FACING THE MOB
It was the first time Lahoma had ever faced an audience larger than
that composed of Brick and Bill and Willock, for in the city she had
been content to play an unobtrusive part, listening to others,
commenting inwardly. Speech was now but a mode of action, and in her
effort to turn the sentiment of the mob, she sought not for words but
emotions. Bill's life was at stake. What could she say to make them
Bill's friends? After her uplifted hand had brought tense silence, she
stood at a loss, her eyes big with the appeal her tongue refused to
utter.
The mob was awed by that light in her eyes, by the crimson in her
cheeks, by her beauty, freshness and grace. They would not proceed to
violence while she stood there facing them. Her power she recognized,
but she understood it was that of physical presence. When she was gone,
her influence would depart. They knew Brick and Bill had sheltered her
from her tenderest years, they admired her fidelity. Whatever she
might say to try to move their hearts would come from a sense of
gratitude and would be received in tolerant silence. The more guilty
the highwayman, the more commendable her loyalty. But it would not
change their purpose; as if waiting for a storm to pass, they stood
stolid and close-mouthed, slightly bent forward, unresisting, but
unmoved.
"I'm a western girl," Lahoma said at last, "and ever since Brick
Willock gave me a home when I had none, I've lived right over yonder at
the foot of the mountains. I was there when the cattlemen came, before
the Indians had given up this country; and I was here when the first
settlers moved in, and when the soldiers drove them out. I was living
in the cove with Brick Willock when people came up from Texas and
planted miles and miles of wheat; and I used to play with the rusty
plows and machinery they left scattered about--after the three years'
drought had starved them back to their homes. Then Old Man Walker came
to Red River, sent his cowboys to drive us out of the cove, and your
sheriff led the bunch. And it was Brick and myself that stood them off
with our guns, our backs to the wall and our powder dry, and we never
saw Mizzoo in our cove again. So you see, I ought to be able to talk
to western men in a way they can appreciate, and if there's anybody
here that's not a western man--he couldn't understand our style,
anyhow--he'd better go where he's needed, for out West you need only
western men--like Brick Willock, for instance."
At reference to the well-known incident of Mizzoo's attempt to drive
Willock from the cove, there was a sudden wave of laughter, none the
less hearty because Mizzoo's face had flushed and his mouth had opened
sheepishly. But at the recurrence of Willock's name, the crowd grew
serious. They felt the justice of her claim that out West only western
men were needed; they excused her for thinking Brick a model type; but
let any one else hold him up before them as a model!...
Lahoma's manner changed; it grew deeper and more forceful:
"Men, I want to talk to you about this case--will you be the jury?
Consider what kind of man swore out that warrant against Brick--the
leader of a band of highwaymen! And who's his chief witness? You
don't know Mr. Gledware. I do. You've heard he's a rich and
influential citizen in the East. That's true. But I'm going to tell
you something to show what he IS--and what Brick Willock is; just one
thing; that's all I'll say about the character of either. As to Red
Kimball, you don't have to be told. I'm not going to talk about the
general features of the case--as to whether Brick was ever a highwayman
or not; as to whether he killed Red's brother to save me and my
stepfather, or did it in cold blood; as to whether he held up the stage
or not. These things you've discussed; you've formed opinions about
them. I want to tell you something you haven't heard. Will you
listen?"
At first no one spoke. Then from the crowd came a measured impartial
voice: "We got lots of time."
She was not discouraged by the intimation in the tone that all her
speaking was in vain. Several in the crowd looked reproachfully at him
who had responded, feeling that Lahoma deserved more consideration; but
in the main, the men nodded grim approval. They had plenty of
time--but at the end of it, Bill would either tell all he knew, or....
Lahoma plunged into the midst of her narrative:
"One evening Brick came on a deserted mover's wagon; he'd traveled all
day with nothing to eat or drink, and he got into the wagon to escape
the blistering sun. In there, he found a dead woman, stretched on her
pallet. He had a great curiosity to see her face, so he began lifting
the cloth that covered her. He saw a pearl and onyx pin at her throat.
It looked like one his mother used to wear. So he dropped the cloth and
never looked at her face. She had died the evening before, and he knew
she wouldn't have wanted any one to see her THEN. And he dug a grave
in the sand, though she was nothing to him, and buried her--never
seeing her face--and covered the spot with a great pyramid of stones,
and prayed for her little girl--I was her little girl--the Indians had
carried me away. You'll say that was a little thing; that anybody would
have buried the poor helpless body. Maybe so. But about not looking
at her face--well, I don't know; it WAS a little thing, of course, but
somehow it just seems to show that Brick Willock wasn't little--had
something great in his soul, you know. Seems to show that he couldn't
have been a common murderer. It's something you'll have to feel for
yourselves, nobody could explain it so you'd see, if you don't
understand already."
The men stared at her, somewhat bewildered, saying nothing. In some
breasts, a sense of something delicate, not to be defined, was stirred.
"One day," Lahoma resumed, "Brick saw a white man with some Indians
standing near that grave. He couldn't imagine what they meant to do,
so he hid, thinking them after him. Years afterward Red Feather
explained why they came that evening to the pile of stones. The white
man was Mr. Gledware. After Red Kimball's gang captured the
wagon-train, Mr. Gledware escaped, married Red Feather's daughter and
lived with the Indians; he'd married immediately, to save his life, and
the tribe suspected he meant to leave Indian Territory at the first
chance. Mr. Gledware, great coward, was terrified night and day lest
the suspicions of the Indians might finally cost him his life.
"It wasn't ten days after the massacre of the emigrants till he decided
to give a proof of good faith. Too great a coward to try to get away
and, caring too much for his wife's rich lands to want to leave, he
told about the pearl and onyx pin--he said he wanted to give it to Red
Flower. A pretty good Indian, Red Feather was--true friend of mine; HE
wouldn't rob graves! But he said he'd take Mr. Gledware to the place,
and if he got that pin, they'd all know he meant to live amongst them
forever. THAT'S why the band was standing there when Brick Willock
looked from the mountain-top. Mr. Gledware dug up the body, after the
Indians had rolled away the stones--the body of his wife--my
mother--the body whose face Brick Willock wouldn't look at, in its
helplessness of death. Mr. Gledware is the principal witness against
Brick. If you don't feel what kind of man he is from what I've said,
nobody could explain it to you."
From several of the intent listeners burst involuntary denunciations of
Gledware, while on the faces of others showed a momentary gleam of
horror.
Red Kimball's confederate spoke loudly, harshly: "But who killed Red
Kimball and his pard and the stage-driver, if it wasn't Brick Willock?"
"I think it was Red Feather's band. I'm witness to the fact that
Kimball agreed to bring Mr. Gledware the pearl and onyx pin on
condition that Mr. Gledware appear against Brick. After Mr. Gledware
deserted Red Flower, or rather after her death, Red Feather carried
that pin about him; Mr. Gledware knew he'd never give it up alive. He
was always afraid the Indian would find him--and at last he did find
him. But Red Kimball got the pin--could that mean anything except that
Kimball discovered the Indian's hiding-place and killed him? But for
that, I'd think it Red Feather who attacked the stage and killed Red
Kimball. As it is, I believe it must have been his friends."
"Now you've said something!" cried Mizzoo. "Boys, don't you think it's
a reasonable explanation?"
Some of them did, evidently, for the grim resolution on their faces
softened; others, however, were unconvinced.
A stern voice was raised: "Let Brick Willock come do his own
explaining. Bill Atkins knows where he's hiding out--and we got to
know. We've started in to be a law-abiding county, and that there
warrant against Willock has got the right of way."
"You've no warrant against Bill," cried Wilfred, stepping to the edge
of the platform, "therefore you've violated the law in locking him up."
"That's so," exclaimed Red Kimball's former comrade. "Well, turn 'im
loose, that's what we ask--LET him go--open the jail door!"
"He's locked up for his own safety," shouted Mizzoo. "You fellows
agree to leave him alone, and I'll turn him out quick enough. You talk
about the law--what you want to do to Bill ain't overly lawful, I take
it."
"If he gives up his secret we ain't going to handle him rough," was the
quick retort.
Lahoma found that the softening influence she had exerted was already
fast dissipating. They bore with her merely because of her youth and
sex. She cried out desperately.
"Is there nothing I can say to move your hearts? Has my story of that
pearl and onyx pin been lost on you? Couldn't you understand, after
all? Are you western men, and yet unable to feel the worth of a
western man like Brick?... How he clothed me and sheltered me when the
man who should have supported the child left in his care neglected
her.... How he taught me and was always tender and gentle--never a
cross word--a man like THAT.... And you think he could kill! I don't
know whether Bill was told his hiding-place or not. But if _I_ knew
it, do you think I'd tell? And if Bill betrayed him,--but Bill
wouldn't do it. Thank God, I've been raised with real MEN, men that
know how to stand by each other and be true to the death. You want
Bill to turn traitor. I say, what kind of men are YOU?"
She turned to Wilfred, blinded by hot tears. "Oh, say something to
them!" she gasped, clinging to his arm.
"Go on," murmured Wilfred. "I couldn't reach em, and you made a point,
that time. Go on--don't give 'em a chance to think."
"But I can't--I've said all I had to say--"
"Don't stop, dear, for God's sake--the case is desperate! You'll have
to do it--for Bill."
"And that isn't all," Lahoma called in a broken pathetic voice, as she
turned her pale face upon the curious crowd. "That isn't all. You know
Brick and Bill have been all I had--all in this world... You know they
couldn't have been sweeter to me if they'd been the nearest of
kin--they were more like women than men, somehow, when they spoke to me
and sat with me in the dugout--and I guess I know a little about a
mother's love because I've always had Brick and Bill. But one day
somebody else came to the cove and--and this somebody else,
well--he--this somebody else wants to marry me--today. This was the end
of our journey," she went on blindly, "and--and it is our wedding-day.
I thought there must be SOME way to get Brick to the wedding, but you
see how it is. And--and we'll have to marry without him. But Bill's
here--in that jail--because he wouldn't betray his friend. And I
couldn't marry without either Brick or Bill, could I?"
She took her quivering hand from Wilfred's sturdy arm, and moving to
the top of the steps, held out her trembling arms appealingly:
"MEN!-- Give me Bill!"
The crowd was with her, now. No doubt of that. All fierceness gone,
tears here and there, broad grins to hide deep emotion, open
admiration, touched with tenderness, in the eyes that took in her shy
flower-like beauty.
"You shall have Bill!" shouted the spokesman of the crowd. And other
voices cried, "Give her Bill! Give her Bill!"
"Bring him out!" continued the spokesman in stentorian tones. "We'll
not ask him a question. Fellows, clear a path for 'em."
A broad lane was formed through the throng of smiling men whom the
sudden, unexpected light of love had softened magically.
While Mizzoo hastened to Bill's cell, some one exclaimed, "Invite us,
too. Make it a town wedding!"
And another started the shout, "Hurrah for Lahoma!"
Lahoma, who had taken refuge behind Wilfred's protection, wept and
laughed in a rosy glow of triumphant joy.
Mizzoo presently reappeared, leaving the door wide open. He walked to
the stairs, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deep-cut with
appreciation of the situation. "Fellows," he called, "he says you
carried him in there, and dinged if you won't have to carry him out,
for not a step will he take!"
At this unexpected development, a burst of laughter swelled into a
roar. After that mighty merriment, Bill was as safe as a babe. Twenty
volunteers pressed forward to carry the wedding-guest from his cell.
And when the old man slowly but proudly followed Wilfred and Lahoma to
the hotel where certain preparations were to be made--particularly as
touching Bill's personal appearance--the town of Mangum began gathering
at the newly-erected church whither they had been invited.
When the four friends--for Mizzoo joined them--drove up to the church
door in the only carriage available, Bill descended stiffly, his eyes
gleaming fiercely from under snowy locks, as if daring any one to ask
him a question about Brick. But nobody did.