Mr. Cross was in no enviable state of mind as he hastened along in the
darkness, after leaving the hut of Margaret. The disappointment he had
suffered in finding that Ned Saunders was dead; the terrible fright he
had endured while standing with the rifle at his breast; the
mortification of begging his life at the hand of one he had so long
triumphed over; and above all, the knowledge that his secret was
abroad--all operated with maddening power, and worked up a tempest
within, that raged and tossed until he was bewildered by its fury. He
passed his own dwelling without stopping, but hurried on, directing his
steps to the north, through a by-path amidst the towering pines.
After some miles of rapid walking, he reached the edge of the barrens,
or rather that part of them that had been cleared and in some measure
cultivated. He here descried the twinkle of lights from a small
settlement. To one of these, a little separated from the rest, he soon
came, and knocked with some violence at the door.
'Come in.'
Cross tried the latch, but finding it fastened, repeated the knocks in a
way that showed he was in earnest to be let in.
'Come in, I say--but stop, may be the door is fastened. Who are you?'
'Open the door, will you? it's me.'
'Aha--that I will;' and the bolt was withdrawn quickly.
'Why, neighbor, is this you? how are you? come in. Well, you are the
last man I should have thought of seeing here this dark night--take a
chair, neighbor--what's the news?' And as Squire Foster (for he was the
gentleman whom Mr. Cross had honored with a visit) said this, he threw
away the smile, or rather grin, that had played over his sallow and
flabby face, and assumed his naturally sly and mouserly look. 'Any thing
good abroad?'
Cross was in no talking humor: so let the gentleman run on, and in the
mean time helping himself to a chair, sat down, and leaning back against
the wall, fixed his eye, dark and lowry, full upon the little light that
stood flaring and smoking on the middle of the table.
'Well, there's the devil to pay now!'
'Where? what, what, neighbor--any news?'
'None that you will want to hear. Ned Saunders is dead.'
'One rogue less, then, neighbor, ha, ha! he won't tell any tales then
about here.'
'But suppose he has told the tale already?'
'That would be bad, neighbor; but you don't mean to say that he has?'
'Yes, I do mean to say so; and the question is, what you mean to do
about it?'
'What _I_ mean to do about it?' and he looked at Cross with a vacant
stare.
'Why you know we are both implicated.'
'Why, neighbor, that is all between you and me. You know I have been but
a mere counsellor.'
'Yes, and a pretty scrape your counsel has got me into. Here is one man
dead, the two others gone out of reach, and the thing itself nowhere to
be found. Like as not Rutherford has got it back again, and we have had
our labor for our pains, and may be something beside not so agreeable.'
'Well, now suppose, neighbor, I should tell you that Rutherford has not
got it?'
'Do you know that? and how?'
'What would you give if I should tell you that I have got it, safe and
snug in my own hands?'
'Give! I have given enough already; but where is it? let's see it.'
And Cross arose from his leaning posture, sat his chair square on the
floor, and himself very erect in it, and looked fixedly at the Squire.
Foster noticed the movement and the look of Cross, and without speaking,
arose and stepped into a small adjoining room, took something from a
case that stood upon an old dressing-table, and thrusting it hastily
into his bosom, came back and resumed his 'Have you got it?'
'Got what, neighbor?'
'You know what, well enough--why, the deed. The trunk you may keep, but
the deed can do you no good.'
'Nor you, either, neighbor; it is safe--safe enough. I have got it, and
I mean to keep it.' And as he said this, he very deliberately drew a
pistol from his breast, and laying his hand on the table, leaned back in
his chair and looked at the pretty plaything. Cross eyed him keenly,
glancing from the pistol, which he saw was cocked, to the calm and
almost unmeaning countenance of Foster.
'What do you mean to do about this?'
'I don't know exactly, neighbor; but at present I shall keep it.
Something may turn up, you know--and to save a great deal of talk, as it
is getting late, matters must stand thus: I have obtained possession of
this at some risk; you agreed to pay me well, you know, if the job
succeeded. Go on then--slash away at the timber; cut down and sell off
as fast as you can--no one can hinder you--hand over half you get to me,
and all will go smoothly enough. Do you agree to that?'
Cross knew that Foster was a great villain, but he had never calculated
upon the chance of thus getting into his power; he knew now that he was
resolved upon a desperate course.
'I suppose I shall be sued as soon as I begin to cut.'
'No fear from that quarter. Rutherford is down, and has no means to
contend with; his creditors will get picking enough to satisfy
themselves out of his other property; and no lawyer will undertake the
job, on his own risk, without more show of a title than he can now
claim.'
'Well, if they do prosecute, you agree to see to it?'
'Ay, ay, neighbor, leave all that to me.'
'And suppose there should be trouble about what Ned Saunders has been
blabbing?'
'That won't amount to much; it will soon be known that you are the owner
of nearly all the barrens now, and they will be careful enough how they
raise their tongue against you; a man is not very likely to swear to his
own injury.'
As Cross arose to depart, the other gentleman left his seat also, and
dropping the hand which held the pistol, let it dangle by his side; the
other hand he placed in his bosom, and facing his guest looked at him
very complacently; a slight smile and a gentle, inclination of the head,
on the part of Foster, were all the greeting that passed, as Cross
neither turned his head nor uttered a word, but with a quick step left
the house, and went on his way.
The wages of iniquity are sometimes reaped in this world, and Cross was
just tasting the bitter fruit.