toward us. It was a little old man, stooped and bent, +whose rheumy, red-rimmed eyes peered mildly from beneath a wide, +flapping hat brim; his lean, leathery face, seamed by a thousand +wrinkles, was made ludicrous by the merest wisp of straggling white +mustache; the gnarled, calloused hands swung empty at his sides. It was +High Sheriff Redden, and glad I was to see him. + +He came on through the shrinking, melting crowd and stood with us, +peering down at Doctor Gaskell’s quiet body. “H’m,” said he. “Daid, +ain’t he?” + +He spoke in a quavering, cracked falsetto. Then he turned and ran a +mild, watery eye over the throng, stroking his ridiculous, wispy +mustache the while. “Seems like I heerd some racketin’ round here,” he +went on in that grotesque, squeaky whine. “You-all c’n go home now. Git! +Scatter!” + +His bent, shrunken form contrasted absurdly with the constable’s +massiveness; his voice, to the constable’s roar, was a penny whistle to +a pipe organ. His rheumy eyes were mild, almost timid; his gnarled hands +were empty. + +But none withstood him. The crowd melted fast, each man looking, or +trying to look, as if he’d just stopped for a minute and was ready to +go, anyway. Presently Lewis and I stood alone with the constable, the +sheriff, and the dead man. + +I conceived a sincere respect for High Sheriff Redden. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + INVESTIGATION + + +Sheriff Redden, at least, seemed quite untouched by the paralysis of +thought which held us all. He cleared his throat briskly, ran a watery +eye over our blank visages, and stooped over the dead man. + +“H’m,” said he. “Plumb center--with a shotgun, held clost enough to +scorch his shirt some. Who found him?” + +A quail whistled sharply, as if in mockery, and its shrill note struck +exactly the key of the high sheriff’s squeaky voice. It was ridiculous +enough, yet none of us seemed moved to laugh. Indeed, I valued the +sheriff’s intelligence the higher, that he asked: “Who found him?” +instead of “Who did it?” + +“I found him!” answered Lewis and the constable, almost together. “That +is----” and both stopped short. + +“You first,” ordered the sheriff, flipping a calloused palm at my +nephew. And he listened attentively, his wizen, wrinkled face +inscrutable, while the boy told his faltering tale. + +“I was coming down the path, and I thought I saw a quail on that limb, +right there. I cocked the gun and started to raise it; and then I +tripped, and it went off. But I didn’t see a soul or hear a sound; I +swear I didn’t!” + +“H’m,” said Sheriff Redden, blinking his little, red-rimmed eyes. “H’m! +What was you doin’ out here with a gun, right in th’ village?” + +“It was the quail,” said Lewis. He seemed dazed, incapable of thought. +He began to repeat his story: “I was coming down the path----” + +“The birds annoyed Miss McGregor so much she couldn’t sleep. She’s an +invalid, you know.” And I told him of Aunt Mary’s complaints and my +nephew’s promise. + +“H’m,” repeated the sheriff. “So you come out t’ kill off them +pa’tridge? H’m! Didn’t look t’ see Doc Gaskell out here? What was th’ +doc doin’ in McGregors’ back yard that time o’ mornin’, yuh s’pose?” + +“Somebody sick, probably,” I answered. “He had his medicine case, you +see.” + +The sheriff blinked down at the black bag, which Gaskell’s dead hand +still gripped. “H’m! Like enough. We c’n see after that later. Hey, +Burgess!” + +He turned toward the street, whence came a reply to his shrill summons. +A battered roadster stood in front of Fort House, and a stout, +middle-aged man, bearded thickly, was just climbing out of it. He held a +stout satchel. + +“Doc Burgess, th’ coroner,” explained the sheriff. “Better let him have +a look fust; then we c’n take th’ body home.” + +The coroner came toward us briskly, with a fat man’s rolling gait. He +set down his bag and knelt beside the dead man, grunting. + +His examination took but a moment. “Stone dead,” he announced, and his +thick beard moved to the words. “Never knew what hit him. Must have +dropped where he stood. All right, you can move him now, sheriff. I’d +better have a complete autopsy done, I suppose, though I’d be ready to +swear to the cause of death right now.” + +“H’m! How long’s he bin daid, you reckon?” + +Doctor Burgess touched the dead man’s breast, moved an arm tentatively. +“We-ell, two hours, anyhow--maybe longer. Can’t say exactly.” + +The sheriff looked at his watch. “Seven-fifteen. You was out here at +five, Parker?” + +I nodded. “I’d looked at my watch just a minute before I saw him shoot.” + +“Saw him shoot?” the sheriff repeated. “Where was you?” + +“Up at that window, looking out.” + +“H’m! You see Doc Gaskell?” + +“No. There wasn’t a soul in sight. The bushes didn’t move even.” + +“H’m,” repeated the sheriff. “Well, let’s git goin’.” + +He beckoned to a lounger, who had retreated only to the street, and +presently a couple of boards were found. Constable and coroner lifted +the dead man gently, and four volunteers carried him away toward his own +house. The bright sun shone down as cheerily as if all had been well in +Pinelands; and the quail whistled “bob_white_! bob_white_!” without +faltering upon a single note. To my disturbed mind, they seemed to jeer +at us, to rejoice in this tragedy which they had caused. + +“Rufe, you go over an’ stay with th’ body,” said the sheriff. “Keep all +them folks away. I gotta git word t’ Mis’ Gaskell, an’ find out where +the doc was goin’, an’----” + +“He was coming to my place, sheriff.” It was Olsen, the druggist, who +spoke. He had joined the ragged fringe of curious ones who still hung +about, but at a respectful distance. “My little girl woke up with awful +pains in her stomach, and we phoned after the doctor. Say, Redden, isn’t +this a dreadful thing!” + +“H’m,” said the sheriff. “Somebody oughta let Mis’ Gaskell know about +it. Whereabouts is she, Olsen? Do you know?” + +“Why, yes; she went to Jackson Springs for a few days with the +Ruggleses. I’ll take care of that, sheriff; I’ll send for Mrs. Gaskell, +and the lodge will make arrangements for the funeral and all.” + +“All right, you-all c’n see to that end of it. An’ now”--the sheriff +turned a quizzical, blinking eye upon me--“th’ next mos’ important thing +seems t’ be, when do we eat?” + +The old gentleman was bearing himself with extraordinary courtesy and +kindliness, I thought. He kept a keen, faded eye upon Lewis, of course; +he saw to it that the boy did not wander far from his side, but he had +not so much as mentioned that he was under arrest. + +“Come over to our house,” I invited. “I expect Rosina can scrape us up +something.” + +We were standing by the corner of the Fort House porch; and now a sweet, +tremulous voice from above cut across my words. + +“Of course not! You come right in here, Uncle George, and bring Lewis +and these--these gentlemen--both of them. Breakfast is waiting for you.” + +We started, and I looked up. Dorothy McGregor leaned over the porch +rail, smiling down at us bravely, if tearfully--a vision of loveliness. +The old sheriff swept off his broad-brimmed hat and bowed with +old-fashioned courtesy; the coroner bowed also, a pleased smile upon his +grave, bearded face. + +“I thank you, ma’am. Sorry to intrude on you-all, but I reckon we better +accept yo’r kind invitation. Yuh see, ah--circumstances is such--well, I +gotta stay with Doctor Parker, ma’am, f’r th’ present, or I wouldn’t +butt in on you-all this a way.” + +He stammered, wiping his leathery old face in sincere embarrassment. +Though they had never met, the sheriff knew Dorothy, as did every one +else in town. He knew that she was about to be married to my nephew, and +he dreaded to tell her that the boy was under arrest. + +But he need not have been troubled. Dorothy met him at the steps, still +smiling courageously, despite trembling lips, and gave him a cordial +hand. “Mr. Redden, isn’t it? Of course I know who you are, sheriff, and +I understand that you’ve had to arrest Lewis. But it’s only for a day or +so, isn’t it?” she asked. “Just until he’s cleared, or whatever you call +it? And it’s just sweet of you, sheriff, to let him come in for a little +while before he--g-goes.” + +“H’m! Yessum, jus’ f’r a little while, o’ course. I--I--this is Doc +Burgess, Miss Dorothy, a--a friend o’ mine.” + +“How do you do, doctor? Now come in, everybody. The waffles will be +ready, and it makes Rosina awfully mad if they have to stand a minute.” + +She led the way to the dining room, still chattering bravely, but I saw +how her hand trembled upon Lewis’ arm. + +Dorothy seated us all about the big, round table, and breakfast was +served at once. Conversation languished, as one might have expected; but +the officers paid enough attention to Rosina’s cooking to balance the +scant appetites of the family. + +“Where’s Aunt Mary?” I whispered to the girl beside me. I wondered how +the old lady would react to this rude upsetting of the routine of life +at Fort House. + +“In her room,” Dorothy answered. She made no pretense of eating, but sat +close to Lewis, holding his hand openly and proudly, murmuring comfort +to him. “She hasn’t come out at all; I don’t believe she knows anything +about--this.” + +While Dorothy was speaking, the portières were pushed back, and Aunt +Mary McGregor appeared, bolt upright in her wheel chair, propelled, as +usual, by her yawning nurse. Our unwelcome guests rose. + +The old lady’s thin, arched eyebrows rose higher than ever. She blinked +her eyes very fast, an unfailing sign of irritation, as I was beginning +to learn. + +“Good morning!” she said very coldly indeed. “And who are +these--ah--gentlemen, Dorothy?” + +Flushed and embarrassed, Dorothy rose also. “Why--why, aunty, these are +friends of Lewis. This is Sheriff Redden; my aunt, Miss McGregor, Mr. +Redden. And Doctor----” + +“Indeed!” Aunt Mary’s frosty voice cut her off. The old lady’s eyebrows +rose higher yet, if that were possible, and she winked fast, passing a +hand across her eyes in a curious, uncertain gesture which was not like +her. “A policeman, here! And why, may I ask?” + +“Just--just a little matter of business, ma’am,” replied the sheriff, +very red and uneasy. “With--with Doctor Parker, here.” + +“Mf!” said Aunt Mary. “How amusing!” But I fancied that her manner was +less glacial. “And this other gentleman?” + +“Doctor Burgess, of Smyrna,” explained Dorothy miserably. + +“Ah, yes; Doctor Burgess, of course. And to what do we owe this +unexpected--pleasure?” + +It is impossible to describe the saccharine insolence of Aunt Mary’s +tone. Her smile was as saintly as ever, her courtesy impeccable, while +her face wore its accustomed look of patient suffering. And yet with a +look, with a drawled word, with a tiny pause before “pleasure,” she +contrived to make us all feel exquisitely uncomfortable. She had a +genius for that sort of thing, I was beginning to perceive. + +“I was afraid we’d intrude on you-all,” began Redden, apologetically. “I +reckon we better----” He stopped, not knowing what to say. Doctor +Burgess looked down his nose, tugging reflectively at his heavy beard. +Dorothy wiped her eyes. + +“Doctor Gaskell is dead,” I declared. The old lady’s calm selfishness, +her subtle discourtesy, angered me. Let her face the brutal fact, like +the rest of us! + +“Gaskell has been killed, right in your back yard!” + +“Indeed!” Aunt Mary yawned. “Dorothy, where is my coffee? I feel very +ill, after the shock of that man’s brutal language yesterday. I need my +coffee. But, then, no one thinks of me. No one cares enough for my +suffering even to ask how I am. I dozed off toward morning; the birds +didn’t disturb me, thanks to Doctor Parker”--she nodded graciously +toward Lewis--“and I got up quite rested. And then I’m expected to meet +strangers at breakfast--which always upsets me--and on top of that I +have to listen to such unpleasant news. Dear me! I feel the knots coming +in my neck already. No one has any consideration for me!” + +“Why, you----” I began and stopped. I had been about to flare out at the +old lady; her callousness enraged me so. Surely this was beyond even +Aunt Mary’s self-absorption! But her white-lipped, quivering face +checked me. This time, at least, Miss McGregor was really suffering; I +was sure of that. + +Then my eyes traveled past her to the nurse, Miss Christie, who had +stood silently behind the wheel chair all this time. Then I jumped up. + +“Lewis, Doctor Burgess! Quick, she’s fainting!” + +We all ran toward her, and just in time. With a faint sigh, Miss +Christie collapsed limply, and the doctor caught her, as she fell, and +laid her gently down. + +Again I was struck by the unexpected beauty of her white face. +Ordinarily sleepy and stolid, strong emotion seemed to vivify her face, +to transfigure her bovine placidity. Now, lying with closed eyes, still +and white as death, she was very beautiful. + +“Upon my word!” cried Aunt Mary. “Every one seems to be in a conspiracy +to upset me to-day. Dorothy, please take me to my room. I can’t eat a +mouthful.” + +This was scarcely true. The old lady had occupied her few minutes with +us quite profitably, eating as she talked. She had consumed three +waffles--I counted them--and two cups of coffee. But Dorothy wheeled her +out obediently, while we men ministered to the fainting nurse. + +Dorothy returned in a moment, to kneel beside me. “What do you suppose +was the matter? Is she sick, Doctor Burgess? Poor girl! Let me, Uncle +George.” + +She took the nurse’s head upon her knee and began to bathe the broad, +white forehead with cold water, very gently. Presently Miss Christie +opened tragic, violet eyes that seemed black with emotion. + +“What--what happened to Doctor Gaskell?” she asked in a whisper. “Who +killed him?” + +We stared at each other dumbly. It was Lewis who answered at last. + +“I’m afraid I did it,” he told her quite simply. “It was an accident. I +didn’t see a soul or hear a sound. I was coming down the path, and I +thought I saw a quail.” Here he repeated his story, almost word for +word, as he had told it a dozen times this morning. He was still much +shaken. + +“Oh!” It was the faintest of sighs, and I fancied that it expressed +relief. A tinge of color crept into the girl’s white cheeks as she +covered her eyes and burst into tears. + +“There, there, honey,” said Dorothy. “What is it? What’s the trouble?” + +Miss Christie sat up and wiped her eyes. “N-nothing,” she said +sobbingly. “Only it was a shock. You see, Doctor Gaskell did so much for +me; he was a wonderful friend. I was raised in the mountains, and I +never had a chance until he came. But he helped me to leave home; he got +me a place in the hospital. He kept me nursing for him ever since I +graduated. Whatever I am, I owe to him. He was a father to me--a +father!” She laughed bitterly. “A thousand times more kind than the only +father I ever knew! That’s all.” + +She rose quietly. Suddenly all the life and fire of her face died like a +blown-out candle. She had been inspired; now she was commonplace once +more, bovine, placid, almost stupid, expressionless. I wondered at the +change. No one would look twice at her now. + +“I must go and see to Miss McGregor,” she murmured. “I’m sorry to have +made so much trouble.” Then she vanished silently. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE INQUEST + + +Sheriff Redden scratched his head. “Funny how upset she seemed,” he +remarked in his high, whining drawl. “I wonder, now, where I’ve seen +that girl before? Christie, her name is? Christie? H’m! Likely, it’s +somebody else she favors. Say, they’s a lot o’ queer things about this +here shootin’, seems like.” + +I agreed with him thoroughly, and one of them was the curious conduct of +Miss McGregor’s nurse, both last night and just now. + +“F’r instance,” pursued the officer amicably, turned toward his +prisoner, “Gaskell’s bein’ out yonder in th’ bushes. Couldn’t of been in +th’ path, or you’d of seen him.” It seemed the sheriff accepted Lewis’ +story as true, and my heart warmed to him. “I wonder, now----He must of +been standin’ right quiet, too, or ye’d of heard him. Don’t seem +natural, quite, he’d of let yuh git clost enough t’ shoot ’ithout sayin’ +nothin’. Thet gun bar’l must of been right up agin’ him, a’most.” + +“It seems as if I’d have seen him from the window, too, unless he was +hiding,” I put in. “Those bushes aren’t high enough to hide his head.” + +Mr. Redden scratched his head again. “H’m! What you think, Parker?” + +Lewis shook his head hopelessly. His black hair, usually sleeked +straight back, had fallen over his forehead. He tugged absently at a +lock which hung down over his eyes. “I don’t know--I can’t seem to think +at all.” + +The coroner looked up. He had resumed his seat and was finishing his +fourth waffle. “Another possibility,” he suggested, with his mouth full. +“Might not have been hiding--he might have been dead already.” + +“H’m,” said the sheriff, blinking at him. + +My nephew brightened wonderfully. The color crept back into his sallow +cheeks. “Do you really think so?” + +Dorothy made a little cooing sound, and patted Lewis’ hand. “I knew it +would come out all right!” she declared, her big sea-blue eyes upon the +coroner. + +Under that admiring gaze, Doctor Burgess expanded. “Quite possible,” he +repeated. “Can’t fix the time of death exactly--not within an hour or +so. You realize that, Doctor Parker. If you saw nothing, heard nothing, +not even a fall, it may have been because Gaskell had already fallen. +Didn’t you look to see if he was still bleeding or anything?” + +Lewis flushed. “I--I was too upset,” he confessed. “I heard the +constable yelling, and I turned. I didn’t see Gaskell until then, and it +startled me so--that and knowing that Wakefield would surely think I did +it, and remembering I’d quarreled with him yesterday, and seeing him, +Gaskell, there, and all----” He stumbled and broke off. “Why, all I +could see was that Gaskell was dead, and that I must have shot him.” + +“H’m! Well, we’ll have a chance to straighten all that out at the +inquest.” Sheriff Redden rose and bowed to Dorothy. “We sure are +beholden to you, ma’am, f’r yore hospitality. But I reckon we better be +shackin’ along now. Gotta git back to th’ jail. I--I reckon I’ll have to +take yo’r young man along, ma’am, jus’ f’r to-day. Burgess’ll be holdin’ +his inquest to-morrow; hey, doc? An’ then we c’n turn th’ boy loose f’r +good. It--it’s just a form, Miss Dorothy, ma’am.” + +Dorothy nodded. “You’re awfully good, Mr. Redden--you’re a perfect old +dear!” And she kissed him impulsively. “You’ll be real nice to Lewis, +won’t you?” + +The old man beamed at her, his mahogany face three shades darker than +normal. “I sure will, ma’am! Come along, Burgess. All right, Parker. +It’s just t’ be my guest overnight, suh!” + +And so they departed, leaving Dorothy, now that she need no longer be +brave for her man’s sake, to weep forlornly on my shoulder. + +Then Peter McGregor appeared, carrying his own satchel. He was inclined +to be rather aggrieved that no one had met him at the station; but none +of us had so much as heard the New York train pull in. + +Peter was told the whole story, and he listened gravely, sitting up very +straight, as was his habit, and stroking his little black mustache. +Peter was both slight and short, scarcely taller than his sister. But he +carried himself so erectly, and his lean, intelligent face was so +dignified that he seemed rather above than under the average size. + +Now, when we had finished our dismal tale, he kissed Dorothy and patted +my shoulder as grandly as though he had been a foot taller than I, +instead of six inches shorter. + +“I’ll see the old boy through,” he promised. “I’ll take hold of things +and get them straightened out in jig time!” + +We were vastly relieved, for Peter was a capable, energetic chap, and he +was not stunned by this dreadful affair as we were. He had not been here +to receive its full, paralyzing shock. + +He was off directly, without stopping to see Aunt Mary. “I can’t stop to +hear about the knots in her neck just now, Dot,” he declared. “I’ve +other more important things to do.” + +Before lunch he was back. “I’ve seen the old boy, Dot,” he said. “He’s +pretty blue, but I hope I bucked him up a bit. And I’ve talked with the +sheriff and Doctor Burgess. Inquest will be here at Pinelands, in the +town hall, at ten to-morrow. The coroner’s sure it’ll come out all +right; ‘parties unknown,’ maybe, or purely accidental at the worst. He +was awfully decent; neither he nor the sheriff believes Lewis knew the +fellow was there. Queer proceeding, I must say, for Gaskell to be +pussy-footing around in our back yard like that! But it’s all right; +Lewis won’t even need a lawyer, Burgess says. They’ll see that he’s +cleared. So don’t worry any more, Dot!” + +Dorothy promised obediently; and I tried my best not to worry either. +But that was a long, long day, and it was very hard to listen patiently +to Aunt Mary’s complaints. For now that she knew that Lewis hadn’t +killed the quail, after all, their shrill note began to annoy her again. +She quivered visibly, almost ostentatiously, at each repetition of +“bob_white_! bob_white_!” until I had to bite my lips to keep from +reminding her that her complaints about a few quail had caused tragedy +enough already. + +But the day passed somehow, and the night. Long before ten on Monday +morning I sat on a front seat at the town hall, between Dorothy and her +brother, waiting for the inquest to begin. Aunt Mary had protested +pathetically against our “desertion,” but for once her desires were +ignored. + +The room began to fill. At last the coroner arrived, then the sheriff, +bringing Lewis with him. The boy came straight to us and sat down beside +Dorothy, his guard dropping unobtrusively into a seat behind. + +“Cheer up, honey!” whispered Lewis. “Hello, unk! Hello, Peter! Old +Redden’s a brick; treated me like a son. I slept in his spare bedroom. +It’ll all come right.” + +Then the coroner rapped for order, and the proceedings began. + +I have not the heart, even now, to tell all that happened. Our high +hopes were struck to the ground almost at once. + +For the district attorney appeared, the “State Solicitor,” as he is +called in North Carolina, and he took charge of affairs. Coroner Burgess +did his best for Lewis, and he proved himself a kindly and impartial +presiding officer. He did more; he even leaned toward us and argued in +Lewis’ favor. He was moved, perhaps, by the bond of their common +profession; perhaps by a conviction that the boy was innocent; perhaps +by Dorothy’s appealing face, and the memory of that excellent breakfast. +But, whatever the reason, he did his best for us. + +Nevertheless, the solicitor, Toby Vanbrugh, combated all his well-meant +efforts. Vanbrugh was a large-bodied young man, with a heavy, dignified +face, whose features all seemed two sizes too big for it--except his +eyes, which were three sizes too small and an inch too close together. +He wore a flapping frock coat and a black string tie, the conventional +get-up of the old-fashioned country lawyer. His voice and gestures made +him seem like a cheap actor, playing the part of the fearless prosecutor +in a melodrama. + +He had been a close friend of Doctor Gaskell’s, but I do not think it +was that friendship which moved him. No, he saw here the makings of an +important murder trial, in which both victim and murderer were people of +prominence in the countryside. He saw an opportunity for +self-advertisement. The McGregors were rich, he knew, and I was not +without means. If Lewis could be indicted for the murder of Doctor +Gaskell, there would be a long and hard-fought trial; prominent lawyers +would appear for the defense; there would be columns and columns of +publicity for the alert young prosecutor, who faced, alone and unaided, +this galaxy of legal talent and fought it to a standstill, vindicating +the rights of the commonwealth, demanding equal justice for the rich as +for the poor. Oh, he was not an uncommon type, this Vanbrugh; every +community East and West, North and South, has known his like. + +He allowed the coroner to present his case; the discovery of the body +upon the heels of a gun shot, with Lewis standing over it, gun in hand. +The coroner stated the cause of death and showed his jury a half dozen +bird shot. These had been extracted from the wound, and he gave it as +his opinion, as he had to us yesterday, that Gaskell might have been +lying there dead before Lewis shot. Then the district attorney arose and +asked permission to introduce other evidence “for the State.” + +He called Olsen, the druggist, to testify, reluctantly enough, to Lewis’ +threats in his store. He called Satterfield and the constable and two or +three others who had overheard my nephew’s angry talk. With diabolic +skill he made it appear that Lewis had not merely spoken against +Gaskell, but that he had definitely threatened to shoot him. He demanded +the gun Lewis had carried; when it was placed in evidence, he cut open +the undischarged cartridge--it was a double-barreled shotgun--and showed +the jury that the shot were identical with the shot extracted from +Gaskell’s body. + +I had already testified, but he recalled me and made an impassioned +address to the jury, under the cover of a cross-examination. + +“Now, Mr. Uhlman, is it not true that your nephew, after disagreeing +with Doctor Gaskell in a question of diagnosis, lost his temper +entirely? Did he not make a disgraceful exhibition of himself, abusing +this poor dead man, this Doctor Gaskell, a gentleman of the highest +professional attainments, of the most scrupulous personal honor, a +gentleman known to all in this community, loved by all for his unselfish +devotion to his healing work, for the many, many, unobtrusive acts of +charity, of loving kindness, to which scores in this very room, aye, +hundreds in this town, can testify--and would so testify, though they +must walk barefooted over sharp stones to tell of Doctor Gaskell’s noble +nature, and to confound his cowardly slayer----” + +The coroner rapped sharply. “I will ask you to remember, Mr. Vanbrugh, +that you’re supposed to be questioning this witness, not to be making a +stump speech!” + +“I beg the court’s pardon if my affection for this poor gentleman, so +foully done to death, overcame me for the moment. Surely no praise of +one, whom we all loved, is out of place here, beside his dead body! But +I will refrain.” He wiped his eyes ostentatiously. “Now, Mr. Uhlman, is +it not true that your nephew, the prisoner, made threats against Doctor +Gaskell at Miss McGregor’s house, even before his outbreak at Olsen’s +store Saturday?” + +And I had to admit it, cursing Rosina’s loose tongue to myself; for I +could guess whence Vanbrugh’s knowledge of the quarrel over Aunt Mary’s +health had come. + +“And do you believe, sir, remembering that you are upon your oath, do +you ask this jury to believe that your nephew, this prisoner, went out +into the dawn, armed with a deadly weapon, without knowledge or +suspicion of the murdered man’s whereabouts? Do you not know that he had +expressed a deadly animosity against my poor, dead friend, that----” + +Playing skillfully upon the sectional prejudices of the audience, for my +nephew and I had come down from the North, Vanbrugh rolled out a fervid +eulogium of the dead man, like Marc Antony beside the bier of Cæsar. +Evidently he was enjoying himself thoroughly. + +He kept sneering at Lewis, and he continually referred to him as my +nephew, doing his best to make it appear that I was suppressing a guilty +knowledge because of our relationship. In every way he exercised the +arts of an unscrupulous demagogue until I became confused and incoherent +and stuttered with wrath, thereby making the case against Lewis blacker +than ever. + +But I will not repeat all he said. Even now the memory turns me furious. +I will only say that when the coroner at last cut him off and turned the +case over to the jury the verdict was a foregone conclusion. + +Lewis leaned over to me. From the moment he left the stand he had been +deathly white; there were dark, bruised rings under his eyes; his +features twitched, his hands shook pitiably. “And the worst of it is, +unk,” he whispered tragically, “that I really did shoot the poor chap! +Oh, I’m sure of it now.” He tugged at his disordered black hair. “And, +unk, that fiend Vanbrugh has almost made me think I did it on purpose!” + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + A CONFLAGRATION + + +The jury’s deliberations were cruelly short. They conferred in whispers, +while we waited in agony. Beside me, Dorothy gripped my hand so tightly +that my old, rheumatic fingers ached for an hour after, though at the +time I was scarcely conscious of her touch. Beyond her Lewis sat in +frozen hopelessness, still numbed by the shock of this sudden, dreadful +catastrophe which had overwhelmed us. At my other side, staunch little +Peter sat bold upright, chewing his mustache and muttering to himself. + +Then the jurymen all nodded, and the foreman rose and turned toward +Doctor Burgess. The coroner sighed, stroking his beard. His fat, kindly +face looked worried. + +“Have you made up your minds, gentlemen?” + +“Uh-huh,” said the foreman. “We find that Doc Gaskell come t’ his death +f’om a shotgun full o’ bird shot at th’ hands o’ Doc Parker, yonder; an’ +we riccomend holdin’ him f’r th’ superior court!” + +Doctor Burgess sighed and cast an ugly look at the district attorney. +“Your doings, Vanbrugh!” he said in an undertone. Then aloud: “I’ll have +to hold you for the action of the July grand jury, Parker. I’m sorry. +Court’s dismissed.” + +Behind us, the sheriff rose and tapped Lewis on the shoulder. “Come on, +boy; gotta take ye back. I sure am sorry, ma’am”--he looked at +Dorothy--“but it ain’t f’r long. You don’t need to pay no attention t’ +Vanbrugh’s foolishness.” + +“Oh,” exclaimed Dorothy, “and day after to-morrow is my wedding day!” + +Sheriff Redden shuffled his feet awkwardly, flinching at the sound of +her quiet weeping. “Aw, too bad!” he said. + +With Lewis at his elbow, he began pushing through the crowded, noisy +room. It was full of gabbling, excited groups, which gave way +reluctantly, and we received many an ugly look. + +“A dirty murderer!” muttered some one. A storm of hisses and groans +arose, as the crowd began to push closer, still inflamed by Vanbrugh’s +insinuations. + +“Shut up, boys!” said the sheriff amiably. “Git back! Cain’t yuh see th’ +lady’s tryin’ to git out?” + +It was enough. With instinctive courtesy the throng separated, leaving a +wide lane. Dorothy passed through it unhindered, with Lewis at one side +and me at the other. Her face was very white, and her eyes were +downcast. Her pathetic beauty changed the crowd’s humor completely and +evoked a little, pitying murmur. + +So we went out and parted almost without a word. Like a man in a dream, +Lewis climbed into the sheriff’s battered car and rode away to jail, +without once looking back. Dorothy leaned heavily on my shoulder, +straining her eyes after him until he was out of sight. Then she stepped +forward falteringly. + +“T-take me home, Peter--Uncle George. No, I won’t faint! I _won’t_! I +can w-walk all by my own self!” + +And so she did, upheld by a pathetic pride, until we were back at Fort +House. Then she collapsed, and Peter and I carried her to her own room +and called for the nurse. Then we two men walked downstairs together and +turned into the living room, to stand there aimlessly. + +“Well,” I asked at last, “what next?” + +Peter jerked back his head, straightening his slim shoulders with a +characteristic movement. “Whew! That was a cropper! I never dreamed +they’d hold him. I say, that chap Vanbrugh is a bounder, isn’t he?” + +He stroked his little mustache, lit a cigarette, and was himself +again--energetic, active, efficient. “We’ll run right out to the jail,” +he decided, “and chat with old Lewis. Have to lay our plans, you +know--get a good lawyer and all that. I say, that was a cropper! But a +lawyer’ll know what to do--get the old boy out in jig time!” + +I was less optimistic; though, when one viewed the matter +dispassionately, there seemed scant grounds for a charge of murder. Yet +this Vanbrugh was fiendishly apt. Directly we got out Lewis’ flivver, +which Peter drove well enough, and went to the courthouse. We found +Lewis in the jail office, sitting in an easy-chair beside the cold +fireplace, while the sheriff, from behind the official desk, strove to +cheer him up. Both men were in their shirt sleeves, for it had turned +very hot. + +“Evening, folks!” said Redden. “Set down an’ rest yore face an’ hands. I +ain’t goin’ t’ lock Parker up ontil night. He’ll have t’ go into a cell +then, but they’s no use of bein’ too hard on th’ boy. You-all can talk +right here, gentlemen; I got business over to th’ office, anyways.” + +Catching up his wide felt hat he shambled out, leaving us alone. “I +better lock th’ front door,” he apologized, “just in case anybody sh’d +drop by.” + +He disappeared, and I saw him through the window, waddling bow-legged +toward the courthouse. A very kindly, courteous gentleman, the high +sheriff of Carabas County; I only wished the prosecuting attorney were +as gracious. + +I turned back to Lewis. “My boy, we seem to be in a fix,” I told him. +“Confound Mary McGregor, the knots in her neck, and the bobwhites that +kept her awake!” For my heart was hot in me with mingled fear and anger, +and my head ached, and my old, rheumatic joints; and I could not forget +that this whole horror had come from Aunt Mary’s querulousness. + +“Sit down and take it quiet, unk,” said Peter coolly. I had not been +long in Pinelands, as I have said; but to Peter I was “Uncle George,” +or, more casually, “unk,” as to Dorothy and, for that matter, to half +the youth of the town. + +“Be easy! The old girl’s a bit of a bunker to all of us, I know, but +we’ll have Lewis out of this all right. And now, old son, we’ll have to +be getting you a lawyer right away. Anybody to suggest? Some friend of +your long-past youth, perhaps, and all that rot?” His assumption of +bluff, care-free gayety was well done, but it did not deceive me. I knew +that Peter, too, was worried. + +My nephew sighed, staring straight before him. His shoulders drooped; +his eyes were dull and heavy. He seemed in a daze; I could scarcely +recognize in him the impetuous, high-spirited youth who had been as a +son to me all these years. + +“I--I don’t know,” he answered dully. “I can’t seem to think. All I can +see is Gaskell in front of me--dead. I keep telling myself I couldn’t +have done it, and yet I know I did.” Then he lapsed into silence once +more, still with that vague, spiritless stare. + +Peter and I looked at each other queerly. “I don’t believe you did do +it, old top!” Lewis straightened at once, a hint of hope in his eye. +Peter had hit unerringly upon the best of tonics; I saw that. + +“I’m sure you didn’t, Lewis,” the boy went on, emboldened by my nephew’s +interest. “It isn’t reasonable. Suppose we sent for some doctor that’s a +law sharp, too? Burgess is all right, of course, but maybe some +medico-legal expert could find out something to prove Gaskell was dead +when you got there.” + +Lewis sprang up, a faint color in his cheeks. “Why, of course! What a +fool I was not to think of it before. There’s Somers, old Floyd Somers! +Why, he’ll be here to-night. Just the man, Somers is. Why, he’ll take +hold of this thing and straighten it out in a day; he just eats this +sort of thing. He’ll prove I couldn’t have killed Gaskell--unless”--and +his shoulders drooped again--“unless I really did.” + +That was the boy’s only show of interest. Almost at once he sunk again +into apathy, brooding, I could see, upon the thought that he had killed +a man, however innocently. That was what weighed upon him, not any fears +for the future. He waved away all our suggestions. Lawyers? No, what +difference did it make? Get any lawyer--anybody! Better still, let +Somers see to that. He’d know what to do when he came. Then he lapsed +into silence again, chin on hands, only to burst forth: + +“And I was really angry--that’s the worst of it. For a moment, there in +Olsen’s, I was mad enough to have shot him. And then to think I did +shoot him, after that! Why, it makes it as bad as murder, even though I +didn’t know he was there. Perhaps I ought to plead guilty and take my +medicine.” + +We cried out upon him. “Don’t be a fool, Lewis,” I said, fairly shaking +him in my anxiety. “Wake up! Pull yourself together; act like a man! +You’re not yourself. What shall we do, Peter?” + +Peter shook his head. “Wait for Somers, as he says. That’s all I can +see.” He paused, sniffing. “I say, unk, what’s that? Seems to me I smell +smoke.” + +So did I. Suddenly I noticed that a thin, blue wreath was creeping in +beneath the door, which Sheriff Redden had closed upon us. My eyes +smarted. The door was locked; I ran to a window to yell at a couple of +loafers on the courthouse steps. + +“Hey! You over there! Call the sheriff!” + +They stirred, stared at the jail idly for a moment, then leaped to their +feet. + +“My gosh!” said one. “Th’ jail’s afire. Hey, Hank! Hey, Redden! Redden! +Come a-runnin’, th’ jail’s on fire!” + +The sheriff appeared, at his heels half a dozen clerks and county +officials in shirt sleeves. They all ran toward us, bawling aloud: + +“Fire! Fire! Fi--re! Send in an alarm t’ Smyrna--no, to Pinelands! +Better call ’em both! Hustle up, sheriff, turn them pris’ners loose!” + +They pelted up the steps; a key sounded in the door, and presently +Lewis, Peter, and I were outside, taking great breaths of the fresh air. +The clerk of the superior court stood at my elbow, a fat, red-faced man +in a shiny black alpaca coat. He wiped his moist face. + +“Carabas County’s goin’ to build another new jail, I reckon,” he drawled +resignedly. + +The building itself was of brick, but floors, doors, and interior trim +were all pine, and they burned merrily. All the prisoners must be +loosed; Sheriff Redden and his deputy herded them out and rounded them +up in two groups, white and colored, while county officials organized a +volunteer guard. + +As I have said, the county buildings were equidistant from Smyrna and +Pinelands; before the fire department of either town could answer the +alarm the fire had a fine start. Then both engines arrived at once, and +the sheriff was put to it to prevent a fight between the rival fire +companies for prior rights to a hydrant. At last the blaze was subdued, +and by sundown the two engines pumped water upon an empty brick shell, +whose furniture and woodwork were destroyed. Some of the cells, of steel +and concrete, were undamaged; but even these were too hot for occupancy. + +Sheriff Redden stopped beside me to stroke his absurd wisp of mustache. +“Quite a clearance,” he observed mildly. “Started over on th’ colored +side; George Willett’s colored boy, Jim, he done set fire t’ another +boy’s mattress ‘f’r a joke,’ he claims. I aim t’ make that fellow +realize it wa’n’t no joke. Uh-huh! But we cain’t keep nobody out here +to-night, nohow. Lucky I ain’t got more’n nine pris’ners, an’ most o’ +them c’n go right to Smyrna to th’ lockup there. An’ Doc Parker here,” +turning to Lewis, “w’y, doc, I reckon I better send you back t’ +Pinelands. They got a reel comf’table lockup there, an’ Rufe Wakefield, +he’ll look after you good. Ain’t got no backbone, Rufe ain’t, but he’s +got a reel good heart, an’ his ol’ woman cooks splendid. Yessuh! Be +kinda better f’r yuh, anyways, mebbe, right clost to yore folks that a +way.” + +Thus it was arranged, and presently Peter and Lewis and I, with a +taciturn, tobacco-chewing deputy sheriff, squeezed into the flivver and +drove back to Pinelands. + +We routed out Wakefield, the constable, and he took us all to the +village lockup, a small brick building, rather like a magnified shoebox, +directly behind the business section of Pinelands. Its interior proved +rather better than I had feared; though hardly palatial, it was +comfortable enough. + +“Reel nice room!” Wakefield pointed it out with pardonable pride. +“Spring bed and ever’thing. Colored side’s beyond that brick wall there. +Mister Uhlman c’n fetch ye sheets, ’f he wants t’, or anything else. An’ +th’ woman’ll cook ye up some supper directly.” + +We left, promising to return shortly with sheets, a feather pillow and a +clean mattress, an armchair, and what comforts we could manage. Lewis +dropped on the edge of the bunk, chin in hands, and let us go without a +word. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + MORE TROUBLE THREATENS + + +As we climbed back into the flivver, I suddenly became conscious of an +aching internal void. I had had nothing to eat since morning; in the +shock of that unimagined verdict I had quite forgotten my lunch. + +“Let’s go and eat, Peter,” I suggested. + +“Right-o!” + +Just as we climbed into the flivver the shrill whistle of an approaching +train sounded. Peter swore. + +“The Limited!” he said. “This is Monday night, and poor old Lewis’ best +man will be on that train. We’ll have to stop for him, unk. I only hope +he’s as good as the old boy thinks; maybe we’ll get a little action.” + +“I hope so, indeed. But, Peter, he can’t have had much experience. He +was Lewis’ classmate, you know. I’m afraid the boy overvalues him. We +can’t look for too much from him.” + +“Well, we’ll see soon enough.” Peter stopped the car beside the tracks, +just as the long string of Pullmans clanked and squealed to a halt. Only +one vestibule was opened, for this was the through train for Florida, +and in summer it rarely left a passenger at Pinelands. + +A single passenger alighted; a tall, lanky young man, whose hat was +pulled down over his eyes. His arms and legs seemed extraordinarily long +and thin. The porter dropped a couple of bags beside him, caught up his +step, and climbed back; the long train wheezed and roared away. + +The stranger stood still, looking irritably about the deserted platform. +In winter the Pinelands station is lively enough, with gay-clad, +chattering folk, with expensive motor cars parked the full length of its +platforms; while passengers by the dozen, bearing golf bags and gun +cases and tennis rackets, climb on and off every train. Ours is a +tourist town, and it begins to be one of the best-known of the Eastern +winter resorts. But in summer it is quiet enough. + +The stranger scowled, I say, and glanced about him with an expression of +acute dissatisfaction upon his dark, saturnine features. “Friendly +looking beggar, what?” whispered Peter to me. Then he saw us and +beckoned imperiously. + +“Where’s Parker?” he demanded. “Doctor Parker?” + +“He’s detained,” said I, advancing with outstretched hand. “I’m his +uncle, George Uhlman. This is Doctor Somers?” + +“How do?” he asked indifferently. “Pity Parker couldn’t take the trouble +to come himself! Rotten town, this. Those are my bags.” + +He stalked to the car and clambered in, his remarkably long, thin arms +and legs giving him somewhat the appearance of that insect we used to +call daddy longlegs. Peter winked at me, then picked up the bags, which +our cavalier guest had indicated, and lugged them meekly to the car. + +“Where to, sir?” Peter asked, burlesquing a chauffeur’s salute. + +Doctor Somers grinned; his dark, sardonic face changed wonderfully, and +for an instant became cheerful, friendly. “Don’t be an ass,” he +requested equably. “You’re Peter McGregor, I take it. Lewis has written +me about you, his best girl’s brother. He said you were a little runt.” + +Peter snorted. “He never told me you were such a long, silly clothes +prop,” he retorted. “Why, man, those legs haven’t any more meat on ’em +than bean poles!” Peter’s size is a sore topic with him. + +The stranger grinned again, quite undisturbed. “Climb in, climb in,” he +urged. “I’m hungry. Where is old Parker, anyhow? Ministering to the +needs of his extensive and growing practice, no doubt.” + +I had found the man’s brusque, indifferent impudence rather engaging, +but this question sobered me suddenly. “My nephew is in trouble,” I +replied. “No”--Doctor Somers’ lips opened--“don’t make any fool joke +about it. It’s a serious matter. He’s in jail, charged with murder.” + +But, if I had looked for excitement or interest, I was disappointed. +Doctor Somers made no comment, showed no interest whatever. “Well, drive +on,” he said. “I’m hungry.” + +We drove home in silence to an agitated household. Luckily Dorothy had +not yet heard of the fire at the jail; she had been spared that further +alarm. Over the supper table we told her, and she listened, wide-eyed +and tremulous. + +Aunt Mary did not come to the table. She had been much subdued all day, +it appeared, and had kept to her room and scarcely opened her mouth, +even to discuss her sufferings. So the nurse, Miss Christie, could eat +undisturbed to-night. As usual, she had nothing to say. With her round, +sleepy face bent over her plate, she ate hurriedly and pushed back her +chair before we others were through, murmuring an apology. She must go +and fix Miss McGregor’s tray. + +Our guest, Doctor Somers, was taciturn also. Poor, distraught Dorothy +had given him a word of greeting and then forgotten him. She was too +upset to play the hostess. But he did not seem in the least embarrassed. +He ate sparingly, his sallow face wearing that same expression of +distaste for everything about him. His gray-green eyes, curiously light +beneath black brows, were fixed keenly upon Miss Christie’s sleepy face. +He did not seem at all interested in what Peter and I were saying to his +hostess. + +When the nurse had gone out he turned to me. “I take it that my friend +Parker has got himself into trouble.” His face was sober enough, but, +behind it, the hint of a sarcastic grin seemed to lurk. “Suppose you +tell me just how it happened, now. All I gather from your discourse to +date is that he’s in jail, charged with murder by a coroner’s jury--or, +rather, that he was in jail until it burned down.” + +Dorothy turned upon him, a heartbreaking hope shining from her eyes. +“Oh, Doctor Somers, we’re so upset! You must forgive us. But Lewis told +me you’d straighten it out for him. Why----” + +Somers’ thin lips parted in an acid grin, but he said nothing. We all +began to talk at once, pouring out breathlessly the whole dreadful +story, and he listened abstractedly, or, at least, we supposed he was +listening. + +“And so the jury recommended that he be held,” I finished. “There were +no grounds at all--it was pure accident. If it hadn’t been for that +miserable lawyer Vanbrugh----” + +Somers yawned and nodded his head. “I’ve got it!” he announced. “Of +course I’ll make an examination in the morning, but I’m sure of it now.” + +We all gaped at him, open-mouthed. “That girl, the nurse,” he went on +placidly, “deficient thyroid! That’s what ails her. No wonder she looks +sleepy!” + +“Gr-r-r-r!” said Peter indignantly, and pushed back his chair. “I’m +going for the mail.” He stalked out. + +Doctor Somers looked from Dorothy to me and back again, with that +curious suggestion of a sardonic grin behind his sober face. Plainly +enough our faces expressed disgusted hopelessness. + +“I’m sorry,” he said in apology, and there was something very likable in +his frank, direct gaze. “I’m a queer sort, I suppose. I’m always getting +off on the wrong foot like this. But, after you get to know me better, +you’ll find I’m not so bad after all. I heard all you said,” he went on, +to Dorothy’s implacable face. “I’m used to thinking of two or three +things at once; in my work one has to. Cheer up! That’s better,” he +declared, as Dorothy, in spite of herself, softened before his +friendliness. + +“It’s a pretty serious thing--to us!” she replied. + +“My child,” he answered very gravely--and he could not have been over +thirty, I supposed, but suddenly he seemed older, wiser, more mature +than I am at sixty--“I know it, but the only way to handle a matter like +this is to go at it dispassionately. I’m fond of old Parker myself”--and +the dark, sour face softened wonderfully for a second--“but I can’t let +myself get flustered and upset and run round in rings as you folks have. +For example: You heard the shot, Uhlman. You ran out at once, got there +within five minutes, and put your hand on the dead man’s chest, didn’t +you?” + +I nodded in amazement. The fellow had heard all we said, after all! + +“You touched the body, then, within perhaps five minutes of the time +Parker shot. Now, did it occur to you to notice whether it was still +warm--or cold?” + +I stared dumbly, searching a confused memory. “Why--why, I never thought +of that. I was too upset. But now I remember. Why, of course, I noticed +it at once; his flesh was as cold as a stone! That’s why I was sure he +was dead.” Then an illuminating thought struck me; I jumped up, +shouting. “Hurrah! He didn’t do it, Dorothy, he didn’t do it by accident +or any way! He couldn’t have, of course! I must run right down there and +tell him; that’s what has been troubling him all along--the thought that +he’d killed a man!” + +“Sit down,” suggested Somers equably. “Take it easy. There’s been +altogether too much of this running round and talking, and too little +plain thinking.” + +I accepted the rebuke. “You’re right. Why, if I’d only thought of this +before, there wouldn’t have been any trouble at the inquest. I’m an old +fool!” + +“No bigger fool than your nephew or the constable,” he replied. “If any +one of the three of you had thought to observe that the body was cold, +or had stopped bleeding, you’d have known the man hadn’t been killed +before your eyes. Of course, by the time the coroner got there, it was +too late to fix the time of death exactly.” + +Dorothy sighed ecstatically, her face rosy with new-born confidence in +this brusque, saturnine stranger. “What shall we do next?” + +“Humph! Wedding was set for Wednesday, wasn’t it? How many invitations +did you send out?” + +She looked at him blankly. “Why, about a hundred and fifty; we didn’t +ask everybody. Oh, dear, we can’t have it now, can we?” + +“Hardly. Have you sent out notices of postponement?” + +“We never thought of that!” + +Doctor Somers yawned. “I think you needed me,” he said. + +Just then the front door opened, and Peter burst in, white-faced and +trembling. + +“Come, Uncle George!” he exclaimed. And then, with a glance of supreme +disfavor at Doctor Somers, “And you, too! Lewis claims you’re a wonder. +I doubt it like blazes, but, if you are, now’s the time to show it. Come +on, get up, man! Hurry!” + +We stared at him. Dorothy, paper-white, one hand at her breast, asked +the question that trembled also on my lips. + +“Oh, what’s happened? What’s happened now?” + +Peter hesitated. His eye caught Somers, leaning back in an armchair, +calmly lighting a cigarette. He could contain himself no longer. + +“They’re going to lynch Parker to-night!” He blurted his news defiantly, +as if it had been a bomb to shatter our guest’s indifference. “I just +heard it downtown. A lot of ’em are drinking; they’ve taken the keys +away from Wakefield already; they’re going down to the lockup and get +poor old Parker and hang him!” + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENSE + + +Doctor Somers arose slowly, his long, thin arms and legs looking more +frail, more tenuous, than usual. One feared that they would snap, like +pipe stems, under the slightest strain. He did not look in the least +like the man to brave the fury of a mob; but his dark, saturnine face +was quite unmoved. + +“Bright lad!” he exclaimed, sarcastically. “Go ahead; frighten the girl +to death, why don’t you?” He patted Dorothy’s arm with unexpected +gentleness. “Now don’t you worry, child; we’ll look after your young man +for you. Nobody’s going to be lynched to-night!” + +He beckoned us out, and in the hall he asked Peter if he had a shotgun. + +The boy nodded. “I’ll get it,” he said, and ran up the stairs. + +Presently he was back, panting, with a repeating shotgun and an +automatic pistol. “Lucky I had two guns,” said he, stuffing a box of +shells into his pocket. “The coroner took the other one. And here, +Somers, here’s an army pistol and some cartridges.” Peter had been a +second lieutenant. + +Somers waved it aside. “Don’t want it. Give it to Uhlman, here. I don’t +think we’ll need firearms, but it’s well to be prepared. Now let’s go!” + +My nephew’s car still stood in front of the house; we piled in and drove +toward Main Street. + +“I take it your constable won’t be much help,” said Somers, “if they’ve +taken his keys so easily.” + +Peter snorted. “A big yellow pup!” + +“Right! We won’t bother him. Stop at this grocery. Who keeps it, by the +way?” + +“Old Mrs. Tracy. But it’s closed.” + +“So much the better. Kept by an old woman, you say; any man or boy in +it?” + +“No,” answered Peter, wondering. “She’s all alone, and deaf and half +blind into the bargain. People only trade there for charity.” + +“Fine!” declared Doctor Somers surprisingly. “Couldn’t be better!” He +twisted his long legs out of the car. “As we came through from the train +I noticed a lot of eggplant in the window.” + +“Now, what the deuce----” + +But Somers did not stop for questions. Already he had skirted the tiny +shop and was knocking at its back door. When no answer came, he opened +it and walked in. We heard the confused noise of his shouting at poor +old Mrs. Tracy; presently he came back to the car with a grape basket +under one arm. + +“What kind of foolishness is this?” demanded Peter, craning his neck. +The basket was full of round, purplish eggplant, a little bigger than a +baseball. “Man, can’t you understand that Lewis Parker is in danger of +his life?” + +“I can,” replied Somers, unruffled. “Better than you do, perhaps. I’ve +seen two lynching mobs before. Now don’t ask fool questions, but come +along.” + +He obeyed, blindly obedient. The man’s preparations seemed sufficiently +absurd, but he seemed, at least, to know what he was doing, and neither +of us had an idea of the proper steps to take. + +“Now a book shop,” ordered our leader. “Stationery store--something like +that. I want some writing paper.” + +Without protest Peter drove across the way to Jack Wheat’s. Somers +entered; through the window we watched him selecting stationery as +calmly as if the whole night were before him. At last he came out, a +package under his arm that might have held two hundred sheets of note +paper with envelopes to match. + +“They’ll have to do,” he remarked disparagingly. “Don’t be in such a +hurry!” He glanced at his wrist watch, as Peter mumbled some protest. +“They won’t start anything before the town’s safely gone to bed. Not +until midnight, anyhow, I fancy. McGregor, you drive us round to the +lockup and leave us there. Then take the car and hunt up a phone, where +you won’t be interrupted. Try to find the sheriff--he’s a good sort of +officer, I judge from what you’ve said--and tell him there’s going to be +trouble to-night. Then come back to the jail.” + +Peter protested unavailingly. The mob might come before he got back; +Uncle George could go; Somers could go. He, Peter, ought to be here to +protect Lewis. + +“Shut up and get out! Uhlman can’t go; he can’t drive--can you? And I +can’t go; I’m a stranger. But you can find a phone, and the sheriff’ll +listen to you. Besides, I can do more here than you could. Hurry now; +you’ll be back in plenty of time for the excitement.” + +Reluctantly Peter went, after leaving Doctor Somers and me in front of +the lockup. The doctor looked about approvingly. The lockup stood a +little apart from the buildings about it, a tobacco warehouse on one +side and an empty dwelling house on the other. He walked completely +around the ugly brick jail, tried its barred windows with satisfaction. + +“Fine,” he announced. “Clear space all around, if it came to a siege. +And the windows are small and well barred; nobody can get in except +through the door. Which is Parker’s window?” + +I told him, and he went there and whistled. “Hello, Parker! It’s Somers. +How’s the old doc, anyway? Good! Be in to see you to-morrow; can’t get +hold of the keys just now.” + +He came around to the front again and looked up at the arc light in the +street. “Fine!” he repeated. “There’s an excellent light--good enough to +read by.” + +Whereon he sat himself down upon the wide jail steps, placed his basket +of eggplant in the shadow beside him, and unwrapped that package of note +paper. “Make yourself comfortable, Uhlman,” said he. “I’m going to be +busy for a while.” + +He produced a fountain pen and fell to writing, while I watched him in +amazement. What on earth was he doing? Writing notices to post on the +jail door, to warn off the mob? I could not imagine. + +But there he sat, writing busily in a fine, copperplate script, hunched +on the step, with his extraordinary legs coiled under him, his dark, +sallow face calmly intent. The light from the street lamp cast the +shadow of his thin, hooked nose downward over his chin and gave him the +look of a fierce, long-legged bird. + +At last Peter drove up. “Couldn’t get him,” he said, guardedly, his +voice bitter with disappointment. “Gone over to the other end of the +county after some negro. And the jail deputy’s got his hands full +looking after the prisoners. He’ll send somebody over later, if he can. +By then it’ll be too late!” + +Somers looked up, quite undisturbed. “We don’t need anybody,” he +answered indifferently. “Go park that flivver out of sight and come back +on foot.” + +When that was done, he stationed Peter with his pistol at one corner of +the building, and me at the other, with the shotgun. I had asked for +this weapon as being less likely to damage me, and more likely, in my +hands, at least, of doing execution among the enemy than an automatic +pistol, whose workings were strange to me. Then he returned to the +steps, took up his fountain pen and fell to writing again. + +And so began a vigil which seemed endless. Though the day had been hot, +the night was cool, as our Southern nights usually are. A little breeze +played about the corners of the jail, sending sharp twinges through my +poor old joints; I shivered with cold and nervousness. I could hear +Peter’s feet shuffling in the sand, and I knew that he, too, was +restless. But between us Doctor Somers sat on the steps, hunched over +his writing, and he did not even look up. His pen traveled rapidly, held +in a hand as steady as a rock; he wrote note after note, all just alike +apparently, and, as he finished each one, folded it methodically and +tucked it into a blank envelope. His calm, untroubled face was bent +studiously over his work, and he never shifted his position; we heard no +sound from him save the steady scratching of his pen, the rustling of +paper, as he folded one note and took up another sheet. For some reason, +it was an eerie sight. I began to have more respect for Doctor Floyd +Somers. He was brave, at any rate. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING + + +The night seemed interminable. The faint evening sounds from Main +Street, a block away, faded gradually and ceased. One after another +buggies and farm wagons creaked away; motor cars roared suddenly into +life and departed in a diminuendo of explosions, or hummed off into the +night; we heard an occasional outburst of laughter, evoked by the +repartee bawled across a block, and at last all was still. + +I looked at my watch; almost midnight! Pinelands had gone to sleep--or +had it? Soon, if at all, they would be coming. The faint breeze began to +carry mysterious whispers; in it I fancied hushed commands, threats, the +stealthy creeping of feet over the sand. My nerves tensed and tensed; +the fluttering of moths about the arc lamp fretted me to distraction. A +huge June bug blundered full tilt against its globe and ricocheted off; +the sound seemed thunderous, so that I jumped, barely suppressing a cry. + +And always Floyd Somers sat there on the step, long legs curled +grotesquely under him, and wrote and wrote. I wanted to cry out at him, +to grip him by the shoulder and shriek in his ear that a mob was coming; +that murder crept, stealthy-footed, toward us through the still summer +night. Anything to rouse him to a human excitement; to wipe that +impassive, studious absorption from his lean, sallow face. + +Wearily I shifted my feet, wondering whether Lewis was asleep. His bunk +was in the cage, three feet inside the window; he could not look out for +the bars. I listened intently for his breathing. Did he suspect, I +wondered? Did he lie there awake, helpless, waiting for the mob to drag +him forth to a shameful death? And suddenly I remembered, with a queer +twinge of shame, that we had forgotten to bring him bed linen. It was a +foolish thought, of course, but I cannot tell you how it distressed me. +Suppose that we failed--that the mob had its way after all. Should I +ever be able to forgive myself that Lewis had been without clean sheets +during his last night on earth? + +Then I fell to worrying about Dorothy. Poor child! If this vigil was +terrible to me, waiting, shotgun in hand, for an attack, what must it be +to her? She waited there in that grim, ghost-haunted pile, beneath whose +very windows a man had died horribly, only yesterday; with no company +save that stupid nurse, asleep long ago, no doubt, and Aunt Mary +McGregor, who could think of nothing but her own troubles. She could not +know what was happening here; had no way of learning until we should +come home. In her imagination, no doubt, Lewis was dying a hundred +deaths, and she with him. For it is terrible, worse than death, I think, +to wait helplessly while a loved one is in peril. + +I groaned aloud. Would they never come? Suddenly I was impatient for the +test; I would have welcomed a physical attack, anything to get it over +and be at rest; anything but this dreadful tension of waiting! I +strained my ears anew, but I heard only the faint scratching of Somers’ +tireless pen. + +Suddenly it came. A distant oath, an abrupt outbreak of raucous, obscene +song, as abruptly cut off, the sound of a blow! The confused tramp of +many feet thudded in the muffling sand and approached inexorably, with a +strange, broken rhythm. + +Somers lifted his head alertly; the uncertain light fell across it, and +his deep-set eyes and thin, hooked nose seemed oddly fierce. + +“Quiet, now, you men!” he ordered. “Keep back; don’t show yourselves +unless I call.” + +He went on writing with a steady hand. + +Craning my neck around the corner of the jail, I made out a clump of +moving shadows. Some one stumbled and swore aloud, drunkenly. Then, with +startling abruptness, the crowd debouched into the arc lamp’s circle of +light. + +They moved with ominous deliberation in a sort of rude marching order, +four abreast. Handkerchiefs, blue, red, and black, were tied across each +face below the eyes, making the marchers unrecognizable. These were my +own neighbors; unmasked, I could have recognized almost every face, no +doubt. But seen thus they were fearsome shapes, uncanny, inhuman, and I +shivered and quailed before them. One burly fellow in the first rank +carried a coil of rope. Fascinated, I saw how it swung carelessly at his +side, and I noted its fresh, yellow color. My nephew was honored, I +thought hysterically; they had bought a new rope for his hanging! + +The straggling column advanced; its head wheeled straight toward the +jail. Then the marchers caught sight of Doctor Somers’ quiet figure, +crouched there on the steps, still writing busily. They halted suddenly, +confused, and suspicious of this strange guard. They scented a trap, as +mobs will; surely this fellow would not be sitting there so calmly +unless he knew that the jail was well protected! + +There was some jostling, and the column broke its formation. Men pushed +forward from the rear until they formed a rough semicircle at a +respectful distance. The tall man who bore that sinister rope stepped +forward a little. + +And then, and not till then, Floyd Somers laid his writing precisely by +and rose upon those slender, stiltlike legs, looking rather like a steel +windmill tower, I reflected absurdly. + +“Good evening, gentlemen.” His voice was perfectly unruffled and casual. +“A fine, cool night for a walk!” + +A little, incredulous gasp ran through the silent crowd, followed by an +ominous mutter. Was this fellow making game of them? + +“Evenin’,” replied the rope bearer gruffly. “What yuh doin’ here?” + +Somers yawned and smiled that sudden, disarming smile, that could so +change his saturnine features. “Why, writing a letter to my best girl, +as you can see.” He gestured toward the heap of notes. + +“Huh?” asked the crowd’s spokesman. He seemed bewildered, yet confident. +“What’s the feller doin’ here?” I could fancy him thinking. “Somethin’ +funny! Well, we’ll find out--got lots of time!” + +“Huh?” Above his red bandanna his eyes glinted at the heap of envelopes. +“Writin’ a whole lot o’ letters, seems t’ me!” + +“Why,” replied Somers blithely, “that’s because I’ve got a whole lot of +best girls!” + +The jest was feeble enough, but it caught the fancy of the crowd. A gust +of laughter ran about the semicircle, and its tension relaxed visibly. +The humor of the mob seemed less silently savage than before. “No +wonder!” exclaimed some one. “Fine, fat feller like you oughta have +plenty o’ girls!” + +“I _have_.” Somers’ burlesque of satisfied vanity was irresistibly +comic. “Anything I can do for you, gentlemen? I’ve got six or eight more +to write, you see.” + +“Sure is!” The spokesman stepped forward again, swinging his rope +menacingly. This skinny stranger needn’t think he could play horse with +them, his gesture said grimly. “Run along, sonny, an’ write yore letters +some’rs else. We-all got bus’ness in that there jail, see?” + +“So? Well, there’s no hurry, is there? You’ve got all night before you. +Suppose we talk about that a while?” + +The other scratched a perplexed head, tilting his wide-brimmed hat +forward. Plainly he did not know what to make of this imperturbable +stranger. After an instant’s hesitation he decided to humor him. + +“We-ell, we got plenty time, sure enough!” he declared. “Ain’t nobody +goin’ t’ stop us. We’re after that skunk inside, stranger--that feller +Lewis Parker, what murdered Doc Gaskell yestiddy mornin’.” + +The mob took a step forward, growling assent. The words seemed to have +rekindled its fury. + +“Murdered Doctor Gaskell?” asked Somers coolly. “How come?” + +The crowd’s spokesman snorted. “Nev’ you mind how come! He done it, an’ +’at’s enough. Git outa th’ way now, sonny, an’ let us in!” + +Somers held his place. “The door’s locked.” + +Again the crowd laughed; this time raucously, hatefully. + +“Oh,” jeeringly exclaimed one, swaying on wide-set feet, “Rufe Wakefield +ain’t such a big fool as some fellers. He didn’t make no trouble about +th’ key w’en we-all come after it--ner you won’t make no trouble, +neither, w’en we-all gits ready t’ use it!” + +A chorus of drunken agreement broke out. “’At’s right, Charlie! Give it +to ’im. C’m’ on, fellers, smash ’im!” It was plain that many in the +crowd had found means of circumventing the Eighteenth Amendment. + +“Shut up! Who’s runnin’ this, huh?” It was the leader, jealous of his +authority, and the noise subsided. + +“Didn’t mean nothing, R-rappy, ol’ boy,” replied the disturber. + +“Shut up! Ain’t yuh got no sense atall, slingin’ names around that a +way?” He faced Somers again. “We-all got th’ key, all right,” he +continued, “an’ we aim t’ use it, see? Right way now--d’rectly! Yuh +better git outa th’ way, afore th’ fireworks begins!” + +“One moment! Listen, you men,” Somers’ voice was really eloquent. +“You’re going to do a great injustice. Parker is innocent! He didn’t +shoot Doctor Gaskell--the man was dead before he got out there at +all--dead and cold! Let the law take its course, boys. Parker’s here in +jail; he can’t get away. He’ll be tried, and, if he’s guilty he’ll be +convicted and punished. You don’t want to hang an innocent man, do you? +I tell you Gaskell was dead and cold before Parker came out at all!” + +An outburst of jeers and hisses cut him short. The crowd would not +listen to any further interference with its proposed pleasures. But the +tall spokesman commanded silence. He seemed shaken. + +“Shut up! Shut up!” With paralyzing suddenness he produced a huge +revolver, and the angry cries of the mob died away. “That’s better! I +ask you-all ag’in, who’s runnin’ this here lynchin’? Any more cracks, +an’ somebody’s gointa git hurted bad. Now, stranger, what’s that yuh +say, Gaskell was daid afore Parker come out?” + +“Dead and cold!” repeated Somers. “Mr. Uhlman touched his chest two +minutes after Parker shot, and he was cold then.” + +“Who?” + +“Mr. Uhlman--George Uhlman.” + +There was a chorus of jeers and howls. “Uhlman, ol’ Uncle Gawge, huh? +His own uncle! Likely he’d claim Parker shot ’im! Why didn’t he tell all +this to th’ inquest, huh? Big, fishy yarn--fake--fake!” + +Despite their leader’s gesture, the mob surged forward; they would no +longer be balked of their quarry. Above the clamor, the man who had +boasted of taking the jail keys from Rufe Wakefield, howled shrilly: +“C’m’ on, fellers! Let’s git ’im out. Skinny’s jus’ tryin’ t’ hold us +an’ argue till ol’ Redden gits here. C’m’ on! Git ’im afore th’ sheriff +comes!” + +Emitting wild yells to work its courage up, after the manner of mobs, +the throng pressed on. It was touch and go; they were almost upon the +defenseless Somers. Without awaiting Somers’ call, Peter McGregor and I +turned the jail corners almost together and ran forward to take up our +stations on either side of the steps. + +Somers scowled at us. “Why didn’t you keep back?” he demanded. “I don’t +need you.” + +None the less, our sudden eruption checked the mob. They hung back from +Peter’s menacing pistol and eyed dubiously the shotgun, which I held at +the ready. + +“Say when, doc!” invited Peter grimly. He leveled his automatic at the +mob’s tall leader and slipped its safety catch. + +“Keep quiet!” Somers was rather ungracious, I thought, seeing that we +had infallibly saved him, all unarmed as he was, from a severe beating +at least. But now, without more words, he stooped, extending an arm +incredibly long and bony, and lifted his grape basket of eggplant from +the dark corner where it had sat. + +He laid it very carefully down on the step beside him, selected one of +the dark-purple vegetables and held it up. + +“Did any of you boys get overseas?” he inquired conversationally. + +The wondering mob gaped inquiringly. + +“Good boy! Oh, good boy!” declared Peter from his side of the steps, as +he chuckled triumphantly. + +I was less acute, but some of the men facing us must have understood +Somers’ meaning, for I noted that hats moved uneasily, as their wearers +shrank back into the crowd. + +“I gather that some of you got to France,” went on Somers, quite +unperturbed. “You see what I’m holding, don’t you? Suppose you tell +these other chaps what will happen, five seconds after I pull the pin?” + +The crowd had frozen into a sudden, awed silence. “Keep back, you fool!” +came an agonized whisper. “Quit shovin’! Want us all blowed to blazes?” + +“Just got into your beautiful city this evening,” remarked Doctor Somers +affably. “Stopped off at Camp Sheridan on the way.” This was the +cantonment nearest to Pinelands. “I’ve a friend there in the ordnance +department; he lent me these little tricks, just in case of--of anything +like this. Now don’t crowd, boys, please don’t! I promised I’d bring ’em +all back safely, and I’d just hate to spoil one.” + +“Aw, quit it!” came the same hoarse whisper. “Rush ’im, huh? Nix! If it +was a machine gun, mebbe; but I don’t aim t’ go to glory in pieces. +Nos_sir_! Huh? ’At’s a hand grenade, feller--a Mills bomb! G’wan, start +somethin’, ’f you want, an’ git all messed up. Me, I’m goin’ home!” + +And straightway one masked figure detached itself and marched briskly +away, untieing his handkerchief and stuffing it into a pocket as he +went. There was a general movement to follow. The tall leader dropped +his coiled rope and pushed his hat far back. “What’s th’ use! I give up, +stranger; you got us buffaloed. Ain’t a-goin’ to be no lynchin’ +to-night. But, if it hadn’t of been f’r them bombs----” + +In token of amity, he untied the red bandanna, which masked him, and +bared the lean, stubbly face and piratical mustache of Ralph +Satterfield. “Uncover, boys,” he said. “Them masks is uncomf’table, an’ +we ain’t a-goin’ t’ break no laws, so they ain’t needed no more.” + +Most of the crowd followed his example, but some effaced themselves, +evidently ashamed of being identified in such company and upon such an +errand. Those who remained crowded forward, so that Peter and I raised +our weapons, fearing an attack; but Satterfield waved them aside. + +“Put by yore shootin’ irons,” he said to us, alcoholically generous. “We +ain’t a-goin’ to start nothin’. I give my word, didn’t I?” + +I hesitated, but Somers frowned me into compliance. The mob leader +advanced. “You got us beat, stranger. I’d like t’ shake you by th’ hand, +sir. Ain’t a-many has bested Ralph Satterfield this a way!” + +Laying his vegetable bomb carefully aside, the doctor came down the +steps quite fearlessly, one lean arm extended; and presently his slender +hand was engulfed in the bootlegger’s huge grip. + +“Good feller!” declared Satterfield. “Friend o’ mine, yuh hear, boys? +Have a drink, stranger?” + +He fumbled at a hip pocket, hiccoughing. Evidently he had given his own +goods the testimonial of personal use. + +“I thank you, sir,” replied Doctor Somers blandly. “Just a swallow to +our friendship.” He tilted the bottle expertly, but I noted that he did +not drink. “And now, gentlemen, this lynching foolishness is all over, +isn’t it?” + +“Yes, sir! Oh, yes, sir! Shore, stranger!” declared the crowd genially. + +“Fine!” Somers took the bootlegger’s hand again. “I’ll depend on you, +Mr.--Satterfield, isn’t it? You’ll guard my friend, Parker, and keep him +safe for us, for his sweetheart and his uncle, won’t you?” + +I caught my breath at the colossal impudence of this proposal; that the +mob, which had come to lynch Lewis, should protect him against the +possible attack of others. But Somers had gauged the spirit of the crowd +better than I; he was a profound psychologist. + +Satterfield burst into a roar of laughter, which ended in a tremendous +hiccough; he staggered about and pounded his thighs in an ecstasy of +mirth. “By gum, man,” he exclaimed, “you’re a wonder--a wonder! Any +man’s got nerve like that, I’m for him. Yes, sir! ’S aw right, stranger, +’s aw right. Here!” + +In token of good faith he plunged a hairy hand into his pocket and +brought forth a big key. “Here’s th’ jail key, sir; you keep it. Give it +back t’ Rufe, ’f yuh wanta. Parker’s safe; I give yuh my word, sir.” And +he shook hands all over again, growing mellower and mellower, as his +last drink warmed him. “Ain’t nobody a-goin’ t’ touch ’im now. You hear +me, boys!” he said to the crowd at his back. “Nobody don’t touch Doc +Parker, or bother ’im, unless’n they hankers t’ meet up ’ith me, +Satterfield!” + +He turned back again to Somers. “S-sass’fied?” he inquired gravely. “Me +an’ a coupla other fellers’ll stay an’ keep watch if yuh say so.” + +Somers laughed at that, and clapped the other’s back. “You’re a fine +chap, Mr. Satterfield, sir! I’m proud to be a friend of yours.” He +bowed, and Satterfield bowed also, with surprising dignity and grace, +but he marred the effect by stumbling and catching at my shoulder for +support. + +“And, sir--and you boys, too,” Somers went on, grinning, “now that we’re +all good friends----” + +“Sure! Sure! O’ course we are--fr’en’s f’r life!” roared the mob. It was +amazing how he had won their admiration. + +“Well then, gentlemen, I’ll let you all into a little joke,” he +finished. “Come up here, closer! Look at my bombs!” + +He reached down and picked up his basket and displayed its contents to +the men who crowded about. + +To my mind it was a hazardous experiment. But again Somers had gauged +the spirit of the crowd very exactly. Ten minutes earlier, perhaps, his +revelation would have been fatal; but now the mob spirit was gone. We +were no longer faced by an irresponsible mob, rendered careless of +consequences by numbers and the consciousness of anonymity. Now it was a +group of known friends and neighbors, who stood about us, whose +unmasking had left each an individual responsible for his own conduct. +Each thought for himself and of himself; the unreasoning brutality of +the mob was gone. + +Doctor Somers’ revelation was greeted with howls of mirth. This was a +joke, a stupendous joke, robust, and not too subtle, which should be +told against these men for years to come; how Ralph Satterfield and +Charlie Bates and “Hank” Conover and fifty others had been cowed and +intimidated by a dozen innocuous eggplants in the hands of one lone man! +The crowd yelled with laughter, Satterfield louder than any; they +pounded each other’s backs, leaned on each other’s shoulders, lay down +in the sand and shrieked. Satterfield’s illicit liquor had some part in +it, no doubt; none the less it was hearty, honest laughter, so +contagious that Peter and I, and even Doctor Somers, were forced to +join--so friendly and jolly and carefree that no hearer could doubt its +quality. Indeed Rufe Wakefield, the gigantic constable, came round the +corner presently--he had been waiting there in fear and trembling, +perhaps, all evening, for what might happen at the jail--and strode +boldly into our midst, convinced that all danger was over. + +“Here, here, you fellers!” he exclaimed in his great, bullying roar. +“Quit it, now! You-all better git outa here an’ go home t’ bed; yo’re +disturbin’ th’ peace!” + +And so peaceable had their humor become that the crowd dispersed +forthwith, still shaken with laughter and scuffling amiably for +eggplants, to preserve as souvenirs of the occasion. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + “A LITTLE RELAXATION” + + +Somers watched them out of sight. Then he turned and opened the jail +door with the key Satterfield had given him. Over his shoulder he asked: + +“That the constable, McGregor? Call him back, will you?” + +When Rufe had strolled pompously back, puffed with pride at his success +in scattering the crowd, Somers surveyed him with distaste. Over one +lank shoulder, he remarked acidly: “You’re a fine cop! Stick around, +now. You’re quite safe; the danger’s all over, no thanks to you! Stay +there till we come out; then I’ll give you the jail key.” + +“And who are you, feller, that talks so biggety?” demanded Rufe. + +Somers ignored him and stalked into the dark lockup. “Come on, you two,” +he said. “We’ll give old Parker a look.” + +I hesitated; but, seeing that Rufe had decided to make the best of a bad +business and wait to get his key back, I followed presently. + +Fumbling for a switch, Somers turned on the lights. My poor nephew sat +in the steel cage at the right, huddled on the edge of his bunk, chin in +hands. His face was very white; he blinked in the sudden illumination, +then rose and faced us with quiet defiance. + +“You’ve come to lynch me, I suppose,” he said calmly. “All right! Take +me out, and let’s get it over with.” + +“My poor boy!” I cried, moved almost to tears. If I had suffered, how +dreadful this waiting must have been for him! “It’s all over, Lewis! +They’ve gone; it’s all right--all right, boy!” + +He shaded his eyes. Then, as they became used to the light: “Why, it’s +you, unk! And Peter--and old Somers! Glad to see you, Floyd, old top, +how are you?” + +He reached an unsteady hand through the bars and then, quite suddenly, +withdrew it and fell to sobbing. “I--I’m a fool,” he declared chokingly. +“C-can’t help it!” + +I snatched the key, unlocked the inner cage, and went in to him. “There, +my boy! It’s all right now--all right now!” I patted his shoulder, but +he turned from me and buried his face in the blankets. + +“All over,” repeated Somers sagely. “That’s what ails him--reaction. +Come along now; leave him alone. He’d rather we went; wouldn’t you, +Parker, old top?” The black, rumpled head nodded violently. “He prefers +to do his breaking down in private,” explained Somers softly. +“Naturally--so do I. And between friends,” he continued aloud, “I could +pull a couple of weeps myself on the very slightest provocation. It’s +been rather a drag, you know!” + +I noticed suddenly that his dark face was unwontedly sallow and +colorless. His lean cheeks seemed to have hollowed further; his +curiously light eyes had receded deep into their sockets. + +“Buck up, Parker!” The brusque, indifferent voice wavered, almost broke. +“Be back in the morning. ’By!” He herded us out before him, leaving +Lewis to a solitude which, I fancy, was not unwelcome. Yet it cut me to +leave the boy there so weary and broken. + +Outside Somers locked the door, then beckoned Wakefield, who hung +uncertainly in the nearer shadows. “Here! Take your key and get out! And +mind”--his fierce hawk’s face was thrust out, his pale eyes glowed +coldly--“take better care of it hereafter. If anything should happen to +your prisoner, Heaven help you, that’s all! For I’ll take the matter up +with you myself.” And the huge, burly constable quailed before the +bitter menace of tone and gesture. + +Somers gathered his bundle of papers and envelopes, rolled it loosely up +and tucked it under one long arm. “Come along,” he urged--almost +sullenly. “Let’s get home. I’m tired.” + +We started obediently. Peter, glowing, took the taller man’s arm, though +he had to reach up to do it. + +“Oh, man, man!” he declared. “You’re a wonder!” + +“Let go!” he answered peevishly. “What’s that?” + +The man who had withstood so nonchalantly the menace of an angry mob +flinched and gibed like a skittish colt as the shadows of a dark hallway +moved, rustling. + +A little, trembling voice answered. “It’s only me, Dorothy. Are you--is +Lewis safe?” + +She came forward timidly, and now I saw that Rosina was with her, +bulkily maternal, one fat arm about the girl’s slender waist. + +“I--I just couldn’t stay at home,” she explained, talking very fast, as +against an expected rebuke. “So I persuaded Rosina to come along, and +started for the j-jail. I thought maybe if I talked to them, or +something--I--I----And anyway I wanted to be there my own self, if +anything dreadful h-happened. I thought maybe I could s-save him.” + +“Yah!” sneered Doctor Somers. “Schoolgirl romantics!” His voice was +unpleasant; Peter let go his arm abruptly. + +“I s-suppose so,” replied Dorothy meekly. “Anyway we were there, right +around the corner. I came near running out, one time. But then they +began to laugh that way, and I was sure, pretty near, that it must be +all right. We were just starting home again.” + +“You ought to have had more sense,” declared Somers severely. “Roaming +around alone at this time of night! Didn’t I tell you Parker was +perfectly safe? Well, come along. McGregor, where did you park that +flivver? Let’s get home; there’s been foolishness enough for one night.” + +He stalked off, and we followed. Dorothy took my arm and squeezed it. “I +don’t care,” she whispered rebelliously. “I think he’s just _mean_! +Anybody’d think Lewis belonged to some other body, instead of to me. +Why, I had to come, Uncle George; I l-love him! What happened, anyway?” +Feminine curiosity triumphed over her pique. “What made them laugh so?” + +“It was Somers,” answered Peter. “He’s a wonder, that man! He stood ’em +off with a basket of eggplants--made ’em think they were hand +grenades--bombs, you know. He bluffed ’em to a standstill. Oh, he’s a +prince, Somers is!” + +“Yah!” said the “prince,” overhearing this last. “Don’t be a fool!” + +Peter helped Dorothy and Rosina into the flivver’s rear seat, then +clambered after. “Oh, yes!” he whispered to me. “But, my word, his +manners are atrocious.” + +In silence we drove back to Fort House. It was a clear, starlit night, +and at my urging Peter left the flivver outside. To take it over to +Lewis’ house, lock it in the garage and walk back seemed, to my +weariness, an impossible labor. + +We entered the big living room, and Peter snapped on the lights. +“Ho-hum!” he said, as he yawned. “I’m for bed.” His pistol was in one +hand, the shotgun in the other. + +“Careful of that gun,” said Somers. “You’ll shoot somebody.” He advanced +to the table and laid down his big bundle of note paper. “Oh, no, Peter, +my son,” he went on amiably. His ill temper seemed to have dissipated +itself entirely; he gave us that sudden, disarming smile. “None of you +are for bed yet, except, maybe, Uncle George here.” He eyed my face, +which was haggard enough, I suppose, with compassion. The familiar name +came from his lips with such unaffected kindliness that I warmed to him +again. “You’re done out, Uncle George; better get some rest. We young +folks can manage.” + +I shook my head. Between curiosity and stubborn pride, I was bound to +remain. “I’m not superannuated yet,” I told him tartly. “What are you up +to now?” + +Somers laughed, and it was a friendly sound. “Oh, just a little +relaxation after our late excitement,” he replied, unwrapping his +bundle. “Peter, get ink and some pens. Dorothy”--and again the first +names came so naturally, with such unassuming intimacy, that we could +not but be softened--“you get your list--the addresses of all the people +to whom you sent invitations. You saved it, didn’t you?” + +“Why, yes,” said Dorothy, wondering. “What of it?” + +Somers smiled at her rebellious glance. It was as if he had elected +himself a member of the family and therefore ignored such little flashes +of pettishness, as, I began to see, he expected us to ignore his +brusqueness, his irritability. + +“We’ve got to address all these notes,” he explained, “so they can be +mailed in the morning. It’s pretty late, of course, but I hope most of +your guests will get them in time. Don’t you see”--as the girl still +looked at him blankly--“your wedding’s got to be postponed?” + +“Oh-h! I f-forgot.” + +A sudden light struck me. I stared at our amazing visitor with my mouth +wide open. “Is that what you wanted the paper for?” + +“Of course! I’ve done a hundred and four. Better write fifty more, to be +safe.” He unfolded a note and handed it to Dorothy. + +“‘Miss Mary McGregor regrets,’” she read, “‘that the marriage of her +niece, Dorothy May, must be postponed indefinitely because of a serious +accident.’” + +“The wording may not be exactly right,” Somers apologized. “I didn’t +have a chance to consult you about that. I thought it was as well to +make the explanation rather vague.” + +“Why, you wonderful man!” Dorothy beamed on him, holding his long, bony +hand in both of hers. “It’s just perfect! How did you ever think of it? +We--we’ve all been so upset.” Her lips quivered, and her soft eyes +filled with tears. It was a dreadful situation for the poor child; no +wonder she had forgotten this detail. + +But my mind was filled with a wondering admiration for this lank, bony +alienist. He had seemed brusque, casual, culpably indifferent to our +troubles; yet it was he whose ready wit had saved my nephew. And it was +he who, in the hurry and excitement of planning a defense against a +lynching party, had yet found time and forethought to buy this note +paper and, while waiting on the jail steps for an angry mob, had coolly +phrased this unexceptionable announcement and had written it over and +over, more than a hundred times! + +I opened an envelope at random and glanced at the note which Dorothy +still held; then I picked up the last note, still unfolded and only half +written. All were done in the same flowing, copperplate script; they +seemed facsimiles, each of the other. Not a letter was misformed, not a +comma out of place; “postponed,” the last word of the unfinished note, +was as carefully written as any, and the pen had not trembled or made a +scrawl, as he laid his writing by to face the mob. Truly this Somers was +a remarkable man, and I resolved that hereafter no mannerisms of his +should irritate me. + +Dorothy ran upstairs, to return presently with a long list of names and +addresses. Somers divided the pile of envelopes, gave us each pen and +ink, and set us to work around the library table. + +“Working together we ought to be able to finish in two hours,” he +declared. “When does the morning train leave? Eight-ten? I’ll take them +down and get them stamped in time for that.” + +Silence fell, broken only by the scratching of four pens. + +It might have been an hour later--the hall clock had just struck +two--when Miss Christie appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were heavy, +her round face was flushed with sleep, and I noted for the first time +how thick and glossy was her fine, fair hair. She was muffled to the +chin in a shapeless, woolly bath robe; she yawned, shielding her mouth +with a slender, well-modeled hand. + +“Miss McGregor can’t sleep,” she explained in her pleasant, throaty +drawl. “She sent me out to ask if you-all aren’t ever going to bed?” Her +eyes widened a little; they were beautiful eyes; and a demure smile +tugged at her mouth corners. “She says nobody thinks about her any more; +and she wants to see you, Miss Dorothy. She says she just knows +something underhand is going on in this house, and everybody’s trying to +keep it from her.” And then, with a flash of curiosity unusual in her, +normally the most incurious of women, she asked: “What _has_ happened +anyway? And why are you-all sitting up so late?” + +“Doctor Parker was nearly lynched to-night,” said Peter. “But it’s all +right now; and Somers can prove he couldn’t have killed Gaskell +anyhow--that the body was cold before he came out.” + +“Oh-h-h!” Miss Christie’s cheeks went white, and her violet eyes opened. +Again a sudden shock had brought startling beauty into her dull face. +After a breathless moment she disappeared. + +“Go see to your aunt, Dorothy,” said Somers, his eyes still fixed on the +waving portières. “We’ll finish these up.” + +When she had gone, he sat for a moment, staring absently at the doorway. +“Hypothyroidism,” he murmured vaguely. “You know, Uncle George, that +girl’s got the makings of a raving beauty in her!” + +“Who, Dorothy? She’s a beauty now,” I replied. + +“Huh? Oh, she’s well enough, but I meant the other one, Miss Christie. +Wait till I’ve treated her a while, and you’ll see what I mean.” + +He sighed, passed a lank, bony hand across his eyes, and picked up his +pen once more: “Mr. and Mrs. R. Lawton McGregor, 42 Bank Street, +Toronto, Canada.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + THE POLTERGEIST AGAIN + + +It must have been half past three when I stumbled up to my room at last, +stripped off my clothes almost automatically, and fell into bed. I was +asleep in two minutes. + +It was the deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion, from which one does not +wake immediately, with every sense alert. No; I must climb, as it were, +up from the very bottom of a black abyss of unconsciousness, a sea of +oblivion, struggling with infinite pains back toward the light. For +hours, as it seemed, I fought my way stubbornly through a welter of +half-seen dreams, in response to some imperative summons whose nature, +even, my sleep-drugged senses refused to grasp. + +At last I came out from sleep into wakefulness suddenly, as a train +whizzes out of a long tunnel into the daylight. I sat up, blinking. It +was still dark; somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed. That did not +aid me in fixing the time, for in North Carolina the cocks crow all +night; but now I saw that the east was faintly gray, and I heard the +first shrill whistle of an early-rising quail. + +By that I knew dawn must be near at hand. But why had I waked so early? +What was the insistent call which had dragged me back from deep slumber? +I blinked bewilderedly. + +Then suddenly a chill swept over me; an eerie horripilation crept up my +spine and plucked at the short hairs of my neck. As I shivered with +actual, physical cold, I saw that some one or something had drawn back +the blanket, so that I lay uncovered almost to my knees. Then, as I +leaned forward, clutching after the coverlets, they moved beneath my +hand, as though by their own independent volition! + +I gave a strangled gasp; perhaps I cried aloud. I am not sure, for the +thing shook me. At any rate, in the pale gray light of coming dawn, I +saw my blanket creep swiftly, silently, over the foot of the bed and +move toward the door. + +No one was in sight. My eyes, from which sleep was miraculously purged, +raced about the empty room and saw its every detail distinctly. There +was the dresser, the rocking chair whereon hung my clothes, the corner +table, every familiar furnishing. Beyond the foot of my bed the door +stood half open, and through it my blanket and counterpane were moving +in a white, undulating mass, that seemed curiously and uncannily alive. +And still there was no sound, no stir. + +I grew cold and rheumatic. Perhaps I hesitated for an instant, daunted +by this mysterious phenomenon. But it was not more than three seconds, I +am sure, before I was out of bed and standing at the door, ready +for--for whatever cursed thing might lurk there. + +There was nothing. The hall stood empty and still, as commonplace as at +high noon. I ran to the head of the stairs and leaned over the +balustrade. The broad staircase stood empty, also, and the lower hall, +as far as my eye could reach. Everything was very still, so that I heard +the loud ticking of the grandfather clock below me. But of my nocturnal +visitor, if visitor there had been, and of my coverlets, there was no +sign at all. Both had vanished. + +A door creaked, and I spun about, nerves tense as fiddlestrings. It was +Doctor Somers, more lathy and slender of limb in his pajamas than by +day, if that were possible. + +“Nightmare?” he inquired sourly. “You yelled horribly.” + +Peter appeared beside him, dwarfed by the other’s lank height; and +Dorothy’s smooth black head peered from her door. + +I blushed hotly. I must have made an extraordinary racket, to wake all +these tired young folks! “I’m sorry, people,” I said apologetically. +“Either I’ve had a nightmare, or it was the Poltergeist again.” + +“Humph!” said Somers and looked at me queerly. “Poltergeist?” + +“I don’t know. Either I dreamed it all, or my blankets just climbed over +the footboard and walked away by themselves. They’re gone, anyhow.” + +Dorothy came out, wrapped in her fuzzy blue robe, hair hanging in two +sleek braids to her knees. “Oh, dear!” said she and peeped into my room. +“Yes, they’re gone. That best white wool blanket, Peter, and the +crocheted counterpane. It must have been the Poltergeist!” + +“I’m c-cold,” I muttered, suddenly conscious of my thin pajamas. + +“Poor old dear! You climb right back into bed and let Peter tuck you in. +Here!” Dorothy opened the linen closet at the end of the hall and +dragged out more blankets. “Cover him up, Peter; we’ll look for the +other things in the morning. No telling what the Poltergeist has done +with them!” + +“Humph!” repeated Somers. He cocked his head on one side, and, in his +pajamas, whose wide stripes, running up and down, accentuated his height +and lankiness, he looked like some new variety of long-legged bird--a +striped crane. + +“Humph! Poltergeist! That’s interesting.” His tone held an impersonal +enthusiasm, as of a surgeon confronted with some new and rare disease; I +was reminded of the manner in which he had pronounced Miss Christie’s +sleepiness due to “hypothyroidism,” whatever that may be. “A +Poltergeist! Then such things have happened here before?” + +Dorothy nodded. “Yes, the nasty thing’s been hanging round for a year, +almost, playing tricks like this, breaking dishes, yelling through the +halls, and everything.” + +“Humph! Well, let’s get back to bed. I’ll look into this later.” + +“Ask Aunt Mary,” suggested Peter grimly. “She’ll talk your arm off about +spiritism, if you once get her started.” + +“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your aunt yet,” replied Somers. +Then he yawned and went back into his room. + +I went back to bed, to shiver beneath my new blankets. It was not really +cold, but I was chilled through. And what with fatigue and excitement +and the honest fright of watching my blankets creep away in that eerie +fashion, I could not get to sleep again. Moreover, bobwhite had tuned up +in earnest now. The shrill, insistent whistling of a dozen quail, +calling and answering each other under my window, effectually barred me +from further rest. The high-pitched, monotonous call rang through my +aching head maddeningly. + +At last, it might have been seven o’clock, I did doze off, to waken with +a start an hour later. I rose then and dressed. Dorothy was just coming +from her rooms; she gave me a brave smile. + +“Good morning, my dear! You’re fresh as a rose.” + +She was wearing a little blue morning gown, her mass of black hair +neatly dressed, and she was smiling. One of the many things I found to +admire in Dorothy McGregor was this: that she was always good-natured, +even in the morning. No matter how early one saw her, she was never +peevish or sullen, in spite of a hot, flashing, little temper. + +“Good morning, Uncle George. Did you get any rest at all?” + +I sighed. “Oh, a little. Where’s Somers?” + +“I haven’t heard anything of him. Tired out, I suppose.” + +There was no need to ask where Peter was, for I could hear his lusty +snores through his bedroom door. So we two went downstairs together. + +“We’ll have our breakfast,” declared Dorothy. “Aunt Mary’ll be waiting, +and she hates to eat alone. The others can eat when they get up. They +had a hard night, poor boys!” + +But, as we came through the big living room, the front door opened and +Doctor Somers entered. His lean, sallow face wore its customary look of +acute dissatisfaction with the universe; it was neither more nor less +saturnine than when I had first set eyes on it, scarcely more than +twelve hours ago. The strain of last night had left no visible mark upon +him. + +We gave him a good morning, to which he replied with a sour grunt. “Been +to the post office,” he explained. “They’re poor stamps your postmaster +sells here; no stick to ’em at all. Had to buy a bottle of mucilage.” + +“You poor man! And did you stamp and mail all those notes?” + +Somers shrugged. “It had to be done,” he declared ungraciously. + +We went on into the dining room. Before we could be seated, the creaking +of her wheel chair announced Aunt Mary’s coming. Dorothy rang the bell. + +“Quick, Rosina! Get auntie’s coffee!” + +Miss McGregor appeared, the patient nurse at her back. The old lady’s +face wore its usual pathetic smile, and she inclined her head to us with +sad graciousness. + +Somers’ eyes traveled past her. “Good morning, Miss Christie!” + +The nurse bowed shyly; her big, violet eyes dropped, and a tinge of +color crept into her cheek. + +Aunt Mary’s stately head came up. Her thin eyebrows arched. “I don’t +think I’ve had the honor----” + +“Oh, forgive me, auntie! I’d forgotten you didn’t come out to supper +last night. This is Doctor Somers, Aunt Mary; Dr. Somers, my aunt, Miss +McGregor. The doctor is--was to be--Lewis’ best man, you know.” + +“Ah, of course! And how do you do, doctor?” Miss McGregor’s tone was +cool, to say the least. Her manner implied that Somers would have done +much better to stay in his lunatic asylum. “It’s so unfortunate that you +made that long trip for nothing; you’re from New York, I think? Quite +so. You won’t be able to get back to your practice before Wednesday, +even by starting to-night, will you? It’s a great inconvenience, but +then this dreadful affair has inconvenienced everybody. It has upset me +terribly--though that, of course, amounts to nothing!” + +Her tone, however, suggested that it was the most important consequence +of Doctor Gaskell’s death; and that we others had deliberately planned +the killing to annoy her, Mary McGregor. It was truly remarkable, the +unpleasant suggestions Aunt Mary managed to convey by a turn of the eye, +an arching of her high, thin brows, a pathetic inflection of her sweet, +plaintive voice, and all with the kindest, bravest, most +self-sacrificing manner in the world. I could still understand how +casual visitors considered her an uncomplaining heroine, a saint on +earth; but I was no longer inclined to share their opinion. + +Doctor Somers smiled at her in his sudden, heartwarming fashion, no whit +ruffled by her attitude. “But I’m not going back just yet,” he +explained. “The hospital will do very well without me; I wrote this +morning for a month’s leave. I shan’t go back until we’ve got poor old +Parker safe out of jail.” + +Aunt Mary looked dubious. “Can you make them think he did it in +self-defense?” + +He smiled again. “Something like that. But tell me, Miss McGregor, how +did you rest last night?” + +She softened visibly. “Very poorly indeed. I’m a great sufferer, doctor, +a great sufferer. I worry so about my niece.” She cast a bitter glance +at Dorothy, who winced. “I lay awake for hours, just thinking about her +troubles, until the knots came in my neck so terribly that I could have +screamed. You know, being a doctor, of course.” + +Aunt Mary looked at Somers eagerly, a bit apprehensively, I fancied. But +he nodded gravely. “I know,” he assured her. _“Torticollis ephemeralis!_ +Yes, indeed, a very painful ailment.” His air of serious sympathy was +admirable. + +“Yes, isn’t it? Well, I kept thinking, I must be patient; I must try to +comfort poor Dorothy in her trials. She’s not used to suffering, as I +am. I mustn’t notice it if her worries make her heedless and +self-absorbed; she doesn’t mean to be inconsiderate. I won’t make it +harder for her by complaining. I was so sorry, dear”--turning to the +poor girl, who looked supremely uncomfortable--“so sorry that I had to +wake Miss Christie and send her out last night--this morning, rather. I +knew, if you hadn’t been so upset, you’d have remembered that I never +can sleep when there’s so much going on in the house. I know you didn’t +mean to be selfish, and so I stood it just as long as I could.” + +Dorothy sighed deeply. “Here, auntie, try this piece of toast; it’s +crisper. Rosina, fill auntie’s cup. Yes, dear, drink another cup of +coffee. It’ll do you good.” + +Doctor Somers came to the rescue with a deft question, and presently +Aunt Mary was beaming upon him, discussing her symptoms with infinite +relish. The charm of an intelligent and sympathetic listener brought +unwonted color to her delicately faded cheek; her rigid pose relaxed; +her eyes shone brighter. Absently she finished her second cup of coffee +and ate three more slices of toast, talking all the while. Aunt Mary was +enjoying herself thoroughly. + +We others rose and slipped out, leaving her in the midst of an animated +account of the strange sensations in her limbs. “You see, doctor, I’ve +been paralyzed in both limbs for fourteen years now, never able to leave +my chair except for bed. I have to be lifted and carried about like a +baby. And for years my limbs were perfectly numb and dead; but lately +I’ve had the queerest feelings--creepy, prickly feelings. Do you suppose +it’s atrophy?” + +Somers nodded gravely. “No doubt! Your muscles are wasting away, and the +spinal cord is affected, I think.” + +“Oh, he’s making her out worse than she is!” whispered Dorothy, +horrified. “He’ll scare her to death!” + +“Hush!” I told her. “Can’t you see she loves it?” + +“I resigned myself to that long ago, doctor--not being able to stand on +my feet ever again. But the queer feelings, and those terrible knots in +my neck----” + +We slipped out. Doctor Somers listened attentively, nodding at +intervals, but his keen, gray-green eyes were all for the silent nurse. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + A FISHING TRIP + + +Dorothy, Peter, and I set off at once for the lockup. “I’ve just got to +see my poor boy,” said the girl tearfully. “Think what an awful time he +must have had last night!” + +She trotted about the house, busily ordering the fat Rosina here and +there, and presently she called us to her aid. + +“There!” said she proudly, pointing out two huge bundles. “Clean sheets +and pillowcases in that one, and a blanket--you know, Uncle George, +Rosina found your blanket and counterpane this morning, the ones the +Poltergeist took? They were down in the coal bin, wadded up, and they +were just filthy! Oh, dear! I wish the horrid thing wouldn’t break and +destroy and dirty everything it touches. It’s a perfectly wretched +ghost, Uncle George, so malicious!” + +She carried it off gayly enough, but her big eyes were restless, and I +fancied a hint of fear in their depths. After all, though familiarity +may make a ghost less terrible, no one really enjoys its repeated +visits. And, though she pretended so much courage and jested so gayly +about the tricks of the Poltergeist, I saw that she was haunted by a +very real fear of its comings. The poor child was near the breaking +point. + +“There, there, dearie,” I comforted her. “Don’t you fret; everything’ll +come right yet. We’ll have you married off and settled happily in a +bright little red-and-white bungalow, without any ghosts to bother you. +Be brave just a little while longer, child!” + +She huddled against my shoulder and wept quietly. “I c-can’t help it, +dear,” she declared. “I’ll be a-all right p-presently. But things are so +darn twisted! And that was my very best counterpane, and I was s-saving +it for our h-house--and I’m a-f-fraid of ghosts. I am so! And my beau’s +in jail, and the wedding put off--and it’s unlucky to postpone weddings, +Uncle George. And Aunt Mary’s just m-mean to me, and I’m s-so unhappy!” + +What could I say? I patted her shoulder silently, and presently she +dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, rolled up into a damp ball, and +smiled up at me bravely. + +“I’m all right now, dear,” she told me and ran off to powder her nose. + +So I shouldered a huge bundle of bedding and took a basket of eatables +in my left hand and descended the steps to Lewis’ flivver, while Peter +followed, even more heavily laden. “Time we get through and old Parker’s +out, we can advertise: ‘Apartment to rent, luxuriously furnished; apply +at the jail.’” + +I went back after another load and on the way peeped into the dining +room. Aunt Mary still held forth, as fresh as if she had just begun. +Rosina’s face peeped around the edge of the kitchen door. She was +wondering, no doubt, if they’d ever give her a chance to “cl’ar away.” +Somers still listened with courteous attention, but the eye he turned to +me held a comical appeal for aid. + +“We’re going down to see my nephew now, Somers,” I said. “Want to come +along?” + +Aunt Mary sighed, her thin eyebrows arched high. “That’s always the +way,” her expression said; “if ever I’m enjoying myself somebody has to +spoil it!” But aloud she declared: “Yes, doctor, don’t let me keep you. +I’ve enjoyed our little chat so much, but of course Dorothy’s wishes +come first. I realize that; and it’s quite natural. I’m used to being +alone!” + +Somers gave her a sympathetic glance. “I suppose I ought to go,” he +replied reluctantly; but he rose with suspicious alacrity. “Perhaps when +I get back, Miss McGregor--yours is a very interesting case--I’d like to +hear more about it.” + +Aunt Mary shrugged, as much as to say: “Why go away then?” “I always lie +down after breakfast,” she replied. + +Somers looked relieved. “Well, some other time then.” His greenish eyes +rested significantly upon the silent nurse. “You ought to get out of +doors more,” he told her. “You need exercise.” + +Miss McGregor sniffed. “Oh, she’s healthy enough! You should see her +sleep!” Aunt Mary always resented the suggestion that any one else was +not well; she felt that she had a monopoly of invalidism for the +McGregor family. + +Our guest bowed and came out with me. “My,” he exclaimed, “what a +talker!” + +“Well, come along!” + +He shook his head. “I’m not coming, thanks. Tell old Parker I’ll see him +later. I’ve got other things to do.” + +So I left him and went out to the racketing flivver, whose rear seat was +heaped high. I squeezed in beside Dorothy and Peter in front. + +“Where’s Somers, unk?” asked the latter. + +“Not coming. He doesn’t seem very keen to see Lewis, after all.” + +“Well! That’s queer. He’s cooking up some other deep scheme, I suppose. +I shan’t find fault with him, after last night.” + +“Probably you’re right, Peter,” I conceded. + +But Dorothy, beside me, wriggled impatiently. “You two men are perfectly +blind! He’s just waiting for Aunt Mary to lie down, so he can see Miss +Christie.” + +We both laughed. “What, that sleepy thing?” + +“Yes! If you had any eyes at all, you could see he was perfectly struck +on her. And she may be a sleepy thing, but just you watch her brighten +up, once there’s a man around to notice her. Oh, you can laugh! But I +tell you Anne Christie is a _beauty_, if she’d just wake up a little.” + +“She’s too fat,” objected Peter. + +Dorothy gave him a maddeningly superior smile. “And they say men are the +best judges of a woman’s looks! Wait till you see her in an evening +dress, instead of those horrid, stiff, old uniforms! Oh, yes, you will! +I’ll just bet you ten pounds of candy against a carton of cigarettes she +begins to dress up within a week!” + +We hunted up a very sheepish constable and told him our errand. He +handed the jail key over to me. + +“Yeah,” he said, “you jus’ take it along, an’ bring it back w’en you git +through. Don’t forgit t’ lock th’ door after yuh. Yeah, shore it’ll be +all right! Nobody don’t need t’ know you got it, does they? An’ +say”--coming closer and dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper--“they +ain’t no need o’ tellin’ about las’ night, is they?” + +It was a bribe, I saw: free access to the jail against silence as to +Rufe Wakefield’s inglorious part in last night’s troubles. He knew he +was safe enough in giving me the key, irregular as it seems; for my +nephew would not have dreamed of escaping, even if I would have allowed +it. + +“All right, Rufe,” I promised. “We’ll keep quiet; and I’ll have the key +back to you before noon.” + +All this had taken some little time. As we drove back down Main Street, +Dorothy nudged me sharply. “What did I tell you?” + +We swung round the corner, past Olsen’s drug store, to reach the jail, +which was almost directly behind it. And on the drug store steps, just +going in, stood Miss Anne Christie, while Doctor Somers held the screen +door back for her, with a long, skinny arm. + +“She does carry herself well,” said Peter critically. + +Dorothy sniffed. “I think he might be doing something for Lewis, instead +of gallivanting round with that girl!” + +We drove on to the lockup, to find my nephew haggard, but fairly +cheerful. + +“Rufe brought me in a gorgeous breakfast,” he told us. “Really, he’s not +such a bad chap. Yes, I got quite a bit of sleep, too, but I’ll be glad +of clean sheets. There, there, honey!” Dorothy had choked forlornly, +snuggling close to his shoulder. “Don’t worry any more; old Somers’ll +figure out some way of getting me out in a day or two.” + +“But to-morrow was our wedding day!” she exclaimed disconsolately. “And, +besides, your precious Somers is just flirting with Aunt Mary’s nurse; +he’s not trying to do a thing for us!” + +However she did her bridegroom’s prospective best man something less +than justice. It might have been an hour later, while we four still sat +with our heads together, cudgeling our brains for a way out, that he +strolled casually in. + +I heard the outer doorknob rattle and started up, for I had forgotten to +lock the door after us, and I feared some official visitor. Before I +could reach it, the heavy door swung back, and Somers’ black head +appeared. + +“Thought I’d find you folks here,” he said. “Ought to be locked in, +though; people might talk about our vigilant cop.” He turned the key on +the inside and paused to laugh silently. + +“Clever chap, that Wakefield,” he went on, advancing. His long, +grotesquely thin legs moved stiffly, like a pair of compasses. “I heard +him talking about that little affair last night; he’s out on Main +Street, holding forth right now. ‘An’ I stood right there beside the +lockup,’ he was saying, ‘ready f’r bus’ness. ’At skinny feller come in +on Number Seven, he stood on th’ steps ’ith a bumb, darin’ ’em t’ come +any furder. They was all a-yellin’, an’ they wouldn’t of paid him no +mind, but then _I_ come out ’ith th’ ole persuader’--and he showed them +that rusty pocket cannon he lugs around--‘an’, “Stan’ back, fellers!” I +says. We-ell, they all knew _me_! An’ so they wa’n’t no lynchin’ las’ +night!’” + +We all laughed. Somers’ imitation of the constable’s rumbling drawl was +irresistibly comic. + +“So that’s what he’s telling!” A light struck me. “No wonder he didn’t +want us to talk about last night! He bribed us to keep quiet, doctor, by +letting us take the jail key.” + +“I told you you had a clever constable, unk. Oh, I’ve learned lots of +things this morning! I’ve talked with a number of your leading citizens, +so I have.” + +“When we saw you, you were otherwise occupied,” said Dorothy cruelly. +“Or is Miss Christie one of the ‘leading citizens’ you meant?” + +Somers merely smiled at her. “Oh, that! I took her to the drug store to +get some thyroid extract. The girl’s sick, and I’m going to cure her. +Wait a couple of weeks; you won’t know her!” + +“And after you got the medicine?” I prompted, curious to know how he had +forgathered with Wakefield. + +“Oh, Miss Christie introduced me to the druggist, Olsen, then she went +on home. And I hung around, making myself agreeable. Just a little +fishing expedition, Uncle George--that’s all!” + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + SOME CLEWS, AND A SUGGESTION + + +His light eyes sparkled at us, and gratified pride replaced his usual +look of acute dissatisfaction with the world. “Old Doc Somers is a great +man!” he boasted. + +We all stared at him, breathlessly eager. “What have you found out?” I +demanded. + +“A whole lot of things; enough so we can begin planning a defense for +Parker.” + +Peter straightened at the word. “A defense! Of course he’ll have to be +tried now, won’t he? Folks, we’ve got to hire a lawyer right away!” + +Dorothy and I nodded agreement. Lewis said nothing at all. + +“There’ll be a trial, yes,” said Somers; “that is, if the grand jury +indicts. And I haven’t much doubt that it will; you see, your man +Vanbrugh, your prosecuting attorney that pleased you all so much at the +inquest, will present the evidence against Parker. Yes, he’ll be +indicted--I haven’t a doubt of it.” + +“So we need a lawyer,” insisted Peter. + +“We-ell, not to be too modest about it, I’m a tolerable lawyer myself, +McGregor. You see, I started out to make myself a medicolegal expert; to +specialize in medical jurisprudence. I studied law first; I was admitted +to the bar six years ago, and I practiced a little while before I +entered the medical school.” + +I looked at him more closely. Last night, knowing him to be my nephew’s +classmate, I had thought him thirty, at the most. No doubt my knowledge +of Lewis’ age had influenced me; moreover Somers had one of those lean, +dark faces on which the years leave little mark. But now, by the morning +sun which streamed through the unshaded windows of the jail, I could see +that he was older. His black hair was shot with gray over the temples; +there were fine lines in his forehead and about the corners of his +deep-set eyes. He must be at least thirty-eight--perhaps older. No +wonder he had impressed me as more mature than Peter or Lewis! + +“Yes, I’m a lawyer,” he went on, “and not such a bad lawyer, either. In +a case like this, where the medical testimony will be so important, +perhaps I’d do as well as another. That’s up to you, of course, Parker. +If you want somebody else, I’ll do all I can to help, just the same.” + +Lewis shook his head vigorously. “No! I don’t want anybody else, if +you’ll only help me out, old man.” + +“Well, then”--he made no protest of willingness, no fervid promises of +success; he took the matter as settled, and I liked that in him--“to +begin with, we’ll take it for granted that there’ll be a trial--unless +in the meantime we manage to find the murderer.” + +“You think he was murdered, then?” asked Dorothy fearfully. + +“He must have been. He surely didn’t shoot himself and then swallow the +gun.” + +“But you--but Lewis----” she faltered. + +“But Lewis didn’t do it! Of course not. Gaskell was dead before he got +there. But our trouble will be to prove that. If Uhlman here gets up and +swears Gaskell’s body was cold when he got to it, five minutes after he +heard the shot, your prosecuting attorney--your solicitor, as they call +him--will ask why he didn’t say so at the time; why Wakefield didn’t +notice it; why it wasn’t brought out at the inquest. And what can you +say, Uhlman, except that you didn’t think of it until I asked you about +it? Then your man Vanbrugh will say: ‘Ah, you didn’t remember this very +important point until the learned counsel for the defense explained it +to you?’--with a significant glance at the jury. And then: ‘And you’re +related to the prisoner, aren’t you, Mr. Uhlman? His uncle, I think, +yes? And you’re fond of him, aren’t you--very fond of him, in fact? +Exactly!’ And he’ll give the jury another wise look and tell you to step +down.” + +I nodded soberly. “But--but then they’ll convict him!” said Dorothy. + +“Oh, no--at least we’ll hope not. But the best way to defend him is to +find out who really committed the murder; don’t you see? So let’s talk +it over.” + +Somers settled himself more comfortably and re-crossed those +extraordinary legs. + +“To begin with I had a chat with your constable. Had it occurred to you +to wonder how he happened to be coming past Fort House at five in the +morning, just at the right time to hear Parker shoot? No? Well, I +thought of it. He’d been out at a little poker party, an all-night +session at Tulliver’s, back on the hill. He lost fifty dollars, too; it +made him mad, and that, I suspect, was behind his zeal in enforcing the +ordinance about discharging firearms in the corporation. He had been +drinking! Officially, I’ve no doubt that the amiable Rufus is an ardent +prohibitionist; but unofficially he likes his toddy. Corn liquor was +plenty up on the hill, it appears; and Rufe was too much under its +influence to notice details; didn’t you know that, Uncle George?” + +“I--I----” I stammered. “We were all so upset that I didn’t think it odd +that he seemed so, too. But, now that you speak of it, he did seem +rather--rather uncertain.” + +“Humph! It makes it bad for us, too. When Vanbrugh gets hold of him, +Wakefield will swear to almost anything, just to prove he was sober +enough to know all that happened. Well, here’s another thing. You know +this chap Satterfield--Ralph Satterfield? He led the mob last night. Did +he have any grudge against Gaskell?” + +“Why, yes,” answered Lewis and I together. “Gaskell was one of the town +commissioners. And during May he was acting mayor. Satterfield was +brought before him for being drunk and disorderly and for bootlegging, +and Gaskell gave him thirty days on the roads.” + +“And that’s not all, Uncle George,” my nephew went on. “Remember there +at Olsen’s he bragged that he was going to settle with Gaskell?” + +“All right,” said Somers. “Satterfield was at the poker party, too. +Tulliver has a phone; about four o’clock somebody called Satterfield up +there, and he went out in a great hurry, saying he’d be back in an hour. +What’s more, he went out the back door, and Tulliver’s shotgun stood +right beside it. I got all this firsthand, by a little judicious +questioning, partly from Rufe, and partly from another chap who was +there. Mind you, we don’t know that Satterfield took that gun; but he +might have taken it and brought it back with him. Nobody was out that +way while he was gone. + +“He came back in an hour or so, very much out of breath. When somebody +asked him where he’d been, he drew a pistol and threatened to kill the +fellow. They quieted him down; but, as they were all more or less drunk, +they didn’t think much about it. But it’s worth looking into, especially +as it seems Satterfield’s daughter, Minnie, is your night telephone +operator. Olsen phoned for Doctor Gaskell to come and see his sick baby; +and this girl put the call through, and no doubt listened in; night +operators usually do. Right after that, as I figure it, she called up +Tulliver’s house and gave a message to her father.” + +“Why, it’s open and shut!” I exclaimed excitedly. “She told her father +Gaskell was going out. Satterfield knew he’d take the short cut, that +path through the Fort House grounds; it’s the nearest way to Olsen’s. He +took Tulliver’s gun and ran down there, while the doctor was dressing, +and lay in wait for him and killed him!” + +“It’s possible,” conceded Somers. “We’ll investigate, at least. And, if +we can’t hang it on him, we’ll bring it up at the trial, anyhow. It will +go to show that somebody else might have done the shooting.” + +“Oh, the trial, the trial!” It was Dorothy, impatiently tearful. “You +keep talking about a trial, and that’ll be weeks and weeks, maybe +months! And all that time my poor Lewis will have to stay in this horrid +old jail, and--and t-to-morrow was our wedding day! Oh, dear, oh, dear! +What shall I do?” + +The poor girl broke down completely and wept without restraint, hanging +upon her lover’s neck. + +Somers looked at her keenly. “What do you want to do?” + +She sobbed. “I was going to be married to-morrow, and my wedding dress +is all ready, and the cake baked, even! And now Lewis is in j-jail for +weeks and months--and maybe they’ll c-convict him or something, and we +c-can’t ever be married at all! And I’ll die an old maid, because I +won’t ever marry any other body!” + +“Humph! Get married, then.” + +“And it’s just awfully unlucky to put off your wedding day, +and--and----” She broke off suddenly, raising a tear-stained face, as +the meaning of Somers’ words struck home. “Get m-married? What do you +mean?” + +“What I say. Your wedding dress is ready, you say, and the cake is +baked. Well, here I am, too, a perfectly good best man. And there’s +Parker; and here’s the jail. There’s a preacher in town, I suppose. +We’ve got the freedom of the lockup, thanks to Rufe Wakefield; why not +have your wedding right here to-morrow, on schedule time?” + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + AN UNUSUAL WEDDING + + +A big tear still undried on her cheek, Dorothy stared at the tall, lanky +Somers. Her blank wonderment gradually merged into admiration, and a +very becoming blush crept over her fair face. + +“Get married to-morrow--anyway?” she asked. “Why--why not? I think it +would be just lovely.” She grew more animated as this new idea shaped +itself before her imagination. “We couldn’t have a big wedding anyway, +after all this horrid trouble--not for months and _months_! And just +think of the expense! New invitations, new flowers, another wedding +dress, and everything. And Aunt Mary’s been so upset, getting ready for +the house guests, and there’d be that to go through with again. And +think, Lewis! We’d have to pay rent on our house all that time, without +being able to live in it. Oh, I think it would be just lovely! We can +bring the flowers down here and decorate the place and have our wedding +breakfast right here; just the family, and maybe Marie and Sally +Westfall,” naming her bridesmaids. “We’ll do it! Of course we will! +Peter, run over to the depot and see if the flowers have come. I’ll have +roses over there, and a bank of ferns, and----” + +Her happy, excited voice trailed away, as she ran a calculating eye +about the bare, cramped place, planning her decorations with truly +feminine adaptability. + +But my nephew caught her hand. “No, Dorothy!” he cried miserably. “No, +honey girl. You know I’d just love it, but I can’t let you. You’re +forgetting; I’m in prison, charged with murder. I’ll have to stay here +for weeks, anyhow; and then I may be convicted and executed, or worse +yet, given life imprisonment. And then you’d be tied for life to a +convict, honey; you’d be worse than a widow. No, you must give me up, +and maybe, in a year or two, you’ll find somebody else and be married +and find happiness after all. And it would be a comfort to me, there in +prison, to know your life hadn’t been ruined, too.” + +The boy straightened, looking very noble and self-sacrificing. His eyes +were moist; I fancy that he found a dismal enjoyment in the thought of +this great renunciation. He pictured himself in stripes, no doubt, +wandering alone down the long corridor of years, upborne by his own +self-sacrifice. The young have a way of enjoying tragedy--in prospect, +at least. + +But Dorothy only laughed at him. “Fiddlesticks! You’re _not_ going to be +convicted. You’re _not_! I won’t have it! You won’t even have to be +tried; Doctor Somers will find the man who really did it, and you’ll be +home with me in a week, maybe! And, if you’re not, I won’t ever, ever, +_ever_ marry any other body--so there! I guess I can be noble too! And +we’re going to be married at noon to-morrow, right here in this jail, so +you might as well make the best of it!” + +Dropping on the narrow bunk beside him she began to whisper eagerly into +his ear. + +Well, that was all of that. There are limits to any man’s capacity for +self-abnegation, and Lewis was very human. Who could have resisted +Dorothy McGregor’s sweet pleading, her flushed, bright-eyed anticipation +of this pitiful wedding, so different from that she had planned? + +“And really,” she argued wisely, “it’ll be lots nicer than a big church +affair--lots! I shan’t have to get all tired out running around, looking +after a lot of guests we don’t care anything about, getting ice cream +spilled on my wedding dress, and having the ushers put all the wrong +people into the wrong pews. I’ve been worried out of my life for weeks, +just imagining what would happen if they should seat Cousin John beside +Uncle Will Marshall. They haven’t spoken for twenty years, you know. Oh, +this’ll be so much better. Why, it’s just sweet!” + +Lewis smiled bitterly. “‘Sweet,’” he repeated, “marrying a man--in a +jail!” But his protest was uncertain, and Dorothy paid no attention to +it whatever. He had capitulated; she knew it well enough, and we all +recognized it. From that time on my nephew had no more voice in the +arrangement of his wedding than has any other well-conducted bridegroom. + +In the midst of our excited talk some one tried the jail door. We all +stopped short, alarmed, the memory of last night’s attack fresh in our +minds. Then Somers, shrugging resignedly, opened the big door, which he +had locked again after Peter’s exit. + +In the aperture appeared the wide-brimmed hat and leathery, lined face +of High Sheriff Redden. He blinked at us queerly, his red-rimmed, rheumy +eyes taking in the unusual scene before him; for Dorothy and Lewis sat +hand in hand on the narrow bunk, while I huddled uncomfortably on the +floor, my back to the cage bars, with a bundle of the McGregors’ best +bed linen for a divan. It was a curious spectacle for a well-conducted +jail, to say the least. + +The sheriff swept off his hat and bowed deeply. “Mornin’, ma’am,” he +said to the girl deferentially. “Howdy, folks! You-all aim t’ be +comf’table as you kin, I see.” He fingered his wispy white mustache and +turned to Somers. “Howdy, stranger! F’om Rufe’s story you an’ him saved +my pris’ner f’om gittin’ lynched las’ night--or, anyways, it was Rufe +mostly, accordin’ to his tell.” + +He winked elaborately at the physician. Over his shoulder appeared the +anxious face of the huge constable. Wakefield shook a leonine head in +agonized appeal, winked frantically, laid a finger to his lips, begging +dumbly for our silence. + +Somers grinned. “Oh, yes! Mr. Wakefield showed the best part of valor, +certainly.” + +“H’m! Yuh cain’t tell me nothin’ about Rufe Wakefield, stranger. But I’m +obliged to yuh, sir. They’d of been right smart talk round Carabas +County if anythin’ had happened to one of Hank Redden’s prisoners. Ain’t +aimin’ t’ have no lynchin’s hereabouts, w’ile _I’m_ sheriff! Nossir!” + +He extended a gnarled hand gravely, looking Somers up and down. “Yo’re +lengthy enough t’ give anybody a battle, stranger,” he drawled, “even if +they ain’t s’ much to yuh crossways.” + +Somers laughed. “We can’t all be fat, sheriff.” + +Redden fingered his wispy mustache. He was thin to emaciation. “H’m, I +reckon not. An’ now, folks, this here ain’t quite reg’lar. I know it’s +all right, but Rufe hadn’t ought to of give you-all that key. I’m +responsible f’r havin’ Doc Parker here guarded right. Cain’t let things +go on this a way; folks ’ud talk.” + +“Oh, Mr. Redden,” said Dorothy prettily, “you won’t make it any harder +for us? Why, Lewis and I are going to be married to-morrow!” + +“H’m,” said the sheriff. His watery eyes blinked rapidly, but I fancied +that their pale gaze softened. “H’m! Aimin’ t’ git married here?” + +“Uh-huh,” said Dorothy, like a little, bashful schoolgirl. + +Peter pushed in, breathless. “The flowers have come. Shall I bring ’em +here?” + +“We-ell, I be dogged! H’m! Yessum!” The sheriff’s face cleared. “I +reckon I c’n fix it up, ma’am--anyways, if you’ll invite me to it.” + +“Why, of course! I was counting on you to give me away,” declared +Dorothy shamelessly. “My aunt can’t come; she’s paralyzed, you know; and +Uncle George couldn’t do it very well because he’s Lewis’ uncle. _Will_ +you, sheriff?” + +“I jus’ reckon I will, ma’am! W’y, twenty mewels couldn’t keep me away. +Hold up yore right hand, stranger, and you, McGregor, an’ you, Mr. +Uhlman. I deppytize you-all. Yo’re depitty sheriffs of the County of +Carabas, State of No’th Carolina, charged with th’ guardin’ of this here +pris’ner an’ responsible fer his body to me. You c’n keep them keys now, +gentlemen. Rufe, you got to feed ’im yit; you c’n fix it up ’ith them t’ +let you in, mealtimes.” + +And with no more formality than this, we became deputy sheriffs. Mr. +Redden departed presently, promising to return for the ceremony +to-morrow; and, before we had settled all details and departed homeward +for lunch, an ancient roadster rattled up to the jail door and the lean, +tobacco-chewing deputy sheriff from the county jail appeared in the +doorway. + +“Here,” said he laconically, as he thrust a package at me. “Sheriff says +t’ wear ’em whenever yuh come round th’ jail.” + +I unwrapped the newspaper to find three stars; Peter, Somers, and I +pinned them to our coat fronts, not without pride. We were officers of +the law! + +The preparations for this most unconventional wedding went merrily on. +We ate a hurried lunch, scarcely heeding Aunt Mary’s acid comments. She +would never have given her consent to such an insane proceeding, if +she’d been asked. But no one ever considered her; she was used to being +ignored. Such a disgrace--to be married in a common jail! What were +young people coming to, anyhow? No modesty, no idea of common decency, +even. Why, the very thought of this monstrous proceeding sent queer +feelings all up and down her spine! She could feel the knots coming in +her neck already. But of course that was nothing; she’d be the last to +expect any consideration for _her_ sufferings. Thank Heaven she was +given strength and patience to bear them without a murmur! “Take me to +my room, Miss Christie, please; I can’t eat one mouthful. I don’t +believe I shall survive this blow, but, no doubt, it’s for the best. A +poor, crippled old woman like me--I shall be glad to die and find rest +in the grave! Ah, well, you might wait until I finish my tea, nurse!” + +Presently Miss McGregor was wheeled away, and we all sighed our relief +at her going. “Don’t forget to take your tablet, Miss Christie!” Somers +called after them. + +The nurse nodded and smiled over her shoulder, a becoming color in her +round cheeks. + +“In-deed!” murmured Aunt Mary to herself, quite audibly, as the wheel +chair disappeared. “Every one needs medical attention except me, it +appears. Pity her sufferings wouldn’t keep her awake!” + +After lunch we hurried back to the jail, of which we were now free +officially and regularly. And all that afternoon and evening I risked my +aged, rheumatic limbs upon a wabbly stepladder, arranging draperies, +hanging wreaths, tacking up ferns, until the lockup had become a bower +of beauty. Peter ran errands indefatigably, and Somers, whose lathy +length needed no ladder, worked at my side, performing prodigies of +reaching with those lank arms. Dorothy bossed us all unmercifully; and +poor Lewis was driven from one corner to another. His toes were trodden +on, he was abused roundly for getting in the way, and generally made to +feel as useless and unnecessary as any other bridegroom. + +The last straw was added when Dorothy ordered us to heap his bunk with +roses and ferns. “Where’ll I sleep to-night?” he inquired mournfully. + +“Why, we’ll make you up a nice bed on the floor, dearest, with both +mattresses and all the covers I brought from the house. It’ll be just as +comfortable; and we’ve got to hide that horrid old bunk.” + +“Whose jail is this, anyhow?” asked Lewis of me, being very careful, +however, to keep his voice down. “You’re one of my stern jailors now, +unk. Tell me, hasn’t a poor prisoner any rights?” + +“As a prisoner, yes, my boy; but as a bridegroom, no!” I said to him +firmly. “Bridegrooms are only permitted to live at all on condition that +they keep out of the way of their betters.” + +At last it was done, and we went home, flushed and tired, leaving Lewis +to sleep on the floor. + +“It’s going to be just lovely!” said Dorothy. “I’ll be awfully busy all +morning, seeing to the wedding breakfast; we’ll have to pack it all up +and bring it to the jail in baskets. Peter, I want you to go after Mr. +Duncan. No, you’d better do that, Uncle George; there will be some +explaining to do.” + +I sighed resignedly. I could see myself explaining to the Reverend Percy +Duncan that Miss McGregor’s wedding was to be solemnized after all--in +the village lockup, and that he was invited to officiate. + +“You, Peter,” our inexorable task-mistress went on, “will have to keep +Lewis’ flivver going; Rosina and I’ll be back and forth with baskets and +things. And, Doctor Somers, you go down first thing and stay with Lewis; +see that he doesn’t upset any of our decorations.” + +“I’ll take care of him,” replied Somers. “Yes,” to Dorothy’s mute, +questioning gaze, “yes, I’ve got the ring and all that. Don’t you worry. +I’ve been best man before now.” + +“I--I wish I could come, too!” said Miss Christie wistfully. Aunt Mary, +ostentatiously resigned, had retired for the night, and the nurse had +joined us in the living room, which was not her usual custom. Her blond +hair was coiled about a shapely head; she had discarded her unbecoming +white uniform and wore a simple dress of some soft, clinging blue +stuff--chiffon, I suppose. Her violet eyes were unwontedly bright; the +bovine calm of her face had melted, so that she seemed almost animated. + +Dorothy nudged me. “Look!” she whispered. “I told you!” + +I knew what she meant. And, indeed, to-night Miss Christie was very near +to being a beauty. “I wish I could go,” she repeated softly, her big +eyes on Doctor Somers. + +“I wish you could,” he answered sincerely. + +Dorothy rose abruptly, tugged at my arm and beckoned to Peter, and +dragged us both incontinently out of the room. “Go to bed, both of you!” +she ordered. “There’s a hard day ahead of you.” + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF + + +Dorothy’s prophecy was fulfilled. Wednesday dawned clear and hot, and we +sweltered through a long forenoon, doing all those thousand last trifles +which every wedding demands. + +The news had run through all Pinelands; curious eyes followed our every +movement, as we hurried through the streets, variously laden. I should +have liked to hear the comment of some of the town’s strait-laced +matrons; but sentiment generally seemed much in our favor. The romance +of this marriage had caught the fancy of our villagers. Many an eye +beamed upon Dorothy as she raced back and forth in Lewis’ flivver; many +a man and woman stopped me, as I limped hurriedly by, to wish her good +luck by proxy. I was glad that Doctor Gaskell’s quiet funeral had been +held yesterday, so that sight of his hearse need not mar Dorothy’s joy. + +A crowd gathered before the jail; it separated respectfully, as our few +guests arrived, then closed again, craning curious necks. On my final +trip I found Somers in the heart of the throng, hail-fellow-well-met +with them all, passing rude jests back and forth. I fancied that I saw +the glint of a black bottle circulating, but I could not be sure. + +Then Dorothy came, a thin silk coat over her wedding finery, and we went +in. + +The ceremony went off excellently, I thought; the more impressive and +solemn for its unusual setting. Sheriff Redden, in an ancient +double-breasted frock coat of voluminous skirts, gave the bride away, +with an old-fashioned gallantry, which was very pleasing; Lewis looked +handsome and manly enough, albeit a bit pale and nervous; and the bride +was charming. + +When they were safely married, a shyly importunate messenger from the +crowd without begged them to show themselves. So the big door was swung +back, and bride and groom stood for a moment on the jail steps, and a +very striking couple they made. + +Hearty cheers greeted them. There was nothing which could be resented in +the town’s spontaneous sympathy; these cheering folk without were +honestly, whole-heartedly rejoicing in the happiness of our young +people. They paid their tribute of sincere admiration to this daughter +of Pinelands, who had had courage to stand up for her lover. + +Dorothy turned back with moist eyes. “After all, they’re my home folks, +and I love them all--to-day!” + +I, too, had warmed toward the town of my adoption; and, for some reason, +it only convinced me further of its sincerity when I saw in the crowd +Satterfield, Bates, and Conover, and a dozen others, who less than +forty-eight hours ago had surrounded this very jail with intent to hang +the man they were cheering now. I chose to believe that this, and not +the sullen menace of that night, was their normal mood. + +Still in her wedding finery, Dorothy, aided by her two bridesmaids, fell +to laying out the wedding breakfast on card tables; and an extraordinary +fine breakfast it seemed to all of us, I think, and we did ample justice +to it. + +The crowd outside lessened, but did not entirely disperse. We heard a +rumble of conversation, an occasional outbreak of laughter, and at last +a vociferous cry: + +“We--want--Somers!” + +Renewed laughter. “Cut it out, fellers,” urged some one. “Don’t bust up +th’ party!” + +More yells: “We--want--Somers! Hey, Shorty! Come on out, Splinter! Oh, +you bean pole!” + +Thus variously adjured, Doctor Somers unfolded his lean length. “I guess +I’d better go,” he said. Suddenly I observed that the bright eyes he +turned upon us were suspiciously unsteady of focus. “I--I’m afraid it’s +partly my fault their hanging round this way. I’ll persuade them to go +away.” + +He turned toward the door, his long stork legs moving stiffly, as if he +preserved his equilibrium by an effort. I wondered whether Somers had +been drinking, then abused myself for the disloyal thought. Just inside +the door he paused and pinned his deputy-sheriff’s star to the left +breast of his immaculate morning coat. The effect was unusual in the +extreme, but he seemed wholly satisfied therewith. + +Then he bowed profoundly, recovered himself with difficulty, and +disappeared, leaving poor Dorothy to look after him in accusing wonder. + +“Why Lewis, what makes him act so queer?” she demanded. + +Renewed clamor without. “Yeay, Splinter! Hooray, Somers! Atta boy--let’s +go!” The raucous voice of Ralph Satterfield predominated. + +“Your friend Somers seems to be--ah--popular,” I remarked grimly to my +nephew. + +Lewis flushed. “Oh, he’s all right, unk,” he replied. “Let him alone; he +knows what he’s doing.” + +No doubt he did; and, remembering all that he had already accomplished, +I could not blame him much. Yet---- “He’s awfully thick with Satterfield +and that bunch,” I said. “And he’s been drinking this morning, or I miss +my guess. Does he--is he taken this way often?” + +“Nonsense, unk! Somers is no drunkard, if that’s what you’re getting at. +He’s an odd sort; I told you that. He’s got some scheme on hand, that’s +all.” + +“Some scheme with that low-down bootlegger!” I replied. “With the very +crowd that wanted to hang you the other night! Humph! I don’t admire his +choice of friends.” + +Our festivities went on; but some way the zest of them had departed. The +Reverend Mr. Duncan felt called upon to make a little speech, extolling +Dorothy’s heroic sacrifices for the man she loved, gushing about my +conduct Monday night--though it was little enough I did to protect +Lewis--and generally making himself oratorically obnoxious, and the rest +of us uncomfortable. Then the bridesmaids must weep over Dorothy, as +bridesmaids, I suppose, have wept over brides since the first wedding +day in history; and Dorothy cried a little, too, because they cried; and +Peter and I wrung Lewis’ hand and choked--and I, for one, was +considerably relieved when the Reverend Mr. Duncan kissed the bride once +more and departed, leaving us his blessing. + +Then the bridesmaids went, too, and our handful of guests. Peter and I +were alone with the happy couple. Dorothy cried again because she must +leave her husband and go back to Fort House; and Peter stood amazingly +erect and blew his nose sonorously; and Lewis looked lonely and tired +and miserable; and I could have cried myself without making the +slightest effort. + +At last Dorothy concealed her finery under a coat and went out to the +flivver, her little nose pink with weeping. And Peter and I followed, +after locking the bridegroom into his cell once more. Poor Lewis. It +must have been lonely enough there, locked in with only the drooping +flowers of the wedding decorations to keep him company. + +We drove silently back to Fort House, and Dorothy went upstairs to +change, while Peter and I thankfully shed our formal clothes, and came +downstairs in soft shirts and linen trousers. + +Dorothy remained invisible; but we two sat on the porch, through a long, +hot afternoon, waiting for a best man who failed to appear. Supper time +came and passed. We ate in silence, except for Aunt Mary’s resigned +monologue. Miss Christie wore another dress; pale pink this time, with a +low, square neck, which displayed her round, dimpled throat. She looked +very nice, I thought; it was really marvelous how she had changed and +brightened in two days. She said almost nothing; but her big blue eyes +kept turning toward the door. + +That was an unpleasant meal. Dorothy kept her reddened eyes upon her +plate; Peter was grumpy; the omelet was scorched, and Rosina was +defiantly, ostentatiously conscious of our lack of appetite. She +flounced in and out, and set down the dishes with a bang. Every movement +said: “Well, cain’t have parties every meal. I done cooked one spread +to-day!” + +We finished, and Aunt Mary, still prophesying evil and acidly gratified +by our evident disheartenment, had herself wheeled back to her own room. +“I might as well go to bed and read there,” she announced. “It does +seem, after being left alone all day, that I might find somebody to +exchange a civil word with me. But there! I’m used to being ignored.” + +Miss Christie put her to bed and presently came out to where we sat +forlornly on the front porch. And still no Somers. + +“Whatever can be the matter?” asked Dorothy anxiously. “Do you suppose +he’s hurt?” + +I thought the nurse’s color faded; her big eyes grew bigger. “Oh, I hope +not!” + +“Humph!” said I sourly. “Drunk, more likely.” + +“Why, Uncle George _Uhlman_! That’s horrid! It’s not like you. Of course +he’s not drunk.” + +I sighed. “Well, Dorothy, I hope not. But--there he comes now!” I rose +and pointed. + +There he came, sure enough, up the street toward us, still in his +braided morning coat, a wilted flower in his button hole, and that +ridiculous police badge pinned on his narrow chest. His silk hat was +cocked to one side of his head, and he held his head canted far to the +other side, as if to balance it. His long legs wabbled grotesquely; he +advanced in erratic jerks, tacking from tree to tree, and, as he came +closer, we could hear him sing, not unmusically: “An’ ’twas from ole +Satterfield’s bootleg party, I was takin’ th’ ole doc home!” + +“Oh, dear!” said Dorothy helplessly. “What shall we do?” + +Somers advanced to the foot of the steps and paused there, weaving back +and forth on wide-set legs, like a pair of intoxicated dividers. “How +do, f-folks?” He was gravely polite and tried to bow. Then he knocked +off his silk hat, stumbled, and stepped fair upon its crown. + +“Dear me, dear me!” he mumbled. “S-shockin’! Shockin’ spectacle, horrid +sight! Young p’fesshun’l man, brightes’ prospec’s, ever’thing fine, an’ +all gone t’ pot account of th’ demon drink!” He laughed wildly, then +collected himself by a tremendous effort. + +“I am very sorry, Mrs. Parker.” Dorothy started at the sound of her new +name. “I apologize profoundly.” For a moment his enunciation was +elaborately exact; he spoke with drunkenly deliberate care. “Not my +fault entirely; due to un-for-tun-ate mis-cal-cul-a-tion ca-pa-ci-ty.” + +Poor Dorothy rose, her face deadly white with disgust, and swept into +the house. Somers looked after her ruefully. + +“Sorry,” he repeated. “Here, Pete--unk--good f-fellows! H-help me in; +get sobered. Got n-news.” + +I hesitated, angry and ashamed; Peter rose obediently. But Miss Christie +was before us both. She ran down the steps and caught the drunken man’s +arm. + +“I’ll steady you, doctor. That’s right! Now the other foot. Are you +coming, you two, or will you sit up there and stare like two old prudes? +I’m ashamed of you,” she declared, and her angry face once more shone +with that vivid beauty, which emotion alone seemed able to bring to it. +“Come!” She stamped her foot. “That’s right, doctor; just one more step +now. Come! Not two days ago this man saved your nephew’s life, Mr. +George Uhlman; he saved the life of your sister’s husband, young man! +Oh, you make me sick! J-just because he’s--he’s overtaken like this!” + +We hurried to her aid, I, at least, a trifle ashamed of myself. For +Doctor Somers had been invaluable, whatever his personal habits might +be. We helped him in and upstairs to his room, ordered about +unmercifully by the erstwhile sleepy and indifferent Miss Christie. + +“G-good girl!” mumbled Somers. “She un’stan’s, anyhow. Col’ towels, +please--an’ basin. Goin’ be s-sick.” + +And sick he was. Miss Christie attended him, quietly efficient, as if +the handling of drunken men had been a large part of her training. + +“More cold towels,” she ordered. “Mr. McGregor, run down and get Rosina +to make some coffee, very strong. Quick, now!” + +We hurried to obey her. Somers sat all huddled in a chair, his long legs +limply outthrust. He groaned and pressed the wet towel close against his +temples, fighting hard for self-possession. I saw the perspiration start +out all over his lean, sallow face. + +Presently he raised his head. His color was ghastly, greenish-white, but +his eyes were clear and steady. I saw that he was completely sobered, +and I marveled at the man’s self-control. + +“Oh, my!” he groaned. “What rotten, rotten booze! And how I did hate +it!” + +“You conquered your dislike, apparently,” I said to him. + +“Humph!” He stared at me whimsically, but there was a hurt look in his +eyes. “Do you suppose I did this for the fun of it? Oh, well, I oughtn’t +to blame you.” + +“_I_ didn’t!” said the nurse serenely. “I knew why you did it.” Peter +returned, bearing coffee; and the sick man gulped it down, black and +scalding. + +“You knew?” Somers looked at the girl gratefully. I think there were +tears in his eyes. “I’m pretty sick yet,” he said. “Say, it does cut, to +have you folks think that of me.” + +He rose unsteadily, leaning on Miss Christie’s arm. “Good girl!” he +repeated, with that sudden, flashing smile. “Well, I’m Ralph +Satterfield’s very best friend now, and, oh, what a head it’s cost me! +That man’s a tank; he’s copper-lined.” He passed a hand across his +forehead with a whimsical smile. “But I’ve learned a lot. I can give a +pretty good guess as to Satterfield’s whereabouts at the time Gaskell +was shot!” + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + AN EXPLANATION + + +Somers groaned, rubbed his aching head, and drank another cup of black +coffee. He was collecting himself momently; save for a very pale face he +was once more the coolly casual, brusquely friendly chap we all knew. + +“Not later than nine, is it?” he inquired. “Right! Let’s go downstairs. +Call Dorothy; I’ve got lots to tell you all, and I’d better make my +peace with her at once.” He made a wry face. “She doesn’t exactly admire +me right now, I’ll bet!” + +So we all repaired to the big sitting room, and presently Dorothy +appeared, urged in by her brother, and still looking hurt and disgusted. +Somers rose. + +“Let me apologize, Mrs. Parker,” he began. “No--I’m perfectly sober +now!” He smiled his warming, whimsical smile as she made a little +movement of distaste. “Just let me explain. I had reason to think that +this man Satterfield knew more about the murder than he’d told. You knew +that? Well, the only way to find out was to make friends with him. If I +could get his confidence, he might let something out inadvertently. So I +had to chum up with him and his crowd; I had to drink with them, though +I assure you it wasn’t an unmixed pleasure, by any means. Lordy, that +raw corn whisky!” He rubbed his head again ruefully. “I thought I could +drink with that bunch and keep my head; but I was mistaken.” + +“Oh, I suppose it was all right,” replied Dorothy, only half mollified. +“But it was just awful, doctor, to think of you off somewhere, drinking +with the very man who was going to hang my--my husband, two days ago!” + +“That’s just why I did it! Satterfield hadn’t any love for Doctor +Gaskell, and it seemed odd to me that he should be so bitter against +Lewis--unless he thought he’d be safer himself if somebody else was hung +for that shooting. But wait till I tell you. + +“In the first place, Satterfield was out drinking and playing poker that +night, and somebody phoned him about four in the morning, and he went +out. I told you all that, and that there was a shotgun beside Tulliver’s +door? Yes. Well, Satterfield took that gun with him! That’s one thing I +learned by getting drunk, Mrs. Parker.” I noticed that he had dropped +the familiar “Dorothy;” perhaps Somers resented the girl’s attitude just +the least bit in the world. + +“Well,” he went on, “Charlie Bates went out back to the pump for a +drink, and he noticed that the shotgun was gone. And, when they all +left, after Satterfield got back, the gun stood in its place again. And +that’s that!” + +“Look here, Somers,” I cut in. “Satterfield went out at four, you say? +Are you sure that was after Gaskell got the sick call?” + +Somers nodded. “I asked Olsen about that. He called Gaskell up about ten +minutes before four. He thought it was queer he didn’t come, and finally +he got dressed and came after him about six. That’s how he happened to +be there so soon after Gaskell’s body was found.” + +“Well,” I continued triumphantly, “if Gaskell was sent for at ten +minutes of four, he must have started across lots toward Olsen’s place +pretty soon after four o’clock. And he never got to Olsen’s, so he must +have been shot on the way over. That would fix the killing at four, or +very soon after; and my nephew couldn’t have done it, because he didn’t +get there until five. That’s easy to prove, because I saw him, and both +Wakefield and I heard the shot. Doesn’t that clear Lewis?” + +Somers nodded impatiently. “If we could prove it--yes. Don’t you suppose +I’d thought of that, long ago? But we can’t. Gaskell was alone in the +house; his wife was away, and the cook didn’t get there until seven. He +was sent for at three-fifty, all right, but who’s going to prove he +didn’t take an hour to get ready? Nobody saw him except the murderer, +and we can hardly expect _him_ to come forward and testify. Now let me +get back to it; where was I? + +“Oh, yes! Satterfield’s daughter, Minnie, is your night telephone +operator. She’s a nice girl, too; I made her acquaintance to-day. And it +was Minnie who called him up at four in the morning; he let that out to +me, talking about the affair. I’m pretty good, you know; I have to admit +it. I pumped a tremendous lot out of Satterfield and his gang, and I +don’t believe one of them suspected what I was after. Satterfield is +pretty bitter against Gaskell, even now that he’s dead. He more than +hinted that the doctor knew more than was good for him; and he said one +rather odd thing about that, too. ‘If Doc Parker hadn’t killed Gaskell,’ +he said, ‘that is, if he did kill him--why, somebody else would have +done it in a day or two. Gaskell was buttin’ into what wasn’t none of +his put-in.’ What do you think of that?” + +We all stirred excitedly; Dorothy glowed at him. “Why, that’s just +wonderful! It was as good as saying he did it himself. Now you can clear +my--my h-husband”--faltering a bit on the unfamiliar word--“as easy as +anything!” + +That was like Dorothy. She was mercurial; by turns exalted, and again in +despair; inclined to jump at conclusions, and, by reason of that +failing, unjust at times. I felt she had been unfair to Somers to-night. +But it was an impulsive, generous injustice, for which she hastened to +make amends. + +“Will you forgive me, F-Floyd?” she asked prettily. “I know it was +horrid of me, but I’m so upset!” + +He gave her that sudden, flashing smile. “Why, of course, Dorothy! I +don’t blame you one bit. But it’s not so easy as all that, either. We’re +gradually collecting information, which may help the defense somewhat, +but we can’t prove anything from what Satterfield admits when he’s +drunk, you know. This only gives us a start for further investigation +along those lines.” + +He reflected a moment, his long, dark face grave and mature; looking at +him I could scarcely realize that this man, one short hour ago, had +staggered up to Fort House, uproariously drunk, and had put a foot +through his silk hat on the steps. + +“There’s something back of it all,” he went on presently. “I’m beginning +to feel that this murder is more complicated than we had thought. +Satterfield knows something, I’m sure, whether he did the actual +shooting or not. But, if he did, I don’t think it was merely revenge for +being sent up for thirty days. A month in jail isn’t any terrible +disgrace to a chap like that; he’s been in jail before, I’m told. No, +there is something else, something bigger, behind it all; what, I don’t +know. It’s irritating because it’s so vague. For example, Satterfield +was quite apologetic about that mob. We laughed a lot to-day about his +lynching that didn’t come off; my back’s sore from being pounded. Well, +he hadn’t anything against Doctor Parker, he told me--not a thing. +Rather grateful to him than otherwise, because Gaskell was due to die +anyhow. But he had to stir up the mob, just the same. ‘Couldn’t git outa +that,’ he told me. ‘Things bein’ as they were, w’y, I just hadda start +somepin that a way. So I passed round some white liquor I had. Have +’nother drink, doc! Lots more where that come f’om. I give th’ boys s’m’ +corn liquor and talked it up, and I got ’em all goin’ till they was jus’ +wild and r’arin’ to lynch ’im. I just hadda do it, doc!’ Now that was a +queer way to put it, I thought. Why did he have to start a lynching bee? +And who put him up to it? For, from the way he talked, I’m quite sure it +wasn’t his own plan. I’m as sure as I can be that he stirred up that mob +because somebody else, somebody in the background, somebody we know +nothing about--yet, ordered him to do it. Or, at least, because he +thought the lynching would please this mysterious somebody.” + +Somers sighed and rubbed his head, which ached furiously, no doubt. +“It’s all so confoundedly vague,” he went on, scowling around at our +blank faces. “Can’t you think of something, any of you? Miss Christie, +what’s your idea? Hello! What’s become of her?” + +We all turned, but the couch was vacant. Some time during our talk, +while we were all absorbed in Somers’ narrative, perhaps, the nurse had +slipped unobtrusively out. + +“She’s gone to bed, I suppose,” said Dorothy. “You know, she’s an awful +sleepyhead.” + +Somers nodded. “Just wait till she begins to get the effect of those +tablets,” he declared confidently. “She won’t be then. She was mighty +good to help me out, a little while ago, and I was beastly drunk, too.” +He rose and stretched his long, emaciated arms above his head, groaning. +“I’ll go to bed, too. I’m about done up. But I’m going on with this +thing; I’m going to find out what’s behind it all, what mysterious +person planned Gaskell’s death. For I’m sure his death was planned and +ordered. Satterfield thinks so, anyhow. And I’ll have it out of him yet; +I’ll find out all he knows, even if I have to get drunk on his moonshine +seven nights in the week!” + +He paused, fingering his chin, and looked half humorously, half +apprehensively, at the new Mrs. C. Lewis Parker. “I forgot,” he drawled. +“After all I’m here, officially, only as Parker’s best man. Now the +wedding’s over I ought to be going. Besides, it’ll be unpleasant for +you, to say the least, if I have to come back half-seas-over every +night. I’ll go to the hotel, or perhaps Uncle George will let me bach in +with him for a while?” + +But Dorothy would have none of that. “You’re being mean,” she declared, +“and you needn’t be horrid, just because I was. You’ll stay right here +at Fort House, both of you! We’ve got lots of room, and I don’t care +what Aunt Mary says, either! I’m a married woman now; and, besides, +Peter’s here; and I guess I can have company if I want to! And I’ll be +so l-lonesome until Lewis comes back, and s-scared, too, with that nasty +Poltergeist, and thinking of Doctor Gaskell killed right under my +windows, almost, and--and everything!” She dabbed at her eyes, and +patted her brother’s hand, as he murmured something. “Oh, you’re good, +Peter, dear, and it’s a comfort to have you, but Floyd would be just +miserable over there, with nobody but an old colored woman to look after +him. You’ll stay here, won’t you, Floyd, and you, Uncle George?” + +We promised, of course; who would not? + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + A FLIRTATION + + +Next morning Doctor Somers rose early. I heard him splashing in the +bathroom, slapping his razor against its strop, whistling louder and +shriller than the ubiquitous quail outside. I was fagged out and +irritable; his cheerfulness annoyed me. A man who had been drunk last +night should be more subdued, I thought. + +I pounded on the bathroom door. “Shut up, man!” I called. “You’re worse +than the bobwhites!” + +I heard a chuckle from within. “’Smatter, unk? Get up on the wrong side? +Cheer-i-o, old thing! So you prefer the birds, do you?” + +And straightway he fell to imitating the shrill call of the quail: +“Bob_white_! Bob_white_!” + +I grinned helplessly. What could be done with such a man? “Better cut +that out,” I warned him. “You’ll catch it at breakfast, if Aunt Mary +hears you.” + +That silenced him. Presently he emerged, shaved to a miracle, the heavy +beard showing blue beneath his dark skin. “Aren’t I pretty, unk? Going +out in society to-day!” + +He came down to breakfast in a gorgeous pongee silk suit, whose fitted +coat and tight, creased trousers made him more incredibly thin and +angular than usual. He bowed grotesquely, struck an attitude, knuckles +on hip, looking rather like those tiny figures of some cartoonist, whose +bodies are made of one straight line; he was almost as thin as that. The +slender Malacca cane, which he brandished, seemed as thick as his long +legs. + +“Uncle George, I want the flivver to-day,” he announced. “I’m going for +a drive with my best girl.” + +“Humph!” said I. “Is she blind?” + +“Not yet, but this rig may put her eye out.” + +“Very likely,” I told him grimly. “All right; take the car.” + +“Who’s going with you?” asked Dorothy curiously. + +Aunt Mary had not appeared; she was taking breakfast in bed, it seemed. +But the nurse was there, quiet and unobtrusive as always, eyes on her +plate. At our hostess’ question I fancied that the color rose in her +cheeks. + +“Miss Minnie Satterfield,” said Somers. “She works at night, +unfortunately; but she’s going to get up early this morning, and we’re +driving to Jackson Springs for lunch.” + +He ate hurriedly and pushed back his chair. “Excuse me? I’ve got a lot +of running round to do; I want to drop in and see Parker, too. It would +never do to keep Miss Satterfield waiting. She’s a very pretty girl.” + +Somers disappeared, and Dorothy looked at me askance. “He doesn’t seem +exactly reluctant,” she murmured. “Oh, I know, Uncle George, he’s doing +it to help Lewis, but it does seem as if he could go about it some other +way than getting drunk at night and chasing round with pretty girls all +day. I keep thinking of my poor husband, locked up alone in that horrid +j-jail, and Doctor Somers enjoying himself like this! You needn’t tell +_me_ that he hated so to get drunk,” she went on stubbornly. “And now +it’s that Minnie Satterfield! You’ve seen her, Peter? She’s just awfully +pretty, and you know what her father is!” + +My nephew’s bride was rather uncharitably inclined. “My dear,” I told +her mildly, “that’s not the poor girl’s fault.” + +Miss Christie rose abruptly and pushed back her chair. “I--I must see to +Miss McGregor,” she murmured. Her plump face was scarlet, her big eyes +flamed. + +We saw no more of Doctor Somers that day. The time went slowly enough. +Dorothy and I visited my nephew. The wedding decorations had all been +taken down, but the young lady’s housewifely eye detected dried leaves +and petals in a corner, and straightway she dispatched me after a broom +and dustpan. + +“If my very own husband’s _got_ to live in this miserable old jail, I’m +going to keep it clean for him, at least!” she announced. + +I brought the required implements, and Dorothy fell to work in a cloud +of dust. “A fine sort of jailer, that man Wakefield,” she declared. “The +place hasn’t been swept out in months!” + +While she bustled about, setting things to rights with the prideful, +loving care of the new-made housewife, Lewis watched her slim form with +wistful eyes. Poor boy! Already his confinement was telling on him. His +face was pale and worn, and he seemed thinner, older, more conscious of +his responsibilities. I fancied that, if he were free, my nephew’s hot +temper would be under better control. This experience, however bitterly +bought, was maturing him fast. + +I sat back, watching this pitiful bride and groom; and the girl’s happy +activity, her housewifely care, the whole pathetic travesty of a +honeymoon, brought tears to my old eyes. I rose abruptly. + +“This dust is too much for me.” Then I blew my nose. “I’ll sit on the +steps a while, children, till you get through.” + +On the steps I sat and glowered down at the absurd deputy-sheriff’s star +which I wore. I have no doubt that I was the unhappiest jailer who was +ever forced to sunder loving hearts. + +Aunt Mary appeared at luncheon in an unusually subdued, amiable mood. +Indeed the old lady seemed much changed of late; the cloud of trouble, +which had settled over Fort House had left its mark upon her, also. At +times she was more querulous, more irritable and exacting, than I had +ever seen her; and again she was kinder, more thoughtful of others. In +the midst of her sharpest mood she would soften suddenly and be so +kindly, so pathetically sweet, that one could not but pity her and +forgive her the stabs which she inflicted upon us all. Her face had +changed subtly, grown thinner, more sharply lined. Its former expression +of sweetly pathetic resignation, which I had grown to believe, +uncharitably, was assumed for the provoking of sympathy, was in evidence +less often. Now her softly faded countenance wore a look of honest pain, +of mental anguish, not unmixed with human resentment. And I, for one, +fancied it much more than the old expression of strained, angelic +sweetness. + +To-day she merely played with her food; though, as a rule, even when she +suffered most from the “knots in her neck,” her appetite was not visibly +affected. She said nothing; and, when Dorothy spoke sadly of Lewis’ +lonely meal in the lockup, she burst quite suddenly into broken weeping +and had to be wheeled back to her room. + +Dorothy looked at me, then at Peter, almost with awe. “Why,” she +exclaimed, “auntie is really upset! She’s really thinking about somebody +else for once. Oh, Peter, we must be kinder to her.” + +And she was, I think, even more thoughtful of her aunt than usual, all +through that long, weary week, though to my mind she had never failed in +forbearance. It was a long week, that one! A tedious, dreary time, that +taxed the patience of us all. Lewis grew somber, depressed, almost +morose. He could see nothing before him but darkness: the meeting time +of the grand jury came closer and closer, and he would not be convinced +but that they would bring in a true bill against him. + +“That district attorney, solicitor, as they call him down here, that man +Vanbrugh will see to _that_,” he predicted gloomily. “There’s no +possible chance that they won’t indict me; we might as well make up our +minds to that.” + +At once Dorothy would strive to comfort and encourage him; and then she +would break down and cry on his shoulder and beg him indignantly to send +for a lawyer, to hire detectives--anything! + +“Because, dearest, that Doctor Somers isn’t doing one thing to help +us--not a single thing! He’s just out riding round all day with that +Satterfield girl, the bold, hard thing! And in your flivver, too! And +out till all hours, every night, and coming in drunk, and everything +like that. He’s a fine friend, I must say!” + +Lewis and Peter and I would try to soothe her, pointing out all Somers +had done, reminding her that even this intimacy was carried on in the +hope of extracting further information from Ralph Satterfield. But +Dorothy would shake a stubborn head. + +“You needn’t tell _me_ he’s doing it all for Lewis! It’s just because he +_likes_ to get drunk and chase over the country with that--that _thing_! +So there!” A mercurial young person was Dorothy, as I have said, prone +to injustice at times. But she was not too much to blame, perhaps; it +was a terrible situation for any bride. + +And Somers’ conduct rather worried me, also. Day after day he rose late, +flattered and cajoled Rosina into preparing him an extra breakfast, +climbed into Lewis’ flivver and disappeared. Sometimes he would be back +for lunch or dinner--often late--and again he would not return until +midnight or later. Then he would stumble in, half drunk. He never +returned again in the condition which had disgraced Dorothy’s wedding +day; he was always able to navigate after a fashion, and he made no +great disturbance getting to his room. But every night he had been +drinking; that was not hard to know. + +Once or twice Peter and I waited up for him; then we gave up in disgust. +Curiously it was Miss Christie, the somnolent nurse, who used to doze +the evenings through on the couch, it was this girl who never failed to +sit up against Somers’ erratic appearances. “Go to bed if you like,” she +would say, “I’ll wait. He--he might need somebody. And I remember, if +the rest of you don’t, that he’s doing this for _you_!” + +Miss Christie, too, had altered greatly. I saw the change in her from +day to day. Whether it was Doctor Somers’ pills or some more subtle +medicament, she grew more vivid, more alive. Her bovine calm altered; +she yawned no more; life seemed to have taken on newer, fresher colors +to her. No longer did she doze the evenings away; and in the mornings +she appeared at breakfast as fresh and alert as Dorothy, not dull and +somnolent, as a fortnight ago. She lost flesh; her overplump figure grew +willowy. Her round face changed, and with the passing of its superfluous +flesh grew shapelier. It was as though some delicate, spiritual chisel +were at work, carving new planes of beauty, bringing out clearly the +rare loveliness her moments of deep feeling had hitherto promised. + +I rhapsodize, no doubt, and rhapsodies are out of place, coming from a +battered, disillusioned old rheumatic. But I cannot exaggerate the +change wrought in Anne Christie. Even in that time of deep +discouragement the miracle impressed me. She was no longer stolid, +unresponsive; a new mobility curved her lips, a new light shone in her +violet eyes; a new animation imbued her fair face, as her expression +changed constantly with each nuance of thought, and her delicate color +ebbed and flowed charmingly. + +“I’ll wait up for the doctor!” she insisted. “He’s doing this for you, +but look at what he’s done for _me_. I feel so much better in every way; +it’s wonderful! And I’m grateful, if you-all aren’t!” + +And so the time passed until the meeting of the Carabas County grand +jury for July was only one day off; and still nothing more was done for +Lewis. It was settled that his case should be considered first; and I +could see nothing ahead of him but an indictment. + +That evening Doctor Somers appeared in time for supper; and, for once, +he was cold sober. He left the flivver at the curb, climbed the broad +steps wearily and entered the big sitting room, where I sat with Dorothy +and Peter. + +“Oh, lordy!” he groaned, thrusting his long, lean legs straight out +before him. “I’m done up. But it’s over now, thank goodness!” + +He did look tired. His sallow face was almost colorless; his thin cheeks +were hollower than ever, and his eyes were sunk deep into their sockets. +Even his arms and legs seemed thinner, if that were possible. Miss +Christie came in, her color a trifle higher than usual. Her eyes +brightened at sight of Somers, I thought, and I wondered if she had +heard him enter. The doctor looked her over critically. “You’re +improving,” he drawled, with impersonal approval. “I knew thyroid was +what you needed.” + +The girl stood silent, eyes downcast, her cheeks pink. + +“Well,” continued Somers, and paused to yawn. “It’s over now. If we +ought to get a bit of action to-morrow, as I hope, I shan’t have to +drink any more of Satterfield’s beastly liquor. You know”--with one of +those sudden changes of subject so characteristic of him--“they put +chewing tobacco into this moonshine down here--and concentrated lye, to +give it a bead. Bah! And I’m through with Minnie, too--shan’t have to +listen to her giggle any more atall!” + +He looked vastly relieved at the prospect; and so, I thought, did Miss +Christie. + +“But,” protested Dorothy maliciously, “that’s not quite kind, is it? +Here you’ve been making love to that girl for a week and more; you’ve +engaged her young affections, and now you’re going to jilt her!” + +“Yes,” declared Somers, in his characteristic drawl, half whimsically, +half bitterly, “I’m a fine figure of a lover, ain’t I? Handsome, robust, +and muscular!” His eyes traveled down over the lank, skinny length of +him. “I’m a handsome devil, what?” + +“You are _so_!” exclaimed Anne Christie. Then she bit her lip, and a hot +flush dyed her face to the very roots of her fair hair. + +“But you may set your mind at rest, Mrs. Parker,” Somers went on, +mercifully ignoring Anne’s confusion. “It’s me that’s jilted, not the +fair Minnie. A burly person, named Conover, has cut me out. You see, he +owns a real car, and I only had a borrowed flivver. Minnie won’t miss +me. And I’ve found out what I wanted to--all I hoped to, at any rate. +Peter, do you want to go out scouting with me to-morrow?” + +“It’s about time something was done!” exclaimed Dorothy. “The grand jury +meets to-morrow!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + AN ILLICIT ENTERPRISE + + +Next morning, very early indeed, we three men set out in Lewis’ faithful +little car, for I refused to be left behind. + +“Maybe I am old,” I protested, “and I know I’m rheumatic; but I can keep +up with you fellows yet. I’m just as much interested in getting Lewis +out of jail as you possibly can be.” + +Somers accepted my company rather ungraciously, commandeered the field +glasses, which Peter had brought back from France, and his army +automatic. “For,” he explained, “we might have trouble.” + +He drove the panting flivver up the hill behind Fort House, then along +the main road toward Hokesville, ten miles away. Two miles outside the +village he turned abruptly to the left, into one of the innumerable +sandy tracks, which wound away through the stumps and scrub oaks on +either side. This country was all lumbered over, thirty years ago; for +miles our roads run through a bleak desert of oak saplings and dwarf +pines, too small even for firewood, with here and there a tall, lone, +half-dead pine tree, whose trunk bears the old scars of the +turpentiners, mourning the vanished forest, dying of loneliness for its +mates, who have long since been changed into houses and mine timbers and +the spars of ships. + +It is a desolate country, which has been burned over and reburned, until +no grass will grow, and the pale sand lies naked and arid between the +scrub oaks and dwarf pines, or stretches for acres, black and +forbidding, with the ash of recent fires, which rises in choking clouds +at every step. Through it the main roads wind as through a wilderness, +though in the sand hills one finds the best land for peaches, tobacco, +or cotton, which our State affords. But the roads run over the hills, +and the arable land lies in bottoms, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. +The farmhouses are there, too, quite out of sight from the roads. To +reach them one must turn into a narrow, sandy track, such as ran on +before us now, winding between blackened stumps; a track +indistinguishable to the stranger from the dozens of tote roads made by +long gone lumbermen, which lead nowhere. It is a difficult country for +the motorist with engine trouble. + +The road we followed brought us to no farmhouse. It wound on and on +among pine stumps and scrub oaks, swerving to dodge rotten logs here and +there, leading us through unexpected patches of vivid bloom, through +burnt-over areas, where the dust rose blindingly. At last it dipped into +a hollow, where tall pines still grew, untouched by the ax, and ran +across a creek--a “branch,” they call them here--through which the +flivver splashed vigorously and stopped abruptly on the rise of the hill +beyond. + +Somers snapped off the ignition and clambered out. “Come on,” he said; +“we walk from here.” + +He led the way up a steep, sandy slope, which gave treacherously beneath +our feet. Burrs clung to my trousers, and I clutched at brambles and +tore my hands. Then we came suddenly and simultaneously to the top of +the hill and the edge of the pine grove. Before us was a thin screen of +bushes and scrub oaks, and beyond that a wide, bare, rolling plain. +Below us was a small cornfield; and a quarter of a mile away I saw the +dark green of tobacco; but, for the most part, the ground was fallow, +covered thinly with bunch grass, already turning yellow in the July sun. + +Near the tobacco field was a small, bare, log structure, its interstices +well plastered, a brick fireplace opening outward upon its hither side, +a drying house for tobacco, such as are scattered all over this State. +Save for that the plain was empty; it held no human habitation, nor any +sign of man. + +“Humph!” said I. “What are we going to do here?” + +Somers grinned. “Looks innocent enough, doesn’t it? A tobacco field and +a drying house; some cotton”--he pointed to a field beyond the tobacco, +which I had not noticed--“and a little of last year’s crop piled under a +shed. Bad year for cotton, you know; farmers are holding that in hopes +of another forty-cent market. But just you wait and watch!” + +Even as he spoke I saw a team of mules emerge from the pines beyond the +clearing. They drew a creaking wagon loaded with something bulky; at +that distance I could not make out what it was. + +Somers focused Peter’s field glasses. “One, two, five bales,” he +counted. “There’s money on that wagon, unk! What? Bales of cotton, +that’s what they are. But you watch!” + +The wagon creaked slowly on; it seemed to crawl. I waited impatiently +for what seemed an hour, but was really fifteen minutes, I suppose. Then +the mules reached the drying house and stopped. I heard very faintly +that queer, crooning whistle our teamsters use instead of the Northern +“Whoa!” + +The door of the log hut opened; two men emerged. “Who are they, man?” I +asked eagerly. “Here, give me the glass!” + +“Wait!” ordered Somers. “Ralph Satterfield and Charlie Bates. I don’t +know the man on the wagon--some old chap with a long beard. Now they’re +beginning--now look!” + +He thrust the glasses into my hands, and I focused them with trembling +fingers. Then the distant scene leaped into my eyes--the log house, the +mules, the men, almost lifesize. They had unloaded the wagon and were +cutting the wires, tearing the bales of cotton apart! + +“What on earth?” I asked in a whisper. They seemed so close that I +feared they would hear me. “What are they doing? Ah-h!” + +I could see now. The loose cotton of the first bale fell away, revealing +the rounded outlines of a keg--no, a full-sized barrel. “Is--is it----” + +Somers nodded grimly. “It is! Whisky, a barrel in each bale. Worth two +thousand dollars a barrel at bootleg prices. They’re doing this by +wholesale, unk! Pinelands could never consume all that booze. They must +be shipping it North. I wonder, now, how they camouflage it on the next +lap?” + +Peter reached impatiently after the glasses, but I put him back. “Wait, +just one minute, boy. I want to see.” + +The back of that huge, booted stranger, who had driven the wagon, seemed +oddly familiar. Satterfield and Bates I recognized readily enough; they +faced me. But this other? I felt that I must know him, too; if he would +only turn! + +“Ah-h-h!” I sighed. “I know him, too! Here, Peter.” I thrust the field +glasses at him and turned to Somers. “Man, I know that big fellow with +the whiskers! That’s Lafe Rutledge--Roaring Lafe, he calls himself. And +the last time I saw him, the only time I ever saw him, was on Doctor +Gaskell’s front porch, the day before the murder. He was shouting at the +maid that Gaskell had until sun-up to settle with him!” + +“Humph!” said Doctor Somers. Then he drew us back, and we retreated +cautiously through the pines and down the long slope to where the +flivver stood. Here our leader stopped. + +“You both got a good look?” he asked. “You could swear to all three of +those men?” + +We nodded. “But of course we don’t _know_ there was whisky in those +barrels,” objected Peter. “We couldn’t swear to that.” + +Somers chuckled. “You needn’t, old son. I’m no prohibition agent, you +know, but we’ve got to convince Satterfield that we’ve got this on him. +Uncle George there would be a bad liar, I’m afraid. No doubt you’d do +better at it.” + +Peter bowed in mock acknowledgment of this dubious compliment. “But what +are you after?” he asked. “Let’s get it straight, so we can back you up; +the virtuous Mr. Uhlman to the limits of fact, and me all the rest of +the way.” + +“I’m as good a liar as either of you boys!” I protested, somewhat hurt, +and they both laughed uproariously. + +“Here it is, then,” said Somers more seriously. “By hanging around +Minnie Satterfield and drinking with her father I’ve learned a lot about +this business. They’re handling corn whisky, moonshine, by wholesale. +It’s made up in the mountains and brought down here once or twice a +week, sometimes by truck and sometimes, like to-day, on a lumber wagon. +It’s only about forty miles, you know. They make the trip a different +way every time, and a different man drives, so nobody’ll notice. The +whisky comes in barrels, hidden in a fake cotton bale, or in kegs put up +in grocery boxes, like canned goods. They notify Satterfield by phone, +at night; makes it awfully handy to have Minnie as operator, you see; +saves a leak at this end. And Satterfield meets them out here. I had a +time locating this place and finding a way to get out here without being +seen. Then I wasn’t sure but the booze would come out that road we took, +and they’d find the flivver; in which case, Peter, your pistol might +have been useful. + +“Well, they repack the liquor here; I don’t know how. Bates hauls it +down to Pinelands, or over to Hokesville, along with his peach crop--he +has an orchard over beyond the clearing--and ships it North. Oh, it’s a +flourishing business which they do! + +“And here’s my scheme. If Satterfield didn’t kill Gaskell himself, and +I’m beginning to doubt that--I got pretty intimate with him, you +know--if he didn’t do it, he knows who did, and why. Doctor Gaskell +found something, I imagine; located this cache, perhaps, and the gang +decided to wipe him out before he could squeal. Gaskell was a mighty +decent chap, they say, not one to stand for bootlegging. I don’t think +Satterfield did the killing himself, but he knows something. Now +to-night we’ll corner him and call for a showdown. Then what we find out +will depend on whether he’s more afraid of being arrested for murder or +of losing his job. And these mountaineer liquor runners are pretty tough +characters, some of them. It’s quite possible that he will take a chance +of being tried for the shooting, rather than let the rest of his gang +believe he’s turned them up. Get me?” + +“We do, old top!” declared Peter. “We sure do! Oh, boy, you’ve got a +bean. We’ll have this little old murder cleared up like winking, and +Parker ready to take his wife into that little red-and-white bungalow as +soon as they planned--even if this has been a pretty tough honeymoon for +both of them.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + THE SHOWDOWN + + +Somers clambered into the little car. “You crank her, Pete,” he ordered +languidly. “I’m the brains of this combination; you can be the brawn.” + +“Long-legged, lazy beggar!” retorted Peter. He stooped his five feet +four in front of the hood, set his hundred and twenty pounds against its +crank, and stopped to grin. “And the brains match the brawn,” he jeered. +“Both lightweights.” + +Somers’ retort was lost in the roar of the motor. “Climb in, Peter!” he +yelled. “Those chaps might hear us; it isn’t more than half a mile. We +want to be out of gunshot before they come barging over that hill!” + +Turning the little car he bumped off at a round pace, splashing through +the branch, bouncing and creaking over tree roots, and skidding through +the loose sand. The pace he maintained was racking to my old bones, and +I prayed for the springs of Lewis’ flivver. But the bones and the +springs held, by the especial grace of Heaven, though I heaved a deep +sigh of relief when we swung at last into the clay road. + +We got back to Fort House without mishap, and there Somers left us. +“I’ll drive around and leave word for Satterfield,” he said. “He’ll be +busy out yonder for a while yet, but we ought to catch him before +evening. Where would be a good place for a quiet talk?” + +“Why not at our house?” I asked. “We could have him in my nephew’s +office there. The place has been closed up since Lewis was arrested. +There’s nobody there.” + +“That’ll be fine,” replied Somers. “I’ll leave word for Satterfield, and +after lunch we can go over there and wait for him.” + +He rattled off in a cloud of dust and evil-smelling smoke, while Peter +and I went into the house. It was almost noon; the morning had passed +quickly enough. Somers returned in time for lunch. + +“They expect him back about two,” he reported. “I told them to send him +over to your place, Uhlman, as soon as he comes in. I hinted at a little +quiet game; that’ll bring him, if anything.” + +“Show-down,” declared Peter grimly. + +We evaded Dorothy’s eager questions as best we might; all three of us +felt, I suppose, that it was best not to raise her hopes too high, for +fear of the inevitable reaction, should our enterprise fail. She had +been bubbling with optimism so often; and so often she had drooped +again, disappointed and inclined to blame us for her disappointment. +Directly after lunch we slipped out. Somers pacified his hostess by +handing her the jail key, which he still kept much more constantly than +did the constable. + +“Here, child, I appoint you a deputy-deputy sheriff for this afternoon. +Parker had his breakfast, and his lunch; I routed out Wakefield and saw +to that. Now trot down there and keep him company for the afternoon. If +we’re not back, you can see to his supper; picnic there with him, if you +like. How’s that?” + +The poor child thanked him warmly, glowing at the thought of one single +meal alone with her husband. It was pitiful. + +I unlocked my house, which held already the queer, dank smell of disuse, +and we three entered and disposed ourselves comfortably upon dusty +chairs to await Satterfield’s coming. He kept us long enough; he had not +appeared at two, or at four. Indeed it was close upon sunset, and +Dorothy, no doubt, was already arranging her pathetic supper party in +the lockup, before we heard a heavy step on the porch, followed by his +loud knock. + +Somers went to the door. “Hello, Satterfield! Come right in this way.” + +“H-howdy, doc!” said Satterfield boisterously. His gruff voice was +blurred with liquor. He slapped Somers’ lean back and swaggered into the +darkened room. “Howdy, gents! Aim t’ have a li’l’ game, huh? Have +drink?” + +Producing a quart flask he thrust it forward uncertainly, weaving back +and forth upon booted feet. Then he perceived suddenly that we were not +of his intimates. + +“Wh-what’s this here?” he demanded. “Thought you was gointa have s’m’ +reg’lar sports, doc?” + +“I have,” replied Somers equably. “Come in the office, Satterfield; we +want to talk with you a bit.” And, as the other lurched past him through +the doorway, he passed a deft hand over both hips, then slipped it under +the loose coat with surprising speed and whipped out a big revolver. + +The bootlegger whirled, snarling. “Here! Whaddaya mean?” + +“Sit down, friend.” Somers waved him amiably to a chair, using the +pistol to gesture with. “We’re going to have a nice, quiet talk, and I’d +hate to have it interrupted by gun play.” + +Blinking at him uncertainly, Satterfield subsided. “You done drank a +right smart o’ my liquor,” he said. + +The doctor made a wry face. “Yes--for my sins! Now, Satterfield, we know +all about your bootlegging business; where the liquor comes from, who +makes it, how it’s brought to Pinelands, and where it goes from here. We +know you got five barrels of whisky this morning; it’s in the old drying +house, back of Bates’ orchard, right now. We know all about it; we’ve +got it all over you like a tent!” + +Our victim scowled belligerently. “Huh! Dirty revenue sneak, are yuh? +Spy! Revenuer!” + +Somers grinned. “Not that,” he said. “I’m no prohibition-enforcement +agent. _I_ don’t care how much booze you peddle, though I do think it’s +a pretty bad job for any man, especially, considering the kind of stuff +you’re putting out! I don’t want to squeal on you, Satterfield, and I +shan’t--unless----” + +The other eyed him closely, tugging at his piratical mustache. “An’ I +thought you was my friend!” he said, apparently on the verge of maudlin +tears. “Well, gwan; how much? I c’n git a bunch o’ money f’r ye, I +s’pose.” + +Somers shook his head. “Not that, either. All I want is the truth about +Doctor Gaskell’s murder. Did _you_ kill him, Satterfield?” + +The man sat up suddenly, with a queer, galvanic jerk. Beneath its +grizzled stubble, his face turned a pasty white; his fierce eyes roved +uneasily, fear-filled, looking about for escape. + +“I cain’t!” he protested. “I cain’t tell you-all nothin’ ’bout it. Ain’t +healthy. Nossir!” + +“Very well! I’ll drop over to Raleigh to-morrow--no, to-night! I’ll hunt +up the collector of internal revenue there, and I’ll tell him all about +this wholesale booze business of yours. And, Satterfield,” as the other +shook a stubborn head, “_I’ll say you told me about it!_” + +At the threat, delivered with terrifying earnestness, Satterfield leaped +up wildly. His truculence had disappeared; he was cold sober and in +deadly fear. + +“Ah, no, no, _no_!” he exclaimed, his face ghastly. He literally went +down upon his knees, groveled on the floor, plucking at Somers’ shoes +with shaking hands. “Ah, don’t! Don’t, doc, he’ll k-kill me shore--he’ll +cut my heart out--he’ll b-burn me alive. You don’t know ’im, doc--he’d +skin me! Don’t you, now! Ain’t we been good frien’s, an’ drank together, +an’ all? Yuh wouldn’t do that t’ me? You-all ain’t a-goin’ to let him, +will yuh?” + +He turned to us, tears trickling down his cheeks, a revolting, pitiable +spectacle. + +“You’d better talk, then,” said Somers inexorably. + +“Oh, yeah--yeah! Anythin’ on’y that! I’ll give up anythin’, if you-all +won’t turn ’im loose onto me.” + +“Get up!” ordered our leader disgustedly. “Sit over there and quit +wallowing; act like a man.” + +Satterfield obeyed. “I ain’t scared o’ many things, doc,” he said +unresentfully, but with a certain rude dignity. “There’s them could tell +yuh I ain’t no coward, but I am a-scared o’ him! Whaddaya want?” + +“Did you shoot Gaskell?” + +“Nossir!” he replied emphatically. + +“Did you see him shot?” + +“Nossir!” + +“Well,” said Somers impatiently, “your daughter phoned to you that he +was going out, about four that morning. You borrowed Tulliver’s shotgun +without asking for it, and you started off down the hill, meaning to +kill him, didn’t you?” + +Satterfield stared in wonder tinged with admiration. “Was you there? +Naw, yuh didn’t come till next day. It beats my time how yuh found out, +doc, but that’s straight--all of it.” + +“Well, go on! What did happen? What did you do? Whom did you see? Come +out with it all, or I’ll go to Raleigh on the eight-ten!” Somers pulled +his watch. “I’ve just nice time to catch it.” + +“Aw, now, doc, lissen! I come down th’ hill with Tulliver’s gun, jus’ +like yuh said, an’ hung round Gaskell’s house waitin’ f’r him t’ come +out. But I never shot him, doc--I never seen him shot; I never seen him +come outa th’ house, even! I--I saw a--another feller hangin’ round, an’ +I knew it wa’n’t healthy f’r me around there, an’ I beat it. Honest, +that’s all!” + +“Humph!” said Somers. “Who was it?” + +But there Satterfield balked. He would say no more; nothing could move +him to give the man’s name, he protested. We would go to the collector; +to the prohibition enforcement agents? Very well! That would be the +death of _him_, but it would do us no good. “I tell yuh I’m a-scared o’ +this feller,” he repeated. “I ain’t a-goin’ t’ say nothin’ _about_ +’im--not one thing! He might as well kill me f’r squealin’ about one +thing as another, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ t’ squeal, neither! You-all c’n +git me killed if yuh like, but I ain’t done nothin’ t’ deserve it.” + +His final protest was not without its dignity. He was adamant; he +admitted, white-faced and shaking, that a horrible death awaited him if +it should be thought that he had betrayed his confederates in the +illicit liquor traffic. None the less, he would tell us nothing. + +“You seem as much frightened of this man you saw waiting for Gaskell as +you do of the leader of your gang,” declared Somers at last. Then he +added a shrewd suggestion: “Perhaps they’re the same man?” + +Satterfield threw up his hands. “For law’s sake, doc!” he exclaimed. +“Naw--yes--naw! I don’t know what t’ say!” And he fell to weeping +openly. + +“Well, tell me this: Why did you plan to kill Gaskell?” + +He looked up sullenly. “I had my orders. Th’ feller knowed too much.” + +“It wasn’t just because he sent you to jail, then?” asked Somers. + +“Huh? That wa’n’t s’ much. I been in jail afore that.” + +“You had orders to shoot Gaskell, then. And, when you got down there, +you found the man who gave you those orders, and you decided he was +going to take the matter over himself. Is that right?” + +Satterfield nodded reluctantly. + +“Did the same man order you to lynch Parker?” + +“We-ell, no, not exactly, but I figgered mebbe he’d like t’ have it seed +to.” + +“Exactly! So you think the chief of your bootlegging gang killed Doctor +Gaskell? But you’re afraid to admit it, even though we don’t know the +fellow.” + +Somers rose. The other, completely cowed, gazed at him in fear. “No,” +said Somers, with a grim laugh, “we shan’t turn you up this time. But +listen closely, Satterfield: You keep quiet! If you drop so much as a +hint to this mysterious boss of yours, that you’re so scared of, if you +suggest to him that we’re after him, Heaven help you! And now, get out!” + +Satterfield rose with alacrity, half in doubt that he was to be let off +so easily. “I won’t say nothin’,” he replied. “Ain’t got to! You go +monkeyin’ round with _him_, an’ that’ll be th’ last of yuh!” + +He disappeared, and we locked up the place and started back toward Fort +House. + +At the corner, Peter turned. “I’ll trot down after the mail,” said he. +“Be back in five minutes.” + +We found Dorothy and Miss Christie in the living room. Both looked up at +us expectantly. + +“Progress,” said Somers. “I think we’re on the trail of the murderer at +last.” And he told them briefly of to-day’s work. As he finished, a +thought struck me. + +“Look here, Somers; remember that third man out there? I told you he was +in town the night of the murder. He was over at Gaskell’s, and he made +some sort of a threat; you remember my telling you, Dorothy? A +tremendous old man with a long, white beard, called himself ‘Roaring +Lafe’ Rutledge? What if he were this mysterious leader of the whisky +smugglers? He was in town, and he threatened Gaskell.” + +Somers did not reply. His eyes were on Anne Christie, who had grown very +white. I had seen her flinch at the name of Rutledge, and now I recalled +her strange conduct of that other night, when she had dashed from the +house after hearing that name. What did she know of this thing? + +“Are you sick?” asked Somers. “Miss Christie--Anne! What’s the matter?” + +Her lips opened, but Peter dashed in with a black face. + +“Grand jury proceedings are out,” he announced. “And they’ve indicted +Lewis Parker for murder in the first degree!” + +The news stunned us all, though we had been more or less prepared for +it. Then, in the sudden silence which greeted this bombshell, Anne +Christie spoke. + +“I--perhaps I could help a little,” she said. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + ANNE CHRISTIE’S STORY + + +We all turned upon the nurse. Beneath our wondering gaze the bright +color rose high, flooding her fair face; then receded once more, leaving +her very pale. But she faced us bravely. + +“I--I----You see, I’ve hated so to talk about it all, even to think +about it, and especially this last two weeks.” She spoke to all of us, +but her big violet eyes were fixed upon Doctor Somers. “And now, to make +you-all understand, I’ll have to go back to the very beginning, I’m +afraid, and tell you about me. You won’t mind?” + +I suppressed an exclamation. Truly this quiet, somnolent nurse had +changed! I wondered what explanation she was about to offer for her +queer conduct of that night before the murder, when the name of “Roaring +Lafe” Rutledge had driven her from the house; of her excitement next +morning, when she had fainted at the news of Doctor Gaskell’s death. And +I wondered the more what had moved her to volunteer any information +about herself, for I remembered--and the thought had puzzled me more +than once--that never, save once, during all her six months at Fort +House, had she spoken so much as a word about her past life. + +“You won’t mind?” she asked again, eyes wistfully fixed upon Doctor +Somers. “And you’ll try to make allowances--not to think little of me? +I----” + +She stopped and bit her lips, then went bravely on, slender hands +clenched at her sides. + +“I was born in the mountains, up near the Tennessee border, in a log +cabin on Lick Run. My mother came from the settlements; I never knew my +father. He died when I was a baby. I’ve heard mother say he was +educated; that he’d been to college, even. But why they went up into the +mountains to live she never would tell me. All I know is that she +wouldn’t go back to the settlements even when he died. A tree fell on +him, mother said. When I was a little girl I used to go out and climb up +to the very peak of Snagtooth Mountain and sit beside his grave and +wonder--about so many things! He was buried there, on the very top of +the mountain, under a big, lone pine tree. + +“After that we were very poor, mother and I. I used to go barefoot, +summer and winter; and so did she. We never wore shoes, either of us, +for years and years.” She looked down at her slender, high-arched feet, +now so trimly shod, as if in wonder at their being covered. + +We were all very still. Somers’ deep-set gray-green eyes were +inscrutable. I blew my nose hard, seeing in fancy that little slim girl, +barefooted and ragged, huddled on the peak of a wind-swept mountain +beside the grave of the father she could not remember, hugging bare, +brown knees and staring off across the jutting hills, wondering about so +many things! + +“I wore the same dress for two years,” she went on dreamily. Her tragic +eyes were all for Doctor Somers; she was telling her story to him, +watching him for sympathy, for approval, for scorn. She would tell him +all. I fancied I could read the determination in her white, set face. +And then, if he turned from her--well! + +“I wore the same dress for two years. Mother patched it and patched +it--poor mother--until I’d forgotten its original color. There were +homespun patches, I remember, and blue-jean ones, bits of flour sacking +and burlap. We were very poor. There was only the small piece of cleared +land, and mother wasn’t strong enough even to take care of that. The +weeds grew higher than the corn. And she’d take my father’s ax and try +so hard to chop down a little tree and blister her poor hands and cry. + +“We couldn’t live that way. Then this Lafe Rutledge began coming. They +called him Roaring Lafe even then, fourteen years ago. He was a great, +big man and strong! I remember once there were two city men out hunting. +They were so wonderfully dressed, I thought! I’d never seen such +clothes. They stopped for a drink of water from our spring and stood +talking with mother. She was so pretty, my mother! And they talked and +laughed, and seemed so surprised that mother spoke like a lady, had read +books, and everything. And she stood there with her poor cheeks so +pretty and pink, and Lafe Rutledge came through the woods behind these +two men, looking as big as both of them together, with his great beard +blowing in the wind--it was black then--and he just made an awful, +roaring noise like some great bear. Then he ran at those poor men and +caught them, each by his neck, and swung them right up off the ground +and carried them off like that, at arms’ length. And then we heard a +scuffling and sliding, as he just threw them down the mountain, and he +came back, laughing, and threw their guns after them. I ran away and +hid. I was always afraid of him. + +“He used to come like that, twice every week, with his big boots +greased, his hair slicked down and shiny, and bear’s grease and cheap +perfumery in his beard. I remember still how it smelled. I was afraid of +him, and I think mother was, too. He didn’t know how old he was; he +couldn’t write or figure, and he couldn’t read much. I suppose he was +fifty, even then. He’d had two wives already, and both were dead. + +“I don’t know how it came about. Perhaps she did it for me. We were very +poor--starving, almost, and Lafe Rutledge was rich, as the mountain +folks count it. We didn’t know then how he made his money! Anyway, +mother married him. That was twelve years ago. She married him, and we +went to live in his house on the Devil’s Branch. She was his third, he +said, with that awful, roaring laugh he had; but, then, he was her +second, so that was all right. Poor mother! After all she’d told me +about my kind, gentle father, to marry Roaring Lafe Rutledge! I hated it +even then; I ran away and hid and wouldn’t go there until I was starved +to it. But I didn’t know, I couldn’t understand then, what it meant to +her. + +“And yet the man was good to her, according to his lights. He never beat +her; he bought her a new dress every year. But he used to go down to the +store and get drunk, and then come home running his mule and beating the +poor beast. He was dreadfully cruel to animals, and it was hard enough +for any horse or mule to carry him; he was so big and heavy. And he’d +come up the Branch, beating the mule and shouting and roaring worse than +a wild bull; that’s why they called him Roaring Lafe, I suppose. And +then he’d sit by the fireplace, with a jug at his elbow, and he’d drink +and drink. We didn’t dare go to bed; mother would sit beside me in a +corner, very still--frightened, I suppose, just as I was +frightened--until at last he’d drop over right where he sat. Then we’d +drag his boots off and get him to bed some way.” + +She stopped and wet her lips, looking round at us in apology. “You see, +I’ve had plenty of experience in caring for drunken men,” she said. +Somers flinched visibly. + +“It was like a nightmare,” she went on, “and it only got worse. Mother +got thinner and thinner and whiter and whiter. She knew long before I +did; she tried to keep it from me, but it wasn’t a year before I found +it out, too. Lafe Rutledge was running a still. He made moonshine whisky +up on the slope of Snagtooth Mountain, made it by the barrel and sold it +all over that country. And nobody dared do anything about it; they were +all afraid of him. + +“Ten years ago the revenue officers made a big raid up there, and they +nearly caught my--my stepfather. He shot one of them and killed him. He +had to hide out in the laurel for months and months, but they never +caught him, and pretty soon he’d started up another still in a new +place. Then he came home to live, quite openly. I think that killing had +been too much for mother. She died about six months later. + +“I lived on with him. There was nothing else to do. I was growing up, +and I was strong; mother’d taught me to cook; I had to stay; I’d nowhere +to go, and I was afraid of him. When he was angry with me he’d threaten +to get married again and bring another woman home with him to keep me +from getting ‘uppity.’ + +“And then Doctor Gaskell came. He was on a hunting trip, and my +stepfather brought him home to supper one night. I’d never supposed +there were such men in the world. He was wonderful! I lay awake all +night, just thinking about him. He told my stepfather he was forty-nine, +I remember; and that was just the age my father would have been if he’d +lived. I lay there--I was only eighteen--and pretended Doctor Gaskell +was really my father, and we were just visiting up there, just camping +out, and in a few days we’d go back home, down the mountains, into the +settlements, which mother used to talk about sometimes, into a real +house, with carpets and hard-wood floors and a bathtub and a furnace and +all the wonderful furnishings I’d dreamed about and never seen. It was a +very beautiful dream. + +“Things were worse than ever just then; my stepfather was ‘sitting up,’ +as they call it, with a widow on Lick Run, and I just couldn’t bear to +think of another woman in the house where mother had died. And so I +slipped away and went to Doctor Gaskell’s tent on the other side of the +mountain, and I talked to him. I’d never been to school a day; for one +thing, we were too poor, and I had no dress to wear, and then my +stepfather wouldn’t let me. He didn’t believe in schooling; said it made +women high-toned and finickin. He used to laugh and sneer at my poor +mother, because she wasn’t strong, and say it was book learning made her +that way. But mother’d taught me a lot. + +“And Doctor Gaskell was so good to me! If he’d really been my own father +he couldn’t have been better. He offered to take me down to the +settlements with him and find me work there and fix it so I could go to +night school. I didn’t dare at first; I told him Roaring Lafe would kill +us both. But he just laughed. That was the most wonderful thing of +all--he wasn’t afraid of Lafe Rutledge! Until then I’d supposed +everybody in the world must be afraid of him. + +“So, the end of it was, I slipped out in the night, and Doctor Gaskell +took me with him down the mountain and into Asheville. I was so +frightened; I thought that must be the biggest city in the world. I’d +never dreamed of anything so grand. And we took the train there and went +to Raleigh, and the doctor got a place for me in the hospital as an +attendant. I studied at night and worked hard! After a year or two I got +into the nurses’ training school, and I went through it and graduated. +The whole world seemed going just right for me; I was very happy.” + +She paused and sighed. Her dreamy eyes seemed to dwell on that vision of +past happiness. + +“But it didn’t last,” she went on. “I knew all the time, some way, that +it couldn’t last. I don’t know how he found out, but one night my +stepfather came to the hospital and asked for me, just as I was going on +duty; I was charge nurse on a ward then. I came out, wondering who it +could be, for I hadn’t many friends, and thinking perhaps Doctor Gaskell +might have come down from Pinelands--I hadn’t seen him for a year +almost--and it was Roaring Lafe! I just stood there dumb. He told me to +get my bundle and come with him. I was frightened to death. I’ve been +afraid of him all my life. But I think I’d have found courage to refuse, +to call the police, to do _something_, rather than go back with him, but +he just stood there, pulling at that great, bushy beard, and he laughed +that awful, roaring laugh, so that the orderly ran out to see what the +noise was. Then he caught my arm--I wore the mark of it for a month--and +dragged me close and whispered in my ear. The smell of raw corn whisky +was on him, and his eyes were terrible. + +“‘You come along quiet,’ he told me. ‘If you don’t, to-night that +mis’able furriner, Gaskell, will git his comeuppance! I’ll go plumb f’om +here to Pinelands, a-puppose t’ waylay him; I’ll fill his gizzard with +buckshot. You comin’, you huzzy, or do you aim t’ stay here with these +furriners in th’ settlemints?’ + +“So I went with him. What else could I do? I could have screamed for +help, though I don’t believe he’d have laid his hand on me in anger. But +I knew he’d keep his word. I knew he’d leave me there at the hospital +and go straight here to Pinelands and kill Doctor Gaskell, just as he +said. And I couldn’t bear that, after all he’d done. Why, I wouldn’t be +alive, if it weren’t for him! Because I might just as well be dead, as +buried up there in the hills, as I was till he came. And I’ve always +made believe in my own mind that Doctor Gaskell was my own father come +to life again; I’ve always thought of him as a father; it was just like +hearing my own father had been killed, that morning, when you told us, +Mr. Uhlman.” + +She turned to me, as if to apologize for her fainting that fateful +morning, and her big violet eyes were tragic. + +“So I went back,” she said, as she took up her pitiful tale. “I went +back to the log house on the Devil’s Branch and put by my nice clothes +and wore homespun again and cooked salt pork and corn pone. At night I +waited alone for my stepfather to come home, shouting and roaring. I +used to sit huddled in a corner, shaking all over, while he drank raw +corn liquor until he fell over, dead drunk, and I pulled off his boots +and put him to bed. And all the while I was frightened, frightened out +of my wits, though he never laid his hands on me. But there was a devil +peeping out of his eyes at me. Oh, he’s a terrible man! + +“And yet I do believe that he thought he was doing the right thing by +me. He always used to say he’d saved my soul by bringing me back there. + +“It went on from week to week and month to month, for three whole years. +At first it was unbearable, and I used to cry all night and think of +killing myself. After a while I got sort of deadened and lost interest +in things. The days slipped by, and I dropped into a daze and went on +like some machine, without even thinking any more. I put on flesh, and +my stepfather gloated over the fact, saying how strong I was, as if I’d +been a horse or a mule! He insisted that I was outgrowing my finical +ways and book learning, and getting to be a healthy, honest woman. If he +could have had my poor mother earlier, he used to say, before she was +plumb ruined with education, she’d have been healthy, too. And even that +didn’t rouse me much. I felt so dull and stupid, and I got so I’d sleep +all the time. There are women like that in the mountains, strange, fat, +stupid-looking creatures, with wide, flat faces, who just sleep and mope +around all the time, like cows, without ever caring about anything. They +look almost deformed; they’re unnatural. Some of them have great +goiters. I used to wonder if I’d ever be like them, but I didn’t care +much, even for that.” + +Her voice fell. Behind the impassive, commonplace words I felt such a +bitterness of desolation, such a gripping, terrible memory of those +monotonous, lifeless days, that my throat closed upon the words of +sympathy I strove to utter. + +Doctor Somers raised his head, his gray-green eyes impersonally alight. +“I thought so! A goiterous region! Mighty interesting, that! You know +there is a similar region in the mountains of Switzerland, where most of +the women have goiter. We used to think it was the water; but we know +better now. I must go up there and investigate. You haven’t any struma, +Miss Christie,” said Somers, stooping forward to touch her rounded +throat, at which the girl blushed vividly, “but you developed a +condition of hypothyroidism instead.” And he went on didactically into a +maze of “hormones” and “endocrines” and “internal secretions,” which +nobody understood. “But you’re safely out of that hole now,” he +concluded practically, “and your condition is practically cured, thanks +to the thyroid I gave you. You’ve changed wonderfully in just this ten +days, child! You’re a hundred per cent brighter, less somnolent. And,” +as if the idea had just struck him, “you’ve grown mighty pretty. Why, +Anne, child--you’re really beautiful!” + +The girl’s first name came from his lips unhesitatingly, as if he +thought of her thus, and not as Miss Christie. His tone was one of naïve +surprise at this discovery. + +“You’re a raving beauty, Anne!” he repeated. + +The girl blushed vividly, the bright color sweeping up to the very edge +of her fair hair. Her eyes, which had been so bravely, so candidly fixed +upon Somers throughout her pitiful story, dropped modestly and were +veiled by long, curved lashes. + +“Do you think so?” she asked demurely. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + A PROJECTED EXCURSION + + +“Don’t interrupt,” ordered Dorothy peremptorily. Like the rest of us, +she was eager for the end of the nurse’s tale. “You can talk about her +good looks later; we want to hear what happened next. Go on, Miss +Christie!” + +And Miss Christie went on, rather less sadly, I thought. + +“Well, I’d have been up there yet, I reckon, if last fall my stepfather +hadn’t wanted me to get m-married.” She blushed. “There was a man, +Calvin Collender, whom they called ‘Cal Col.’ He used to work with my +stepfather. Since prohibition, you see, my stepfather had been making +corn whisky faster than ever. He bought up corn from all over the +mountains and put up a bigger still, and they used to smuggle it out +some way and sell it down in the settlements. He used to come back with +his pockets just bulging with money, all in gold; he had no faith in +paper money, and he’d bury the gold somewhere. Why, he must have made +thousands and thousands of dollars--is making it yet, I suppose. And +this Collender, this Cal Col, was his chief helper, a tall, thin man, +with a sharp nose and a short chin, like those mountaineers have, and +little, mean-looking eyes. He was lots older than I; he was a widower, +too. And my stepfather kept after me and after me. He said I ought to be +grateful; that it wasn’t every man would marry a woman like me, who’d +had book learning and knew things it wasn’t fitting for a woman to know. + +“I couldn’t stand that. It was bad enough with Roaring Lafe, but to go +to this other man, this Cal Col, who wasn’t even brave, I couldn’t! I +remembered my poor mother, and how she’d just faded away, and I thought +it was better to die right then. And Lafe Rutledge was a _man_; you had +to respect him, in spite of all his terrible ways. But this Cal Col was +just like a creeping, crawly snake, afraid of my stepfather, afraid of +the law, afraid of everything, even of me, I think. He used to look at +me sideways, with those dry, bright little eyes, just like a +rattlesnake. And I knew he’d beat me if he dared. + +“So one night last winter I just ran away, down the mountain all alone. +It began to snow while I was climbing down toward Asheville, and I was +so glad! I knew the dogs couldn’t follow me then. My stepfather had a +dozen bloodhounds. And I got clear away, somehow, and bought a veil to +put over my face; then I took the train and came right here to +Pinelands; I didn’t know what else to do. If I went back to Raleigh, I +knew my stepfather would find me. + +“And I got off the train here and went to a hotel. It was in the winter, +you see, and the town was full of tourists from the North; nobody +noticed one more. I phoned to Doctor Gaskell, and he came right away and +told me about this place. Miss McGregor had asked him to find a nurse +for her that very day. + +“So he recommended me, and I got the place and came to Fort House. I’ve +been here ever since. Perhaps you’ve wondered why I kept so close in the +house and never went anywhere? Or, perhaps, you just thought I was too +sleepy and sluggish to want to go out. But I saw that man Satterfield +downtown one day, and I didn’t dare show myself after that, for I’d seen +him on the Devil’s Branch, at my stepfather’s, twice. He had something +to do with disposing of the liquor they made; I don’t know what. + +“I couldn’t change my name, you see, because I’m a registered nurse and +have to have a license. But my stepfather has never lived out of the +mountains, and he doesn’t know anything about registration and all that; +so I wasn’t afraid he’d trace me through the State board. I kept right +close in the house and hoped Satterfield wouldn’t see me or think of my +being the same one, if he heard my name. Nobody much knew my name, +anyhow, I kept so quiet. People just thought of me as that stupid nurse +up at Fort House. + +“And I lived in fear that some day my stepfather would find me out, or +come here and kill Doctor Gaskell anyway, as he’d threatened; and I +think I’d have gone crazy if it weren’t for this stupid, sleepy feeling +I always had. I suppose it was a disease, as you said, Doctor Somers, +but I think it saved my reason. + +“And at last he did find me out. Was it any wonder I was frightened, Mr. +Uhlman, when you came in that night and said you’d seen Roaring Lafe +Rutledge on Doctor Gaskell’s porch, threatening to ‘settle with him +before sunup?’ And now you know why I ran right out without stopping to +explain. I went over to the doctor’s house, right across the road, and +told him my stepfather was here, and I begged him to hide, or have him +arrested. + +“He only laughed, for he was never afraid of my stepfather. But he did +promise not to go to the hotel and see him. And then, next morning, you +found him out there--dead! I thought right away it must have been my +stepfather who did it, and I suppose I fainted. I was almost glad”--she +looked at Dorothy in wistful apology--“when they said Doctor Parker had +done it by accident. The--the other seemed so terrible; to think he’d +been killed because of me! And then, afterward, when the solicitor made +it look like murder, I didn’t know what to do. And I hoped you-all could +prove it was Satterfield who was guilty, or anybody in that gang except +my stepfather, and for any reason except because of me. And it seemed +harder and harder”--her beautiful, appealing eyes were fixed upon Somers +once more, as in mute explanation of her difficulty--“harder than ever +to have to tell all this, and to have to admit that I was only a poor, +uneducated girl from the mountains, without any relatives in the world +that I know of except my stepfather.” + +She stopped and bent her fair head, sobbing desolately. Somers patted +her shoulder. “You poor child!” he said, his casual tones suddenly +deeper, softer, charged with sympathy. She looked up at him adoringly, +with the wistful, worshiping gaze one sees in a dog’s eyes. But he +seemed blind to its significance. + +“Don’t you fret any more,” he went on. “You needn’t marry this Cal Col +fellow or any other man. And if Lafe comes roaring round here, he’ll get +into trouble. I’m not afraid of him, either!” + +“Oh, you don’t know him. He’s terrible--just terrible! Sometimes I +wonder if he’s quite human. If he comes for me, I’ll just have to go +back, that’s all, and marry Cal Col, if he says so. I--I can’t have +anybody else murdered for me.” + +“Humph!” said Somers. “I begin to feel that I ought to have a bit of a +chat with this Mr. Rutledge!” + +“Oh, no, no, no!” The girl’s voice rang sharp with fear; she clutched at +his arm. “He--he’d kill you, too!” + +“I think not.” Somers freed his arm gently and rose. “But look here, +Anne, if Rutledge knew you were here, why hasn’t he come after you? I +don’t believe his business with Gaskell had anything to do with you; I +don’t believe he knows where you are at all. Satterfield admitted that +Doctor Gaskell had found out about their whisky-smuggling business; he +said his mysterious chieftain had ordered Gaskell killed for that. If +Rutledge is this leader whom Satterfield’s so afraid of--and it looks +that way--he ordered the killing because Gaskell knew too much. You +hadn’t a thing to do with it. And then he came down here to do it +himself; wouldn’t trust Satterfield, I suppose.” + +He began to pace the floor; six long, loose strides this way, a turn, +and six more back. On the hearthrug he stopped. + +“It’s plain enough now. Gaskell was murdered by the moonshiners for fear +he’d break up the business. And Rutledge did the killing. Now all we’ve +got to do is round up Roaring Lafe and fetch him down here to stand +trial. Once he’s safe in jail, Satterfield will probably get over his +fright enough to testify against him; nobody looks quite as dangerous, +once he’s been quietly arrested and locked up.” + +Anne Christie cried out upon him. “Oh, no, no! You mustn’t, you can’t! +You’ll be killed! And, anyhow”--plucking up courage at the thought--“it +wouldn’t do any good; you can’t find anybody to serve a warrant on +Roaring Lafe. The sheriff wouldn’t go up on Devil’s Branch for anything, +and, if he did, nobody could find Lafe Rutledge, once he’d taken to the +laurel.” + +“Humph!” said Somers. “You’re forgetting something.” He touched the star +on his breast. “I’m a perfectly good deputy sheriff myself. I can serve +a warrant. Even if that is another county, I guess we can stretch a +point of law. Maybe the sheriff over there will deputize me, too.” + +He cut her further protests short. “It’s getting late; why, it’s after +midnight! We’ll all go to bed and make our plans in the morning.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS + + +Next morning at breakfast Doctor Somers set forth his plan. For once all +the people of Fort House sat down together; even Aunt Mary appeared in +time to be wheeled to her place before we were seated. + +“I will go up into the mountains,” he announced. “I’ll start this +evening, spend the night in Asheville, and go on to-morrow. How far is +it, Anne?” + +“All of twenty miles, the way one has to go, and no roads worth speaking +of. You can’t drive a car.” The girl was very pale; there were bluish +shadows beneath her eyes. She spoke reluctantly and seemed determined to +make the way as difficult as might be. “And you’d never find the place +without a guide.” + +“Humph! If I can’t drive a car, I can ride a horse. They taught us +equitation in the army--what, Peter, old son? Also, I can walk; my legs +are long enough. And, if you’ll draw a map, I’ll engage to find the +Devil’s Branch. I’m not easy to lose, even in the mountains.” + +Miss Christie still objected, and Dorothy seconded her. “It won’t do any +good,” she declared. “You’ll get lost, or killed, and Lewis needs you +here. Why not just go to the sheriff or the district attorney and swear +out a warrant, and let the police arrest him? That’s their business.” + +Somers shrugged. “Swear out a warrant? On what grounds? He was in +town--Rutledge, I mean--and he had threatened to shoot Doctor Gaskell +several years ago. That’s all we could prove. Satterfield won’t testify; +he wouldn’t even admit to me that Rutledge was the man whom he saw. And, +if we could get a warrant on that, your name would have to be signed to +it, as complaining witness, and Rutledge would know where you are, Anne. +And, if the sheriff’s afraid of him, as you say, Rutledge wouldn’t be +caught anyhow. He’d be warned, have a chance to hide out, and maybe to +slip down here and make trouble for you. I wish old man Redden were the +sheriff of Whitfield County up there! I’ll bet he wouldn’t be afraid of +Roaring Lafe!” + +He paused, looking about the table, with half-whimsical seriousness. +“And, furthermore, my children, have you considered that I shan’t be +perfectly safe here in Pinelands from now on? No, nor you two, either.” +He jabbed at Peter and me successively with a long, bony finger. “When +Satterfield reports to his mysterious chief and tells him that the three +of us know all about this whisky-running game of theirs, it’s quite on +the cards that Mr. Roaring Lafe may decide we could all be spared, just +like Gaskell. Suppose we just stayed here and did nothing, and a couple +of sturdy bootleggers ambushed Fort House and shot us up?” + +Here Aunt Mary interposed. She had been waiting, open-mouthed, for a +chance to interrupt. + +“I won’t have it!” she declared shrilly. “I can’t stand it! My rest is +broken enough now; those miserable birds are driving me frantic; I +haven’t a bit of rest, and nobody cares if I die of exhaustion. But this +is too much. You’ll have to go, all three of you! You’ll have to leave +Fort House at once. No, Dorothy, I insist. I will be heard for once. +I’ve submitted to being ignored and put aside and slighted long enough. +Nobody considers me any more; nobody seems to care whether I live or +die. As if Lewis Parker, a big, healthy young man, weren’t lots more +comfortable in jail than I am here, lying on my bed of pain! It’s +absurd--it’s monstrous! But I will assert myself for once: Either you +men leave this house, all three of you--Peter’s no more help or comfort +to me than you others--either you leave Fort House, or I will!” + +We stared uncomfortably, the others, no doubt, as much amazed as I was +by the old lady’s colossal, callous selfishness. For she had not a cent +of her own, and she was a pensioner upon the bounty of her nephew and +niece. + +“You can stay,” she went on, “but if you do, I go to a hotel this very +morning. I won’t have my life endangered; I won’t have my rest broken +any longer! Why, this whole affair of the murder has annoyed me beyond +endurance.” One would have thought that we had planned Doctor Gaskell’s +death, with malice aforethought. “But I’ve stood all I can. Dorothy, +phone to the Pinelands House at once and engage two rooms and bath for +me. And you’d better pay them a week in advance, too.” + +“Humph,” said Doctor Somers, placidly. “You see?” + +Dorothy nodded reluctantly. Miss Christie said nothing. She was very +pale. + +Somers rose. “It’s settled, then. I start for the mountains to-night. +And, Peter, you and Uncle George had better come along, I think. You can +put up at a hotel in Asheville. I really think you’ll be safer there +than to stay in Pinelands just now.” + +“Oh, we’ll come,” I answered for both of us. “But you needn’t think +we’re going to stay at any hotel and let you go off alone. You need +somebody to look after you, man!” + +“Humph! Well, we can settle that later.” He pushed back his chair and +bowed to Aunt Mary. “And now, madam, we’ll relieve you of the distress +of our presence. Come along, you chaps, we’ll stay at Uhlman’s house +until train time.” He bowed ironically and stalked out. + +As I followed, I saw Dorothy turn upon her aunt, her face white with +anger, her eyes flashing. I grinned inwardly, feeling that for once the +old lady was about to hear some sharply wholesome truths. + +I hurried after my companions. “Pack a bag, each of you,” ordered our +leader. “Put in things for a week, anyhow. And bring your field glasses, +Peter, and that pistol of yours. Wish we had three of them!” + +“I’ve got one at home,” I said, “a police revolver. I’ll bring that.” + +Miss Christie hurried past us, as we stood in the hall, and returned in +two minutes. “Here!” She thrust something into Somers’ hand. “Take that +and use it if you must. And, oh, my dear, be careful!” + +She was gone in a breath, leaving the lanky physician staring down in +bewilderment at a businesslike revolver, whose wooden butt was battered +and worn. + +Our few preparations made, for we were to go in light marching order, we +spent the day perfecting our plans, such as they were. + +“For we don’t know what we’ll find up there,” explained Somers. “The +best we can do is to get in touch with Rutledge in some way, avoid +suspicion if we can, and trust to luck for the rest. Maybe he’ll talk; +maybe we can get him out alone, hold him up and take him down the +mountains, at pistol’s point. I’ll be a ‘lunger,’ I guess; I look the +part.” He surveyed his lean face, hollow chest, and extraordinarily thin +limbs in my mirror. “Yes, I’m a consumptive, ordered up into the +mountains to live. You’re my uncle, Uhlman, and Peter--oh, he can be the +builder who’s going to put up a cabin for me. We’re up in the hills +looking for a site, so I can have a house there, live alone in the balmy +pine woods, and strive to recapture my lost health--and all that rot. +How about it?” + +He grinned and went on humorously. “You know, dear ones and kind old +things both, I fancy my health is in considerable danger, at that! If I +should meet Satterfield in the dark somewhere, Old Man Trouble and I +would meet just about the same time. What?” + +And he spoke even more truly than he knew. For at dusk that night, as +the train pulled out of Pinelands, Somers sat beside me in the smoking +car, his lean, bold profile clearly outlined against the lighted window. +From the dark without it must have made an excellent mark. + +No one had loitered about my house that day; no one, as far as I could +see, had watched us climbing into the “shoo-fly” train. + +But, as we panted out of the village and began to labor up a steep grade +between high embankments, gathering speed slowly, a round hole sprang +suddenly into being in the window, just beside Somers’ head, and a +bullet sang past my nose, like an angry wasp, bit through the window +opposite, and whined away into the night. + +“Humph!” said Somers calmly, brushing bits of glass from his lap. He +looked at the window, where a star of cracks radiated from that sinister +hole. “Humph! A couple of inches this way, and one of the best little +old medico-legal experts extant would have ceased abruptly. I told you +we’d be safer outside of Pinelands for a while!” + +The brakeman hurried through, stopped to survey his damaged windowpanes, +and scowled blackly. + +“Some darn fool gettin’ fresh!” he muttered. “Lettin’ off a rifle gun +that a way an’ never lookin’ to see where th’ bullet’d go. The fool! +They’s too much cawn liquor round Pinelands these days!” + +“Quite right, my friend,” replied Somers solemnly. + +Some one touched Somers’ shoulder. We both turned to face the man in the +seat behind us, a quiet, unobtrusive person, gray-clad, gray-haired, +with a very keen gray eye. + +“Did you know that bullet was meant for you?” he asked casually. + +The physician nodded. “Oh, yes, certainly!” He was as cool, as detached +of manner, as the stranger, and those keen eyes gave him an admiring +glance. + +“I happened to get a good look at the fellow,” the other went on. “He +showed up against the sky line, there on top of the embankment, and he +had a fine bead on you.” + +Somers nodded equably. “Thanks, old man!” + +“Broad-brimmed felt hat,” continued the other; “big, bushy mustache; +looked like a pirate. Know him?” + +My companion nodded again, but showed no disposition to satisfy the gray +man’s curiosity further. + +As the crow flies, Asheville is not much over forty miles from +Pinelands; but to reach it one must go to Raleigh, and there you change +from one line to another, making it a trip of several hundred miles. +Somers’ estimate of time was too sanguine; we could hardly reach +Asheville before morning. + +As we disbarked at Raleigh, I saw the man in gray once more. He had +followed us from the train; he stood in whispered talk with another +quiet, inconspicuous person, and I thought that he pointed us out. It +may have been my imagination; no doubt it was. For the other stranger, +after loitering about, while we bought tickets and berths, stepped up to +the window and asked a question, then strolled out of the station, and +we saw him no more. + +No doubt it was a mere coincidence, also, that the quiet gray-haired man +entered the Asheville sleeper with us and deposited a modest leather +hand bag in the section across the aisle. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + ROARING LAFE + + +We reached the city of Asheville in the early morning and, upon Somers’ +direction, entered a taxicab and had ourselves driven to a hotel. + +“We’ll breakfast there,” he decided, “and find out a few things. Then +I’ll get a saddle horse and start, and you two will wait for me here.” + +“Not much!” said I. + +“Nix!” declared Peter. “You can’t lose us; why, man, where’s that +gorgeous idea of being a consumptive, unless we’re along?” + +Somers shrugged. “Have it your own way, but it’s taking a long chance, +fellows. This thing is serious; I hardly believed, myself, that they’d +go so far, until that chap shot at me last night. It was Ralph +Satterfield, all right, and no doubt he thought we were on our way to +Raleigh to see the collector. He’ll have hurried over here cross-country +before this, in Conover’s car, no doubt. If we should meet up with him +in the hills we’re as good as dead men.” + +I nodded soberly. “And if we give that fellow, Vanbrugh, a free hand, my +nephew is as good as a dead man, too. No, Somers, I’m going along. Peter +can stay here if he likes.” + +But Peter did not consider this suggestion worthy even to be scorned. +“After breakfast, what, chief?” he asked. + +“We hunt up a revenue agent.” + +Wondering if our leader would report the activities of Satterfield and +Rutledge after all, we went to see the revenue agent. When we were shown +into the quiet, businesslike office of the department of internal +revenue, Somers merely asked for information as to one Lafe Rutledge. +“I’m told he killed a revenue agent some years ago,” he explained. “Was +he tried for that?” + +The clerk eyed us dubiously. “I can’t give out any statement,” he told +us. “You can see the chief if you like. What are you, newspaper men?” + +Somers handed him a card, and presently we were shown into an inner +office. Facing us from behind a flat-topped desk sat the same quiet, +gray-haired man who had sat behind us on the train. + +“What do you want to know about the man Rutledge?” he asked, looking at +Somers’ card. Then: “Hel-lo! You’re the chap Satterfield was potting at +last night!” + +“So you knew the man’s name all the time?” asked Somers, a bit taken +aback. + +The other nodded. “This office is deeply interested in Mr. Ralph +Satterfield,” he said grimly, “also in the gentleman after whom you are +inquiring this morning. Suppose we have a showdown, doctor? I’m not the +local chief; I’m on special duty here, but I can tell you all this +department knows about Roaring Lafe. What’s your interest in him?” + +Our leader sat down. “Perhaps you know who I am, too?” + +“Oh, yes; Doctor Floyd Somers. You came from New York to be the best man +at Doctor Parker’s wedding; and this, no doubt, is the doctor’s uncle, +Mr. Uhlman--and Peter McGregor?” + +We bowed, wondering. + +“We looked you up, doctor,” explained the revenue agent, “because you +were pretty thick with Satterfield for a while. What was the idea?” + +Somers leaned forward. “You know about Doctor Gaskell’s murder, and the +arrest of my friend Parker?” he asked. + +“Oh, yes! In fact, this investigation was begun upon information +furnished the collector by Gaskell.” + +“Well, then!” Somers told him everything frankly, including our +suspicions of Rutledge. + +The government man listened with grave interest. “H’m,” said he, when +the tale was done. “Our local men seem to have overlooked a lot. We +didn’t go behind the verdict of the coroner’s court and the grand jury; +took it for granted Parker killed Gaskell because of some personal +quarrel. Coarse work, very! Some one will get a stiff call for this! Of +course Rutledge did it. I should have thought of that myself. Well, +after all, that is merely incidental; it doesn’t affect the main work of +this office, which is to break up the illicit manufacture and sale of +alcoholic liquors. And now, gentlemen, what can I do in return?” + +“Tell us about Rutledge. Is he in hiding? Is there any criminal charge +against him? Did he really murder one of your men?” + +The agent nodded soberly. “There’s not a doubt of it in my mind, but +we’ve no legal proof. No, gentlemen, there’s no criminal charge out +against Roaring Lafe--as yet. And he’s not in hiding; he’s living openly +in his own house, on Devil’s Branch, back in the hills.” + +Somers rose. “I thought this was the safest place to make inquiries,” he +explained. “Thank you, sir.” + +“Hold on a minute! This office is indebted to you for your information, +though I may say we knew most of these things before, except your +suspicions about Gaskell’s murder; can’t we help you some way? What are +your plans?” + +The physician grinned. “Why, just to find this Roaring Lafe and have a +chat. I’ll tell him Satterfield has admitted that he saw Gaskell shot, +and that Rutledge did it--and see what happens. Then I’ll try to induce +him to come along to jail with us, if I can.” + +“You’ll get yourselves killed, the three of you!” + +Somers shrugged. “It’s quite possible, but it is my business in life to +extract information from folks who don’t want to give it. After one has +practiced enough at getting statements from lunatics who haven’t spoken +a word for years, it ought not to be so hard to badger an ignorant old +man into confessing murder. I’m game to try, at least.” + +“H’m! I think you’re a fool, but go ahead, if you insist. Remember this, +though: That you never saw a lunatic as dangerous as Lafe Rutledge.” + +With that pleasing assurance in our ears we left the revenue office and +hired saddle horses for our trip into the hills. It was noon before we +had topped the long slope, which leads up past the “Castle,” and left +the concrete road to strike back along zigzag red clay roads, which led +us into the hinterland. We paused for one look back toward civilization. + +“Well,” said I, staring down at the ordered streets, centering in Pack +Square, with its tall granite obelisk, “we may not all of us come back +this way.” + +“Cheerful old soul!” replied Peter, shifting in his saddle. “This nag +has a beastly sharp backbone; I can feel it right through the leather. +You might have stopped for lunch, at least, Somers.” + +“Have another sandwich,” suggested our leader callously; for he had +vetoed a further stay in the city. “Eat as you ride. We want to get +somewhere before dark, and we’ve twenty miles to go.” + +We struck back into the hills. Our patient horses scrambled up +precipitous slopes, panting, sliding in the rough red clay; we slid down +other slopes as steep, where the zigzag paths, that ran back and forth, +seemed sharper than the pitch of a roof, and the hillside itself was +almost straight up and down. The roads grew rougher and stonier and +narrower, until they were mere bridle paths, mere trails, which wound +and separated and forked and joined bewilderingly. + +Mile after mile we rode, growing horribly saddle sore in the riding. The +country about us was wild, primeval; tall pines masked the hillsides, +interspersed with spruce and live oak and great, dense growths of that +rhododendron which the mountain folk call “laurel.” Here and there, +huddled upon the steep slopes, a tiny, unpainted shack overhung the +winding road, its cornfield miraculously clinging to the side of a +precipice. Dozens of lop-eared hound dogs regarded our passing with +mournful gravity, or made headlong dashes, boiling out in baying mobs +from beneath forlorn shacks to snap at our horses’ fetlocks. Sometimes a +slatternly woman in a calico dress, roused to languid curiosity by their +racket, came to an open door and looked after us with indifferent, +lackluster eyes. Of men we saw nothing, save once. + +Then I glanced up, warned by the pricking of my horse’s ears, to catch a +glimpse of a fierce, bearded face, which glowered down at us from the +rhododendrons above the trail. The sun, just dropping below a peak, +glinted dully from a long rifle barrel, as it moved slightly to bear +upon us. + +“Cough, Somers! Cough!” I whispered. + +Our leader, quick to grasp my hint, coughed nobly, until he swayed in +the saddle, handkerchief to his lips. + +I spurred forward to support him. “Easy, boys,” said I, loudly enough to +be heard from the hillside I hoped. “The mountain air is hard on those +lungs, but we’ll find a good place for your house to-morrow, I hope. +Remember, the doctor said these hills were the only place you could +live.” + +We rode on; I, for one, with my heart in my throat. My back muscles +quivered and flinched. But no bullet pierced them; no gunshot cut +through the silence of the hills. After a mile or two I explained. + +Somers shrugged. “They don’t seem to welcome strangers,” he admitted. +“It’s a cheery country.” His eyes followed the sharp-toothed, jagged +hills, which ringed us in; the abrupt, bleak mountains of North +Carolina, whose ridges are too sharp-edged for concealment, were all +about us, and the blue sky showed between the trunks of the single, +straggling row of slender trees, which found difficult life there. “The +hills look about as friendly as their people. Still, I don’t believe +they’ll shoot us without stopping to ask questions first.” + +With this dubious encouragement we rode on through the long shadows of +sunset, which comes so early there; for the sun dropped behind the +encircling hills in midafternoon, they were so high. + +The rough trails wound on, forking and twisting, and we rode slower and +slower, while our leader puzzled over the map Anne Christie had drawn. +Dusk came on, and then darkness, and still we rode, Somers scowling +uncertainly. At last we made out a point of light in the distance. + +Our leader pulled up. “We’re lost,” he admitted. “I haven’t an idea +which way to turn, even if we could see the trails, which we can’t. I +move we stop at that house and ask our way.” + +So we blundered on through the darkness, and that lone spark of light +grew and became the oblong of an unglazed window, toward which our tired +steeds trotted, unguided. A yelping, baying avalanche of dogs poured +down the slope, to bark and snap at our horses’ legs, and to jump +viciously up for a grip upon our own. We halted. + +“Hello, the house!” called Somers, reluctant to dismount because of the +dogs. + +Abruptly the light above us went out. We heard a door close somewhere. +Then the clamor of the hounds lessened, and presently it ceased. They +lowered their tails, began to sneak away, as I could see through the +dusk. And a harsh voice was raised, so close to us that I jumped +involuntarily, and my horse plunged. + +“What’s yore business here, strangers?” + +Somers coughed promptly. “We’re honest travelers,” I explained. “My +nephew here has consumption; his doctor has sent him into the mountains +to live, and we’re hunting a place. Can you tell us how to reach Devil’s +Branch?” + +“Devil’s Branch?” The man’s voice held a queer, interrogative note. +“Huh! Strike a light, stranger; le’me look at you-all. Hit’s a right +onhealthy place for sick folks, the Devil’s Branch. Uh-_huh_!” + +I despair of reproducing in print his twanging drawl, his quaint idiom, +his pronunciations, so different from the speech of the lowlands, less +than fifty miles away. + +Somers lit a match obediently, and its flickering light shone on his +lean, sallow face, exaggerating the hollows of his cheeks, throwing his +bold, hooked nose into high relief. + +“Huh?” asked the mountaineer. “’Member I got a bead on you-all agin’ th’ +sky line! Are puny lookin’, hain’t yuh?” Then with renewed suspicion: +“What you-all lookin’ for on Devil’s Branch?” + +“A place to build a cabin,” I told him. + +“Down, Tige!” he said, as one of the hounds began to yap again. “Hit’s a +right cur’us place fer furriners. Don’t look right t’ me, nohow. Huh? +Hain’t my lookout, no ways; hit’s Lafe’s bus’ness. You-all jus’ keep +a-goin’ up th’ Branch yander an’ pass two li’l’ runs; at th’ next run +don’t go no furderer, but turn up hit an’ foller ’long.” + +“How far?” + +“Hit’s right smart of a piece--mebbe two set-downs an’ a long look. +Yassuh, hit’s all o’ that.” + +“And how’ll we know when we get there?” + +The mountaineer chuckled. “Ho, you-all’ll _know_. Ho, yas! Hain’t no +wonderment ’bout that!” + +I asked another question, but there was no reply. The man had vanished +as silently as he had come; his long gun barrel no longer showed +faintly, menacing us. I was relieved. We rode on, our tired horses +stumbling and laboring among the loose pebbles, following directions as +best we might in that Stygian blackness. + +We passed by the two runs and turned up the third, which seemed to lead +steeply up through a narrow valley, almost a cañon. On either side long, +sharp ridges stood blackly out against the sky. + +The way grew rougher, steeper; the horses stumbled over fallen logs, +brambles tore at our clothing, unseen branches whipped back and cut +smartly across our faces. At last we stopped again, unable to advance +another step through this tangled maze. + +Somers dismounted. “Looks like we sleep out, unk,” he remarked, forced +cheerfulness in his tired tones. “We’re stuck. I wish I could lay my +hands on Roaring Lafe Rutledge!” + +A deep voice answered him from the bushes. We all started violently, and +I think I cried out. + +“You kin, stranger!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY + + +Somers turned slowly, and, though it was so dark, I could see that his +hands were held high. Peter and I hastened to elevate ours. + +“Who are you?” he asked quietly. “What do you want?” + +A gruff laugh answered him. “You done said my name, stranger. An’ what +does you-all want, an’ what fer are ye calling Roaring Lafe?” + +“Doctor Major, down in the city, said you were the man to see,” replied +Somers coolly. “My name is Winters, John Winters. I’ve got consumption, +and they sent me into the mountains to live. This is my uncle, George +Winters and Mr. Scott. We want to buy land for a cabin for me, and Mr. +Scott’s going to build it.” + +An incredulous grunt replied, as the bushes crackled, and a huge shape +emerged. Straining my eyes through the dark, I made out the pale blur of +a white beard, which the man stroked thoughtfully. + +“Don’t yuh pay ’em no mind, Lafe,” said another voice, a shrill, ugly +voice, with a tremor in it. “Shoot ’em down! Them’s revenooers!” + +“You hark, Cal Col! I aim t’ tend my bus’ness my own self. Git on them +hosses, you-all, an’ foller me. We-all’ll fetch ’em up to th’ cabin an’ +look ’em over there.” + +We obeyed exactly. Though Roaring Lafe had not thought it necessary even +to warn us, the repeating rifle in his hand was eloquent; and, as we +spurred after his huge figure, another man and another broke through the +laurel behind us, until we were flanked and followed by at least half a +dozen, all carrying rifles. + +“In for it now!” said Peter. + +“Shut up!” replied our leader. + +We went on in silence, save for the creak of saddle leathers, the +stumbling footfalls of our horses; the men all about us moved like +wraiths, noiselessly. We mounted a steep grade, for I had to lean +forward to keep the saddle; then we wound through a tangle of laurel and +came out into a clearing, which seemed almost light in contrast with the +blackness below. Before us loomed the dim outlines of a big log cabin. +When we had reached it our captor said: + +“Light down, you-all! Git in!” + +He scorned to threaten, even to warn us, but his rifle barrel pointed +his request. We obeyed without words, ducked our heads to pass the low +lintel, and entered a bare, puncheon-floored room, with a rough stone +fireplace at one end. + +I looked about it curiously, as at some remembered spot. A rude homemade +armchair stood before the fire, and on a stand beside it rested a gallon +jug. There Roaring Lafe had sat many and many a night, year after year, +talking and drinking. In that corner, perhaps, Anne Christie had +huddled, a tattered, brown-legged girl beside her mother; a half-grown +maiden, dreaming her dreams of the “settlements;” a woman full grown, +dainty and fair, recalling bitterly her free, broad life, which seemed +so hopelessly behind her, and always frightened; shivering with fear of +this hulking, ignorant, bullying brute, Lafe Rutledge. + +It was very pitiful; it made her story more real, more terrible in its +quiet pathos. My eyes smarted, and I think that Somers’ thoughts must +have run in the same channel, for he faced Rutledge with a new defiance. + +“Now what do you mean,” he demanded, “by stopping honest folks in this +fashion?” + +Rutledge grinned, showing long, yellow teeth in his beard. “W’y, wa’n’t +you-all a-wishin’ an’ a-honin’ fer to find Roarin’ Lafe?” he asked. +“What do you-all aim to see him about? What’s yore bus’ness? Speak up, +now!” + +The man called Cal Col interrupted again, his dry eyes darting hither +and thither, his lean features working hungrily. + +“Kill ’em, Lafe! Kill ’em right off! Them’s revenooers, I tell ye; +hain’t no use o’ waitin’ fer ’em to lie to ye.” + +Somers turned upon him fiercely enough: “You lie yourself!” + +Cal Col stepped swiftly behind the bulky form of his leader. “You le’ me +be!” he whined. + +The other mountaineers, rough, bearded men in homespun and cowhide +boots, laughed and nudged each other. I judged that Cal Col was not a +general favorite. + +“Hush yo’r yap, boys! Hit hain’t healthy fer furriners here on Devil’s +Branch, stranger. ’F you got consumption, I shore am sorry fer hit; but +we-all cain’t have no furriners up here. Hit was a furriner done stoled +my gyurl.” The craggy, beetling brows drew down over hot eyes; Roaring +Lafe’s deep voice grew deeper, louder, more unfriendly. “You-all kin +git, right now! Hank, guide ’em out an’ onto th’ trail fer Azalea. +They-all can fetch hit, come mornin’.” + +“But not to-night!” protested Somers. “Our horses are beat out.” + +“Git!” repeated Rutledge sternly. + +But now his men began to murmur. “Look-a-here, Lafe!” began the fellow +called Hank. “Hit hain’t safe! Mebbe they hain’t revenooers, but they +sure kin----” + +Rutledge snorted. “Hain’t got sense!” he replied contemptuously. “An’ +they don’t know nothin’.” + +“Revenooers!” repeated Cal Col shrilly. He made a dash at Peter, the +smallest of us, and gripped his coat. “Kill ’em! A-a-a-ah!” + +It was a howl of triumph. For Peter’s coat tore open under that clutch, +and on his vest shone the deputy-sheriff’s star which he had forgotten +to conceal! + +The mountaineers growled ominously. “Sneaks! Spies! Revenooers!” Half a +dozen menacing rifle barrels thrust out at us. + +All was lost; but we would sell our lives as dearly as we might. We +whipped out the pistols, which Rutledge’s contemptuous confidence had +left us, and stood with backs to the wall. + +The door burst open, and Ralph Satterfield dashed in, panting. + +“Lafe! Hank! All here? Lissen, fellers, it’s all up!” He paused in +wonder at the tableau; then a malevolent grin plucked at his piratical +mustache. “Well, dog my cats! You-all got ’em a’ready! Lissen, Lafe, +them fellers is spies! They bin watchin’ an’ doggin’ round an’ seen us +handlin’ that liquor an’ run straight t’ Raleigh las’ night to squeal! +Hull revenue bunch’ll be onto our necks directly. An’ they come up +here!” he exclaimed, with gloating malice. “Ain’t that nice, huh? Kill +’em!” + +Roaring Lafe gestured the rifles aside, and beneath the shaggy brows his +eyes flamed coldly. + +“Git back!” he said. I saw how he had earned his title. “Git back! Le’ +me settle this here!” The cabin echoed to his roar. + +He advanced upon us, alone, empty-handed. His fierce old eyes glowed, +his thick beard fairly bristled with inhuman rage. On he came, full in +the face of Somers’ leveled pistol, heeding it no more than a pointed +finger. + +There was something terrible, superhuman, in that slow, implacable +advance. The power of the man shone out; I tasted to the full that +paralyzing fear Anne Christie had tried to voice. I felt that this huge +old man was invulnerable, unconquerable; his absolute certainty beat +down my will. I suppose a rabbit feels thus, watching the advance of a +stoat; a bird, charmed by some venomous snake, could be no more helpless +than I was then. Despite me, the pistol barrel dropped. I could not +resist; he had only to stretch out his hand. + +Beside me Peter’s face showed white and slack; beads of perspiration +shone on it. His hands dropped nervelessly. + +But Somers grinned. “I’d hate to shoot my father-in-law,” he drawled, +“but----” + +“You needn’t,” said a dry, quiet voice from without. “Hands up, all! +You’re covered!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + RUTLEDGE TALKS + + +The mountain men whirled. Roaring Lafe ceased his advance to look over a +burly shoulder. In the doorway of the cabin stood the quiet, gray man, +the revenue agent. Beside and behind him were armed men; rifle barrels +bristled in all of the shack’s windows. The moonshiners were surrounded, +outnumbered, helpless. With one accord they dropped their guns and +raised resigned hands above their heads, all but Roaring Lafe. +Bellowing, he sprang toward the door, the window, only to turn back from +ready gun muzzles. Then his bearded face horribly contorted, his +foam-flecked lips twitched back from long, yellow teeth, and he sprang +full at Somers’ throat. + +“I’ll tote yuh to death along of me, anyhow,” he said. “You spyin’ +sneak!” + +The revenue agent cried out, and I sprang forward. But in that crowded +room none dared shoot, for the mountaineers milled already, crouching +for a dash. I hovered over the whirling bulk of the raging moonshiner, +seeking to fire without endangering Somers’ lank, convulsively thrashing +limbs. + +It was over in an instant. The slender physician, overwhelmed, fell +sprawling, apparently helpless, his left hand feeling along the other’s +huge arm. A mere touch, it seemed, upon that mass of muscle, a strangled +roar, and Rutledge’s right arm dropped helplessly. + +Somers twisted in his grip and freed a hand still holding the heavy +pistol, which Anne Christie had given him. I gasped. + +But he did not fire. Instead, the pistol’s lying barrel tapped his huge +adversary neatly across the base of the skull, and Roaring Lafe Rutledge +relaxed. His great arms all abroad, he settled slowly upon his back, +inert as a pole-axed steer. + +The physician rose, feeling gingerly of his throat. “It’s all in knowing +where to hit ’em,” he said hoarsely. + +The captured mountaineers eyed him admiringly. “Well, dog my cats!” +exclaimed the man called Hank. “Fust time ever I seed anybody best +Roarin’ Lafe! I wouldn’t ’a’ believed it.” + +“Come, men,” ordered the government agent briskly. “Round these fellows +up and search ’em. You, Bailey, Gaines, and Lipkowitz, stick around. +We’ve made a clean sweep, I think; but pick up anybody else who comes in +here, and in the morning destroy that still. You know where it is, +Gaines, and now come along down. You can ride the horses tied outside +there. Somers, you and your friends had better come with us.” + +The revenue men moved swiftly. Soon a little heap of pistols and knives +lay on the floor beside the guns dropped by their prisoners. + +“Take charge of these weapons, Bailey,” ordered the chief again. “You +others, rope these chaps and come along.” + +It was done forthwith, and we all set out, the gray-haired man in front, +carrying an electric belt lamp, behind him the seven prisoners in single +file, the right wrist of each handcuffed. Each empty cuff was knotted to +a long rope at four-foot intervals, so that they made a long line, +fastened securely together. Revenue officers with ready rifles marched +on either side, while Somers, Peter, and I dragged wearily behind. + +I soon saw why the prisoners were fastened thus oddly, for we plunged +straight down the mountainside, on foot, in a long line. The slope was +so steep that we all had to clutch at the close-growing trees, climbing +as if down a steep ladder. The prisoners made heavy weather of it; their +shackled arms were hampered, and the rope, which bound them together, +was continually catching and retarding them. But, with both hands +secured, they could never have negotiated that dizzying slant; and, +unless all had been fastened together, one or more would surely have +been able to make an escape on that dark, wooded mountainside which they +knew so well. + +As it was, after what seemed an age of sliding and scrambling down +grades, which just missed being perpendicular, we reached a little +clearing on comparatively level ground, all breathless and scratched, +our clothes half torn off. We had come ten miles, I suppose. Already +dawn was gray in the east, and I, for one, was exhausted. I hailed the +motor cars which awaited us with a prayer of silent thanksgiving. + +My comrades seemed almost as tired as I, and the gray-haired revenue +agent turned a drawn, haggard face to the early light. + +“We’re well out of that!” he said. “A couple more hours up there might +have seen an attempt at rescue. Roaring Lafe has plenty of friends on +the mountain.” + +Rutledge had preserved a somber silence ever since he returned to +consciousness. He stood with bent head, his magnificent physique +apparently unwearied by our forced march. Now and again he turned a +queer, almost admiring look upon Somers. + +He did not reply to the government man’s remark, but the fellow called +Cal Col laughed jeeringly. + +“Yah!” he said. “Lafe Rutledge hain’t got no friends in th’ mountains +_now_, no more’n he has kinfolks! They’s plenty will be glad that he’s +done cotched--roarin’ an bullyin’ round like he done!” His snaky eyes +were filled with malevolence. + +“Shut up!” ordered one of his guards and slapped him across the sneering +mouth. I think we were all disgusted by his haste to vilify his fallen +leader. + +“Yessir, cap’n, I kin tell you-all lots o’ things. I’d have turned up +all this moonshinin’ an’ blockadin’ meanness long ago, on’y I done bin +a-scaret o’ Lafe Rutledge.” He fawned upon the government man, crooked +teeth showing in a repulsive, insinuating smile. + +Rutledge smiled bitterly, but did not speak. I wondered what his +thoughts might be; if he regretted now that he had once tried to force +his stepdaughter into a marriage with this--this reptile? + +At the end of a rough wagon track stood three motor cars, a couple of +flivvers and a light express truck, covered with wire gratings at either +end. Into this the officers urged their prisoners, still bound together, +and padlocked the grated door behind them. The truck made a tolerable +substitute for a Black Maria, even if its passengers had to seat +themselves upon the floor. An armed man took his place beside its driver +and faced backward to watch the prisoners. + +“Drive on, Brownell,” ordered the gray man. “And, remember, you in +there, we’re coming right behind, with half a dozen rifles trained on +that truck every minute!” + +We three piled into one of the flivvers, and the rest of the government +men followed, filling every seat, clinging precariously to the running +boards. + +That was a wild drive down the mountainside, though we went slowly +enough, perforce. But there was no more than a track, rough and uneven, +winding among stumps and fallen trees; huge roots and boulders lay +athwart it, so that we were shaken like corn in a popper, and I wondered +how these cars had ever been made to climb so high, when the going down +seemed about to wreck them at every turn. The mountaineers, huddled on +the floor of that truck, must have suffered cruelly, with no seats to +which they might cling; but no murmur escaped them. Only Cal Col kept up +a constant wail, until the man nearest him struck him heavily across the +mouth, silencing him effectually. + +At last we were down, without having broken either a spring or any of +our bones, and by seven o’clock our odd procession pulled up before the +Asheville city prison. The government agent clambered stiffly out. “I’ll +make a deal with the chief of police to take care of these birds until +we can bring them before the commissioner,” said he. “Doctor Somers, I’m +greatly obliged to you and your friends. It was risky, of course, to use +you men as decoys, but, thanks to you, we caught the whole gang +together. You brought in their sentinels for us, and we had a clear +field. You might have been killed, of course, but it came out very well. +Can I do anything in return?” + +Somers nodded. “Why, yes. You can turn that man Rutledge over to me, as +a regularly appointed deputy sheriff of Carabas County. He’s wanted over +there. I’ll get a warrant first and serve it. You’ll keep him safe until +then?” + +The other bowed a grim head. “Oh, yes, and for the next twenty years, at +least!” + +While we talked, the prisoners were being unloaded, to the curious +delight of a rapidly gathering crowd. Old Rutledge descended +ponderously, his eyes upon Somers. Meeting that odd, almost friendly +regard, the lanky doctor started. + +“Here, man,” he said excitedly. “You can do this: Give me a chance for a +quiet talk with Rutledge now. Maybe I can get something out of him.” + +The revenue agent agreed readily, and in ten minutes we faced the huge +mountaineer in the little office of the jail. A stalwart officer stood +on either side of him, pistol in hand; for Roaring Lafe was too +notorious to be guarded carelessly. + +Doctor Somers leaned toward him impulsively. “Look here, Rutledge! +There’s a friend of mine in jail, over there in Pinelands, waiting his +trial. He was married the other day, and his bride is waiting for him, +crying her eyes out. You’re an old man; won’t you help them?” + +The moonshiner looked back at him squarely, his bright old eyes +curiously wistful and soft. “I hain’t havin’ no truck ’ith furriners,” +he answered slowly, “but I’ll do whut I kin for _you_, stranger. Yore +th’ fust one ever bested Roaring Lafe yit; I cain’t tell now how yuh +done hit. Whut kin I do?” + +“Confess!” said Somers swiftly. “You might as well; we’ve got you +anyway. Confess, and let poor old Parker out now, instead of keeping him +until you’re tried.” + +Rutledge laughed hoarsely. “Confess? W’y, stranger, hain’t no need o’ me +confessing hardly. They done cotched me, still an’ all!” + +“Yes, for blockading, I know, but not for murder.” + +“Murder? What-all ye talkin’ ’bout, stranger? I ain’t done no killin’ +meanness--not in Carabas County.” + +“I’m talking about the murder of Doctor Gaskell,” said Somers +impatiently. “Don’t try to pretend you don’t know that! We can prove it +on you, only it’ll take longer.” + +Roaring Lafe stared at us. “But I hain’t done no killin’ in Pinelands,” +he repeated. “I’m a-tellin’ ye th’ truth, stranger,” he declared, not +without a certain rude dignity. “Don’t ye go fer t’ call Lafe Rutledge a +liar, suh!” + +And then, seeing our puzzlement, he leaned forward confidentially. “I’ll +tell ye,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll tell you-all th’ whole thing. I did +aim for t’ kill Gaskell, account o’ this here.” His wide gesture +indicated his guards, his handcuffs, the jail. “He done found out more’n +he’d oughter, an’ I sont word Satterfield was t’ fix ’im, lessen he sh’d +do whut he done. An’ ’en I come down t’ Pinelands my own se’f. We’d had +dealin’s oncet, Gaskell an’ me, an’ I didn’t aim t’ do no meanness +lessen I jist hadda. I went to ’is house, an’ I done sont ’im word to +tell I aimed t’ settle ’ith him come sunup. An’ I went to his house that +night, aimin’ for to waylay ’im, come mornin’, like I said. Satterfield +was there, an’ I sont ’im back, aimin’ t’ do th’ job my own self. Well, +after while--long mebbe a hour afore sunup--out come Gaskell ’ith ’is +doctor bag an’ sot out th’oo th’ pines acrost th’ big road. I follered +after ’im, ’ith my pistol gun ready. He traveled ’long th’oo them pines +an’ into th’ bresh, an’ me after ’im, ontwel I--I seen th’ ha’nt. An’ +’en I lit out a-runnin’. Yessuh!” + +He stopped, curiously shamefaced, and stared at Somers, with a sort of +sulky defiance. + +“You--you saw a haunt--a ghost?” + +“Uh-huh!” The tough-souled old reprobate nodded violently, so that his +patriarchal beard wagged again. “Yassuh! I seen th’ ha’nt, all white, +like in a shroud, an’ blue smoke like brimstone ’round about, an’ eyes +a-flamin’ dreadful--an’ I shore did light a shuck outa there. Gentlemen, +hush! I don’t aim t’ have no truck ’ith ghosteses.” + +His big, bold face was all twisted with superstitious awe; the hand +which clutched his beard was trembling. There could be no doubt that he +spoke the truth. Whatever loose newspaper or waving sheet had wrought +upon his ignorant fancy, he was fully convinced that he had encountered +a spirit, and had been driven by it from his intended crime. + +“And you didn’t shoot Gaskell? Did you see anybody else there? Was +Satterfield gone?” + +“Nossuh--yassuh. I aimed fer to shoot ’im, but I plumb didn’t! I jist +tuck my foot in my hand an’ lit a-runnin’. Ner I didn’t see nobody, +neither. I didn’t look round, lessen th’ ha’nt was a-follerin’ of me; +but Satterfield, he’d done gone back up th’ hill long afore that.” + +Somers groaned aloud. I could have wept. Weary as I was, I had been +buoyed up by hope until now. I had borne with all this strain and +fatigue, exulting within myself that now, at last, Lewis would be freed. +This blow was too much. The room whirled before me; Somers’ face +blurred, grew monstrously big, then receded from my sight. I heard his +voice faintly: + +“Well, then, in Heaven’s name, who _did_ kill Gaskell?” + +Rutledge’s reply sounded fainter yet, a hoarse whisper, trembling with +superstitious dread. “I reckon hit musta been th’ ha’nt!” + +“The ghost!” Somers’ voice was reflective, almost convinced. “I believe +you’re right, Rutledge; it must have been the ghost!” + +The words seemed to come from an immense distance; they rang in my ears +like a knell. “Poor Somers!” I thought. “He’s gone crazy; he’s off his +head about this thing, just like the rest of us!” + +Then I lost consciousness. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + THE RETURN + + +I woke with a start, in a strange room, staring about me in dull wonder. +Oh, well, it was scarcely daylight, and I was still tired out. I would +go back to sleep and save my questions until breakfast time. I turned +over, yawning, but a familiar voice dragged me back from slumber. + +“Get up, unk!” It was Peter McGregor. “You’ll have to get going; train +leaves in an hour.” + +Again I yawned. “What time is it?” + +“Seven o’clock.” Then he laughed at my exclamation. “No, unk, seven at +night. You’ve only slept twelve hours. Hurry up, now, we’ve got to be +back in Pinelands by morning.” + +Reluctantly enough I rose, every stiff old joint aching, and tumbled +into my clothes. Peter and Doctor Somers were dressed and throwing their +few belongings into traveling bags. + +Presently we set out for the Asheville station and the eight-fifteen +train, which would take us to Raleigh, a silent, disconsolate trio, as +much at sea as on the morning of Doctor Gaskell’s mysterious murder. We +had followed trail after trail with such high hopes; our suspicions had +pointed here and there; and each suspect had cleared himself. I groaned +aloud as we three sat in the Pullman smoking room. + +“All we really know, up to date,” said I, “is that Gaskell left his +house, and was killed an hour before Lewis came out there.” + +Somers nodded. “Even that is going to be hard to prove,” he answered +gloomily. “One point rests on the unsupported word of a notorious +blockader, a fellow more than suspected of one murder, and now under +arrest for making moonshine whisky. Vanbrugh will tear his evidence into +tatters, even if he’ll testify. And the other point: that Gaskell had +been dead some time when Parker fired; it rests on your word alone. And +you’ll have to admit yourself that you were pretty well upset.” + +“Maybe Rutledge killed him, after all,” I suggested weakly. + +“I doubt it. And, even if he did, we can’t prove it. We can’t prove he +even saw Gaskell that morning, except by his own statement, which +wouldn’t go far in law.” + +Peter leaned forward, scowling. “Look here,” he began. “Now don’t get +sore, unk; promise? Because, even if he did, I’m for him all the way, +and no doubt he had provocation we know nothing about. But have you +thought that maybe Lewis did kill him, after all? No”--as I would have +gone over the evidence once more--“no, I don’t mean then, when you heard +the shot. But he might have gone out there at four o’clock; it was quite +light, even at that time, and he might have met Gaskell and shot him. +Then he was scared, of course, and he went to the house and cleaned his +gun and reloaded it and came back at five, meaning, no doubt, to pretend +he’d just found the body. He’d have said he just got up, and, when he +went into that tangle after the quail, he found Gaskell’s body by the +path, dead and cold. His gun would be clean, both barrels loaded, and +nobody’d have suspected him. But, when he got out there, he tripped, and +the gun went off by accident; that’s the way it happened, you said +yourself, unk. And the constable just happened to be coming past and +heard it, and there he was!” + +“Nonsense!” said I. “That’s absurd.” But was it? I had to admit to +myself that it was an adequate explanation, that it fitted most +diabolically into all we knew about the case. I closed my eyes; I could +see the whole thing. Lewis, gun in hand, prowling through the dawn after +quail; Gaskell meeting him on the path, carrying his medicine case; the +quarrel. There would have been hot words; my nephew had not forgotten +his anger of the day before. A sneering laugh, perhaps, as the older man +lost patience; Lewis’ unruly temper flaming forth; the shotgun in his +nervous hands, leveling itself; the explosion! And then my poor, +impulsive boy, shuddering at the sight of a bleeding body; creeping +stealthily through the bushes, cleaning and reloading the gun with hands +that shook; waiting for the body of his victim to stiffen; whipping +round the old house to advance boldly down that fateful path--with what +inward tremors and self-loathings! He comes on slowly, looking for the +body; it should be about here. And then a stumble; the shotgun, +forgotten in his unsteady hands, the finger tightening involuntarily +upon its trigger; the second shot! And upon its heels an outcry, the +pounding run of Constable Wakefield; the accusation! + +No wonder Lewis had seemed dazed! He must have thought it retribution, +the accidental discharge of his gun bringing back upon him all the +public guilt he had sought so cunningly to conceal. + +And then I shook my head stubbornly. Lewis Parker do that? No! He was my +nephew, almost my son; I knew him as I knew myself. + +“Nonsense!” I repeated sturdily. “My boy never did such a thing as that. +He might have killed Gaskell in the heat of passion, but he never +sneaked and hid afterward, or plotted out such a scheme as that to +escape. I don’t--I won’t believe it!” + +“I sure do hope you’re right, unk,” said Peter heavily. “But it does +seem beastly logical.” + +It did. It was fiendishly, horribly logical. I could see that if such an +idea occurred to Vanbrugh, the solicitor, the poor defense we could +proffer would become a boomerang to destroy us. For, on the face of it, +we could make the killing appear an accident, perhaps; at the worst an +impulsive, unpremeditated act. But this other, this sneaking off to +reload and returning to discover the body--this cunning scheme +frustrated, as Vanbrugh would make it appear, by the accidental +discharge of the gun--why, it made my nephew a cold, deliberate +murderer! Shuddering I recalled my dream of the explosion of that cannon +in my bedroom. That must have been the first shot, the shot which had +killed Gaskell! Had Lewis pulled the trigger? + +All this while Somers had sat silent, chin in his long, bony hands, a +cigarette drooping from his sour, discontented lips. I turned to him +impatiently. + +“What do you think, Somers? You know my nephew; is he capable of such a +thing as that?” + +The lanky physician raised his head and stared at me with deep-set, +inscrutable, gray-green eyes. “I told you this morning,” he replied. +“From all we’ve found out I’m beginning to believe it was the ghost +killed Gaskell.” And his chin dropped again. Well, there was little +enough satisfaction in that! + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + AN AGITATED HOUSEHOLD + + +We descended from the train at the Pinelands depot into a bright, sunny +morning. And, even above the throbbing of the train, the sighing of +released air brakes, I heard the strident cry of those detestable quail. +I shook my fist in a paroxysm of unreasonable fury. + +Those cursed bobwhite! If it hadn’t been for them and Aunt Mary’s fool +complaints, this thing would never have happened. + +We climbed into the station’s solitary jitney and had ourselves driven +to Fort House. + +The family were all at table. Entering the dining room, my eyes fell +first upon Miss McGregor; and I was appalled. Her thin face, beneath the +crown of snowy hair, was ghastly, greenish pale, and the delicate skin +hung in bags beneath her eyes. She had changed startlingly in these last +two days. Poor old woman! She was not long for this world, I thought. + +Then my thoughts were interrupted by glad, agitated outcries. Dorothy +fell upon my neck, weeping, and clutched me tight; and Anne Christie, +usually so self-contained, hugged me, too, and ran on to grip Doctor +Somers by both hands. + +“Oh, Uncle George!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Oh, Peter!” And she put out a +hand to him. “We’re so glad you came, so glad you’re back, all three of +you! It’s been just terrible here!” + +Miss Christie nodded emphatically, and they both wept and hugged us all +and dragged us into the dining room and seated us. They were both +talking at once, tremulously, frantically glad of our coming. And all +this while Aunt Mary sat, rigid, staring at nothing, her face terribly +white and old, too much absorbed in her own gloomy thoughts to be either +glad or sorry we had returned. But every time the quail whistled outside +the windows, she flinched visibly. + +“Now, then,” I began, as the tumult subsided a trifle, “what’s all the +excitement about? And where’s Rosina?” For Dorothy herself had gone to +the kitchen for our coffee and Miss Christie was bringing in the toast. + +At that the babble recommenced. “Rosina’s gone--left this morning. Said +she couldn’t stand it here. Too many ‘ha’nts and ghostesses’ for her,” +the girls answered, both talking at once. “And, oh, how I wish we could +all go! It’s been just terrible!” + +“Hold on,” said Somers, and the two girls subsided momentarily. “One +thing at a time. First, let us assure you, Miss McGregor, that you won’t +be annoyed because we came back. The gentlemen, who would have liked to +abolish us, are all safe in jail.” + +“Oh, goody! Then Lewis is all right?” Dorothy glowed at the idea. + +Somers nodded. “He’ll be all right,” he replied evasively. + +Miss Christie had turned pale. “And my--my stepfather?” + +“Yes, Anne, Rutledge, too. He can’t trouble you now.” + +“And did he----” + +“No, it wasn’t Rutledge, but he told me where to look. However, that +will keep. Now tell us, you first, Anne, what’s wrong here?” + +The nurse began obediently. “It’s the Poltergeist. We’ve just been +frightened to death! Night before last and last night, too, all over the +house. Miss McGregor had sent me out, and I was in the living room with +Dorothy, and we heard awful shrieks from the basement. We ran down +there, and the Poltergeist had been in Rosina’s room and pulled the +bedclothes off her and stuck pins into her legs, and everything. And +this morning Rosina packed up and left, two hours ago. Wouldn’t stay to +get breakfast, even.” + +“That was last night,” Dorothy took up the tale. “On the previous night +the Poltergeist was in my room and smeared cold cream all over my +dresser and emptied my powder box into the clothes-press and s-stole my +wedding dress and s-stuck it in the f-furnace. It’s just r-ruined and +spoiled! I don’t believe any other body ever had such a time!” + +“And we’re all so frightened--so s-scared that we were just saying if +you men didn’t come back--if you-all left us alone any longer, we’d go +to the hotel to-night!” Thus the duet continued. + +“Humph!” said Somers queerly. “Ghosts again. Perhaps this Poltergeist +isn’t as harmless as you said, when I first came down here. So it +visited Rosina and you, Dorothy. How about you, Anne? Did you come in +for its attentions?” + +The nurse nodded, big-eyed. “I sat in the living room last night after +Dorothy got me up. She was afraid to go back to bed and we sat in there +and dozed off, I reckon. Anyway the first I knew I was right on the +floor! The Poltergeist had pulled my chair out from under me, and +Dorothy never saw a thing, either!” + +“Not one thing!” Dorothy corroborated. “But then I expect I was asleep, +too. We’re all just used up, Doctor Somers. Nobody in this house has had +two hours of sleep in the last two nights, unless it was Aunt Mary.” + +“Humph! And where was Miss McGregor when all these things happened?” + +All this while Aunt Mary had sat mute, stonily calm, showing neither +pleasure nor annoyance at our return, apparently quite uninterested in +the pranks of the Poltergeist. But now she straightened, with a queer, +hostile glance at the physician. + +“Where was I?” she asked. “Where could I be? I lay helpless in bed, +where I’d been put, as a poor old paralytic has to! Lay there all alone, +forgotten, as usual! I suppose,” she went on acidly, “I should have +risen on my poor, useless limbs and run out to protect three perfectly +healthy women?” + +“And did the Poltergeist annoy you, too?” + +“Never mind! Who cares what happens to me? I’m nothing but a helpless +cripple, a drag and a hindrance.” Her white lips worked pitifully. “But +I won’t trouble anybody much longer.” + +I believed her this time; she looked ghastly. And I pitied her +sincerely, in spite of her callous selfishness, her bitter tongue. + +Doctor Somers pushed back his plate and rose. “You’ve had a bad time,” +he said, taking the old lady’s veined hand. “Does your spine trouble you +much to-day? How are the knots in your neck?” + +His voice was inimitably gentle, sympathetic, winning. Aunt Mary +softened to it at once, and, after he had wheeled her into the sitting +room, discussed her ailments for an hour or more in quite her usual +manner. The strain of her pale face lessened; a faint color returned to +her lips. If this were Doctor Somers’ bedside manner, I thought, he must +be a most successful practitioner. + +Gradually he led the talk from Aunt Mary’s symptoms and drew her on to +discuss the Poltergeist and spiritualism generally. The old lady +expressed very positive opinions. She had read widely on the subject, I +could see, and her talk was interesting enough. But what Somers’ sudden +interest in spiritism might be, I could not fathom. + +Presently he spoke of the ouija board. “I have one,” said the old lady. +“I’ve had many very important communications through ouija.” + +Next, I scarcely know how it was brought about, she had volunteered to +give us a demonstration. Miss Christie fetched the ouija board and set +it upon her knees. Blindfolded, Aunt Mary put her finger tips on the +little three-legged indicator, and Somers, also blinded, followed suit. +They sat there, knee to knee, motionless. + +“Some one put a question,” directed the old lady sepulchrally. + +“Who--who spoiled my wedding dress?” asked Dorothy, a little thrill in +her voice. + +Under our eyes the indicator began to move slowly, mysteriously, +apparently of its own volition. Leaning over my shoulder, Dorothy read +the letters it pointed out to the blindfolded operators. + +“P-O-L-T-E----Why, Uncle George!” Her excited breath fanned my cheek. +“It’s spelling ‘Poltergeist!’” + +And so it did. And the queer, superstitious thrill of the unexplained +caught hold of us all. We breathed quicker, impressed in spite of +ourselves. + +“Why does the Poltergeist trouble us?” asked Miss Christie. + +Slowly, mysteriously, the ouija board answered. The pointer moved from +one letter to another deliberately, surely, as though guided by +intelligence instead of by the finger tips of two blindfolded people, of +whom one, at least, was surely a skeptic. + +“B-E-C-A-U-S-E O-F C-R-I-M-E,” it spelled. + +“Oh-h!” gasped Dorothy. “Aunty, quick! Ask it who killed Doctor +Gaskell?” + +The old lady sat rigid, motionless as a marble statue and as pale. The +pointer moved, hesitated, moved again. Her stiffened arms began to +tremble. + +Then suddenly, from beyond the window, came the strident, insistent call +of a quail: “Bob_white_! Bob_white_!” + +Aunt Mary screamed. Her hands flew up, clawing at the bandage about her +head. + +“I--I can’t stand it!” she exclaimed. “It’s driving me mad! Oh, oh, oh!” +Her voice rose in a crescendo of agony. “That noise--that noise--it’s +killing me!” She drooped in her wheel chair, head on a shoulder, +translucent eyelids flickering down, unconscious. + +“Humph!” said Somers coolly. “She’s fainted this time.” He felt her +pulse, lifted her fallen eyelids to peer at her pupils, tapped her +knees. She moved convulsively. “Get water, Anne. We’d better lay her +down. No, she’s coming round all right.” + +Aunt Mary opened tragic eyes. “Wh-what happened? Oh, I know! If I have +to listen to those horrible birds any longer I’ll die!” + +“I’ll see to that,” said Somers. “But now you’d better go back to bed. +You’re badly upset; I’ll just examine you a bit; then I’ll know just +what to do.” + +That did not suit, either. “No!” she answered, almost screaming. “No, +no, _no_! Get back, get away, don’t touch me! I won’t have it--I won’t +be examined--I won’t, I won’t! You’ve been against me every minute, ever +since you came,” she went on wildly. “You shan’t touch me, I tell you!” + +In her excitement she heaved herself up by her arms, half rising in her +chair, as if to flee. But her legs failed her, and she dropped back, +panting, helplessly defiant. “Don’t dare to touch me!” she repeated. + +“Humph!” said Doctor Somers, rubbing his chin. “Certainly not, dear +lady. Don’t distress yourself. I won’t come near you at all. But I can +do one thing to help you, anyhow. I’ll borrow a shotgun to-day, and in +the morning after breakfast Peter and I will go out together and kill +those quail, so they can’t trouble you any more. They must have nested +in the bushes back there.” + +The old lady looked at him more kindly; but both girls cried out at this +offer. + +“Oh, no!” said Dorothy. + +“Oh, please don’t!” implored the nurse. “Look what happened when Doctor +Parker started to do that. He got into just terrible trouble!” + +Somers only laughed and rose. “I’ll run down and see Parker,” said he. +“You’d better lie down, Miss McGregor.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + A BORROWED SHOTGUN + + +I decided to accompany the physician, though my night on the sleeper had +left me pretty tired. But I wanted to see Lewis; so we got out the +faithful flivver and drove downtown. + +“Hope the old chap’s been well looked after,” said Somers. “I left the +key with Wakefield before we went. But no doubt Dorothy’s been there +every day.” + +We stopped at the constable’s house, got the lockup key, and went on to +the jail. Poor Lewis looked ill, I thought. Confinement was wearing on +his high spirits; his greeting, though hearty enough, was subdued. We +told him of our trip to the mountains, and its negative result. He shook +his head hopelessly. + +“Mighty good of you both, but it was no use. Nothing’s any use now; I +can feel it; I know it! Some dreadful fate is against me; I’m doomed. +They’ll convict me of this murder as surely as I sit here.” + +“Lewis,” said I impulsively, “Peter suggested that perhaps you did kill +Gaskell at four o’clock, then cleaned the gun and came back, meaning to +pretend to discover the body. You--you didn’t do _that_?” + +He smiled sadly. “You see? Even Peter believes I did it. And you had +your doubts, unk. There’s no hope for me--none at all. No, Uncle George, +I didn’t do that. If I shot Gaskell at all, it was just as I told you: +at five o’clock, and by accident. I didn’t even know he was there.” + +“Buck up, Parker,” said Somers. “Things are beginning to look bright for +you.” + +Just vague optimism, I thought; and so did Lewis. + +But before he could reply some one knocked on the jail door. I unlocked +it, and Wakefield appeared, escorting the sheriff. + +“Howdy, people! Mr. Uhlman, I hear you-all was up to the hills recent?” + +I nodded; and in response to his keen questioning, Somers and I told him +all that had transpired there. + +“H’m,” said he reflectively, fingering his absurd white mustache. “H’m! +So Satterfield an’ Roarin’ Lafe was thereabouts ’at mornin’? Yeah, I +kinda s’picioned them two. Y’ see, Gaskell come t’ me ’bout th’ +cawn-liquor trade; it was me sent word t’ Raleigh on his say-so. Yeah, I +kinda reckoned mebbe one or other o’ them two mighta done ’at killin’. +But they claimed it wa’n’t neither of ’em done it, an’ you-all believed +’em both, huh? H’m! I done studied about this here killin’ a right +smart, one time an’ another. I reckoned Vanbrugh was all wrong. H’m! +Well, gentlemen, I reckon you-all ain’t a-goin’ t’ need them depitty +stars no longer. Y’ see th’ county jail’s ’bout fixed now. Oh, they’s a +right smart o’ work left--kinda sorry-lookin’ place yit, all scorched, +but I reckon we better carry Doc Parker over yonder ag’in. H’m! I better +take them stars. You-all c’n tell young McGregor he’s resigned; he ain’t +a depitty no more. He c’n turn in his badge to-morrow. Rufe here c’n +keep ’at lockup key, an’ I’ll send a reg’lar depitty over t’ keep him +comp’ny an’ carry th’ doc t’ jail ag’in to-morrow mornin’. H’m! Good +day!” He nodded slightly and waddled out. + +Lewis sighed dispiritedly. “You see, unk! Redden was inclined to think +me innocent until now. He’s been mighty decent. I suppose he thought the +bootleggers killed Gaskell, and was working quietly along that line; now +he thinks I did it. Did you see him look at me? And I’m to be treated +like any other prisoner awaiting trial.” + +We left him. After all, what comfort had we to offer? Doctor Somers +called after the retiring constable. + +“Oh, Wakefield! Say, Rufe, got a shotgun you’ll lend me?” + +The big man nodded slowly. “W’y, yes, doc,” he replied amicably. It was +strange how Pinelands had adopted Somers; already he was intimate with +half the town and every one liked him, as did this huge, timorous, +boastful constable. + +“W’y shore, I gotta gun--kind of a one, leastways. Jist let me lock up, +and I’ll git ’er, ’f you-all’ll carry me home.” + +After a few minutes we returned to Fort House, Somers holding in the +crook of one long arm a dilapidated double-barreled shotgun. + +“Not much to look at, as Rufe admitted,” he remarked, displaying the +weapon. “But I guess she’ll shoot, and Peter’s got lots of shells.” + +It was a dubious-looking affair, whose stock had been split and wound +with tape and wire, both about the grip and above the lock, where its +barrels were hinged. Somers broke it and peered down the barrels. + +“A bit rusty,” he announced and snapped the barrels into place. They +dropped promptly back. “And the catch doesn’t work properly. I’ll have +to watch out, or the old thing’ll break when I fire it, and I’ll get +beaned. But it will do, I expect.” + +We went on into the house. Aunt Mary was nowhere in sight, but the two +girls fastened upon us at once, demanding full details of our trip. “We +didn’t dare say much about it before Aunt Mary,” explained Dorothy. “She +acts so queer when we talk about the murder, and Peter is so +aggravating. He just keeps saying: ‘Wait; let Somers tell it. He was the +hero!’ So go ahead, doctor, and tell us!” + +Somers told our tale, prompted now and again while the two young women +listened, spellbound. + +“Satterfield showed us up,” said he, “and the bunch was just about to +eat us alive when the revenue agents stepped in and arrested all hands. +We slid down the mountain in the dark, and----” + +“Hold on!” interrupted Peter, grinning. “Let me. No, doc, you’ve got to +be a hero, that’s all. The government men came in and this Roaring Lafe, +this great beefy giant, climbed Somers here and got him by the throat. +‘I’m going to kill _you_, anyhow!’ he said. And nobody dared shoot, they +thrashed about so, and poor feeble old doc here was being choked to +death.” + +He stopped, prolonging the suspense. “Ah-h-h!” sighed Anne. “Go on!” + +“And what do you think the old skeleton did? Why, just poked Roaring +Lafe in the armpit and paralyzed that arm; and then he up with that +pistol you gave him and tapped him on the back of his head, just as +gently, and Roaring Lafe drifted off into dreamland, right away, quick. +Behold the hee-ro!” + +Somers looked annoyed. “It wasn’t anything,” he said. “It’s all in +knowing where to hit ’em.” + +Anne Christie’s big violet eyes hung upon him almost reverently. This +lanky doctor not only did not fear Roaring Lafe, but he had vanquished +him in single combat by force of arms! He might have been a demigod, so +worshiping was her gaze. + +“Look!” whispered Dorothy. “And he doesn’t even see it. Men are so +blind! Don’t he know she’s in love with him?” + +If he did he made no sign. He went calmly on while the dull flush faded +from his cheeks, telling of the trip down the mountain, of our interview +with Rutledge at the jail. + +“But--but,” said Dorothy, “you s-said it was all right! You said you’d +found out who killed Doctor Gaskell, so Lewis could come home--and you +didn’t! You haven’t done a thing! Why, we’re worse off than we were +before. Oh, dear; oh, dear!” + +“I have found out,” declared Somers. “Just wait!” + +“Wait?” she asked. “Wait? That’s all you say--wait, wait, wait! Oh, +it’s very easy for you to wait; you’re not in p-prison, and he’s not +your h-husband, either! I’m going to send for a lawyer--a +detective--somebody! Lewis shan’t be c-convicted before my eyes like +this. Wait, you keep saying! How much l-longer must I wait?” + +“Until to-morrow.” + +I started, looked at the lanky, imperturbable physician more closely. +For all his external calm I saw now that his strange, gray-green eyes +shone with excitement; that some inner fever twitched at his lean hands +and made them unsteady. What had he discovered that was hidden from me? + +“Oh-h! Honest?” asked Dorothy incredulously. + +He nodded. “Honest! Just wait until morning; you’ll see, unless I’m +making a terrible mistake.” + +“But--but who?” we all demanded, excitedly. “Who did it, then?” + +Somers grinned. “Closer!” he ordered and whispered dramatically into our +eager ears. + +“I think it was--the Poltergeist!” + +And he would say no more. I was disgusted at this ill-timed joking; with +my nephew in the county jail once more, awaiting trial for his life, +this silly jest seemed in bad taste, to say the least of it. But there +matters rested for the remainder of a most unpleasant day. + +Aunt Mary appeared at supper, looking very haggard, but quite calm. She +smiled wanly and talked in a weak voice about spiritism. She quite +ignored this morning’s outburst; and so did the rest of us. + +But I was still more disgusted with Somers when he abandoned his pose of +silly credulity and came out flatly to proclaim an utter disbelief in +all spiritistic manifestations. What ailed the fellow? A few hours ago +he had not only lapped up Aunt Mary’s farrago, but had declared with +every appearance of sincerity that Gaskell had been murdered by a ghost; +now he announced, with a supercilious sneer, that we had merely imagined +the Poltergeist; that it was absurd to suppose that any spirit could +have dragged Rosina’s bedclothes off her, or destroyed Dorothy’s wedding +dress. + +We were all angry, I think, even Peter. + +“I suppose I imagined myself on the floor when the thing dragged my +chair from under me,” he said. + +Somers smiled maddeningly. “You went to sleep and fell off.” + +“And how about my blankets?” I asked. “You saw yourself they were gone +from my bed.” + +“You walked in your sleep, no doubt, and carried ’em away.” + +“Do you think I’d sp-spoil my own wedding dress, even if I was asleep?” +asked Dorothy indignantly. “And I suppose Rosina stuck pins into +herself, too?” + +“No doubt.” Somers rose, still grinning. “Ghosts!” said he. “Rot! There +are no ghosts. You folks dreamed or imagined most of this stuff, and +there’s probably a very simple explanation for the rest. Just +superstition, that’s all. You’ve exaggerated and dwelt upon these things +until you’re all convinced a ghost did ’em, and you use all sorts of +trifles to bolster up your belief.” + +There was just enough truth in the charge to irritate us all. Only Aunt +Mary failed to protest, but the strangely vindictive look which she bent +upon Somers made me catch my breath. + +“I shan’t argue about it,” she said coldly. “I only hope, Doctor Somers, +that you may never suffer for your disbelief. Sometimes the spirits +resent disbelief, doctor, and punish it!” + +I shivered, there was such prophetic menace in her tones, but Somers +only smiled again. + +“I’m going to bed early,” he declared. “I left that shotgun in the +cupboard on the back porch. Don’t touch it, you girls; it’s loaded. I’m +about used up; I’m going to sleep late if I can. But after breakfast +Peter and I will go a-hunting for bobwhites!” + +“Don’t!” begged Dorothy again. “If you do, I’m just sure somebody will +be killed. It’s bad luck to hunt those quail; I know it!” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + THE POLTERGEIST’S LAST VISIT + + +I went to bed early, as we all did. That was a very tired household. +Somers disappeared directly after supper, and Aunt Mary followed half an +hour later. + +Dorothy and Anne Christie, after the old lady had been safely tucked in, +returned to the living room and sat with Peter and me for a while, +trying dismally to make talk. But, after two disturbed nights, they were +both dead for sleep. Dorothy nodded over her embroidery, and Miss +Christie wore again that expression of bovine somnolence, which Somers’ +medicine, or the events of this last month, had driven away. And Peter +and I were little better. + +At last Miss Christie rose. “It’s no use,” she declared. “I’m going to +bed. I--I feel as sleepy and as stupid as I ever did before I began +taking Doctor Somers’ tablets. If the Poltergeist should come back +to-night, I’d never know it--not unless he dragged me out of bed. And +then I’d just curl up on the floor, I think. I’m so sleepy!” + +It was not later than nine o’clock, but we were all exhausted, and we +all went to bed. I abandoned my half-formed design of sitting up to +watch for the Poltergeist. Let him come! I was too tired to care. + +Peter, yawning up the stairs beside me, expressed the same idea. “I +thought I’d sit up,” he said, “and watch for that darn ghost, just to +prove Somers was wrong, but I’m too sleepy.” + +Somers’ door was closed, and no sound came from behind it. Evidently he, +too, had succumbed to the need of rest. + +I bade Dorothy and Peter a sleepy good night, and in five minutes I was +undressed and in bed, fathoms deep in dreamless slumber. + +A sudden wild shriek awakened me, such a scream as would drag the +soundest sleeper from his bed and bring the cold sweat out upon his +forehead, a scream of mortal fear. It was Dorothy’s voice! + +Despite my rheumatism, I was out of bed and at her door in two leaps. My +heart was in my throat. + +“Dorothy!” I said. “Dorothy! What is it, child?” + +She clutched me, trembling. “Oh,” she said, shaking pitifully. “Oh, +dear! I--I can’t----” + +“What is it?” Peter was beside me, shaking his sister’s arm. “What’s +happened? Are you all right?” + +“I--there’s a s-snake in my bed!” + +Came a soft pad of unshod feet, the swish of loose garments, and Somers +was beside us. Even in my excitement I noticed and wondered at it--that +he came, not from his own room, but up the stairs. + +“What?” he asked, with one flashing look at us. “Unk, Pete”--he clutched +our shoulders cruelly--“tell me, is there a back stairway to this +joint?” + +We nodded dumbly, amazed at his query. + +“Oh, scissors!” He wheeled and disappeared as abruptly as he had come. I +heard his bare feet pounding down the stairs. + +Peter switched on the lights, and all three of us started back, laughing +confusedly. + +“Oh, dear me!” said Dorothy, drawing her bathrobe about her. + +Peter looked at my pajamas and laughed consumedly. “Those wide red +stripes are frightfully becoming, unk!” + +I snorted. They were good linen pajamas, and I had bought them very +cheap because of those very stripes. I am past the days of personal +vanity. + +“You’re no beauty yourself in those purple things,” I replied +resentfully. + +Then we separated, but returned presently, wrapped in dressing gowns, to +investigate Dorothy’s bed. + +Somers came back up the stairs. He, too, was in a bathrobe and slippers, +and he held one hand tightly shut. + +“Missed it,” he said. “I didn’t know about those back stairs. What +happened here?” + +“A s-snake in my bed!” said the girl, shivering. + +“Humph!” He threw back its covers. “Snake? Ha! No wonder.” + +He clutched at the sheet. It was damp, and in its center, right where +poor Dorothy’s back must have been, was a long sliver of ice. + +“Here’s your snake,” Somers declared. + +“I don’t care!” replied Dorothy. “It was just like a snake, long and +cold and clammy. Br-r-r!” + +He picked up the piece of ice and carried it to the bathroom. “Well, +your snake’s gone. Miss anything from the room?” + +“Nun-no,” she repeated wonderingly. Then she went to the dresser and +looked about a moment. “I do, too! My wedding ring and my diamond! Oh, +dear, my rings are gone!” + +“Here,” said Somers, opening his hand. His strange eyes danced brightly. +Triumph showed in every line of his face. In his palm lay both rings. + +“Oh, you dear man! Where were they? And now you believe in the +Poltergeist, don’t you?” + +“I found them in--in the hall. And as for the ghost--why, we will get +Aunt Mary to explain that later. Can you go back to sleep now?” + +The girl nodded doubtfully. “I--I think so, if all of you will leave +your doors wide open?” + +“I’m going to sit up,” said Somers, and Dorothy, somewhat reassured, +turned to her bed as we went out. + +The physician entered his own room. We heard him whistle shrilly. “Come +here, you chaps!” he called softly. + +Peter and I went in. And there, driven deep through coverlet and sheets, +right into the mattress, was a carving knife! + +“Humph!” said Somers. “Looks like the Poltergeist wasn’t entirely +harmless, don’t it? In the dark he must have thought I was in bed.” + +Not without difficulty he pulled out the seven-inch blade. It would have +pierced his body, had he been sleeping there! + +“Where were you?” I whispered. + +“Me? On the stairs, watching for the Poltergeist. Those back stairs +fooled me.” And he would say no more, except, “I found those rings just +outside Aunt Mary’s door.” + +“Maybe the ghost visited her, too!” I cried, alarmed. “Run down and see, +Peter. We forgot the poor old lady.” + +“Humph!” said Somers. “She’s good friends with the ghost, but go anyhow, +Peter.” + +Peter went. “Sound asleep, she says,” he reported. “Didn’t hear +anything. I went right in; Miss Christie was dead to the world; didn’t +hear me knock.” + +“Go to bed,” directed Somers. “No, nothing more to-night. Things are +going very nicely. In the morning this ought to be cleared up.” + +So we went back to bed, despairing of further information, but I could +not sleep. + +I lay there wide-eyed through the long, black hours, +wondering--wondering. Who--what was this specter, this Poltergeist? If +Somers had been in his bed to-night, it would have killed him; had it +killed Gaskell, also? And what did Aunt Mary know of the grisly thing? +Aunt Mary would explain, Somers had said. + +The old lady’s bed faced the window, I remembered, and that window +looked out upon the tangle of scrub oaks, where Gaskell had met his +death. It must have been light, even at four o’clock. Had Aunt Mary been +awake that morning? And if so, what had she seen? And why had she kept +it secret? There were huge cellars under the old house, I knew, cellars +long unexplored. + +Had Gaskell’s murderer come to the window? What whispered colloquy had +been held, there in the gray dawn, between the paralytic and this +stranger, this grisly ghost of the murderous hands? Had the old lady +recognized him, shielded him, told him where to hide, perhaps, in those +long closed cellars, where she might have played as a child? Fort House +was an old home of the McGregors; in the days of Dorothy’s grandfather, +Aunt Mary might well have visited it, explored its vast underground +caverns, where wines had once been stored. + +And what--who--was this murderer, then, whom she had shielded, who had +wandered about Fort House of nights, screaming horridly, eating from the +pantry, breaking dishes, playing ghostly tricks, stabbing, as he had +meant to, an innocent guest? I went cold at the picture in my +imagination. Some lunatic, some secret, stealthy madman, who might yet +slaughter us all! + +I sat up in bed, straining my ears, glad of the pistol I had rummaged +out at home, and which still lay in my bag. I got it out, resolved to +keep vigil. If this Poltergeist, this madman, came back, I would protect +Dorothy at least. And in the morning we would hunt, not harmless quail +in the back yard, but a wanton murderer through the cellars. + +The hours wore on, and dawn came slowly. As the east turned gray, the +quail piped up their matutinal song. + +“Bob_white_! Bob_white_!” they whistled; louder, closer, than ever +before. + +So shrill was their continual outcry, and so close beneath me, that at +last I tiptoed to the window. Perhaps I might see them, locate their +nests, against our later hunting. I swung back the screen and put out my +head, peering almost straight down. + +“Bob_white_! Bob_white_! Bob_white_!” they piped at three-second +intervals, regular as a clock and surprisingly loud and close. + +And then I gasped and almost fell out of the window. These were no +birds! The cry of quail was counterfeited so exactly that I could +scarcely believe my eyes; instead of a little brown bird, Floyd Somers +crouched beneath Aunt Mary’s window, diagonally below my own, his long, +lean legs grotesquely folded under him, his thin lips pursed. From his +lips, at regular, three-second intervals, came the shrill cry of the +bobwhite quail, exactly imitated! + +This childish buffoonery angered me sorely. What ailed the man? Had he +no appreciation of what hung over us? In the midst of the dark shadow +which covered Fort House, before the very eyes, perhaps, of a lurking, +murderous madman, he could find nothing better to do than play this +puerile practical joke upon a helpless old woman. + +“What are you doing, man? Stop it!” I shouted wrathfully. + +He looked up, in no way abashed, and gestured vigorously for silence. +Despite my rage, his desperate earnestness, his frantic signs for +secrecy, closed my lips. Wondering mightily, I huddled into a few things +and hurried downstairs and around the house. + +Somers still crouched beneath the east window, whistling with all his +might: “Bob_white_! Bob_white_!” I blundered through the honeysuckle +vines toward him. + +“Shut up, man!” he said to me and clutched my shoulder to draw me down +beside him. “Want to spoil everything?” he demanded, his lips close to +my ear. “She’ll hear you. Shut up, I say, and watch!” + +I subsided, born down, if not convinced, by his angry sincerity. +Whatever his purpose, this was no silly joke; I could see that much. +There was some deep-laid, important plan beneath this foolery. + +“Bob_white_!” he whistled. “Bob_white_!” + +A faint movement came from within the open window, and a weak, +querulously patient voice said: “Miss Christie! Nurse!” + +Somers held his breath; then, remembering, whistled the quail’s call +louder than before. “If she’ll only stay asleep, or pretend to be +asleep, as I told her!” he exclaimed. “Bob_white_!” + +Asleep or not, the nurse made no answer. Aunt Mary called again +tentatively, then querulously. Still the nurse made no reply. + +“Ah-h!” sighed Somers. Gripping my arm fiercely, he whistled louder yet: +“Bob_white_! Bob_white_!” + +I could not believe my ears. Within, the nurse’s quiet breathing ran on +unchanged, almost a snore. Surely she was asleep! Yet I heard footsteps, +the unmistakable padding of bare feet across the floor! What--who--could +it be? The murderer? + +“I’ll kill those miserable birds _myself_!” + +That was Mary McGregor’s voice! And she seemed to be alone. What could +she be doing? The patter of bare feet, scarcely audible, faded away. I +heard a door open and close stealthily. + +Somers erected himself, his long legs straightening telescopically. He +peered in the window. “Look!” he exclaimed. + +On my very tiptoes, straining higher, craning my neck, I looked. Aunt +Mary’s bed was empty! She was nowhere in sight! And I saw the edge of +Anne Christie’s bed in the inner room, and a long braid of blond hair +hung over it toward the floor. + +“Down!” ordered Somers. “Quick!” + +He dragged me back just in time. I caught one furtive glimpse of Mary +McGregor, indubitably erect, walking, upon her two paralyzed legs, like +any other person. And her face, not sweet or patient now, was distorted +with maniacal rage. She carried a shotgun! + +I ducked below the window ledge, stunned with amazement. Right over my +head I heard the grating of a gun barrel against the window screen, a +muttered exclamation, the tremendous _wham_ of black powder! A burning +gun wad scorched my hand; bird shot pattered in the leaves behind us; +Somers dragged me away. + +“Quick!” he said. “You saw, you heard? Run, before she has time to hide +it!” + +I raced round the house beside him. “What--what does it mean?” I asked. +“Why, she’s paralyzed! Is she crazy, or am I?” + +“Mean? It means that the Poltergeist has made its last appearance,” +answered Somers. “Now!” + +We were in the house, through the long, crooked hall, at Aunt Mary’s +closed door. Without waiting to knock, he burst in. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + + THE FINAL EXPLANATION + + +Aunt Mary McGregor lay quietly in her bed, propped with pillows. Her +drawn face wore a look of sweet resignation; she was gazing absently out +of the open window. The place was so still, so peaceful; the old lady’s +expression was so calm; the illusion of a quiet sick room was so +complete that I almost doubted what my eyes and ears had just told me. + +Only the ragged hole in the window screen, through which that charge of +bird shot had just poured, and the drifting, pungent cloud of black +powder smoke, which still filled the air, convinced me that I had not +dreamed. The shotgun was nowhere in sight. + +As we burst in, Anne Christie was just emerging from her inner room, +struggling into a bathrobe, so quickly had we come. Aunt Mary turned at +our entry, her thin eyebrows raised, as for a patient rebuke at this +disturbance. Then she saw Somers. She stared at him dumbly for an +instant, with bulging eyes and horrified, unbelieving face. _“You!_” she +exclaimed. “You!” + +Somers nodded brusquely. “Quite so! You see, I wasn’t in bed when you +came in last night.” + +The old lady wet her colorless lips. “I--I d-don’t understand,” she +whispered. “What--what does this--this impudent intrusion mean?” + +It was a weak attempt at bluster. The physician ignored it. “It’s no +use, Aunt Mary,” he replied almost kindly. His eyes pitied her. “You +can’t get away with it this time. I saw you myself, and Uhlman, here, +saw you, too. We saw you get out of bed and go after that gun; we saw +you shoot out of the window at the quail.” + +“Gun?” asked Aunt Mary, stubbornly uncomprehending. “What gun? I was +asleep. There’s no gun here.” + +By this time Peter was pounding in, Dorothy at his heels. “What now?” he +demanded. + +“Oh, what is it?” asked the girl. “Has anybody been killed this time?” + +With one backward-flung hand, Somers gestured for silence. His +gray-green eyes were steady upon the old lady. + +“No use,” he repeated inexorably. “The gun’s right in this room +somewhere; you didn’t have time to take it out again. It’s hidden here; +in your bed, perhaps. Shall I find it, or will you?” + +Aunt Mary’s black eyes fell before his steady gaze. “Spare me that, at +least!” she said petulantly. “You may burst in on me as you did; I can’t +prevent that, helpless as I am, and my own flesh and blood”--with a +vicious look at poor Peter--“won’t even try to save me from such +insolence! But you needn’t go further; you needn’t search my bed!” + +Leaning forward she reached a slim, veined hand beneath the covers to +bring out Rufus Wakefield’s battered shotgun, still smoking faintly. A +fresh reek of burned powder filled the room. + +We all gasped, staring at her with shocked incomprehension. Even now the +thing seemed incredible! + +“Aunt--Ma-ry!” whispered Dorothy. “How--what have you done?” + +The old lady began to weep helplessly. “Nun-nothing!” she wailed. +“Dorothy--Peter--will you stand there and see your poor, paralyzed aunt +insulted like this? Send this insolent person out; make him let me +alone!” + +Somers shook his head. His dark face was very pitiful; I think he felt +for this poor old wretch even more than did the rest of us. + +“Come,” he urged. “Don’t make this any harder. Let’s get it over with! +You were the Poltergeist, weren’t you?” + +Aunt Mary only sobbed. + +“Weren’t you?” + +Dropping her hands, she disclosed a haggard, tear-streaked face, as she +turned upon us, not without dignity. “If you must have it--yes!” she +said. “Yes! I was the Poltergeist. It was easy, so easy! You were so +stupid, all of you; you never even guessed. And this stupid, sleepy, +worthless nurse”--with a bitter glance at poor Anne--“lay there and +snored and never knew! I slipped in and out--I broke dishes--I ate my +fill from the pantry. None of you cared if I was hungry; not one of you +would offer me a bite to eat! I helped myself.” + +“Why, Aunt Mary!” said Dorothy. “You know we just begged you and coaxed +you, and you always said your appetite was so delicate! All the pies and +cakes and jam and candy--did you eat them, too?” + +The old lady swept on, unheeding. “No one in this house ever paid me the +attention I deserved. That was my revenge; I served you out for +neglecting me! Where’s your wedding finery now, my girl? Ha, ha, ha!” + +She gave a wild, screeching laugh; it made me shudder. Surely this was a +maniac who confronted us, hunched there on the bed, her shaking hands +playing about the stock of a shotgun! + +“I made a fine ghost!” she exulted. “It was sport--such sport!” + +Doctor Somers groaned aloud. “Poor thing, oh, poor thing!” I heard him +whisper. And then aloud he asked: “And you shot Doctor Gaskell, didn’t +you?” + +Her head went up and back in that old, proud gesture. “He--he insulted +me--insulted a poor, helpless paralytic! He laughed, and I told you. I +just begged of you to drive those miserable quail away. I told you they +would set me crazy; and Peter paid no attention. Nobody paid any +attention at all. Doctor Parker promised to shoot them, but I knew he +didn’t mean it. Why, that morning they whistled and whistled for hours! +I waited and waited; nobody came, nobody stirred, nobody cared if they +drove me mad! At last I got up, helpless as I was and paralyzed.” + +She paused abruptly, seeming for the first time to be conscious of the +incongruity of a paralytic getting up and walking about. + +“I--sometimes my affliction leaves me for a few minutes,” she faltered. +“I got up and went out--a poor, helpless old woman--to do what these +hulking men should have done for me, if they’d been men at all! Peter’s +gun stood on the back porch; I loaded it. Oh, when I was a girl, I used +to be a good shot! That was before I was paralyzed. + +“I went out back, into the scrub oaks. It was daylight, though the sun +wasn’t up. And there I met Doctor Gaskell. He--he insulted me; he +laughed! He asked me if I’d recovered from my paralysis, and he laughed! +He--he called me an old f-faker! The cad! And I answered him as a +high-spirited gentlewoman should answer such an insult!” + +She paused, looking down at the shotgun in her lap. All this while she +had been handling it unconsciously, as it seemed; breaking its breech, +extracting the empty shell, playing with the undischarged cartridge. As +she sat there, all hunched in the bed, her thin face distorted with +unlovely passions, she looked like a particularly unpleasant old witch. +Her cheeks were all sunken; without her false teeth her mouth seemed to +have fallen in, so that high-bridge nose and pointed chin almost touched +each other. + +Then she raised her head to cast an evil glance at Doctor Somers. “I +hurried back,” she went on monotonously. “I cleaned the gun--oh, I knew +how, well enough--and put it where I’d found it; then came to my room. +Everybody was asleep, even this stupid nurse. She hadn’t heard anything; +she never heard anything. Blockhead! I was safe, quite safe. Nobody +could suspect. It was the birds--devils, rather. They knew; they’d seen +it all! And they perched outside my windows every morning before +daybreak and whistled, whistled, whistled; they weren’t birds. They were +devils, I tell you--devils, accusing me! They have driven me mad at +last! And then you had to mix in, you, Somers! Ah-h-h, how I hate you! +Sneaking and watching and spying on me! If only I could have killed you +in the night, as I meant to! I’d have been safe then. But, no, you had +to keep it up, you and those birds. You plotted this against me, you and +the birds together. They helped you, I know! I heard them just now, +outside my window, mocking me, accusing me, calling you to come and +betray me. But you shan’t profit by it!” + +As rage overpowered her, she ceased to make any pretense of palsy, but +slid her lean shanks out of the bed and stood erect, facing her +unmasker, her face distorted with hate. And now, before we could move, +before we could cry out, she snapped the breech of the gun she still +held, jerked it to her shoulder, and pulled the trigger. + +I heard the click of the hammer upon an empty shell, and still we stood +motionless, all but Anne Christie. With one smothered scream she leaped +wildly forward, threw herself upon Floyd Somers’ breast, shielding his +body with her own. She moved with the speed of desperate love. Before we +others could intervene, while my arm was still outstretched, and Peter +was leaning forward, the second trigger moved. I saw the hammer fall; +the bass roar of the explosion, doubly loud in that confined space, rang +deafeningly in our ears. + +It all happened so swiftly that I must set down, one after another, a +dozen things which happened all at once. + +Even as the old lady fired at Somers, protected by Anne Christie’s body, +the gun seemed to leap in her hands, to break apart. A blinding cloud of +blue smoke spurted out from its breach, hiding Aunt Mary from us for an +instant. The gun barrels, instead of pointing at her victim, swung +downward at a sharp angle; birdshot rolled down them and pattered on the +floor. With them came a burning gun wad, upon which Peter trod +mechanically. And Aunt Mary, the broken gun still clutched in her +blackened hands, dropped back across the bed and lay very still, in a +lessening cloud of smoke. + +Doctor Somers freed himself gently from the nurse’s swooning grip, set +her in a chair, and stepped forward. He leaned over the old lady and +touched her left temple with a steady hand. Her face was quite unmarred +and very peaceful; only upon the left temple was a little blue bruise. +Beside her head lay an empty shell. + +“She’s quite dead,” said the doctor softly, and he drew a corner of the +sheet over that quiet face. + +“She didn’t quite lock the breech,” he went on, picking up the battered +shotgun. “I told you last night, unk, it didn’t work properly. When she +closed the breech, this catch failed to take hold, and the kick broke it +open again, so the shell drove backward out of the breech and struck her +in the temple.” + +He straightened, sighing deeply. “I want you-all to listen,” he told us +impressively, “and remember this, whenever you think about Miss +McGregor: she wasn’t to blame! She wasn’t responsible for her acts; she +was insane. Think of her as kindly as you can, all of you. Poor soul! +She’s dead now; she’s paid for everything. Remember, don’t blame her, +any of you--ever! She wasn’t responsible.” + +Spoken at that time and place, the words struck deep, as he knew they +would, I suppose. And I think that our memories of the poor woman have +all been kindlier for them. It was a gentle, knightly speech from the +man whom she had tried to murder twice in four hours. + +“But--but I don’t understand yet,” put in Dorothy. Indeed all of us +shared her bewilderment, I think. “Aunt Mary did it--she shot Doctor +Gaskell, I suppose, since she admitted it. But how, why, and how did you +find out?” + +“Come out into the living room and I’ll explain,” he said. “It’s all +clear enough now.” + +We trooped out after him; a motley crowd we must have made, too. Somers +was fully dressed; at least he wore tennis shoes, an old pair of flannel +trousers, and Peter’s jersey, which made his lean torso more +unbelievably skinny than ever. But the rest of us were in advanced +negligee. I wore trousers; Peter had only a bathrobe over his pajamas; +both the girls were in kimonos, with hair in braids down their backs. We +were a ludicrous sight, no doubt, but none of us had the heart to laugh. + +“As soon as I heard about the Poltergeist,” Somers began, “I suspected +Aunt Mary. Such tricks always indicate that there’s an hysterical person +somewhere about. This ‘Poltergeist’ stuff and the witchcraft, that +dozens of harmless old women were burned alive for, not so many +centuries ago--they’re all the work of hystericals. Such cases delight +in mystifying people, scaring them, playing queer, malicious tricks on +them, and all that. It’s been a well-recognized sign of hysteria for +fifty years. So as soon as I heard of the Poltergeist, I began to look +for an hysterical, and that led straight to Aunt Mary; she had all the +earmarks. + +“I concluded right away that her paralysis was hysterical, too, or she +couldn’t get about to play ghost. Palsies are common enough in hysteria, +you know. I don’t mean that she faked it consciously; she was really +paralyzed. That is, she couldn’t move her legs because she _believed_ +she couldn’t. She didn’t pretend. At night she’d get out of bed in a +state of hysterical somnambulism and go about playing ghost; but, when +she got back to bed, she’d forget all about that. When she was fully +awake she was paralyzed; she couldn’t move, and I’ve no doubt that she +used to believe in the Poltergeist as firmly as any of you. + +“She was in the same state, no doubt, when she went out with Peter’s +shotgun that morning. The quail disturbed her, and she thought, as far +as sleepwalkers do think, she’d only to go out and point a gun to kill +them. She knew that shotgun was on the back porch, didn’t she?” + +I nodded. “I left it out there for Lewis,” I explained. “He was to come +over early for it. And I remember Aunt Mary sent for me, when I was +going to bed, to ask where it was, and if it was safe.” + +“Quite so.” Somers paused, scowling ruefully. “I’ve been frightfully +stupid all through this thing!” he declared. “I knew Miss McGregor was +hysterical; why, those ‘knots in her neck’ alone would have proved that. +I was convinced she was playing ghost, just as one takes any unimportant +thing for granted without stopping to verify it. But it never occurred +to me that, if she could get up to play ghost, she could have got up to +shoot Gaskell, too. The idea never entered my head until ‘Roaring Lafe’ +Rutledge told us about the ‘ha’nt’ he saw. We owe him that, anyhow. And +you chaps were pretty peeved with me afterward, when I said I thought it +was the Poltergeist killed Gaskell, weren’t you?” + +He gave us a fleeting glance and went on. “So Aunt Mary got up very +quietly and went out after the shotgun. Your sleepiness, your +hypothyroidism, Anne, made it very handy for her; she wasn’t afraid of +waking you, and I suppose she was getting bolder. All her ghost tricks +had gone unsuspected--who could suspect a paralytic of running about the +house of nights?--and she figured she could even go out and let off a +shotgun and get away with it; that is, if she thought about it at all, +in this somnambulistic state of hers. + +“Well, out she went, got the gun, loaded it, and went on into the brush, +just about the time Gaskell entered it, I suppose. It must have been +then that Rutledge saw her and was scared off. And then she met Doctor +Gaskell face to face, out there. I wonder which of them was more +startled? The shock wakened her, I suppose, and there she was, suddenly +face to face with herself. It’s a terrible thing for anybody, that--to +have all one’s little self-deceptions and hypocrisies stripped away in +an instant, to see how one’s been fooling one’s self! And it is more +terrible still for an hysterical, whose self-deceptions are deepest and +most fully a part of the personality. + +“There she was, compelled for once to admit to herself that she was an +old faker, that she wasn’t paralyzed after all--or how could she be out +there, standing up? I don’t know what happened, of course, or what +Gaskell said. Something indiscreet, it must have been, or the old lady +would have dropped down right there. Her paralysis would have returned +as soon as she waked up, and she’d have had to be carried back to bed. +But he said something, taunted her, I suppose; told her he knew all the +time she was faking and wasn’t really paralyzed at all. And he laughed +at her. That was very unwise; if he’d been used to handling the insane +he never would have laughed. + +“She was holding a loaded shotgun, and there was the only man on earth +who knew her secret, who could expose her double life. And to have her +secret known would destroy all the sympathy, all the admiration which +she’d worked for so patiently these fourteen years and more. And Gaskell +laughed! + +“Well, anger and excitement kept her up, I suppose, and enabled her to +forget her paralysis for the moment. She shot him; raced back to the +house, cleaned the gun, and put it where she found it; ran to her room +and popped back into bed, with her heart racing horribly, I suppose. And +there her paralysis came back. Two minutes later she couldn’t have stood +on her feet any more than a real, organic paralytic. + +“The thing preyed on her, of course, tormented her conscience. You +noticed the change; you all spoke of it, how she grew more irritable, +more selfish and exacting, every day. And Lewis’ arrest made it worse, +of course. She had a hard time, poor, crazy old woman! But, after she +had killed one man to preserve her pitiful secret, one could hardly +expect her to betray it, just to save the life of another. She hoped, no +doubt, that Lewis would be acquitted; but most of all she hoped that she +wouldn’t be suspected. I knew she was uneasy about me; she was afraid I +might guess, and you remember what a scene she made when I tried to +examine her. She feared I’d discover, as Gaskell had, that she could +walk after all. The whole thing preyed on her and made her more restless +of nights; it brought on new attacks of somnambulism, and the +Poltergeist grew more active. Her fears of me worked on her unconscious +mind until last night she tried to kill me with a knife.” + +“Ah-h-h!” gasped Anne Christie. For neither of the girls knew of that +carving knife which had transfixed Somers’ empty bed. “Ah, my dear!” + +The physician took her hand. “I wasn’t there, Anne,” said he gently. “I +was up, watching the stairs; I hoped the Poltergeist might make its +appearance last night. That’s why I was so rude at supper and told +everybody I didn’t believe in it. I hoped that, if Aunt Mary thought me +a skeptic, the Poltergeist might come up to convince me. But I hardly +looked for a carving knife! + +“It worked, though,” he went on. “The ghost walked, but she got away +from me. I didn’t know about the back stairs, and she must have slipped +down that way, while I ran up the front ones. I nearly had her at that; +she dropped your rings, Dorothy, just as she was sliding through the +door. + +“Well, I had proved to myself, then, that Aunt Mary was the ghost, but I +hadn’t caught her. And I knew that, unless I did, it was quite useless +to ask for a confession. So I went on with this other plan. You know how +the quail annoyed her all along; it was that started this whole dreadful +affair. And lately they worried her even more; she thought they were +accusing her, as she said just now. So I borrowed this gun and left it +on the porch, right where the other had been, and spoke about it at +supper, to make sure she knew. Then this morning I hid right outside her +window and imitated the whistle of a quail. It was the same situation, +you see, and I hoped it might arouse the same reaction. + +“It did. You were there, too, Uncle George. I whistled and whistled; at +last we heard the old lady call. Anne didn’t answer; she was too sleepy, +I suppose. But I told her last night to pretend to be asleep anyway, +whatever happened. At last, satisfied that she was safe, Aunt Mary got +up and went after the gun, just as I’d hoped she would. She didn’t come +outdoors, as I’d expected; she was too upset, too irrational to realize, +I suppose, that some one would surely hear if she fired from her window. +All she knew was that a quail was just outside, and she must silence it +somehow. When she shot, Uncle George and I ran in; you know the rest.” + +Dorothy relaxed with a tired sigh. “Oh, dear!” she whispered. “I’m so +tired, so kind of stunned and numb! I don’t know what to think. I ought +to be sorry, but all I can feel is a sense of relief. Lewis free, no +more Poltergeist, and no more Aunt Mary to complain all the time. Oh, +dear me, it’s horrid, it’s unnatural!” + +Poor child! She had been through so much. This last tragedy had stunned +her; she had no emotions left. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + + MATING TIME + + +We had my nephew home with us that very day. Somers and I went to the +State solicitor, Toby Vanbrugh, with our tale, and he marked Lewis +Parker’s indictment, “_nolle pros_,” with a very bad grace. It was hard +upon him, after all, to see his big case collapse like a pricked bubble. +He had built high hopes upon the prosecution of the case of the people +against C. Lewis Parker; he had seen himself well advertised by its +prosecution, elected, perhaps, State senator upon the strength of it, +with who knows what further political advancement beyond, +governor--United States senator! He had a healthy opinion of his +abilities, had the Honorable Toby Vanbrugh. And now all that was gone; +in the face of Miss McGregor’s ante-mortem statement, vouched for by +five witnesses, he could do no less than drop the case, and he knew it. + +On the whole, the newspapers were as kind as we could have expected. One +or two of them played the case up, for it was a unique news story; but +that will pass soon enough, I trust, and poor, demented Aunt Mary will +be left to rest quietly beneath her modest headstone, where the +bobwhites, that whistle in the quiet cemetery through long spring +mornings, can disturb her no more. + +It was two days after the tragic dénouement of our mystery, and Dorothy +and Lewis, reunited, sat hand in hand in the big living room of Fort +House. The slanting sun cast long yellow beams through its western +windows and played lovingly on the girl’s black hair, so that red, +coppery lights glinted in it. + +To them entered Peter McGregor and I. “Well, Dot,” said her brother +cheerfully, “I suppose you’ll be leaving us now?” + +Dorothy nodded. “We’ll be in our own little house to-morrow. Rosina’s +over there now, scrubbing and cleaning, until your life isn’t safe for +it. And she’s promised to have breakfast waiting for us there in the +morning.” + +“Well,” he sighed, “it’ll be lonely here, but I suppose you’re not sorry +to leave Fort House.” + +The girl shivered. “No; we were happy here once, but everything seems so +changed. I miss----” She stopped, biting her lips, and I knew she +thought of poor old Aunt Mary, in some way lovable for all her +selfishness, whom we had laid to rest in the churchyard that afternoon. + +Peter sighed again. “Poor Aunt Mary! She did terrible things; she made +us all suffer; but, after all, she wasn’t to blame.” + +So we all felt; she had been irresponsible. Doctor Somers’ kindly +judgment, delivered over her dead body in that east bedroom, had had its +effect. We remembered the old lady kindly enough, as the puppet of her +own mad impulses, more to be pitied than blamed. + +“Well,” said I more briskly, “you two are fixed. You’re safely married, +even if you didn’t have a big wedding, and all ready to settle down in +your own home. And Somers, I suppose, will be going North again +presently. But what will Anne Christie do?” + +Dorothy gave me a pitying, superior glance. “Oh, you men!” she said. +“Listen!” + +We listened obediently, and we heard faint voices drifting in through +the open southern windows, which faced the front porch. + +“I’ll be going back to the hospital now, I suppose.” That was Doctor +Somers’ brusque voice; it sounded rather less than pleased. + +A faint-heard sigh. “Must you go?” Miss Christie’s low tones were +wistfully tremulous. I must strain to hear. + +“Must I? Why, not for another fortnight. Why?” + +“Because--because I----” + +“Anne! Do you want me to stay?” + +“Oh, the idiot!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Does she?” + +“Hush, Dot!” And we all listened frankly. + +“I--I don’t want you to go,” whispered Anne Christie. + +“Anne, dear!” There was a tiny rustle, as if he had moved closer. “I’m +thirty-eight years old, a battered, skinny, homely brute----” + +“You are not!” + +“A grotesque-looking creature, almost middle-aged, and just starting my +chosen work. I’ve frittered away years and years, just studying, working +on a small salary when I might have been earning big money for my wife.” + +“For your w-wife?” + +“Yes, when I get one. And here I am, with my best years gone, little +better than a failure.” + +“You’re not! You’re just wonderful, the most wonderful man I ever saw or +dreamed of!” + +“Better than Doctor Gaskell, even?” + +“Of course! And,” very wistfully, “I h-hope you’ll be very happy with +your w-wife, whoever she is!” + +“Humph!” A characteristic snort, expressing disgust of this evasion, +this edging about a topic. “Anne Christie, will you marry me?” + +“I’m only a poor mountain girl, and my father’s in prison for making +moonshine liquor!” + +“Stepfather!” stubbornly replied Somers. + +“Well, but I’m not--not g-good enough.” + +“Anne!” A chair slammed back. “Anne--dear, I love you. Are you going to +marry me, or not?” + +For all answer there came a little, murmurous, cooing sound and a +rustling, as if a girl in crisp gingham had settled more comfortably +into the crook of some one’s arm. + +A long silence followed, while we within doors smiled tenderly at +nothing. Then: “Oh, Floyd, honey, let me go. I’m s-sure that man saw us; +he’s looking back and laughing!” + +I sighed, as a lonely old man will. “Two more accounted for,” said I. +“That leaves only you and me, Peter.” + +“Not me!” the boy replied promptly. “I’m going to be married in +December.” + +“Why, Peter McGregor. And you never told me!” Dorothy looked shocked. + +“We-ell, Dot, you see, I didn’t know it myself until I was in New York +that last time. And I got back to find old Lewis in jail, and everybody +so upset--I thought I’d better keep it to myself for a while, until +things brightened up a bit.” + +“Who--who is she?” demanded Dorothy. + +I did not listen. I am a very selfish old man. All these bright young +folk whom I loved, all the friends I had on earth, I thought gloomily, +had paired off, and I was left alone. I tried to smile. + +“Congratulations, Peter! That’s just fine. It’s the mating season. Well, +it’s time I settled down, too. I’ll go now and write a letter.” + +“Stop, unk!” Lewis caught my arm. “What makes you look so queer? What +letter do you mean?” + +“Why, to Stamford, to the Home for the Aged there. It’s a nice homey +place and very exclusive. I--I have f-friends there, too. I’m going to +buy a membership.” + +“You are not!” declared Dorothy and my nephew at once. “Why, your room’s +waiting for you at our new bungalow; we’ve moved your things over there, +and everything.” + +“You are not!” cried Peter. “Why, unk, I was counting on you to bach in +with me here at Fort House until I bring Edith down at Christmas time to +take care of us both!” + +“You are not!” That was Floyd Somers, in from the porch, his +extraordinarily long, lean arm wrapped about Anne’s shoulders. “You’re +coming to live with Anne and me, of course! I’ve decided to resign from +the hospital and buy out Gaskell’s practice. A little general medicine +will do me good, and there’s plenty of medicolegal work in North +Carolina, once I get to be known here. I like this country. We’re going +to buy Gaskell’s house, Anne and I; and of course you’ll live with us +there!” + +My eyes filled with tears. After all, I was not friendless nor +forgotten. “God b-bless you, children!” I said. “I’ll stay with you all, +turn and turn about.” + + * * * * * + +My story is done. I am living with Lewis and Dorothy; but, when Anne and +Floyd come back from their honeymoon next month, I shall go there for a +while, and in January I move to Fort House, to stay with Peter and his +Edith. I hope she may prove to be as true and as sweet as my other two +nieces--by marriage and courtesy! + +Ralph Satterfield and his fellows of the corn-whisky ring are safe in +Atlanta; and Somers need not fear the bootleggers’ vengeance for another +twenty years, at least. As for Roaring Lafe Rutledge, he never came to +trial. He died in prison of some heart condition, brought on, Doctor +Somers says, by excessive drinking. + +Aunt Mary McGregor sleeps in the Pinelands cemetery, no more than a +dozen feet from the man she slew. We put flowers on both graves +impartially, as the genial sun of North Carolina shines on both; and the +quail whistle “bob_white_! bob_white_!” without disturbing the rest of +either. + +We do not judge her. As Floyd Somers said, “When you have stood, with a +deadly weapon in hand, facing an enemy who has power to betray your +secrets and destroy the security of your whole life; and when you have +let him go unscathed, knowing you could kill him with impunity, then, +and not till then, dare you blame Mary McGregor.” + +Let that be her epitaph. But I, for one, shall never to my dying day +hear the quail calling “bob_white_! bob_white_!” of a lazy summer +morning without an inward shrinking. + + + THE END + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + +This file uses _underscores_ to indicate italic text. + +The following changes and corrections have been made: + + • p. 26: Replaced “listend” with “listened” in phrase “I listened + frankly, welcoming any signs of human companionship.” + • p. 76: Removed comma after “quail” from phrase “A quail whistled + sharply.” + • p. 94: Replaced “beeen” with “been” in phrase “From the moment he + left the stand he had been deathly white.” + • p. 152: Added opening double quotation mark before phrase “I’ll be + a-all right p-presently.” + • p. 176: Replaced “laugher” with “laughter” in phrase “Renewed + laughter.” + • p. 186: Replaced “docor” with “doctor” in phrase “the doctor knew + more than was good for him.” + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78103 *** diff --git a/78103-h/78103-h.htm b/78103-h/78103-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8aa7b67 --- /dev/null +++ b/78103-h/78103-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11628 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + <head> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title>The Trouble at Pinelands | Project Gutenberg</title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + body { margin-left: 8%; 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} + .x-ebookmaker .uppercase {text-transform:none; } + .x-ebookmaker span.drop-cap-gap {padding-left:inherit; } + h1 {font-size:250%; } + .transcribers-notes { width: 80%; margin: auto; padding: 0 1em; + color:black; background-color: #E3E4FA; border: 1px solid silver; + page-break-before:always;margin-top:4em; } + </style> + </head> + <body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78103 ***</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='large'>THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c001'> +</div> + +<div class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/frontispiece.jpg' alt='A man has his hands around another man’s neck, throttling him, as a line of other men look on from behind him.' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>“I’ll tote yuh to death along of me, anyhow.”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c002'> +</div> +<div> + <h1 class='c003'>The Trouble at Pinelands</h1> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><i>A Detective Story</i></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='small'>BY</span></div> + <div><span class='large'>ERNEST M. POATE</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='c001 figcenter id002'> +<img src='images/logo.jpg' alt='a small logo of a neoclasical building' class='ig001'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='large'>CHELSEA HOUSE</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> + <div class='nf-center'> + <div>79 Seventh Avenue New York City</div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c002'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='small'>Copyright, 1922</span></div> + <div><span class='small'>By CHELSEA HOUSE</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class='c004'> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> + <div class='nf-center'> + <div>The Trouble at Pinelands</div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div>(Printed in the United States of America)</div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> + <div class='nf-center'> + <div>All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.</div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c002'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div>CONTENTS</div> + </div> +</div> + +<table class='table0'> +<colgroup> +<col class='colwidth12'> +<col class='colwidth50'> +<col class='colwidth36'> +</colgroup> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='xsmall'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td class='c006'> </td> + <td class='c007'><span class='xsmall'>PAGE</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>I.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>The Poltergeist</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-I'>11</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>II.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Bobwhite</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-II'>23</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>III.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Bad Spell</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-III'>37</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>IV.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Feud</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-IV'>47</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>V.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Tragedy</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-V'>54</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>VI.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Uncertainty</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-VI'>63</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>VII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Investigation</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-VII'>76</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>VIII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>The Inquest</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-VIII'>86</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>IX.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Conflagration</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-IX'>95</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>X.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>More Trouble Threatens</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-X'>104</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XI.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Preparations for Defense</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XI'>112</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Frustrated Lynching</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XII'>118</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XIII.</td> + <td class='c006'>“<span class='sc'>A Little Relaxation</span>”</td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XIII'>132</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XIV.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>The Poltergeist Again</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XIV'>141</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XV.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Fishing Trip</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XV'>151</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XVI.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Some Clews, and a Suggestion</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XVI'>158</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XVII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>An Unusual Wedding</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XVII'>165</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XVIII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Somers Disgraces Himself</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XVIII'>174</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_ix'>ix</span>XIX.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>An Explanation</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XIX'>183</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XX.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Flirtation</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XX'>190</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXI.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>An Illicit Enterprise</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXI'>200</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>The Showdown</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXII'>207</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXIII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Anne Christie’s Story</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXIII'>216</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXIV.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Projected Excursion</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXIV'>227</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXV.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Trip to the Mountains</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXV'>233</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXVI.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Roaring Lafe</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXVI'>240</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXVII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>In the Hands of the Enemy</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXVII'>250</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXVIII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Rutledge Talks</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXVIII'>256</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXIX.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>The Return</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXIX'>266</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXX.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>An Agitated Household</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXX'>271</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXXI.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>A Borrowed Shotgun</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXXI'>279</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXXII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>The Poltergeist’s Last Visit</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXXII'>287</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXXIII.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>The Final Explanation</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXXIII'>296</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>XXXIV.</td> + <td class='c006'><span class='sc'>Mating Time</span></td> + <td class='c007'><a href='#chapter-XXXIV'>310</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c002'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span><span class='xxlarge'>The Trouble at Pinelands</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>❧</div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-I' class='c008'>CHAPTER I<br> <br><span class='small'>THE POLTERGEIST</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>I <span class="uppercase drop-cap-gap">could</span> not sleep. I am an old man now and +of settled habit; a “confirmed bachelor,” the +young folks call me. Even the smallest change of +routine irks me; and so, on this night, I found +it very hard to be comfortable in a strange bed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter McGregor had gone north. He was in +Baltimore to order flowers, consult the caterer, and +make the final arrangements for the wedding breakfast. +Only women were left in the old stone +mansion; the McGregors called it “Fort House,” +because it had something of the grim, forbidding +look of an old fort. Dorothy, Peter’s sister, her +invalid aunt, and the nurse, Miss Christie, were +all here.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss Christie was too indifferent to care, I think; +she was a very dormouse for contentment, and she +slept so determinedly that I used to wonder when +she found time to care for her patient. But +Dorothy was timid, as most young girls are; and +her Aunt Mary, who was paralyzed, was highly +nervous at the best and declared that she’d never +close an eye without a man in the house. And, +indeed, I could not blame them much, for Fort +House was a gloomy, eerie place, with its big, silent +rooms and long, dark halls, wainscoted in time-stained +oak and full of unexpected nooks and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>corners. Also, though well within the village, it +stood far back from the street in a little grove +of high, solemn pines; leafy shrubs grew thick +about its gray walls, and honeysuckle vines climbed +over its narrow windows and shaded them still +further.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A man must be had to protect these lone women, +and there was I—not a very efficient protector, I +fear, since I am turned sixty-five and sadly crippled +with rheumatism, but the best available. For my +nephew, Lewis, Doctor C. Lewis Parker, Johns +Hopkins Medical College, class of ’17, though willing +enough, was scarcely the man to come, since he was +to marry Dorothy in two days; whereas I was of +discreet age and with none to miss me at home. +In spite of his assurances I knew well enough that +I was a nuisance and no help in my nephew’s house; +he kept me with him simply because I was his only +surviving kinsman, as he was mine, and because +his kind heart would not leave me to end my days +in some home for the aged. Yes, I knew that I +was but a burden upon his goodness—knew it sadly, +but without bitterness; a long old age tempers one’s +pride.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But here I was, the guardian of my nephew’s bride +to be; and I tossed upon my bed and could not sleep +for long, sad thoughts. I rejoiced in the boy’s +happiness; truly I rejoiced, for Dorothy McGregor +was the sweetest of girls and as tender to a useless +old man as if I had been her own kin. Yes, it was +best, oh, surely it was best, that these two kindly, +handsome young folk should marry and make their +<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>own home. I looked back through a vista of long, +lonely years at my own friendless life, a life that +might have been so different if my Dorothy had +lived.</p> + +<p class='c010'>They would marry and be happy in each other. +But—I am a very selfish old man, I fear—but what +of me? I had no other home; and, were she never +so tender of heart, what bride desires that her +honeymoon should have such a worthless, worn-out +satellite as I? No, these two must build their own +nest; and it would have no place for me. Then I +thought briefly of Aunt Mary McGregor, paralyzed +from the waist down, these fourteen years, and +bearing her troubles with such saintly patience; +where would she go, and how would she live after +the wedding? We two might marry also, I thought, +and laughed mirthlessly at the idea. Old maid and +old bachelor, we might join our troubles and spend +the evening of our days together, enlivening each +other with comparisons of our various aches and +pains. For I must admit that Aunt Mary, for all her +sweet patience, was overfond of discussing her +symptoms.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old house was very quiet, except for those +strange creakings and rustlings which one hears at +night in these old places. Faint, eerie noises, these, +which made the silence more profound; I fancied +that Fort House whispered to itself of days gone by.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Without was the clear, cool hush of a North +Carolina summer’s night. It had been a hot June +day, but the night was cool, as are all our nights, +and a round, bright moon hung high, flooding the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>lawn with pale light, making the black shadows of +the pines blacker yet, silvering the leaves of the +honeysuckle vine at my windows. The sweet, heavy +scent of a few late blossoms drifted in to me, bearing +with it that faint, sinister suggestion of mystery +and crime that belongs peculiarly to the cloying odor +of honeysuckles in a hushed, dark night.</p> + +<p class='c010'>That odor fretted me, awaking in my mind unpleasant +fancies. This was a dismal place, the old +Fort House; no proper setting for such a vivid young +flower as Dorothy McGregor. I strove to fancy the +house filled with flowers, crowded with gay-dressed, +laughing wedding guests, and I could not, even now, +with a wedding two days off. I was queerly thankful +that Dorothy and Lewis would not live here, but +in a little white bungalow, red-roofed, banked about +with flowers, open to the kindly, honest sun. For +how could young lovers be happy here, in this grim +stone pile among the solemn pines, this mournful old +house, which creaked and whispered to itself so +mysteriously of nights, whose dark, airless rooms +were heavy with the scent of honeysuckle? Somewhere +I seemed to have read or heard that the +honeysuckle grows best and gives its strongest odor +about places of secret crime. The fancy obsessed +me; I wondered what might be the history of this +old mansion—for I was but newly come to Pinelands, +a year ago—what dark deeds these walls had +known in days long gone; what dreadful histories +were bared in the self-communings of those ancient, +creaking timbers.</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was very late, and I was tired out. Moreover +<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>I was sad because I must so soon give up my +nephew to his new wife. My aged bones ached, and +my knee joints creaked and groaned, as I paced the +floor. I was feverish, perhaps, and so fanciful; or it +may be that I was fey. Whatever the explanation, +a sudden conviction swept over me, as of actual +knowledge.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Fort House was haunted. I knew it. Without +knowing how or why, that knowledge swept over me +in a chill wave of fear that raced up my spine and +plucked at the short hairs of my neck. It left me +shaken and dismayed, with a lump of ice where my +heart had been.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The place was deadly still. Even the indistinct +complaints of aged timbers were hushed, and there +seemed no possibility of sound in all the world. +Then, from the hall below, came a whirring click, +whereat I gasped; the grandfather clock on the stair +landing struck twelve—deliberately, solemnly. The +mellow chime of its old gong dropped dead on the +still air, without an echo. The silence of the tomb, +a hush intolerably profound. Then, with dreadful +suddenness, a clanking as of chains, the crash of +broken crockery, a shrill, horrid screech!</p> + +<p class='c010'>My veins seemed to freeze, and I could not +breathe. As in nightmares, an inescapable weight +dragged at every limb, held me helpless.</p> + +<p class='c010'>What was abroad I knew not, save that it could +be no honest thing. Why, I would have prayed for +a palpable burglar; I could have fallen on his neck +with joyful tears, though he were the worst villain +unhung!</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>Then I heard a faint stir in the room beyond +mine, where Dorothy McGregor slept; the tiniest +of frightened sobs. That sound heartened me. I +am no hero; but in a long life I have observed more +than once that terrors which will turn a solitary man +craven may be faced almost with boldness if he has +but a weaker one beside him to protect. Alone, I +dared not stay in my room, much less venture forth; +but there was Dorothy next me, and downstairs +her helpless aunt and the nurse. They would look +to me for aid, for courage; and knowing that, I +made shift to conquer my fears a very little.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I threw a bath robe over my shoulders and padded +out into the black hall, barefoot.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Dorothy!” I whispered; somehow, I dared not +call aloud. “My dear, are you all right?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Her answer came muffled through the door. “Yes, +Uncle George. It’s nothing.” But her shaking voice +belied the words. “It’s nothing to be af-f-fraid of. +We’ve heard it before. Wait, I’m coming out. +Aunty’ll be scared.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>In a moment her door opened, and Dorothy appeared, +faintly visible by the pale moon that shone +in her window. She was wrapped in some sort of +filmy, lacy robe, and her fine black hair, which lay +across one shoulder, in a braid thicker than my +wrist, fell down the front of her negligee, right to +her knees.</p> + +<p class='c010'>She groped for my arm and clutched it tight. +Neither of us thought of making a light. Perhaps +we both feared what that light might reveal.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Let’s go down to Aunt Mary’s room,” she +<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>whispered. “She’ll be scared to death, poor thing! +I’m scared, my own self, and just think of her, +not able even to move!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A plump, delicious little thing, she huddled close +against me. I felt her tender body tremble and put +an arm across one shoulder.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Come along, child,” said I. “But give me a hand +on the stairs here, because my rheumatism is pretty +bad to-night. What was it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy cuddled my arm. “Poor dear!” she +whispered. “Careful of that step; we’re just at the +turn. Why, it was the Poltergeist.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh?” I stopped short, repeating the outlandish +word. “Poltergeist? What’s that?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, that scream and everything. It comes +every few nights lately, only I never said anything +about it outside, because it upsets Aunt Mary so. +She won’t have me even mention it to Lewis, let +alone any other body; just says such things oughtn’t +to be talked about. After I showed her the broken +dishes she⸺Oh-h-h!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She broke off, gripping my arm tighter still, pressing +close against me, to the detriment of my sorer +shoulder; then she made a quaint little sound, a +sort of whispered scream.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I stared violently, too; for there was a ghostly +rustling in the lower hall, just by our knees, and +something dim and white and shapeless seemed to +whip past us and disappear. I say seemed; for it +was too dark to be sure, and I stretched out my +hand toward it and felt nothing. It might have +<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>been pure fancy, a breath of air through the hall, +a mouse scurrying along the wall.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There, Dotty!” I whispered. “It wasn’t anything—and, +besides, it’s gone. See?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I know,” she agreed doubtfully. “I know it +wasn’t anything, and Peter always says so, too. He +watched two nights to make sure; only he went to +sleep both times. But it scares me just the same.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>By now we had groped our way to Aunt Mary’s +room. She slept on the ground floor, being, as I +may have said, paralyzed from the waist down. +Her nurse, Miss Christie, slept in a little chamber +which opened off of her patient’s room.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We listened, our heads close together, pressed +against the closed door; presently we heard the +sound of heavy breathing—a ladylike snore.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“That’s Miss Christie,” whispered Dorothy. “It +didn’t wake her up. Uncle George, she is the sleepingest +thing! She makes me mad sometimes, she’s +so placid.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I heard the creak of springs, as some one moved +in bed, and a weak, sad, patient voice called:</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Is any one there?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It’s me, aunty,” replied Dorothy. “We came to +see if you were all right. Did you hear it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>In the room beyond us the bed creaked again, as +if some one struggled to sit up in it. Then Aunt +Mary’s voice:</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Miss Christie!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>No answer.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A sigh. Then louder, but still patiently, sweetly: +“Miss Christie! Nurse!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>“Aw-ugh!” A yawn, a sleepy murmur, and then, +when Aunt Mary had called once more: “Yes, Miss +McGregor, I’m comin’! Ho-hum!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Bare feet plumped to the floor and padded out +toward us; I could fancy the nurse digging her +fists into sleep-blurred eyes.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Wha’s a matter?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Snap on the lights, please; now help me to sit +up. Hand me that shawl. Open the door, please; +Dorothy’s out there.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A line of light showed at our feet, along the +threshold. We heard a bustle within, and presently +the door opened. I hesitated a moment, half blinded +by the sudden light. Yet I saw the retreating figure +of the nurse, dumpy and shapeless in a bath robe, +her head an aureole of tousled blond hair. She +vanished into her own alcove room, and I heard her +drop upon the bed, with one more yawn, followed, +without appreciable pause, by gentle snores.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy turned to me. The blue of her negligee +matched her sea-blue eyes, and her soft black hair +was a cloud about her dimpled face, still delicately +flushed with sleep. Light and company had quite +restored her courage; she laughed at me merrily.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Come along in, Uncle George! You look lovely. +No? Well, just a minute, then.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She turned to her aunt. The old lady was propped +high with pillows, a beautiful old Paisley shawl +wrapped about her thin shoulders. Her snow-white +hair was dressed exactly as for a ball. She was +a wonderful old lady, always precise and well +groomed, in spite of her invalidism. Her black eyes +<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>were bright, but her thin, patrician face bore a look +of patient sadness. She stretched out a slender +hand.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There, child! What is it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why—why, aunty, you know! Didn’t you hear +it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary sighed. “Yes, Dorothy, dear, but +these are things best not spoken about.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Did it wake you up?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No, child. I haven’t been asleep. Shift that +pillow, please; the pain is worse to-night.” She +sighed again, with sad, upturned eyes. “It seems as +if I had enough to bear, without that. But it’s all +for the best, no doubt. I must be patient!” She had +the sweet, resigned expression of some aged saint. +“I was just getting quieted down, too. There, child, +run back to bed. So sorry you were disturbed, Mr. +Uhlman,” she told me over her niece’s shoulder. +“This child is fanciful—nervous.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Did I disturb you, too, Aunt Mary?” Dorothy’s +voice was remorseful. “But I thought you’d be +frightened, dear.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary made a little deprecatory gesture. +“Why? I’m not afraid of spirits, my child; I’ll +be with them soon enough. Go now, but call Miss +Christie first. I want her to change my pillows.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She closed her eyes, sighed wearily, then spoke +again to me, where I stood in the dark hall.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You mustn’t mind what you heard, Mr. Uhlman. +It’s nothing—merely a materialization. Trivial +spirits can’t harm us.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We were dismissed. As Dorothy closed the door +<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>very gently, I heard Aunt Mary say: “Raise me a +little more, Miss Christie. And another pillow, +please. My head’s very bad again. This has upset +me.” She sighed plaintively. Both tone and words +were of an angelic resignation; I could not understand +Dorothy’s manner.</p> + +<p class='c010'>For, now that we were alone in the dark hall, +she gritted her little, even teeth together. “Darn!” +I heard her mutter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What is it, child?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, nothing! Aunt Mary’s on another rampage. +Wish I’d left her alone, but you never know how to +take her.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“My dear!” I reproved. “You oughtn’t to speak +of your aunt so. She has a hard time, poor lady!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy laughed shortly. “So do I! Oh, I know +you think I’m horrid, but you just stick around and +see for yourself.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I sighed. The young are intolerant of invalidism. +“But about the other thing, Dorothy—the scream we +heard, and all that? What did you mean by +‘Poltergeist?’”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl shook her head. “Come away, Uncle +George. She’ll hear us. Never mind that now. +Oh”—as I persisted—“that’s what Aunt Mary calls +‘manifestations,’ screams at night, broken dishes, +things missing from the pantry, and all that. She +wrote to some learned society about it, and they said +it was a Poltergeist, a little, malicious ghost that +plays tricks like that. They wanted to send somebody +here to investigate. Come, we’ve got to get out +of here; Aunt Mary has ears like a lynx. In the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>morning she’ll tell how our talking kept her awake +all night long. Come on, Uncle George, do! Never +mind the ghost. I hear enough about that; Aunt +Mary talks of it to me for hours on end, when she’s +in the right humor. She’s a great spiritualist, you +know.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>In silence she bustled me back to my room. One +would have thought that she was actually afraid of +that sweet, patient old saint, her Aunt Mary.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-II' class='c011'>CHAPTER II<br> <br><span class='small'>BOBWHITE</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>I <span class="uppercase drop-cap-gap">went</span> back to bed, but not to sleep. The moon +had set, and the pitch dark of the old house +intensified all my foolish fancies. Over and over +I went through the round of morbid thought: my +nephew’s marriage, the bleak, friendless future that +awaited me; this dismal old barracks, pervaded by +the sinister odor of honeysuckle; the faint, mysterious +creakings and stirrings of its ancient walls. +I caught myself listening, breathless, for a repetition +of that awful screech; I vowed that nothing should +induce me to spend another night in the haunted +place. I paid Dorothy and her aunt the meed of a +tremendous admiration because they accepted this +Poltergeist so calmly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Sleep stood far off from me, while the night +dragged inexorably on, and the deep-toned grandfather +clock on the landing tolled out hour after +hour. At last I felt the first subtle changes of coming +dawn.</p> + +<p class='c010'>From somewhere a fugitive breeze, the merest +vagrant breath of air, stirred in the solemn pines, so +that they whispered. The leaves of the honeysuckle +vines at my window moved, and the heavy scent of +their flowers poured in more strongly. The air +seemed cleaner, cooler. One could not say that it +was lighter, but the darkness grew more bearable. +And then, little by little, the east faded, turned gray, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>lavender, pink; then it began to flush with the first, +faint, exquisite tints that precede sunrise.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I sighed deep and turned over. My weary, +strained limbs relaxed. Now that the night was +gone, and daylight began to be a promise almost fulfilled, +ghosts troubled me no longer, nor did sad +thoughts have power to haunt me. “Joy cometh +in the morning,” the psalmist said. To me came +peace at least, and I settled to rest.</p> + +<p class='c010'>My lids were heavy with that delicious languor +which welcomes sleep after a long, troubled night; +an insistent whistling, right under my window, +roused me.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I sat up, muttering angrily. Some milkman, no +doubt, or some furnace boy, wooing the cook. There +it was again; a fine hour for love-making! Would +she never wake up? Confound all cooks and their +swains!</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then my delightful drowse fled away, leaving me +wide awake, my last hope of slumber gone. I knew +that this was no amorous milkman, whose racket +might be hushed by well-directed abuse.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Bob<em>white</em>! Bob<em>white</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I held an aching head between my hands. That +insistent two-toned whistle, repeated again and again, +in maddening iteration, came from no man, but a +bird—the “bobwhite,” the quail of North Carolina, +which some misguided idiots would have protected +as a songbird!</p> + +<p class='c010'>But now it was full light, and, I suppose, something +after five o’clock. With a dispirited sigh I +arose and began to dress slowly. I had made more +<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>of a sacrifice than I realized when I offered, in my +innocence, to spend the night at Fort House.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I shaved and dressed leisurely, to the accompaniment +of bobwhite’s continual clamor; at last +I descended the wide stairs silently, lest I wake +others. I heard no stir from Dorothy’s room; she, +no doubt, was well used to the song of quail. As +I may have said, Fort House stood apart and alone +in its grove of pines, and wild quail might well nest +in the tangle of scrub oaks behind it. They sang +under her window every morning, I suppose, so that +Dorothy heard them no longer. But I rejoiced +privately that the house I shared with my nephew, +Lewis Parker, stood close to its neighbors and far +off from wild birds and, I hoped, wilder ghosts.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But, as I reached the ground floor and tiptoed +past Aunt Mary’s door, I had proof that bobwhite +had disturbed others beside myself. For all her +long stay in this house, Miss McGregor was not yet +used to the outcry of quail, it appeared.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Miss Christie!” I heard. “Miss Christie! Dear +me, has she gone to sleep again? Miss Christie!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A sleepy murmur from the inner room.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Miss Christie! Get dressed, please, and go out. +See if you can’t drive that wretched bird away; I +can’t stand it any longer!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I smiled to myself, for the sweet, resigned voice +had turned sharp, almost irritable. Plainly there +were limits even to Aunt Mary’s patience. And from +without the whistle of that miserable quail continued +monotonously: “Bob<em>white</em>!” Three seconds, then: +“Bob<em>white</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>Then I went on into the living room, selected a +book and settled myself to wait for breakfast. It +might have been an hour before I heard voices at +the rear of the house; they came closer, sounded +from the dining room, just behind me. <a id='tn-listened'></a>I listened +frankly, welcoming any signs of human companionship +after my long vigil; for nothing is so lonely +as a deserted sitting room in the early morning, +when all but yourself are still in their rooms.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yassum, Miss Dor’thy, thassall, ma’am. Them +two gold-banded chiny cups done gone bust, an’ th’ +sweet potato pie all et up.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, dear!” That was Dorothy’s voice. “I don’t +mind the pie so much, but I do wish the ghost +wouldn’t break my best dishes, Rosina.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The Poltergeist retained an appetite for material +dainties, it seemed! For some reason that touch +rendered it less formidable to my fancy; besides, it +was now bright sunlight, and who fears ghosts in +the daytime? I felt very courageous.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But the cook was speaking again, in a rich, throaty +drawl. “Yassum, Miss Dor’thy. Them ghosteses +ain’t got no apershashun, is they? But, ma’am, I +done got my satisfy of ghosteses, Miss Dor’thy. +I’se standed ’em too long. Cain’t leave you-all +ontwel th’ weddin’, a-course; but when you-all gits +safe married, Fort House is th’ place I’se a-gwine +t’ be anywheres else in No’th Ca’lina but! Yassum, +Miss Dor’thy! You heahs me!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy sighed. “We’ll all be leaving then, I +hope, Rosina. It is a spooky old place, I know, but +Aunt Mary likes it here.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>Rosina departed kitchenward, muttering something +unintelligible which I fancied was less than complimentary +to Miss McGregor; and Dorothy pushed +aside the portière and saw me.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, good morning, Uncle George! You’re +up early.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I rose rather stiffly, for this night had done my +rheumatism no good, and bowed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good morning, Dorothy! Did you sleep well?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Not very.” However she looked fresh as a rose, +and her blue eyes shone. Her thick black hair was +coiled simply about a shapely head; she wore some +sort of filmy silk robe of a pale blue color, and +ravishingly pretty she looked in it, too.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“The Poltergeist upset my night,” she went on. +“I got up early to see what damage he’d done this +time. You’ll excuse me for coming out so informally?” +She looked down at her negligee with +a bright blush. “I’m going to skip right back upstairs +and dress now—honest I am.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You look very sweet, my dear.” I am old enough +to say such things quite impersonally. “But tell me +first about the ghost.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She blushed again. “Why—why, Uncle George, +it seems so silly!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Silly!” I repeated. “There was nothing silly +about that scream in the night; it brought the goose +flesh out all over me.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” she admitted. “But you see I’ve heard +it so often, and it’s never done any harm.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Often? You never mentioned it before.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>Her color heightened further at my tone of reproach. +She came closer and perched on the arm +of my chair, smoothing my old bald head gently.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No, I never spoke of it. Even Lewis doesn’t +know—except he’s heard Peter joking about it sometimes. +Maybe I’ll tell him after we’re married; but +I couldn’t bear to have him laugh at me. It’s bad +enough to have your brother always making fun, +without your—your fiancé, too. But the ghost—well, +it’s come a dozen times or more. The first +time was—let me see! It was about a year ago. +I know it was after mother died, and Aunt Mary +came here to live, because I remember how indignant +she was. Just pooh-poohed and said it was all my +imagination. But afterward she heard it, too; and +then she began to read and study about spirits, until +now she’s a confirmed spiritualist—uses the ouija +board and everything. But she never wants the +Poltergeist talked about outside the family.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What does it do? Why, little, mean tricks. It +gets into the cupboards and steals things and breaks +dishes; and it bangs the furniture about, and sometimes +it screams like it did last night. Peter sat up +to watch several times, but he never saw anything, +though one night it pulled the chair out from under +him. Peter claims he just went to sleep and fell +over, but I know better. It was the Poltergeist! +Aunt Mary claims you never can see them—they’re +invisible. She says they never do any real harm, +only these little tricks, like breaking dishes and all +that. But it is kind of unsettling, Uncle George. +I’ll be glad when Lewis and I are married, and we +<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>can leave this old house for good. Only think, +Uncle George, three days more!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then she jumped up with a cry. “My goodness, +Lewis is coming over to breakfast, and here it is +seven o’clock and after, and me not even dressed! +I must run. Bother the Poltergeist! Aunt +Mary’ll tell you all about it, if you can once +get her started. She loves to talk about ghosts. +I’ve often wondered how she refrained from telling +Lewis. And say”—she darted back to my side and +whispered—“say, Uncle George, be awful nice to +her this morning; jolly her up a little, will you? +She will be in a terrible temper, I’m afraid.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She dropped a swift kiss upon my bald spot and +ran out.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I settled back to wait for breakfast, rather impatiently, +I must admit, for the night had tired me, +and I craved hot coffee. But in twenty minutes +Dorothy was back, demure and immaculate in a little +blue-and-white gingham.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Come along,” she urged. “Let’s go in and get +started. We won’t wait for Lewis; he’ll be along +directly. I want everything fixed and ready before +Aunt Mary comes out.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>So she led the way into the dining room, and I +followed gratefully. I sat down, and Dorothy began +to hurry Rosina.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Quick, Rosina,” she directed. “Bring in the +coffeepot and those muffins. And get a fresh pat +of butter; this looks mussy. I hear aunty.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The fat, motherly black cook gave one apprehensive +glance at the doorway, smoothed her crisp +<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>apron and fled. I wondered briefly that her household +should be in such patent fear of that sweet, +heroic old lady, Miss Mary McGregor.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then I, too, heard the creak of her wheel chair, +and presently Aunt Mary appeared in the door, +riding in the invalid’s chair in which she spent all +her waking hours. Miss Christie propelled it, looking +fresh and wholesome enough, in her clean white +uniform, but yawning still. She was a sleepy sort +of girl, a very sleepy sort!</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary greeted us with her sad, patient smile, +a smile to bring tears to your eyes, it was so +obviously a struggle against despair. My heart +went out to her for her pathetic bravery, poor, frail +old lady! Her high-bred face beneath the crown +of snow-white hair was pale and worn; she sighed +deeply.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good morning, all,” she quavered, her eyes +bright with unshed tears; then she bit her lip and +smiled again determinedly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good morning, aunty. Why, you’re looking +quite bright, aren’t you? Wheel her right up here, +Miss Christie; everything’s all ready. Here, aunty, +here’s your orange juice, all iced. Drink it right +down, there’s a dear. Rosina! A nice, hot cup of +coffee for Aunty Mary—quick! I got up early, +Aunt Mary, on purpose to make muffins for you: +don’t they look nice and appetizing? I’ll butter one +and just pop it into your mouth, shall I? I’m sure +you’re hungry this morning; you look so rested. +You must have had a very good night.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Breathlessly, with a sort of desperate gayety, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>Dorothy talked against time. Her aunt listened impatiently, +still wearing that pathetic smile; with +parted lips she evidently waited only an opportunity +to interrupt. And now she found it.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“A good night!” She sighed deeply, tragically. +“My dear! As though my nights were ever restful. +I’m used to wakeful nights, and you know I’m not +one to complain of the afflictions the Lord has seen +fit to visit upon me. I try to bear them patiently +and to keep sweet. But last night was terrible! It +was so sweet of you, my dear, to come to my door +in the night. Dorothy is always so thoughtful of her +poor old aunt, Mr. Uhlman. I hadn’t heard a sound; +I was just beginning to doze off, and I thought to +myself, ‘I do believe I’m going to rest an hour or +two,’ when Dorothy knocked at the door. It was +very kindly; Dorothy is inclined to be timid about +the manifestations, Mr. Uhlman—the Poltergeist, +you know. She hasn’t studied spiritism as deeply +as I have, of course. She naturally thinks I am +timid, too; and so, being the most unselfish of +children, she comes to me at once. Bless her! I +hope you had no trouble getting about, Mr. Uhlman; +those stairs creak so, I’m always afraid some one +may stumble. I heard you going back to your +room. I’d been feeling so rested, but, after you two +had gone, I had such a terrible palpitation, and my +neck knotted very badly. You know, Mr. Uhlman, +I have so much trouble with the back of my neck. +I can’t think what brought it on. I was resting so +nicely before you two came in, but afterward I had +such a hard time!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>She paused to heave a vast sigh and absorb an +equally vast bite of buttered muffin. “But I mustn’t +complain. I’m only thankful that the Lord sends +me strength to bear my troubles patiently. I did +get settled a trifle about daybreak, and then the +birds began. Those quail, you know, bobwhites! I +suppose it’s my condition and perfectly absurd, so, +of course, I never complain about it; but those birds +set my nerves on edge so I can feel it all down my +spine and into my limbs. You’ve no idea. I bore +it as long as I could, but finally I was simply compelled +to call Miss Christie.” She paused to cough. +“I’m rather hoarse, I’m afraid. Miss Christie sleeps +so soundly, the poor dear!” Here she gave her +nurse an affectionate smile. “I’m a dreadful trouble +to you, am I not? Eventually I managed to wake +her, and she threw a stick out of the window to drive +the birds away. By that time my back was paining +me so I couldn’t possibly rest.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary stopped, beamed upon us with that +plaintive, angelic look and devoted herself to her +muffins and coffee. Having succeeded so admirably +in putting us all three in the wrong, apportioning +justly to each his share in her discomforts of the +night, all in the sweetest, most kindly fashion in the +world, she appeared to feel rather better. We others +looked at our plates. I, for one, felt my ears burn, +and my appetite seemed to have left me. I began +to realize that it is not always easy to live with the +most sweetly patient of invalids. And yet Dorothy’s +attitude seemed rather callous. Poor Aunt Mary! +She had a great deal to bear, after all! I reproached +<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>myself for having added, however unwittingly, to +her discomforts.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Upon the little hush came the sound of the doorbell, +and Dorothy flew to answer it, her face brightening +beautifully. Presently she returned, clinging +to the arm of my nephew, Doctor C. Lewis Parker. +Tall and spare he towered above her, and his black +eyes looked down adoringly into her blue ones.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good morning, Aunt Mary!” He bowed over +her frail hand with a stately courtesy that was not +unbecoming. “Hello, Uncle George. Good morning, +Miss Christie. Sorry to be late, honey. I had to +make a call. Did you save me some coffee? Oh, +good morning, Rosina! You didn’t forget me, did +you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The fat cook beamed at him, rolling admiring +eyes. Servants are always fond of my nephew. +“Nossuh, Mist’ Lewis—doctah, Ah means. Ah +done fetched yuh a special cup, made strong, suh.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The doctor sat down and unfolded his napkin. +“Well, honey, what were you talking about?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy smiled demurely, with a sly glance at +me. “Why, about ghosts, Lewis—about our ancestral +spook.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis stared and stroked his little black mustache. +His face was square, and his high cheek bones gave +it a solemn look, almost Indian. “About ghosts? +Nonsense! There’s no such thing as a ghost!” If +my nephew had a fault, it was that he was a shade +too serious, a bit too literal-minded. He was not +overendowed with humor.</p> + +<p class='c010'>His pronouncement provoked a frank laugh from +<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>Dorothy. I think she thoroughly enjoyed his +solemnity. But Miss McGregor bridled.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Indeed! Young man⸺” Then she broke off +quite suddenly and resumed her normal sweetness +of temper. One might have fancied that she did +not care to discuss spirits with Lewis. “My niece +is jesting,” she went on, with a pale, patient smile. +“I’m afraid I wearied her. It is too easy to bore +the young and healthy, when one is an old, worthless +invalid. I’m sorry, my dear. I know I must be +a great trial, but I’m thankful that I can drop into +the background gracefully. I bear my trials as best +I can. You all know I never complain. I realize +that I can’t expect much attention from happy, care-free +young folks, and I don’t look for it. I know +an invalid is always a burden, so I try not to make +things too hard for poor Dorothy; she’s so self-sacrificing! +Ah, if I were only able, how I would +love to turn in and help get ready for the wedding! +But all I can do is sit back and wish you well, +children, and say nothing when my few wants are +forgotten. I know I can’t expect attention with a +wedding only three days off, and I don’t expect it. +I just love the happy stir and bustle of preparation; +I seem to grow young again, because I share +Dorothy’s pleasure so keenly. Perhaps it’s that +which has made me so restless of late. I’ve suffered +much more than usual this week; no doubt it has +been the excitement. But I wouldn’t have it changed +for worlds; I enjoy it so! What are a few more +sleepless nights, a few more pains, to me? I have +had so many—so many!” She sighed deeply, with +<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>that sweet, suffering smile of one too ethereal for +this rough world. “You must bear with me, children. +A few days, and you’ll be gone, happy in each other, +leaving me to my solitude and suffering. Ah, it’s +better so! I shall be happy, knowing that I am no +longer a damper on your joys.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary wiped away a tear and looked more +seraphic than ever. Dorothy and Lewis, unreasonably +enough, appeared rather downcast.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl looked whimsically at Lewis; I fancy she +squeezed his hand under the table. Then she dropped +her napkin and, under cover of retrieving it, whispered +swiftly to me:</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Don’t mind aunty—in bad temper!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>So she seemed to be. I was rather taken aback +by the revelation. I wondered how often Miss +McGregor was in this mood, and my sympathy for +her niece increased momently. If the old lady had +been humanly irritable it wouldn’t have been so +bad; but this pious, sweet-toned flood of indirect +complaint was hard to bear. One felt hopelessly in +the wrong; one felt that Aunt Mary was forbearing +and magnanimous in spite of her pains; and one +rebelled thereat.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m sorry you’re having a bad time,” said Lewis +apologetically. “Is there anything I could do, Aunt +Mary?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She sighed. “I think I could stand everything else +if it weren’t for the quail. Doctor Parker”—she +never could be induced to call my nephew “Lewis”—“Doctor +Parker, those birds drive me almost mad! +You know, I sleep very poorly; about dawn I used +<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>to be able to settle down for a little nap. But it’s +just then that the quail begin: ‘Bob<em>white</em>! bob<em>white</em>!’—until +I could just scream with the knots in my +neck. I don’t know what’s going to become of me; +I can’t stand it much longer. You know I’m not one +to complain; I try to bear my burdens patiently, but +I’ve reached the end of my strength. Dorothy and +Peter don’t realize how I’ve been tried, because I +never talk about it; Peter just laughs, when he +could have taken his gun and driven them away. +But, if those quail keep whistling under my window +much longer, I shall go mad!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She finished in a rush of words, as her face contorted +queerly, and her eyes reddened and filled with +tears.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, aunty!” cried Dorothy remorsefully.</p> + +<p class='c010'>My nephew rose and came round the table to pat +the old lady’s hand comfortingly. “Never mind, +Aunt Mary; I’ll see to it for you. Peter won’t be +back till to-morrow night, but I’m sure he wouldn’t +mind my borrowing his shotgun. I’ll get up at daybreak +in the morning and come over here and shoot +those quail for you. There can’t be more than three +or four, I don’t think; they’ve nested into the scrub +oaks out back, most likely. I’ll see to it, Aunt Mary, +don’t you fret any more!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss McGregor seemed a little comforted. “I’m a +troublesome old woman,” she sighed, “but you don’t +realize what I suffer!” Then she rewarded Lewis +with her sweet, patient smile, albeit a bit weak and +watery.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-III' class='c011'>CHAPTER III<br> <br><span class='small'>A BAD SPELL</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>T<span class="uppercase">he</span> nurse wheeled Aunt Mary back to her room +to rest, and we others rose. Our breakfast had +been pretty effectually spoiled; none of us, except +Aunt Mary, had managed to eat much. The old +lady, however, had put away an excellent meal in +spite of her sufferings.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Poor old dear!” sighed Lewis. “Honey, I’m +afraid we’ve been selfish in our happiness; we haven’t +thought enough of Aunt Mary. After all she’s a +great sufferer.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I started; that was so exactly Miss McGregor’s +opinion. Dorothy looked at her lover almost suspiciously, +but he was perfectly serious. As I have +said, my nephew was very serious-minded.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl sighed in relief and flashed an impudent +glance at me. “Yes, poor aunty,” she said. “She’s +a great sufferer, and she never complains.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“That’s what makes it so pitiful,” declared Lewis +soberly. “But come out doors a minute, honey; let’s +look over things and see if we can’t locate those +quail.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Knowing very well that I wasn’t wanted, I watched +through the window, as the two young folks walked, +hand in hand, down the path, which led through the +pines at the east of the old house, into the thick +scrub oak jungle behind it. Although in the heart +of a sizable village, it was a solitary spot. The +<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>grounds of Fort House took in an entire block; and +in its center one might well have fancied himself in +the heart of the wilderness.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Thinking themselves out of sight, no doubt, the +two lovers stood very close. Dorothy’s head rested +against my nephew’s shoulder; her face was upturned +to his. I sighed and turned away. I am a +lonely old man.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then I heard Rosina’s voice behind me. “Mist’ +Uhlman, is Mist’ Lewis done gone? They’s a telegrum +comed, an’ the boy done fotch it oveh, seein’ +they wa’n’t nobody home to his place.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I took the yellow envelope. “All right, Rosina. +He’s out back with Miss Dorothy. There they come, +now!” I stepped through the open French doors +to meet them.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis took the telegram, with that hint of flurry +which touches every one at sight of the yellow envelope.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What? Oh, yes! It’s from old Floyd Somers. +He was my classmate at medical school, you know; +he’s on the staff of some hospital for the insane up +North. See what he says.” He read the message +over and scowled and smiled rather doubtfully, then +scowled again. “‘Sincere condolences. Glad to act +as chief mourner. Arrive Monday.’”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy flushed and bit her lip. “I don’t care, +I think that’s a great way to promise he’ll be your +best man. No wonder he’s in a lunatic asylum.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>My nephew laughed rather uneasily. “Oh, that’s +just Somers’ way. He’s a queer old chap, but I’m +sure you’ll like him, honey.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>“I’m not, then! ‘Condolences!’ The very idea!” +Then she chuckled. “After all, it is kind of a funny +telegram. Maybe he won’t be so sure you need +condolences”—very demurely—“after he’s seen me!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You little minx!” Lewis kissed her soundly. +“But really, honey, Floyd Somers is a fine old chap. +He may seem queer at first, but, when you get to +know him, he’s one of the very best.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh!” Dorothy made a little face. “Run along +now, boy, and get to work. You’re going to have +a very expensive wife presently, and you can’t afford +to neglect your practice.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>As we came down the front steps, Doctor Gaskell’s +big twin-six coupe backed silently out of the garage +behind his house, just opposite, and started down +street. I caught a glimpse of the doctor’s face, +incongruously young beneath his crown of snow-white +hair; he smiled and raised an arm in greeting.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I lifted my hat. To my mind Gaskell was a fine +chap. Some twenty-five years older than Lewis he +had been located in Pinelands for more than twenty +years, and the cream of the practice was naturally +his. But he had been very gracious to my nephew +and had sent him more than one case.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis, however, was less grateful. Now he +scowled blackly. “Darn his patronizing ways!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“My boy, he’s been awfully good to you.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh? Oh, yes—very good! He’s sent me a +few dead beats because he was tired of treating them +for nothing; and he’s turned over half a dozen night +calls because he hates to get out of bed. And he +goes round saying: ‘Parker? Oh, yes, Doctor +<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>Parker. Yes, hum, hum! Fine young chap, that; +bright, too. Of course he hasn’t had much experience +yet.’ And it does me more harm than if he’d +slam me outright.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I was silenced. So we went on home, only a +short block, and the boy got out his modest flivver +to begin his own rounds, which were short enough. +As I have said, Lewis had been only a year in Pinelands. +He was making a living—and no more. +Fortunately I had some money.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But he was not destined to make his calls yet. +For, just as he climbed into the little car, while I +stood on the steps to watch him off, Rosina came +panting around the corner.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, Mist’ Lewis!” she wheezed. “Mist’ Doctah! +Come a-runnin’! Miss Dor’thy’s Aunt Ma’y, she’s +done been took dretful bad.” Rosina’s eyes rolled +fearsomely. “She’s a-hollerin’ an’ a-takin’ on terrible. +Yassuh! Whyn’t you-all answer the phone? +Miss Dor’thy, she wants you t’ come a-runnin’. +Yassuh!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, the poor old lady! I’ll be there directly. +Come along, Uncle George; you can help, maybe. +Quick!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis urged me into the little car and, scarce +waiting for me to close its door, started at top speed +for Fort House. In thirty seconds the flivver was +sliding to a stop, and my nephew leaped out, leaving +me to turn off the engine and follow.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I entered to find Aunt Mary in her wheel chair in +the big living room. Dorothy, white-faced, stood +at one side, wringing her hands; the nurse, Miss +<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>Christie, was behind the chair, bathing the old lady’s +forehead. As I came in the nurse yawned widely. +She did not seem one to distress herself unduly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis leaned over the chair, counting Miss McGregor’s +pulse. The old lady was very pale; her +eyelids fluttered, her head drooped, as if she were +half fainting; she talked in a weak, trembling voice.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No, I can’t go to bed. I can’t lie down; I +couldn’t breathe, my heart pounds so. I—I think +I’m going to faint. I have such queer feelings all +down my left arm, and my limbs are just numb, way +up to the hips. Am I having a stroke, doctor? I’m +afraid so. Oh, my heart! There’s a great ball in +my throat, and the back of my neck knots so terribly! +Miss Christie! Not there? Please, rub my +neck very gently. Ah-h-h! I’m a great sufferer—a +great sufferer! Don’t trouble about me, Dorothy—run +off and do your shopping. I know you’ve +lots to do, getting ready to be married. Ah, well! +I shan’t be here long to be a trouble to you!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She groaned aloud; her face began to twitch +alarmingly; her eyes rolled up until only the whites +were visible. “I—I’m f-fainting!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>My nephew put his stethoscope to her chest, felt +her pulse once more, then stepped back, irresolute.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Lewis! Lewis!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Aren’t +you going to do anything for poor auntie? Quick!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The boy frowned deeper. He opened his bag and +produced a bottle. “A spoon, please, with a cup and +some hot water.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>When they were brought he poured out some +potion that diffused a strong scent of ammonia and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>ether. Aunt Mary swallowed it with faint gurglings, +and her eyelids drooped once more.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis scowled and rubbed his chin. “I don’t +understand it,” he said. “Her heart’s all right—strong +and regular. But she’s in dreadful pain; one +can see that. I—I’d like to have somebody else +see her. Well, we must get her into bed first.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>As she was wheeled back into her own room, +where she was shut in with nurse and physician, +Dorothy and I looked at each other in some doubt.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It’s no wonder if Lewis is puzzled,” declared +the girl loyally. “Aunt Mary’s is a very unusual +case; I don’t know how many doctors have disagreed +about it. She’s often told me so herself.” The girl +paused, looked guiltily about and then came very +close. “You know, Uncle George,” she whispered, +her fragrant breath on my cheek, “sometimes I +wonder if auntie is really as bad off as she thinks. +Oh, she’s paralyzed, of course, and it’s an awful +thing to be tied to a chair like she is, not able to +stand or walk or do anything for herself. But, I +know it’s just horrid of me, I do wonder if she +suffers as much as she makes out sometimes? I +know I stayed with her one night, when Miss +Christie was away, and she slept every minute! +And next morning she swore up and down she’d +never closed her eyes, and she was real mad at me +for saying she had.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Your aunt has a hard time, my dear,” I told her. +“And⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis emerged from the sick room, still frowning. +“She doesn’t seem a bit better. I wish⸺” +<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>He was staring out of the window at Doctor Gaskell’s +big car, just stopping in front of his house. +“I believe⸺Darn it, I hate to ask any favors of +Gaskell, but he’s older than I am, and he is mighty +clever. I believe I’ll ask him to come over and see +Aunt Mary. Something’s got to be done for her +right away; she’s in dreadful pain, one can see.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Without more words he ran out, calling aloud.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I felt a surge of pride. It must have been hard +for Lewis to admit any uncertainty before his best-beloved, +and doubly hard to ask aid of Gaskell, whom +he disliked so heartily. Yet the boy was big enough +to submerge his pride for the sake of his patient’s +well-being.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“He’s a good boy, Dorothy,” I whispered, and she +nodded, squeezing my hand.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then Lewis returned, escorting Doctor Gaskell. +I had to admit that the latter’s very manner inspired +confidence. His deep-set eyes were bright and steady, +and his smile was disarmingly cordial. He smoothed +back his thick, snow-white hair.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, Miss Dorothy! In trouble? We’ll go right +in, doctor. Have to do something for the old lady +right away; can’t have her sick now, with a wedding +coming on.” His smile broadened, and a dimple +showed at the corner of his mouth.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Bowing, he turned away, and presently we heard +his deep voice in the bedroom. “What? Sitting +up? Fine! Hum, hum. Just wheel her back out, +nurse. Better light in the big room.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss McGregor reappeared in her chair. “She +<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>wouldn’t get into bed, doctor,” explained Miss +Christie. “Said it would kill her to be moved.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hum, hum. Not quite that bad,” rumbled Doctor +Gaskell, chuckling.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary opened one eye to shoot a curiously +vindictive glance at him, then she groaned aloud and +let her head drop limply forward again.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hum, hum, hum,” remarked Doctor Gaskell, unmoved. +“Let’s look at you now.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>With swift, practiced hands he made a brief examination; +taking the old lady’s pulse, listening to +her heart, tapping her knees and doing all the mysteriously +impressive things that doctors do.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Presently he straightened up. “She’s all right,” +he declared brusquely. “Not a thing the matter +with her; a bit tired, that’s all. Go to bed, madam, +and get a nap, and you’ll feel better.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss McGregor’s head jerked up; she opened her +eyes wide and fixed the physician with a baleful +glare. I caught my breath in wonder that an old +lady so patient and sweet-tempered could be capable +of such viciousness.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But it was over in a breath, and Aunt Mary’s +features had resumed their accustomed expression of +suffering sweetness.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No doubt you’re right, doctor. I—I do feel +better.” So gentle and kindly was her smile that I +wondered if my eyes had not deceived me just now. +“The worst is over, I hope. I’m in a great deal of +pain, but I can bear it!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She looked so white, so fragile; her weary face, +her colorless, quivering lips, told such a tale of +<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>suffering bravely borne that my heart swelled with +anger at the callousness of this doctor.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis shared my feelings, I think, for he drew +Gaskell to one side and seemed to remonstrate with +him in low, angry whispers. The older man +shrugged and smiled.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It’s all right, my boy,” he answered aloud. “I +admire your soft heart, but this is plain hysteria. +What? Paralyzed? Oh, yes, she’s paralyzed, but +she’s not suffering. When you’ve seen as many +women as I have with ‘knots in the back of their +necks,’ you’ll realize that the best thing to do is +treat ’em rough. Sympathy only makes ’em worse; +and it’s the poor folks that have to live with ’em +who really need your sympathy. Hum, hum! You +go to bed, madam, and behave yourself. And, if +you stop taking out your bad temper on your +family, with ‘bad spells’ like this, you’ll feel better—and +so will they.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was brutal—even if it had been true it would +have been brutal—but it seemed efficacious. Aunt +Mary straightened, with more color in her thin face +than I had ever seen there. Her voice was full and +strong, not sweet and gentle now, but sharp enough.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You get out!” she said. “Dorothy, pay him and +send him away. You—you’re no doctor! I’ve always +said you didn’t know your business, insulting +poor, helpless women like me!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>My nephew interposed. He was perfectly white, +and he trembled visibly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Let me, Aunt Mary! Doctor Gaskell, you are a +cad, sir! A cad and an ignoramus! You’re a disgrace +<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>to our profession. I—I”—he mouthed inarticulately, +almost beside himself with rage—“I—we’ll +dispense with your services, sir. I may be +young and inexperienced, but I’m not heartless. I—I⸺Get +out, sir!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I caught the boy’s arm. “Softly, Lewis, softly! +Don’t forget yourself. You’d better go, Doctor +Gaskell. I—I’m sorry. I apologize, sir. My nephew +is excited.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hum,” said Doctor Gaskell quite calmly. “Hum, +hum! Yes, well—good day!” He bowed to Aunt +Mary, to Dorothy, to Lewis, and me, with the most +exact courtesy and went out.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“The beast!” exclaimed Lewis.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Stop that!” I said to him severely. “He may +have been wrong; he was too abrupt, no doubt. But +he gave his honest opinion; and that’s what you +wanted, wasn’t it? And he showed much more +courtesy than you did, my boy.”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-IV' class='c011'>CHAPTER IV<br> <br><span class='small'>A FEUD</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>M<span class="uppercase">y</span> nephew calmed down presently and apologized +to the ladies for his outburst. It had been a +distressing scene; but, whether it was Doctor +Gaskell’s rude pronouncement, or excitement, which +caused her to forget her troubles, or just coincidence, +Aunt Mary seemed much better for it. She +replied rather shortly to our questions, saying that +she was more comfortable “for the moment,” that +she didn’t want anything, and that she’d lie down +a while to recuperate.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss Christie wheeled her back again into her +bedroom, apparently quite her usual sweetly, patient +self. But I was convinced, none the less, that she +would not lightly forgive Doctor Gaskell.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Poor Dorothy looked dreadfully flustered. As my +nephew left us to give the nurse some last directions, +she drew me out into the dining room.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—I don’t know what to think, Uncle George,” +she declared. “I know Doctor Gaskell was awfully +harsh, and everything like that; and of course Lewis +is an awfully good doctor, and I’m sure he knows +what he’s talking about, but—but, Uncle George, I +do believe there was some truth in what Doctor +Gaskell said. I do, I <em>do</em>! So there! You haven’t +lived with Aunt Mary a whole year like I have. I +do believe she makes out her pains are lots worse +<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>than they are—sometimes; I do believe she likes to +have folks say how patient she is, and how she +suffers. If she’s cross with me, or anything upsets +her, I do believe she has one of these bad spells, +when other folks would just be cross and cranky. +I just do! But you won’t tell, will you? You +won’t breathe it to a soul that I said that, will you, +Uncle George? Because, maybe, it’s just my meanness, +and, besides, Lewis wouldn’t like it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>So I promised. Then Lewis appeared, and I went +out with him, my own mind considerably unsettled +by doubts. On the whole I was inclined to agree +with Dorothy that Aunt Mary, despite her repeated +claims that she never complained, managed to make +the very most of her troubles. My nephew was still +incensed; he snorted wrathfully at intervals. I +thought it best to keep my suspicions to myself.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ll take you down to the post office, unk,” he +said. “The mail must be in by now, and I’ve got +to stop at the drug store, anyhow.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We went to the latter place first, and the pharmacist, +Walter Olsen, hailed my nephew with joy.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Howdy, doc! Glad you came in. Come on +back here.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He stooped over the high prescription counter at +the back of the store, his inch-wide blond eyebrows +working up and down, as they did when he was +puzzled. He was conning over a slip of paper, and +this he handed to my nephew.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“See if you can make that out, doc? Gaskell’s +worse than usual lately; can’t read his writing at all. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>And he’s gone off somewhere, and Satterfield may be +in any minute after this.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis took the prescription and studied it for a +moment. “Tincture aconite, one drachm,” he read. +“Bellonia—no, belladonna, a scruple.” Then he +paused, staring over the paper at the druggist. “Satterfield, +did you say? Ralph Satterfield? Why, the +Satterfields are my patients! What in thunder does +Gaskell mean, stealing my cases?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He threw the prescription down angrily, his hot +temper all aflame. My nephew had a healthy opinion +of his own dignity. “I won’t waste my time on it!” +he flared. “Let Gaskell translate his own scrawls. +What a dirty trick, stealing my patients! I never +did think much of Gaskell, but I supposed he had +some idea of ethics. Wonder if he ever heard +of professional etiquette?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Now, now, doc,” soothed Olsen. He was a +mild, pacific chap. “Don’t let it upset you. There +must be some mistake. Doctor Gaskell wouldn’t do +that, I’m sure.” Stealing another man’s patients is +one of the high crimes of medicine. “You better +just ask him about it; likely Satterfield told him +you’d stopped coming.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nonsense!” replied Lewis. “I was out there +yesterday; I was on my way there this morning. It’s +the boy, Johnny, isn’t it?” He picked up the prescription +once more. “John Satterfield! That’s my +case; I’m treating that boy. Gaskell just butted in +on me without a word. Confound him, he’s always +playing me some dirty trick!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>His voice was high; one or two loafers in the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>front of the store heard him and came back to +peer over the high screen. Olsen looked troubled.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Wish I’d let Ralph wait till I could locate +Gaskell,” Olsen said to me helplessly. “I hate to +start trouble like this.” He craned his neck to peer +over the screen, as the front door opened. “Here’s +Satterfield coming now!” he announced in vast relief. +“You talk to him, doc; see if he don’t explain this +thing. You can talk right back here.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He beckoned the newcomer and led us to a small +storeroom behind the shop. “You-all can talk quiet +in there.” He cast a worried look at the loungers, +who stared and whispered in front of the counter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I drew my nephew into the room, almost by force. +“You cool off, boy,” I ordered, “or else let me talk +to him. You’re making a show of yourself; this +thing’ll be all over town before night.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Thus adjured, Lewis took a fresh grip on himself +and turned more quietly to Satterfield. The latter +was a tall, gaunt, slab-sided individual in overalls +and a battered slouch hat.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Look here, Satterfield,” he began, “I thought I +was taking care of Johnny?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The other rasped a stubbly chin and pulled at his +drooping mustache, in obvious embarrassment.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We-ell, doc, y’see⸺” He paused, shuffled his +feet and took a fresh start. “W’y, th’ woman got +kinda panicky yestiddy after you was there. Says +th’ boy was worse, sez she, an’ you was too young, +she sez, an’ we gotta have Doc Gaskell, ’at she +knowed, she sez, an’ took care o’ her w’en th’ kids +was borned, sez she.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>“Huh. And he came running, didn’t he? Glad +enough to steal one of my patients from me.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“W’y, no, doc,” Satterfield answered. “Couldn’t +hardly git ’im out there. Says we’d got another +doctor, and we’d ought to have him. Wouldn’t come +until finely I got Bill Sears to’ drap you a post card, +sayin’ we didn’t want yuh t’ come no longer. Ain’t +yuh got it yit?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis glared, open-mouthed, taken aback by this +revelation. But I think his anger against Gaskell +only burned the brighter for the knowledge that he +had done the older man an injustice.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“He’s a dirty hound, anyway,” he retorted. “And +as for you, Satterfield, you must think a lot of yourself, +begging help from the man who put you in +jail last month.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The other reddened, scowling sullenly. “That’s +between him an’ me,” he said.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Gaskell was one of the town commissioners, and +he had been acting mayor for two months, during +the absence of Frank Hayes. And, when Satterfield +had been brought before him, charged with bootlegging, +Gaskell had given the countryman thirty days +on the roads.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“That’s between him an’ me,” said Satterfield. +“Cain’t nobody send me to th’ jail house ’ithout +payin’ f’r it. I’ll settle with Doc Gaskell yit—you +see! But that ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with this here; +we-all quit doctorin’ with you an’ sent f’r Doc +Gaskell, see? Yuh got anythin’ t’ say about that, +huh?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He glared belligerently at Lewis. I fancy that his +<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>own conscience was something less than easy, which +naturally made him irritable.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No, no!” I told him. “It’s all right; the doctor +is perfectly satisfied. Come along, Lewis!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>My aged nerves had stood all they could this +morning. I hurried my nephew out of the place +before he could start a new quarrel. At last I +got the boy off on his rounds, in a tolerably calm +frame of mind, and I walked slowly back to the +house.</p> + +<p class='c010'>My heart was heavy. Unless he learned to curb +his hot temper Lewis could not hope to do well +here. In any open break the sympathy of the townspeople +would naturally go to Doctor Gaskell, the +older and better-known man. Lewis would suffer, +whatever the merits of the case. It worried me +deeply.</p> + +<p class='c010'>As I turned onto our street, I noticed a team of +mules standing before Doctor Gaskell’s house, and +a deep, angry roar drew my eyes to his front porch.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A huge old man, bearded to the waist, stood on +the doctor’s porch, a wide-brimmed felt hat thrust +far back on his massive head. He was shouting at +a thoroughly frightened negro maid.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Out, huh? Gone away, huh? He better be gone +away! Where’s he at, huh?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“G-gone to th’ h-hospital, suh,” answered the girl +in a quavering voice. “He’s done gone, suh; ain’t +gwine be back ontwel evenin’.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh?” A terrifying snort shook the air. “You +tell ’em this word f’om me, f’om Lafe Rutledge, +gyurl. Tell ’im he’s got till sunup t’ settle, an’ that’s +<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>all. I’ll be down to th’ Pinelands Hotel all evenin’. +Ontel sunup, you hear me?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yassuh! Oh, yassuh. I shore will tell th’ doctah!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The giant snorted once more, tugged at his flowing +beard and turned away. His heavy cowhide +boots stamped down the steps; then he clambered into +his wagon, gathered the lines and lashed his mules +to a run.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Well, Doctor Gaskell’s troubles were his own. I +was more concerned with my nephew’s, and I feared +that his hot temper would provide plenty for him.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-V' class='c011'>CHAPTER V<br> <br><span class='small'>A TRAGEDY</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>T<span class="uppercase">he</span> rest of that day passed uneventfully enough. +When he returned from his rounds Lewis +seemed quite himself again, and that afternoon he +went off to Raleigh cheerfully enough, to hurry the +tailor with his wedding clothes.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The wedding was to be on Wednesday, at noon; +but Dorothy had planned a rehearsal for Monday, +when her Brother Peter would be back, and Lewis’ +best man, Doctor Somers, would be here. And +Tuesday would be a very busy day, what with receiving +and caring for the many out-of-town guests. +Saturday was the boy’s last chance to get his new +clothes.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter McGregor would not return until Sunday +afternoon, so it was arranged that I should stay at +Fort House another night. I did not look forward +to it with any great joy; but I hoped that the Poltergeist +would allow me a few hours’ rest, though I +could hardly look for a like forbearance from bobwhite.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The evening went off tolerably well. Aunt Mary +was quite cheerful, and she had surprisingly little +to say about her throat and her “limbs” and the +knots in the back of her neck. I dozed comfortably +in a big sleepy-hollow chair, half listening to +Dorothy’s chatter over some intimate bit of finery. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>And the nurse, Miss Christie, slept quite frankly +on a couch in the corner. She was never at a loss +how to spend her time.</p> + +<p class='c010'>At last Dorothy threw her embroidery frame at +me. “Go to bed, Uncle George! You haven’t heard +one thing I’ve been saying for an hour. You poor +thing! You’re all tired out.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I rubbed my eyes. “Indeed I have; I was very +much interested. But, perhaps, I’d better go to +bed now. First, though, I must get out Peter’s +shotgun and set it beside the back door, where Lewis +can get it in the morning. He’s going after those +quail, you know, and he made me promise to set out +the gun. He won’t be back till midnight.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It’s up in Peter’s room. Come along, I’ll show +you. But you’ll have to load it and all that, Uncle +George. I don’t know a thing about guns.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary sniffed. “It used to be the pride of +the McGregors of Maryland that the ladies of the +family were all thorough sportswomen. Many have +been the days I spent riding to hounds, when I was +your age, Dorothy; on many a morning I turned +out early with my gun for duck shooting, or to go +out with the dogs after quail. I never asked any help +to care for my guns, either. But that’s long, long +ago, and here I am, a poor, crippled old woman, tied +to a chair, these fourteen years. Ah, well! Young +folks aren’t what they were in my day!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Her lips trembled; her eyes suffused with tears. +Fearing another outbreak like the one of the morning +I cast about me for some new topic. Just then +two powerful lights flashed briefly through the windows +<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>and vanished again. I glanced out; Doctor +Gaskell’s big car had just swept round the corner +toward his garage.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“The doctor’s back,” said I casually. “Wonder +if he’s seen Lafe Rutledge.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Who?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I jumped at the sudden, sharp question and +wheeled. Miss Christie, whom I had supposed asleep, +as usual, had leaped up from her couch and stood +facing me, half crouched. For once her eyes were +wide open; her round, dimpled face was pale and +drawn; her hands, clasped at her breast, trembled.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Who did you say?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why,” I answered, wondering, “a man called +Rutledge. He was asking for Doctor Gaskell this +morning, as I came past. The doctor was out, but +he left a message. I heard it; nobody within half a +mile could have helped hearing it. Said his name +was Lafe Rutledge, and he’d give the doctor until +sunup to settle—whatever that means.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh!” exclaimed the nurse, and the vivid horror +in her face made her suddenly beautiful. I had +never noticed her looks before; she was so sleepily +indifferent; but now fear transfigured her.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, Lafe Rutledge! Are you sure? A great, big +old man, with a long beard?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And a voice like the bull of Bashan—and enormous +boots! Yes, that’s the gentleman.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Without another word Miss Christie ran to the +door, bareheaded as she was, and tore it open.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Miss Christie! Nurse!” It was Aunt Mary’s +voice, sharp, domineering, and angry. “What do +<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>you mean by this? Come back here at once! Take +me to my room!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl never glanced back. “In a minute,” she +answered. “I can’t stop now. I’ll come back +directly.” The door slammed after her.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We three stared at each other. “Well!” cried +Dorothy. “What do you suppose waked her up?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary bridled. “Ungrateful minx! What +does she mean by it, leaving me this way? I’m +tired, and I want her to rub my limbs at once!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“She’ll be right back, I’m sure,” said Dorothy. +“Something upset her; she must be afraid of this +man Rutledge for some reason. The poor girl looked +scared to death.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“She should consider me,” insisted Miss McGregor +inexorably. “I have enough to bear, without my +nurse rushing off and cutting up like this. This +settles it! She shall go, as soon as I can find some +one to take her place! I never liked her; I might +have known that any one whom that wretch Gaskell +recommended would be untrustworthy.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh,” said I, wondering, “Doctor Gaskell sent +her here?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy nodded. “Miss O’Brien had to leave, and +we got this nurse through Doctor Gaskell. She +comes from the western part of the State, up in the +mountains somewhere, near the Tennessee border.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The front door opened, and Miss Christie reappeared, +rather out of breath, but sleepily calm as +ever.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You have upset me seriously,” declared Aunt +Mary severely. “My limbs tingle, and the knots +<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>are coming in my neck. Take me to my room at +once. What do you mean by dashing off this way?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Her voice was harsh, almost abusive. I sighed +a little, to think how intimacy was shattering my +faith in Aunt Mary’s saintliness. It was a myth, +I began to suspect. Behind the old lady’s angelic +front lurked a temper quite the reverse of angelic.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m sorry, Miss McGregor,” answered the nurse +meekly. “I had to go; it was a matter of life and +death, almost.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary sniffed. “Life and death, indeed! +How about my life and death? But that’s of no +importance, I suppose; I’m only a poor, helpless old +woman that everybody’ll be glad to get rid of.” +Then yielding, I suppose, to the curiosity which +touched us all, she asked: “What did you run off +for, anyway?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I can’t tell you.” The girl’s sleepy face set +determinedly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Mf!” exclaimed Aunt Mary. “I don’t like mysteries. +I’ll give you until morning; then you can +explain—or leave!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Very well, Miss McGregor. Shall I take you to +your room now?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She pushed the wheeled chair out, and Dorothy, +still wide-eyed, beckoned to me. “Come along, +Uncle George. Let’s get the shotgun. What do you +suppose ailed Miss Christie?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I shrugged. “She’s from the mountains. They +still have feuds out there, you know, along the North +Carolina border. Perhaps this fellow Rutledge +comes from her home, and she’s afraid he’ll do some +<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>mischief down here. Maybe she’ll explain herself in +the morning, unless Aunt Mary is too cranky.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy shivered a little. “I don’t like mysteries, +either,” she confessed. “And there’s trouble coming, +Uncle George; I can feel it. Oh, dear! I wish we +were out of Fort House for good! Everything’s +going wrong. That horrid ghost, or whatever it is, +scared me about sick; and then Lewis had to go +and quarrel with Doctor Gaskell, and now Miss +Christie begins to act so queer, and—and everything. +Oh, dear! I wish all these things could have happened +to some other body. Here’s Peter’s gun, +Uncle George, in this closet.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I took it out, a plain, well-used, double-barreled +shotgun. Then I broke it to make sure it was +unloaded.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There’s a box of shells on the shelf, I think. +Come on, let’s leave it out and go to bed. I’m +tired, too.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She led the way down the back stairs. After +making sure that both barrels were unloaded I set +the gun against the angle of the wall on the back +porch, just inside the screen door.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There! I told Lewis I’d put it there. I’ll just +leave the cartridges beside it, with the cleaning rod +and rags, so he can put the gun in shape when he’s +through with it. I hope he gets those miserable +quail; they kept me awake, too.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Poor Uncle George! He’s having a hard time, +taking care of the McGregor family, isn’t he?” she +stood on tiptoe to kiss the end of my nose, then she +ran in. “I’m going to bed, too,” she called back.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>But as I labored up the front stairs—slowly +enough, for my joints were very stiff—she came out +of Miss McGregor’s room to call after me.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Uncle George! Auntie’s nervous about that gun. +Come in and tell her where you left it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I turned back. “On the back porch, Miss McGregor, +inside the screen door.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Is it loaded?” querulously she asked.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No, ma’am. I set the box of shells beside it, +ready.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Like as not we’ll all be murdered in our beds, +but I’d run that chance even to get rid of those +quail. Good night!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good night!” I resumed my interrupted climb.</p> + +<p class='c010'>If the Poltergeist paid us a visit that night I did +not know it. I could scarcely keep my eyes open +long enough to undress. I was tired out, and the +bed felt grateful enough. I slept sound and dreamlessly, +which is rather unusual for me, until about +half past three. Then I half woke, to hear the +matutinal song—screech, rather—of those pestiferous +quail. I grinned sleepily, wondering if Aunt Mary +had been awakened, too; wondering how soon Lewis +would be along, and whether he would bag them.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then I dropped off again, to dream that Lewis was +stalking a covey of sitting quail in my bedroom. +They perched on the footboard; I struggled hopelessly, +as one does in dreams, to cry out, to warn +him that I was in his line of fire. I could not make +a sound. Presently he raised his gun, and I saw +that it was a cannon, a field piece, with a muzzle +as big around as my head. He pulled the trigger—the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>thing went off with a most horrible racket and +blew the whole house apart. I seemed to be sailing +straight up into the air, with Lafe Rutledge beside +me, his great white beard fluttering. “There’ll be +no wedding now,” I told him. Then Aunt Mary +McGregor came along, wearing roller skates, and +explained that she could get around better that +way than in the wheel chair, and so she had given +the latter to Dorothy. And Rosina appeared, eyes +rolling as if on swivels, and said: “Come a-runnin’! +Lafe’s eloped with Miss Dor’thy!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Just then I woke up, laughing aloud at the absurdity +of it all. It was broad daylight; my watch +said five o’clock. The quail still whistled persistently. +I got up and went to the window, wondering if +Lewis had come yet; this would be a fine time to +flush those birds. I was almost tempted, in spite +of my rheumatic joints, to slip down myself.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The early sun struck through the tall pines and +showed a moving figure among them. Lewis was +prompt evidently. He stepped out from the little +grove into the scrub-oak tangle behind it, gun at +the ready. Then he seemed to stumble.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The shotgun came halfway to his shoulder, as if +for a snapshot, steadied, its barrel pointing straight +ahead—and flamed! The heavy roar of black powder +reached my ears on the heels of the flash.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good boy!” I cried aloud. “Get him?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis took one step forward, then staggered back, +dropping his gun; both hands went to his face. It +was too far to see what had happened; too far even +<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>to shout a query from the open window. I turned +away, my heart throbbing, to hunt for my clothes.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then a stentorian shout brought me back, gasping, +gripped by a premonition of evil. Surely the +boy could not have shot himself! The muzzle of +the gun had pointed well away from him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hey, there!” roared the same minatory voice, +now closer. “What you-all up to? Lay off o’ that +there shootin’ in th’ corporation!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A huge figure threaded its way through the pines, +following the path that led from one street to the +other, a favorite short cut for pedestrians. It was +our constable, Rufe Wakefield, a tremendous man, +whose apparent ferocity cloaked a rather timorous +heart, so folk whispered.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He repeated his challenge, and now he was through +the grove and beside Lewis.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What you up to?” he demanded, and his leonine +roar seemed louder than the recent shot.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then he leaped back, both hands thrown up; +presently he came forward again and picked up my +nephew’s fallen gun. They talked together; Wakefield +was accusing, Lewis apparently protesting; both +were much agitated. At last they turned and came +slowly back toward the house.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I could bear it no longer. I leaned far out of the +window. “Say!” I shouted, at the pitch of my +lungs. “Hello, down there! What’s wrong?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Wakefield looked up. “Murder’s wrong!” he +called excitedly. “This feller’s done shot Doc +Gaskell. Killed ’im daid!”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-VI' class='c011'>CHAPTER VI<br> <br><span class='small'>UNCERTAINTY</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>I <span class="uppercase drop-cap-gap">staggered</span> back. “What, murdered? Doctor +Gaskell murdered! What’s that about Lewis? +You wait right there, Rufe, till I get dressed.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Without waiting to see whether he would obey, +I turned from the window and groped excitedly for +my trousers. From the look of him, I fancied that +the constable would be glad of some guidance, even +from me; he seemed as flustered and at sea as poor +Lewis himself.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I dragged on my trousers over my pajamas, thrust +bare feet into a pair of slippers, and hurried out into +the hall, my coat on my arm.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Uncle George!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was a very shaky, frightened little voice. +Dorothy, swathed in a blue woolen robe, looking +like a sleepy schoolgirl, with her black hair in braids, +clutched at my arm.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Uncle George, what is it? What’s happened? +You can’t go out like that—you’ll catch your death!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I must have presented an odd figure: bare-ankled, +suspenders hanging about my hips, a lavender +pajama coat much in evidence. But I was too upset +to laugh at myself.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Let me go, child; there’s something wrong outside.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I had some vague thought of shielding her but +her big eyes widened, as she grew very white.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Lewis! Lewis is hurt—Lewis +is killed, and you’re afraid to tell me!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No, no! It’s Gaskell—Doctor Gaskell’s been hurt. +I don’t know what has happened, but I’m going to +find out. Let me go, child. Lewis is all right, I +tell you. Look out of the window, and you can see +him.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then I broke away, to limp and stumble down +the stairs at top speed, hoping I had pacified her; +hoping she might go back to bed; hoping I could +settle this thing, get Wakefield away from the window +before Dorothy could hear that her fiancé was +accused of murder.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I plunged out of the door and raced around to the +east side of the house. Here I found Lewis and +the constable, side by side, staring silently at nothing. +They turned to me helplessly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well!” I began impatiently. “What is it? +What’s happened? Don’t stand there staring like +dummies—tell me!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Their befuddlement angered me; though, indeed, +what with excitement, rheumatic twinges, and the +breathless hurry of my coming, I fear I was in little +better case myself.</p> + +<p class='c010'>My nephew sighed heavily, as if awakened from +an evil dream. “Come along, unk,” he invited.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yeah,” said the gigantic constable, “c’m’ on, an’ +see what he done!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I followed them along the little winding path, +through the pines and into the tangle of scrub oaks; +there I stopped, gasping. Before me, supine, inert, +lay the body of Doctor Gaskell. His face was deadly +<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>white, his features sharpened curiously. He was +fully dressed, and one hand still clutched a small +black bag. He lay on his back among the thick +bushes, his feet still in the little path. In the very +center of his body, just above the belt, was a horrid, +gaping wound, about which his white shirt was all +tattered and stained.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Needlessly I knelt and put my hand over his heart. +It was quite still; and his skin was cold already. I +rose stiffly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good heavens,” I said. “Lewis⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yeah, Lewis! I sh’d think so,” declared the +constable. “George, ain’t this terrible?” He gripped +the boy’s shoulder. “What’d ye do it f’r, huh?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis shook off his hand. “I—I didn’t,” he said +thickly. His lips were stiff, and his tongue seemed +unmanageable. “I didn’t—or, anyway, I didn’t +know.” He groaned aloud. “I don’t know what +happened. I thought I saw a quail, and I cocked +the gun and started to raise it, and then I stumbled, +and it went off. He must have been coming through +the bushes; I never saw him, or heard him—or anything. +He never made a sound! I supposed I was +all alone out here until I heard Rufe yell; then I +jumped and looked round, and there he was—dead! +You believe me, don’t you, unk?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh?” asked Wakefield. “Sounds kinda fishy +t’ me.” He pointed down at the body accusingly. +“Hit plumb center,” he pronounced. “With a shotgun, +too; anybody c’d see that. An’ right close up! +See th’ powder marks? Musta seed him!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“He didn’t, either!” I put in. “I was watching +<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>from that window up there; I saw Lewis raise his +gun and trip, just like he said. Gaskell wasn’t in +sight, or anybody else!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh!” asked the constable again. “We-ell, it’s +kinda queer, anyways; ’specially after th’ way Doc +Parker here was talkin’ in to Olsen’s yestiddy. +Yeah”—as I shrunk from the memory of the boy’s +careless threats—“I was there and heerd ’im m’self, +making threats agin’ Doc Gaskell. I reckon you’ll +have a right smart o’ explainin’ t’ do, Parker!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” I said, “don’t let’s argue about it now. +We’ll have to look after the body, and—whatever it +is they do when anybody’s found dead this way.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I looked questioningly at the constable, and he +stared blankly back. The habitual fierceness of his +huge face was marred somewhat by a shifting, uncertain +eye. He fingered his chin irresolutely, and +gazed about as for inspiration.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I scratched my head. Plainly there was no help +in him. “I suppose,” I began doubtfully, “I suppose +the coroner ought to be notified and the sheriff⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Wakefield brightened. Here was a chance to shift +unwanted responsibility. “Th’ sheriff? Yeah!” he +said. “Sure! I’ll go phone ’im right away.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He started off, then paused and turned back. “I—I +s’pose I’d oughta ’rest ’im, hadn’t I?” he asked, +looking at me as for advice on the matter. “I’d +oughta ’rest ’im an’ take ’im to th’ lockup first, +mebbe.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>For all the gravity of the situation, I had to +laugh. He was so ludicrously inept, this huge, +ferocious-looking constable.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>“Nonsense!” said I. “Lewis won’t run away. I’ll +be responsible for him. We’ll come along while you +phone; that’ll be the best way. And, when Redden +comes, you can turn my nephew right over to him.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We-ell. If you think that’s th’ best way.” Then +the constable started toward Fort House.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No, not in there,” I said. “It would upset Miss +McGregor terribly. She’s an invalid, you know.” +Really, it was Dorothy whom I wished to spare. +“We’d better go across to Gaskell’s house.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>That started a new doubt in Mr. Wakefield’s slow +mind. He stopped again. “I don’t know as we’d +oughta leave th’ body there all alone,” he declared. +“Mebbe we better go back an’⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nonsense!” I exclaimed. “We can go back and +wait there as soon as you’ve notified Sheriff Redden. +Come along, now!” Then I dragged him on by +main force.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Fortunately, Mrs. Gaskell was away, so we had +not to break the dreadful news to her. A frightened +colored maid, just opening the back door, for it was +still early, showed us to the telephone, and Wakefield +called for the county jail.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We claimed Pinelands for the county seat, but the +courthouse and jail of Carabas County were not in +the town. When the new buildings were projected +some ten years before there was a bitter rivalry +between Pinelands and Smyrna, five miles off, for +the honor of possessing them. And finally, to settle +this, the jail and courthouse were built upon the +dividing line of the two townships, over two miles +from either village. This singular arrangement, of +<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>course, pleased neither contingent. But there our +courthouse stood, alone in the wilderness, and I +know of one other similar case in North Carolina.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The sheriff lived in the jail, which made this a +long-distance call. We had to wait for ten minutes +or so to get a connection.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hello!” said Wakefield. “Hello! Th’ jail?… +Gimme th’ high sheriff. Huh?… +This here’s Rufe Wakefield, over to Pinelands…. +Yeah, Const’ble Wakefield. Hello, sheriff?… +They’s been a killin’ here—Doc Gaskell’s +done been shot…. Huh?… Yeah, I +got th’ feller did it…. Huh?… Bring +’im out there? Nossir! I ain’t got no author’ty +outside th’ corporation, an’, anyways, I ain’t a-goin’ +to…. Huh?… Nossir!… Huh?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I pushed him aside; I could see that he was getting +nowhere. “Hello! Sheriff?… George +Uhlman speaking…. Yes, Doctor Parker’s +uncle. We just found Doctor Gaskell out here in +the bushes, near his house, dead. He’d been killed +with a shotgun. We don’t know how it happened; +looks like an accident. Wakefield thinks my nephew +did it, but I don’t! Anyway, it’s not clear, and it +needs investigation. There’s nobody here fit to take +charge. Will you come right over, please?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“W’y sure!” came the sheriff’s high, whining +falsetto. “I s’posed f’om Rufe it wa’n’t nothin’, +on’y just a plain killin’. Be over directly. You sent +f’r th’ coroner?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No; we just found the body.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>“Aw right! I’ll git Doc Burgess f’om Smyrna an’ +carry him over there. Git started soon as I c’n +git my clothes on.” His shrill voice took on an injured +note. “Wisht you-all’d have y’r killin’s later +in the day!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We went out into the fresh, bright morning, and +walked toward the pine grove. Even now Pinelands +was scarcely awake. Thin curls of smoke began +lazily to mount from a chimney here and there; a +colored servant or two hurried up the street, fresh +from Jimtown, across the creek. In an hour they +would be serving breakfast; the orderly life of Pinelands +would begin behind those white colonnaded +house fronts, which were now so still. It came to +me as a shock, that peaceful life should be going +on all about, when I seemed caught into the whirl +of another world altogether—a fantastic, unreal +world of sudden death and police officers and all the +sordid routine of criminal investigation. Perhaps I +felt the whole affair as deeply as Lewis did. I was +fond of my nephew.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We passed under Aunt Mary’s window, and I +could hear Miss Christie’s undisturbed snoring. +There was no sound from Miss McGregor herself, +although the quail still whistled piercingly. I wondered +if she could really be asleep—if, perhaps, the +bobwhites disturbed her less than she fancied. Surely, +with the shouting which had followed that fateful +explosion of Peter McGregor’s shotgun, even a sound +sleeper might well have been awakened.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But one, at least, in Fort House, was stirring. +As we passed the corner of the old place Dorothy +<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>ran out, breathless, hastily dressed, but distractingly +pretty. Her thick braids were coiled carelessly on +her head; as she came toward us she thrust a hairpin +home.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, Lewis! What is it, boy? What’s happened? +I just know it’s something terrible!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There, there, honey!” With a vast effort the +boy shook himself into a semblance of calm, and +put an arm about her protectingly. “It’s nothing! +There’s been an accident, and Doctor Gaskell is +hurt.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hurt?” She drew away from him a little, looking +deep into his eyes. “Oh, boy, boy! You didn’t +quarrel with him again?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No. I—I didn’t know he was there, dear. I +never saw or heard a thing. And the gun went +off, and⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Did you hit him? Is he hurt badly? Where +is he? Can’t I help?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nobody can help him now,” I told her gravely. +“The only way you can help is to go back in the +house and try to keep this from Aunt Mary as long +as you can. No!” I caught her sharply back, as +she would have run down the path. “You can’t do +anything there; you must keep away.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She stared at me in agony. “You—you mean he’s +dead?” She seemed unable to understand; her face +was quite blank. Indeed, all of us seemed helplessly +confused that fateful morning. I look back now and +see how we might have risen to the occasion, +how we might have handled the situation +efficiently; but then we all seemed bound by the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>same nightmare, gripped by that terrible helplessness +of dreams, so that we could only stare and gape. +After all, it was no wonder! Doctor William Gaskell +had been killed in a very sudden and dreadful +fashion—and my nephew, Lewis Parker, was supposed +to have killed him, however unintentionally. +And we loved the boy.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We-ell,” said Dorothy uncertainly, “I’ll try and +be good. You come with me, Lewis, please.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—I’m needed here,” he began, but Constable +Wakefield’s stentorian voice drowned his evasion.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“He’s gotta stay right with me, ma’am,” he declared. +“He’s under arrest, he is, f’r murder!” +He inflated his huge chest importantly, then shrank +suddenly back, fumbling at his hip, as my nephew +turned upon him. “Here, here! None o’ that, now!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You fool!” said the boy. “I’ve a good mind to +break your head—blurting out that way.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Quit, quit!” The constable tried to hide his vast +bulk behind me, and his voice shook. Here was a +desperate criminal, a red-handed murderer, threatening +him! I read the thought in the sickly face of +him. “You-all make him quit! Resistin’ a officer’s +serious, Parker!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis had forgotten him already. His eyes were +all for Dorothy. “It—it was an accident!” he +declared piteously. “Dorothy—honey—you believe +me, don’t you? I never even saw him; I supposed +he was home in bed. Oh, honey, you don’t think +I really meant to shoot him?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl’s eyes shone, and she brushed the thought +away with a magnificent gesture. “Of course not! +<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>But, Lewis, boy, arrested! W-will they put you in +j-jail, dearest? They won’t keep you there, will +they? Why, our wedding’s only two days off!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Come, dear,” I urged. “Run in, now. See, +people are coming already. It’s only a formality”—how +I hoped it was not a lie—“just a form. He’ll +be out again and back in time for dinner. You go +look after Aunt Mary and be brave.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She turned away obediently, her slender shoulders +shaking with sobs; then she came back to kiss the +boy, and fled. I sighed with relief as she vanished +into the house. “Come on, Wakefield, let’s get it +over,” I suggested.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Already the news had spread. Perhaps it had +been the telephone operator, perhaps the mysterious +wireless of small-town gossip. Anyhow men and +boys had begun to collect, to hang in whispering +groups along the road. A few bolder spirits advanced, +full of questions, and followed us back along +the path to where Gaskell’s body still lay.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“How come?” asked one man of the constable, +who stood beside Lewis, still rubbing his chin with +unsteady fingers. He had made no move to lift +the dead man.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“How come? Doc Parker, here, done it with +his shotgun just now. I as good as seen him!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The constable’s statement was relayed from one +whispering group to another. The crowd gathered, +came closer, jostling and shoving through the scrub +for a better look. A little murmur started somewhere +and grew into a menacing growl: “Killed Doc +Gaskell! Shot ’im down deliberate! Dirty coward!” +<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>A high, excited voice from the rear shouted: “He +ought to be lynched!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>At that sinister suggestion the crowd began to +mill. The mutter of unfriendly voices deepened, +grew more ominous. “Git a rope!” exclaimed another. +Suddenly there was an outburst of howls, +shrill, bitter, inhuman, like the baying of hounds. +“Git a rope! Git a rope! Hang ’im—lynch ’im!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Pushing and crowding, they drew closer, surrounding +us and the body, treading down the bushes, +thrusting aside saplings. I looked into a circle of +flushed, ugly faces. The crowd had become a mob.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Constable Wakefield straightened to the full of +his six feet two, thrust out his official chest and +glowered at them fiercely. “Stand back, boys!” he +ordered. “Don’t interfere with th’ law!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>His authoritative way had its effect for an instant; +then some one laughed. “Yah, Rufe! ’Member +when Ralph Satterfield took y’r star off of yuh that +day? Knock his block off, fellers; take ’is gun +away, if he starts anythin’. He ain’t got the nerve +to shoot.” Wakefield had now produced a huge and +ancient pistol.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The big man paled, and his small eyes shifted +uncertainly. His heavy, bullying voice quavered. +“Now, now, boys,” he said, suddenly pacific, “don’t +do nothin’ you’ll be sorry for.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Gr-r-r-r!” The crowd swayed forward. Lewis, +very white, clenched his fists and crouched, prepared +to sell his life dearly. I stood in front of +him; I would come to grips with Nate Buford who +was nearest me; I could hold him back for a minute, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>at least. And, even in that breathless moment, +I had to grin to myself to think of pitting my puny, +rheumatic sixty-odd years against the wrath of a +mob.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Presently the crowd began to waver. “Beat it!” +shouted some one from the rear. Those nearest +us shifted, looked over shoulders, then stepped back, +each trying to hide behind his fellows and look +like an innocent bystander. A wide lane opened, and +along it a shrunken, undistinguished figure advanced +toward us. It was a little old man, stooped and +bent, whose rheumy, red-rimmed eyes peered mildly +from beneath a wide, flapping hat brim; his lean, +leathery face, seamed by a thousand wrinkles, was +made ludicrous by the merest wisp of straggling +white mustache; the gnarled, calloused hands swung +empty at his sides. It was High Sheriff Redden, and +glad I was to see him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He came on through the shrinking, melting crowd +and stood with us, peering down at Doctor Gaskell’s +quiet body. “H’m,” said he. “Daid, ain’t he?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He spoke in a quavering, cracked falsetto. Then +he turned and ran a mild, watery eye over the +throng, stroking his ridiculous, wispy mustache the +while. “Seems like I heerd some racketin’ round +here,” he went on in that grotesque, squeaky whine. +“You-all c’n go home now. Git! Scatter!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>His bent, shrunken form contrasted absurdly +with the constable’s massiveness; his voice, to the +constable’s roar, was a penny whistle to a pipe organ. +His rheumy eyes were mild, almost timid; his gnarled +hands were empty.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>But none withstood him. The crowd melted fast, +each man looking, or trying to look, as if he’d just +stopped for a minute and was ready to go, anyway. +Presently Lewis and I stood alone with the +constable, the sheriff, and the dead man.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I conceived a sincere respect for High Sheriff +Redden.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-VII' class='c011'>CHAPTER VII<br> <br><span class='small'>INVESTIGATION</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>S<span class="uppercase">heriff Redden</span>, at least, seemed quite untouched +by the paralysis of thought which held +us all. He cleared his throat briskly, ran a watery +eye over our blank visages, and stooped over the +dead man.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m,” said he. “Plumb center—with a shotgun, +held clost enough to scorch his shirt some. Who +found him?”</p> + +<p class='c010'><a id='tn-quail'></a>A quail whistled sharply, as if in mockery, and +its shrill note struck exactly the key of the high +sheriff’s squeaky voice. It was ridiculous enough, +yet none of us seemed moved to laugh. Indeed, I +valued the sheriff’s intelligence the higher, that he +asked: “Who found him?” instead of “Who did it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I found him!” answered Lewis and the constable, +almost together. “That is⸺” and both stopped +short.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You first,” ordered the sheriff, flipping a calloused +palm at my nephew. And he listened attentively, +his wizen, wrinkled face inscrutable, while the boy +told his faltering tale.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I was coming down the path, and I thought I +saw a quail on that limb, right there. I cocked the +gun and started to raise it; and then I tripped, and +it went off. But I didn’t see a soul or hear a +sound; I swear I didn’t!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>“H’m,” said Sheriff Redden, blinking his little, +red-rimmed eyes. “H’m! What was you doin’ out +here with a gun, right in th’ village?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It was the quail,” said Lewis. He seemed dazed, +incapable of thought. He began to repeat his story: +“I was coming down the path⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“The birds annoyed Miss McGregor so much she +couldn’t sleep. She’s an invalid, you know.” And +I told him of Aunt Mary’s complaints and my +nephew’s promise.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m,” repeated the sheriff. “So you come out t’ +kill off them pa’tridge? H’m! Didn’t look t’ see +Doc Gaskell out here? What was th’ doc doin’ in +McGregors’ back yard that time o’ mornin’, yuh +s’pose?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Somebody sick, probably,” I answered. “He had +his medicine case, you see.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The sheriff blinked down at the black bag, which +Gaskell’s dead hand still gripped. “H’m! Like +enough. We c’n see after that later. Hey, +Burgess!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He turned toward the street, whence came a +reply to his shrill summons. A battered roadster +stood in front of Fort House, and a stout, middle-aged +man, bearded thickly, was just climbing out of +it. He held a stout satchel.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Doc Burgess, th’ coroner,” explained the sheriff. +“Better let him have a look fust; then we c’n take +th’ body home.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The coroner came toward us briskly, with a fat +man’s rolling gait. He set down his bag and knelt +beside the dead man, grunting.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>His examination took but a moment. “Stone +dead,” he announced, and his thick beard moved to +the words. “Never knew what hit him. Must have +dropped where he stood. All right, you can move +him now, sheriff. I’d better have a complete autopsy +done, I suppose, though I’d be ready to swear to +the cause of death right now.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m! How long’s he bin daid, you reckon?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Burgess touched the dead man’s breast, +moved an arm tentatively. “We-ell, two hours, anyhow—maybe +longer. Can’t say exactly.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The sheriff looked at his watch. “Seven-fifteen. +You was out here at five, Parker?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I nodded. “I’d looked at my watch just a minute +before I saw him shoot.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Saw him shoot?” the sheriff repeated. “Where +was you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Up at that window, looking out.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m! You see Doc Gaskell?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No. There wasn’t a soul in sight. The bushes +didn’t move even.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m,” repeated the sheriff. “Well, let’s git goin’.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He beckoned to a lounger, who had retreated +only to the street, and presently a couple of boards +were found. Constable and coroner lifted the dead +man gently, and four volunteers carried him away +toward his own house. The bright sun shone down +as cheerily as if all had been well in Pinelands; and +the quail whistled “bob<em>white</em>! bob<em>white</em>!” without +faltering upon a single note. To my disturbed mind, +they seemed to jeer at us, to rejoice in this tragedy +which they had caused.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>“Rufe, you go over an’ stay with th’ body,” said +the sheriff. “Keep all them folks away. I gotta +git word t’ Mis’ Gaskell, an’ find out where the +doc was goin’, an’⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“He was coming to my place, sheriff.” It was +Olsen, the druggist, who spoke. He had joined the +ragged fringe of curious ones who still hung about, +but at a respectful distance. “My little girl woke +up with awful pains in her stomach, and we phoned +after the doctor. Say, Redden, isn’t this a dreadful +thing!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m,” said the sheriff. “Somebody oughta let +Mis’ Gaskell know about it. Whereabouts is she, +Olsen? Do you know?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, yes; she went to Jackson Springs for a +few days with the Ruggleses. I’ll take care of that, +sheriff; I’ll send for Mrs. Gaskell, and the lodge will +make arrangements for the funeral and all.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“All right, you-all c’n see to that end of it. An’ +now”—the sheriff turned a quizzical, blinking eye +upon me—“th’ next mos’ important thing seems t’ +be, when do we eat?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old gentleman was bearing himself with extraordinary +courtesy and kindliness, I thought. He +kept a keen, faded eye upon Lewis, of course; he +saw to it that the boy did not wander far from his +side, but he had not so much as mentioned that he +was under arrest.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Come over to our house,” I invited. “I expect +Rosina can scrape us up something.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We were standing by the corner of the Fort House +<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>porch; and now a sweet, tremulous voice from above +cut across my words.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Of course not! You come right in here, Uncle +George, and bring Lewis and these—these gentlemen—both +of them. Breakfast is waiting for you.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We started, and I looked up. Dorothy McGregor +leaned over the porch rail, smiling down at us +bravely, if tearfully—a vision of loveliness. The old +sheriff swept off his broad-brimmed hat and bowed +with old-fashioned courtesy; the coroner bowed also, +a pleased smile upon his grave, bearded face.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I thank you, ma’am. Sorry to intrude on you-all, +but I reckon we better accept yo’r kind invitation. +Yuh see, ah—circumstances is such—well, I gotta +stay with Doctor Parker, ma’am, f’r th’ present, or +I wouldn’t butt in on you-all this a way.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He stammered, wiping his leathery old face in +sincere embarrassment. Though they had never +met, the sheriff knew Dorothy, as did every one else +in town. He knew that she was about to be married +to my nephew, and he dreaded to tell her that +the boy was under arrest.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But he need not have been troubled. Dorothy met +him at the steps, still smiling courageously, despite +trembling lips, and gave him a cordial hand. “Mr. +Redden, isn’t it? Of course I know who you are, +sheriff, and I understand that you’ve had to arrest +Lewis. But it’s only for a day or so, isn’t it?” she +asked. “Just until he’s cleared, or whatever you +call it? And it’s just sweet of you, sheriff, to let +him come in for a little while before he—g-goes.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m! Yessum, jus’ f’r a little while, o’ course. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>I—I—this is Doc Burgess, Miss Dorothy, a—a +friend o’ mine.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“How do you do, doctor? Now come in, everybody. +The waffles will be ready, and it makes Rosina +awfully mad if they have to stand a minute.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She led the way to the dining room, still chattering +bravely, but I saw how her hand trembled upon +Lewis’ arm.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy seated us all about the big, round table, +and breakfast was served at once. Conversation +languished, as one might have expected; but the +officers paid enough attention to Rosina’s cooking to +balance the scant appetites of the family.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Where’s Aunt Mary?” I whispered to the girl +beside me. I wondered how the old lady would +react to this rude upsetting of the routine of life +at Fort House.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“In her room,” Dorothy answered. She made no +pretense of eating, but sat close to Lewis, holding +his hand openly and proudly, murmuring comfort +to him. “She hasn’t come out at all; I don’t believe +she knows anything about—this.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>While Dorothy was speaking, the portières were +pushed back, and Aunt Mary McGregor appeared, +bolt upright in her wheel chair, propelled, as usual, +by her yawning nurse. Our unwelcome guests rose.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old lady’s thin, arched eyebrows rose higher +than ever. She blinked her eyes very fast, an unfailing +sign of irritation, as I was beginning to learn.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good morning!” she said very coldly indeed. +“And who are these—ah—gentlemen, Dorothy?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Flushed and embarrassed, Dorothy rose also. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>“Why—why, aunty, these are friends of Lewis. +This is Sheriff Redden; my aunt, Miss McGregor, +Mr. Redden. And Doctor⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Indeed!” Aunt Mary’s frosty voice cut her off. +The old lady’s eyebrows rose higher yet, if that +were possible, and she winked fast, passing a hand +across her eyes in a curious, uncertain gesture which +was not like her. “A policeman, here! And why, +may I ask?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Just—just a little matter of business, ma’am,” +replied the sheriff, very red and uneasy. “With—with +Doctor Parker, here.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Mf!” said Aunt Mary. “How amusing!” But +I fancied that her manner was less glacial. “And +this other gentleman?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Doctor Burgess, of Smyrna,” explained Dorothy +miserably.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Ah, yes; Doctor Burgess, of course. And to +what do we owe this unexpected—pleasure?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>It is impossible to describe the saccharine insolence +of Aunt Mary’s tone. Her smile was as saintly as +ever, her courtesy impeccable, while her face wore +its accustomed look of patient suffering. And yet +with a look, with a drawled word, with a tiny pause +before “pleasure,” she contrived to make us all feel +exquisitely uncomfortable. She had a genius for +that sort of thing, I was beginning to perceive.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I was afraid we’d intrude on you-all,” began +Redden, apologetically. “I reckon we better⸺” +He stopped, not knowing what to say. Doctor +Burgess looked down his nose, tugging reflectively +at his heavy beard. Dorothy wiped her eyes.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>“Doctor Gaskell is dead,” I declared. The old +lady’s calm selfishness, her subtle discourtesy, angered +me. Let her face the brutal fact, like the rest of +us!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Gaskell has been killed, right in your back yard!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Indeed!” Aunt Mary yawned. “Dorothy, where +is my coffee? I feel very ill, after the shock +of that man’s brutal language yesterday. I need my +coffee. But, then, no one thinks of me. No one +cares enough for my suffering even to ask how I +am. I dozed off toward morning; the birds didn’t +disturb me, thanks to Doctor Parker”—she nodded +graciously toward Lewis—“and I got up quite rested. +And then I’m expected to meet strangers at breakfast—which +always upsets me—and on top of that +I have to listen to such unpleasant news. Dear +me! I feel the knots coming in my neck already. +No one has any consideration for me!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, you⸺” I began and stopped. I had been +about to flare out at the old lady; her callousness +enraged me so. Surely this was beyond even Aunt +Mary’s self-absorption! But her white-lipped, quivering +face checked me. This time, at least, Miss +McGregor was really suffering; I was sure of that.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then my eyes traveled past her to the nurse, Miss +Christie, who had stood silently behind the wheel +chair all this time. Then I jumped up.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Lewis, Doctor Burgess! Quick, she’s fainting!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We all ran toward her, and just in time. With a +faint sigh, Miss Christie collapsed limply, and the +doctor caught her, as she fell, and laid her gently +down.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>Again I was struck by the unexpected beauty of +her white face. Ordinarily sleepy and stolid, strong +emotion seemed to vivify her face, to transfigure +her bovine placidity. Now, lying with closed eyes, +still and white as death, she was very beautiful.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Upon my word!” cried Aunt Mary. “Every one +seems to be in a conspiracy to upset me to-day. +Dorothy, please take me to my room. I can’t eat +a mouthful.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>This was scarcely true. The old lady had occupied +her few minutes with us quite profitably, eating +as she talked. She had consumed three waffles—I +counted them—and two cups of coffee. But Dorothy +wheeled her out obediently, while we men ministered +to the fainting nurse.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy returned in a moment, to kneel beside +me. “What do you suppose was the matter? Is +she sick, Doctor Burgess? Poor girl! Let me, +Uncle George.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She took the nurse’s head upon her knee and began +to bathe the broad, white forehead with cold +water, very gently. Presently Miss Christie opened +tragic, violet eyes that seemed black with emotion.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What—what happened to Doctor Gaskell?” she +asked in a whisper. “Who killed him?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We stared at each other dumbly. It was Lewis +who answered at last.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m afraid I did it,” he told her quite simply. “It +was an accident. I didn’t see a soul or hear a sound. +I was coming down the path, and I thought I saw +a quail.” Here he repeated his story, almost word +<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>for word, as he had told it a dozen times this morning. +He was still much shaken.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh!” It was the faintest of sighs, and I fancied +that it expressed relief. A tinge of color crept into +the girl’s white cheeks as she covered her eyes and +burst into tears.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There, there, honey,” said Dorothy. “What is +it? What’s the trouble?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss Christie sat up and wiped her eyes. “N-nothing,” +she said sobbingly. “Only it was a shock. You +see, Doctor Gaskell did so much for me; he was a +wonderful friend. I was raised in the mountains, +and I never had a chance until he came. But he +helped me to leave home; he got me a place in the +hospital. He kept me nursing for him ever since +I graduated. Whatever I am, I owe to him. +He was a father to me—a father!” She laughed +bitterly. “A thousand times more kind than the only +father I ever knew! That’s all.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She rose quietly. Suddenly all the life and fire +of her face died like a blown-out candle. She had +been inspired; now she was commonplace once more, +bovine, placid, almost stupid, expressionless. I wondered +at the change. No one would look twice at +her now.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I must go and see to Miss McGregor,” she murmured. +“I’m sorry to have made so much trouble.” +Then she vanished silently.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-VIII' class='c011'>CHAPTER VIII<br> <br><span class='small'>THE INQUEST</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>S<span class="uppercase">heriff Redden</span> scratched his head. “Funny +how upset she seemed,” he remarked in his +high, whining drawl. “I wonder, now, where I’ve +seen that girl before? Christie, her name is? +Christie? H’m! Likely, it’s somebody else she +favors. Say, they’s a lot o’ queer things about this +here shootin’, seems like.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I agreed with him thoroughly, and one of them +was the curious conduct of Miss McGregor’s nurse, +both last night and just now.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“F’r instance,” pursued the officer amicably, turned +toward his prisoner, “Gaskell’s bein’ out yonder in +th’ bushes. Couldn’t of been in th’ path, or you’d +of seen him.” It seemed the sheriff accepted Lewis’ +story as true, and my heart warmed to him. “I +wonder, now⸺He must of been standin’ right +quiet, too, or ye’d of heard him. Don’t seem natural, +quite, he’d of let yuh git clost enough t’ shoot +’ithout sayin’ nothin’. Thet gun bar’l must of been +right up agin’ him, a’most.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It seems as if I’d have seen him from the window, +too, unless he was hiding,” I put in. “Those +bushes aren’t high enough to hide his head.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Mr. Redden scratched his head again. “H’m! +What you think, Parker?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis shook his head hopelessly. His black hair, +usually sleeked straight back, had fallen over his +<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>forehead. He tugged absently at a lock which hung +down over his eyes. “I don’t know—I can’t seem +to think at all.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The coroner looked up. He had resumed his seat +and was finishing his fourth waffle. “Another possibility,” +he suggested, with his mouth full. “Might +not have been hiding—he might have been dead +already.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m,” said the sheriff, blinking at him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>My nephew brightened wonderfully. The color +crept back into his sallow cheeks. “Do you really +think so?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy made a little cooing sound, and patted +Lewis’ hand. “I knew it would come out all right!” +she declared, her big sea-blue eyes upon the coroner.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Under that admiring gaze, Doctor Burgess expanded. +“Quite possible,” he repeated. “Can’t fix +the time of death exactly—not within an hour or +so. You realize that, Doctor Parker. If you saw +nothing, heard nothing, not even a fall, it may have +been because Gaskell had already fallen. Didn’t you +look to see if he was still bleeding or anything?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis flushed. “I—I was too upset,” he confessed. +“I heard the constable yelling, and I turned. +I didn’t see Gaskell until then, and it startled me +so—that and knowing that Wakefield would surely +think I did it, and remembering I’d quarreled with +him yesterday, and seeing him, Gaskell, there, and +all⸺” He stumbled and broke off. “Why, all +I could see was that Gaskell was dead, and that I +must have shot him.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m! Well, we’ll have a chance to straighten +<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>all that out at the inquest.” Sheriff Redden rose and +bowed to Dorothy. “We sure are beholden to you, +ma’am, f’r yore hospitality. But I reckon we better +be shackin’ along now. Gotta git back to th’ jail. +I—I reckon I’ll have to take yo’r young man along, +ma’am, jus’ f’r to-day. Burgess’ll be holdin’ his inquest +to-morrow; hey, doc? An’ then we c’n turn +th’ boy loose f’r good. It—it’s just a form, Miss +Dorothy, ma’am.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy nodded. “You’re awfully good, Mr. +Redden—you’re a perfect old dear!” And she +kissed him impulsively. “You’ll be real nice to +Lewis, won’t you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old man beamed at her, his mahogany face +three shades darker than normal. “I sure will, +ma’am! Come along, Burgess. All right, Parker. +It’s just t’ be my guest overnight, suh!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And so they departed, leaving Dorothy, now that +she need no longer be brave for her man’s sake, to +weep forlornly on my shoulder.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then Peter McGregor appeared, carrying his own +satchel. He was inclined to be rather aggrieved +that no one had met him at the station; but none +of us had so much as heard the New York train +pull in.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter was told the whole story, and he listened +gravely, sitting up very straight, as was his habit, +and stroking his little black mustache. Peter was +both slight and short, scarcely taller than his sister. +But he carried himself so erectly, and his lean, intelligent +face was so dignified that he seemed rather +above than under the average size.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>Now, when we had finished our dismal tale, he +kissed Dorothy and patted my shoulder as grandly +as though he had been a foot taller than I, instead +of six inches shorter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ll see the old boy through,” he promised. “I’ll +take hold of things and get them straightened out +in jig time!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We were vastly relieved, for Peter was a capable, +energetic chap, and he was not stunned by this +dreadful affair as we were. He had not been here +to receive its full, paralyzing shock.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He was off directly, without stopping to see Aunt +Mary. “I can’t stop to hear about the knots in her +neck just now, Dot,” he declared. “I’ve other more +important things to do.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Before lunch he was back. “I’ve seen the old +boy, Dot,” he said. “He’s pretty blue, but I hope +I bucked him up a bit. And I’ve talked with the +sheriff and Doctor Burgess. Inquest will be here +at Pinelands, in the town hall, at ten to-morrow. +The coroner’s sure it’ll come out all right; ‘parties +unknown,’ maybe, or purely accidental at the worst. +He was awfully decent; neither he nor the sheriff +believes Lewis knew the fellow was there. Queer +proceeding, I must say, for Gaskell to be pussy-footing +around in our back yard like that! But it’s all +right; Lewis won’t even need a lawyer, Burgess says. +They’ll see that he’s cleared. So don’t worry any +more, Dot!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy promised obediently; and I tried my best +not to worry either. But that was a long, long day, +and it was very hard to listen patiently to Aunt +<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>Mary’s complaints. For now that she knew that +Lewis hadn’t killed the quail, after all, their shrill +note began to annoy her again. She quivered visibly, +almost ostentatiously, at each repetition of “bob<em>white</em>! +bob<em>white</em>!” until I had to bite my lips to keep from +reminding her that her complaints about a few quail +had caused tragedy enough already.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But the day passed somehow, and the night. Long +before ten on Monday morning I sat on a front seat +at the town hall, between Dorothy and her brother, +waiting for the inquest to begin. Aunt Mary had +protested pathetically against our “desertion,” but +for once her desires were ignored.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The room began to fill. At last the coroner arrived, +then the sheriff, bringing Lewis with him. +The boy came straight to us and sat down beside +Dorothy, his guard dropping unobtrusively into a +seat behind.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Cheer up, honey!” whispered Lewis. “Hello, +unk! Hello, Peter! Old Redden’s a brick; treated +me like a son. I slept in his spare bedroom. It’ll +all come right.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then the coroner rapped for order, and the proceedings +began.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I have not the heart, even now, to tell all that +happened. Our high hopes were struck to the +ground almost at once.</p> + +<p class='c010'>For the district attorney appeared, the “State +Solicitor,” as he is called in North Carolina, and +he took charge of affairs. Coroner Burgess did his +best for Lewis, and he proved himself a kindly and +impartial presiding officer. He did more; he even +<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>leaned toward us and argued in Lewis’ favor. He +was moved, perhaps, by the bond of their common +profession; perhaps by a conviction that the boy +was innocent; perhaps by Dorothy’s appealing face, +and the memory of that excellent breakfast. But, +whatever the reason, he did his best for us.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Nevertheless, the solicitor, Toby Vanbrugh, combated +all his well-meant efforts. Vanbrugh was a +large-bodied young man, with a heavy, dignified +face, whose features all seemed two sizes too big +for it—except his eyes, which were three sizes too +small and an inch too close together. He wore a +flapping frock coat and a black string tie, the conventional +get-up of the old-fashioned country lawyer. +His voice and gestures made him seem like a cheap +actor, playing the part of the fearless prosecutor in +a melodrama.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He had been a close friend of Doctor Gaskell’s, +but I do not think it was that friendship which +moved him. No, he saw here the makings of an +important murder trial, in which both victim and +murderer were people of prominence in the countryside. +He saw an opportunity for self-advertisement. +The McGregors were rich, he knew, and I was not +without means. If Lewis could be indicted for the +murder of Doctor Gaskell, there would be a long and +hard-fought trial; prominent lawyers would appear +for the defense; there would be columns and columns +of publicity for the alert young prosecutor, who +faced, alone and unaided, this galaxy of legal talent +and fought it to a standstill, vindicating the rights +of the commonwealth, demanding equal justice for +<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>the rich as for the poor. Oh, he was not an uncommon +type, this Vanbrugh; every community East +and West, North and South, has known his like.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He allowed the coroner to present his case; the +discovery of the body upon the heels of a gun shot, +with Lewis standing over it, gun in hand. The +coroner stated the cause of death and showed his +jury a half dozen bird shot. These had been extracted +from the wound, and he gave it as his opinion, +as he had to us yesterday, that Gaskell might +have been lying there dead before Lewis shot. Then +the district attorney arose and asked permission to +introduce other evidence “for the State.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He called Olsen, the druggist, to testify, reluctantly +enough, to Lewis’ threats in his store. He +called Satterfield and the constable and two or three +others who had overheard my nephew’s angry talk. +With diabolic skill he made it appear that Lewis +had not merely spoken against Gaskell, but that he +had definitely threatened to shoot him. He demanded +the gun Lewis had carried; when it was +placed in evidence, he cut open the undischarged +cartridge—it was a double-barreled shotgun—and +showed the jury that the shot were identical with +the shot extracted from Gaskell’s body.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I had already testified, but he recalled me and +made an impassioned address to the jury, under the +cover of a cross-examination.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Now, Mr. Uhlman, is it not true that your +nephew, after disagreeing with Doctor Gaskell in a +question of diagnosis, lost his temper entirely? Did +he not make a disgraceful exhibition of himself, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>abusing this poor dead man, this Doctor Gaskell, +a gentleman of the highest professional attainments, +of the most scrupulous personal honor, a gentleman +known to all in this community, loved by all for his +unselfish devotion to his healing work, for the many, +many, unobtrusive acts of charity, of loving kindness, +to which scores in this very room, aye, hundreds +in this town, can testify—and would so testify, +though they must walk barefooted over sharp stones +to tell of Doctor Gaskell’s noble nature, and to confound +his cowardly slayer⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The coroner rapped sharply. “I will ask you to +remember, Mr. Vanbrugh, that you’re supposed to be +questioning this witness, not to be making a stump +speech!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I beg the court’s pardon if my affection for this +poor gentleman, so foully done to death, overcame +me for the moment. Surely no praise of one, whom +we all loved, is out of place here, beside his dead +body! But I will refrain.” He wiped his eyes +ostentatiously. “Now, Mr. Uhlman, is it not true +that your nephew, the prisoner, made threats against +Doctor Gaskell at Miss McGregor’s house, even before +his outbreak at Olsen’s store Saturday?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And I had to admit it, cursing Rosina’s loose +tongue to myself; for I could guess whence Vanbrugh’s +knowledge of the quarrel over Aunt Mary’s +health had come.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And do you believe, sir, remembering that you +are upon your oath, do you ask this jury to believe +that your nephew, this prisoner, went out into the +dawn, armed with a deadly weapon, without knowledge +<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>or suspicion of the murdered man’s whereabouts? +Do you not know that he had expressed +a deadly animosity against my poor, dead friend, +that⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Playing skillfully upon the sectional prejudices of +the audience, for my nephew and I had come down +from the North, Vanbrugh rolled out a fervid +eulogium of the dead man, like Marc Antony beside +the bier of Cæsar. Evidently he was enjoying himself +thoroughly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He kept sneering at Lewis, and he continually +referred to him as my nephew, doing his best to +make it appear that I was suppressing a guilty +knowledge because of our relationship. In every +way he exercised the arts of an unscrupulous demagogue +until I became confused and incoherent and +stuttered with wrath, thereby making the case +against Lewis blacker than ever.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But I will not repeat all he said. Even now the +memory turns me furious. I will only say that when +the coroner at last cut him off and turned the case +over to the jury the verdict was a foregone conclusion.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis leaned over to me. <a id='tn-been'></a>From the moment he +left the stand he had been deathly white; there were +dark, bruised rings under his eyes; his features +twitched, his hands shook pitiably. “And the worst +of it is, unk,” he whispered tragically, “that I really +did shoot the poor chap! Oh, I’m sure of it now.” +He tugged at his disordered black hair. “And, +unk, that fiend Vanbrugh has almost made me think +I did it on purpose!”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-IX' class='c011'>CHAPTER IX<br> <br><span class='small'>A CONFLAGRATION</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>T<span class="uppercase">he</span> jury’s deliberations were cruelly short. They +conferred in whispers, while we waited in +agony. Beside me, Dorothy gripped my hand so +tightly that my old, rheumatic fingers ached for +an hour after, though at the time I was scarcely +conscious of her touch. Beyond her Lewis sat in +frozen hopelessness, still numbed by the shock of +this sudden, dreadful catastrophe which had overwhelmed +us. At my other side, staunch little Peter +sat bold upright, chewing his mustache and muttering +to himself.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then the jurymen all nodded, and the foreman +rose and turned toward Doctor Burgess. The +coroner sighed, stroking his beard. His fat, kindly +face looked worried.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Have you made up your minds, gentlemen?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Uh-huh,” said the foreman. “We find that Doc +Gaskell come t’ his death f’om a shotgun full o’ +bird shot at th’ hands o’ Doc Parker, yonder; an’ +we riccomend holdin’ him f’r th’ superior court!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Burgess sighed and cast an ugly look +at the district attorney. “Your doings, Vanbrugh!” +he said in an undertone. Then aloud: “I’ll have to +hold you for the action of the July grand jury, +Parker. I’m sorry. Court’s dismissed.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Behind us, the sheriff rose and tapped Lewis on +<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>the shoulder. “Come on, boy; gotta take ye back. +I sure am sorry, ma’am”—he looked at Dorothy—“but +it ain’t f’r long. You don’t need to pay no +attention t’ Vanbrugh’s foolishness.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh,” exclaimed Dorothy, “and day after to-morrow +is my wedding day!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Sheriff Redden shuffled his feet awkwardly, flinching +at the sound of her quiet weeping. “Aw, too +bad!” he said.</p> + +<p class='c010'>With Lewis at his elbow, he began pushing +through the crowded, noisy room. It was full of +gabbling, excited groups, which gave way reluctantly, +and we received many an ugly look.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“A dirty murderer!” muttered some one. A storm +of hisses and groans arose, as the crowd began to +push closer, still inflamed by Vanbrugh’s insinuations.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Shut up, boys!” said the sheriff amiably. “Git +back! Cain’t yuh see th’ lady’s tryin’ to git out?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was enough. With instinctive courtesy the +throng separated, leaving a wide lane. Dorothy +passed through it unhindered, with Lewis at one +side and me at the other. Her face was very white, +and her eyes were downcast. Her pathetic beauty +changed the crowd’s humor completely and evoked a +little, pitying murmur.</p> + +<p class='c010'>So we went out and parted almost without a word. +Like a man in a dream, Lewis climbed into the +sheriff’s battered car and rode away to jail, without +once looking back. Dorothy leaned heavily on my +shoulder, straining her eyes after him until he was +out of sight. Then she stepped forward falteringly.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>“T-take me home, Peter—Uncle George. No, I +won’t faint! I <em>won’t</em>! I can w-walk all by my +own self!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And so she did, upheld by a pathetic pride, until +we were back at Fort House. Then she collapsed, +and Peter and I carried her to her own room and +called for the nurse. Then we two men walked +downstairs together and turned into the living room, +to stand there aimlessly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” I asked at last, “what next?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter jerked back his head, straightening his slim +shoulders with a characteristic movement. “Whew! +That was a cropper! I never dreamed they’d hold +him. I say, that chap Vanbrugh is a bounder, isn’t +he?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He stroked his little mustache, lit a cigarette, and +was himself again—energetic, active, efficient. “We’ll +run right out to the jail,” he decided, “and chat with +old Lewis. Have to lay our plans, you know—get +a good lawyer and all that. I say, that was a cropper! +But a lawyer’ll know what to do—get the old +boy out in jig time!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I was less optimistic; though, when one viewed +the matter dispassionately, there seemed scant +grounds for a charge of murder. Yet this Vanbrugh +was fiendishly apt. Directly we got out +Lewis’ flivver, which Peter drove well enough, and +went to the courthouse. We found Lewis in the +jail office, sitting in an easy-chair beside the cold +fireplace, while the sheriff, from behind the official +desk, strove to cheer him up. Both men were in +their shirt sleeves, for it had turned very hot.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>“Evening, folks!” said Redden. “Set down an’ +rest yore face an’ hands. I ain’t goin’ t’ lock Parker +up ontil night. He’ll have t’ go into a cell then, +but they’s no use of bein’ too hard on th’ boy. +You-all can talk right here, gentlemen; I got business +over to th’ office, anyways.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Catching up his wide felt hat he shambled out, +leaving us alone. “I better lock th’ front door,” +he apologized, “just in case anybody sh’d drop by.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He disappeared, and I saw him through the window, +waddling bow-legged toward the courthouse. +A very kindly, courteous gentleman, the high sheriff +of Carabas County; I only wished the prosecuting +attorney were as gracious.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I turned back to Lewis. “My boy, we seem to be +in a fix,” I told him. “Confound Mary McGregor, +the knots in her neck, and the bobwhites that kept +her awake!” For my heart was hot in me with +mingled fear and anger, and my head ached, and +my old, rheumatic joints; and I could not forget +that this whole horror had come from Aunt Mary’s +querulousness.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Sit down and take it quiet, unk,” said Peter +coolly. I had not been long in Pinelands, as I have +said; but to Peter I was “Uncle George,” or, more +casually, “unk,” as to Dorothy and, for that matter, +to half the youth of the town.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Be easy! The old girl’s a bit of a bunker to all +of us, I know, but we’ll have Lewis out of this all +right. And now, old son, we’ll have to be getting +you a lawyer right away. Anybody to suggest? +Some friend of your long-past youth, perhaps, and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>all that rot?” His assumption of bluff, care-free +gayety was well done, but it did not deceive me. I +knew that Peter, too, was worried.</p> + +<p class='c010'>My nephew sighed, staring straight before him. +His shoulders drooped; his eyes were dull and heavy. +He seemed in a daze; I could scarcely recognize in +him the impetuous, high-spirited youth who had been +as a son to me all these years.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—I don’t know,” he answered dully. “I can’t +seem to think. All I can see is Gaskell in front of +me—dead. I keep telling myself I couldn’t have +done it, and yet I know I did.” Then he lapsed +into silence once more, still with that vague, spiritless +stare.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter and I looked at each other queerly. “I +don’t believe you did do it, old top!” Lewis +straightened at once, a hint of hope in his eye. Peter +had hit unerringly upon the best of tonics; I saw +that.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m sure you didn’t, Lewis,” the boy went on, +emboldened by my nephew’s interest. “It isn’t +reasonable. Suppose we sent for some doctor that’s +a law sharp, too? Burgess is all right, of course, +but maybe some medico-legal expert could find out +something to prove Gaskell was dead when you got +there.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis sprang up, a faint color in his cheeks. +“Why, of course! What a fool I was not to think +of it before. There’s Somers, old Floyd Somers! +Why, he’ll be here to-night. Just the man, Somers +is. Why, he’ll take hold of this thing and straighten +it out in a day; he just eats this sort of thing. He’ll +<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>prove I couldn’t have killed Gaskell—unless”—and +his shoulders drooped again—“unless I really did.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>That was the boy’s only show of interest. Almost +at once he sunk again into apathy, brooding, I could +see, upon the thought that he had killed a man, however +innocently. That was what weighed upon him, +not any fears for the future. He waved away all our +suggestions. Lawyers? No, what difference did it +make? Get any lawyer—anybody! Better still, let +Somers see to that. He’d know what to do when +he came. Then he lapsed into silence again, chin on +hands, only to burst forth:</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And I was really angry—that’s the worst of it. +For a moment, there in Olsen’s, I was mad enough +to have shot him. And then to think I did shoot +him, after that! Why, it makes it as bad as murder, +even though I didn’t know he was there. Perhaps I +ought to plead guilty and take my medicine.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We cried out upon him. “Don’t be a fool, Lewis,” +I said, fairly shaking him in my anxiety. “Wake +up! Pull yourself together; act like a man! You’re +not yourself. What shall we do, Peter?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter shook his head. “Wait for Somers, as he +says. That’s all I can see.” He paused, sniffing. +“I say, unk, what’s that? Seems to me I smell +smoke.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>So did I. Suddenly I noticed that a thin, blue +wreath was creeping in beneath the door, which +Sheriff Redden had closed upon us. My eyes +smarted. The door was locked; I ran to a window +to yell at a couple of loafers on the courthouse steps.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hey! You over there! Call the sheriff!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>They stirred, stared at the jail idly for a moment, +then leaped to their feet.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“My gosh!” said one. “Th’ jail’s afire. Hey, +Hank! Hey, Redden! Redden! Come a-runnin’, +th’ jail’s on fire!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The sheriff appeared, at his heels half a dozen +clerks and county officials in shirt sleeves. They +all ran toward us, bawling aloud:</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Fire! Fire! Fi—re! Send in an alarm t’ Smyrna—no, +to Pinelands! Better call ’em both! Hustle +up, sheriff, turn them pris’ners loose!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>They pelted up the steps; a key sounded in the +door, and presently Lewis, Peter, and I were outside, +taking great breaths of the fresh air. The +clerk of the superior court stood at my elbow, a fat, +red-faced man in a shiny black alpaca coat. He +wiped his moist face.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Carabas County’s goin’ to build another new jail, +I reckon,” he drawled resignedly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The building itself was of brick, but floors, doors, +and interior trim were all pine, and they burned +merrily. All the prisoners must be loosed; Sheriff +Redden and his deputy herded them out and rounded +them up in two groups, white and colored, while +county officials organized a volunteer guard.</p> + +<p class='c010'>As I have said, the county buildings were equidistant +from Smyrna and Pinelands; before the fire +department of either town could answer the alarm +the fire had a fine start. Then both engines arrived +at once, and the sheriff was put to it to prevent +a fight between the rival fire companies for prior +rights to a hydrant. At last the blaze was subdued, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>and by sundown the two engines pumped water +upon an empty brick shell, whose furniture and woodwork +were destroyed. Some of the cells, of steel +and concrete, were undamaged; but even these were +too hot for occupancy.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Sheriff Redden stopped beside me to stroke his +absurd wisp of mustache. “Quite a clearance,” he +observed mildly. “Started over on th’ colored side; +George Willett’s colored boy, Jim, he done set fire t’ +another boy’s mattress ‘f’r a joke,’ he claims. I aim +t’ make that fellow realize it wa’n’t no joke. Uh-huh! +But we cain’t keep nobody out here to-night, nohow. +Lucky I ain’t got more’n nine pris’ners, an’ most +o’ them c’n go right to Smyrna to th’ lockup there. +An’ Doc Parker here,” turning to Lewis, “w’y, doc, +I reckon I better send you back t’ Pinelands. They +got a reel comf’table lockup there, an’ Rufe Wakefield, +he’ll look after you good. Ain’t got no backbone, +Rufe ain’t, but he’s got a reel good heart, an’ +his ol’ woman cooks splendid. Yessuh! Be kinda +better f’r yuh, anyways, mebbe, right clost to yore +folks that a way.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Thus it was arranged, and presently Peter and +Lewis and I, with a taciturn, tobacco-chewing deputy +sheriff, squeezed into the flivver and drove back to +Pinelands.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We routed out Wakefield, the constable, and he +took us all to the village lockup, a small brick building, +rather like a magnified shoebox, directly behind +the business section of Pinelands. Its interior proved +rather better than I had feared; though hardly +palatial, it was comfortable enough.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>“Reel nice room!” Wakefield pointed it out with +pardonable pride. “Spring bed and ever’thing. +Colored side’s beyond that brick wall there. Mister +Uhlman c’n fetch ye sheets, ’f he wants t’, or anything +else. An’ th’ woman’ll cook ye up some supper +directly.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We left, promising to return shortly with sheets, +a feather pillow and a clean mattress, an armchair, +and what comforts we could manage. Lewis dropped +on the edge of the bunk, chin in hands, and let us +go without a word.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-X' class='c011'>CHAPTER X<br> <br><span class='small'>MORE TROUBLE THREATENS</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>A<span class="uppercase">s</span> we climbed back into the flivver, I suddenly +became conscious of an aching internal void. +I had had nothing to eat since morning; in the +shock of that unimagined verdict I had quite forgotten +my lunch.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Let’s go and eat, Peter,” I suggested.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Right-o!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Just as we climbed into the flivver the shrill whistle +of an approaching train sounded. Peter swore.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“The Limited!” he said. “This is Monday night, +and poor old Lewis’ best man will be on that train. +We’ll have to stop for him, unk. I only hope he’s +as good as the old boy thinks; maybe we’ll get a little +action.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I hope so, indeed. But, Peter, he can’t have had +much experience. He was Lewis’ classmate, you +know. I’m afraid the boy overvalues him. We can’t +look for too much from him.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, we’ll see soon enough.” Peter stopped the +car beside the tracks, just as the long string of +Pullmans clanked and squealed to a halt. Only one +vestibule was opened, for this was the through train +for Florida, and in summer it rarely left a passenger +at Pinelands.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A single passenger alighted; a tall, lanky young +man, whose hat was pulled down over his eyes. His +<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>arms and legs seemed extraordinarily long and thin. +The porter dropped a couple of bags beside him, +caught up his step, and climbed back; the long train +wheezed and roared away.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The stranger stood still, looking irritably about +the deserted platform. In winter the Pinelands station +is lively enough, with gay-clad, chattering folk, +with expensive motor cars parked the full length +of its platforms; while passengers by the dozen, bearing +golf bags and gun cases and tennis rackets, climb +on and off every train. Ours is a tourist town, and +it begins to be one of the best-known of the Eastern +winter resorts. But in summer it is quiet enough.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The stranger scowled, I say, and glanced about +him with an expression of acute dissatisfaction upon +his dark, saturnine features. “Friendly looking beggar, +what?” whispered Peter to me. Then he saw us +and beckoned imperiously.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Where’s Parker?” he demanded. “Doctor +Parker?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“He’s detained,” said I, advancing with outstretched +hand. “I’m his uncle, George Uhlman. +This is Doctor Somers?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“How do?” he asked indifferently. “Pity Parker +couldn’t take the trouble to come himself! Rotten +town, this. Those are my bags.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He stalked to the car and clambered in, his remarkably +long, thin arms and legs giving him somewhat +the appearance of that insect we used to call +daddy longlegs. Peter winked at me, then picked +up the bags, which our cavalier guest had indicated, +and lugged them meekly to the car.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>“Where to, sir?” Peter asked, burlesquing a chauffeur’s +salute.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Somers grinned; his dark, sardonic face +changed wonderfully, and for an instant became +cheerful, friendly. “Don’t be an ass,” he requested +equably. “You’re Peter McGregor, I take it. Lewis +has written me about you, his best girl’s brother. +He said you were a little runt.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter snorted. “He never told me you were such +a long, silly clothes prop,” he retorted. “Why, man, +those legs haven’t any more meat on ’em than bean +poles!” Peter’s size is a sore topic with him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The stranger grinned again, quite undisturbed. +“Climb in, climb in,” he urged. “I’m hungry. Where +is old Parker, anyhow? Ministering to the needs of +his extensive and growing practice, no doubt.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I had found the man’s brusque, indifferent impudence +rather engaging, but this question sobered me +suddenly. “My nephew is in trouble,” I replied. +“No”—Doctor Somers’ lips opened—“don’t make +any fool joke about it. It’s a serious matter. He’s +in jail, charged with murder.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>But, if I had looked for excitement or interest, +I was disappointed. Doctor Somers made no comment, +showed no interest whatever. “Well, drive +on,” he said. “I’m hungry.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We drove home in silence to an agitated household. +Luckily Dorothy had not yet heard of the +fire at the jail; she had been spared that further +alarm. Over the supper table we told her, and she +listened, wide-eyed and tremulous.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary did not come to the table. She had +<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>been much subdued all day, it appeared, and had kept +to her room and scarcely opened her mouth, even +to discuss her sufferings. So the nurse, Miss +Christie, could eat undisturbed to-night. As usual, +she had nothing to say. With her round, sleepy +face bent over her plate, she ate hurriedly and +pushed back her chair before we others were through, +murmuring an apology. She must go and fix Miss +McGregor’s tray.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Our guest, Doctor Somers, was taciturn also. +Poor, distraught Dorothy had given him a word of +greeting and then forgotten him. She was too +upset to play the hostess. But he did not seem +in the least embarrassed. He ate sparingly, his +sallow face wearing that same expression of distaste +for everything about him. His gray-green eyes, +curiously light beneath black brows, were fixed keenly +upon Miss Christie’s sleepy face. He did not seem +at all interested in what Peter and I were saying to +his hostess.</p> + +<p class='c010'>When the nurse had gone out he turned to me. +“I take it that my friend Parker has got himself into +trouble.” His face was sober enough, but, behind +it, the hint of a sarcastic grin seemed to lurk. “Suppose +you tell me just how it happened, now. All I +gather from your discourse to date is that he’s in jail, +charged with murder by a coroner’s jury—or, rather, +that he was in jail until it burned down.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy turned upon him, a heartbreaking hope +shining from her eyes. “Oh, Doctor Somers, we’re so +upset! You must forgive us. But Lewis told me +you’d straighten it out for him. Why⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>Somers’ thin lips parted in an acid grin, but he +said nothing. We all began to talk at once, pouring +out breathlessly the whole dreadful story, and he +listened abstractedly, or, at least, we supposed he was +listening.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And so the jury recommended that he be held,” +I finished. “There were no grounds at all—it was +pure accident. If it hadn’t been for that miserable +lawyer Vanbrugh⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers yawned and nodded his head. “I’ve got +it!” he announced. “Of course I’ll make an examination +in the morning, but I’m sure of it now.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We all gaped at him, open-mouthed. “That girl, +the nurse,” he went on placidly, “deficient thyroid! +That’s what ails her. No wonder she looks sleepy!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Gr-r-r-r!” said Peter indignantly, and pushed +back his chair. “I’m going for the mail.” He +stalked out.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Somers looked from Dorothy to me and +back again, with that curious suggestion of a sardonic +grin behind his sober face. Plainly enough +our faces expressed disgusted hopelessness.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m sorry,” he said in apology, and there was +something very likable in his frank, direct gaze. “I’m +a queer sort, I suppose. I’m always getting off on +the wrong foot like this. But, after you get to +know me better, you’ll find I’m not so bad after all. +I heard all you said,” he went on, to Dorothy’s +implacable face. “I’m used to thinking of two or +three things at once; in my work one has to. Cheer +up! That’s better,” he declared, as Dorothy, in spite +of herself, softened before his friendliness.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>“It’s a pretty serious thing—to us!” she replied.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“My child,” he answered very gravely—and he +could not have been over thirty, I supposed, but +suddenly he seemed older, wiser, more mature than +I am at sixty—“I know it, but the only way to handle +a matter like this is to go at it dispassionately. I’m +fond of old Parker myself”—and the dark, sour face +softened wonderfully for a second—“but I can’t let +myself get flustered and upset and run round in rings +as you folks have. For example: You heard the +shot, Uhlman. You ran out at once, got there within +five minutes, and put your hand on the dead man’s +chest, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I nodded in amazement. The fellow had heard +all we said, after all!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You touched the body, then, within perhaps five +minutes of the time Parker shot. Now, did it occur +to you to notice whether it was still warm—or +cold?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I stared dumbly, searching a confused memory. +“Why—why, I never thought of that. I was too +upset. But now I remember. Why, of course, I +noticed it at once; his flesh was as cold as a stone! +That’s why I was sure he was dead.” Then an +illuminating thought struck me; I jumped up, shouting. +“Hurrah! He didn’t do it, Dorothy, he didn’t +do it by accident or any way! He couldn’t have, of +course! I must run right down there and tell him; +that’s what has been troubling him all along—the +thought that he’d killed a man!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Sit down,” suggested Somers equably. “Take it +easy. There’s been altogether too much of this +<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>running round and talking, and too little plain +thinking.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I accepted the rebuke. “You’re right. Why, if +I’d only thought of this before, there wouldn’t have +been any trouble at the inquest. I’m an old fool!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No bigger fool than your nephew or the constable,” +he replied. “If any one of the three of you +had thought to observe that the body was cold, or +had stopped bleeding, you’d have known the man +hadn’t been killed before your eyes. Of course, by +the time the coroner got there, it was too late to fix +the time of death exactly.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy sighed ecstatically, her face rosy with +new-born confidence in this brusque, saturnine +stranger. “What shall we do next?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph! Wedding was set for Wednesday, +wasn’t it? How many invitations did you send out?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She looked at him blankly. “Why, about a +hundred and fifty; we didn’t ask everybody. Oh, +dear, we can’t have it now, can we?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hardly. Have you sent out notices of postponement?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We never thought of that!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Somers yawned. “I think you needed me,” +he said.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Just then the front door opened, and Peter burst +in, white-faced and trembling.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Come, Uncle George!” he exclaimed. And then, +with a glance of supreme disfavor at Doctor Somers, +“And you, too! Lewis claims you’re a wonder. I +doubt it like blazes, but, if you are, now’s the time +to show it. Come on, get up, man! Hurry!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>We stared at him. Dorothy, paper-white, one +hand at her breast, asked the question that trembled +also on my lips.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, what’s happened? What’s happened now?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter hesitated. His eye caught Somers, leaning +back in an armchair, calmly lighting a cigarette. He +could contain himself no longer.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“They’re going to lynch Parker to-night!” He +blurted his news defiantly, as if it had been a bomb +to shatter our guest’s indifference. “I just heard +it downtown. A lot of ’em are drinking; they’ve +taken the keys away from Wakefield already; they’re +going down to the lockup and get poor old Parker +and hang him!”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XI' class='c011'>CHAPTER XI<br> <br><span class='small'>PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENSE</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>D<span class="uppercase">octor Somers</span> arose slowly, his long, thin +arms and legs looking more frail, more tenuous, +than usual. One feared that they would snap, like +pipe stems, under the slightest strain. He did not +look in the least like the man to brave the fury of a +mob; but his dark, saturnine face was quite unmoved.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Bright lad!” he exclaimed, sarcastically. “Go +ahead; frighten the girl to death, why don’t you?” +He patted Dorothy’s arm with unexpected gentleness. +“Now don’t you worry, child; we’ll look after +your young man for you. Nobody’s going to be +lynched to-night!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He beckoned us out, and in the hall he asked +Peter if he had a shotgun.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The boy nodded. “I’ll get it,” he said, and ran up +the stairs.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Presently he was back, panting, with a repeating +shotgun and an automatic pistol. “Lucky I had two +guns,” said he, stuffing a box of shells into his +pocket. “The coroner took the other one. And here, +Somers, here’s an army pistol and some cartridges.” +Peter had been a second lieutenant.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers waved it aside. “Don’t want it. Give +it to Uhlman, here. I don’t think we’ll need firearms, +but it’s well to be prepared. Now let’s go!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>My nephew’s car still stood in front of the house; +we piled in and drove toward Main Street.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I take it your constable won’t be much help,” +said Somers, “if they’ve taken his keys so easily.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter snorted. “A big yellow pup!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Right! We won’t bother him. Stop at this +grocery. Who keeps it, by the way?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Old Mrs. Tracy. But it’s closed.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“So much the better. Kept by an old woman, you +say; any man or boy in it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No,” answered Peter, wondering. “She’s all +alone, and deaf and half blind into the bargain. +People only trade there for charity.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Fine!” declared Doctor Somers surprisingly. +“Couldn’t be better!” He twisted his long legs out +of the car. “As we came through from the train I +noticed a lot of eggplant in the window.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Now, what the deuce⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>But Somers did not stop for questions. Already +he had skirted the tiny shop and was knocking at its +back door. When no answer came, he opened it and +walked in. We heard the confused noise of his +shouting at poor old Mrs. Tracy; presently he came +back to the car with a grape basket under one arm.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What kind of foolishness is this?” demanded +Peter, craning his neck. The basket was full of +round, purplish eggplant, a little bigger than a baseball. +“Man, can’t you understand that Lewis +Parker is in danger of his life?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I can,” replied Somers, unruffled. “Better than +you do, perhaps. I’ve seen two lynching mobs before. +Now don’t ask fool questions, but come along.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>He obeyed, blindly obedient. The man’s preparations +seemed sufficiently absurd, but he seemed, at +least, to know what he was doing, and neither of us +had an idea of the proper steps to take.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Now a book shop,” ordered our leader. “Stationery +store—something like that. I want some +writing paper.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Without protest Peter drove across the way to +Jack Wheat’s. Somers entered; through the window +we watched him selecting stationery as calmly +as if the whole night were before him. At last he +came out, a package under his arm that might have +held two hundred sheets of note paper with envelopes +to match.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“They’ll have to do,” he remarked disparagingly. +“Don’t be in such a hurry!” He glanced at his wrist +watch, as Peter mumbled some protest. “They won’t +start anything before the town’s safely gone to bed. +Not until midnight, anyhow, I fancy. McGregor, +you drive us round to the lockup and leave us there. +Then take the car and hunt up a phone, where you +won’t be interrupted. Try to find the sheriff—he’s a +good sort of officer, I judge from what you’ve said—and +tell him there’s going to be trouble to-night. +Then come back to the jail.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter protested unavailingly. The mob might +come before he got back; Uncle George could go; +Somers could go. He, Peter, ought to be here to +protect Lewis.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Shut up and get out! Uhlman can’t go; he can’t +drive—can you? And I can’t go; I’m a stranger. +But you can find a phone, and the sheriff’ll listen to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>you. Besides, I can do more here than you could. +Hurry now; you’ll be back in plenty of time for +the excitement.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Reluctantly Peter went, after leaving Doctor +Somers and me in front of the lockup. The doctor +looked about approvingly. The lockup stood a little +apart from the buildings about it, a tobacco warehouse +on one side and an empty dwelling house on +the other. He walked completely around the ugly +brick jail, tried its barred windows with satisfaction.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Fine,” he announced. “Clear space all around, +if it came to a siege. And the windows are small +and well barred; nobody can get in except through +the door. Which is Parker’s window?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I told him, and he went there and whistled. +“Hello, Parker! It’s Somers. How’s the old doc, +anyway? Good! Be in to see you to-morrow; +can’t get hold of the keys just now.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He came around to the front again and looked +up at the arc light in the street. “Fine!” he repeated. +“There’s an excellent light—good enough to +read by.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Whereon he sat himself down upon the wide jail +steps, placed his basket of eggplant in the shadow +beside him, and unwrapped that package of note +paper. “Make yourself comfortable, Uhlman,” said +he. “I’m going to be busy for a while.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He produced a fountain pen and fell to writing, +while I watched him in amazement. What on earth +was he doing? Writing notices to post on the jail +door, to warn off the mob? I could not imagine.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But there he sat, writing busily in a fine, copperplate +<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>script, hunched on the step, with his extraordinary +legs coiled under him, his dark, sallow face +calmly intent. The light from the street lamp cast +the shadow of his thin, hooked nose downward over +his chin and gave him the look of a fierce, long-legged +bird.</p> + +<p class='c010'>At last Peter drove up. “Couldn’t get him,” he +said, guardedly, his voice bitter with disappointment. +“Gone over to the other end of the county +after some negro. And the jail deputy’s got his +hands full looking after the prisoners. He’ll send +somebody over later, if he can. By then it’ll be too +late!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers looked up, quite undisturbed. “We don’t +need anybody,” he answered indifferently. “Go park +that flivver out of sight and come back on foot.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>When that was done, he stationed Peter with his +pistol at one corner of the building, and me at the +other, with the shotgun. I had asked for this weapon +as being less likely to damage me, and more likely, in +my hands, at least, of doing execution among the +enemy than an automatic pistol, whose workings were +strange to me. Then he returned to the steps, took +up his fountain pen and fell to writing again.</p> + +<p class='c010'>And so began a vigil which seemed endless. +Though the day had been hot, the night was cool, +as our Southern nights usually are. A little breeze +played about the corners of the jail, sending sharp +twinges through my poor old joints; I shivered with +cold and nervousness. I could hear Peter’s feet shuffling +in the sand, and I knew that he, too, was restless. +But between us Doctor Somers sat on the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>steps, hunched over his writing, and he did not even +look up. His pen traveled rapidly, held in a hand +as steady as a rock; he wrote note after note, all +just alike apparently, and, as he finished each one, +folded it methodically and tucked it into a blank +envelope. His calm, untroubled face was bent studiously +over his work, and he never shifted his position; +we heard no sound from him save the steady +scratching of his pen, the rustling of paper, as he +folded one note and took up another sheet. For +some reason, it was an eerie sight. I began to have +more respect for Doctor Floyd Somers. He was +brave, at any rate.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XII<br> <br><span class='small'>A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>T<span class="uppercase">he</span> night seemed interminable. The faint evening +sounds from Main Street, a block away, +faded gradually and ceased. One after another buggies +and farm wagons creaked away; motor cars +roared suddenly into life and departed in a diminuendo +of explosions, or hummed off into the night; +we heard an occasional outburst of laughter, evoked +by the repartee bawled across a block, and at last +all was still.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I looked at my watch; almost midnight! Pinelands +had gone to sleep—or had it? Soon, if at all, +they would be coming. The faint breeze began to +carry mysterious whispers; in it I fancied hushed +commands, threats, the stealthy creeping of feet +over the sand. My nerves tensed and tensed; the +fluttering of moths about the arc lamp fretted me +to distraction. A huge June bug blundered full tilt +against its globe and ricocheted off; the sound seemed +thunderous, so that I jumped, barely suppressing a +cry.</p> + +<p class='c010'>And always Floyd Somers sat there on the step, +long legs curled grotesquely under him, and wrote +and wrote. I wanted to cry out at him, to grip him +by the shoulder and shriek in his ear that a mob +was coming; that murder crept, stealthy-footed, +toward us through the still summer night. Anything +<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>to rouse him to a human excitement; to wipe +that impassive, studious absorption from his lean, +sallow face.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Wearily I shifted my feet, wondering whether +Lewis was asleep. His bunk was in the cage, three +feet inside the window; he could not look out for the +bars. I listened intently for his breathing. Did he +suspect, I wondered? Did he lie there awake, helpless, +waiting for the mob to drag him forth to a +shameful death? And suddenly I remembered, with +a queer twinge of shame, that we had forgotten to +bring him bed linen. It was a foolish thought, of +course, but I cannot tell you how it distressed me. +Suppose that we failed—that the mob had its way +after all. Should I ever be able to forgive myself +that Lewis had been without clean sheets during his +last night on earth?</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then I fell to worrying about Dorothy. Poor +child! If this vigil was terrible to me, waiting, shotgun +in hand, for an attack, what must it be to her? +She waited there in that grim, ghost-haunted pile, +beneath whose very windows a man had died horribly, +only yesterday; with no company save that +stupid nurse, asleep long ago, no doubt, and Aunt +Mary McGregor, who could think of nothing but her +own troubles. She could not know what was happening +here; had no way of learning until we should +come home. In her imagination, no doubt, Lewis +was dying a hundred deaths, and she with him. For +it is terrible, worse than death, I think, to wait helplessly +while a loved one is in peril.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I groaned aloud. Would they never come? Suddenly +<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>I was impatient for the test; I would have +welcomed a physical attack, anything to get it over +and be at rest; anything but this dreadful tension +of waiting! I strained my ears anew, but I heard +only the faint scratching of Somers’ tireless pen.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Suddenly it came. A distant oath, an abrupt outbreak +of raucous, obscene song, as abruptly cut off, +the sound of a blow! The confused tramp of many +feet thudded in the muffling sand and approached inexorably, +with a strange, broken rhythm.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers lifted his head alertly; the uncertain light +fell across it, and his deep-set eyes and thin, hooked +nose seemed oddly fierce.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Quiet, now, you men!” he ordered. “Keep back; +don’t show yourselves unless I call.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He went on writing with a steady hand.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Craning my neck around the corner of the jail, +I made out a clump of moving shadows. Some one +stumbled and swore aloud, drunkenly. Then, with +startling abruptness, the crowd debouched into the +arc lamp’s circle of light.</p> + +<p class='c010'>They moved with ominous deliberation in a sort +of rude marching order, four abreast. Handkerchiefs, +blue, red, and black, were tied across each +face below the eyes, making the marchers unrecognizable. +These were my own neighbors; unmasked, +I could have recognized almost every face, no doubt. +But seen thus they were fearsome shapes, uncanny, +inhuman, and I shivered and quailed before them. +One burly fellow in the first rank carried a coil of +rope. Fascinated, I saw how it swung carelessly at +his side, and I noted its fresh, yellow color. My +<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>nephew was honored, I thought hysterically; they +had bought a new rope for his hanging!</p> + +<p class='c010'>The straggling column advanced; its head wheeled +straight toward the jail. Then the marchers caught +sight of Doctor Somers’ quiet figure, crouched there +on the steps, still writing busily. They halted suddenly, +confused, and suspicious of this strange guard. +They scented a trap, as mobs will; surely this fellow +would not be sitting there so calmly unless he knew +that the jail was well protected!</p> + +<p class='c010'>There was some jostling, and the column broke +its formation. Men pushed forward from the rear +until they formed a rough semicircle at a respectful +distance. The tall man who bore that sinister rope +stepped forward a little.</p> + +<p class='c010'>And then, and not till then, Floyd Somers laid his +writing precisely by and rose upon those slender, +stiltlike legs, looking rather like a steel windmill +tower, I reflected absurdly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good evening, gentlemen.” His voice was perfectly +unruffled and casual. “A fine, cool night for +a walk!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A little, incredulous gasp ran through the silent +crowd, followed by an ominous mutter. Was this +fellow making game of them?</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Evenin’,” replied the rope bearer gruffly. “What +yuh doin’ here?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers yawned and smiled that sudden, disarming smile, +that could so change his saturnine features. +“Why, writing a letter to my best girl, as you can +see.” He gestured toward the heap of notes.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh?” asked the crowd’s spokesman. He seemed +<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>bewildered, yet confident. “What’s the feller doin’ +here?” I could fancy him thinking. “Somethin’ +funny! Well, we’ll find out—got lots of time!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh?” Above his red bandanna his eyes glinted +at the heap of envelopes. “Writin’ a whole lot o’ +letters, seems t’ me!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why,” replied Somers blithely, “that’s because +I’ve got a whole lot of best girls!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The jest was feeble enough, but it caught the +fancy of the crowd. A gust of laughter ran about +the semicircle, and its tension relaxed visibly. The +humor of the mob seemed less silently savage than +before. “No wonder!” exclaimed some one. “Fine, +fat feller like you oughta have plenty o’ girls!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I <em>have</em>.” Somers’ burlesque of satisfied vanity +was irresistibly comic. “Anything I can do for you, +gentlemen? I’ve got six or eight more to write, you +see.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Sure is!” The spokesman stepped forward again, +swinging his rope menacingly. This skinny stranger +needn’t think he could play horse with them, his +gesture said grimly. “Run along, sonny, an’ write +yore letters some’rs else. We-all got bus’ness in +that there jail, see?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“So? Well, there’s no hurry, is there? You’ve +got all night before you. Suppose we talk about that +a while?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The other scratched a perplexed head, tilting his +wide-brimmed hat forward. Plainly he did not know +what to make of this imperturbable stranger. After +an instant’s hesitation he decided to humor him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We-ell, we got plenty time, sure enough!” he +<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>declared. “Ain’t nobody goin’ t’ stop us. We’re +after that skunk inside, stranger—that feller Lewis +Parker, what murdered Doc Gaskell yestiddy mornin’.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The mob took a step forward, growling assent. +The words seemed to have rekindled its fury.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Murdered Doctor Gaskell?” asked Somers coolly. +“How come?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The crowd’s spokesman snorted. “Nev’ you mind +how come! He done it, an’ ’at’s enough. Git outa +th’ way now, sonny, an’ let us in!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers held his place. “The door’s locked.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Again the crowd laughed; this time raucously, +hatefully.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh,” jeeringly exclaimed one, swaying on wide-set +feet, “Rufe Wakefield ain’t such a big fool as +some fellers. He didn’t make no trouble about th’ +key w’en we-all come after it—ner you won’t make +no trouble, neither, w’en we-all gits ready t’ use it!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A chorus of drunken agreement broke out. “’At’s +right, Charlie! Give it to ’im. C’m’ on, fellers, +smash ’im!” It was plain that many in the crowd +had found means of circumventing the Eighteenth +Amendment.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Shut up! Who’s runnin’ this, huh?” It was the +leader, jealous of his authority, and the noise subsided.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Didn’t mean nothing, R-rappy, ol’ boy,” replied +the disturber.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Shut up! Ain’t yuh got no sense atall, slingin’ +names around that a way?” He faced Somers again. +“We-all got th’ key, all right,” he continued, “an’ +<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>we aim t’ use it, see? Right way now—d’rectly! +Yuh better git outa th’ way, afore th’ fireworks +begins!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“One moment! Listen, you men,” Somers’ voice +was really eloquent. “You’re going to do a great +injustice. Parker is innocent! He didn’t shoot Doctor +Gaskell—the man was dead before he got out +there at all—dead and cold! Let the law take its +course, boys. Parker’s here in jail; he can’t get +away. He’ll be tried, and, if he’s guilty he’ll be convicted +and punished. You don’t want to hang an +innocent man, do you? I tell you Gaskell was dead +and cold before Parker came out at all!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>An outburst of jeers and hisses cut him short. +The crowd would not listen to any further interference +with its proposed pleasures. But the tall +spokesman commanded silence. He seemed shaken.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Shut up! Shut up!” With paralyzing suddenness +he produced a huge revolver, and the angry +cries of the mob died away. “That’s better! I +ask you-all ag’in, who’s runnin’ this here lynchin’? +Any more cracks, an’ somebody’s gointa git hurted +bad. Now, stranger, what’s that yuh say, Gaskell +was daid afore Parker come out?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Dead and cold!” repeated Somers. “Mr. Uhlman +touched his chest two minutes after Parker shot, and +he was cold then.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Who?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Mr. Uhlman—George Uhlman.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>There was a chorus of jeers and howls. “Uhlman, +ol’ Uncle Gawge, huh? His own uncle! Likely he’d +<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>claim Parker shot ’im! Why didn’t he tell all this +to th’ inquest, huh? Big, fishy yarn—fake—fake!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Despite their leader’s gesture, the mob surged forward; +they would no longer be balked of their +quarry. Above the clamor, the man who had boasted +of taking the jail keys from Rufe Wakefield, howled +shrilly: “C’m’ on, fellers! Let’s git ’im out. Skinny’s +jus’ tryin’ t’ hold us an’ argue till ol’ Redden gits +here. C’m’ on! Git ’im afore th’ sheriff comes!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Emitting wild yells to work its courage up, after +the manner of mobs, the throng pressed on. It was +touch and go; they were almost upon the defenseless +Somers. Without awaiting Somers’ call, Peter McGregor +and I turned the jail corners almost together +and ran forward to take up our stations on either +side of the steps.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers scowled at us. “Why didn’t you keep +back?” he demanded. “I don’t need you.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>None the less, our sudden eruption checked the +mob. They hung back from Peter’s menacing pistol +and eyed dubiously the shotgun, which I held at the +ready.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Say when, doc!” invited Peter grimly. He leveled +his automatic at the mob’s tall leader and slipped its +safety catch.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Keep quiet!” Somers was rather ungracious, I +thought, seeing that we had infallibly saved him, all +unarmed as he was, from a severe beating at least. +But now, without more words, he stooped, extending +an arm incredibly long and bony, and lifted his +grape basket of eggplant from the dark corner where +it had sat.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>He laid it very carefully down on the step beside +him, selected one of the dark-purple vegetables and +held it up.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Did any of you boys get overseas?” he inquired +conversationally.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The wondering mob gaped inquiringly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good boy! Oh, good boy!” declared Peter from +his side of the steps, as he chuckled triumphantly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I was less acute, but some of the men facing us +must have understood Somers’ meaning, for I noted +that hats moved uneasily, as their wearers shrank +back into the crowd.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I gather that some of you got to France,” went +on Somers, quite unperturbed. “You see what I’m +holding, don’t you? Suppose you tell these other +chaps what will happen, five seconds after I pull the +pin?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The crowd had frozen into a sudden, awed silence. +“Keep back, you fool!” came an agonized whisper. +“Quit shovin’! Want us all blowed to blazes?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Just got into your beautiful city this evening,” +remarked Doctor Somers affably. “Stopped off at +Camp Sheridan on the way.” This was the cantonment +nearest to Pinelands. “I’ve a friend there +in the ordnance department; he lent me these little +tricks, just in case of—of anything like this. Now +don’t crowd, boys, please don’t! I promised I’d +bring ’em all back safely, and I’d just hate to spoil +one.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Aw, quit it!” came the same hoarse whisper. +“Rush ’im, huh? Nix! If it was a machine gun, +mebbe; but I don’t aim t’ go to glory in pieces. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>Nos<em>sir</em>! Huh? ’At’s a hand grenade, feller—a +Mills bomb! G’wan, start somethin’, ’f you want, +an’ git all messed up. Me, I’m goin’ home!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And straightway one masked figure detached itself +and marched briskly away, untieing his handkerchief +and stuffing it into a pocket as he went. There was +a general movement to follow. The tall leader +dropped his coiled rope and pushed his hat far back. +“What’s th’ use! I give up, stranger; you got us +buffaloed. Ain’t a-goin’ to be no lynchin’ to-night. +But, if it hadn’t of been f’r them bombs⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>In token of amity, he untied the red bandanna, +which masked him, and bared the lean, stubbly face +and piratical mustache of Ralph Satterfield. “Uncover, +boys,” he said. “Them masks is uncomf’table, +an’ we ain’t a-goin’ t’ break no laws, so they ain’t +needed no more.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Most of the crowd followed his example, but +some effaced themselves, evidently ashamed of being +identified in such company and upon such an errand. +Those who remained crowded forward, so that Peter +and I raised our weapons, fearing an attack; but +Satterfield waved them aside.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Put by yore shootin’ irons,” he said to us, alcoholically +generous. “We ain’t a-goin’ to start nothin’. +I give my word, didn’t I?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I hesitated, but Somers frowned me into compliance. +The mob leader advanced. “You got us beat, +stranger. I’d like t’ shake you by th’ hand, sir. Ain’t +a-many has bested Ralph Satterfield this a way!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Laying his vegetable bomb carefully aside, the +doctor came down the steps quite fearlessly, one lean +<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>arm extended; and presently his slender hand was +engulfed in the bootlegger’s huge grip.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good feller!” declared Satterfield. “Friend o’ +mine, yuh hear, boys? Have a drink, stranger?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He fumbled at a hip pocket, hiccoughing. Evidently +he had given his own goods the testimonial +of personal use.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I thank you, sir,” replied Doctor Somers blandly. +“Just a swallow to our friendship.” He tilted the +bottle expertly, but I noted that he did not drink. +“And now, gentlemen, this lynching foolishness is all +over, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yes, sir! Oh, yes, sir! Shore, stranger!” declared +the crowd genially.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Fine!” Somers took the bootlegger’s hand again. +“I’ll depend on you, Mr.—Satterfield, isn’t it? You’ll +guard my friend, Parker, and keep him safe for us, +for his sweetheart and his uncle, won’t you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I caught my breath at the colossal impudence of +this proposal; that the mob, which had come to lynch +Lewis, should protect him against the possible attack +of others. But Somers had gauged the spirit of the +crowd better than I; he was a profound psychologist.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Satterfield burst into a roar of laughter, which +ended in a tremendous hiccough; he staggered about +and pounded his thighs in an ecstasy of mirth. “By +gum, man,” he exclaimed, “you’re a wonder—a +wonder! Any man’s got nerve like that, I’m for +him. Yes, sir! ’S aw right, stranger, ’s aw right. +Here!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>In token of good faith he plunged a hairy hand +into his pocket and brought forth a big key. “Here’s +<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>th’ jail key, sir; you keep it. Give it back t’ Rufe, +’f yuh wanta. Parker’s safe; I give yuh my word, +sir.” And he shook hands all over again, growing +mellower and mellower, as his last drink warmed +him. “Ain’t nobody a-goin’ t’ touch ’im now. You +hear me, boys!” he said to the crowd at his back. +“Nobody don’t touch Doc Parker, or bother ’im, unless’n +they hankers t’ meet up ’ith me, Satterfield!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He turned back again to Somers. “S-sass’fied?” he +inquired gravely. “Me an’ a coupla other fellers’ll +stay an’ keep watch if yuh say so.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers laughed at that, and clapped the other’s +back. “You’re a fine chap, Mr. Satterfield, sir! I’m +proud to be a friend of yours.” He bowed, and +Satterfield bowed also, with surprising dignity and +grace, but he marred the effect by stumbling and +catching at my shoulder for support.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And, sir—and you boys, too,” Somers went on, +grinning, “now that we’re all good friends⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Sure! Sure! O’ course we are—fr’en’s f’r life!” +roared the mob. It was amazing how he had won +their admiration.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well then, gentlemen, I’ll let you all into a little +joke,” he finished. “Come up here, closer! Look +at my bombs!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He reached down and picked up his basket and +displayed its contents to the men who crowded about.</p> + +<p class='c010'>To my mind it was a hazardous experiment. But +again Somers had gauged the spirit of the crowd +very exactly. Ten minutes earlier, perhaps, his +revelation would have been fatal; but now the mob +<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>spirit was gone. We were no longer faced by an +irresponsible mob, rendered careless of consequences +by numbers and the consciousness of anonymity. +Now it was a group of known friends and neighbors, +who stood about us, whose unmasking had left each +an individual responsible for his own conduct. Each +thought for himself and of himself; the unreasoning +brutality of the mob was gone.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Somers’ revelation was greeted with howls +of mirth. This was a joke, a stupendous joke, robust, +and not too subtle, which should be told against +these men for years to come; how Ralph Satterfield +and Charlie Bates and “Hank” Conover and fifty +others had been cowed and intimidated by a dozen +innocuous eggplants in the hands of one lone man! +The crowd yelled with laughter, Satterfield louder +than any; they pounded each other’s backs, leaned on +each other’s shoulders, lay down in the sand and +shrieked. Satterfield’s illicit liquor had some part in +it, no doubt; none the less it was hearty, honest +laughter, so contagious that Peter and I, and even +Doctor Somers, were forced to join—so friendly and +jolly and carefree that no hearer could doubt its +quality. Indeed Rufe Wakefield, the gigantic constable, +came round the corner presently—he had been +waiting there in fear and trembling, perhaps, all evening, +for what might happen at the jail—and strode +boldly into our midst, convinced that all danger was +over.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Here, here, you fellers!” he exclaimed in his +great, bullying roar. “Quit it, now! You-all better +<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>git outa here an’ go home t’ bed; yo’re disturbin’ +th’ peace!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And so peaceable had their humor become that the +crowd dispersed forthwith, still shaken with laughter +and scuffling amiably for eggplants, to preserve as +souvenirs of the occasion.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XIII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XIII<br> <br><span class='small'>“A LITTLE RELAXATION”</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>S<span class="uppercase">omers</span> watched them out of sight. Then he +turned and opened the jail door with the key +Satterfield had given him. Over his shoulder he +asked:</p> + +<p class='c010'>“That the constable, McGregor? Call him back, +will you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>When Rufe had strolled pompously back, puffed +with pride at his success in scattering the crowd, +Somers surveyed him with distaste. Over one lank +shoulder, he remarked acidly: “You’re a fine cop! +Stick around, now. You’re quite safe; the danger’s +all over, no thanks to you! Stay there till we come +out; then I’ll give you the jail key.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And who are you, feller, that talks so biggety?” +demanded Rufe.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers ignored him and stalked into the dark +lockup. “Come on, you two,” he said. “We’ll give +old Parker a look.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I hesitated; but, seeing that Rufe had decided to +make the best of a bad business and wait to get his +key back, I followed presently.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Fumbling for a switch, Somers turned on the +lights. My poor nephew sat in the steel cage at +the right, huddled on the edge of his bunk, chin in +hands. His face was very white; he blinked in the +sudden illumination, then rose and faced us with +quiet defiance.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>“You’ve come to lynch me, I suppose,” he said +calmly. “All right! Take me out, and let’s get it +over with.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“My poor boy!” I cried, moved almost to tears. +If I had suffered, how dreadful this waiting must +have been for him! “It’s all over, Lewis! They’ve +gone; it’s all right—all right, boy!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He shaded his eyes. Then, as they became used +to the light: “Why, it’s you, unk! And Peter—and +old Somers! Glad to see you, Floyd, old top, how +are you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He reached an unsteady hand through the bars and +then, quite suddenly, withdrew it and fell to sobbing. +“I—I’m a fool,” he declared chokingly. “C-can’t +help it!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I snatched the key, unlocked the inner cage, and +went in to him. “There, my boy! It’s all right now—all +right now!” I patted his shoulder, but he +turned from me and buried his face in the blankets.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“All over,” repeated Somers sagely. “That’s what +ails him—reaction. Come along now; leave him +alone. He’d rather we went; wouldn’t you, Parker, +old top?” The black, rumpled head nodded violently. +“He prefers to do his breaking down in private,” explained +Somers softly. “Naturally—so do I. And +between friends,” he continued aloud, “I could pull +a couple of weeps myself on the very slightest provocation. +It’s been rather a drag, you know!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I noticed suddenly that his dark face was unwontedly +sallow and colorless. His lean cheeks +seemed to have hollowed further; his curiously light +eyes had receded deep into their sockets.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>“Buck up, Parker!” The brusque, indifferent +voice wavered, almost broke. “Be back in the morning. +’By!” He herded us out before him, leaving +Lewis to a solitude which, I fancy, was not unwelcome. +Yet it cut me to leave the boy there so weary +and broken.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Outside Somers locked the door, then beckoned +Wakefield, who hung uncertainly in the nearer +shadows. “Here! Take your key and get out! And +mind”—his fierce hawk’s face was thrust out, his +pale eyes glowed coldly—“take better care of it +hereafter. If anything should happen to your prisoner, +Heaven help you, that’s all! For I’ll take the +matter up with you myself.” And the huge, burly +constable quailed before the bitter menace of tone +and gesture.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers gathered his bundle of papers and envelopes, +rolled it loosely up and tucked it under one +long arm. “Come along,” he urged—almost sullenly. +“Let’s get home. I’m tired.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We started obediently. Peter, glowing, took the +taller man’s arm, though he had to reach up to do it.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, man, man!” he declared. “You’re a wonder!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Let go!” he answered peevishly. “What’s that?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The man who had withstood so nonchalantly the +menace of an angry mob flinched and gibed like a +skittish colt as the shadows of a dark hallway +moved, rustling.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A little, trembling voice answered. “It’s only me, +Dorothy. Are you—is Lewis safe?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She came forward timidly, and now I saw that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>Rosina was with her, bulkily maternal, one fat arm +about the girl’s slender waist.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—I just couldn’t stay at home,” she explained, +talking very fast, as against an expected rebuke. +“So I persuaded Rosina to come along, and started +for the j-jail. I thought maybe if I talked to them, +or something—I—I⸺And anyway I wanted +to be there my own self, if anything dreadful h-happened. +I thought maybe I could s-save him.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yah!” sneered Doctor Somers. “Schoolgirl +romantics!” His voice was unpleasant; Peter let go +his arm abruptly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I s-suppose so,” replied Dorothy meekly. “Anyway +we were there, right around the corner. I came +near running out, one time. But then they began to +laugh that way, and I was sure, pretty near, that +it must be all right. We were just starting home +again.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You ought to have had more sense,” declared +Somers severely. “Roaming around alone at this +time of night! Didn’t I tell you Parker was perfectly +safe? Well, come along. McGregor, where +did you park that flivver? Let’s get home; there’s +been foolishness enough for one night.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He stalked off, and we followed. Dorothy took +my arm and squeezed it. “I don’t care,” she whispered +rebelliously. “I think he’s just <em>mean</em>! Anybody’d +think Lewis belonged to some other body, +instead of to me. Why, I had to come, Uncle +George; I l-love him! What happened, anyway?” +Feminine curiosity triumphed over her pique. “What +made them laugh so?”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>“It was Somers,” answered Peter. “He’s a wonder, +that man! He stood ’em off with a basket of +eggplants—made ’em think they were hand grenades—bombs, +you know. He bluffed ’em to a standstill. +Oh, he’s a prince, Somers is!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yah!” said the “prince,” overhearing this last. +“Don’t be a fool!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter helped Dorothy and Rosina into the flivver’s +rear seat, then clambered after. “Oh, yes!” he +whispered to me. “But, my word, his manners are +atrocious.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>In silence we drove back to Fort House. It was a +clear, starlit night, and at my urging Peter left +the flivver outside. To take it over to Lewis’ house, +lock it in the garage and walk back seemed, to my +weariness, an impossible labor.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We entered the big living room, and Peter snapped +on the lights. “Ho-hum!” he said, as he yawned. +“I’m for bed.” His pistol was in one hand, the +shotgun in the other.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Careful of that gun,” said Somers. “You’ll shoot +somebody.” He advanced to the table and laid down +his big bundle of note paper. “Oh, no, Peter, my +son,” he went on amiably. His ill temper seemed +to have dissipated itself entirely; he gave us that +sudden, disarming smile. “None of you are for +bed yet, except, maybe, Uncle George here.” He +eyed my face, which was haggard enough, I suppose, +with compassion. The familiar name came from +his lips with such unaffected kindliness that I +warmed to him again. “You’re done out, Uncle +<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>George; better get some rest. We young folks can +manage.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I shook my head. Between curiosity and stubborn +pride, I was bound to remain. “I’m not superannuated yet,” +I told him tartly. “What are you +up to now?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers laughed, and it was a friendly sound. +“Oh, just a little relaxation after our late excitement,” +he replied, unwrapping his bundle. “Peter, +get ink and some pens. Dorothy”—and again +the first names came so naturally, with such unassuming +intimacy, that we could not but be softened—“you +get your list—the addresses of all the +people to whom you sent invitations. You saved +it, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, yes,” said Dorothy, wondering. “What +of it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers smiled at her rebellious glance. It was +as if he had elected himself a member of the family +and therefore ignored such little flashes of pettishness, +as, I began to see, he expected us to ignore +his brusqueness, his irritability.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We’ve got to address all these notes,” he explained, +“so they can be mailed in the morning. It’s +pretty late, of course, but I hope most of your +guests will get them in time. Don’t you see”—as +the girl still looked at him blankly—“your wedding’s +got to be postponed?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh-h! I f-forgot.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A sudden light struck me. I stared at our amazing +visitor with my mouth wide open. “Is that +what you wanted the paper for?”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>“Of course! I’ve done a hundred and four. Better +write fifty more, to be safe.” He unfolded +a note and handed it to Dorothy.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“‘Miss Mary McGregor regrets,’” she read, “‘that +the marriage of her niece, Dorothy May, must be +postponed indefinitely because of a serious accident.’”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“The wording may not be exactly right,” Somers +apologized. “I didn’t have a chance to consult you +about that. I thought it was as well to make the +explanation rather vague.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, you wonderful man!” Dorothy beamed +on him, holding his long, bony hand in both of +hers. “It’s just perfect! How did you ever think +of it? We—we’ve all been so upset.” Her lips +quivered, and her soft eyes filled with tears. It +was a dreadful situation for the poor child; no +wonder she had forgotten this detail.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But my mind was filled with a wondering admiration +for this lank, bony alienist. He had seemed +brusque, casual, culpably indifferent to our troubles; +yet it was he whose ready wit had saved my +nephew. And it was he who, in the hurry and excitement +of planning a defense against a lynching +party, had yet found time and forethought to buy +this note paper and, while waiting on the jail steps +for an angry mob, had coolly phrased this unexceptionable +announcement and had written it over +and over, more than a hundred times!</p> + +<p class='c010'>I opened an envelope at random and glanced at +the note which Dorothy still held; then I picked +up the last note, still unfolded and only half written. +All were done in the same flowing, copperplate +<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>script; they seemed facsimiles, each of the +other. Not a letter was misformed, not a comma +out of place; “postponed,” the last word of the unfinished +note, was as carefully written as any, and +the pen had not trembled or made a scrawl, as he +laid his writing by to face the mob. Truly this +Somers was a remarkable man, and I resolved that +hereafter no mannerisms of his should irritate me.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy ran upstairs, to return presently with a +long list of names and addresses. Somers divided +the pile of envelopes, gave us each pen and ink, and +set us to work around the library table.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Working together we ought to be able to finish +in two hours,” he declared. “When does the morning +train leave? Eight-ten? I’ll take them down +and get them stamped in time for that.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Silence fell, broken only by the scratching of four +pens.</p> + +<p class='c010'>It might have been an hour later—the hall clock +had just struck two—when Miss Christie appeared +in the doorway. Her eyes were heavy, her round +face was flushed with sleep, and I noted for the +first time how thick and glossy was her fine, fair +hair. She was muffled to the chin in a shapeless, +woolly bath robe; she yawned, shielding her mouth +with a slender, well-modeled hand.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Miss McGregor can’t sleep,” she explained in +her pleasant, throaty drawl. “She sent me out to +ask if you-all aren’t ever going to bed?” Her +eyes widened a little; they were beautiful eyes; and +a demure smile tugged at her mouth corners. “She +says nobody thinks about her any more; and she +<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>wants to see you, Miss Dorothy. She says she +just knows something underhand is going on in this +house, and everybody’s trying to keep it from her.” +And then, with a flash of curiosity unusual in her, +normally the most incurious of women, she asked: +“What <em>has</em> happened anyway? And why are you-all +sitting up so late?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Doctor Parker was nearly lynched to-night,” said +Peter. “But it’s all right now; and Somers can +prove he couldn’t have killed Gaskell anyhow—that +the body was cold before he came out.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh-h-h!” Miss Christie’s cheeks went white, and +her violet eyes opened. Again a sudden shock had +brought startling beauty into her dull face. After +a breathless moment she disappeared.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Go see to your aunt, Dorothy,” said Somers, his +eyes still fixed on the waving portières. “We’ll finish +these up.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>When she had gone, he sat for a moment, staring +absently at the doorway. “Hypothyroidism,” he +murmured vaguely. “You know, Uncle George, +that girl’s got the makings of a raving beauty in +her!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Who, Dorothy? She’s a beauty now,” I replied.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh? Oh, she’s well enough, but I meant the +other one, Miss Christie. Wait till I’ve treated her +a while, and you’ll see what I mean.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He sighed, passed a lank, bony hand across his +eyes, and picked up his pen once more: “Mr. and +Mrs. R. Lawton McGregor, 42 Bank Street, Toronto, +Canada.”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XIV' class='c011'>CHAPTER XIV<br> <br><span class='small'>THE POLTERGEIST AGAIN</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>I<span class="uppercase">t</span> must have been half past three when I stumbled +up to my room at last, stripped off my clothes +almost automatically, and fell into bed. I was +asleep in two minutes.</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was the deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion, +from which one does not wake immediately, with +every sense alert. No; I must climb, as it were, up +from the very bottom of a black abyss of unconsciousness, +a sea of oblivion, struggling with infinite +pains back toward the light. For hours, as it seemed, +I fought my way stubbornly through a welter of +half-seen dreams, in response to some imperative +summons whose nature, even, my sleep-drugged +senses refused to grasp.</p> + +<p class='c010'>At last I came out from sleep into wakefulness +suddenly, as a train whizzes out of a long tunnel into +the daylight. I sat up, blinking. It was still dark; +somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed. That +did not aid me in fixing the time, for in North +Carolina the cocks crow all night; but now I saw +that the east was faintly gray, and I heard the first +shrill whistle of an early-rising quail.</p> + +<p class='c010'>By that I knew dawn must be near at hand. But +why had I waked so early? What was the insistent +call which had dragged me back from deep slumber? +I blinked bewilderedly.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>Then suddenly a chill swept over me; an eerie +horripilation crept up my spine and plucked at the +short hairs of my neck. As I shivered with actual, +physical cold, I saw that some one or something +had drawn back the blanket, so that I lay uncovered +almost to my knees. Then, as I leaned forward, +clutching after the coverlets, they moved beneath +my hand, as though by their own independent volition!</p> + +<p class='c010'>I gave a strangled gasp; perhaps I cried aloud. I +am not sure, for the thing shook me. At any rate, +in the pale gray light of coming dawn, I saw my +blanket creep swiftly, silently, over the foot of the +bed and move toward the door.</p> + +<p class='c010'>No one was in sight. My eyes, from which sleep +was miraculously purged, raced about the empty +room and saw its every detail distinctly. There +was the dresser, the rocking chair whereon hung my +clothes, the corner table, every familiar furnishing. +Beyond the foot of my bed the door stood half open, +and through it my blanket and counterpane were +moving in a white, undulating mass, that seemed +curiously and uncannily alive. And still there was no +sound, no stir.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I grew cold and rheumatic. Perhaps I hesitated +for an instant, daunted by this mysterious phenomenon. +But it was not more than three seconds, I am +sure, before I was out of bed and standing at the +door, ready for—for whatever cursed thing might +lurk there.</p> + +<p class='c010'>There was nothing. The hall stood empty and +still, as commonplace as at high noon. I ran to the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>head of the stairs and leaned over the balustrade. +The broad staircase stood empty, also, and the lower +hall, as far as my eye could reach. Everything was +very still, so that I heard the loud ticking of the +grandfather clock below me. But of my nocturnal +visitor, if visitor there had been, and of my coverlets, +there was no sign at all. Both had vanished.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A door creaked, and I spun about, nerves tense as +fiddlestrings. It was Doctor Somers, more lathy +and slender of limb in his pajamas than by day, if +that were possible.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nightmare?” he inquired sourly. “You yelled +horribly.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter appeared beside him, dwarfed by the other’s +lank height; and Dorothy’s smooth black head peered +from her door.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I blushed hotly. I must have made an extraordinary +racket, to wake all these tired young folks! +“I’m sorry, people,” I said apologetically. “Either +I’ve had a nightmare, or it was the Poltergeist +again.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Somers and looked at me queerly. +“Poltergeist?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I don’t know. Either I dreamed it all, or my +blankets just climbed over the footboard and walked +away by themselves. They’re gone, anyhow.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy came out, wrapped in her fuzzy blue robe, +hair hanging in two sleek braids to her knees. “Oh, +dear!” said she and peeped into my room. “Yes, +they’re gone. That best white wool blanket, Peter, +and the crocheted counterpane. It must have been +the Poltergeist!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>“I’m c-cold,” I muttered, suddenly conscious of +my thin pajamas.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Poor old dear! You climb right back into bed +and let Peter tuck you in. Here!” Dorothy opened +the linen closet at the end of the hall and dragged +out more blankets. “Cover him up, Peter; we’ll look +for the other things in the morning. No telling what +the Poltergeist has done with them!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” repeated Somers. He cocked his head +on one side, and, in his pajamas, whose wide stripes, +running up and down, accentuated his height and +lankiness, he looked like some new variety of long-legged +bird—a striped crane.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph! Poltergeist! That’s interesting.” His +tone held an impersonal enthusiasm, as of a surgeon +confronted with some new and rare disease; I was +reminded of the manner in which he had pronounced +Miss Christie’s sleepiness due to “hypothyroidism,” +whatever that may be. “A Poltergeist! Then such +things have happened here before?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy nodded. “Yes, the nasty thing’s been +hanging round for a year, almost, playing tricks like +this, breaking dishes, yelling through the halls, and +everything.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph! Well, let’s get back to bed. I’ll look +into this later.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Ask Aunt Mary,” suggested Peter grimly. +“She’ll talk your arm off about spiritism, if you once +get her started.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your aunt +yet,” replied Somers. Then he yawned and went +back into his room.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>I went back to bed, to shiver beneath my new +blankets. It was not really cold, but I was chilled +through. And what with fatigue and excitement +and the honest fright of watching my blankets creep +away in that eerie fashion, I could not get to sleep +again. Moreover, bobwhite had tuned up in earnest +now. The shrill, insistent whistling of a dozen +quail, calling and answering each other under my +window, effectually barred me from further rest. +The high-pitched, monotonous call rang through my +aching head maddeningly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>At last, it might have been seven o’clock, I did +doze off, to waken with a start an hour later. I +rose then and dressed. Dorothy was just coming +from her rooms; she gave me a brave smile.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good morning, my dear! You’re fresh as a rose.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She was wearing a little blue morning gown, her +mass of black hair neatly dressed, and she was +smiling. One of the many things I found to admire +in Dorothy McGregor was this: that she was always +good-natured, even in the morning. No matter how +early one saw her, she was never peevish or sullen, +in spite of a hot, flashing, little temper.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Good morning, Uncle George. Did you get any +rest at all?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I sighed. “Oh, a little. Where’s Somers?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I haven’t heard anything of him. Tired out, I +suppose.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>There was no need to ask where Peter was, for +I could hear his lusty snores through his bedroom +door. So we two went downstairs together.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We’ll have our breakfast,” declared Dorothy. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>“Aunt Mary’ll be waiting, and she hates to eat alone. +The others can eat when they get up. They had a +hard night, poor boys!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>But, as we came through the big living room, the +front door opened and Doctor Somers entered. His +lean, sallow face wore its customary look of acute +dissatisfaction with the universe; it was neither more +nor less saturnine than when I had first set eyes on +it, scarcely more than twelve hours ago. The strain +of last night had left no visible mark upon him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We gave him a good morning, to which he replied +with a sour grunt. “Been to the post office,” he explained. +“They’re poor stamps your postmaster sells +here; no stick to ’em at all. Had to buy a bottle +of mucilage.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You poor man! And did you stamp and mail +all those notes?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers shrugged. “It had to be done,” he declared +ungraciously.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We went on into the dining room. Before we +could be seated, the creaking of her wheel chair announced +Aunt Mary’s coming. Dorothy rang the +bell.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Quick, Rosina! Get auntie’s coffee!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss McGregor appeared, the patient nurse at her +back. The old lady’s face wore its usual pathetic +smile, and she inclined her head to us with sad +graciousness.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers’ eyes traveled past her. “Good morning, +Miss Christie!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The nurse bowed shyly; her big, violet eyes +dropped, and a tinge of color crept into her cheek.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>Aunt Mary’s stately head came up. Her thin +eyebrows arched. “I don’t think I’ve had the +honor⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, forgive me, auntie! I’d forgotten you didn’t +come out to supper last night. This is Doctor +Somers, Aunt Mary; Dr. Somers, my aunt, Miss +McGregor. The doctor is—was to be—Lewis’ best +man, you know.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Ah, of course! And how do you do, doctor?” +Miss McGregor’s tone was cool, to say the least. +Her manner implied that Somers would have done +much better to stay in his lunatic asylum. “It’s so +unfortunate that you made that long trip for nothing; +you’re from New York, I think? Quite so. You +won’t be able to get back to your practice before +Wednesday, even by starting to-night, will you? +It’s a great inconvenience, but then this dreadful +affair has inconvenienced everybody. It has upset +me terribly—though that, of course, amounts to +nothing!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Her tone, however, suggested that it was the most +important consequence of Doctor Gaskell’s death; +and that we others had deliberately planned the +killing to annoy her, Mary McGregor. It was truly +remarkable, the unpleasant suggestions Aunt Mary +managed to convey by a turn of the eye, an arching +of her high, thin brows, a pathetic inflection of her +sweet, plaintive voice, and all with the kindest, bravest, +most self-sacrificing manner in the world. I +could still understand how casual visitors considered +her an uncomplaining heroine, a saint on earth; but +I was no longer inclined to share their opinion.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>Doctor Somers smiled at her in his sudden, heartwarming +fashion, no whit ruffled by her attitude. +“But I’m not going back just yet,” he explained. +“The hospital will do very well without me; I wrote +this morning for a month’s leave. I shan’t go back +until we’ve got poor old Parker safe out of jail.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary looked dubious. “Can you make them +think he did it in self-defense?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He smiled again. “Something like that. But tell +me, Miss McGregor, how did you rest last night?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She softened visibly. “Very poorly indeed. I’m +a great sufferer, doctor, a great sufferer. I worry +so about my niece.” She cast a bitter glance at +Dorothy, who winced. “I lay awake for hours, just +thinking about her troubles, until the knots came +in my neck so terribly that I could have screamed. +You know, being a doctor, of course.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary looked at Somers eagerly, a bit apprehensively, +I fancied. But he nodded gravely. “I +know,” he assured her. <i>“Torticollis ephemeralis!</i> +Yes, indeed, a very painful ailment.” His air of +serious sympathy was admirable.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yes, isn’t it? Well, I kept thinking, I must be +patient; I must try to comfort poor Dorothy in her +trials. She’s not used to suffering, as I am. I mustn’t +notice it if her worries make her heedless and self-absorbed; +she doesn’t mean to be inconsiderate. I +won’t make it harder for her by complaining. I was +so sorry, dear”—turning to the poor girl, who looked +supremely uncomfortable—“so sorry that I had to +wake Miss Christie and send her out last night—this +morning, rather. I knew, if you hadn’t been so +<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>upset, you’d have remembered that I never can sleep +when there’s so much going on in the house. I know +you didn’t mean to be selfish, and so I stood it just +as long as I could.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy sighed deeply. “Here, auntie, try this +piece of toast; it’s crisper. Rosina, fill auntie’s cup. +Yes, dear, drink another cup of coffee. It’ll do you +good.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Somers came to the rescue with a deft +question, and presently Aunt Mary was beaming +upon him, discussing her symptoms with infinite +relish. The charm of an intelligent and sympathetic +listener brought unwonted color to her delicately +faded cheek; her rigid pose relaxed; her eyes shone +brighter. Absently she finished her second cup of +coffee and ate three more slices of toast, talking all +the while. Aunt Mary was enjoying herself thoroughly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We others rose and slipped out, leaving her in the +midst of an animated account of the strange sensations +in her limbs. “You see, doctor, I’ve been +paralyzed in both limbs for fourteen years now, +never able to leave my chair except for bed. I have +to be lifted and carried about like a baby. And for +years my limbs were perfectly numb and dead; but +lately I’ve had the queerest feelings—creepy, prickly +feelings. Do you suppose it’s atrophy?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded gravely. “No doubt! Your muscles +are wasting away, and the spinal cord is affected, +I think.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, he’s making her out worse than she is!” +<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>whispered Dorothy, horrified. “He’ll scare her to +death!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hush!” I told her. “Can’t you see she loves it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I resigned myself to that long ago, doctor—not +being able to stand on my feet ever again. But the +queer feelings, and those terrible knots in my +neck⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We slipped out. Doctor Somers listened attentively, +nodding at intervals, but his keen, gray-green +eyes were all for the silent nurse.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XV' class='c011'>CHAPTER XV<br> <br><span class='small'>A FISHING TRIP</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>D<span class="uppercase">orothy,</span> Peter, and I set off at once for the +lockup. “I’ve just got to see my poor boy,” +said the girl tearfully. “Think what an awful time +he must have had last night!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She trotted about the house, busily ordering the fat +Rosina here and there, and presently she called us +to her aid.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There!” said she proudly, pointing out two huge +bundles. “Clean sheets and pillowcases in that one, +and a blanket—you know, Uncle George, Rosina +found your blanket and counterpane this morning, +the ones the Poltergeist took? They were down in +the coal bin, wadded up, and they were just filthy! +Oh, dear! I wish the horrid thing wouldn’t break +and destroy and dirty everything it touches. It’s a +perfectly wretched ghost, Uncle George, so malicious!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She carried it off gayly enough, but her big eyes +were restless, and I fancied a hint of fear in their +depths. After all, though familiarity may make a +ghost less terrible, no one really enjoys its repeated +visits. And, though she pretended so much courage +and jested so gayly about the tricks of the Poltergeist, +I saw that she was haunted by a very real +fear of its comings. The poor child was near the +breaking point.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There, there, dearie,” I comforted her. “Don’t +<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>you fret; everything’ll come right yet. We’ll have +you married off and settled happily in a bright little +red-and-white bungalow, without any ghosts to +bother you. Be brave just a little while longer, +child!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She huddled against my shoulder and wept quietly. +“I c-can’t help it, dear,” she declared. <a id='tn-declared'></a>“I’ll be a-all +right p-presently. But things are so darn twisted! +And that was my very best counterpane, and I was +s-saving it for our h-house—and I’m a-f-fraid of +ghosts. I am so! And my beau’s in jail, and the +wedding put off—and it’s unlucky to postpone weddings, +Uncle George. And Aunt Mary’s just m-mean +to me, and I’m s-so unhappy!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>What could I say? I patted her shoulder silently, +and presently she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, +rolled up into a damp ball, and smiled up +at me bravely.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m all right now, dear,” she told me and ran +off to powder her nose.</p> + +<p class='c010'>So I shouldered a huge bundle of bedding and took +a basket of eatables in my left hand and descended +the steps to Lewis’ flivver, while Peter followed, +even more heavily laden. “Time we get through +and old Parker’s out, we can advertise: ‘Apartment +to rent, luxuriously furnished; apply at the jail.’”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I went back after another load and on the way +peeped into the dining room. Aunt Mary still held +forth, as fresh as if she had just begun. Rosina’s +face peeped around the edge of the kitchen door. +She was wondering, no doubt, if they’d ever give +her a chance to “cl’ar away.” Somers still listened +<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>with courteous attention, but the eye he turned to me +held a comical appeal for aid.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We’re going down to see my nephew now, +Somers,” I said. “Want to come along?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary sighed, her thin eyebrows arched high. +“That’s always the way,” her expression said; “if +ever I’m enjoying myself somebody has to spoil it!” +But aloud she declared: “Yes, doctor, don’t let me +keep you. I’ve enjoyed our little chat so much, +but of course Dorothy’s wishes come first. I realize +that; and it’s quite natural. I’m used to being +alone!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers gave her a sympathetic glance. “I suppose +I ought to go,” he replied reluctantly; but he +rose with suspicious alacrity. “Perhaps when I get +back, Miss McGregor—yours is a very interesting +case—I’d like to hear more about it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary shrugged, as much as to say: “Why +go away then?” “I always lie down after breakfast,” +she replied.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers looked relieved. “Well, some other time +then.” His greenish eyes rested significantly upon +the silent nurse. “You ought to get out of doors +more,” he told her. “You need exercise.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss McGregor sniffed. “Oh, she’s healthy +enough! You should see her sleep!” Aunt Mary always +resented the suggestion that any one else was +not well; she felt that she had a monopoly of invalidism +for the McGregor family.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Our guest bowed and came out with me. “My,” +he exclaimed, “what a talker!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, come along!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>He shook his head. “I’m not coming, thanks. +Tell old Parker I’ll see him later. I’ve got other +things to do.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>So I left him and went out to the racketing flivver, +whose rear seat was heaped high. I squeezed in beside +Dorothy and Peter in front.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Where’s Somers, unk?” asked the latter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Not coming. He doesn’t seem very keen to see +Lewis, after all.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well! That’s queer. He’s cooking up some +other deep scheme, I suppose. I shan’t find fault +with him, after last night.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Probably you’re right, Peter,” I conceded.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But Dorothy, beside me, wriggled impatiently. +“You two men are perfectly blind! He’s just waiting +for Aunt Mary to lie down, so he can see Miss +Christie.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We both laughed. “What, that sleepy thing?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yes! If you had any eyes at all, you could see +he was perfectly struck on her. And she may be +a sleepy thing, but just you watch her brighten up, +once there’s a man around to notice her. Oh, you +can laugh! But I tell you Anne Christie is a <em>beauty</em>, +if she’d just wake up a little.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“She’s too fat,” objected Peter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy gave him a maddeningly superior smile. +“And they say men are the best judges of a woman’s +looks! Wait till you see her in an evening dress, +instead of those horrid, stiff, old uniforms! Oh, yes, +you will! I’ll just bet you ten pounds of candy +against a carton of cigarettes she begins to dress up +within a week!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>We hunted up a very sheepish constable and told +him our errand. He handed the jail key over to +me.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yeah,” he said, “you jus’ take it along, an’ bring +it back w’en you git through. Don’t forgit t’ lock +th’ door after yuh. Yeah, shore it’ll be all right! +Nobody don’t need t’ know you got it, does they? +An’ say”—coming closer and dropping his voice to +a hoarse whisper—“they ain’t no need o’ tellin’ about +las’ night, is they?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was a bribe, I saw: free access to the jail +against silence as to Rufe Wakefield’s inglorious +part in last night’s troubles. He knew he was safe +enough in giving me the key, irregular as it seems; +for my nephew would not have dreamed of escaping, +even if I would have allowed it.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“All right, Rufe,” I promised. “We’ll keep quiet; +and I’ll have the key back to you before noon.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>All this had taken some little time. As we drove +back down Main Street, Dorothy nudged me sharply. +“What did I tell you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We swung round the corner, past Olsen’s drug +store, to reach the jail, which was almost directly +behind it. And on the drug store steps, just going +in, stood Miss Anne Christie, while Doctor Somers +held the screen door back for her, with a long, skinny +arm.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“She does carry herself well,” said Peter critically.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy sniffed. “I think he might be doing something +for Lewis, instead of gallivanting round with +that girl!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>We drove on to the lockup, to find my nephew +haggard, but fairly cheerful.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Rufe brought me in a gorgeous breakfast,” he +told us. “Really, he’s not such a bad chap. Yes, I +got quite a bit of sleep, too, but I’ll be glad of clean +sheets. There, there, honey!” Dorothy had choked +forlornly, snuggling close to his shoulder. “Don’t +worry any more; old Somers’ll figure out some way +of getting me out in a day or two.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But to-morrow was our wedding day!” she exclaimed +disconsolately. “And, besides, your precious +Somers is just flirting with Aunt Mary’s nurse; he’s +not trying to do a thing for us!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>However she did her bridegroom’s prospective best +man something less than justice. It might have been +an hour later, while we four still sat with our heads +together, cudgeling our brains for a way out, that he +strolled casually in.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I heard the outer doorknob rattle and started up, +for I had forgotten to lock the door after us, and +I feared some official visitor. Before I could reach +it, the heavy door swung back, and Somers’ black +head appeared.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Thought I’d find you folks here,” he said. +“Ought to be locked in, though; people might talk +about our vigilant cop.” He turned the key on the +inside and paused to laugh silently.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Clever chap, that Wakefield,” he went on, advancing. +His long, grotesquely thin legs moved +stiffly, like a pair of compasses. “I heard him talking +about that little affair last night; he’s out on +Main Street, holding forth right now. ‘An’ I stood +<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>right there beside the lockup,’ he was saying, ‘ready +f’r bus’ness. ’At skinny feller come in on Number +Seven, he stood on th’ steps ’ith a bumb, darin’ ’em +t’ come any furder. They was all a-yellin’, an’ they +wouldn’t of paid him no mind, but then <em>I</em> come out +’ith th’ ole persuader’—and he showed them that +rusty pocket cannon he lugs around—‘an’, “Stan’ +back, fellers!” I says. We-ell, they all knew <em>me</em>! +An’ so they wa’n’t no lynchin’ las’ night!’”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We all laughed. Somers’ imitation of the constable’s +rumbling drawl was irresistibly comic.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“So that’s what he’s telling!” A light struck me. +“No wonder he didn’t want us to talk about last +night! He bribed us to keep quiet, doctor, by letting +us take the jail key.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I told you you had a clever constable, unk. Oh, +I’ve learned lots of things this morning! I’ve talked +with a number of your leading citizens, so I have.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“When we saw you, you were otherwise occupied,” +said Dorothy cruelly. “Or is Miss Christie one of +the ‘leading citizens’ you meant?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers merely smiled at her. “Oh, that! I took +her to the drug store to get some thyroid extract. +The girl’s sick, and I’m going to cure her. Wait +a couple of weeks; you won’t know her!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And after you got the medicine?” I prompted, +curious to know how he had forgathered with Wakefield.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, Miss Christie introduced me to the druggist, +Olsen, then she went on home. And I hung around, +making myself agreeable. Just a little fishing expedition, +Uncle George—that’s all!”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XVI' class='c011'>CHAPTER XVI<br> <br><span class='small'>SOME CLEWS, AND A SUGGESTION</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>H<span class="uppercase">is</span> light eyes sparkled at us, and gratified pride +replaced his usual look of acute dissatisfaction +with the world. “Old Doc Somers is a great man!” +he boasted.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We all stared at him, breathlessly eager. “What +have you found out?” I demanded.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“A whole lot of things; enough so we can begin +planning a defense for Parker.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter straightened at the word. “A defense! +Of course he’ll have to be tried now, won’t he? +Folks, we’ve got to hire a lawyer right away!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy and I nodded agreement. Lewis said +nothing at all.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There’ll be a trial, yes,” said Somers; “that is, +if the grand jury indicts. And I haven’t much doubt +that it will; you see, your man Vanbrugh, your +prosecuting attorney that pleased you all so much +at the inquest, will present the evidence against +Parker. Yes, he’ll be indicted—I haven’t a doubt +of it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“So we need a lawyer,” insisted Peter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We-ell, not to be too modest about it, I’m a tolerable +lawyer myself, McGregor. You see, I started +out to make myself a medicolegal expert; to specialize +in medical jurisprudence. I studied law +first; I was admitted to the bar six years ago, and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>I practiced a little while before I entered the medical +school.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I looked at him more closely. Last night, knowing +him to be my nephew’s classmate, I had thought +him thirty, at the most. No doubt my knowledge +of Lewis’ age had influenced me; moreover Somers +had one of those lean, dark faces on which the years +leave little mark. But now, by the morning sun +which streamed through the unshaded windows of +the jail, I could see that he was older. His black +hair was shot with gray over the temples; there were +fine lines in his forehead and about the corners of +his deep-set eyes. He must be at least thirty-eight—perhaps +older. No wonder he had impressed me +as more mature than Peter or Lewis!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yes, I’m a lawyer,” he went on, “and not such +a bad lawyer, either. In a case like this, where the +medical testimony will be so important, perhaps I’d +do as well as another. That’s up to you, of course, +Parker. If you want somebody else, I’ll do all I can +to help, just the same.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis shook his head vigorously. “No! I don’t +want anybody else, if you’ll only help me out, old +man.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, then”—he made no protest of willingness, +no fervid promises of success; he took the matter +as settled, and I liked that in him—“to begin with, +we’ll take it for granted that there’ll be a trial—unless +in the meantime we manage to find the murderer.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You think he was murdered, then?” asked +Dorothy fearfully.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>“He must have been. He surely didn’t shoot himself +and then swallow the gun.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But you—but Lewis⸺” she faltered.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But Lewis didn’t do it! Of course not. Gaskell +was dead before he got there. But our trouble will +be to prove that. If Uhlman here gets up and swears +Gaskell’s body was cold when he got to it, five minutes +after he heard the shot, your prosecuting attorney—your +solicitor, as they call him—will ask +why he didn’t say so at the time; why Wakefield +didn’t notice it; why it wasn’t brought out at the +inquest. And what can you say, Uhlman, except that +you didn’t think of it until I asked you about it? +Then your man Vanbrugh will say: ‘Ah, you didn’t +remember this very important point until the learned +counsel for the defense explained it to you?’—with +a significant glance at the jury. And then: ‘And +you’re related to the prisoner, aren’t you, Mr. Uhlman? +His uncle, I think, yes? And you’re fond +of him, aren’t you—very fond of him, in fact? +Exactly!’ And he’ll give the jury another wise look +and tell you to step down.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I nodded soberly. “But—but then they’ll convict +him!” said Dorothy.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, no—at least we’ll hope not. But the best +way to defend him is to find out who really committed +the murder; don’t you see? So let’s talk it +over.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers settled himself more comfortably and re-crossed +those extraordinary legs.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“To begin with I had a chat with your constable. +Had it occurred to you to wonder how he happened +<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>to be coming past Fort House at five in the morning, +just at the right time to hear Parker shoot? No? +Well, I thought of it. He’d been out at a little poker +party, an all-night session at Tulliver’s, back on the +hill. He lost fifty dollars, too; it made him mad, and +that, I suspect, was behind his zeal in enforcing the +ordinance about discharging firearms in the corporation. +He had been drinking! Officially, I’ve no +doubt that the amiable Rufus is an ardent prohibitionist; +but unofficially he likes his toddy. Corn +liquor was plenty up on the hill, it appears; and Rufe +was too much under its influence to notice details; +didn’t you know that, Uncle George?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—I⸺” I stammered. “We were all so upset +that I didn’t think it odd that he seemed so, too. But, +now that you speak of it, he did seem rather—rather +uncertain.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph! It makes it bad for us, too. When +Vanbrugh gets hold of him, Wakefield will swear to +almost anything, just to prove he was sober enough +to know all that happened. Well, here’s another +thing. You know this chap Satterfield—Ralph Satterfield? +He led the mob last night. Did he have +any grudge against Gaskell?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, yes,” answered Lewis and I together. +“Gaskell was one of the town commissioners. And +during May he was acting mayor. Satterfield was +brought before him for being drunk and disorderly +and for bootlegging, and Gaskell gave him thirty +days on the roads.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And that’s not all, Uncle George,” my nephew +<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>went on. “Remember there at Olsen’s he bragged +that he was going to settle with Gaskell?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“All right,” said Somers. “Satterfield was at the +poker party, too. Tulliver has a phone; about four +o’clock somebody called Satterfield up there, and he +went out in a great hurry, saying he’d be back in +an hour. What’s more, he went out the back door, +and Tulliver’s shotgun stood right beside it. I got +all this firsthand, by a little judicious questioning, +partly from Rufe, and partly from another chap who +was there. Mind you, we don’t know that Satterfield +took that gun; but he might have taken it and +brought it back with him. Nobody was out that +way while he was gone.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“He came back in an hour or so, very much out +of breath. When somebody asked him where he’d +been, he drew a pistol and threatened to kill the +fellow. They quieted him down; but, as they were +all more or less drunk, they didn’t think much +about it. But it’s worth looking into, especially as +it seems Satterfield’s daughter, Minnie, is your night +telephone operator. Olsen phoned for Doctor Gaskell +to come and see his sick baby; and this girl put the +call through, and no doubt listened in; night operators +usually do. Right after that, as I figure it, +she called up Tulliver’s house and gave a message +to her father.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, it’s open and shut!” I exclaimed excitedly. +“She told her father Gaskell was going out. Satterfield +knew he’d take the short cut, that path through +the Fort House grounds; it’s the nearest way to +Olsen’s. He took Tulliver’s gun and ran down there, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>while the doctor was dressing, and lay in wait for +him and killed him!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It’s possible,” conceded Somers. “We’ll investigate, +at least. And, if we can’t hang it on him, +we’ll bring it up at the trial, anyhow. It will go +to show that somebody else might have done the +shooting.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, the trial, the trial!” It was Dorothy, impatiently +tearful. “You keep talking about a trial, +and that’ll be weeks and weeks, maybe months! And +all that time my poor Lewis will have to stay in this +horrid old jail, and—and t-to-morrow was our wedding +day! Oh, dear, oh, dear! What shall I do?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The poor girl broke down completely and wept +without restraint, hanging upon her lover’s neck.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers looked at her keenly. “What do you +want to do?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She sobbed. “I was going to be married to-morrow, +and my wedding dress is all ready, and the +cake baked, even! And now Lewis is in j-jail for +weeks and months—and maybe they’ll c-convict him +or something, and we c-can’t ever be married at all! +And I’ll die an old maid, because I won’t ever +marry any other body!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph! Get married, then.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And it’s just awfully unlucky to put off your +wedding day, and—and⸺” She broke off suddenly, +raising a tear-stained face, as the meaning of +Somers’ words struck home. “Get m-married? +What do you mean?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What I say. Your wedding dress is ready, you +<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>say, and the cake is baked. Well, here I am, too, a +perfectly good best man. And there’s Parker; and +here’s the jail. There’s a preacher in town, I suppose. +We’ve got the freedom of the lockup, thanks +to Rufe Wakefield; why not have your wedding +right here to-morrow, on schedule time?”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XVII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XVII<br> <br><span class='small'>AN UNUSUAL WEDDING</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>A <span class="uppercase drop-cap-gap">big</span> tear still undried on her cheek, Dorothy +stared at the tall, lanky Somers. Her blank +wonderment gradually merged into admiration, and +a very becoming blush crept over her fair face.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Get married to-morrow—anyway?” she asked. +“Why—why not? I think it would be just lovely.” +She grew more animated as this new idea shaped +itself before her imagination. “We couldn’t have +a big wedding anyway, after all this horrid trouble—not +for months and <em>months</em>! And just think of +the expense! New invitations, new flowers, another +wedding dress, and everything. And Aunt Mary’s +been so upset, getting ready for the house guests, +and there’d be that to go through with again. And +think, Lewis! We’d have to pay rent on our house +all that time, without being able to live in it. +Oh, I think it would be just lovely! We can bring +the flowers down here and decorate the place and +have our wedding breakfast right here; just the +family, and maybe Marie and Sally Westfall,” naming +her bridesmaids. “We’ll do it! Of course we +will! Peter, run over to the depot and see if the +flowers have come. I’ll have roses over there, and +a bank of ferns, and⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Her happy, excited voice trailed away, as she ran +a calculating eye about the bare, cramped place, planning +her decorations with truly feminine adaptability.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>But my nephew caught her hand. “No, Dorothy!” +he cried miserably. “No, honey girl. You know I’d +just love it, but I can’t let you. You’re forgetting; +I’m in prison, charged with murder. I’ll have to stay +here for weeks, anyhow; and then I may be convicted +and executed, or worse yet, given life imprisonment. +And then you’d be tied for life to a convict, honey; +you’d be worse than a widow. No, you must give +me up, and maybe, in a year or two, you’ll find +somebody else and be married and find happiness +after all. And it would be a comfort to me, there in +prison, to know your life hadn’t been ruined, too.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The boy straightened, looking very noble and self-sacrificing. +His eyes were moist; I fancy that he +found a dismal enjoyment in the thought of this +great renunciation. He pictured himself in stripes, +no doubt, wandering alone down the long corridor of +years, upborne by his own self-sacrifice. The young +have a way of enjoying tragedy—in prospect, at +least.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But Dorothy only laughed at him. “Fiddlesticks! +You’re <em>not</em> going to be convicted. You’re <em>not</em>! I +won’t have it! You won’t even have to be tried; +Doctor Somers will find the man who really did it, +and you’ll be home with me in a week, maybe! And, +if you’re not, I won’t ever, ever, <em>ever</em> marry any +other body—so there! I guess I can be noble too! +And we’re going to be married at noon to-morrow, +right here in this jail, so you might as well make +the best of it!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dropping on the narrow bunk beside him she +began to whisper eagerly into his ear.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>Well, that was all of that. There are limits to +any man’s capacity for self-abnegation, and Lewis +was very human. Who could have resisted Dorothy +McGregor’s sweet pleading, her flushed, bright-eyed +anticipation of this pitiful wedding, so different from +that she had planned?</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And really,” she argued wisely, “it’ll be lots nicer +than a big church affair—lots! I shan’t have to get +all tired out running around, looking after a lot of +guests we don’t care anything about, getting ice +cream spilled on my wedding dress, and having the +ushers put all the wrong people into the wrong pews. +I’ve been worried out of my life for weeks, just +imagining what would happen if they should seat +Cousin John beside Uncle Will Marshall. They +haven’t spoken for twenty years, you know. Oh, +this’ll be so much better. Why, it’s just sweet!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis smiled bitterly. “‘Sweet,’” he repeated, +“marrying a man—in a jail!” But his protest was +uncertain, and Dorothy paid no attention to it whatever. +He had capitulated; she knew it well enough, +and we all recognized it. From that time on my +nephew had no more voice in the arrangement of his +wedding than has any other well-conducted bridegroom.</p> + +<p class='c010'>In the midst of our excited talk some one tried +the jail door. We all stopped short, alarmed, the +memory of last night’s attack fresh in our minds. +Then Somers, shrugging resignedly, opened the big +door, which he had locked again after Peter’s exit.</p> + +<p class='c010'>In the aperture appeared the wide-brimmed hat +and leathery, lined face of High Sheriff Redden. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>He blinked at us queerly, his red-rimmed, rheumy +eyes taking in the unusual scene before him; for +Dorothy and Lewis sat hand in hand on the narrow +bunk, while I huddled uncomfortably on the floor, +my back to the cage bars, with a bundle of the +McGregors’ best bed linen for a divan. It was a +curious spectacle for a well-conducted jail, to say +the least.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The sheriff swept off his hat and bowed deeply. +“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said to the girl deferentially. +“Howdy, folks! You-all aim t’ be comf’table as +you kin, I see.” He fingered his wispy white mustache +and turned to Somers. “Howdy, stranger! +F’om Rufe’s story you an’ him saved my pris’ner +f’om gittin’ lynched las’ night—or, anyways, it was +Rufe mostly, accordin’ to his tell.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He winked elaborately at the physician. Over his +shoulder appeared the anxious face of the huge +constable. Wakefield shook a leonine head in +agonized appeal, winked frantically, laid a finger +to his lips, begging dumbly for our silence.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers grinned. “Oh, yes! Mr. Wakefield +showed the best part of valor, certainly.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m! Yuh cain’t tell me nothin’ about Rufe +Wakefield, stranger. But I’m obliged to yuh, sir. +They’d of been right smart talk round Carabas +County if anythin’ had happened to one of Hank +Redden’s prisoners. Ain’t aimin’ t’ have no lynchin’s +hereabouts, w’ile <em>I’m</em> sheriff! Nossir!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He extended a gnarled hand gravely, looking +Somers up and down. “Yo’re lengthy enough t’ +<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>give anybody a battle, stranger,” he drawled, “even +if they ain’t s’ much to yuh crossways.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers laughed. “We can’t all be fat, sheriff.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Redden fingered his wispy mustache. He was thin +to emaciation. “H’m, I reckon not. An’ now, folks, +this here ain’t quite reg’lar. I know it’s all right, +but Rufe hadn’t ought to of give you-all that key. +I’m responsible f’r havin’ Doc Parker here guarded +right. Cain’t let things go on this a way; folks ’ud +talk.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, Mr. Redden,” said Dorothy prettily, “you +won’t make it any harder for us? Why, Lewis and I +are going to be married to-morrow!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m,” said the sheriff. His watery eyes blinked +rapidly, but I fancied that their pale gaze softened. +“H’m! Aimin’ t’ git married here?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Uh-huh,” said Dorothy, like a little, bashful +schoolgirl.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter pushed in, breathless. “The flowers have +come. Shall I bring ’em here?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We-ell, I be dogged! H’m! Yessum!” The +sheriff’s face cleared. “I reckon I c’n fix it up, +ma’am—anyways, if you’ll invite me to it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, of course! I was counting on you to give +me away,” declared Dorothy shamelessly. “My aunt +can’t come; she’s paralyzed, you know; and Uncle +George couldn’t do it very well because he’s Lewis’ +uncle. <em>Will</em> you, sheriff?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I jus’ reckon I will, ma’am! W’y, twenty +mewels couldn’t keep me away. Hold up yore right +hand, stranger, and you, McGregor, an’ you, Mr. +Uhlman. I deppytize you-all. Yo’re depitty sheriffs +<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>of the County of Carabas, State of No’th Carolina, +charged with th’ guardin’ of this here pris’ner an’ +responsible fer his body to me. You c’n keep them +keys now, gentlemen. Rufe, you got to feed ’im yit; +you c’n fix it up ’ith them t’ let you in, mealtimes.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And with no more formality than this, we became +deputy sheriffs. Mr. Redden departed presently, +promising to return for the ceremony to-morrow; +and, before we had settled all details and departed +homeward for lunch, an ancient roadster rattled up +to the jail door and the lean, tobacco-chewing deputy +sheriff from the county jail appeared in the doorway.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Here,” said he laconically, as he thrust a package +at me. “Sheriff says t’ wear ’em whenever yuh come +round th’ jail.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I unwrapped the newspaper to find three stars; +Peter, Somers, and I pinned them to our coat fronts, +not without pride. We were officers of the law!</p> + +<p class='c010'>The preparations for this most unconventional +wedding went merrily on. We ate a hurried lunch, +scarcely heeding Aunt Mary’s acid comments. She +would never have given her consent to such an insane +proceeding, if she’d been asked. But no one ever +considered her; she was used to being ignored. Such +a disgrace—to be married in a common jail! What +were young people coming to, anyhow? No modesty, +no idea of common decency, even. Why, the very +thought of this monstrous proceeding sent queer +feelings all up and down her spine! She could feel +the knots coming in her neck already. But of course +that was nothing; she’d be the last to expect any +consideration for <em>her</em> sufferings. Thank Heaven +<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>she was given strength and patience to bear them +without a murmur! “Take me to my room, Miss +Christie, please; I can’t eat one mouthful. I don’t +believe I shall survive this blow, but, no doubt, it’s +for the best. A poor, crippled old woman like me—I +shall be glad to die and find rest in the grave! +Ah, well, you might wait until I finish my tea, +nurse!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Presently Miss McGregor was wheeled away, and +we all sighed our relief at her going. “Don’t forget +to take your tablet, Miss Christie!” Somers called +after them.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The nurse nodded and smiled over her shoulder, +a becoming color in her round cheeks.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“In-deed!” murmured Aunt Mary to herself, quite +audibly, as the wheel chair disappeared. “Every one +needs medical attention except me, it appears. Pity +her sufferings wouldn’t keep her awake!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>After lunch we hurried back to the jail, of which +we were now free officially and regularly. And all +that afternoon and evening I risked my aged, rheumatic +limbs upon a wabbly stepladder, arranging +draperies, hanging wreaths, tacking up ferns, until +the lockup had become a bower of beauty. Peter +ran errands indefatigably, and Somers, whose lathy +length needed no ladder, worked at my side, performing +prodigies of reaching with those lank arms. +Dorothy bossed us all unmercifully; and poor Lewis +was driven from one corner to another. His toes +were trodden on, he was abused roundly for getting +in the way, and generally made to feel as useless and +unnecessary as any other bridegroom.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>The last straw was added when Dorothy ordered +us to heap his bunk with roses and ferns. “Where’ll +I sleep to-night?” he inquired mournfully.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, we’ll make you up a nice bed on the floor, +dearest, with both mattresses and all the covers I +brought from the house. It’ll be just as comfortable; +and we’ve got to hide that horrid old bunk.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Whose jail is this, anyhow?” asked Lewis of +me, being very careful, however, to keep his voice +down. “You’re one of my stern jailors now, unk. +Tell me, hasn’t a poor prisoner any rights?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“As a prisoner, yes, my boy; but as a bridegroom, +no!” I said to him firmly. “Bridegrooms are only +permitted to live at all on condition that they keep +out of the way of their betters.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>At last it was done, and we went home, flushed +and tired, leaving Lewis to sleep on the floor.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It’s going to be just lovely!” said Dorothy. “I’ll +be awfully busy all morning, seeing to the wedding +breakfast; we’ll have to pack it all up and bring it +to the jail in baskets. Peter, I want you to go after +Mr. Duncan. No, you’d better do that, Uncle +George; there will be some explaining to do.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I sighed resignedly. I could see myself explaining +to the Reverend Percy Duncan that Miss McGregor’s +wedding was to be solemnized after all—in the +village lockup, and that he was invited to officiate.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You, Peter,” our inexorable task-mistress went +on, “will have to keep Lewis’ flivver going; Rosina +and I’ll be back and forth with baskets and things. +And, Doctor Somers, you go down first thing and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>stay with Lewis; see that he doesn’t upset any of our +decorations.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ll take care of him,” replied Somers. “Yes,” +to Dorothy’s mute, questioning gaze, “yes, I’ve got +the ring and all that. Don’t you worry. I’ve been +best man before now.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—I wish I could come, too!” said Miss Christie +wistfully. Aunt Mary, ostentatiously resigned, had +retired for the night, and the nurse had joined us in +the living room, which was not her usual custom. +Her blond hair was coiled about a shapely head; she +had discarded her unbecoming white uniform and +wore a simple dress of some soft, clinging blue stuff—chiffon, +I suppose. Her violet eyes were unwontedly +bright; the bovine calm of her face had +melted, so that she seemed almost animated.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy nudged me. “Look!” she whispered. “I +told you!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I knew what she meant. And, indeed, to-night +Miss Christie was very near to being a beauty. “I +wish I could go,” she repeated softly, her big eyes +on Doctor Somers.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I wish you could,” he answered sincerely.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy rose abruptly, tugged at my arm and +beckoned to Peter, and dragged us both incontinently +out of the room. “Go to bed, both of you!” she +ordered. “There’s a hard day ahead of you.”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XVIII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XVIII<br> <br><span class='small'>SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>D<span class="uppercase">orothy’s</span> prophecy was fulfilled. Wednesday +dawned clear and hot, and we sweltered +through a long forenoon, doing all those thousand +last trifles which every wedding demands.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The news had run through all Pinelands; curious +eyes followed our every movement, as we hurried +through the streets, variously laden. I should have +liked to hear the comment of some of the town’s +strait-laced matrons; but sentiment generally seemed +much in our favor. The romance of this marriage +had caught the fancy of our villagers. Many an eye +beamed upon Dorothy as she raced back and forth +in Lewis’ flivver; many a man and woman stopped +me, as I limped hurriedly by, to wish her good luck +by proxy. I was glad that Doctor Gaskell’s quiet +funeral had been held yesterday, so that sight of +his hearse need not mar Dorothy’s joy.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A crowd gathered before the jail; it separated +respectfully, as our few guests arrived, then closed +again, craning curious necks. On my final trip I +found Somers in the heart of the throng, hail-fellow-well-met +with them all, passing rude jests back and +forth. I fancied that I saw the glint of a black +bottle circulating, but I could not be sure.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then Dorothy came, a thin silk coat over her +wedding finery, and we went in.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The ceremony went off excellently, I thought; the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>more impressive and solemn for its unusual setting. +Sheriff Redden, in an ancient double-breasted frock +coat of voluminous skirts, gave the bride away, with +an old-fashioned gallantry, which was very pleasing; +Lewis looked handsome and manly enough, albeit +a bit pale and nervous; and the bride was charming.</p> + +<p class='c010'>When they were safely married, a shyly importunate +messenger from the crowd without begged +them to show themselves. So the big door was +swung back, and bride and groom stood for a moment +on the jail steps, and a very striking couple +they made.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Hearty cheers greeted them. There was nothing +which could be resented in the town’s spontaneous +sympathy; these cheering folk without were honestly, +whole-heartedly rejoicing in the happiness of our +young people. They paid their tribute of sincere +admiration to this daughter of Pinelands, who had +had courage to stand up for her lover.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy turned back with moist eyes. “After +all, they’re my home folks, and I love them all—to-day!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I, too, had warmed toward the town of my adoption; +and, for some reason, it only convinced me +further of its sincerity when I saw in the crowd Satterfield, +Bates, and Conover, and a dozen others, who +less than forty-eight hours ago had surrounded this +very jail with intent to hang the man they were +cheering now. I chose to believe that this, and not +the sullen menace of that night, was their normal +mood.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Still in her wedding finery, Dorothy, aided by her +<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>two bridesmaids, fell to laying out the wedding +breakfast on card tables; and an extraordinary fine +breakfast it seemed to all of us, I think, and we +did ample justice to it.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The crowd outside lessened, but did not entirely +disperse. We heard a rumble of conversation, an +occasional outbreak of laughter, and at last a vociferous +cry:</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We—want—Somers!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><a id='tn-laughter'></a>Renewed laughter. “Cut it out, fellers,” urged +some one. “Don’t bust up th’ party!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>More yells: “We—want—Somers! Hey, Shorty! +Come on out, Splinter! Oh, you bean pole!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Thus variously adjured, Doctor Somers unfolded +his lean length. “I guess I’d better go,” he said. +Suddenly I observed that the bright eyes he turned +upon us were suspiciously unsteady of focus. “I—I’m +afraid it’s partly my fault their hanging round +this way. I’ll persuade them to go away.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He turned toward the door, his long stork legs +moving stiffly, as if he preserved his equilibrium by +an effort. I wondered whether Somers had been +drinking, then abused myself for the disloyal thought. +Just inside the door he paused and pinned his deputy-sheriff’s +star to the left breast of his immaculate +morning coat. The effect was unusual in the extreme, +but he seemed wholly satisfied therewith.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then he bowed profoundly, recovered himself with +difficulty, and disappeared, leaving poor Dorothy to +look after him in accusing wonder.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why Lewis, what makes him act so queer?” she +demanded.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>Renewed clamor without. “Yeay, Splinter! +Hooray, Somers! Atta boy—let’s go!” The raucous +voice of Ralph Satterfield predominated.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Your friend Somers seems to be—ah—popular,” +I remarked grimly to my nephew.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis flushed. “Oh, he’s all right, unk,” he replied. +“Let him alone; he knows what he’s doing.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>No doubt he did; and, remembering all that he +had already accomplished, I could not blame him +much. Yet⸺ “He’s awfully thick with Satterfield +and that bunch,” I said. “And he’s been drinking +this morning, or I miss my guess. Does he—is +he taken this way often?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nonsense, unk! Somers is no drunkard, if that’s +what you’re getting at. He’s an odd sort; I told you +that. He’s got some scheme on hand, that’s all.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Some scheme with that low-down bootlegger!” +I replied. “With the very crowd that wanted to +hang you the other night! Humph! I don’t admire +his choice of friends.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Our festivities went on; but some way the zest +of them had departed. The Reverend Mr. Duncan +felt called upon to make a little speech, extolling +Dorothy’s heroic sacrifices for the man she loved, +gushing about my conduct Monday night—though +it was little enough I did to protect Lewis—and generally +making himself oratorically obnoxious, and +the rest of us uncomfortable. Then the bridesmaids +must weep over Dorothy, as bridesmaids, I suppose, +have wept over brides since the first wedding day in +history; and Dorothy cried a little, too, because they +cried; and Peter and I wrung Lewis’ hand and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>choked—and I, for one, was considerably relieved +when the Reverend Mr. Duncan kissed the bride +once more and departed, leaving us his blessing.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then the bridesmaids went, too, and our handful +of guests. Peter and I were alone with the happy +couple. Dorothy cried again because she must leave +her husband and go back to Fort House; and Peter +stood amazingly erect and blew his nose sonorously; +and Lewis looked lonely and tired and miserable; +and I could have cried myself without making the +slightest effort.</p> + +<p class='c010'>At last Dorothy concealed her finery under a coat +and went out to the flivver, her little nose pink with +weeping. And Peter and I followed, after locking +the bridegroom into his cell once more. Poor Lewis. +It must have been lonely enough there, locked in +with only the drooping flowers of the wedding decorations +to keep him company.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We drove silently back to Fort House, and +Dorothy went upstairs to change, while Peter and +I thankfully shed our formal clothes, and came +downstairs in soft shirts and linen trousers.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy remained invisible; but we two sat on the +porch, through a long, hot afternoon, waiting for a +best man who failed to appear. Supper time came +and passed. We ate in silence, except for Aunt +Mary’s resigned monologue. Miss Christie wore +another dress; pale pink this time, with a low, square +neck, which displayed her round, dimpled throat. +She looked very nice, I thought; it was really +marvelous how she had changed and brightened in +<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>two days. She said almost nothing; but her big blue +eyes kept turning toward the door.</p> + +<p class='c010'>That was an unpleasant meal. Dorothy kept her +reddened eyes upon her plate; Peter was grumpy; +the omelet was scorched, and Rosina was defiantly, +ostentatiously conscious of our lack of appetite. +She flounced in and out, and set down the dishes +with a bang. Every movement said: “Well, cain’t +have parties every meal. I done cooked one spread +to-day!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We finished, and Aunt Mary, still prophesying evil +and acidly gratified by our evident disheartenment, +had herself wheeled back to her own room. “I might +as well go to bed and read there,” she announced. +“It does seem, after being left alone all day, that +I might find somebody to exchange a civil word with +me. But there! I’m used to being ignored.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss Christie put her to bed and presently came +out to where we sat forlornly on the front porch. +And still no Somers.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Whatever can be the matter?” asked Dorothy +anxiously. “Do you suppose he’s hurt?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I thought the nurse’s color faded; her big eyes +grew bigger. “Oh, I hope not!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said I sourly. “Drunk, more likely.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, Uncle George <em>Uhlman</em>! That’s horrid! +It’s not like you. Of course he’s not drunk.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I sighed. “Well, Dorothy, I hope not. But—there +he comes now!” I rose and pointed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>There he came, sure enough, up the street toward +us, still in his braided morning coat, a wilted flower +in his button hole, and that ridiculous police badge +<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>pinned on his narrow chest. His silk hat was cocked +to one side of his head, and he held his head canted +far to the other side, as if to balance it. His long +legs wabbled grotesquely; he advanced in erratic +jerks, tacking from tree to tree, and, as he came +closer, we could hear him sing, not unmusically: +“An’ ’twas from ole Satterfield’s bootleg party, I was +takin’ th’ ole doc home!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, dear!” said Dorothy helplessly. “What shall +we do?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers advanced to the foot of the steps and +paused there, weaving back and forth on wide-set +legs, like a pair of intoxicated dividers. “How do, +f-folks?” He was gravely polite and tried to bow. +Then he knocked off his silk hat, stumbled, and +stepped fair upon its crown.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Dear me, dear me!” he mumbled. “S-shockin’! +Shockin’ spectacle, horrid sight! Young p’fesshun’l +man, brightes’ prospec’s, ever’thing fine, an’ all gone +t’ pot account of th’ demon drink!” He laughed +wildly, then collected himself by a tremendous effort.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I am very sorry, Mrs. Parker.” Dorothy started +at the sound of her new name. “I apologize profoundly.” +For a moment his enunciation was elaborately +exact; he spoke with drunkenly deliberate care. +“Not my fault entirely; due to un-for-tun-ate mis-cal-cul-a-tion +ca-pa-ci-ty.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Poor Dorothy rose, her face deadly white with +disgust, and swept into the house. Somers looked +after her ruefully.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Sorry,” he repeated. “Here, Pete—unk—good +f-fellows! H-help me in; get sobered. Got n-news.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>I hesitated, angry and ashamed; Peter rose obediently. +But Miss Christie was before us both. She +ran down the steps and caught the drunken man’s +arm.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ll steady you, doctor. That’s right! Now the +other foot. Are you coming, you two, or will you +sit up there and stare like two old prudes? I’m +ashamed of you,” she declared, and her angry face once +more shone with that vivid beauty, which emotion +alone seemed able to bring to it. “Come!” She +stamped her foot. “That’s right, doctor; just one +more step now. Come! Not two days ago this man +saved your nephew’s life, Mr. George Uhlman; he +saved the life of your sister’s husband, young man! +Oh, you make me sick! J-just because he’s—he’s +overtaken like this!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We hurried to her aid, I, at least, a trifle ashamed +of myself. For Doctor Somers had been invaluable, +whatever his personal habits might be. We helped +him in and upstairs to his room, ordered about unmercifully +by the erstwhile sleepy and indifferent +Miss Christie.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“G-good girl!” mumbled Somers. “She un’stan’s, +anyhow. Col’ towels, please—an’ basin. Goin’ be +s-sick.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And sick he was. Miss Christie attended him, +quietly efficient, as if the handling of drunken men +had been a large part of her training.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“More cold towels,” she ordered. “Mr. McGregor, +run down and get Rosina to make some +coffee, very strong. Quick, now!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We hurried to obey her. Somers sat all huddled +<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>in a chair, his long legs limply outthrust. He groaned +and pressed the wet towel close against his temples, +fighting hard for self-possession. I saw the perspiration +start out all over his lean, sallow face.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Presently he raised his head. His color was +ghastly, greenish-white, but his eyes were clear and +steady. I saw that he was completely sobered, and +I marveled at the man’s self-control.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, my!” he groaned. “What rotten, rotten +booze! And how I did hate it!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You conquered your dislike, apparently,” I said +to him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” He stared at me whimsically, but +there was a hurt look in his eyes. “Do you suppose +I did this for the fun of it? Oh, well, I oughtn’t +to blame you.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“<em>I</em> didn’t!” said the nurse serenely. “I knew why +you did it.” Peter returned, bearing coffee; and the +sick man gulped it down, black and scalding.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You knew?” Somers looked at the girl gratefully. +I think there were tears in his eyes. “I’m +pretty sick yet,” he said. “Say, it does cut, to have +you folks think that of me.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He rose unsteadily, leaning on Miss Christie’s arm. +“Good girl!” he repeated, with that sudden, flashing +smile. “Well, I’m Ralph Satterfield’s very best friend +now, and, oh, what a head it’s cost me! That man’s +a tank; he’s copper-lined.” He passed a hand across +his forehead with a whimsical smile. “But I’ve +learned a lot. I can give a pretty good guess as to +Satterfield’s whereabouts at the time Gaskell was +shot!”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XIX' class='c011'>CHAPTER XIX<br> <br><span class='small'>AN EXPLANATION</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>S<span class="uppercase">omers</span> groaned, rubbed his aching head, and +drank another cup of black coffee. He was +collecting himself momently; save for a very pale +face he was once more the coolly casual, brusquely +friendly chap we all knew.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Not later than nine, is it?” he inquired. “Right! +Let’s go downstairs. Call Dorothy; I’ve got lots +to tell you all, and I’d better make my peace with +her at once.” He made a wry face. “She doesn’t +exactly admire me right now, I’ll bet!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>So we all repaired to the big sitting room, and +presently Dorothy appeared, urged in by her brother, +and still looking hurt and disgusted. Somers rose.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Let me apologize, Mrs. Parker,” he began. “No—I’m +perfectly sober now!” He smiled his warming, +whimsical smile as she made a little movement +of distaste. “Just let me explain. I had reason to +think that this man Satterfield knew more about +the murder than he’d told. You knew that? Well, +the only way to find out was to make friends with +him. If I could get his confidence, he might let +something out inadvertently. So I had to chum up +with him and his crowd; I had to drink with them, +though I assure you it wasn’t an unmixed pleasure, +by any means. Lordy, that raw corn whisky!” He +rubbed his head again ruefully. “I thought I could +<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>drink with that bunch and keep my head; but I was +mistaken.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, I suppose it was all right,” replied Dorothy, +only half mollified. “But it was just awful, doctor, +to think of you off somewhere, drinking with the +very man who was going to hang my—my husband, +two days ago!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“That’s just why I did it! Satterfield hadn’t any +love for Doctor Gaskell, and it seemed odd to me +that he should be so bitter against Lewis—unless +he thought he’d be safer himself if somebody else +was hung for that shooting. But wait till I tell you.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“In the first place, Satterfield was out drinking and +playing poker that night, and somebody phoned him +about four in the morning, and he went out. I told +you all that, and that there was a shotgun beside +Tulliver’s door? Yes. Well, Satterfield took that +gun with him! That’s one thing I learned by getting +drunk, Mrs. Parker.” I noticed that he had +dropped the familiar “Dorothy;” perhaps Somers +resented the girl’s attitude just the least bit in the +world.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” he went on, “Charlie Bates went out back +to the pump for a drink, and he noticed that the +shotgun was gone. And, when they all left, after +Satterfield got back, the gun stood in its place again. +And that’s that!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Look here, Somers,” I cut in. “Satterfield went +out at four, you say? Are you sure that was after +Gaskell got the sick call?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded. “I asked Olsen about that. He +called Gaskell up about ten minutes before four. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>He thought it was queer he didn’t come, and finally +he got dressed and came after him about six. That’s +how he happened to be there so soon after Gaskell’s +body was found.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” I continued triumphantly, “if Gaskell was +sent for at ten minutes of four, he must have started +across lots toward Olsen’s place pretty soon after +four o’clock. And he never got to Olsen’s, so he +must have been shot on the way over. That would +fix the killing at four, or very soon after; and my +nephew couldn’t have done it, because he didn’t get +there until five. That’s easy to prove, because I saw +him, and both Wakefield and I heard the shot. +Doesn’t that clear Lewis?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded impatiently. “If we could prove +it—yes. Don’t you suppose I’d thought of that, long +ago? But we can’t. Gaskell was alone in the house; +his wife was away, and the cook didn’t get there +until seven. He was sent for at three-fifty, all right, +but who’s going to prove he didn’t take an hour to +get ready? Nobody saw him except the murderer, +and we can hardly expect <em>him</em> to come forward and +testify. Now let me get back to it; where was I?</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, yes! Satterfield’s daughter, Minnie, is your +night telephone operator. She’s a nice girl, too; I +made her acquaintance to-day. And it was Minnie +who called him up at four in the morning; he let +that out to me, talking about the affair. I’m pretty +good, you know; I have to admit it. I pumped a +tremendous lot out of Satterfield and his gang, and +I don’t believe one of them suspected what I was +after. Satterfield is pretty bitter against Gaskell, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>even now that he’s dead. He more than hinted that +<a id='tn-doctor'></a>the doctor knew more than was good for him; and +he said one rather odd thing about that, too. ‘If +Doc Parker hadn’t killed Gaskell,’ he said, ‘that is, +if he did kill him—why, somebody else would have +done it in a day or two. Gaskell was buttin’ into +what wasn’t none of his put-in.’ What do you think +of that?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We all stirred excitedly; Dorothy glowed at him. +“Why, that’s just wonderful! It was as good as +saying he did it himself. Now you can clear my—my +h-husband”—faltering a bit on the unfamiliar +word—“as easy as anything!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>That was like Dorothy. She was mercurial; by +turns exalted, and again in despair; inclined to jump +at conclusions, and, by reason of that failing, unjust +at times. I felt she had been unfair to Somers to-night. +But it was an impulsive, generous injustice, +for which she hastened to make amends.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Will you forgive me, F-Floyd?” she asked prettily. +“I know it was horrid of me, but I’m so upset!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He gave her that sudden, flashing smile. “Why, +of course, Dorothy! I don’t blame you one bit. +But it’s not so easy as all that, either. We’re gradually +collecting information, which may help the defense +somewhat, but we can’t prove anything from +what Satterfield admits when he’s drunk, you know. +This only gives us a start for further investigation +along those lines.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He reflected a moment, his long, dark face grave +and mature; looking at him I could scarcely realize +<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>that this man, one short hour ago, had staggered up +to Fort House, uproariously drunk, and had put a +foot through his silk hat on the steps.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There’s something back of it all,” he went on +presently. “I’m beginning to feel that this murder +is more complicated than we had thought. Satterfield +knows something, I’m sure, whether he did the +actual shooting or not. But, if he did, I don’t think +it was merely revenge for being sent up for thirty +days. A month in jail isn’t any terrible disgrace to +a chap like that; he’s been in jail before, I’m told. +No, there is something else, something bigger, behind +it all; what, I don’t know. It’s irritating because +it’s so vague. For example, Satterfield was +quite apologetic about that mob. We laughed a lot +to-day about his lynching that didn’t come off; my +back’s sore from being pounded. Well, he hadn’t +anything against Doctor Parker, he told me—not +a thing. Rather grateful to him than otherwise, +because Gaskell was due to die anyhow. But he had +to stir up the mob, just the same. ‘Couldn’t git outa +that,’ he told me. ‘Things bein’ as they were, w’y, +I just hadda start somepin that a way. So I passed +round some white liquor I had. Have ’nother drink, +doc! Lots more where that come f’om. I give th’ +boys s’m’ corn liquor and talked it up, and I got +’em all goin’ till they was jus’ wild and r’arin’ to +lynch ’im. I just hadda do it, doc!’ Now that was +a queer way to put it, I thought. Why did he have +to start a lynching bee? And who put him up to it? +For, from the way he talked, I’m quite sure it wasn’t +his own plan. I’m as sure as I can be that he stirred +<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>up that mob because somebody else, somebody in the +background, somebody we know nothing about—yet, +ordered him to do it. Or, at least, because he +thought the lynching would please this mysterious +somebody.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers sighed and rubbed his head, which ached +furiously, no doubt. “It’s all so confoundedly +vague,” he went on, scowling around at our blank +faces. “Can’t you think of something, any of you? +Miss Christie, what’s your idea? Hello! What’s +become of her?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We all turned, but the couch was vacant. Some +time during our talk, while we were all absorbed in +Somers’ narrative, perhaps, the nurse had slipped +unobtrusively out.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“She’s gone to bed, I suppose,” said Dorothy. +“You know, she’s an awful sleepyhead.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded. “Just wait till she begins to get +the effect of those tablets,” he declared confidently. +“She won’t be then. She was mighty good to help +me out, a little while ago, and I was beastly drunk, +too.” He rose and stretched his long, emaciated +arms above his head, groaning. “I’ll go to bed, too. +I’m about done up. But I’m going on with this +thing; I’m going to find out what’s behind it all, +what mysterious person planned Gaskell’s death. For +I’m sure his death was planned and ordered. Satterfield +thinks so, anyhow. And I’ll have it out of him +yet; I’ll find out all he knows, even if I have to get +drunk on his moonshine seven nights in the week!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He paused, fingering his chin, and looked half humorously, +half apprehensively, at the new Mrs. C. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>Lewis Parker. “I forgot,” he drawled. “After all +I’m here, officially, only as Parker’s best man. Now +the wedding’s over I ought to be going. Besides, it’ll +be unpleasant for you, to say the least, if I have to +come back half-seas-over every night. I’ll go to the +hotel, or perhaps Uncle George will let me bach in +with him for a while?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>But Dorothy would have none of that. “You’re +being mean,” she declared, “and you needn’t be horrid, +just because I was. You’ll stay right here at +Fort House, both of you! We’ve got lots of room, +and I don’t care what Aunt Mary says, either! I’m +a married woman now; and, besides, Peter’s here; +and I guess I can have company if I want to! And +I’ll be so l-lonesome until Lewis comes back, and +s-scared, too, with that nasty Poltergeist, and thinking +of Doctor Gaskell killed right under my windows, +almost, and—and everything!” She dabbed at +her eyes, and patted her brother’s hand, as he murmured +something. “Oh, you’re good, Peter, dear, +and it’s a comfort to have you, but Floyd would be +just miserable over there, with nobody but an old +colored woman to look after him. You’ll stay here, +won’t you, Floyd, and you, Uncle George?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We promised, of course; who would not?</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XX' class='c011'>CHAPTER XX<br> <br><span class='small'>A FLIRTATION</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>N<span class="uppercase">ext</span> morning Doctor Somers rose early. I +heard him splashing in the bathroom, slapping +his razor against its strop, whistling louder and +shriller than the ubiquitous quail outside. I was +fagged out and irritable; his cheerfulness annoyed +me. A man who had been drunk last night should +be more subdued, I thought.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I pounded on the bathroom door. “Shut up, +man!” I called. “You’re worse than the bobwhites!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I heard a chuckle from within. “’Smatter, unk? +Get up on the wrong side? Cheer-i-o, old thing! +So you prefer the birds, do you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And straightway he fell to imitating the shrill call +of the quail: “Bob<em>white</em>! Bob<em>white</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I grinned helplessly. What could be done with +such a man? “Better cut that out,” I warned him. +“You’ll catch it at breakfast, if Aunt Mary hears +you.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>That silenced him. Presently he emerged, shaved +to a miracle, the heavy beard showing blue beneath +his dark skin. “Aren’t I pretty, unk? Going out in +society to-day!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He came down to breakfast in a gorgeous pongee +silk suit, whose fitted coat and tight, creased trousers +made him more incredibly thin and angular than +usual. He bowed grotesquely, struck an attitude, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>knuckles on hip, looking rather like those tiny figures +of some cartoonist, whose bodies are made of one +straight line; he was almost as thin as that. The +slender Malacca cane, which he brandished, seemed +as thick as his long legs.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Uncle George, I want the flivver to-day,” he announced. +“I’m going for a drive with my best girl.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said I. “Is she blind?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Not yet, but this rig may put her eye out.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Very likely,” I told him grimly. “All right; take +the car.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Who’s going with you?” asked Dorothy curiously.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary had not appeared; she was taking +breakfast in bed, it seemed. But the nurse was there, +quiet and unobtrusive as always, eyes on her plate. +At our hostess’ question I fancied that the color rose +in her cheeks.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Miss Minnie Satterfield,” said Somers. “She +works at night, unfortunately; but she’s going to get +up early this morning, and we’re driving to Jackson +Springs for lunch.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He ate hurriedly and pushed back his chair. “Excuse +me? I’ve got a lot of running round to do; I +want to drop in and see Parker, too. It would never +do to keep Miss Satterfield waiting. She’s a very +pretty girl.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers disappeared, and Dorothy looked at me +askance. “He doesn’t seem exactly reluctant,” she +murmured. “Oh, I know, Uncle George, he’s doing +it to help Lewis, but it does seem as if +he could go about it some other way than getting +drunk at night and chasing round with pretty girls +<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>all day. I keep thinking of my poor husband, locked +up alone in that horrid j-jail, and Doctor Somers +enjoying himself like this! You needn’t tell <em>me</em> that +he hated so to get drunk,” she went on stubbornly. +“And now it’s that Minnie Satterfield! You’ve seen +her, Peter? She’s just awfully pretty, and you know +what her father is!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>My nephew’s bride was rather uncharitably inclined. +“My dear,” I told her mildly, “that’s not the +poor girl’s fault.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss Christie rose abruptly and pushed back her +chair. “I—I must see to Miss McGregor,” she murmured. +Her plump face was scarlet, her big eyes +flamed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We saw no more of Doctor Somers that day. The +time went slowly enough. Dorothy and I visited my +nephew. The wedding decorations had all been taken +down, but the young lady’s housewifely eye detected +dried leaves and petals in a corner, and straightway +she dispatched me after a broom and dustpan.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“If my very own husband’s <em>got</em> to live in this +miserable old jail, I’m going to keep it clean for +him, at least!” she announced.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I brought the required implements, and Dorothy +fell to work in a cloud of dust. “A fine sort of +jailer, that man Wakefield,” she declared. “The +place hasn’t been swept out in months!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>While she bustled about, setting things to rights +with the prideful, loving care of the new-made housewife, +Lewis watched her slim form with wistful eyes. +Poor boy! Already his confinement was telling on +him. His face was pale and worn, and he seemed +<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>thinner, older, more conscious of his responsibilities. +I fancied that, if he were free, my nephew’s hot temper +would be under better control. This experience, +however bitterly bought, was maturing him fast.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I sat back, watching this pitiful bride and groom; +and the girl’s happy activity, her housewifely care, +the whole pathetic travesty of a honeymoon, brought +tears to my old eyes. I rose abruptly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“This dust is too much for me.” Then I blew +my nose. “I’ll sit on the steps a while, children, till +you get through.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>On the steps I sat and glowered down at the absurd +deputy-sheriff’s star which I wore. I have +no doubt that I was the unhappiest jailer who was +ever forced to sunder loving hearts.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary appeared at luncheon in an unusually +subdued, amiable mood. Indeed the old lady seemed +much changed of late; the cloud of trouble, which +had settled over Fort House had left its mark upon +her, also. At times she was more querulous, more +irritable and exacting, than I had ever seen her; +and again she was kinder, more thoughtful of others. +In the midst of her sharpest mood she would soften +suddenly and be so kindly, so pathetically sweet, that +one could not but pity her and forgive her the stabs +which she inflicted upon us all. Her face had +changed subtly, grown thinner, more sharply lined. +Its former expression of sweetly pathetic resignation, +which I had grown to believe, uncharitably, was assumed +for the provoking of sympathy, was in evidence +less often. Now her softly faded countenance +wore a look of honest pain, of mental anguish, not +<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>unmixed with human resentment. And I, for one, +fancied it much more than the old expression of +strained, angelic sweetness.</p> + +<p class='c010'>To-day she merely played with her food; though, +as a rule, even when she suffered most from the +“knots in her neck,” her appetite was not visibly +affected. She said nothing; and, when Dorothy +spoke sadly of Lewis’ lonely meal in the lockup, she +burst quite suddenly into broken weeping and had to +be wheeled back to her room.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy looked at me, then at Peter, almost with +awe. “Why,” she exclaimed, “auntie is really upset! +She’s really thinking about somebody else for once. +Oh, Peter, we must be kinder to her.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And she was, I think, even more thoughtful of her +aunt than usual, all through that long, weary week, +though to my mind she had never failed in forbearance. +It was a long week, that one! A tedious, +dreary time, that taxed the patience of us all. Lewis +grew somber, depressed, almost morose. He could +see nothing before him but darkness: the meeting +time of the grand jury came closer and closer, and +he would not be convinced but that they would bring +in a true bill against him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“That district attorney, solicitor, as they call him +down here, that man Vanbrugh will see to <em>that</em>,” he +predicted gloomily. “There’s no possible chance that +they won’t indict me; we might as well make up our +minds to that.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>At once Dorothy would strive to comfort and +encourage him; and then she would break down and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>cry on his shoulder and beg him indignantly to send +for a lawyer, to hire detectives—anything!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Because, dearest, that Doctor Somers isn’t doing +one thing to help us—not a single thing! He’s just +out riding round all day with that Satterfield girl, the +bold, hard thing! And in your flivver, too! And +out till all hours, every night, and coming in drunk, +and everything like that. He’s a fine friend, I must +say!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis and Peter and I would try to soothe her, +pointing out all Somers had done, reminding her that +even this intimacy was carried on in the hope of +extracting further information from Ralph Satterfield. +But Dorothy would shake a stubborn head.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You needn’t tell <em>me</em> he’s doing it all for Lewis! +It’s just because he <em>likes</em> to get drunk and chase over +the country with that—that <em>thing</em>! So there!” A +mercurial young person was Dorothy, as I have +said, prone to injustice at times. But she was not +too much to blame, perhaps; it was a terrible situation +for any bride.</p> + +<p class='c010'>And Somers’ conduct rather worried me, also. +Day after day he rose late, flattered and cajoled +Rosina into preparing him an extra breakfast, climbed +into Lewis’ flivver and disappeared. Sometimes he +would be back for lunch or dinner—often late—and +again he would not return until midnight or later. +Then he would stumble in, half drunk. He never +returned again in the condition which had disgraced +Dorothy’s wedding day; he was always able to navigate +after a fashion, and he made no great disturbance +<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>getting to his room. But every night he had +been drinking; that was not hard to know.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Once or twice Peter and I waited up for him; +then we gave up in disgust. Curiously it was Miss +Christie, the somnolent nurse, who used to doze the +evenings through on the couch, it was this girl who +never failed to sit up against Somers’ erratic appearances. +“Go to bed if you like,” she would say, “I’ll +wait. He—he might need somebody. And I remember, +if the rest of you don’t, that he’s doing this +for <em>you</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss Christie, too, had altered greatly. I saw the +change in her from day to day. Whether it was +Doctor Somers’ pills or some more subtle medicament, +she grew more vivid, more alive. Her bovine +calm altered; she yawned no more; life seemed to +have taken on newer, fresher colors to her. No +longer did she doze the evenings away; and in the +mornings she appeared at breakfast as fresh and +alert as Dorothy, not dull and somnolent, as a fortnight +ago. She lost flesh; her overplump figure grew +willowy. Her round face changed, and with the +passing of its superfluous flesh grew shapelier. It +was as though some delicate, spiritual chisel were +at work, carving new planes of beauty, bringing out +clearly the rare loveliness her moments of deep feeling +had hitherto promised.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I rhapsodize, no doubt, and rhapsodies are out of +place, coming from a battered, disillusioned old +rheumatic. But I cannot exaggerate the change +wrought in Anne Christie. Even in that time of +deep discouragement the miracle impressed me. She +<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>was no longer stolid, unresponsive; a new mobility +curved her lips, a new light shone in her violet eyes; +a new animation imbued her fair face, as her expression +changed constantly with each nuance of +thought, and her delicate color ebbed and flowed +charmingly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ll wait up for the doctor!” she insisted. “He’s +doing this for you, but look at what he’s done for +<em>me</em>. I feel so much better in every way; it’s wonderful! +And I’m grateful, if you-all aren’t!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And so the time passed until the meeting of the +Carabas County grand jury for July was only one +day off; and still nothing more was done for Lewis. +It was settled that his case should be considered first; +and I could see nothing ahead of him but an indictment.</p> + +<p class='c010'>That evening Doctor Somers appeared in time for +supper; and, for once, he was cold sober. He left +the flivver at the curb, climbed the broad steps +wearily and entered the big sitting room, where I +sat with Dorothy and Peter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, lordy!” he groaned, thrusting his long, lean +legs straight out before him. “I’m done up. But it’s +over now, thank goodness!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He did look tired. His sallow face was almost +colorless; his thin cheeks were hollower than ever, +and his eyes were sunk deep into their sockets. Even +his arms and legs seemed thinner, if that were possible. +Miss Christie came in, her color a trifle higher +than usual. Her eyes brightened at sight of Somers, +I thought, and I wondered if she had heard him +enter. The doctor looked her over critically. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>“You’re improving,” he drawled, with impersonal approval. +“I knew thyroid was what you needed.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl stood silent, eyes downcast, her cheeks +pink.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” continued Somers, and paused to yawn. +“It’s over now. If we ought to get a bit of action +to-morrow, as I hope, I shan’t have to drink any more +of Satterfield’s beastly liquor. You know”—with +one of those sudden changes of subject so characteristic +of him—“they put chewing tobacco into this +moonshine down here—and concentrated lye, to give +it a bead. Bah! And I’m through with Minnie, too—shan’t +have to listen to her giggle any more atall!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He looked vastly relieved at the prospect; and so, +I thought, did Miss Christie.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But,” protested Dorothy maliciously, “that’s not +quite kind, is it? Here you’ve been making love to +that girl for a week and more; you’ve engaged her +young affections, and now you’re going to jilt her!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yes,” declared Somers, in his characteristic drawl, +half whimsically, half bitterly, “I’m a fine figure of a +lover, ain’t I? Handsome, robust, and muscular!” +His eyes traveled down over the lank, skinny length +of him. “I’m a handsome devil, what?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You are <em>so</em>!” exclaimed Anne Christie. Then +she bit her lip, and a hot flush dyed her face to the +very roots of her fair hair.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But you may set your mind at rest, Mrs. Parker,” +Somers went on, mercifully ignoring Anne’s confusion. +“It’s me that’s jilted, not the fair Minnie. +A burly person, named Conover, has cut me out. +You see, he owns a real car, and I only had a borrowed +<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>flivver. Minnie won’t miss me. And I’ve +found out what I wanted to—all I hoped to, at any +rate. Peter, do you want to go out scouting with +me to-morrow?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It’s about time something was done!” exclaimed +Dorothy. “The grand jury meets to-morrow!”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXI' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXI<br> <br><span class='small'>AN ILLICIT ENTERPRISE</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>N<span class="uppercase">ext</span> morning, very early indeed, we three men +set out in Lewis’ faithful little car, for I +refused to be left behind.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Maybe I am old,” I protested, “and I know I’m +rheumatic; but I can keep up with you fellows yet. +I’m just as much interested in getting Lewis out of +jail as you possibly can be.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers accepted my company rather ungraciously, +commandeered the field glasses, which Peter had +brought back from France, and his army automatic. +“For,” he explained, “we might have trouble.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He drove the panting flivver up the hill behind +Fort House, then along the main road toward Hokesville, +ten miles away. Two miles outside the village +he turned abruptly to the left, into one of the innumerable +sandy tracks, which wound away through +the stumps and scrub oaks on either side. This country +was all lumbered over, thirty years ago; for +miles our roads run through a bleak desert of oak +saplings and dwarf pines, too small even for firewood, +with here and there a tall, lone, half-dead pine +tree, whose trunk bears the old scars of the turpentiners, +mourning the vanished forest, dying of loneliness +for its mates, who have long since been +changed into houses and mine timbers and the spars +of ships.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>It is a desolate country, which has been burned +over and reburned, until no grass will grow, and the +pale sand lies naked and arid between the scrub +oaks and dwarf pines, or stretches for acres, black +and forbidding, with the ash of recent fires, which +rises in choking clouds at every step. Through it +the main roads wind as through a wilderness, though +in the sand hills one finds the best land for peaches, +tobacco, or cotton, which our State affords. But +the roads run over the hills, and the arable land lies +in bottoms, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. The +farmhouses are there, too, quite out of sight from +the roads. To reach them one must turn into a +narrow, sandy track, such as ran on before us now, +winding between blackened stumps; a track indistinguishable +to the stranger from the dozens of tote +roads made by long gone lumbermen, which lead +nowhere. It is a difficult country for the motorist +with engine trouble.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The road we followed brought us to no farmhouse. +It wound on and on among pine stumps and scrub +oaks, swerving to dodge rotten logs here and there, +leading us through unexpected patches of vivid +bloom, through burnt-over areas, where the dust rose +blindingly. At last it dipped into a hollow, where +tall pines still grew, untouched by the ax, and ran +across a creek—a “branch,” they call them here—through +which the flivver splashed vigorously and +stopped abruptly on the rise of the hill beyond.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers snapped off the ignition and clambered out. +“Come on,” he said; “we walk from here.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He led the way up a steep, sandy slope, which +<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>gave treacherously beneath our feet. Burrs clung to +my trousers, and I clutched at brambles and tore +my hands. Then we came suddenly and simultaneously +to the top of the hill and the edge of the pine +grove. Before us was a thin screen of bushes and +scrub oaks, and beyond that a wide, bare, rolling +plain. Below us was a small cornfield; and a quarter +of a mile away I saw the dark green of tobacco; +but, for the most part, the ground was fallow, covered +thinly with bunch grass, already turning yellow +in the July sun.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Near the tobacco field was a small, bare, log structure, +its interstices well plastered, a brick fireplace +opening outward upon its hither side, a drying house +for tobacco, such as are scattered all over this State. +Save for that the plain was empty; it held no human +habitation, nor any sign of man.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said I. “What are we going to do +here?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers grinned. “Looks innocent enough, doesn’t +it? A tobacco field and a drying house; some cotton”—he +pointed to a field beyond the tobacco, which +I had not noticed—“and a little of last year’s crop +piled under a shed. Bad year for cotton, you know; +farmers are holding that in hopes of another forty-cent +market. But just you wait and watch!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Even as he spoke I saw a team of mules emerge +from the pines beyond the clearing. They drew a +creaking wagon loaded with something bulky; at +that distance I could not make out what it was.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers focused Peter’s field glasses. “One, two, +five bales,” he counted. “There’s money on that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>wagon, unk! What? Bales of cotton, that’s what +they are. But you watch!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The wagon creaked slowly on; it seemed to crawl. +I waited impatiently for what seemed an hour, but +was really fifteen minutes, I suppose. Then the +mules reached the drying house and stopped. I heard +very faintly that queer, crooning whistle our teamsters +use instead of the Northern “Whoa!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The door of the log hut opened; two men emerged. +“Who are they, man?” I asked eagerly. “Here, give +me the glass!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Wait!” ordered Somers. “Ralph Satterfield and +Charlie Bates. I don’t know the man on the wagon—some +old chap with a long beard. Now they’re +beginning—now look!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He thrust the glasses into my hands, and I focused +them with trembling fingers. Then the distant scene +leaped into my eyes—the log house, the mules, the +men, almost lifesize. They had unloaded the wagon +and were cutting the wires, tearing the bales of cotton +apart!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What on earth?” I asked in a whisper. They +seemed so close that I feared they would hear me. +“What are they doing? Ah-h!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I could see now. The loose cotton of the first +bale fell away, revealing the rounded outlines of a +keg—no, a full-sized barrel. “Is—is it⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded grimly. “It is! Whisky, a barrel +in each bale. Worth two thousand dollars a barrel +at bootleg prices. They’re doing this by wholesale, +unk! Pinelands could never consume all that booze. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>They must be shipping it North. I wonder, now, +how they camouflage it on the next lap?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter reached impatiently after the glasses, but +I put him back. “Wait, just one minute, boy. I +want to see.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The back of that huge, booted stranger, who had +driven the wagon, seemed oddly familiar. Satterfield +and Bates I recognized readily enough; they +faced me. But this other? I felt that I must know +him, too; if he would only turn!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Ah-h-h!” I sighed. “I know him, too! Here, +Peter.” I thrust the field glasses at him and turned +to Somers. “Man, I know that big fellow with the +whiskers! That’s Lafe Rutledge—Roaring Lafe, +he calls himself. And the last time I saw him, the +only time I ever saw him, was on Doctor Gaskell’s +front porch, the day before the murder. He was +shouting at the maid that Gaskell had until sun-up to +settle with him!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Doctor Somers. Then he drew +us back, and we retreated cautiously through the +pines and down the long slope to where the flivver +stood. Here our leader stopped.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You both got a good look?” he asked. “You +could swear to all three of those men?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We nodded. “But of course we don’t <em>know</em> there +was whisky in those barrels,” objected Peter. “We +couldn’t swear to that.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers chuckled. “You needn’t, old son. I’m no +prohibition agent, you know, but we’ve got to convince +Satterfield that we’ve got this on him. Uncle +<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>George there would be a bad liar, I’m afraid. No +doubt you’d do better at it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter bowed in mock acknowledgment of this +dubious compliment. “But what are you after?” +he asked. “Let’s get it straight, so we can back you +up; the virtuous Mr. Uhlman to the limits of fact, +and me all the rest of the way.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m as good a liar as either of you boys!” I +protested, somewhat hurt, and they both laughed +uproariously.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Here it is, then,” said Somers more seriously. +“By hanging around Minnie Satterfield and drinking +with her father I’ve learned a lot about this business. +They’re handling corn whisky, moonshine, by +wholesale. It’s made up in the mountains and +brought down here once or twice a week, sometimes +by truck and sometimes, like to-day, on a lumber +wagon. It’s only about forty miles, you know. +They make the trip a different way every time, and +a different man drives, so nobody’ll notice. The +whisky comes in barrels, hidden in a fake cotton +bale, or in kegs put up in grocery boxes, like canned +goods. They notify Satterfield by phone, at night; +makes it awfully handy to have Minnie as operator, +you see; saves a leak at this end. And Satterfield +meets them out here. I had a time locating +this place and finding a way to get out here +without being seen. Then I wasn’t sure but the +booze would come out that road we took, and they’d +find the flivver; in which case, Peter, your pistol +might have been useful.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, they repack the liquor here; I don’t know +<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>how. Bates hauls it down to Pinelands, or over to +Hokesville, along with his peach crop—he has an +orchard over beyond the clearing—and ships it North. +Oh, it’s a flourishing business which they do!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And here’s my scheme. If Satterfield didn’t kill +Gaskell himself, and I’m beginning to doubt that—I +got pretty intimate with him, you know—if he +didn’t do it, he knows who did, and why. Doctor +Gaskell found something, I imagine; located this +cache, perhaps, and the gang decided to wipe him +out before he could squeal. Gaskell was a mighty +decent chap, they say, not one to stand for bootlegging. +I don’t think Satterfield did the killing himself, +but he knows something. Now to-night we’ll +corner him and call for a showdown. Then what we +find out will depend on whether he’s more afraid of +being arrested for murder or of losing his job. And +these mountaineer liquor runners are pretty tough +characters, some of them. It’s quite possible that he +will take a chance of being tried for the shooting, +rather than let the rest of his gang believe he’s turned +them up. Get me?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We do, old top!” declared Peter. “We sure do! +Oh, boy, you’ve got a bean. We’ll have this little +old murder cleared up like winking, and Parker ready +to take his wife into that little red-and-white bungalow +as soon as they planned—even if this has been a +pretty tough honeymoon for both of them.”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXII<br> <br><span class='small'>THE SHOWDOWN</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>S<span class="uppercase">omers</span> clambered into the little car. “You +crank her, Pete,” he ordered languidly. “I’m +the brains of this combination; you can be the +brawn.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Long-legged, lazy beggar!” retorted Peter. He +stooped his five feet four in front of the hood, set +his hundred and twenty pounds against its crank, +and stopped to grin. “And the brains match the +brawn,” he jeered. “Both lightweights.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers’ retort was lost in the roar of the motor. +“Climb in, Peter!” he yelled. “Those chaps might +hear us; it isn’t more than half a mile. We want +to be out of gunshot before they come barging over +that hill!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Turning the little car he bumped off at a round +pace, splashing through the branch, bouncing and +creaking over tree roots, and skidding through the +loose sand. The pace he maintained was racking to +my old bones, and I prayed for the springs of Lewis’ +flivver. But the bones and the springs held, by the +especial grace of Heaven, though I heaved a deep +sigh of relief when we swung at last into the clay +road.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We got back to Fort House without mishap, and +there Somers left us. “I’ll drive around and leave +word for Satterfield,” he said. “He’ll be busy out +yonder for a while yet, but we ought to catch him +<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>before evening. Where would be a good place for +a quiet talk?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why not at our house?” I asked. “We could +have him in my nephew’s office there. The place has +been closed up since Lewis was arrested. There’s nobody +there.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“That’ll be fine,” replied Somers. “I’ll leave word +for Satterfield, and after lunch we can go over there +and wait for him.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He rattled off in a cloud of dust and evil-smelling +smoke, while Peter and I went into the house. It +was almost noon; the morning had passed quickly +enough. Somers returned in time for lunch.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“They expect him back about two,” he reported. +“I told them to send him over to your place, Uhlman, +as soon as he comes in. I hinted at a little +quiet game; that’ll bring him, if anything.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Show-down,” declared Peter grimly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We evaded Dorothy’s eager questions as best we +might; all three of us felt, I suppose, that it was best +not to raise her hopes too high, for fear of the inevitable +reaction, should our enterprise fail. She had +been bubbling with optimism so often; and so often +she had drooped again, disappointed and inclined to +blame us for her disappointment. Directly after +lunch we slipped out. Somers pacified his hostess by +handing her the jail key, which he still kept much +more constantly than did the constable.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Here, child, I appoint you a deputy-deputy sheriff +for this afternoon. Parker had his breakfast, and +his lunch; I routed out Wakefield and saw to that. +Now trot down there and keep him company for the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>afternoon. If we’re not back, you can see to his +supper; picnic there with him, if you like. How’s +that?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The poor child thanked him warmly, glowing at +the thought of one single meal alone with her husband. +It was pitiful.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I unlocked my house, which held already the queer, +dank smell of disuse, and we three entered and disposed +ourselves comfortably upon dusty chairs to +await Satterfield’s coming. He kept us long enough; +he had not appeared at two, or at four. Indeed it +was close upon sunset, and Dorothy, no doubt, was +already arranging her pathetic supper party in the +lockup, before we heard a heavy step on the porch, +followed by his loud knock.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers went to the door. “Hello, Satterfield! +Come right in this way.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H-howdy, doc!” said Satterfield boisterously. His +gruff voice was blurred with liquor. He slapped +Somers’ lean back and swaggered into the darkened +room. “Howdy, gents! Aim t’ have a li’l’ game, +huh? Have drink?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Producing a quart flask he thrust it forward uncertainly, +weaving back and forth upon booted feet. +Then he perceived suddenly that we were not of +his intimates.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Wh-what’s this here?” he demanded. “Thought +you was gointa have s’m’ reg’lar sports, doc?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I have,” replied Somers equably. “Come in the +office, Satterfield; we want to talk with you a bit.” +And, as the other lurched past him through the doorway, +he passed a deft hand over both hips, then +<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>slipped it under the loose coat with surprising speed +and whipped out a big revolver.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The bootlegger whirled, snarling. “Here! +Whaddaya mean?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Sit down, friend.” Somers waved him amiably +to a chair, using the pistol to gesture with. “We’re +going to have a nice, quiet talk, and I’d hate to have +it interrupted by gun play.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Blinking at him uncertainly, Satterfield subsided. +“You done drank a right smart o’ my liquor,” he +said.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The doctor made a wry face. “Yes—for my sins! +Now, Satterfield, we know all about your bootlegging +business; where the liquor comes from, who makes +it, how it’s brought to Pinelands, and where it goes +from here. We know you got five barrels of whisky +this morning; it’s in the old drying house, back of +Bates’ orchard, right now. We know all about it; +we’ve got it all over you like a tent!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Our victim scowled belligerently. “Huh! Dirty +revenue sneak, are yuh? Spy! Revenuer!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers grinned. “Not that,” he said. “I’m no +prohibition-enforcement agent. <em>I</em> don’t care how +much booze you peddle, though I do think it’s a +pretty bad job for any man, especially, considering +the kind of stuff you’re putting out! I don’t want +to squeal on you, Satterfield, and I shan’t—unless⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The other eyed him closely, tugging at his piratical +mustache. “An’ I thought you was my friend!” he +said, apparently on the verge of maudlin tears. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>“Well, gwan; how much? I c’n git a bunch o’ money +f’r ye, I s’pose.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers shook his head. “Not that, either. All +I want is the truth about Doctor Gaskell’s murder. +Did <em>you</em> kill him, Satterfield?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The man sat up suddenly, with a queer, galvanic +jerk. Beneath its grizzled stubble, his face turned +a pasty white; his fierce eyes roved uneasily, fear-filled, +looking about for escape.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I cain’t!” he protested. “I cain’t tell you-all +nothin’ ’bout it. Ain’t healthy. Nossir!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Very well! I’ll drop over to Raleigh to-morrow—no, +to-night! I’ll hunt up the collector of internal +revenue there, and I’ll tell him all about this wholesale +booze business of yours. And, Satterfield,” as +the other shook a stubborn head, “<em>I’ll say you told +me about it!</em>”</p> + +<p class='c010'>At the threat, delivered with terrifying earnestness, +Satterfield leaped up wildly. His truculence had +disappeared; he was cold sober and in deadly fear.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Ah, no, no, <em>no</em>!” he exclaimed, his face ghastly. +He literally went down upon his knees, groveled on +the floor, plucking at Somers’ shoes with shaking +hands. “Ah, don’t! Don’t, doc, he’ll k-kill me +shore—he’ll cut my heart out—he’ll b-burn me alive. +You don’t know ’im, doc—he’d skin me! Don’t you, +now! Ain’t we been good frien’s, an’ drank together, +an’ all? Yuh wouldn’t do that t’ me? You-all +ain’t a-goin’ to let him, will yuh?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He turned to us, tears trickling down his cheeks, +a revolting, pitiable spectacle.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You’d better talk, then,” said Somers inexorably.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>“Oh, yeah—yeah! Anythin’ on’y that! I’ll give +up anythin’, if you-all won’t turn ’im loose onto me.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Get up!” ordered our leader disgustedly. “Sit +over there and quit wallowing; act like a man.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Satterfield obeyed. “I ain’t scared o’ many things, +doc,” he said unresentfully, but with a certain rude +dignity. “There’s them could tell yuh I ain’t no +coward, but I am a-scared o’ him! Whaddaya +want?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Did you shoot Gaskell?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nossir!” he replied emphatically.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Did you see him shot?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nossir!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” said Somers impatiently, “your daughter +phoned to you that he was going out, about four +that morning. You borrowed Tulliver’s shotgun +without asking for it, and you started off down the +hill, meaning to kill him, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Satterfield stared in wonder tinged with admiration. +“Was you there? Naw, yuh didn’t come till +next day. It beats my time how yuh found out, doc, +but that’s straight—all of it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, go on! What did happen? What did +you do? Whom did you see? Come out with it +all, or I’ll go to Raleigh on the eight-ten!” Somers +pulled his watch. “I’ve just nice time to catch it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Aw, now, doc, lissen! I come down th’ hill +with Tulliver’s gun, jus’ like yuh said, an’ hung +round Gaskell’s house waitin’ f’r him t’ come out. +But I never shot him, doc—I never seen him shot; +I never seen him come outa th’ house, even! I—I +saw a—another feller hangin’ round, an’ I knew +<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>it wa’n’t healthy f’r me around there, an’ I beat it. +Honest, that’s all!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Somers. “Who was it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>But there Satterfield balked. He would say no +more; nothing could move him to give the man’s +name, he protested. We would go to the collector; +to the prohibition enforcement agents? Very well! +That would be the death of <em>him</em>, but it would do us +no good. “I tell yuh I’m a-scared o’ this feller,” he +repeated. “I ain’t a-goin’ t’ say nothin’ <em>about</em> ’im—not +one thing! He might as well kill me f’r squealin’ +about one thing as another, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ t’ +squeal, neither! You-all c’n git me killed if yuh +like, but I ain’t done nothin’ t’ deserve it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>His final protest was not without its dignity. He +was adamant; he admitted, white-faced and shaking, +that a horrible death awaited him if it should be +thought that he had betrayed his confederates in the +illicit liquor traffic. None the less, he would tell us +nothing.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You seem as much frightened of this man you +saw waiting for Gaskell as you do of the leader of +your gang,” declared Somers at last. Then he +added a shrewd suggestion: “Perhaps they’re the +same man?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Satterfield threw up his hands. “For law’s sake, +doc!” he exclaimed. “Naw—yes—naw! I don’t +know what t’ say!” And he fell to weeping openly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, tell me this: Why did you plan to kill +Gaskell?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He looked up sullenly. “I had my orders. Th’ +feller knowed too much.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>“It wasn’t just because he sent you to jail, then?” +asked Somers.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh? That wa’n’t s’ much. I been in jail afore +that.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You had orders to shoot Gaskell, then. And, +when you got down there, you found the man who +gave you those orders, and you decided he was going +to take the matter over himself. Is that right?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Satterfield nodded reluctantly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Did the same man order you to lynch Parker?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We-ell, no, not exactly, but I figgered mebbe he’d +like t’ have it seed to.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Exactly! So you think the chief of your bootlegging +gang killed Doctor Gaskell? But you’re afraid +to admit it, even though we don’t know the fellow.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers rose. The other, completely cowed, gazed +at him in fear. “No,” said Somers, with a grim +laugh, “we shan’t turn you up this time. But listen +closely, Satterfield: You keep quiet! If you drop +so much as a hint to this mysterious boss of yours, +that you’re so scared of, if you suggest to him that +we’re after him, Heaven help you! And now, get +out!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Satterfield rose with alacrity, half in doubt that he +was to be let off so easily. “I won’t say nothin’,” he +replied. “Ain’t got to! You go monkeyin’ round +with <em>him</em>, an’ that’ll be th’ last of yuh!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He disappeared, and we locked up the place and +started back toward Fort House.</p> + +<p class='c010'>At the corner, Peter turned. “I’ll trot down after +the mail,” said he. “Be back in five minutes.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>We found Dorothy and Miss Christie in the living +room. Both looked up at us expectantly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Progress,” said Somers. “I think we’re on the +trail of the murderer at last.” And he told them +briefly of to-day’s work. As he finished, a thought +struck me.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Look here, Somers; remember that third man +out there? I told you he was in town the night +of the murder. He was over at Gaskell’s, and he +made some sort of a threat; you remember my telling +you, Dorothy? A tremendous old man with a +long, white beard, called himself ‘Roaring Lafe’ Rutledge? +What if he were this mysterious leader of +the whisky smugglers? He was in town, and he +threatened Gaskell.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers did not reply. His eyes were on Anne +Christie, who had grown very white. I had seen +her flinch at the name of Rutledge, and now I recalled +her strange conduct of that other night, when +she had dashed from the house after hearing that +name. What did she know of this thing?</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Are you sick?” asked Somers. “Miss Christie—Anne! +What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Her lips opened, but Peter dashed in with a black +face.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Grand jury proceedings are out,” he announced. +“And they’ve indicted Lewis Parker for murder in +the first degree!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The news stunned us all, though we had been more +or less prepared for it. Then, in the sudden silence +which greeted this bombshell, Anne Christie spoke.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—perhaps I could help a little,” she said.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXIII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXIII<br> <br><span class='small'>ANNE CHRISTIE’S STORY</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>W<span class="uppercase">e</span> all turned upon the nurse. Beneath our wondering +gaze the bright color rose high, flooding +her fair face; then receded once more, leaving her +very pale. But she faced us bravely.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—I⸺You see, I’ve hated so to talk about +it all, even to think about it, and especially this last +two weeks.” She spoke to all of us, but her big +violet eyes were fixed upon Doctor Somers. “And +now, to make you-all understand, I’ll have to go +back to the very beginning, I’m afraid, and tell you +about me. You won’t mind?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I suppressed an exclamation. Truly this quiet, +somnolent nurse had changed! I wondered what explanation +she was about to offer for her queer conduct +of that night before the murder, when the name +of “Roaring Lafe” Rutledge had driven her from +the house; of her excitement next morning, when +she had fainted at the news of Doctor Gaskell’s +death. And I wondered the more what had moved +her to volunteer any information about herself, for +I remembered—and the thought had puzzled me more +than once—that never, save once, during all her six +months at Fort House, had she spoken so much as +a word about her past life.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You won’t mind?” she asked again, eyes wistfully +fixed upon Doctor Somers. “And you’ll try to +make allowances—not to think little of me? I⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>She stopped and bit her lips, then went bravely on, +slender hands clenched at her sides.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I was born in the mountains, up near the Tennessee +border, in a log cabin on Lick Run. My +mother came from the settlements; I never knew +my father. He died when I was a baby. I’ve heard +mother say he was educated; that he’d been to college, +even. But why they went up into the mountains +to live she never would tell me. All I know is +that she wouldn’t go back to the settlements even +when he died. A tree fell on him, mother said. +When I was a little girl I used to go out and climb +up to the very peak of Snagtooth Mountain and sit +beside his grave and wonder—about so many things! +He was buried there, on the very top of the mountain, +under a big, lone pine tree.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“After that we were very poor, mother and I. +I used to go barefoot, summer and winter; and so +did she. We never wore shoes, either of us, for +years and years.” She looked down at her slender, +high-arched feet, now so trimly shod, as if in wonder +at their being covered.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We were all very still. Somers’ deep-set gray-green +eyes were inscrutable. I blew my nose hard, +seeing in fancy that little slim girl, barefooted and +ragged, huddled on the peak of a wind-swept mountain +beside the grave of the father she could not remember, +hugging bare, brown knees and staring off +across the jutting hills, wondering about so many +things!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I wore the same dress for two years,” she went +on dreamily. Her tragic eyes were all for Doctor +<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>Somers; she was telling her story to him, watching +him for sympathy, for approval, for scorn. She +would tell him all. I fancied I could read the determination +in her white, set face. And then, if he +turned from her—well!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I wore the same dress for two years. Mother +patched it and patched it—poor mother—until I’d +forgotten its original color. There were homespun +patches, I remember, and blue-jean ones, bits of +flour sacking and burlap. We were very poor. +There was only the small piece of cleared land, and +mother wasn’t strong enough even to take care of +that. The weeds grew higher than the corn. And +she’d take my father’s ax and try so hard to chop +down a little tree and blister her poor hands and +cry.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We couldn’t live that way. Then this Lafe Rutledge +began coming. They called him Roaring Lafe +even then, fourteen years ago. He was a great, big +man and strong! I remember once there were two +city men out hunting. They were so wonderfully +dressed, I thought! I’d never seen such clothes. +They stopped for a drink of water from our spring +and stood talking with mother. She was so pretty, +my mother! And they talked and laughed, and +seemed so surprised that mother spoke like a lady, +had read books, and everything. And she stood +there with her poor cheeks so pretty and pink, and +Lafe Rutledge came through the woods behind these +two men, looking as big as both of them together, +with his great beard blowing in the wind—it was +black then—and he just made an awful, roaring +<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>noise like some great bear. Then he ran at those +poor men and caught them, each by his neck, and +swung them right up off the ground and carried them +off like that, at arms’ length. And then we heard a +scuffling and sliding, as he just threw them down the +mountain, and he came back, laughing, and threw +their guns after them. I ran away and hid. I was +always afraid of him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“He used to come like that, twice every week, +with his big boots greased, his hair slicked down +and shiny, and bear’s grease and cheap perfumery in +his beard. I remember still how it smelled. I was +afraid of him, and I think mother was, too. He +didn’t know how old he was; he couldn’t write or +figure, and he couldn’t read much. I suppose he was +fifty, even then. He’d had two wives already, and +both were dead.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I don’t know how it came about. Perhaps she +did it for me. We were very poor—starving, almost, +and Lafe Rutledge was rich, as the mountain folks +count it. We didn’t know then how he made his +money! Anyway, mother married him. That was +twelve years ago. She married him, and we went to +live in his house on the Devil’s Branch. She was his +third, he said, with that awful, roaring laugh he had; +but, then, he was her second, so that was all right. +Poor mother! After all she’d told me about my kind, +gentle father, to marry Roaring Lafe Rutledge! I +hated it even then; I ran away and hid and wouldn’t +go there until I was starved to it. But I didn’t know, +I couldn’t understand then, what it meant to her.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And yet the man was good to her, according to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>his lights. He never beat her; he bought her a new +dress every year. But he used to go down to the +store and get drunk, and then come home running +his mule and beating the poor beast. He was dreadfully +cruel to animals, and it was hard enough for +any horse or mule to carry him; he was so big and +heavy. And he’d come up the Branch, beating the +mule and shouting and roaring worse than a wild +bull; that’s why they called him Roaring Lafe, I +suppose. And then he’d sit by the fireplace, with a +jug at his elbow, and he’d drink and drink. We +didn’t dare go to bed; mother would sit beside me +in a corner, very still—frightened, I suppose, just as +I was frightened—until at last he’d drop over right +where he sat. Then we’d drag his boots off and +get him to bed some way.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She stopped and wet her lips, looking round at +us in apology. “You see, I’ve had plenty of experience +in caring for drunken men,” she said. Somers +flinched visibly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It was like a nightmare,” she went on, “and it +only got worse. Mother got thinner and thinner and +whiter and whiter. She knew long before I did; +she tried to keep it from me, but it wasn’t a year +before I found it out, too. Lafe Rutledge was running +a still. He made moonshine whisky up on the +slope of Snagtooth Mountain, made it by the barrel +and sold it all over that country. And nobody dared +do anything about it; they were all afraid of him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Ten years ago the revenue officers made a big +raid up there, and they nearly caught my—my stepfather. +He shot one of them and killed him. He +<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>had to hide out in the laurel for months and months, +but they never caught him, and pretty soon he’d +started up another still in a new place. Then he +came home to live, quite openly. I think that killing +had been too much for mother. She died about six +months later.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I lived on with him. There was nothing else to +do. I was growing up, and I was strong; mother’d +taught me to cook; I had to stay; I’d nowhere to +go, and I was afraid of him. When he was angry +with me he’d threaten to get married again and +bring another woman home with him to keep me +from getting ‘uppity.’</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And then Doctor Gaskell came. He was on a +hunting trip, and my stepfather brought him home +to supper one night. I’d never supposed there were +such men in the world. He was wonderful! I lay +awake all night, just thinking about him. He told +my stepfather he was forty-nine, I remember; and +that was just the age my father would have been if +he’d lived. I lay there—I was only eighteen—and +pretended Doctor Gaskell was really my father, and +we were just visiting up there, just camping out, +and in a few days we’d go back home, down the +mountains, into the settlements, which mother used +to talk about sometimes, into a real house, with +carpets and hard-wood floors and a bathtub and a +furnace and all the wonderful furnishings I’d +dreamed about and never seen. It was a very beautiful +dream.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Things were worse than ever just then; my stepfather +was ‘sitting up,’ as they call it, with a widow +<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>on Lick Run, and I just couldn’t bear to think of +another woman in the house where mother had died. +And so I slipped away and went to Doctor Gaskell’s +tent on the other side of the mountain, and I talked +to him. I’d never been to school a day; for one +thing, we were too poor, and I had no dress to wear, +and then my stepfather wouldn’t let me. He didn’t +believe in schooling; said it made women high-toned +and finickin. He used to laugh and sneer at my poor +mother, because she wasn’t strong, and say it was +book learning made her that way. But mother’d +taught me a lot.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And Doctor Gaskell was so good to me! If he’d +really been my own father he couldn’t have been +better. He offered to take me down to the settlements +with him and find me work there and fix it +so I could go to night school. I didn’t dare at first; +I told him Roaring Lafe would kill us both. But he +just laughed. That was the most wonderful thing +of all—he wasn’t afraid of Lafe Rutledge! Until +then I’d supposed everybody in the world must be +afraid of him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“So, the end of it was, I slipped out in the night, +and Doctor Gaskell took me with him down the +mountain and into Asheville. I was so frightened; +I thought that must be the biggest city in the world. +I’d never dreamed of anything so grand. And we +took the train there and went to Raleigh, and the +doctor got a place for me in the hospital as an attendant. +I studied at night and worked hard! After +a year or two I got into the nurses’ training school, +and I went through it and graduated. The whole +<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>world seemed going just right for me; I was very +happy.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She paused and sighed. Her dreamy eyes seemed +to dwell on that vision of past happiness.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But it didn’t last,” she went on. “I knew all the +time, some way, that it couldn’t last. I don’t know +how he found out, but one night my stepfather came +to the hospital and asked for me, just as I was going +on duty; I was charge nurse on a ward then. I came +out, wondering who it could be, for I hadn’t many +friends, and thinking perhaps Doctor Gaskell might +have come down from Pinelands—I hadn’t seen him +for a year almost—and it was Roaring Lafe! I just +stood there dumb. He told me to get my bundle and +come with him. I was frightened to death. I’ve +been afraid of him all my life. But I think I’d have +found courage to refuse, to call the police, to do +<em>something</em>, rather than go back with him, but he just +stood there, pulling at that great, bushy beard, and +he laughed that awful, roaring laugh, so that the +orderly ran out to see what the noise was. Then +he caught my arm—I wore the mark of it for a +month—and dragged me close and whispered in my +ear. The smell of raw corn whisky was on him, +and his eyes were terrible.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“‘You come along quiet,’ he told me. ‘If you +don’t, to-night that mis’able furriner, Gaskell, will git +his comeuppance! I’ll go plumb f’om here to Pinelands, +a-puppose t’ waylay him; I’ll fill his gizzard +with buckshot. You comin’, you huzzy, or do you +aim t’ stay here with these furriners in th’ settlemints?’</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>“So I went with him. What else could I do? I +could have screamed for help, though I don’t believe +he’d have laid his hand on me in anger. But I knew +he’d keep his word. I knew he’d leave me there at +the hospital and go straight here to Pinelands and kill +Doctor Gaskell, just as he said. And I couldn’t bear +that, after all he’d done. Why, I wouldn’t be alive, +if it weren’t for him! Because I might just as well +be dead, as buried up there in the hills, as I was +till he came. And I’ve always made believe in my +own mind that Doctor Gaskell was my own father +come to life again; I’ve always thought of him as +a father; it was just like hearing my own father had +been killed, that morning, when you told us, Mr. +Uhlman.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She turned to me, as if to apologize for her fainting +that fateful morning, and her big violet eyes were +tragic.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“So I went back,” she said, as she took up her +pitiful tale. “I went back to the log house on the +Devil’s Branch and put by my nice clothes and wore +homespun again and cooked salt pork and corn +pone. At night I waited alone for my stepfather to +come home, shouting and roaring. I used to sit +huddled in a corner, shaking all over, while he drank +raw corn liquor until he fell over, dead drunk, and +I pulled off his boots and put him to bed. And +all the while I was frightened, frightened out of +my wits, though he never laid his hands on me. But +there was a devil peeping out of his eyes at me. +Oh, he’s a terrible man!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And yet I do believe that he thought he was doing +<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>the right thing by me. He always used to say +he’d saved my soul by bringing me back there.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It went on from week to week and month to +month, for three whole years. At first it was unbearable, +and I used to cry all night and think of +killing myself. After a while I got sort of deadened +and lost interest in things. The days slipped by, and +I dropped into a daze and went on like some machine, +without even thinking any more. I put on flesh, and +my stepfather gloated over the fact, saying how +strong I was, as if I’d been a horse or a mule! He +insisted that I was outgrowing my finical ways and +book learning, and getting to be a healthy, honest +woman. If he could have had my poor mother +earlier, he used to say, before she was plumb ruined +with education, she’d have been healthy, too. And +even that didn’t rouse me much. I felt so dull and +stupid, and I got so I’d sleep all the time. There +are women like that in the mountains, strange, fat, +stupid-looking creatures, with wide, flat faces, who +just sleep and mope around all the time, like cows, +without ever caring about anything. They look almost +deformed; they’re unnatural. Some of them +have great goiters. I used to wonder if I’d ever +be like them, but I didn’t care much, even for that.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Her voice fell. Behind the impassive, commonplace +words I felt such a bitterness of desolation, +such a gripping, terrible memory of those monotonous, +lifeless days, that my throat closed upon the +words of sympathy I strove to utter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Somers raised his head, his gray-green eyes +impersonally alight. “I thought so! A goiterous +<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>region! Mighty interesting, that! You know there +is a similar region in the mountains of Switzerland, +where most of the women have goiter. We used to +think it was the water; but we know better now. I +must go up there and investigate. You haven’t any +struma, Miss Christie,” said Somers, stooping forward +to touch her rounded throat, at which the girl +blushed vividly, “but you developed a condition of +hypothyroidism instead.” And he went on didactically +into a maze of “hormones” and “endocrines” +and “internal secretions,” which nobody understood. +“But you’re safely out of that hole now,” he concluded +practically, “and your condition is practically +cured, thanks to the thyroid I gave you. You’ve +changed wonderfully in just this ten days, child! +You’re a hundred per cent brighter, less somnolent. +And,” as if the idea had just struck him, “you’ve +grown mighty pretty. Why, Anne, child—you’re +really beautiful!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl’s first name came from his lips unhesitatingly, +as if he thought of her thus, and not as +Miss Christie. His tone was one of naïve surprise at +this discovery.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You’re a raving beauty, Anne!” he repeated.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl blushed vividly, the bright color sweeping +up to the very edge of her fair hair. Her eyes, +which had been so bravely, so candidly fixed upon +Somers throughout her pitiful story, dropped +modestly and were veiled by long, curved lashes.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Do you think so?” she asked demurely.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXIV' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXIV<br> <br><span class='small'>A PROJECTED EXCURSION</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>“D<span class="uppercase">on’t</span> interrupt,” ordered Dorothy peremptorily. +Like the rest of us, she was eager for the end +of the nurse’s tale. “You can talk about her good +looks later; we want to hear what happened next. +Go on, Miss Christie!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And Miss Christie went on, rather less sadly, I +thought.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, I’d have been up there yet, I reckon, if last +fall my stepfather hadn’t wanted me to get m-married.” +She blushed. “There was a man, Calvin +Collender, whom they called ‘Cal Col.’ He used to +work with my stepfather. Since prohibition, you see, +my stepfather had been making corn whisky faster +than ever. He bought up corn from all over the +mountains and put up a bigger still, and they used +to smuggle it out some way and sell it down in the +settlements. He used to come back with his pockets +just bulging with money, all in gold; he had no +faith in paper money, and he’d bury the gold somewhere. +Why, he must have made thousands and +thousands of dollars—is making it yet, I suppose. +And this Collender, this Cal Col, was his chief helper, +a tall, thin man, with a sharp nose and a short chin, +like those mountaineers have, and little, mean-looking +eyes. He was lots older than I; he was a widower, +too. And my stepfather kept after me and after me. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>He said I ought to be grateful; that it wasn’t every +man would marry a woman like me, who’d had book +learning and knew things it wasn’t fitting for a +woman to know.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I couldn’t stand that. It was bad enough with +Roaring Lafe, but to go to this other man, this +Cal Col, who wasn’t even brave, I couldn’t! I remembered +my poor mother, and how she’d just +faded away, and I thought it was better to die right +then. And Lafe Rutledge was a <em>man</em>; you had to +respect him, in spite of all his terrible ways. But +this Cal Col was just like a creeping, crawly snake, +afraid of my stepfather, afraid of the law, afraid +of everything, even of me, I think. He used to look +at me sideways, with those dry, bright little eyes, +just like a rattlesnake. And I knew he’d beat me if +he dared.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“So one night last winter I just ran away, down +the mountain all alone. It began to snow while I +was climbing down toward Asheville, and I was so +glad! I knew the dogs couldn’t follow me then. +My stepfather had a dozen bloodhounds. And I got +clear away, somehow, and bought a veil to put over +my face; then I took the train and came right here +to Pinelands; I didn’t know what else to do. If I +went back to Raleigh, I knew my stepfather would +find me.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And I got off the train here and went to a hotel. +It was in the winter, you see, and the town was full +of tourists from the North; nobody noticed one more. +I phoned to Doctor Gaskell, and he came right away +<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>and told me about this place. Miss McGregor had +asked him to find a nurse for her that very day.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“So he recommended me, and I got the place and +came to Fort House. I’ve been here ever since. +Perhaps you’ve wondered why I kept so close in the +house and never went anywhere? Or, perhaps, you +just thought I was too sleepy and sluggish to want +to go out. But I saw that man Satterfield downtown +one day, and I didn’t dare show myself after +that, for I’d seen him on the Devil’s Branch, at my +stepfather’s, twice. He had something to do with +disposing of the liquor they made; I don’t know +what.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I couldn’t change my name, you see, because I’m +a registered nurse and have to have a license. But +my stepfather has never lived out of the mountains, +and he doesn’t know anything about registration and +all that; so I wasn’t afraid he’d trace me through the +State board. I kept right close in the house and +hoped Satterfield wouldn’t see me or think of my +being the same one, if he heard my name. Nobody +much knew my name, anyhow, I kept so quiet. +People just thought of me as that stupid nurse up at +Fort House.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And I lived in fear that some day my stepfather +would find me out, or come here and kill Doctor +Gaskell anyway, as he’d threatened; and I think I’d +have gone crazy if it weren’t for this stupid, sleepy +feeling I always had. I suppose it was a disease, as +you said, Doctor Somers, but I think it saved my +reason.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And at last he did find me out. Was it any +<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>wonder I was frightened, Mr. Uhlman, when you +came in that night and said you’d seen Roaring Lafe +Rutledge on Doctor Gaskell’s porch, threatening to +‘settle with him before sunup?’ And now you know +why I ran right out without stopping to explain. I +went over to the doctor’s house, right across the +road, and told him my stepfather was here, and I +begged him to hide, or have him arrested.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“He only laughed, for he was never afraid of my +stepfather. But he did promise not to go to the +hotel and see him. And then, next morning, you +found him out there—dead! I thought right away +it must have been my stepfather who did it, and I +suppose I fainted. I was almost glad”—she looked +at Dorothy in wistful apology—“when they said +Doctor Parker had done it by accident. The—the +other seemed so terrible; to think he’d been killed because +of me! And then, afterward, when the solicitor +made it look like murder, I didn’t know what to +do. And I hoped you-all could prove it was Satterfield +who was guilty, or anybody in that gang except +my stepfather, and for any reason except because of +me. And it seemed harder and harder”—her beautiful, +appealing eyes were fixed upon Somers once +more, as in mute explanation of her difficulty—“harder +than ever to have to tell all this, and to +have to admit that I was only a poor, uneducated girl +from the mountains, without any relatives in the +world that I know of except my stepfather.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She stopped and bent her fair head, sobbing desolately. +Somers patted her shoulder. “You poor +child!” he said, his casual tones suddenly deeper, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>softer, charged with sympathy. She looked up at +him adoringly, with the wistful, worshiping gaze +one sees in a dog’s eyes. But he seemed blind to its +significance.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Don’t you fret any more,” he went on. “You +needn’t marry this Cal Col fellow or any other man. +And if Lafe comes roaring round here, he’ll get into +trouble. I’m not afraid of him, either!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, you don’t know him. He’s terrible—just terrible! +Sometimes I wonder if he’s quite human. If +he comes for me, I’ll just have to go back, that’s all, +and marry Cal Col, if he says so. I—I can’t have +anybody else murdered for me.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Somers. “I begin to feel that I +ought to have a bit of a chat with this Mr. Rutledge!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, no, no, no!” The girl’s voice rang sharp +with fear; she clutched at his arm. “He—he’d kill +you, too!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I think not.” Somers freed his arm gently and +rose. “But look here, Anne, if Rutledge knew you +were here, why hasn’t he come after you? I don’t +believe his business with Gaskell had anything to do +with you; I don’t believe he knows where you are +at all. Satterfield admitted that Doctor Gaskell had +found out about their whisky-smuggling business; he +said his mysterious chieftain had ordered Gaskell +killed for that. If Rutledge is this leader whom Satterfield’s +so afraid of—and it looks that way—he +ordered the killing because Gaskell knew too much. +You hadn’t a thing to do with it. And then he came +<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>down here to do it himself; wouldn’t trust Satterfield, +I suppose.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He began to pace the floor; six long, loose strides +this way, a turn, and six more back. On the hearthrug +he stopped.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It’s plain enough now. Gaskell was murdered +by the moonshiners for fear he’d break up the business. +And Rutledge did the killing. Now all we’ve +got to do is round up Roaring Lafe and fetch him +down here to stand trial. Once he’s safe in jail, +Satterfield will probably get over his fright enough +to testify against him; nobody looks quite as dangerous, +once he’s been quietly arrested and locked up.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Anne Christie cried out upon him. “Oh, no, no! +You mustn’t, you can’t! You’ll be killed! And, anyhow”—plucking +up courage at the thought—“it +wouldn’t do any good; you can’t find anybody to +serve a warrant on Roaring Lafe. The sheriff +wouldn’t go up on Devil’s Branch for anything, and, +if he did, nobody could find Lafe Rutledge, once he’d +taken to the laurel.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Somers. “You’re forgetting something.” +He touched the star on his breast. “I’m a +perfectly good deputy sheriff myself. I can serve +a warrant. Even if that is another county, I guess +we can stretch a point of law. Maybe the sheriff +over there will deputize me, too.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He cut her further protests short. “It’s getting +late; why, it’s after midnight! We’ll all go to bed +and make our plans in the morning.”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXV' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXV<br> <br><span class='small'>A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>N<span class="uppercase">ext</span> morning at breakfast Doctor Somers set +forth his plan. For once all the people of +Fort House sat down together; even Aunt Mary +appeared in time to be wheeled to her place before +we were seated.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I will go up into the mountains,” he announced. +“I’ll start this evening, spend the night in Asheville, +and go on to-morrow. How far is it, Anne?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“All of twenty miles, the way one has to go, and +no roads worth speaking of. You can’t drive a +car.” The girl was very pale; there were bluish +shadows beneath her eyes. She spoke reluctantly and +seemed determined to make the way as difficult as +might be. “And you’d never find the place without +a guide.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph! If I can’t drive a car, I can ride a +horse. They taught us equitation in the army—what, +Peter, old son? Also, I can walk; my legs are +long enough. And, if you’ll draw a map, I’ll engage +to find the Devil’s Branch. I’m not easy to lose, +even in the mountains.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss Christie still objected, and Dorothy seconded +her. “It won’t do any good,” she declared. “You’ll +get lost, or killed, and Lewis needs you here. Why +not just go to the sheriff or the district attorney and +swear out a warrant, and let the police arrest him? +That’s their business.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>Somers shrugged. “Swear out a warrant? On +what grounds? He was in town—Rutledge, I mean—and +he had threatened to shoot Doctor Gaskell +several years ago. That’s all we could prove. Satterfield +won’t testify; he wouldn’t even admit to +me that Rutledge was the man whom he saw. And, +if we could get a warrant on that, your name would +have to be signed to it, as complaining witness, and +Rutledge would know where you are, Anne. And, +if the sheriff’s afraid of him, as you say, Rutledge +wouldn’t be caught anyhow. He’d be warned, have +a chance to hide out, and maybe to slip down here +and make trouble for you. I wish old man Redden +were the sheriff of Whitfield County up there! I’ll +bet he wouldn’t be afraid of Roaring Lafe!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He paused, looking about the table, with half-whimsical +seriousness. “And, furthermore, my children, +have you considered that I shan’t be perfectly +safe here in Pinelands from now on? No, nor you +two, either.” He jabbed at Peter and me successively +with a long, bony finger. “When Satterfield +reports to his mysterious chief and tells him that +the three of us know all about this whisky-running +game of theirs, it’s quite on the cards that Mr. +Roaring Lafe may decide we could all be spared, +just like Gaskell. Suppose we just stayed here and +did nothing, and a couple of sturdy bootleggers ambushed +Fort House and shot us up?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Here Aunt Mary interposed. She had been waiting, +open-mouthed, for a chance to interrupt.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I won’t have it!” she declared shrilly. “I can’t +stand it! My rest is broken enough now; those +<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>miserable birds are driving me frantic; I haven’t +a bit of rest, and nobody cares if I die of exhaustion. +But this is too much. You’ll have to go, all three +of you! You’ll have to leave Fort House at once. +No, Dorothy, I insist. I will be heard for once. I’ve +submitted to being ignored and put aside and slighted +long enough. Nobody considers me any more; nobody +seems to care whether I live or die. As if +Lewis Parker, a big, healthy young man, weren’t +lots more comfortable in jail than I am here, lying +on my bed of pain! It’s absurd—it’s monstrous! +But I will assert myself for once: Either you men +leave this house, all three of you—Peter’s no more +help or comfort to me than you others—either you +leave Fort House, or I will!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We stared uncomfortably, the others, no doubt, +as much amazed as I was by the old lady’s colossal, +callous selfishness. For she had not a cent of her +own, and she was a pensioner upon the bounty of her +nephew and niece.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You can stay,” she went on, “but if you do, I +go to a hotel this very morning. I won’t have my +life endangered; I won’t have my rest broken any +longer! Why, this whole affair of the murder has +annoyed me beyond endurance.” One would have +thought that we had planned Doctor Gaskell’s death, +with malice aforethought. “But I’ve stood all I can. +Dorothy, phone to the Pinelands House at once and +engage two rooms and bath for me. And you’d +better pay them a week in advance, too.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph,” said Doctor Somers, placidly. “You +see?”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>Dorothy nodded reluctantly. Miss Christie said +nothing. She was very pale.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers rose. “It’s settled, then. I start for the +mountains to-night. And, Peter, you and Uncle +George had better come along, I think. You can +put up at a hotel in Asheville. I really think you’ll +be safer there than to stay in Pinelands just now.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, we’ll come,” I answered for both of us. “But +you needn’t think we’re going to stay at any hotel +and let you go off alone. You need somebody to +look after you, man!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph! Well, we can settle that later.” He +pushed back his chair and bowed to Aunt Mary. +“And now, madam, we’ll relieve you of the distress +of our presence. Come along, you chaps, we’ll stay +at Uhlman’s house until train time.” He bowed +ironically and stalked out.</p> + +<p class='c010'>As I followed, I saw Dorothy turn upon her aunt, +her face white with anger, her eyes flashing. I +grinned inwardly, feeling that for once the old lady +was about to hear some sharply wholesome truths.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I hurried after my companions. “Pack a bag, +each of you,” ordered our leader. “Put in things +for a week, anyhow. And bring your field glasses, +Peter, and that pistol of yours. Wish we had three +of them!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ve got one at home,” I said, “a police revolver. +I’ll bring that.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss Christie hurried past us, as we stood in the +hall, and returned in two minutes. “Here!” She +thrust something into Somers’ hand. “Take that and +use it if you must. And, oh, my dear, be careful!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>She was gone in a breath, leaving the lanky physician +staring down in bewilderment at a businesslike +revolver, whose wooden butt was battered and worn.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Our few preparations made, for we were to go in +light marching order, we spent the day perfecting +our plans, such as they were.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“For we don’t know what we’ll find up there,” +explained Somers. “The best we can do is to get +in touch with Rutledge in some way, avoid suspicion +if we can, and trust to luck for the rest. Maybe +he’ll talk; maybe we can get him out alone, hold +him up and take him down the mountains, at pistol’s +point. I’ll be a ‘lunger,’ I guess; I look the part.” +He surveyed his lean face, hollow chest, and extraordinarily +thin limbs in my mirror. “Yes, I’m a consumptive, +ordered up into the mountains to live. +You’re my uncle, Uhlman, and Peter—oh, he can +be the builder who’s going to put up a cabin for me. +We’re up in the hills looking for a site, so I can +have a house there, live alone in the balmy pine +woods, and strive to recapture my lost health—and +all that rot. How about it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He grinned and went on humorously. “You know, +dear ones and kind old things both, I fancy my health +is in considerable danger, at that! If I should meet +Satterfield in the dark somewhere, Old Man Trouble +and I would meet just about the same time. What?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And he spoke even more truly than he knew. For +at dusk that night, as the train pulled out of Pinelands, +Somers sat beside me in the smoking car, his +lean, bold profile clearly outlined against the lighted +<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>window. From the dark without it must have made +an excellent mark.</p> + +<p class='c010'>No one had loitered about my house that day; no +one, as far as I could see, had watched us climbing +into the “shoo-fly” train.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But, as we panted out of the village and began to +labor up a steep grade between high embankments, +gathering speed slowly, a round hole sprang suddenly +into being in the window, just beside Somers’ +head, and a bullet sang past my nose, like an angry +wasp, bit through the window opposite, and whined +away into the night.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Somers calmly, brushing bits of +glass from his lap. He looked at the window, where +a star of cracks radiated from that sinister hole. +“Humph! A couple of inches this way, and one of +the best little old medico-legal experts extant would +have ceased abruptly. I told you we’d be safer outside +of Pinelands for a while!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The brakeman hurried through, stopped to survey +his damaged windowpanes, and scowled blackly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Some darn fool gettin’ fresh!” he muttered. +“Lettin’ off a rifle gun that a way an’ never lookin’ +to see where th’ bullet’d go. The fool! They’s too +much cawn liquor round Pinelands these days!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Quite right, my friend,” replied Somers solemnly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Some one touched Somers’ shoulder. We both +turned to face the man in the seat behind us, a quiet, +unobtrusive person, gray-clad, gray-haired, with a +very keen gray eye.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Did you know that bullet was meant for you?” +he asked casually.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>The physician nodded. “Oh, yes, certainly!” He +was as cool, as detached of manner, as the stranger, +and those keen eyes gave him an admiring glance.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I happened to get a good look at the fellow,” +the other went on. “He showed up against the sky +line, there on top of the embankment, and he had +a fine bead on you.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded equably. “Thanks, old man!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Broad-brimmed felt hat,” continued the other; +“big, bushy mustache; looked like a pirate. Know +him?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>My companion nodded again, but showed no disposition +to satisfy the gray man’s curiosity further.</p> + +<p class='c010'>As the crow flies, Asheville is not much over forty +miles from Pinelands; but to reach it one must go +to Raleigh, and there you change from one line to +another, making it a trip of several hundred miles. +Somers’ estimate of time was too sanguine; we +could hardly reach Asheville before morning.</p> + +<p class='c010'>As we disbarked at Raleigh, I saw the man in gray +once more. He had followed us from the train; +he stood in whispered talk with another quiet, inconspicuous +person, and I thought that he pointed us +out. It may have been my imagination; no doubt it +was. For the other stranger, after loitering about, +while we bought tickets and berths, stepped up to the +window and asked a question, then strolled out of the +station, and we saw him no more.</p> + +<p class='c010'>No doubt it was a mere coincidence, also, that +the quiet gray-haired man entered the Asheville +sleeper with us and deposited a modest leather hand +bag in the section across the aisle.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXVI' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXVI<br> <br><span class='small'>ROARING LAFE</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>W<span class="uppercase">e</span> reached the city of Asheville in the early +morning and, upon Somers’ direction, entered +a taxicab and had ourselves driven to a hotel.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We’ll breakfast there,” he decided, “and find out +a few things. Then I’ll get a saddle horse and start, +and you two will wait for me here.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Not much!” said I.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nix!” declared Peter. “You can’t lose us; why, +man, where’s that gorgeous idea of being a consumptive, +unless we’re along?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers shrugged. “Have it your own way, but +it’s taking a long chance, fellows. This thing is +serious; I hardly believed, myself, that they’d go so +far, until that chap shot at me last night. It was +Ralph Satterfield, all right, and no doubt he thought +we were on our way to Raleigh to see the collector. +He’ll have hurried over here cross-country before +this, in Conover’s car, no doubt. If we should meet +up with him in the hills we’re as good as dead +men.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I nodded soberly. “And if we give that fellow, +Vanbrugh, a free hand, my nephew is as good as a +dead man, too. No, Somers, I’m going along. Peter +can stay here if he likes.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>But Peter did not consider this suggestion worthy +even to be scorned. “After breakfast, what, chief?” +he asked.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>“We hunt up a revenue agent.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Wondering if our leader would report the activities +of Satterfield and Rutledge after all, we went to see +the revenue agent. When we were shown into the +quiet, businesslike office of the department of internal +revenue, Somers merely asked for information as to +one Lafe Rutledge. “I’m told he killed a revenue +agent some years ago,” he explained. “Was he tried +for that?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The clerk eyed us dubiously. “I can’t give out +any statement,” he told us. “You can see the chief +if you like. What are you, newspaper men?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers handed him a card, and presently we were +shown into an inner office. Facing us from behind +a flat-topped desk sat the same quiet, gray-haired +man who had sat behind us on the train.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What do you want to know about the man Rutledge?” +he asked, looking at Somers’ card. Then: +“Hel-lo! You’re the chap Satterfield was potting at +last night!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“So you knew the man’s name all the time?” asked +Somers, a bit taken aback.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The other nodded. “This office is deeply interested +in Mr. Ralph Satterfield,” he said grimly, +“also in the gentleman after whom you are inquiring +this morning. Suppose we have a showdown, +doctor? I’m not the local chief; I’m on special duty +here, but I can tell you all this department knows +about Roaring Lafe. What’s your interest in him?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Our leader sat down. “Perhaps you know who I +am, too?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, yes; Doctor Floyd Somers. You came from +<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>New York to be the best man at Doctor Parker’s +wedding; and this, no doubt, is the doctor’s uncle, +Mr. Uhlman—and Peter McGregor?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We bowed, wondering.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We looked you up, doctor,” explained the revenue +agent, “because you were pretty thick with Satterfield +for a while. What was the idea?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers leaned forward. “You know about Doctor +Gaskell’s murder, and the arrest of my friend +Parker?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, yes! In fact, this investigation was begun +upon information furnished the collector by Gaskell.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, then!” Somers told him everything +frankly, including our suspicions of Rutledge.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The government man listened with grave interest. +“H’m,” said he, when the tale was done. “Our +local men seem to have overlooked a lot. We didn’t +go behind the verdict of the coroner’s court and the +grand jury; took it for granted Parker killed Gaskell +because of some personal quarrel. Coarse work, +very! Some one will get a stiff call for this! Of +course Rutledge did it. I should have thought of +that myself. Well, after all, that is merely incidental; +it doesn’t affect the main work of this office, +which is to break up the illicit manufacture and sale +of alcoholic liquors. And now, gentlemen, what can +I do in return?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Tell us about Rutledge. Is he in hiding? Is +there any criminal charge against him? Did he +really murder one of your men?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The agent nodded soberly. “There’s not a doubt +of it in my mind, but we’ve no legal proof. No, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>gentlemen, there’s no criminal charge out against +Roaring Lafe—as yet. And he’s not in hiding; +he’s living openly in his own house, on Devil’s +Branch, back in the hills.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers rose. “I thought this was the safest place +to make inquiries,” he explained. “Thank you, sir.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hold on a minute! This office is indebted to you +for your information, though I may say we knew +most of these things before, except your suspicions +about Gaskell’s murder; can’t we help you some way? +What are your plans?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The physician grinned. “Why, just to find this +Roaring Lafe and have a chat. I’ll tell him Satterfield +has admitted that he saw Gaskell shot, and that +Rutledge did it—and see what happens. Then I’ll +try to induce him to come along to jail with us, if +I can.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You’ll get yourselves killed, the three of you!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers shrugged. “It’s quite possible, but it is +my business in life to extract information from folks +who don’t want to give it. After one has practiced +enough at getting statements from lunatics who +haven’t spoken a word for years, it ought not to be +so hard to badger an ignorant old man into confessing +murder. I’m game to try, at least.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m! I think you’re a fool, but go ahead, if +you insist. Remember this, though: That you never +saw a lunatic as dangerous as Lafe Rutledge.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>With that pleasing assurance in our ears we left +the revenue office and hired saddle horses for our +trip into the hills. It was noon before we had +topped the long slope, which leads up past the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>“Castle,” and left the concrete road to strike back +along zigzag red clay roads, which led us into the +hinterland. We paused for one look back toward +civilization.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” said I, staring down at the ordered streets, +centering in Pack Square, with its tall granite obelisk, +“we may not all of us come back this way.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Cheerful old soul!” replied Peter, shifting in his +saddle. “This nag has a beastly sharp backbone; I +can feel it right through the leather. You might +have stopped for lunch, at least, Somers.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Have another sandwich,” suggested our leader +callously; for he had vetoed a further stay in the +city. “Eat as you ride. We want to get somewhere +before dark, and we’ve twenty miles to go.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We struck back into the hills. Our patient horses +scrambled up precipitous slopes, panting, sliding in +the rough red clay; we slid down other slopes as +steep, where the zigzag paths, that ran back and +forth, seemed sharper than the pitch of a roof, and +the hillside itself was almost straight up and down. +The roads grew rougher and stonier and narrower, +until they were mere bridle paths, mere trails, which +wound and separated and forked and joined bewilderingly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Mile after mile we rode, growing horribly saddle +sore in the riding. The country about us was wild, +primeval; tall pines masked the hillsides, interspersed +with spruce and live oak and great, dense growths +of that rhododendron which the mountain folk call +“laurel.” Here and there, huddled upon the steep +slopes, a tiny, unpainted shack overhung the winding +<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>road, its cornfield miraculously clinging to the +side of a precipice. Dozens of lop-eared hound dogs +regarded our passing with mournful gravity, or made +headlong dashes, boiling out in baying mobs from +beneath forlorn shacks to snap at our horses’ fetlocks. +Sometimes a slatternly woman in a calico +dress, roused to languid curiosity by their racket, +came to an open door and looked after us with indifferent, +lackluster eyes. Of men we saw nothing, +save once.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then I glanced up, warned by the pricking of my +horse’s ears, to catch a glimpse of a fierce, bearded +face, which glowered down at us from the rhododendrons +above the trail. The sun, just dropping +below a peak, glinted dully from a long rifle barrel, +as it moved slightly to bear upon us.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Cough, Somers! Cough!” I whispered.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Our leader, quick to grasp my hint, coughed nobly, +until he swayed in the saddle, handkerchief to his +lips.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I spurred forward to support him. “Easy, boys,” +said I, loudly enough to be heard from the hillside +I hoped. “The mountain air is hard on those lungs, +but we’ll find a good place for your house to-morrow, +I hope. Remember, the doctor said these hills were +the only place you could live.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We rode on; I, for one, with my heart in my +throat. My back muscles quivered and flinched. +But no bullet pierced them; no gunshot cut through +the silence of the hills. After a mile or two I explained.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers shrugged. “They don’t seem to welcome +<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>strangers,” he admitted. “It’s a cheery country.” +His eyes followed the sharp-toothed, jagged hills, +which ringed us in; the abrupt, bleak mountains of +North Carolina, whose ridges are too sharp-edged +for concealment, were all about us, and the blue +sky showed between the trunks of the single, straggling +row of slender trees, which found difficult life +there. “The hills look about as friendly as their +people. Still, I don’t believe they’ll shoot us without +stopping to ask questions first.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>With this dubious encouragement we rode on +through the long shadows of sunset, which comes +so early there; for the sun dropped behind the encircling +hills in midafternoon, they were so high.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The rough trails wound on, forking and twisting, +and we rode slower and slower, while our leader +puzzled over the map Anne Christie had drawn. +Dusk came on, and then darkness, and still we rode, +Somers scowling uncertainly. At last we made out +a point of light in the distance.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Our leader pulled up. “We’re lost,” he admitted. +“I haven’t an idea which way to turn, even if we +could see the trails, which we can’t. I move we stop +at that house and ask our way.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>So we blundered on through the darkness, and +that lone spark of light grew and became the oblong +of an unglazed window, toward which our tired +steeds trotted, unguided. A yelping, baying avalanche +of dogs poured down the slope, to bark +and snap at our horses’ legs, and to jump viciously +up for a grip upon our own. We halted.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>“Hello, the house!” called Somers, reluctant to +dismount because of the dogs.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Abruptly the light above us went out. We +heard a door close somewhere. Then the clamor of +the hounds lessened, and presently it ceased. They +lowered their tails, began to sneak away, as I could +see through the dusk. And a harsh voice was raised, +so close to us that I jumped involuntarily, and my +horse plunged.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What’s yore business here, strangers?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers coughed promptly. “We’re honest +travelers,” I explained. “My nephew here has consumption; +his doctor has sent him into the mountains +to live, and we’re hunting a place. Can you tell us +how to reach Devil’s Branch?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Devil’s Branch?” The man’s voice held a queer, +interrogative note. “Huh! Strike a light, stranger; +le’me look at you-all. Hit’s a right onhealthy place +for sick folks, the Devil’s Branch. Uh-<em>huh</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I despair of reproducing in print his twanging +drawl, his quaint idiom, his pronunciations, so different +from the speech of the lowlands, less than +fifty miles away.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers lit a match obediently, and its flickering +light shone on his lean, sallow face, exaggerating the +hollows of his cheeks, throwing his bold, hooked +nose into high relief.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Huh?” asked the mountaineer. “’Member I got +a bead on you-all agin’ th’ sky line! Are puny lookin’, +hain’t yuh?” Then with renewed suspicion: “What +you-all lookin’ for on Devil’s Branch?”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>“A place to build a cabin,” I told him.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Down, Tige!” he said, as one of the hounds +began to yap again. “Hit’s a right cur’us place fer +furriners. Don’t look right t’ me, nohow. Huh? +Hain’t my lookout, no ways; hit’s Lafe’s bus’ness. +You-all jus’ keep a-goin’ up th’ Branch yander an’ +pass two li’l’ runs; at th’ next run don’t go no +furderer, but turn up hit an’ foller ’long.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“How far?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hit’s right smart of a piece—mebbe two set-downs +an’ a long look. Yassuh, hit’s all o’ that.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And how’ll we know when we get there?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The mountaineer chuckled. “Ho, you-all’ll <em>know</em>. +Ho, yas! Hain’t no wonderment ’bout that!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I asked another question, but there was no reply. +The man had vanished as silently as he had come; +his long gun barrel no longer showed faintly, menacing +us. I was relieved. We rode on, our tired +horses stumbling and laboring among the loose pebbles, +following directions as best we might in that +Stygian blackness.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We passed by the two runs and turned up the +third, which seemed to lead steeply up through a +narrow valley, almost a cañon. On either side long, +sharp ridges stood blackly out against the sky.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The way grew rougher, steeper; the horses stumbled +over fallen logs, brambles tore at our clothing, +unseen branches whipped back and cut smartly across +our faces. At last we stopped again, unable to advance +another step through this tangled maze.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers dismounted. “Looks like we sleep out, +unk,” he remarked, forced cheerfulness in his tired +<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>tones. “We’re stuck. I wish I could lay my hands +on Roaring Lafe Rutledge!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A deep voice answered him from the bushes. We +all started violently, and I think I cried out.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You kin, stranger!”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXVII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXVII<br> <br><span class='small'>IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>S<span class="uppercase">omers</span> turned slowly, and, though it was so +dark, I could see that his hands were held high. +Peter and I hastened to elevate ours.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Who are you?” he asked quietly. “What do you +want?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A gruff laugh answered him. “You done said my +name, stranger. An’ what does you-all want, an’ +what fer are ye calling Roaring Lafe?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Doctor Major, down in the city, said you were +the man to see,” replied Somers coolly. “My name +is Winters, John Winters. I’ve got consumption, and +they sent me into the mountains to live. This is my +uncle, George Winters and Mr. Scott. We want to +buy land for a cabin for me, and Mr. Scott’s going +to build it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>An incredulous grunt replied, as the bushes +crackled, and a huge shape emerged. Straining my +eyes through the dark, I made out the pale blur of +a white beard, which the man stroked thoughtfully.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Don’t yuh pay ’em no mind, Lafe,” said another +voice, a shrill, ugly voice, with a tremor in it. +“Shoot ’em down! Them’s revenooers!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You hark, Cal Col! I aim t’ tend my bus’ness +my own self. Git on them hosses, you-all, an’ foller +me. We-all’ll fetch ’em up to th’ cabin an’ look ’em +over there.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>We obeyed exactly. Though Roaring Lafe had +not thought it necessary even to warn us, the repeating +rifle in his hand was eloquent; and, as we +spurred after his huge figure, another man and +another broke through the laurel behind us, until we +were flanked and followed by at least half a dozen, +all carrying rifles.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“In for it now!” said Peter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Shut up!” replied our leader.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We went on in silence, save for the creak of saddle +leathers, the stumbling footfalls of our horses; the +men all about us moved like wraiths, noiselessly. We +mounted a steep grade, for I had to lean forward to +keep the saddle; then we wound through a tangle +of laurel and came out into a clearing, which seemed +almost light in contrast with the blackness below. +Before us loomed the dim outlines of a big log cabin. +When we had reached it our captor said:</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Light down, you-all! Git in!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He scorned to threaten, even to warn us, but his +rifle barrel pointed his request. We obeyed without +words, ducked our heads to pass the low lintel, and +entered a bare, puncheon-floored room, with a rough +stone fireplace at one end.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I looked about it curiously, as at some remembered +spot. A rude homemade armchair stood before +the fire, and on a stand beside it rested a gallon jug. +There Roaring Lafe had sat many and many a night, +year after year, talking and drinking. In that corner, +perhaps, Anne Christie had huddled, a tattered, +brown-legged girl beside her mother; a half-grown +maiden, dreaming her dreams of the “settlements;” +<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>a woman full grown, dainty and fair, recalling bitterly +her free, broad life, which seemed so hopelessly +behind her, and always frightened; shivering +with fear of this hulking, ignorant, bullying brute, +Lafe Rutledge.</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was very pitiful; it made her story more real, +more terrible in its quiet pathos. My eyes smarted, +and I think that Somers’ thoughts must have run in +the same channel, for he faced Rutledge with a new +defiance.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Now what do you mean,” he demanded, “by +stopping honest folks in this fashion?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Rutledge grinned, showing long, yellow teeth in +his beard. “W’y, wa’n’t you-all a-wishin’ an’ a-honin’ +fer to find Roarin’ Lafe?” he asked. “What do +you-all aim to see him about? What’s yore bus’ness? +Speak up, now!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The man called Cal Col interrupted again, his +dry eyes darting hither and thither, his lean features +working hungrily.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Kill ’em, Lafe! Kill ’em right off! Them’s +revenooers, I tell ye; hain’t no use o’ waitin’ fer ’em +to lie to ye.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers turned upon him fiercely enough: “You +lie yourself!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Cal Col stepped swiftly behind the bulky form of +his leader. “You le’ me be!” he whined.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The other mountaineers, rough, bearded men in +homespun and cowhide boots, laughed and nudged +each other. I judged that Cal Col was not a general +favorite.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hush yo’r yap, boys! Hit hain’t healthy fer +<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>furriners here on Devil’s Branch, stranger. ’F you +got consumption, I shore am sorry fer hit; but we-all +cain’t have no furriners up here. Hit was a +furriner done stoled my gyurl.” The craggy, beetling +brows drew down over hot eyes; Roaring Lafe’s +deep voice grew deeper, louder, more unfriendly. +“You-all kin git, right now! Hank, guide ’em out +an’ onto th’ trail fer Azalea. They-all can fetch +hit, come mornin’.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But not to-night!” protested Somers. “Our +horses are beat out.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Git!” repeated Rutledge sternly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But now his men began to murmur. “Look-a-here, +Lafe!” began the fellow called Hank. “Hit +hain’t safe! Mebbe they hain’t revenooers, but they +sure kin⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Rutledge snorted. “Hain’t got sense!” he replied +contemptuously. “An’ they don’t know nothin’.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Revenooers!” repeated Cal Col shrilly. He made +a dash at Peter, the smallest of us, and gripped his +coat. “Kill ’em! A-a-a-ah!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was a howl of triumph. For Peter’s coat tore +open under that clutch, and on his vest shone the +deputy-sheriff’s star which he had forgotten to conceal!</p> + +<p class='c010'>The mountaineers growled ominously. “Sneaks! +Spies! Revenooers!” Half a dozen menacing rifle +barrels thrust out at us.</p> + +<p class='c010'>All was lost; but we would sell our lives as dearly +as we might. We whipped out the pistols, which +<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>Rutledge’s contemptuous confidence had left us, and +stood with backs to the wall.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The door burst open, and Ralph Satterfield dashed +in, panting.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Lafe! Hank! All here? Lissen, fellers, it’s all +up!” He paused in wonder at the tableau; then a +malevolent grin plucked at his piratical mustache. +“Well, dog my cats! You-all got ’em a’ready! Lissen, +Lafe, them fellers is spies! They bin watchin’ +an’ doggin’ round an’ seen us handlin’ that liquor +an’ run straight t’ Raleigh las’ night to squeal! Hull +revenue bunch’ll be onto our necks directly. An’ they +come up here!” he exclaimed, with gloating malice. +“Ain’t that nice, huh? Kill ’em!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Roaring Lafe gestured the rifles aside, and beneath +the shaggy brows his eyes flamed coldly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Git back!” he said. I saw how he had earned +his title. “Git back! Le’ me settle this here!” The +cabin echoed to his roar.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He advanced upon us, alone, empty-handed. His +fierce old eyes glowed, his thick beard fairly bristled +with inhuman rage. On he came, full in the face of +Somers’ leveled pistol, heeding it no more than a +pointed finger.</p> + +<p class='c010'>There was something terrible, superhuman, in that +slow, implacable advance. The power of the man +shone out; I tasted to the full that paralyzing fear +Anne Christie had tried to voice. I felt that this +huge old man was invulnerable, unconquerable; his +absolute certainty beat down my will. I suppose a +rabbit feels thus, watching the advance of a stoat; +a bird, charmed by some venomous snake, could be +<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>no more helpless than I was then. Despite me, the +pistol barrel dropped. I could not resist; he had +only to stretch out his hand.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Beside me Peter’s face showed white and slack; +beads of perspiration shone on it. His hands dropped +nervelessly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But Somers grinned. “I’d hate to shoot my +father-in-law,” he drawled, “but⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You needn’t,” said a dry, quiet voice from without. +“Hands up, all! You’re covered!”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXVIII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXVIII<br> <br><span class='small'>RUTLEDGE TALKS</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>T<span class="uppercase">he</span> mountain men whirled. Roaring Lafe ceased +his advance to look over a burly shoulder. +In the doorway of the cabin stood the quiet, gray +man, the revenue agent. Beside and behind him +were armed men; rifle barrels bristled in all of the +shack’s windows. The moonshiners were surrounded, +outnumbered, helpless. With one accord they +dropped their guns and raised resigned hands above +their heads, all but Roaring Lafe. Bellowing, he +sprang toward the door, the window, only to turn +back from ready gun muzzles. Then his bearded +face horribly contorted, his foam-flecked lips twitched +back from long, yellow teeth, and he sprang full at +Somers’ throat.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ll tote yuh to death along of me, anyhow,” he +said. “You spyin’ sneak!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The revenue agent cried out, and I sprang forward. +But in that crowded room none dared shoot, +for the mountaineers milled already, crouching for a +dash. I hovered over the whirling bulk of the +raging moonshiner, seeking to fire without endangering +Somers’ lank, convulsively thrashing limbs.</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was over in an instant. The slender physician, +overwhelmed, fell sprawling, apparently helpless, his +left hand feeling along the other’s huge arm. A +mere touch, it seemed, upon that mass of muscle, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>a strangled roar, and Rutledge’s right arm dropped +helplessly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers twisted in his grip and freed a hand still +holding the heavy pistol, which Anne Christie had +given him. I gasped.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But he did not fire. Instead, the pistol’s lying +barrel tapped his huge adversary neatly across the +base of the skull, and Roaring Lafe Rutledge relaxed. +His great arms all abroad, he settled slowly upon +his back, inert as a pole-axed steer.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The physician rose, feeling gingerly of his throat. +“It’s all in knowing where to hit ’em,” he said +hoarsely.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The captured mountaineers eyed him admiringly. +“Well, dog my cats!” exclaimed the man called +Hank. “Fust time ever I seed anybody best Roarin’ +Lafe! I wouldn’t ’a’ believed it.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Come, men,” ordered the government agent +briskly. “Round these fellows up and search ’em. +You, Bailey, Gaines, and Lipkowitz, stick around. +We’ve made a clean sweep, I think; but pick up anybody +else who comes in here, and in the morning +destroy that still. You know where it is, Gaines, and +now come along down. You can ride the horses tied +outside there. Somers, you and your friends had +better come with us.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The revenue men moved swiftly. Soon a little +heap of pistols and knives lay on the floor beside +the guns dropped by their prisoners.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Take charge of these weapons, Bailey,” ordered +the chief again. “You others, rope these chaps and +come along.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>It was done forthwith, and we all set out, the +gray-haired man in front, carrying an electric belt +lamp, behind him the seven prisoners in single file, +the right wrist of each handcuffed. Each empty +cuff was knotted to a long rope at four-foot intervals, +so that they made a long line, fastened securely +together. Revenue officers with ready rifles marched +on either side, while Somers, Peter, and I dragged +wearily behind.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I soon saw why the prisoners were fastened thus +oddly, for we plunged straight down the mountainside, +on foot, in a long line. The slope was so steep +that we all had to clutch at the close-growing trees, +climbing as if down a steep ladder. The prisoners +made heavy weather of it; their shackled arms were +hampered, and the rope, which bound them together, +was continually catching and retarding them. But, +with both hands secured, they could never have negotiated +that dizzying slant; and, unless all had +been fastened together, one or more would surely +have been able to make an escape on that dark, +wooded mountainside which they knew so well.</p> + +<p class='c010'>As it was, after what seemed an age of sliding +and scrambling down grades, which just missed being +perpendicular, we reached a little clearing on comparatively +level ground, all breathless and scratched, +our clothes half torn off. We had come ten miles, +I suppose. Already dawn was gray in the east, and +I, for one, was exhausted. I hailed the motor cars +which awaited us with a prayer of silent thanksgiving.</p> + +<p class='c010'>My comrades seemed almost as tired as I, and the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>gray-haired revenue agent turned a drawn, haggard +face to the early light.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We’re well out of that!” he said. “A couple +more hours up there might have seen an attempt at +rescue. Roaring Lafe has plenty of friends on the +mountain.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Rutledge had preserved a somber silence ever since +he returned to consciousness. He stood with bent +head, his magnificent physique apparently unwearied +by our forced march. Now and again he turned a +queer, almost admiring look upon Somers.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He did not reply to the government man’s remark, +but the fellow called Cal Col laughed jeeringly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yah!” he said. “Lafe Rutledge hain’t got no +friends in th’ mountains <em>now</em>, no more’n he has kinfolks! +They’s plenty will be glad that he’s done +cotched—roarin’ an bullyin’ round like he done!” +His snaky eyes were filled with malevolence.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Shut up!” ordered one of his guards and slapped +him across the sneering mouth. I think we were all +disgusted by his haste to vilify his fallen leader.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yessir, cap’n, I kin tell you-all lots o’ things. I’d +have turned up all this moonshinin’ an’ blockadin’ +meanness long ago, on’y I done bin a-scaret o’ Lafe +Rutledge.” He fawned upon the government man, +crooked teeth showing in a repulsive, insinuating +smile.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Rutledge smiled bitterly, but did not speak. I +wondered what his thoughts might be; if he regretted +now that he had once tried to force his stepdaughter +into a marriage with this—this reptile?</p> + +<p class='c010'>At the end of a rough wagon track stood three +<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>motor cars, a couple of flivvers and a light express +truck, covered with wire gratings at either end. +Into this the officers urged their prisoners, still bound +together, and padlocked the grated door behind them. +The truck made a tolerable substitute for a Black +Maria, even if its passengers had to seat themselves +upon the floor. An armed man took his place beside +its driver and faced backward to watch the +prisoners.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Drive on, Brownell,” ordered the gray man. +“And, remember, you in there, we’re coming right +behind, with half a dozen rifles trained on that truck +every minute!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We three piled into one of the flivvers, and the +rest of the government men followed, filling every +seat, clinging precariously to the running boards.</p> + +<p class='c010'>That was a wild drive down the mountainside, +though we went slowly enough, perforce. But +there was no more than a track, rough and uneven, +winding among stumps and fallen trees; huge +roots and boulders lay athwart it, so that we were +shaken like corn in a popper, and I wondered how +these cars had ever been made to climb so high, +when the going down seemed about to wreck them +at every turn. The mountaineers, huddled on the +floor of that truck, must have suffered cruelly, with +no seats to which they might cling; but no murmur +escaped them. Only Cal Col kept up a constant wail, +until the man nearest him struck him heavily across +the mouth, silencing him effectually.</p> + +<p class='c010'>At last we were down, without having broken +either a spring or any of our bones, and by seven +<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>o’clock our odd procession pulled up before the Asheville +city prison. The government agent clambered +stiffly out. “I’ll make a deal with the chief of police +to take care of these birds until we can bring them +before the commissioner,” said he. “Doctor Somers, +I’m greatly obliged to you and your friends. It +was risky, of course, to use you men as decoys, but, +thanks to you, we caught the whole gang together. +You brought in their sentinels for us, and we had +a clear field. You might have been killed, of course, +but it came out very well. Can I do anything in +return?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded. “Why, yes. You can turn that +man Rutledge over to me, as a regularly appointed +deputy sheriff of Carabas County. He’s wanted over +there. I’ll get a warrant first and serve it. You’ll +keep him safe until then?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The other bowed a grim head. “Oh, yes, and for +the next twenty years, at least!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>While we talked, the prisoners were being unloaded, +to the curious delight of a rapidly gathering +crowd. Old Rutledge descended ponderously, his +eyes upon Somers. Meeting that odd, almost friendly +regard, the lanky doctor started.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Here, man,” he said excitedly. “You can do this: +Give me a chance for a quiet talk with Rutledge +now. Maybe I can get something out of him.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The revenue agent agreed readily, and in ten +minutes we faced the huge mountaineer in the little +office of the jail. A stalwart officer stood on either +side of him, pistol in hand; for Roaring Lafe was +too notorious to be guarded carelessly.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>Doctor Somers leaned toward him impulsively. +“Look here, Rutledge! There’s a friend of mine in +jail, over there in Pinelands, waiting his trial. He +was married the other day, and his bride is waiting +for him, crying her eyes out. You’re an old man; +won’t you help them?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The moonshiner looked back at him squarely, his +bright old eyes curiously wistful and soft. “I hain’t +havin’ no truck ’ith furriners,” he answered slowly, +“but I’ll do whut I kin for <em>you</em>, stranger. Yore +th’ fust one ever bested Roaring Lafe yit; I cain’t +tell now how yuh done hit. Whut kin I do?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Confess!” said Somers swiftly. “You might as +well; we’ve got you anyway. Confess, and let poor +old Parker out now, instead of keeping him until +you’re tried.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Rutledge laughed hoarsely. “Confess? W’y, +stranger, hain’t no need o’ me confessing hardly. +They done cotched me, still an’ all!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yes, for blockading, I know, but not for murder.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Murder? What-all ye talkin’ ’bout, stranger? I +ain’t done no killin’ meanness—not in Carabas +County.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m talking about the murder of Doctor Gaskell,” +said Somers impatiently. “Don’t try to pretend you +don’t know that! We can prove it on you, only it’ll +take longer.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Roaring Lafe stared at us. “But I hain’t done no +killin’ in Pinelands,” he repeated. “I’m a-tellin’ ye +th’ truth, stranger,” he declared, not without a certain +<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>rude dignity. “Don’t ye go fer t’ call Lafe +Rutledge a liar, suh!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And then, seeing our puzzlement, he leaned forward +confidentially. “I’ll tell ye,” he said hoarsely. +“I’ll tell you-all th’ whole thing. I did aim for t’ +kill Gaskell, account o’ this here.” His wide gesture +indicated his guards, his handcuffs, the jail. “He +done found out more’n he’d oughter, an’ I sont word +Satterfield was t’ fix ’im, lessen he sh’d do whut +he done. An’ ’en I come down t’ Pinelands my own +se’f. We’d had dealin’s oncet, Gaskell an’ me, an’ I +didn’t aim t’ do no meanness lessen I jist hadda. I +went to ’is house, an’ I done sont ’im word to tell I +aimed t’ settle ’ith him come sunup. An’ I went to +his house that night, aimin’ for to waylay ’im, come +mornin’, like I said. Satterfield was there, an’ I sont +’im back, aimin’ t’ do th’ job my own self. Well, +after while—long mebbe a hour afore sunup—out +come Gaskell ’ith ’is doctor bag an’ sot out th’oo +th’ pines acrost th’ big road. I follered after ’im, +’ith my pistol gun ready. He traveled ’long th’oo +them pines an’ into th’ bresh, an’ me after ’im, +ontwel I—I seen th’ ha’nt. An’ ’en I lit out a-runnin’. +Yessuh!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He stopped, curiously shamefaced, and stared at +Somers, with a sort of sulky defiance.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You—you saw a haunt—a ghost?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Uh-huh!” The tough-souled old reprobate nodded +violently, so that his patriarchal beard wagged again. +“Yassuh! I seen th’ ha’nt, all white, like in a +shroud, an’ blue smoke like brimstone ’round about, +an’ eyes a-flamin’ dreadful—an’ I shore did light a +<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>shuck outa there. Gentlemen, hush! I don’t aim +t’ have no truck ’ith ghosteses.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>His big, bold face was all twisted with superstitious +awe; the hand which clutched his beard was +trembling. There could be no doubt that he spoke +the truth. Whatever loose newspaper or waving +sheet had wrought upon his ignorant fancy, he was +fully convinced that he had encountered a spirit, and +had been driven by it from his intended crime.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And you didn’t shoot Gaskell? Did you see +anybody else there? Was Satterfield gone?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nossuh—yassuh. I aimed fer to shoot ’im, but +I plumb didn’t! I jist tuck my foot in my hand +an’ lit a-runnin’. Ner I didn’t see nobody, neither. +I didn’t look round, lessen th’ ha’nt was a-follerin’ of +me; but Satterfield, he’d done gone back up th’ hill +long afore that.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers groaned aloud. I could have wept. Weary +as I was, I had been buoyed up by hope until now. +I had borne with all this strain and fatigue, exulting +within myself that now, at last, Lewis would be +freed. This blow was too much. The room whirled +before me; Somers’ face blurred, grew monstrously +big, then receded from my sight. I heard his voice +faintly:</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, then, in Heaven’s name, who <em>did</em> kill +Gaskell?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Rutledge’s reply sounded fainter yet, a hoarse +whisper, trembling with superstitious dread. “I +reckon hit musta been th’ ha’nt!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“The ghost!” Somers’ voice was reflective, almost +<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>convinced. “I believe you’re right, Rutledge; it must +have been the ghost!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The words seemed to come from an immense distance; +they rang in my ears like a knell. “Poor +Somers!” I thought. “He’s gone crazy; he’s off +his head about this thing, just like the rest of us!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then I lost consciousness.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXIX' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXIX<br> <br><span class='small'>THE RETURN</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>I <span class="uppercase drop-cap-gap">woke</span> with a start, in a strange room, staring +about me in dull wonder. Oh, well, it was +scarcely daylight, and I was still tired out. I would +go back to sleep and save my questions until breakfast +time. I turned over, yawning, but a familiar +voice dragged me back from slumber.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Get up, unk!” It was Peter McGregor. “You’ll +have to get going; train leaves in an hour.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Again I yawned. “What time is it?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Seven o’clock.” Then he laughed at my exclamation. +“No, unk, seven at night. You’ve only slept +twelve hours. Hurry up, now, we’ve got to be back +in Pinelands by morning.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Reluctantly enough I rose, every stiff old joint +aching, and tumbled into my clothes. Peter and +Doctor Somers were dressed and throwing their few +belongings into traveling bags.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Presently we set out for the Asheville station and +the eight-fifteen train, which would take us to +Raleigh, a silent, disconsolate trio, as much at sea +as on the morning of Doctor Gaskell’s mysterious +murder. We had followed trail after trail with such +high hopes; our suspicions had pointed here and +there; and each suspect had cleared himself. I +groaned aloud as we three sat in the Pullman smoking +room.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>“All we really know, up to date,” said I, “is that +Gaskell left his house, and was killed an hour before +Lewis came out there.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded. “Even that is going to be hard +to prove,” he answered gloomily. “One point rests +on the unsupported word of a notorious blockader, +a fellow more than suspected of one murder, and +now under arrest for making moonshine whisky. +Vanbrugh will tear his evidence into tatters, even if +he’ll testify. And the other point: that Gaskell had +been dead some time when Parker fired; it rests on +your word alone. And you’ll have to admit yourself +that you were pretty well upset.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Maybe Rutledge killed him, after all,” I suggested +weakly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I doubt it. And, even if he did, we can’t prove +it. We can’t prove he even saw Gaskell that morning, +except by his own statement, which wouldn’t +go far in law.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter leaned forward, scowling. “Look here,” he +began. “Now don’t get sore, unk; promise? Because, +even if he did, I’m for him all the way, and +no doubt he had provocation we know nothing about. +But have you thought that maybe Lewis did kill him, +after all? No”—as I would have gone over the +evidence once more—“no, I don’t mean then, when +you heard the shot. But he might have gone out +there at four o’clock; it was quite light, even at that +time, and he might have met Gaskell and shot him. +Then he was scared, of course, and he went to the +house and cleaned his gun and reloaded it and came +back at five, meaning, no doubt, to pretend he’d just +<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>found the body. He’d have said he just got up, and, +when he went into that tangle after the quail, he +found Gaskell’s body by the path, dead and cold. +His gun would be clean, both barrels loaded, and +nobody’d have suspected him. But, when he got out +there, he tripped, and the gun went off by accident; +that’s the way it happened, you said yourself, unk. +And the constable just happened to be coming past +and heard it, and there he was!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nonsense!” said I. “That’s absurd.” But was +it? I had to admit to myself that it was an adequate +explanation, that it fitted most diabolically into all we +knew about the case. I closed my eyes; I could see +the whole thing. Lewis, gun in hand, prowling +through the dawn after quail; Gaskell meeting him +on the path, carrying his medicine case; the quarrel. +There would have been hot words; my nephew had +not forgotten his anger of the day before. A sneering +laugh, perhaps, as the older man lost patience; +Lewis’ unruly temper flaming forth; the shotgun in +his nervous hands, leveling itself; the explosion! +And then my poor, impulsive boy, shuddering at the +sight of a bleeding body; creeping stealthily through +the bushes, cleaning and reloading the gun with +hands that shook; waiting for the body of his victim +to stiffen; whipping round the old house to advance +boldly down that fateful path—with what inward +tremors and self-loathings! He comes on slowly, +looking for the body; it should be about here. And +then a stumble; the shotgun, forgotten in his unsteady +hands, the finger tightening involuntarily upon +its trigger; the second shot! And upon its heels an +<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>outcry, the pounding run of Constable Wakefield; +the accusation!</p> + +<p class='c010'>No wonder Lewis had seemed dazed! He must +have thought it retribution, the accidental discharge +of his gun bringing back upon him all the public +guilt he had sought so cunningly to conceal.</p> + +<p class='c010'>And then I shook my head stubbornly. Lewis +Parker do that? No! He was my nephew, almost +my son; I knew him as I knew myself.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nonsense!” I repeated sturdily. “My boy never +did such a thing as that. He might have killed +Gaskell in the heat of passion, but he never sneaked +and hid afterward, or plotted out such a scheme as +that to escape. I don’t—I won’t believe it!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I sure do hope you’re right, unk,” said Peter +heavily. “But it does seem beastly logical.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>It did. It was fiendishly, horribly logical. I could +see that if such an idea occurred to Vanbrugh, the +solicitor, the poor defense we could proffer would become +a boomerang to destroy us. For, on the face +of it, we could make the killing appear an accident, +perhaps; at the worst an impulsive, unpremeditated +act. But this other, this sneaking off to reload and +returning to discover the body—this cunning scheme +frustrated, as Vanbrugh would make it appear, by +the accidental discharge of the gun—why, it made +my nephew a cold, deliberate murderer! Shuddering +I recalled my dream of the explosion of that cannon +in my bedroom. That must have been the first shot, +the shot which had killed Gaskell! Had Lewis pulled +the trigger?</p> + +<p class='c010'>All this while Somers had sat silent, chin in his +<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>long, bony hands, a cigarette drooping from his +sour, discontented lips. I turned to him impatiently.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What do you think, Somers? You know my +nephew; is he capable of such a thing as that?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The lanky physician raised his head and stared at +me with deep-set, inscrutable, gray-green eyes. “I +told you this morning,” he replied. “From all we’ve +found out I’m beginning to believe it was the ghost +killed Gaskell.” And his chin dropped again. Well, +there was little enough satisfaction in that!</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXX' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXX<br> <br><span class='small'>AN AGITATED HOUSEHOLD</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>W<span class="uppercase">e</span> descended from the train at the Pinelands +depot into a bright, sunny morning. And, +even above the throbbing of the train, the sighing of +released air brakes, I heard the strident cry of those +detestable quail. I shook my fist in a paroxysm of +unreasonable fury.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Those cursed bobwhite! If it hadn’t been for +them and Aunt Mary’s fool complaints, this thing +would never have happened.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We climbed into the station’s solitary jitney and +had ourselves driven to Fort House.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The family were all at table. Entering the dining +room, my eyes fell first upon Miss McGregor; and +I was appalled. Her thin face, beneath the crown +of snowy hair, was ghastly, greenish pale, and the +delicate skin hung in bags beneath her eyes. She +had changed startlingly in these last two days. Poor +old woman! She was not long for this world, I +thought.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then my thoughts were interrupted by glad, agitated +outcries. Dorothy fell upon my neck, weeping, +and clutched me tight; and Anne Christie, +usually so self-contained, hugged me, too, and ran +on to grip Doctor Somers by both hands.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, Uncle George!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Oh, +Peter!” And she put out a hand to him. “We’re so +<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>glad you came, so glad you’re back, all three of you! +It’s been just terrible here!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Miss Christie nodded emphatically, and they both +wept and hugged us all and dragged us into the dining +room and seated us. They were both talking at +once, tremulously, frantically glad of our coming. +And all this while Aunt Mary sat, rigid, staring at +nothing, her face terribly white and old, too much +absorbed in her own gloomy thoughts to be either +glad or sorry we had returned. But every time the +quail whistled outside the windows, she flinched +visibly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Now, then,” I began, as the tumult subsided a +trifle, “what’s all the excitement about? And where’s +Rosina?” For Dorothy herself had gone to the +kitchen for our coffee and Miss Christie was bringing +in the toast.</p> + +<p class='c010'>At that the babble recommenced. “Rosina’s gone—left +this morning. Said she couldn’t stand it here. +Too many ‘ha’nts and ghostesses’ for her,” the girls +answered, both talking at once. “And, oh, how I +wish we could all go! It’s been just terrible!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hold on,” said Somers, and the two girls subsided +momentarily. “One thing at a time. First, let +us assure you, Miss McGregor, that you won’t be +annoyed because we came back. The gentlemen, who +would have liked to abolish us, are all safe in jail.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, goody! Then Lewis is all right?” Dorothy +glowed at the idea.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded. “He’ll be all right,” he replied +evasively.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>Miss Christie had turned pale. “And my—my +stepfather?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yes, Anne, Rutledge, too. He can’t trouble you +now.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And did he⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No, it wasn’t Rutledge, but he told me where to +look. However, that will keep. Now tell us, you +first, Anne, what’s wrong here?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The nurse began obediently. “It’s the Poltergeist. +We’ve just been frightened to death! Night before +last and last night, too, all over the house. Miss +McGregor had sent me out, and I was in the living +room with Dorothy, and we heard awful shrieks +from the basement. We ran down there, and the +Poltergeist had been in Rosina’s room and pulled the +bedclothes off her and stuck pins into her legs, and +everything. And this morning Rosina packed up and +left, two hours ago. Wouldn’t stay to get breakfast, +even.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“That was last night,” Dorothy took up the tale. +“On the previous night the Poltergeist was in my +room and smeared cold cream all over my dresser +and emptied my powder box into the clothes-press +and s-stole my wedding dress and s-stuck it in the +f-furnace. It’s just r-ruined and spoiled! I don’t +believe any other body ever had such a time!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And we’re all so frightened—so s-scared that we +were just saying if you men didn’t come back—if +you-all left us alone any longer, we’d go to the hotel +to-night!” Thus the duet continued.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Somers queerly. “Ghosts again. +Perhaps this Poltergeist isn’t as harmless as you said, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>when I first came down here. So it visited Rosina +and you, Dorothy. How about you, Anne? Did +you come in for its attentions?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The nurse nodded, big-eyed. “I sat in the living +room last night after Dorothy got me up. She was +afraid to go back to bed and we sat in there and +dozed off, I reckon. Anyway the first I knew I was +right on the floor! The Poltergeist had pulled my +chair out from under me, and Dorothy never saw +a thing, either!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Not one thing!” Dorothy corroborated. “But +then I expect I was asleep, too. We’re all just +used up, Doctor Somers. Nobody in this house +has had two hours of sleep in the last two nights, +unless it was Aunt Mary.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph! And where was Miss McGregor when +all these things happened?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>All this while Aunt Mary had sat mute, stonily +calm, showing neither pleasure nor annoyance at our +return, apparently quite uninterested in the pranks +of the Poltergeist. But now she straightened, with +a queer, hostile glance at the physician.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Where was I?” she asked. “Where could I be? +I lay helpless in bed, where I’d been put, as a poor +old paralytic has to! Lay there all alone, forgotten, +as usual! I suppose,” she went on acidly, “I should +have risen on my poor, useless limbs and run out to +protect three perfectly healthy women?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And did the Poltergeist annoy you, too?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Never mind! Who cares what happens to me? +I’m nothing but a helpless cripple, a drag and a +<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>hindrance.” Her white lips worked pitifully. “But +I won’t trouble anybody much longer.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I believed her this time; she looked ghastly. And +I pitied her sincerely, in spite of her callous selfishness, +her bitter tongue.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Somers pushed back his plate and rose. +“You’ve had a bad time,” he said, taking the old +lady’s veined hand. “Does your spine trouble you +much to-day? How are the knots in your neck?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>His voice was inimitably gentle, sympathetic, winning. +Aunt Mary softened to it at once, and, after +he had wheeled her into the sitting room, discussed +her ailments for an hour or more in quite her usual +manner. The strain of her pale face lessened; a +faint color returned to her lips. If this were Doctor +Somers’ bedside manner, I thought, he must be +a most successful practitioner.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Gradually he led the talk from Aunt Mary’s symptoms +and drew her on to discuss the Poltergeist and +spiritualism generally. The old lady expressed very +positive opinions. She had read widely on the subject, +I could see, and her talk was interesting enough. +But what Somers’ sudden interest in spiritism might +be, I could not fathom.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Presently he spoke of the ouija board. “I have +one,” said the old lady. “I’ve had many very important +communications through ouija.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Next, I scarcely know how it was brought about, +she had volunteered to give us a demonstration. Miss +Christie fetched the ouija board and set it upon her +knees. Blindfolded, Aunt Mary put her finger tips +on the little three-legged indicator, and Somers, also +<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>blinded, followed suit. They sat there, knee to knee, +motionless.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Some one put a question,” directed the old lady +sepulchrally.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Who—who spoiled my wedding dress?” asked +Dorothy, a little thrill in her voice.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Under our eyes the indicator began to move slowly, +mysteriously, apparently of its own volition. Leaning +over my shoulder, Dorothy read the letters it pointed +out to the blindfolded operators.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“P-O-L-T-E⸺Why, Uncle George!” Her +excited breath fanned my cheek. “It’s spelling ‘Poltergeist!’”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And so it did. And the queer, superstitious thrill +of the unexplained caught hold of us all. We +breathed quicker, impressed in spite of ourselves.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why does the Poltergeist trouble us?” asked +Miss Christie.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Slowly, mysteriously, the ouija board answered. +The pointer moved from one letter to another deliberately, +surely, as though guided by intelligence +instead of by the finger tips of two blindfolded +people, of whom one, at least, was surely a skeptic.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“B-E-C-A-U-S-E O-F C-R-I-M-E,” it spelled.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh-h!” gasped Dorothy. “Aunty, quick! Ask it +who killed Doctor Gaskell?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old lady sat rigid, motionless as a marble +statue and as pale. The pointer moved, hesitated, +moved again. Her stiffened arms began to tremble.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then suddenly, from beyond the window, came +the strident, insistent call of a quail: “Bob<em>white</em>! +Bob<em>white</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>Aunt Mary screamed. Her hands flew up, clawing +at the bandage about her head.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—I can’t stand it!” she exclaimed. “It’s driving +me mad! Oh, oh, oh!” Her voice rose in a +crescendo of agony. “That noise—that noise—it’s +killing me!” She drooped in her wheel chair, head +on a shoulder, translucent eyelids flickering down, unconscious.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Somers coolly. “She’s fainted this +time.” He felt her pulse, lifted her fallen eyelids to +peer at her pupils, tapped her knees. She moved +convulsively. “Get water, Anne. We’d better lay +her down. No, she’s coming round all right.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary opened tragic eyes. “Wh-what happened? +Oh, I know! If I have to listen to those +horrible birds any longer I’ll die!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ll see to that,” said Somers. “But now you’d +better go back to bed. You’re badly upset; I’ll just +examine you a bit; then I’ll know just what to do.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>That did not suit, either. “No!” she answered, +almost screaming. “No, no, <em>no</em>! Get back, get away, +don’t touch me! I won’t have it—I won’t be examined—I +won’t, I won’t! You’ve been against me +every minute, ever since you came,” she went on +wildly. “You shan’t touch me, I tell you!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>In her excitement she heaved herself up by her +arms, half rising in her chair, as if to flee. But her +legs failed her, and she dropped back, panting, helplessly +defiant. “Don’t dare to touch me!” she repeated.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Doctor Somers, rubbing his chin. +“Certainly not, dear lady. Don’t distress yourself. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>I won’t come near you at all. But I can do one +thing to help you, anyhow. I’ll borrow a shotgun +to-day, and in the morning after breakfast Peter +and I will go out together and kill those quail, so +they can’t trouble you any more. They must have +nested in the bushes back there.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old lady looked at him more kindly; but both +girls cried out at this offer.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, no!” said Dorothy.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, please don’t!” implored the nurse. “Look +what happened when Doctor Parker started to do +that. He got into just terrible trouble!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers only laughed and rose. “I’ll run down +and see Parker,” said he. “You’d better lie down, +Miss McGregor.”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXXI' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXXI<br> <br><span class='small'>A BORROWED SHOTGUN</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>I <span class="uppercase drop-cap-gap">decided</span> to accompany the physician, though +my night on the sleeper had left me pretty tired. +But I wanted to see Lewis; so we got out the faithful +flivver and drove downtown.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hope the old chap’s been well looked after,” +said Somers. “I left the key with Wakefield before +we went. But no doubt Dorothy’s been there every +day.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We stopped at the constable’s house, got the lockup +key, and went on to the jail. Poor Lewis looked +ill, I thought. Confinement was wearing on his +high spirits; his greeting, though hearty enough, +was subdued. We told him of our trip to the mountains, +and its negative result. He shook his head +hopelessly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Mighty good of you both, but it was no use. +Nothing’s any use now; I can feel it; I know it! +Some dreadful fate is against me; I’m doomed. +They’ll convict me of this murder as surely as I sit +here.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Lewis,” said I impulsively, “Peter suggested that +perhaps you did kill Gaskell at four o’clock, then +cleaned the gun and came back, meaning to pretend +to discover the body. You—you didn’t do <em>that</em>?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He smiled sadly. “You see? Even Peter believes +I did it. And you had your doubts, unk. There’s +<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>no hope for me—none at all. No, Uncle George, +I didn’t do that. If I shot Gaskell at all, it was +just as I told you: at five o’clock, and by accident. +I didn’t even know he was there.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Buck up, Parker,” said Somers. “Things are +beginning to look bright for you.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Just vague optimism, I thought; and so did Lewis.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But before he could reply some one knocked on +the jail door. I unlocked it, and Wakefield appeared, +escorting the sheriff.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Howdy, people! Mr. Uhlman, I hear you-all was +up to the hills recent?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I nodded; and in response to his keen questioning, +Somers and I told him all that had transpired there.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“H’m,” said he reflectively, fingering his absurd +white mustache. “H’m! So Satterfield an’ Roarin’ +Lafe was thereabouts ’at mornin’? Yeah, I kinda +s’picioned them two. Y’ see, Gaskell come t’ me +’bout th’ cawn-liquor trade; it was me sent word t’ +Raleigh on his say-so. Yeah, I kinda reckoned mebbe +one or other o’ them two mighta done ’at killin’. +But they claimed it wa’n’t neither of ’em done it, +an’ you-all believed ’em both, huh? H’m! I done +studied about this here killin’ a right smart, one time +an’ another. I reckoned Vanbrugh was all wrong. +H’m! Well, gentlemen, I reckon you-all ain’t a-goin’ +t’ need them depitty stars no longer. Y’ see th’ +county jail’s ’bout fixed now. Oh, they’s a right +smart o’ work left—kinda sorry-lookin’ place yit, all +scorched, but I reckon we better carry Doc Parker +over yonder ag’in. H’m! I better take them stars. +You-all c’n tell young McGregor he’s resigned; he +<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>ain’t a depitty no more. He c’n turn in his badge +to-morrow. Rufe here c’n keep ’at lockup key, an’ +I’ll send a reg’lar depitty over t’ keep him comp’ny +an’ carry th’ doc t’ jail ag’in to-morrow mornin’. +H’m! Good day!” He nodded slightly and waddled +out.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Lewis sighed dispiritedly. “You see, unk! Redden +was inclined to think me innocent until now. +He’s been mighty decent. I suppose he thought the +bootleggers killed Gaskell, and was working quietly +along that line; now he thinks I did it. Did you see +him look at me? And I’m to be treated like any +other prisoner awaiting trial.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We left him. After all, what comfort had we to +offer? Doctor Somers called after the retiring +constable.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, Wakefield! Say, Rufe, got a shotgun you’ll +lend me?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The big man nodded slowly. “W’y, yes, doc,” he +replied amicably. It was strange how Pinelands had +adopted Somers; already he was intimate with half +the town and every one liked him, as did this huge, +timorous, boastful constable.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“W’y shore, I gotta gun—kind of a one, leastways. +Jist let me lock up, and I’ll git ’er, ’f you-all’ll +carry me home.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>After a few minutes we returned to Fort House, +Somers holding in the crook of one long arm a +dilapidated double-barreled shotgun.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Not much to look at, as Rufe admitted,” he remarked, +displaying the weapon. “But I guess she’ll +shoot, and Peter’s got lots of shells.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>It was a dubious-looking affair, whose stock had +been split and wound with tape and wire, both about +the grip and above the lock, where its barrels were +hinged. Somers broke it and peered down the +barrels.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“A bit rusty,” he announced and snapped the +barrels into place. They dropped promptly back. +“And the catch doesn’t work properly. I’ll have to +watch out, or the old thing’ll break when I fire it, +and I’ll get beaned. But it will do, I expect.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We went on into the house. Aunt Mary was nowhere +in sight, but the two girls fastened upon us at +once, demanding full details of our trip. “We didn’t +dare say much about it before Aunt Mary,” explained +Dorothy. “She acts so queer when we talk about +the murder, and Peter is so aggravating. He just +keeps saying: ‘Wait; let Somers tell it. He was +the hero!’ So go ahead, doctor, and tell us!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers told our tale, prompted now and again +while the two young women listened, spellbound.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Satterfield showed us up,” said he, “and the +bunch was just about to eat us alive when the revenue +agents stepped in and arrested all hands. We slid +down the mountain in the dark, and⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hold on!” interrupted Peter, grinning. “Let +me. No, doc, you’ve got to be a hero, that’s all. The +government men came in and this Roaring Lafe, this +great beefy giant, climbed Somers here and got him +by the throat. ‘I’m going to kill <em>you</em>, anyhow!’ he +said. And nobody dared shoot, they thrashed about +so, and poor feeble old doc here was being choked to +death.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>He stopped, prolonging the suspense. “Ah-h-h!” +sighed Anne. “Go on!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And what do you think the old skeleton did? +Why, just poked Roaring Lafe in the armpit and +paralyzed that arm; and then he up with that pistol +you gave him and tapped him on the back of his +head, just as gently, and Roaring Lafe drifted off +into dreamland, right away, quick. Behold the +hee-ro!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers looked annoyed. “It wasn’t anything,” he +said. “It’s all in knowing where to hit ’em.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Anne Christie’s big violet eyes hung upon him +almost reverently. This lanky doctor not only did +not fear Roaring Lafe, but he had vanquished him +in single combat by force of arms! He might have +been a demigod, so worshiping was her gaze.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Look!” whispered Dorothy. “And he doesn’t +even see it. Men are so blind! Don’t he know she’s +in love with him?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>If he did he made no sign. He went calmly on +while the dull flush faded from his cheeks, telling +of the trip down the mountain, of our interview +with Rutledge at the jail.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But—but,” said Dorothy, “you s-said it was all +right! You said you’d found out who killed Doctor +Gaskell, so Lewis could come home—and you didn’t! +You haven’t done a thing! Why, we’re worse off +than we were before. Oh, dear; oh, dear!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I have found out,” declared Somers. “Just wait!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Wait?” she asked. “Wait? That’s all you say—wait, +wait, wait! Oh, it’s very easy for you to +wait; you’re not in p-prison, and he’s not your h-husband, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>either! I’m going to send for a lawyer—a +detective—somebody! Lewis shan’t be c-convicted +before my eyes like this. Wait, you keep saying! +How much l-longer must I wait?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Until to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I started, looked at the lanky, imperturbable physician +more closely. For all his external calm I saw +now that his strange, gray-green eyes shone with excitement; +that some inner fever twitched at his lean +hands and made them unsteady. What had he discovered +that was hidden from me?</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh-h! Honest?” asked Dorothy incredulously.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He nodded. “Honest! Just wait until morning; +you’ll see, unless I’m making a terrible mistake.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But—but who?” we all demanded, excitedly. +“Who did it, then?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers grinned. “Closer!” he ordered and whispered +dramatically into our eager ears.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I think it was—the Poltergeist!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>And he would say no more. I was disgusted at +this ill-timed joking; with my nephew in the county +jail once more, awaiting trial for his life, this silly +jest seemed in bad taste, to say the least of it. But +there matters rested for the remainder of a most +unpleasant day.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary appeared at supper, looking very haggard, +but quite calm. She smiled wanly and talked +in a weak voice about spiritism. She quite ignored +this morning’s outburst; and so did the rest of us.</p> + +<p class='c010'>But I was still more disgusted with Somers when +he abandoned his pose of silly credulity and came out +flatly to proclaim an utter disbelief in all spiritistic +<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>manifestations. What ailed the fellow? A few +hours ago he had not only lapped up Aunt Mary’s +farrago, but had declared with every appearance of +sincerity that Gaskell had been murdered by a ghost; +now he announced, with a supercilious sneer, that +we had merely imagined the Poltergeist; that it was +absurd to suppose that any spirit could have dragged +Rosina’s bedclothes off her, or destroyed Dorothy’s +wedding dress.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We were all angry, I think, even Peter.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I suppose I imagined myself on the floor when +the thing dragged my chair from under me,” he said.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers smiled maddeningly. “You went to sleep +and fell off.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“And how about my blankets?” I asked. “You +saw yourself they were gone from my bed.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You walked in your sleep, no doubt, and carried +’em away.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Do you think I’d sp-spoil my own wedding dress, +even if I was asleep?” asked Dorothy indignantly. +“And I suppose Rosina stuck pins into herself, too?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No doubt.” Somers rose, still grinning. +“Ghosts!” said he. “Rot! There are no ghosts. +You folks dreamed or imagined most of this stuff, +and there’s probably a very simple explanation for +the rest. Just superstition, that’s all. You’ve exaggerated +and dwelt upon these things until you’re all +convinced a ghost did ’em, and you use all sorts of +trifles to bolster up your belief.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>There was just enough truth in the charge to irritate +us all. Only Aunt Mary failed to protest, but +<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>the strangely vindictive look which she bent upon +Somers made me catch my breath.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I shan’t argue about it,” she said coldly. “I +only hope, Doctor Somers, that you may never suffer +for your disbelief. Sometimes the spirits resent +disbelief, doctor, and punish it!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I shivered, there was such prophetic menace in her +tones, but Somers only smiled again.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m going to bed early,” he declared. “I left that +shotgun in the cupboard on the back porch. Don’t +touch it, you girls; it’s loaded. I’m about used up; +I’m going to sleep late if I can. But after breakfast +Peter and I will go a-hunting for bobwhites!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Don’t!” begged Dorothy again. “If you do, I’m +just sure somebody will be killed. It’s bad luck to +hunt those quail; I know it!”</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXXII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXXII<br> <br><span class='small'>THE POLTERGEIST’S LAST VISIT</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>I <span class="uppercase drop-cap-gap">went</span> to bed early, as we all did. That was +a very tired household. Somers disappeared +directly after supper, and Aunt Mary followed half +an hour later.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy and Anne Christie, after the old lady had +been safely tucked in, returned to the living room +and sat with Peter and me for a while, trying dismally +to make talk. But, after two disturbed nights, +they were both dead for sleep. Dorothy nodded over +her embroidery, and Miss Christie wore again that +expression of bovine somnolence, which Somers’ +medicine, or the events of this last month, had driven +away. And Peter and I were little better.</p> + +<p class='c010'>At last Miss Christie rose. “It’s no use,” she +declared. “I’m going to bed. I—I feel as sleepy and +as stupid as I ever did before I began taking Doctor +Somers’ tablets. If the Poltergeist should come back +to-night, I’d never know it—not unless he dragged +me out of bed. And then I’d just curl up on the +floor, I think. I’m so sleepy!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was not later than nine o’clock, but we were all +exhausted, and we all went to bed. I abandoned my +half-formed design of sitting up to watch for the +Poltergeist. Let him come! I was too tired to care.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter, yawning up the stairs beside me, expressed +the same idea. “I thought I’d sit up,” he said, “and +watch for that darn ghost, just to prove Somers was +wrong, but I’m too sleepy.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>Somers’ door was closed, and no sound came from +behind it. Evidently he, too, had succumbed to the +need of rest.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I bade Dorothy and Peter a sleepy good night, and +in five minutes I was undressed and in bed, fathoms +deep in dreamless slumber.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A sudden wild shriek awakened me, such a scream +as would drag the soundest sleeper from his bed and +bring the cold sweat out upon his forehead, a scream +of mortal fear. It was Dorothy’s voice!</p> + +<p class='c010'>Despite my rheumatism, I was out of bed and at +her door in two leaps. My heart was in my throat.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Dorothy!” I said. “Dorothy! What is it, child?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She clutched me, trembling. “Oh,” she said, shaking +pitifully. “Oh, dear! I—I can’t⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What is it?” Peter was beside me, shaking his +sister’s arm. “What’s happened? Are you all +right?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—there’s a s-snake in my bed!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Came a soft pad of unshod feet, the swish of loose +garments, and Somers was beside us. Even in my +excitement I noticed and wondered at it—that he +came, not from his own room, but up the stairs.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What?” he asked, with one flashing look at us. +“Unk, Pete”—he clutched our shoulders cruelly—“tell +me, is there a back stairway to this joint?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We nodded dumbly, amazed at his query.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, scissors!” He wheeled and disappeared as +abruptly as he had come. I heard his bare feet +pounding down the stairs.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter switched on the lights, and all three of us +started back, laughing confusedly.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>“Oh, dear me!” said Dorothy, drawing her bathrobe +about her.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter looked at my pajamas and laughed consumedly. +“Those wide red stripes are frightfully +becoming, unk!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I snorted. They were good linen pajamas, and I +had bought them very cheap because of those very +stripes. I am past the days of personal vanity.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You’re no beauty yourself in those purple things,” +I replied resentfully.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then we separated, but returned presently, +wrapped in dressing gowns, to investigate Dorothy’s +bed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers came back up the stairs. He, too, was in +a bathrobe and slippers, and he held one hand tightly +shut.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Missed it,” he said. “I didn’t know about those +back stairs. What happened here?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“A s-snake in my bed!” said the girl, shivering.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” He threw back its covers. “Snake? +Ha! No wonder.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He clutched at the sheet. It was damp, and in its +center, right where poor Dorothy’s back must have +been, was a long sliver of ice.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Here’s your snake,” Somers declared.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I don’t care!” replied Dorothy. “It was just like +a snake, long and cold and clammy. Br-r-r!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He picked up the piece of ice and carried it to the +bathroom. “Well, your snake’s gone. Miss anything +from the room?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Nun-no,” she repeated wonderingly. Then she +went to the dresser and looked about a moment. “I +<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>do, too! My wedding ring and my diamond! Oh, +dear, my rings are gone!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Here,” said Somers, opening his hand. His +strange eyes danced brightly. Triumph showed in +every line of his face. In his palm lay both rings.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, you dear man! Where were they? And +now you believe in the Poltergeist, don’t you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I found them in—in the hall. And as for the +ghost—why, we will get Aunt Mary to explain that +later. Can you go back to sleep now?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl nodded doubtfully. “I—I think so, if all +of you will leave your doors wide open?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m going to sit up,” said Somers, and Dorothy, +somewhat reassured, turned to her bed as we went +out.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The physician entered his own room. We heard +him whistle shrilly. “Come here, you chaps!” he +called softly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter and I went in. And there, driven deep +through coverlet and sheets, right into the mattress, +was a carving knife!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Somers. “Looks like the Poltergeist +wasn’t entirely harmless, don’t it? In the dark +he must have thought I was in bed.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Not without difficulty he pulled out the seven-inch +blade. It would have pierced his body, had he been +sleeping there!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Where were you?” I whispered.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Me? On the stairs, watching for the Poltergeist. +Those back stairs fooled me.” And he would say no +more, except, “I found those rings just outside Aunt +Mary’s door.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>“Maybe the ghost visited her, too!” I cried, +alarmed. “Run down and see, Peter. We forgot +the poor old lady.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” said Somers. “She’s good friends with +the ghost, but go anyhow, Peter.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter went. “Sound asleep, she says,” he reported. +“Didn’t hear anything. I went right in; Miss +Christie was dead to the world; didn’t hear me +knock.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Go to bed,” directed Somers. “No, nothing more +to-night. Things are going very nicely. In the +morning this ought to be cleared up.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>So we went back to bed, despairing of further information, +but I could not sleep.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I lay there wide-eyed through the long, black +hours, wondering—wondering. Who—what was this +specter, this Poltergeist? If Somers had been in his +bed to-night, it would have killed him; had it killed +Gaskell, also? And what did Aunt Mary know of +the grisly thing? Aunt Mary would explain, Somers +had said.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old lady’s bed faced the window, I remembered, +and that window looked out upon the tangle +of scrub oaks, where Gaskell had met his death. It +must have been light, even at four o’clock. Had +Aunt Mary been awake that morning? And if so, +what had she seen? And why had she kept it secret? +There were huge cellars under the old house, I knew, +cellars long unexplored.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Had Gaskell’s murderer come to the window? +What whispered colloquy had been held, there in the +gray dawn, between the paralytic and this stranger, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>this grisly ghost of the murderous hands? Had the +old lady recognized him, shielded him, told him where +to hide, perhaps, in those long closed cellars, where +she might have played as a child? Fort House was +an old home of the McGregors; in the days of Dorothy’s +grandfather, Aunt Mary might well have visited +it, explored its vast underground caverns, where +wines had once been stored.</p> + +<p class='c010'>And what—who—was this murderer, then, whom +she had shielded, who had wandered about Fort +House of nights, screaming horridly, eating from +the pantry, breaking dishes, playing ghostly tricks, +stabbing, as he had meant to, an innocent guest? +I went cold at the picture in my imagination. Some +lunatic, some secret, stealthy madman, who might +yet slaughter us all!</p> + +<p class='c010'>I sat up in bed, straining my ears, glad of the +pistol I had rummaged out at home, and which still +lay in my bag. I got it out, resolved to keep vigil. +If this Poltergeist, this madman, came back, I would +protect Dorothy at least. And in the morning we +would hunt, not harmless quail in the back yard, but +a wanton murderer through the cellars.</p> + +<p class='c010'>The hours wore on, and dawn came slowly. As +the east turned gray, the quail piped up their matutinal +song.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Bob<em>white</em>! Bob<em>white</em>!” they whistled; louder, +closer, than ever before.</p> + +<p class='c010'>So shrill was their continual outcry, and so close +beneath me, that at last I tiptoed to the window. +Perhaps I might see them, locate their nests, against +<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>our later hunting. I swung back the screen and put +out my head, peering almost straight down.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Bob<em>white</em>! Bob<em>white</em>! Bob<em>white</em>!” they piped +at three-second intervals, regular as a clock and surprisingly +loud and close.</p> + +<p class='c010'>And then I gasped and almost fell out of the +window. These were no birds! The cry of quail +was counterfeited so exactly that I could scarcely believe +my eyes; instead of a little brown bird, Floyd +Somers crouched beneath Aunt Mary’s window, +diagonally below my own, his long, lean legs grotesquely +folded under him, his thin lips pursed. From +his lips, at regular, three-second intervals, came the +shrill cry of the bobwhite quail, exactly imitated!</p> + +<p class='c010'>This childish buffoonery angered me sorely. What +ailed the man? Had he no appreciation of what +hung over us? In the midst of the dark shadow +which covered Fort House, before the very eyes, perhaps, +of a lurking, murderous madman, he could find +nothing better to do than play this puerile practical +joke upon a helpless old woman.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“What are you doing, man? Stop it!” I shouted +wrathfully.</p> + +<p class='c010'>He looked up, in no way abashed, and gestured +vigorously for silence. Despite my rage, his desperate +earnestness, his frantic signs for secrecy, closed +my lips. Wondering mightily, I huddled into a few +things and hurried downstairs and around the house.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers still crouched beneath the east window, +whistling with all his might: “Bob<em>white</em>! Bob<em>white</em>!” +I blundered through the honeysuckle vines toward +him.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>“Shut up, man!” he said to me and clutched my +shoulder to draw me down beside him. “Want to +spoil everything?” he demanded, his lips close to my +ear. “She’ll hear you. Shut up, I say, and watch!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I subsided, born down, if not convinced, by his +angry sincerity. Whatever his purpose, this was no +silly joke; I could see that much. There was some +deep-laid, important plan beneath this foolery.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Bob<em>white</em>!” he whistled. “Bob<em>white</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>A faint movement came from within the open +window, and a weak, querulously patient voice said: +“Miss Christie! Nurse!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers held his breath; then, remembering, +whistled the quail’s call louder than before. “If +she’ll only stay asleep, or pretend to be asleep, as I +told her!” he exclaimed. “Bob<em>white</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Asleep or not, the nurse made no answer. Aunt +Mary called again tentatively, then querulously. Still +the nurse made no reply.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Ah-h!” sighed Somers. Gripping my arm fiercely, +he whistled louder yet: “Bob<em>white</em>! Bob<em>white</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I could not believe my ears. Within, the nurse’s +quiet breathing ran on unchanged, almost a snore. +Surely she was asleep! Yet I heard footsteps, the +unmistakable padding of bare feet across the floor! +What—who—could it be? The murderer?</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ll kill those miserable birds <em>myself</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>That was Mary McGregor’s voice! And she +seemed to be alone. What could she be doing? +The patter of bare feet, scarcely audible, faded away. +I heard a door open and close stealthily.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers erected himself, his long legs straightening +<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>telescopically. He peered in the window. “Look!” +he exclaimed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>On my very tiptoes, straining higher, craning my +neck, I looked. Aunt Mary’s bed was empty! She +was nowhere in sight! And I saw the edge of Anne +Christie’s bed in the inner room, and a long braid +of blond hair hung over it toward the floor.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Down!” ordered Somers. “Quick!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He dragged me back just in time. I caught one +furtive glimpse of Mary McGregor, indubitably erect, +walking, upon her two paralyzed legs, like any other +person. And her face, not sweet or patient now, was +distorted with maniacal rage. She carried a shotgun!</p> + +<p class='c010'>I ducked below the window ledge, stunned with +amazement. Right over my head I heard the grating +of a gun barrel against the window screen, a muttered +exclamation, the tremendous <em>wham</em> of black +powder! A burning gun wad scorched my hand; +bird shot pattered in the leaves behind us; Somers +dragged me away.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Quick!” he said. “You saw, you heard? Run, +before she has time to hide it!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I raced round the house beside him. “What—what +does it mean?” I asked. “Why, she’s paralyzed! +Is she crazy, or am I?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Mean? It means that the Poltergeist has made +its last appearance,” answered Somers. “Now!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We were in the house, through the long, crooked +hall, at Aunt Mary’s closed door. Without waiting +to knock, he burst in.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXXIII' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXXIII<br> <br><span class='small'>THE FINAL EXPLANATION</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>A<span class="uppercase">unt Mary M</span>c<span class="uppercase">Gregor</span> lay quietly in her +bed, propped with pillows. Her drawn face +wore a look of sweet resignation; she was gazing +absently out of the open window. The place was so +still, so peaceful; the old lady’s expression was so +calm; the illusion of a quiet sick room was so complete +that I almost doubted what my eyes and ears +had just told me.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Only the ragged hole in the window screen, +through which that charge of bird shot had just +poured, and the drifting, pungent cloud of black +powder smoke, which still filled the air, convinced me +that I had not dreamed. The shotgun was nowhere +in sight.</p> + +<p class='c010'>As we burst in, Anne Christie was just emerging +from her inner room, struggling into a bathrobe, so +quickly had we come. Aunt Mary turned at our +entry, her thin eyebrows raised, as for a patient rebuke +at this disturbance. Then she saw Somers. +She stared at him dumbly for an instant, with bulging +eyes and horrified, unbelieving face. <em>“You!</em>” +she exclaimed. “You!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers nodded brusquely. “Quite so! You see, +I wasn’t in bed when you came in last night.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old lady wet her colorless lips. “I—I d-don’t +understand,” she whispered. “What—what does +this—this impudent intrusion mean?”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>It was a weak attempt at bluster. The physician +ignored it. “It’s no use, Aunt Mary,” he replied almost +kindly. His eyes pitied her. “You can’t get +away with it this time. I saw you myself, and +Uhlman, here, saw you, too. We saw you get out +of bed and go after that gun; we saw you shoot out +of the window at the quail.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Gun?” asked Aunt Mary, stubbornly uncomprehending. +“What gun? I was asleep. There’s no +gun here.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>By this time Peter was pounding in, Dorothy at +his heels. “What now?” he demanded.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, what is it?” asked the girl. “Has anybody +been killed this time?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>With one backward-flung hand, Somers gestured +for silence. His gray-green eyes were steady upon +the old lady.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“No use,” he repeated inexorably. “The gun’s +right in this room somewhere; you didn’t have time +to take it out again. It’s hidden here; in your bed, +perhaps. Shall I find it, or will you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary’s black eyes fell before his steady gaze. +“Spare me that, at least!” she said petulantly. “You +may burst in on me as you did; I can’t prevent that, +helpless as I am, and my own flesh and blood”—with +a vicious look at poor Peter—“won’t even try +to save me from such insolence! But you needn’t go +further; you needn’t search my bed!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Leaning forward she reached a slim, veined hand +beneath the covers to bring out Rufus Wakefield’s +battered shotgun, still smoking faintly. A fresh reek +of burned powder filled the room.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>We all gasped, staring at her with shocked incomprehension. +Even now the thing seemed incredible!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Aunt—Ma-ry!” whispered Dorothy. “How—what +have you done?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old lady began to weep helplessly. “Nun-nothing!” +she wailed. “Dorothy—Peter—will you +stand there and see your poor, paralyzed aunt insulted +like this? Send this insolent person out; +make him let me alone!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Somers shook his head. His dark face was very +pitiful; I think he felt for this poor old wretch even +more than did the rest of us.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Come,” he urged. “Don’t make this any harder. +Let’s get it over with! You were the Poltergeist, +weren’t you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary only sobbed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Weren’t you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dropping her hands, she disclosed a haggard, tear-streaked +face, as she turned upon us, not without +dignity. “If you must have it—yes!” she said. +“Yes! I was the Poltergeist. It was easy, so easy! +You were so stupid, all of you; you never even +guessed. And this stupid, sleepy, worthless nurse”—with +a bitter glance at poor Anne—“lay there and +snored and never knew! I slipped in and out—I +broke dishes—I ate my fill from the pantry. None +of you cared if I was hungry; not one of you would +offer me a bite to eat! I helped myself.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, Aunt Mary!” said Dorothy. “You know +we just begged you and coaxed you, and you always +<span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>said your appetite was so delicate! All the pies and +cakes and jam and candy—did you eat them, too?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The old lady swept on, unheeding. “No one in +this house ever paid me the attention I deserved. +That was my revenge; I served you out for neglecting +me! Where’s your wedding finery now, my girl? +Ha, ha, ha!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She gave a wild, screeching laugh; it made me +shudder. Surely this was a maniac who confronted +us, hunched there on the bed, her shaking hands playing +about the stock of a shotgun!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I made a fine ghost!” she exulted. “It was sport—such +sport!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Somers groaned aloud. “Poor thing, oh, +poor thing!” I heard him whisper. And then aloud +he asked: “And you shot Doctor Gaskell, didn’t +you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Her head went up and back in that old, proud +gesture. “He—he insulted me—insulted a poor, +helpless paralytic! He laughed, and I told you. I +just begged of you to drive those miserable quail +away. I told you they would set me crazy; and +Peter paid no attention. Nobody paid any attention +at all. Doctor Parker promised to shoot them, but +I knew he didn’t mean it. Why, that morning they +whistled and whistled for hours! I waited and +waited; nobody came, nobody stirred, nobody cared +if they drove me mad! At last I got up, helpless +as I was and paralyzed.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She paused abruptly, seeming for the first time +to be conscious of the incongruity of a paralytic +getting up and walking about.</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>“I—sometimes my affliction leaves me for a few +minutes,” she faltered. “I got up and went out—a +poor, helpless old woman—to do what these hulking +men should have done for me, if they’d been +men at all! Peter’s gun stood on the back porch; I +loaded it. Oh, when I was a girl, I used to be a +good shot! That was before I was paralyzed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I went out back, into the scrub oaks. It was daylight, +though the sun wasn’t up. And there I met +Doctor Gaskell. He—he insulted me; he laughed! +He asked me if I’d recovered from my paralysis, and +he laughed! He—he called me an old f-faker! The +cad! And I answered him as a high-spirited gentlewoman +should answer such an insult!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>She paused, looking down at the shotgun in her +lap. All this while she had been handling it unconsciously, +as it seemed; breaking its breech, extracting +the empty shell, playing with the undischarged +cartridge. As she sat there, all hunched in +the bed, her thin face distorted with unlovely passions, +she looked like a particularly unpleasant old +witch. Her cheeks were all sunken; without her +false teeth her mouth seemed to have fallen in, so +that high-bridge nose and pointed chin almost touched +each other.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Then she raised her head to cast an evil glance at +Doctor Somers. “I hurried back,” she went on +monotonously. “I cleaned the gun—oh, I knew how, +well enough—and put it where I’d found it; then +came to my room. Everybody was asleep, even this +stupid nurse. She hadn’t heard anything; she never +heard anything. Blockhead! I was safe, quite safe. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>Nobody could suspect. It was the birds—devils, +rather. They knew; they’d seen it all! And they +perched outside my windows every morning before +daybreak and whistled, whistled, whistled; they +weren’t birds. They were devils, I tell you—devils, +accusing me! They have driven me mad at last! +And then you had to mix in, you, Somers! Ah-h-h, +how I hate you! Sneaking and watching and spying +on me! If only I could have killed you in the +night, as I meant to! I’d have been safe then. But, +no, you had to keep it up, you and those birds. You +plotted this against me, you and the birds together. +They helped you, I know! I heard them just now, +outside my window, mocking me, accusing me, calling +you to come and betray me. But you shan’t +profit by it!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>As rage overpowered her, she ceased to make any +pretense of palsy, but slid her lean shanks out of +the bed and stood erect, facing her unmasker, her +face distorted with hate. And now, before we +could move, before we could cry out, she snapped +the breech of the gun she still held, jerked it to her +shoulder, and pulled the trigger.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I heard the click of the hammer upon an empty +shell, and still we stood motionless, all but Anne +Christie. With one smothered scream she leaped +wildly forward, threw herself upon Floyd Somers’ +breast, shielding his body with her own. She moved +with the speed of desperate love. Before we others +could intervene, while my arm was still outstretched, +and Peter was leaning forward, the second trigger +moved. I saw the hammer fall; the bass roar of the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>explosion, doubly loud in that confined space, rang +deafeningly in our ears.</p> + +<p class='c010'>It all happened so swiftly that I must set down, +one after another, a dozen things which happened +all at once.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Even as the old lady fired at Somers, protected +by Anne Christie’s body, the gun seemed to leap in +her hands, to break apart. A blinding cloud of blue +smoke spurted out from its breach, hiding Aunt Mary +from us for an instant. The gun barrels, instead of +pointing at her victim, swung downward at a sharp +angle; birdshot rolled down them and pattered on the +floor. With them came a burning gun wad, upon +which Peter trod mechanically. And Aunt Mary, +the broken gun still clutched in her blackened hands, +dropped back across the bed and lay very still, in a +lessening cloud of smoke.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Doctor Somers freed himself gently from the +nurse’s swooning grip, set her in a chair, and stepped +forward. He leaned over the old lady and touched +her left temple with a steady hand. Her face was +quite unmarred and very peaceful; only upon the left +temple was a little blue bruise. Beside her head lay +an empty shell.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“She’s quite dead,” said the doctor softly, and he +drew a corner of the sheet over that quiet face.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“She didn’t quite lock the breech,” he went on, +picking up the battered shotgun. “I told you last +night, unk, it didn’t work properly. When she closed +the breech, this catch failed to take hold, and the kick +broke it open again, so the shell drove backward out +of the breech and struck her in the temple.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>He straightened, sighing deeply. “I want you-all +to listen,” he told us impressively, “and remember +this, whenever you think about Miss McGregor: she +wasn’t to blame! She wasn’t responsible for her +acts; she was insane. Think of her as kindly as you +can, all of you. Poor soul! She’s dead now; she’s +paid for everything. Remember, don’t blame her, any +of you—ever! She wasn’t responsible.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Spoken at that time and place, the words struck +deep, as he knew they would, I suppose. And I think +that our memories of the poor woman have all been +kindlier for them. It was a gentle, knightly speech +from the man whom she had tried to murder twice +in four hours.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“But—but I don’t understand yet,” put in Dorothy. +Indeed all of us shared her bewilderment, I think. +“Aunt Mary did it—she shot Doctor Gaskell, I suppose, +since she admitted it. But how, why, and how +did you find out?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Come out into the living room and I’ll explain,” +he said. “It’s all clear enough now.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We trooped out after him; a motley crowd we +must have made, too. Somers was fully dressed; +at least he wore tennis shoes, an old pair of flannel +trousers, and Peter’s jersey, which made his lean +torso more unbelievably skinny than ever. But the +rest of us were in advanced negligee. I wore +trousers; Peter had only a bathrobe over his pajamas; +both the girls were in kimonos, with hair in +braids down their backs. We were a ludicrous sight, +no doubt, but none of us had the heart to laugh.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“As soon as I heard about the Poltergeist,” Somers +<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>began, “I suspected Aunt Mary. Such tricks always +indicate that there’s an hysterical person somewhere +about. This ‘Poltergeist’ stuff and the witchcraft, +that dozens of harmless old women were burned alive +for, not so many centuries ago—they’re all the work +of hystericals. Such cases delight in mystifying +people, scaring them, playing queer, malicious tricks +on them, and all that. It’s been a well-recognized +sign of hysteria for fifty years. So as soon as I +heard of the Poltergeist, I began to look for an hysterical, +and that led straight to Aunt Mary; she had +all the earmarks.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I concluded right away that her paralysis was +hysterical, too, or she couldn’t get about to play +ghost. Palsies are common enough in hysteria, you +know. I don’t mean that she faked it consciously; +she was really paralyzed. That is, she couldn’t move +her legs because she <em>believed</em> she couldn’t. She didn’t +pretend. At night she’d get out of bed in a state +of hysterical somnambulism and go about playing +ghost; but, when she got back to bed, she’d forget +all about that. When she was fully awake she was +paralyzed; she couldn’t move, and I’ve no doubt that +she used to believe in the Poltergeist as firmly as any +of you.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“She was in the same state, no doubt, when she +went out with Peter’s shotgun that morning. The +quail disturbed her, and she thought, as far as sleepwalkers +do think, she’d only to go out and point a +gun to kill them. She knew that shotgun was on the +back porch, didn’t she?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I nodded. “I left it out there for Lewis,” I explained. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>“He was to come over early for it. And +I remember Aunt Mary sent for me, when I was +going to bed, to ask where it was, and if it was +safe.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Quite so.” Somers paused, scowling ruefully. +“I’ve been frightfully stupid all through this thing!” +he declared. “I knew Miss McGregor was hysterical; +why, those ‘knots in her neck’ alone would have +proved that. I was convinced she was playing ghost, +just as one takes any unimportant thing for granted +without stopping to verify it. But it never occurred +to me that, if she could get up to play ghost, she +could have got up to shoot Gaskell, too. The +idea never entered my head until ‘Roaring Lafe’ +Rutledge told us about the ‘ha’nt’ he saw. We owe +him that, anyhow. And you chaps were pretty +peeved with me afterward, when I said I thought +it was the Poltergeist killed Gaskell, weren’t you?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>He gave us a fleeting glance and went on. “So +Aunt Mary got up very quietly and went out after +the shotgun. Your sleepiness, your hypothyroidism, +Anne, made it very handy for her; she wasn’t afraid +of waking you, and I suppose she was getting bolder. +All her ghost tricks had gone unsuspected—who +could suspect a paralytic of running about the house +of nights?—and she figured she could even go out +and let off a shotgun and get away with it; that is, +if she thought about it at all, in this somnambulistic +state of hers.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, out she went, got the gun, loaded it, and +went on into the brush, just about the time Gaskell +entered it, I suppose. It must have been then that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>Rutledge saw her and was scared off. And then she +met Doctor Gaskell face to face, out there. I wonder +which of them was more startled? The shock +wakened her, I suppose, and there she was, suddenly +face to face with herself. It’s a terrible thing for +anybody, that—to have all one’s little self-deceptions +and hypocrisies stripped away in an instant, to see +how one’s been fooling one’s self! And it is more +terrible still for an hysterical, whose self-deceptions +are deepest and most fully a part of the personality.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“There she was, compelled for once to admit to +herself that she was an old faker, that she wasn’t +paralyzed after all—or how could she be out there, +standing up? I don’t know what happened, of +course, or what Gaskell said. Something indiscreet, +it must have been, or the old lady would have +dropped down right there. Her paralysis would have +returned as soon as she waked up, and she’d have +had to be carried back to bed. But he said something, +taunted her, I suppose; told her he knew all +the time she was faking and wasn’t really paralyzed +at all. And he laughed at her. That was very unwise; +if he’d been used to handling the insane he +never would have laughed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“She was holding a loaded shotgun, and there was +the only man on earth who knew her secret, who +could expose her double life. And to have her secret +known would destroy all the sympathy, all the admiration +which she’d worked for so patiently these +fourteen years and more. And Gaskell laughed!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, anger and excitement kept her up, I suppose, +and enabled her to forget her paralysis for the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>moment. She shot him; raced back to the house, +cleaned the gun, and put it where she found it; +ran to her room and popped back into bed, with her +heart racing horribly, I suppose. And there her +paralysis came back. Two minutes later she couldn’t +have stood on her feet any more than a real, organic +paralytic.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“The thing preyed on her, of course, tormented her +conscience. You noticed the change; you all spoke +of it, how she grew more irritable, more selfish and +exacting, every day. And Lewis’ arrest made it +worse, of course. She had a hard time, poor, crazy +old woman! But, after she had killed one man to +preserve her pitiful secret, one could hardly expect +her to betray it, just to save the life of another. She +hoped, no doubt, that Lewis would be acquitted; but +most of all she hoped that she wouldn’t be suspected. +I knew she was uneasy about me; she was afraid I +might guess, and you remember what a scene she +made when I tried to examine her. She feared I’d +discover, as Gaskell had, that she could walk after +all. The whole thing preyed on her and made her +more restless of nights; it brought on new attacks +of somnambulism, and the Poltergeist grew more +active. Her fears of me worked on her unconscious +mind until last night she tried to kill me with a +knife.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Ah-h-h!” gasped Anne Christie. For neither of +the girls knew of that carving knife which had transfixed +Somers’ empty bed. “Ah, my dear!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The physician took her hand. “I wasn’t there, +Anne,” said he gently. “I was up, watching the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>stairs; I hoped the Poltergeist might make its appearance +last night. That’s why I was so rude at +supper and told everybody I didn’t believe in it. I +hoped that, if Aunt Mary thought me a skeptic, the +Poltergeist might come up to convince me. But I +hardly looked for a carving knife!</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It worked, though,” he went on. “The ghost +walked, but she got away from me. I didn’t know +about the back stairs, and she must have slipped +down that way, while I ran up the front ones. I +nearly had her at that; she dropped your rings, +Dorothy, just as she was sliding through the door.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, I had proved to myself, then, that Aunt +Mary was the ghost, but I hadn’t caught her. And +I knew that, unless I did, it was quite useless to ask +for a confession. So I went on with this other +plan. You know how the quail annoyed her all +along; it was that started this whole dreadful affair. +And lately they worried her even more; she thought +they were accusing her, as she said just now. So +I borrowed this gun and left it on the porch, right +where the other had been, and spoke about it at +supper, to make sure she knew. Then this morning +I hid right outside her window and imitated the +whistle of a quail. It was the same situation, you +see, and I hoped it might arouse the same reaction.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“It did. You were there, too, Uncle George. I +whistled and whistled; at last we heard the old lady +call. Anne didn’t answer; she was too sleepy, I +suppose. But I told her last night to pretend to be +asleep anyway, whatever happened. At last, satisfied +that she was safe, Aunt Mary got up and went +<span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>after the gun, just as I’d hoped she would. She +didn’t come outdoors, as I’d expected; she was too +upset, too irrational to realize, I suppose, that some +one would surely hear if she fired from her window. +All she knew was that a quail was just +outside, and she must silence it somehow. When she +shot, Uncle George and I ran in; you know the rest.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy relaxed with a tired sigh. “Oh, dear!” +she whispered. “I’m so tired, so kind of stunned and +numb! I don’t know what to think. I ought to be +sorry, but all I can feel is a sense of relief. Lewis +free, no more Poltergeist, and no more Aunt Mary +to complain all the time. Oh, dear me, it’s horrid, +it’s unnatural!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Poor child! She had been through so much. This +last tragedy had stunned her; she had no emotions +left.</p> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + +<div> + <h2 id='chapter-XXXIV' class='c011'>CHAPTER XXXIV<br> <br><span class='small'>MATING TIME</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class='drop-capa0_15_0_65 c009'>W<span class="uppercase">e</span> had my nephew home with us that very day. +Somers and I went to the State solicitor, +Toby Vanbrugh, with our tale, and he marked Lewis +Parker’s indictment, “<i>nolle pros</i>,” with a very bad +grace. It was hard upon him, after all, to see his +big case collapse like a pricked bubble. He had built +high hopes upon the prosecution of the case of the +people against C. Lewis Parker; he had seen himself +well advertised by its prosecution, elected, perhaps, +State senator upon the strength of it, with who +knows what further political advancement beyond, +governor—United States senator! He had a healthy +opinion of his abilities, had the Honorable Toby +Vanbrugh. And now all that was gone; in the face +of Miss McGregor’s ante-mortem statement, vouched +for by five witnesses, he could do no less than drop +the case, and he knew it.</p> + +<p class='c010'>On the whole, the newspapers were as kind as we +could have expected. One or two of them played the +case up, for it was a unique news story; but that will +pass soon enough, I trust, and poor, demented Aunt +Mary will be left to rest quietly beneath her modest +headstone, where the bobwhites, that whistle in the +quiet cemetery through long spring mornings, can +disturb her no more.</p> + +<p class='c010'>It was two days after the tragic dénouement of +<span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>our mystery, and Dorothy and Lewis, reunited, sat +hand in hand in the big living room of Fort House. +The slanting sun cast long yellow beams through its +western windows and played lovingly on the girl’s +black hair, so that red, coppery lights glinted in it.</p> + +<p class='c010'>To them entered Peter McGregor and I. “Well, +Dot,” said her brother cheerfully, “I suppose you’ll +be leaving us now?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy nodded. “We’ll be in our own little +house to-morrow. Rosina’s over there now, scrubbing +and cleaning, until your life isn’t safe for it. +And she’s promised to have breakfast waiting for us +there in the morning.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” he sighed, “it’ll be lonely here, but I suppose +you’re not sorry to leave Fort House.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>The girl shivered. “No; we were happy here +once, but everything seems so changed. I miss⸺” +She stopped, biting her lips, and I knew she thought +of poor old Aunt Mary, in some way lovable for all +her selfishness, whom we had laid to rest in the +churchyard that afternoon.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Peter sighed again. “Poor Aunt Mary! She did +terrible things; she made us all suffer; but, after all, +she wasn’t to blame.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>So we all felt; she had been irresponsible. Doctor +Somers’ kindly judgment, delivered over her +dead body in that east bedroom, had had its effect. +We remembered the old lady kindly enough, as the +puppet of her own mad impulses, more to be pitied +than blamed.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well,” said I more briskly, “you two are fixed. +You’re safely married, even if you didn’t have a +<span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>big wedding, and all ready to settle down in your +own home. And Somers, I suppose, will be going +North again presently. But what will Anne Christie +do?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Dorothy gave me a pitying, superior glance. “Oh, +you men!” she said. “Listen!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>We listened obediently, and we heard faint voices +drifting in through the open southern windows, +which faced the front porch.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’ll be going back to the hospital now, I suppose.” +That was Doctor Somers’ brusque voice; it sounded +rather less than pleased.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A faint-heard sigh. “Must you go?” Miss +Christie’s low tones were wistfully tremulous. I +must strain to hear.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Must I? Why, not for another fortnight. +Why?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Because—because I⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Anne! Do you want me to stay?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Oh, the idiot!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Does she?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Hush, Dot!” And we all listened frankly.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I—I don’t want you to go,” whispered Anne +Christie.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Anne, dear!” There was a tiny rustle, as if he +had moved closer. “I’m thirty-eight years old, a +battered, skinny, homely brute⸺”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You are not!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“A grotesque-looking creature, almost middle-aged, +and just starting my chosen work. I’ve frittered +away years and years, just studying, working +on a small salary when I might have been earning +big money for my wife.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>“For your w-wife?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Yes, when I get one. And here I am, with my +best years gone, little better than a failure.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You’re not! You’re just wonderful, the most +wonderful man I ever saw or dreamed of!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Better than Doctor Gaskell, even?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Of course! And,” very wistfully, “I h-hope +you’ll be very happy with your w-wife, whoever she +is!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Humph!” A characteristic snort, expressing disgust +of this evasion, this edging about a topic. +“Anne Christie, will you marry me?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“I’m only a poor mountain girl, and my father’s +in prison for making moonshine liquor!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Stepfather!” stubbornly replied Somers.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Well, but I’m not—not g-good enough.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Anne!” A chair slammed back. “Anne—dear, +I love you. Are you going to marry me, or not?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>For all answer there came a little, murmurous, cooing +sound and a rustling, as if a girl in crisp gingham +had settled more comfortably into the crook of some +one’s arm.</p> + +<p class='c010'>A long silence followed, while we within doors +smiled tenderly at nothing. Then: “Oh, Floyd, +honey, let me go. I’m s-sure that man saw us; he’s +looking back and laughing!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>I sighed, as a lonely old man will. “Two more +accounted for,” said I. “That leaves only you and +me, Peter.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Not me!” the boy replied promptly. “I’m going +to be married in December.”</p> + +<p class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>“Why, Peter McGregor. And you never told +me!” Dorothy looked shocked.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“We-ell, Dot, you see, I didn’t know it myself +until I was in New York that last time. And I got +back to find old Lewis in jail, and everybody so upset—I +thought I’d better keep it to myself for a +while, until things brightened up a bit.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Who—who is she?” demanded Dorothy.</p> + +<p class='c010'>I did not listen. I am a very selfish old man. +All these bright young folk whom I loved, all the +friends I had on earth, I thought gloomily, had +paired off, and I was left alone. I tried to smile.</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Congratulations, Peter! That’s just fine. It’s the +mating season. Well, it’s time I settled down, too. +I’ll go now and write a letter.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Stop, unk!” Lewis caught my arm. “What +makes you look so queer? What letter do you +mean?”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“Why, to Stamford, to the Home for the Aged +there. It’s a nice homey place and very exclusive. +I—I have f-friends there, too. I’m going to buy a +membership.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You are not!” declared Dorothy and my nephew +at once. “Why, your room’s waiting for you at our +new bungalow; we’ve moved your things over there, +and everything.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You are not!” cried Peter. “Why, unk, I was +counting on you to bach in with me here at Fort +House until I bring Edith down at Christmas time +to take care of us both!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>“You are not!” That was Floyd Somers, in from +<span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>the porch, his extraordinarily long, lean arm wrapped +about Anne’s shoulders. “You’re coming to live with +Anne and me, of course! I’ve decided to resign from +the hospital and buy out Gaskell’s practice. A little +general medicine will do me good, and there’s plenty +of medicolegal work in North Carolina, once I get +to be known here. I like this country. We’re going +to buy Gaskell’s house, Anne and I; and of course +you’ll live with us there!”</p> + +<p class='c010'>My eyes filled with tears. After all, I was not +friendless nor forgotten. “God b-bless you, children!” +I said. “I’ll stay with you all, turn and turn +about.”</p> + +<hr class='c012'> + +<p class='c010'>My story is done. I am living with Lewis and +Dorothy; but, when Anne and Floyd come back from +their honeymoon next month, I shall go there for a +while, and in January I move to Fort House, to stay +with Peter and his Edith. I hope she may prove to +be as true and as sweet as my other two nieces—by +marriage and courtesy!</p> + +<p class='c010'>Ralph Satterfield and his fellows of the corn-whisky +ring are safe in Atlanta; and Somers need +not fear the bootleggers’ vengeance for another +twenty years, at least. As for Roaring Lafe Rutledge, +he never came to trial. He died in prison of +some heart condition, brought on, Doctor Somers +says, by excessive drinking.</p> + +<p class='c010'>Aunt Mary McGregor sleeps in the Pinelands +cemetery, no more than a dozen feet from the man +she slew. We put flowers on both graves impartially, +as the genial sun of North Carolina shines on both; +<span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>and the quail whistle “bob<em>white</em>! bob<em>white</em>!” without +disturbing the rest of either.</p> + +<p class='c010'>We do not judge her. As Floyd Somers said, +“When you have stood, with a deadly weapon in +hand, facing an enemy who has power to betray +your secrets and destroy the security of your whole +life; and when you have let him go unscathed, knowing +you could kill him with impunity, then, and not +till then, dare you blame Mary McGregor.”</p> + +<p class='c010'>Let that be her epitaph. But I, for one, shall never +to my dying day hear the quail calling “bob<em>white</em>! +bob<em>white</em>!” of a lazy summer morning without an +inward shrinking.</p> + +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='small'>THE END</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c002'> +</div> +<div> + +<p class='c013'></p> + +</div> +<div class='transcribers-notes'> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> + <div class='nf-center'> + <div><span class='xlarge'>Transcriber’s Notes</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The following changes and corrections have been made:</p> + <ul class='ul_1'> + <li><a href='#tn-listened'>p. 26</a>: Replaced “listend” with “listened” in phrase “I listened + frankly, welcoming any signs of human companionship.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-quail'>p. 76</a>: Removed comma after “quail” from phrase “A quail whistled sharply.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-been'>p. 94</a>: Replaced “beeen” with “been” in phrase “From the moment he left the + stand he had been deathly white.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-declared'>p. 152</a>: Added opening double quotation mark before phrase “I’ll be + a-all right p-presently.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-laughter'>p. 176</a>: Replaced “laugher” with “laughter” in phrase “Renewed laughter.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-doctor'>p. 186</a>: Replaced “docor” with “doctor” in phrase “the doctor knew more + than was good for him.” + </li> + </ul> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78103 ***</div> + </body> + <!-- created with ppgen.py 3.57i (with regex) on 2026-03-03 08:54:10 GMT --> +</html> diff --git a/78103-h/images/cover.jpg b/78103-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8360a09 --- /dev/null +++ b/78103-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78103-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/78103-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9bb5d2f --- /dev/null +++ b/78103-h/images/frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/78103-h/images/logo.jpg b/78103-h/images/logo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5bb6b16 --- /dev/null +++ b/78103-h/images/logo.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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