Kitabı oku: «Belford's Magazine, Vol 2, December 1888», sayfa 17
CHAPTER XIX.
BLIND BENNER SEES LIZZĪ
When Gill left Lizzī he was her subject; and no exile, however long, could diminish his loyalty to her. All his mature years he had been a libertine, cold, clever, selfish. No thrill except that of passion had stirred his blood, quickened his pulses; yet they beat quickly now as he stood outside of the home whose threshold he dared not cross. In his despair he loved the woman whom he had wronged.
A hard gripe was fastened on his collar. He closed his eyes and hoped he had been seized by one of her brothers who meant to kill him.
"Stop with me ter-night, Gill."
It was Henry Myers who spoke.
Gill was bewildered; the hubbub about him increasing his confusion.
"I will sleep in the bed of the river," he replied with a laugh. Then seeing Bill Kellar, he continued: "Take me home with you, Bill; fiddle up the devil and get him to grab me."
His humiliation was complete.
Henry gave him a push, and he walked along meekly, Hunch following close to his heels, and the crowd straggling after.
Without a word to any one Lizzī went to her room, which with the door closed became a holy place, where Grief was high-priest. Peter McAnay climbed the stairs softly and listened outside the door. The only sound he heard was the light tapping of her heel on the floor as she danced the baby on her knee.
Levi escorted Parson Lawrence to Seth Reed's house, and Blind Benner sought his home.
Matthi and Cassi went aimlessly out into the streets. Their oath had not been kept: Gill had escaped without punishment from them. They had not settled with him, because the Queen had forbidden them to harm him. Had they met him on the street, they would have stood aside, accepting the situation, while they thirsted for his blood.
On his way home from Seth Reed's, Levi stopped at Squire Harker's. From that official he learned of the bargain made by him and Gill in the shoe-shop. With this information to impart, Levi called on Squire Parsons and advised him to ride immediately to Squire Barton and procure a warrant for the arrest of both Squire Harker and Gill. Squire Parsons acted on the suggestion, and by midnight was far up the Boomer Creek road. The night was far spent when, warrant in hand, he set out to return to Three-Sisters. He rode hard, hoping to reach the village by daybreak. About a mile from the town his horse stumbled over a loose plank on a Boomer Creek bridge, and lamed himself so badly that the Squire was compelled to walk.
Lizzī rose early after a sleepless night, and taking the boy downstairs placed him in the cradle. He was sound asleep, and the noise she made in building a fire in the stove did not disturb him.
While the fire was catching she sat with her elbows resting on her knees and her hands clasped before her. Presently the sound of many feet marching in measured tread reached her. It grew more distinct, then ceased for a moment, was heard again, growing gradually fainter. She listened to it as if in a stupor, while the bacon sizzled meaningly in the skillet and the tea-kettle hummed a busy tune.
A surly, resolute crowd was leading John Gillfillan to the bridge to hang him. At first the intention was to lynch him before the Block, but some of the men urged in opposition to this plan that it would be too hard on Lizzī when she should learn that he had been killed in front of her door and she unable to prevent it because she was ignorant of it. Their counsel prevailed, and the bridge was decided upon as the place of execution.
Bill Kellar, assisted by Hunch, had told Henry Myers, who had recently been elected constable, and the constantly increasing crowd, the history of the search for Gill, and how at last Blind Benner had discovered him. For a conclusion to the narration, the dwarf gave a graphic description of as much as he had witnessed of the scene when Lizzī learned of Gill's perfidy and refused to be party to a second marriage ceremony with him.
"Yer orter be hung, damn yer!" Henry Myers fairly yelled, as he shook his fist in Gill's face.
"There's no telling but he fired the store fer ter kill hisself, forgettin' us poor folks thet might hev starved."
This suggestion of a burly teamster became as it passed from lip to lip an assertion, and violently-excited men surrounded Gill, charging him with incendiarism and daring him to deny the accusation. He was very white, but cool and quiet, neither defying them nor asking mercy at their hands. A grim sort of submission was expressed by his face as he stood against the wall of the little room and waited for a decision of the mob as to his punishment. When at last it was resolved to lynch him he betrayed no fear, and the crowd, awed by his calmness, became sullen. Loud tones gave place to surly growls that indicated inflexible determination to perform an act of justice that should both be a vengeance on the culprit – for not a man was present who had not fully convinced himself that Gill had set fire to the store – and a warning to all incendiaries of the fate that would be theirs if they should be so unfortunate as to be captured. A rope was procured, and a noose made in it, which was thrown over Gill's neck. Then he was led away to the execution.
Blind Benner had coughed almost incessantly from the time he went to bed, and at last in desperation rose. Dressing himself he sat down in a chair near the kitchen stove, in which the fire still smouldered. The change of posture gave him relief, and he fell asleep. The tread of the men passing the Block with Gill aroused him. Listening to the heavy, regular footfalls, and not hearing a voice, he feared he was dreaming. Creeping to the door, he opened it. The cold air rushing in started his cough and convinced him that he was awake. Struggling for a moment with the cough, he overcame it, and, impelled by a vague alarm, went down the porch steps. Pausing a moment, he listened again. The footsteps seemed far away. Groping his way to the end of the Block, he went into Big-bug Avenue, where he could hear them more plainly; yet they were going away from him towards the bridge.
His determination was taken at once, and rapidly he followed the crowd. Running recklessly, and keeping as near the middle of the street as he could, he stumbled often and at last fell. He rose quickly, not minding the pain, took one step and stopped, brought to a halt by an obstacle on which he placed his hands.
"It's the horse-block," he exclaimed joyfully, patting it affectionately, as he would a friend.
It was a friend indeed – a guide.
Leaving it, he went ahead slowly, swinging his arms and reaching as far as he could, pausing at every step. Presently the tips of his fingers touched something. Going nearer, he found he was beside a post, which he felt eagerly as if searching for some mark by which to know it. He found two rings hanging one above the other from staples driven into the wood.
Leaning against the post, he listened. A cold breeze blew over him, and he shivered, coughing in spite of the hand that covered his mouth. He hoped to hear some one speak, but nothing reached his ears from the bridge but the trampling of heavy boots on the floor. Again the wind blew, harder this time, and he coughed louder; but if he was heard, no one heeded him. A creaking sound came from above him, but he did not need the rasping screech of the sign on its rusty hinges to inform him that he was in front of the tavern. Listening a moment longer, he patted the post as he had done the horse-block, and stole towards the bridge. Soon from the remark of a man on the outskirts of the crowd he learned what was to be done.
"Heng Gill," he repeated in a whisper, half joyfully, wholly willing that it should be done. Then came the thought,
"But Lizzī would rether they wouldn't."
With eager, impatient search, he tried to find the sign-post to guide him towards the Block, where he had decided to go and tell her what was happening. Reach out as he would, he could not touch the post, and he began running in circles, striking out with his hands like a madman.
"Hunchy! Hunchy!" he called, but his voice was weak, and he was not heard.
When he was almost exhausted he struck a tree with his arm. Pausing a second to feel the bark, he went quickly around it and stumbled over the board walk in front of Colonel Hornberger's house. Then he knew the way. The board walk passed the Block. He ran on it fast as he could, and burst in upon Lizzī as she sat before the fire with her face buried in her hands.
Between gasps for breath he began to tell his story, while his head resounded with whirring noises and his temples throbbed as if they would burst.
"Mind the baby, Benner," she called to him from the porch before he had finished.
A wail from the infant directed him to the cradle. Kneeling beside it, he struggled with his cough and rocked the crying child.
When the lynchers entered the bridge, Henry Myers climbed up to one of the cross-pieces. The end of the rope was thrown to him, and he made it fast. Then Gill was placed on a chair.
"Yer hev got ter die, John Gillfillan, an' yer may as well make a clean breast uv it," said Henry, his feet dangling not far from Gill's head.
The sullen faces of the angry men did not seem to frighten Gill, who could see them plainly in the light of several stable-lanterns distributed through the crowd. The rope pressed against his neck, but his hands were unbound.
"We'll give yer three minits ter make up yer mind, not as we've got enny doubts 'bout yer guilt, but we think yer might die easier hevin' told the truth onct in yer life."
Henry took a bull's-eye watch from his vest-pocket and asked for a lantern. By its light he grimly watched the hands.
The silence in the bridge was so intense that Gill could hear the watch tick, and the sounds of Blind Benner's feet striking the board walk as he ran to Lizzī were borne to the ears of the crowd.
At last Henry said:
"Yer hev jist got a quarter uv a minit, Gill."
Clearing his throat, Gill made a sign with his hand that he was going to speak. The men came closer to him, and Henry put his watch away.
"I guess I ought to tell. I did set fire to the store because I wanted to get rid of the books. I meant to get out in time through the window; was just going to open it and jump when I heard Lizzī" – his voice faltered a little – "call for help and her axe strike the door downstairs. Then I thought I'd let her save me. You know how she pulled me out, but you didn't know that I was pretending I was overcome with the smoke."
"Why did yer want ter burn the books?" asked Thomas Myers.
"Because I had been stealing from Colonel Hornberger, and couldn't have hid it much longer."
He was very calm, but his face was blanched.
"Yer kin say yer prayers ef yer want ter," said Henry.
"Guess they wouldn't be much good," Gill remarked with a wan smile.
"Then tie his arms, Tom."
Near the bridge Lizzī stopped suddenly, her impetuous rush to save Gill's life checked by the thought to which she gave utterance in a whisper:
"I know my shame."
She had not known it when she ran to rescue him from death in the store fire; she had not learned it when she faced unflinchingly the scorn of the women; and she was ignorant of it when she dashed into the bar-room to stop the fight her brothers made in defence of her good name: but now it was upon her with crushing weight, and she stood helpless in sight of the rope that was to strangle Gill.
If she would save him it behooved her to act quickly, for she could see a man pinioning his arms. Moved with great pity for her betrayer, whose white face she could see plainly, she summoned strength to enter the bridge.
As she stepped on the planks she was conscious of a change in the manner of the crowd, and seeing Squire Parsons force his way to Gill's side, paused.
"Henry Myers!" called the squire.
"Here," answered Henry from the cross-piece.
"I have a warrant for the arrest of John Gillfillan issued to you as constable, and you must take him in charge."
Law had entered the crowd, and its presence was immediately recognized by submission. Henry dropped to the bridge-floor and muttered a curse as he addressed the squire:
"Yer hev spoiled a good job; ef yer'd b'en a minit later the devil'd hed Gill, sure."
Lizzī, seeing Gill would not be injured, turned and fled through the darkness to the refuge of her home.
She entered it with bowed head, her queenliness having gone from her forever.
The child was crying petulantly. Blind Benner, lying on the floor, supported his head with one hand and feebly rocked the cradle with the other.
A pool of blood lay on the white quilt that covered the infant, and another was forming on the floor under the cradle.
The child wailed as the cradle rocked slowly and unevenly.
The blood flowed noiselessly from Blind Benner's lips. He knew Lizzī had come back, but he would not speak until she did. He was afraid to know what had happened in the bridge, and would die in ignorance, obeying her last command to him.
With eyes cast down she moved slowly towards the cradle. The blood on the quilt was lighted by the unsteady flame of the candle. Suddenly she saw the scarlet pool. Her head swam and she sank on her knees. Taking the blind man's head impulsively yet tenderly in her hands, she laid it against her heart, bursting with this new grief.
Soothed by the mother's presence or frightened by the nearness of Death, the infant ceased its wail.
The cradle stood still.
But the red stream flowed rapidly, while Blind Benner nervously and weakly took from his vest-pocket a piece of crumpled paper and handed it to Lizzī.
She smoothed it and read, while Blind Benner clung to her neck.
"Too Hoom it may consern.
I leeve all my Sirkus munny to Lizzī an' my fiddel to her boy.
Blind Benner, his X mark.
Wittness
Hunch."
She kissed him on the lips wet with blood.
His head fell. The hemorrhage had been very profuse, and she saw the death-pallor on his cheek. Soon he raised his head, and with his lips close to her ear whispered:
"I kin soon see yer, Lizzī."
Ever after that he was silent.
