HERBERT PUTS TWO AND TWO TOGETHER
Herbert had been in reality left almost without food for a day. But as
he grew weaker, he grew more determined. Several times Sheldon brought
him the soiled paper and the stub of pencil and asked him to write.
Herbert shook his head.
“She ain’t got help for you very fast,” growled Sheldon.
Herbert looked up into the sullen face, seeing there again a kind of
desperation.
On the morning of the second day, when Elizabeth was traveling toward
the cabin, the gaunt, angular woman called Jinny came to speak to him.
She brought with her a piece of bread.
“I’ll sneak you some more,” she promised. “Are you learned?”
“Not very,” answered Herbert, as he munched the dry, poor bread.
“I mean can you read and write?”
“Oh, yes.”
“An’ do sums?”
“Yes, I can do sums.”
“You can’t get along in the world without some learnin’, kin you?”
“Not very well,” answered Herbert.
The woman pointed to the south.
“There’s lots of us, down that-a-way what ain’t got no use for learnin’
an’ we’re dyin’ like flies with our airless lives. We’ve got the tisic
an’ the takin’-off an’ we won’t listen to no one. I’m willin’ to learn
an’ to have my children learn, an’ sometimes one comes to show us the
way, but they get druv off by those that are against ’em. I tell you
the mountain people don’ know what’s for their good; they’re blind an’
they won’t see, as the Good Book says. They--”
Jinny was not allowed to finish her speech. Her husband approached
with Black Smith, and Herbert heard the account of Black Smith’s
conversation with Elizabeth.
“She says if we let her have the boy, she’ll git us the paper.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s settin’ on a rock. There ain’t but one way out for her an’
that’s the way she come in an’ John’s watchin’ that. Let her set.”
“Do you hev faith in her that she will keep her word?” asked Sheldon.
“Yes, I do. She’s had two nights an’ a day now an’ she’s droppin’ from
sleep.”
But Sheldon looked about uneasily.
“You’re sure it ain’t no trap?”
“Of course it ain’t no trap.”
“Where is the paper?”
“I don’t know. She’ll git it when she sees him.”
Sheldon stood leaning against a tree. Another man joined them and then
another. They were a formidable group with their long guns, and with
their savage-looking dogs standing alertly beside them.
“You bring her to Mammy’s bedside an’ then we’ll test ’em both,”
commanded Sheldon. “Go git her.”
But the party was not to move. A pleasant odor of freshly frying ham
and of baking johnny-cake filled the air.
“I ain’t had no food yet to-day,” whined Black Smith. “I can’t go too
long without food.”
“Well, then, eat,” grumbled Sheldon, who, while he scolded, commanded
Jinny to bring him his own breakfast.
Jinny brought him not only his breakfast, but advice as well.
“You have no right to persecute these young people,” said she.
“Vengeance is prepared for you; it were well to meet it with deeds of
goodness. Let ’em go.”
Her husband silenced her with his usual command.
“I ain’t goin’ to shet up,” persisted Jinny. “An’ you can’t make me
shet up. I’ve stood by ye, but I won’t stand by ye no longer. We were
benighted, but we have seen the light. Light is bein’ let into all
sorts o’ dark places these days.”
“Shet up, Jinny,” commanded Sheldon once more. “Ain’t a man to eat his
vittles in peace?”
“No,” said Jinny, “he ain’t! Keep on an’ them police in black
clothes’ll git ye soon enough, an’ then ye can eat in the peace o’
prison.”
Sheldon rose brushing the plate of food from his knee.
“Ye take my appetite,” said he. “Come on, Smith.”
But Smith would not obey until he had had his fill.
“Come on,” he ordered Herbert at last.
Herbert rose, stiff and trembling. Then he sat down heavily.
“Come on,” commanded Sheldon roughly. “We spent enough time foolin’
with you!”
“How can they walk who haven’t et?” demanded Jinny. “When he has had
some o’ the food that tantalizes his senses, then he can walk.”
“Git him some.”
Herbert ate slowly. He did not mean to delay the start; it seemed a
year since he had seen Elizabeth; but he was afraid to eat rapidly.
“He has a delicate stomick,” said Black Smith, grinning.
Herbert rose once more.
“I can go now,” said he angrily. “But I can’t go very fast.”
“Well, go as fast as ye can,” said Sheldon. Then he directed Herbert to
step out from behind Smith and take another way. “You fetch her,” said
he to Smith. “We’ll be there ahead of you.”
Smith started rapidly, looking forward not without pleasant
anticipation to the moment when, gun in hand, he should lead Elizabeth
to Mammy Sheldon’s cabin. It would be not only another triumph for the
mountain people to have outwitted the people of the plain, but it would
end an anxiety which was really acute. Mammy Sheldon knew their past
history, and there were incidents which Smith and his friends believed
might get them into serious trouble. Heaven only knew how much she had
told! They would end her chances for making mischief by moving her
nearer to their own cabins, annoying as was her constant crying.
Then Smith stopped speculating and stood still. The rock on which
he had left Elizabeth was bare; she was not there either awake or
sleeping. Under his black beard he grew deathly white. Then, cursing,
he stepped rapidly into the woods. After a while he returned to
the rock. Elizabeth was still not there. He stepped out again in
a different direction, and this time he was longer away. When he
returned a second time, he stared with a terror which had ceased to be
intelligent. His journey and his meal had made his absence long. She
could not have gone to fetch those black-coated police! Some one would
kill him if she had; he knew that, but in his confusion he was not sure
whether it would be Sheldon or the police. The girl had said that they
could be punished for past crimes. Again, now without any conscious
plan, he plunged into the woods.
* * * * *
When Elizabeth reached the house of Colonel Thomas, not much more
than a quarter of an hour after she had accosted the stranger on the
roadside, she saw that old gentleman sitting, as usual, on his porch.
As usual, he did not wait for his visitors to come to him, but rose and
walked to the porch steps. The kindly stranger bade Elizabeth sit still
in the car and went to meet him.
“I was stopped on the Cashtown road by a young woman named Elizabeth
Scott, who says that her brother has been carried off into the
mountain. She has come to find you and the constabulary. My car is at
your service, if you need it.”
Colonel Thomas said “Wait!” and vanished indoors. His voice could be
heard, first shouting to his family, then into a telephone. When he
reappeared a hat was set rakishly on his head, and he was answering
over his shoulder protests of some one indoors.
“Of course I’m going!” said he.
In another instant his foot was on the car step.
“Two State police, Garnett and Byers, rode toward Fairfield not fifteen
minutes ago. We can catch them and there is a cross-road. Why, Miss
Scott, don’t cry _now_!”
Elizabeth looked at him tearfully. The great car was turning; she felt
like a child who had been lost and who sees at last some hope of rescue.
Within five minutes they had caught up with the two horsemen who left
their mounts at a farmhouse and got into the machine. The driver bent
a little over his wheel and again they were off. Before they started
to climb the last hill, Colonel Thomas leaning forward shouted to the
driver to stop.
“We’d better make our plans,” said he nervously. His eyes sparkled; one
could imagine how he had looked before going into a charge. He had
had, alas, a letter from the editor of General Adams’s “Recollections,”
who had explained that the letter from which Colonel Thomas’s quotation
was taken had been partially destroyed and that the row of asterisks
indicated a missing sheet. He wished that he had not mentioned his
inquiry to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth recounted hurriedly the history of the last few days.
“After you went away, I went down the road on an errand, and when I
came back Herbert was gone, and there was a notice saying that I could
have him in exchange for the paper.”
“What paper?” asked Colonel Thomas.
“Some time ago I walked up into the woods and heard an old woman crying
because her son was going to take her money to buy a gun and there
wouldn’t be anything to bury her. Forty dollars was all she had. So
I wrote a will, but I left it in the cabin, and she won’t give it to
them. I think they’re afraid that she told other things.”
“What other things?” asked one of the police.
“I don’t know, but they’re afraid of something.”
“I bet they are!” said Colonel Thomas.
“This afternoon I was to bring the paper to the old woman’s cabin and
they were to bring Herbert. I expect they are there now. Instead I came
to get you.”
The driver of the car touched a button and the car moved. Elizabeth
indicated the turn into the wood road above the house. One of the
police leaned forward.
“Hadn’t you better get out, miss?”
“Oh, no!” answered Elizabeth.
“And you, sir?” said he to Colonel Thomas.
“Of course not!” said Colonel Thomas.
Each of the constabulary took something from his hip pocket. Elizabeth
looked back at them smiling in a pale sort of way, and they smiled at
her.
“Never you mind, miss; they won’t give much trouble.”
Herbert, sitting at the foot of a tree with his captors beside him,
heard the car first. The mountaineers stood about, guns in hand, first
one, then another going off toward the spot where Black Smith was
supposed to have left Elizabeth. More than an hour had passed since he
had left them and there had been no sign of his return. The crying of
Mammy Sheldon was almost continuous; she seemed to believe that now
they had come to fetch her will. There were moments when she screamed
for fear that they would bury her as she was. It was no wonder that
they did not hear the car.
Black Smith had heard it, as he hunted frantically, and he came now
running toward them, shouting. But his shouts were too late. The men
stood mystified, and found themselves covered by the pistols of their
dreaded enemies.
One of the constabulary stepped down.
“You are covered from the car!” said he quietly. “Put down your guns.”
Elizabeth tried in vain to move. For an instant she did not see
Herbert. If they had hurt him, if they had carried out their threats,
then she hoped that the mountain-side would become a place of execution.
But Herbert came forward, unrestrained by his captors. The mountaineers
seemed stupefied. The uniforms, the heavy revolvers, the car--all
declared a newer and swifter age of retribution. Jinny was right when
she said that light was about to be let in. They obeyed meekly the
command of the young officer.
Herbert walked directly to the side of the car and laid his hand on
Elizabeth’s arm. His mind was filled with one emotion; he scarcely saw
the constabulary or Colonel Thomas; he thought only that Elizabeth
wanted something, and that he had it to give. He had had much time to
meditate, and he had put two and two together. He had less persistence
than Elizabeth, but he had more originality of mind. Weak and excited,
he blurted out the words which were uppermost in his consciousness, and
which had been growing to seem more and more significant.
“They said my Grandfather Baring was buried here. They threatened to
put me in the same grave. They were angry with him. I believe they shot
him here.”
“What! What!” Colonel Thomas stepped down from the car. “He went away
with the Confederates and was never heard of more!”
“They threatened to put me in the same grave with him!” insisted
Herbert. “I believe they shot him here. If he was friendly to the South
they would not have done that.”
“We didn’t hurt you,” cried a terrified voice. “We treated you good!”
“It was war-time!” cried another. “Things is done different in
war-time!”
“Who shot him?” demanded the old gentleman in a voice of authority.
“It was before our time,” came the frightened answer.
Then a shrill, spent voice spoke from within the log cabin.
“If you don’t let me have my forty dollars for to bury me, I’ll tell
about John Baring!”
The old colonel went with the step of youth to the tumbledown building.
Vague gleams of light illuminated the confusion in his mind. What the
boy said was true--if John Baring had come to his end here, and at
these hands, he was no friend to the enemy! He beckoned to the police
to step nearer to the door. But the old voice carried to them all.
“I’ll tell about John Baring, if you don’t let me have my forty
dollars.”
“What about John Baring?” asked the old gentleman. “I’ll see that you
get your forty dollars.”
The old woman was silent. Elizabeth Scott held her breath. Then the
old woman spoke. Intelligence was almost gone, or she would not have
uttered the betraying words. There was among them all a conviction that
for the crime of their fathers against John Baring, they might still be
held responsible.
“He led ’em in here to deceive ’em!” she cried. “He pretended to help
’em and he deceived ’em. He led ’em to the wilderness to show ’em the
way to Gettysburg. And our folks led ’em safely out. Great generals was
among ’em an’ fine men. But it was too late, an’ the battle was lost.
So our folks shot him an’ buried him deep.”
The old gentleman leaned against the door frame.
“Is it true?” he asked of Sheldon and Black Smith.
“It was before my time,” answered Sheldon.
“But is it true?”
The men saw prison yawning.
“Yes,” said Sheldon; “he lies buried yonder.”
* * * * *
Elizabeth sat on her doorstep at twilight. Her body was weary, but her
mind was alert. She had shown Colonel Thomas the old map and he had
looked at it with tears.
“Slashed it out so they couldn’t get it, evidently with the first knife
at hand!”
Then Colonel Thomas had gone, his hand itching for his pen. Relieved
of fear of punishment, Sheldon and his mates had told all they knew.
Their bravado had vanished; they looked browbeaten and ashamed and even
apologized for using the flag for a target. The constabulary had given
back their guns and had smiled at Elizabeth’s gratitude.
“It’s a new age, miss, and they know it.”
Already Elizabeth had had two callers. The first was the farmer from
down the road, who twisted his hat awkwardly.
“Colonel Thomas, he stopped at my place,” he explained. “You might
think he’d found a million dollars. I want to know when your trees are
coming.”
Elizabeth rose, frightening the farmer, who thought she was going to be
resentful.
“I’m going to call my brother,” said she. “He’s the boss of the
orchard.”
While the men talked, Elizabeth sat on the doorstep, her hands clasped
round her knees. She smiled into the twilight, remembering with
amusement a narrow escape. It had been on the tip of her tongue to say,
when she had heard Herbert’s adventures, “Darling, weren’t you afraid?”
and she had caught herself in time, realizing that neither “afraid” nor
“darling” were words to say any more to Herbert.
When the farmer had gone, Elizabeth thought of a blossoming orchard.
Then a gaunt figure crossed the yard. Elizabeth had not seen Jinny, but
she believed that this was Jinny before her.
“We’ve heard tell that you spoke for us,” said a harsh, tired voice.
“You said to every one assembled at the place of meetin’ this afternoon
that not bein’ trusted makes folks wicked. You said you was goin’ to
trust us. Now you have let your light shine, miss, don’t forsake us.
There’s not many left of us, what with our airless houses an’ the
tisic, but what there is is not so bad as you might expect. What I ask,
miss, is that you will stand by us.”
“I will,” promised Elizabeth.
“And we by you,” said Jinny; and was gone.
Elizabeth’s thoughts, following her, went back to John Baring,
traveling the same dark road.
“He led ’em here to deceive ’em!” Mammy Sheldon’s shrill old voice had
cried.
She saw him again standing in his doorway. She saw the moonlight and
the torchlight and the horsemen, and heard the rumbling guns.
“It was putting his brave head into a noose,” said Elizabeth. Then she
remembered the cry of the old woman on the side road. “Why, you’re his
image!”
“I’m glad of that!” said Elizabeth to herself.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.