A larger number than usual of possible customers and evident idlers were
gathered at Billy West's country store on the Tuesday morning following
Court Day, discussing the latest news.
The building was a small one-room frame, set in an angle made by the
Willis Mill dirt lane and the New Pike, an ideal spot for an exchange of
news, often bordering on gossip, and a convenient halfway resting place
for those homeward bound, or else on their way to mill or town.
The proprietor's small stock of merchandise consisted of a heterogeneous
collection, well suited to the needs of the locality, and ranging in
variety from knitting needles, for the industrious matron at her
fireside in the long winter evenings, to plow-shares, which her sturdy
spouse might grasp when the soil demanded tilling in the spring. The
varied mixture of farming implements, groceries and clothing presented
the appearance of having been deposited by some friendly passing
whirlwind, for the owner was of far too sociable a nature to devote much
time to "stock-keeping."
When an article was wanted, it generally had to be hunted for, unless it
chanced to fall under the immediate range of vision of salesman or
customer, while the crowded shelves and counters presented a bewildering
array of tinware, glassware, patent medicines, clocks, trimmed hats,
churns, gaudy neckwear, cheap clothing, mock jewelry, hair-oils and
colored perfumes put up in glass bottles of seductive shapes, along with
sundry articles great and small necessary to the needs and adornment of
the people of the surrounding country.
It was not for lack of time that Billy allowed his stock to fall into
this chaotic confusion, for he had much leisure on his hands, but, as I
have before remarked, he was of a sociable nature, and usually spent his
spare moments tilted back in a well-worn chair under a locust tree, if
the weather was warm, indulging in neighborhood news, or else was
engaged in an exhaustive argument with his circle of solons as to how
the government should be properly run.
If the season necessitated shelter, the usual coterie removed its
sittings to the rear of the store, while during the rigorous winter
months checker-playing afforded amusement, the board being of white
pine, home-made, in alternate inked squares, and the checkers of black
and white horn buttons supplied from the general stock.
On the morning I have mentioned, the air was yet cool from a frosty
night, but the sun shone brightly, giving promise of speedy warmth, as
the day advanced, and the little company chose the sunlight, being
sheltered from the breeze by the front of the building, which faced the
east.
Moses Hunn, an old stager, was descanting on the previous night's raid,
having first borrowed a chew of long-green tobacco from his nearest
neighbor. Moses was an inveterate chewer and had been relying on his
friends for tobacco for the last twenty years.
"Yes, sir, they say them night-riders fit like wild cats."
"The guards didn't seem to be of much use," interposed Billy.
"They were pretty good at stopping bullets," Moses averred. "George
Scott was shot three times in the leg an' twice in the body, I heard,
an' four bullets grazed Joe Waters' skull."
"It must be bullet-proof," a voice insisted.
"The news is they've shot one of the riders, too. Leastways, blood was
found on the pike, an' also on a hat one of the raiders dropped."
"Any of you wearin' new hats this mornin'?" asked Billy with an affected
show of inspecting the head-gear of the crowd.
"I noticed Mose limpin' as he come up," a voice declared.
"Mose has been drawin' a pension for that same limp for a good many
years past, so I don't think the guards can be charged with _that_,"
affirmed the storekeeper.
"Well, folks seem bent on havin' free roads," remarked the owner of the
limp, as he sighted a knot-hole in a box near by, and, with the aim of a
practiced chewer, adroitly sent a squirt of tobacco juice through it.
"Yes, an' I'm mightily afraid folks'll have the worst of the bargain
when they do get free roads," answered Billy, with a dubious shake of
his head. "We won't have no such good roads as we've got now."
"Free roads'll make dead agin you, Billy," insisted Mose. "I'm not
blamin' you for not favorin' 'em, for when folks can go to town, an' it
not costin' 'em a cent, of course they're goin' so you'll lose many a
good nickle that now drops in your till."
"How did the sheriff get wind of the raid?" asked Billy, changing an
unpleasant subject.
"There must be a traitor."
"Lordy! I wouldn't care to be in his shoes if they ever find him."
"They'll find him all right enough."
"An' swing him, high as Haman."
"Sure!"
Along in the evening, soon after sundown, Billy West closed his store a
full half-hour earlier than usual, and went to his boarding house, not a
great distance away. A little later he might have been seen cantering
down the pike on his chestnut filly, arrayed in his best suit, and
wearing the reddest and most conspicuous necktie his stock afforded,
while the oily smoothness of his locks, and the odor of cheap cologne
that hung persistently about him, announced the fact that he was on
pleasure bent. To one acquainted with the state of his affections, it
was an easy matter to guess that old man Saunders' was his probable
destination.
This proved to be the case. Only the day before he had made an
engagement with Sophronia to escort her to the New Pike gate, where she
was to spend the night with her bosom friend, Sally, then go on to town
the next day to do some shopping.
"I scarcely knew whether to come for you or not, after what happened
last night," said the cavalier apologetically, when he reached Mr.
Saunders'.
"I couldn't have blamed you, if you hadn't come," declared Sophronia
frankly. "Is it safe to go?" she asked in sudden perplexity.
"I don't think you'll be disturbed tonight, after the failure the riders
made last night. There's an old sayin' that lightnin' seldom strikes
twice in the same place."
"But night-riders may," insisted Sophronia.
"I doubt it. Even if they should come, they wouldn't want _you_. I
really don't know of but one person that does," Billy added with an
engagingly meaning look.
"I could name half a dozen, at least," retorted Sophronia, with a
coquettish toss of her head, as her cavalier assisted her to mount.
Sally was most glad to see her visitors, for she earnestly hoped through
Sophronia or her beau, at least, to learn something of Milton
Derr--whether there were any rumors of his being hurt, or if either of
them had seen him since yesterday. If not, it augered ill for the owner
of the blood-stained hat which had been picked up in the road near the
toll-house.
Finally, when her mother had gone out of the room, Sally hurriedly asked
concerning the young man, and on learning that he had not been seen, she
added that she had an important message for him, and asked Billy to tell
him so within the next day or two, if possible.
That night in the privacy of her room, and under a promise of the
deepest secrecy on Sophronia's part, Sally confided to her bosom friend
the besetting fear that Milt had been wounded the night before.
"Try and see him for me. If he's much hurt, let me know at once, but if
he isn't, tell him to leave here as quickly as possible, that he is
strongly suspected of being a raider, and to go away before any arrests
are made. Tell him to go at once."
"How did you find out about the night-riders coming?" asked Sophronia.
"Through Squire Bixler. He's got a spy that's keeping him posted, and, I
believe, this spy told him they would come last night."
"How do you know there's a spy?" asked her friend thoughtfully.
"I overheard him talking to the Squire one day when I was hid behind the
stone wall that runs along the pike," and straightway the girl related
the whole occurrence to her friend. "It's a hatched-up plot between the
Squire and this man to get Milt into trouble," she added in conclusion.
"Didn't you see who the other man was?" asked Sophronia, beginning to
connect this fact with some other circumstances in her mind, as links
are added to a chain.
"No I was afraid to peep over the fence for fear they might see me."
"Could it have been Jade Beddow?"
"No, I would have known his voice. It wasn't him, I'm certain of that.
There was something about the man's voice that held a familiar sound, as
if I had heard it before, but I can't place it."
"Do you think you would recognize it if you should hear it again?"
"Yes, I'm sure I should."
"Then I b'lieve I can run that spy to the ground," said Sophronia
decisively. "I believe I know the man an' the place where he's buried
the money he got for tellin' on the raiders."
"You don't say!" cried Sally, in open-eyed wonder.
"Yes," answered her friend impulsively. "You go back with me to-morrow
noon, when I come from town, an' I'll take you to the very spot, an'
show you the very man."