“A good deal depends on what you devils intend to do,” I said.
“You may as well know at the start-off! We intend to have that detective
out of Judge Kingsley’s house! If he doesn’t come out when we call him
we shall go in and get him.”
“That’s a prison crime--entering a house like that,” I warned them.
“Also, think what a report that is to go out from Levant! A guest of
our leading citizen dragged from a private residence by a mob! There’s a
sacredness about a home--”
“What book did you get that out of?” asked some one, and they laughed.
I suppose it did sound mighty top-lofty and unlike anything else that
ever came from me. But I was thinking with all my might of Celene
Kingsley and what an awful thing it would be to have those young hyenas
invade that house in the night-time. You can say what you want to about
hoodlumism in the city--it’s bad! But you’ve got to go back into the
country for unadulterated hellishness, when a mob really gets started.
Furthermore, nobody is especially afraid of a village constable. I could
foresee dirty doings that night in Levant. I had seen one mob in
Levant when I was a youngster; they tarred and feathered a fanatical
evangelist, and he died of fright.
I tried to think up something in the way of argument and I stammered
about local pride and so forth, but my talk didn’t ring true, and I felt
it and they knew it. Personally, I didn’t care a hoot about that clumsy
fool of a detective, and I was not remarkably fond of sneering Judge
Kingsley. If I could have stepped up to those boys and explained my love
and my hopes and my fears for Celene Kingsley I might have made some
impression on them. But that was not to be thought of.
While I talked I saw them crawling toward me, spreading out, two by two.
It was plain enough--they intended to start their foray by making me a
captive so that I could not interfere.
Therefore, I made hasty resolution and turned and ran with all my speed
toward Judge Kingsley’s house. I wasn’t at all sure just what I intended
to do, but my impulse was to forewarn the household so that Celene might
not be frightened. The Skokums came on my heels on the dead jump. But I
had a good lead of them when I came around the corner of the house.
Then a man tripped me, pounced on me, and sat on me; I was a submissive
captive, for the breath was knocked out of me when I fell. The instant
the Skokums appeared my captor began to shoot off two automatic
revolvers. I was lying on my back and saw by the flashes that he
was shooting into the air. The boys had been chasing me rather than
intending to rush the house at that time, and they broke and fled in
all directions, scampering in a way which suggested that they were not
prepared for artillery defense and that the hostilities were over for
that night.
After a time there was silence, and the man who was sitting on me rose
and yanked me to my feet.
He was a stocky man with a big, black mustache, and he looked savage.
There was a sound of drawing bolts and Judge Kingsley appeared at his
office door.
“You have the right one, have you, officer?”
“Sure thing! He was leading the rush--ahead of ’em all. This is the
chap you told me to follow in the afternoon.”
The judge came down the steps and stared into my face.
“It’s the right one--the ringleader,” he said.
I knew that she was listening above. She must be listening! And other
folks were flocking outside in the street; that fusillade had been a
signal as effective as a general fire alarm.
“Look here,” I cried, full of panic, seeing the position I was in,
suddenly become the scapegoat of the whole affair. “I have done nothing
wrong. I rushed up here to warn you--”
“You rushed up, all right,” declared the detective. “Do you think you
hicks could hold a mass-meeting down in that orchard and fool me as
to what you were planning to do? I was ready for you. What’s orders,
Judge?”
“Take him to the lock-up!”
God of the innocent! I’ll never forget how that sounded. It was as if
somebody had hit me on the heart with a hammer. There is some sort of
dignity about a real prison! But that little, red, wooden coop in
our village where an occasional drunk was cast in or some lousy hobo
harbored--it had always seemed to me and to others such a shameful
place--to leave such a badge of utter discredit on the person who had
been lodged there!
“I’ll never go in there! I’ll die first,” I wailed.