Late August and seasoning. Many of the farmers who had raised tobacco at
all had it stored in their barns, some intending to sell openly, and
others to throw into the pool. The great association knew what was going
on from the top of the mountain to the cities below. "The Wolf,
Night-Watch," had been very busy from the beginning of the burning
season through the turning, resetting, and gathering. He knew just how
much tobacco each farmer had raised, where it was stored, when and to
whom he expected to sell it, and what he expected to realize on the
sale. He knew how much tobacco Jack Wade had stored in his barns down on
the Redmond farm, and he also knew that Wade was in thorough sympathy
with the association, which was making strenuous efforts to raise the
price of tobacco to a point where living expenses could be met.
Every farmer knew Wade now, and looked upon him as a strong friend and a
powerful help in the community. His popularity had grown to such an
extent that he was recognized as a leader, and his counsel was eagerly
and continuously sought. He had made such a thorough study of the
situation that he was familiar with all points. His great genius was
highly esteemed, his knowledge of tobacco and the manner of raising it
brought many of the older raisers to converse with him, and he freely
talked with everyone, giving his idea in full. The result of his study
was that more tobacco and a much higher grade was being raised on less
ground than the old heads thought it possible to raise at all.
When the purchasers from Hopkinsville came, Wade searched them
thoroughly with his keen eye. He knew they had intended to put the price
down low, and he was going to meet them in a manner that they little
dreamed of.
"Yours is the finest tobacco I have seen," said one.
"Thank you," replied Wade carelessly. "Have you purchased much yet?"
"Only one barn. I'll offer you three and one-half cents at once for
yours."
Wade just stared at the speaker.
"I'll make it four cents," said the other.
Wade turned upon him sharply.
"Do you expect to buy much tobacco at that price?" he asked.
"We expect to purchase every pound of tobacco in this country at less
than five cents," said one.
In Wade's mind there was a set determination, born on the moment, that
they should not purchase one pound of tobacco for less than ten cents,
and perhaps more.
"You are buying for the trusts?" he asked.
"No," said the other, half angrily, "we are _not_ buying for the trusts.
I am buying for a private company, and have no connection with this
gentleman, although we are together. If his judgment leads him to
believe that the tobacco is worth more than my judgment leads me to
believe it to be worth, naturally he offers a better price, that's all.
Now, as I said, you have about the highest quality tobacco I have seen
this season, therefore I shall raise this gentleman's offer and make it
four cents and the half. Shall you let it go at that?"
"I shall not."
"Then you may keep it stored until it rots."
"Hold!" said the second man. "My last offer is six cents. Shall you let
it go?"
"I shall _not_!"
"Then keep it in your barns until it rots; you'll not get more than we
have offered you."
"I'll allow it to rot then," said Wade defiantly.
The two men rode off toward Judson's. Wade meant to fulfill his
determination, if it should cost him many thousands of dollars. Hastily
saddling his horse he also rode up to Judson's, where he found the two
tobacco purchasers parleying with old Peter.
"No," Peter was saying, "I hain't got much terbacker this season, but ye
cain't git what little I've got fer no three and a half cents."
Jack touched the old man on the shoulder. "Remember, Judson," he
whispered, "I'll make it one cent heavier than they offer." Then he
rode in search of Tom, whom he instructed to go over the country as fast
as he could and advise the faithful ones to hold their tobacco for
twelve cents. "Tell them," he said, "that they have a standing offer of
eleven and one-half from me, and they should hold out for twelve from
anyone else. Make it plain to them that the offer is made in good faith,
and the man who fails to sell in good season for twelve cents shall
receive eleven and one-half. You had not better go into Thompson's
territory."
"I'll go thar too," said Tom, "an' I'll even go to old Jim Thompson's
house. He can't hurt anybody yet, an' Al's off on a trip right now, so
they's nuthin' to be skeered of."
"I won't make the offer to Thompson at this time, Tom; it would be no
use. He'd rather sell for one cent than accept assistance from us."
"All right, I hain't a-keerin' much 'bout foolin' 'round thar, anyhow."
"Be off, then!"
The two men were still parleying with Peter, in an effort to purchase
his tobacco, but he was holding very high above them.
"No," he said, "I'll not take seven nor eight."
"My last offer is nine," said one.
"But I'm offered ten."
"I'll take what you have for ten," said the second.
"I'm offered eleven," said Peter, smiling.
The two purchasers turned in disgust and went their way, considerably
discouraged at the outcome of their trip. It was the same everywhere.
"I'm offered one cent more," was all they could hear. They were unable
to make out as to who had got in ahead of them to offer more, and they
could not reconcile this condition with Wade's whispered conversation
with Peter Judson. Every place they visited they received the same
reply, so they turned back to Hopkinsville with dejected countenances.
When they had departed from Judson's, the old man turned to Wade and
said, "Boy, what do you mean, anyway? Do ye expect ter fight ther great
trusts?" Peter smiled.
"For this season I do. There is only one way to win a battle, and that
way is to fight. Can't you see the result already? We shall get twelve
cents for our tobacco, where you have been getting only six. If it works
out all right, I'll offer more next season, and Nightriding will be
forever done away with and peace will reign among the farmers of this
rich country. Do you see it all?"
Peter did see it, and was very enthusiastic.
"Ye air a brick, Jack," he said. "I always knowed that ye had a great
head an' was sent into this kintry to save ther poor devils who
couldn't save themselves, 'cause hit'll work, an' they'll be back fer
the terbacker at twelve cents afore long, shore. They got ter git this
terbacker or go busted an' quit. Tom'll not quit ridin' till he's told
every farmer plum to t'other side o' ther hill an' back. Whoop, let 'er
go, we'll down 'em yet!"
Old Peter threw his hat high into the air and jumped like a boy, so
enthusiastic did he become.
"Ye'll make yerself more popular than ye air already, Jack, ef ye don't
watch out a little."
Wade knew his own power better than any other person. He merely smiled
at the old man's great enthusiasm, then turned to Nora, who had stood
listening to everything, feeling a higher admiration for Jack Wade.
"We'll take that trip to the brook to-day, if you like," he said. "The
day is so calm and the air so invigorating, it will do us good."
"I shall be pleased," she said. "Shall we go at once?"
"If it won't interfere with your duties at home."
"Nuthin' ter hinder," said Mrs. Judson; "she kin go when she wants."
The little wild flowers that earlier in the year were so bright and
happy were now a little drooped, having gone through the warm summer
with but little water; however, they still nodded approvingly as the two
passed astride the gentle steeds.
"When we were here last," said Wade, "the spring was just appearing and
everything was so beautifully green."
"The summer sun has been too much for the foliage and flowers," replied
Nora.
"That is only to remind us of what humanity must pass through," said
Jack. "The bloom of youth is upon us, we are now in the springtime of
our lives, fresh and gay; but the great hot summer of time must pass
over our heads to wither us as the summer sun has withered and drooped
the sweet little flowers. The cold winters of time must pass over us to
silver the golden curls and gray the hair as the summer sun has given a
golden tint to those once green leaves yonder."
"Oh, Jack, must it be so?"
"Do not look so sorrowful over it, child. Life is life, and must be
lived out in accordance with the will of the Almighty, maker of heaven
and earth. See how beautiful the golden-tinted leaves appear in the last
hours of their lives. They have done their duty, and the reward is
theirs; they toil no more, but man, who is born of woman, is of few days
and full of sorrow."
"While it seems that all is night to the poor woman whom God has seen
fit to place here as a helpmeet to man."
"You are looking through the darkness to-day, Nora."
"There seems no light, Jack."
"Yet it will break in on you, my child, when you are least expecting
it."
"Then there will be other things to worry over."
"My little fairy," said Wade, "you were not born to worry. Cease. It
makes you thin; you must not worry any more."
"How can I help it, Jack? I must worry while conditions are as they now
are in the valley. I fear lest Dad shall be killed, I fear lest Tom
shall be picked from his saddle, and I--I even fear lest you might not
be with us long. You must know that you have been a great salvation to
this country, in one sense, and in another----"
"What! you hesitate?"
"If you should die," said Nora slowly, "why, life would not be worth
much to some."
"And to you, Nora?"
"Without you all would be dark."
"Nora!"
"Yes, Jack. You are the only person who ever awakened within my soul a
sensation akin to joy. Your big heart has won my esteem, and--and----"
Nora hung her head shyly, as she told what had been in her heart for
some time.
"Your love is not in vain," said Wade.
They had now reached the brook, and were dismounting.
"Let us seal our love right here, under this tree," said Wade, and he
impressed a kiss upon her sweet forehead. A quiet flush covered her
face, and she was very happy.
The spot they selected was a lovely one 'neath a small bush, where they
would be completely hid from the view of an idle passer. They were in
Thompson's territory, and, though Tom Judson had thought Al was away, it
was not true. This had been a ruse on the part of the wily Al in order
to catch a Judson napping. Wade did not know of a certainty that Al was
not gone, but he was cautious, nevertheless. His rifle was ever near
him. Now, they had not been long secure until they saw Al meandering
down the stream on the opposite side from them. Wade watched him until
he was directly opposite them, then whispered to Nora to keep well hid.
Leveling his rifle at Al, he commanded him to halt. Nora's heart beat
fast in her bosom. Al, recognizing Wade's voice, looked sharply around,
sending his right hand to his pistol pocket. Too late.
"Take it off," said Wade, "or I may be tempted to blow out your life."
Wade spoke in the rough language of the mountaineer. Times were such
that a fellow must necessarily blow a fellow's brains out or get his own
scattered over the earth. Thompson caught sight of Wade in his
hiding-place and, seeing that he was looking into the barrel of Wade's
rifle, took his hand from his pocket and raised it, with the other, high
above his head.
"Ye've got me shore, this time," said Al. "What ye goin' ter do with
me?"
"I'm going to kill you," replied Wade. "Turn your back to me, and be
quick about it."
"What! ye hain't a goin' ter shoot me in ther back, air ye?" asked
Thompson, turning to fulfill the command.
"Wouldn't you shoot me in the back, or any other part of the body, had
you the opportunity?"
"I didn't."
"You haven't had the opportunity."
"Yes, I have."
"When?"
"Ther night I borried yer hoss. Ye didn't know me then, Wade, but hit
was me, shore. I lost my hoss an' just had ter have 'nuther--had so much
ter do afore morning', an' I took yours for only a little while, 'cause
I knowed you wouldn't have as much ter do as me."
"Why did you not kill me, Thompson, while you had the chance?"
"Because ye didn't kill me when ye had the chance, that's why."
Wade crossed the stream, going directly through the water, took Al's
pistols from his pockets and laid them on the ground a safe distance
away. Stepping back a pace, he commanded Thompson to turn and face him.
"So you did not kill me that night because I had not killed you at a
time when I had an advantage?"
"Exactly. Do ye think one of us fellers could be unfair? Not so; we
treat everybody square. That time made us even, but I said I'd kill ye
ef ye was caught that away again."
"In that case, Thompson, I have a perfect right to let you have a load,"
said Wade, drawing a bead on the latter's head. "First, however, I want
to know why you hate me so, why do you wish to kill me at all?"
"That ought'n ter make any difference ter you."
"It does, and your life just now depends upon your answer to the
question. I've got you dead to rights, and you may as well know that I
do not intend you shall live another moment if your motives against me
are not true. Now answer how you will."
"In ther first place," said Thompson coolly, "ye air playin' false with
ther gal I love. Ye don't intend ter marry her. Ye've already said in
yer own mind that she's not good enough fer you, an' ye air foolin' with
her heart an' a-killin' her, an' she's weaned away from me, so it's made
me sick, an' I said I'd kill ye fer it. Then ye got ther best of me, an'
didn't, an' I got ther best of you, an' I didn't. Now, ye have me, an' I
reckon ye oughter do it, though, I----"
"You are lying," interrupted Wade. "You are lying through and through,
and you know it. You are a coward, Thompson, through and through, and
you feel it, so I'm going to shoot you through the top of your head
right now to end your earthly fears and settle the matter once and
forever."
There was a terrible gleam in Wade's eyes, Thompson saw it, and his
flesh quivered. He saw Wade raise his rifle barrel until it was level
with his breast, up it came until it was level with his head. There came
over him an impulse to break and run for his life, but his horror of
being shot in the back kept him from doing so. The sensation within him
at that moment was terrible. Suddenly, being thoroughly overcome with
fright, he threw both hands high into the air and cried out for mercy.
"For God's sake," he exclaimed, "don't kill me this way!"
"I knew you were a coward," said Wade. "I didn't ask you for mercy when
you would have driven your knife through me, but I am going to hear your
cry and let you go. One thing I want to know, however, and I must have
the absolute truth. Didn't you come down this way looking for me?"
"Yes."
"And intended killing me?"
"I did."
"What object had you in telling the officers that I killed Franklin?"
"I wanted to fix ye then."
"Did you not shoot Franklin yourself?"
"No, no. I didn't! Hit was a bullet from your gun, or old man Judson's.
No, Wade, I did not do that. I hain't that mean, ef they do say I am."
"How did you know I was out with the Riders?"
"I didn't know ye was there. I took a long shot ter fix ye, that's all."
"All right, now, here are your pistols. Take them and get as fast as you
can. Don't try to use them now, but when you get the drop on me again
you had better pull the trigger."
Wade watched Thompson as he made his departure. When he had put
considerable distance between them Al fired both his pistols in the air
and gave one of his old-time Comanche yells that vibrated through the
woodland.
"I'll git ye yet," he cried back. "Ye hain't, got away from me, an'
what's more, ye hain't a-goin' ter."
Wade drifted back across the stream to where he had left Nora, and found
her shaking from fright.
"You didn't take these matters so seriously when I first came into this
country," said Jack.
"No," replied Nora, "for then I did not think as I do now. I really
believed you were about to commit murder. Oh, Jack, how happy you have
made me, by withholding your hand."
"Once you said it would be better for me to kill Thompson at sight. Did
you not?"
"I did not, Jack. That is what father told you."
"Pardon me, Nora, you are quite right. Time has blurred my memory."
"I am so glad, Jack, that you are such a fearless man. A coward would
have taken the advantage you had and would have slain Al."
"Thank you."