← catalogue

The Man from Jericho

by Edwin Carlile Litsey · English · Gutenberg #33984 · 418,608 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Man from Jericho
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The Man from Jericho

Author: Edwin Carlile Litsey


        
Release date: September 23, 2010 [eBook #33984]
                Most recently updated: January 7, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33984

Credits: Produced by David Garcia, Mary Meehan and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
        file was produced from images generously made available
        by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN FROM JERICHO ***




Produced by David Garcia, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)









                         THE MAN FROM JERICHO

                       BY EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY


    NEW YORK
    THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY
    1911

    Copyright, 1911, by
    The Neale Publishing Company

              TO
         PADRE FRANCOIS
    Humanitarian and Friend
      from his Loving Son




THE MAN FROM JERICHO




CHAPTER I


There had been a thunder-shower in the middle of the afternoon, but it
had passed away about five o'clock, accompanied by sullen rumbles and
intermittent flashes of uncertain lightning. Then the sun burst forth
and poured its light over the drenched Kentucky landscape. It showed
millions of diamonds and pearls strung upon the bending blades of
bluegrass; broad expanses of molten silver where the ponds lay, and
smaller mirrors of the same metal where puddles had formed from the
recent downpour. It showed boundless hoards of gold where the
nasturtiums were banked in a crimson mass, and the mottled bells of the
rank trumpet-vines sent forth a silent summons to the answering
sunshine. In the vivid green of a large oak tree a pair of orioles wove
a wonderful pattern of living flame as they darted about among the
boughs. Two honey-bees crawled out upon the tiny porch of their little
home, and, being assured by the instinct which God gave them that the
storm was over, arose on buzzing wings to seek some distant store of
sweets.

His attention being drawn by the sunlight bursting suddenly through the
window of the library where he sat reading--to be exact, it fell upon
the open page before his eyes--Major Thomas Dudley closed the book,
leaving one long forefinger between the leaves to mark the spot where
he had been interrupted, and turned to look outdoors. The scene which
was spread before him brought a peaceful but sad smile to his face. For
two hundred feet or more the broad yard sloped very gently down to the
highway, from which it was separated by an iron fence of ornamental
design, but now much worn, and sadly bent and twisted in places. This
yard was carpeted with a luxuriant expanse of bluegrass in which no
alien growth was allowed to find root. There were a number of majestic
trees, of the oak and maple variety, and a few shrubs, nicely trimmed. A
gravel driveway came up one side from the road, led by the old portico
in front, and from thence disappeared towards the rear in the direction
of the stable. Through the open window came the odour of honeysuckle,
heavy and sweet; the vine grew near the corner of the house. It was not
a very sightly shrub, and it marred the wonderful correctness of the
lawn no little, but the Major had his reasons for letting it alone. As a
matter of fact, the Major's wife had planted it many years before, when
their love-dream was at its height. Now she was gone, but it remained,
and it helped to keep fresh and vigorous the memories which made Thomas
Dudley's daily life a benediction to all who came within its radius.

As the perfume from the tiny white and yellow flowers crept subtly to
his nostrils--fine, delicate nostrils they were, like those of a
well-bred horse--a hungry, beseeching look stole over the old
gentleman's face. He leaned forward and placed one hand upon the
window-sill, while his eyes half closed, and his countenance became
transfigured. Then, had any been watching, they would have seen his lips
move, as though they were shaping words.

At this point the sound of shuffling feet was heard coming from the hall
running through the center of the house. Another moment a throat was
cleared in the doorway, and an apologetic voice spoke.

"Beg pahd'n, suh; but de Prince am 'peah to be bettah, suh. I went to de
stable ez soon ez de rain quit to tek a look at 'im, 'n' he hab come to
be feed, suh, sho'!"

"Peter! Peter! What's this you're telling me? The Prince eating again!"

With remarkable activity the Major arose to his feet and faced about,
eyeing with undisguised elation the figure in the doorway. It was that
of a very old negro, bowlegged and bent. His face was brown, wrinkled
and kindly in expression, with tiny corkscrews of gray hair, each
totally isolated, dispersed over it. His head was flat and bald, but for
a fringe of white wool shaped like the tonsure of a monk. He wore a
rusty pair of trousers, so patched that it was impossible to tell what
their original material had been; a brown hickory shirt tolerably new,
and suspenders made of strips of bed-ticking. His huge feet were encased
in a pair of old shoes, slit almost into shreds at the toes for the
benefit of the "mis'ry" which he frequently had there. Such was Peter,
faithful servant to the Dudleys before, during, and since the Civil
War.

"_Eatin', suh; eatin'!_" he answered, with vehemence, replying to his
master's question and accompanying the first and last words with a
forward jerk of his head, by way of emphasis.

"This is good news you bring me, boy; we must have a look at him. He's
the best bred horse in the Commonwealth," he added, to himself, as he
turned aside to place his book upon a table, carefully noting the page
as he did so. "It would be a pity in more ways than one for him to die
by accident or foul play." Then aloud--"Have you seen your mistress
recently?"

"Not since dinner, suh. I'ze heerd her say afo'time, do, dat she laks a
nap in de rainy ebenin'."

From somewhere above a voice broke out singing as Peter spoke. The tune
was a popular air of the day, lilting and free. The tones were those of
a young woman, for they rang with irrepressible vitality, and there was
hope and laughter and faith and happiness in them. The Major had started
forward, but now he stopped and his head sank as under a benediction.
Likewise did Peter's, for he always reflected his master. Thus they
stood, types of the bond and the free, while that tender voice rang on
above them as its owner moved about the room, for they could plainly
hear her light footsteps going to and fro.

In his younger years the Major must have been a man to command any one's
notice. Now, as he stood with his chin sunk in his stock under the spell
of present enchantment and precious recollections of the past, one could
behold the remnants of a magnificent physical being. He was exceedingly
tall, long of limb and square-shouldered. His hands were slender and
white; his face naturally grave and thoughtful. He was clean shaven
except for close cropped mustache and carefully cut imperial, both
white. His complexion was ruddy, but whether this was natural or
acquired it is not for us to say. Certain it is, however, that Peter
mixed his mint juleps three times a day a few minutes before each meal.
Certain it is, also, that never in his long life had Major Dudley taken
more whiskey at one time than was good for him. He held that it was a
Kentucky gentleman's prerogative to drink, in moderation, and he had the
profoundest contempt for the weakling who would bestialize himself by
getting drunk. "Whiskey, suh," he would say, "is like every other
luxury; to be used, not abused."

The singing ceased, and there was the patter of feet on the stair.

"She's awake, Peter," said the Major; "get my hat." Then as he stepped
into the hall--"News, daughter!" he cried, to the vision in pink and
white muslin descending the curved stairway. "Peter reports that the
Prince is eating. Will you go with me to see him?"

A little croon of delight escaped the vision, and the next instant she
had settled like a butterfly upon the Major's broad breast. "I knew he
would get well!" she exclaimed, rising on tiptoe and pulling with both
her hands on the shoulders of her father in a vain attempt to reach his
lips with hers. He, seeing her purpose, caught her around the waist and
lifted her bodily, though there was a matter of a hundred and twenty
pounds to reckon with, and gave her the caress with a hearty smack.

"You'll have to learn to bring a stool along with you!" he panted; "I'm
getting too old to lift such a buxom lass." But he smiled denial of his
speech and patted her cheek fondly.

Peter presenting his stove-pipe hat with a low bow, the Major took it,
placed it upon his sparse gray locks, and drawing his daughter's hand
through his arm they passed out upon the long back porch, which had an
eastern exposure, but was shaded all along its length by a species of
vine which grew luxuriantly every summer. Peter preceded them, and Peter
in motion was a sight to behold. It is useless to attempt to describe
his method of locomotion. To one unfamiliar with the peculiar gait of a
"befo' de wah" negro I can give no adequate picture of the old darkey as
he shambled along over the large flat stones laid in a row which formed
a walk to the gate of the lot wherein stood the stable. Behind him came
the stately form of Major Dudley, and by his side Miss Julia, his only
child, whose feet had just passed those elusive portals which give into
the magical realms of young womanhood.

"What _has_ been the matter with The Prince, daddy?" queried the young
lady, lifting an annoyed and earnest countenance which Nature had
blessed, or banned, however one may regard unusual beauty.

A deep furrow was immediately visible on Major Dudley's forehead,
indenting his brow just above his nose. It only came when he was angry,
or intensely worried. His gray eyes gleamed with subdued resentment, and
for the space of a few steps he did not answer.

"We do not know," he said, then, but he kept his eyes set straight
ahead, instead of looking at his questioner.

"But you have suspicions, daddy, dear," she pleaded, coming closer to
him, and pressing his arm gently. "Have you a right--have you the wish
to keep these from me? Am I not Major Dudley's daughter, and is not your
blood my blood? The Prince has been very sick. Corn and hay don't make a
horse ill. What do you fear, daddy?"

The old man stopped and faced his daughter. She was quite serious now.
Her firm chin, her positive but pliant mouth, her deep brown eyes which
showed courage, and the waving wealth of her chestnut hair, all made a
quick pride rush to the Major's heart, and brought a satisfied smile to
his mouth. His stern eyes melted into tenderness and love.

"My child, you shall know all I know; all I suspect, rather, for nothing
is positive. We--Peter and I--fear an attempt has been made to poison
The Prince."

"_Daddy!_"

The word struggled through an indrawn breath of horror.

"The horse's symptoms indicated this. Peter found him in time for an
antidote which he administered to be beneficial, else I fear we would
have lost him. We examined the feed which had been given him last
night, and found some of it mixed with a whitish powder. In view of this
we could come to only one conclusion."

"Who--"

The sentence which the girl's lips started to frame died with the first
word. Her lips met firmly, and a slow dread gathered in her eyes.

From the highway not far off came the sound of a horse's hoofs, running
at full speed. The Major was facing the road, and the girl turned to see
a horseman dash furiously along the pike and disappear behind a fringe
of trees which bordered the road farther on. Julia turned to her father,
and saw written plainly upon his face a confirmation of her fears.

"He?" she breathed, awesomely.

"Or an emissary. He is our only enemy, and in all his stable of
thoroughbreds he has not one that can approach The Prince!"

"Would he dare?"

"Anything, little girl.--Come."

At the door of The Prince's stall they stopped, and looked in eagerly.
The horse recognized them, and whinnied feebly. Peter, with curry-comb
and brush, was going over the splendid animal vigorously, though not a
speck showed on his shining coat.

"Better, suh! Better, young missus!"

The old negro spoke encouragingly between the grunts caused by his
exertion.

"He am beginnin' to tek notice. He et mos' he feed, 'n' he 'peared right
glad to see me. I wush I c'd lay dese brack han's on de low-down skunk
whut tech 'im! I'd break his naik!"

The Prince was standing a little stiffly, and his slender, patrician
head hung lower than it should, but his breathing was not labored, and
his eyes were bright and beaming with intelligence.

"He'll come, Peter; he'll come!" said the Major, warmly. "He had a close
call, but your prompt action saved him. You're a good boy, Peter, and I
commend you!"

Peter grinned his appreciation, and rubbed the satin limbs with renewed
vigour.

"Yassuh, he'll come all right, 'n' w'en de race hit come, he'll beat
eb'ry one ob 'em! De hoss ain't folded whut kin tech 'im!"

"I believe you, boy. Only once in a lifetime is a hoss born like The
Prince."

Julia slipped into the stall as her father was speaking and going up to
the noble brute, put both arms around his neck and cuddled her check
upon his shoulder.

"Poor old fellow!" she murmured. "Have they used you badly because you
belonged to us? Never mind. They shan't do it again. Miss Julia loves
you, and all of us love you, and we are going to take care of you."

The horse turned and muzzled the sleeve of her dress understandingly.

The girl withdrew her arms and stroked his nose gently. As she rejoined
her father there were tears in her eyes.

"Put a new padlock on his door tonight, Peter," cautioned the Major, as
he turned to go, "and see that there are no loose planks which a
sneakin' assassin might prize off."

"I'll fix 'im so tight dat a gnat can't git in!" was the emphatic reply.
"Dey shan't git nigh 'im ag'in!"

Julia was quiet as she and her father returned to the big house. Though
her tongue was idle, her mind was busy. She was trying to elucidate this
mystery of the attack on The Prince. Her father had said in as many
words that he believed Devil Marston was at the bottom of it, but why
should Devil Marston be so bitter against them? Half forgotten incidents
came back to her--things which had been glozed over or dismissed with a
laugh. Marston had been at their home several times, but all at once he
stopped coming. She remembered it now. The last time he came was at
night, and she had seen him only long enough to speak to him in the hall
as she was starting upstairs. She recalled now some loud words being
spoken by him; the regulated tones of her father in reply, and that
night the Major had paced his room till nearly morning. When she asked
for an explanation the following day, her father had put her off by
saying it was purely a business matter which it was best she should not
know about. She had let it go at that at the time, although she wondered
that a business call should have been so stormy. Now she realized that
something was being kept from her; that her father was shielding her
through love and mercy from something she had a right to know. That had
been in her girlhood, though only two years ago. But since then her
mother had died, and during the following two years, which had brought
her to twenty, she felt that she had grown to be a woman. She had met
successfully the responsibility of caring for the house, and she felt
that she could equally meet any other responsibility touching her
family.

As they passed into the long hall again, the Major laid aside his hat
and turned to the open library door to resume his reading. Julia gently
detained him.

"Daddy, what's the trouble between Mr. Marston and us?"

The old man's face grew very grave.

"Who spoke of trouble, lassie?"

"Would a friend attempt so vile a thing as was attempted last night? He
has grounds for his conduct, or thinks he has. I want to know it all.
I'm sure you never harmed any of his, or him. Then why does the man hate
us? He must be very wicked, for no honorable enemy would employ such
underhand methods of attack. Now tell me all about it, won't you?"

Major Dudley tilted her chin with his bent forefinger, and gazed long
and earnestly into the fearless eyes upheld to meet his own.

"There are some things little girls shouldn't know," he said, finally.

"Little girls, indeed!" she exclaimed, almost petulantly. "Won't you
ever realize that I'm a woman, though a young one, and can't you trust
your only daughter with a family secret, daddy dear?"

It was quite evident that her feelings were on the verge of being
wounded, for her lips were a little unsteady, and her eyes were
reproachful.

The reply came in a soft, reminiscent voice.

"'Twas yesterday you were in pinafores, chasing butterflies by day and
fire-flies by night, out yonder on the lawn. Are you really _twenty_?"

"Yes, sir; and I demand it as my right to share your burdens. They will
be lighter so, for us both."

The Major sighed, and lifted his hand to his forehead.

"You are right, and I promise that you shall know. But not now--not
now."

"In a day or two, then?"

"Yes, in a day or two. Run along now and gather some flowers."

He bent to receive her kiss, and stood watching her as she moved with a
free, swift step out onto the portico, into the yard, and over to a side
fence where a mass of nasturtiums were rioting in a wealth of variegated
colors.

"That is where her life should be," he murmured to himself; "spent among
blooming flowers, listening to the birds, caressed by sun and wind. Now
she demands of me the story of Devil Marston's hate, and I have to tell
her. Why do innocent children have to grow up and taste of bitterness?
Why must she know of man's inhumanity, injustice and greed? O my little
Julia, I would keep you from every thorn if I could! This old breast
would gladly take all that were meant for you, and not mind the sting!
But that is not God's way, and His way is best. Poor child! I wish it
could be otherwise."

He passed slowly into the library, and sat down with his book.

After the frugal evening meal, which Aunt Frances, Peter's spouse,
served with due punctiliousness, the Major sought his room, pleading
fatigue. Really he sat alone, thinking, for a long time before going to
bed. It was past ten o'clock when he finally arose, and going to a south
window, looked out in the direction of the stable. The night was
star-lit only, so he did not see a stealthy figure climb the rail fence
enclosing the barn lot, and move swiftly across the intervening space to
The Prince's door.




CHAPTER II


As a town, Macon did not differ materially from its sister towns of like
size throughout the State. It is true it was located on the border of
the bluegrass, and this alone gave it a distinction which the
penny-royal and mountain districts did not possess. The corporate limits
of the place held about three thousand souls--black and white--and
nobody ever got in a hurry. A quiet air of indolent aristocracy pervaded
the town. Shops were opened late, and if any one wished to buy, they
were served courteously and languidly, but there was no "drumming for
trade." For all of its lazy atmosphere, it might have been located
farther south. But its people were good people, on the whole, although
they permitted saloons, and went wild over horse racing. And, best of
all, they reverenced their women. A lady on the streets of Macon had
respectful right of way. It may have been that they were duly proud of
these three things, for they knew full well that nowhere in the world
were nobler or more beautiful women, faster horses, or better whiskey.

The nabobs of central Kentucky were a distinct and exclusive class in
the years preceding the great Civil strife which freed the colored race.
They had friends about them constantly, near and from a distance. They
gave large banquets and more often drank immoderately; they dressed in
expensive and fashionable clothes, and had body servants galore. Each
gentleman had a personal valet, to shave him every morning, attend to
his wardrobe and be always within call. Another servant groomed his
favorite horse, brought it around and held the stirrup while his master
mounted, and was always on the spot when his master returned to have the
bridle reins thrown to his waiting hands.

Then came the war scourge, and the old order passed. Homes were broken
up; houses were pillaged and burned, bought and sold. Of the several
stately homes surrounding Macon, but one or two remained in the family
after the war.

The Dudleys were an old family, proud as could be, and holding manual
labor a disgrace. This faulty doctrine was due to heredity and training,
and detracted in no way from the sterling manhood and womanhood which
ran with the name. They had been wealthy people generations gone, living
freely and without stint. Then came the days when one of them became a
black sheep and killed a man while in liquor. It took most of the vast
estate to save him from the gallows. When the war ended Major Thomas
Dudley found that he had little left save a wife and child, the
homestead, a half dozen horses of purest racing strain, and an eighty
acre farm which would grow with equal abundance hemp, tobacco, corn or
wheat. He would not work; he could not work. Had a Dudley's hand ever
touched the handle of a plow? Never! Welcome genteel starvation rather
than ignoble toil! In the meantime the family had to live in befitting
manner. One by one the servants, enticed by their new-found freedom,
drifted away. At length only Peter and Aunt Frances were left, and the
Major knew that his body servant would never go, for between these two
was that subtle, adamantine bond which rarely existed, but which, once
formed, was indissoluble.

Julia grew to girlhood, and the question of her education came up. There
had never been a Dudley, male or female, who had not received a complete
college course. The Major avowed that Julia should go to boarding
school, and he signed away the remaining eighty acres with a hand which
did not tremble in order that the traditions of his family should remain
inviolate. Julia, ignorant of the sacrifice which had been made for her,
went away three successive years, coming back the last time to find her
mother dying. After Mrs. Dudley had been laid to rest in the little
cemetery east of town, the daughter stepped into her place in the
management of the household. Up to this time she had supposed her father
had plenty, but the fact that they were almost poverty stricken became
quickly revealed to her now. She met the situation with a brave and
smiling face, and employed every art she knew to cut down expenses.
About this time a number of shares of stock in the thriving Bank of
Macon were placed on the market. Then Major Dudley severed the last tie
which bound him to the old life. He was getting too old to give his
horses proper attention. He sold them, every one, retaining only a colt
not quite a year old, and bought the bank stock. He had figured out that
the dividends which this would bring would barely keep them in food and
clothing, and pay the taxes on the home. The colt which he had held back
from the sale he had given to Julia at its birth, and this was The
Prince, the last member of the stables which in years gone by had been
the wonder of all Kentucky.

Peter, born to the care of fine horses, shadowed The Prince day and
night. Though well up in the seventies, he had broken the young horse to
the saddle, and that without a fall. Then, shrewd old rascal that he
was, one balmy night he had ridden the colt out to the race track, one
mile from the town limits, and tested his speed. He had no watch
wherewith to time the exploit, but he needed none, for had he not seen
races ever since he was two feet tall! The result had been marvelous.
The Prince almost ran from under him, and he must needs cling on with
heels and hands when the horse was in motion. When he slipped from his
back in an ecstasy of joy, Peter knew that he stood beside the greatest
race-horse that had ever touched Kentucky soil! The old darkey was wild
with delight, and could hardly wait till morning to tell the Major of
his discovery. Major Dudley's face beamed when the news was given him.

"Keep it still, Peter," he counselled, "and watch him. There'll be
racing here in July next year."

Winter passed and the Spring came again, and Peter hied himself and The
Prince to the race track as soon as the earth became solid. He went
always at night, and always alone, but a rumour began to spread through
Macon and the county in general that Major Dudley's colt was a marvel,
and could make a mile in two minutes flat. Certainly the story lost
nothing by its constant re-telling, and while few believed it true, yet
everyone confided it to his neighbor as a matter of gossip.

Then came the night of the cowardly attempt upon The Prince's life.

       *       *       *       *       *

The evening express from the north was due at Macon a quarter till
eleven. The night of the day upon which Major Dudley had promised to his
daughter a revelation of certain things which had been kept hidden from
her, this train was running fifteen minutes late. The engineer was
trying to make the time up, and in consequence the coaches were swaying
and jerking over the rather imperfect roadbed. Crouched in the corner of
a seat next the window sat a young man. It would have been impossible to
form any idea of his physical appearance from the uncouth position which
he had assumed. It was quite evident from this that he was traveling
entirely alone. He had slipped down in his seat until his head was below
the top of its back. His long legs were flexed so that his knees rested
against the back of the seat in front of him. His shoulders, unusually
broad and square, drooped somewhat, as from weariness; his chin was sunk
upon his shirt front, and his cap was pulled well down over his eyes, so
that only a portion of his face could be seen. The line of shadow
slanted across his face sharply just at the cheek bone, revealing below
it a smoothly shaven surface, and a chin as square and resolute as the
shoulders. In common with the majority of his fellow-passengers, he was
dozing. The conductor came unsteadily up the aisle, fumbled at his cap
band for the piece of paper sticking in it, then, observing that the man
was asleep, he shook him gently by the shoulder. The sleeper aroused
readily, and in response to "Your's next station," nodded his head, and
turned, as one will do the blackest night, to look out the window. This
not with the purpose of seeing anything, but from some inexplicable
force within.

But the young man did see something--a dull glow was discernible in the
sky, apparently a great distance away. To a sleep-befuddled brain it
looked very much like the rose tints of morning, and John Glenning
mechanically pulled out his watch, to smile at his stupidity the next
moment, for it was not yet eleven. He glanced about the car and brought
himself to an erect sitting posture with a quick exercise of the great
fund of reserve strength which he undoubtedly possessed. His shoulders
went back squarely against the seat, and his feet sought the floor.
Then, as he pushed the cap off his eyes, his face became visible. It was
a strong face, with jaw- and cheek-bones showing prominently. The
forehead was good, almost square, and over one eye was a crescent-shaped
scar, not livid, but standing out plainly against the white skin. His
hair was black and straight, and his face wore a half melancholy
expression, which seemed habitual.

After a casual and disinterested survey of the compartment, he turned to
the window again, placed his elbow upon the sill, and looked out into
the night. The glow in the distance was still there. He judged it to be
a fire, although no flames were yet visible. Just a dull red vapor
seemed suspended, like an immense ruby, against the black draped breast
of the sky, and on all sides of it the stars shone like rare gems. As
this poetic thought struck Glenning, he smiled, as though pleased at the
conception, and just then a long blast of the whistle told him that they
were approaching his station. A moment later the door was flung open,
admitting a rush of pure, sweet night air into the stuffy coach, and the
flagman passed through, touching alternate seats with either hand to
steady himself, and shouting "Macon! Macon!"

Women began to rouse soundly sleeping children, men to stretch their
arms and remark to their neighbors, and John also began to get himself
together. He was near the door, and as the train came to a halt with
jangling bell and escaping steam, he grasped his suit case and safely
made his exit before the aisle became crowded.

The place was entirely new to him, for his home had been in the north
end of the State. The engine had stopped at the edge of a bisecting
street, and just in front of it an arc light was suspended, which threw
his surroundings into view uncertainly. Back of him was the bulk of a
water tank; to the front, and at one side, the station. People were
hurrying to board the train, and packages and trunks were being hastily
dumped from the open door of the express car onto a truck drawn
alongside. A number of forms moved vaguely about--that pitiful,
shiftless class which no small town can eliminate, who had merely come
to "see the train come in." All this Glenning saw in the twinkling of an
eye, and then he started briskly up the crushed rock space which served
for a platform. Opposite the tender of the engine were two or three men,
one of them a negro, standing abreast, toeing an invisible line and
bawling lustily the names of different hotels. Glenning stopped for a
moment in front of a row of hands eagerly outstretched, and just then
the words "Union House!" came to his ears through the din of jumbled
voices. He remembered suddenly that a friend had told him this was the
best hotel in the place, so he resigned his suit case to the care of the
one who had yelled "Union House!" and fell in with the straggling line
of people streaming up town.

Above the babel of the hotel criers, and the slow, muffled puffs of the
inert engine, a new sound now throbbed through the air--the clanging,
tumultuous notes of a sharp-toned bell, rung with fury. The people
nearest John pricked up their ears, and he heard the sinister query,
"Where's the fire?" "Where's the fire?" repeated on all sides. No one
knew, and those who had been from home, and had returned on the train,
hastened their steps, some breaking into a run, for none knew whose
household goods were in danger. The panic spirit seized Glenning, too,
for henceforth his life was to be in this place, and with these people,
and he found himself running with the others. Covering a short square,
they turned into the main street of Macon, where confusion reigned. Men
were dashing about in the middle of the street, shouting to each other,
and an ancient fire engine had just been dragged into view, with the
hook-and-ladder wagon trailing in its wake. Glenning ran towards the
engine, which had halted in the center of the highway, and at which some
striplings were tugging in a vain effort to move it.

"Where's the horses? Where's the fire company?" demanded the new-comer,
hurriedly, stopping in perplexity.

"Men is the hosses that pull this old water-bug!" volunteered one of the
youths, ceasing his efforts to move the antiquated vehicle; "'n' the
fire comp'ny's anybody that's got spunk 'nough to fight fire!"

As these words were spoken a number of men reached the scene, some of
them bareheaded and wearing only shoes, trousers and shirts, and pounced
upon the engine like wolves upon a carcass.

"Come on!" "Lend a hand!" "Git holt!" "Push!" "Pull!"

These and divers other excited exclamations rang out, and in the cupola
directly overhead the brazen tongued bell sent out its warning, appeal
and encouragement in vibrant and deafening tones.

Glenning needed no spurring on. His hands were the first to fall into
place, and with rumble and rush the Macon Fire Company started on its
errand of succour. The hook-and-ladder wagon, being lighter, was dragged
along by half grown boys, who took a keen delight in emulating, both in
speed and endurance, their elders in the lead. To the accompaniment of
yelping dogs, men in vehicles and men on horseback, the procession
rushed madly up Main street, rudely disturbing the calm serenity of the
summer night. As he ran, doing his full stint of work, and more, the
athletic stranger cast his eyes about in a vain effort to locate the
conflagration. He turned to the man running nearest him.

"Do you suppose it's out? I can see no sign of it now."

"No; it ain't out! Cemetery hill's in the way. There's been nothin' to
put it out. An old white man, a girl and two old niggers couldn't do
much with a house on fire!"

Glenning noticed from the straggling houses and vacant lots that they
were nearing the edge of town.

"Where is it, anyway?" he asked. "In the country?"

The man puffed and blew before making reply.

"Mile from the court house, ever'body says. I b'lieve it's a mile and a
quarter. Seems like three or four tonight!"

He dashed the perspiration from his eyes, and settled to his work
afresh. John looked at him again, and in the dim starlight, to which his
eyes had become accustomed, he saw that the man was young and soft. His
hands showed white, his face was purple from exertion, and his breathing
was stertorous.

"Pretty tough on a fellow who stays indoors, isn't it?" queried
Glenning, pleasantly.

"You--bet! Stranger, ain't you?"

"Just came on the train tonight."

"You must be--mightily interested--in these people!"

"I'm going to make this place my home."

"Uh-huh. I know you--now. You're the--new doctor!"

"Yes. My name's John Glenning."

"Pleased to--meet you--doctor! I'm Tom Dillard. Work--in bank!"

"I'm glad to know you. You're my first acquaintance here. It's harder
work pushing a fire engine than it is pushing a pen, isn't it?"

Mr. Dillard grinned acquiescence.

"Con--_siderable_!" he gasped.

"Whose house is it that's burning?" continued Glenning.

"Must be--Major Dudley's; no other house out--here close."

At this juncture they rounded a sharp curve in the road, and came in
full view of the fire, now close at hand.

"Stable!" exploded Mr. Dillard, and everybody redoubled their exertions
at the same moment, rendering further conversation out of the question.

The surrounding landscape was brilliantly lighted by the leaping flames,
and Glenning saw that they were sweeping by a large, well kept lawn,
back of which rose a most pretentious old home. On they dashed to a
gate, which some thoughtful person had previously opened, and which let
into a meadow adjoining the stable lot. The people who had started in
buggies and on horseback had all arrived, and a number of them now came
forward to relieve the men who had brought the engine out. Most of these
willingly resigned their places, but Glenning stuck to his, and Dillard,
who was preparing to step aside, gathered fresh courage, and remained
also. The old engine was rushed furiously across the meadow and into the
lot, in the midst of a shrill bedlam of excited cries, most of them
conveying directions and suggestions entirely futile. In one corner of
the lot, near the doomed stable, an old negro was waving his arms
frantically and jumping up and down, yelling at every jump in a high
falsetto.

"Hyar's de well! Hyar's de well! Hyar's de well! Bring de ingine hyar;
Hyar's de water! Hyar's de well!"

Whether his penetrating tones reached the relief party, or whether some
person nearer to hand gave the information, does not matter. But the
engine was quickly rolled in position and the hose unwound. Peter seized
the end of the hose which was being borne towards him, and plunged it
into the well's black mouth.

"_More! More!_" he screamed, tugging at the sinuous rubber tube like a
madman. "De water's down dah! Come on wid it!"

Willing hands unwound the coil, and Peter paid it out. Down went the
hose, and presently the old negro jumped to his feet.

"_Pump!_" he shrieked; "put de water dah!"

Then, for fear he would not be understood, he ran like a monkey towards
the burning building. Stopping just outside the radius of the fiercest
heat, he pointed towards an open door.

"Dah! In dah! Pour hit in dah! De Prince won' come out! I try git 'im
out, but he won' come! Pump de water on 'im!"

In the midst of his exhortations a score of hands grasped the handles
and began to pump. But no water came! In vain the long handles went up
and down. Something had gone wrong with the mechanism of the machine. A
blacksmith was present, and he began an examination. In the meanwhile
the fire grew prodigiously, and suddenly a horse's unearthly scream of
terror and pain rent the air. Few had ever heard this sound before, and
it struck a note of horror upon every soul assembled there. The cry of a
horse in mortal distress is utterly indescribable, but it is a demon
tone which makes cowards of strong men. The mixed crowd drew back in
fear, thinking the imprisoned animal might make a sudden break and
trample them in his rush. Even the smith, who had been vainly searching
for the hitch in the pumping gear of the engine, crawled from under the
useless thing and retreated with the others. So it happened, almost
without his knowing it, that John Glenning was left standing alone by
the deserted engine. The intense glare showed up his figure well. He was
tall and lean, but his shoulders had a look of great strength, and his
face, upon which the light was dancing, was calm and purposeful. The old
negro had sunk to the ground, and with his face hidden in his crossed
arms, was rocking to and fro, moaning ceaselessly. Following the horse's
awful scream, and the subsequent rush backward, fell a dead silence,
disturbed only by the cracking and snapping of seasoned wood as the fire
ate up its fibres, and the low undertone of Peter's dolorous wails. Then
plainly to Glenning's ears came a woman's muffled sobs, and he heard a
voice tense with distress exclaim--

"My poor Prince! O my poor Prince!"

John wheeled half way around abruptly, and looked in the direction from
whence the voice had come. He beheld two people standing partly aside,
and well back. A tall, erect old man whose disordered apparel indicated
the haste with which he had dressed, and a girl clinging despairingly to
his arm, clad only in a white night robe with a shawl thrown about her
shoulders and held tightly over her breast with one clenched hand. The
old man's face was mask-like, but there was a deep furrow in the middle
of his forehead, and his eyes blazed with repressed anger. The young
woman was pitiful to the respectful but penetrating eyes of Glenning.
Her hair, braided for the night, hung over her shoulder, down to her
waist. Her face was drawn with anguish which she could not hide, and in
her big eyes was a living sorrow. As he looked at her she caught his
gaze, and upon that instant she left the old man's side, ran a few steps
forward, and with both arms stretched towards him, with her hands
clasped, her voice rang out in an agony of entreaty.

"Save The Prince! O, save him if you are a man! If he is burned to death
it will kill me! He is there--there!"

She pointed towards the open doorway before which a red veil was
shimmering and waving, then turned to the old man, threw her arms around
his neck and hid her face on his breast, while her whole form shook with
uncontrollable sobs.

Dazed for a moment by this direct appeal, and by the very evident beauty
of his petitioner, Glenning stood without moving. Then from the huddled
crowd, apathetic and silent, burst the figure of a man, running towards
the stable. He came swiftly, and Glenning saw only a low, heavily-built
person. But as he sped by the new doctor saw his face, and shuddered. It
was dark, brutish, treacherous, devilish. Then the man was gone towards
the open door. The girl had turned in time to behold this man's actions,
and on her countenance was repulsion and disgust. The onrushing form had
nearly reached his goal when a sudden shifting of the breeze
concentrated the flames and dashed them into his face with a spiteful
hiss. He stopped as though smitten, staggered and fell back, choked and
coughing. With his hands to his face he reeled over into a patch of
weeds, calling hoarsely for water. Glenning looked at the girl again,
and in her eyes was a dumb appeal. The man's mouth squared in quick
decision, and in a second his lassitude became transformed into vigorous
action. He took off his coat with a few dextrous movements, and holding
it as a shield before his face, quickly drew near the door now guarded
by a wall of shifting fire.

He felt the hot air rushing into his lungs as he advanced, but he never
flinched. Drawing a deep breath, he leaped hard, and passed over the
jealously guarded portals. Faintly to his ears came the resounding cheer
which accompanied this feat. But he had sterner work before him than to
receive merely the praise of those who watched him from a safe distance.
He was alone in a fiery furnace; caged with a maddened animal. He
realized that his work must be done at once, or he would perish
miserably.

Outside, the crowd inched nearer. Renewed silence had succeeded
Glenning's successful entrance into the stall of The Prince, and under
this strange stillness they came closer, in a body, breathing awesomely
and straining their eyes to see. But the waving curtain of flame baffled
their peering gaze. Only once they saw a dark, writhing bulk beyond the
gleaming barrier, then this was hidden. Major Dudley and Julia had not
changed their positions. But upon his face now shone the light of hope,
while the girl's was stony with despair and dread. The brief moments
were as leaden-footed hours, and time changed into eternity for the
anxious hearted watchers. No sound now but the crackling of wood and the
subtle swish of flames, and far off in the shadows at the rear of the
lot a subdued coughing, where Devil Marston crouched and nursed his
scorched lungs, and cursed the unknown man who had gone where he could
not go. The stable was large, and the conflagration was now at its
height, and it presented a gorgeous, if harrowing, spectacle. Red and
yellow and dun streamers shot skyward, shaking out their serpentine
lengths, wrapping and twining about each other, dying if a breath of
wind touched them, only to be succeeded by others, fiercer and longer
and more vivid. Crawling, hissing, crimson serpents of heat disported
over the trembling roof of the building, and myriad of sparks would rise
on columns of rose-tinted smoke when a bit of timber dropped. And deep
in the very heart of all this hell, burned, blinded, suffocated and
weak, a brave soul wrestled with imminent and torturing death, because a
woman had looked twice into his eyes and asked for help, if he were a
man!

There came a change. Less than a minute had elapsed since Glenning had
committed himself to almost certain death. Then the watchers saw a
movement at the flame-hung door. An indistinguishable something seemed
trying to force its way out. At this moment, as though fortune truly
favored the brave, the veering wind caught the red curtain and drew it
aside as gently as though done by a lady's hand. Out from the inferno
within sprang a man, his clothing covered with little red tongues, his
face blackened and his hair singed and disordered. After him, with the
man's coat bound over his head, the sleeves tied under his throat,
completely blindfolding him, came The Prince. Glenning swung on to his
halter, and as the falling sparks nipped the horse afresh he reared
hugely and lunged forward with demoniacal fury. The man's spent strength
could not cope with this final outburst. The horse bore him down,
rushed over him, and the crowd scattered right and left to seek safety.

Peter, with a shrill cry of joy, ran to the prostrate figure and drew it
farther away from the fire. As he laid the rescuer of The Prince down
Julia was there to receive his head in her lap. Her face was white as
the gown she wore, but her voice was clear as she spoke.

"Peter, go for a doctor! Daddy, bring some water, please."

She gently placed her hand upon the smoke-grimed forehead, and while the
crowd lingered to await the outcome, Devil Marston stole away with
curses deep and vile, and set his dark face towards home.




CHAPTER III


When Glenning opened his eyes the next morning he lay quiet a long time,
staring at the figure seated by his bedside. At first he was at a total
loss to understand where he was, but a sharp pain in his lungs when he
breathed, and sundry irritating, prickly places about his face and head,
brought back to him the events of the past night. But he was a
philosophical fellow, and while he felt a deep gratitude welling up in
his heart for young Tom Dillard, he could not help smiling at the
appearance his newly-found friend presented that morning. It was quite
plain to Glenning's still befuddled intellect that Dillard had elected
to stay with him and take care of him during the night. The bank clerk's
figure was almost corpulent in daylight, and this was emphasized by the
attitude he had assumed. He had evidently determined not to go to sleep,
but the relaxation and absolute quiet succeeding the excitement at the
burning of the stable had proven too much for him. Now he sat with his
heels on a rung of the chair, his knees drawn up, while his head had
sunk forward till it almost touched them. In this position he bore a
striking resemblance to a butterball, and when Glenning first saw him he
was slumbering with much effort, because his breathing was hampered by
his cramped posture. There was something in it all over-poweringly
funny to John, and presently he chuckled aloud. Whereupon his watcher
gave a little snort and opened his eyes, round, blue, and innocent as a
child's.

"Bless me, if I haven't been asleep!" exclaimed Dillard, a bit
sheepishly. Then--"How are you feeling, doctor?"

"Chipper as a lark--considering!" was the hearty answer. "But I hope
I'll never come closer to hell than I did last night," he added.

Dillard shivered at the recollection, and a look of commiseration crept
to his face.

"It's clear past me how you did it," he replied, candidly. "Log chains
and a traction engine couldn't have pulled me in that place. But you've
fixed yourself all right with the people, I guess. I'll bet your name
has gone all over this old town long before now."

"I didn't do it for what the people would think, though I do want their
good will. But did you see the look on that girl's face when she spoke?
I couldn't have done anything else. Where are we?--hotel?"

"Yes, this is your room at the Union House. We thought you were out of
the game for good at first. You don't remember anything after the horse
ran over you? Well, the Dudley's old nigger, Peter, dragged you away
from the heat, and Miss Julia made a pillow of her lap for your head.
They were for taking you up to the house and caring for you, for you did
them a greater service than you'll ever know when you pulled that
obstreperous colt out of the fire. But I knew that wouldn't do, because
they're not situated to entertain well folks, let alone sick ones, so I
got a buggy, piled you in, and drove here as fast as I could. As luck
would have it, old Doctor Kale was passing just as we got here--had been
making a country call--and I hailed him. We got you up here and brought
you around, though I don't suppose you remember anything about it, for
you were kind o' flighty. Old Kale washed you off and patched you up,
and gave you something to make you sleep soundly. I volunteered to sit
up with you and watch, but I played the devil a-doin' it! Kale said he'd
call around again this mornin' to see you. He's a gruff old cuss, but
good hearted. He often swears at his men patients if they don't obey him
to the letter. I tell you this now, so you won't be surprised at
anything he may say to you."

Glenning put out a blackened hand from the back of which the hair had
been singed away. Dillard saw his intention, and took it readily.

"I hope you'll let me be your friend," said the new doctor, appreciation
beaming in his eyes. "I can't tell you just all I feel for the way
you've stuck by me, a total stranger, who had not the slightest claim
upon your time, or care. But I shan't forget it. A life-long chum
couldn't have done more, and I want to assure you that my gratitude is
the kind that lasts. I don't know what's in store for me here, but I've
come to stay. And I'm going to make good if toil, and hard work, and
conscientious pains count for anything. I was climbing fast back--where
I came from, but it became best for me to leave. Not because I had to.
There's nothing back there I'm ashamed of. You're the first person here
who's been kind to me, and I did nothing to deserve it. I shall remember
it always."

He pressed the soft, flabby hand which he held, and withdrew his arm.

Dillard's face reddened at this speech. He made a few awkward movements
with his hands, and then spoke, in an abashed way.

"I've done nothin', doctor, to make a fuss about, but I'll be mighty
glad to be your friend. I imagine a fellow with the stuff in him that
you are made of would be worth having for a friend."

He drew out his watch and looked at it, rising quickly as he noted the
time.

"It's getting late. By the time I get breakfast and reach the bank it'll
be close onto nine. I'm glad you're lookin' so well. Don't try to get up
today. I'll call in at noon for a minute. Good-bye."

He leaned over the bed and pressed Glenning's hand again, then took his
hat and withdrew, closing the door gently behind him.

When his fat friend had departed, Glenning mechanically sent his eyes
around the room. It contained, besides the bed upon which he lay, the
customary washstand, dresser, table and two chairs. His clothes lay upon
one of these chairs, and he looked in a rather disinterested way at the
scorched and burned garments, now rendered totally useless. Then his
mind flew back to those awful moments in the stall with The Prince, and
he shut his eyes and groaned audibly. The door to his room opened, and
he heard the clinking of dishes. He looked, and saw a waiter bearing a
tray to the table in the center of his room. The young fellow deposited
his burden, then glanced towards the bed with respectful eyes, as some
might gaze upon a hero overthrown.

"Here's your breakfast, sir. I'll bring it closer if you want me to. Mr.
Dillard told us you were awake and feeling pretty well, so Mr. Travers
thought you might be hungry."

"Thank you," returned Glenning. "I'll be getting up presently. You
needn't wait."

The boy moved reluctantly to the door. He had his hand on the knob, then
turned.

"I didn't go to the burnin' o' ol' man Dudley's barn," he vouchsafed, in
a rather high, scared voice, "but if I'd knowed what you's goin' to do I
wouldn't 'a' missed seein' you pull that hoss out. The town's wild about
it."

Without waiting for a reply of any sort, the speaker ducked through the
door and slammed it after him. It had taken a deal of courage for him to
deliver his speech, but he was determined to say it.

Glenning eyed the disarray of dishes dubiously. Some of them appeared
cold, while the faint odour which crept to his nostrils from the others
was not at all savory. But the rich aroma of coffee blended with the
other smells, and he was on the verge of making an effort to rise when
there came a faint rap upon his door. It was so faint that John was not
sure he had heard it. He was quite certain there had been no sound of
footsteps. As he lay with his head in an expectant attitude the rap came
again--two little pecking knocks, given timorously. The man on the bed
relaxed, drew the cover which he had thrown partly aside up to his chin,
and invited whoever it was to enter, in a fairly strong voice.

Then a most extraordinary thing happened at the door. The knob was
deliberately turned, then released. Again it was turned, and the door
carefully opened about two inches. It remained this way for the space of
a breath or two, then the aperture was widened by perhaps another two
inches. Glenning was puzzled. If some one was pranking, the sport was
certainly very innocent. By almost imperceptible degrees the door kept
coming open, and then a bald, brown, sleek skull, surrounded by a fringe
of white wool, came within the range of vision of the watcher on the
bed. Peter looked slowly all around the room, and the last object his
eyes alighted upon was the man. Then he completed his entrance in a
comparatively rapid manner, bobbing his head unceasingly, and being
careful to see that the door was latched behind him. Then he bowed
profoundly.

"Mawnin', suh! I hope you's bettuh, suh! De Prince am not hu't much, 'n'
de folks feel putty peart, suh! De Lawd bress yo', suh--doctuh--'n' keep
yo' twel de day o' Jedgment fo' savin' dat' deah colt whut would 'a'
buhned to a cracklin' but fo' you. Yes, suh! Dis ol nigguh gwi' ax de
Lawd's blessin' on you night 'n' mawnin', 'n' I'm 'bleeged to yo', suh,
fo' whut you done las' night!"

Glenning had no difficulty in recognizing in his effusive caller the old
negro who had played a star part in the barn lot. But there was
something which claimed his attention above the volubility of Peter, and
that was a square envelope, tinted a delicate blue, which the darky
carried in one of his wrinkled hands.

"Thank you, old gentleman," he said, "for your interest and your
kindness. I hope the Dudleys did not suffer from exposure last night."

"De young missus tek a li'l col', suh, but de Major, suh, am all
right--I'm 'bleeged to yo'." He made another profound obeisance. "I wuz
sent dis mawnin', suh--doctuh--by de folks to 'quiah ob yo' health, suh,
'n' gib dis lettuh into yo' han'. It was writ by de Major, 'n' gib to me
by de young missus, who says, says she--'Peter, gib dis to de man whut
save our Prince, 'n' to nobody else.' Here it am, suh. I cyaried it on
top o' my haid under my hat right to yo' do', kase I's feared I'd lose
it."

He shambled across the room and gave the missive to the hand stretched
out to receive it.

"I mus' be goin' now, suh--doctuh--but I's 'spressly to ax how yo' wuz?"

"Present my sympathy and respects to your folks, and assure them I am
not hurt--only a few bruises and burns which do not annoy me in the
least. Say, in fact, that you left me feeling well."

"Thank yo', suh--doctuh--'n' you're a man whut _is_ a man!"

With this parting encomium, which to his mind represented the acme of
praise, Peter shuffled to the door, bowed again, and went out.

"Heigh-ho!" mused Glenning. "It seems, indeed, that 'there is a tide in
the affairs of men.' From what I can hear I have started in well. Let's
see what that fine looking old gentleman has to say."

Tearing the tough fibre of the paper with some difficulty, he drew out
the folded sheet, and opened it. The handwriting was angular, legible,
and painfully correct. The ink was brownish, as though it had been
watered often. He read rapidly.

     "DEAR DOCTOR GLENNING:

     "This morning we learned the name of the heroic stranger who
     did us such unparalleled service last night upon the occasion
     of the burning of our stable. We wish to convey to you at the
     earliest moment a sense of our profound gratitude for your
     noble act. My daughter and I feel that we can never repay the
     debt under which you have placed us by your marvelous bravery.
     I shall call this afternoon to thank you in person, and I pray
     you will at all times consider our house your own. The colt is
     practically uninjured. It is our prayer that you have not
     suffered seriously.

     "Your obliged and obedient servant,

     "THOMAS DUDLEY."

"Fine!" breathed Glenning. "A little stilted, perhaps, but true and
sincere. He means every word. Writes like a Clay or a Webster. There's
blood back of it--Kentucky bluegrass blood. And she--she did not know she
was a queen of tragedy last night when she made her appeal. Who could
that have been who tried to get in ahead of me? Ugh! He was a devil! When
she saw him coming she looked daggers of scorn and contempt. There's
something back of it all, I'll wager. Could that terrible thing dare to
love her, I wonder? If he does, it's one-sided. But she's beautiful! I'd
go into another burning stable tonight if she looked at me as she did
then, and asked me."

As he folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope he
suddenly realized that his coffee must be getting cold. He smiled at the
incongruity of the thought, but he was very hungry, so he essayed to
rise. The effort necessary to get onto his elbow brought numerous
darting pains to a dozen places at once, and made his temples throb. But
his firm jaws were not for nothing, and presently his feet were on the
floor and he was standing upright, dizzy, and holding to the head of the
bed. His chest burned as though coals of fire were laid upon it. He
waited a few moments, battling with physical weakness, then steered an
uncertain course for the washstand. How sweet was the touch of cool
water on his hot, parched face! He dashed it over his head and neck and
face by the handsful and felt his brain clear as if by magic. And there
is magic in a basin of cold water, as anyone can testify. Directly he
set about dressing. His trunk and suit case sat in a corner, and when he
had donned underwear, shirt and trousers his strength left him, and he
feebly sought a chair by the table and gulped down the coffee. Then, by
sheer force of will, he began to eat. The food was half cold, and not
good. It would not have been good had it come just from the oven, but it
gave strength, nevertheless. The man felt the elation of returning
vigour as he ate. His meal was not half finished when a hurried,
thumping step was heard in the corridor without, his door was
unceremoniously and roughly opened, and Doctor Kale entered. He was a
man getting along in life; full bearded, grizzled. His beard and hair
curled slightly, and beneath his rather heavy brows keen, kind eyes
danced incessantly. He was not very particular as to his apparel. His
clothing was baggy, and none too clean. He wore boots, with his trousers
legs pulled down over them. His vest was secured by the bottom button
alone. There was a row of buttons, but only one was used. This left
exposed to fullest view a shirt front which had doubtless been clean
when the garment to which it belonged had been first put on, but which
was now flecked and streaked with yellow stains which showed plainly
that its wearer used tobacco. A derby hat of a past age was on his head,
and he carried a medicine case much battered from long use. His right
leg was shorter than his left--rheumatism had done it--and this
accounted for his peculiar gait. He stopped in blank surprise for a
moment when he saw his erstwhile patient sitting up and eating, then the
vials of his wrath exploded.

"What in the devil do you mean by getting up, young man?" he thundered.
"Get back in bed! You'll die! You won't live till night!"

He placed his case on the floor, took a handkerchief from his pocket and
removed his hat, and fiercely took a turn or two up and down the room,
mopping his head and face as he went. It was well for Glenning that a
friend had prepared him for this visit.

"Pardon me for not rising to meet you, Doctor Kale," he said, feeling
his risibles stirring, and endeavoring to maintain a steady countenance.
"But I feel much better, thanks to your attention."

"Any fool could have washed the dirt off and stuck court plaster on
you," growled the caller, still belligerent. "How do you know my name,
and who told you you might get up?"

"The young man who spent the night with me told me you would call this
morning, and I got tired lying in bed with nothing the matter with me--"

"Nothing the matter with you! Why, you're burned, and cut, and thumped,
and bruised. It's a wonder the Lord let you off alive for being such an
idiot. It seems to me you'd have had better sense than to go in a
burning stable just to pull out one good-for-nothing horse which don't
earn its hay!"

"Circumstances were such that I had no other choice," answered Glenning,
a bit distantly.

"Circumstances!" sniffed Doctor Kale. "Yes, I heard about the
circumstances, and when you've lived as long as I have, you won't butt
your head into a little hell every time a pretty girl winks!"

The blood rushed to John's face, and even Dillard's warning did not
serve to check his tongue.

"She didn't wink!" he retorted, rather hotly. "But she asked for help,
and I gave it to her, as any man would!"

The caller cast a sidelong glance at the figure by the table, then
stumped over to the bed and sat down upon it.

"Tom Dillard told me that you were the new doctor the _Herald_ said was
coming here to locate, and that your name was Glenning."

"Yes, John Glenning is my name, and my profession is the same as yours."

"Well, it's a damn bad one!" ejaculated Doctor Kale. "That is, the
profession ain't so bad, but it's a worrisome and unappreciative life.
It's a hard way to earn a living, young man, and if you hadn't started
in it I'd advise you to try something else, even if it was beating rock
on the county road. People expect you to be always ready, day or night,
to jump up and run to them, even if you are sick yourself. Then you are
the last man they want to pay when it comes time to settle, and they
always think you're trying to rob them. I've worn my life away trying to
serve them, and they call me a skinflint and a miser because I own one
or two nigger shacks and try to save what little I make! You've come to
a mighty poor place to make your fortune, and it's a mighty hard life
you're beginning."

"I've practiced some already, and did not find the work hard, or
uncongenial. And I also found people very obliging. But I love the
work, doctor, and I suspect that counts for a great deal!"

"Love it!" snorted Doctor Kale; "I never did love it! It's slavery--a
dog's life! Here, last night, I was coming in from the country tired to
death and headed for bed, when that fool Dillard held me up and hauled
me up here to work on you! Don't you see? Work, work, work!"

"But that's what we're put here for. Employment is our salvation.
Suppose everybody stopped work. What would happen to the world?... But
you did a good job with me, and you must permit me to compliment your
skill."

Unknowingly Glenning had found the vulnerable spot in the old fellow's
armour. His eyes took on a kinder gleam, but the look he bent on the
young man was not unmixed with suspicion.

"Think I helped you, eh? Maybe I did. I've fooled around diseased and
mistreated bodies the most of a lifetime, and I ought to know something,
if I don't. Where're you from? The _Herald_ said, but I can't remember."

"Jericho. It's rather in the northeastern part of the State. Not large;
something like this place in population."

"D'you take this for a hamlet, young man?" fired up Doctor Kale. "Fifth
class city, sir, and we're growin' by the minute."

"No offense, I'm sure," smiled Glenning. "You must remember I haven't
seen your tow--city, by daylight."

"You've seen the prettiest thing in it by firelight, though."

A swift change had come over the combative features of Doctor Kale, and
his wrinkled face bore a reminiscent look. There was a distant
expression in his eyes; he seemed to be gazing into the past.

Glenning pushed the tray and its contents away and leaned his head on
his hand.

"The prettiest woman in the county, and I might say in Kentucky," mused
the man on the bed.

He got up and walked limping to his patient, and as he began an
examination of hidden bandages and general physical condition his flow
of talk continued in a wonderfully changed and melodious voice.

"I've known the family always. These hands were the first hands which
touched that little girl when she came into the world, and I've watched
her in sickness and in health up till now. Julia's as sweet as God could
make her, and that's about as sweet as a woman can get. The old Major's
game, and stiff, and proud as the devil, and poor as Lazarus, but he's a
gentleman; a gentleman, sir, who'd pawn his last coat to pay a debt and
go through the winter in his shirt sleeves. I could never get closer
than arm's length to the Major, but Julia--" His voice stopped, and
Glenning, stealing a glance at his face, saw that his lips were tight
and he was slowly shaking his head. "She's a wonderful girl," he
resumed, presently, while his hands glided deftly about here and there.
"She came to me once when nobody else would have done in her place, when
my greatest sorrow was on me, and I won't forget it--_I won't forget
it_--I'll tell it to God Almighty when we stand before Him together!"

Glenning had no words in which to answer this unusual discourse. He
remained silent, and presently the doctor stepped aside.

"I swear you seem fit as a fiddle!" he avowed, in his old peremptory
tones. "You must be a tough nut. How do you feel? Any internal pains?"

His patient drew a long breath, and a grimace which he could not check
in time shot over his face.

"Don't lie to me, you young rascal! Where does it hurt?"

"Inside; here."

The speaker placed his hand on his right lung.

"It ought to hurt there, for you've a bruise as big as a soup plate.
Nothing dangerous, but you must be careful. Stay in this room for two
days, anyway, and lie down most of the time. Do you promise?"

"I suppose I'll have to," replied Glenning, somewhat ruefully.

Doctor Kale thumped over to his hat and medicine case. Jamming the hat
on his head till it almost rested on his ears, he grabbed his case, then
swung around and gazed keenly at the new doctor.

"Are you married?" he demanded, abruptly, and in a manner which in
anyone else would have been highly impertinent.

"No," was the answer, given quite gravely.

A meaningless snort greeted this inoffensive monosyllable. Then Doctor
Kale began to parade the room, thumping and storming.

"Why in hell ain't you? A doctor ought to be married--adds to his
respectability. And here you come sneakin' into Macon not married!"

He stopped about three feet in front of the figure in the chair.

"I may be a rascal, as some people say, but I'm no fool. You're not
married, and you went into a fiery furnace to save Julia Dudley's horse.
Now I've got this to say. The man who gets her has me to reckon with as
well as the old Major. Damned if he don't have to _prove_ himself, and
be as clean as a white-washed wall! Good morning, sir!"

He stamped to the door, went out, slammed it furiously behind him, and
was gone.




CHAPTER IV


The predominant feeling in Glenning's breast when Doctor Kale left him
was one of resentment. The old fellow had presumed far beyond his
rights, had gone into the future in an entirely unwarrantable way, and
had given advice for which there was no thanks in the young man's heart.
His resentment was heightened by the fact that Julia Dudley's face had
been haunting him all morning. Certainly he did not love her. He had
never exchanged a word with her; he had only seen her once, a vision of
white beauty with brown, braided hair, standing like a Niobe in that
night of stress and peril. He had never been of a susceptible
temperament. He had work to do in the world, and love must wait. That
had been his motto of renunciation, for he had a deep, strong, tender
heart, charged with that priceless heritage God gives to each of his
children. But when the girl with the braided hair had stepped forward in
the presence of half the town and had singled him out for her cavalier
in the adventure of that hour, he had felt a strange and unaccountable
thrill pass through him. Her presence had been with him in the burning,
blinding heat of his subsequent struggle, and the knowledge that she was
waiting without for him to appear again a victor had nerved his arm and
his smoke-numbed brain to success. He did not try to hide these facts
from himself, but it was galling to think that a meddlesome old
busy-body had also found them out, and had flung them in his face,
coupled with a warning.

He shook himself together and took another view. He must not be
supersensitive. The old man had been good to him. He had ministered to
him and nursed him when he, himself, was worn and tired. And Dillard had
said he was peculiar. But Glenning had seen the deeper, truer side to
Doctor Kale for a few moments, and he knew that whatever nature he
presented exteriorly, down in his heart he was a man. That personal
experience of which he spoke evasively probably referred to the death of
his wife. Anyhow it was something very vital; something of serious
import, and John saw now that it had been shrewdly given him to assist
him in formulating a proper attitude towards Miss Dudley. Old Doctor
Kale loved her. Of course it was a paternal, protecting love, but it was
deep as the nethermost sea, and as true as heaven. And old Doctor Kale
knew that as sure as grass grew, and water ran down hill, a man and a
maid will love.

Slowly through these engrossing reflections a sound crept to Glenning's
brain. He had been conscious of it for several moments in an indifferent
way, but all at once it assumed the tones of a conversation. He inclined
his head in the direction from whence the sound came, and caught a name
which made him start. He got up, alert, calm, quiet, and moved swiftly
towards the cheap oak dresser. He now observed for the first time that
this sat in front of a door connecting with another room, and it was
from that room the voices came. There was no transom, but by moving the
dresser slightly he would have access to the keyhole. This would have to
be accomplished without noise. He listened. The voices had sunk to a
murmur. There was no choice, and instantly his long, sinewy fingers
gripped the top of the dresser on either side. Oh, how it hurt when he
put forth his strength! But he lifted it, swerved it a few inches, and
set it down without a sound. The exertion had racked his body with
acutest pain, but he smiled grimly as he thought of what his recent
caller would have said and done could he have seen him, then squatted
before the keyhole and softly put his ear to the tiny aperture. In an
instant his face grew grave.

"Tonight, Travers; it must be tonight," a husky, coarse voice was
whispering; "it's got to be done!"

"And you want _me_ to do it?" came the answering whisper, in a nervous,
excited manner.

"Yes. There's nothing in the State that can beat my Thunderer, Daystar
and Imperial Don except that long-legged devil-colt. You want to retire
from business. You can do it after this summer's racing with the tips
I'll give you _if you'll kill Dudley's colt tonight_!"

"I can't! I can't!" was the moaning reply. "I'm not too good; I'm
afraid!"

"Afraid of what?" a sneering voice returned. "Of the dark, two old
niggers, an old man and a girl? You're not game a bit!"

"Let me think ... let me think! How much can I make?"

"Ten thousand, easy. See here, it can be done in a minute. We've tried
poison and fire, but there's no escape from a pistol bullet, unless that
lank fool who last night went where I tried to go chooses to stand in
the way--and I shouldn't care if he did."

"Where will the horse be?--the stable's burned flat."

"I'll find that out today and let you know soon after dark. But you'd
better not do it till along towards three in the morning. Everybody will
be asleep then."

"But if they should catch me, Marston? I'm supposed to be respectable!"

"Damn you for a rank coward!" was the explosive rejoinder, spoken aloud.
"I know a fellow who'll do it for a ten-dollar bill!"

The heavy tramping of feet followed this harsh speech, as though the man
who had spoken was leaving the room.

"Hold on, Marston!" the nervous voice protested, eagerly. "Come back a
minute! And don't talk so loud. That new doctor's on this floor
somewhere. I was asleep when they brought him in half dead last night,
and the night clerk, Jones, put him on this floor somewhere. Be patient.
A man can't risk his life and reputation without thinking about it. Sit
down just a minute and let me think."

Some unintelligible grumbling was the only reply Glenning could hear,
but he judged from the silence which followed that both men were still
there. He took advantage of this lull in the conversation to put his
eye to the keyhole. A compactly built, brutish looking man was in his
line of vision, sprawled in a chair directly facing him. Glenning would
have recognized anywhere the one who had vainly tried to enter The
Prince's stall. He was an evil appearing man. His shoulders were very
broad, and his neck was so thick and short that his round head seemed to
spring from his body. He was flashily dressed, with knee length riding
boots of russet leather. His face was sensual and cruel; his straight
black hair grew low upon his forehead. His eyes were small and set close
to his nose, and his upper teeth habitually showed, like a wolf's. A
heavy scowl sat upon his features from his present ill humour. The
watcher at the keyhole felt a great wave of repulsion surge over him as
he beheld this being in the shape of man, and unconsciously his heart
hardened. Nothing was visible of the second occupant of the room except
the toe of one shoe, which kept up an incessant tattoo on the worn
carpet. Two minutes passed, and Glenning noted that the figure fronting
him was growing restless. The frown on his low forehead deepened into
threatening furrows and he began to strike his boots with the whip he
carried. Suddenly he sat upright.

"Out with it, man!" he hissed. "Don't dally here till the morning's
gone! Are you going to do it or not?"

The tattoo ceased, and the foot was withdrawn from view. Then its owner
came within the radius of the little circle formed by the keyhole. He
walked straight to the burly figure in the chair, and bent down to
whisper his decision. The man on watch could only see his back. He was a
low, thin person, wearing a brown checked suit. Glenning swiftly put his
ear to the little opening, and listened with the greatest intensity. It
was of the utmost importance that he should hear the outcome of the
plot. But only elusive murmurs reached him, and not a word could he
hear. Observation was his second chance; the only one left. Again he
brought his eye to bear. Both men were standing now, close together.
They had come to a satisfactory understanding, for the heavy man's face
had lightened, and he had one hand laid in a confiding way upon the
shoulder of his confederate. Then they passed from the room, whispering
as they went.

Glenning got onto his feet, found a chair, and sat down. Of one thing
only was he sure--there was work before him. The rest was dark, but
plain ahead lay his duty. The Dudleys must know of all that had passed
in the next room. The one called Marston had spoken of poison and of
fire. Then the burning of the stable had been the work of an incendiary.
He was exerting every malign effort to get rid of Dudley's horse. The
third trial was to occur that night. John got up and looked at his
watch. It was after eleven. Major Dudley had said in his note that he
would call in the afternoon. But he might not come till late, and
something might happen whereby he could not come at all. The matter was
most urgent and vital, admitting of no delay whatever. He knew no one
who could act as a messenger on an errand of this character. Dillard
had said he would drop in at noon, but he had duties of his own. He must
go himself. There was no other course open. When he had come to this
decision Glenning took a quick inventory of his physical condition. The
wound over his right lung was his most serious hurt. The burns which he
had sustained were only on the surface, and while they were quite
painful, they would not prevent his proposed journey. Strange to say,
his face had scarcely been touched by the fire. There was an ugly welt
about two inches long upon his left cheek, and a scratch or two upon his
forehead and neck; that was all. His hair was badly singed, as he
discovered when he endeavored to brush it. He made his toilet as
carefully as possible, finding shaving a task for a stoic, but going
through with it nevertheless. By twelve he was appareled in a neat gray
suit and clean linen, and feeling very much himself. He went down to the
dining-room early, and was grateful to be assigned to a table in an
obscure corner. It was his especial desire right now to be unnoticed,
and besides he had an innate abhorrence of publicity; of being looked at
and commented upon, even though favorably.

The boy who had brought his breakfast approached in a deferential way
for his order, which Glenning gave with the request that it be served
quickly. But before it came he began to realize the penalty of
greatness. The guests of the hotel commenced to assemble, and every one
that entered, male or female, big or little, cast their eyes about until
they found the hero in his corner. And the painful part of it was they
did not withdraw their eyes after they had found him, but gazed and
gazed with truly rural interest, in which rudeness really had no place.
One little girl in brown curls even ventured to point, and ask, "Mama,
is that him?" before the maternal hand could grasp her arm, and the
paternal voice admonish her in a loud whisper to behave. Still his
dinner did not come, and he began to grow embarrassed. Finally, in
desperation, he drew some old letters from his pocket and began to
re-read them, finding such employment better suited to his taste than
staring sillily back at the many pairs of eyes which were now beholding
him. Directly a small envelope slipped from the packet in his hand and
fell face upward on the table. The address was in an unformed feminine
hand. He did not re-read this letter, but as he picked it up and placed
it back in his breast pocket along with the others a look of dejected
weariness settled heavily on his face. He forgot all those who were
watching him; forgot the urgent present, as a pair of wonderful
wine-brown eyes swam before him. Dishes jingled at his elbow; his dinner
was being served. He must eat quickly and go. He must behave well, and
let the people look as long as they wished, for they were to be his
people now, and his home was to be among them. In time he was to be the
family doctor for many of them.

But the grip of a past such as held him now was not the palsied touch of
age. It was the strong-handed hold of vigorous youth, which tightens the
more as we make resistance. Glenning shook back the straight black
locks which had fallen upon his forehead, and the melancholy of his eyes
became a shadow of living pain. A lassitude was upon him, weighting his
spirit, leaden-like. He ate perfunctorily, choosing no dish above
another, taking always the one closest to hand. He was not aware of the
obsequious attentions of the waiter who stood proudly behind his chair,
with mouth set in a perpetual grin. He did not hear the purring
questions this worthy asked. Sometimes it was this way with him. He had
fought a battle from which gods would have shrunk, and had come out
clean. But the price! Sometimes he wondered, in bitterness, if it had
been worth while, and then later, when quiet came, and he felt an awed
sweetness stealing upon his soul, he was glad.

By force of will alone he brought his mind back to the hour before him.
Then, hurriedly making an end of his dinner, he went to his room for a
light cane, found and descended the parlor stairs to avoid the office
and the loungers there, and started up street.

The appearance of any stranger in a town the size of Macon is always
remarked. Little wonder then that John Glenning found himself, as it
were, on dress parade. When he had run the gantlet of one block, which
happened to be the one upon which most of the business houses were
located, he turned to the right, to allay any suspicions as to his
ultimate destination. He would make a detour, and come back to main
street further on. The first corner which he approached was occupied by
a small, weather-beaten, one-story frame house, setting slightly back in
a yard poorly kept, wherein a few straggling rose bushes strove for
existence. Entering the front door of this house as he passed was a
slightly bent, limping figure. He recognized in a moment Doctor Kale,
but whether this was his residence, or whether he was making a call, he
could not determine. He was quite thankful, however, that the old doctor
had not seen him, for an unpleasant situation would have developed at
once. He had given his word to remain in his room for two days, and he
did not feel inclined to share his secret with a comparative stranger,
even though his friendly interest in the Dudleys could not be
questioned.

Glenning crossed the street diagonally and resumed his eastward course,
walking more rapidly. The increased circulation which his exercise
occasioned caused him considerable suffering, but he set his jaws, and
went on. Presently he passed the jail, a stone structure, with narrow
slits for windows. Pitying any unfortunate who might be languishing in
the gloomy pile this bright June day, he fell to noticing the pleasant
looking houses which he passed, most of them of frame, most of them old,
and possessing no decided style of architecture, but indicating thrift
and cleanliness on the part of their occupants. Then he had swerved onto
the main street once more, which led on in an unbroken line almost to
Cemetery Hill, beyond which was the Dudley home. He passed very few
people now, for it was hot at this time of the day, and not many were
stirring. Then, too, it was the dinner hour. He found this walk would
have been delightful under ordinary circumstances, for the pavement was
lined with maple trees, which cast a continuous shade below. He passed
some beautiful homes on this part of his walk; residences which showed
plainly the lavish elegance of ante-bellum prosperity. He grew the least
bit nervous as he crossed the railroad just this side of Cemetery Hill.
It was here the pavement ended, and for the remainder of his journey he
must take the pike. He was not afraid of his welcome; he knew that would
be cordial and genuine, but until he should be able to make his errand
known it would appear somewhat as if he had come to be thanked. His
sensitive nature revolted at this. He really would have preferred to let
the incident drop without discussion, but he knew that was impossible.
He was now in view of the fence, the long, iron fence bent and twisted
in places which bounded a large and exceedingly well kept lawn, from
which arose in stately splendour, irregularly, majestic oaks, maples and
elms. The lawn sloped gently upward, and on its crest was the home,
looking very square, solid and dignified, with its upper and lower
porticos and its rows of windows, four above and four below. There was
no sign of life. Glenning went down the fence, watching for a gate. The
night before he had had no time for minor things, and it was almost as
though he had never seen the place before. The gate proved to be at the
other corner of the yard, was double, and had a lion's head cast in the
center of the iron arch which spanned it. One of the gates yielded to
his touch and he went in, feeling decidedly like a trespasser. He found
himself at the beginning of a graveled drive, winding picturesquely
through borders of evergreens up to the front of the mansion.
Unconsciously, perhaps, he put his hand to his tie to see that it was in
place, then bravely set his face towards his goal.

As he drew closer he discovered that the house was pretentious, and that
the disposition and care of everything outdoors was peculiarly correct.
He did not tarry as his feet brought him near the end of the drive, but
walked with a firm tread upon the portico, removed his hat, and knocked
briskly upon a panel of one of the heavy doors, both of which were open
wide. Accompanying his knock, rather than following it, came the sound
of the swishing of dainty drapery overhead; a sound which instantly
became more audible, and mingled with it was the musical hum of a
lilting tune. Glenning glanced up, his heart behaving somewhat oddly,
for his position was a trifle nervous, and beheld, around the further
bend of the old stairway, where it gave upon the broad landing, a
flutter of garments. He knew at once who it was, and he knew she had not
heard his summons at the door, for she was humming industriously, and
evidently had just started to descend the stair. Across the landing she
floated, to the top of the downward flight, and at that point she lifted
her eyes and beheld the tall young stranger standing in the middle of
the open doorway. The humming stopped abruptly, and so did Julia. She
did not recognize him at that distance, for the brighter light was at
his back, and his clothing was entirely different from what it had been
the night before. Knowing it to be a stranger, and presuming he had
called to see her father, she came very demurely and very slowly down
the stair, one hand sliding gently along the mahogany rail. Glenning
waited in respectful silence until she should come nearer. She had
dropped her eyes, but as her feet reached the floor she lifted them in
an interrogative glance, and then she saw--the singed and burned hair,
the disfiguring welt upon his cheek, one or two pieces of court plaster
which he had tried to remove and failed. The change which transformed
this quite correct and polite young lady was electric in its rapidity.
Her hands clasped and flew up under her chin, and there came a look upon
her sweet face such as the man had never seen in his life before. There
was gratitude, compassion, and a lingering, unconscious tenderness, and
eloquent, if wordless emotion beamed in her brown eyes. For a moment
each was speechless. Then Julia came forward with outheld hand.

"O, you are he!" she exclaimed, and the blood rushed up to her face,
overflowing its delicate beauty with rich tints. "You saved our Prince!"

The touch of the small, cool hand in his affected Glenning strangely. It
brought recollection--which was bitter--and it made this girl's presence
very real--which was sweet.

She spoke again almost at once, in a somewhat calmer voice, though it
was plain to see her feelings had not abated.

"My father and I are in your lasting debt. Come into the library. He
will want to see you. He was going into town for that purpose later in
the afternoon. Peter told us he delivered father's letter safely."

As she was speaking she led the way into the room on the right. Glenning
followed, and both sat down.

"I--might have waited for him to come," said John, "but--I thought
something might detain him, and an incident has arisen which makes it
necessary that I see him at once. Otherwise I would not have forced
myself upon you so soon after--last night."

"I am glad you have come, Mr.--Doctor--"

"Glenning, Miss Dudley."

"Doctor Glenning, for I want to speak my thanks with father's. I do not
know whether I should apologize or not for appealing to you last night,
for I had never seen you until that moment. But I was wild with grief at
the thought of my Prince burning to death before my eyes, and when the
rest gave back cowardly, and left you alone, it was borne in upon me
that you would do it--that you could do it, and were not afraid. Now,
when I am calm and sane, I see that I was presuming enormously--almost
inhumanly, upon your manhood, for I had no right in the world to speak
to you as I did, and I believe I am ashamed of it today, and think I
should ask your pardon."

Her words followed each other swiftly, as though the speech was one
which she wished to say quickly, before her determination to speak it
wavered. The flush which had come to her face at the door had never
receded, and still enveloped her features charmingly, as she sat with
bent head in the cool semi-gloom of the old library.

Glenning looked on her a moment keenly before he replied. The picture
she made might have stirred any man's heart. He knew she was sincere;
that sufficed for the time.

"Don't speak of apologies," he answered, in a voice which had grown
deeper and more vibrant. "You do not owe me any. I have read of days
when men counted it a favor to serve a lady, be she friend or stranger.
Let us not think those days are entirely gone--that they are as dead as
the people who lived in them. Candidly, and without simulation, I was
glad to do what I did for you--gladder still that you felt you might
call upon me. That means more than all else, perhaps. And it was not all
a duty, believe me; it was a pleasure."

A smile trembled upon her lips as she raised her head and looked
squarely at him.

"And these," she said, "upon your cheek, and neck, and forehead. Your
hands, blackened and burned"--her voice quivered--"your lungs perhaps
scorched--what of these?"

He laughed gently.

"Let us say my body has been purged of some of its sins by fire, and let
us call the marks badges of honor. They will not deface, and I shall
never be sorry for them."

There was a peculiar earnestness to his tones she could not fathom.
None of the young men in Macon would have made a speech like that. None
of them could have understood such sentiments. She understood them but
vaguely herself, yet they appeared very noble. As he spoke, she knew
that she was noticing for the first time the square lines of his angular
face, and the half melancholy, half humorous expression of his eyes.

"You take serious things quite lightly," she contended, "but it is
difficult to answer you. You are striving not to permit your heroism to
be recognized, but _we_ know better, father and I, and you must not
speak deprecatingly of it before us. It will hurt us. Shall I go for
father?" She arose quietly and stood before him. "Peter is arranging new
quarters for the Prince, and father is superintending the work."

"Yes, if it is convenient for him to come now. I don't think I need
delay him long. You, too, had better be present, for you will be
interested in my message."

"Very well. Wait just a moment."

She disappeared in the hall with light footsteps, and Glenning, with his
eyes set intently upon the worn Brussels carpet in front of him, awaited
her return.




CHAPTER V


The presence of a peculiarly sweet perfume, brought to his nostrils by a
light zephyr floating through the open window near, caused him to look
up. He could see through the casement an old and shabby honeysuckle, and
it was from this the odour came, so elusive as to make him doubt its
reality. He wondered why so unsightly a shrub as this had grown to be
was allowed a place in the purlieus of the immaculate lawn, then his
eyes came indoors. The room in which he sat was large. An old fireplace
was on one side, but this was hidden by a screen. Above it was a tall
mantel, with some chaste bric-a-brac, and above this the picture of a
man of unusually fine appearance. A young man, whose every feature
bespoke courage and determination. The remainder of the wall space was
pretty much given up to book cases of various sizes and designs, and all
crammed with books. A center-post mahogany table stood in the middle of
the room, and this also was heavily sprinkled with books and papers, and
a few magazines. Being a man, Glenning did not know that the threads in
the carpet under his feet showed, nor that the haircloth with which the
chairs were upholstered was worn into holes in many places. But he
pricked his ears at once when he heard quick footsteps on the long side
porch, and the sound of more deliberate and heavier steps coming with
them. He was on his feet when Major Dudley and Julia came into the
library arm in arm. A smile of genuine welcome was on the aristocratic
features of the master of the place, and he came forward with more
celerity than he was wont to show, clasping Glenning's hand in a grip
which almost made the young fellow wince.

"You're none too soon, suh; none too soon!" he exclaimed, beaming
warmest appreciation into the eyes of his caller. "Sit down, suh, sit
down, while I apologize for not coming to inquire after you this
morning, instead of waiting for this afternoon. You must have a
constitution of adamant," he added, as the three took chairs.

"It is pretty tough," admitted Glenning. "I'm almost myself today. Still
I would not have ventured to impose myself upon you this morning had it
not chanced I heard something which you will be glad to know--or, at
least, which you should know, for it is not pleasant news."

"One moment, suh." Then to his daughter, in a tone of greatest
respect--"Julia, bid Peter mix two juleps and serve them here at once.
Now, doctor, what were you going to say?"

"I shall wait for Miss Dudley's return, with your permission. That which
I have to say concerns you both equally. This is a lovely old home, if
you will pardon the comment."

Major Dudley took a book from the table by which he sat. Certainly not
with the intention of reading, but it was a life-long habit, and if he
happened to be in arm's length of a book he never failed to pick it up.

"It's a family possession, suh. The wah's done away with most of them
hereabout, but we were fortunate in not being pillaged and burned, like
many of our neighbors. Then a number were sold for debt, and passed into
vandal hands. But before we proceed fu'ther, suh, you must let me
confess my obligation--"

Glenning held up a restraining hand.

"Miss Dudley has done that," he said, "and you would please me most by
not referring again to last night's adventure. I was lucky enough to get
the horse out, and lucky enough to get out myself. I know all the thanks
which you would utter, and I accept them. Now let's close the incident
and come down to the needs of the moment, for, believe me, they are
pressing."

The Major gazed in sheer amazement at the man, and before he could find
his voice Julia returned, glided like a sunbeam to her chair and sat
down, folding her hands in her lap.

"Peter will be here in a moment," she said, softly.

Glenning resumed talking immediately, and laid bare to the smallest
detail the plot which he had heard an hour or two before. The girl's
face paled in evident distress as the recital proceeded, while Major
Dudley sat like an image of stone, his gray eyes fixed unwaveringly on
the speaker.

"That is all," concluded John, "and I have come straight to you, for
forewarned is forearmed. I judge the attack will be made between two
and three in the morning."

When he ceased there was dead silence for perhaps a minute. Finally one
word broke from the Major's lips--"Marston!" His eyes fell to the floor
for an instant, then he lifted his head as a stag might when brought to
bay.

"He is the enemy of our house, suh, and he has harassed me vilely! If I
were a younger man, I'd dare him to do his worst." Then a troubled and
perplexed expression came over his face, and he turned to his daughter.
"Little girl, this is men's work. Had you not better leave us?"

Julia got up, went to him, and placed one hand upon his forehead and the
other around his neck.

"The time has come when I must share your burdens, daddy," she said. Her
face was burning, but her voice was very tender and brave. "Let's talk
it over together--Doctor Glenning, you and I. Is not that best?"

She turned her gaze on the young man by the window as she put the
question.

"Decidedly!" he answered promptly, and with vigour. "I am convinced that
an exceedingly base man is attempting you cowardly violence, and if you
will permit me I shall gladly take part in your council. The first
thought which presents itself is--why not denounce him and place him
under arrest?"

The old man shook his head, and smiled sadly.

"Had you not just arrived in our town you would realize that to be
impossible. He is very powerful, very rich, and has men at his mercy
who are high in civic and municipal affairs. Your testimony--or
mine--would be laughed at. We cannot touch him."

Glenning's face darkened, and his lips pressed together to a thin,
straight line.

"Then it's Greek meet Greek," he said, in a low, hard voice, and Julia,
watching him, felt something akin to awe well up in her breast. Somehow
he seemed so masterful, so calm, so purposeful, and she had been a
witness of his ability to do things.

"Travers is to be his agent this time?"

It was the Major's voice, worry-laden.

"Yes, that's the name."

"He runs the hotel on a lease. Marston owns it. He's tired of working,
and wants to buy his way to independence over the body of the Prince.
Let him come! I am old to shed man's blood, but I will protect my
property!"

"Daddy, you can't sit up all night," remonstrated Julia, trying to
smooth the wrinkles from his forehead, "and you would be no match for an
able bodied person bent on mischief. Isn't the smoke-house strong enough
to keep out whoever comes?"

A throat was cleared in the hall doorway in an apologetic manner. The
Major was too preoccupied to hear it.

"Here's Peter," said Julia, soothingly, without looking up.

"Ah! I'd forgotten. Let me ask you to have a julep with me, Doctor
Glenning. Peter, pass the tray to the gentleman."

The retainer of the Dudley household shambled forward, bearing a tray
upon which sat two glasses, each containing a well-mixed mint julep. It
may as well be stated here that the quality of a mint julep depends
largely upon the manner in which it is prepared, and Peter had been
doing this sort of thing three times a day for more years than he had
fingers and toes. This formal courtesy having been duly observed, Peter
withdrew at once, and the question of the moment again commanded
attention.

"There's nothing, my daughter," said Major Dudley, reverting to Julia's
question, "there's nothing can positively thwart a villain except steel
or lead. This man has hounded me until I'm desperate!"

"I agree with Miss Dudley," said Glenning, speaking carefully, "that it
would not do for you to attempt to cope with this midnight assassin. A
personal encounter is not at all improbable, and in that event you would
inevitably suffer bodily harm, and perhaps death, for the man who would
undertake such a piece of work as this would not hesitate to take human
life."

While he was speaking Julia left her father's side and went back to the
chair she had formerly occupied.

"Is there any one about the place upon whom you could rely?" John
queried.

"We are alone with the exception of Peter and Aunt Frances. They would
sacrifice themselves for us, but their aid would be out of the question
upon an occasion like this."

A sudden gloom seemed to envelope the Major as he spoke.

"There's no one," he added, in a lifeless tone.

"But in town?" persisted the calm, even voice. "Is there no one--no
young person who is not afraid that you could call to your assistance?"

The old man's head moved slowly in sign of negation.

"We live almost absolutely to ourselves, and alone," explained Julia.
"It has been the family trait for generations. I have sometimes thought
it a grave fault thus to seclude ourselves from the world, and live
apart from our neighbors. It is a species of selfishness, but we have
always found it very sweet. But living thus we must, you see, be
sufficient unto ourselves at all times and under all circumstances. We
have no moral nor civil right to make any demands, or ask any favours.
We have chosen our lot, and we must abide by it, whatever comes. Until
now--until this hour we have never regretted this, but--"

"But at the proper time Fate takes a hand in every game."

Glenning smiled as he finished the sentence in his own way.

"What do you mean?" asked the girl, a quick suspicion of what was in his
mind causing her brown eyes to dilate and her lips to part the least bit
in anticipation.

His words had an effect on the Major also. He straightened up, while
hope sprang to his eyes. Glenning braced his feet on the floor and
grasped the arms of his chair firmly before he answered. When he spoke
his words came clear and sharp from between his teeth.

"I mean what I say." He held Julia Dudley's eyes with his own, without
wavering an instant, as he went rapidly on. "Fate has taken a hand, and
I am her instrument. This is no time for false attitudes, hypocrisy, or
make-believes. There come times in all lives when superficiality has to
be shorn away, when we must look upon things as they really are and cast
aside all pretence and the nice fabric which cloaks our everyday actions
and affairs. It is in such times we find our real selves, and the pity
of it is they are usually compelled by some distressing situation, some
condition which of itself strips off all sham and leaves our true
natures bare. A little more than twelve hours ago I did not know that
either of you were in the land of the living. Chance, if we chose to
call it that, brought me in your way, and I did you a service. Simple
justice to a fellow being against whose worldly goods I overheard a vile
conspiracy brought me to your home today. With what result? You are
totally unprepared and unable to meet this crisis alone and unaided.
There is no one upon whom to call in this emergency. I am young, strong,
and unafraid. I shall watch The Prince tonight!"

Julia put her palms over her face for the briefest moment, and when she
took them down her eyes were shining adorably.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "We cannot accept that!"

A faint shadow of annoyance flashed over Glenning's countenance. He
feared that she had not understood fully, but in the swift moment which
followed he knew that he was wrong, and that she did understand. She was
aware that his motive was noble and impersonal, for the knowledge was
written on her fare. The caller turned to Major Dudley.

"Will you accept my offer, sir? It is made simply as man to man; as two
strangers might meet in the desert, one unarmed and threatened by a wild
beast, the other armed, and ready and willing to do what he can. That is
the situation, and it is very simple. I see no need to delay, or
hesitate. It is an extremely plain proposition. What do you say, sir?"

The Major was grave, upright and dignified as he answered in his
measured tones:

"This is the fust time in my life that I have asked or received aid from
any man. But I find myself in a sore strait, from which, as far as I can
see, there is only one escape. The Prince is almost as deah to me as a
child, Doctor Glenning. He is the last of a strain of race hosses which
have made Kentucky famous all over the United States, and I confess to
you that his swiftness has never been equalled by any of his forebears.
To save myself, personally, I would tell you no. To save Julia and the
colt, I say yes. It looks base, it looks brazen, it looks coarse and
common, but I trust, suh, you realize fully the peculiar position in
which you find me, and from which it seems that no one but you can
extricate me. My daughter, we accept Doctor Glenning's magnanimous offer
provisionally."

Julia merely bowed her head and remained silent. Her face had grown
whiter and her eyes almost solemn.

"What restrictions do you wish to place upon me?" asked Glenning.

"Simply this. That you do not go on duty till midnight. There is
absolutely no danger before that time, and Peter and I will share the
watch. Again, you must promise to remain in shelter when you begin your
vigil. The Prince's new quarters will be the smoke-house. Peter is there
now doing what's necessary. It's a stanch structure, solid as a
block-house of pioneer days, and will withstand an assault. You must
also agree not to fire upon anyone unless it should become necessary. I
have no desire that any of these people should die. If compelled to
shoot, shoot low, and let your aim be to cripple. These are my
provisions, and I shall not swerve from them an inch."

The man by the window hesitated a moment only.

"All right," he said. "I agree, since I must, but I had rather go into
this business unhampered." He smiled boyishly, and turned to Julia.
"We've over-ridden you, Miss Dudley. I hope you, also, will now agree to
this little plan?"

"Ye-e-s, if father thinks it right I mustn't be contrary. But you are
unfit for such a thing just now, and it seems brutally cruel and
unfeeling after what you did last night."

Glenning waved his hand deprecatingly.

"We've forgotten that, you know, and agreed to let it alone. See that
you don't trespass again. Tonight will be a lark, nothing else. Do you
think I could be possibly frightened by that funny looking little hotel
keeper?"

"Travers is an arrant coward, as well as a knave," broke in the Major,
"but if Marston has any reason to doubt his project will miscarry, he
may come, too. Then it's time to keep your eyes open, for he'll stop at
nothing. I'm glad you have consented to my provisions, doctor, and now
I've something else to say. I invite you to spend the afternoon with us,
and take tea. Then you can return to town at twilight and retire early,
in order to get some rest."

Involuntarily Glenning's eyes went around to where the young mistress of
the old home sat.

"Let me repeat father's invitation," she said. "We shall be glad to have
you stay. It will be pleasant for us, and will give you an opportunity
to lay your plan of action for tonight. It will also save you an extra
trip, if you have no other business on hand for the afternoon."

Glenning bowed.

"Nothing whatever. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the next day, I will establish
an office down town, and incidentally desert the Union House. I have no
desire whatever to remain the guest of our friend, Mr. Travers. He might
put arsenic in my soup, or strychnine in my bread. But for the rest of
this day I'm free, and I am delighted with your invitation, which I
accept with pleasure."

Julia arose and went to the Major's side again.

"This is the hour for father's siesta," she said. "He has been
accustomed to taking a nap this time of day ever since I can remember,
and I know he especially needs it now." She bent down and whispered in
the old gentleman's ear, but Glenning caught the words. "Lie down and
rest now, daddy dear. I'll take care of our guest until you wake. And
don't worry. Everything will come out all right."

Major Dudley arose a little unsteadily. His present trouble, crowding
the heels of last night's occurrence, had told on him. His face was
careworn, and there was the suggestion of a stoop in his shoulders. John
had likewise risen.

"If you will pardon me, suh," spoke the Major, "I'll lie down a while
now. A lazy custom of mine for which there really is no excuse. But
habit is strong, and grows stronger the more we humour it. I will be up
and out in the course of an hour. My daughter will entertain you, suh."

He bowed in formal, old-fashioned courtesy, and made his way to a long,
deep davenport across the room which Glenning had hitherto failed to
notice.

The caller now followed Julia into the hall.

"It seems impossible for us to treat you as a stranger in any way," she
said, in a low, musical voice, "or to make company of you. Shall we sit
on the portico, or would you rather go out on the lawn? We can take
chairs out, if you prefer."

"Am I to speak with perfect freedom? I believe that is the best and
truest basis for friendship, and I hope we may grow to be friends."

The partly alarmed glance which she darted at him showed only the
habitual expression, half-smiling, half-grave, wholly genuine.

"The truth, always, and straight from the shoulder," she answered.
"Deliver me from men or women who are constantly beating about the bush
and perpetually feeling their way."

"Bravo!" he exclaimed, softly, and laughed--a chest laugh which thrilled
her. "If everyone followed that maxim we would always know where our
neighbours stood. Then this is the thing I wish now--to go have a look
at The Prince's new stable. It had best be done by daylight, and--"

"Why, certainly."

She took a sunbonnet from the hat-rack near by, and turned to the long
side porch back of the hall.

"Come with me. It is not very far away."

They passed the length of the porch side by side, silently. Some steps
brought them to the ground, and as Glenning cast his eyes about he saw a
portly figure in blue calico and bandana swathed head disappearing up
another short flight of steps at the other end of the house.

"That's Aunt Frances," explained Julia, smiling at the precipitate
manner in which the old negress had sought the shelter of her kitchen.
"She is very shy for one of her age, and she is especially 'jubus' of
young men. I don't know why, for I'm sure they are not near so critical
as the young women. But she is faithful, and wonderfully watchful of me.
I love her devotedly. Yonder is her consort, Peter, hard at work."

The smoke-house was not over fifty yards from the mansion, and was
reached along a walk of huge flat stones. The way to all the
out-buildings was paved in this manner. Peter was evidently hung on the
horns of a dilemma as the two young people came up. He removed his
tattered hat deferentially, greeted them with two profound salaams, and
plunged into a recital of his woes, using the saw he held in one hand by
way of emphasis and illustration.

"De stable hit bu'n, 'n' de Prince got to hab a home. Massa 'low de
smoke-house wuz de only t'ing lef' fittin', 'n' hyar I been all day
tryin' to wuk out de riddle. Dar's de do', 'n' dar's de Prince, hitched
to dat freestone peach tree, 'n' de question whut's 'plexin' my mind is,
how I gwi' git 'im thu dat do'!"

He ceased with his head on one side, and rheumy eyes which glared
defiantly at the young man fronting him.

"What have you been doing with your saw?" asked Glenning, amused, but
holding his face decorously straight.

"Cut a winder on de yon' side o' de house. Hit tuk me twel dinner-time.
Now comes dis pesky do', whut de Prince won' fit. Ef he had 'nough
gumption to stoop, he could go in, but he's dat proud he won' bend a
bit. 'N' he got to git in hyar 'fo' dahk, sho'."

"Let me take a look. Maybe I can offer you a suggestion."

John passed through the low door. He found himself in a tall, dark room,
odourous of cured meats and burned hickory fagots. It was scantily
lighted by a square window of diminutive size, for in making the opening
Peter had been careful not to get it large enough to admit the body of a
man. But Glenning thought it was just the right size to admit two arms,
one holding a bull's eye lantern and the other a revolver. By the aid of
the light which streamed through the open door he could discern dimly
the rows of blackened rafters overhead, from which broken bits of hempen
strings hung desolately. There was not an ounce of meat in the
smoke-house, and the man could not help wondering the least bit at this.
Could they really be poor! He remembered what Dillard had said to
him--"They are in no position to entertain a well guest, let alone a
sick one." His heart sank strangely at the thought, and pity filled his
breast. He turned swiftly, and went out the door.

"Peter's trouble is not as grave as it might be," he said, smiling at
Julia as she stood patiently listening to the darky's discourse. "There
are two remedies; to cut up, or dig down. The floor, I notice, is
perhaps six inches lower than the ground, or we could saw out the log
above the lintel. Either is entirely practicable, and not difficult.
Which would you prefer, Miss Dudley?"

Julia did not know, as the perplexed look on her face showed, but Peter
did. He broke in before she had time to formulate a reply.

"We'll dig dat do'step up. I've heerd de Massa say afo'time dat de
rain'd run under dat do', 'n' dat he gwi' hab it 'tended to 'kase it
spile de meat. 'Bleeged to yo', suh. I'll git de pick 'n' shev'l 'n' fix
dat d'reckly."

He departed with his peculiar gait.

"Come and look at The Prince, and see if he knows you," said Julia.
"Peter hasn't let him get out of sight today."

Together they approached the young animal which stood tethered under the
shade of a small peach tree to one side.

"It's wonderful how little he was hurt," resumed Julia, and she could
not restrain the emotion in her voice. "See, this is the worst."

She pointed to a spot just above the lean flank, where a long, deep burn
marred the satin-like skin.

"A piece of falling timber did that," said Glenning. "I saw it."

He walked slowly around The Prince, and he, who had known horses from
his childhood, marveled much at the absolute faultlessness of this young
colt. He was modeled for speed, and speed alone, from the tips of his
veined ears to his small, polished hoofs. There was not a line at fault,
and, unbidden, a great wave of enthusiasm swept the man.

"You will race him this summer?" he queried.

"Yes, if he lives till then," she answered, with some sadness.

"Don't fear but he will live. I pledge you my word he shall be on the
track when the day comes."

Julia looked at him with moist eyes.

"You are wondrous kind." Then, with a sudden brightening--"The Prince
_is_ fast. Oh, you don't know! He really runs like the wind; so rapidly
that it almost frightens you. But this is a secret, you know. Still it
has gotten abroad, somehow, and that's why the stable burned, for there
are those not far away who also own fast horses, and it would almost
kill them to have our Prince victorious."

A scowl darkened the face of the tall, spare man in front of her.

"I can scarcely believe such dastardly cowards are alive. But don't fear
them. They shall not harm your horse, and after this night I think their
designs upon his life will cease."

"O I fear the night!" she cried. "But remember your promise to father. I
wish it was all over, and morning was here again!"

His deep, soft chest laugh reassured her.

"This will be child's play, Miss Dudley. Do not permit your rest to be
disturbed on my account. I love the darkness. Not because I am
altogether evil, but because of the solitude and peace which it brings.
We can find ourselves better in the still hours; we can face ourselves
and take counsel, and repent of what has been unworthy, and gather
strength, perchance, for the next day."

She raised her eyes with the tiniest frown of wonder, but he had bent
down and was rubbing the foreleg of The Prince.

Peter arrived at this point with his implements and set vigorously to
work, and in the space of a half-hour the colt was safely domiciled
anew, and was munching oats from a soap-box, both of which had been
provided by his faithful groom.

The remainder of the day passed with remarkable swiftness for John
Glenning. He found in Julia a character of unusual charm. She was
unsated with the world, unspoiled by men, unworried by the demands of
society. Her life had been a trifle monotonous, perhaps, but she
possessed the polish which gentle birth and proper environment bestows,
and her ready, bright mind had been led along the channels of the pure
and good only. Her innate womanliness was ever uppermost, never
approaching prudery, but marking unmistakably her speech, gestures and
manners. Soon after their return to the house they had been joined by
Major Dudley, and ere he realized how time had flown the vigorous
ringing of a bell on the side porch made Glenning aware that it was tea
time. It was rather a frugal repast to which he sat down a few moments
later, but the napery was snowy white, and the service of elegant
silver, solid and old. Aunt Frances, in white cap and apron, moved
ponderously about the board in prompt and deft manipulation of dishes,
and to the poor office- and hotel-worn man it was as though he had
accidentally strayed into Paradise. Candles in antique old brass holders
lighted the table, and there was witchery in the misty halo they cast
upon the fresh, lovely face and waving hair of Julia Dudley. She was
happy and bright at tea, striving alike to entertain their guest and to
lift the gloom which had again enveloped the Major. This side of her
father's nature she had seldom seen, and it made her afraid. Should he
grow morose or brooding at his time of life the result would be
disastrous, she knew, and before the meal was finished she made a mental
resolve to bring about that very night the talk which the Major had
promised her the afternoon before. Then she would be the better able to
aid him.

The sun was down when they again came out upon the portico, and twilight
was silently clearing the way for darkness.

"You have been most kind to me," said Glenning, standing bareheaded upon
the low step between the portico pillars. "Your hospitality has been the
best thing I have known for a long time. Let me beg you, Major, not to
let this little affair tonight keep you from sleeping. There is not the
slightest use of anyone being at the smoke-house until after midnight,
and I shall be here not later than twelve. If, however, you would feel
easier to know that a friendly eye was on The Prince, let Peter go.
Remember I consented to your terms readily, and now I implore you to
listen to me. Will you retire at your usual hour?"

"I will see that father keeps to the house," Julia said, with an
unexpected firmness which surprised both her hearers. As she spoke she
thrust her arm through the Major's and pressed it gently.

"There is not the slightest necessity for either of you to sit up,"
resumed Glenning. "I shall come and quietly go around to the smoke-house
and remain there till morning. And please do not be alarmed
unnecessarily. I shall keep my word to you, Major, depend upon that, and
above all, go to sleep with the positive assurance that The Prince shall
pass through this night unharmed."

He clasped each one's hand firmly, and turned away.

As the tall, upright form disappeared down the avenue, Julia put one
hand upon her father's cheek.

"Daddy," she said, "this night I must hear why Devil Marston hates us."




CHAPTER VI


The day had been very warm, and the old settee on the portico offered a
comfortable seat, so it was here Major Dudley and Julia decided to stay.
The master of the house made one more effort at postponement, but the
young mistress would have none of it. It must be that night, and at
once. Affairs had shaped themselves in such a manner that a complete
revelation of all that had been kept hidden from her was imperative. So
Peter fetched the long-stemmed meerschaum pipe which his master never
smoked except of evenings, and received his instructions regarding the
colt. These, by the way, were superfluous, for the negro had already
made his arrangements to be a bed-mate of The Prince that night. Then,
with the faint odour of the cherished honeysuckle at the corner of the
house in their nostrils, and the faraway plaint of a mourning
whip-poor-will floating spookily up from the lowlands on their right,
they settled themselves, one to the task of telling a story he had
rather have kept, and the other listening eagerly, yet with a certain
dread. Julia felt that a new existence was opening up for her, and it
looked formidable enough in the uncertain atmosphere which now enveloped
it. Hitherto her way had been smooth, and her tasks and renunciations
had been those of love. But as she thought of that dark-faced, brutish
looking man who lived only a half mile further down the road, and knew
that in some way both he and she were concerned in the tale she was to
hear, for the first time in her happy life a vague terror took hold of
her and her body sank closer to the form beside her. Major Dudley had
his pipe alight by this time, but he was slow to begin speaking. For
perhaps five minutes he said not a word, and Julia discreetly did not
urge him. She knew it would come, and they had half the night ahead of
them. Presently her father's hand strayed over into her lap and found
hers.

"Julia," he said, and his voice was so tender and caressing that the
girl caught a sob in her throat, that he might not hear, and be
distressed. "Julia, I have hoped all my life that it would never become
necessary for you to hear this story. It but illustrates man's
inhumanity to man, and shows the harm an evil mind can bring about. Now
I will tell you all about it, for it is your right.

"You never knew old Brule Marston. He was the father of our neighbour,
and at heart was as vile a being as I have ever known. He loved your
mother"--there was a catch in his voice here--"or at least pretended
that he did, and wanted to marry her. His family's position was good,
but only from the great fortune they had always owned. In reality the
Marstons have been a bad lot as far back as I have any recollection of
them. They have lived in Kentucky a long time, but they have always
bought their position in a community, and I have never known one of the
name to be a true gentleman, as we of the Bluegrass construe the word.
Brule Marston was hot-headed, rash, impetuous and domineering as a young
man. We were near the same age, he being a few years my senior, and we
knew each other but slightly, for our families never visited, as you
well know. Your mother came from Virginia to visit in the neighbourhood.
It was to the Beckwith home she came--you know Miss Adeline, the old
maid who lives with the Rays. She was one of the belles of the period,
and I met Margaret at their home. Brule Marston met her about the same
time, and then the mischief started. Each of us loved her from the
first, and in his own way. Brule tried to force her into a promise of
marriage, and for a time I thought I had lost her. He was handsome in a
dark, devilish way, and I think it was his dashing manner which
captivated Margaret for a time. They were heavy days for me, my
daughter, but I played fair, and never said or did an underhand thing to
attempt to further my cause. She gave no preference to either suitor so
far as being in her company was concerned, and we had an equal chance.
In the end I won, and that was God's choicest and sweetest gift to me.
My rival took his defeat as might have been expected. He went raving
wild when Margaret told him, and had not help been within call I believe
he would have struck her in his frenzy. Then followed a prolonged
drunken spree, when he scoured the country roads at night like a fiend
escaped from hell, shouting his curses at the sky, and shooting his
revolver recklessly. I had never feared him, and made no especial effort
to avoid him in my nightly calls upon my fiancee But I was glad we
never met, for mischief most certainly would have ensued.

"Margaret and I were married quietly, and now comes some more news. You
know you have often spoken of your uncle Arthur's picture over the
mantel in the library, saying how sorry you were never to have known
him? He was several years my junior, and had been at college in the
East. He came home and met Margaret after she and I had confessed our
love. He at once conceived a violent affection for her, and when he
discovered he was too late to hope to win her, it went hard with him,
indeed. He stayed till after the wedding, and then went West, following
the lure of gold. For a few years we heard from him at intervals, then
his letters ceased, and today we do not know whether he lives or not. We
loved each other dearly, and it has always been a cross to me that I was
the innocent cause of his exile. I have made efforts to find him, but
they have all been futile.

"Brule Marston disappeared a few days after our wedding. It was told
that he took a boat at Louisville and went south, as far as New Orleans.
He was gone a short time only, and when he returned he brought with him
a woman. She was a quadroon, or a Creole, and she was exceedingly
handsome in a flashy, barbaric way. Marston had loaded her with costly
silks and jewels of all kinds, and introduced her as his wife. No one
believed this to be true, and doors were closed upon them everywhere. In
the course of a year a child was born to them, a son, who from his
cradle was christened Devil Marston, for such was the wicked heart of
Brule, his father, who worshiped nothing but his own passions, and made
an open mock of religion. Then came the war, and I went with the South.
Fearing to leave my young wife unprotected, I took her to her old home
in Virginia, and there she stayed safely until the bitter strife was
over, and there you were born. When we returned home a fearful tale of
horror awaited us. In a maniac fit of rage Brule Marston had killed the
Creole woman whom he had brought up from New Orleans. No attempts had
been made to bring him to justice for the crime. Partly because
everything was so unhinged on account of the war and its effects, partly
because no officer was brave enough to try to arrest him. From that time
on he lived alone in the old home down yonder, leaving the rearing of
his son to an old negro woman who was reputed to be coarse and profane.
Harrowing stories came to us of the fiendish cruelties Brule Marston
practiced upon his servants, and he thought nothing of knocking one down
and stamping him with his feet.

"How swiftly the years have chased each other since I came back home
with you and your mother! And how I have wished them back again--those
short, sweet years which followed your coming, when Margaret, you and I
lived in perfect unity, and peace, and love. But change is the order of
the universe, and we must take it when it comes, bravely, if so be God
gives us grace, and fit ourselves to meet the new needs.

"Brule Marston died upon a night of awful storm. It seemed as if the
cohorts of Satan had assembled to escort his foul soul to the realms of
the lost. I will tell you now what I learned later, and I pray you to be
brave, my child, and do not fear. The only training which Brule Marston
instilled into his son was hatred of us. He never sought to teach him
any good thing, or any worthy precept. His eternal and ceaseless
injunction was hate, hate, hate. He never forgot the fact that I had
robbed him of the pure being he had set his black heart on possessing,
and revenge was the only feeling he harbored. Had he lived long enough I
believe that in the end he would have wrought us some great harm, for I
am assured that was his sole aim and desire. But death found him in the
midst of his machinations, and stilled his hand. Devil Marston was an
apt pupil, and he readily imbibed his father's teachings. By birth he
was well fitted for any scurrilous task or duty, and he has always found
joy in causing pain. On that night of storm when old Brule died he
called his son to his bedside, and laid upon him his dying wish. It was
that Devil Marston should make it his life's work to harass and oppress
us, and at last to ruin us utterly, using his entire fortune for that
purpose should it become necessary. It is needless for me to tell you
the son was not slow to make the promise. It was a task entirely
congenial to his nature. You have never been aware of it, my child, but
he has had designs upon your happiness, knowing well that through you he
could inflict the deepest pain upon me. You of course remember when he
was at our home frequently, when we accorded him the courtesy due any
one under our roof, while never extending him a welcome, or making him
feel that his presence was desired. He always endeavored to be pleasant,
but it transpired later that this was acting only; a mask for his true
feelings. He often sought to be alone with you, but I could not trust
the blood, worse mixed than ever in this man, and I always managed the
situation so that I should be present also. This annoyed him, and he
could not always hide his resentment--it would flame through the veil of
decency he tried to wear with us. I did all in my power to discourage
him from coming here, without asking him in so many words to stay away,
but he had set his soul upon accomplishing a certain thing, and he would
lose his soul rather than lose his project. Then came the night, not
long ago, after which his visits ceased."

The low, regular, even tones stopped, and father and daughter sat close
to each other in silence, each feeling the other's sympathy through
their clasped hands. As they sat thus in the sweet summer night a
clatter of hoofs jangled through the star-lit dark. They came from off
to the right--from the direction in which the man lived of whom they
were talking. The sound gathered rapidly in volume, and a moment or two
later they heard a horse running furiously by on the highroad in front
of them, going towards town. As the noise died away in the distance
Julia pressed the Major's hand, but said nothing.

"It is he," spoke the father, in a voice of pronounced melancholy. "So
his sire rode before him, killing on an average two horses every year.
It seems the devil not only dwells in them, but is continually chasing
them."

"What happened that night, daddy, when Mr. Marston came the last time? I
saw him only in passing, and he looked nervous and angry."

"He was angry, little one. We ended it all in the library, but not until
he had voluntarily torn away his mask. I would spare you this if I
could--if you did not demand it."

Though it was dark Julia knew that he had turned to look at her.

"But I demand it--everything. You will not find me weak, for I am
stronger than you know, daddy dear."

"He would not sit down, although I insisted that he take a chair, so our
interview occurred with us both standing. He was quite restless, and
frequently walked the entire length of the room, switching at his legs
with his whip, which he always carries. I do not think I had ever seen
him so disturbed--"

"I know all that, daddy; please come to the vital part at once."

The Major drew a deep breath, as though in preparation for some great
exertion.

"He told me at the outset that he loved you, and that he wanted me to
use my influence to gain your consent to marry him--damn him for a
lying, mongrel cur!"

The girl felt his deep rage trembling through the hand she held, but
the sickening shudder which swept her from head to foot passed unnoticed
by him. His mind was back on the memorable scene, when he had to grip a
chair-back to keep his hands off the throat of the scoundrel who faced
him--who had dared to come with his black sins thick upon him, and ask
for a Dudley, for his, Thomas Dudley's daughter in marriage! When he
resumed his story his voice was husky and uneven.

"For a time I did not answer him. I feared to speak, for I would have
cursed him from my home--would have driven him out like a rabid dog. I
stood behind a chair and looked at him, and through his bravado I saw
him grow afraid. He knew his words called for a bullet, and for a moment
I believe he thought it was coming. He did not relish my silence. I am
sure he had been drinking some, and his mood was more fiery and
impetuous than usual. He wanted it all over quickly, and that prompted
him to speak again.

"'Will you help me? What do you say?'

"Oh, how I wanted to splinter the chair before me against his face! But
I answered him thus:

"'I say that my daughter will never, _never_ marry you. She scarcely
knows you, she is but a child, but she is not, nor ever will be for you,
Devil Marston!'

"Thus I answered him, and I have never seen a human face become so
ferocious as his did at that moment. All restraint vanished on the
instant, and he became his own self, a raving beast. I do not recall his
words. They were hot, reckless, vindictive and threatening. His fury
became so great that he forgot all caution, and boasted of his money,
and power, and what he was going to do to us. He vowed that he would
bring us to a crust of bread before another year had gone, that he would
literally starve us to his will. He spoke of the bank, of his power
there as president, and declared that he would arrange to pass dividend
after dividend if I did not reconsider. When I bought my stock he was
only a director, but by unscrupulous wire-pulling and money manipulation
he has become the head of the bank, and owns nearly fifty per cent, of
the capital stock. That means, my daughter, that he really controls the
bank's affairs, and has power to declare or pass a dividend. He could
not do the latter without crooked work, for the bank is prosperous to a
high degree, but he glories in underhand methods, and would not hesitate
to swear to a false statement. If he does do this, I cannot foresee the
future very clearly, for you know that is our sole source of income. I
made no attempt to pacify him. I did not want his good will, for his ill
will were better. I patiently listened to his volcanic speeches, and at
last he wore himself out.

"'Now will you agree?' he concluded; 'or will you have me for an enemy
instead?'

"'I shall never agree to such a base proposition,' I answered, 'and I
had rather have you for an enemy than a friend.' Then I opened the door
and pointed him out. 'Don't ever show your evil face in this house
again!' I said, and he went, mouthing incoherent threats as he did so.
That is the story, child, and you cannot wonder that I have kept it
from you, whom I would shield from every sharp wind."

Again there was silence on the portico. A bird rustled in the vines, and
a tree-frog, awaking down on the lawn, shrilled his dolorous cry.
Perhaps a half hour passed without a word being spoken. Then Julia's
calm voice said:

"I believe you did right, and whatever happens you will know that I
approved your actions, and if we must suffer because of this man we will
suffer together, and help each other all we can. I had no idea of--his
feelings for me, but I cannot think them true and noble."

"They are assumed, and base as his nature can make them. He can no more
love than a brute beast of the field."

"What could have been his motive last night? Was it pretence only when
he made as if he would rescue The Prince?"

"Nothing else. It was a sham show of courage before you--and the people.
He may have had some vague hope of getting the colt out, and thus
winning favour with you, but whatever his momentary purpose, I am
positive his ultimate and main one is our downfall."

They continued to discuss the future until the library clock struck ten.

"You had better go to bed now, daddy," said Julia, coaxingly. "You know
it does not serve you well to sit up late, and nothing can be gained by
it tonight. Peter is at the smoke-house now, and Doctor Glenning will
be there long before the hour of danger, O daddy, what a brave, fine
fellow this new doctor is! I can scarcely understand how he has come to
us, and taken possession of us, as it were. He carries things with a
firm hand, and they all seem right and natural. Kiss me goodnight and go
upstairs; I shall be along presently."

The Major arose with a sigh, gave her the caress, and went indoors.
Directly she heard his deliberate step on the stair. It was then she
went in also, and carefully put out the lights. But instead of seeking
her room she found a light, dark-coloured shawl and crept noiselessly
back to the settee, leaving the front door slightly ajar. She could not
go to sleep yet, and the sense of impending danger had so wrought upon
her that she knew it would be entirely useless for her to attempt to
compose herself for rest. A subdued excitement was running swiftly
through her veins, so she wrapped the sombre folds of the ample shawl
closely about her form, completely hiding the white dress which she
wore, and let her mind review the incidents which had taken place the
last twenty-four hours. The retrospection had its pleasant features,
despite the loss and anxiety she had suffered. It was not a disquieting
thought to know that a clean, athletic young gentleman with remarkable
eyes and a new way of looking at things had for the time usurped control
of the Dudley affairs, all in a way which bore no trace of forwardness.
It was not a fearsome thing at all to sit there and know that within an
hour or two a knight would be on the ground to champion her cause
against any and all comers. But it was a new sensation for Julia. She
had never had a sweetheart, and the only protection she knew was that
offered by her father, which was really only a tender providing for her
temporal wants. But this night romance walked abroad. A man, almost a
stranger, was really to risk his life for her!

Swiftly the minutes raced by, and Julia was startled when the clock
struck twelve. She was sure she had not slept, but this was the hour,
and her knight had not come. As the vibrations from within pulsed into
silence she became aware that something was moving on the drive. She
strained her eyes through the nebulous star-shine, holding her breath in
the tenseness of the moment. The figure of a man rapidly assumed
proportions before her gaze. He was walking quickly, but noiselessly. He
passed the portico step without stopping, and though he wore a cap and
his coat was closely buttoned, Julia knew it was the one who had
promised to be there at that time. She shrank back and clutched the
shawl closely under her chin, but he looked in front of him only, and
passed on around the corner of the house in the direction of the
impromptu stable.

Julia arose and went in, carefully locking the front door. Then she
tipped up to her room, pausing at her father's door to listen. From the
regularity of his breathing, and the part of the room from whence the
sound proceeded, she knew he was asleep. She was glad of this, for she
had feared he would try to sit up. Passing into her own room she
undressed and prepared herself for the night, then knelt by the open
window, and with her elbows on the sill and her chin in her palms, gazed
up at the starry space above her, and prayed. This was her nightly
custom, to pray from her open casement. It seemed to her that a freer,
more perfect and more intimate communication was established thus. It
was only a fancy, of course, but it was one she always indulged in when
the weather would allow. This night a new name was added to her
petitions. She knelt there a long, long time after her prayers were
done, listening, dreading to hear. But only the soft night sounds she
had known always came to her. Then all at once a sweet drowsiness crept
over her, and soon she was in bed, asleep.

Glenning's approach to the smoke-house came very near resulting in a
tragedy. Preoccupied, he walked boldly to the door, and tried to open
it. Instantly a belligerent and threatening voice informed him if he
"teched dat do' ag'in he'd git a hole in 'im yo' c'd th'ow a dog thu!"
John stepped quickly aside and opened a parley with the defender of the
door. It was several minutes before Peter could be persuaded that it was
the new doctor come to relieve him, although this part of the program
had been dinned into him over and over again by Julia, and when at last
the door was grudgingly opened a few inches, the rusty barrel of an army
musket was the first thing to appear. But the exchange was then soon
effected, and the relief guard had to unceremoniously cut off a long
string of instructions from the departing Peter, by gently closing the
door in that worthy's face, and making it tight on the inside.

Alone with the colt, Glenning drew a small lantern from his pocket, and
made his brief preparations. With native denseness of mind, Peter had
tethered The Prince broadside on to the window yawning blackly in the
opposite wall. The man untied the halter, and led the animal to a point
where it would be most inaccessible for anyone attempting it harm by
employing the window, and that was really the only point where an attack
could be successfully made, for the door was thick-beamed, and could not
be forced. This done to his satisfaction, the man sat down directly
under the window--in this position the hole was about two feet over his
head--and drew forth a thirty-eight calibre revolver. The brief but
thorough inspection he gave it showed it to be in perfect trim, so he
carefully placed it on a shingle which happened to lie near by. Then he
closed the slide of his lantern, found a comfortable attitude with his
back against the logs, and did some thinking himself. His mind was
keenly awake and alert, and he had no fear of falling asleep. Now and
again he would look at his watch, then lean back and stare into the
impenetrable blackness before him, and wonder things. The colt was very
quiet, his only movement being an occasional stamp of the foot. Finally
Glenning's watch showed half-past two. At this time of the year it would
begin to grow light soon after three. He arose agilely, and drew off his
coat. Then he loosened his shirt at the throat, rolled his sleeves
above his elbows, and again sat down, this time facing the window, with
his knees drawn up. If the attack was really to be made that night it
must come quickly. He had scarcely settled himself in this new attitude
when he felt another presence. On the heels of this intuitive perception
came light footfalls--a stealthy creeping on the balls of the feet. The
prowler was circling the smoke-house, seeking some place of entrance.
The feet stopped at the door, and Glenning heard the strain of the bolts
as a shoulder was forcibly pressed upon the oaken planks. The man inside
smiled grimly, and waited. A moment's silence, and the footfalls came
on, to the corner, around it, and the watcher caught the low exclamation
of gratified surprise when the marauder saw the window. Glenning got to
his knees and slowly rubbed the palms of his hands together, while his
jaws grew hard. A shaft of yellow light darted through the window and
danced among the blackened rafters near the roof, showing the broken
bits of hempen strings which in past years had borne luscious burdens.
The man crouching inside set his eyes intently on the opening, while on
his body and limbs the muscles rose and ridged themselves for the coming
battle. The sword of yellow light flickered lower and lower, revealing
the beech logs to which the bark still clung, and the chinking between
them. Lower, and around, till it shone in the honest, unsuspecting eyes
of The Prince, and glistened on his withers, and found the spot on his
shiny coat behind which his heart was beating. A hand holding a
bull's-eye lantern came through the window; another hand holding a huge
revolver, cocked, crept like a snake to its side. Then up from the
darkness beneath the window sprang two other hands, long, slender, white
and strong as steel. Around the wrists of the assassin these two hands
closed in a grip so fierce that it brought a cry of pain and fright from
the one outside, and lantern and revolver fell to the soft earth inside
the smoke-house. Then ensued a silent struggle, in which the captive
strove with fiendish power born of terror and rage to free himself.
Glenning, on his knees, sent all his strength to his vise-like hands.
Not a word was spoken, not another sound was uttered. In the gloom the
two men strove as two animals might, and their heavy breathing alone
broke the stillness. Not for nothing had John Glenning kept himself in
rigorous physical training from the first year he went to college. All
his hoarded strength leaped up at his call, and gave him the victory.
Gradually the frantic struggles of the marauder stopped, and finally he
ceased resisting. Then Glenning, with his hands still set in a
superhuman grasp, spoke from between his clenched teeth.

"Who are you?"

There was no answer.

"Who are you?" he repeated.

Still no answer came.

Then the captor began to draw down on the arms he held, forcing the
bones against the log at the bottom of the window. Down, down, and a
groan of pain escaped his prisoner.

"Who are you?" he asked, for the third time.

"Don't break my arms!" said a voice.

Glenning recognized it.

"Are you Travers?"

"Yes--yes--I'm Travers! Let me go--for God's sake! You're killing me!"

"Who sent you to kill this horse?"

A little more force was brought to bear with the question.

"Marston--Devil Marston! Ease up a little and I'll talk--I swear I'll
talk!"

John did as the man requested, though not lessening his grip on the
wrists.

"Now let me tell you something. You don't know who I am, but I want you
to know. You came out here expecting easy sailing, because you thought
there was no one here to protect this horse. I'm the new doctor who came
last night, and I'm at your hotel. I won't be there tomorrow night. I'm
not making you any promises of secrecy about this matter, but I'd advise
you to cut Marston. Now I want you to go to Marston tomorrow with this
message from John Glenning. Tell him I say he's got to leave the Dudleys
and the Dudley's horse alone. Tell him the next one who comes here on
mischief will be shot, if it is himself. Do you understand, and will you
promise to tell him?"

"Yes, I'll tell him every word. But for God's sake don't you tell
anybody of this. It'd ruin me. It's the first time I've ever gone wrong,
and if you'll let me off I'll swear not to do anything bad again. And
I'll tell Marston. He got me into this."

"I'll not make you any promises, but I'll see how you behave, for I've
come here to stay. Go, now, before daylight catches you, and thank the
Lord you're alive!"

In the first gray dawn of the next morning Peter knocked dubiously on
the smoke-house door. It was opened promptly, and when he saw The Prince
alive and unharmed his joy knew no bounds. Glenning dismissed his
exuberant manifestations somewhat abruptly, for he was in haste to be
gone. Instructing the darky to say to the Dudleys that nothing of any
consequence had happened, he went around the house and down the avenue
towards the road.

And how was he to know that behind a partly lifted curtain in an upper
room two sleep-sweet eyes, moist with beauty newly born, watched his
retreating figure with something approaching tenderness in their
depths?




CHAPTER VII


When Devil Marston awoke that morning he was conscious of a vague
feeling of satisfaction. As his brain grew more and more active he
smiled broadly, showing his wolfish teeth, and threw himself from his
bed. Good news would await him that morning. By covert watching he had
seen where The Prince was to be stabled, and late the night before had
gone in person to tell Dan Travers just how to go about the work. It was
ridiculously easy--to make way with the colt--and ere this the thing had
been done, for Travers had seemed eager for the undertaking. As he set
about dressing Marston reviewed it all mentally; the success of his
hireling's venture, the dismay and consternation of the Dudleys, the
total lack of proof as to who committed the crime. But the consciousness
that those whom he hated would know positively who was back of the crime
was the sweetest thought of all. And Travers was coming this morning to
make his report; this had been Marston's last order. He might arrive at
any moment, and Marston wanted his breakfast before listening to good
news, for it would sound better upon a full stomach. He opened a door
and rudely bawled an order into vacancy, but a fear-filled negro's voice
answered him in assuring words. His rule was one of absolute terror. His
servants were no more to him than so many dogs, and they obeyed him as
such. When he sat down to his meal a few minutes later an ill-favoured
negro youth waited upon him, and a slatternly wench appeared at times
from the kitchen, bringing new dishes to the door. Marston ate
repulsively, as befitted his birth and character, and took an intense
delight in his meal, which was coarse and poorly prepared. Throughout it
all he listened repeatedly for his expected caller, and when he rose
from the table there was not the slightest suspicion in his mind that
anything had gone wrong. He would go to the stable and have a look at
his favourite racers. The last barrier which stood in the way of their
supremacy had been removed, and he would gloat over them with increased
pleasure now. He issued some harsh orders for directing his caller when
he should arrive, and left the house with quick strides.

As he walked around and about the noble animals which were his greatest
pride his heart swelled with exultation. But when he came out of a stall
presently and saw the man for whom he had been waiting standing before
him, a swift alarm seized him and made his dark face pale. For a moment
they stood staring into each other's eyes, one with mounting anger, the
other with sullen passiveness. Then Marston strode forward and thrust
his darkening visage close to Travers' face.

"Didn't you do it, you sneak?" he demanded, his upper lip curling back,
showing his fangs. "Don't you dare to tell me you have failed me!"

Travers' accustomed nervousness had vanished. He was perfectly calm as
he stood within arm's length of the infuriated Marston.

"I'm the man to make a fuss," he answered, "for you steered me into a
hole which nearly cost me my life. I was discovered, captured, and had
to tell all the business to get off with a whole skin!"

Marston's face grew black, and he shook in his track with rage.

"You coward! You traitor! Who was there to capture you, and wring
anything from you? Tell me, before I knock you down!"

Travers pushed back his coat sleeves and held out his wrists. Each was
ringed with purplish bands, and swollen. Then he related his experience
in detail, and ended by delivering, word for word, the message which
Glenning had sent. As Marston listened his rage rose up and choked him.
At the conclusion of the recital he was wild, and moved about threshing
the air with his fists. When he at length came to a standstill his face
was the colour of ashes, and he was shaking from the violence of his
emotion.

"He said that, did he? The upstart! He'll shoot me, will he? He's going
to tell me what to do, and what not to do! I'll attend to him! He'd
better have stayed where he came from."

Then, muttering to himself as was his wont when enraged, he wheeled and
went towards the house, leaving Travers to look out for himself.

The landlord of the Union House did not tarry long. He had done a thing
which yesterday he would not have believed himself capable of doing. Now
he went slowly down to the yard gate, wondering at his bravery, got
into a wornout road-cart which he had borrowed in town from a country
friend, and began his return trip.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Glenning had dispatched a hasty breakfast he sought the clerk in
the hotel office and told him to have his bill ready some time that
forenoon. That worthy at once evinced a loquacious interest in the new
doctor's affairs, and would fain have inquired his departing guest's
plans for the future, but John merely replied that he had no intention
of leaving town, and went up to his room. Here he was soon joined by Tom
Dillard, who came in wearing the most dejected air possible, tendered a
perfunctory good morning to John's hearty greeting, and sank upon the
edge of the bed, his round, soft face wofully elongated.

"Sick this morning, Dillard?" queried Glenning, busy with the damaged
clothes which still lay on the chair. "I'd as lieve have you for my
first patient as anybody."

Dillard sighed, and shook his head dolorously.

"Not exactly sick, and not exactly well," he replied, "but it's precious
little sleeping I did last night."

"Indigestion?"

"No; worry."

Glenning, briskly wielding a clothes brush, glanced at Dillard. He was
evidently in the depths of despair, and had most likely come for
consolation or advice.

"Do you suppose I can help you?" queried John, sympathetically.

"I'm going to tell you about it, anyway, and see what you think. Maybe
it looks pretty queer to you that I should come here and make a
confidant of you when I hardly know you, but I have all kinds of faith
in you, and this matter touches people I like immensely, and I know
you'll regard all I say as confidential."

He stopped, and let his fat hands stray vaguely over his knees.

"Certainly I'll keep still, Dillard, and I'll be glad to help you all I
can."

"You see it's about the Dudleys. I don't suppose you know it, but
they're poor as Job's turkey. All they've got is that house and an acre
or two of ground and that horse, and--fifty shares of bank stock. The
old man bought this stock when he got too bad off to manage his racers
properly--sold them, you see, and invested his money this way, so that
he wouldn't have any worry, and it'd bring 'em in just enough to live
on. The bank's boomin', doin' the best business it ever has, and has
been declaring a five per cent, semi-annual dividend. That's ten per
cent, a year on the Major's investment, which means five hundred dollars
per annum for him and Miss Julia to live on--nothin' handsome, you see,
but it'll keep 'em from gettin' hungry. Now these people are my friends,
and I hate to see 'em suffer."

"Well, what's the worry? Is the bank insolvent? You just said it was
doing a fine business."

"Best in its history! There's a dividend due the last of this month, but
it's not going to be paid!"

Glenning wheeled from where he was bending over his open trunk.

"Why isn't it going to be paid?"

"I'll tell you."

Dillard looked around to see that no doors were open, then leaned
forward and spoke in a loud whisper.

"The president of our bank is a Mr. Marston. He's rich as Jersey cream,
and he owns the bulk of stock in the institution. He hates the Dudleys
like snakes, and he never loses a chance to do something that'll hurt
'em. The last meeting of the directors was the one at which the six
months' dividend should have been declared. We've earned it all right,
and more besides. There's no just reason under the sun why it shouldn't
have been paid. The whole board was in favor of it but Marston. They had
a warm session. They hold their meetings in a back room at the bank, and
while it was a closed meeting, I knew that an argument was in progress,
for they were there an hour and a half. But they can't go against
Marston's wishes. I learned later that he insisted on buying a new safe
for the bank, which costs a pile o' money, and also declared that some
improvements had to be made in the bank building. The whole thing was
bosh, for we have a good safe, and there are no improvements needed. It
was just a well-aimed blow at the Dudleys, but it went through. The new
safe and the improvements were ordered to record, and the dividend was
passed. If that doesn't mean starvation for our friends then I don't
know what I'm talkin' about."

Glenning did some quick thinking. Then he came over and sat down by
Dillard's side.

"Is this generally known?"

"No; but it will be when our statement is published in the _Herald_ next
Friday."

"I feel a warm personal interest in the Dudley's affairs, Dillard, and I
thank you for speaking so frankly. You have been open with me, and I
will be the same with you, and together we will fight this low
scoundrel. Listen. I arrived in your town night before last, a total
stranger. Since then I have learned this much. Devil Marston hired an
emissary to burn that stable. Yesterday, in that room over there, he and
the man who conducts this hotel concocted a scheme whereby Travers
should kill the Dudley's colt last night. I overheard them, and went
directly to the Dudleys with my story. They had no one to help them, so
I volunteered. They consented, and I stood guard last night in the
smoke-house where the horse was quartered. Travers came to do the foul
deed and I caught him--literally caught him and held him with my hands
and made him promise to go to this Marston and tell him that I would
kill the next man who came to the Dudleys with mischievous intent."

Dillard looked at the earnest face before him with wide eyes and open
mouth. He could scarcely believe the words he heard, though he did not
doubt they were true.

"Now," resumed Glenning, firmly, "we at least know our man, and that is
something. I do not fear him, but with you it is different. Yet if we
confound him in the end I believe that you will have more to do with it
than I. Let us speak with perfect candor. You are dependant for your
living upon your salary?"

"Yes, there's ma and me. We haven't a thing, and our living comes from
my salary at the bank."

"Just so. Then you couldn't afford to openly oppose your president. You
would quickly lose your position if you did. We must move very
carefully. Does Marston take an active interest in affairs at the bank?
I mean is he familiar with the books, and the accounts--in other words,
is he a live president, and not a figure-head merely?"

"He's in every day, poking and prying around. There's nothing goes on
that he doesn't know about."

"Does the clerical force like him?"

"He hasn't a friend in the bank, not even the cashier. We all know he's
a rascal, but he's so powerful that we're afraid to say a word aloud
when he's around."

"What is your position, Dillard?"

"Head bookkeeper."

"Then let me make a suggestion to you. Watch Marston. Watch his every
movement. You know the national banking laws. See that he doesn't
infringe on them. A man as unscrupulous as he is liable to attempt
anything. Watch him. Watch every mark he makes with a pen, and the first
time he steps over the line come to me and let me know. Will you do
it?"

"I'll do it, doctor, and I don't believe I'll have to wait very long."

Then they sat in silence for a few minutes, each thinking of what the
other had said.

Glenning spoke.

"I hope you will understand me, Dillard, when I ask how Major Dudley's
account stands?"

"Certainly, doctor. I was looking at it yesterday, and it's almost even.
Only a few dollars to his credit. I swear I don't know what'll become of
'em!"

Glenning knit his brows thoughtfully.

"They'll have to live in spite of Marston," he said. "How this will be I
can't say now, but they shan't want because a low-lived rascal has the
upper hand for the time. I shall want to begin a small account with your
bank today."

"All right. New depositors are always welcome."

"And I must get away from this hotel, Dillard. After my experience last
night I think it wise for me to change my quarters. Don't you know of a
vacant room upstairs over some one of your business houses, and isn't
there a private boarding-house where I might get my meals?"

"I'm pretty sure I can fix you up that way. Suppose we start now, before
I go to work? You can come back and finish packing."

"Good; I'll appreciate your help."

By three o'clock that afternoon the new doctor was thoroughly
established in Macon. The boarding-house where he secured accommodations
was diagonally across the street from the house which he had seen Doctor
Kale enter the day before--and which he learned later was the old
gentleman's residence--and he had secured two rooms over a dry goods
store on Main street, just opposite the courthouse, which suited his
purposes admirably for offices. The back apartment, which was entered
first, was a consulting room, and contained his library, while the front
one was his office proper. As a finishing touch John swung his sign over
the sidewalk below, then came upstairs and sat down by an open window
with a book. But his mind was not in a proper condition for either
reading or study. Dillard's revelation had proven a source of much
concern, and he had not been able to get away from it. In vain he tried
to argue with his conscience that the Dudleys were nothing to him, and
that he would have his hands full making his way in his new field of
labor. This course of reasoning proved futile. The sweet face and
trusting eyes of Julia dispelled the illusion, and he realized that he
had to take a hand in the game which Fate had prepared. The conviction
being established, the next thing was to work out the solution. But no
plan would come; he knew that he was bound and helpless.

It was an ideal mid-afternoon in summer, and as Glenning gazed
listlessly from the window he saw an almost deserted thoroughfare. A
negro lad went whistling down the opposite pavement, clattering a stick
along the iron palings of the courthouse fence; the leaves of the trees
in the courthouse yard hung motionless in the quiet atmosphere, and even
the ever-busy English sparrows seemed taking a siesta.

Directly several men emerged from one of the lawyer's offices which made
up three sides of Court Square. None of them wore coats, and one was
without either coat or vest. From the remainder of his apparel he was
evidently a farmer. An old man with a long, white beard, holding in his
hand a staff longer than himself. He was much excited, for he hopped
about in a bird-like way, wagging his whiskers and scratching his head
and ever and again thumping the earth with his staff. An altercation was
evidently in progress among the men, and the voice of the old fellow was
always loudest. He was plainly insisting upon a point which was meeting
with some resistance. Another party now joined the group, and Glenning
at once recognized Doctor Kale. As he made his appearance, the old
fellow with the rod danced up to him with a gesture almost threatening
and began a loud-voiced harangue. Doctor Kale was obdurate. He shook his
head and thumped about, and remained firm. He of the long whiskers was
rapidly working himself up to the fighting point, when a man who had
been standing somewhat apart came up, caught him by the arm, and pointed
across the street to a point directly beneath the window where John sat.
What he said worked like magic. The old fellow beckoned Doctor Kale,
grasped the arm of another member of the party, and the three at once
started across the road. Another moment John heard heavy footsteps
climbing the stair. Before he could reach the door it was opened
hurriedly, and the men trooped in.

"There he is!" grumbled Doctor Kale, starting on a tour around the walls
of the room, sniffing his wrath, and ignoring the necessity of any sort
of an introduction.

"I want a doctor! I ain't sick 'n' my fam'ly ain't sick, but Dink
Scribbens took with the small-pox las' night 'n' me 'n' my folks has to
pass his door ever' time we come to town! That ol' hippity-hop
(indicating the still marching figure of Doctor Kale) 's skeered to go,
though he never caught anything in his life!"

"I'm not afraid!" promptly fired back Doctor Kale. "I've waited on
small-pox, chicken-pox, rosiola, measles, and every skin disease you
ever heard of, but I'm not going to give my time to these damned
paupers! Paupers 've got no business gettin' sick!"

"Are these people--paupers?" asked John, addressing the question to the
third man, who up to this time had maintained silence through necessity.
He was a large, stout individual, bearing plainly upon his face the
marks of conviviality. He came forward heavily, and held out his hand.

"I'm Joe Colver, county judge," he said, dragging his words as though
each was anchored in his chest. "Uncle Billy Hoonover come in a while
ago sayin' the Scribbenses had small-pox. I don't know whether he knows
what he's talkin' about or not, but they live in our county and it's our
duty to investigate it and if necessary put a quarantine on 'em." He
smiled laboriously as he continued. "We usually give cases like this to
the young fellers. The old hosses git above it, you know. If you'll go
and take charge I'll promise the county'll allow you a reasonable fee.
And you'll save Uncle Billy Hoonover a fit of some kind if you'll go
pretty quick."

"Fit!" shrilled Uncle Billy, prancing up and down. "Who wouldn't have a
fit with the ketchin' small-pox under his nose? Tell me that?"

"I'll go, judge," said Glenning; "where do they live?"

"Under my nose!" reiterated Uncle Billy. "A crick 'n' a narrer fiel'
'twixt them 'n' me! The win' could blow it right in my door if it set
right!"

Doctor Kale had at last brought himself up, and he now cast a withering
look of scorn upon the excited layman. He was plainly too full for
words, for in a moment he clapped his hat on his head and bustled out
with it riding his ears.

"Old Kale's a caution," commented the judge, laughing lazily, "but he's
got plenty o' doctor sense. He's got the cream o' the practice about
here. The best people want 'im, and they'll wait for 'im if they ain't
pretty bad off. I knew you was on a cold trail, Uncle Billy, when you
struck Kale."

"He'd better quit if he can't 'ten' to the sick. I don't b'lieve in
'scrimination, nohow. He might 'a' knowed the county'd 'a' paid 'im for
his work. There never was a county without paupers in it, 'n' they're
always gittin' somethin' worse'n anybody else!"

Judge Colver waved his hand and turned to go.

"Uncle Billy'll show you where they live, doctor. I wish you'd bring me
your report as soon as you get back. We haven't had small-pox in the
county for thirty years," he added, as his big figure moved ponderously
out the door.

Mr. Hoonover had carried his point, but that fact in no wise stilled his
tongue. He must talk. An argument was always better suited to his
temperament, which was naturally belligerent, but when controversy was
impossible he rambled on anyhow. While Glenning was making his brief
preparations Uncle Billy's tongue was going.

"I hope you'll run ol' Kale till he takes in his sign!" he piped. "A
doctor oughter be for ever'body, but ol' Kale's for the quality
stric'ly. I do b'lieve he'd be glad if I was took with the small-pox,
so't he could git a dig at me."

"Oh, then he is your family physician, too?"

"Yes, yes; I'm a fool like the balance of 'em. But it don't pay to git
stuck on any one doctor, for they'll either neglect you or bulldooze you
when you do. If you c'n cure the Scribbenses, durned if I don't switch
off 'n' have you for a spell!"

Glenning smiled as he picked up his medicine case and reached for his
hat.

"We don't cure small-pox as easily as we do some things," he said. "I
understand these people live some distance from town?"

"Yes, on the Hillville pike--that is, you go that pike for a couple o'
mile, 'n' then strike out a side road passin' my place."

"Am I to go with you?"

"Yes, my buggy's ready--" Uncle Billy stopped at the foot of the stair
they had been descending, and squinted suspiciously up at John, one step
above him. "But how'r' you goin' to git back? I can't tech you nor be
a-nigh you after yo've handled the small-pox!"

"I'll have my horse and buggy here in a day or two--from Jericho," mused
Glenning. "I tell you. I'll get a vehicle from the nearest stable. Where
is it--your nearest livery stable?"

They came out on the pavement, side by side.

"Yonder." Uncle Billy pointed with his pilgrim's staff. "Half way down
the square where them men are settin' tilted back talkin' hard
times--that's what they're doin' if I can't hear 'em. I know ever'
blessed one of 'em from here. See the place? Got a big red hoss painted
over the door. Ask for Steve Duncan or Lige Lane--they run it, 'n' are
good men. Say I sent you. Yonder's my nag, hitched to that lamp post."

The pilgrim's staff came swinging vigorously around to do its duty as an
index, and caught Mr. Devil Marston's hat midway, knocking it into the
dust of the gutter, where it rolled over a few times as knocked-off hats
invariably do. The victim of this harmless accident would not, under
ordinary circumstances, have taken it lightly. Mr. Hoonover made a
motion to recover the property he had unintentionally mistreated, but
Marston, cat-like, had the hat in his hands, brushing it with his
sleeve, before Uncle Billy's wits could fully take in the situation.

"Mind what you're about, you damned old buzzard!" he gritted, his small
eyes glinting wickedly. "If you've got to carry a fishing pole around
with you why don't you stay in the cornfield, where you belong?"

Uncle Billy's booted feet began to go up and down. His straggling
whiskers trembled from anger and he combed them with restless fingers as
he fired back--

"I didn't go to do it, 'n' I's goin' to pick it up for you,
you--you--you son of a nigger!"

A big brown fist came like a lightning bolt at the old fellow's
convulsed face, but swifter yet was Glenning's stroke which threw up the
threatening arm, and this was followed by another which sent the burly
form reeling, though it did not fall. Then as John dragged Uncle Billy
into the little passageway at the foot of the stair some men came
running towards the scene. They arrived in time to lay restraining hands
upon Marston, who had his revolver out and was advancing to renew the
trouble. By main force they held him for a time, until he had become
calmer, and it was big Joe Colver who took his pistol from him and told
him he would be arrested if he did not go on his way peaceably, and at
once. This he reluctantly consented to do, and the judge walked with him
to the bank, which he entered.

While this was going on, John had literally held Uncle Billy captive.
The touchy old man's ire was aflame at its highest pitch, and he wanted
to fight. When the coast was clear John reminded him of the urgent need
which called them to the country, and escorted him to his buggy. Then,
assuring him that he would return immediately, and begging him to remain
in his buggy, Glenning hastily sought the livery stable. While he was
waiting for his horse to be gotten ready he saw, diagonally across the
street, a brick building with the words Macon National Bank, in large
letters over the door.




CHAPTER VIII


By the time the start was made Mr. Hoonover had cooled down somewhat. He
went in front, of course, in his capacity as guide, but all along the
two and a half miles drive he was constantly jerking about in his seat
to look back and shout some question or remark to the man in his wake.
Thus before their destination was reached he had proven, in tones loud
enough for all the countryside to hear, that the man who had attacked
him was indeed part negro, that he himself always lived at peace with
his neighbours, and that from this day forward he intended to go
"loaded" for Marston. The garrulity of the old farmer annoyed Glenning
somewhat, who had his own forebodings as to the result of the
unfortunate encounter on the street, and he replied to Mr. Hoonover's
demonstrations only by a nod of the head, or a smile. So busy was that
gentleman looking behind to see that his remarks were heard, that his
horse drew him almost in front of the Scribbenses before he knew it.
When he suddenly discovered his proximity to the infected shack, and
realized that his horse was moving in a slow jog, he tightened his reins
and began to belabour his beast with the staff he held. As he dashed at
a gallop past the dreaded spot he shouted some unintelligible
communication wildly over his shoulder, and was out of sight before
Glenning drew up at a broken down stake-and-rider fence skirting the
road. He looked about him as he got out and hitched his horse. The spot
seemed the abomination of desolation. The by-road was rutty and not
kept; deep sluices showed on either side of it, where no effort had been
made to check the ravages of heavy rains. A worthless species of grass
grew in sickly clumps, dust-covered. Blackberry vines, sassafras and
sumac bushes made one inextricable tangle of vegetation along the zigzag
fence. There was a gap in the fence which served for a gate. John went
through, then stopped for a moment. Not from fear at entering the
stricken place. He had no bodily fear, nor ever had. But the awful
loneliness of the spot weighed upon him. Low hills, bush-dotted and
gullied, arose on every side except the southern one, where a small
field, untilled and marshy, lay along a creek bed, now nearly dry.
Beyond this, and perhaps half a mile away, on higher ground, was a
rather pretentious looking farmhouse which he guessed, rightly, to be
the home of Mr. Hoonover. The miserable log shanty facing him was
pitiful in its decay and loneliness. The ground all about it was bare,
and a few stunted, shrivelled cedars stood at one side. The chinking had
fallen from the stick-and-mud chimney, and it looked like the torso of
some giant skeleton. The door was shut; the one window darkened from the
inside by what appeared to be a ragged quilt. A lean brown cur lay by
the rotten log serving for a door step, too lazy or too near dead from
starvation to lift its voice at the intrusion of a stranger. The dog
was the only sign of life. All the rest, was silence, poverty,
desolation. No birds sang here; not even the shrilling of an insect cut
the great stillness. A feeling almost of awe came over John Glenning,
standing there alone in the strong sunlight, vigorous, assertive,
confident of his power to do. He scarcely wondered that Doctor Kale had
refused the case. But he was glad he had taken it. Not alone to get a
start in the community, for this was a beginning at practice which most
men would not value, but here was a fellow being, sick, friendless and
helpless. He would save him if he could, although the pauper's life
could scarcely be of use to anyone, and he would be better off dead.

John's grip tightened on the handle of his medicine case and he walked
briskly and firmly to the door, and knocked. The cur arose and slunk a
few paces to one side, then lay down again, with his yellow eyes fixed
on the man. The door was opened a crack, and a rasping female voice
said:

"Go 'way. My man's got the small-pox!"

"I'm the doctor," answered Glenning; "let me in."

There was a moment's hesitation, during which a brief argument took
place between the woman and some one else inside, then the door was
grudgingly opened wide enough for John to enter, when it was promptly
closed.

"Thar he is," said the woman. "Go to 'im; he's purty bad."

The sudden transition from the bright sunlight to the gloom of the
cabin made it impossible for Glenning to see distinctly. He was vaguely
conscious of the presence of a number of persons, and he could barely
discern the outlines of a figure stretched on a bunk in a corner.

"All of you'll die if you don't have light and air," he announced,
almost harshly, and striding to the window, removed the flimsy curtain.
Then he turned abruptly to the woman who stood with mouth agape in the
middle of the room. "Open the door!" he commanded; "let some air in
here!"

She was a slatternly creature of uncertain age, her stooped shoulders
and lined face showing her kinship with want and all physical suffering.
She looked with curious intentness at the tall young man who seemed to
so fill the small room, and did his bidding.

"Ye don't b'long in Mac'n, do ye?" she asked. "'Pears to me I've never
saw ye before."

"I belong there now," replied John, shortly. "Came several days ago."

His quick eyes were taking in the meagre appointments of the room, and
its occupants, as he was walking towards the sick man in his corner. The
place seemed swarming with children of all ages and both sexes; they
were thick as rats in a corn-bin. He could not believe all of them the
offsprings of this destitute pair, and he voiced his idea as he knelt by
the pallet.

"What are all these children doing here? Send them home. Don't you know
they're in danger?"

"They _air_ home, thank ye!" rasped the woman, in quick defense of her
brood. "They're _our'n_, I'd hev ye know, ever' blessed one, 'n' they've
got more right here than you hev, ef you _air_ a doctor!"

"No offense!" mumbled Glenning, taking the hairy wrist which listlessly
lay on the ragged counterpane and feeling for the pulse with tips of
practiced fingers.

The children had huddled like sheep against the wall furthest away, a
tattered, unkempt crew of misbegotten humanity; terrible fruit of a
union of ignorance and brute passion. They said not a word, but clung to
each other as though menaced by some visible danger. The woman stood in
the center of the floor, also silent, her hands clasped under her dirty
apron, and her stringy neck outstretched as she watched the doctor. The
thing under Glenning's hand must have been made by God, but it hardly
looked it. It would not have looked it in health, and in the grip of a
loathsome disease it was doubly repulsive. The man's figure was thin and
bony. He lay sick in his shirt and trousers, for he had no night
clothes, to say nothing of underwear, which in all probability he had
never known. His shoes were off, and his feet, knotty, and grimy with
the ground-in dirt of many months, stuck from under the narrow coverlet
which lay over him. His soiled shirt was open at the throat--a throat
presenting alternate ridge and hollow, and covered scantily with
colorless hair. His face was gaunt; his teeth broken and
tobacco-stained; his nose twisted oddly. His hair was a sandy mop. His
eyes were cunning and treacherous. His face was already marked with dull
red spots, and he was burning with fever.

Glenning's face was solemn.

"How long have you been sick?" he asked.

"Two weeks off 'n' on, I reck'n," answered the man.

"How long have you been in bed?"

"Tuk bed yistiddy."

"You should have been in bed ten days, at least. You're pretty sick, my
man."

A shadow of alarm flashed over the bestial countenance.

"I won't _die_, doc, will I? Yo' don't mean I'm gunta _die_!"

In his eagerness he grasped the sleeve of the figure kneeling beside
him.

"You've _got_ to cyore 'im, doc!" wailed the woman. "I can't live
'ithout my man!"

She walked about wringing her hands.

"You've waited too long before seeking help," continued John, getting to
his feet. "There's a chance for you--a slim one, but I'll do what I
can."

He found a rickety chair, and sat down gingerly.

The older children began to snuffle, and the younger ones burst out
crying and ran to their mother, hiding their dirty faces in her dirtier
clothes.

"Small chance in this reeking hole for a man with small-pox," mused
Glenning, then he looked at Mrs. Scribbens, and said:

"That man should have a bath, first of all, from head to foot; a
_scrubbing_. Can you give it to him?"

"I 'low I kin," responded the woman, briskly, "but weuns ain't much on
the wash. Will lye soap do, doc?"

John cast a look at the sick man, and guessed at the texture of his
skin.

"Yes, lye soap will do, but have your water hot, and rinse him off well
when you're through. I'm going to leave some medicine which I want you
to give him through the night."

Mrs. Scribbens disappeared out a door in the rear which led to the back
premises, and busied herself making a fire under a large iron kettle
which hung from a blackened limb, itself supported by two forked sticks
sunk in the ground. The numerous progeny trooped after her _en masse_,
vaguely sensing an omen of evil in the presence of the doctor, and
turning, like little wild things, to their best friend and protector.

Glenning had his case on his knees, rapidly preparing the doses to be
given that night. There was a slight movement from the pallet, and a
terror-laden voice called----

"Doc!"

John turned his head.

"Doc, fur hones'! Tell me! Don't be skeered it'll finish me right off.
Now, while the woman 'n' the chil'n 're gone, tell me!"

A beam of pity struggled to the brown, tired eyes of the man sitting
above him. After all this was his brother--this thing in its filth and
misery and callousness had had a soul breathed into it by a common God
years ago. Should he not feel compassion for anyone whose feet had come
so near the brink of the Valley of the Shadow? He did feel compassion;
the wave which swept him as the pleading, untaught tones came to him was
almost protecting. His brother! Though one's feet had never left the
shallows, and the other's, not long before, had fared through strange
and awful deeps where dreadful monsters lurked in the guise of innocence
and beauty so rare that it was blasting.

With a quick movement John leaned down and took the hard, seamed hand.

"You haven't got even chances," he said. "I can't promise anything but
this: I'll do for you what I'd do for the richest man in Macon!"

"I never heerd sich talk!" exclaimed Scribbens. "What sort o' man air
ye?"

"A pretty poor sort, but I've studied medicine mighty hard. You've got
to pull like blazes to get through. Can you do it. Keep a stout heart, I
mean, and believe all the time you're coming out all right?"

"I dunno. I hurt pow'ful, 'n' I'm burnt to scorchin'."

A paroxysm of abject fear seized him, and he pulled the quilt, full of
holes, up over his head to hide the wild expression on his face. He lay
there and shook with dread--dread of dying--dread of the vast unknown,
and of the punishment he felt surely was awaiting him. John went on with
his work. The packages were done up and the medicine case snapped to and
placed on the floor. Still the coverlet was convulsed with erratic
movements. Directly the man jerked the quilt from his face, showing it
all a-sweat with anguish.

"Doc!" he groaned. "I can't! I can't go this way! It mought be
tonight--in the dark! I feel cur'is! D'ye think I'll go tonight?"

"I think not, Scribbens--cheer up! You're not that sick yet."

"But ye can't tell!" persisted Dink. "Th' ketchin' small-pox is orful.
I've heerd uv it before. It gits ye w'en ye're not watchin'. 'N' say,
doc, I've got somethin' to tell--"

He raised himself on a sharp elbow and glanced dreadfully at the back
door.

"'Fore the woman gits back. 'Tain't wuth while to bother 'bout a
preacher ur a priest. I've never j'ined a church--ain't Cath'lic--ain't
nothin'. But I've got to tell somebody. It'll make it easier. I'm goin'
to tell you, doc."

He fell back, and his hands strayed about nervously over his breast.

"Tell me if you wish," said Glenning, gently; "if it will help you."

"Oh, it will, doc! It's been eatin' on me ever' since I done it. I's
never shore 'nough bad till that man made me bad. I'm always been pore
as a dawg, 'n' wuthless, 'n' no 'count fur nothin'. I've stole,
sometimes, w'en the kids was hongry, but that don't bother me none. Them
that I got frum never missed some cawn ur a chick'n now'n then. 'Tain't
that, doc."

He stopped again, breathing fast. It was hard for him to lay bare the
story of his wrong-doing.

"I heer ye tell th' woman that ye come a few days ago," he resumed, in a
steadier tone. "Then ye don't know many folks 'bout here, I reck'n. But
thar's some mighty bad uns, 'n' I reck'n Devil Marston's the wust. I
'low yo's heerd uv how a stable wuz burned a few nights ago, at the
aidge o' town? Thar wuz a hoss in that stable, 'n' some feller ur
'nother drug 'im out. It wuz Major Dudley's. Thar's a good man, doc.
He's give to me w'en I'd go to 'im with a tale o' no work 'n' hongry
kids at home, 'n' maybe he wuz hongry at the same time, fur all his big
house he's nigh bad off as I am. But his hoss's a wonder, 'n' Devil
Marston's got some hisself whut kin run some. He comes to me one day,
Marston did, 'n' shows me a ten-dollar greenback, 'n' said he'd give it
to me ef I'd take some powders he had with 'im, all wropped up, 'n' slip
in 'n' put that stuff in th' hoss's feed. I knowed it wuz wrong, doc. I
knowed it wuz p'izen, but I tuk it, 'n' the money, too, 'n' that night I
slipped in 'n' done whut he tol' me to do. The nex' day he come to me
b'ilin' mad, 'n' 'lowed I'd tricked 'im. He said the hoss's still alive,
'cause he'd saw 'im, 'n' that I'd took 'is money 'n' didn't do whut I'd
said I'd do. But he lied, doc, 'cause I toted fa'r. But he tore up
snakes, and said he's gunta hosswhip me, 'n' come put nigh hittin' me.
'N' he cussed me some more 'n' pulled out another ten-dollar bill, 'n'
th'owed it at me, 'n' 'lowed that ef I'd go that night 'n' burn the
stable up with the hoss locked in it he'd call it squar. I didn't want
to do it, doc, I sw'ar I didn't, 'cause Major Dudley's been good to me,
but I's skeered not to. That Devil Marston jist looked at me with his
snake eyes 'n' 'lowed that if I failed 'im ag'in he'd come 'n' shoot me
daid. 'N' I went, nigh onto midnight, 'n' I got some straw out'n the
lof'--a hull big armful o' dry straw, 'n' piled it ag'in the door o' the
stable, 'n' sot fire to it. Then I run. I run till I got home, but I saw
the light in the sky, 'n' knowed the hoss wuz gone this time. But the
nex' day I heered o' some feller draggin' 'im out! Then I tuk sick, 'n'
I s'pose it's a jedgment on me fur bein' so wicked. But he _made_ me do
it! He _made_ me! 'Twarn't so much his money, but I's skeered uv 'im.
You don't know Devil Marston, doc. His name's fittin'. 'N' now I feel
better, doc; I sw'ar I do!"

For a moment Glenning sat silent.

"Yes, I know Devil Marston," he said at last, "and he is a bad man. And
I know the Dudleys, too, and I know the man who went in for the colt."

"Ye won't tell, doc, will ye?" asked Scribbens, in sudden alarm. "Ye
won't give me 'way?"

"I'll promise that no harm shall come to you because of the things that
you've told me. But you're a bad man, too, Dink Scribbens--a low down,
dastardly coward!"

The figure below shrank back under the stern, accusing voice.

"I know it! I know it! It's kep' me 'wake ever since I done it!"

He was almost whimpering now, and John realized the utter futility of a
sermon at this time. The arrival of Mrs. Scribbens at this juncture with
her corps of satellites put an end to further confidences. John arose.

"I've het the water!" announced Mrs. Scribbens, standing with a chunk of
lye soap in one hand and a battered and dented tin washpan in the other
from which steam was rising.

"Very well," said Glenning. "Get him clean. Give him one of these when
you have finished, another at midnight, and a third in the morning. Have
you a clock?"

His gaze swept the pitifully bare room and failed to reveal one.

"Humph!" sniffed Mrs. Scribbens. "The roosters crow, don't they? He'll
git his dose at midnight!"

"Keep the children out of doors as much as you can; make each of them
bathe every day and do the same yourself. I'll come back in the morning
and bring something for each of you to take to keep you from catching
the small-pox. Good-day."

The sweet summer afterglow which immediately follows the going down of
the sun was spread mysteriously over all the landscape as John got in
his buggy and began his return trip. The confession to which he had just
given ear did not occupy his mind much. He knew beforehand that it must
have been some creature like this; some degraded, conscienceless,
cast-off devil. Dink Scribbens didn't matter, but Marston did--Marston,
whose heavy figure was beginning already to loom on his life's horizon
portentously. Now, since the occurrence on the streets of Macon a couple
of hours before, he knew that trouble was ahead for him, swift and sure.
Marston hated him well enough before that incident, providing Travers
had delivered his message properly, but now--to be struck on the chest
and almost knocked down! Glenning heard the little voice which always
speaks to us when we are alone saying that he had done right, that his
course all along had been true and proper, and that he had no cause to
regret anything. He must simply keep his eyes open, and at the same time
not let his brain get rusty. Innocent people were in actual distress at
that moment, and the girl of the trusting brown eyes, proud and brave,
would soon be hungry. _Hungry!_ The word stung his brain like something
hot would sting the flesh, and he clicked his teeth and drew up his
lines, urging his horse faster. He was passing a gloomy looking house
set considerably off the road, surrounded by doleful firs and funereal
cedars. It was of brick, square and not ugly, but the shutters to all
windows visible were closed, and the front doors were inhospitably shut.
Some gaunt dogs of ferocious breed were stalking about the yard. He had
not noticed this house when coming out, but he might well have passed it
unseeingly, all of his attention at that time being demanded by Mr.
Hoonover. But instinctively he knew who lived there. The place savoured
of its master; forbidding, grim, merciless. John was not sorry when it
lay behind him.

Deep twilight had come. The time when vague stars shine shyly, uncertain
whether or not to show their faces. Objects along the roadside were
becoming slightly blurred, and the unsightly things of the garish day
were softened into pleasant lines and tones. The man riding townward
felt the witchery of the hour. It entered into him and lay upon his
soul, speaking of peace. He breathed more gently, and let his horse take
its time. From the gates of the west which had unclosed to receive the
going day, a breeze had surely blown from Paradise. And alone there, in
the soft dusk, two faces rose up before the man. One was fresh,
unfretted, appealing, beautiful, with brown eyes which looked innocence
and trust. The one beside it was crowned with a bewildering glory of
bronze-gold hair, full of sullen splendours, like a stormy sunset; an
oval face of perfect lines and charm ineffable, and winey eyes which
lured. He looked upon the two, and his eyes grew strained; that look of
awful weariness stole over his face, as though the battle were almost
too hard, and he groaned in his throat while a shudder swept him, making
him tremble from head to foot. He was conscious of a sound, far away,
but growing more distinct. _Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack!
Clickety-clack!_ It was a horse on the highway ahead, running fast.
_Clickety-clack! Clickety-clack!_ It was just around the bend in front
of him. In a dull way he drew his horse somewhat to one side. A huge
black shape thundered into view, seemingly of mammoth proportions in the
dim light. Straight to the middle of the road it clung, its hoofs
striking fire at every leap, its rider making no effort to swerve it.
Glenning called, and pulled his horse sharply aside. Horse and rider
swept by, so close that the man's knee brushed John's sleeve. In that
fraction of a second their eyes met, and each recognized the other. But
neither stopped. Marston rode on till his horse drew up quivering at his
gate, and Glenning, a new, strange light in his eyes, drove on towards
town.

Arriving at the livery stable he inquired for Judge Colver. That
gentleman lived in the country, and had gone home. He would have to make
his report in the morning, when the people could be advised by bulletin
of the presence of small-pox in the county, the proper quarantine
established, and measures taken for preventing the disease from
spreading. He suddenly remembered that, in the business of getting
established, he had neglected opening the account at the bank, and had
also forgotten his hotel bill. It was too late to keep his promise to
Dillard that day, so he turned down street towards the hotel, resolving
to settle his bill there. Supper was in progress when he entered the
office, and the place was comparatively empty. He paid his reckoning to
the smiling Jones, and was preparing to leave, when Travers came out of
the passage leading to the hotel bar, and called his name. John turned,
and coldly faced him. The landlord beckoned, and retreated to the
passage. John hesitated a moment, for he desired no further dealings
with this person, but upon second thought he followed. Travers' nervous
manner had returned. He fidgeted, and shifted his weight, and toyed with
his watch chain.

"I want to tell you I have kept my word," he said, in a low, cautious
voice. "You played fair with me, and I have some appreciation. I went
out to Marston's place this morning and told him all about it, to his
face, and I told him what you said, word for word. I did, 'pon my
honor!"

"That's more than I expected," answered Glenning, icily. "But I admire
your pluck. It took a man to do that."

"I did it, doctor, and for a while I thought he was going to kill me.
But he didn't touch me."

"I suppose he made some threats?"

"Yes, he talked mighty ugly about you. I'd advise you to be on your
guard. You'd better carry a gun with you all the time."

"I've never carried a gun, and I don't intend to begin now. I fancy I
can take care of myself without that. Thank you, Mr. Travers. I'm glad
you told me this. Good evening."

He had turned to go, when he heard his name spoken in an agitated
whisper. He stopped, and faced about.

"That ain't all, doctor. You've done me a fine turn, and I want to break
even."

"Well?"

"Marston's just left here. He's been in the bar drinking for an hour or
more, and he's been talkin' mighty reckless. It was about you, and he
boasted he was going to make you sorry you ever came here--that he was
going to run you out of town. He'd just been at the long distance
telephone, and he said he'd found out something, and would know more
tomorrow. He'd been drinking heavily, you know, and didn't care what he
said. He leaves on the early mornin' train. I was standin' close to that
swingin' door, and heard every word he said. He wasn't talkin' to
anybody in particular--just easin' himself. But he'll hurt you if he
can."

Glenning's voice was very low as he asked--

"Where is he going?"

"To Jericho," said Travers.




CHAPTER IX


John slept very poorly that night. The news which Dan Travers had given
him was enough to keep him awake. Marston was going to Jericho the next
morning! What would he bring back? What would he have to tell upon his
return? Ah, God! could a man never escape the slightest misstep? Must it
dog him to his grave, even though he had won through by days of anguish
and hours of wrestling in the silent night? What a morsel this would be
for vile tongues to handle! What possibilities for enlargement, and
opportunities for misrepresentation! Haggard with wide-eyed watching as
the black moments slowly passed--it was not new to him, this grim facing
of an ever-present spectre--he managed to gain a few hours sleep just
before day. But his cheek bones showed more plainly when he appeared
upon the street the following morning, and the faint lines about his
strong mouth had deepened.

He found Judge Colver and made his report; there was a caucus of the
board of health in Doctor Kale's office; dodgers were ordered printed
and distributed telling the fearsome news and instructing the public as
to what sanitary measures they should employ to keep down the plague.
The local physicians gave him respectful attention when he talked, and
adopted his suggestions cheerfully. This was pleasant, but it did not
lift the weight which had fallen upon him. When the business meeting was
over, John found a piece of yellow cloth at one of the dry goods stores,
armed himself with a supply of disinfectants, and started on his second
trip to his pauper patient.

He had a half formed notion when he left town to stop at the Dudleys for
a moment, and when, driving somewhat slowly in front of the house, he
saw Julia bending over gathering nasturtiums, his tentative idea became
a fixed resolution. He left his horse at the gate, securing him to one
of the iron palings, and went up the drive afoot. She had seen him
coming, and she walked forward to meet him, her face tinting delicately,
and a smile showing through the look of anxiety which she wore. She gave
him a pliant palm, holding a huge armful of vari-coloured blooms to her
breast with her other hand--the flowers spread out over her, a wonderful
breast-plate of gorgeous hues. Some matched her cheeks, and some her
lips, and some her throat, which had assumed a shy pink as she came
within arm's length of John, standing with hat breast high, and
searching eyes. He took her hand and held it a moment longer than was
necessary, but she waited until he released it, and made no effort to
draw it away. He did not attempt to veil the candid admiration which
beamed from his face.

"You are looking _very_ well this morning, if you will allow the
compliment," he said, gravely, and she quickly noted the weary note in
his voice. "I'm sure this flower bed is the most fitting environment you
could possibly have. You seem one of them."

The blood rushed up in torrents at his words, and she turned scarlet. To
hide all this she buried her face for a moment in the armful of
nasturtiums. Her eyes were a-sparkle when she lifted her head at once,
and said, reproachfully:

"Why did you run away yesterday before any of us could see you?"

"One saw me, and I left a message with him. It was too early for either
you or your father to be up. Did Peter not tell you that all went well?"

"Yes, he told us that, and I went down myself to look at The Prince.
Come here a moment, Doctor Glenning."

She crossed the drive with a faint swish of drapery, and walked across
the lawn to the base of a large maple, not many yards from the front
door of the mansion. Beneath this tree, resting against it, was an iron
settee of ornamental design. Lying upon the settee was a large revolver.
Julia picked it up, cocked as it was, and held it out, muzzle earthward.

"I found this, too, inside under the window. It isn't yours, is it?"

John recognized immediately the weapon he had wrested from the hand of
Travers, and which he had neglected to procure before leaving the
smoke-house.

"No, it isn't mine," he replied, readily.

"Peter said that you told him to say to us that nothing had happened."

"He did not quote me correctly. I told him to say that nothing of
_consequence_ had happened."

"Whose revolver is this, Doctor Glenning?"

"It belongs to the man who came to shoot The Prince."

Julia gave a little start, and uttered an involuntary exclamation.

"You--" she began, then stopped and looked at him, her breath coming
faster.

"I didn't see any use in making a fuss about it, you see," explained
John, smiling. "Travers came, as we all knew he would, and I just waited
and let him walk into the trap which Uncle Peter set when he cut that
window, and baited when he led the colt in. That's all there is to it."

"Let's sit down," suggested Julia.

Then, side by side upon the settee, the revolver still in her hand, she
resumed:

"This is a fearful looking thing. Did he have this?"

"Yes, that's what he came hunting with near three o'clock in the
morning. It would kill an elephant if properly handled."

"How did you happen to get possession of it?"

"I see you must have the whole story," said John, with his inimitable
chuckle, and thereat he proceeded, very faithfully and very accurately,
to recount the entire tale.

Julia drew back in wonder as she listened.

"And you _held_ him!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and her brows
contracted in surprise. Doubtless she did not know it, but her gaze went
sweeping over the man, from top to toe, and her mind was wondering where
all that power was stored, for he was very lean, though wonderfully
broad of shoulder.

"Yes, it was easy, for I really took him at an unfair advantage, but it
was the only way--that or nothing."

"Yes," she said, but nothing more, for she could not understand him. But
she knew there was a sweet feeling of security when he was near. He
could do anything; of that she was entirely confident.

"There's small-pox in the

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/33984