IN THE DARK
An ominous stillness hung over Hollis farm as Sandy ran up the avenue.
The night was dark, but the fallen snow gave a half-mysterious light
to the quiet scene.
He stepped on the porch with a sinking heart. In the dimly lighted
hall Mr. Moseley and Mr. Meech kept silent watch, their faces grave
with apprehension. Without stopping to speak to them, Sandy hurried to
the door of the judge's room. Before he could turn the knob, Dr.
Fenton opened it softly and, putting his finger on his lips, came out,
cautiously closing the door behind him.
"You can't go in," he whispered; "the slightest excitement might
finish him. He's got one chance in a hundred, boy; we've got to nurse
it."
"Does he know?"
"Never has known a thing since the bullet hit him. He was coming into
the sitting-room when Wilson fired through the window."
"The black-hearted murderer!" cried Sandy. "I could swear I saw him
hiding in the bushes between here and the Junction."
The doctor threw a side glance at Mr. Meech, then said significantly:
"Have they started?"
"Not yet. If there's nothing I can do for the judge, I'm going with
them."
"That's right. I'd go, too, if I were not needed here. Wait a minute,
Sandy." His face looked old and worn. "Have you happened to see my
Nettie since noon?"
"That I have, doctor. She was driving with me, and the harness broke.
She's home now."
"Thank God!" cried the doctor. "I thought it was Nelson."
Sandy passed through the dining-room and was starting up the steps
when he heard his name spoken.
"Mist' Sandy! 'Fore de Lawd, where you been at? Oh, we been habin' de
terriblest times! My pore old mas'r done been shot down wifout bein'
notified or nuthin'. Pray de Lawd he won't die! I knowed somepin' was
gwine happen. I had a division jes 'fore daybreak; dey ain't no luck
worser den to dream 'bout a tooth fallin' out. Oh, Lordy! Lordy! I
hope he ain't gwine die!"
"Hush, Aunt Melvy! Where's Mrs. Hollis?"
"She's out in de kitchen, heatin' water an' waitin' on de doctor. She
won't let me do nuthin'. Seems lak workin' sorter lets off her
feelin's. Pore Miss Sue!" She threw her apron over her head and swayed
and sobbed.
As Sandy tried to pass, she stopped him again, and after looking
furtively around she fumbled in her pocket for something which she
thrust into his hand.
"Hit's de pistol!" she whispered. "I's skeered to give it to nobody
else, 'ca'se I's skeered dey'd try me for a witness. He done drap it
'longside de kitchen door. You won't let on I found it, honey? You
won't tell nobody?"
He reassured her, and hastened to his room. Lighting his lamp, he
hurriedly changed his coat for a heavier, and was starting in hot
haste for the door when his eyes fell upon the pistol, which he had
laid on the table.
It was a fine, pearl-handled revolver, thirty-eight caliber. He looked
at it closer, then stared blankly at the floor. He had seen it before
that afternoon.
"Why, Carter must have given Ricks the pistol," he thought. "But
Carter was out at the Junction. What time did it happen?"
He sat on the side of the bed and, pressing his hands to his temples,
tried to force the events to take their proper sequence.
"I don't know when I left town," he thought, with a shudder; "it must
have been nearly four when I met Carter and Annette. He took the train
back. Yes, he would have had time to help Ricks. But I saw Ricks out
the turnpike. It was half-past five, I remember now. The doctor said
the judge was shot at a quarter of six."
A startled look of comprehension flashed over his face. He sprang to
his feet and tramped up and down the small room.
"I know I saw Ricks," he thought, his brain seething with excitement.
"Annette saw him, too; she described him. He couldn't have even driven
back in that time."
He stopped again and stood staring intently before him. Then he took
the lamp and slipped down the back stairs and out the side door.
The snow was trampled about the window and for some space beyond it.
The tracks had been followed to the river, the eager searchers keeping
well away from the tell-tale footsteps in order not to obliterate
them. Sandy knelt in the snow and held his lamp close to the single
trail. The print was narrow and long and ended in a tapering toe.
Ricks's broad foot would have covered half the space again. He jumped
to his feet and started for the house, then turned back irresolute.
When he entered his little room again the slender footprints had been
effaced. He put the lamp on the bureau, and looked vacantly about him.
On the cushion was pinned a note. He recognized Ruth's writing, and
opened it mechanically.
There were only three lines:
I must see you again before I leave. Be sure to come to-night.
The words scarcely carried a meaning to him. It was her brother that
had shot the judge--the brother whom she had defended and protected
all her life. It would kill her when she knew. And he, Sandy Kilday,
was the only one who suspected the truth. A momentary temptation
seized him to hold his peace; if Ricks were caught, it would be time
enough to tell what he knew; if he escaped, one more stain on his name
might not matter.
But Carter, the coward, where was he? It was his place to speak. Would
he let Ricks bear his guilt and suffer the blame? Such burning rage
against him rose in Sandy that he paced the room in fury.
Then he re-read Ruth's note and again he hesitated. What a heaven of
promise it opened to him! Ruth was probably waiting for him now.
Everything might be different when he saw her again.
All his life he had followed the current; the easy way was his way,
and he came back to it again and again. His thoughts shifted and
formed and shifted again like the bits of color in a kaleidoscope.
Presently his restless eyes fell on an old chromo hanging over the
mantel. It represented the death-bed of Washington. The dying figure
on the bed recalled that other figure down-stairs. In an instant all
the floating forms in his brain assumed one shape and held it.
The judge must be his first consideration. He had been shot down
without cause, and might pay his life for it. There was but one thing
to do: to find the real culprit, give him up, and take the
consequences.
Slipping the note in one pocket and the revolver in another, he
hurried down-stairs.
On the lowest step he found Mrs. Hollis sitting in the dark. Her hands
were locked around her knees, and hard, dry sobs shook her body.
In an instant he was down beside her, his arms about her. "He isn't
dead?" he whispered fearfully.
Mrs. Hollis shook her head. "He hasn't moved an inch or spoken since
we put him on the bed. Are you going with the men?"
"I'm going to town now," said Sandy, evasively.
She rose and caught him by the arm. Her eyes were fierce with
vindictiveness.
"Don't let them stop till they've caught him, Sandy. I hope they will
hang him to-night!"
A movement in the sick-room called her within, and Sandy hurried out
to the buggy, which was still standing at the gate.
He lighted the lantern and, throwing the robe across his knees,
started for town. The intense emotional strain under which he had
labored since noon, together with fatigue, was beginning to play
tricks with his nerves. Twice he pulled in his horse, thinking he
heard voices in the wood. The third time he stopped and got out. At
infrequent intervals a groan broke the stillness.
He climbed the snake-fence and beat about among the bushes. The groan
came again, and he followed the sound.
At the foot of a tall beech-tree a body was lying face downward. He
held his lantern above his head and bent over it. It was a man, and,
as he tried to turn him over, he saw a slight red stain on the snow
beneath his mouth. The figure, thus roused, stirred and tried to sit
up. As he did so, the light from Sandy's lantern fell full on the
dazed and swollen face of Carter Nelson. The two faced each other for
a space, then Sandy asked him sharply what he did there.
"I don't know," said Carter, weakly, sinking back against the tree.
"I'm sick. Get me some whisky."
"Wake up!" said Sandy, shaking him roughly. "This is Kilday--Sandy
Kilday."
Carter's eyes were still closed, but his lip curled contemptuously.
"_Mr._ Kilday," he said, and smiled scornfully. "The least said about
_Mr._ Kilday the better."
Sandy laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Nelson, listen! Do you remember going out to the Junction with
Annette Fenton?"
"That's nobody's business but mine. I'll shoot the--"
"Do you remember coming home on the train?"
Carter's stupid, heavy eyes were on Sandy now, and he was evidently
trying to understand what he was saying. "Home on the train? Yes; I
came home on train."
"And afterward?" demanded Sandy, kneeling before him and looking
intently in his eyes.
"Gus Heyser's saloon, and then--"
"And then?" repeated Sandy.
Carter shook his head and looked about him bewildered.
"Where am I now I What did you bring me here for?"
"Look me straight, Nelson," said Sandy. "Don't you move your eyes. You
left Gus Heyser's and came out the pike to the Hollis farm, didn't
you?"
"Hollis farm?" Carter repeated vaguely. "No; I didn't go there."
"You went up to the window and waited. Don't you remember the snow on
the ground and the light inside the window?"
Carter seemed struggling to remember, but his usually sensitive face
was vacant and perplexed.
Sandy moved nearer. "You waited there by the window," he went on with
subdued excitement, for the hope was high in his heart that Carter
was innocent. "You waited ever so long, until a pistol was fired--"
"Yes," broke in Carter, his lips apart; "a pistol-shot close to my
head! It woke me up. I ran before they could shoot me again. Where was
it--Gus Heyser's? What am I doing here?"
For answer Sandy pulled Carter's revolver from his pocket. "Did you
have that this afternoon?"
"Yes," said Carter, a troubled look coming into his eyes. "Where did
you get it, Kilday?"
"It was found outside Judge Hollis's window after he had been shot."
"Judge Hollis shot! Who did it?"
Sandy again looked at the pistol.
"My God, man!" cried Carter; "you don't mean that I--" He cowered back
against the tree and shook from head to foot. "Kilday!" he cried
presently, seizing Sandy by the wrist with his long, delicate hands,
"does any one else know?"
Sandy shook his head.
"Then I must get away; you must help me. I didn't know what I was
doing. I don't know now what I have done. Is he--"
"He's not dead yet."
Carter struggled to his feet, but a terrible attack of coughing seized
him, and he sank back exhausted. The handkerchief which he held to his
mouth was red with blood.
Sandy stretched him out on the snow, where he lay for a while with
closed eyes. He was very white, and his lips twitched convulsively.
A vehicle passed out the road, and Sandy started up. He must take some
decisive step at once. The men were probably waiting in the square for
him now. He must stop them at any cost.
Carter opened his eyes, and the terror returned to them.
"Don't give me up, Kilday!" he cried, trying to rise. "I'll pay you
anything you ask. It was the drink. I didn't know what I was doing.
For the Lord's sake, don't give me up! I haven't long to live at
best. I can't disgrace the family. I--I am the last of the line--last
Nelson--" His voice was high and uncontrolled, and his eyes were
glassy and fixed.
Sandy stood before him in an agony of indecision. He had fought it out
with himself there in his bedroom, and all personal considerations
were swept from his mind. All he wanted now was to do right. But what
was right? He groped blindly about in the darkness of his soul, and no
guiding light showed him the way.
With a groan, he knotted his fingers together and prayed the first
real prayer his heart had ever uttered. It was wordless and formless,
just an inarticulate cry for help in the hour of need.
The answer came when he looked again at Carter. Something in the
frenzied face brought a sudden recollection to his mind.
"We can't judge him by usual standards; he's bearing the sins of his
fathers. We have to look on men like that as we do on the insane."
They were the judge's own words.
Sandy jumped to his feet, and, helping and half supporting Carter,
persuaded him to go out to the buggy, promising that he would not give
him up.
At the Willowvale gate he led the horse into the avenue, then turned
and ran at full speed into town. As he came into the square he found
only a few groups shivering about the court-house steps, discussing
the events of the day.
"Where's the crowd?" he cried breathless. "Aren't they going to start
from here?"
An old negro pulled off his cap and grinned.
"Dey been gone purty near an hour, Mist' Sandy. I 'spec' dey's got dat
low-down rascal hanged by now."