turned back, and taking my hand, bade me not to fear, adding that he
would see that my uncle got word of what had happened on the succeeding
day.
*CHAPTER XXVIII*
*GILBERT AND THE HIGHWAYMAN JOIN FORCES*
When they were gone the moon served in some measure to light the room,
and taking advantage of it, I examined the window and door, to see if
there was not some way of escape. In vain, however; and discouraged I
sat down on the empty bench, thinking how much better off I had been the
night before, for then at least I was free. While thus overcome by my
sad thoughts, the robber spoke up, and with such cheerfulness and
strength of voice that I turned to him in astonishment.
"So the little spook of a lawyer has trapped you, too, has he? But why
so sad about it?"
At this I only stared, but after a while, remembering poor Fox and Mr.
Lincoln's grand way, I answered:
"Yes, I'm trapped, and without reason."
"That is always the way. Reason plays hide and seek with us, but might
is always on hand and wide awake. Moth puts me in jail because I sought
to harm him. He too ought to be here, though, for seeking to harm you;
but he is free and you are in jail, and that is the way it goes. There
is always some bit of injustice, I have noticed, in everything that is
done," the robber went on, but more as if talking to himself than to me.
"What have you done that he's after you?" I asked, interested in him
because of his cheerful way and kind speech.
"Me! I tried to rob him."
"To rob him!" I exclaimed, wondering that any one should try to rob
Moth.
"Yes, in the woods, as he was pursuing you. For you are the lad, I
expect, that went by as I lay in wait."
"Yes," I answered, not knowing whether I was or no.
"After you had passed he came along, his horse all afoam, and I followed
on. When he stopped at the place where you left the road, I called to
him to throw up his hands, but instead he drew a pistol and fired at me
point-blank."
"The rascal!" I interrupted; for everything that Moth did appeared
hateful to me.
"Yes, and I, not to be outdone, fired back, but over his head, thinking
to frighten him; and truly enough, for he turned and fled. My horse was
the better of the two, but he the lighter, so for a long time there was
no advantage. At last, my animal having the best wind, I overhauled
him, and releasing a pistol I raised it and fired, intending, as before,
to frighten him into giving up his purse, for I do not think I could
kill a man if I were starving."
"Well?"
"Well, just as I fired, my horse, left to himself, stumbled, and falling
on his face, threw me over his head into the road."
"Then what happened?" I asked, sympathizing with him in his misfortune.
"The fall stunned me, and before I could so much as stir the little
scamp had disarmed me, and when I looked up, bruised and hurt, he held a
pistol within an inch of my nose."
"That was too bad," I answered, sorry that Moth should have been the
victor.
"When I had recovered a little, he told me to get up, and keeping me
under the muzzle of a pistol, marched me forward. After a while, coming
across a farmer, they bound me with ropes and straps, and in that shape
brought me here."
"What will he do with you now?" I asked, forgetting my own sorrows in
his.
"Take me to the county jail. They would have done it to-day, only the
jailer and he were off in search of you. Oh, if I had my hands and legs
free, I would show him a trick worth two of his!" the robber exclaimed,
surveying his limbs with a sigh.
"What would you do?" I asked.
"Leave here," he replied, "within an hour; and we would go together, and
so double his rage."
"To do this all you want is your hands and feet?" I asked, doubtingly.
"That is all, and I wouldn't go through the door if it were open."
I could set him free, and why not, I asked myself, the sweat starting
out all over me at the thought. What wrong would there be in it, for it
was as the robber said--Moth had a right to put him there, but no right
to treat me the same way, and in breaking the law he was no better than
the highwayman. Reasoning thus, I determined to do what the robber
said, and so answered:
"I'll cut the ropes, if that's all you want."
"I shall be much obliged if you will, but I'll not ask you to do it," he
answered.
"Why not?"
"Oh, perhaps because I am foolish."
"How will you get out if you are free, as you say?" I asked, not seeing
any way.
"Oh, easy enough," he answered. "I have been planning it all day as I
lay here on my back. I would use the bench as a ram to displace the
logs overhead, for they are short and not half fastened. Once in the
loft, it would be easy to remove the shingles, and being on the roof,
the ground is not ten feet away."
"That seems easy," I answered.
"It is; for the jail is a poor affair, and only intended for small
offenders; and if prisoners have not escaped, it is because they were
bound, as I am, or did not think it worth while to try."
What he said was true; and now resolved in my mind, and elated at the
prospect of getting even with Moth, I went to the cupboard, and finding
a knife, as I had thought, took it and cut the cords that bound the
robber's arms and legs.
"There, you are free!" I cried, pleased at what I had done.
"Thank you, my lad; and now we will not lose any time, for we ought to
be far away by sunrise," he answered. But when he got to his feet he
could scarce stand. "It is nothing," he went on, noticing my surprise,
"only I have to get the blood into my legs and arms again before I can
do anything, for they are as stiff as ramrods." This did not take long,
and in a few seconds he was busy with his preparations for our escape.
"See!" he exclaimed, straightening up, "I can touch the ceiling with my
hands. Now help me with the bench, for two are better than one. There,
that will do. Now send the end of it into that log overhead, as if it
were Moth's backbone. Good! we moved it a little. Now again. See! it
is giving way." This was true, and at the third stroke it flew out of
place, leaving an opening a foot wide. "That is fine, and one more will
be enough. Now! right into the small of his back again," and with the
words we gave the next log a stroke, lifting it clear from its place, as
we had the first.
"That hole is big enough to drive a sleigh through," he exclaimed; and
placing the bench on the floor, stood on it, and taking hold of the edge
of the opening, swung himself into the loft. "Now, my lad, give me your
hand," and doing as he said, I found myself in a moment seated beside
him. "We are getting on finely, and the rest will be easy. There! stay
where you are, my son, and in a minute I will give you a glimpse of the
shining stars." Saying which, he took one of the logs we had displaced,
and with it drove a hole through the roof as big as a barrel. At this,
and greatly to our surprise, the watchdog in the adjoining yard, aroused
by the noise, set up a furious barking, running up to the jail door,
where it kept up its angry outcry.
"Quick, my lad! We must go back. It is the jailer's dog, and the old
man will be sure to come to see what is the matter"; and without wasting
time, the robber lowered himself through the opening to the floor below.
"Now let yourself down, and I'll catch you," he called. Doing as he
said, I took hold of the cross-beam and let my body swing through the
opening, and he taking me in his arms, sat me down safely on the floor.
"Quick! into your bunk, and I'll do the same as soon as I put this bench
back." And not a moment too soon, for scarce had he thrown himself on
his pallet when the jailer opened the door, and pushing his lantern into
the room, peered about.
"Hello there! how do you find yourselves? Comfortable-like?" he asked,
when he had succeeded in making us out by the dim light.
"Yes, we are all right. Why, what is the matter? is it time to get up,
or has Moth sent you to inquire after our health?" my companion
answered, yawning, but with some sarcasm in his voice.
"Never mind about Moth. I heard the dog barking, and thought you might
be wanting something, but if not, I'll go back to bed," he answered, as
if excusing himself.
"No, we are not in need of anything, thank you. Good night, and
pleasant dreams," my companion called out.
"Good night," the jailer answered; and closing and fastening the door,
went away.
When he was gone we lay for some time without speaking, until at last
the robber, springing up, called out:
"Hello! young man, are you asleep?"
"No; how could I be?" I answered, starting to my feet.
"I thought you looked a little tired when you came in to-night, that is
all. Well, now for another try," and with that he placed the bench
beneath the opening, and standing on it as before, climbed into the
loft, lifting me after him.
"Now for the roof; and as the hole is big enough to push a washtub
through, there is no occasion for making any more noise. Let me help
you," and with the words he lifted me through the opening, climbing up
himself a moment later.
Descending to the eaves without loss of time, he took my hands and
lowered me the length of his arm, when, letting go his hold, I dropped
to the ground. Inquiring if I was all right, he did not wait, but
following, alighted without harm. At this moment, when we thought
ourselves free, the dog again set up a dreadful barking, running out
into the moonlight within a few feet of where we lay prostrate in the
weeds.
"We're lost," I whispered, seeing no way of returning to the room we had
left; but placing his hand over my mouth the robber bade me keep my
peace. A moment later the jailer came to the door of his hut, but after
looking about for a while and yawning, called to the dog, and turning
about, reentered his house. For a long time we lay motionless, afraid
to move, until everything being quiet again, we made our way on our
hands and knees to the forest, some way off. Here, regaining our feet,
we hurried on for a mile or more without speaking, until at last coming
to an opening in the trees, we stopped in the bright moonlight and
looked into each other's faces.
"Fox," I exclaimed, seeing him now clearly for the first time.
"Fox! how do you know that?" he asked, surprised, starting back.
"I know, for I was with Mr. Lincoln when you sought to rob the stage."
"Good Lord! what are you saying?" he exclaimed, with a scared look.
"Yes, and I heard you promise him you'd change your ways," I answered,
angrily, thinking of Mr. Lincoln and the sorrow he would feel at Fox's
want of good faith a second time.
"Oh, I remember you well enough now; and, my God, I meant what I said,
too!"
"Then why didn't you carry out your promise?" I asked.
"It was my damned luck not to, that is all. For when you were gone from
the tavern where I stayed, the old man I robbed of the watch had me
arrested; but while on my way to jail I escaped, and as good fortune
would have it this time, I ran across the very thief who got me into
trouble at first. Recognizing him, and being ready, when he sought to
rob me I overcame him, and so made him dismount, and taking his pistols
and horse, rode off. That is how it happened that I did not await Mr.
Lincoln's return and that I am on the road again."
"What have you been doing?" I asked, pleased at what he said.
"Not much in my line," he answered, sadly, waving his hand; "mostly
begging a night's lodging or a meal here and there, till I ran across
Moth."
"You will never reform, I'm afraid," I answered, sorrowing, he was so
pleasant of face and voice.
"Perhaps not; but I will make no more promises, anyway. And now, just as
I once owed my freedom to Mr. Lincoln, so I owe it to you. It is more
than life to me, too, for if a man is once condemned, that settles him
for all time."
"I only helped myself in helping you, and so you owe me nothing," I
answered, true enough.
"Yes, I do. One never asks a neighbor why he does a good act. I could
not have escaped except for you, and I owe you a debt I can never pay."
"No, for I couldn't have got off without you, and so we're quits. It's
good to be free again, though," I exclaimed, drawing in a long breath of
the sweet air.
"Yes," he answered, brightening up; "and on such a night, too! How
beautiful everything is--the moon, the sleeping trees, the restful
shadows, the soft stir of the leaves!" and he sighed as a better man
might have done in his place.
"I hope we'll neither of us ever be in such a fix again," I answered, my
happiness at our escape dampened by compassion for my companion and his
dangerous way of life.
"No need in your case, surely; but for me," he went on, as if reading my
thoughts, "who can tell? My sins will follow me on horseback, let me do
what I may. There will be no dodging them, either. It is the first
misstep that guides your footsteps ever afterward, my son; but the roads
seem so much alike at the start that you can hardly tell one from the
other. Both are bordered with flowers, and the sun shines as warm on one
as the other; and yet the difference and the quick change if we go
wrong! Then the trees lose their green and the flowers fade, and the
sun goes out as if it were night. Look to your footsteps, my friend, for
once you stray off the beaten path, the lash of justice will scourge you
ever afterward. Such is the criminal, and such am I, and there is never
but one ending. Who that starts wrong, though, ever gives the ending or
its quick coming a thought? This is my sermon to you, my son, and it is
real preaching, for that was the calling I meant to follow for man's
good and my own salvation when I started out in life. What a mess I
have made of it, though, as others have done and will to the end. Not
to repent, either, nor strive to, for on this road there is no turning
back. The silliness of it all, and the futility! But do not regard
what I say, lad. The lost ever thus grieve and go on preaching and
reforming and falling anew. So there you are, and here am I; and which
way do you go now?" he added, changing in a whimsical way, but as if
pleased with his sermon.
"I'm going to Appletop," I answered, sorrowing over what he said,
knowing he was making himself out bad when he was only unfortunate and
foolish; "but I don't know where I am nor which way to go."
"I will put you on the road, and it is but a step," he answered; and
taking my hand we plunged into the forest again. Walking on without
speaking for half an hour, we came at last to a road that stretched
away, white and glistening, in the bright moonlight.
"Here is your way, my son, and a plain one, too. Go to the right for a
mile or thereabouts, where a road leads to the left. Follow it and it
will take you zigzagging through the country to Appletop. You can't
miss the way, and nothing will harm you; or if you should run across
robbers, and maybe you will, say nothing, but go on, for they will not
harm a lad like you."
"Where are you going?" I asked, reluctant to leave him.
"Why, what does that matter?" he answered, putting me off; but thinking
better of it, added: "I am going to find my horse, the one I took from
my friend the robber. He does not know any one but me now, nor I any
one but him, and I am not going to leave him here."
"Where is he?" I asked.
"In the village we have just left; but the night is like day, and I
shall have no trouble in finding him, and perhaps Moth's, too, who
knows!" he added, his eyes lighting up as a boy's might when about to
play a trick on a playmate.
"Oh, don't touch Moth's horse," I answered, filled with fear, so clever
were his ways. "I wish you'd go with me, and not try to get your horse,
and maybe get caught again.
"Never fear!" he answered, lightly. "Good by, and don't forget me, for
I shall always be your friend, though not one you will care to own."
"I'm sure I shall; but don't take Moth's horse."
"Well, we will see. Good by."
Clasping his outstretched hand, I was loath to let it go, for he did not
seem to me to be bad at all. Surely, I thought, there ought to be some
way to save such a man, it not being his nature to do wrong, but a habit
likely to grow upon him. Thus do the sympathies of the young ever go out
to the wrong-doer before the world has taught them to classify men and
treat all alike who go astray, without regard to their nature or
surroundings; and thus mine went out to Fox that night as we parted in
the white road, with the solemn moon looking down on our leave-taking.
*CHAPTER XXIX*
*THE TRAGEDY OF MURDERER'S HOLLOW*
Going the way Fox pointed out, I found the road as he had said; but so
overwrought were my nerves by the events of the night that if by chance
a shadow outlined the fanciful figure of a man across my path, I stood
still, trembling and in doubt, until its harmless nature was disclosed.
While thus peering ahead and striving to make out the objects in my
path, a rabbit ran into the road and stopped, as if disputing my right
to pass. This, strangely enough, disturbed me not a little, as if
somehow I were discovered. While I stood still, hesitating whether to
go on or turn back, so little control had I over myself, the plaintive
notes of a whip-poor-will came to me from out the deep forest, as if in
comfort of my loneliness. Clear and sweet, it warmed and cheered my
heart like the greeting of a friend. For who that has been brought up
in the country ever heard the notes of this songster of the night
without such feeling or remembrance of it ever afterward? To all such
who traverse the woods, or who are in trouble, it is as if some good
spirit were awakening the echoes of the place to soothe their thoughts
and calm their fears. Coming to me now, out of the slumbering trees, I
was enlivened and cheered so that I went on as if in the company of
friends. Thus quickly do those who are in trouble accept the semblance
of what they wish for for the thing itself.
Going on as directed, I came at last to the summit of a bluff, from
which I looked down into a valley filled with moonlight and sylvan
shadows. The road descending the elevation, as I could see, there
turned and followed the edge of the hill to the opposite side of the
valley, where it reascended the height and was lost to view. Looking to
know the reason of this strange detour, I saw it was caused by a shallow
river, which following along the edge of the valley, crowded the road
from its direct course.
Reaching the foot of the descent, the stream had scarce more water in
its bed than the Little Sandy at its best; and wearied by my walk, I
determined to cross the valley and so shorten the distance I would
otherwise have to go. Looking to determine the course I should take,
the plain lay spread before me, and midway in its breadth a grove of
walnut trees lifted their graceful foliage to the sky, standing out
black and clear against the pale grasses of the sleeping valley.
Cheered by the sight, for there is no tree more attractive to the eye,
its rich fruit bringing it nearer to us in sympathy of life, I went
forward in high spirits, stopping as I crossed the little river to drink
my fill and bathe my face in its refreshing waters.
Coming presently to the grove of trees, I plunged beneath their depths,
to emerge a moment after in a cleared space, on the edge of which a log
hut, charred by fire, stood in lonely seclusion. About it, and as if in
mockery, rank weeds grew where once a garden had been planted.
Wondering why such a spot should have been selected for a home, I went
forward, and turning the angle of the ruin, came without thought upon a
towering gibbet, from which ropes, frayed with the wind, dangled in the
midnight air. Beneath these, and as if to make the story plainer, rude
graves lifted their rounded forms in the bright moonlight. Recoiling at
the sight, I had nearly fallen; but with my discovery, and as if the
spirits of the dead were returned to earth, voices reached me, and
seemingly from the shadow of the gallows and its dangling ropes.
Questioning if I heard aright and hesitating whether to go forward or
turn and fly, the voices came a second time, and now more plainly than
before. In doubt of their friendliness, I threw myself down where I
stood, and in that way was hidden by the weeds and the shadow of the
crumbling ruin. Thus concealed, I was safe, unless, indeed, the course
of the speakers crossed the spot where I lay hidden; but coming
presently full on the gibbet, they stopped, one of them crying out in a
voice of terror:
"In the name of all the spirits of hell, what's them?"
"What's what?" the other answered, softly, as if seeing nothing out of
the way.
"Them graves an' danglin' ropes?"
"Why, what about them?"
"Are they real, or is't the phantoms comin' on agin?"
At this I recognized Blott's voice, now no longer whimsical, but
constrained and full of fear. Greatly relieved, I rose to call his
name, but doing so, discovered his companion to be the gambler Burke,
who had robbed Mr. Singleton and afterward sought to murder Mr. Davis.
Seeing him, I dropped down again, trembling and full of fear, for what
could Blott be doing here, and in such company! Surely nothing good!
And with the thought I hid myself more securely in the shadow of the
abandoned hut.
"What is the matter, Blott?" the other replied, as if surprised. "Has
liquor got the better of you again, or what is it that frightens you?"
"Frightens me! I'm not frightened; but why the devil have you brought
me to this spot, of all others?"
"Was there ever spot more beautiful? Why, it is a bower fit for
lovers," Burke replied, softly.
"Fit for the devil an' his bride, mebbe, but not for honest men. Why,
the place's damned, Burke."
"Damned, Blott! Why damned? There is not a spot on earth more
peaceful. Doves coo in the trees yonder, and birds nest there; but I
see your old trouble is coming on again," Burke replied, more softly
than at first, if that were possible.
"Curse you, Burke, an' your soft speech! My trouble ain't comin' on,
but this place's enough to give a man the jimjams. It's haunted an' I'd
rather visit the devil in his den than come here."
"You talk wildly, Blott. It is safe, and what more does one want?
There is the gallows rotting away, and under it five good men as ever
risked their lives for money; but harmless, Blott, harmless. They will
never cast a shadow more, and the traveler may go his way for all the
harm they can do him. Then why cry out, Blott?" Burke queried, in his
purring voice.
"What these men come to you an' I'll come to, an' I don't care to be
reminded of it. So let's leave the spot."
"What silly talk, Blott! what silly talk! Here no one comes, and here
we are free from prying eyes. Fools think the hut is haunted, and that
is why I have chosen it for a hiding-place. There is no spot on earth
so safe, Blott."
"There's other places secure enough for me, an' I'd rather stand in the
open than hide here and be safe," Blott answered, in anger.
"Will you never stop, Blott, will you never stop? I shall lose my
temper, I am afraid, and it is always bad for those about me when I do,"
Burke answered, his voice, if possible, more subdued than before. "You
can't put off the day you will hang by shutting your eyes, and what is
there to fear from the graves of dead men or a rotting gibbet? You put
me out, Blott."
"I don't care whether I put you out or not. I'm no boy," Blott
answered, impatiently.
"Surely not! surely not! But we must have a hiding-place, and what one
so safe as this, which every man shuns?"
"I'm not afeerd, but I don't like the company," Blott answered gloomily.
"These men will never betray us. Do they cry out that it was I who
fired the shot for which they were hung? Not a bit of it. Give me dead
men when there is anything to hide."
"You're the devil's own, Burke."
"Perhaps, Blott, perhaps; but what has the devil done to you or me that
we should be afraid of him?"
"Why've we come here, anyway, I'd like to know?" Blott asked. "Our
man'll not cross this cursed valley, an' while we're foolin' away our
time he'll pass, an' so we'll lose him."
"There you go again, Blott! I told you he was not to start till one
o'clock? So we have time and to spare," Burke answered, in his low,
purring way.
"How do you know he'll not start till one? Or how do you know he's
comin' at all, for that matter?" Blott replied.
"How did I know Hogge was coming this way that rainy night, or how do I
know other things that are going on in the world that interest me?"
Burke answered.
"Well, how do you?"
"Because I have a man on the outside whose interest it is to tell me.
You don't suppose I trust everything to chance, do you?" Burke answered.
"You devil! Who's the man?"
"Well, I like that, Blott, I like that; and you an old constable, too!
Why don't you ask me to give myself up; to put a halter around my neck?"
"If we're to be pards, Burke, you must trust me, for I'll know who's
pullin' the strings or I won't go on."
"We are not going to be partners, Blott; or only in this. Why should
we?"
"Then why have you brought me here to help you?"