Kitabı oku: «The Captain of the Gray-Horse Troop», sayfa 19
XXXI
OUTWITTING THE SHERIFF
Maynard came over just as the wagon was being brought round, and with a look of concern on his big, red face, began: "Now see here, Curtis, you'd better take an escort. Those devils may be hanging round the edge of the reservation. Say the word and I'll send Payne and a squad of men."
"I don't think it at all necessary, Maynard. I don't want to excite the settlers, and, besides, the troops are all needed here. I have no fear of the mob while daylight lasts. They will not attempt to take the man from me. I leave you in command. Wilson will keep the police out on the hills and report any movement of the mob."
Maynard saluted. "Very well, Major; when may I look for you to return?"
"Not before to-morrow night. I shall get in by sundown to-day, for it is all the way down hill; the return will be slower."
"I don't like to see you go away with that cut-throat sheriff."
"I am not alone," said Curtis. "I have two of the faithfulest men in the world – Two Horns and Crow – both armed and watchful. Don't worry about me, Jack; keep yourself alert to-night."
The wagon was now standing before the guard-house, and the prisoner was being brought forth by Crow. Cut Finger, blinking around him in the noon-day glare, saw his wife already in the wagon, and went resignedly towards the agent, who beckoned to him.
"You may sit beside her," Curtis signed, and the youth climbed submissively to his seat. "Mr. Sheriff, you are to take a place beside the driver."
Winters, swollen with rebellion because of the secondary part he had to play, surlily consented to sit with Two Horns.
"Crow, you camp here," called Curtis, and the trusted Tetong scrambled to his seat. "Drive on, Two Horns."
For an hour and more no one spoke but Two Horns, gently urging the horses to their best pace. Curtis welcomed this silence, for it gave him time to take account of many things, chief of which was Brisbane's violent antagonism. "He overestimates my importance," he thought. "But that is the way such men succeed. They are as thorough-going in destroying the opposition as they are in building up their own side."
He thought, too, of that last intimate hour with Elsie, and wished he had spoken plainer with her. "It would have been definite if I had secured an answer. It would have been a negative, of course, and yet such is my folly, I still hope, and so long as there is the slightest uncertainty I shall waste my time in dreaming." His mind then turned to the question of the mob. There came into his mind again the conviction that they were waiting to intercept the sheriff at the boundary of the reservation; but he was perfectly certain that they would relinquish their designs when they found the sheriff reinforced by three determined men – one of them an army officer and the agent. He had no fear on that score; he only felt a little uneasy at leaving the agency.
A sharp exclamation from Crow brought his dreaming to an end, and, looking up, he saw a horseman approaching swiftly, his reins held high, his elbows flapping. "That's young Streeter," he said, on the impulse.
"So it is," replied Winters, hot with instant excitement. "I wonder what's his hurry?"
Calvin came up with a rush, and when opposite set his horse on his haunches with a wrench of his powerful wrist, calling, in lazy drawl: "Howdy, folks, howdy. Well, I see you've got 'im," he remarked to Curtis.
"You've been ridin' hard," said Winters; "what's your rush? Anything doin'?"
Calvin looked down at his panting, reeking horse, and carelessly replied: "Oh no. I'm just takin' it out o' this watch-eyed bronco." He exchanged a look with the sheriff. "I thought I'd ketch ye 'fore ye left the agency. I'd like a word with you, sheriff; tumble out here for a minute. You'll wait a second, won't you, Major?"
Curtis looked up at the sun. "Yes; but be quick."
Calvin slid from his horse, and while the sheriff was climbing stiffly down on the opposite side slipped a note into Curtis's hand.
As the sheriff listened to Calvin's low-voiced report Curtis glanced at the paper. It was in pencil, and from Elsie. "The mob is waiting at the half-way house, cruel as wolves – turn back – for my sake."
Curtis crumpled the paper in his hand and called out imperatively: "Come, Sheriff Winters, I cannot wait."
Winters turned away smilingly. "That's all right, Cal. I didn't understand, that's all. I'm glad the boys went home. Of course the troops settled everything."
Curtis caught Calvin's eye, and a nod, almost imperceptible, passed between them, and the cowboy was aware that the soldier understood the situation. "Where did you leave the Senator?"
"At the half-way house."
"How was he?"
"Feeling well enough to make a speech," replied Calvin.
The other team, containing Grismore and the reporters, was by this time but a few rods away, and, watching his opportunity, Curtis signalled: "Stop that wagon – hold them here." Calvin again nodded. "Drive on," called Curtis. And Winters smiled with rare satisfaction.
Some miles before reaching the border of the reservation, Two Horns, at a sign from Curtis, left the main road and began to climb a low ridge to the east.
The sheriff turned and called sharply: "Where is he going?"
"He has his orders, Mr. Sheriff."
"He's taking the wrong road. It is five miles farther that way."
"He is following my orders."
"But I don't see the sense of it."
"You are only a passenger. If you don't care to ride with us you can walk," replied Curtis, and the sheriff settled back into his seat with a curse. The second wagon had been left far behind, and would undoubtedly keep the main road, a mishap Curtis had calculated upon.
An hour or two of extra travel would not matter, especially as the mob was being left safely on the left.
The warning from Elsie had a singular effect upon the soldier. He grew almost gay at the thought of her care of him. In some occult way the little card meant a great deal more than its few words. If they were delayed at the half-way house they might not reach Pinon in time for the afternoon train, and so – "I may see her again."
As he neared the boundary of the reservation the sheriff gained in resolution. Looking backward, he saw his own team following, outlined like a rock against the sky, just topping a ridge, and reaching over he laid his hand on the reins and pulled the horses to a stand.
"Right here I take charge!" he growled. "I'm on my own ground. Get out o' there!" he said to the prisoner, and as he spoke he drew his revolver and leaped to the ground.
Cut Finger turned towards Curtis, whose face was set and stern. "Sit still!" he commanded, with a gesture. "Put up your gun!" he said to Crow, who had drawn his revolver, ready to defend his prisoner.
Winters flew into bluster. "Do you defy my authority now? I'm sheriff of this county!" he shouted. "Your control ends right here! This is State territory."
Curtis eyed him calmly. "I started out to give this man safe convoy to the prison, and I'm going to do it! Not only that – he is a ward of the government, even when lodged in the county jail, and it is my duty to see that he has fair trial; then, and not till then, will I abandon him to the ferocity of your mob. I know your plan, and I have defeated it. Do you intend to ride with us?"
The sheriff's courage again failed him as he looked up into the direct, unwavering eagle gaze of the young officer. He began to curse. "We'll have your hide for this! You've gone too far! You've defied the laws of the county!"
"Drive on," said Curtis, and Two Horns touched his ponies with the whip.
"Halt, or I fire!" shouted Winters.
"Drive on!" commanded Curtis, and Two Horns laid the whip hard on the back of his off horse.
Winters fired, but the bullet went wide; he dared not aim to kill. Cut Finger rose as if to leap from the wagon, but Crow seized him with one great brown paw and thrust his shining gun against his breast. "Sit down, brother!" he said, grimly. "We'll care for you."
The prisoner sank back into his seat trembling with excitement, while the wife began to cry piteously.
Curtis, looking back, saw the sheriff waving his revolver maniacally, but his curses fainted on the way. A sudden reaction to humor set in, and the young agent laughed a hearty chuckle which made his faithful Tetong aids break into sympathetic grins.
Nevertheless, the case was not entirely humorous. In a certain sense he had cut athwart the law in this last transaction, though in doing so he had prevented an act of violence which would have still further embittered the tribe. "I am right," he said, and put away all further doubt.
The drive now settled into a race for the jail. "The sheriff, after being picked up by his own party, will undertake to overhaul us," reasoned Curtis, but that did not trouble him so much as the thought of what lay before him.
The road ran along Willow Creek, winding as the stream itself, and Curtis could not avoid the thought of an ambuscade. On the right were clumps of tall willows capable of concealing horsemen, while on the left the hot, treeless banks rose a hundred feet above the wagon, and the loopings of the track prevented a view of what was coming. If the mob should get impatient, or if they should suspect his trick, it would be easy to send a detachment across the hills and intercept him. "Push hard!" he signed to Two Horns.
The road was smooth and dusty and descended rapidly, so that the horses had little to do but guide the tongue. As the wagon rocked and reeled past the ranch houses, the settlers had hardly time to discern what manner of man was driving, but they were thrown into fierce panic by the clatter of fleeing horses and the cloud of prophetic dust. The sheriff was not in sight, and no sound of him could be detected in the whiz of their own wheels.
At last Two Horns, with his moccasined foot on the brake, broke through the hills out upon the valley land, with Pinon City in sight. The mob and the sheriff were alike left behind. Ambush was now impossible.
"Easy now, Two Horns," called Curtis, with a smile and an explanatory gesture. "We're safe now; the angry white men are behind," and the reeking, dusty, begrimed horses fell into a walk.
The hour for their arrival in Pinon City was fortunate. The town was still at supper, and in the dusk Curtis and prisoner escaped notice. They hurried across the main street and on towards the jail, which stood on a little knoll just outside the town.
As they drew up before the door a young man came out and stared with inquiring gaze.
Curtis spoke first. "Are you the turnkey?"
"I'm in charge here; yes, sir."
"I am Captain Curtis, the agent. This is Cut Finger, charged with the murder of a white man. I have brought him in. The sheriff is just behind." He turned to the prisoner and signed. "Get down! Here is the strong-house where you are to stay!"
Cut Finger clambered slowly down, his face rigid, his limbs tremulous with emotion. To go to the dark room of the strong-house was the worst fate that could overtake a free man of the hills, and his heart fluttered like a scared bird.
"It would be a good plan to let his wife go in with him," suggested Curtis. "It will save trouble."
The poor, whimpering girl-wife followed her culprit husband up the steps and into the cold and gloomy hall to which they were admitted, her eyes on the floor, her sleeping child held tightly in her arms. When the gate shut behind him Curtis signed to the prisoner this advice:
"Now be good. Do not make any trouble. Do what these people tell you. Eat your food. I will ask the sheriff to let your wife see you in the morning, and then she will go home again. She can come once each month to see you." He touched the wife on the arm, and when she comprehended his gesture she uttered again that whimpering moan, and as she bent her head in dumb agony above her babe, Curtis gently led her to the door, leaving Cut Finger to the rigor of the white man's law.
XXXII
AN EVENTFUL NIGHT
At the railway station Curtis alighted. "Go to Paul Ladue's," he said to Two Horns. "Put the horses in his corral and feed them well. Sit down with Paul, and to-morrow morning at sunrise come for me at the big hotel. Be careful. Don't go on the street to-night. The white men have evil hearts."
"We know," said Crow, with a clip of his forefinger. "We will sleep like the wolf, with one eye open."
As they drove away, Curtis hurried into the station, and calling for a blank, dashed away at a brief telegram to the Commissioner. While revising it he overheard the clerk say, in answer to a question over the telephone: "No, Senator Brisbane did not get away on 'sixteen.' He is still at the Sherman House."
Curtis straightened and his heart leaped. "Then I can see Elsie again!" he thought. Hastily pencilling two or three shorter messages, he handed them in and hurried up the street towards the hotel, eager to relieve her anxiety.
By this time the violet dusk of a peaceful night covered the town. The moon, low down in the west, was dim, but the stars were beginning to loom large in the wonderful deep blue to the east. The air was windless. No cloud was to be seen, and yet the soldier had a touch of uneasiness. "I wish I had brought my faithful men with me to the Sherman House. However, there is no real cause to worry. Paul is more Tetong than borderman – and will protect them – if only they keep off the street."
He began to meet men in close-packed groups on the sidewalk – roughly clad citizens who seemed absorbed in the discussion of some important event. A few of them recognized him as he passed, and one called, in a bitter tone, "There goes the cur himself!" Curtis did not turn, though the tone, more insulting than the words, made his heart hot with battle. It was plain that the sheriff and his party had already entered and reported their defeat. A saloon emptied a mob of loud-voiced men upon the sidewalk before him, and though he feared trouble he pushed steadily forward. The ruffians gave way before his resolute feet, but he felt their hate beating like flame upon his face. He dared not turn a hair's-breadth to the right nor to the left; nothing was better than to walk straight on. "They will not shoot me in the back," he reasoned, and beyond a volley of curses he remained unassaulted.
The rotunda of the hotel was filled with a different but not less dangerous throng of excited politicians and leading citizens, who had assembled to escort Brisbane to the opera-house. The talk, though less profane than that of the saloon loafers, was hardly less bitter against the agent. Mingled with these district bosses were a half-dozen newspaper men, who instantly rushed upon Curtis in frank and boyish rivalry. "Captain, what is the news?" they breathlessly asked, with pads and pencils ready for his undoing.
"All quiet!" was his curt reply.
"But – but – how about – "
"All lies!" he interrupted to say, and pushed on to the desk. "Is Senator Brisbane and party still here?" he asked, as he signed his name in the book.
The clerk applied the blotter. "Yes; he is still at supper."
The young soldier took time to wash the dust from his face and hands and smooth his hair before entering the dining-room. At the threshold he paused and took account of his enemies. Brisbane and three of his most trusted supporters, still sitting at coffee, were holding a low-voiced consultation at a corner table, while Lawson and Elsie sat waiting some distance away and near an open window. The Parkers were not in view.
Elsie, at sight of her lover, rose impulsively, and her face, tired and pale, flushed to a beautiful pink. Her lips formed the words "Why, there is Captain Curtis!" but her voice was inaudible.
He hastened forward with eyes only for her, and she met him with both hands outstretched – eager, joyous!
"Oh, how good it is to see you! We were so alarmed – Calvin warned you?"
"Yes. He met me just before I left the reservation."
"But I expected you to bring soldiers; how did you escape? Did you find the cattlemen gone?"
"I flanked them." His face relaxed into humor. "Discretion is a sort of valor sometimes. I took the Willow road."
Lawson now joined them, and in his hand-clasp was a brother's regard for the soldier. His smile was exultant. "Good work! I knew Calvin could be trusted. It looked bad for Cut Finger when we reached the half-way house."
"You must be hungry!" exclaimed Elsie. "Sit here and I will order something for you."
"I was hungry an hour ago," he said, meaningly, "but now I am not. But I am tired," he added. "Where are the Parkers?"
Elsie laughed. "On their way to civilization. They fled on the up-train."
"The town is aflame," said Lawson. "You and your Tetongs are an issue here to-night. A big meeting is called, and the Senator is to speak. He has just discovered you," he added, glancing towards Brisbane, who had risen and was glaring at Curtis, his small eyes hot as those of an angry bear.
"Excuse me, won't you?" pleaded Elsie, rising hastily. "I must go to him!"
Curtis also rose and looked soberly into her eyes. "May I not see you again?"
She hesitated. "Yes. I'm not going to the meeting. Come to our parlor when you are finished supper."
He remained standing till she joined her father and passed from the room, then he turned towards Lawson, who said:
"Seriously, my dear Curtis, you are in danger here. I hope you will not go out this evening. Even Uncle Sam's blue might not prove a protection in the dark of a night like this. Where did you house your men?"
"At Ladue's, with orders not to leave the corral."
"Quite right. Where is the sheriff?"
This question brought a humorous light into the young soldier's eyes. "When I saw him last he was on Sage-hen Flat swinging his revolver and cursing me," and he told the story.
Lawson grew grave. "I'm sorry you had to do that; it will give your enemies another grip on you. It's a mere technicality, of course, but they'll use it. You must watch every one of your clerks from this on; they'll trump up a charge against you if they can, and secure a court-martial. This election is really the last dying struggle of the political banditti of the State, and they will be defeated. Take to-night as an example. The reckless devils, the loud of mouth are alone in evidence, the better class of citizens dare not protest – dare not appear on the streets. But don't be deceived, you have your supporters even here, in the midst of this saturnalia of hate. You are an issue."
Curtis grimly smiled. "I accept the challenge! They can only order me back to my regiment."
"As for Brisbane, he is on the point of collapse. He has lost his self-control. He has attained a fixed notion that you are his most dangerous enemy; the mention of your name throws him into fury. I lost patience with him to-day, and opened fire. 'You are doomed to defeat!' I said to him. 'You represent the ignoble, greedy, conscienceless hustler and speculator, not the peaceful, justice-loving citizen of this State. Your dominion is gone; the reign of order and peace is about to begin.' If it were not for Elsie I would publicly denounce him, for his election would work incalculable injury to the West. But he can't fill the legislature with his men as he did twelve years ago. He will fail of election by fifty votes."
"I hope so," responded Curtis, with a sigh, as Lawson rose. "But I have no faith in the courage of the better element; virtue is so timid and evil is always so fully organized."
After Lawson left him Curtis hurriedly finished his supper and went his way to his room for a moment's rest. Through the open windows he could hear the cheering which greeted Brisbane's entrance into the opera-house, which faced upon the little square before the hotel. The street was thronging with noisy boys, and at intervals a band of young herders clattered into the square. Their horses thickened along the hitching-poles, and the saloons swarmed with men already inflamed with drink. The air seemed heavy, oppressive, electrical, and the shrill cheers which rose above the dull rumble of pounding boot-heels in the hall possessed a savage animal vehemence. Again a sense of impending disaster swept over the young officer. "I am tired and nervous," he thought. "Surely law and order rules in a civilized community like this."
He put away all thoughts of war as he followed the boy up the stair-way to the Brisbane private parlor, and became the lover, palpitant with the hope that he was about to see Elsie alone.
She met him at the door, her face a-quiver with feeling, a note of alarm in her voice. "Have you heard the cheering? They are denouncing you over there!"
"I suppose so. But let's not talk of such unimportant matters; this is our last evening together, and I want to forget the storm outside. Since I left you last night I have had a most remarkable experience, and I – "
"Oh, you mean catching the murderer; tell me about it!"
"No. Oh no; that is not worth telling. I mean something more intimately personal." Shrill yells from across the way interrupted him, and Elsie rose and shut the window. "I hate them; they are worse than savages," she said. "Please don't mind them."
He went on: "I was about to say I had a deal of time to think on my long ride this morning, and I reached some conclusions which I want to tell you about. When my prisoner was safe in the guard-house, I went over to see how my little temple of art looked – I mean your studio, of course. I closed the door and dropped into one of the big chairs, hoping to gain rest and serenity in the beauty and quiet of the place. But I didn't; I was painfully depressed."
She opened her eyes very wide at this. "Why?"
"Because everything I saw there emphasized the irrevocable loss I had suffered. I couldn't endure the thought of it, and I fled. I could not remain without weeping, and you know a man is ashamed of his tears; but when I got your note of warning I flung conscience to the winds! 'It is not a crime to love a woman,' I said. 'I will write to her and say to her "I love you, no matter what happens;"' and, now I find you here, I tell it to you instead of writing it."
She was facing him with a look of perplexity and alarm. One hand laid upon her throat seemed to express suffering. When she spoke her voice was very low.
"What do you expect me to say; you make it so hard for me! Why do you tell me this?"
"Because I could not rest till I had spoken. For a long time I thought you were bound to Lawson, and since then I've tried to keep silent because of my poverty and – no one knows better than I the unreason of it all – I do not ask you to speak except to say, 'I am sorry.' When I found you were still within reach, the desire to let you know my feeling overcame every other consideration. I can't even do the customary thing and ask you to wait, for my future is as uncertain as my present, but if you could say you loved me – a little – " he paused abruptly, as though choked into silence by a merciless hand.
Elsie remained silent, with her eyes turned towards the window, her hands in her lap, and at last he went on:
"If your father is a true prophet, I shall be ordered back to my regiment. That will hurt me, but it won't ruin me exactly. It would be a shameful thing if the department sacrificed me to expediency; but politicians are wonderful people! If you were not so much an artist and Andrew Brisbane's daughter, I would ask you to come to me and help me do my work, but I can't quite do that – yet; I can only say you are more to me now than any other soul in the world. I do this because I can't keep from it," he repeated, in poor ending.
"I've heard that the best way to make a woman love a man is to persecute the man," she replied, smiling a little, though her eyes were wet. "When you were apparently triumphant I hated you – now – " she hesitated and a sudden timidity shook her.
He sprang up. "Can you carry out the figure? I dare you to finish the sentence. Do you care for me a little?" His face, suddenly illuminated, moved her powerfully.
"I'm afraid I do – wait, please!" She stopped him with a gesture. "You mustn't think I mean more than I do. My mind is all in a whirl now; it isn't fair to hurry me; I must take time to consider. Your being poor and an Indian agent wouldn't make any difference to me if I – But I must be sure. I respect you – I admire you very much – and last night when I said good-bye I felt a sharp pain here." She put her hand to her throat. "But I must be sure. There are so many things against it," she ended, covering her eyes with her hand in piteous perplexity.
His eyes were alight, his voice eager. "It would be such a glorious thing if you could join me in my work."
The mention of his work stung her. "Oh no! It is impossible. I should die here! I have no sense of duty towards these poor vagabonds. I'm sorry for them – but to live here – no, no! You must not ask it. You must go your way and I will go mine. You are only torturing me needlessly."
"Forgive me," he pleaded. "I did not mean to do so."
She continued, wildly: "Can't you see how crazy, how impossible, it is? I admire you – I believe in your work – it is magnificent; but I can't live your life. My friends, my art, mean too much to me."
There was a tremulous, passionate pleading which failed of finality: it perplexed her lover; it did not convince him.
"You are right; of course you are right," he said again; "but that does not help me to bear the pain of your loss. I can't let you go out of my life – utterly – I can't do it – I will not – Hark! What is that?"
A faint, far-off, thundering sound interrupted him. A rushing roar, as of many horsemen rapidly approaching. Hastening to the window, Curtis bent his head to listen. "It sounds like a cavalry charge. Here they come! Cowboys – a mob of them! Can it be Yarpe's gang? Yes; that is precisely what it is. Yarpe leading them into some further deviltry."
Whooping and cursing, and urging their tired horses with quirt and spur, the desperadoes, somewhat thinned of ranks, pouring by in clattering, pounding rush – as orderless as a charging squad of Sioux warriors – turned up a side street and disappeared almost before any one but Curtis was aware of them.
"They are bent on mischief," said the soldier as he turned upon the girl, all personal feeling swept away by the passing mob. "They have followed me in to force the jail and hang Cut Finger." He caught up his cap. "I must prevent it!"
"No! No!" cried Elsie, seizing his arm. "You must not go out in the street to-night – they will kill you – please don't go – you have done your duty. Now let the mayor act, I beg of you!"
"Dear girl, I must thwart this lynching party. I would be disgraced! Don't you see? They have seized the moment when the citizens are all in the hall away from the jail to do this thing. I must alarm the town and prevent them."
Even as he pleaded with her the tumult in the hall broke forth again, roared for a moment in wild crescendo, and then ceased instantly, strangely. A moment's silence followed, and a confused murmur arose, quite different from any sound which had hitherto emanated from the hall. A powerful voice dominated all others, and through the open windows the words of command could be distinctly heard. "Keep back there! Keep your seats!"
"The meeting is breaking up!" exclaimed Curtis. "Some one has alarmed them. See, they are pouring out to prevent this crazy mob from carrying out its plan."
The shouting ceased, but the trample of feet and the murmur of voices thickened to a clamor, and Elsie turned white with a new fear. "They are rushing across the square! Perhaps they are coming for you!"
"I don't think so; they would not dare to attack me – they hate me, but – "
Her over-wrought nerves gave way. A panic seized her. "Hide! Hide! They will kill you!" she cried out, hoarsely.
"No; I am going to help them defend the jail."
"For my sake!" she pleaded, "don't leave me! Listen! they are coming!" she whispered. The sound of many feet could be heard in the lobby below, the roar of a hundred voices came up the stair-way, but even the excited girl could now detect something hushed and solemn in the sound – something mournful in the measured footsteps up the stairs.
"It is father!" she cried, with a flash of divination. "Something has happened to him!" And with this new terror in her face she hurried out into the hall.
Curtis reached her side just as the head of the procession topped the stair-way.
Brisbane, up-borne by Lawson and a tall young stranger, first appeared, followed by a dozen men, who walked two and two with bared heads and serious faces, as if following a hearse. The stricken man's face was flushed and knobby, and his eyelids drooped laxly like those of a drunkard. He saw nothing, and his breathing was labored.
"Father, what has happened?" called Elsie. "Tell me – quick!"
"A touch of vertigo," answered Lawson, soothingly. "The doctor says nothing serious."
"Are you the doctor?" she turned to the young man.
"Yes. Don't be alarmed. The Senator has over-taxed himself a little, that is all, and needs rest. Show me his bed, and we will make him comfortable."
Elsie led the way to the bedroom, while Curtis stood helplessly facing the crowd in the hall. Lawson relieved the situation by coming out a few moments later to say:
"Gentlemen, the doctor thanks you, and requests you to leave the Senator to rest as quietly as possible."
After this dismissal had dispersed the on-lookers, Lawson turned to Curtis. "The old man's work as a speaker is done. Rather tragic business, don't you think? He was assailing you with the utmost bitterness. His big, right fist was in the air like a hammer when he fell; but it was his last effort."
Curtis seized his hand and said: "I envy you your chance to go with her and serve her." His voice changed. "The mob! Did you hear Yarpe and his men pass?"
"No; when?"
"Not ten minutes ago. I fear some mischief."
The doctor appeared. "Mr. Lawson, a moment."
As Lawson hurried into the sick-room a far-off, faint volley of pistol-shots broke the hush that had settled over the square. Distant yells succeeded, accompanied by a sound as of some giant hammering. The young soldier lifted his head like a young lion listening to a battle-call. "They are beating in the gates!" he said. For a moment he hesitated, but only for a moment. "She is safe!" he thought, with a glance towards Elsie's door. "My man and the poor little wife are not," and he rushed down the stair-way and out into the street with intent to find and defend his faithful men.
