Old Ebenezer Part 27

"No. He ain't come in yet. Sometimes he don't come till late. He's got fewer regular hours about him than any man I ever seen. He jest takes everything by fits and starts, and he's mighty funny about some things--he don't let a man know what he's doin' at all; never comes down and reads to a body the things that he writes--might write a hymn to sing at the camp-meeting, and he never would read it to you."

The old man drifted into another stage coach reminiscence and Sawyer sat in an att.i.tude of pretended interest, but he heard nothing, so deep-buried was he within himself. He had not much time to spare, and there was one thing that must be done; it was absolutely essential that he must go to Lyman's room and get the pistol. He poured out more whisky for the old man. Jasper continued to talk, but the memories of the past did not arise to tickle him; they made him sad. He wept over a girl, his first love, a grave more than forty years old. He sobbed over his boy, killed in the army. His chin sank upon his breast.

Sawyer got up quickly and began to search for the gun. He found it and hid it under a bed. Then he turned his attention to Lyman's room. The apartment was approached by an encased stairway, leading from the sitting-room. He lifted the latch and listened, the old man was snoring; the young man felt like a thief; but that was to be expected, and therefore did not alarm his conscience. The stairs creaked, still he did not pause. The door of Lyman's room, to the left at the head of the stairs, was not locked. Sawyer struck a match and stepped inside.

He lighted a lamp and looked about the room. On the table lay sheets of paper, some of them covered with close, nervous writing, and upon others were scratches, half-formed words, the tracks of a mind wandering in a bog. He pulled open the table drawer and eagerly grabbed up a pistol. Then he turned out the light and walked hastily down the stairs. Old Jasper was still asleep, his head on one side, like an old hawk worn out with a long fight. Sawyer put the pistol on the side-board, behind a tin tray standing on edge, and then sat down to wait. It was nearly time for the "boys" to come. He heard a key in the front door lock, and he put out the light. The door opened and closed, the latch of the stair door clicked; he heard Lyman going up to his room.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE "BOOSY."

Lyman had been helping Warren with the work of putting the paper to press, and he was tired, but when he had lighted the lamp he drew the writing paper toward him, and took up a pen, turning it between his fingers, as if waiting for a word, but it did not come, and he sat there musing. His heart was heavy, though not with a sadness, but with an overweight of gentleness, a consciousness that he stood as a protector to bide the time of the lover's coming. He was proud, but had no vanity. He knew that he could win friends.h.i.+p, for in friends.h.i.+p a strong and rugged quality was a factor, but he did not realize that the same rugged quality appealed to a deeper affection. In his work he saw the character of woman, and he could fancy her capricious enough to give her heart to the most awkward of men, but when he turned this light upon himself, so many blemishes were brought out that he stepped back from the glaring revelation. He believed that in his peculiar position Eva gave him the affection that a daughter might give a father, and he was determined that this charming relations.h.i.+p should not be undone by the appearance, on his part, of a selfish love; and in his resolve he was strong, but in cold dread he looked forward to the time when she should come with a new light in her eyes and ask him to release her. Suddenly a noise came from below, the tramping of feet upon the veranda. Could it be a surprise party at so late an hour? He listened. The door was opened, but there was no sound of greetings, no laughter. The visitors were evidently trying to soften their foot-weight, but the house shook under their uneven tread. He heard the click of the stair-door latch; the stairs groaned. He remembered what Sawyer had said, and caution prompted him to lock the door. The next moment there came a gentle tap, but he knew that the gentleness was a.s.sumed, for he heard suppressed breathing at the head of the stairs.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"Open the door."

"But who's there?"

"The good of the community."

"Well, I don't know that I have any business with you at this time of night, Mr. Good-of-the-Community."

"But we have business with you. Open the door or we'll break it down."

Lyman stepped back and s.n.a.t.c.hed open the table drawer. He straightened up and thought for a moment. They were throwing themselves against the door. He seized a light chair and stood near the door. Word to hurry up came from below. The door creaked.

"Once more, are you going to open it?"

"Wait a moment," said Lyman. "I don't know who you are, but I can guess at your business. You are violating the law, you are house-breakers and I wish to tell you--"

Crash went the door. And crash went the chair. The opening was narrow.

The first man fell back. The second man staggered. The third man hesitated, then sprang upon Lyman, giving him no time to strike.

Across the floor they struggled, the old house shaking. They strove to choke each other, they rolled upon the floor. Lyman got hold of the fellow's throat. His fingers were like steel clamps. The White-Cap gurgled. Lyman got up, dragged him to the door and tumbled him down the stairs. Just then there came shrieks from below. The two women had returned. The White Caps were treading one upon another in their hurry to get out. Lyman, with a chair post in his hand, followed them. They ran through the sitting-room, a flutter of white in the dark. Lyman went into the dining-room, whence the women had run. The lamp had been relighted, and there sat old Jasper, fast asleep.

"There's nothing to be alarmed about," said Lyman, as the women with their hands in the air, ran to him. "A few White Caps out of employment wanted work, and got it. There, now, don't take on. Sit down, Aunt Tobithy. Oh, old Uncle Jasper is all right."

"He is drunk," said the old woman, anger driving away her fright.

"They have made him drunk and he would sit there and sleep and let them burn the house over his head. Oh, was there ever anything so disgraceful! Jasper! Jasper!" she shook him.

"Horse that would trot--trot--" the old man muttered.

"Oh, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Take hold of him, Annie, and let's put him to bed."

"I'll take care of him," said Lyman. They put him to bed and then sat down. "I don't understand it," the old woman remarked. "Did they hurt you?"

"No, they didn't get at me. They were at a disadvantage, out on the narrow landing, while I had plenty of room to swing around in. I must have hurt two of them pretty badly."

"What do you think of it?" Annie inquired

"Sawyer," said Lyman.

The old woman made a noise that sounded like a cluck. "And he fixed it so we were to go over to his mother's," she said. "Oh, it's perfectly clear. And he brought whisky here and got Jasper drunk. I do think this is the worst community the Lord ever saw. Talk about churches and school-houses, when such things are allowed to go on."

"What are you going to do about it, Mr. Lyman?" Annie asked. "Are you going to have them arrested?"

"They ought to be hanged," the old lady spoke up. "Oh, I knew something would happen the moment I put my foot off the place. I never did know it to fail. And I might have told this morning that something wrong was goin' to take place, for I had to try twice or three times before I could pick up anything when I stooped for it, and I saw a hen out in the yard trying to crow. But, Mr. Lyman," she added, reflectively, "I do hope you will think twice before you go to law about it. I don't tell you not to, mind you, for I am the last one in the world to tell a person not to have the law enforced, but if you could see that old woman--Zeb's mother--you wouldn't want to do a thing to bend her down with grief; it makes no difference how many laws it would enforce."

"And besides what would the law do?" Annie broke in, to strengthen her mother's position. "You might have him arrested and all that, and a trial and a scandal, too, but after all, it wouldn't amount to anything. I should think that his conscience would punish him enough.

And you couldn't have the others arrested without bringing him into it."

"You don't need to argue any longer," Lyman replied. "The merest reference to his old mother settles it with me. The law part would be a farce anyway. But let me remind you that it is quite a serious thing when an American citizen is ordered to leave his home at the whim of a scoundrel."

He bade them good night and went up to his room. The door lay upon the floor and fragments of the cast-iron lock were scattered about. The image of Sawyer arose before him, as he had appeared in the office, and so hateful and disturbing was the picture, that he arose and bathed his face, as if to wash out the vision. He heard a man's voice below and he stepped to the head of the stairs and listened. He recognized the voice of the town marshal. Already the law had begun its feeble farce. The marshal came up the stairs and looked around, at the door and the fragments of the lock. He took up a bit of iron and put it into his pocket, as if he had found a ton's weight of evidence.

"I'll take this along," he said gravely.

"Help yourself," said Lyman.

"Yes, for little things count," the marshal replied with the air of a great and mysterious detective. "And now," he added, "have you any idea or any suspicion as to who led this gang?"

Lyman had sat down and was crossed-legged, swinging one foot. "Oh," he answered carelessly, "I guess you know who it is. However, we will let the subject drop. I don't wish to discuss it."

"But, my dear sir, the law--"

Lyman held up his hand. "Let us hear nothing more about the law," said he. "Good night."

The marshal tramped down the stairs and Lyman went to bed to forget the mob and to dream of the rippling creek and a voice that was softer and sweeter than the echo of a flute. At early morning there came a rapping on the stairway, to summon him to breakfast. Old Jasper, with his hot hands in his pockets and with a sick expression of countenance was doddering about the sitting room.

"Ah, Lord," he said, when Lyman stepped down upon the floor. "Walt a minute. Let me shut this door. The smell of the kitchen gig--gig--- gags me. Lyman, I do reckon I ought to take a rusty knife and cut my infamous old throat. Yes, I do. I deserve it. And all because I wanted to renew my youth. I know I've said it before, but I want to say right now that I'll never touch another drop of the stuff as long as I live, I don't care if Noah had it with him in the Ark. But it is a fact that I sat here asleep while a mob was in my house?"

"Yes," said Lyman, "you were asleep when I came down stairs."

"Well, sir, it's news to me. And it shows what licker will fetch a man to. It will take me some little time to explain it to Tobithy."

"I suppose it will," said Lyman, smiling at him.

"Oh, it's a fact. Women fight against reason, you know, as long as they can. Yes, sir, it will take me a month to convince her that I wa'n't drunk. I admit that I drank a few drinks, small ones, not enough to hurt me if I had been right at myself, but I was tired and sleepy before I touched a drop. Lyman, I wish you would explain it to her. She's got a good deal of confidence in you--a good deal more than she has in me. I wish you would tell her that I wasn't drunk."

"I think the best plan, Uncle Jasper, would be to say nothing about it."

"All right, we'll let it drop then. But I'll have to reason with her, and, as I said before, it is goin' to take some time to explain. Go in to breakfast and let me sit down here in my misery. Say, if you could hint that I am awfully sorry I'd be obliged to you; and if you could give them to understand that you don't think I'm goin' to live long, it would be a big favor."

When Lyman stepped out upon the street he was soon made to feel that the White Cap affair had become common property. Some of the villagers were inclined to treat it as a great joke, but the graver ones looked upon it as a serious infraction of the law. Sawyer's name was not mentioned, but everyone appeared to understand that he was the leader.

Warren was standing at the foot of the office stairs as Lyman came up.

They smiled at each other.