THE WHIPPING
Scarce had the words fallen from his lips when there sounded a slow,
heavy step on the stair outside. The young girl snatched her hand free
and caught Nathaniel by the wrist.
"It is the king!" she whispered excitedly. "It is the king! Quick--you
still have time! You must go--you must go--"
She strove to pull him across the room.
"There--through that door!" she urged.
The slowly ascending steps were half way up the stairs. Nathaniel
hesitated. He knew that a moment before there had passed through that
door one who carried with her the odor of lilac and his heart leaped to
its own conclusion who that person was. He had heard the rustle of the
girl's skirt. He had seen the last inch of the door close as Strang's
wife pulled it after her. And now he was implored to follow! He sprang
forward as the heavy steps neared the landing. His hand was upon the
latch--when he paused. Then he turned and bent his head close down to
the girl.
"No, I won't do it, my dear," he whispered. "Just now it might make
trouble for--her."
He lifted his eyes and saw a man looking at him from the doorway. He
needed no further proof to assure him that this was Strang the king of
the Mormons, for the Beaver Island prophet was painted well in that
region which knew the grip and terror of his power. He was a massive
man, with the slow slumbering strength of a beast. He was not much under
fifty; but his thick beard, reddish and crinkling, his shaggy hair, and
the full-fed ruddiness of his face, with its foundation of heavy jaw,
gave him a more youthful appearance. There was in his eyes, set deep and
so light that they shone like pale blue glass, the staring assurance
that is frequently born of power. In his hand he carried a huge
metal-knobbed stick.
In an instant Nathaniel had recovered himself. He advanced a step,
bowing coolly.
"I am Captain Plum, of the sloop _Typhoon_," he said. "I called at your
home a short time ago and was directed to your office. As a stranger on
the island I did not know that you had an office or I would have come
here first."
"Ah!"
The king drew his right foot back half a pace and bowed so low that
Nathaniel saw only the crown of his hat. When he raised his head the
aggressive stare had gone out of his eyes and a welcoming smile lighted
up his face as he advanced with extended hand.
"I am glad to see you, Captain Plum."
His voice was deep and rich, filled with that wonderful vibratory power
which seems to strike and attune the hidden chords of one's soul. The
man's appearance had not prepossessed Nathaniel, but at the sound of his
voice he recognized that which had made him the prophet of men. As the
warm hand of the king clasped his own Captain Plum knew that he was in
the presence of a master of human destinies, a man whose ponderous
red-visaged body was simply the crude instrument through which spoke the
marvelous spirit that had enslaved thousands to him, that had enthralled
a state legislature and that had hypnotized a federal jury into giving
him back his freedom when evidence smothered him in crime. He felt
himself sinking in the presence of this man and struggled fiercely to
regain himself. He withdrew his hand and straightened himself like a
soldier.
"I have come to you with a grievance, Mr. Strang," he began. "A
grievance which I feel sure you will do your best to right. Perhaps you
are aware that some little time ago--about two weeks back--your people
boarded my ship in force and robbed me of several thousand dollars'
worth of merchandise."
Strang had drawn a step back.
"Aware of it!" he exclaimed in a voice that shook the room. "Aware of
it!" The red of his face turned purple and he clenched his free hand in
sudden passion. "Aware of it!" He repeated the words, this time so
gently that Nathaniel could scarcely hear them, and tapped his heavy
stick upon the floor. "No, Captain Plum, I was not aware of it. If I
_had_ been--" He shrugged his thick shoulders. The movement, and a
sudden gleam of his teeth through his beard, were expressive enough for
Nathaniel to understand.
Then the king smiled.
"Are you sure--are you _quite_ sure, Captain Plum, that it was my people
who attacked your ship? If so, of course you must have some proof?"
"We were very near to Beaver Island and many miles from the mainland,"
said Nathaniel. "It could only have been your people."
"Ah!"
Strang led the way to a table at the farther end of the room and
motioned Nathaniel to a seat opposite him.
"We are a much persecuted people, Captain Plum, very much persecuted
indeed." His wonderful voice trembled with a subdued pathos. "We have
answered for many sins that have never been ours, Captain Plum, and
among them are robbery, piracy and even murder. The people along the
coasts are deadly enemies to us--who would be their friends; they commit
crimes in our name and we do not retaliate. It was not my people who
waylaid your vessel. They were fishermen, probably, who came from the
Michigan shore and awaited their opportunity off Beaver Island. But I
shall investigate this; believe me, I shall investigate this fully,
Captain Plum!"
Nathaniel felt something like a great choking fist shoot up into his
throat. It was not a sensation of fear but of humiliation--the
humiliation of defeat, the knowledge of his own weakness in the hands of
this man who had so quickly and so surely blocked his claim. His quick
brain saw the futility of argument. He possessed no absolute proof and
he had thought that he needed none. Strang saw the flash of doubt in his
face, the hesitancy in his answer; he divined the working of the other's
brain and in his soft voice, purring with friendship, he followed up his
triumph.
"I sympathize with you," he spoke gently, "and my sympathy and word
shall help you. We do not welcome strangers among us, for strangers have
usually proved themselves our enemies and have done us wrong. But to you
I give the freedom of our kingdom. Search where you will, at what hours
you will, and when you have found a single proof that your stolen
property is among my people--when you have seen a face that you
recognize as one of the robbers, return to me and I shall make
restitution and punish the evil-doers."
So intensely he spoke, so filled with reason and truth were his words,
that Nathaniel thrust out his hand in token of acceptance of the king's
terms. And as Strang gripped that hand Captain Plum saw the young girl's
face over the prophet's shoulder--a face, white as death in its terror,
that told him all he had heard was a lie.
"And when you have done with my people," continued the king, "you will
go among that other race, along the mainland, where men have thrown off
the restraints of society to give loose reign to lust and avarice; where
the Indian is brutified that his wife may be intoxicated by compulsion
and prostituted by violence before his eyes; where the forest cabins and
the streets of towns are filled with half-breeds; where there stalk
wretches with withered and tearless eyes, who are in nowise troubled by
recollection of robbery, rape and murder. And _there_ you will find whom
you are looking for!"
Strang had risen to his feet. His eyes blazed with the fire of smothered
hatred and passion and his great voice rolled through his beard,
tremulous with excitement, but still deep and rich, like the booming of
some melodious instrument. He flung aside his hat as he paced back and
forth; his shaggy hair fell upon his shoulders; huge veins stood out
upon his forehead--and Nathaniel sat mute as he watched this lion of a
man whose great throat quivered with the power that might have stirred a
nation--that might have made him president instead of king. He waited
for the thunder of that throat and his nerves keyed themselves to meet
its bursting passion. But when Strang spoke again it was in a voice as
soft and as gentle as a woman's.
"Those are the men who have vilified us, Captain Plum; who have covered
us with crimes that we have never committed; who have driven our people
into groups that they may be free from depredation; who watch like
vultures to despoil our women; wild wifeless men, Captain Plum, who have
left families and character behind them and who have sought the
wilderness to escape the penalties of law and order. It is they who
would destroy us. Go among my own people first, Captain Plum, and find
your lost property if you can; and if you can not discover it where in
seven years not one child has been born out of wedlock, seek among the
Lamanites--and my sheriffs shall follow where you place the crime!"
He had stretched out his arms like one whose plea was of life and death;
his face shone with earnestness; his low words throbbed as if his heart
were borne upon them for the inspection of its truth and honor. He was
Strang the tragedian, the orator, the conqueror of a legislature, a
governor, a dozen juries--and of human souls. And as he stood silent for
a moment in this attitude Nathaniel rose to his feet, subservient, and
believing as others had believed in the fitness of this man. But as his
eyes traveled a dozen paces beyond, he saw the young girl gesturing to
him in that same terror, and holding up for him to see a slip of paper
upon which she had written. And when she had caught his eyes she
crumpled the paper into a shapeless ball and tossed it just over the
landing to the ground below the stair.
"I thank you for the privileges of the island which you have offered
me," said Nathaniel, putting on his hat, "and I shall certainly take
advantage of your kindness for a few hours, as I want very much to
witness one of your ceremonies which I understand is to take place
to-day. Then, if I have discovered nothing, I shall return to my ship."
"Ah, you wish to see the whipping?" The king smiled his approval. "That
is one way we have of punishing slight misdemeanors in our kingdom,
Captain Plum. It is an illustration of our intolerance of evil-doers."
He turned suddenly toward the girl. "Winnsome, my dear, have you copied
the paper I was at work on? I wish to show it to Captain Plum."
He walked slowly toward her and for the first time since her warning
Nathaniel had an opportunity of observing the girl without fear of
being perceived by the prophet. She was very young, hardly more than a
child he would have guessed at first; and yet at a second and more
careful glance he knew that she could not be under fifteen--perhaps
sixteen. Her whole attire was one to add to her childish appearance. Her
hair, which was rather short, fell in lustrous dark curls about her face
and upon her neck. She wore a fitted coat-like blouse, and knee skirts
which disclosed a pretty pair of legs and ankles. As Strang was
returning with the paper which she handed to him the girl turned her
face to Captain Plum. Her mouth was formed into a round red O and she
pointed anxiously to where she had thrown the note. The king's eyes were
on his paper and Nathaniel nodded to assure her that he understood.
"I am like a gardener who compels every passing neighbor to go into his
back yard and admire his first sprouts," laughed the prophet jovially.
"In other words, I do a little writing, and I take a kind of childish
joy in making other people read it. But I see this is not in proper
shape, so you have escaped. It is a brief history of Beaver Island
written at the request of the Smithsonian Institute, which has already
published an article of mine. If you happen to be on the island
to-morrow and should you return to this office I shall certainly have
you read it if I have to call all of my sheriffs into service!"
He laughed with such open good-humor that Nathaniel found himself
smiling despite the varied unpleasant sensations within him. "Do you
write much?" he asked.
"I get out a daily paper," said the king rather proudly, "and of course,
as prophet, I am the translator of what word may be handed down to us
from Heaven for the direction and commandment of my people. I hold the
secret of the Urim and Thummin, which was first delivered by angels into
the hands of Joseph, and with it have revealed the word of God as it
appears in a book which I have written. Ah--I had forgotten this!" From
among a mass of papers and books on the table he drew forth a
blue-covered pamphlet and passed it to his companion. "I have only a few
copies left but you may have this one, Captain Plum. It will surely
interest you. In it I have set forth the troubles existing between my
own people and the cyprian-rotted criminals that infest Mackinac and the
mainland and have described our struggle for chastity and honor against
these human vultures. It was published two years ago. But conditions are
different to-day. Now--now I am king, and the oppressors in the filth of
their crime have become the oppressed!"
The last words boomed from him in a slogan of triumph and as if in
echoing mockery there came from the open door the chuckling, mirthless
laugh of Obadiah Price.
"Yea--yea--even into the land of the Lamanites are you king!"
At the sound of his voice Strang turned toward him and the sonorous
triumph that rumbled in his throat faded to a low greeting. And
Nathaniel saw that the little old councilor's eyes glittered boldly as
they met the prophet's and that in their glance was neither fear nor
servitude but rather a light as of master meeting master. The two
advanced and clasped hands and a few low words passed between them while
Nathaniel went to the door.
"I will go with you, Captain Nathaniel Plum," called Obadiah. "I will go
with you and show you the town."
"The councilor will be your friend," added Strang. "To-day he carries
with him that authority from the king."
He bowed and Nathaniel passed through the door. Looking back he caught a
last warning flash from the girl's eyes. As he hurried down the stair he
heard the councilor pause for an instant upon the landing and taking
advantage of this opportunity he picked up the bit of crumpled paper,
and read these lines:
"Hurry to your ship. In another hour men will be watching for an
opportunity to kill you. You will never leave the island alive--_unless
you go now_. The girl you saw through the window sends you this
warning."
He thrust the paper into his coat pocket as Obadiah came up behind him.
"Ho, ho, Nat, my boy, I have come fast to catch you--I have come fast!"
he whispered. He caught his companion by the arm and Nathaniel felt his
hand trembling violently. "Come this way, Nat--beyond the temple. I have
things to say to you." His voice was strangely unnatural and when
Captain Plum looked down into his face the look in the bead-like eyes
startled him. "Nat, you must hurry away with the package!"
"So I understand--if I save my skin. Obadiah Price, I have a notion to
kill you!"
They had passed beyond the huge edifice of logs, and as he stopped,
hidden from the view of the king's office, Nathaniel caught the
councilor's arm in a grip that crushed to the bone.
"I have a notion to kill you!" he repeated.
The old man stood unflinching. Not a muscle of his face quivered as the
captain's fingers sank into his flesh.
"At the first sign of treachery, at the first sign of danger to myself,
I shall shoot you dead!" he finished.
"You may, Nat, you may. From this moment until you leave the island I
shall be at your side and no harm shall come to you. But if there
should, Nat, or if there should come a moment when you believe that I am
your enemy--shoot me!" There was sincerity in his voice that carried
conviction to Nathaniel's heart and he released his hold upon the
councilor's arm. Regardless of the mystery that surrounded him he
believed in Obadiah. But there rose in his breast a mad desire to choke
this old man into telling him the truth, to force him to reveal the
secrets of this strange plot into which he had been drawn and of which
he knew as little as when he first set foot in Strang's kingdom. Yet he
realized even as the desire formed itself in his brain that such an
effort would be useless.
"If you had remained at the cabin, Nat, you would have known that I was
your friend," continued Obadiah. "She would have come to you, but
now--it is impossible. You know. You have been warned?"
Nathaniel drew Winnsome's note from his pocket and read it aloud.
Obadiah smiled gleefully when he noticed how carefully he kept the
handwriting from his eyes.
"Ah, Nat, you are a noble fellow!" he cried, rubbing his hands in his
old tireless way. "You would not betray pretty little Winn, eh? And who
do you suppose told Winnsome to give you this note?"
"Strang's wife."
"Yea, even so. And it was she who set my old legs a-running for you, my
boy. Come, let us move!"
The little councilor was his old self again, chuckling and grimacing and
rubbing his hands, and his eyes danced as he spoke of the girl.
"Casey is not a cautious man," he gurgled with a sudden upward leer.
"Casey is a fool!"
"Casey!" almost shouted Captain Plum. "What the devil do you mean?"
"Ho, ho, ho--haven't you guessed the truth yet, Nat? While you and I
were getting acquainted last night a couple of fishermen from the
mainland dropped alongside your sloop. They had been robbed by the
Mormon pirates! They cursed Strang. They swore vengeance. And your
cautious Casey cursed with 'em, and fed 'em, and drank with 'em--and he
would have had them stay until morning only they were anxious to hurry
with their report to Strang. Understand, Nat? Eh? Do you understand?"
"What did Casey tell them?" gasped Nathaniel.
Obadiah hunched his shoulders.
"Enough to warrant a bullet through your head, Nat. Cheerful, isn't it?
But we'll fool them, Nat, we'll fool them! You shall board your ship and
hurry away with the package, and then you shall make love to Strang's
wife--_for she will go with you!_"
He stopped to enjoy the amazement that was written in every lineament of
the other's face. The red blood surged into Nathaniel's neck and
deepened on his bronze cheeks. Slowly the reaction came. When he spoke
there was an uneasy gleam in his eyes and his voice was as hard as
steel.
"She will go with me, Councilor! And why?"
Obadiah had laughed softly as he watched the change. Suddenly he jerked
himself erect.
"Sh-h-h!" he whispered. "Keep cool, Nat! Don't show any excitement or
fear. Here comes the man who is to kill you!"
He made no move save with his eyes.
"He is coming to speak with me and to get a good look at you," he added
in excited haste. "Appear friendly. Agree with what I say. He is the
chief of sheriffs, the king's murderer--Arbor Croche!"
He turned as if he had just seen the approaching figure. And he
whispered softly, "Winnsome's father!"
Arbor Croche! Nathaniel gave an involuntary shudder as he turned with
Obadiah. Croche, chief of sheriffs, scourge of the mainland--the Attila
of the Mormon kingdom, whose very name caused the women of the shores to
turn white and on whose head the men had secretly set a price in gold!
Without knowing it his hand went under his coat. Obadiah saw the
movement and as he advanced to meet the officer of the king he jerked
the arm back fiercely. Half a dozen paces away the chief of sheriffs
paused and bowed low. But the councilor stood erect, as he had stood
before the king, smiling and nodding his head.
"Ah, Croche," he greeted, "good morning!"
"Good morning, Councilor!"
"Sheriff, I would have you meet Captain Nathaniel Plum, master of the
sloop _Typhoon_. Captain Plum this is His Majesty's officer, Arbor
Croche!"
The two men advanced and shook hands. Nathaniel stood half a head above
the sheriff, who, like his master, the king, was short and of massive
build, though a much younger man. He was a dark lowering hulk of a
creature, with black eyes, black hair, and a hand-clasp that showed him
possessed of great strength.
"You are a stranger, Captain Plum?"
The councilor replied quickly.
"He has never been at St. James before, sheriff. I have invited him to
stay over to see the whipping. By the way--" he shot a suggestive look
at the Officer. "By the way, Croche, I want you to see him safely aboard
his sloop to-night. His ship is at the lower end of the island, and if
you will detail a couple of men just before dusk--an escort, you know--"
Nathaniel felt a curious thrill creep up his spine at the satisfaction
which betrayed itself in the officer's black face.
"It will give me great pleasure, Councilor," he interrupted. "I shall
escort you myself if you will allow me, Captain Plum!"
"Thank you," said Nathaniel.
"Captain Plum is to remain with me throughout the day," added Obadiah.
"Come at seven--to my place. Ah, I see that people are assembling near
the jail!"
"We have changed our plans somewhat, Councilor." The officer turned to
Nathaniel. "You will see the whipping within half an hour, Captain
Plum." He turned away with another bow to the councilor and hastened in
the direction of Strang's office.
"So that is the gentleman who thinks he is going to put a bullet through
me!" exclaimed Nathaniel when the officer had gone beyond hearing. He
laughed, and there was a kind of wild expectant joy in his voice.
"Obadiah, can you not make arrangements for him to go with me alone?"
"He will not go with you at all, Nat," gloated the old man. "Ho, ho, we
are playing at his own game--treachery. When he calls at my place you
will be aboard ship."
"But I should like to have a talk with him--alone, and in the woods.
God--I know a man at Grand Traverse Bay whose wife and daughter--"
"Sh-h-h-h!" interrupted the councilor. "Would you kill little Winnsome's
father?"
"Her father? That animal! That murderer! Is it true?"
"But you should have seen her mother, Nat, you should have seen her
mother!" The old man twisted his hands, like a miser ravished by the
sight of gold. "She was beautiful--as beautiful as a wild flower, and
she killed herself three years ago to save the birth of another child
into this hell. Little Winn is like her mother, Nat."
"And she lives with him?"
"Er, yes--and guarded, oh, so carefully guarded by Strang, Nat! Yes, I
guess that some day she will be a queen."
"Great God!" cried the young man. "And you--you live in this cesspool of
sin and still believe in a Heaven?"
"Yes, I believe in a Heaven. And my reward there shall be great. Ho, ho,
I am taking no middle road, Nat!"
They had passed in a semicircle beyond the temple and now approached a
squat building constructed of logs, which Obadiah had pointed out as the
jail. A glance satisfied Nathaniel that it was so situated that an
admirable view of the proceedings could be obtained from the rear of the
structure in which Strang had his office. Several score of people had
already assembled about the prison and stood chatting with that tense
interest and anticipation with which the mob always awaits public
infliction of the law's penalties. A third of them were women. As
Nathaniel had previously noted, the feminine part of the Mormon
population wore their hair either in braids down their backs or in thick
curls flowing over their shoulders and with the exception of three or
four were attired in skirts that just concealed their knees. Obadiah
halted his companion close to a group of half a dozen of these women and
nudged him slyly.
"Pretty sight, eh, Nat?" he chuckled. "Ah, the king has a wonderful eye
for beauty, Nat--wonderful eye! He orders that no skirt shall fall below
the female knee. Ho, ho, if he dared, if he _quite_ dared, Nat!"
He nudged Nathaniel again with such enthusiasm that the latter jumped as
though a knife had been thrust between his ribs.
"By George, I admire his taste!" he laughed. The women caught him
staring at them, and one, who was the youngest and prettiest of the lot,
smiled invitingly.
"Tush--the Jezebel!" snapped Obadiah, catching the look. "That's her
child playing just beyond."
The young woman tossed her head and her white teeth gleamed in a laugh,
as though she had overheard the old councilor's words.
"See her twist her hair," he snarled venomously as the young woman,
still boldly eying Nathaniel, played with the luxuriant curls that
glistened in the sun upon her breast. "Ezra Wilton is so fond of her
that he will take no other wife. Ugh, Strang is a fool!"
Nathaniel turned away from the smiling eyes with a shrug.
"Why?"
"To tell our women that it helps to save their souls to wear short
skirts and let their hair hang down. For every soul of a woman that it
saves it sends two men on the road to hell!"
So intense was the old man's displeasure and so ludicrous the twisting
contortions of his face that Nathaniel could hardly restrain himself
from bursting into a roar of laughter. Obadiah perceived his inclination
and with an angry bob of his head led the way through to the inner edge
of the waiting circle of men. Within this circle, in a small open space,
was a short post with straps attached to an arm nailed across it, and
leaning upon this post in an attitude of one who possesses a most
distinguished office was a young man with a three thonged whip in his
hand. An ominous silence pervaded the circle, with the exception of the
hushed whispering of a number of women who had forced themselves into
the line of spectators, bent upon witnessing the sight of blood as well
as hearing the sound of lashes. Nathaniel noticed that most of the women
hung in frightened curiosity beyond the men.
"That is MacDougall with the lash--official whipper and caretaker of the
slave hounds," explained Obadiah in a whisper.
Nathaniel gave a start of horror.
"Slave hounds!" he breathed.
The councilor grinned and twisted his hands, in enjoyment of his
companion's surprise.
"We have the finest pack of bloodhounds north of Louisiana," he
continued, so low that only Nathaniel could hear. "See! Isn't the earth
worn smooth and hard about that post?"
Nathaniel looked and his blood grew hot.
"I have seen such things in the South," he said. "But not--for white
men!"
The councilor caught him by the arm.
"They are coming!"
In the direction of the jail the crowd was separating. Men crushed back
on each side, forming a narrow aisle, even the whispering of the women
ceased. A moment later three men appeared in the opening between the
spectators. One of these, who walked between the other two, was stripped
to the waist. About each of his naked wrists was tied a leather thong
and these thongs were held by the man's guards. The prisoner's face was
livid; his hands were red with blood that dripped from his lacerated
wrists; his eyes glared malignantly and his heaving chest showed that
he had not been brought from the log prison without a struggle.
"Ah, it's Wittle first!" breathed the councilor. "It's he who said his
wife should not wear short skirts."
At the edge of the circle the prisoner hesitated and the muscles in his
arms and chest grew rigid. Those of the crowd nearest to him drew back.
Then a sudden change swept over the man's features and he walked quickly
to the stake and kneeled before it. The thongs about his wrists were
tied to the straps of the cross-piece and the whipper took his position.
As the first lash fell, a cry burst from the lips of the victim. When
the whip descended again he was silent. A curious sensation of sickness
crept over Nathaniel as he saw the red gashes thicken on the white
flesh. Five times--six times--seven times the whip rose and fell and he
could see the blood starting. In horror he turned his eyes away. Behind
him a man grinned at the whiteness of his face and the involuntary
trembling of his lips. Again and again he heard the lash fall upon the
naked back. From near him there came the sobbing moan of a woman. A
subdued movement, a sound as of murmuring wordless voices swept through
the throng. A steady glitter filled the eyes of the man who had laughed
at him--and he turned again to the stake. The man's back was dripping
blood. Great red seams lay upon his shoulders and a single lash had cut
his bowed neck. Another stroke, more fierce than the others, and
MacDougall turned away from the figure at the post, breathing hard. The
guards unfastened the victim's wrist-thongs and the man staggered to his
feet. As he swayed down through the path that opened for him his crimson
back shone in the sun.
"Great God!" gasped Nathaniel.
He turned to Obadiah and was startled by the appearance of the old man.
The councilor's face was ghastly. His mouth twitched and his body
trembled. Nathaniel took his arm sympathetically.
"Hadn't we better go, Dad?" he whispered.
"No--no--no--not yet, Nat. It's--it's--Neil now and I must see how the
boy--stands it!"
It was but a short time before the guards returned. This time their
prisoner walked free and erect. The thongs dangled from his wrists and
he was a pace ahead of the two men who accompanied him. He was a young
man. Nathaniel judged his age at twenty-five. He was a striking contrast
to the man who had suffered first at the post. His face instead of
betraying the former's pallor was flushed with excitement; his head was
held high; not a sign of fear or hesitation shone in his eyes. As he
glanced quickly around the circle of faces the flush grew deeper in his
cheeks. He nodded and smiled at MacDougall and in that nod and smile
there was a meaning that sent a shiver to the whip-master's heart. Then
his eyes fell upon Obadiah and Nathaniel. He saw the councilor's hand
resting upon the young captain's arm and a flash of understanding passed
over his face. For an instant the eyes of the two young men met. The man
at the post took half a step forward. His lips moved as if he was on the
point of speaking, the defiant smile went out of his face, the flush
faded in his cheeks. Then he turned quickly and held out his hands to
the guards.
As the young man kneeled before the post Nathaniel heard a smothered sob
at his side which he knew came from Obadiah.
"Come, Dad," he said softly. "I can't stand this. Let's get away!"
He shoved the councilor back. The lash whistled through the air behind
him. As it fell there came a piercing cry. It was a woman's voice, and
with a snarl like that of a tortured animal the old man struck down
Nathaniel's arm and clawed his way back to the edge of the line. On the
opposite side there was a surging in the crowd and as MacDougall raised
his whip a woman burst through.
"My God!" cried Nathaniel, "it's--"
He left the rest of the words unspoken. His veins leaped with fire. A
single sweep of his powerful arms and he had forced himself through the
innermost line of spectators. Within a dozen feet of him stood Strang's
wife, her beautiful hair disheveled, her face deadly white, her bosom
heaving as if she had been running. In a moment her eyes had taken in
the situation--the man at the stake, the upraised lash--and Nathaniel.
With a sobbing, breathless cry, she flung herself in front of MacDougall
and threw her arms around the kneeling man, her hair covering him in a
glistening veil. For an instant her eyes were raised to Nathaniel and he
saw in them that same agonized appeal that had called to him through the
king's window. The striking muscles of his arms tightened like steel.
One of the guards sprang forward and caught the girl roughly by the arm
and attempted to drag her away. In his excitement he pulled her head
back and her hair trailed in the dirt. The sight was maddening. From
Nathaniel's throat there came a fierce cry and in a single leap he had
cleared the distance to the guard and had driven his fist against the
officer's head with the sickening force of a sledge-hammer. The man fell
without a groan. In another flash he had drawn his knife and severed the
thongs that held the man at the stake. For a moment his face was very
near the girl's and he saw her lips form the glad cry which he did not
wait to hear.
He turned like an enraged beast toward the circle of dumfounded
spectators and launched himself at the second guard. From behind him
there sounded a shout and he caught the gleam of naked shoulders as the
man who had been at the stake rushed to his side. Together they tore
through the narrow rim of the crowd, striking at the faces which
appeared before them, their terrific blows driving men right and left.
"This way, Neil!" shouted Nathaniel. "This way--to the ship!"
They raced up the slope that led from the town to the forest. Even the
king's officer, palsied by the suddenness of the attack, had not
followed. From a screened window in the king's building two men had
witnessed the exciting scene near the jail. One of these men was Strang.
The other was Arbor Croche. At another window a few feet away, hidden
from their eyes by a high desk and masses of papers and books, Winnsome
Croche was crumpled up on the floor hardly daring to breathe through
fear of betraying her presence. From these windows they had seen the
girl run from behind the jail; they had watched her struggle through the
line of spectators, saw Nathaniel leap forward--saw the quick blow, the
gleaming knife, and the escape. So suddenly had it all occurred that not
a sound escaped the two astonished men. But as Nathaniel and Neil burst
through the crowd and sped toward the forest Strang's great voice
boomed forth like the rumble of a gun.
"Arbor Croche, overtake those men--and kill them!"
With a wild curse the chief of sheriffs dashed down the stairway and as
she heard him go the terror of Winnsome's heart seemed to turn her blood
cold. She knew what that command meant. She knew that her father would
obey it. As the daughter of the chief of sheriffs more than one burning
secret was hidden in her breast, more than one of those frightful
daggers that had pricked at the soul of her mother until they had
murdered her. And the chief of them all was this: that to Arbor Croche
the words of Strang were the words of God and that if the prophet said
kill, he would kill. For a full minute she crouched in her concealment,
stunned by the horror that had so quickly taken the place of the joy
with which she had witnessed the escape. She heard Strang leave the
window, heard his heavy steps in the outer room, heard the door close,
and knew that he, too, was gone. She sprang to her feet and ran to the
window at which the two men had stood. The chief of sheriffs was already
at the jail. The crowd had begun to disperse. Men were swarming like
ants up the long slope reaching to the forest. Three or four of the
leaders were running and she knew that they were hot in pursuit of the
fugitives. Others were following more slowly and among these she saw
that there were women. As she looked there came a sound from the stair.
She recognized the step. She recognized the voice that called her name a
moment later and with a despairing cry she turned with outstretched arms
to greet the girl for whom Nathaniel had interrupted the king's
whipping.