IN WHICH DAVID AIDS FRALE TO MAKE HIS ESCAPE
Elated by his talk with Cassandra, Frale walked eagerly forward, but as
he neared Thryng's cabin he moved more slowly. Why should he let that
doctor help him? He could reach Farington some way--travelling by night
and hiding in the daytime. But David was watching for him and strolled
down to meet him.
"Good morning. Your sister says there is no time to lose. Come in here,
and we'll see if we can find a way out of this trouble."
Having learned not to expect any response to remarks not absolutely
demanding one, and not wishing the silence to dominate, David talked on,
as he led Frale into the cabin and carefully closed the door behind
them.
Thryng's intuition was subtle and his nature intense and strong. He had
been used to dealing with men, and knew that when he wished to, he
usually gained his point. Feeling the antagonism in Frale's heart toward
himself, he determined to overcome it. Be it pride, jealousy, or what
not, it must give way.
He had learned only that morning that circumlocution or pretence of any
sort would only drive the youth further into his fortress of silence,
and close his nature, a sealed well of turbid feeling, against him;
therefore he chose a manner pleasantly frank, taking much for granted,
and giving the boy no chance to refuse his help, by assuming it to have
been already accepted.
"We are about the same size, I think? Yes. Here are some things I laid
out for you. You must look as much like me as possible, and as unlike
yourself, you know. Sit here and we'll see what can be done for your
head."
"You're right fair, an' I'm dark."
"Oh, that makes very little difference. It's the general appearance we
must get at. Suppose I try to trim your hair a little so that lock on
your forehead won't give you away."
"I reckon I can do it. Hit's makin' you a heap o' trouble."
David was pleased to note the boy's mood softening, and helped him on.
"I'm no hand as a barber, but I'll try it a little; it's easier for me
to get at than for you." He quickly and deftly cut away the falling
curl, and even shaved the corners of the forehead a bit, and clipped the
eyebrows to give them a different angle. "All this will grow again, you
know. You only want it to last until the storm blows over."
The youth surveyed himself in the mirror and smiled, but grimly. "I do
look a heap different."
"That's right; we want you to look like quite another man. And now for
your chin. You can use a razor; here is warm water and soap. This suit
of clothes is such as we tramp about in at home, different from anything
you see up here, you know. I'll take my pipe and book and sit there on
the rock and keep an eye out, lest any one climb up here to look around,
and you can have the cabin all to yourself. You see what to do; make
yourself look as if you came from my part of the world." Thryng glanced
at his watch. "Work fast, but take time enough to do it well. Say half
an hour,--will that do?"
"Yas, I reckon."
Then David left him, and the moments passed until an hour had slipped
away, but still the youth did not appear, and he was on the point of
calling out to him, when he saw the twisted form of little Hoyle
scrambling up through the underbrush.
"They're comin'," he panted, with wild and frightened eyes fixed on
David's face. "I see 'em up the road, an' I heered 'em say they was
goin' to hunt 'round the house good, an' then s'arch the cabin ovah
Hanging Rock." The poor child burst into tears. "Do you 'low they'll
shoot Frale, suh?"
"They'd not reached the house when you saw them?"
"They'll be thar by now, suh," sobbed the boy.
"Then run and hide yourself. Crawl under the rock--into the smallest
hole you can. They mustn't see that you have been here, and don't be
frightened, little man. We'll look after Frale."
The child disappeared like a squirrel in a hole, and Thryng went to the
cabin door and knocked imperatively. It was opened instantly, and Frale
stood transformed, his old, soiled garments lying in a heap at his side
as if he had crept out of his chrysalis. A full half hour he had been
lingering, abashed at himself and dreading to appear. The slight growth
of adolescence was gone from lip and chin, and Thryng was amazed and
satisfied.
"Good," he cried. "You've done well."
The youth smiled shamefacedly, yet held his head high. With the heavy
golf stockings, knee breeches, and belted jacket, even to himself he
seemed another man, and an older man he looked by five years.
"Now keep your nerve, and square your shoulders and face the world with
a straight look in the eye. You've thrown off the old man with these."
David touched the heap of clothing on the floor with his foot. "Hoyle is
here. He says the men are on their way here and have stopped at the
house."
Instead of turning pale as Thryng had expected, a dark flush came into
Frale's face, and his hand clinched. It was the ferocity of fear, and
not the deadliness of it, which seized him with a sort of terrible
anger, that David felt through his silence.
"Don't lose control of yourself, boy," he said, placing his hand gently
on his shoulder and making his touch felt by the intimate closing of his
slender fingers upon the firmly rounded, lean muscles beneath them.
"Follow my directions, and be quick. Put your own clothes in this bag."
He hastily tossed a few things out of his pigskin valise. "Cram them in;
that's right. Don't leave a trace of yourself here for them to find.
Pull this cap over your eyes, and walk straight down that path, and pass
them by as if they were nothing to you. If they speak to you, of course
nod to them and pass on. But if they ask you a question, say politely,
'Beg pardon?' just like that, as though you did not
understand--and--wait. Don't hurry away from them as if you were afraid
of them. They won't recognize you unless you give yourself away by your
manner. See? Now say it over after me. Good! Take these cigars." He
placed his own case in the boy's vest pocket.
"Better leave 'em free, suh. I don't like to take all your things
this-a-way." He handed back the case, and put them loose in his pocket.
"Very well. If you smoke, just light this and walk on, and if they ask
you anything about yourself, if you have seen a chap of the sort,
understand, offer them each a cigar, and tell them no. Don't say 'I
reckon not,' for that will give you away, and don't lift your cap, or
they will see how roughly your hair is cut. Touch it as if you were
going to lift it, only--so. I would take care not to arrive at the house
while they are there; it will be easier for you to meet them on the
path. It will be the sooner over."
Thryng held out his hand, and Frale took it awkwardly, then turned away,
swallowing the thanks he did not know how to utter. For the time being,
David had conquered.
The lad took a few steps and then turned back. "I'd like to thank you,
suh, an' I'd like to pay fer these here--I 'low to get work an' send the
money fer 'em."
"Don't be troubled about that; we'll see later. Only remember one thing.
I don't know what you've done, nor why you must run away like this--I
haven't asked. I may be breaking the laws of the land as much as you in
helping you off. I am doing it because, until I know of some downright
evil in you, I'm bound to help you, and the best way to repay me will be
for you to--you know--do right."
"Are you doin' this fer her?" He looked off at the hills as he spoke,
and not at the doctor.
"Yes, for her and for you. Don't linger now, and don't forget my
directions."
The youth turned on the doctor a quick look. Thryng could not determine,
as he thought it over afterward, if there was in it a trace of
malevolence. It was like a flash of steel between them, even as they
smiled and again bade each other good-by.
For a time all was silent around Hanging Rock. Thryng sat reading and
pondering, expecting each moment to hear voices from the direction Frale
had taken. He could not help smiling as he thought over his attempt to
make this mountain boy into the typical English tourist, and how unique
an imitation was the result.
He called out to comfort Hoyle's fearful little heart: "Your brother's
all safe now. Come out here until we hear men's voices."
"I better stay whar I be, I reckon. They won't talk none when they get
nigh hyar."
"Are you comfortable down there?"
"Yas, suh."
Hoyle was right. The two men detailed for this climb walked in silence,
to give no warning of their approach, until they appeared in the rear of
the cabin, and entered the shed where Frale's horse was stabled. Sure
were they then that its owner was trapped at last.
They were greatly surprised at finding the premises occupied. David
continued his reading, unconcerned until addressed.
"Good evenin', suh."
He greeted them genially and invited them into his cabin, determined to
treat them with as royal hospitality as was in his power. To offer them
tea was hardly the thing, he reasoned, so he stirred up the fire, while
descanting on the beauty of the location and the health-giving quality
of the air, and when his kettle was boiling, he brought out from his
limited stores whiskey, lemons, and sugar, and proceeded to brew them so
fine a quality of English toddy as to warm the cockles of their hearts.
Questioning them on his own account, he learned how best to get his
supplies brought up the mountains, and many things about the region
interesting to him. At last one of them ventured a remark about the
horse and how he came by him, at which he explained very frankly that
the widow down below had allowed him the use of the animal for his keep
until her son returned.
They "'lowed he wa'n't comin' back to these parts very soon," and David
expressed satisfaction. His evident ignorance of mountain affairs
convinced them that nothing was to be gained from him, and they asked no
direct questions, and finally took their departure, with a high opinion
of their host, and quite content.
Then David called his little accomplice from his hiding-place, took him
into his cabin, and taught him to drink tea with milk and sugar in it,
gave him crisp biscuits from his small remainder in store, and, still
further to comfort his heart, searched out a card on which was a
picture of an ocean liner on an open sea, with flags flying, great rolls
of vapor and smoke trailing across the sky, with white-capped waves
beneath and white clouds above. The boy's eyes shone with delight. He
twisted himself about to look up in Thryng's face as he questioned him
concerning it, and almost forgot Frale in his happiness, as he trudged
home hugging the precious card to his bosom.
Contentedly Thryng proceeded to set his abode in order after the
disarray of the morning, undisturbed by any question as to the equity of
his deed. His mind was in a state of rebellion against the usual
workings of the criminal courts, and, biassed by his observation of the
youth, he felt that his act might lead as surely toward absolute
justice, perhaps more surely, than the opposite course would have done.
Erelong he found a few tools carefully packed away, as was the habit of
his old friend, and the labor of preparing his canvas room began. But
first a ladder hanging under the eaves of the cabin must be repaired,
and long before the slant rays of the setting sun fell across his
hilltop, he found himself too weary to descend to the Fall Place, even
with the aid of his horse. With a measure of discouragement at his
undeniable weakness, he led the animal to water where a spring bubbled
sweet and clear in an embowered hollow quite near his cabin, then
stretched himself on the couch before the fire, with no other light than
its cheerful blaze, too exhausted for his book and disinclined even to
prepare his supper.
After a time, David's weariness gave place to a pleasant drowsiness, and
he rose, arranged his bed, and replenished the fire, drank a little hot
milk, and dropped into a wholesome slumber as dreamless and sweet as
that of a tired child.
Such a sense of peace and retirement closed around him there alone on
his mountain, that he slept with his cabin door open to the sweet air,
crisp and cold, lulled by the murmuring of the swaying pine tops
without, and the crackling and crumbling of burning logs within. Rolled
in his warm Scotch rug, he did not feel the chill that came as his fire
burned lower, but slept until daybreak, when the clear note of a
Carolina wren, thrice repeated close to his open door, sounded his
reveille.
Deeply inhaling the cold air, he lay and mused over the events of the
previous day. How quickly and naturally he had been drawn into the
interests of his neighbors below him, and had absorbed the peculiar
atmosphere of their isolation, making a place for himself, shutting out
almost as if they had never existed the harassments and questionings of
his previous life. Was it a buoyancy he had received from his mountain
height and the morning air? Whatever the cause, he seemed to have
settled with them all, and arrived at last where his spirit needed but
to rest open and receptive before its Creator to be swept clear of the
dross of the world's estimates of values, and exalted with aspiration.
Every long breath he drew seemed to make his mental vision clearer. God
and his own soul--was that all? Not quite. God and the souls of men and
of women--of all who came within his environment--a world made
beautiful, made sweet and health-giving for these--and with them to know
God, to feel Him near. So Christ came to be close to humanity.
A mist of scepticism that had hung over him and clouded the later years
of his young manhood suddenly rolled away, dispelled by the splendor of
this triumphant thought, even as the rays of the rising sun came at the
same moment to dispel the earth mists and flood the hills with light.
Light; that was it! "In Him is no darkness at all."
Joyously he set himself to the preparation for the day. The true meaning
of life was revealed to him. The discouragement of the evening before
was gone. Yet now should he sit down in ecstatic dreaming? It must be
joy in life--movement--in whatever was to be done, whether in satisfying
a wholesome hunger, in creating warmth for his body, or in conquering
the seeds of decay and disease therein, and keeping it strong and full
of reactive power for his soul's sake.
It was a revelation to him of the eternal God, wonder-working and
all-pervading. Now no longer with a haunting sense of fear would he
search and learn, but with a glad perception of the beautiful
orderliness of the universe, so planned and arranged for the souls of
men when only they should learn how to use their own lives, and attune
themselves to give forth music to the touch of the God of Love.
A cold bath, the pure air, and his abstemiousness of the previous
evening gave him a compelling hunger, and it was with satisfaction he
discovered so large a portion of his dinner of yesterday remaining to be
warmed for his morning meal. What he should do later, when dinner-time
arrived, he knew not, and he laughed to think how he was living from
hour to hour, content as the small wren fluting beside his door his
care-free note. Ah, yes! "God's in His heaven, all's right with the
world."
The wren's note reminded him of a slender box which always accompanied
his wanderings, and which had come to light rolled in the jacket which
he had given Frale as part of his disguise. He opened it and took
therefrom the joints of a silver flute. How long it had lain untouched!
He fitted the parts and strolled out to the rock, and there, as he gazed
at the shifting, subtle beauty spread all before him and around him, he
lifted the wandlike instrument to his lips and began to play. At first
he only imitated the wren, a few short notes joyously uttered; then, as
the springs of his own happiness welled up within him, he poured forth a
tumultuous flood of trills--a dancing staccato of mounting notes,
shifting and falling, rising, floating away, and then returning in
silvery echoes, bringing their own gladness with them.
The paean of praise ended, the work of the day began, and he set himself
with all the nervous energy of his nature to the finishing of his canvas
room. Again, ere the completion of the task, he found he had been
expending his strength too lavishly, but this time he accepted his
weariness more philosophically, glad if only he might labor and rest as
the need came.
Nearly the whole of the glorious day was still left him. In moving his
couch nearer the door, he found his efforts impeded by some heavy object
underneath it, and discovered, to his surprise and almost dismay, the
identical pigskin valise which Frale had taken away with him the day
before. How came it there? No one, he was certain, had been near his
cabin since Hoyle had trotted home yesterday, hugging his picture to his
breast.
David drew it out into the light and opened it. There on the top lay
the cigars he had placed in the youth's pocket, and there also every
article of wearing apparel he had seen disappear down the laurel-grown
path on Frale's lithe body twelve hours or more ago. He cast the
articles out upon the floor and turned them over wonderingly, then
shoved them aside and lay down for his quiet siesta. He would learn from
Cassandra the meaning of this. He hoped the young man had got off
safely, yet the fact of finding his kindly efforts thus thrust back upon
him disturbed him. Why had it been done? As he pondered thereon, he saw
again the steel-blue flash in the young man's eyes as he turned away,
and resolved to ask no questions, even of Cassandra.