STELLA made excuses to John Graham for not being able to see him before
their appointment to meet at Inwood, and on the afternoon of the day
fixed rode out of town at four o’clock alone.
Her unconventional ways had ceased to excite comment in Independence
since her extraordinary conduct in refusing to wear mourning for her
father. There could be no graver breach of the traditions of good
society than this in the eyes of her neighbours, and so long as she
remained within the pale of respectability any other feat she might
perform would be of minor interest.
She rode rapidly, her mind in a tumult of excitement over the daring act
of revenge she meant to wreak to-night on the man who had wronged her
beyond the power of human forgiveness. Singlehanded and alone she had
mastered his will and brought him to her feet. Single-handed and alone
she had decided the question of his life and death. And this afternoon
she wished to ride alone to the place appointed for his judgment.
In spite of her resolution to mete out the sternest justice to John
Graham, the memory of his passionate words of love, the deep tenderness
with which he had hovered about her, and the utter trust he had shown
during their last meeting, began to torment her.
Had they met under fair conditions she could have loved him. She began
to see it clearly now. His sincerity, his fiery emotions, his romantic
extravagances, the old-fashioned chivalry with which he worshipped
her were very sweet. The complete and generous surrender he had made,
placing his life absolutely in her hands, began to glow with poetry in
her imagination.
He had always possessed the faculty of drawing out the best that was
in her. Somehow she had never been able to hate him as she ought in
his presence. There was something contagious in the spirit of love with
which his whole personality seemed to radiate. She had begun to feel at
home with him as with no other man she had ever met.
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry!” she sighed, as she entered the deep woods.
Unconsciously she reined her horse to a stand, and was startled from her
reverie by a tear rolling down her cheek and falling on her glove.
“What a fool I am!” she cried in anger. “I’d better turn back now. I’m a
chicken-hearted coward when put to the test. I’m scared out of my senses
at the size of the task I’ve undertaken--that’s what’s the matter--I,
who have boasted of my strength and shouted my triumph over a strong
man’s conquest.”
Another tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away with an angry
stroke.
“Suppose I find too late that I’m in love with him!” she exclaimed,
helplessly.
Her horse moved on without her urging or recognising it, so absorbed had
she become in the battle raging within her heart.
“What is love?” she mused aloud. “I wonder how it feels to really
love?--Love him?--nonsense--I hate the very ground he walks on--the
self-centered, proud, bigoted, narrow-minded fanatic! I’ve sworn to avenge
my father’s death. I’ll do it. Let him come to-night to the judgment
hall of his own making. I’ll prove myself a woman, and do my country a
service when I hand him over to justice.”
She touched her horse with the whip, and he bounded forward in a swift
gallop, and in a few minutes she passed into the old lawn and saw the
flash of the white ghost-like columns among the dark firs.
Again she found herself recalling the silly extravagances of his talk as
they entered the grounds two days before.
“What was it he said about angels?” she mused with a smile. “Yes, I
remember. Somehow I seem to remember them all!--‘When I stand by
your side, in every silent space I hear the beating of the wings of
angels’--and I liked it! what a fool a woman is! and tried to convince
myself that I didn’t like it by adding, ‘the wings of the angel
of death,’ only because I felt my hate grow weak under a silly
compliment--well, I’m done with his maudlin love-making. It’s judgment
day.”
She dismounted, tied her horse, and wandered down the little crooked
pathway to the famous spring at the foot of the hill where many a lover
had lingered in days long past and poured out the old story that remains
eternal in its youth. She wondered at the mad resolution of her mother,
taken perhaps on this very spot twenty-five years ago, that had led her
to break the bonds of blood, throw to the winds every tie of tenderness
that bound her to the earth, and brave the scorn of her own proud world,
all for the sake of the son of a poor white man--because she loved him!
Why did people do such idiotic things? Why should a woman thus sink her
soul and body in the fortunes of a man? She couldn’t understand it.
“Surely this is the miracle of miracles of human life!” she murmured. “I
wonder if John Graham was crazy when he said that night on the lawn:
‘If you should send me from your presence now, I’d laugh at Death, for I
have tasted Life!’ Why do I keep thinking of what he has said?--Perhaps
because he may die to-night!”
She sprang to her feet, clasped her hands nervously and began to
cry--softly at first, and then with utter abandonment, sinking again to
the ground and burying her face in her arm.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! I’m lonely and heartsick and afraid!” she sobbed. “I
wish I had a friend to share my secret, advise and help me--yes, such
a friend as he would be!--he’d know what I ought to do--and I know what
he’d say, too--that I’m proud and cruel and selfish--that I’m doing a
hideous, unnatural thing--well I’m not! the impulse for vengeance
is God’s first law--I know it because I feel it, deep, instinctive,
resistless!--and I’m going to do it! I’m going to do it!--I hate him! I
hate him!”
She rose and returned to the ruins, and sat down on the steps between
the white columns. The sun was sinking through an ocean of filmy clouds,
reflecting in rapid changes every colour ever dreamed in the soul of
the artist. She watched in deep breathless reverence, until the sense of
loneliness again overpowered her and she sprang up with restless energy
exclaiming:
“I meant to explore that room before he comes--I must do it.”
She descended the steps and stopped before the dark entrance. It hadn’t
seemed so dark the other day with him. It was earlier in the day of
course. Why had she paused? The question angered her. She was afraid to
go through the long dark corridor alone--that was the disgusting truth.
She turned back to await his coming. What a foolish contradiction.
She would wait for the protection of the wretch she meant to deliver
to-night to--death!
She returned with quick angry strides to the columns, and leaned against
one of their friendly sides. In the gathering twilight they seemed human
and sheltering in their protection. She wished he would come. A dozen
times she looked toward the gate and thought she heard the beat of his
horse’s hoof in the distance.
Dusk settled into darkness and still he did not come. The moon rose and
touched the tall pillars above with a magic glow of mellow light, and a
whip-poor-will struck the first note of his thrilling song beneath the
bush at her feet.
With a shudder, she moved to the outer column and waited with increasing
impatience and alarm. The wildest fears began to fill her fancy. Why had
she dared this mad task alone? For some unaccountable reason she had not
reckoned on being alone.
Was it possible that she had been so illogical, so utterly bereft of
reason that the idea of his companionship had filled her imagination?
Surely she had not been such a fool! She knew Steve Hoyle would
accompany those men, beyond a doubt, and join her after the affair was
over, but she had not given Steve a thought. He had been but a cog in
the wheel of things that had swiftly moved to the tragic crisis which
she now faced for the first time. She looked at her watch in the bright
moonlight and it was half past eight. What if he failed to come! Would
she be glad or angry? The tumult of feeling had reached a point of
intensity that paralysed her powers of reasoning--she didn’t know. A
single sense remained, the consciousness of chilling loneliness.
With a throb of joy she caught at last the quick hoof-beat of John’s
horse sweeping through the gateway in a furious gallop.
He leaped to the ground, and hurried to her side.
“I’m awfully sorry!” he cried, seizing both her hands with eager
tenderness. “A most unexpected thing occurred which delayed me thirty
minutes. I’ll explain to you later. Come, I’m hungry to see your dear
face in the light of these lanterns in that gloomy old room below. I’ve
a thousand things to tell you. Life will be too short a time in which to
tell it all. I hope you’ve been very lonely and hungry for me to come?”
“I must confess, my heart began to fail me once or twice,” she said
seriously, while he felt her hand trembling.
He stooped to light a lantern, and she caught his arm.
“Wait, not yet--the moon is shining brightly--we don’t need it.”
“But you’ll stumble on those dark stairs in the corridor.”
“No matter, wait,” she urged nervously; “I’ll hold your arm--you know
the way.”
“Yes, I know the way,” he laughed. “Come then, your slightest whim is
law.”
He drew her little hand through his arm and picking his steps carefully,
led her down through the tangled debris and along the dark corridor
without once stumbling, the timid figure clinging close to his side.
“You see a revolutionist soon learns to find his way in the dark without
a light,” he said, as they emerged into the kitchen whose wide space was
lighted by the moonbeams streaming through the windows.
He released her arm, placed the lantern and a bundle he carried on the
top of the range, and said with a laugh:
“Now, shall the actor make up for his part? I’ve the costume all ready.
This is the palace of the queen to-night. I have been commanded to
appear before her!”
She gave no answer.
He bent and kissed her hand and found it cold and trembling violently.
“You feel the chill of this old basement,” he said with tender
solicitude. “I’ll light the lantern at once.”
She caught his hand.
“No! No!--I--prefer it like this--the moonlight is enough.”
“All right,” he answered gaily. “Shall I don my robes as ruler of the
Invisible Empire to please the fancy of Your Majesty?”
He opened the bundle and shook out the long white ulster-like disguise
with its double cross of scarlet and gold.
“Put it back--I’m not ready yet!” she gasped.
“You’ll laugh and chat a while with the audience before the curtain goes
up on the drama!--good! I’ve a lot to say. Sit here in the window while
I tell you something.”
He led her to the low casement of the window and seated her by his side.
She sprang to her feet instantly, grasping at her heart, her breath
coming in quick gasps:
“What’s that!--Listen!”
He took her hand soothingly:
“Why, it’s only our horses neighing to each other.”
“You’re sure?” she whispered.
“Of course.”
“I thought it was something else,” she faltered. “My poor little
darling! This has been too much for your nerves--you should have allowed
me to come with you.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I did make a mistake!” she said in low strained tones.
“Well, there’s nothing to be afraid of now--is there?” he said
assuringly.
“No! there’s nothing to be afraid of now--is there?” she laughed
hysterically, and suddenly stopped with a suppressed scream.
“My darling!” he exclaimed.
“Listen! Listen! My God, what’s that?”
“It’s nothing dear.”
“It is! Listen! I hear them coming!”
“Impossible, my child, we’re all here!” he laughed. “How could you guess
there was anyone coming except you and me?”
“Oh, dear, you don’t understand, and I can’t explain!” she went on
frantically. She looked at her watch and couldn’t see.
“Quick, strike a match and see what time it is--we can get away!” she
whispered.
He struck the match and saw her eyes gleaming with a strange madness.
Stella blew the match out, seized his arm and drew him from the window.
“Not there--by the window--over here in this corner.”
“He struck another match and she masked its light from the window,
staring with wide-set eyes at the hands of her watch.
“It’s half past nine. It’s too late!” she said hopelessly.
“Come, come, my darling, remember that I am by your side--nothing can
harm you except the tongue of gossip, and you’ve shown your contempt for
that. Sit down here again in the moonlight and let me tell you the story
of my love.”
He led her back to the window and she sank tremblingly by his side.
“I’ve never had the chance to tell you,” he began, with low passionate
tenderness, “what a wonderful thing your love has been in my life. The
night I met you, I went to your house drunk, with murder in my heart,
determined to use the lawless power I wielded to crush your father. I
was about to leave with a threat to kill him on my lips. It was no idle
threat then. I had entered the vault, pushed open its massive door,
stepped inside and saw the way was open.”
“The night you came first, you entered alone the secret way?” she
interrupted.
“Yes, I meant to use it if necessary.”
“But you never did! You never did!” she whispered.
“How could I, dearest! I saw your face that night for the first time,
heard the low music of your voice, touched your hand, and I was a
new man! Love, not hate, has ruled me since. I disbanded the Klan
immediately and ordered my men never again to use its power.”
“Disbanded the Klan!” she repeated with choking surprise.
“Yes, and a dastard reorganised it as a local order to further his low
ambitions. I’ve done my best to hold in check their crimes and follies.
I warned your father of danger the night those fools came. In a madness
of love, fear and jealous rage I came down to the house, sat there in
dumb pain and watched your beautiful form whirl past the lighted window
until I could endure it no longer.” Stella strangled a sob.
“I’ve reproached myself a hundred times I didn’t prevent that masquerade
by force. I might have done it. I had some faithful old soldiers from
the foothills in town that day whom I had used to capture the scoundrels
who committed the outrage on old Nicaroshinski.”
“Hush! hush! before I scream!” Stella cried in anguish, placing her hand
on his lips.
Suddenly a white figure stood before the window and his whistle rang
through the still night.
Stella sprang to her feet gasping, with horror:
“My God! they’ve come: I must save you! Hide! Hide and give me your
revolver--they shall not take you--quick--quick--hide!”
“But, my dear, there’s not the slightest danger. No man who wears that
uniform will lift his hand against me--see, I’m going to answer his call
with my own signal.”
He lifted the whistle to his lips and she snatched it from his grasp.
“Don’t! Don’t for God’s sake, don’t! you don’t
understand--Oh!--John--darling--I love you! I love you!”
She threw herself into his arms and kissed him, passionately sobbing.
“I’ve tried to hate you, dear, but I couldn’t--I couldn’t--I know now
I’ve loved you always! I must save you, God help me!”
“Well, sir?” called a voice without.
“It’s all right! Come in, boys!” he answered before Stella could stop
him. She huddled in his arms paralysed for the moment with terror.
“You must not!--they will kill you, dear!” she moaned in agony.
“Nonsense, child, the boys have only a little surprise for us.”
Their feet were already echoing in the corridor and their voices could
be heard in whispers and low laughter.
“Hide! please, for the love of God!” she gasped. With sudden fierce
strength she pressed him into the shadows and stood panting before him,
while the silent ghost-like figures ranged themselves solemnly around
the room.
“Stella, my dear, you must not suffer like this--there is no danger,
these are all my men.”
“Your men!--your men!” she cried, bewildered.
“Yes, I brought them here to-night in full costume to make a little play
complete for the fancy of a queen!”
“My darling,” she sobbed, sinking in his arms.
“We unexpectedly met some ugly customers from the hills we had seen once
before. A little pitched battle delayed us thirty minutes, but none of
our boys were hurt.”
“Kiss me!” she whispered.
A distant whistle rang through the woods and the picket outside
answered.
“What’s that?” Stella gasped.
“He blew the signal, ‘message for the Chief’; he’s from town, I’m
afraid,” John answered.
A horse’s hoof echoed on the flagstones before the columns, and in a
moment the picket rushed to the window.
“Bad news, sir!”
“What is it?” John asked quietly:
“A regiment of United States cavalry slipped into town just after dark.”
“I’ve been looking for it,” John broke in. “Well?”
“A squadron has surrounded Mrs. Wilson’s boarding house to wait for
you.”
“Merciful God! what have I done!” Stella sobbed inaudibly.
John touched her hand soothingly at the sound of her sob, bent low and
whispered tenderly:
“It’s all right--dearest--you love me!”
BOOK III--PRISONER AND TRAITOR
CHAPTER I--THE ARREST
THE news of the arrival of the regiment of cavalry, and the swift
silent way in which they had struck their first blow, brought to John
Graham at once a sharp realisation of the danger of his men.
Releasing Stella, he turned to the white figures gathered in an excited
group and in short sharp accents said:
“I thank you boys for your kindness in coming to the little masquerade
we had prepared to celebrate the announcement of my engagement to the
woman who is the queen of my heart. Sorry the Yanks have interrupted us.
Get home as fast as your horses can carry you. Burn your costumes the
minute you reach a safe place. Hide them under your saddles as usual
until you can burn them. Leave one at a time and go home by unused roads
if possible. And listen--every man of you who can, should leave the
state in twenty-four hours and stay until the trouble blows over.”
“What are you goin’ to do?” asked a tall masked figure.
“Don’t worry, Dan. I’ll look out for myself. You boys do the same and do
it quick.”
“We’ll stan’ by you if ye give the word,” persisted Dan.
John left Stella’s side, stepped to the men and growled:
“I’ve given the word. Run, and run like hell!”
“We don’t like the orders, Chief, but orders is orders--git boys!”
The men quickly disappeared, and John took Stella’s hand:
“Come, dearest, we must go.”
“Yes,” she answered, timidly clinging to his arm and holding him back.
“We must hurry,” he urged.
“I won’t hurry,” she said with tender wilfulness.
“When a woman won’t, she won’t,” John laughed.
She gently stroked his hand and slowly slipped her arm in his as she
allowed him to lead her out into the moonlight beside the white silent
pillars.
“Wait here until I bring the horses,” John said, gently disengaging his
arm.
Stella clung to him firmly.
“No, don’t go yet. Why hurry? Let them wait. I wish to be alone with you
for a while here on this beautiful spot. It’s all so new and wonderful.
This knowing that I love and am loved! I’ve just begun to live the past
hour. I’m afraid to go back to the world.”
“I must face some stern realities to-night. But you love me. That’s
the only thing of any importance. What do jails matter? They can only
imprison the body--my soul will follow you, hover about you, laugh and
cry with you day and night, waking or dreaming.”
“They won’t put you in jail to-night, dear?” she asked, piteously.
“Yes.”
“Then you shall not give yourself up to them! You’ll let me have my own
way now that you know that I love you, won’t you, John dear? There!
I’ve called your name for the first time--haven’t I?--I love your
name!--You’re not going to give up to them--are you?”
“I see no other way, dearest.”
“You told your men to fly. Our horses are fresh. We can put miles
between us and these troops before day. I’ll go with you, just as I am
in this riding habit--no matter--I’ll get a dress somewhere when you’re
out of danger.”
He slipped his arm about her, bent his tall form, and stopped her with a
kiss.
“How sweet to hear you talk this beautiful nonsense!”
“I mean it,” she hurried on earnestly. “We must leave to-night, I don’t
know what they may do to you. Something terrible--maybe--I can’t think
of it! Something may happen to separate us. I want to feel your hand
clasping mine like this forever!”
He answered by crushing the little hand in his.
“You won’t go back and let them arrest you, will you, John?” she
pleaded, a sob catching her voice.
He was silent and a smile played about his mouth.
“Answer me, John dear! You must do as I say because life is too sweet
and beautiful to lose it! You will leave if I go with you--won’t you?
My whim you said should be your law. This is my whim, my heart’s desire.
Get the horses now, and we’ll make them fly as far from Independence
to-night as their heels can carry us! You’ll do this because I ask
it--won’t you, darling?”
The little head began to droop, the voice broke, and she lay sobbing in
his arms.
He held her close for a moment.
“You know this is impossible, dear!”--he said tenderly.
“Yes, I know!” she sobbed.
“My business is to save others now.”
“At least, you’ll go by the house and stay with me a little while?”
“They’ll think I’m hiding.”
“Who cares what they think? I can’t go home alone, can I?”
“Of course, I’ll stop a moment. And now we must hurry.”
He brought the horses and they galloped back to town in silence. Along
a dark rough place of the road, they slowed down to a walk, and his hand
sought hers.
“What a strange ending to the most wonderful day of my life!” she
suddenly cried with passionate tenderness.
“Why strange?” he asked. “I never had a doubt that you would love me. It
was written in the Book of Life.”
“But I didn’t know it until to-night.”
“Tell me, dear,” he pleaded; “what sudden flash revealed the truth?”
“Don’t ask me!” she said with a shiver. “I’ll tell you some day.”
“Why not now? This has been a wonderful day for me. I shall never live
its like again. I heard for the first time the one woman I love, the
only woman I ever loved, the one woman I shall love forever, speak the
sweetest words that ever fell from human lips.”
“I love you--I love you!” she softly repeated.
“But tell me how you came to know it to-day?” he urged.
“It’s a secret--one I fear that will give me many an hour of anguish.
I’ll tell you, dear--but not now.
“I’ll share it with you when you’ll let me.”
“Not this one, John. I need to bear it alone to keep me humble, and
sweeten with suffering and fear the bitter, selfish impulses that fight
within me. Oh, I want to be good and tender and beautiful and true now!”
“How full of strange moods you’ve been tonight!” he exclaimed.
“Have I dear?”
She caught his hand and pressed it tenderly.
The lights of the town flashed in view from the hill.
They galloped boldly down the main street and into the lawn. As they
passed the cabin at the gate, Isaac’s face appeared a moment at the
door.
“I didn’t know old Isaac had returned?” John remarked.
“Nor did I,” she replied; “he must have come with those troops.”
A tremor caught her voice as she recalled that Ackerman was in
communication with Isaac, and the cords she had been winding about the
man by her side began slowly to tighten around her own throat.
He tried to leave her at the door, but she drew him inside.
“You can’t go yet.”
“I must hurry, my love,” he protested. “Those men will think I’m a
coward. I should have been at home when they called.”
“Sh!”----
She placed her hand over his lips, ignoring his plea.
“I’ve a little experiment to make. My whim is law. Go stand there in the
alcove with your hat in your hand fumbling it.”
Laughing with girlish excitement she pressed him into the exact spot he
stood the night she first met him, drew back, and gazed tenderly into
his face, her big brown eyes dancing with the hysterical strain of the
deep half-conscious fear for his safety which had begun to strangle her.
“Have you forgotten the first scene in the drama of our life?” she
asked, slowly approaching him with extended hand.
He clasped it with a smile.
“I shall not forget it if I live to be a hundred years old,” he said
reverently.
“And yet, you are trying to hurry away from me to-night again. Don’t you
like the picture as well now?”
“A thousand times better, dearest,” he cried. “The love that shines in
your eyes will make radiant the darkest hour of life. I’ve nothing now
to fear. Perfect love has cast out fear. My way’s a shining one whether
it leads to a palace or a prison.”
“Come into the dining room,” she whispered, leading him through the door
and seating herself at the head of the table. “You remember the night we
sat together here?”
“Do I!”
“Would you believe me if I told you that I tried to make you love me
that night?”
“You said you tried to hate me.”
“But we can’t always do what we try--can we?” she asked wistfully.
“You did that night I’m sure.”
“And yet, I’m failing to-night!” she sobbed, unable to keep back the
tears, “just when I’ve told you that I love you, and the joy and wonder
of it all has begun to light the world. Before I’ve thought only of
myself. To-night I’m thinking only of you, my sweetheart! Just as I’ve
learned to speak your name I feel you slipping away from me--oh, John
darling, what will they do to you? Tell me--tell me!”
“They can only put me in jail to-night.”
“But they shall not--they shall not!” she moaned, clinging close to him.
“You shall not let them! You shall not leave this house except to fly
with me.”
Stella’s words choked into sudden silence at the shrill angry notes of
Aunt Julie Ann’s voice ringing in the hall:
“Git out er dis house, I tells ye, ‘fo I bus’ yo head open wid dis door
weight.”
“Mind your own business,” snapped the angry reply.
“I’se mindin’ my own business. Git out dat door, an’ knock ‘fo yer come
in! An’ I lets yer in when I gits ready--when my mistis say yer kin
come!”
“Faith, an’ I’ll slap ye head off ye shoulders, if ye don’t kape still,”
growled the trooper.
“What do you want in here, yer low-life sluefooted Yankee?”
“If it’s just the same ter ye, I wants Mr. John Graham, me dusky
maiden!”
John suddenly released himself from Stella’s clinging form and stepped
through the door into the hall.
“I’m John Graham. What is It?”
“You’re my prisoner, sir, ye’ll have to come with me!”
“I’m ready.”
The sergeant took a step toward John, drawing a pair of handcuffs from
his pocket.
Stella sprang between them, her eyes blazing with rage:
“How dare you enter my house without my permission?”
The sergeant stopped in sheer amazement at the fury of her outburst.
Recovering himself with a smile he replied:
“Axin yer pardon m’am, it may be rude, but hit ain’t writ in our book
of etiquette ter knock at the front door when we’re huntin’ fer a man
charged with murder.”
“But he’s not guilty!” Stella stormed.
“I believe ye, Miss--ye’d have an easy time with me. But I ain’t the
Coort!”
“Stella, dear,” John pleaded.
“Leave this house!” Stella cried with fury.
“Sure m’am, but yer friend comes wid me,” said the sergeant, taking
another step toward John.
“I tell you he’s not guilty! It’s all a mistake. I’ll explain to your
commander in the morning.”
John smiled in spite of himself.
“Stella dear, this is nonsense. The sergeant is acting under orders. I
must go at once.”
“Ye see, m’am!” said the sergeant with a polite bow.
“All right then, sergeant,” said Stella, suddenly changing her tone,
“I’ll excuse you for your rudeness; I’ll go with you.”
“You mustn’t, my love,” John protested.
“Yes, I’m going with you, but I’ve had nothing to eat. We must have
supper--it’s waiting. Aunt Julie Ann, show the sergeant downstairs and
give him supper. Mr. Graham will be ready in half an hour, sergeant.”
The trooper looked doubtfully at John and at Stella, smiling.
“All right m’am. It’s agin my principles as a soldier to leave a good
supper to spoil--an’, axin yer pardon agin, I’ll station one o’ me
men at each door an’ window to make sure we wont lose any of our party
durin’ the festivities. It’ll be more sociable like to feel that we’re
all here.”
The sergeant placed his men and followed Aunt Julie Ann to the kitchen.
Stella drew John to the old davenport:
“Quick, John darling, through the old secret way--the way of love----”
“Dearest!” he said reproachfully.
She extended her hand to press the spring in the panel.
“Quick, the soldier at the door can’t see you. I’ll stand in front. Wait
for me in the vault. I’ll let them search the house and when they go,
I’ll join you and we can leave before daylight.”
“I must face it. There’s no other way.”
“Yes, yes, this way--the old sweet way of love! I can’t let them take
you--you’re mine now--I love you--I love you!--John, dear, he has
big ugly handcuffs. He was going to put them on you--didn’t you see
him?”--her voice faltered.
“Yes, I saw him.”
“I can’t stand it, John, I can’t--oh, dear, you don’t understand, and I
can’t explain--You love me?”
“Better than life and deeper than death.”
“And yet you refuse my heart’s desire?”
“Only in this. I’m done with lawlessness. I’m not a coward. I’ve led a
successful revolution. It had to be, and now with silent lips I’ll face
my accusers.”
A hot tear fell on his hand.
“Come, dearest, you must help me,” he pleaded.
“Yes, yes, I will,” she faltered, brushing the tears away. “Come then,
we will have this one little supper together, shall we not?”
“Yes. I want to look across that old table into your face again.”
He chatted gaily through the supper and she sat silent, choking back the
sobs, unable to eat.
The sergeant bowed at the door:
“Axin yer pardon m’am, but I must hurry now.” John rose and the trooper
again drew his handcuffs, Stella watching him with wide-set eyes. “I’m
sorry, sir, I’ll have to put ’em on.”
“It’s all right, sergeant,” he answered.
Stella sprang between them and placed a trembling little hand on the
trooper’s.
“Please, sergeant!”
“Orders, m’am, I’m sorry.”
“Please--for--my--sake--don’t. He’ll go with you. I tried to get him to
fly with me, and he wouldn’t. You won’t put them on him--will you? For
my sake?”
Her voice sank to the softest music of tears. The sergeant hesitated a
moment and said gruffly: “All right, for your sake, m’am, I won’t.”
John stooped and kissed her. The door closed behind him and with a low
piteous moan Stella sank to the floor, crying:
“God have mercy on me!”
CHAPTER II--THROUGH PRISON BARS
AN IMMENSE crowd had gathered at the hotel awaiting John’s arrival. The
news of his arrest had stirred the town to feverish excitement.
Without turning to the right or left, or answering a look of
recognition, he marched between two soldiers through the mass of men
and boys in the office and climbed the stairs to the rooms of the United
States Commissioner who was waiting to receive him.
The Commissioner handed him the warrant and he merely glanced at its
title:
“THE UNITED STATES VERSUS JOHN GRAHAM
CONSPIRACY AND MURDER”
“I shall hold you without bail, Mr. Graham,” said the Commissioner.
John merely nodded his head.
“To the county jail, sergeant!”
The soldiers turned and John descended the stairs, and again passed
through the crowd, his head erect, his face an immovable mask.
In fifteen minutes the heavy bolt shot into place and he was a prisoner
awaiting trial for life, locked in a filthy cell of the common jail of
the county of Independence.
He had often been to this jail as a lawyer to interview prisoners whom
he had defended at various times, but he had paid no attention to the
building. The complaints of the discomforts of the jail he had always
taken as a humorous contribution to life.
He was amazed to discover that the place into which he had been suddenly
thrust was an inner room opening into a corridor with no means of light
or ventilation save the single iron-grilled door--a veritable hell-hole
whose heat was so stifling and air so foul with disgusting odours he
could scarcely breathe. By the rays of the little kerosene lamp which
hung in the corridor, flickering, sputtering and stinking, he saw that
there was not a trace of furniture in the room, not even a pile of straw
on which to sleep. The floor had evidently not been swept in a year, the
dust lay in piles, and the room had just been vacated by four perspiring
Negro convicts who had been removed to the penitentiary to serve
sentences for burglary, arson and murder.
It was impossible to sit down, it was unthinkable to lie down, and so
for five hours back and forth he walked the length of his cell like a
caged panther.
For the first hour his proud spirit was sustained by the enormity of the
degradation thus heaped upon him. He felt sure that such treatment was
given him for a purpose. He knew that all the prisoners of the county
were not treated as swine. In his anger he paused once, determined to
demand a chair or bed of some kind, and found that he could only make
his wants known by yelling down two flights of stairs to the guard who
stood at the outer door of the last floor. He could not thus humiliate
himself.
For the first time he realised what it meant to be deprived not only of
the comforts but the common decencies of human life. In fierce anger he
silently raved for two hours and then a strange calm came over his soul.
His hands grasped the iron bars of the door and he stood as if in a
trance while the unconscious minutes lengthened into hours. A beautiful
face bent above him. Her voice, low and tender with the music of love,
filled all space. The stifling cell vanished. He was in the open fields
with her hand in his. He woke with a laugh, and caught the glint of
the first beams of the rising sun stealing through the window of the
corridor.
[Illustration: 0295]
A Negro boy brought his breakfast of corn bread and bacon in a dirty tin
plate.
John looked at it a minute with a curious smile: “No, thank you, my boy,
I’ve just had my breakfast of ambrosia. I’ll take a chair, however, if
the jailor can spare one!”
“Yassah, I’ll tell ‘im when I goes down,” he replied. “But I spec dey
ain’t none lef. We got lots er boarders now.”
He placed the plate on the floor by the door, and grinned.
“Dey wuz er young lady come ter see ye las’ night, sah, but dey wouldn’t
let ’er in!”
John smiled.
“What time was it?”
“Bout two er clock.”
“Yes, I saw her,” John slowly said with a strange look in his deep-set
eyes. “She came up and stayed with me until sunrise.”
The Negro backed cautiously away muttering. “He got ‘em sho!” and darted
down the steps. The fact that he was being kept in solitary confinement
and refused communication of any kind with friend or counsel, roused
every force of John Graham’s character.
When the Attorney General who had come down from Washington called at
ten o’clock he greeted him with a laugh through the bars of his door:
“Excuse my lack of hospitality, General Champion,” he said; “I’d offer
you a chair, but the hotel is crowded and we’re short of chairs just
now.”
“Haven’t you a chair or a bed in your cell?” he enquired, peering in.
“It’s an outrage. Bring two chairs here at once!” he thundered to the
attendant.
“Mr. Graham,” said the General cordially, “I’ve hastened to you as
a friend. I was a member of Congress with your uncle. We were warm
personal friends. I’ve known several of your people, and always found
them the salt of the earth.”
“Thanks,” John interrupted, a smile playing about the corners of his
eyes.
“I wish to be of help to you if you will let me. It has long been known
to the Department of Justice that you are the Chief of the Klan in North
Carolina.”
“I congratulate the Department of Justice on the attainment of such
interesting knowledge,” John broke in.
“Do you deny it?”
“I’m not discussing it.”
“You must know, Mr. Graham, that the organisation is doomed, and that
you are in an extremely dangerous position. I trust you realise this?”
“Quite warm last night, General!”
“Come, come, young man, I’m your friend----”
“It’s a pleasure to meet a friend; do you think it will rain?”
“You are to be put on trial for your life----”
“My idea is that we are in for a long dry spell, General.”
“Tut, tut, my boy, come now, don’t try my temper with such nonsense.
President Grant is not hostile to the South. He grieves over the
necessity of the severe laws which he is now enforcing. His only desire
is to pacify these disorders. The Klan must be stamped out. You have
realised this--I know that you have led parties who have inflicted
summary justice on some of the scoundrels who are operating in its
disguises. Is not this a fact?”
John laughed.
“I know it,” affirmed the General.
“Then why ask me?”
“I know that you have tried to stamp out the disorders,” the General
repeated. “Whatever the impulses which led a man of your high character
into this lawless conspiracy, you have realised at last its dangerous
character. You are in a position to render the South and the Nation an
enormous service. Help me to restore law and order in the South and the
Government will show its gratitude.”
“You mean exactly?”
“That you give me the information needed to wipe the Invisible Empire
out of existence----”
“And in return?”
The General placed his hands on the bars and leaned close.
“The President has promised me to immediately appoint you an Assistant
Prosecuting Attorney, and in six months promote you to the high honour
of a United States Circuit Judgeship.”
John’s fist suddenly shot through the iron bars, struck the General in
the mouth, and hurled him in a heap against the wall of the corridor, as
he cried with rage:
“D----n you! How dare you thus insult me?”
The General picked up his broken glasses from the floor, wiped a drop of
blood from his lip, shook his fist at the man who glared at him through
the barred door, and shouted:
“I’ll make you pay dearly for this!”
John laughed in his face.
“But you won’t make me that offer again, will you?”
CHAPTER III--A WOMAN’S WAY
IT WAS one o’clock before Stella recovered from the first collapse of
terror for the fate of her lover. And then the imperious will summoned
every energy to the struggle for his liberty and life.
She changed her riding habit and, taking Maggie, started at half past
one in the morning to find Ackerman.
She had gone half way to Mrs. Wilson’s before she recalled the startling
fact that her relations to Ackerman were unknown, and the still more
painful fact that all knowledge of her relations to the detective must
now be concealed with the utmost care. She felt instinctively that if
John Graham discovered her plan to entrap him into a confession and her
betrayal of his generous trust in her love, he could not forgive it. She
shivered at the thought of his anger and disgust.
“We’ll go to the jail, Maggie,” she said, with sudden energy, “where is
it?”
“Right down de nex street, I show ye,” Maggie answered. “I been dar
lots er times. I wuz down dar yistiddy ter see my uncle Joe start ter de
penitentiary.”
Stella shuddered, followed her down the side street, and knocked at the
jail door.
No one answered. She knocked again and again. Finally the jailor thrust
his head from the window above, saw it was a woman, shut the sash with a
bang and went back to bed.
Stella looked at the grim walls with a sense of blind fury.
“I’ll show that insolent lazy rascal to-morrow morning how to treat me,”
she cried, as she turned and started home. When they reached the
corner she stopped, looked back at the jail looming black, silent and
threatening among the shadows, and her heart went out in an agony of
piteous yearning to the man within its walls.
Maggie pointed to the mass of trees behind the jail.
“See dem trees dar behin’ de house?”
Her mistress gave no answer, and the maid rattled on in awed whispers:
“Dars where dey hang folks! Dey’s er high fence roun’ de yard, but ye
can see over it from here. I stan’ right on dis corner an’ see ’em
hang a man dar las’ year.”
“Hush Maggie!” Stella sternly commanded.
“Yassum.”
Stella hurried home, and paced the floor of her room until morning.
At eight o’clock, in answer to her urgent summons, Ackerman came.
“You are sure no one saw you enter?” she asked nervously.
“Yes, but why such caution now? Our work is done, and well done. I
congratulate you on the skill with which you did your part.”
“I had nothing to do with it. I’ve sent for you to have the whole thing
stopped at once.”
“You had nothing to do with it!” Ackerman exclaimed.
“Absolutely nothing. I repudiate the whole affair.”
“I came here to do this work at your own request,” he protested.
“The arrest of Mr. Graham is an infamous outrage!”
“What!”
“An infamous outrage. I repeat it and demand his immediate release.”
“Why, my dear young woman, it was on the information which you gave that
I swore out the warrant for his arrest.”
“It was you who swore out the warrant against him?” Stella fiercely
cried. “Oh, I could kill you!”
“You gave me the information.”
“I did nothing of the kind,” she stormed. “It’s false--I deny it!”
“On your statement to me that he had confessed that he was Chief of
the Klan, I made the oath on which his warrant was based,” Ackerman
maintained with warmth.
“Then you swore a lie!” she hissed. “A lie--a lie!”
Stella fell on the lounge and buried her face in her hands.
Ackerman flushed and was silent. His keen eyes grew suddenly tender.
He smiled, rose and stood by her side a moment, and when she looked up
extended his hand.
“I’m sorry for you, Miss Stella. I think I understand!”
“Then you will know how to forgive my bitter and unjust words?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you help me?” she asked piteously.
“The situation is extremely delicate for me as it is dangerous for John
Graham. The Government is determined to press these cases for conspiracy
and murder. Personally I have never believed Graham guilty of the murder
of the Judge.”
“Of course he is innocent!”
“I think I know the man who killed your father.”
“And you will help me save John Graham?” she cried.
“I’ll have a big job before me to complete my work before this trial.
There’ll be plenty of witnesses to swear anything the Government wants,
but I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.”
With a cordial grasp of the hand Ackerman took his leave and Stella
hastened to confer with the Attorney General.
“I’ve come to demand the immediate release of Mr. Graham on the absurd
charge that has been made against him,” she began impetuously.
The General looked at her in astonishment. “Hoity toity! My dear Miss,
not so fast.”
“You began this at my request. I demand that it cease.”
“Yes, yes, I see, but you have forgotten that greater issues are at
stake than even the lives of two men.”
“I’ll have nothing to do with the prosecution of an innocent man,
General Champion.”
“Even so, you have set in motion forces you can not control. The fate
of Mr. Graham is fixed. He is the Chief of the Klan. He’s as sure of
conviction as the fact that he is to be put on trial. I’ll see that he
is tried and that all the resources of the Government are used to secure
his conviction.”
Stella’s beautiful face grew white and still.
“You will make a special effort against him?” she faltered.
“I will,” was the stern answer. “There was a way of escape. I offered it
to him this morning in the most friendly and generous spirit. His answer
was the gravest personal insult.”
“May I see him at once?”
“Certainly.”
The General hastily wrote an order and Stella hurried to the jail.
She determined to make a desperate appeal to induce him to compromise
with the authorities and save his life.
At the sight of the heavy iron bars of his door before which John stood
smiling, she broke completely down, seized his extended hand, covered it
with kisses and sobbed bitterly.
“Come, come, my beautiful one, this is not like you! I’ve counted on
your brave spirit to win this fight. Not another tear. Courage and
laughter in our souls, defiance, scorn, contempt for our enemies! See,
they have made me quite comfortable within the past hour. I tried to
knock the Attorney General down, and lo, they rewarded me with a cot and
a chair!”
“You knocked General Champion down?” Stella gasped in amazement.
“I did my best under difficulties. Think of it, my dear! He offered
me an office for the betrayal of my people! I couldn’t kill him. I was
behind the bars, but I shall always thank God that he stood close enough
for my fist to reach his mouth.”
John broke into a joyous laugh. His spirit was contagious. Stella looked
at him with wonder until a smile stole through the clouds that shadowed
her own brow.
“How beautiful you are this morning, dearest!” he cried exultantly.
She brushed the tears from her eyes.
“I tried to see you last night at two o’clock,” she softly said.
“And succeeded, my love,” he interrupted smiling. “You came up and stood
there and talked to me just as you are now. You told me to be of good
cheer--that you loved me. That you hated a sneak and a coward and a
traitor. That you had rather see me cold in death than stoop to a low
dishonourable deed, even for all the honours of earth. And I lifted up
my head in courage. I forgot jails and handcuffs, courts and trials. You
took me by the hand and led me away into green fields through the deep
woods beside beautiful waters. All night hand in hand we roamed through
the mystic world of Love--the only world of realities--I was angry with
the sun for waking me!”
“My darling, I’m not worthy of such love,” Stella cried, pressing his
hand. “What can I do to help you?”
“Keep on loving me--that’s the main thing!--incidentally consult a
lawyer--the best you can find--tell him that I’m going to fight, fight,
fight to the last ditch my own cause and the cause of my people! Keep
out of old Champion’s way. He carries a bribe in one hand, a death
warrant in the other. Don’t let him know your plans. Don’t let him know
that you love me.”
Stella lifted her head with sudden resolution.
“I’ll get the best lawyer in America. I’ll mortgage the house for the
money.”
“My little heroine!” he exclaimed with pride.
“I’ll go at once.”
Through the iron bars she pressed her lips and hurried to the telegraph
office with the light of new courage shining in her eyes.
CHAPTER IV--THE HON. STEPHEN HOYLE
STEVE HOYLE was confined to his room with a bullet hole through the
flesh of his right arm the day following the meeting at Inwood.
He wrote Stella a letter informing her that John Graham had hired a gang
of thugs to attempt his assassination on the night he was to meet her,
that he had been desperately wounded in her service, and begged that she
call at once.
Stella sent him a reply that cut deeper than the bullet from John’s
revolver. It was very brief. Steve read it with muttered curses:
_Mr. Stephen Hoyle,_
_I have long suspected that you were a liar. Last night you proved
yourself a coward. Our acquaintance has ended._
_Stella Butler._
Steve paced his room in a speechless rage for an hour, dressed to call
on her and demand an interview, and suddenly changed his mind at the
sight of a squad of troops hurrying past his door.
The arrest of John Graham had brought him to the verge of collapse. He
trembled at the thought that his turn might come next, and feared to put
his head out the door.
When ten minutes later the soldiers who had passed suddenly appeared at
every exit of his house and loudly knocked for entrance, he dropped into
a chair shivering with abject terror.
When arrested he turned his heavy white face toward the sergeant
piteously.
“I beg of you, officer, allow me to stay here under guard. I am
desperately wounded, by an accident.”
“You’ll have to go to jail,” the trooper snapped.
“But, my dear man, I can’t. I can’t walk,” he gasped with laboured
breath. “Just let me stay here under arrest until I can arrange with the
authorities to give bail.”
“Ye’ll have ter fix that at headquarters--come on,” he answered gruffly,
seizing Steve and lifting him to his feet.
The heavy form collapsed and he sank in a heap on the floor.
The sergeant looked at him a moment with contempt, turned to his men and
said:
“Keep him under guard till I report.”
The moment he had gone, Steve revived and crawled in bed, his teeth
chattering with a nervous chill. The soldiers sat down and laughed in
his face, and cracked jokes about the bravery of men who could ride well
at night but sometimes fainted in the daylight.
The Attorney General had ordered Steve’s arrest on a shrewd guess which
Ackerman had made on hearing of the strange fight between two groups of
horsemen in the country at dusk the night before. The detective had
seen the doctor leaving Hoyle’s house and learned at once that Steve was
wounded.
In attempting to serve the warrant on John Graham he had found that he
had ridden into the country alone in the direction taken by Steve Hoyle.
Ackerman had long suspected Steve of complicity in the movements of
the Klan, and knowing the deadly enmity between the two men had at once
reached the conclusion that a feud within the ranks of its members could
alone account for the situation.
“Arrest Hoyle,” he urged on Champion; “threaten him with immediate
conviction for conspiracy and murder and see what happens.”
The Attorney General had taken his advice, and on receiving the report
of Steve’s “illness” from the sergeant, went immediately to see him.
Steve was profuse in his expressions of cordiality.
“I’m sorry, General Champion,” he said, with loud friendliness, “that my
father and mother are in the North at present. They spend a great deal
of their time up there among you good Yankees. The fact is they are
specially fond of you. My father, you know, was a secret Union man
during the war and has always voted your ticket since, though for social
reasons he don’t say much about it down here.”
Steve winked and laughed feebly.
“Is it so?” asked the General.
“Yes, of course,” Steve hurried on, “and I want to ask you as a personal
favour to my father, if not to me, to accept my bail for £10,000. The
whole thing, I assure you, is an absurd mistake. My father and I can
convince you of this on his return.”
The General pursed his lips and watched Steve shrewdly for a moment.
“I’m sorry I can’t accommodate you, Mr. Hoyle. We cannot accept bail
in cases of this kind. You must realise at once that you are in a very
dangerous position. Beyond a doubt your life is in peril.”
Steve attempted to laugh but choked with terror, saying feebly:
“Oh, not so bad as that, General. I’m a lawyer myself you know. I can
only be tried on a charge of murder before a state judge and jury. You
have no right to put a man on trial for his life here.”
“Right or no right, young man, we are going to do it under the Act of
Congress. We’ve got the power. The army is here. The Supreme Court may
decide the Act unconstitutional later.”
“I assure you, General, the charge against me is a monstrous falsehood,”
Steve protested vigorously.
“And yet, my boy, the men have found in the search of this house a full
Ku Klux regalia for man and horse. Sergeant, bring that thing in!”
The trooper stepped in the door and held up before Steve’s astonished
gaze the costume which he had taken under his saddle the night before on
his trip to meet Stella.
Steve sat up in bed trembling and perspiring.
“Why, yes, of course,” he stammered. “That has been here for some time.
I’ve made no attempt to conceal it. It was given me by a client of mine
who was a member. I’m keeping it as a curiosity.”
“A dangerous curiosity to keep about your house in these times, sir,”
said the General sternly. “Let’s come to the point. Do you wish to
keep out of jail or do you wish to test the power of the United States
Government to put you on trial for your life?”
“I want to keep out of jail,” was the quick answer.
“That’s sensible. Then face the facts. My detective has watched you for
three months. I can convict you of murder.”
Steve fumbled his hands nervously while the General paused and gazed
steadily at his wavering eyes.
“Now, I’ve a generous proposition to make you.”
“Yes?--yes?” Steve gasped.
“One that will give you an opportunity to prove yourself a patriot and a
hero--a patriot because you will render your country a great service--a
hero because you must brave the scorn of every white man and woman whose
opinion is worth anything to you. Will you consider it?”
“Yes,” Steve answered.
“Give me the information needed to destroy the Invisible Empire and I
will not only release you from custody; I will make you my assistant and
ultimately secure your promotion to a judgeship. Your answer?”
“I’ll do it, General, I’ll do it!” Steve cried, while the maudlin tears
of a coward’s relief from mortal fear coursed down his fat cheeks. “I’ll
stand by you and help save our country by restoring law and order.”
The General thanked and congratulated him, again called him a patriot
and hero and sent for his stenographer. For four hours he was closeted
with Steve.
At dusk the soldiers moved with sure tread in every county in Piedmont
Carolina, and before the sun rose the blow had fallen swift, relentless,
terrible!
The Klan leaders in every county were behind the bars.
More than five hundred arrests were made in the county of Independence.
Around the jail, and half a dozen improvised prisons, throngs of
sadfaced wives, mothers, sisters and sweethearts stood silently weeping.
The next morning Champion wired the President asking that the Honourable
Stephen Hoyle be appointed acting Assistant United States District
Attorney, and his request was granted.
CHAPTER V--ACKERMAN CORNERED
THE arrest of John Graham precipitated a crisis between Ackerman and
Susie Wilson which was as unexpected as it was embarrassing to the
handsome young detective.
From the moment she had seen his letter on Stella’s bed she had watched
the young Northerner with the keenest suspicions.
The following day he pressed his love with straightforward earnestness.
She answered with an evasive smile.
“I appreciate the honour you pay me, Mr. Ackerman, but I’m not in love
with you. I hope we shall always be friends. If your love endures it may
win mine in the end--if you persist.”
“I have your permission to persist?”
“Certainly,” she answered frankly. “I love to be loved.”
“All right,” he said with a boyish laugh. “I’m going to build my house
in the fall.”
On the day following John Graham’s arrest she saw Ackerman emerge from
the hotel in earnest consultation with the Attorney General. To her the
prosecuting officer of the United States at that moment meant all that
was vile and hateful in the tyranny under which the South had groaned
since the dawn of her memory.
The moment she saw Ackerman with this man, his very name became to her
accursed. Her keen intuition at once linked the letter to Stella with
the murder of the Judge and the prosecution of the Klan. She was sure
that Ackerman had been playing the hypocrite and was at heart an enemy
of the South. She determined not only to cut his acquaintance but put
him out of her mother’s house.
When the young detective received a written notice from Susie to vacate
his room immediately, he took it to be a practical joke and asked to see
her. She sent word by the servant that unless he moved during the day
his trunk would be thrown on the sidewalk.
Ackerman left in answer to a summons from the Attorney General’s office,
still puzzling his brain over the meaning of the joke. He was sure that
she could not possibly know of his oath against John Graham which was a
secret of the Department of Justice. He was equally sure that she could
not suspect his real business in Independence. He meant to win her love
first. He didn’t care what she thought of his profession afterwards.
When he returned to Mrs. Wilson’s for supper he was struck dumb by the
sight of his trunk lying on the sidewalk outside the gate.
Without a word he picked it up, carried it back upstairs and threw it on
the floor with a bang in front of the room that had been his.
He sat down on it and refused to stir until Susie answered in person his
demand for an interview.
To avoid a scene she finally consented to meet him in the parlour.
Susie’s gray eyes were cold and her tall figure rigid.
“In violation of every law that should govern the conduct of a gentleman
you have forced yourself into my presence Mr. Ackerman. I trust our
interview may be very brief.”
“In violation of every law of Southern hospitality, to say nothing of
the rules which should govern the temper of a lady, you have thrown
me out of your house without rhyme or reason. And before I go I
respectfully but firmly ask, why?”
“You have pretended to be a friend of our people I find that you are an
enemy--a sneak and a hypocrite.”
Ackerman’s cheeks blushed redder than usual; he bit his lips and finally
burst into laughter.
“Is that all?”
Susie rose with dignity.
“It’s quite enough for my mother and myself.”
“But it’s not enough for me, Miss Susie. My defence against your unjust
suspicions is perfect. I will make it if necessary. I trust it will not
be necessary.”
“You might include in your defence an explanation of why you were
corresponding with Stella Butler while you were writing love to me?”
“Who said that I wrote to Miss Butler?”
“I say it. I saw your letter in her room the day you declared your love
for me.”
Ackerman was cornered. He must confess and betray Stella’s secret or
keep silent and wreck his own hopes. His decision was instantly made.
“Miss Susie, you’ve got me. I give up. I’m not a sneak--but I am a
hypocrite by profession.”
“You confess it?” Susie cried with scorn. “Yes,” he whispered. “I am
a trusted detective of the United States Secret Service. I am not the
enemy of your people. On the other hand, I have learned to love and
sympathise with them. Perhaps my love for you has given me that point
of view. Anyway, I’ve taken it. I am simply here as an officer on duty
under command of his superior.”
Susie’s face softened. She saw at once her mistake.
“And your duty led you into correspondence with Miss Butler?5’
“I regret to be compelled to answer, but it did.”
“She has aided in your work?”
“Yes. I reported to her by order of the Chief on arrival, and have been
in constant communication with her at every step since.”
“Up to the hour of John Graham’s arrest?” Susie asked breathlessly.
“Yes.”
“Oh, the little fiend! I could strangle her!” the girl cried.
“I’m sorry to have to betray this confidence. But you have forced me.”
“And you are pressing the charge of murder against John Graham?”
“On the other hand, I am not. If my plans succeed, I’ll explode a
bombshell in the court room the day he faces the jury.”
Susie extended her hand.
“I beg your pardon for my rudeness. Alfred will put your trunk back
immediately, if you will stay.”
Ackerman mounted to his room and unpacked his trunk, humming a love song
while Susie put on her hat and left with swift firm step to find Stella
Butler.
CHAPTER VI--THROUGH DEEP WATERS
STELLA had hurried to the jail with a bouquet of flowers earlier than
usual, accompanied by Maggie who carried a dainty breakfast. She wished
to be the first to tell John Graham of the blow which had fallen on his
people. She had forgotten that the jail in which he lay had been jammed
with prisoners during the night. Four of his friends were crowded into
the cell in which he was confined.
Her heart sank at the sight of the pitiful crowds of weeping women who
stood at the jail door, some of them with sick babies in their arms.
A little tow-headed boy sat on the steps, with his lips quivering and
the big tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. She recognised him as the
one she saw in front of her house the night of the Klan’s first parade.
She bent over him and took his hand:
“What’s the matter?”
The boy’s breast heaved and he choked, unable to answer, bent his
sunburnt head on Stella’s hand and burst into strangling tears.
She stroked his hair, and at length he sobbed:
“They’ve got my big brother in here--locked--up--in--a--cage! They’re
going to kill him, and he ain’t got nobody but me to help him. I ain’t
nothing but a little boy. I can’t get no money, and I can’t do nothing.
Oh, me! oh, me!”
He bowed again and sobbed as though his heart would break.
Stella slipped her arm around his neck and placed a rose in his hand.
“Hush dear, I’ll be your friend and his. I’ve got money. I’ll help
you--give the rose to your brother and come to see me.”
“Will you, Miss?” he cried, leaping up with joy. “Make’em let me go in
with you and I’ll tell him!”
Stella took him by the hand and led him into the jail.
When the jailor frowned at the boy, she said with a smile:
“He’s a little friend of mine. He’ll go in with me.”
The boy nestled close to her side and gripped her hand tightly. When
they reached the first corridor, he sprang to a grated door and seized
his brother’s hand. As she passed on Stella heard him say joyously:
“It’ll be all right, Jim, don’t worry. She’s a goin’ to help us. She
told me so. She’s rich--she’ll get us a lawyer.”
Stella climbed the stairs to John’s door with a great voiceless fear in
her soul. The thought of his discovery of her betrayal stopped the very
beat of her heart.
To her surprise she found him strangely calm.
“It’s sweet of you to come so early,” he said with a smile.
“Love makes one’s feet swift, doesn’t it?” she answered softly.
“And beautiful!” he cried. “I’m going to make you happier by giving you
more work. Don’t bring me anything more to eat or any more flowers until
you’ve made the other fellows comfortable. I’m all right, but a lot of
the poor boys who have just come have broken down. Oh, God, if I could
have gotten my hands on the throat of the traitor last night!”
Never had she seen a more terrible look on a human face. Stella gazed at
his convulsed features fascinated with fear.
“You’ll help the boys, won’t you, dear, for my sake?” he asked suddenly.
“Susie Wilson and her mother will join you.”
Stella answered with a start:
“Why--of course, John. I’ll go at once.”
“And dear!” he called as she turned quickly.
“The lawyer whom you engage for me must take all their cases. I’ll stand
or fall with my people.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Stella hurried home with her soul in a tumult of conflicting purposes.
She felt it yet too dangerous to confess the dual rôle she had played;
yet with each hour’s startling events the agony of fear lest he discover
her betrayal became more and more intense.
One thing she could do at once. She would make the cause of his men her
own, she would make her ministry of love so tender and unselfish, her
sacrifices so generous he must hear her plea when the awful moment of
her confession should come.
She had just given Aunt Julie Ann orders to prepare three meals each day
for every man in jail with John, and was about to start for the garden
to cut more flowers, when Maggie ushered Susie Wilson into the hall.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” Stella cried. “I was just going to ask you
and your mother to help us make those men comfortable who have been put
in jail. Mr. Graham was sure you would join me.”
Susie stared at Stella for a moment and slowly said:
“Is it possible!”
“Why, what’s the matter?” Stella asked. “Won’t you sit down?”
“I prefer to stand, thank you, and to come straight to the point,” Susie
answered with quiet emphasis. “May I ask you some questions?”
Stella flushed and her first impulse was to show her questioner to the
door, but she felt the dangerous menace in Susie’s tone and knew that
she had suspected at least part of the truth. It was necessary to fence.
“Why, as many as you like,” she replied with a light laugh.
“You have told John Graham that you love him?”
“Your question is an impertinence. It’s none of your business.”
“I have made it my business.”
“Then the sooner you recover your self-respect the better,” Stella
sneered.
“What do you mean?” Susie’s gray eyes danced with anger.
“That you are desperately and hopelessly in love with John Graham
yourself, and that you haven’t pride and character enough to hold up
your head before his indifference, and his patronising contempt. I have
won him, and you come with cheap insults for the woman he loves.”
Susie’s eyes grew dim.
“Your accusation is infamously false,” she cried with choking emotion.
“You deny that you love him?” Stella flashed.
“I glory in it--if you will know!” Susie cried in dreamy tenderness.
“I’ve always loved him with a girl’s blind worship of the hero of her
dreams. And I shall cherish every gentle word that he has ever spoken to
me. The impulse which brought me here wasn’t the vulgar desire to insult
the woman he loves. I came to save his life.”
Stella sprang to her feet, her face scarlet, her breath coming in quick
gasps of anger.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you if you answer my questions. Do you dare tell me that you
love him?”
Stella drew herself up proudly.
“You have no right to ask that question. But I answer it. I do love him
and I have told him.”
Susie confronted her with flashing eyes.
“Then you have deceived him!”
“How dare you thus insult me in my house,” Stella cried with flaming
cheeks.
“I’ll leave your house and never enter it again. You can also rest
assured that John Graham’s foot will never again cross this threshold
when I have told him the truth.”
“When--you--have--told--him--the--truth!” Stella gasped. “What truth?”
“That you have betrayed him and his people to his enemies.”
“It’s false! It’s false!” Stella panted. “You lie. You lie, because you
hate me! You hate me because you love him. Tell him if you dare. He
will laugh in your face! Try it--try it--I dare you!” Her voice rose and
fell, quivering and breaking in hoarse whispers of passion.
Susie stood quietly and coldly staring at her with lips upturned in
scorn.
“If he doubts my word, Mr. Ackerman’s will be sufficient.”
“Ackerman!” Stella moaned, staggering to the table.
“Mr. Ackerman of the Secret Service who came here in answer to your
call.”
“He--has--told--you?”
“Yes, and I know the whole black hideous truth. I know that you hate
John Graham, that you have used your devil’s beauty to entrap and betray
him.”
“I swear that I love him!” Stella groaned as she sank to a chair.
“As you’ve sworn to him no doubt while you lured him to his ruin. I hate
you--I hate you--and I could strangle you!”
The tall lithe form trembling with fury towered above Stella’s shivering
little figure.
“Susie, you are mistaken,” she faltered. “Come into the library a moment
and I’ll convince you that you are wrong.”
She seized Susie’s hand and led her into the library, sinking again into
a chair.
“See, here is a mortgage for ten thousand dollars on this house which
I’ve prepared to raise the money for two great lawyers from the North
who are coming to defend him.”
“From the North?”
“Yes.”
“You mean to convict him,” Susie cried. “Another shrewd trick you are
playing. Your lawyers will gain his confidence, learn his secrets,
betray and send him to his death. But, I’ll warn him!”
“Susie, you can’t believe this of me! The pledging of this house is the
first great act of selfsacrifice of my life. The joy of it has been a
sweet revelation to me. You must hear me when I tell you that I love him
with passionate devotion. I’d give my life for him if I could!”
“And yet you brought Ackerman here and hounded him for three months
until at last he lies in a filthy jail with the shadow of death over
him--and you call this love?”
The tall form again towered in rage above the shrinking figure.
“Wait! I must tell you all, Susie. You know but half the truth. Listen
dear, I did try to avenge my father’s death. I believed John Graham
guilty. I did lure him on to love me only to find that I loved him! I
tried to hate him and couldn’t. I’ve betrayed only his name to Ackerman.
I could tear my tongue out for it. If he learns of it, he will turn from
me and hate me! Susie darling, I’ve been proud and vain and wilful. Now
I’m a poor little girl alone, friendless and lost. You’re stronger than
I am. Have pity on me. Be a mother to me--I’m lonely and heart-sick. You
know what it is to love. If he turns from me now before I can atone for
the wrong I have done him, I can’t live. You--believe--me--now--dear?”
Susie’s eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, I believe you now.”
Stella’s head sank on the table and her form shook with sobs.
Susie gently stroked the curling black hair, and said:
“I’ll help you. We’ll work together to save his life.”
In a moment they were sobbing in each other’s arms.
CHAPTER VII--THE PRISONER AT THE BAR
WHEN the day of trial dawned, Stella had succeeded in securing the
services of two of the greatest lawyers in America, Reverdy Johnson of
Maryland, Attorney General in the Cabinet of President Taylor, and Henry
Stanbery of Ohio, Attorney General in the Cabinet of Andrew Johnson.
The Government was represented by the finest legal talent its vast
resources and power could command.
For eleven days, before two presiding judges of the United States
Circuit Court, the fierce battle of legal giants raged. The great
lawyers for the defence fought every inch of ground with dogged
tenacity.
Stella watched from day to day with breathless intensity as she sat by
John Graham’s side.
It soon became plain that the Court had constituted itself a partisan
political tribunal for the purpose, not of administering justice, but of
crushing the enemies of the party in power.
Every decision was against the prisoner, though, in deference to the
distinguished character of the lawyers for the defence, they were
allowed to argue each point. The profound and accurate learning with
which they reviewed the Constitutional law of the Republic was a liberal
education to the shallow little partisans who sat on the judge’s bench
before them. But their eloquence and learning fell on the ears of men
whose decisions were already made.
In violation of the rights of the prisoner under the constitutions of
the state and nation the indictment for murder was ordered to immediate
trial.
From the moment the actual proceedings of the trial began, the
Government had no delay or difficulty.
With sinking heart Stella saw the disgraceful travesty of justice draw
each moment the cords of death closer about the form of the man she
loved.
The jury corruptly chosen for this case marked the lowest tide mud to
which the administration of justice ever sank in our history. A white
freeman, a man of culture and heroic mould, whose fathers created the
American Republic, was arraigned to plead for his life before a jury
composed of one dirty, ignorant white scalawag and eleven coal-black
Negroes! The white man was not made its foreman, a Negro teamster was
chosen.
Steve Hoyle became at once the presiding genius of the prosecution. The
court room was thronged with liars, perjurers and sycophants who hung
about his fat figure with obsequious deference. Old Larkin, who came
from the Capitol to assist the prosecution, sat constantly by Steve’s
side.
John Graham watched Steve with cold deadly hate, but he had warned his
men under no conceivable circumstances to lift a hand in resistance
either to constituted authority, or to give the traitor his deserts.
A pall of helpless grief and fear hung over every decent white man who
witnessed the High Court of Justice of the Anglo-Saxon race suddenly
transformed into a Negro minstrel farce on which hung their liberty and
life.
The star witness of the prosecution was Uncle Isaac A. Postle. He took
his seat before the jury, grinning and nodding at two of his dusky
friends among them with calm assurance.
Isaac was allowed to tell a marvellous rambling story of Ku Klux
outrages--stories which he had heard from Larkin--about whose truth
he could possibly know nothing. In vain the lawyers for the defence
objected. The court overruled every objection and allowed the Apostle
free scope to his vivid imagination.
Reverdy Johnson, the distinguished ex-Attorney General of the United
States who stood before the judges protesting with dignity, bowed to the
Bench and sat down in disgust with the quiet remark:
“We shall offer no further objection to anything that may be said in
this Court.”
He had scarcely taken his seat when Ackerman moved his chair behind him
and began to whisper.
The District Attorney watched the detective in astonishment, while Hoyle
and Larkin bent their heads together in excited conference.
Susie looked at Stella, smiled and blushed.
Isaac finally came to specific charges against John Graham.
“Now tell the court what you know about John Graham’s connection
with the murder of Judge Butler,” said Steve, who was conducting his
examination.
“Yassah, I knows all ’bout it, sah. Mr. John Graham de very man dat
kill de jedge wid his own han’. I see ’im when he do it. Dey come
slippin’ up back er de house, an’ creep in froo de winder while de odder
folks wuz in de ballroom dancin’. Dey wuz eight un ’em--yassah. Dey
slip up an’ grab de jedge an’ hol’ ’im while Mr. John Graham stick a
knife right in his heart----yassah. I wuz lookin’ right at ’im froo de
winder when he done it. When he kill ’im, dey all mix up wid de odder
Ku Kluxes what wuz dancin’, an’ go way ter-gedder.”
“Take the witness,” said Steve with a wave of his hand.
“How did you know it was Mr. Graham?” asked General Johnson.
“I seed ’im wid my own eyes.”
“He wore a complete disguise, did he not?”
“Yassah, but I seed ’im all de same.”
“You could see through the mask?”
“I seed ’im--I done tole ye!”
“Answer my question,” sternly commanded the lawyer. “Could you see his
face through the mask?”
“Nasah.”
“Then how did you recognise him?”
“He tuck it off ter scratch his head, sah, an’ I see his face. I knowed
it wuz him all de time fo’ I see his face.”
Ackerman whispered to the lawyer.
“Did you tell Mr. Ackerman, Uncle Isaac, that, as you started to run
away from the masqueraders that night, you saw John Graham at your
gate--ran into him?”
“Nasah, I nebber say no sech thing!” Isaac shouted, glaring and shaking
his head at Ackerman.
“Didn’t you tell the same gentleman that later in the evening you saw
John Graham seated on a rustic near the house watching it from the
outside?”
“Nasah! dat I didn’t!”
“Do you know that if you swear a lie----”
“I ain’t swar no lie!” Isaac interrupted with religious fervour.
“I’se de Lord’s Sanctified One, sah. I ain’t done no sin since I got
sanctification. Yassah, praise God!”
“Don’t you know,” repeated the lawyer, “that if you swear to a lie on
that witness stand you can be sent to the penitentiary for perjury?”
“I knows dey ain’t gwine sen’ me dar--I knows dat,” Isaac said with a
grin, and his Negro acquaintances in the jury box laughed.
The lawyer changed his line of questions. “You say you saw John Graham
strike the death-blow?”
“Yassah, I see ’im wid dese very eyes.”
“Were you close enough to hear what was said?”
“Yassah, I wuz right dar by de open winder.”
“What did he say?”
“Des ez he raise de knife he say, ‘I got you now, you d---- Black
Radical ‘Publican!’”
“You swear that you heard him say that he killed the Judge because he
was a Republican?”
“Yassah! dat’s what de Ku Kluxes kill ’em all fur, sah!”
Larkin shuffled uneasily, bent again in conference with Steve who rose
immediately and asked for an adjournment of two hours.
When the Court reassembled and Isaac took his seat in the witness chair,
Aunt Julie Ann’s huge form suddenly appeared in the doorway with her
hand resting confidingly on Alfred’s arm. They walked inside the railing
of the bar and took seats assigned to them behind John Graham’s counsel.
Aunt Julie Ann handed Ackerman a pair of Isaac’s old shoes. He measured
them quickly on a diagram which he drew from his pocket.
Isaac watched Aunt Julie Ann and Alfred with mouth opened in wonder,
rage and growing fear.
He rose and bowed to the judges.
“I gotter ax de cote ter perteck me, gemmens,” he said falteringly.
“What do you mean?” asked a judge.
“Dat nigger Alfred dar tryin’ ter steal my wife from me, sah!”
Alfred grinned, and patted Aunt Julie Ann’s hand and whispered: “Doan
min’ de low-live rascal, honey!”
“Yassah, an’ my wife come here tryin’ ter timidate me, sah. She jes
fetch er par er my ole shoes inter dis cote. She’s a cunjer ‘oman, sah.
I try ter sanctify her, but she won’t stay sanctified. She got a kink er
my hair las’ night and wrap it up in a piece er paper and put it under
de cote house do’ step, an’ she say dat ef I walk over dat into dis
house ter-day an’ jestify ergin Marse John Graham she fling er spell
over me. I ax de cote fer perfection, sah. I axes de Sheriff ter take
dat bunch er hair from under dem steps fo’ I say annuder word!”
“Silence, sir, and proceed with your testimony,” said the Judge.
Aunt Julie Ann fanned her fat face, smiled at Stella and Susie and
quietly slipped her hand in Alfred’s.
Isaac dropped into his chair limp and crestfallen. In a sort of dazed
trance he kept his eye fixed on Alfred’s face grinning in triumph.
John’s lawyer pounced on him in sudden sharp accents.
“Is this a pair of your shoes, Isaac?”
“Yassah,” was the listless answer.
“You wore these shoes the night the Judge was killed, didn’t you?”
“Yassah.”
“You’re sure of it?”
“Yassah. Dem’s my ole ones. I got a new pair now.”
The lawyer stepped close and in threatening tones asked:
“Will you explain to this Court what your shoes were doing making tracks
in the soft mud of the underground passage from the family vault of the
Graham house the night of this murder?”
Isaac’s jaw dropped, he drew his red bandanna handkerchief and mopped
his brow.
A hum of excitement ran over the court room, and an officer cried:
“Silence!”
Isaac continued to mop his brow and fumble at his handkerchief while he
gazed at the lawyer in a helpless stupor.
“Answer my question, sir!” the towering figure thundered into his face.
“I doan know what yer means, sah,” he faltered.
“Yes you do. There were nine other men with you. Who were they?”
“I dunno, sah!”
Larkin whispered excitedly to Steve, who shook his head and gazed at
Isaac in amazement.
“Were they masked so that you couldn’t see their faces?”
Isaac looked appealingly to the judges and whimpered:
“I doan know what dey er talkin’ ‘bout, sah.”
“You must answer the questions,” said the Judge.
The lawyer glared at Isaac whose shifting eyes sought Larkin.
“Think it over a minute, Isaac,” the lawyer continued; “in the meantime
examine that knife.”
He drew from its case a long, keen hunting-knife, and handed it to the
witness who was now trembling from head to foot.
“Did you ever see that knife before?”
Isaac hesitated and finally answered:
“Yassah, I sold it ter Mr. Ackerman.”
“Where did you get it?”
Larkin suddenly cleared his throat with a deep guttural sound like the
growl of an infuriated animal.
The lawyer looked at him with annoyance and the officer again shouted:
“Silence!”
“I foun’ it, sah,” he answered evasively.
“Now, Isaac, you want to be very careful how you answer my next
question.”
The lawyer took the knife from the Negro’s hand and felt of its point.
“You will notice that a tiny piece is broken off the tip of this blade.
I hold in my hand the little bit of steel which exactly fits there. It
was found embedded in a bone in Judge Butler’s body. This is the knife
that struck the death-blow. Did you own that knife the night of the
murder? Answer me!”
Isaac fumbled his handkerchief again and looked about the room
helplessly.
Larkin rose carelessly and started from the court room. Ackerman,
watching him keenly, sprang to his side.
“Don’t leave, Larkin, we want you as a witness in a moment,” he
whispered.
“I’ll return immediately,” the Carpetbagger replied, increasing his
haste.
“Wait!” Ackerman commanded.
Larkin quickened his pace and the detective seized his arm.
The Carpetbagger threw him off with sudden fury and plunged toward the
door.
With the spring of a tiger, Ackerman leaped on him. A brief fierce
fight, and he was dragged panting back before the astonished Court,
while every man in the room sprang to his feet and pressed around the
struggling men.
“What’s the meaning of this disorder?” thundered the presiding Judge.
“With apologies to the Court for the interruption I beg leave to present
the murderer of Judge Butler--I ask a warrant for his arrest,” Ackerman
demanded.
A wave of horror swept the crowd of Larkin’s friends.
“The man is a crazy liar, your Honours,” protested Larkin. “And he has
proven himself a renegade and a scoundrel in this court room to-day. I
protest against this outrage.”
“I’ll prove my charge to the Court--every link in the chain of evidence
is now complete,” was the cool answer.
With the court room in an uproar, Larkin was arrested and placed between
Ackerman and a deputy, and the trial resumed.
A brief conference between the District Attorney and Isaac preceded the
first question asked by John’s counsel after the disturbance.
“Now, Isaac,” the lawyer began suavely, “the District Attorney has just
promised to spare your life on condition that you tell us the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth--let’s have it.”
“Yassah,” the Apostle responded in humble accents. “Mr. Larkin, he tell
me ter say what I did, sah.”
Larkin’s head dropped and his keen eyes furtively sought the door.
“Who gave you that knife?”
A moment of breathless suspense rippled the crowded court room and every
head was bent forward.
“Mr. Larkin gimme de knife! We’se been powful good friends, sah. I show
him de under-groun’ way fum de tomb inter de house. I’se de only black
man dat know it--my daddy help dig it--yassah. Mr. Larkin de fust man I
ebber tell dat I know ’bout it. He say he want ter beat de Ku Kluxes.
He say he make’em smoke dat night, an’ he git eight men an’ dress up jes
lak ‘em, an’ I show him de way ter git in froo de panel in de hall. He
fool me. I didn’t know he gwine ter kill de jedge, sah, er I wouldn’t er
let ’em in, nosah. I doan’ believe in killin’ nobody. He tell me ter
git outen de county an’ I stay till de soldiers come back. Yassah, an’
dat’s de whole troof!”
Ackerman motioned the sergeant, a pair of handcuffs clicked on Larkin’s
wrists, and the great white head sank on his breast.
Stella gazed at his pathetic figure with a strange feeling of pity and
wonder, while her hand sought John Graham’s and pressed it tenderly.
The count of murder was dropped, but the charge of conspiracy was
pressed with merciless ferocity. A procession of hired liars ascended
the witness stand and in rapid succession perjured themselves by
swearing that they had recognised the prisoner on various raids made by
the Klan in the county.
The jury was out fifteen minutes.
When they returned John Graham, in whose veins flowed the blood of
a race of world-conquering men, entitled to a trial by a jury of his
peers, rose with quiet dignity and heard the verdict of his condemnation
fall from the thick protruding lips of a flat-nosed Negro:
“We finds de prisoner guilty!”
“So say you all gentlemen?” asked the clerk.
And in response each black spindle-shanked juror shambled to his feet
and answered:
“Guilty!”
The last name called was the little white Scalawag’s, whose weak voice
squeaked an echo:
“Guilty.”
The Judge imposed a fine of one thousand dollars and sentenced John
Graham to five years imprisonment at hard labour in the United States
penitentiary at Albany, New York.
A low moan from Stella, and her head sank in voiceless anguish.
To the brave and the proud there are visions darker than death.
John Graham saw this as he was led from the court room back to jail--the
vision of the hideous leprous shame of a convict’s suit of stripes!
CHAPTER VIII--THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS
EVERY delicacy which love could devise and her money buy Stella
lavished on John and his friends. Each day added to the list of men who
returned to jail condemned to the infamy of a convict’s pen at Albany.
When the deep-muttered curses against Steve Hoyle for the betrayal of
his men reached John’s ears, he sent through Stella his sternest orders
and his tenderest entreaties to Dan Wiley to prevent violence. Dan had
successfully eluded every effort to arrest him. John knew that he was
hiding in the mountains with the men he had commanded armed to
the teeth, and he lived in constant dread of the news of Steve’s
assassination, even under the noses of the United States troops.
A single burst of sunlight came to brighten for Stella the gloom of
the day before John’s departure for Albany. She succeeded in liberating
“Jim,” the big brother of her little tow-headed friend. Her interest
in the boy had been noted, and she received the usual mysterious
message--that money placed at the right spot would prevent any witness
from identifying Jim. She found the right spot promptly and paid the
bribe of two hundred and fifty dollars without a question as to the
ethics involved. Jim was discharged, and when he walked out a free man a
little tow-headed boy lay sobbing out his joy on her breast.
“I’m goin’ to work for you, if you’ll let me,” he cried through his
tears.
“Why, I thought you said you couldn’t do anything that day we met?” she
laughed.
“Oh, I’m awful smart,” he boasted--“I can tote fresh water, carry
all your notes to your sweetheart--and I’m great diggin’ worms ter go
fishin’--I know right where to find ’em!”
She sent him away with a kiss and a promise to let him come and show her
what he could do.
As she entered the jail with John’s dinner, the jailor, whose friendship
she had won by the liberal use of money and skilful flattery, whispered
to her:
“Come in here a minute, Miss, I want to show you something.”
She followed him into his room and started with horror at the sight of a
dirty suit of convict’s stripes spread out on a chair.
Stella’s face blanched.
“They are for him?” she gasped.
“Yessum, an’ if ye’ll excuse me fer sayin’ it, I think it’s a d------
shame.”
“They have no right to put this outrage on him before his people,” she
cried.
“No’m, they haint got no right, but they’re goin’ ter do it to-morrow
mornin’ just the same. They’re goin’ ter take him all the way ter Albany
in that suit.”
“Who’s doing this?” she asked with rising wrath.
“Steve Hoyle, m’am. He’s fixin’ to have a big gang er niggers and low
white trash here in the mornin’ ter hoot and yell and make fun of him
all the way to the train, an’ I thought I’d tell ye.”
“Thank you,” she answered warmly, her big brown eyes beginning to flash
fire.
“Ye know ef I’d step out, that suit o’ clothes might be foun’ missin’.
It ain’t mine. I’ll swear to that. I don’t know anybody that owns it, er
wants it.”
“I understand. Wrap it up, please. I can’t touch it.”
Stella shuddered and watched the jailor with wide-staring eyes as he
picked up the suit, wrapped it in a piece of brown paper and laid it
back on the chair.
“I got to go--there’s somebody knockin’ at the door--course, I won’t
know what’s become er the d---- thing.”
He left her with a grin, and Stella seized the bundle, hurried home
and burned it. On the way she stopped at a hardware store and made
a mysterious purchase which she carefully concealed, and there was
a dangerous light in her eyes as she placed this package beside the
travelling dress which she had laid out to wear on the train with John.
The jailor passed Stella in the hall but looked the other way as he
hurried forward with two soldiers who had called to see John Graham.
They were dressed in the regulation blue suits of the army. The jailor,
trusting implicitly their uniforms, allowed them to go up unaccompanied
to John’s door.
So complete was the disguise that at first the condemned man gazed
through the bars with indifference at his callers.
The taller of the two suddenly thrust his face close and whispered:
“God, man, don’t ye know me?”
John started.
“Dan--Billy--what does this mean!”
Dan put his finger on his lips.
“Everything’s all right. Billy’s been up in the mountains with me at my
summer resort.”
“I wrote you, Billy, not to come!” John scowled.
“I’m not going to see this infamy puton you----”
“It’s all fixed, Chief,” Dan broke in, drawing a new sledge hammer from
his pocket, and slipping the handle from his sleeve.
With a loud cough to mask the sound he thrust the handle into its place.
“You’re both crazy!” John said with anger.
“It’s as easy as failin’ off a log,” Dan urged. “Billy’ll smash the
lock, I’ll gag and tie the jailor. I’ve got the fastest horse in the
county waitin’ fer ye at the corner. Git thirty minutes start, an’ there
ain’t cavalry enough this side er hell to stop ye. When ye get ter my
house, ye’ll be in God’s country. The boys are there waitin’ fer ye.”
Dan handed the hammer to Billy.
“Put that hammer down!” John commanded sternly.
“I won’t--you’ve got to go with us.”
“Do as I tell you, or I’ll call the jailor,” John said with a frown.
“For God’s sake, come with us!” Billy pleaded. “Steve Hoyle’s going to
have a crowd of Negroes here to laugh and jeer at you to-morrow as you
come out. I tell you I can’t stand it!”
John’s face suddenly paled.
“You can stand it if I can, Billy! Get out of this, both of you, before
you’re arrested--quick now. I won’t have it. Come here, Dan!”
John called to the mountaineer who had turned away.
“Give me your hand.”
Dan thrust his hand through the bars and John grasped it.
“Are you a friend of mine?”
“Ain’t I a showin’ ye.”
“Take Billy home and take care of him until I return--will you do it?”
“Yes--but I don’t like this givin’ up a fight when I’ve won it.”
“And one thing more, Dan, old boy, before I let your hand go, you’ve got
to promise me not to kill Steve Hoyle.”
“Who said I was goin’ to do it?”
“I say it.”
“He ain’t fit ter live.”
“Yes, but somehow God lets a lot of such trash cumber the earth. We’d
better not try any more interference with his plans.”
Dan hesitated, struggling with deep passion, drew a handkerchief and
blew his nose.
“Ye’re putty hard on me, Chief, I was goin’ ter call by Steve’s house
and finish both jobs to-day, but orders is orders. I’ll take ’em
from you. I won’t take ’em from nobody else. Goodbye, take care er
yourself.”
Billy pressed his brother’s hand, silently turned and left with Dan.
When the last echo of their steps had died away
John Graham stared through the iron bars for half an hour and saw only
the vision of a mob of yelling, laughing Negroes and behind them the
fat, white cowardly face of Steve Hoyle.
He sank to the chair with a groan:
“O God, if it be possible let this cup pass from me!”
CHAPTER IX--THE DAY OF ATONEMENT
WHEN Steve Hoyle discovered next morning that the suit of stripes which
he had secured at enormous expense in bribery and hush money had been
lost he was furious. The jailor laughed at his idle threats and cursed
him roundly when accused of making way with the suit.
Steve left in a rage to drum up a larger crowd to hoot and yell at the
man he hated.
Stella pressed her way through the throng of Negroes into the jail,
carrying an enormous bouquet of roses in one hand and in the other a
basket of delicate flowers threaded into long beautiful garlands.
John determined to save her from the scene of his humiliation.
“You must not go through the streets with me to the train, my dear,” he
said tenderly. “Go down in a carriage and join me at the station.”
“I will if they let you ride with me,” she firmly answered.
“Impossible. They’ve given special orders that I shall walk.”
“Then I’ll walk with you,” she said with a smile.
John’s face clouded with pain.
“Please, dearest, for my sake?”
“It’s for your sake I’m going with you.”
“They may say something to hurt you,” he pleaded.
“I don’t think they will,” she said as the fire suddenly flashed from
her brown eyes.
“But they will, my love, they will. It’s hard enough for me. They
mustn’t hurt you--I can hear them out there now--that black mob--waiting
to hoot and yell--please, don’t go with me!”
Stella left his cell door, stepped to the window and looked out. Steve
Hoyle was passing along the lines of Negroes ranged on either side of
the walk, instructing them what to say. He had massed around the door a
mob of two hundred to follow his lead the moment John appeared.
“Watch me,” he said, “and I’ll give you the signal. I want you to let
him have it square in the face when I raise my hand. I’ll stand on
the doorstep. I want a laugh first from five hundred black throats--on
old-fashioned nigger laugh, long, deep and loud! It’ll be a funny sight,
I promise you that.”
“We watch ye,” answered a big buck Negro with a grin.
Stella heard the click of the lock of John’s cell with a start and
turned to find the deputy marshal standing with a pair of handcuffs.
“We are ready,” he said.
John stepped into the corridor, and extended his hands. The deputy
snapped the steel on his wrists, and Stella drew the garlands of flowers
from the basket.
“You don’t mind the flowers--do you officer? I’m going with you.”
“Certainly not, m’am,” he replied.
John saw that protest was useless, but he gazed at the garlands with
amazement.
“What on earth are you going to do, my dear?”
“Just a little trick of love,” was the laughing answer.
She wound the flowers around each handcuff, placed in John’s hand the
enormous bouquet of roses, and not a trace of steel could be seen.
“You can carry them for me,” she said, hurrying on before him.
Stella passed suddenly through the jail door to the little brick landing
of the steps on which Steve Hoyle stood to give his signal.
Steve started in surprise at her appearance, stammered and flushed, and
a murmur of uncertainty ran through the crowd.
In a moment the traitor had recovered himself, and glancing at Stella
with a sneer of triumph, he shouted to his henchmen:
“Say what you please, boys--don’t mind the ladies!”
Stella turned her eyes, gleaming with a deadly purpose, straight on
Steve, and a revolver flashed from her hand into his face. He dodged,
trembled, and crouched against the wall, while she sternly said:
“Now lift your hand or open your mouth, you contemptible sneak and
coward!”
A cry of terror swept the dark crowd, and scores broke and fled.
As John appeared in the doorway, Stella turned to the Negroes and in
ringing tones cried:
“I dare one of you black loafers to offer a single insult to the man
whose love I hold dearer than my life. I’ll kill you as I would a dog.”
Revolver in hand, with stern set face and flaming eyes she opened the
way through which John Graham passed in silence.
At the station a crowd of friends gathered and cheered his departure.
Old Nicaroshinski slipped a hundred dollars in his hand and whispered in
broken voice:
“Don’t--don’t you vorry, me poy, ve’ll puild a monumendt to you in de
public squvare yedt!”
Stella was allowed to sit by his side in the car, and as the train
started John looked at her a moment through dimmed eyes, and slowly
said: “The glory of this hour has more than paid for all the pain and
all the shame a thousand lives could hold!”
And then in low soft accents broken with sobs she confessed to him the
story of her love and at the end with trembling lips asked:
“But you can’t hate me for it now, can you, my darling?”
For an answer he bent and tenderly kissed her hand, while she felt
rather than heard the low passionate words: “I love you--I love you--I
love you!”
CHAPTER X--UNDER BRIGHT SKIES--AN EPILOGUE
TIME slowly healed the poisoned wounds left by the fierce struggles
of Reconstruction. John Graham’s case was never decided by the Supreme
Court of the United States. Before the day arrived for the test of
its appeal to the great tribunal which is the last bulwark of American
liberties, he was hastily pardoned, and every man with him who
languished in prison pens for similar political offences. The little
politicians who had forced through Congress the venomous Conspiracy Acts
in violation of the Constitution of the Republic did not dare to allow
the Supreme Court the opportunity to overwhelm them with infamy.
The years have brought magic changes to the people of Independence. The
growing city has ploughed a new street through the old Graham house and
a dozen beautiful homes stand on the site of its wide lawn.
Poetic justice demanded that Steve Hoyle should pay the penalty of his
treachery. But Time plays many a joke on Justice. The Honourable Stephen
Hoyle is now one of our fattest, most solemn and most dignified judges
of the Federal Courts.
Ackerman’s long talks on imaginary cotton mills had one important
result. They planted in John Graham’s imagination the seeds of fortune.
On his return from prison he quit the practice of law and began the
manufacture of cotton goods. To please his wife he bought Inwood, whose
wide acres of forest extend to the river. Here the Graham Brothers’
mills are located.
The Inwood mansion he restored on its original foundations, rebuilding
it of native marble behind the stately old Corinthian pillars around one
of which the ivy is yet allowed to hang in graceful festoons.
Ackerman, who is the Superintendent of the mills, lives but a stone’s
throw from Inwood, and every day Susie’s and Stella’s children play
together on the great lawn that still lies hidden in the heart of the
ancient woods.
THE END