|AT twelve o'clock at night, two days later, Hoag returned to Grayson.
It was warm and cloudy, and when he left the train he found himself
alone on the unlighted platform. No one was in sight, and yet he felt
insecure. He told himself, when the train had rumbled away, that it
would be easy for an assassin to stand behind the little tool-house, the
closed restaurant, or the railway blacksmith's shop and fire upon him.
So, clutching his bag in his cold fingers, he walked swiftly up to the
Square. Here, also, no one was in sight, and everything was so still
that he could almost fancy hearing the occupants of the near-by hotel
breathing. He turned down to Sid Trawley's stable to get his horse. The
dim light of a murky lantern swinging from a beam at the far end shone
in a foggy circle. The little office on the right was used by Trawley as
a bedroom. The door was closed, but through the window a faint light was
visible, and there was a sound within as of a man removing his shoes.
“Hello, Sid, you thar?” Hoag called out.
“Yes, yes; who's that?”
Hoag hesitated; then stepping close to the window, he said, in a lower
tone: “Me--Jim Hoag; I want my hoss, Sid.”
“Oh, it's _you_; all right--all right!”
The sound in the room was louder now, and then Trawley, without coat or
hat, his coarse shirt gaping at the neck, opened the door and came out.
“You got here quick, I'll swear,” the liveryman ejaculated. “Surely you
wasn't in Atlanta like they said you was, or you couldn't 'a' got here
as soon as this.”
“Soon as this! What do you mean? I am just from Atlanta.”
“Then they didn't telegraph you?”
“No; what do you mean? I hain't heard a word from here since I left.”
Hoag caught his breath, thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood,
openmouthed.
“You don't say! Then, of course, you couldn't know about Henry's
trouble?”
“No, I tell you I'm just back. What's wrong?”
“It happened about nine o'clock to-night,” Trawley explained. “In fact,
the town has just quieted down. For a while I expected the whole place
to go up in flames. It was in the hands of the craziest mob you ever
saw--Nape Welborne's gang.”
“What about Henry? Was he hurt, or--”
“Oh, he's all right now, or was when me'n Paul Rundel, an' one or two
more friends put 'im to bed in the hotel. Doctor Wynn says he is bruised
up purty bad, but no bones is broke or arteries cut.”
“Another fight, I reckon!” Hoag was prepared to dismiss the matter as
too slight for notice in contrast to his far heavier woes.
“Yes, but this time you won't blame him, Jim. In fact, you are the one
man on earth that will stand up for 'im if thar's a spark o' good left
in you. He was fightin' for you, Jim Hoag. I used to think Henry didn't
amount to much, but I've changed. I take off my hat to 'im, an' it will
stay off from now on.”
“Fighting for _me?_” Hoag's fears gathered from many directions and
ruthlessly leaped upon him.
“Yes, it seems that Nape Welborne had it in for you for some reason or
other, an' you bein' away he determined to take it out on your boy. I
knowed trouble was brewin', an' I got Henry to come down here away from
the drinkin' crowd in front o' his store. Henry has been powerfully
interested in some o' the things Paul Rundel an' me believe here lately
about the right way to live, an' me'n him was talkin' about it. We was
gettin' on nice an' quiet in our talk when who should come but Nape an'
his bloodthirsty lay-out, fifteen or twenty strong. You know Nape, an'
you no doubt understand his sneakin', underhanded way of pickin' a fuss.
He took a chair thar in front, an' though he knowed Henry was listenin'
he begun on you. What he didn't say, along with his oaths and sneers,
never could 'a' been thought of. He begun gradual-like an' kept heapin'
it on hot an' heavy, his eyes on Henry all the time, an' his stand-by's
laughin' an' cheerin' 'im. I never saw such a look on a human face as I
seed on your boy's. Seemed like he was tryin' to hold in, but couldn't.
I pulled him aside a little, an' told him to remember his good
resolutions an' to try to stay out of a row ag'in' sech awful odds; but
lookin' me straight in the eye he said:
“'A man can't reform to do any good, Sid, an' be a coward. He's
insulting my father, an' I can't stand it. I can't, and I won't!'”
Trawley paused an instant, and Hoag caught his breath.
“He said that, did he--Henry said that?”
“Yes, I tried to pacify him, knowin' that he wouldn't stand a ghost of a
chance ag'in' sech odds, but nothin' I said had the slightest effect on
'im. He pulled away from me, slow an' polite like. He thanked me as nice
as you please, then he went straight toward Welborne. He had stood so
much already that I reckon Nape thought he was goin' to pass by, to get
away, an' Nape was beginnin' to laugh an' start some fresh talk when
Henry stopped in front of him suddenly an' drawed back his fist an'
struck 'im a blow in the mouth that knocked Nape clean out o' his chair.
Nape rolled over ag'in the wall, then sprung up spiffin' blood an'
yellin', an' the two had it nip an' tuck for a minute, but the gang
wouldn't see fair-play. They was all drunk an' full o' mob spirit an'
they closed in on the boy like ants on a speck o' bread an' begun to
yell, 'Lynch 'im, lynch 'im!'
“It was like flint-sparks to powder in the pan. It was the wildest
mix-up I ever saw, and I have seed a good many in my day. Henry was in
the middle duckin' down, striking out whenever he could, an' callin' 'em
dirty dogs and cowardly cutthroats. They meant business. They drug the
poor boy on to the thicket back of the Court House an' stopped under a
tree. Some fellow had got one of my hitchin' ropes, an' they flung it
'round Henry's neck, and tied his hands and feet. I thought it was up
with 'im, when an unexpected thing happened. Paul Rundel rid up on a
hoss, an' jumped down and sprung in the middle of the mob. I was doin'
all I could, but that wasn't nothin'. I saw Paul holdin' up his hands,
an' beggin' 'em to listen for a minute. They kept drownin' 'im out by
the'r crazy yells, but after a while Paul caught the'r attention, an'
with his hands on Henry's shoulders he begun to talk. Jim Hoag, as God
is my judge, I don't believe thar ever was made a more powerful orator
than that very young feller. His words swept through that crowd like
electricity from a dynamo. I can't begin to tell you what he said. It
was the whole life an' law of Jesus packed into explodin' bomb-shells.
You'd 'a' thought he was cryin', from his tender face, but his eyes was
gleamin' like shootin'-stars, an' he was mad enough to fight a buzz-saw.
Some fellow in the gang said, 'Git away from that man, Rundel, or I'll
shoot you!' an' Paul laughed, an' said, 'Fire away, my friend, but see
that you don't hit yourself while you are at it!'
“Then somebody knocked the pistol down an' Paul went on talkin'. One
by one the crowd got ashamed and sluffed off, an' presently just me an'
Paul an' Henry an' one or two more was left. We took Henry to the hotel
an' got a room for 'im, an' made 'im go to bed.”
Trawley ceased speaking. Hoag stood with downcast eyes. He had nothing
to say.
“Mark my word,” Trawley added, confidently, “the day o' mobs hereabouts
is over. This was the straw that breaks the camel's back. The old
klan is down an' out, an' Paul Rundel will settle the young gang. They
respect 'im. They can't help it, an' he told me he was goin' to make it
his chief aim to crush it out.”
Hoag remained silent and Trawley went to a stall in the rear and brought
his horse forward.
“You ain't goin' in to see Henry 'fore you go out, are you?” he asked,
as he released the bridle-reins.
“Not to-night,” was the reply. “He may be 'asleep. I'll--I'll see 'im, I
reckon, to-morrow.”
Hoag thrust a clumsy foot into the wooden stirrup, and bent his knees as
if to mount, but failed. There was a block near by, and he led his horse
to it, and from the block finally got into the saddle.
“Good night,” he said, and he rode away. At the street-corner he took
out his revolver and, holding it in one hand, he urged his horse into a
gallop. From every fence-corner or dark clump of bushes on the roadside
he expected to see armed men arise and confront him.