Part 9

But there was no smile on Caleb’s face when he went out, in the white mist of the morning, to fight Jacob Eaton with pistols. He took the woodland road on foot, alone, for he had sent his strangely assorted seconds ahead of him. As he walked he was chiefly aware of the soft beauty of the morning under the trees, and he caught the keen glint of light on the slender stem of a silver birch that stood at the head of the path, and he heard the chirp of a song-sparrow. A scarlet hooded woodpecker was climbing the trunk of the tall hickory as he passed, and a ground squirrel dashed across the trail. Caleb walked on, thinking a little of the possibility of death, and a great deal of the gross incongruity of his act with his life and his parentage. Through the soft light he seemed to see his mother’s face, and the miracle of her love touched him again. At heart he was simple, as all great natures are, and tender; he could not have left Jean Bartlett’s child in the woodbox. Yet he had no mind to show that side of his nature, for he was shy in his feelings, and he had borne the hurt of solitude and neglect long and in silence; silence is a habit, too, and bears fruit.

He walked slowly, looking through the trees at the river which, now before sunrise, was the color of lead, with a few ghostly lily-pads floating at its edges. Beyond, he saw the high swamp grass that fringed the edge of the delta; below lay Little Neck Meadow. The other thought that haunted him, the picture of Diana in the old leather chair beside his own hearthstone, with the kindling glow of the wood fire on her face, he thrust resolutely aside. After all, he was nothing to Diana but the petty tradesman of Eshcol, and now--if she knew--the intending murderer of her kinsman. Yet it was Diana who walked before him along the narrowing path. Thus do our emotions play us tricks to our undoing, even in life’s most vital moments.

But to the group waiting in the meadow, Caleb Trench appeared as unmoved as stone. He was prompt to the moment and accepted their arrangements without a question.

Afterwards Aaron Todd told the story of the duel at the tavern. Eaton and his seconds were in faultless attire and eager for the fray. At the last moment Todd had sent for Dr. Cheyney; his early arrival meant an explosion against dueling, and no one thought of waiting for him except Peter Mahan.

It ended in the two taking their places just as the whole eastern sky ran into molten gold; it lacked but a few moments, therefore, of sunrise, and there was still a light mist.

Jacob Eaton, who was a noted shot, had been drinking the night before, against the best efforts of his friends. Trench stood like a pillar of stone. The word was given, and both men raised their weapons. Jacob fired and missed, then Caleb very deliberately fired in the air. He had never even glanced at his challenger. It was at this that Jacob Eaton lost his temper and his wits and fired again, deliberately attempting to shoot down his enemy. The bullet went through Caleb’s left arm, missing his heart, and Willis Broughton threw himself upon Eaton and disarmed him.

When Dr. Cheyney came, Caleb had tied up his own arm with Todd’s help, and was the calmest person there. Eaton was hustled off the field by his seconds, and the story--told a hundred ways--was thrown into the campaign.

Old Dr. Cheyney drove Caleb home. “I reckon the fool killer wasn’t out this morning,” he remarked dryly, as he set him down before the office door, “or else he only winged you out of compassion. Caleb Trench, for a man of common horse sense, you can be the biggest fool west of the Mississippi. Adopted Sammy, I suppose?” he added, cocking an eyebrow aggressively.

Trench smiled. “Might as well,” he said.

“Precisely,” said the doctor, “if you want anything more, let me know. I’ve got one old rooster and a gobbler, that’s tough enough to be Job’s. G’long, Henk!”

XVI

“I TELL you, David Royall, I can’t understand I how you ever let that man come to your house,” Mrs. Eaton said; “a common man in the first place, and now--why, there can’t be any doubt at all about Jean Bartlett! Hasn’t he got the child?”

Colonel Royall tilted his chair against the pillar of the veranda and looked at her mildly. “That’s where the doubt comes in, Jinny,” he remarked.

“I can’t understand you!” she retorted tartly, dropping a stitch in her crocheting and struggling blindly to pick it up. “I can’t in the least understand your doubts--it’s obvious.”

“Which?” said the colonel, “the doubt or Sammy?”

“Both!” said she.

“Well, Dr. Cheyney told me about it,” said the colonel, “and I’m not sure that I believe all the other things I hear. Give him the benefit of the doubt, Jinny.”

“There isn’t any doubt,” declared Mrs. Eaton; “everybody says he’s the father of that child.”

Colonel Royall shook his head slowly. “It isn’t like the male critter, Jinny,” he argued mildly, “to take in the child; he’d most likely ship it.”

“Some women do that!” said Mrs. Eaton sharply, shutting her thin lips.

The colonel turned a terrible face upon her. “Jinny!”

Mrs. Eaton reddened and her hands shook, but she went on without regarding his anger. “At least, he’s the father of the Cresset speech, you’ll admit that, and, if you please, here is this duel with Jacob--with my son!”

“I believe Jacob was the challenger,” said Colonel Royall.

“He couldn’t stand being insulted by such trash!” said the indignant mother.

The colonel smiled broadly. “Come, Jinny, why did he go there?”

“How should I know?” she retorted hotly; “some political reason, of course, and Trench took advantage of it, as a common man would.”

The colonel began to whittle a stick, man’s resource from time immemorial. “Jinny,” he said, “you’re the greatest partisan on earth; if you could lead a political party you’d cover your antagonist with confusion. When I see Jacob beating his head against a wall I always remember he’s your son.”

Mrs. Eaton’s face relaxed a little. “Jacob takes after my family,” she admitted, smiling; “he’s like them in looks and he has all their charm.”

“Why don’t you say yours, Jinny?” asked the colonel, twinkling.

“I don’t think you half appreciate that,” she replied, with a touch of coquetry; “if you did, you wouldn’t quarrel with me about Caleb Trench.”

“Do I?” said the colonel.

She let her crochet work drop in her lap and looked at him attentively. “Do you mean to say you agree with me?” she demanded.

The colonel laughed. “I’m not a violent man, Jinny; since the war I’ve been a man of peace. I’m not sure that I’ve got all the faith I ought to have in these young iconoclasts.”

“Faith in that man!” Mrs. Eaton threw up her hands. “If you had, David, I wouldn’t have any in you!”

“Your conversation has rather led me to assume that you had lost faith in my opinions,” he retorted, amused.

“Well, sometimes, Cousin David, I think you’re too willing to have the wool combed over your eyes!” she said severely; “you’re so broad-minded, I suppose, that you don’t think enough of the natural prejudices of our own class.”

“Well, Jinny,” said the colonel dryly, “I’m a little tired of our class.”

Mrs. Eaton raised her head to reply with indignation, but utterance was suspended by Diana’s approach. Her appearance always had the effect of breaking off a conversation in the middle. She was still a vision in pink muslin, with a wide straw hat trimmed with roses. She swept out, fresh and sweet and buoyant.

“What are you two quarreling about?” she asked. “I can’t leave you alone together any more; you fight like game cocks. Of course it’s politics or social customs; you haven’t got to religion yet, thank heaven! When you do I shall have to send for the bishop.”

“It’s about that wretched man,” said Mrs. Eaton fretfully. “I told David that he ought not to be received here!”

“Well,” said the colonel thoughtfully, “I’m not sure he could be after this fight with Jacob; blood’s thicker than water. But do you know, Jinny, I don’t believe he’ll come?”

“Come!” cried Mrs. Eaton; “dear me, do you imagine that a poor creature like that would lose the chance?”

Colonel Royall smiled whimsically. “Jinny,” said he, “your grandfather made his money selling molasses in New Orleans.”

She gazed at him coldly. “It was wholesale,” she said, with withering contempt.

The colonel shook with silent laughter.

All this time Diana had not opened her lips; she stepped down from the piazza into the grass now and unfurled her parasol.

“I hope you’re not going to make my unfortunate grandfather a reason for inviting Caleb Trench here,” said Mrs. Eaton bitingly, her eyes fixed on the colonel’s flushed face.

“Cousin Jinny, he won’t come,” said Diana suddenly.

Both her father and Mrs. Eaton looked at her astonished. “How do you know?” the latter asked unconvinced.

“I asked him,” said Diana, and blushed.

Mrs. Eaton was amazed. “You asked that man--that person--and he refused your invitation?”

“Yes,” replied Diana, scarlet now.

Her elderly cousin dropped her hands helplessly in her lap. “Diana Royall, I’m ashamed of you!”

“I was ashamed of myself,” said Diana.

The colonel rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. “I reckon he had a reason, Di,” he said at last.

“I have a reason for not asking him again,” replied his daughter.

“Thank heaven!” ejaculated Mrs. Eaton devoutly.

The girl turned away and walked slowly across the lawn. Two of the setters followed her half-way, but, unencouraged, fell back lazily to lie in the cool grass. As she went the murmur of indignant voices died away, and she passed into the cool shadow of the horse-chestnuts. Her face still burned with the blush of vexation that Mrs. Eaton had summoned, and her heart beat a little faster at the thought that she had never asked any man to accept their hospitality before in vain. It was preposterous and rude, yet, in her heart, she respected Caleb Trench for refusing it. Even at Kitty Broughton’s ball he had been accepted only on tolerance and because of Judge Hollis. She had seen him slighted, and then the prejudice had been against his poor little shop at the village Cross-Roads and his black Republicanism, in a section that was rankly Democratic. Now they had a greater cause, the Cresset speech, the attacks upon Eaton, the duel at Little Neck Meadow--of which no one could get the truth, for no one knew socially Peter Mahan or Aaron Todd--and last of all the scandal of the child. The story of poor Jean Bartlett had passed from lip to lip now that Sammy played on the door-step of the most unique figure in local politics.

Gossips had promptly decided that Sammy was Caleb’s child, and Jean’s had been a peculiarly sad case. The story lost nothing in transmission, and Diana tried not to recall details as she walked. Why should she? The man was nothing to her! Her father did not believe all he heard, and neither did she, but she was more tormented than if she had believed the worst. Certainty carries healing in its wings; doubt is more cruel than a whip of scorpions. She had tried to understand the man and she could not; one thing contradicted another, but he was strong, his figure loomed above the others, and the storm was gathering about it, as the clouds sweep around the loftiest peak.

The hottest contest for years was brewing in the conventions, and it was known--and well-known--that Caleb Trench had an immense influence with the largest element of the party. He was convinced that Aylett’s government was weak and permeated with corruption, and he was making his conviction public, with a force and certainty that were bewildering far older politicians. In fact, the man was no politician at all; he was a born reformer, and he was making himself felt.

Diana, too, had felt his force and resented it. She resented also his duel with her cousin. The cheap sensationalism of a duel irritated her, and she did not place the whole blame upon Jacob, for she knew--Aunt Charity had spread it--that Caleb had knocked Jacob down. She was ashamed that she almost tingled with joy at the thought of him towering in wrath over Jacob, for she could divine the insulting tone that must have provoked him beyond endurance. She could divine it, but she would not accept it. Jacob was her own relation, and Jacob had been knocked down. It was maddening from that point of view, and Diana felt that nothing but blood could have atoned to her for being laid in the dust. Yet she thrilled at the thought that Caleb Trench had dealt the blow, that the son of the Philadelphia Quaker was a man. Thus contradictory is the heart of woman!

Meanwhile, she had left the confines of Broad Acres and was walking slowly up the trail to Angel Pass. Not far away was the spot where she had stood and talked with Caleb in the sweet twilight. Below her, as the path climbed, was the long slope of rolling meadows which lay between this spot and Paradise Ridge. Around her the tree trunks stood in serried ranks, and here and there, where the wild grapevines hung in long festoons, she noticed the tight clusters of green grapes. She wished devoutly that she could think of something beside the slightly awkward figure, the sharp lines of the clean-cut face, as it had looked in the twilight. Since then they had met more than once, but it was that picture of him which haunted her, and she was scarcely startled when she turned the corner by the pines and saw him ahead of her with Shot.

He heard her footstep, and when she would have turned to avoid him, he prevented it by facing about and greeting her. Both were conscious of constraint. Jacob Eaton’s bullet had not broken the bone of his arm, but the arm was still bandaged under the sleeve and stiff, and the fact of the duel seemed to materialize between them. The other thought, the thought of Jean Bartlett and her child, sprang up unbidden in her heart, and she was woman enough to wince. A torrent of feeling swept through her like a whirlpool, and she would not have told what it was, or whence it came. Her face crimsoned, and unconsciously she drew back. Something in his face, in the compelling light in his eyes, made her catch her breath. On his side, he saw only reluctance and repulsion, and mistook it for rebuke. He remembered that report said she was to marry Jacob Eaton, and he had knocked Jacob Eaton down. He would have been less than human had he not experienced then one instant of unholy joy to think that he had done it. Neither spoke for a full moment, then he did ceremoniously.

“Pardon me,” he said, “I ought not to intrude upon you, Miss Royall. I see that I am doubly unfortunate, both unexpected and unwelcome.”

Diana struggled with herself. “Unexpected, certainly,” she said, conscious that it was a falsehood, for had he not haunted her? “but unwelcome--why? This is a public place, Mr. Trench.”

He smiled bitterly. “Fairly answered,” he said; “you can be cruel, Miss Royall. I am aware that to you--I merely cumber the earth.”

“I believe you refused an invitation to come to our house,” she retorted.

He swung around in the path, facing her fully, and she felt his determination, with almost a thrill of pride in him.

“Miss Royall--I have no right to say a word,” he said, “but do you think--for one instant--that if you gave that invitation sincerely I would refuse it? You know I would not. I would come with all my heart. But--because I know how absurd it is, because I know how you feel, I will not. I am too proud to be your unwelcome guest. Yet I am not too proud to speak to-night. God knows I wish I could kill it in my heart, but I will say it. I love you.”

Diana stretched her hand out involuntarily and rested it against the slender stem of a young pine; she clung to it to feel reality, for the world seemed to be turning around. She never opened her lips and she dared not look at him; she had met that light in his eyes once and dared not raise hers. If she had! But she did not--and he went on.

“It is madness, I know it,” he said bitterly, “and if I could strangle it--as a living thing--I would, but I cannot. I love you and have loved you from the first. It would be mockery indeed to accept your chary invitations. I suppose you think that it is an insult for me to speak to you, but”--he smiled bitterly--“to myself I should seem a little less than a man if I did not. However, I beg your pardon, if it seems an affront.”

Diana tried twice to speak before she could utter a word. Then she seemed to hear her own voice quite calm. “I do not consider it so. I--I am sorry.”

He turned away. “Thank you,” he said abruptly, “I would like to be, at least, your friend.” He added this with a reluctance that told of a bitter struggle with his own pride.

Diana held out her hand with a gesture as sweet as it was involuntary. “You are,” she said, quite simply. “Mr. Trench, I--I take it as an honor.”

He held her hand, looking at her with an amazement that made her blush deeply. She felt her emotion stifling her, tears were rushing to her eyes. How dreadful it was for him to force her into this position. They were as widely sundered as the poles, and yet she no sooner met his eyes than she wavered and began to yield; she snatched her hand away.

“Thank you a thousand times for saying that!” he murmured.

She fled; she was half-way up the path; the sunshine and the breeze swept down from Angel Pass. She was conscious of him still standing there and turned and looked back. “Good-bye!” she called softly over her shoulder, and was gone.

XVII

IT was in the heat of midsummer that Judge Hollis walked into Caleb’s inner office.

“Caleb,” he said, “I’m hanged if I haven’t changed the color of my coat and come to your opinion. After this I’m for Yarnall.”

Caleb smiled, leaning back wearily in his chair and glancing unconsciously at Sammy, the innocent cause of much scandal in Eshcol, who lay asleep beside Shot on the floor, his chubby arms around the dog’s neck.

The smoke of the two great conventions was still in the air. Two weeks before the Republicans had peacefully and hopelessly nominated Peter Mahan for Governor, and the Democrats, after a deadlock and a disgraceful collapse of the opposition, had nominated Aylett. Every politician in the State knew that it had cost the Eaton faction nearly two hundred thousand dollars. There had been a storm of indignation, and Yarnall had come back and put his case in the hands of the Republican lawyer, Caleb Trench! The indignation and chagrin of the older Democratic lawyers added nothing to the beauty of the situation, but Caleb had grasped it silently and was dealing with it. In ten days he had forced the Grand Jury to indict both Aylett and Eaton, along with half a dozen of their lieutenants, and the hour of the great trial was approaching. Feeling ran so high that there were threats on both sides, and it was a common saying that men went armed.

The judge banged his broad-brimmed Panama down on the table. “Caleb,” he said grimly, “how much more packing is there to come out of this?”

This time Trench laughed. “Not a great deal, Judge,” he replied easily, “I’ve got most of it out. We’re going to prove both our cases against Aylett and Eaton. Aylett’s used more money, but Eaton has intimidated. The convention was packed. They threw in Eaton as a third candidate to split Yarnall’s strength; they knew all the investors in his get-rich-quick schemes would follow him, and they’d been warned to do it. I’ve got the evidence. Of course, when Yarnall got them deadlocked, even with that break in his strength, Eaton withdrew and, throwing all his votes suddenly to Aylett, nominated him on the fifth ballot.”

The judge scowled at him from under his heavy brows. “What’s this about the Todd test case?” he growled.

“Aaron Todd got hold of one of the delegates and found out that he’d been offered a bribe by Eaton. Todd suggested to him to take it and get the matter witnessed; it was done and will be used in court.”

“Damned shabby!” said the judge.

Caleb smiled. “I call it a harder name, Judge,” he said simply. “I shan’t use it, but, after all, I’m only the junior counsel.”

The old man looked at him over his spectacles. “I understand that Yarnall has picked you out as a kind of red flag to the bull, and means to wave you in Eaton’s face.”

“So he does, I fancy,” said Trench, “but we’re going to call Judge Hollis.”

The judge stared; a dull red crept up to his hair. He had felt the slight when Caleb was chosen, and he suspected that the younger man knew it. Yet the temptation to be in the thick of the fray was like the taste of fine wine in the mouth of the thirsty. “By gum, sir,” he said, “I don’t believe I’ll do it.”

“Yes, you will,” said Trench decisively, “we need you. Besides, Mr. Yarnall has written a formal request to you: we want influential men on our side. We’ve got a clear case, but we want the people to understand that we’re not demagogues. And”--Trench suddenly used all his persuasive powers, which were great--“Judge, I lack your experience.”

It was a touch of modesty that went to the judge’s heart. He took Diana’s chair--Caleb always called it that in his heart--and they fell to discussing the situation and the most salient points in the case, for it had divided the State and it would affect the election of the United States Senator later.

Meanwhile, Sammy slept, with his yellow curls mingling with Shot’s yellow hair; they were boon companions and no one troubled the child. Once or twice Zeb Bartlett had come, bent on making trouble, but he had been sent away. Sammy found his new home wholly desirable; Aunt Charity was even growing fond of him, and Dr. Cheyney brought him toys. But between Caleb and himself there was a complete understanding; the child followed him about as patiently as did Shot, and as unquestioningly. In some mysterious way he had grasped the meaning of his adoption, and he understood the silent, preoccupied man as well as the dog did. With both it was an instinct that recognized kindness and protection. Left to amuse himself from babyhood, Sammy made little trouble. He would lie on his stomach by the hour working a toy train of cars to and fro in one spot, and he had destroyed only one brief which had been left within his reach.

Judge Hollis talked for over an hour, going over the case which was to come up before Judge Ladd in ten days. He saw that Trench had prepared every inch of it, and that he was chiefly wanted as a notable figurehead, yet he was nothing loath to be the figurehead. When he had fully grasped the evidence, and saw before him one of the biggest cases on record in the State courts, he threw back his head like an old war-horse snuffing the battle afar.

“By the Lord Harry!” he said, slapping his knee, “we’ll whip them to kingdom come, Caleb, and shear the sheep at that!” Then his eye suddenly lighted on the sleeping child, and his shaggy brows dropped; he stooped over and looked at him, thrusting out his underlip. “Caleb,” he said, “send that brat to St. Vincent’s.”

Caleb, who was making notes, looked up. “Why?” he asked dryly.

The judge growled. “You’re a tarnation fool!” he replied. “I’m not asking whose child he is! What I say is--send him packing.”

Caleb turned and glanced at the child, and the judge, watching him, was astonished at the softening of his face. “Poor little devil,” he said quietly, “I fancy he’ll stay as long as I do, Judge Hollis. I’ve had no home, I’ve been in desperate straits, now I’ve got this roof. That dog was a stray, so is the child--they’re welcome.”

The judge was silent for a long while. Then he drew a pattern on the floor with his cane. “Caleb,” he said, more kindly, “that kid has raised Cain for you. Jinny Eaton is blowing the news to the four winds of heaven, and everybody believes it. You might as well hang an albatross around your neck. If you’re not the child’s father--by gum, sir, you might as well be!”