END OF THE TRIAL.
’Squire Blanchard rapped smartly on the table in front of him for
order, before he said:
“You may try the bullet in the prisoner’s gun, Woodranger.”
Reaching forward and taking Norman’s firearm, he held it in his left
hand, with inverted muzzle, while he laid the bullet on the top. There
the round piece of lead rested, being too large to drop down the long,
slender throat. For the first time a murmur of applause was heard.
Gunwad stamped his foot, exclaiming:
“It isn’t the weepon he had yesterday!”
In answer to ’Squire Blanchard’s questioning look, Woodranger said:
“I’m under oath.”
The three short words, spoken so impressively by the man who would have
sooner given his life than lie, were sufficient,――sufficient for all
except the angry deer reeve.
“That will do for the present, Woodranger,” declared the justice.
“Hol’ on!” exclaimed Gunwad. “I want to ask him a question.”
“You will have plenty of time as soon as I have examined the prisoner.”
Compelled to remain quiet, the deer reeve then listened to Norman’s
straightforward account of the little affair. Of course his version
exactly agreed with what the Woodranger had given, and at its
conclusion ’Squire Blanchard was frank enough to say:
“There doesn’t seem to be sufficient evidence to hold the prisoner.
The complainant fails to prove that it was his dog which started the
deer, or that it was he who shot it, therefore, I command the release
of Norman McNiel. But according to your own account of shooting at the
hawk, young man, I should not advise you to have very high hopes at the
shooting-match. This court stands adjourned. Now, boys, for the Three
Pines!”
A loud cheer greeted “his Honour’s” unique way of dissolving his court,
while the infuriated Gunwad pushed his way forward, crying, in a loud
voice:
“Ye betrayed me, Woodranger! I thought ye wuz my fri’nd and ye proved
my Judas! It wuz a miserable sneak game to cheat me out’n my reward,
but I’ll hev the skunk wot fired thet shot, be he a white-livered
furriner or a copper-skin.”
The Woodranger managed to leave the room without coming in contact
with the irate speaker. Some of those present tried to check the deer
reeve’s bitter utterances. The majority seemed well pleased with the
way the trial had ended, though it had called forth several animated
discussions among the spectators. Naturally the Scotch-Irish, to a
man, complimented ’Squire Blanchard on his way of disposing of the
case. This very state of satisfaction among those they so thoroughly
disliked, however, awakened keen distrust among the Tyng colonists,
who began to develop a strong opposition to the course the matter had
taken. ’Squire Blanchard was the town’s clerk, and one of the most
active of the grantees. But some declared that he had favoured their
rivals, though he had been perfectly honest in his treatment of the
case. Gunwad, naturally, was determined to get what advantage he could
from this mixed situation.
“It’s nothin’ but downright insult to ’low this young furriner to come
in hyur an’ shoot down our deer without regard to our laws. I ain’t
ag’in sayin’ thet Cap’en Blanchard didn’t ’vestigate as he oughter.”
“Woodranger ain’t inclined to the belief that the boy did it,” ventured
a bystander. “There ain’t many who doubt the word of him. He fit with
Lovewell and is parfectly honest.”
As if the last was the natural result of the first act, and beyond
dispute, the speaker retired in a satisfied manner.
“He lied in this!” exclaimed Gunwad, but quickly qualifying his
statement, for fear he had made it stronger than would be accepted. “At
least he put it in sich light as to deceive the cap’en. A deer killin’
itself,――the idee! He didn’t give me a fair chance.”
“Better let it drop here, Gunwad,” said a friend. “No good will come of
stirring the mess.”
“Ef ye had been trod on as I hev ye wouldn’t feel so easy erbout yit.
I’d like to git er rope eround the hull Irish gang an’ be th’ one to
shake ’em over Namaske! Bet yer life I w’u’dn’t hol’ on to thet rope
only long ernough to see thet they were in a way to git wet to their
livers.”
“Bet you wouldn’t hold on to that rope any longer than I could get my
fist on you, you little runt of a Britisher!” exclaimed a voice at his
elbow, and turning about the deer reeve was startled to find the tall,
muscular figure of young Hall confronting him.
“Better be careful how you talk such foolery here!” declared the
latter. “Unless you want more trouble than you can handle.”
The cowardly Gunwad offered no reply, breathing easier when the other
had gone beyond hearing.
The shooting-match was an event important enough to arrest the
attention of the spectators, and turn their thoughts into another
channel than shooting deer out of season. The majority at once started
toward the shooting grounds.
Still Gunwad remained just outside the house discoursing to a little
group of listeners, who were in sympathy with him, on the grievous
wrong he believed had been done him, and to embitter the others as much
as possible against their rivals.
“I s’pose ye know who this young upstart is,” he half questioned, and,
as if to answer it himself, continued:
“I know as well as ef it was writ in a book. One o’ ’em Irishers tole
me, so I got it straight. They hate him like pizen, but don’t like to
let on. Ye all know th’ Irishers air all refugees, an’ thet they fust
fled from Scotland for treason to th’ king, who got arter ’em like a
mad bull. They went to Ireland, which they soon had to quit fer more
treason. Ye see it’s in him, bone and blood. Finally they concluded
to come to this kentry in a body, an’ mus’ needs git out in th’ dark.
Some o’ their inimies got hol’ o’ their scheme, but didn’t let on. So
when th’ lot got ready to start they found their way stopped by armed
men. They managed to git away, when some on ’em looked round for th’
traitor, an’ it weren’t long afore th’ Judas was found. He was Arch
McNiel, this boy’s father. He got away, but he killed two o’ ’em afore
he got clear. His escape didn’t do him much good, fer he was shot dead
on th’ king’s highway two days later. His wife, ol’ man MacDonald’s
darter, took it so to heart she died right off. Thet left th’ ol’
Scotchman with th’ boy on his hands, only he was a baby then. Now if
there is enny ones I despise it’s Judases, and it’s sich fellers as th’
McNiels as kem hyur to rob us o’ our――”
No sooner had his release become known than one after another of the
onlookers crowded around Norman to congratulate him, among the rest
being Robert Rogers, who wrung his hand heartily.
“The ’squire was perfectly fair,” he said. “Of course Gunwad had no
proof against you. He is an evil man, anyway. If you had been sent to
gaol there would have been some lively times in Old Harrytown, and some
of the Londonderry boys might have had a finger in the stew.”
“Such language is ill-timed,” said the Woodranger. “I find it is well
never to resort to wanton talk, as talking but leads to fighting.
There is enough of that to do with the red men. The whites have enough
to answer for in bounty on scalps of the misguided savages, without
killing each other. Harrytown is not worth the spilling o’ a drop o’
innocent blood.”
“I wish to thank you for your kindness to me, Woodranger,” said Norman,
improving his first opportunity to express his appreciation of the
forester’s proof of friendship. “I am sure if it hadn’t been for you I
should have had to go to Chelmsford.”
“I was under oath, lad, and told of the affair just as it was. I’m very
thankful I’m not given to deceiving. True, men resort to such manner
o’ doings when tracking the red man, but that is only the natural
artifices o’ warfare. In peace it is――”
“Look there, Woodranger!” interrupted young Rogers, pulling the
speaker’s sleeve; “you upbraided me for talking trouble. Will you
listen to the arguments of Gunwad?”
At first the Woodranger was inclined to merely glance toward the man,
whom it was evident he despised. But, as his gaze ran over the deer
reeve and his knot of listeners, his countenance quickly changed its
hue, and he became an intent hearer of the other’s garbled account of
Norman’s father. He trembled from head to foot, and as Gunwad reached
that point where he used the words “to rob us o’ our”――the forester,
with that swift, silent step so natural to him, glided to the deer
reeve’s side. Before the story-teller realised his presence, he seized
him with one hand by the throat. As the powerful fingers tightened,
their victim was lifted clear from his feet, and held at arm’s length
by the iron-like grasp of Woodranger.
The deer reeve could not utter a word, and he seemed in imminent
danger of being choked to death, but he struggled violently to break
from the hand which had so unexpectedly caught and held him like a huge
bat twisting and squirming in mid-air.
“Utter another word o’ sedition and I’ll warp your head from your
shoulders!” exclaimed the forester, sharply. “Let this be a warning
to sich petty whippers and growlers as you,” flinging the other to
the ground, and striding away from the place as if escaping from some
obnoxious creature.
This violent display of anger on the part of the Woodranger, who had
never shown anything of the kind before, so startled the onlookers that
not a word was spoken until he had gone beyond hearing. As soon as the
dazed Gunwad had begun to recover his senses, he shook his fist after
the retreating forester, muttering maledictions he was careful the
other should not hear. Fortunately the few left about the place did not
care to engage in any row, so the affair was speedily forgotten, except
by Gunwad, in the interesting and exciting scenes which followed.
As he strode away in righteous wrath, Woodranger caught Norman by the
hand, saying:
“Come with me to the shoot, lad. I fear me much I’ve committed a
foolish indiscretion in letting my temper run away with my jedgment. A
man never knows his strength till he has tried his weakness. Oh, the
shoot will not detain you more than a couple o’ hours. You will get
home as soon as your grandfather will expect you. You have that shot at
the hawk to redeem, and this is your time.”