9398
HE next morning when Garner reached the office, he found Carson surrounded by “the gang,” Blackburn was just leaving, his mild eyes fixed gloomily on the sidewalk, and Wade Tingle, Keith Gordon, and Bob Smith sat about the office with long-drawn, stoical faces.
“I was just telling Carson that it will be a walkover in court this morning,” Wade was saying, comfortingly, as Garner sat down at his desk, his great brow clouded. “Don't you think so, Garner?”
“Well, I'll tell youonething, boys,” Garner answered, irritably, “it's too important a matter to make light over, and I want you fellows to clear out so we can get to work. I've got to talk to Carson, and I can't do it with so many here. I'm not accustomed to thinking with a crowd around.”
“You bet we'll skedaddle, then, old man,” said Keith; “but we'll be at the—the hearing.”
When they had gone droopingly out, Carson came from the window at which he had been standing and looked Garner over, noting with surprise that the lower parts of the legs of his partner's trousers were dusty and his boots unpolished. The shirt Garner wore had sleeves that were too long for his arms, and a pair of soiled cuffs covered more than half of the small hands. His standing collar had become crumpled, and his ever-present black silk necktie, with its unshapely bow and brown, frayed edges, had slipped out of place. His hair was awry, his whole manner nervous and excitable.
“Keith says you didn't sleep at the den last night,” Dwight said, tentatively. “Did you go out to your father's?”
Garner seemed to hesitate for an instant, then he crossed his dusty legs and began to draw upon and tie more firmly the loose strings of his worn and cracked patent-leather shoes.
“Look here, Carson,” he said, when he had fumblingly tied the last knot, “you are too strong and brave a man to be treated in the wishy-washy way a woman's treated. Besides, you'll have to know the truth sooner or later, anyway, and you may as well be prepared for it.”
“Something gone wrong?” Dwight asked, calmly.
“Worse than I dreamed was possible,” Garner said. “I thought we'd have comparatively smooth sailing, but—well, it's your danged luck! Pole Baker come in this morning about two o'clock. I'd taken a room at the hotel to get away from those chattering boys so I could think. I couldn't sleep, and was trying to get myself straight with a dime novel that wouldn't hold my attention, when Pole came and found me. Carson, that rascal Wiggin is the blackest devil that ever walked the earth in human shape.”
“He's been at work,” said Carson, calmly.
“You'd think so,” said Garner. “Pole says wherever he went, expecting to lay hands on good witnesses who had heard Willis make threats, he found that Wiggin had got there first and put up a tale that closed their mouths like clams.”
“I see,” said Dwight. “He frightened them off.”
“I should think he did. He put them on their guard, telling them, without hinting at any trouble of yours, that if they had a call to court, of any sort whatsoever, to get out of it, as it would only be a trick on our part to implicate them in the lynching business.”
“So we have no witnesses,” said Dwight.
“Not even a photograph of one!” replied Garner, bitterly. “I sent Pole right out again, tired as he was, in another direction. He had a faint idea that he might persuade Willis's mother to testify, though I told him he was on a wild-goose chase, for not one mother in ten thousand would turn over a hand to aid a man who—a man under just such circumstances. Then I got a horse—”
“At that time of night?” Carson cried.
“What was the difference? I couldn't sleep, anyway, and the cool night air made me feel better, but I failed. The men I saw admitted that they had heard Dan talk some, but they couldn't recall any absolute threats. When I got back to town it was eight o'clock. I ate a snack at the restaurant and then hurried off to see the district-attorney. Mayhew is a good man, Carson, and a fair man. I think he is the most honest and conscientious solicitor we've ever had. But right there I saw the track of your guardian angel. As early as it was, Wiggin had been there before me. Mayhew wouldn't admit that he had, but I knew it from his reserved manner. Why, I expected to see the solicitor take the whole thing lightly, you know, considering your standing at the bar and your family name, but I found him—well, entirely too serious about it. He really talked as if it were the gravest thing that had ever happened. I saw that he was badly prejudiced, and I tried to disabuse his mind of some hidden impressions, but he wouldn't talk much. All at once, however, he looked me in the face and asked me how on earth any sensible man, familiar with the law, could keep a thing like that concealed as long as you did. I told him, in as plausible and direct a way as I could, how you felt in regard to your mother's condition. He listened attentively, then he shrugged his shoulders and said: 'Why, Garner, Dr. Stone told my wife the other day that Mrs. Dwight was improving rapidly. Surely she wasn't as bad off as all that.' My Lord! I was set back so badly that I hardly knew what to say. He went on then to tell me that folks through the country had been saying that towns-people always managed to avoid the law by some hook or crook, or influence, or money, and that he was not going to subject himself to public criticism even in the case of a man as popular as you are.”
“That was Wiggin's work!” Carson said, his lips pressed tightly together as he turned back to the window.
“Yes, that's his method. He's the trickiest scamp unhung. Of course, he can't hope to see you actually convicted of this thing, but he does evidently think he can have you bound over to trial at the next term of court, and beat you at the polls in the mean time. He thinks with his negro incendiary speeches to rouse the lowest element, and the charges that you've murdered one of your own race to inflame the prejudices of others, that he can snow you under good and deep. But we've got to make the best of it. There is no shirking or postponing of this hearing to-day. Even if the very—the very worst comes,” Garner finished, slowly, as if shrinking from the words he was uttering, “we can give any bonds the court may demand.”
“But”—and Dwight turned from the window and stood before his friend—“what if they refuse to take bonds at all and I have to go to jail?”
“What do you want to cross a bridge like that for?” Garner demanded, plainly angered by the sheer possibility in question.
Dwight leaned over Garner and put his hand on the dusty shoulder. “Thatwould kill my mother, old man!”
“Do you think so, Carson?” Garner was deeply moved.
“I know it, Garner, and her blood would be on my head.”
“Well, we mustwin!” Garner said, and a look of firm determination came into his eyes; “that is all there is about it. We must win. Eternal truth and justice are on our side. We must win.”
9403
HE big, square court-room was filled to overflowing when at the last moment Carson and Garner arrived. Just inside the door they found old Dwight standing, his battered silk hat in his hand, and with an air of unwonted humility upon him, patiently awaiting their coming.
“Is everything all right?” he anxiously whispered to Garner, as he reached out and caught his son's hand and held on to it.
“Yes, all right, Mr. Dwight,” Garner replied; “and is—is your wife—”
“Yes, we are safe on that score,” the old man said, encouragingly, to Carson. “I only slipped away for a minute. I won't wait here, but will hurry back and stand guard. God bless you, my boy.” When Dwight had turned towards the door and was moving away, Carson glanced over the crowded room. All eyes were fixed, it seemed to him, anxiously and sympathetically on his face. As he passed through the central aisle to reach the railed-in enclosure where, at his elevated desk, the magistrate sat, gravely consulting with the State solicitor, Carson's mind was gloomily active with the numerous instances in which, to his knowledge, innocent men had been convicted by the complication of circumstantial evidence, in a chair which Braider was solicitously placing near that of Garner, the young man's glance again swept the big room. On the last row of benches sat Linda, Uncle Lewis, and Pete in the company of other negro friends of his. Their fixed and awed facial expressions added to his gloom. Near the railing sat “the gang”—Gordon, Tingle, and Bob Smith—their faces long-drawn. Behind them sat Helen and her father, with Ida Tarpley. Catching Helen's anxious glance, Carson tried to smile lightly as he responded to her bow, but there was something in his act which seemed to him to be empty pretence and rather unworthy of one in his position. Guilty or innocent in the eyes of the law, he told himself he was there to rid his character of the gravest charge that could be made against a human being, and from the indications, as seen by the shrewd Garner, he was not likely to leave the room a free man. He shuddered as he grimly pictured Braider—the feeling, sympathetic Braider—coming to him there before all those eyes and formally placing him under arrest at the order of the court. He sank to the lowest ebb of despair as he pictured his mother's hearing of the news. Almost in a daze Carson sat dumb and blind to the formal proceedings. Like a child, he felt a soothing comfort in the knowledge that he was leaning on such a skilled friend as that of the hardened young lawyer at his side, and yet for the first time in his life he was pitying himself. Things had really gone hard with him. He had tried his best to do the right thing of late, but fate had at last overpowered him. He was losing faith in the impulses which had led him, blind under the blaze of youthful enthusiasm, to that seat here under the cold, accusing eye of the law.
He was drawn out of his lethargy by the clear, ringing, confident voice of the solicitor. It was a strong, an utterly heartless speech, “the gang” thought. Duty to the State and public protection was its key-note. Personally, Mayhew had nothing but the kindliest feeling and strongest admiration for the defendant. He belonged to one of the best and oldest families in the South, and was a man of undaunted courage and remarkable brains. But with all that, Mayhew believed, as he tugged at his heavy mustache and stared with confident eyes at the magistrate, he could show that lurking under the creditable and refined exterior of the defendant was a keenly vindictive nature—a nature that was maddened beyond forbearance by opposition. The solicitor promised to show by competent witnesses, when the matter was brought to trial, that Carson Dwight believed—mark the wordbelieved—without an iota of proof, that Dan Willis had fired upon him in the mob that was attempting to lynch Pete Warren. Believing this, your honor, I say, with no sort of proof, I think the State will have no trouble in establishing the fact that Dwight had sufficientmotivefor what was done, and that he deliberately and with aforethought went armed with no other intent than to kill Willis. Furthermore, Mayhew could show, he declared, that Dwight had carefully concealed the deed, letting it go out to the world that the finding of the coroner's jury was correct, and making no statement to the contrary till he was driven to it by the encroachments of verifiable rumor and the certainty of adverse action by the grand jury. That being the status of the case, the solicitor could only urge upon the court its duty to hold Carson Dwight on the charge of murder in the first degree.
Deep in his slough of depression, Dwight, looking over the breathless audience, noticed the serious faces he knew and loved. Helen was deathly pale, and her father sat with bowed head, fingering his gold-headed ebony cane. Keith Gordon's face was as full of reproach for what the solicitor had said as that of a grief-stricken woman. Wade Tingle sat flushed with rebellious anger, and Bob Smith, not grasping the full import of the high-sounding words, stared from under his neatly plastered hair like a wondering child at a funeral. It was Mam' Linda's almost savage glare that more firmly fixed Carson's wandering glance. She sat there, her visage full of half-savage passion, her large lip hanging low and quivering, her breast heaving, her eyes gleaming.
Carson had not the heart to follow Garner's weak and inadequate plea as the lawyer stood, his small hands clutched and bloodless behind him. He had not been able, he said, to reach the witnesses he had expected to produce, who would swear that Dan Willis, time after time, had pursued the defendant and made threats against his life, but he felt that a calm statement of Carson Dwight's would be believed, and that—
Here there was a commotion in the room. The bailiff at the door was talking loudly to some one. The magistrate rapped vigorously for order, and in the pause that ensued Pole Baker came striding down the aisle, leading a little woman wearing a black cotton sun-bonnet and dress of the same material. Leaving her standing, Baker approached Garner and whispered in his ear. Then, with a suddenly kindling face, the lawyer turned and whispered to the woman. A moment later he drew himself up to his full height and said, in a clear, confident voice that reached all parts of the room: “Your honor, I have a witness here that I want to have sworn.”
The district-attorney stood up and stared curiously at the woman. “If I'm not mistaken that's Dan Willis's mother,” he said, with a smile. “She is a witness I'm looking for myself.”
“Well, you are welcome to what she'll testify,” Garner dryly retorted.
A moment later the little woman was on the stand, holding her bonnet in her hand, her small, wizened face as colorless as parchment, her black hair brushed as smoothly as patent leather down over her brow and tied in a small, tight knot behind her head.
“Now, Mrs. Willis,” Garner went on, casting a significant glance at Carson, who was gazing at him in growing wonder, “just tell the court in your own way what happened at your house the day your son met his death.”
The room was very still when she began in a low, quivering voice which, gradually steadied itself as she continued.
“Well,” she said, “Mr. Wiggin come to the fence while we-all was eatin' our breakfast, an' called Danny out an' they had a talk near the cow-lot. I don't know what was said, but I was sorry they got together for Mr. Wiggin always upset Danny an' started 'im to drinkin' and rantin' agin Mr. Dwight here in town.”
She paused a moment, and then Garner, leaning easily on the back of his chair, said, encouragingly: “All right, Mrs. Willis, you are doing very well. Now, just go ahead and tell the court all that took place to the best of your recollection.”
“Well, thar wasn't much to recollect that happened right tharat home,” the witness went on, plaintively; “of course, the shootin' tuck place about a mile from thar on the—”
“Pardon me, Mrs. Willis,” Garner interrupted. “You are getting the cart before the horse. I want you to tell his honor how your son acted when he came into the house after his talk with Mr. Wiggin.”
“Why, when Danny fust come in, Mr. Garner, he went to the bureau drawyer and tuck out his revolver an' loaded it thar before us, cussin' at every breath agin Mr. Dwight. I tried to calm 'im down, an' so did my brother George, but he was as nigh crazy as I ever saw any human bein' in my life. He said he was goin' straight to Darley an' kill Carson Dwight, if he had to go to his daddy's house an' drag 'im out of his bed. He said he'd tried it once an' slipped up, but that if he missed again he'd kill hisse'f in disgust.”
“I see, I see,” Garner said, in the pause that ensued. He stroked his smooth chin with his tapering fingers and opened and shut his mouth, and he kept his eyes on the ceiling as if the witness had made the most ordinary sort of statement. He leaned again on the back of his chair, and then lowering his glance to the face of the witness, he asked: “Did you gather from Dan's talk that morning, Mrs. Willis, when it was that he made thefirstattempt on the life of Carson Dwight?”
“Well, I don't know as I didthen,” the woman answered; “but he told us about it the day after he fired the shot.”
“Oh, he did!” Garner's face was still a study of guileless indifference, and he stroked his chin again, his eyes now on the floor, his arms folded across his breast. “What day was that, Mrs. Willis?”
“Why, the day after Mr. Dwight kept the mob from hangin' old Lindy Warren's boy.”
Profound astonishment was now visible on every countenance except that of Garner. “I never knew positively beforewhofired that shot,” he said, carelessly, “though, of course, I had an idea who did it. So Dan admitted that?”
“Yes, he told us about that, and about tryin' to git at Mr. Dwight several other times.”
“I reckon you are satisfied in your own mind that if Mr. Dwight hadn't defended himself Dan would have killed him?” Garner pursued, adroitly.
“I know he would, Mr. Garner, an' when I heard the report that Danny had shot hisse'f by accident, while he was practisin' with his pistol, I was reconciled to it. I didn't think Mr. Dwight was to blame. I always thought he was doin' the best he could, an' that politics caused the bad blood. I always liked 'im, to tell the truth. I'd heard that he was a friend to the pore an' humble, even to pore old niggers, an' somehow I felt relieved when I heard he'd escaped my boy. I knowed Danny meant murder an' that no good could come of it. I'd a sight ruther know a child of mine was dead an' in the hands of his Maker than tied up in jail waitin' to be publicly hung in the end. No, it is better like it is, though if I may be allowed to say so, I can't for the life of me, understand what you-all have got Mr. Dwight hauled up here like this, when his mother is in sech a delicate condition. Good Lord, he hain't done nothin' to be tried for!”
“That will do, Mrs. Willis,” Garner was heard to say, his voice harshly stirring the emotion-packed stillness of the room; “that will do, unless my brother Mayhew wants to ask you some questions.”
“The State has no case, your honor,” Mayhew said, with a sickly smile. “The truth is, I think we've all been imbibing too freely of politics. I confess I've listened to Wiggin myself. It looks like, failing to get Dan Willis to kill Dwight, he's set about trying to have it done by law. Your honor, the State is out of the case.”
There was a pause of astonishment and then the truth burst upon the audience. Realizing that Carson Dwight was more than a free man, vindicated, restored to them, “the gang” rose as a man and yelled. Led by Pole Baker and the enthusiastic Braider, they pressed around him, climbing over the railing and crushing chairs to splinters. Then, amid the shouts and glad tears of the spectators, the most popular man in the county was raised perforce upon the stout shoulders of Baker and Braider and borne down the aisle towards the door.
Above the heads of all, Carson, flushed with confusion, glanced over the room. Immediately in front of him stood Helen. She was looking straight and eagerly at him, her face aglow, her eyes filled with tears. She paused with her father just outside the door, and as “the gang” bore their struggling and protesting hero past, she raised her hand to him. Blushing in fresh embarrassment, he took it, only to have it torn from him the next instant.
“Let me down, Pole!” he cried.
“No, sir, we don't let you down!” Pole shouted. “We've got it in for you. We are goin' to lynch you!”
The crowd, appreciating the joke, thereupon raised the queerest cry that ever burst from breasts surcharged with joy.
“Lynch him!” they yelled. “Lynch him!”
Half an hour afterwards Carson went home. His father was at the fence looking for him. He had heard the news and his old face was beaming with joy as he opened the gate for his son and took him into his arms.
“How's mother?” was Carson's first inquiry.
“She's all right and she knows, too?”
“She knows!” Carson exclaimed, aghast.
“Yes, old Mrs. Parsons was the first to bring me the news, and she assured me she could impart it to your mother in such a way as not to shock her at all.”
“And you let her?” Carson said, anxiously.
“Yes, and she did the slickest piece of work I ever heard of. I knew she was considered a wonderful woman, but she's the smoothest article I ever met. I laughed till I cried. I was in the mood for laughing, anyway. Mrs. Parsons began by adroitly working your mother up to such a pitch of fury against Willis for his nagging pursuit of you that your mother could have shot him herself, and then, in an off-hand way, Mrs. Parsons led on to the meeting between you. Willis had his gun in your face, and was about to pull the trigger, when your pistol went off and saved your life. She went on to say that Dan's mother had just been to the court-house testifying that her son had tried to murder you, and that she didn't blame you in the slightest. I declare, Mrs. Parsons actually made it appear that Willis was on trial instead of you. Anyway, it's all right. We've got nothing to fear now.”
9413
IX weeks later the election came off.
It was no “walk-over” for Carson. Wiggin seemed only more desperately spurred on by every exposition of his underhand chicanery. He died hard. He fought with his nose in the mire, but, throwing honor to the winds, he fought. Carson Dwight's stand on the negro question was Wiggin's strongest weapon. It was a torch with which the candidate could inflame the breasts of a certain class of men at a moment's notice. He was a crude but powerful speaker, and wherever he went he left smouldering or raging fires. Pledged to him were the lowest order of men, and they fought for him and worked for him like bandits in the dark. Over these men he wielded a sword of fear. Carson Dwight's intention in getting to the legislature was to make laws against lynching, and every man who had ever protected his home and fireside by summary justice to the black brutes would be ferreted out and imprisoned for life. But Dwight's more gentle and saner reasoning, backed by his heroic conduct of the past, held sway. He was elected. He was not only elected, but, as the exponent of a new issue, the news of his election was telegraphed all over the South. He had written some articles for Wade Tingle's paper which had been widely copied and commented on, and his political course was watched by many conservative thinkers, who prophesied a remarkable career for him. He was a fearless man, with a new voice, who had taken a radical stand based on humanitarian and Christian principles. Family history was simply repeating itself. His ancestors had stood for the humane treatment of the slaves thrust upon them by circumstances, and he, in the same hereditary spirit, was standing for kind, just treatment of those ex-slaves and their descendants. No man who knew him would have accused him of believing in the social equality of the races any more than they would earlier have brought the same charge against his ancestors.
On the night the returns were brought in and it was known that he had triumphed, “the gang” had arranged a big pine torch-light procession, and it passed with its blaze and din through every street of the town. Carson was at home when they lined themselves, in all their tooting of horns, beating of drums, and general clatter, along the front fence. The town brass-band did its best, and every sort of transparency that the inventive mind of Wade Tingle could devise was borne, as if by the smoke and heat of the torches themselves, above the long procession.
Garner separated himself from the throng, and, clad in a new and costly suit of clothes, a tribute to his engagement to Miss Tarpley—a fine black frock-coat, broadcloth trousers, and a silk hat—he made his way into the house and up the stairs to the veranda above, where Carson and his mother and father were standing.
“The boys want a speech,” he said to Carson, “and you've got to give them the best in your shop. By George, they deserve it.” Carson was demurring, but his mother pressed him to comply, and Garner, with his stateliest strut, his coat buttoned so tightly at the waist that, the tails spread out as if inviting him to sit down, and his hat held on a level with his left shoulder, advanced to the balustrade, and in his happiest mood introduced the man who, he declared, was the broadest-minded, the most conscientious and fearless candidate that ever trod the boards of a political platform. They were to receive the expression of gratitude and appreciation of a man whose name was written upon every heart present. Garner had the distinguished honor and pride to introduce his law partner and close friend, the Hon. Carson Dwight.
Carson never spoke better in his life. What he said was from a boyish heart overflowing with content and good-will. When he had finished Mrs. Dwight rose from her chair and proudly stood by his side. The cheers at her appearance rent the air. Then Garner pushed old Dwight forward from the shadow of a column where he was standing, and as the old gentleman awkwardly bowed his greeting, the cheers broke out afresh. Bob Smith, who was a sort of drum-major, with a ribbon-wound walking-cane for a baton, struck up, “For he's a jolly good fellow,” and as the crowd sang it to the spluttering and jangling accompaniment of the band the procession moved down the street.
At this juncture Major Warren came up to offer his congratulations. Carson was standing a few minutes later talking to Garner. He was trying to hear what his partner was saying in his bubbling and enthusiastic way about his engagement to Miss Tarpley, but he found it difficult to listen, for the conversation between his mother and Major Warren had fixed his attention.
“I tried to get her to come over to hear the speech, but she wouldn't,” the Major was saying. “I can't make her out here lately, Mrs. Dwight. She used to be so different in anything concerning Carson. She is now actually hiding behind the vines on the veranda.”
“Perhaps she is so much in love with Mr. Sanders that she—”
“That's the very point,” the Major broke in. “She won't talk about Sanders, and she—well, really, I think the two have quit writing to each other.”
“Perhaps she—oh, do you think, Major, that—” Carson heard no more; his father had come forward and was talking to Garner.
Carson slipped away. He glided down the stairs and out at the door on the side next to Warren's and rapidly strode across the grass. Passing through the little gateway, he reached the veranda and the vines concealing the spot where the hammock was hanging. He saw no one at first and heard no sound. Then he called out: “Helen!”
“What is it?” a timid, even startled voice from the vines answered, and Helen looked out.
“Why didn't you come over with your father?” Carson asked. “He said he wanted you to, but you preferred to stay here.”
“Ididwant to congratulate you,” Helen, said, as he came up the steps and they stood face to face. “I'm so happy over it, Carson, that really I was afraid I'd show it too much.”
“I'm glad you feel that way,” he said, awkwardly. “It was a hard fight, and I thought several times I was beaten.”
“What did you ever touch that wasn't hard?” she said, with a sweet, reminiscent laugh.
They were silent for a moment and then he said: “I'm not quite satisfied with your reason for not coming over with your father just now—really, you see, it is in a line with your actions for the last six weeks. Helen, you actually have avoided me.”
“On the contrary,” she said, “you have made it a point to stay away from me.”
“Well,” he sighed, “considering, you know, Sanders and his claims, I really thought I'd better keep my place.”
“Oh!” Helen exclaimed, and then she sank deeper into the vines.
For one instant he stood trembling before her, and then he asked, boldly: “Helen, tell me, are you engaged to him?”
She made no answer for a moment, and then in the moonlight he saw her flushed face against the vines and caught an almost startled glance from her wonderful eyes. She looked straight at him.
“No, I'm not, and I never have been,” she said.
“You never have been?” he repeated. “Oh, Helen—” But he went no further. For a moment he hung fire, then he said: “Don't you care for him, Helen? Are you and I good enough friends for me to dare to ask that?”
“I thought once that I might love him, in time” she faltered; “but when I came home and found—and found how deeply I had misunderstood and wronged you, I—I—” She broke off, her face buried in the leaves of the vines.
“Oh, Helen!” he cried; “do you realize what you are saying to me? You know my whole life is wrapped up in you. Don't raise my hopes to-night unless there is at least some chance of my winning. If there is one little chance, I'll struggle for it all the rest of my life.”
“Do you remember,” she asked, looking at him, one side of her flushed face pressed against the vines—“do you remember the night you told me in the garden about that awful trouble of yours, and I promised to bear it with you?”
“Yes,” he said, wonderingly.
“Well,” she went on, “I went straight to my room after I left you and wrote to Mr. Sanders. I told him exactly how I felt. I simply couldn't keep up a correspondence with him after—Carson, I knew that night when I left you there in your gloom and sorrow that I loved you with all my soul and body. Oh, Carson, when I heard your voice in your glorious speech just now, and knew that you have loved me all this time, I was so glad that I cried. I'm the happiest, proudest girl on earth.”
And as they stood hand in hand, too joyful for utterance, the glow of his triumph lit the sky and the din and clatter, the song and shouts of those who loved him were borne to him on the breeze.