THROUGH THE GATES OF THE DAWN INTO “LIBERTY”
There was a hush in the Squire's house. The three who were in the
sitting room discussed affairs, subduing their tones almost to whispers.
When somebody tramped on to the porch and pounded on the door, the
interruption was startling.
The Squire went and opened the door and disclosed Deputy-Warden Bangs of
the state prison. But when Bangs made a step forward the notary bulked
himself in the doorway with all the dignity his modest size would
permit.
“I'm led to believe that you have in this house an escaped convict, name
of Vaniman,” declared the officer.
“Don't your prison records show that the convict named Vaniman is
officially dead, sir?”
“I'll admit that; but if what I have heard since I was routed out of my
bed is so, those records will have to be revised.”
“I have no control over your records,” returned the Squire, grimly.
Mr. Bangs made another step forward.
“But I have full control over my own house, sir. You cannot come in.”
“Do you stand in the way of a deputy warden of the state prison?”
“I certainly do until he presents himself in my door with a proper
search warrant, instead of coming here on the strength of mere hearsay.”
“I tried to get a warrant,” the officer confessed. “But I can't locate
the trial justice.”
“I hear that he is moving,” was the Squire's dry retort.
“You seem to be the only one in the place who isn't moving,” said Bangs,
craning his neck to peer past the keeper of the door.
“Oh, I'm simply delaying my departure a few days in order to close up
some matters of business.”
“Let me tell you that if you're concealing a convict in this house
you'll have more business than what you plan on. I'm up here--”
“As you have reported to me and all others, you're up here to find two
escaped prisoners, sir. Very well! They are not in my house. But I have
heard from them. They were seen a very short time ago in the stretch
of woods near here known as Baniman's Bower. If you hurry you may catch
them.”
Bangs displayed prompt interest. He showed more when the Squire added:
“They may be already captured. I learned, also, that a man who has been
a prison guard was in the same locality. You officials seem to be very
vigilant!”
Mr. Bangs choked back some sort of a threatened explosion. He stood
there, shifting from foot to foot. Then he blurted: “Say, you seem to be
the most level-headed man in this town. I'll go chase those convicts if
your tip is a straight one. But tell me! Am I having the nightmare, or
are all these things really happening around here?”
However, Squire Hexter did not try to comfort the perturbed Mr. Bangs
just then. The notary stepped out on the porch, closing his door behind
him. He stared into the graying murk of the night and the fog. That fog
was showing a light which was not that of the dawn. It was a spreading,
baleful, reddening glare, and after a few moments it covered all the
sky.
Then men began to shout. There was an especial uproar from one quarter.
The Squire knew that in the direction of the hullabaloos were located
the camps in which were lodged the imported workmen who had wrought into
solid structure the plans of the mansion that Britt had held in pictured
form before the eyes of Egypt.
The feet of running men pounded along the highway. Somebody cried, in
clarion tones, “It's Tasp Britt's new house!”
The Squire ran into the road, and Bangs followed.
The notary hailed a little group of men who came rushing from the
direction of the main part of the village. “Why aren't you bringing the
tub? Fetch Hecla! Quick, men!”
“She's gone!” panted one of the group.
“Gone?”
“There wasn't any wagon left behind, Squire, and they had to haul that
gold. They hove it into Hecly's water tank and formed a guard, and she's
been a whole half hour gone!”
At that juncture a man came running to them from the direction of the
fire. The Squire recognized him as the boss of the carpenters. “Mr.
Britt is in that house. I saw him through a window. But it's a furnace
from top to bottom.”
The Squire opened his mouth as if query, urgently demanding utterance,
had pried apart his jaws. “How do you think the fire--” But he promptly
closed his mouth and set his lips tightly. He shook his head with
the manner of one who did not require information. Then he turned and
hurried to his house.
Colonel Wincott and Xoa were on the porch, lighted by the great, red
torch whose radiance was flung afar by the reflector aid of the fog.
“It's Britt's house--and Britt is in it,” he told them. “Colonel, your
man Friday had over many times one text that fits this thing. 'Can a man
take fire into his bosom, and his clothing not be burned?'”
He went to Xoa and patted her arm. “Better go inside, mother. It isn't a
good thing to be looking at. Where are the children?”
Frank and Vona answered that question by appearing in the door. They
were honestly affected by the news the Squire gave them. Vona hid her
face against the young man's breast.
“It seems to be a self-operating proposition,” stated Colonel Wincott.
“And about all anybody can do is to let it flicker!”
Vaniman was clearly not the captain of his soul in those distressing
circumstances. He was displaying symptoms of collapse. Squire Hexter
noted and acted.
“Wincott, this boy must not stay here in this town any longer. If that
prison guard runs afoul of him before I get matters under way at the
shire, Frank will be galloped back to his cell in order to make a
grandstand play. I've got to be going. Take Frank under your wing. Get
him over the border.”
“Surest thing in the world!” declared the hearty colonel. “Got a hitch?”
“My horse and double-seater. Come along to the stable--you, too, Frank.
Xoa, bring him one of my coats and a hat!”
Vona leaped away from her lover and faced the Squire. “I shall go with
him, wherever he may go!” she said, with the fire of one who expected to
meet opposition.
But the Squire grinned. “Why, girl, of course you'll go! I wouldn't grab
life-saving medicine away from a sick man. Take your mother along, and
God bless the whole of you on the way.”
That way was toward the north, on the heels of the wains and the flocks
and the herds and the men and women and children of the migrating
population of Egypt.
Colonel Wincott occupied the front seat with Mrs. Harnden. By the
time he had teamed the Squire's fat little nag along for a mile he had
succeeded in calming Mrs. Harnden's hysterical spirits. He induced
her to quit looking over her shoulder at the great torch that lighted
luridly the heavens above the deserted town. “It's a pillar of fire
by night, madam, as you say! But that's as far as it fits in with the
Exodus sentiment. It's behind us--and behind us let it stay.”
At the end of another mile Mrs. Harnden was extolling the capability of
her husband.
“I've heard about him,” said the colonel. “Optimist? So am I. Get in
touch with him and tell him to come to my new town. He'll have something
that he can really optimize over.”
Colonel Wincott sedulously kept his attention off the two who rode on
the back seat; he obliged Mrs. Harnden to do the same.
After a time the trotting nag overtook the trailers of the procession.
The colonel hailed and passed one wain after another, steadily calling,
“Gangway!” They recognized his authority; they obeyed; they gave him
half the road.
He had an especially hearty greeting for the hand tub, Hecla, trundling
on its little wheels, men guarding its flanks, men pulling on the rope
by which it was propelled. Ike Jones was one of the guards. He gave the
colonel's party a return greeting by a flourish on the “tramboon.”
“The stage starts from your town this morning, Colonel! Runs express
through Egypt.”
“Good idea! Nothing but scenery left there,” agreed the colonel. “Take
good care of that gold, boys! The receiver of the Egypt Trust Company
will be able to cut _some_ melon!”
But Prof. Almon Waite, toddling behind the treasure, had a metaphor
of his own. “This gold will gloriously pave the streets of the New
Jerusalem, sir!”
They went on in the growing dawn, threading their way among the vehicles
and the folks on foot.
In all their progress they met only one party headed in the opposite
direction, coming back toward the town that had been deserted. Vaniman
beheld Bartley Wagg teaming along the two convicts. They were tied
together and he was threatening them with a club. They merely flashed
on the screen of the mist and were out of sight. It was evident that
Mr. Wagg had determined to grab a couple of straws, at any rate, in
a desperate attempt to buoy himself officially in the flood of his
misfortunes.
The sun was burning away the mists when Colonel Wincott's turnout topped
a hill; he waved his whip to invite the attention of his passengers.
“There she lies, folks! I've been calling it my town. From now on it's
our town. Some daisy on the breast of nature, eh?”
There was a lake on the facets of whose ripples the sunlight danced.
White water tumbled down cascades. Beside the lake there was a nest of
portable houses. “Homes till we build bigger ones,” explained the master
of The Promised Land. “I'm giving building lots free. The class of
settlers warrants it!”
Then Colonel Wincott called their attention to something else--something
that was not visible. He wrinkled his nose, but his sniff indicated
gusto. “Smell it? It's food for the Children of Israel. Not manna. But
it will fit the occasion, I hope. It's a barbecue. A whole ox and all
the fixings.”
Then they came to a high arch, fashioned from boughs of fir and spruce
trees. The wains were rolling under it.
Frank and Vona lifted up their eyes. At the top of the arch, in great
letters that were formed of pine tassels fastened to a stretch of
canvas, was the word, “LIBERTY.”
“The name of our new town,” said the colonel.
But for the two on the rear seat it was more than the name of a town.
Vaniman pressed the girl's trembling hand between his palms. They looked
at each other through the lenses of grateful tears.
Just inside the arch stood Prophet Elias, welcoming all comers. He had
put off his robe and had laid aside his fantastic umbrella. He wore
the sober garb of a dominic, and his face, above his tie of white lawn,
displayed shrewd and complete appreciation of the occasion.
He took off his hat and bowed low when Colonel Wincott's party passed
under the arch. And this sonorous proclamation followed Frank and Vona:
“'And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead
them in paths that they have not known; I will make darkness light
before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto
them, and not forsake them.'”
“Amen!” responded Colonel Wincott, fervently.
The two persons on the rear seat did not speak. In silence they had
reverently prostrated themselves at a shrine of thanksgiving in their
souls.