As the voices died away, Dick sprang up and pushed aside the poles.
“Come on, Anne!” he said. “Here! Take my hand. Now! We must get
home--quick!”
“Oh, Dick! What if they come back? What if we meet them?”
“We’ll not meet them,” he answered. “They’re going to The Village,
looking for you. And he’s planning to rob the post office. He may shoot
Cousin Will. We must hurry and let them know at home.”
He took Anne’s hand and they groped through the tunnel and into the
mine opening.
“Why, it’s night!” Anne whispered.
“Late,” said Dick. “It was dark when I came. The moon’s up.”
They crept up the ladder. Dick put his hand on Anne’s arm and they
stood still a minute, straining their eyes and ears into the woodland
night. Above the whir and chirp of insects and the murmur of the little
stream, they heard a trampling on the hillside; no voices.
“Suppose just Cæsar and Isham have gone on?” whispered Anne, terrified.
“Suppose that awful old man is waiting to grab us?”
“Oh, no!” Dick tried to soothe her; then he warned her: “Don’t talk.
Listen. And be on the lookout.”
They went cautiously down the path, starting whenever a twig cracked or
a pebble rolled underfoot. Now and then they stopped to listen and peer
ahead. Thus they went on--across the creek, along the path, on the Old
Plank Road, up the hill by Isham’s cabin.
The door was open, and by the brilliant blaze of the lightwood knots on
the hearth Anne and Dick saw Lily Belle moving restlessly about. She
came to the door and peered out; but she did not see the two figures
that slipped past in the darkness and hurried along the Old Plank Road
to the highway.
At the path that turned off to the mill and Larkland, Anne caught Dick
by the arm. “Wait, Dick!” she said.
“We haven’t time to stop,” he said impatiently. “Come on!”
“But, Dick,” she said, “I’ve been thinking---- Suppose they’re
watching. If we go the straight road home, they’ll be sure to catch us.”
“It’s a chance we’ve got to take, to get home to tell them,” he said.
“I must. Do you want to----”
“If we turn off here and go to Larkland,” said Anne, “we can tell
Cousin Mayo. He’ll know what to do. It isn’t much farther this way, and
it’s a million times safer.”
“Righto!” agreed Dick, turning into the path. “I’d been wondering if
we’d get past them.”
They hurried along the path through the woods and splashed through
Tinkling Water, not taking time to grope for the stepping-stones. The
mill loomed before them, a huge, dark shadow on the shadows.
Dick and Anne ran along the road to Larkland. Presently they heard
horse’s hoofs clattering down the road. There was a pause at the big
gate, and a familiar voice said, “Steady, Rosinante, steady!” as the
rider bent to open the gate.
“Cousin Mayo! Cousin Mayo!” cried Dick and Anne, running toward him.
“Hey! Who’s there?” he called sharply.
“It’s just us,” said Anne; and Dick said, “Anne and me.”
“Anne!--here at this time of night! Why, everybody in The Village is
distracted about you. Get on Rosinante behind me. I’ll take you to The
Roost.”
“Cousin Mayo----”
“Who’s that with you? Dick? Is this one of your fool pranks?”
Mr. Osborne’s indignation for the instant dominated his relief. The
search for Anne had been growing hourly in intensity and uneasiness.
After walking about for hours, he had come home to get his horse, and
was starting off again. And here the girl for whom the community was
searching came strolling up the road to Larkland.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” he exclaimed.
“We were afraid to go home,” said Anne. “They are looking for me.”
“Of course we are looking for you,” Black Mayo said impatiently. “They
are horribly uneasy about you.”
“I mean, Cæsar’s looking for me,” Anne explained in a hurried, scared
undertone. “The deserter!”
“What!”
“They put her in the Old Sterling Mine. I found her,” said Dick.
“We thought we’d better tell you about it. I ran up on that deserter,
and he’s afraid I’d tell. They’re looking for me, and---- Oh! what’s
that?” Anne gave a stifled cry. The noise that she heard was only--as
she realized on the instant--the crackling fall of a dead bough, but
it left her white and quivering.
“Here, here!” said Black Mayo. “Let’s know what this is all about.”
He sprang from his horse, threw the bridle rein over the gatepost, and
led Anne up the walk and into the house.
“Why, Mayo! I thought you were gone. Anne! Where did you find her,
Mayo? And what is the matter?” asked Mrs. Osborne, as they hurried into
the room where she was sitting.
There was no direct answer to her questions. Mr. Osborne put Anne in
a big chair and knelt down before her, grasping her cold, trembling
hands. “Tell me what happened. Quick!” he commanded.
“I feel as if they are peeping in,” Anne said with a shuddering glance
at the windows.
Mrs. Osborne drew the curtains close, and she and her husband listened
with exclamations and quick questions to the girl’s story. As Mr.
Osborne listened and questioned he was moving about--taking firearms
out of a closet, loading a gun with buckshot, oiling and loading a
revolver, getting out boxes of shells and cartridges.
“They didn’t see you,” he said; “they don’t know where you are--or you
wouldn’t be here. Polly, you and Anne and Dick go into the chimney
room----” He nodded toward a small room opening out of the sitting
room, and called “the chimney room” because it was only the width of
the big old chimney. “Fasten the shutters; nail down the window and
put a blanket over it, so that not a ray of light can get out. Leave
the door ajar and a dim light in the sitting room, so you can see both
doors. Don’t answer any call unless it’s my voice.”
“Your voice? You are going----”
“To The Village. To warn Will and help there. If any one enters the
house, keep still till they open the sitting-room door, and then aim
straight and shoot to kill, Polly, as you do at the chicken hawks.”
“Yes, Mayo; I will.” Her voice was as calm as if she were answering a
request to sew on a button. With an unfaltering hand she took the gun
she was accustomed to use with deadly execution on birds of prey.
“God bless you, dear!” Her husband took her in his arms and kissed her
still, colorless face again and again. “Dick,” he said, “keep the gun
and pistol loaded for your Cousin Polly. She’s better than the best man
I know, in time of need.”
He turned to go.
“But, Mayo,” said his wife. “You must have firearms. Take a gun, the
pistol.”
“No,” he said. “If that villain traces Anne here, you’ll need firearms.
Anyway, the pistol would be mighty little use to me; I’d be an easy
mark--on horseback, for them sneaking along in the dark. But I count on
getting safe to The Village. They aren’t after me, you know. And what’s
a man’s life for but to take in his two hands and put where it is
needed?” He unclasped her hands that clung to him. “If all goes well,
I’ll be back---- Oh! as soon as I can come.”
He went out unarmed into the hostile night. The tense listeners heard
his firm, light tread on the flagged walk, the restive mare’s whinny,
and his soothing, “Whoa there! Gently, girl!” Then he galloped down the
hill, whistling “Dixie.”
Hour after hour passed. Anne tumbled down on the bed, to rest a while,
and Dick, too, fell asleep. Mrs. Osborne sat there alone, very still
and heedful, with the firearms at her hand.
Once the collie sleeping on the porch gave a quick, short bark, yelping
in a dream or at some little meaningless noise. Mrs. Osborne’s face
brightened. “Mayo!” she breathed, bending to listen. But no horse hoofs
rang on the road, no footsteps sounded on the walk; and gradually the
light faded from her face, leaving it bleak and sharp.
At last the early-morning farm noises began to be heard. Roosters
crowed, a restless calf bawled and was answered by its lowing mother,
the collie whined and scratched at the door. The east lightened for
dawn. The gray sky became saffron and brightened to orange. Catbirds
and thrushes sang, wrens twittered and crows cawed. There was the
sweet, melancholy sound of cooing doves. Then came the pause when day
seems to “stand tiptoe.”
Mrs. Osborne went into the sitting room. She looked through the front
window, down the road; quiet and untraveled, it lay there in the
brightening morning light.
“If nothing had happened,” she said to herself; “if he were safe----”
She turned from the window, with her lips pressed tightly together.
Now sunrays were creeping through the eastern shutters, and the farm
creatures were growing insistent in their calls. Mrs. Osborne wakened
Anne and Dick, who were amazed and mortified to find that they had
slept so long and left her to watch alone.
“Why, it’s day, broad day!” exclaimed Anne. “Hasn’t Cousin Mayo come
back?”
“No.”
“Isn’t that queer? I should think he’d be here,” said Dick.
He and Anne ran to look out of the window, but Mrs. Osborne sat silent,
with averted face.
“You look so tired, Cousin Polly!” said Anne. “Do lie down a little
while. We’ll watch.”
“No,” Mrs. Osborne said quietly. “I am not tired. I must go out and
feed the stock, and the pigeons.”
“Let me do it,” said Dick.
“We’ll help you,” said Anne.
“No. You mustn’t go outdoors and risk being seen. I’ll be back in a
little while.”
Mrs. Osborne made the rounds of the farmyard. Last of all, she carried
a bucketful of small grain to the pigeon cote, and scattered it on the
ground. The pretty, gentle birds fluttered around her and alighted on
her arms and shoulders. She stroked the shining plumage of one of her
husband’s pets. Then her lips quivered and she dropped her face in her
hands.
“God help me!” she said. “If he were alive, he would have come back to
me.”
A few painful tears trickled between her fingers. But soon she regained
her self-control and went indoors.
“Anne, Dick,” she said, “if something had not happened, Mayo would have
been back. I’ve stayed here all these hours because he said we must.
Now I’m going to look for him.”
“And we are going with you,” Anne exclaimed.
Mrs. Osborne considered a minute. “You’ll be just as safe, I reckon,”
she said. “Come on.”
Dick ran ahead and opened the door.
“Oh, Cousin Polly!” he cried. “There are people--two men--coming up the
hill. It’s father and----”
“Cousin Giles!” said Anne.
She and Dick ran down the path, followed more slowly by Mrs. Osborne.
She did not even hope to see her husband again, and it was with calm
misery that she met Red Mayo and Giles Spotswood. At least she would
have certainty instead of the terrible suspense of these long hours.
Red Mayo Osborne ran forward and threw his arms around his son and
Anne, and kissed first one and then the other.
“Dick, my boy! Anne, dear little Anne! Thank God, you are safe!”
exclaimed Red Mayo. “Mayo said you were safe with Polly.”
“Where is Cousin Mayo?” asked Anne. “We’ve been looking and looking for
him to come back.”
Red Mayo glanced away. He answered in a queer, hesitating voice.
“He--he couldn’t come now.”
Polly Osborne’s face was as pale as death and drawn with anguish. Red
Mayo, keeping his eyes still averted, did not see it. She spoke in a
firm, low voice: “What about Mayo?”
“The fact is,” Mr. Spotswood said, “Mayo--he told me to tell you,
Polly--Mayo--Mayo has been arrested.”
“Arrested!” she repeated blankly.
“Arrested,” Red Mayo said. “Jake Andrews came with a warrant. Arrested
as--as a pro-German, or something. But--he ran away.”
“What!” exclaimed Anne, in amazement.
By degrees they got the story. Mr. Osborne had ridden to The Village,
without seeing Cæsar or Solomon Gabe or Isham. He quickly told his
tale to the men who were waiting for him to start an organized search
for Anne; had she and Dick reached Larkland a few minutes later, the
deserter would have found all the Villagers away in search of Anne, and
the post office would have been easily rifled. As it was, the Village
men hid in the post office and waited till Cæsar came through a window
and seized him. Only one of the older negroes, probably Solomon Gabe,
came with Cæsar to The Village; he stayed outside the office, and ran
away when the fracas began inside. They sent a few shots after him in
the darkness, but evidently without effect.
They carried Cæsar to the jail and locked him in a cell, to await the
officer who was to take him back to Camp Lee.
And then in the early morning, just as Black Mayo was starting home,
Jake Andrews rode up The Street.
“Huh! You’re the man I’m looking for,” he said to Black Mayo, without
any courtesies of greeting. “I was on my way to your house.”
Black Mayo looked him up and down, without speaking.
“I’ve got a warrant for your arrest,” Andrews said, producing a paper.
“My arrest! On what charge, pray?”
“Oh, there are charges enough; having traitors in your house, and being
one yourself likely, and----”
“Who preferred these charges against me?” inquired Mr. Osborne.
“A good citizen, if he ain’t none of you-all’s aristocrats. You’ll find
out who and what when your trial comes.”
A dozen voices rose in protest.
“That’s high-handed!”
“Come, come, Jake! There’s a mistake somewhere. Why, we all know Mayo
Osborne. He’s all right.”
“I know my duty, and I’ve got my warrant,” Andrews responded doggedly.
Mayo Osborne looked perplexed. “We’ve got to submit to law
and officers,” he said, “Red, you and Giles go to Larkland,
please--Polly’ll be uneasy--and tell her about this arrest business--”
He laughed--“and get Anne and Dick.”
“We’re going to stand by you, you know, Mayo,” said Red Mayo. “We know
it wasn’t--wasn’t an intentional crime. It was perfectly natural you
should not consider that your old friend was an enemy alien and that
you should shelter Kuno Kleist----”
“Kuno Kleist! What do you mean?” demanded Black Mayo.
“He was--wasn’t he?--the man who visited you secretly, who----”
“That tall, fair man with a little pointed beard. If he wasn’t Kuno
Kleist, who was he?”
“I can’t tell you. I submit to arrest. But, Mr. Law Officer, will you
explain why you are such an early bird, out at daybreak?”
“I’m on my job,” replied Andrews. “A good citizen came to me in the
night and said you were fixing to skip the country and----”
Black Mayo considered this with a frown. Suddenly he gave a startled
exclamation. “Charles Smith told you that?” he demanded sharply.
“Yes; he----”
“That express! Redville at seven-thirty!” exclaimed Black Mayo.
Before any one had the ghost of an idea what he was going to do, he was
out of the group, at the horse rack where Rosinante was tied, on her
back, and galloped down the road. Andrews with an oath, jumped on his
horse and pounded after him.
Without a word, the little group watched the fleeing and the pursuing
man till they were out of sight. Then they looked around at one another.
“What on earth’s the meaning of it all?” Will Blair asked everybody.
No one tried to answer.
But David Spotswood said: “I know two things: Cousin Mayo’s all right,
and Jake Andrews will never catch him.”
Red Mayo laughed. “Never! As Emma would say, he might as well try to
plant a rose bush on the tail of a comet. Well, we must go and tell
Polly.” And then his face grew sober.