Will N. Harben - Westerfelt

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He was about to reply, but there was a sound of barking dogs from the
mountain. "Go quick!" She caught her breath. "Don't wait! That may
be them now. Don't let them kill you."

He did not stir. "You'd better go home," he said, calmly. "I don't
care a straw what becomes of me. I've had enough of the whole
business. I have got as much right to live as anybody else, and I will
not be driven from pillar to post by a gang of outlaws, headed by a
coward." He drew a revolver, and, half cocking it, carelessly twirled
the cylinder with his thumb. "I've got five thirty-two-caliber shots
here, and I think I can put some of them where they ought to go."

She pushed the revolver down with her hand. "No, no!" she cried, "you
must not be reckless."

"I am a pretty good shot," he went on, bitterly, "and Toot Wambush
shall be my first target, if I can pick him out. Then the rest may do
what they like with me. You go home. It will do you no good to be
seen with me."

She caught his arm. "If you don't go, I'll stay right here with you.
Hush! Listen! What was--? Great Heavens, they are coming. Go! Go!"

She glided swiftly to the door, and he followed her. Coming along the
Hawkbill road, about an eighth of a mile distant, they saw a body of
horsemen, their heads and shoulders dressed in white. His revolver
slipped from his fingers and rang on a fallen anvil. He picked it up
mechanically, still staring into the moonlight. Again he wondered if
he were afraid, as he was that night at the hotel.

"Run! get out a horse," she cried. "Mr. Washburn is there; he will
help you! Go quick, for God's sake! I shall kill myself if they harm
you." He stared at her an instant, then he put his revolver into his
belt.

"All right, then, to oblige you; but you must hurry home!" He hastened
across the street and rapped on the office door.

"Who's thar?" called out Washburn from his bed.

"Me--Westerfelt."

There was a sound of bare feet on the floor inside and the door opened.

"What's up?" asked Washburn, sleepily.

"I want my horse; there's a gang of Whitecaps coming down the Hawkbill,
and it looks like they are after me."

"My God!" Washburn began fumbling along the wall. "Where's the
matches? Here's one!" He scratched it and lighted his lantern. "I'll
git yore hoss. Stand heer, Mr. Westerfelt, an' ef I ain't quick enough
make a dash on foot fer that strip o' woods over thar in the field.
The fences would keep 'em from followin', an' you might dodge 'em."

When Washburn had gone into the stable, Westerfelt looked towards
Harriet. She had walked only a few yards down the street and stood
under the trees. He stepped out into the moonlight and signalled her
to go on, but she refused to move. He heard Washburn swearing inside
the stable, and asked what the matter was.

"I've got the bridles all tangled to hell," he answered.

"Hurry; anything will do!"

The Whitecaps had left the mountain-side and were now in sight on the
level road. A minute more and Westerfelt would be a captive. He might
get across the street unnoticed and hide himself in the blacksmith's
shop, but they would be sure to look for him there. If he tried to go
through the fields they would see him and shoot him down like a rabbit.

"Heer you are; which door, back or front?" cried Washburn.

"Front, quick! I've got to run for it! I'm a good mind to stand and
make a fight of it."

"Oh no; hell, no! Mr. Westerfelt."

Washburn slid the big door open and kicked the horse in the stomach as
he led him out.

"Git up, quick! They are at the branch. Blast it, they heerd the
door--they've broke into a gallop!"

As Westerfelt put his foot into the stirrup he saw Harriet Floyd glide
out of sight into the blacksmith's shop. She had determined not to
desert him. As he sprang up, the girth snapped, and the saddle and
blanket fell under his feet.

"God, they are on us!" gasped Washburn. One of the gang raised a
shout, and they came on with increased speed.

"Up! Up!" cried Washburn, kicking the saddle out of his way. "Quick!
What's the matter?" Westerfelt felt a twinge in his old wound as he
tried to mount. Washburn caught one of his legs and lifted him on his
horse.

Westerfelt spurred the horse furiously, but the animal plunged,
stumbled, and came to his knees--the bridle-rein had caught his foot.
The foremost of the gang was now within twenty yards of him.

"Halt thar!" he yelled.

Westerfelt drew his horse up and continued to lash him with his
bridle-rein.

"Shoot his hoss, but don't tetch him!" was the next command.

Several revolvers went off. Westerfelt's horse swayed at the rump and
then ran sideways across the street and fell against a rail fence.
Westerfelt alighted on his feet. He turned and drew his revolver, but
just then his horse rolled over against his legs and knocked the weapon
from his hand. It struck the belly of the horse and bounded into the
middle of the street.

"Ha, we've got ye!" jeered the leader, as he and two or three others
covered Westerfelt with their revolvers.

Chapter XIII

The gang formed a semi-circle round Westerfelt and his horse. In their
white caps and sheets they appeared ghostly and hideous, as they looked
down at him through the eye-holes of their masks. One of them held a
coil of new rope and tantalizingly swung it back and forth before his
face.

"You must go with us up the Hawkbill fer a little moonlight picnic," he
jeered. "We've picked out a tree up thar that leans spank over a cliff
five hundred feet from the bottom. Ef the rope broke, ur yore noggin
slipped through the noose, you'd never know how come you so."

"He's got to have some'n to ride," suggested another muffled voice; "we
have done his horse up."

"Well, he's got a-plenty, an' he won't need 'em atter our ja'nt,"
jested the man with the rope. "You uns back thar, that hain't doin'
nothin' but lookin' purty, go in the stable and trot out some'n fer 'im
to ride; doggoned ef I want 'im straddled behind me. His ha'nt 'ud
ride with me every time I passed over the Hawkbill."

"Bill Washburn's in thar," said a man in the edge of the crowd. "I
seed 'im run in as we rid up."

The leader, who sat on a restive horse near Westerfelt, called out:

"Hello in thar, Bill Washburn; git out some'n to put yore man on.
Hurry up, ur we'll take you along to see the fun."

Washburn opened the office door and came out slowly.

"What do _you_ say, Mr. Westerfelt? It's yore property. I won't move
a peg agin the man that I work fer ef eve'y dam Whitecap in Christendom
orders it."

"Care_ful_, care_ful_, young man; none o' your lip!" said the leader,
half admiringly.

"Give 'em the lot!" It was the first time Westerfelt had spoken.

Washburn made no reply, but went slowly back into the stable.

Westerfelt's dying horse raised his head and groaned. A man near the
animal dismounted and drew his revolver.

"What d' you say?" said he to Westerfelt. "Hadn't I better put 'im out
o' his misery?"

"I'd be much obliged if you would." Westerfelt turned his face away.
There was a moment's pause. The man waited for the horse's head to
become still. Then he fired.

"Thanks," said Westerfelt. He looked round at the crowd, wondering
which of the men could be Toot Wambush. He had an idea that he had not
yet spoken, and was not among those nearest to him. Through the open
door he could see Washburn's lantern moving about in the stable.

"Hurry up in thar," cried a tall figure. "Do you think we're gwine
to--" He began to cough.

"How do you like to chaw cotton, Number Six?" a man near him asked.

"The blamed lint gits down my throat," was the reply. "I'd ruther be
knowed by my voice'n to choke to death on sech truck."

From far and near on all sides came the dismal barking of dogs, but the
villagers, if they suspected what was being enacted, dared not show
their faces. Washburn led a horse through the crowd and gave the
bridle to Westerfelt. He hesitated, as if about to speak, and then
silently withdrew. Westerfelt mounted. The leader gave the order, and
the gang moved back towards the mountain. Two horsemen went before
Westerfelt and two fell behind. As they passed the shop, dimly he saw
the form of a woman lying on the ground just out of the moonlight that
fell in at the door. Harriet had swooned. When they had gone past the
shop, Westerfelt reined in his horse and called over his shoulder to
Washburn, who stood in front of the stable. He would not leave her
lying there if he could help it, and yet he did not want Wambush to
know she had warned him. The gang stopped, and Washburn came to them.

"Any directions you want to give?" he asked of Westerfelt.

"I saw you looking for the account-book," answered Westerfelt, staring
significantly into his eyes. "I was in the blacksmith's shop to-day
and left it on the forge."

Washburn stared blankly at him for an instant, then he said, slowly,
"All right."

"You'd better get it to-night," added Westerfelt.

"All right, sir. I'll attend to everything."

"Cool as a cucumber," laughed a man. "Next thing you know he'll give
orders 'bout whar he wants to be buried, an' what to have cut on his
grave-rock."

The whole gang laughed at this witticism, and started on again. When
they had gone about a hundred yards Westerfelt glanced back. He saw
Washburn cross the road and enter the blacksmith's shop, and the next
instant the shop was hidden by a sudden turn in the road. They passed
the meeting-house and began to ascend the mountain. Here and there
along the dark range shone the red fires of chestnut harvesters. The
blue smoke hung among the pines, and the air was filled with the odor
of burning leaves. They passed a camp--a white-covered wagon, filled
with bags of chestnuts, two mules tethered to saplings, and three or
four forms in dusky blankets lying round a log fire. As the weird
procession passed, the mules drew back on their halters and threw their
ears forward, but the bodies at the fire did not stir.

In about twenty minutes the band reached a plateau covered with a
matting of heather. They went across it to the edge of a high
precipice. It was as perpendicular as a wall. Below lay the valley,
its forests of pines and cedars looking like a black lake in the clear
moonlight.

"Git down, men, an' let's 'tend to business an' go back home,"
commanded the leader. "I have a hankerin' atter a hot breakfast."

Everybody alighted except Westerfelt. The leader touched him with his
whip. "Will you git down, or do you want to be drug off like a saddle?"

"May I ask what you intend to do with me?" asked Westerfelt,
indifferently.

The leader laughed. "Put some turkey red calico stripes on that broad
back o' yorn, an' rub in some salt and pepper to cuore it up. We are
a-gwine to l'arn you that new settlers cayn't run this community an'
coolly turn the bluecoats agin us mount'in folks."

Westerfelt looked down on the masks upturned to him. Only one of the
band showed a revolver. Westerfelt believed him to be Toot Wambush.
He had not spoken a word, but was one of the two that had ridden close
behind him up the mountain. One of the white figures unstrapped a
pillow from the back part of his saddle. He held it between his knees
and gashed it with a knife.

"By hunkey! they're white uns," he grunted, as he took out a handful.
"I 'lowed they wus mixed; ef my ole woman knowed I'd tuck a poke uv 'er
best goose feathers ter dab on a man she'd get a divorce."

Two or three laughed behind their masks. Another laugh went round as a
short figure returned from the bushes with a bucket of tar which had
been left near the road-side.

"Heer's yore gumstickum." He dipped a paddle in it and flourished it
before Westerfelt, who was still on his horse. "Say, mister, you don't
seem inclined to say anything fer yorese'f; the last man we dressed out
fer his weddin' begged like a whipped child, an' made no end o'
promises uv good behavior."

Westerfelt got down from his horse. "I'm completely in your power," he
replied. "I won't beg any man nor gang of men living to give me my
rights. I suppose I am accused of having reported those fellows to the
revenue men. I have simply to say that it is a lie!"

"Uh, uh!" said the leader; "_care_ful! _care_ful! Don't be reckless.
We uns ain't the lyin' sort."

"I say it's a lie!" Westerfelt stared straight into the mask of Toot
Wambush. The wearer of it started and half raised his revolver, but
quickly concealed it under the sheet that hung below his waist.
Everybody was silent, as if they expected a reply from Wambush, but he
made none.

"Them pore Cohutta men lyin' in the Atlanta jail said so, anyway,"
returned the leader. "They ain't heer to speak fer the'rse'ves; it's a
easy thing to give them the lie behind the'r backs."

"They were mistaken, that's all," said Westerfelt. "Nobody but the
revenue men themselves could tell the whole truth about it. I did pass
the wagon--"

"An' eavedropped on our two men. Oh, we know you did, kase they heerd
a sound, an' then as you didn't come for'ard, they 'lowed they had made
a mistake, but when you finally did pass they knowed it wus you, an'
that you'd been listenin'."

"That's the truth," admitted Westerfelt. "I had been warned that it
would be dangerous for me to go about in the mountains alone. I heard
the men talking, and stopped to find out who they were. I did not want
to run into an ambush. As soon as I found out who they were I spoke to
them and passed."

"At the stable, though, young man," reminded the leader--"at the
stable, when the bluecoats fetched the prisoners an' the plunder in,
they told you that they'd found them right whar you said they wus."

"You bet he did. What's the use a-jabberin' any longer?" The voice
was unmistakably Wambush's, and his angry tones seemed to fire the
impatience of the others. Westerfelt started to speak, but his words
were drowned in a tumult of voices.

"Go ahead!" cried several.

"Go ahead! Are you gwine to hold a court an' try 'im by law?" asked
Wambush, hotly. "I 'lowed that point was done settled."

Westerfelt calmly folded his arms. "I've no more to say. I see I'm
not going to be heard. You are a gang of cold-blooded murderers."

The words seemed to anger the leader.

"Shuck off that coat an' shirt!" was his order.

Westerfelt did not move. "I'm glad to say I'm not afraid of you," he
said. "If you have got human hearts in you, though, you'll kill me,
and not let me live after the degradation you are going to inflict. I
know who's led you to this. It is a cowardly dog who never had a thing
against me till I refused to let him have credit at my stable, when he
owes an account that's been running for two years. He tried to kill me
with a pistol and a knife when I was unarmed. He failed, and had to
get you to help him. You are not a bit better than he is. I'm no
coward. I've got fighting blood in me. Some of you'd acknowledge it
if I was to tell you who my father was. I have reason to believe there
are men here to-night who fought side by side with him in the war, and
were with him when he was shot down tryin' to hold up the flag at the
battle of Chickamauga. One of the dirty cowards he once carried off
the field when the whelp could hardly walk with a bullet in his leg!"

"What company wus that?" came from the edge of the crowd. The voice
was quivering.

"Forty-second Georgia."

For a moment no one spoke, then the same voice asked:

"Who wus your pa, young man?"

"Captain Alfred Stone Westerfelt, under Colonel Mills."

The tall slender figure of the questioner leaned forward breathlessly
and then pushed into the ring. Without a word he stood near
Westerfelt, unpinned the sheet that was round him, and slowly took off
his mask. Then he put a long forefinger into his mouth, pried a wad of
cotton out of each cheek, and threw them on the ground.

It was old Jim Hunter. He cleared his throat, spat twice, wiped his
mouth with his hand, and slowly swept the circle with his eyes.

"I'm the feller he toted out," he said. He cleared his throat again,
and went on:

"Boys, if thar's to be any whippin', ur tarrin' an' featherin' in this
case, I'm agin it tooth an' toe-nail. Cap Westerfelt's boy sha'n't
have a hair o' his head fetched on sech flimsy evi_dence_ as we've had
while I'm alive. You kin think what you please o' me. I've got too
much faith in the Westerfelt stock to believe that a branch of it 'u'd
spy ur sneak. This is Jim Hunter a-talkin'."

Two others pushed forward, taking off their sheets and masks. They
were Joe Longfield and Weston Burks.

"We are t'other two," said Longfield, dryly. "The Yanks killed off too
blame many o' that breed o' men fer us to begin to abuse one at this
late day. Ef Westerfelt's harmed, it will be over my dead body, an' I
bet I'm as hard to kill as a eel."

"Joe's a-talkin' fer me," said Burks, simply, and he put his hand on
his revolver.

"We've been too hasty," began Jim Hunter again. "We've 'lowed Toot to
inflame our minds agin this man, an' now I'll bet my hat he's innocent.
I'd resk a hoss on it."

"Thar's a gal in it, I'm a-thinkin'," opined Weston Burks, dryly.

"Men," cried the leader, "thar's a serious disagreement; we've always
listened to Jim Hunter; what must we do about the matter under dispute?"

"Send the man back to town," cried a voice in the edge of the crowd.
"He's the right sort to the marrow; I'll give 'im my paw an' wish 'im
well."

"That's the ticket!" chimed in the man with the rope, as he tossed it
over the horn of his saddle.

"I 'low myself we've been a leetle bit hasty," admitted the leader.

"Put down that gun! Drap it!" cried Jim Hunter, turning suddenly on
Toot Wambush. "Ef you dare to cock a gun in this crowd, you'll never
live to hear it bang!"

Wambush started to raise his revolver again, but Hunter knocked it from
his hand. Wambush stooped to pick it up, but the old man kicked it out
of his reach.

"You don't work that trick on this party," he said, hotly.

"I wasn't tryin' to draw it," muttered Wambush.

"You lie!" Then Hunter turned to the leader: "What d'ye think ortter
be done with a man like that? Ef I hadn't a-been so quick he'd a shot
Westerfelt, an' before the law we'd all a-been accomplices in murderin'
a innocent man."

"I move we give the whelp six hours to git out'n the county," said Joe
Longfield. "You all know I've been agin Toot."

"That would be too merciful," said Burks.

"Boys," the leader cried, "Wambush has broke a rule in tryin' this
thing on us. You've heerd the motion; is thar a second?"

"I second it," said Jim Hunter.

"It's been moved and seconded that Wambush be 'lowed six hours to git
clean out o' the county; all in favor say yes."

There was almost a general roar.

"All opposed say no."

No one spoke for a moment, then Wambush muttered something, but no one
understood what it was. He turned his horse round and started to
mount. He had his left foot in the stirrup, and had grasped the mane
of the animal with his right hand, when the leader yelled:

"Hold on thar! Not so quick, sonny. We don't let nobody as sneakin'
as you are ride off with a gun in his hip pocket. S'arch 'im, boys;
he's jest the sort to fire back on us an' make a dash fer it."

Hunter and Burks closed in on him. Wambush drew back and put his hand
behind him.

"Damn you! don't you touch me!" he threatened.

The two men sprang at him like tigers and grasped his arms. Wambush
struggled and kicked, but they held him.

"Wait thar a minute," cried the leader; "he don't know when to let well
enough alone. You white sperits out thar with the tar an' feathers
come for'ard. Wambush ain't satisfied with the garb he's got on."

A general laugh went round. With an oath Wambush threw his revolver on
the ground and then his knife. This done, Hunter and Burks allowed him
to mount.

"Don't let him go yet," commanded the leader; "look in his saddle-bags."

Wambush's horse suddenly snorted, kicked up his heels, and tried to
plunge forward, but Burks clung to the reins and held him.

"He dug his spur into his hoss on this side like thunder," said a man
in the crowd. "It's a wonder he didn't rip 'im open."

"S'arch them bags," ordered the leader, "an' ef he makes anuther budge
before it's done, or opens his mouth fer a whisper, drag 'im right down
an' give 'im 'is deserts."

Wambush offered no further resistance. Hunter fumbled in the bags. He
held up a quart flask of corn whiskey over his head, shook it in the
moonlight, and then restored it. "I hain't the heart to deprive 'im of
that," he said, as he walked round the horse; "he won't find any better
in his travels." On the other side he found a forty-four-caliber
revolver.

"That 'u'd be a ugly customer to meet on a dark road," he said, holding
it up for the others to see. "By hunky! it 'u'd dig a tunnel through a
rock mountain. Say, Westerfelt, ef he'd 'a' got a whack at yer with
this yore fragments 'u'd never a-come together on the day o' jedgment."

Westerfelt made no reply.

"Now, let 'im go," said the leader. "Ef he dares to be seed anywhar in
the Cohutta section six hours frum now he knows what will come uv 'im.
We refuse to shelter 'im any longer, an' the officers of the law will
take 'im in tow."

The ring of men and horses opened for Wambush to pass out. He said
nothing, and did not turn his head as he rode down the mountain into
the mysterious haze that hung over the valley.

"What do you say, boys?" proposed Jim Hunter to Longfield and Burks.
"Let's ride down the road a piece with Westerfelt."

"All right," both of them said. There was a general scramble of the
band to get mounted. Westerfelt got on his horse and started back
towards the village, accompanied by the three men. When they had
ridden about a hundred yards, Westerfelt said:

"I'm taking you out of your way, gentlemen, and I think I'd rather go
alone."

"Well, all right," said Hunter; "but you've got to take my gun. That
whelp would resk his salvation to get even with you."

"I know it," said Westerfelt, putting the revolver into his pocket;
"but he'll not try it to-night."

"No, I think he's gone fer good," said Longfield. "I guess he'll make
fer Texas."

At a point where two roads crossed a few yards ahead of them,
Westerfelt parted with the three men. They went back up the mountain,
and he rode slowly homeward.

When he was in sight of the stable, he saw Washburn coming towards him
on horseback.

"Hello! Did they hurt you, Mr. Westerfelt?" he asked.

"They never touched me."

"My Lord! how was that?"

"I told them I had nothing to do with the arrest; three of them were
old friends of my father's, and they believed me. Did you find
her--did you find Miss Harriet?"

"Yes; I couldn't make out what you meant 'bout the account-book at
first, but I went over to the shop as soon as you all left. She wus
lyin' thar on the ground in a dead faint. It took hard work to bring
her to."

"You took her home?"

"Not right away; I couldn't do a thing with 'er. She acted like a
crazy woman. She screamed an' raged an' tore about an' begged fer a
hoss to ride atter you all. She wasn't in no fix to go; she didn't
know what she wus about, an' that scamp would a-shot 'er. I believe on
my soul he would."

They had reached the stable and dismounted, but neither moved to go in.

"I reckon you ought to know the truth, Washburn, since you saw her
there so late at night," said Westerfelt, hesitatingly. "The fact is,
she came to warn me. I suppose she knew Wambush would try to kill me,
and she didn't want to--"

"She don't keer a snap for Wambush, ef that's what you mean," said
Washburn, when he saw that Westerfelt was going no farther. "I know
it's been the talk, an' she no doubt did like him a little at one time,
but the' ain't but one man livin' she keers fer now. It ain't none o'
my business--I'm no hand to meddle, but I know women! She kep' cryin'
an' sayin' that they'd murder you, an' ef they did she'd kill Toot
Wambush ur die in the attempt. I'm tellin' you a straight tale."

Westerfelt sat down in a chair at the side of the door. Washburn led
the horse into the stable and put him into a stall. Then he came back.
Westerfelt's hands were over his face, but he took them down when he
heard Washburn's step.

"Did--did she hurt herself when she fell?" he asked.

"No, she's all right." Washburn hesitated a moment, then he added:
"Mr. Westerfelt, you ought to go up to yore room an' try to rest some;
this night's been purty rough on you atter bein' down in bed so long."

Westerfelt rose silently and went through the office and up the stairs.

Chapter XIV

The dawn was breaking when Harriet Floyd stole up to her room under the
slant of the roof. She had no idea of trying to sleep. She sat down
on the side of the bed, shivering with cold. Through the small-paned
dormer window the gray light fell, bringing into vague relief the
different objects in the room. Down in the back yard the chickens were
flapping their wings and crowing lustily. Through the dingy glass she
could see the cow-lot, the sagging roof of the wagon-shed, the barn,
the ricks of hay, and the bare branches of the apple-trees still
holding a few late apples. Her shoes were wet with dew and her dress
and shawl hung limply about her.

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