THE WELL WITH A BARREL CURB.
Again at the dead of night Montcalm climbed from his bedroom window.
Carrying a large bundle, he passed down the shaded walk and was soon
on the route previously traversed by him and Takum. The sheep in the
woods fled, as before, at his approach.
He came presently to a pond the dimensions of which had manifestly
shrunk during the hot weather, for a dry, barren circle marked where
its edge had been. He untied his bundle, spread its contents on the
ground and threw off his coat and vest, for which he substituted a
thick, padded jacket which gave him a robust appearance. When to this
disguise he added a mask from which straggled a sandy beard, no one
would have recognized in the ruffianly looking figure the genteel
Montcalm.
In the capacious hollow of an oak the adventurer stored the clothing
which he had removed, and with his lightened bundle again proceeded
on his way. Ere he reached the lane which led to the barns of Green,
he deviated from his former route. Turning to the right, he emerged
from the wood exactly in front of, though at a considerable distance
from, the church. In a few minutes he was stalking along the edge of
the graveyard, and a brief walk took him to a large wood pile which
was close to the house of the money-lender.
The premises had an aspect, not of thriftlessness, but of
carelessness for everything unconnected with finance. The barns which
sheltered the stock were well and neatly built. The house which
harbored the family was paintless and old, the clapboards were loose,
and some of the bricks had fallen from one chimney. It consisted of
an upright and a long, low wing which lapped beyond the taller part
of the dwelling. Montcalm was before the overlapping part and close
to the outside cellar stairs. On the back-stoop were a swill-barrel,
three swill-pails, some hoes and rakes and a rickety table made of a
long box, on which sat pans and kettles. Whatever was useful merely
in pleasing the eye or fancy was unnoticed by Green. Whatever added
to his wealth received from him studious attention.
Montcalm went down the cellar stairs, which were in front of the
stoop. His mask and padded jacket, annoying incumbrances in
midsummer, he stripped off; and taking an auger from his bundle, he
commenced to bore a hole in the cellar door, basing his calculations
on the account which Nora had given him of its fastening. The noise,
which he subdued as much as he could, might easily have been mistaken
for the gnawing of a rat. He pushed through the orifice a wire
instrument, and lifted a hook from the corresponding socket in which
it rested. The door, which opened outwardly, he blocked with a stone,
lest it should swing back and cause a strain on some attachment which
he had not yet discovered. He bored a second and a third hole and cut
out the spaces which intervened between them. Feeling through the
passage thus formed, his hand came in contact with a string which he
dared not critically examine. By means of the auger and a sharp knife
he further enlarged the aperture until he could push through it his
right arm and the fingers of his left hand, when, pulling the string
tightly from him, he severed it with his knife and immediately after
entered the cellar. An investigation showed the wisdom of his
precautions. The string was connected with a burglar-alarm, which, if
pulled, would have produced an explosion and might have brought ruin
upon his enterprise, perhaps discovery to the intruder. Montcalm
closed the door and lighted a small lantern. Boards which supported
milk-pans were suspended from the floor above. In a remote corner of
the cellar were some shelves which were in the course of erection. A
broad-ax, a saw and some short boards which had been cut from the
ends of the longer ones were on the upper of these shelves.
Montcalm's curiosity was excited by a barrel, an end of which a few
feet from the milk-shelves protruded some inches above the surface of
the ground. On examination it was found to be the curbing of a well.
When Green was poor, his ideas of economy told him that he could dig
a well with less labor from the bottom of the pit under his house
than from the surface of the ground; and, as he prospered, he
provided water for his horses and cattle at the barn, but that
necessity of his family was still carried from the cellar.
Montcalm donned his mask and padded jacket, and again his exterior
coincided with the nature of his errand. A second flight of stairs
led to the upper rooms, and up these Montcalm passed, bearing his
lantern. He stopped in front of a door, which he pushed gently back
and forth. He knew it was possible that this door, too, was connected
with a burglar-alarm, but he did not think it probable, as an
intruder could reach it only by passing through another, for security
of which greater than ordinary precautions had been used.
Gradually the door-bolt was worked from its socket, and Montcalm
stepped into a small closet, from which he emerged into a larger
room. Noiselessly going into the kitchen, he heard the light
breathing of Green and his wife in their bedroom which was, he
concluded, fastened against intrusion. Retreating to and through the
closet, he traversed the room above the cellar and came to a flight
of stairs, up which he climbed. One of the boards, as he stepped on
it, gave a warning creak, and he lifted from it his foot and set it
on the next stair.
Two bedrooms were partitioned from the main part of the chamber. In
one of these on the floor was a spring-bed on which was a lying a
man. As the man was long and the tick was short, about twenty inches
of uncovered feet and legs were hanging over the bare springs. Beyond
the legs were the lean body, the flaxen hair and weak, expressionless
face of William Henry Harrison.
As Montcalm by one of his long legs pulled him crosswise of the bed,
the half-wit exclaimed, "Oh, Misser Green, 'tain't mornin' yet!"
"'Tain't Misser Green," said Montcalm, "but it's some one that wants
to see Misser Green. Tell him to come up here."
Such was William Henry Harrison's terror at the rude awakening that
he could only stare at the figure, whose broad shoulders and
straggling sandy beard looked particularly savage in the light of the
lantern.
"Call Green up here," said Montcalm.
"Oh, no," answered William Henry Harrison, "I no call, I feel sick."
"You must do as I tell you. Have him come up here."
"No. He want to sleep. He git mad."
"And I'll get mad if you don't call him," said Montcalm. "Tell him to
come quick."
"He whip me," objected William Henry Harrison. "Take a big strap.
Maybe he kick."
"Are you going to do as I want you to?" asked Montcalm, shaking him
violently.
"Misser Green," called William Henry Harrison. "Misser Green, come up
here!"
"Call him again," ordered Montcalm, after he had waited to no purpose
for a response.
"Oh, Misser Green, Misser Green, come up here quick!"
"Keep still there, William Henry Harrison," shouted Green.
"Tell him you are sick," commanded Montcalm.
"Come up here," William Henry Harrison called. "I sick."
"Get well then," was Green's answer. "I guess you ain't in much
danger. I want to go to sleep."
"Tell him you are awful sick," said Montcalm.
"Oh, Misser Green," wailed the fearful half-wit, "I awful sick, I
goin' to die."
"You'll die if you don't shut up," replied Green. "I'll come up there
and drive you through the floor. Now you keep still, I don't want to
be awake all night."
"Tell him you are going to have a fit," was Montcalm's next order,
"Tell him you know it."
"Oh, Misser Green, I goin' to have a fit. I tell. I feel it. Oh, come
up now!"
"I'll give you a fit if I come up there," yelled Green, thoroughly
exasperated, "Now don't let me hear another word out of you
to-night."
"Tell him you are going to have a hard fit," said Montcalm.
"Oh, no. He come up. He whip."
"Say it quick," ordered Montcalm.
"He say he kill me."
"And I'll kill you if you don't."
"Oh, don't kill. Hurt. Make blood. Awful."
"Then," said Montcalm, "tell him you are going to have a fit, and you
know you are going to break things."
"Oh, Misser Green," cried the half-wit in desperation, "I goin' to
have awful fit. I break window. I break bed. I break house."
Montcalm emphasized the appeal by knocking out some pane of glass,
which went ringing below to the cellar wall and stairs. He also
jerked the bed, breaking a crosspiece, and struck the wall so
violently that a yard of loose plaster fell from the ceiling to the
floor. Then he closed his dark lantern.
"What's that full up to?" exclaimed Green, jumping out of bed and
hastily putting on his trousers. "I'd rather have a man of sense
around and pay him wages that to bother with an idiot. I'll be right
after you, young man!" he threatened as he proceeded toward the
chamber. "I'll thrash you with an inch of your life! You won't be
having any more fits or fussing for one while. What is this?" he
demanded, as his bare foot struck the plaster which had fallen in the
main part of the chamber. "What fool's caper is this?"
He started suddenly backward as Montcalm, stepping from the door of
the bedroom, presented a pistol at his head.
"Tell me where your money is," said the unwelcome visitor. "I can't
stay here long because my wife expects me home."
"What money?" asked Green.
"The money you got to-day," replied Montcalm, assuming a tone which
corresponded with his rough garb. "You can't fool me. I know you've
got it."
"It's gone," said Green.
"You lie," said Montcalm, clutching him by the throat. "Let me know
where it is, or I'll blow your brains out."
"It is gone," Green affirmed, "that is, the most of it. I took it
over to Sharptown, and I got back just at dark. I've got two thousand
dollars that I saved out for Osborne. You can ask Jane and she'll
tell you the same."
"Show me the two thousand then," said Montcalm, as he pushed the
slide to his lantern, "and don't you dare hang back, or play me any
tricks. Here, you fellow on the bed, you lie where you are till I
come back. And don't you stir. I'll lay this quilt over your legs,
just in this way, and I can tell if it is moved. If I find a wrinkle
of it changed, I'll shoot you when I come back."
So saying, Montcalm adjusted the quilt and followed Green, who in
silence led the way to the cellar. As they were leaving the small
closet, Montcalm's foot accidentally hit a pair of rubber boots,
which went tumbling down the stairs.
"There it is," said Green, as he pointed to the cellar wall. "It's
behind that stone. You couldn't tell it's loose, but it is. You'll
find it all in a long pocket-book."
"I rather you'd get it," replied Montcalm, following him to see that
nothing of value was left In the hiding-place.
The loose stone was near the unfinished milk-shelves and to reach it
the men were obliged to step over a long board which lay across some
saw-horses. Montcalm deposited his lantern on the board and
vigilantly watched the execution of his order. Reluctantly stepping
over another saw-horse and removing the stone from the mortar, which
at first sight appeared to be solid. Green drew out a long
pocket-book and handed it to Montcalm. They again stepped over the
saw-horse, and Montcalm, opening the pocket-book, examined its
contents. Green saw passing from him part of the riches the slave of
which he had been and still was. For it he had plowed, sown and
reaped, had taken the poor man's dollar and the widow's mite, had
repeatedly outraged his conscience.
Catching a loose slab, he dealt a sudden blow on the head to
Montcalm, who, staggering back, caught his legs on the saw-horse and
fell. Green followed his advantage. He struck again with the slab,
barely missing his aim; but as his weapon was clutched by the unknown
burglar, he precipitated himself upon him. Montcalm whose movements
were impeded by his thick jacket, succeeded in twisting from
underneath his antagonist and regaining his feet. His mask, which had
become unfastened, hung loose about his neck; and Green partly
unnerved him by giving a yell of recognition and pressing with
renewed vigor to the attack. Having a poor hold of his opponent, and
being in every way at a disadvantage, he felt his strength begin to
fail. As he was crowded close to the wall, his hand accidentally came
in contact with the broad-ax. In despair he seized it and struck. The
weapon seemed hardly to touch the man on whom it was turned, yet that
touch was sufficient to send him toppling over, extinguishing the
lantern in his fall.
The cellar was in almost total darkness. The scanty light which came
through the small windows, of which one was on the north side and one
on the west, was lessened by screens and thick masses of overhanging
vines, Montcalm threw aside the ax, groped hurriedly and found the
pocket-book, with the intention of escaping before Green arose. But,
as the seconds passed and there was no perceptible movement on the
part of his late adversary, he felt that he need not anticipate
immediate pursuit. He wondered that the stroke, which had but grazed
the head of his opponent, should produce unconsciousness. An
unconquerable desire seized him to learn what had been the result of
the blow which he had delivered. The knowledge, however, could be at
once gained only by an investigation, and from that investigation he
shrank. While he was groping for his lantern, he heard a sound which
filled him with an indescribable dread. It was the steady trickling
of some liquid into the well. Never before had he been so nervous. He
drew from his pocket a match, struck it against the wall, and dropped
it ere his purpose had been served. With trembling fingers he took a
second match and succeeded in igniting the wick of the lantern.
The sudden transition from darkness to light at first dazzled his
eyes. He saw barrels, the unhewn wall, the milk-shelves, and lastly a
object which he had previously overlooked. Green was lying nearly
lengthwise of a plank, which descended toward the well, and which had
one end resting on the curb and the other on an elevated and hardened
bed of water-lime. His head was on the edge of the plank and nearest
the well. A portion of the trunk and one arm also was on this
support, and the other upper limb was beyond it, while the remaining
parts of the body rested on the ground. No wound was visible, but
from some source a small stream of blood was passing down a
depression in the center of the plank to the well, where it caused
that trickling which had so wrought upon the nerves of Montcalm. The
depredator, as he turned over the prostrate form, dreaded what his
action might reveal, yet he was not prepared for such a spectacle as
met his gaze. The upper portion of the right side of the forehead,
including the skull and a thin section of brain, had been cleft and
now hung suspended by a piece of skin. Laid bare by that destructive
blow, the cerebrum showed its peculiar formation, though the
convolutions of its exterior were partly disorganized by the leveling
of the ridges. Much of the gray matter had been shaved from the
surface of the cut, or crowded into the irregular furrows; so that,
mingled with it, was the white from which the power of transmitting
nervous force had been suddenly and unexpectedly wrested.
A chill passed over Montcalm, which was not wholly a reaction from
excessive heat generated by his physical struggle. But a few minutes
before, and that cloven skull on which he was gazing had been the
habitation of a living intellect, that amorphous mass of brain had
been performing its normal functions; along those disfigured ridges
had been passing thoughts, which, perhaps, related to self and
self-aggrandizement, but which were those of a fellow-being. What
though the reflections had been of a mean and penurious character?
What though they had been on money and usury, on the oppression of
the poor? The interruption of their existence was no human right, and
woe to him by whom they were destroyed. Montcalm could scarcely
believe that the pasty substance which riveted his attention was not
even then the nursery of plans for revenge upon him, that sight had
fled from the eyes, that the open mouth was not about to denounce him
for his crime. The monotonous trickling into the well prolonged the
spell which bound him, as a sameness of sound, by holding the
external perceptives, sometimes prevents warning of the approach of
deceit and prepares the way for the capture of the reflective
faculties.
With an effort he turned from the senseless body and started toward
the outside door. As he did so, he stumbled over one of the rubber
boots which he had knocked down in his descent to the cellar, and
which had probably been long thrown aside by William Henry Harrison,
for they were large and full of holes. It was instinct, instead of
deliberative caution, which prompted him to draw on the boots and
walk several times across a strip of sand, thus making it apparent
that the murderer was a large man, or at least had large feet. The
skilled depredator, who had mastered the details of his profession,
and who habitually had them in readiness for his use, was actually
passing from the scene of the murder, leaving behind him the lantern
and the burglar tools, when he heard Mrs. Green call anxiously to her
husband. That cry in a measure loosed him from his lethargy of mind.
Gathering up his shoes, the tools and the lantern, he emerged from
the cellar, and walking around to the front of the house, proceeded
an eighth of a mile up the soft road to the southward, after which he
continued his way on the grass. Then he climbed into a meadow lying
between him and the wood which he had traversed in his approach to
the house. A large, low stump was in his path, and on it he seated
himself with no concern as to the advisability of his action.
This was, indeed, strange conduct for one whose interest it
unmistakably was to flee from a neighborhood which might at any
moment become dangerous. Possibly the sound of pursuit might have
roused him, might have led him to take measures for his safety; but
it did not come, and listless and dejected, he kept his seat.
The intervention of the barns kept him from seeing the house, in
which and in whose occupants alone he was interested. Crossing the
lane and reaching the spot where he had made his exit from the wood,
he was able to view Green's dwelling. A light was in the bedroom in
which had slept the late master of the house.
It soon passed from Montcalm's sight and reappeared from a window of
the upright. Again it was lost to his view, and again it was visible
as it entered the chamber and shone from the room of William Henry
Harrison. It was plain that Mrs. Green was making a search for her
husband, and probable that she would not abandon it until she found
him in the cellar. Montcalm had no curiosity or inclination longer to
stay so near the place where he had committed his felonious deed. So,
picking up his bundle, which, as may be supposed, was indifferently
arranged, he trudged slowly through the forest. And now, for the
first time, he experienced a fear, which approached certainty, that
his guilt would be detected. It was not the abject terror of the
coward. It was the conviction of a brave man who was willing to
struggle when there was hope, but who believed that he was menaced by
odds which it was useless to resist.
By the edge of the pond he halted. His mind, in that condition of
vacillation which follows a severe shock to conscience, had veered
from indifference, or rather stupor, to despairing expectation. In an
indecisive conflict reason and imagination contended as to whether
the monotonous night sounds were common and natural occurrences, or
the ominous portents of coming evil. To him the croaking of the
frogs, the low groaning and high wailing utterances of which came
incessantly from the pond, seemed to be an arraignment against which
he could made no defense.
He removed his outer garments and put on in their places those which
he had stored in the oak. There was no concealment which he
considered safe for the appliances of burglary and the evidences of
murder. Every location which he thought of had its disadvantages. The
open fields were being plowed and cultivated, the woods were rambled
through by hunters from Sharptown and Oakville, the swamp was nearly
dry and was daily visited by berrying parties. Bringing his
irresolution to an end, he put them all, the tools, disguise and
clothing, including the lubber boots and his shoes, inside the tree.
He placed his hand to his forehead. The touch was disagreeably harsh,
for his palm was coated with dried and stiffened blood.
Passing over the verdureless circle to the deep hole where the
remnant of the pond remained, Montcalm thrust his hand into the
water, that the congealed life fluid might be soaked and detached. He
applied also some of the roiled liquid to his forehead, forgetting
that little more than a stone's-throw from him was a clear spring.
As he left the pond, he reflected on the change which the night's
events had wrought in is prospects. He had meant to abandon evil.
While he was in his career of thieving and swindling, he had marked
out his intended course. He would first accumulate a competence. Then
he would marry some virtuous girl, between whom and himself existed a
strong affection, and he would live a life of morality, even
religion. Vanished was that dream of happiness. Judicious and good
courtship requires serenity. How could he talk the language of love
with such a secret weighing upon him, when every instant there posed
before him a vision with cloven forehead and protruding brain? He had
been engaged in wholesale trickery and theft, but blood he had
avoided. And now it had smeared his clothing, his hands and, worst of
all, his memory. An itching sensation was between the fingers of his
right hand. Mechanically feeling with his left, he found a snake-like
body, an extremity of which was imbedded in the skin. With a jump he
threw from him a leech which must have become attached as he bathed
in the pond. It was fully a minute before he realized by how trivial
an object he had been frightened. Again he encountered the sheep, and
again they fled before him. The act to which he had previously given
no significance he now interpreted as an indication that the very
brutes avoided his presence.