The Hunted Outlaw, or, Donald Morrison, the Canadian Rob Roy Part 5

"Yes."

"You have a family?"

"Yes."

"Take my advice," said Mr. L---- impressively. "Don't try to execute this warrant. Go straight back to Sherbrooke."

"But my duty," said Mr. A---- irresolutely.

"Where could you find Morrison, anyway? And if you did find him, and attempted to execute the warrant, I tell you," said Mr. L--------, with great earnestness, "there would be bloodshed."

Mr. A--------- thought a moment, held out his hand to Mr. L---------, and turned his face towards Sherbrooke.

CHAPTER XIX. THE TRAGEDY.

MACBETH--"I have done the deed. This is a sorry sight."

James Warren was a stout, thick-set man, about forty years of age. He was an American by birth, but he had lived for many years in Compton County. It was said that he had made a good deal of money by smuggling goods into the States. He had the reputation of being a hard liver, and something of a braggart.

Warren had been sworn in as a special constable to arrest Donald. Armed with the warrant, he had lounged round the village of Megantic watching his opportunity. He made loud boasts that he would take Morrison dead or alive. He pulled out a pistol. This gave emphasis to the threat. We have already said that Donald always went armed. Sometimes he carried a rifle: more generally a couple of six-shooters.

Warren was in the hotel drinking. It was about noon on a beautiful day in June.

One of the villagers rushed into the bar.

"Here's Morrison coming down the street," he said, in a tone of excitement.

"All right," said Warren, "this is my chance."

"You daren't arrest him," a by-stander said.

"Daren't I, by ----," he replied. "Here, give me a drink of whiskey."

He quaffed the gla.s.s, and went out to the front. Donald was coming towards him. He saw Warren, and crossed to the other side to avoid him.

Warren went over and intercepted him.

"You've got to come with me," said Warren, pulling out the warrant.

"Let me pa.s.s," Donald replied in firm, commanding tones, "I want to have nothing to do with you."

"But, by ----, I have something to do with you," Warren angrily retorted. "You have got to come with me, dead or alive."

"What do you mean?" Donald demanded, while his right hand sought his hip pocket.

"I mean what I say," Warren replied, fast losing control over himself.

Pulling out his revolver, he covered Donald, and commanded him to surrender.

About a dozen people watched the scene in front of the hotel, chained to the spot with a species of horrible fascination.

The moment that Donald saw Warren pull out his revolver, and cover him with it, he clenched his teeth with a deadly determination, and, whipping out his own weapon, and taking steady aim, he fired.

Warren, with his pistol at full c.o.c.k in his hand, fell back--dead!

The bullet had entered the brain through the temple.

Donald bent over him, saw that he was dead, and, muttering between his teeth, "It was either my life or his," walked down the street out of sight.

Warren lay in a pool of blood, a ghastly spectacle. Some poor mother had once held this man to her breast, and shed tears of joy or sorrow over him!

CHAPTER XX. AFTERWARDS.

The inquest was over. Donald Morrison was found guilty of having slain Warren. He walked abroad openly. No one attempted to interfere with him.

After the natural horror at the deed had subsided, sympathy went out to Donald. He had slain a man. True. But it was in self-defence. Had not Warren been seen pointing the pistol at him? Even admitting that Warren had no intention to shoot, but only intended to intimidate Donald, how could the latter know that? Donald had killed a man in the a.s.sertion of the first law of nature--self-preservation.

The people deplored the act. But they did not feel justified in handing Donald over to justice.

The news of the terrible tragedy spread. The papers got hold of the story, and made the most of it.

CHAPTER XXI. THE BLOW FALLS.

"Father, father, what is the matter? What ails you?"

Mr. Minton had taken up the paper after breakfast. He had glanced carelessly down the columns.

The editorials were dull, and the news meagre. Suddenly, he came across a large heading--"DREADFUL TRAGEDY!"

He read a few lines, and then uttered a cry of horror. He threw down the paper, and looked at Minnie. It was a look of anguish.

Minnie reached forward for the paper. Her eye caught the fatal head line. By its suggestion of horror it provoked that hunger for details which, in its acute stage, becomes pruriency.

This is what the eye, with a constantly augmenting expression of fearfulness, conveyed to the brain:--

"DREADFUL TRAGEDY.--About mid-day yesterday one of the most fearful tragedies ever enacted in this province, indeed in Canada, took place in the village of Megantic. Our readers are familiar with the agrarian troubles in which Donald Morrison has been figuring for some time past.

They have also been apprised that, upon the burning of Duquette's homestead, suspicion at once fell upon Donald. A warrant, charging him with arson, was sworn out against him, and a man named Warren undertook to execute it. It is alleged that the latter, armed with the warrant and a huge revolver, swaggered about Megantic for several days, boasting that he would take Morrison dead or alive. Be that as it may, the two men met yesterday outside the village hotel. The accounts of what followed are most conflicting. One of our reporters interviewed several witnesses of the scene, and the following statements, we believe, may be relied upon. Warren approached Morrison, and, in a loud tone of voice, told him that he had a warrant for him, and commanded him to surrender.

The latter attempted to get past, and said he wanted to have nothing to do with him. With that Warren pulled out a pistol, and ordered Morrison to throw up his hands. Now, whether Morrison fully believed that Warren meant to shoot him, will never, of course, be known. That is the statement he made to our reporter with every appearance of earnestness, subsequent to the occurrence. At any rate, the moment that Warren's pistol appeared, Morrison whipped out his revolver, and shot him through the head. Warren fell backward, and died in a few minutes. The dreadful act has caused the utmost excitement throughout the country, whose annals, as far as serious crime is concerned, are stainless. A singular circ.u.mstance must be noted. There is not a single person who regards Morrison in the light of a murderer. The act is everywhere deplored, but Morrison's own statement, backed by several witnesses, that he committed the deed in self-defence, is as generally accepted, and the consequence is that every house is open to him, no man's back is turned upon him, and his friends still hold out to him the hand of fellows.h.i.+p. He is still at large, and likely to be so, as the county is without police, and strangers coming here would have no chance of arresting him. Indeed, Morrison, armed with a rifle and two revolvers, walks about Megantic and Marsden in broad daylight--perfectly safe from harm, as far as the people themselves are concerned. It is said the Provincial Government are about to take some steps in the matter."

Minnie read this account through to the end. She seemed to grow stiff, and her eyes dilated with a nameless horror. She did not faint. That is a privilege reserved for the heroines of the Seaside Library. This is a very modest narrative of fact, and we could not afford so dramatic a luxury as that. Minnie was a hearty country girl, and oatmeal repudiates all affinity with hysterics.

Minnie read the article, threw down the paper, and rushed to her room.