[Illustration: 9159]
ARSON DWIGHT remained two days in the vicinity of his farm waiting
gloomily for the discovery and arrest of Pete Warren, his sole
hope being that at the last grewsome moment he might prevail on the
distraught man-hunters to listen to a final appeal for law and order.
He was forced, however, to return to Darley, feeling sure, as did
the others, that Pete was hiding in some undiscovered place in the
mountains, or shrewd and deft enough to avoid the approach of man or
hound. But it would not be for long, the hunters told themselves, for
the entire spot was surrounded and well guarded and they would starve
him out.
“The gang” breathed more freely when they saw Carson appear in the
doorway of the den on the night of his return, and learned that through
some miracle he had failed to meet Dan Willis, though not one of them
was favorably impressed by the outward appearance of their leader. His
eyes, in their darkened sockets, gleamed like despondent fires; on his
tanned cheeks hectic flushes had appeared and his hands quivered as if
from nervous exhaustion. Not a man among them dared reproach him for the
further and futile political mistake he had made. He was a ruined man,
and yet they admired him the more as they looked down on him, begrimed
with the dregs of his failure. Garner's opinion, to himself expressed,
was that Dwight was a failure only on the surface, but that it was the
surface which counted everywhere except in heaven, and there no one knew
what sort of coin would be current. Garner loved him. He loved him for
his hopeless fidelity to Helen, for his firm-jawed clinging to a mere
principle, such as trying to keep an old negro woman who had faith in
him from breaking her heart, for his risking death itself to obtain full
justice-for the black boy who was his servant. Yes, Garner mused,
Carson certainly deserved a better deal all round, but deserving a thing
according to the highest ethics, and getting it according to the lowest
were different.
I The following night there was a queer, secret meeting of negroes in
the town. Stealthily they left their cabins and ramshackle homes, and
one by one they glided through the darkest streets and alleys to the
house of one Neb Wynn, a man who had acquired his physical being and
crudely unique personality from the confluence of three distinct streams
of blood--the white, the Cherokee Indian, and the negro. He owned and
drove a dray on the streets of the town, and being economical he had
accumulated enough means to build the two-story frame (not yet painted)
house in which he lived. The lower floor was used as a negro restaurant,
which Neb's wife managed, the upper was devoted to the family bedroom, a
guest-chamber for any one who wished to spend the night, and a fair-sized
“hall,” with windows on the street, which was rented to colored people
for any purpose, such as dances, lodge meetings or church sociables.
It was in this room, where no light burned, that the negroes assembled.
Indeed, no sort of illumination was used below, and when a negro who had
been secretly summoned reached the spot, he assured himself that no
one was in sight, and then he approached the restaurant door on tiptoe,
rapped twice with his knuckles, paused a moment, and then rapped three
times. Thereupon Neb, with his ear to the key-hole on the inside,
cautiously opened the door and drew the applicant within, and, closing
the shutter softly, asked, “What is the password?”
“Mercy,” was the whispered reply.
“What's the countersign?”
“Peace an' good-will to all men. Thy will be done. Amen.”
“All right, I know you,” Neb would say. “Go up ter de hall en set down,
but mind you, don't speak _one_ word!”
And thus they gathered--the men who were considered the most substantial
colored citizens of the town. About ten o'clock Neb crept cautiously up
the narrow stairs, entered the room, and sat down.
“We are all here,” he announced. “Brother Hard-castle, I'm done wid my
part. I ain't no public speaker; I'll leave de rest ter you.”
A figure in one of the comers rose. He was the leading negro minister
of the place. He cleared his throat and then said: “I would open with
prayer, but to pray we ought to stand or kneel, and either thing would
make too much disturbance. We can only ask God in our hearts, brothers,
to be with us here in the darkness, and help lead us out of our trouble;
help us to decide if we can, singly or in a body, what course to pursue
in the grave matter that faces our race. We are being sorely tried,
tried almost past endurance, but the God of the white man is the God of
the black. Through a dark skin the light of a pure heart shines as far
in an appeal for help towards the throne of Heaven as through a white.
I'm not prepared to make a speech. I can't. I am too full of sorrow and
alarm. I have just left the mother of the accused boy and the sight of
her suffering has upset me. I have no harsh words, either, for the white
men of this town. Every self-respecting colored citizen has nothing but
words of praise for the good white men of the South, and in my heart, I
can't much blame the men of the mountains who are bent on revenge, for
the crime perpetrated by one of our race was horrible enough to justify
their rage. It is only that we want to see full justice done and the
absolutely innocent protected. I have been talking to Brother Black
to-day, and I feel--”
He broke off, for a hiss of warning as low as the rattle of a hidden
snake escaped Neb Wynn's lips. On the brick sidewalk below the steps
of some solitary passer-by rang crisply on the still night air. It died
away in the distance and again all was quiet.
“Now you kin go on,” Neb said. “We des got to be careful, gen'men. Ef a
meetin' lak dis was knowed ter be on tap de last one of us would be in
trouble, en dey would pull my house down fust. You all know dat.”
“You are certainly right,” the preacher resumed. “I was only going to
call on Brother Black to say something in a line with the-talk I had
with him today. He's got the right idea.”
“I'm not a speaker,” Buck Black began, as he stood up. “A man who runs
a barber-shop don't have any too much time ter read and study, but I've
giv' dis subject a lot o' thought fust an' last. I almost giv' up after
dat big trouble in Atlanta; I 'lowed dar wasn't no way out of we-alls'
plight, but I think diffunt now. A _white_ man made me see it. I read
some'n' yesterday in the biggest paper in dis State. It was written by
de editor an' er big owner in it. Gen'men, it was de fust thing I've
seed dat seemed ter me ter come fum on high as straight as a bolt of
lightnin'. Brother black men, dat editor said dat de white race had
tried de whip-lash, de rope, en de firebrand fer forty years en de
situation was still as bad as ever. He said de question never would be
plumb settled till de superior race extend a kind, helpful hand ter
de ignorant black an' lead 'im out er his darkness en sin en crime.
Gen'men, dem words went thoo en thoo me. I knowed dat man myself, when
I lived in Atlanta; I've seed his honest face en know he meant what he
said. He said it was time ter blaze er new trail, er trail dat hain't
been blazed befo'--er trail of love en forgiveness en pity, er trail
de Lord Jesus Christ would blaze ef he was here in de midst o' dis
struggle.”
“Dat so, dat so!” Neb Wynn exclaimed, in a rasping whisper. “Gawd know
dat de trufe.”
“An' I'm here ter-night,” Buck Black continued, “ter say ter you all dat
I'm ready ter join fo'ces wid white men like dat. De old time white man
was de darky's best friend; he owned 'im, but he helped 'im. In de old
slave days black crimes lak our race is guilty of ter-day was never
heard of--never nowhar! Dar's er young white man here in dis town, too,
dat I love,” Black continued, after a pause. “I needn't mention his
name; I bound you it is writ on every heart in dis room. You all know
what he did yesterday an' day befo'--in spite er all de argument en
persuasions of his friends dat is backin' 'im in politics, he went out
dar ter de mountains in de thick o' it. I got it straight. I seed er man
fum dar yesterday, en he said Marse Carson Dwight was out 'mongst dem men
pleadin' wid 'em ter turn Pete over ter him en de law. He promised ter
give er bond dat was big enough ter wipe out all he owned on earth, ef
dey'd only spare de boy's life en give 'im a trial. Dey say Dan Willis
wanted ter shoot 'im, but Willis's own friends wouldn't let 'im git nigh
'im. I was in my shop last night when he come in town an' axed me ter
shave 'im up so he could go home en pacify his mother. She was sick en
anxious about him. He got in my chair. Gen'men, I used ter brag beca'se
I shaved General John B. Gordon once, when he was up here speakin', but
fum now on my boast will be shavin' Marse Carson Dwight. He got in de
chair an' laid back so tired he looked lak er dyin' man. He was all
spattered fum head ter foot wid mud dat he'd walked an' rid thoo. I was
so sorry fer 'im I could hardly do my work. I was cryin' half de time,
dough he didn't see it, 'ca'se he jes layed dar wid his eyes closed.
Hate de white race lak some say we do?” Black's voice rose higher and
quivered. “No, suh, I'll never hate de race dat fetched dat white man in
dis world. When he got out de chair de fus thing he ax was ef I'd heard
how Mam' Lindy was. I told 'im she was pretty bad off, worried in her
mind lak she was; den he turn fum de glass whar he was tyin' his necktie
wid shaky fingers en said: 'I thought I might fetch 'er some hope, Buck,
but I done give up. Ef I only had Pete in my charge safe in er good
reliable jail I could free 'im, fer I don't believe he killed dem
folks.'”
Buck Black paused. It was plain that his hearers were much affected,
though no sound at all escaped them. The speaker was about to resume,
when he was prevented by a sharp rapping on the stair below.
“Hush!” Neb Wynn commanded, in a warning whisper. He crept on tiptoe
across the carpetless room, out into the hallway, and leaned over the
baluster.
“Who dat?” he asked, in a calm, raised voice.
“It's me, Neb. I want ter see you. Come down!”
“It's my wife>” Neb informed the breathless room. “Sounds lak she's
scared 'bout some'n'. Don't say er word till I git back. Mind, you folks
got ter be careful ter-night.”
He descended the creaking stairs to the landing below. They caught the
low mumbling of his voice intermingled with the perturbed tones of his
wife, and then he crept back to them, strangely silent they thought, for
after he had resumed his seat against the wall in the dark human circle,
they heard only his heavy breathing. Fully five minutes passed, and
then he sighed as if throwing something off his mind, some weight of
perplexing indecision.
“Well, go on wid what you was sayin', Brother Black,” he said. “I reckon
our meetin' won't be 'sturbed.”
“I almost got to what I was coming to,” Buck Black continued, rising
and leaning momentously on the back of his chair. “I was leadin' up to
a gre't surprise, gen'men. I'm goin' to tell you faithful friends a
secret, a secret which, ef it was out dat we knowed it, might hang us
all. So far it rests wid des me an' a black 'oman dat kin be trusted, my
wife. Gen'men, I know whar Pete Warren is. I kin lay my hands on 'im any
time. He's right here in dis town ter-night.”
A subdued burst of surprise rose from the dark room, then all was still,
so still that the speaker's grasp of his chair gave forth a harsh,
rasping sound.
“Yes, my wife seed 'im in de ol' lumber-yard back o' our house, en he
was sech er sight ter look at dat she mighty nigh went out'n 'er senses.
He was all cut in de face, en his clothes en shoes was des hangin' ter
'im by strings, en his eyes was 'most poppin' out'n his head. He was
starvin' ter death--hadn't had a bite t' eat since he run off. When she
seed 'im it was about a hour by sun, en he begged 'er to fetch 'im some
victuals. Gen'men, he was so hungry dat she say he licked her han's lak
er dog, en cried en tuck on powerful. She come home en told me, en ax me
what ter do. Gen'men, 'fo' God on high I want ter do my duty ter my
race en also to de white, but I couldn't see any safe way ter meddle.
De white folks, some of 'em, anyway, say dat we aid en encourage
crimes 'mongst our people, en while my heart was bleedin' fer dat boy en
his folks, I couldn't underhanded he'p 'im widout goin' ter de men in
power accordin' ter law.”
“And you did right,” spoke up the minister. “As much as I pity the boy,
I would have acted as you have done. He is accused of murder and is an
escaped prisoner. To decide that he was innocent and help him escape is
exactly what we are blaming his pursuers for doing--taking the law into
hands not sanctioned by authority. There is only one thing that can
decide the matter, and that is the decision of a judge and jury.”
“Dat's exactly de way I looked at it,” said Black, “en so I tol' my wife
not ter go nigh 'im ergin. I knowed dis meetin' was up fer ter-night, en
I des thought I'd fetch it here en lay it 'fo' you all en take er vote
on it.”
“A good idea,” said the minister from his chair. “And, brethren, it
seems to me we, as a body of representative negroes of this town, have
now a golden opportunity to prove our actual sincerity to the white
race. As you say, Brother Black, we have been accused of remaining
inactive when a criminal was being pursued for crimes against the white
people. If we can agree on it to a unit, and can turn the prisoner over
now that all efforts of the whites to apprehend him have failed, our act
will be flashed all round the civilized world and give the lie to the
charge in question. Do you think, Brother Black, that Pete Warren is
still hiding near your house?”
“Yes, I do,” answered the barber. “He would be afeard ter leave dat
place, en I reckon he's waitin' dar now fer my wife ter fetch 'im
some'n' ter eat.”
“Well, then, all we've got to do is to see if we can thoroughly agree on
the plan proposed. I suppose one of the first things, if we do agree to
turn him over to the law, is to consult with Mr. Carson Dwight and see
if he can devise a way of acting with perfect safety to the prisoner and
all concerned. If he can, our duty is clear.”
“Yes, he's de man, God knows dat,” Black said, enthusiastically. “He
won't let us run no risk.”
“Well, then,” said the minister, who had the floor, “let us put it to
a vote. Of course, it must be unanimous. We can't act on a thing as
dangerous as this without a thorough agreement. Now, you have all
heard the plan proposed. Those in favor make it known by standing up as
quietly as you possibly can, so that I may count you.”
Very quietly, for so many acting in concert, men on all sides of the
hall stood up. The minister then began to grope round the room, touching
with his hands the standing voters.
“Who's this?” he suddenly exclaimed, when he reached Neb Wynn's chair
and lowered his hands to the drayman, who was the only one not standing.
“It's me,” Neb answered; “me, dat's who--_me!_”
“Oh!” There was an astonished pause.
“Yes, it's me. I ain't votin' yo' way,” Neb said. “You all kin act fer
yo'selves. I know what I'm about.”
“But what's de matter wid you?” Buck Black demanded, rather sharply.
“All dis time you been de most anxious one ter do some'n', en now when
we got er chance ter act wid judgment en caution, all in a body, en, as
Brother Hardcastle say, ter de honor of ou' race, why you up en--”
“Hold on, des keep yo' shirt on!” said Neb, in a queer, tremulous voice.
“Gen'men, I ain't placed des zactly de same es you-all is. I don't want
ter tek de whole 'sponsibility on my shoulders, en I don't intend to.”
“You are not taking it all on your shoulders, brother,” said the
minister, calmly; “we are acting in a body.”
“No, it's all on _me_,” Neb said. “You said, Buck Black, dat Pete was in
de lumber-yard 'hind yo' house. He ain't. You might search ever' stack o'
planks en ever' dry-kiln dar, but you wouldn't fin' 'im. He's a cousin
er my wife's, en me'n dat boy was good, true friends, en so he come
here des now, when you heard my wife call me, an' th'owed hisse'f on my
mercy. He's out at my stable now, up in de hay-loft, waitin' fer me ter
fetch 'im suppin ter eat, as soon as you all go off. My wife say he's
de most pitiful thing dat God ever made, en, gen'men, I'm sorry fer 'im.
Law or no law, I'm sorry _fer_ 'im. It's all well enough fer you ter set
here in yo' good clothes wid good meals er victuals inside o' you, en
know you got er good safe baid ter go ter--it's all well enough fer you
ter vote on what is ter be done, but ef you _do_ vote fer it en clap
'im 'hind de bars en he's hung--hung by de neck till he's as stiff es a
bone, you'll be helpin' ter do it. Law is one thing when it's law, it's
another thing when it ain't fit ter spit on. You all talk _jestice,
jestice_, en you think it would be er powerful fine thing ter prove ter
de worl' how honest you all is by handin' dat po' yaller dog over to de
law. Put yo'selves in Pete's shoes an' you wouldn't be so easy ter vote
yo'selves 'hind de bars. You'd say de bird in de han' is wuth three in
de bush, en you'd stay away firm de white man's court-house. De white
men say deirselves dat dar ain't no jestice, en dey's right. Carson
Dwight is er good lawyer, en he'd fight till he drapped in his tracks,
but de State solicitor would rake up enough agin Pete Warren to keep de
jury's blood b'ilin'. Whar'd dey git a jury but fum de ranks o' de very
men dat's chasin' Pete lak er rabbit now? Whar'd dey git a jury dat ud
believe in his innocence when dey kin prove dat he done threatened de
daid man? No whar in dis State. No innocent nigger's ever been hung,
hein? No innocent nigger's in de chain gang, hein? Huh, dey as thick dar
es fleas.”
When Neb had ceased speaking not a voice broke the stillness of the room
for several minutes, then the minister said, with a deep-drawn breath:
“Well, there is really no harm in looking at all sides of the question.
The very view you have taken, Brother Wynn, may be the one that
has really kept colored people from being more active in the legal
punishment of their race. But it seems to me that it would only be fair,
since you say Pete Warren is near, for him to be told of the situation
and left to decide for himself.”
“I'm willin' ter do dat, God knows,” said Neb, “en ef y'all say so, I'll
fetch 'im here en you kin splain it ter 'im.”
“I'm sure that will be best,” said Hardcastle. “Hurry up. To save time,
you might bring his food here--that is, if your wife has not taken it to
him.”
“No, she was afeard ter go out dar. I'll mek 'er fetch it up here while
I go after him. It may tek time, fer he may be afeard to come in. But ef
I tell 'im de grub's here, I bound you he'll come a-hustlin'.”
They heard Neb's voice below giving instructions to his wife, and then
the outer door in the rear was opened and closed. Presently a step was
heard on the stair, and they held their breaths expectantly, but it was
only Neb's wife with a tray of food. Gropingly she placed it on a little
table, which she softly dragged from a corner into the centre of the
room, and without a word retired. A door below creaked on its hinges;
steps shambling and unsteady resounded hollowly from the floor beneath,
and Neb's urgent, pacific voice rose to the tense ears of the listeners,
“Come on; don't be a baby, Pete!” they heard Neb say. “Dey all yo'
friends en want ter he'p you out 'n yo' trouble ef dey kin.”
“Whar dat meat? whar it? oh, God! whar it?” It was the voice of the
pursued boy, and it had a queer, uncanny sound that all but struck
terror to the hearts of the listeners.
“She lef' it up dar whar dey all is,” Neb said; “come on! I'll give it
to you!”
That seemed to settle the matter, for the clambering steps drew nearer;
and then two figures slightly denser than the darkness came into the
room.
“Wait; let me git you er chair,” Neb said.
“Whar it? whar it? my God! whar dat meat?” Pete cried, in a harsh,
rasping voice.
“Whar'd she put it?” Neb asked. “Hanged ef I know.”
“On the table,” said Hardcastle.
Neb reached out for the tray and had barely touched it, when Pete sprang
at him with a sound like the snarl of an angry dog. The tray fell with a
crash to the floor and the food with it.
“There!” Neb exclaimed; “you did it.”
Then the spectators witnessed a pitiful, even repulsive scene, for the
boy was on the floor, a big bone of ham in his clutch. For a moment
nothing was heard except the snuffling, gulping, crunching sound that
issued from Pete's nose, mouth, and jaws. Then a noise was heard below.
It was a sharp rapping on the outer door.
“Sh!” Neb hissed, warmingly; but there was no cessation of the ravenous
eating of the starving negro. Neb cautiously looked out of the window,
allowing only his head to protrude over the windowsill. “Who dar?” he
called out.
“Me, Neb; Jim Lincum,” answered the negro below. “You told me ef I heard
any news over my way ter let you know.”
“Oh yes,” said Neb.
“Folks think Pete done lef de woods, Neb. De mob done scattered ter hunt
all round de country. A gang of 'em was headed dis way at sundown.”
“Oh, dat so?” Neb said; “well we done gone ter baid, Jim, or I'd open de
do' en let you have er place ter sleep.”
“Don't want no place ter sleep, Neb,” was the answer, in a half-humorous
tone. “Don't want ter sleep nowhar 'cep' on my laigs sech times as dese.
Er crowd er white men tried ter nab me while I was in my cotton-patch
at work dis mawnin' but I made myse'f scarce. Dey hot en heavy after
Sam Dudlow; some think he had er hand in de killin'. Dey cayn't find dat
nigger, dough.”
“Well, good-night, Jim. I got ter git some rest,” and Neb drew his head
back and lowered the window-sash.
“Jim's all right,” he said, “but I couldn't tek 'im in here. Dem men may
'a' been followin' 'im on de sly.”
He advanced to the middle of the room and stood over the crouching
figure still noisily eating on the floor.
“Pete, Brother Hardcastle got suppin ter 'pose ter you, en we 'ain't got
any too much time. We goin' ter tell you 'bout it an leave it ter you.
One thing certain, you ain't safe hidin' out like you is, en nobody
ain't safe dat he'ps hide you, so I say suppin got ter be done in yo'
case.”
“I want y'all ter sen' fer Marse Carson,” Pete mumbled, between his
gulps. “He kin fix me ef anybody kin.”
“That's what we were about to propose, Pete,” said the preacher. “You
see--”
“Sh!” It was Neb's warning hiss again. All was silence in the room; even
Pete paused to listen. It was the low drone of human voices, and many
in number, immediately below. A light from a suddenly exposed lantern
flashed 'on the walls. Neb approached the window, but afraid even
cautiously to raise the sash, he stood breathless. Then through his
closed teeth came the words: “We are caught; gen'men, we in fer it
certain en sho! Dey done tracked us down!”
There was a loud rapping on the door below, a stifled scream from Neb's
wife at the foot of the stairs, and then a sharp, commanding voice
sounded outside.
“Open up, Neb Wynn!” it said. “We are onto your game. Some devilment is
in the wind and we are going to know what it is.”
Neb suddenly and boldly threw up the sash and looked out. “All right,
gen'men, don't bre'k my new lock. I'll be down dar in er minute.” Then
quickly turning to Pete, he bent and drew him up. “Mak' er bre'k fer dat
winder back dar, slide down de shed-roof, en run fer yo' life. Run!”
There was a great clatter of chairs and feet in the group of men, a
crashing of a thin window-sash in the rear, a heavy, thumping sound on a
roof outside, and a loud shout from lusty throats below.
“There he goes! Catch 'im! Head 'im off! Shoot 'im!”
Then darkness, chaos, and terror reigned.