THE TRAGEDY
OF
WILD RIVER VALLEY
BY
MARTHA FINLEY
AUTHOR OF “SIGNING THE CONTRACT,” “THE ELSIE BOOKS,” ETC., ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.
[All rights reserved.]
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THE TRAGEDY OF WILD RIVER VALLEY.
CHAPTER I.
Along a quiet road a man was walking at a steady, swinging pace. He was
above the medium height, strongly built, and his erect carriage bespoke
him one accustomed to military drill, while the knapsack swung over his
shoulder and the blue overcoat on his arm seemed to indicate that he
was one of the returning veterans of the lately disbanded Union army.
His face, young and strongly Celtic in feature, was not unhandsome,
though marred by a sinister expression. It was that of a bold, bad man
on the alert to better his own fortunes without regard to the rights of
others; and as he pressed onward he sent many a covetous glance toward
the comfortable farmhouses, orchards, and rich harvest fields on either
hand.
At length, turning aside from the main road and making his way through
a bit of woods, he paused in front of a rude cabin standing in a potato
patch, enclosed by a rough, zigzag rail-fence. An old man in patched,
worn, and by no means clean garments sat on the door-step smoking a
dirty pipe.
His wife stood just behind him with her knitting, a coarse woollen
stocking, in her hands. She threw it from her as the traveller opened
the gate, and with a wild cry, “It’s me son! me bye Phalim come home
till his mither at last!” rushed out and threw herself upon his breast,
weeping for very joy.
He returned her embrace with ardor almost equal to her own, filial
affection so softening his countenance that the evil look was banished
for the moment.
The old man rose with trembling eagerness and grasped his son’s hand.
“An’ it’s yersilf, lad!” he cried. “Thank the blessed Vargin an’ all
the howly saints that ye’ve come back till yer mither an’ me alive an’
well afther all the fightin’ ye’ve been in!”
There were rapid questions and answers, knapsack and overcoat were
bestowed within the cabin, a chair or two were brought out into the
shade before the door, and with a pipe apiece and a bottle of whiskey
the three made themselves comfortable, while Phelim gave an account of
his wanderings and exploits, inventing, embellishing, or suppressing
occurrences as suited his fancy.
“An’ have yees made yer fortin, Phalim, me lad?” queried his mother,
regarding him with a look of maternal pride and fondness.
“Not jist yit, ould lady,” he answered, with an unpleasant laugh;
“but,” pulling out a handful of gold and silver coins and a roll of
bank-notes, “here’s the beginnin’ o’t.”
She reached out an eager hand, while her old eyes reflected the
covetous gleam in his. “Ye’ll share wid yer ould fayther and mither,
Phalim, me darlint?”
“Wan o’ these days maybe,” he said, returning the money to his pocket.
“I’m goin’ intil a line av business that’ll pay; an’ I’ll have yees
soon livin’ in betther style,” he said, with a contemptuous glance at
their mean and squalid surroundings.
“Them’s not all sodger’s wages, me lad,” remarked the old man, with a
knowing look.
“Did yees iver hear o’ bounty-jumpin’?” returned his son, with a coarse
laugh. “It’s been a dangerous business, but, faith, a payin’ wan, too;
an’ a smart chap cud foind chances now an’ agin to hilp hisself amang
the rebs an’ the wounded.”
“An’ Phalim wasn’t the bye to neglict his chances; was ye, lad?”
chuckled the old father.
“Niver a bit o’t, dad; an’ it’s mesilf, Phalim O’Rourke, as manes to be
a moighty rich man wan o’ these days. Me gurrul, Belinda, shall roide
intil her coach an’ wear her foine goold ornaments an’ her silks an’
satins wid the best.”
But observing significant glances passing between the old people, while
his mother took her pipe from her mouth and shook her head ruefully,
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, the color paling on his sunburnt cheek;
“don’t tell me annything’s happened till her, the purtiest and swatest
gurrul in Ameriky!”
At that his mother burst out into an angry denunciation of the girl;
she was unworthy of his love; she was faithless; she had been married
for a year to an old farmer living some miles away. The man was well
off, and his money, house, and land had bought the silly, faithless
creature.
Phelim’s face grew white with disappointment and rage as he listened to
the tale; he clinched his fists and swore with horrible oaths that he
would be revenged upon them both. He would shoot the old man dead in
his tracks and blow out the brains of the faithless girl.
“Aisy, aisy, Phalim, me darlint! don’t yees be afther runnin’ yer neck
intil a halter for the loikes av thim, the warthless varmints,”
returned his mother, alarmed at his vehemence.
“Sorra a bit o’ that same,” he growled; “there’s niver a bit o’ hangin’
in this State.”
“Eh! no; are yees sure o’ that same?” she exclaimed, in surprise. “An’
what fur wadn’t they be for takin’ the loives o’ thim as takes other
folk’s?”
“It’s agin the law,” he answered, shortly.
“State’s prison for life’s near about as bad as swingin’,” suggested
the old man.
“But while there’s life there’s hope,” remarked his son, significantly;
“hope o’ breakin’ jail or being pardoned out; an’ it’s mesilf as wadn’t
be afeared to take me chance o’ one or t’other.”
“Ye wuz always a brave bye an’ a lucky wan, Phalim,” was his mother’s
comment as she rose and set about preparing the evening meal.
When the hour for retiring came Phelim declined to sleep in the house,
averring that long use had made mother earth a more comfortable couch
to him than the softest of beds, and taught him that he could breathe
more freely under the open sky than beneath any roof. Spreading his
army blanket under a tree some hundreds of yards distant from the
cabin, he threw himself down upon it and fell asleep.
Hours passed on, while all was quiet save the murmur of a brook near at
hand and the rustle of the night wind in the treetops; then a shrill
whistle roused him.
He started up and listened. It came again, louder, shriller than
before. He answered it, and moved swiftly in the direction of the
sound, which seemed to come from the road from which he had yesterday
turned aside to gain his father’s dwelling. It was long past midnight,
but darkness still brooded over the land, and few were abroad save
those bent upon evil deeds. To that class belonged Phelim and those who
had summoned him to their aid. In the shadow of the trees bordering the
roadside lurked three men awaiting the coming of their leader; for such
Phelim was.
“Where are yees, byes?” he asked in an undertone as he drew cautiously
near.
“Here, sor,” replied a suppressed voice, in as rich a brogue as his own.
The three joined him, and a whispered conference ensued, the chief
speaker being one who answered to the name of Teddy McManus. He was
describing a country-seat, the situation of doors and windows,
arrangement and contents of its lower rooms. “We’ll git in aisy,” he
said; “wan o’ thim kitchin doors ain’t got no bolt at all—nothin’ but
a common lock; an’ a wire’ll turn the kay an’ let us in as aisy as the
masther hissilf walks intil the front door wid his latch-kay. An’ thin
it’s all plain sailin’; dinin’-room nixt, solid siller a plenty on the
sideboard; beyont that, jist acrost the hall’s the lib’ry, where he
kapes his money.”
“But where he won’t kape it much longer,” put in one of the others.
“We’ll do oor indivors to relave him o’t the noight, if that’s yer
wull, captain,” continued Teddy’s rough voice.
“Yis, if yees are all agraable. What’s yer wull, Gotlieb? an’ yours,
Pat?”
“I dinks we goes; and we petter makes haste,” answered the first.
Patrick echoed the sentiment, and they set off at once, walking rapidly
in a direction opposite to that from which Phelim had come some hours
ago.
They were armed with pistols and knives, and carried with them a dark
lantern and a full set of burglars’ tools.
When the family at Walnut Hill rose from that night’s slumbers it was
to find that butter, bread, meat, and other edibles had disappeared
from spring-house and pantry; also all the silver ware from the
dining-room; and that the secretary in the library had been robbed of
several hundred dollars in gold and silver, bank-notes, and United
States bonds.