Court day brought ever a large and motley crowd to town.
It is the farmer's levee, his monthly holiday—a proper time for friendly intercourse and barter. Usually busied in the field or about the farm, he sees little of the social or business world except through the medium of county court day.
On such occasions most of the tillers of the soil quit work and come in from the surrounding country and the neighboring hills—even from further outlying villages and adjacent counties. Some come on business, some on pleasure bent, but whether for recreation or profit, a goodly crowd convenes, the day in itself an all-sufficient excuse for the act.
A Kentucky court day possesses a marked social feature peculiarly its own. The men meet friends and neighbors in a social mood; renew acquaintances of long standing, and enjoymaking new ones; they exchange political opinions, disseminate local news, trade, swap, buy or sell; the women come to town, exchange country produce for shopping bargains, and learn something of the prevailing mode from their more stylish sisters who are in closer touch with the outer world.
Occasionally it comes to pass that personal grievances and feuds of long standing, or even family differences, are settled by a court day encounter, wherein the all-too-ready knife or pistol helps to play the tragic part; but oftener a spirit of good-fellowship prevails, and the social glass binds friendly neighbors into boon companions.
There is yet a more God-fearing element—the bone and sinew of pioneer strength and hardy manhood, men of simple faith, who walk sedately in the paths of sobriety and peace, whose lives are as quiet and gentle as the folk who once "dwelt in the basin of Minas." And in all, it is a strangely mixed gathering of good and evil—a Kentucky court day.
A larger crowd than usual was in town on this particular October morning. Most of the crops had been laid by, and even the more carefulhusbandmen felt as if they might safely indulge in a holiday without disquieting thoughts of work done and duties neglected; but there were other reasons yet to account for the large attendance on this day.
An undercurrent of suppressed excitement was manifest throughout the community, for the recent toll-gate raids, and the rumored threats against gates still standing in the county, made the question of free roads an all-absorbing topic.
The greater number of farmers were in favor of no toll, as was naturally the case, though some suggested a new and lower scale of rates, while the more conservative looked with apprehension on the spirit of lawlessness that seemed suddenly to flame into a passion that might grow alarmingly akin to anarchy, if the destructive tendency were left unchecked.
These more prudent, law-abiding men counseled patience and forbearance until the voice of the people should decide the question of free roads at the next election, and the slow-moving machinery of legislation give by purchase the right of travel without the paymentof toll, which many cried out against as an unjust and excessive tariff.
A discordant note had for a long time prevailed among these dwellers of the hills in opposition to the turnpike corporations, and this antagonistic spirit had intensified and spread, slowly leavening the disquiet, until it had become dangerously like a hot-bed of communism, only waiting for a daring hand to stir it into flame and action, and now this had finally come to pass.
The recent bold work of the raiders was guardedly discussed in public, for one did not always know but that a partisan to the cause might be the listener. A few non-partisans who had been overbold in their denunciation of the raiders' methods of acquiring free roads, had received anonymous letters warning them to silence, while a crude drawing of hangman's noose, or skull and crossbones lent significant weight to the message.
Since the burning of the Cross Roads gate, the county court had offered a reward of two hundred dollars for information that would lead to the apprehension and capture of any of the raiders, while numerous rumors wereafloat concerning them. It was hinted that Maggie O'Flynn had recognized two or three members of the band the night of the attack on the gate, and that several arrests would soon follow.
Men from adjacent counties brought the news of toll-gates raided near their homes. The infection was rapidly spreading, and it seemed that the fiat had gone forth dooming the collecting of tolls, and forecasting the speedy downfall of all the gates.
Several times through the day Squire Bixler saw the man with whom he had held converse the previous night, but on meeting him now, in the broad light of day, an indifferent nod on the one hand, and a friendly, "Howdy, Squire!" on the other, was all that passed between the two men.
Milton Derr was also in town, but no recognition whatever took place between him and his uncle when they met by chance some two or three times, face to face, on the crowded street.
The Squire shrewdly kept his eyes open and tried to bear in mind the different persons his confidential informant held converse with duringthe day; but this one was here and there, with a nod, a hand-shake or a friendly greeting, having, it seemed, no especial business with any one.
Along toward five o'clock (for the dusk came on early these brief October days) the Squire got his horse and started homeward. He had chosen to ride a horse on this occasion, for he did not wish to be importuned to give any one a seat in his buggy on the way back, and there was no prospect of having the pretty toll-gate keeper for company, for she was helping her mother collect toll, as it was court day. Moreover, for special reasons of his own, the Squire desired to be alone.
He jogged along at a moderate pace until he reached the top of the first hill; then he let his horse drop into a slow walk, for, on looking back, he saw in the waning light a horseman approaching from the town, and judging that it was the person he wanted to see, he came to a halt in the road when the overhanging elm was reached.
"What news?" asked he, as the other rode up.
"The night riders will be out again tonight, sure an' certain."
"About what time will they make a raid?"
"Along towards midnight—perhaps a little later."
"And what gate will they attack?"
"This one," answered his companion, nodding down the road.
"What! the New Pike gate?" exclaimed the Squire.
"Yes, it was decided at the last moment by the captain."
"Humph! I shouldn't think Milt would want to take a hand in that," muttered the Squire, reflectively.
"He don't know yet that it's to be this one, I think; but even if he did, he wouldn't dare to refuse to go along. He's taken the oath to obey the orders that are given him, an' now he'll have to do it, whether it pleases him or not. You'll have that other hundred all right when I come to see you tomorrow night or the next?"
"That's what I agreed to do, isn't it?" demanded the Squire, testily.
"Yes, of course, Squire, of course, only I wanted to remind you so you wouldn't forget to have it on hand, an' in small bills, too. Aman don't feel like riskin' his neck at this business, you know, unless he's sure of gettin' well paid for it."
"You've already received more than yours is worth, I'm thinking," growled the Squire. "If things turn out all right, though, and the young man is safely jailed, I shan't mind giving you the extra hundred out of my own pocket," added he, melting into good humor again, as he rode off homeward.
Early on the morning of this October court day, Sophronia Saunders, a friend and former schoolmate of the pretty toll-taker, went over to a neighbor's to see the housewife about weaving a rag carpet, the materials for which were already cut and sewed and rolled into balls ready for the loom.
Sophronia had taken an early start, for she wished to know just how much carpet chain would be needed, so that her father could bring it from town with him when he returned.
The air was full of crisp freshness, which brought a wholesome glow to the girl's plump cheeks as she walked briskly along down the dirt lane. Fallow fields stretched out on either hand, unrolling rich, varying shades of yellow and brown, reaching away in undulating waves to where the frost-painted hills stood in brave array, like gay canvases belonging to some gorgeous theatrical scene.
Far to the southward they extended—a long, irregular chain, whose rugged heights were gradually softened and subdued by distance and the October mists until they finally seemed but jagged banks of amethystine clouds piled high against the horizon.
Presently the girl reached a small wood that lay between her and her destination, and after a moment's pause, and a glance of maidenly precaution around, she agilely climbed the rail fence that enclosed its boundary, and started in a diagonal line across the wooded space to shorten her walk.
Within the wood the pensive presence of Autumn dwelt. The low, gentle rustling of falling leaves in a plaintive murmuring, as if regretful at approaching dissolution, greeted the sensitive ear at every turn. The drowsy air seemed haunted by vague faint-spirited voices whispering tenderly of the past summer's joys, while in sharp contrast, now and men, the sound of a dropping hickory nut from high up amid the branches where some frisky squirrels were at play, broke as a discordant note into the softer leaf-music of the trees.
The ground beneath her feet was soft-carpetedwith fallen leaves, drifting into rich mosaics, changing with each passing wind to new kaleidoscopic patterns of beauty and color.
At the further edge the woodland terminated abruptly in a deep ravine, which the girl must cross before her destination was reached. It was a lonely, picturesque spot, skirted by underbrush and cedar bushes, and lined with gray, lichen-clad boulders, jutting out boldly in fantastic shapes on either hand. Overarching trees and vines shut out the brighter daylight, and made a subdued twilight that kept the spot cool and shadowy even on the warmest of summer days—a hidden sylvan retreat fit for woodland nymph or dryad.
When the girl reached this ravine she skirted its edge until she should come to a place where an easier descent could be made into its shadowy depths, and had gone but a little way along its rim when, on glancing through an opening between the bushes, she caught sight of her neighbor, Steve Judson, coming up the dry, rocky bed of the stream, which in the rainy season was changed into a brawling torrent. He had neither seen her nor heard her approach,and was quite unaware that anyone was near.
Sophronia was just on the point of calling out and asking him to give her a helping hand in crossing the ravine, when something in his manner—a certain cautiousness of movement and an alertness of bearing—caught her attention and aroused her curiosity; so, keeping silent, she drew back amid the bushes and peered through a small space between the branches.
Steve clambered up the rocky defile until he reached a spot almost opposite to where Sophronia stood concealed. After a cautious glance around, he drew from under his coat an object that looked, from her point of observation, like an ordinary fruit jar.
He held the jar up in front of him a few moments, looking into it with close attention, turning it slowly around as he did so, then crossed over to the opposite side of the ravine, where, after placing his burden carefully at the foot of a cedar tree, he began to dig a hole in the ground near by.
The earth was light and yielding—the rich deposit of leaf mold of many years accumulation—and in a short time a hole was dug sufficientlydeep for its purpose, the jar was placed in it and covered with dirt. Some fallen leaves and loose pebbles were next scattered over the recently disturbed spot, and finally a large, flat rock laid just above the place where the jar had been buried.
After another cautious look of inquiry about him, when Steve had arisen to his feet, he turned and went down the ravine in the direction of his house.
Sophronia, wondering vainly what it was that her neighbor had hidden so carefully, and with such an air of secrecy, waited until he had been lost to sight amid the foliage, then slowly followed the course he had taken.
Soon she reached her destination. The Judson home was but a humble one, a dilapidated log cabin perched on the top of a rocky hill that gradually descended to the ravine which its owner had but lately quitted.
An air of neglect and shiftlessness hung heavily about the spot, for Steve was a person who would willingly sit for hours on a rail fence industriously whittling and talking politics, which was a favorite theme, but when it came to the driving of a needed nail in a looseplank, or repairing a break in a fence, he seldom had the time or inclination to engage in so prosaic an occupation. Selling off the stock was preferable to mending the fence, and when a shed tumbled down the broad canopy of heaven must thenceforth of necessity be a shelter.
Judson was making ready to go to town when the visitor arrived. He had not missed a court day since early boyhood, and no farm work was ever sufficiently important to keep him at home on such occasion.
When the girl explained her errand, he readily agreed to deliver any message she might wish to send her father, and to see to the bringing out of the needed carpet chain, while Mrs. Judson said, persuasively:
"'Phrony, I do wish you'd stay an' show me about cuttin' out a sack pattern. I'm as lost as if I was in the Roosian sea when it comes to cuttin' out things."
"An' it won't be puttin' you to too much trouble to see about the chain?" the girl asked of the man.
"It's just as easy as rollin' off a log," answered the complaisant host, who was of amost obliging disposition, and ever ready to attend to anybody's and everybody's business save his own.
"Now, Steve Judson, don't you forgit that carpet chain!" his wife called out admonishingly, in a shrill treble, as her husband rode off. "Men air sech forgitful critters 'bout rememberin'," she added complainingly to her visitor.
It was close upon noon when Sophronia started home, and she once more shortened the distance, choosing the ravine, and the way through the woods.
"I do wonder what he was buryin' so carefully up there?" she asked herself as she stopped in the ravine and looked up its shadowy depths.
The spot at which she had seen her neighbor digging was only a short distance away; in fact, she could almost see the exact location from where she now stood. She hesitated and gazed longingly up the ravine. A daughter of Eve, the impulse of investigation was strong upon her. If she only dared to venture farther up the shaded recesses to the spot where Steve had been digging! And why should she notdare? She would be quite free from interruption, for her neighbor was safe in town by now, and this remote place was rarely frequented.
She dallied with the temptation, casting yearning glances toward the charmed locality, and finally, almost before she realized the fact, she was standing beneath the very tree at whose foot the mysterious interment had taken place but a few hours ago.
With a glance of caution about her, such as he, too, had given, she suddenly stooped down and with some little difficulty moved the large flat rock that had been placed to mark the spot. Near by she found a sharp-pointed stick, the same that he had used, and with it began to scrape away the loose earth which hid the object of her search.
It proved to be a glass fruit jar, a plain jar having a metal top screwed down on a ring of rubber, and within was a roll of something wrapped in a scrap of newspaper. What in the world could it be?
Sophronia tried the lid, but it was firmly screwed on. As she had gone this far, however, she did not mean to be thwarted at such an early stage of her investigation, so graspingthe jar tightly between her knees, she made a more effective effort at loosening the lid, and soon had the top off and the contents of the jar in her lap.
She gave a low exclamation of astonishment as she unrolled to view a number of bank notes, mostly new, and of small denominations—ones, twos and fives. As Sophronia carefully fingered the bills, noting their value and the number the roll contained, her eyes opened wide with surprise at the sight of so much money.
No wonder her neighbor had exercised such caution in concealing his treasure. Here was a larger amount of money than she had ever imagined he would possess. How had he ever come into the ownership of such a sum? Could he have stolen it, and from whom?
The girl hastily counted the bills. "Goodness!" she exclaimed. It was ninety-five dollars in all—a small fortune indeed for a person in Judson's situation. How came he with such booty, for booty it must be, since he had never been known to save a dollar in his life, yet here was quite a snug little fortune that had been acquired by some unknown means.
Sophronia soon had the lid off, and the contents of the jar in her lap.Sophronia soon had the lid off, and the contents of the jar in her lap.
AsSophronia puzzled over the matter, her eyes chanced to fall on the scrap of paper in which the money had been wrapped, and smoothing out the paper, she slowly read the reward offered by the President of the Turnpike Corporation, for any information that would lead to the arrest and conviction of the raiders, whose recent deeds of violence were a menace to the community.
So this, then, was a solution to the problem vexing her brain! Steve Judson must have betrayed the raiders, and this money was the larger part of the spoils he had received. He certainly could not have accumulated such an amount otherwise, for his ill-kept, sterile patch of ground scarcely yielded a poor living.
As Sophronia sat looking first at the money then at the printed reward, the fear of detection suddenly came over her. Whether it was ill-gotten gain, or not, the money certainly was not hers, and she had no right to thus unearth it from its secret hiding place. Suppose some one should discover her in the act!
Alarmed at the mere thought, she hastily wrapped the scrap of paper around the money, and dropping the roll in the jar, screwed onthe lid and reburied the treasure, taking care to leave the place looking quite as she had found it. Then she hastily quitted the spot.
Night.
The dark forms of a group of men were brought out in sharp contrast against the fitful light of a small brushwood fire built in a sheltered spot among the hills.
A few faint stars dotted the moonless sky, and the night air was raw with the frosty breath of late October.
Some of the men were sitting about on scattered blocks of rejected stone, left in the abandoned quarry years before when the abutment of a bridge had been built over a small, swift stream near by, but the great number of raiders stood in careless attitudes around the fire, talking or smoking.
"Captain's late," one of the men in the foreground said.
"I heard the ring of Black Devil's hoofs comin' up the hill just a moment ago," a raider answered.
As he spoke, he thrust a fresh supply of brush into the fire, and briskly stirred the bed of embers until it glowed with sudden fervor, while a shower of sparks arose and fluttered into the night like a swarm of fireflies rudely disturbed.
"Be saving of the brush," cautioned one of the raiders. "There may be officers of the law abroad tonight."
"It is money to them if they bag us," answered the other, with an expressive shrug of the shoulders and a hoarse laugh. "There's a reward of two hundred dollars offered for information concerning the raiders, or night-riders, as some folks call us."
"Perhaps some one's after it," suggested another.
"And what good 'd the reward be? It would melt or burn where we'd send him."
"Is it the gate at the stone bridge tonight?"
"No, I have heard it's to be another—one more familiar to some of our members," the speaker continued, casting a furtive glance at a number of the band standing near.
"Suppose it should be the pole of the New Pike gate, and Milt was chosen to do the cutting?"The man at the fire spoke tauntingly.
"The pole of the New Pike gate won't be cut tonight, I'm thinking," said Derr quietly.
"Not if the Captain commands it?"
"No."
"Listen, you fellows—hear what this man's sayin'!"
"And what's more to the point, I'm willing to bet that he isn't going to insist on me cutting it, either," added Derr, glancing about him with a half-defiant air in which there was also the suggestion of a threat.
Quickly the attention of the others was drawn to the speaker, who had unconsciously straightened to his full six feet, while the rich color in his cheeks, augmented by the ruddy glow of the firelight, deepened perceptibly, and quickly spread to his throat and neck, which were partly revealed in their robust outlines, where the heavy coat was thrown back to the warmth of the fire.
"Any special reasons for not wantin' to cut down the pole of the New Pike gate?" asked one of the band, with a wink on the sly at his companions.
"I have," answered Milt frankly and seriously."One good reason I will state a little later, the other can be given right now. It seems a cowardly thing to do—the chopping down of a gate that's kept by two lone women. Now if it was a man, the case would be altogether different."
"It ain't the women folks we've got the grudge ag'in," spoke up one of the men. "It's the graspin' turnpike companies back of 'em we're after."
"Yes, but it's taking away the living of two worthy women," protested Derr.
"That can't be helped, though," argued the other raider. "If we're goin' to do away with toll-gates, an' have free roads, we can't play favorites, you know, by cuttin' down some poles, an' leavin' others standin', just on account o' family relations," he said.
"What's the talk?" The deep voice came from the outer gloom, and as the men glanced in its direction, the captain emerged from the shadows hovering close about the circle and joined the group.
An embarrassing silence fell suddenly upon the company, at the leader's presence, and each man waited for his neighbor to make reply. Asno one seemed inclined to answer, finally Derr spoke.
"It was concerning the New Pike gate. Some one suggested that I would be chosen to do the cutting of the pole."
"Well!" The captain fixed his steel cold eyes full on the speaker, while the semblance of a sarcastic smile hovered about his mouth.
"I have good and sufficient reasons for not wanting to cut down that pole, and especially if I was called upon tonight," continued the speaker quietly, his eyes meeting the captain's gaze unflinchingly.
"Have your reasons been called for?" demanded the leader with a contemptuous curl of the lip.
"Among other reasons," continued Derr, ignoring the question, "I don't see the need of disturbing that gate for the present, when so many others around here tonight might claim our attention."
The little groups merged into a large one, and general attention was quickly centered in the two men, for trouble seemed brewing in this quarter. As they stood face to face, eyeing each other keenly and coolly, the spirit ofunfriendliness that had long held a place in each bosom was plainly evident, and a clashing of strong wills appeared imminent. There had ever been a feeling of rivalry, dating far back to the days they had gone to school together in Alder Creek Glen, and pretty little Sally Brown was the figurative apple of discord between the two.
"His reasons for not wanting that gate disturbed may not be hard to guess," said the captain, a sneer lingering on his heavy lips. "He's in love with the pretty toll-taker."
"And the captain's rather sore because she's jilted him," retorted Derr in clear, deliberate tones.
The leader's face flushed crimson with anger at the words that carried with them the sting of truth, and a look of hatred blazed for an instant in his eyes as he turned them full on the speaker, standing calm and disdainful, meeting the look fearlessly.
Perhaps this utter lack of fear deterred the captain from his first impulse, for he knew that to press his adversary further at this moment meant a speedy settlement of old scores. Jade Beddow was not ready for such a coursejust yet, indeed he knew a better plan of revenge, so with strong effort he managed to control the rage that filled him, and to bring himself to a more fitting realization of his present course of conduct.
"We haven't met tonight to settle personal grievances," he said, letting his eyes slowly wander to the men surrounding him. "These can be left to another time an' place. Our business tonight is to strike another blow for our just cause, and the New Pike gate is the one to go down. Let those who are not cowards follow me. To your horses, boys!"
A little before eight o'clock, while the young girl was still busied in the kitchen with the supper dishes, for on court days this meal was always a late one, Squire Bixler again passed through the New Pike gate on his way to town.
Sally's mother raised the gate for him, and curious to know the cause of his speedy return, straightway began to ply him with questions. When she came into the house after he had ridden on, the seal of secrecy being the price the Squire required of her for the information he had imparted, she heaved so deep a sigh, and looked so full of melancholy forebodings that her daughter quickly inquired the cause.
"Nothin'," answered the old woman evasively, but the tone and her actions suggested quite the contrary. Indeed, her face bore the unmistakable impression of an impending disaster. The girl's curiosity was at once aroused and piqued by her mother's bearing and words.
"But there is certainly something troubling you," insisted Sally. "You look quite put out."
"Well," admitted the other grudgingly, "perhaps I am."
"Then what's the matter?"
"I'm under solemn promise not to tell anybody, not even you, but when a person don't know what minute they're liable to lose the very shelter over their heads, it's high time for dismal looks I should say."
"Are we in any such danger?" asked the girl quickly.
"I'm not sayin' as we air or ain't," yet the speaker gave a most gloomy shake of her head along with the noncommittal answer.
"But you act like something serious was the matter."
"I can't well help showin' what's on my mind, I suppose."
"Then why on earth don't you say what's troubling you?"
"When you're told a thing, an' then told positively not to tell it, how is a person to do?" asked Mrs. Brown in dire perplexity. Herpledge to the Squire was already beginning to weigh heavily upon her.
"I don't see why you hesitate to tell me," said Sally emphatically; "I'm not a child that can't be trusted with a secret."
"I don't see the harm myself in your knowin' it," acknowledged her mother, "and that, too, when you'd be sure to find it out in a mighty little while, for as soon as the guards come, you'd know that somethin' was wrong."
"The guards?" echoed the girl. "Then it's something about the raiders?"
"I didn't say," answered her mother with exasperating evasiveness.
"But it is," cried the girl. "Surely I've quite as much right to know as you. Don't it concern me equally as much?"
"Of course, but then the Squire didn't seem to want to make you uneasy any sooner than was necessary. That's why he cautioned me about tellin' you, I suppose."
"And very thoughtful it was of him, too," declared the girl with shrewdly feigned graciousness. "So it was the squire that told you about the raiders?"
"Yes, and it goes to prove how much he really thinks of you, not to want you worried."
"That's true," the girl's manner took on a careless indifference, "He was speaking to me the other day about the raiders; what did he have to say to you?" she asked in an off-hand way that threw the mother quite off her guard for the moment.
"He was sayin' that he feared you'd be badly frightened if you knew the raiders would be here tonight."
"Tonight?" cried the girl excitedly, no longer acting a part.
"There! I've gone and let the cat out of the bag, after all!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown in sudden contrition. "You partly guessed it, though. I didn't tell you out and out." She came a little closer to Sally, while her voice dropped to a tragic whisper. "Yes, the raiders air comin' this very night."
"How does he know?"
"He didn't tell me, but he's found out somehow."
"What will become of us?" cried her hearer in genuine apprehension.
"Dear knows!" answered her mother meltinginto tears at the thought of the impending raid. "We'll likely have the roof burned over our very heads, and tomorrow will find ourselves without a shelter."
"Well, there, don't worry!" urged the girl, touched by her mother's evident distress of mind. "There's another shelter been offered us, if the worst comes to the worst."
"Whose?" questioned Mrs. Brown quickly, for the moment forgetful of impending danger in the thirst for further knowledge of this generous offer. "Has the Squire offered us a home?" she questioned eagerly, eyeing her daughter askant.
"Yes, he has," acknowledged the girl with a little show of hesitation; "not that I mean to accept it," she added to herself, with a pretended flare of courage that was far from real. "What does the Squire think the raiders will be apt to do?" she questioned, returning to the primary subject under discussion.
"He don't intend they shall do us any harm if he can help it. He's gone to town now to get men to come an' guard the gate, an' he hopes to ketch the last one of them lawlessraiders before mornin'," declared the elder toll-taker.
"I hope not!" cried the girl impulsively as a sudden fear crossed her brain.
"You hope not?" repeated Mrs. Brown in open-eyed wonder, turning on her daughter in quick wrath. "Is Milt Derr one of them night riders that you talk like that, Sally Brown?"
"Of course not, mother, else they wouldn't be cominghere," answered Sally with quick wit to repair the slip of her tongue. "I mean on account of the trouble it would bring to a lot of innocent people," she hastened to explain. "Of course these raiders have friends and kinfolks, likely some of 'em acquaintances of ours up in the hills. Besides, the raiders think they're mightily down-trodden and oppressed, for toll-ratesarehigh, there's no denying the fact."
"Sally Brown! I'm downright ashamed of you, that I am!" cried her mother sharply. "The idea of you takin' up for them miserable law-breakers, an' them tryin' to burn the very roof over our heads, an' take the daily bread out of our mouths. You must have gone clean daft."
"I didn't say I thought they were right," persisted Sally. "I said it likely seemed so to them."
"An' you got no cause to say even that," insisted Mrs. Brown, "you, that's dependin' on a livin' by takin' of the toll. It's nothin' short of downright treason!"
The girl had been dreading just such news as her mother had revealed, yet since the conversation with the Squire the day Sally had so unwillingly ridden with him from town, she had been hourly expecting it. Now that the ill news had really come, her present uneasiness was not altogether on her mother's account, nor her own. It was probable that her sweetheart was now affiliated with the band of raiders, yet if this was true, it seemed a little strange that the New Pike gate was the one to be attacked.
When Sally sat down to her sewing a little later, after her various household duties had been attended to for the evening, her thoughts were very far removed from her present work, and she was much more troubled and perplexed in spirit and mind than she cared to show.
At the time she had heard the talk between the Squire and his unknown informant, it wasevident that Milton Derr had not then joined the raiders, but from the trend of that conversation it seemed likely he would soon become a member of the band. He was evidently debating the feasibility of joining them. Had he done so, and was he now powerless to change or divert their plans?
It was not alone the news that the gate would be attacked which was troubling the girl, but the further information her mother had given that the plans of the raiders were known, and the Squire was even then in town organizing a posse to resist the attack and capture the band.
Supposing her sweetheart was now a member of it, and some subtle intuition was urging her to such belief, what would be the outcome of it all? This then was the trap the Squire was adroitly laying for his nephew. She had warned Milt of the danger, but had he heeded? The band was probably composed of men he knew well, and was doubtless gathered from the ready material to be found among the rugged hills wherein he dwelt.
There had ever seemed to exist among these people a certain wild spirit of adventure and reckless daring, which one naturally imbibedalong with the very air of these free remote hills, and the Squire's nephew was of that restive nature too easily attracted by anything savoring of excitement or danger, such as these lawless escapades might readily furnish.
On recalling a talk she had held with her sweetheart the Sunday evening before, when they rode together from Alder Creek meeting-house, she felt that her very own words may have had some weight in influencing him to cast his fortunes with the raiders. Though she warned him of such a course, yet in almost the same breath she told him of the Squire's prediction that the New Pike gate would be wrecked, leaving her mother and herself homeless, but she wisely said nothing about the Squire's offer of marriage, deeming it prudent to remain silent on this point for the present, at least.
She had appealed to the nephew to do what he could to prevent the destruction of the New Pike gate, and had meant to enlist his aid only so far as the exercising of his influence over any personal friends who might belong to the band of raiders.
As things now stood, a great danger lay inthe fact that the posse of men now being gathered together in town, would probably make speedy war on those who threatened destruction to the gate. There would doubtless be fighting, some might be killed, wounded or taken prisoners, and her sweetheart was as liable to be among the first as the latter, if he were a raider. What great relief it would be at this moment to know that he was not connected with those who had lately declared warfare on the toll-gates throughout the country!
If she could but manage to see him, even for a brief moment, a simple word of warning might avert serious trouble. There was still left her a faint chance for such warning to be given, for Milton Derr had gone to town that morning, and she had not seen him return, though it might be that he had passed the gate on his homeward way, while she was busied with her household duties.
She felt a growing eagerness to know if her mother had seen him pass, yet dared not ask. Finally she decided on a little subterfuge.
"Dear me!" she cried, suddenly pausing in her work and glancing at her mother inquiringly, "I forgot to send Phrony that skirt patternshe asked me to hunt for her. Has every one passed living up that way?"
"I s'pose they have," answered Mrs. Brown grumpily. "It's gettin' late, an' if the country folks ain't at home by now, they oughter be."
The girl made a show of hunting up the pattern, then sat down with it and her sewing near the front door.
Several belated travelers passed, some rather the worse for having imbibed too freely of the cup that cheers, but the one she wished to see was not among them. Along toward nine o'clock a small party of horsemen came galloping along the pike, loudly hallooing and firing their pistols as they came, and for a moment the girl thought the raiders were surely at hand.
Then quickly realizing that the cavalcade was coming not from the direction of the hill country, but the town, and that the night was yet too young for raiders to be abroad, she understood that it was merely a drunken crowd on their homeward way, therefore she hurried out and raised the pole, then fled into the house and blew out the light, as the horsemen wentdashing by, in a volley of shouts and oaths, like a miniature whirlwind.
Just as the clock was striking nine, and when her mother had once more fallen asleep after her recent rude awakening, the girl's attentive ear caught the sound of a horse's familiar tread, and tiptoeing lightly out on the platform, she softly closed the door behind her and awaited the rider.
She was not at fault in her surmise, for the horseman was the one she had hoped to see, and at her low summons he rode close up to the platform where she stood, all impatient to divulge her message.
"I thought you'd never come, or else that you had already passed the gate without me seeing you!" cried Sally in an eager undertone when he drew rein.
"I would certainly have started earlier if I'd known you were waiting," answered the rider contritely.
"Did you know we are expecting the raiders to pay us a visit tonight?" she asked hurriedly, coming at once to the point.
"Pay this gate a visit?" queried Milt in genuinesurprise that proved her words news to him.
"Yes."
"Are you quite sure about that?" he asked thoughtfully, "How do you know it's to be this gate?"
"The Squire came by on his way to town only a little while ago, and told mother. He's gone now to raise a posse of men to guard the gate."
"Here's trickery," thought Milt. "I was led to believe it was to be some other gate for tonight's raid, or else I've got things badly mixed. The Squire said it was this gate?" he added aloud.
"That's what he told mother. I didn't see him. You mustn't ever tell that I told you, never!" she insisted.
"I never will," he declared fervently. "And how did the Squire know about it?" he added thoughtfully.
"I don't know, likely from the man who is acting the spy for him."
"I wonder who that man can be?"
"I don't know, but the Squire's got somebody in his pay who is not only spying on theraiders but on you also. He's acting a double part."
"And you say the gate is to be guarded tonight?"
"Yes, the guards will be here soon."
"Well, perhaps that may scare the raiders away," said the young man reassuringly. "I'm awful glad you told me about it."
"I thought you ought to know," said Sally in a low tone, "for perhaps you have friends that might be interested in such news."
"This gate shall never be molested as long as I can do anything to prevent it," said Milton Derr earnestly, bending sideways until his arm encircled the waist of the pretty toll-taker on the platform; "and if it ever is, you can understand that I am powerless to save it. Good night, sweetheart!"
The girl stole quietly into the toll-house after her lover had ridden away toward the misty hills. She found her mother still sleeping soundly in her chair, quite oblivious of surroundings, and little dreaming that the secret the Squire had urged her to keep so securely had reached a third pair of ears already in its swift journeyings.
Catching up her sewing again, which she had quickly dropped on the floor in her eagerness to see the belated rider, Sally began to sew away industriously to make up for lost time, while her thoughts flew a good deal faster than her needle.
Her surcharged mind was now happily relieved of a portion of its burden of fears. There was no longer any danger threatening her sweetheart, so far as the present intended raid was concerned, and possibly this itself would fail of fruition.
Soon after ten o'clock the sheriff and a posse of armed men appeared.
"You keep late hours, Miss Sally," he said when she and her mother came out to receive them. "I expected to find you both asleep."
"Not when we are expecting company," the girl answered with a laugh that was somewhat forced; "that wouldn't be good manners, you know."
"It's no use to go to bed," insisted Mrs. Brown. "I couldn't sleep a wink, not if my life depended on it, that I couldn't." Sally smiled faintly, thinking of the recent long nap her mother had taken, and of the warning that had been given, quite unknown to the sleeper, thanks to this period of oblivion.
"I do hope none of you will get hurt!" cried the girl in deep concern. "It seems dreadful to think that perhaps before morning a very battle may be fought right around this quiet spot."
"Don't be alarmed," the sheriff insisted. "I look for little trouble or bloodshed either."
"No more do I," thought the pretty toll-taker, with a secret satisfaction she admirably concealed.
"I expect to take the rascals so completely by surprise they will have a chance to make but little resistance," the officer continued reassuringly, for the girl's apparent fear appealed to him. "Perhaps we may be able to capture the whole band without loss of a single man."
A feeling almost bordering on resignation had gradually supplanted the disturbed condition of Mrs. Brown's mind since her daughter's reassuring confession that the Squire had placed a shelter at their disposal, in case the raiders deprived them of the one they now had. She began to feel that the threatened calamity might, after all, take on the characteristics of a disguised blessing, since it would help to bring to a climax a state of affairs she had long striven, though unsuccessfully, to mold to her purpose, and that through the raiders the Squire might also manage to get him a wife, which, up to the present moment at least had proven a most elusive quantity.
With the coming of the posse to guard the gate, Mrs. Brown's spirits took on almost a jubilant turn, for though the raiders might fail in their present venture, they would ultimately succeed in the destruction of the New Pikegate, and its doom would probably not be far distant, in spite of officers or guard, while the price of its downfall would be the speedy realization of the mother's fondest dreams concerning her daughter's future.
"We might just as well lay down on the outside of the bed, dressed as we are," said Mrs. Brown, as she led the way into the house, after the men had been placed on guard. "It's no use stayin' up, though, of course, I don't expect to close my eyes the entire night, for nobody can tell what may take place before mornin'."
"The raiders may not come, after all," ventured Sally, hoping to allay her mother's evident fears, "though, as you say, it's just as well to look presentable, in case we should be turned out of the house and home in the middle of the night." She gave a covert glance in the small looking glass on the tall dresser as she spoke.
"There's at least one that will not be captured tonight, whether he is a raider, or whether he isn't, and the Squire may find that his traps are not as carefully set as he thinks,"said the girl to herself as she blew out the light, and lay down.
The incidents of the past few days came crowding confusedly through her brain as she lay thinking over the many entanglements that seemed tightening their meshes closer and closer about her.
As the night grew on apace, a suggestive sound by her side proclaimed that her mother had fallen asleep, despite all predictions of a watchful vigil, and as the girl lay and listened to the droning monotone, it finally lulled her into forgetfulness and slumber.
Darkness and silence hovered over the New Pike gate, and while its inmates slept on through threatened danger, others were yet awake and watchful along the opposite side of the road, their alert and crouching figures hidden in the gloom of the sheltering stone wall as the guard impatiently awaited the coming of the raiders.
At the captain's arrogant words, flung at Derr in the wake of a scornful laugh, the riders began to move slowly in the direction of a near-by cedar thicket darkening the entrance to the quarry. At this spot the horses were hitched, guarded by a member of the band, who at the same time guarded the approach to the rendezvous.
Milton Derr stood motionless, silent and defiant, with tightly compressed lips, and in his dark eyes a vengeful, half exultant light.
Should he let them go unwarned? This was an easy and speedy way to even up with Jade Beddow for his insulting words, and his intended blow to Derr through the downfall of the New Pike gate.
Silence on the part of his enemy would surely bring harm this night to the captain of the band, and also to the raiders themselves, yet many of these were Milt's friends, andmust not be sacrificed to his own hot anger and hatred of one man. This were cowardly. It was his duty to speak out plainly for their sakes. Understanding this, he made a sudden move forward, and called out sharply:
"Listen to what I have to say!"
As the men looked back he raised his hand warningly. "The captain has given youhisreasons as to why I have so frankly spoken against raiding the New Pike gate tonight, now I will give youmine."
He paused a moment and looked around on the waiting crowd.
"It's because the plans of the night-riders have been found out, and a posse of men are now waiting at the gate to give a warm welcome to those who come."
At his words a sudden confusion fell among his listeners, as when a bomb is exploded in the ranks. The men stood irresolute, alarmed, looking first at the captain, then toward the spokesman, whose tall dark figure loomed up against the background of gray rock dimly outlined by the expiring fire.
The captain hesitated, uncertain what moveto make; then he came back a few steps to where Derr stood.
"How do you know this?" he asked sharply.
"I know it," answered the other quietly, "and that's enough."
"But how do you know it? Who told you?" The leader grew insistent.
Derr compressed his lips and made no answer.
The captain gazed at him steadfastly some moments, then turned abruptly toward his men.
"You have heard what he says, boys, that our plans are found out, and the gate under guard. If this is true, there's a traitor in our midst, and this is his work."
A deep silence followed these suggestive words. The men glanced furtively at one another, as if a sudden distrust had arisen, specter-like, among them. The band separated into little groups and fell to talking in low tones among themselves, with now and then a suspicious look shot in Milton Derr's direction, but he stood silent and impassive, a little apart from the others, seemingly oblivious of these glances, or of the words to which they gave rise.
"This may be only a hatched up tale to scare us off," suggested the captain at last, looking inquiringly around him.
"Remember I have given you all fair warning," Milt said quietly, looking beyond the leader to where the men stood in scattered groups.
"Who is your authority for this report?" the captain once more asked.
"I learned it, that is all you need to know."
"When did you hear it?"
"In time to warn you."
The captain turned away with an impatient gesture and a muttered oath. "Perhaps it wouldn't be a hard matter to tell how the toll-gate people learned of it," he said with meaning emphasis in his tone.
"There may be something in this, after all, so what's the use of running into danger when you can steer clear of it?" asked one of the raiders. "The New Pike gate will keep till another time."
"But if there's a traitor in our midst, what other time is so safe for us?" the leader interrogated. "The only course before us is to strike now and as often as we can, guards orno guards. For my own part I don't believe the gate is guarded."
A warm discussion arose among the men, and hot words were bandied to and fro. A few favored the postponement of the intended raid. Several, along with the captain, were inclined to discredit the story that the gate was under guard, and the majority advocated a bold assault, even in the face of danger, which served to lend a certain zest to the act.
Through it all Milton Derr stood silent, and offered no advice.
"Well! what shall we do, boys—go or not?" asked the leader impatiently.
"Put it to a vote."
"Agreed!" the leader answered. "All who favor making the raid, step to the right. How many of you? Twenty. A fine showing, my trusty lads! Cowards are in the minority tonight. If one goes, all should go. Only a traitor would hesitate. To your horses!"
"Free roads! Down with the toll-gates!" The cry arose in a hoarse howl as the men moved quickly in the direction of their horses.
Derr stood hesitating, abashed and vanquished. If he now refused to go along withthe others it was but the signing of his own death warrant, and the invoking of swift punishment. He would be proclaimed a traitor, branded as one. Rather would he run the risk of getting killed by the officers of the law than thus incur the enmity of the band, and perhaps suffer the penalty of a traitor's deed.
By his presence he might still be of some benefit to the inmates of the toll-house threatened, and possibly through the influence of friends among the raiders the building might be spared and only the pole cut down.
If the captain persisted in venting his anger and spite on a couple of helpless and defenseless women, and was fully determined to burn the New Pike-gate, and make a repetition of the Cross Roads affair then—Milt's hand unconsciously grasped the handle of his pistol—the band might be speedily called upon to elect a new leader.
Milt slowly followed the raiders down the hill and joined them at the thicket. At a word from the captain the cavalcade set out through the keen frosty air, the clang of many hoofs on the loose stones along the way echoing amid the silent hills, and breaking sharply into thequiet of the night. Now and then, a tiny trail of sparks flashed beneath the flying iron shoes like a nest of glow-worms scattered into the darkness.
Around the base of frowning, tall, uprising hills the raiders swept in a swift gallop, now through gloomy rock-bound ways, past quiet farm-houses, by fallow fields, following the winding courses of the road that trailed under the dim starlight like a ribbon of mist between the silent, opaque hills.
Still on and on the horsemen rode, sometimes dropping into a slower gait, then spurring their horses anew, with never a jest as they rode along, nor a fling of laughter or song to the darkness—a shadowy, silent band with suggestion of deep-set purpose in the ominous quiet they maintained. When at last they swung around the curve of the pike and came in sight of the New Pike gate, the captain drew rein and called a brief halt.
"Go forward!" he commanded, selecting Derr for the mission.
"Let me go! I'm not afraid!" hastily cried another member of the band, as Milton hesitated and seemed on the point of refusing. Itwas Steve Judson who spoke, and there was a touch of eagerness in his voice as he made the request.
"I have chosen the one to go," said the leader sternly. "If the gate is guarded, as he seems to think is the case, he is on better terms with the toll-takers an' their protectors than any of us."
"Aw, let me go!" persisted Steve. "That's always been my duty, an' I'm not afraid to shirk it now. Send me ahead!"
"You stay here!" commanded the captain decisively. "I've got other work for you when the time comes."
"Go forward!" the captain continued, addressing Milt. "If you find the coast clear, ride on beyond the gate, then signal us, an' guard the road from that point."
"I have told you that I believe the gate to be guarded," answered Derr quietly. "I have warned you that it was to be. Do you command me to ride into almost certain danger?"
"If you know it to be guarded, you stand in no danger from your friends," answered the leader coldly. "If we find you have betrayedus you will stand in very great danger from your enemies."
"I have not betrayed you, I have only warned you," insisted Milt.
"Then you should be willing to share the danger with us. A brave man never fears danger if his duty demands it. Go!"
"I will go, then, since you command it. Remember, though, comrades," he added, turning to the members of the band who were nearest to him, "if I fail to get back, my blood be upon this man!"
He turned and rode quickly through the darkness toward the New Pike gate.