CHAPTER XI.
IT would be unjust in this narrative to class David Baldwin, the Congressman, with his brother, Zechariah. David meant to be just. Whatever of justice there was in the relations of the Baldwins to their workmen was usually credited by the workmen to Congressman Baldwin, and probably they were right. Such reforms as had been granted in the mills had usually been secured by appealing from Zechariah, the resident manager, to David, whose public duties kept him much of the time in Washington. David Baldwin was generous. If there was anything of the “milk of human kindness� in the treatment of the Baldwin workmen it was due largely to David.
Zechariah Baldwin was generous when he thought his generosity would make a big display, and be heralded in the public press. In the church and in the press, especially the religious press, thename of Zechariah Baldwin was acclaimed loudly as a philanthropist. In private circles, particularly among his own workmen, in those small circles where the laborer dared to speak his honest feelings, he was oftener spoken of as a “skinflint,� or simply a “skin,� a term in common use which is full of meaning, and that not of the best kind. Zechariah Baldwin was the last to raise the wages of his help and the first to cut them down.
David Baldwin was rarely known, where the decision lay with himself alone, to refuse any reasonable request of a workingman. While his public gifts were not as large, nor trumpeted as loudly as his brother’s, still, the unfortunate employee or neighbor who needed help, knew where to get it. But David was absent much of the time, either in Washington, performing his official duties as Congressman, or attending to large financial interests outside of Papyrus. Hence it happened that Zechariah Baldwin was usually the boss ofPapyrus and political independence was not tolerated among the workmen. Few workingmen had ever remained long in Papyrus after showing in any way their independence of the Baldwins.
Zechariah Baldwin defended the position of the paper manufacturers in this way:
“We have built up the town; we own it and we claim the moral right to drive out of it any man who is offensive to us. That one-eyed Wycliff is a mischief-maker and trouble-breeder and he has got to get out.�
But Wycliff did not get out. He did not even promise to get out. He seemed to have no intention of getting out. The methods which usually succeeded in driving a workingman out of town—blacklisting him in all the Baldwin industries and warning other employers not to hire him—these methods had failed utterly in the case of John Wycliff.
“We cannot tolerate him much longer,� said Zack Baldwin. Certainly not. Where one workingmandares to do his own thinking and to express his own opinions there is danger that others will catch the distemper. What if they should form a union and demand the same wages paid elsewhere for the same work? Such a thing was not to be thought of for an instant.
“We must fight the devil with fire,� said Zack Baldwin. Accordingly he offered a few Papyrus roughs a large sum if they would drive Wycliff out of town. He was not particular as to the means employed, so long as they avoided publicity and arrest. Zack Baldwin’s own son, Jehu, might be classed with other Papyrus roughs, in spite of a thin veneer of polished manners, which high society and the schools had given him. It is highly probable that the means employed to rid the town of Wycliff might have been violent but for an unexpected incident.
Zechariah Baldwin met an old acquaintance from the West at the Taconic House, the only hotel in Papyrus, and, of course, the property of the Baldwins.
“How do you do, Colonel Lathrop?� exclaimed the Lord of Papyrus, effusively.
“That you, Baldwin?� replied the Westerner; “you have a delightful town here.�
“So we think;� and the little millionaire paper-maker rubbed his hands in self-congratulation; “but we have a few evil-minded cranks among us who think they could improve matters. However, I think the boys will drive out the worst one within a week.�
“Who is he? Who would think of finding fault with such a paradise as this?� pursued the Colonel.
“No one but a fool—a crank named Wycliff. There he is now, cleaning the street, with the rest of Maxwell’s gang—a job just suited to him, except that he ought not to have any employment at all in a decent town.�
“Wycliff? Wycliff? John Wycliff?—One-eyed Wycliff?�
“Yes, that’s the man. Do you know him?� asked the little man in surprise.
“I rather think I do,� replied Colonel Lathrop, pulling out his wallet, “and here’s a hundred dollars that says you don’t drive John Wycliff out of Papyrus, and that if you try it you’ll have the biggest job for the Coroner you ever had in Berkshire. What! Won’t put up the money?� and the big ranchman looked down on the little millionaire with contempt.
“There’s no blood in your neck, is there!�
The dapper little churchman was shocked that anyone should expect him to do such a vulgar, unchristian thing as to bet, but he controlled himself long enough to ask:—
“What do you know of Wycliff?�
“Oh, not much,� sneered the big fellow, “except that he is the most stubborn cuss, and can shoot the straightest and quickest of any man I ever knew.� Then, as the little man waited, he continued:—
“He was a cow-boy on my ranch. One day the Indians tried to stampede hisherd. There were seven red devils, and he all alone against them. We found four ‘good Indians,’ Indians that would never steal any more cattle, one just dying, and two had returned to the reservation to report that Wycliff was ‘bad medicine.’ We found Wycliff, nearly dead, with one eye shot out, behind a breastwork of dead cattle.�
The big ranchman did not attempt to disguise his contempt for the little man, and without a word of farewell, he strode down into the dirt of the street, to greet his former employee. Meanwhile one of the loungers at the hotel had overheard the Colonel’s story. Before night it was repeated, with numerous additions, all through Papyrus, and all the Baldwins’ money would not have hired the biggest bully in the town to approach John Wycliff with evil intent.
The ranchman stepped up to Hugh Maxwell, who was overseeing the work, saying:—
“I want to borrow one of your men—Wycliff—for awhile, if I may do so.�
“All right,� was the reply. “Only return him in good condition.�
Then the two walked off down the street, and the Colonel told Wycliff of his conversation with Zechariah Baldwin.
“I’m not afraid of anything in that direction,� replied Wycliff. “I am blessed with lots of good friends in Papyrus, and one of Zack Baldwin’s own gang gave away the whole plot to me. I have friends in Zack Baldwin’s own house. I have taken all the precautions I care to. I have sent away my wife and child, for the present, up into the country. Such of our household goods as are valuable merely for their associations—our pictures, my mounted cougar, everything which money could not replace—all these things I have taken to a neighbor’s. As for me, I don’t know as I should live a week if some one did not threaten to injure me.� And Wycliff laughed.
“I came to town,� said Colonel Lathrop, “to see about your share in theRattlesnake. I hope you haven’t sold it.�
“No. When I lost my property I tried to sell it, but could not get an offer. I have felt that sometime it might become of value, perhaps through cheaper methods of mining.�
“You know Walker Nichols, the mining expert?�
“By reputation. Yes.�
“He thinks that by the practice of new economies in mining, which will lessen our expenses considerably, we may be able to operate the Rattlesnake Mine at a small profit. Then there is always the possibility of striking a richer vein. Shall I go ahead? You will not need to advance anything.�
“Certainly.�
“You remember Mr. Baxter?�
“Yes; ‘Old Sunshine,’ the boys used to call him.�
“He has great faith that we shall strike something better if we open up the Rattlesnake again. His opinion ought to be worth something. He wasa ‘forty-niner,’ has worked in the mines ever since, and has made and lost fortunes in them.�
Colonel Lathrop withdrew, and John Wycliff returned to his work.
Zechariah Baldwin, although temporarily thwarted in his plans to rid the town of Wycliff, was by no means inclined to give up his efforts. He had an abundance of resources and expedients, and when one failed he was not usually long in finding another.
Wycliff’s family had been sent up to Sprucemont, where they were the guests of their old friends, the Porters. One night, soon after their departure, Wycliff, who had retired, was awakened by a lusty rap at the door.
“Who’s there?� he shouted, throwing up his chamber window.
“Not too loud, John,� came the answer from a suppressed voice.
“That you, Dan? Wait a minute till I let you in.�
“No; I can’t stop. There’s a big game on foot. Jehu Baldwin will fire a revolverthrough his Uncle David’s bedroom window. Then he will run in the middle of the street to your house, where he will take to the grass and throw the weapon upon your lawn.�
“To-night?�
“Yes; just after midnight. But I must get back.�
Congressman Baldwin was the idol of the masses, and if it could be made to appear that Wycliff had assaulted him there would be a riot, and the victim of its fury would be fortunate if he escaped alive. Frontier methods would not avail at this crisis. Wycliff was somewhat resourceful himself. He got his camera and prepared for a flashlight photograph. He had been writing a magazine article on the whippoorwill—(one of these birds sang in the lilacs every night)—and he had the materials ready for a flashlight of the bird, to illustrate his article. He would now use them to photograph a different object. He set his camera so that it would sweep the highway, and waited under cover of the midnight darkness.
The town clock struck for twelve. A thunder-shower was coming up. There was an occasional flash and roar from the cloud. The whippoorwill sang in the lilacs. There were pistol-shots down the road, and then the sound of running footsteps. They drew nearer until they were directly in front of Wycliff. The flashlight did its work. Wycliff boarded a trolley-car for Elmfield, carrying the precious camera, and leaving this notice on his front door:—
“Gone to visit my old friend,Sheriff Coggswell, at the Jail.“JOHN WYCLIFF.�