CHAPTER XIV

When Glenning reached the highway he did not go towards town, but turned in the opposite direction. He had a wild craving for solitude. He wanted to be away from everyone, to be alone in the night with his thoughts. These were not pleasant. His reception by Julia had been more severe than he had even anticipated. He did not believe that her conduct towards him reflected her true feelings, but how was he to know! She had been an iceberg that night; she had assumed a role of which he had not deemed her capable. That low-browed man in the lonely house was responsible. Would he win after all? Had his poisoned lies really done their work, and robbed him of the one perfect thing which he had grown to love with a fierce intensity? He stopped short, and was tempted to go back, and demand an explanation. Should he permit himself to be discouraged thus easily; should he lose her for no other reason than that she had been cold and proud to him? He could not go back tonight. Her heart was hardened against him, of that he was sure. He would let a few days pass and try again, and if she sent him away that would be the end. He resumed his swift walking, on and on, up hill and down, unconscious of any fatigue. He met no one. When he finally came to a halt on a small bridge he realized that his surroundings were unfamiliar, and that he was several miles from town. He was in no hurry to return. He filled his pipe and fell to smoking, watching the starlight dimpling on the ripples of the tiny stream which flowed under the bridge. In some moods this would have soothed him, but tonight it served as an irritant. He was at war with himself, and the gentle harmonies of Nature fretted by their very peace. He would have welcomed a storm. He would have been glad had the rain come driving its tiny fists in his face; had the vivid lightning staggered athwart the sky; had thunderbolts shivered the earth about him; had the demons of storm torn at the writhing trees. These things would have brought relief. He was keyed for strife, and the musical water, the calm starlight and the soft warm breeze maddened him. He pocketed his pipe with a gesture of annoyance and swung about in his tracks. A long walk lay before him, and he was glad. But action failed to bring relief. As he passed the Dudley home his breast was surging with unconquerable feelings. He felt that he was capable in that hour of leading a forlorn hope in battle. It was near midnight when he reached the edge of town. Presently he overtook a pedestrian, but he passed him without a sidelong glance. Further on he passed another. At a bisecting street he saw a group, and as he went by them he noticed that they wore masks. His mind took a revolution and came back to the topic of the day. What did these sinister preparations mean in the dead of night? Had Goodloe died? Were these his avengers? Mob law was no new thing in Kentucky. Were these men massing to wreak a summary and swift vengeance upon the marshal's slayer? A sudden idea struck Glenning, and with it a species of wild joy. He turned up his coat collar, drew his hat over his eyes, and hurried on. He passed other men, all masked, but no one spoke to him or tried to intercept him. Directly he broke into a run, and in a few moments was at the jail, and thundering on the panels of the door with his fist. The jailer must have been up, for he answered the summons at once, fully dressed. Evidently he expected trouble, for he was pale with fright, which he made no effort to hide, and he was trembling.

"Quick!" said Glenning. "They're coming! Arm yourself!"

The man stood shaking in the doorway, but did not answer. John grasped him by the shoulder, and spoke again.

"Don't you hear? They're coming for your prisoner to hang him! Protect him! Get your pistol and guard the jail!"

"Who?--What?" stammered the terrified man.

"The mob! I've seen them gathering! You've no time to lose!"

"I'll give 'em the keys if they ask me for 'em!" exclaimed the jailer. "They'd shoot me if I didn't!"

"You're sworn to duty!" expostulated John. "Don't let them murder this fellow. Has Goodloe died?"

"I don't know--but they can have the keys!"

He drew them from his pocket and jangled them in his hand, a pitiful object.

"Listen!" whispered Glenning. "They're coming. Hear their feet? Give me your keys! Bring me your pistols--quick!"

He took the bunch of heavy keys from the unresisting fingers, and the jailer hastened indoors. He was back in a moment with a brace of revolvers which he held out eagerly.

"Here they are!" he managed to say. "Keep 'em off, doc, if you can!"

"Go hide in the cellar, if you have one!" returned John, contemptuously, and walked to the iron-barred door set in a stone wall, which gave entrance to the main passage of the jail.

In front of this door was a small, elevated platform, not over six feet square. Above the door a lamp burned in an iron sconce set in the masonry. This was placed there for convenience in housing prisoners at all hours. John looked at the lamp a moment in doubt, then walked to it and turned the wick higher, so that the low flame sprang up and illuminated the platform upon which he stood, as well as the ground in front for several yards. As he faced about a reckless, devil-may-care smile was on his lips. At one side lay a goods-box, some three feet tall. John stooped and dragged it to the platform, and stood it on end in front of him. His purpose was not to form a shield, for the frail pine of which it was made could not have withstood a bullet, and it came scarcely to his waist, leaving exposed all vital parts. Glenning quietly dropped the keys in the long grass at the edge of the platform, took off his hat and placed it to one side, then lay his two revolvers upon the top of the box, gently rested his hand upon the butt of each, and waited. The revolvers were of forty-eight calibre, and brightly nickeled. They caught the gleam from the lamp, and shone suggestively. The jailer had disappeared. John had heard him locking and barricading his door. In all probability he had deserted the place by some rear exit.

The faint sound of many moving feet which had been audible a few minutes before had grown into a pronounced tread. As John stood and listened to this portentous advance, his heart did not quicken a beat. Indeed, he had grown calmer. The fever of unrest which had been tearing at him was departed now. Here was that danger for which he had vaguely hoped--here, before his face. Something like a hundred men came to a halt before the jail door, and at a respectful distance from the platform where a tall, bareheaded man stood, almost in a careless attitude. The mob was masked; there was not a face visible.

"Out with the keys, Bill!" jeered a man in the rear; "we mean business!"

The speaker had mistaken John for the jailer.

"Bill--hell!" growled another, nearer the front. "That's the new doc, but whut the damn fool's doin' here I don't know!"

Glenning had not said a word, nor had he shifted his position. But his most searching scrutiny had failed to reveal the presence of a single weapon among the besiegers.

"On! On!" cried some one in the rear. "Ain't there enough of us to 'tend to that feller?"

They began pushing, and the mob surged closer. Those nearest the platform were within a dozen feet of the solitary watcher now, but there was no menace in their attitude. Glenning had been sharply viewing the _personnel_ of this mass of men, and from apparel, bearing, and general appearance he judged most of them to be of the rougher element. The three or four in front, who were evidently the leaders, may have been gentlemen. It was to these Glenning now spoke.

"Good evening," he said, pleasantly, "Perhaps I know you and perhaps I don't, for you have seen fit to hide your faces. You have come after Hank."

His accents were deliberate, and he appeared as much at ease as if he were chatting with friends in his own home. His last sentence was not a question, but a declaration.

"Yes, we've come after Hank 'n' we're goin' to git 'im!" came a rough voice from one side.

A leader turned.

"Keep still, will you?" Then to Glenning. "May I ask by what authority you take your place there with two loaded pistols? Are you a sworn deputy, or officer of any sort?"

"I am not, as you well know, and I have no authority, other than a strong feeling for fair play. May I, in turn, ask by what authority you come at dead of night to defy the laws of your State, and seek to place a crime upon your soul?"

"We have the law of might, and that's enough. Stand aside now, or take the consequences!"

The man was deeply in earnest.

"Had it not struck you that you were talking to the wrong man?" asked Glenning. "Do you want to enter this place? Then the jailer is the man you want to see. What's the use of battering these doors down and arousing the town when you _might_ get the keys from him, and _maybe_ get in quietly? You need some one to lead you, men. What good is it to stand dickering with me? Rouse the jailer! He's the man you want to deal with!"

Before the words had left his mouth three or four shadowy forms had detached themselves from the group and run to the front door of the jailer's residence, which connected with the prison proper, only a wall intervening. They thumped, and pounded, and called, forgetting caution in their untrained zeal. They gained no response, and, fearing to force an entrance there, returned to their friends, baffled.

"Knock 'im down! Git 'im out o' the way!" The cries came again from the rear.

"You've told Bill we were coming," said the man who had formerly spoken, "and he's run off, or hidden. We can't waste time. Stand down! We are armed, and you will suffer if you resist!"

"Wouldn't you rather have the keys?" asked John, simply, "than to run the risk of bringing the citizens who love order about your ears? You can't force that door without dynamite."

"How can we get the keys when we can't get Bill?" demanded the spokesman, led on to conversation in spite of his haste by the apparently ingenuous frankness of the man before him.

"Bill gave them to me," answered John, naturally, "not ten minutes ago."

"Then you have them? Pass them over, please, at once, or we shall be compelled to take them from you by force."

"I haven't them now."

"You're fooling with us!" retorted the man, angrily. "For the last time, get out of the way!"

"I'm not fooling you! I had the keys in my hand, but I have lost them. They are not on my person."

"To hell wid you 'n' de keys bofe!" exclaimed a burly form standing well back in the shadows, and with that it made a rush. The figure was to one side; there was no one else in line. Swiftly John raised the revolver in his right hand, and fired low. His wish was only to cripple, and he succeeded. The man dropped with a howl of pain and fright, and his mask fell off, revealing the face of a brutal looking negro. He sat up and nursed his shattered knee, and mouthed curses.

"Shame on you, men of Macon!" cried Glenning, standing erect and pale under the flickering light of the iron sconce. "Do you bring such a thing as _that_ with you to hang a white man, however low?"

"Nobody told 'im to come!" called a voice. "He hooked on!"

"Listen to me a minute, men!" resumed Glenning, speaking very earnestly, "Most of you don't realize what you want to do tonight. You've come out to commit murder. Do you know that--murder! Every man among you would be guilty of that crime did you break into this jail and drag out the fellow you are after and string him to a limb. What good would it do? I know what the Bible says--'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth' and 'Whosoever sheddeth man's blood by man shall his blood be shed.' But let the law do it, men. If you do this thing you will be as lawless and as guilty as that cringing thing back there in its cell. You would deserve his fate! Let us not behave as barbarians. Don't make the records of our State blacker than they are. I'm not here to fight. I know you can overcome me. Accident alone apprised me of what was going forward tonight, and I've come here to try and show you where you're wrong. Don't let tomorrow's papers tell the news to the civilized world that down in Kentucky a mob trespassed the law and hung a prisoner by night! It's been done too often already. We're good people, but our blood runs hot, and we're hasty. We act first, and think after, which is wrong. You haven't thought this thing over. Somebody started it and you fell in with the plan. Go home now, and go to bed, and in the morning you'll thank God that your consciences are clear!"

For a moment there was a tense silence, broken only by the low groans of the suffering negro.

"He shot Dick Goodloe, and he's got to die! Dick was my friend!"

It was the ringleader speaking, dogged and unpersuaded.

John leaned forward suddenly, and looked at the man.

"Is the marshal dead?" he asked.

"He wasn't dead half an hour ago, but he was mighty low," came a voice from the darkness.

"There!" exclaimed John, triumphantly, standing erect. "You have no sort of right to take this man now! You shall not hang him! I'll make a compact with you, gentlemen--fellow citizens! Send at once to the home of Dick Goodloe. If he is dead, I'll find you the keys, and step aside. If he lives, you are to go home and leave this jail unmolested. Do you agree?"

Various voices expressed assent to the plan, and even the ringleader nodded acquiescence, without speaking.

A messenger was accordingly dispatched at once, a youth with nimble legs, who started on a run. During the period of waiting the men were quiet, though some conversed in low tones. No one paid any attention to the wounded negro, who attempted to drag himself away, but found the effort so painful that he gave it up. In a short time the messenger returned with his news. Goodloe was sleeping, and Doctor Kale said that his chances for recovery were better. Instantly the crowd melted as silently as they had come, and soon Glenning found himself alone before the iron-barred door, while there upon the grass before him the negro moaned ceaselessly. There was no resentment in John's heart towards the object his bullet had stricken down. Now he merely saw something in distress which needed his help. He lifted the lamp from its socket and went towards the negro, who tried to shrink away at his approach.

"Be still!" ordered Glenning, and placing the lamp on the ground, he began an examination.

The hurt was not serious. The knee-cap was shattered, but the tough bone had deflected the bullet.

"Where do you live?" asked John, brusquely.

The negro told him, stuttering with fright.

"You belong in there!" returned the doctor, sternly, waving his hand towards the dark mass of stone behind him. "Don't you ever get tangled up in anything like this again. Now you can't walk a step, and won't for some time to come."

He took his handkerchief and bound it about the wounded limb.

"I'll have a wagon here to take you home in a few minutes," he continued, "and I'll come in the morning and dress that knee."

Then, without waiting to hear the profuse thanks and humble apologies which followed, he replaced the lamp, secured the keys and the revolvers, and bent his steps in the direction of Main street. He stopped at the livery stable and gave instructions for removing the negro, then went to his office, tired, victorious, but unsatisfied.

What did it all amount to, he asked himself, wearily, when the love in his soul received no answering affection. Of what account were good deeds, if his own life was empty. His recent thrilling experience faded from his mind, and in its stead the sweetly alluring face of Julia came up before him. She was always with him now; waking, sleeping, reading, or during his professional calls. She had crept into his heart completely, and her coming had been wonderfully charming--unlike that other, which had thrilled him with a painful joy! The other was gone now. He felt that the awful hold had been shaken off at last--if only Julia had not treated him as she did that evening! Such things tend to throw a man back, but his hardly won battle had been too dear an experience for him to waver now. He would be strong, though the future were empty. He was facing the glass door giving onto the landing at the head of the stairway, sitting dejectedly by a small table whereon a lamp was burning. He had thrown off his coat and hat, for the atmosphere indoors was almost stifling. He did not think of seeking rest, for, though tired, he was not sleepy. It seemed to him that his affection for the Major's daughter had grown immeasurably since darkness had fallen. His thoughts had dwelt constantly upon her, and in his heart he had called her many tender names, and had imagined his lips upon her hair, and forehead, and cheeks, and mouth. He dropped his chin to his breast and closed his eyes, his forehead showing deep furrows beneath the straight black locks of overfalling hair. "Julia! Julia!" he said in his mind; "don't treat me this way! I have served you faithfully from the moment my eyes first saw you, and I have loved you almost as long. Believe me, little girl, and let me know that you care for me, that I may speak all that is in my heart. Julia! Julia!" Again and again the single word throbbed through his mind, as though an imperishable record was in his heart, and every beat thereof sent out the message on the current of his blood. _What was that!_ He stopped breathing, but did not open his eyes. He felt that she was near him! All in a moment he knew that the cry of his heart had been answered. He heard steps, light steps, barely audible through the closed door. They came swiftly--tip-tip-tip-tip-tip-tip--up the stair--then silence.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes.

"Good God!" he cried, springing to his feet and overturning the chair in which he sat. Then grasping the small table with both hands he leaned across it and peered at the door, his face graying with each second that passed. She stood there, looking at him, such terror in her eyes that it made him tremble, absolutely fearless though he was. She wore a dark dress, and a dark veil was wound about her head, leaving the white oval of her face, with its terror-haunted eyes. The next moment she had entered the room and shut the door behind her, and was coming towards him like a sweet wraith. Yet he could say nothing. He had yearned for her and called her in his soul, and she was before him now! There were new lines upon his troubled face, for he could not understand. What could it mean? It was past midnight; between one and two o'clock, he knew. She was alone. These were his apartments. He slept in the one where they now stood. She stopped within arm's length, pale and scared, her large eyes burning with the burden of the secret she carried. She spoke first, hurriedly and low. The sound of her voice brought John to his senses.

"Has he come? Has he come?" she asked, in a half whisper, while the interlaced fingers over her breast writhed from the stress of her emotion.

"Dear Miss Julia!" responded Glenning, taking her by the arm, "pray be seated--but no, you _must_ not stay here a moment! I--what is it? What is wrong?"

"Has he been here? Oh, tell me! Has anything happened?"

Glenning got into his coat as he answered.

"I have just come in. I went into the country after leaving you. Who is it? Marston again?"

A sob, half hysterical, struggled from the girl's throat.

"Yes--yes! He will come! He said he would! He's determined to kill you! Oh! I couldn't stand it!"

She put her hands over her eyes, and shivered.

"Who is with you, Miss Julia? You must not remain here another moment. You know walls have ears and eyes, even at this hour of the night. Who came with you?"

"No one; who could come with me? But you! You must not stay here tonight. Perhaps he came and found you were out. He will return, Promise me!"

Before he could answer they heard a sound which each knew; the pounding hoofs of a horse ridden at full speed.

"It is he!" gasped Julia, her face colourless as marble. "It is too late!"

The hard-ridden horse stopped below with a crash and a rattle of small stones.

"Courage!" whispered John, leaning towards the girl. "Trust me; all will be well!"

Turning the lamp low, he quickly bore it into the front office and placed it upon his desk there in a far corner of the room. In an instant he was by her side again and had her hand in his, and even in the peril of that moment he felt her clinging to him, and his heart exulted. The apartment was now in almost total darkness.

"Come!" he whispered, and opening the stair door wide he led her out into the passage, and down it for a dozen feet. Here not a ray of light came, but he placed her behind him, holding her hand all the while in a close grasp. There was a heavy step below--a stumble--a muttered curse.

"He has nerved himself with whiskey!" was the low message Glenning sent over his shoulder, "Be perfectly quiet; there is nothing to fear."

Slowly a heavy form ascended the stair, feeling its way along the wall, and halting now and then. A head and shoulders were dimly outlined, then the figure of Devil Marston stood in the open doorway. He waited a moment to steady himself, then entered. Glenning leaned forward to listen. The invader made no efforts to soften his movements, and presently John knew he had entered the front office. Then he placed his arm around the slight form by his side and gently drew her forward. Almost carrying her, they glided down the stair like shadows, then John took her arm in his, and they hurried along the deserted streets. Not a word was spoken until they had almost reached the Dudley home.

"Why did you do this?" asked John, an almost overpowering desire to clasp her in his arms assailing him as he felt her leaning heavily upon him, and thought of the significance of it all.

"There was no one else," she murmured, and sighed as she became conscious of the nearness of home.

"Tell me about it," he said, and he knew that she drew closer to him in the starlight.

"It was awful!" she replied. "I thought it would kill me. It was near ten o'clock. Father was asleep, and I slipped out into the yard to be alone, and enjoy the night. I had strolled down the avenue to the gate, and was standing there when he passed, going towards his home. I wore a white dress, and he saw me. He pulled up his horse, and without warning told me that he was going to square accounts with you that night, and get you out of his way. Then he laughed and rode on. I thought he was crazy. I went back to the house and tried to forget it, but I could not sleep. I knew he was capable of anything. There was no one to send--Peter would not have done. So I came."

They had entered the avenue. The segment of a late moon was pushing its way through some ragged clouds above the eastern horizon.

"_Why_ did you come?" repeated John.

They had reached the portico before she answered.

"To save you from him," she said, standing upon the step, so that her face was almost on a level with his own.

"But why?--_why?_ What motive caused you to jeopardize your good name, to place yourself in a position which would compromise you forever were it known. Was it friendship alone?"

"I cannot tell you!"

"You can--you must!"

His face was almost fierce in the wan light, and his eyes were glowing.

"Not now; not yet."

There was a note of sadness in her voice, and her eyes fell.

Glenning took her hand, and came closer to her.

"Little girl, I _must_ know!"

She looked up, and her brave, truthful eyes met his squarely.

"There is yet something in the way," she said, smiling as through pain, "before you may--"

"What is it?" he broke in, eagerly. "Speak!"

"Jericho!"

Then she was gone, and he was alone with the memory of the past.