[Illustration: 9127]
HE following night was a cloudless, moonlit one, and restlessly and
heart-sore Helen walked the upper floor of the veranda, her eyes
constantly bent on the street leading past Dwight's on to the centre of
the town. The greater part of the day she had spent with Linda, trying
to pacify her and rouse the hope that Pete would not be implicated in
the trouble in the mountains. Helen had gone down to Carson's office
about noon, feeling vaguely that he could advise her better than any one
else in the grave situation. She had found Garner seated at his desk,
bent over a law-book, a studious expression on his face. Seeing her in
the doorway, he sprang up gallantly and proffered a rickety chair, from
which he had hastily dumped a pile of old newspapers.
“Is Carson in?” she asked, sitting down.
“Oh no, he's gone over to the farm,” Garner said. “I couldn't hold him
here after he heard of the trouble. You see, Miss Helen, he thinks,
from a few things picked up, that Pete is likely to be suspected and be
roughly handled, and, you know, as he was partly the cause of the boy's
going there, he naturally would feel--”
“I was the _real_ cause of it,” the girl broke in, with a sigh and a
troubled face. “We both thought it was for the best, and if it results
in Pete's death I shall never forgive myself.”
“Oh, I wouldn't look at it that way,” Garner said. “You were both acting
for what you thought was right. As I say, I tried my best to keep Carson
from going over there to-day, but he would go. We almost had an open
rupture over it. You see, Miss Helen, I have set my head on seeing him
in the legislature, and he is eternally doing things that kill votes.
There is not a thing in the category of political offences as fatal as
this very thing. He's already taken Pete's part and abused the men
who whipped him, and now that the boy is suspected of retaliating and
killing the Johnsons, why, the people will--well, I wouldn't be one bit
surprised to see them jump on Carson himself. Men infuriated like that
haven't any more sense than mad dogs, and they won't stand for a white
man opposing them. But, of course, you know why Carson is acting so
recklessly.”
“I do? What do you mean, Mr. Garner?”
The lawyer smiled, wiped his facile mouth with his small white hand, and
said, teasingly: “Why, you are at the bottom of it. Carson wants to save
the boy simply because you are indirectly interested in him. That's the
whole thing in a nutshell. He's been as mad as a wet hen ever since they
whipped Pete, because he was the son of your old mammy, and now that the
boy's in actual peril Carson has gone clean daft. Well, it's reported
among the gossips about town that you turned him down, Miss Helen--like
you did some of the balance of us presumptuous chaps that didn't know
enough to keep our hearts where they belonged--but you sat on the best
man in the bunch when you did it. It's me that's doing this talking.”
Helen sat silent and pale for a moment, unable to formulate a reply to
his outspoken remark. Presently she said, evasively: “Then you think
both of them are in actual danger?”
“Well, Pete hasn't one chance in a million,” Garner said, gently. “There
is no use trying to hide that fact; and if Carson should happen to run
across Dan Willis--well, one or the other would have to drop. Carson
is in a dangerous mood. He believes as firmly in Pete's innocence as he
does in his own, and if Dan Willis dared to threaten him, as he's likely
to do when they meet, why, Carson would defend himself.”
Helen drew her veil down over her eyes and Garner could see that she was
quivering from head to foot.
“Oh, it's awful--awful!” he heard her say, softly. Then she rose and
moved to the open door, where she stood as if undecided what step to
take. “Is there no way to get any--any news?” she asked, tremulously.
“None now,” he told her. “In times of excitement over in the mountains,
few people come into town; they all want to stay at home and see it
through.”
She stepped out on the sidewalk, and he followed her, gallantly holding
his hat in his hand. Scarcely a soul was in sight. The town seemed
deserted.
“Madam, rumor,” Garner said, with a smile, “reports that your friend Mr.
Sanders, from Augusta, is coming up for a visit.”
“Yes, I had a letter from him this morning,” Helen said, in a dignified
tone. “My father must have spoken of it. It will be Mr. Sanders' first
visit to Darley, and he will find us terribly upset. If I knew how to
reach him I'd ask him to wait a few days till this uncertainty is
over, but he is on his way here--is, in fact, stopping somewhere in
Atlanta--and intends to come on up to-morrow or the next day. Does--does
Carson--has he heard of Mr. Sanders' coming?”
“Oh yes, it was sprung on him this morning for a deadly purpose,” Garner
said, with a significant smile. “The whole gang--Keith, Wade, and Bob
Smith--were in here trying to keep him from going to the farm. They had
tried everything they could think of to stop him, and as a last resort
set in to teasing. Keith told him Sanders would sit in the parlor
and say sweet things to you while Carson was trying to liberate the
ex-slaves of your family at the risk of bone and sinew. Keith
said Carson was showing the finest proof of fidelity that was ever
given--fidelity to _the man in the parlor_.”
“Keith ought to have been ashamed of himself,” Helen said, with her
first show of vexation. “And what did Carson say?”
“The poor chap took it all in a good-humor,” Garner said. “In fact, he
was so much wrought up over Pete's predicament that he hardly heard what
they were saying.”
“You really think Carson is in danger, too?” Helen continued, after a
moment's silence.
“If he meets Dan Willis, yes,” said Garner. “If he opposes the mob,
yes again. Dan Willis has already succeeded in creating a lot of
unpopularity for him in that quarter, and the mere sight of Carson at
such a time would be like a torch to a dry hay-stack.”
So Helen had gone home and spent the afternoon and evening in real
torture of suspense, and now, as she walked the veranda floor alone with
a realization of the grim possibilities of the case drawn sharply before
her mental vision, she was all but praying aloud for Carson's safe
return, and anxiously keeping her gaze on the moonlit street below.
Suddenly her attention was drawn to the walk in front of the Dwight
house. Some one was walking back and forth in a nervous manner, the
intermittent flare of a cigar flashing out above the shrubbery like the
glow of a lightning-bug. Could it be--had Carson returned and entered
by the less frequently used gate in the rear? For several minutes she
watched the figure as it strode back and forth with never-ceasing tread,
and then, fairly consumed with the desire to set her doubts at rest, she
went down into the garden at the side of the house, softly approached
the open gate between the two homesteads, and called out: “Carson, is
that you?”
The figure paused and turned, the fire of the cigar described a red
half-circle against the dark background, but no one spoke. Then, as she
waited at the gate, her heart in her mouth, the smoker came towards her.
It was old Henry Dwight. He wore no hat nor coat, the night being warm,
and one of his fat thumbs was under his broad suspender.
“No, it's not him, Miss Helen,” he said, rather gruffly. “He hasn't got
back yet. I've had my hands full since supper. My wife is in a bad way.
She has been worrying awfully since twelve o'clock, when Carson didn't
turn up to dinner as usual. She's guessed what he went to the farm for,
and she's as badly upset as old Linda is over that trifling Pete. I
thought I had enough trouble before the war over _my_ niggers, but here,
forty years later, _yours_ are upsetting things even worse. I only wish
the men that fought to free the black scamps had some part of the burden
to bear.”
“It really is awful,” Helen responded; “and so Mrs. Dwight is upset by
it?”
“Oh yes, we had the doctor to come, and he gave some slight dose or
other, but he said the main thing was to get Carson back and let
her know for sure that he was safe and sound. I sent a man out there
lickety-split on the fastest horse I have, and he ought to have got back
two hours ago. That's what I'm out here for. I know she's not going to
let me rest till her mind is at ease.”
“Do you really think any actual harm could have come to Carson?” Helen
inquired, anxiously.
“It could come to anybody who has the knack my boy has for eternally
rubbing folks the wrong way,” the old man retorted from the depths of
his irritation; “but, Lord, my young lady, _you_ are at the bottom of
it!”
“I? Oh, Mr. Dwight, don't say that!” Helen pleaded.
“Well, I'm only telling you the _truth_,” said Dwight, throwing his
cigar away and putting, both thumbs under his suspenders. “You know that
as well as I do. He sees how you are bothered about your old mammy, and
he has simply taken up your cause. It's just what I'd 'a' done at his
age. I reckon I'd 'a' fought till I dropped in my tracks for a girl
I--but from all accounts you and Carson couldn't agree, or rather _you_
couldn't. He seems to be agreeing now and staking his life and political
chances on it. Well, I don't blame him. It never run in the Dwight
blood to love more than once, an' then it was always for the pick of the
flock. Well, you are the pick in this town, an' I wouldn't feel like he
was my boy if he stepped down and out as easy as some do these days. I
met him on his way to the farm and tried to shame him out of the trip.
I joined the others in teasing him about that Augusta fellow, who can
do his courting by long-distance methods in an easy seat at his
writing-desk, while up-country chaps are doing the rough work for
nothing, but it didn't feaze 'im. He tossed his stubborn head, got
pretty red in the face, and said he was trying to help old Linda and
Lewis out, and that he know well enough you didn't care a cent for him.”
Helen had grown hot and cold by turns, and she now found herself unable
to make any adequate response to such personal allusions.
“Huh, I see I got you teased, too!” Dwight said, with a short, staccato
laugh. “Oh, well, you mustn't mind me. I'll go in and see if my wife is
asleep, and if she is I'll go to bed myself.”
Helen, deeply depressed, and beset with many conflicting emotions,
turned back to the veranda, and, instead of going up to her room, she
reclined in a hammock stretched between two of the huge, fluted columns.
She had been there perhaps half an hour when her heart almost stopped
pulsating as she caught, the dull beat of horses' hoofs up the street.
Rising, she saw a horseman rein in at the gate at Dwight's. It was
Carson; she knew that by the way he dismounted and threw the rein over
the gate-post.
“Carson!” she called out. “Oh, Carson, I want to see you!”
He heard, and came along the sidewalk to meet her at the gate where
she now stood. What had come over him? There was an utter droop of
despondent weariness upon him, and then as he drew near she saw that his
face was pale and haggard. For a moment he stood, his hand on the gate
she was holding open, and only stared.
“Oh, what has happened?” she cried. “I've been waiting for you. We
haven't heard a word.”
In a tired, husky voice, for he had made many a speech through the
day, he told her of Pete's escape. “He's still hiding somewhere in the
mountains,” he said.
“Oh, then he may get away after all!” she cried.
Dwight said nothing, seeming to avoid her great, staring, anxious eyes.
She laid her hand almost unconsciously on his arm.
“Don't you think he has a chance, Carson?” she repeated--“a bare
chance?”
“The whole mountain is surrounded, and they are beating the woods,
covering every inch of the ground,” he said. “It is now only a question
of time. They will wait till daybreak, and then continue till they have
found him. How is Mam' Linda?”
“Nearly dead,” Helen answered, under her breath.
“And my mother?” he said.
“She is only worried,” Helen told him. “Your father thinks she will be
all right as soon as she is assured of your return.”
“Only worried? Why, he sent me word she was nearly dead,” Carson said,
with a feeble flare of indignation. “I wanted to stay, to be there to
make one final effort to convince them, but when the message reached me,
and things were at a standstill anyway, I came home, and now, even if I
started back to-night, I'd likely be too late. He tricked me--my father
tricked me!”
“And you yourself? Did you meet that--Dan Willis?” Helen asked. He
stared at her hesitatingly for an instant, and then said: “I happened
not to. He was very active in the chase and seemed always to be
somewhere else. He killed all my efforts.” Carson leaned heavily against
the white paling fence as he continued. “As soon as I'd talk a crowd
of men into my way of thinking, he'd come along and fire them with fury
again. He told them I was only making a grandstand play for the negro
vote, and they swallowed it. They swallowed it and jeered and hissed me
as I went along. Garner is right. I've killed every chance I ever had
with those people. But I don't care.”
Helen sighed. “Oh, Carson, you did it all because--because I felt as I
did about Pete. I know that was it.”
He made no denial as he stood awkwardly avoiding her eyes.
“I shall never, never forgive myself,” she said, in pained accents. “Mr.
Garner and all your friends say that your election was the one thing you
held desirable, the one thing that would--would thoroughly reinstate you
in your father's confidence, and yet I--I--oh, Carson I _did_ want you
to win! I wanted it--wanted it--wanted it!”
“Oh, well, don't bother about that,” he said, and she saw that he was
trying to hide his own disappointment. “I admit I started into this
because--because I knew how keenly you felt for Linda, but to-day,
Helen, as I rode from mad throng to mad throng of those good men with
their dishevelled hair and bloodshot eyes, their very souls bent to
that trail, that pitiful trail of revenge, I began to feel that I was
fighting for a great principle, a principle that you had planted within
me. I gloried in it for its own sake, and because it had its birth in
your sweet sympathy and love for the unfortunate. I could never have
experienced it but for you.”
“But you failed,” Helen almost sobbed. “You failed.”
“Yes, utterly. What I've done amounted to nothing more than irritating
them. Those men, many of whom I love and admire, were wounded to their
hearts, and I was only keeping their sores open with my fine-spun
theories of human justice. They will learn their lesson slowly, but
_they will learn it_. When they have caught and lynched poor, stupid
Pete, they may learn later that he was innocent, and then they will
realize what I was trying to keep them from doing. They will be friendly
to me then, but Wiggin will be in office.”
“Yes, my father thinks this thing is going to defeat you.” Helen sighed.
“And, Carson, it's killing me to think that I am the prime cause of it.
If I'd had a man's head I'd have known that your effort could accomplish
nothing, and I'd have been like Mr. Garner and the others, and asked
you not to mix up in it; but I couldn't help myself. Mam' Linda has your
name on her lips with every breath. She thinks the sun rises and sets in
you, and that you only have to give an order to have it obeyed.”
“That's the pity of it,” Carson said, with a sigh.
At this juncture there was the sound of a window-sash sliding upward,
and old Dwight put out his head.
“Come on in!” he called out. “Your mother is awake and absolutely
refuses to believe you haven't a dozen bullet-holes in you.”
“All right, father, I'm coming,” Carson said, and impulsively he held
out his hand and clasped Helen's in a steady, sympathetic pressure.
“Now, you go to bed, little girl,” he said, more tenderly than he
realized. In fact, it was a term he had used only once before, long
before her brother's death. “Pardon me,” he pleaded; “I didn't know what
I was saying. I--I was worried over seeing you look so tired, and--and I
spoke without thinking.”
“You can say it whenever you wish, Carson,” she said. “As if I could get
angry at you after--after--” But she did not finish, for with her hand
still warmly clasping his fingers, she was listening to a distant sound.
It was a restless human tread on a resounding floor.
“It's Mam' Linda,” Helen said. “She walks like that night and day.
I must go to her and--tell her you are back, but oh, how _can_ I?
Good-night, Carson. Ill never forget what you have done--never!”