THE VILLAGE HAS A SENSATION.
The rain had quite dried from the withered grass in the road when
Wrengell left the residence of Briggs. Some men in a meadow at the
right were stirring hay, which would soon be fit to haul. In a field
belonging to a farm adjoining, a reaper was doing the first work in
harvest which John had seen that year.
It was not until Wrengell entered Break o'Day that he bethought
himself of his rough exterior. Had he considered in time, he would
have gone through the fields, thus avoiding the village, but it was
now too late to do so. Several loungers on the veranda of the hotel
stared at him, and one of them put down his paper and spoke to the
landlord about the mud-besmeared passer-by. John met Manie's friend,
Miss Holmes, as she was coming from Birch & Bigney's store. She bowed
pleasantly, but she was, he fancied, ashamed of their acquaintance.
Wrengell was annoyed by the scrutiny of some men who were peering
from a yellow building which bore the sign, I. J. H. Rorus. Their
curiosity, which bordered on impertinence, was indicated by earnest
gestures and one or two outstretched fingers which pointed directly
toward him. Used, as he had been, to snubs, he was not accustomed to
such insolent demonstrations; and he returned glances of defiance to
the group at the door of the drug-store. His fearless demeanor
prevented for a brief season the aggressive movement which was
intended. The men stood parleying on the steps, some rhetorical, some
argumentative, others fiercely denunciatory, each heedless of all
opinions save his own, none succeeding in making himself well
understood.
"Helloa, there," called Whipple, just as John had passed them.
"What's your name?"
The salutation was not the one most likely to propitiate an
individual who considered that he had already been the subject of
interest far too intense to be polite.
"When I am satisfied that you have a right to demand an answer, I
will give it," replied John.
"We'll see whether we have a right to question you," said the
flaxen-whiskered man, jumping from the steps. "Come on, boys. Now
will you tell us what your name is?"
"No," returned John. "Get out of my way, or I'll break some of your
heads."
"If I was in your place, I wouldn't be so cranky," said Briggs. "That
colt that followed you out of the swamp last night was stole, and
some of 'em think you took him."
"If that is the case," said John, "I recognize your right to ask the
question. Mr. Boyle knows me, do you not, Mr. Boyle?"
"I never saw you before," answered the sullen Alf, who had joined the
throng.
"Why, I was at your house last night," protested John. "Mr. Durgenson
introduced us."
"You wasn't there last night, nor never," affirmed Alf; "anyway you
never was when I was there."
The crowd hooted and jostling against one another, endeavored to
press closer to Wrengell.
"Grab him," yelled the flaxen-whiskered man.
It was advantageous to John that his enemies were packed closely
about him. Had they been excited by a rush, it is impossible to say
what violence they would have done. The seizure was merely an
extension of the captors' arms, to which John very quietly and
sensibly submitted. Many who were unable to get near him picked up
stones and clubs, staggered about and uttered loud threats.
"That is Dr. Rorus' drug-store," said John. "There is a man in there
whom I know."
"What did you say?" inquired Briggs. "They make so much noise. Keep
still a minute, boys, can't you?"
"Tell Loomis to come out," said John. "He knows me."
"Doctor," shouted Briggs, "where's Fred? This fellow says he knows
him."
"Gone to Sharp town," said the doctor. "Won't be back till to-night.
You had better confess this business, young man. The American people
are a magnanimous people. They are a great people. Confess it, young
man. If you do, Dr. Rorus is on your side. I tell you, when you've
got him, you've got a host."
"I am one of Major Ratke's hired men," said John. "I have worked for
him all summer and have formed some acquaintance, but none of them,
except your clerk, live here."
The crowd, gathered from the scum of Break o'Day and the surrounding
country, was gesticulating, contending, threatening. There were,
indeed, several who tried to protect the unfortunate Wrengell from
the general wrath. Inoffensive Jimmy Martin mildly protested that
they ought to give him "a show for his life." Keen contrition was
felt by Briggs for the account which he had given of John's exit from
the swamp. He had much exaggerated the facts, and the exaggeration
was likely to result in the murder of a man whom he believed he had
grossly wronged.
"Boys," he called, "less see what he's got to say for himself. We
don't want to hurt him till we find out whether he deserves it or
not."
"Take him down to the tree," said the flaxen-whiskered man.
The party moved down the street to an oak, the spreading branches of
which often afforded a shade to the villagers. Stakes had been
driven, one under the tree, another a few paces from it, and around
each had been worn depressions where the boys and men had pitched
quoits.
"Where's a rope?" called Boyle. "Somebody git a rope."
Half the mob started up the village, leaving the rest to guard
Wrengell. John saw no hope of rescue.
In the besotted, reddened faces around him was neither judgment nor
mercy. Those who were least intoxicated were almost invariably
hardest of heart by nature, and seemed to rejoice over the
circumstances which had delivered the prisoner into their hands.
Those who were naturally best disposed were, as a rule, too much
overcome by drink to have an exact perception of justice. He resolved
that, whatever pleasure they derived from his execution, they should
not have the satisfaction of seeing him weaken at the last moment. He
would die unflinchingly, without a word of entreaty. If the ruffians
expected to witness his dejection or terror, they should be
disappointed. If in the death-struggle his body yielded to the
convulsions of expiring nature, it should be when it was no longer
presided over by his will. To the south of him lay the swamp which he
had been so anxious to leave. Its aspect, as he stood in the power of
the brutal loungers, was far from forbidding to him. The tamaracks
were in two phalanxes. In the first were the short trees with their
conical figures, standing the advance guard of a mighty host. The
next were of high stature, but irregular in form, their tops lacking
the gradual taper which beautified those in the first body. Beyond
these, like giants in the rear of a throng, were the upland woods,
looking down on the outskirts of the hamlet, where savage men were
arranging a spectacle both fascinating and revolting.
Washington Street was in a tumult. A long inch rope had been obtained
and grasped by many hands, was being carried to the intended gallows.
Several business men of the town were accompanying the roughs and
vainly expostulating on the precipitancy of their action. Wingscheut
was with them, delivering a narrative only part of which could be
distinguished above the uproar. John was about to reckon on a
certificate of good character from his fellow-laborer, when he
reflected that the German had mistrusted him of having secured his
discharge from Ratke's. The vigilance of those about him had
lessened. They had scattered and were intent on inspecting the body
advancing with the rope. His left arm was clutched fiercely by Boyle;
his right was held in an indifferent grasp by young Blake, who was
between him and the tamaracks.
Suddenly he jerked loose his right hand and planted it on the jaw of
Boyle, who fell, momentarily stunned. As he whirled about, Blake
quickly moved aside. The only one now in his way was Briggs; and his
interviewer of the early morning, glad that he could partly nullify
the effect of his misrepresentation, purposely stumbled over a Stone
and allowed him to pass unmolested. Wrengell barely touched the fence
in leaping it. With light feet and swift steps he ran toward the
swamp, in the brush and quagmires of which he might find protection.
The disappointed mob, uttering yell after yell of rage, started in
pursuit. Among other cries John could plainly discern those of
Wingscheut, who did not recognize the fugitive, "Cetch te tam
horse-tief. Cetch te tam horse-tief."
The distance between him and the rabble was increasing. He could not
understand why they spread far to the left and right, unless it were
to prevent him from escaping in either direction lengthwise of the
swamp. The course which he took was undeviating. Some lazy cattle
directly ahead of him dashed out of his way as he ran almost against
them. Two men, one cradling and one binding, were at work in a small
field of wheat on a southern slope. John raced straight through a few
rods from them, leaving a path of lodged grain behind him. The owner
of the field, who was cradling, called to know "why in the name of
all possessed he was trampin' down his wheat." Undaunted by this
inquiry, Wrengell descended the hill and passed into the shelter of
some willow bushes, where he moderated his pace to a walk. Although
this was the asylum which he had sought, he was impatient at the
impediments to his progress and more uneasy that when he could watch
the movements of his enemies. He felt relieved as he entered the body
of low tamaracks which he had viewed from Break o'Day. But he could
not stop there. Every jungle, every fallen tree-top, in fact every
foot of ground was liable carefully to be searched. In the large
tamaracks, where there was less underbrush, he went with more
rapidity.
A gleam of water was before him. He was nearing a lake, which with an
area of half a section effectually barred his advance. The sound of
voices at his right prevented him from wheeling and skirting along
the bank. He, without practice as a swimmer, was on a point of land
surrounded by the water and his foes. In his pocket was a revolver
which he had obtained in a trade with Daggett, a cheap, rusted
weapon, the cylinder of which had to be turned by hand each time it
was fired. His pursuers, almost in sight, were crashing through the
swamp. He had decided to turn, draw his revolver and stake his chance
of escape on one determined charge, when across the point of land,
through the thin growth of trees, he discovered a boat. Not a minute
did he occupy in crossing the cape, but rapid as was his progress, it
did not bring him first on the spot which he wished to reach. Young
Blake and a companion gained the dock, barely in advance of him, and
stood, panting, to intercept his flight. With a flourish of his
revolver he dashed at the young men, who scrambled precipitately to
land, unheeding water, mud and reputation for courage. John's haste
was nearly as great as that of the foes whom he had frightened.
Slipping on the narrow dock, which was composed of a few poles, he
fell into the water, regaining his footing as Alf Boyle emerged from
the tamaracks. To his discomfiture he found the boat locked. He must
act with decision, for a reinforcement of roughs was but a few rods
distant. He seized the chain and pulled with his entire strength, but
the fastening remained secure. In desperation he clutched a paddle
and pushed. The chain straightened, the lock gave way; the momentum
had accomplished what the steady force could not.
Alf in the mean time had traversed the dock. His eye, which the night
before had avoided John, was now fixed upon him with a brute
ferocity. Seeing the boat sheering away from him, he sprang into the
lake and grasped its gunwale, nearly overturning it. At the instant
he was raising himself to clamber on board, he received from John's
paddle a blow on the head, which loosened his hold and obliged him to
seize the dock to keep from sinking. Several young men leaped into
the lake, but they were kept from a near approach to John by the
splashing of water into their faces and the sight of the paddle,
which was menacingly uplifted. The gathering mob cast curses and
sticks at the fugitive, but the demonstrations only showed their
present impotence to do him harm. It was fortunate for John that
there were no fire-arms among them; for, had they possessed them,
they certainly would not have hesitated to use them.
Wrengell, perspiring and fatigued from his long run, did not feel at
liberty to pause. He did, however, wait long enough to remove his
coat and vest, which had much impeded his flight. Near the opposite
shore and a considerable distance apart were two boats laden with
fishermen. After repealed signaling and shouting they understood that
they were expected to stop an escaping horse thief. They unfastened
the chains from the anchoring poles and guided their vessels so as to
bring them across Wrengell's route. In an emergency rashness is
sometimes safer than caution. John altered his course, steering
directly for the nearer craft. Amazed at his audacity, the fishermen
slackened their speed. Wrengell was within what he considered good
rifle range when, turning the rusted cylinder of his revolver and
elevating the muzzle, he fired. He was little practiced and had no
dexterity in pistol-shooting, but to his astonishment and their
dismay, the bullet struck close to the prow of the foremost boat.
Careful to turn the weapon slightly to one side, he fired a second
time; and the missile, whizzing past them, struck the water with a
cutting plunge. The paddles which propelled the craft stopped moving,
and the occupants looked from one to another in mute inquiry. While
they were deliberating, Wrengell pulled toward them as if he were
anxious for an encounter. Convinced that they were dealing with one
of the most bloodthirsty of horse-thieves, who was bent on
slaughtering the entire party, they paddled manfully to the eastern
end of the lake. Those in the second boat, finding themselves
unsupported, made off in the direction of the western extremity. The
crafts skirted the opposite ends of the lake, so as to be well out of
reach of the dreaded outlaw, and in response to the frantic shouting
and waving of hats crossed over to transport the crowd at the dock.
John strengthened the impression which he had made by sending after
them two more shots. He then struck out for the southern shore, where
he halted a moment to rest. The fishermen were making their best time
to relieve the impatience of the waiting party. Messages were yelled
back and forth, but most of them came from the shore, for the men on
the water were putting forth too much other exertion to indulge
freely in vocalization.
Wrengell threw his coat and vest into the tall grass, and after a
short pause continued his way. The swamp at this place offered no
security. Above or below him he believed it to be denser and he
determined to go to the eastward, away from the rabble of Break
o'Day, away from the only community which had ever really respected
him, away from the woman whom he loved, whose love he had hoped to
secure. His appearance with the colt at Briggs' at such an hour and
in such a condition, his refusal to tell his identity at the village,
the absence of the slightest evidence to explain his whereabouts
during the latter portion of the night must tell heavily against him
should an accusation be preferred. He had shown the bearing of a
hardened desperado. He had turned savagely on those who sought to
retake him, as if he had become accustomed to conflicts in following
unlawful occupations. He had fired upon and barely missed inoffensive
fishermen, whose only aggressiveness to him had been that with no
hostile demonstration they had presumed to come within range of his
revolver. His dreams of respectability were dissipated. The public
would inquire about his antecedents, and his miserable parentage
would be made known. With his deformed foot, with the criminal record
of his father and his mother, with his own perpetuity of the family
reputation for felony how could he win esteem? He decided to go to
the higher ground, which, because of its superior footing, he would
follow for several miles, returning to the swamp when he had
traversed that space.
A short walk brought him to the elevated forest which he had viewed
from the village. He was on the watershed of the lower Michigan
peninsula. The lake which he had crossed was one of a series emptying
through Huron River into Erie. The streams on the opposite side of
the table-land went westward and, passing around Mackinac through the
upper part of the great lake-chain, arrived at the same destination.
The wide spaces between the high tamaracks below John allowed him to
see the surface of the water, which was hardly disturbed by a ripple.
The boats had started to recross. Filled with excited men and
impelled by clumsy substitutes for oars, including poles and boards,
they veered from side to side as the misdirected efforts of the rival
paddlers alternately prevailed.
John started through the woods on a trot, which he intended to
maintain for an hour. He had no apprehension that they would
immediately overtake him, for he had fairly outrun them at the
beginning of the race. His greatest fear was that some of them would
procure horses and, proceeding along the road, head him off, after
which they would make a diligent search. He arrived presently at a
field, which he deemed it injudicious to cross. In order to avoid
exposing himself to view he was obliged to sheer farther from the
swamp, passing along the edge of the timber. The field at his left
gave place to a growth of bushes and small trees. Not exactly liking
the route which he had chosen, he climbed a fence for the purpose of
entering the thicket. He stood a moment on the top rail, listening
for the sounds of pursuit. As he was about to descend, the rotten
rail broke and he was precipitated heavily to the ground. He strove
to rise, but a sharp pain shot through his ankle, which refused to
bear his weight. He was crippled and defenseless, and near him were
enemies who, if they were before relentless, were now exasperated. He
had fallen at the edge of a blackberry thicket, the paths of which at
frequent intervals indicated that the place was much visited. In the
hope of finding a jungle which might screen him, he crawled for a few
feet, but the briars which pierced his hands soon induced him to try
another mode of travel. His next experiment was hopping, which had
also its disadvantages. The bushes caught in his clothes, threw him
off his balance, and aggravated the pain in his injured limb. He
again went on his hands and knees, regardless of the injury to his
flesh. As he was thus advancing, he came without warning near a
woman, who with her back toward him was picking berries.
With the intention of silently stealing away he partly arose and was
about to execute his purpose, when the berry-picker, hearing a slight
noise, turned around and faced him. An exclamation of surprise, which
bordered on alarm, burst from the woman, who was Mrs. Boyle.
But she quickly recovered her composure as she perceived that her
rough-looking visitor was the young man in whom she had been so
interested the preceding night. Her countenance expressed some
displeasure, which undoubtedly arose from her inability to understand
why Wrengell should use such secrecy in his approach.
"They are after me!" exclaimed John, "a crowd of drunken men! They
think I am a horse-thief! You can hear them in the woods yonder."
"They are coming," said Mrs. Boyle, in a frenzied manner. "I don't
know where you can hide. What shall we do? Oh, dear! What shall we
do?"