CHAPTER XVIII
A NAME AND A MESSAGE
When Hammer called his name, Joe felt a revival of his old desire to goto the witness-chair and tell Judge Maxwell all about it in his own way,untenable and dangerous as his position had appeared to him in his hoursof depression. Now the sheriff released his arm, and he went forwardeagerly. He held up his hand solemnly while the clerk administered theoath, then took his place in the witness-chair. Ollie's face was thefirst one that his eyes found in the crowd.
It seemed as if a strong light had been focused upon it, leaving therest of the house in gloom. The shrinking appeal which lay in her eyesmoved him to pity. He strove to make her understand that the cunning ofthe sharpest lawyer could set no trap which would surprise her secretfrom him, nor death itself display terrors to frighten it out of hisheart.
It seemed that a sunbeam broke in the room then, but perhaps it was onlythe clearing away of doubt and vacillation from his mind, with therespectable feeling that he had regained all the nobility which wasslipping from him, and had come back to a firm understanding withhimself.
And there was Alice, a little nearer to the bar than he had expected tosee her. Her face seemed strained and anxious, but he could not tellwhether her sympathy was dearer, her feeling softer for him in that hourthan it would have been for any other man. Colonel Price had yielded hisseat to a woman, and now he stood at the back of the room in front ofthe inner door as a privileged person, beside Captain Taylor.
Mrs. Newbolt sat straight-backed and expectant, her hand on the back ofJoe's empty chair, while the eager people strained forward to possessthemselves of the sensation which they felt must soon be loosed amongthem.
Joe's hair had grown long during his confinement. He had smoothed itback from his forehead and tucked it behind his ears. The length of it,the profusion, sharpened the thinness of his face; the depth of itsblackness drew out his pallor until he seemed all bloodless and cold.
Three inches of great, bony arm showed below his coat sleeves; thatspare garment buttoned across his chest, strained at its seams. Joe worethe boots which he had on when they arrested him, scarred and work-wornby the stubble and thorns of Isom Chase's fields and pastures. Histrousers were tucked into their wrinkled tops, which sagged half-waydown his long calves.
Taken in the figure alone, he was uncouth and oversized in his commonand scant gear. But the lofty nobility of his severe young face and thehigh-lifting forehead, proclaimed to all who were competent in suchmatters that it was only his body that was meanly clad.
Hammer began by asking the usual questions regarding nativity and age,and led on with the history of Joe's apprenticeship to Chase, the termsof it, its duration, compensation; of his treatment at his master'shands, their relations of friendliness, and all that. There was a littletremor and unsteadiness in Joe's voice at first, as of fright, but thissoon cleared away, and he answered in steady tones.
The jurors had straightened up out of their wearied apathy, and werelistening now with all ears. Joe did not appear to comprehend theirimportance in deciding his fate, people thought, seeing that he turnedfrom them persistently and addressed the judge.
Joe had taken the stand against Hammer's advice and expectation, for hehad hoped in the end to be able to make his client see the danger ofsuch a step unless he should go forward in the intention of revealingeverything. Now the voluble lawyer was winded. He proceeded with extremecaution in his questioning, like one walking over mined ground, fearingthat he might himself lead his client into some fateful admission.
They at length came down to the morning that Isom went away to thecounty-seat to serve on the jury, and all had progressed handsomely. NowJoe told how Isom had patted him on the shoulder that morning, for ithad been the aim of Hammer all along to show that master and man were onthe most friendly terms, and how Isom had expressed confidence in him.He recounted how, in discharge of the trust that Isom had put in him, hehad come downstairs on the night of the tragedy to look around thepremises, following in all particulars his testimony on this pointbefore the coroner's jury.
Since beginning his story, Joe had not looked at Ollie. His attentionhad been divided between Hammer and the judge, turning from one to theother. He addressed the jury only when admonished by Hammer to do so,and then he frequently prefaced his reply to Hammer's question with:
"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," as if he feared he might have hurt theirfeelings by his oversight.
Ollie was cold with apprehension as Joe approached the point in hisrecital where the danger lay for her. He seemed now to be unaware of herpresence, and the fact that he did not seek to assure her with his eyesgave a somber color to her doubts. She knew Hammer's crafty reputation,and understood his eagerness to bring his client off clear. Perhaps hehad worked on Joe to make a clean breast of it. Maybe he was going totell.
All her confidence of a little while ago dissolved, the ease whichfollowed her descent from the witness-chair vanished. She plucked at herdark vestments with trembling hands, her lips half open, her burningeyes on Joe's unmoved face. If he should tell before all these people,before that stern, solemn judge--if he should tell!
Joe went on with his story, Hammer endeavoring to lead him, to the bestof his altogether inadequate ability, around the dangerous shoals. Butthere was no avoiding them. When it came to relating the particulars ofthe tragedy, Hammer left it all to Joe, and Joe told the story, in allessentials, just as he had told it under the questioning of thecoroner.
"We had some words, and Isom started for the gun," said he.
He went over how he had grappled with Isom in an endeavor to prevent himturning the gun against him; told of the accidental discharge of theweapon; the arrival of Sol Greening.
Judge Maxwell leaned back in his chair and listened, his face a study ofperplexity and interest. Now and then he lifted his drooping lids andshot a quick, searching glance at the witness, as if seeking to fathomthe thing that he had covered--the motive for Isom Chase's act. It wassuch an inadequate story, yet what there was of it was undoubtedlytrue.
After Hammer had asked further questions tending to establish the factof good feeling and friendship between Joe and Isom, he gave it over,knowing full well that Joe had set back his chances of acquittal furtherthan he had advanced them by his persistency in testifying as he haddone.
The jury was now in a fog of doubt, as anybody with half an eye couldsee, and there was Sam Lucas waiting, his eyes glistening, his hard lipsset in anticipation of the coming fight.
"Take the witness," said Hammer, with something in his manner like asigh.
The prosecuting attorney came up to it like a hound on the scent. He hadbeen waiting for that day. He proceeded with Joe in a friendly manner,and went over the whole thing with him again, from the day that heentered Isom's house under bond service to the night of the tragedy. SamLucas went with Joe to the gate; he stood with him in the moonlightthere; then he accompanied him back to the house, clinging to him likehis own garments.
"And when you opened the kitchen door and stepped inside of that room,what did you do?" asked the prosecutor, arranging the transcript ofJoe's testimony before the coroner's jury in his hands.
"I lit the lamp," said Joe.
"Yes; you lit the lamp. Now, _why_ did you light the lamp?"
"Because I wanted to see," replied Joe.
"Exactly. You wanted to see."
Here the prosecutor moved his eyes slowly along the two rows of jurorsas if he wanted to make certain that none of them had escaped, and as ifhe desired to see that every one of them was alert and wakeful for whathe was about to develop.
"Now, tell the jury _what_ you wanted to see."
"Object!" from Hammer, who rose with his right hand held high, his smallfinger and thumb doubled in his palm, like a bidder at an auction.
"Now, your honor, am I to be--" began the prosecutor with weariedpatience.
"Object!" interrupted Hammer, sweating like a haymaker.
"To _what_ do you ob
ject, Mr. Hammer?" asked the court mildly.
"To anything and everything he's about to ask!" said Hammer hotly.
The court-room received this with a laugh, for there were scores ofcornfield lawyers present. The judge smiled, balancing a pen betweenfinger and thumb.
"The objection is overruled," said he.
"When you lit that lamp, what did you want to see?" the prosecutor askedagain.
"I wanted to see my way upstairs," Joe answered.
The prosecutor threw off his friendly manner like a rustic flinging hiscoat for a fight. He stepped to the foot of the dais on which thewitness chair stood, and aimed his finger at Joe's face.
"What were you carrying in your hand?" he demanded, advancing his fingera little with every word, as if it held the key to the mystery, and itwas about to be inserted in the lock.
"Nothing, sir."
"What had you hidden in that room that you wanted a light to find?"
Ha, he's coming down to it now! whispered the people, turning wise looksfrom man to man. Uncle Posen Spratt set his horn trumpet to his ear,gave it a twist and settled the socket of it so firmly that not a wordcould leak out on the way.
"I hadn't hidden anything, sir," said Joe.
"Where did Isom Chase keep his money?"
"I don't know."
"Had you ever seen him putting any of it away around the barn, or in thehaystack, maybe?"
"No, I never did, sir," Joe answered, respectfully.
The prosecutor took up the now historic bag of gold-pieces and held itup before the witness.
"When did you first see this bag of money?" he asked, solemn and severeof voice and bearing.
"When Isom was lying on the floor, after he was shot."
"You didn't see it when he was trying to get the gun, and when you sayyou were struggling with him, doing the best you could to hold himback?"
Joe turned to the judge when he answered.
"It might have been that Isom had it in his arm, sir, when he made forthe place where the gun was hanging. I don't know. But he tried to keepme off, and he hugged one arm to his side like he was trying to hidesomething he didn't want me to see."
"You never saw that bag of money until the moment that Isom Chase fell,you say," said the prosecutor, "but you have testified that the firstwords of Isom Chase when he stepped into the kitchen and saw you, were'I'll kill you!' Why did he make that threat?"
"Well, Isom was a man of unreasonable temper," said Joe.
"Isn't it a fact that Isom Chase saw you with that bag of money in yourhand when he came in, and sprang for the gun to protect his property?"
Joe turned to the judge again, with an air of respectful patience.
"I never saw that little pouch of money, Judge Maxwell, sir, until Isomfell, and lay stretched out there on the floor. I never saw that muchmoney before in my life, and I expect that I thought more about it for aminute than I did about Isom. It all happened so quick, you know, sir."
Joe spoke the last words with a covert appeal in them, as if placing thematter before the judge alone, in the confidence of his superiorunderstanding, and the belief that he would feel their truth.
The judge seemed to understand. He nodded encouragingly and smiled.
"Do you recall the morning after your arrival at the home of Isom Chaseto begin your service there, when you threatened to kill him?" asked theprosecutor.
"I do recall that morning," admitted Joe; "but I don't feel that it'sfair to hold me to account for words spoken in sudden anger and undertrying circumstances. A young person, you know, sir"--addressing thejudge--"oftentimes says things he don't mean, and is sorry for the nextminute. You know how hot the blood of youth is, sir, and how it drives aperson to say more than he means sometimes."
"Now, your honor, this defendant has counsel to plead for him at theproper time," complained the prosecutor, "and I demand that he confinehimself to answering my questions without comment."
"Let the witness explain in his own way," said the judge, who probablyfelt that this concession, at least, was due a man on trial for hislife. There was a finality in his words which did not admit of dispute,and the prosecuting attorney was wise enough not to attempt it.
"You threatened to kill Isom Chase that morning when he laid hands onyou and pulled you out of bed. Your words were, as you have heard Mrs.Chase testify under oath in that very chair where you now sit, 'If youhit me, I'll kill you in your tracks!' Those were your words, were theynot?"
"I expect I said something like that--I don't just remember the exactwords now--but that was what I wanted him to understand. I don't thinkI'd have hurt him very much, though, and I couldn't have killed him,because I wasn't armed. It was a hot-blooded threat, that's all itwas."
"You didn't ordinarily pack a gun around with you, then?"
"No, sir, I never did pack a gun."
"But you said you'd kill old Isom up there in the loft that morning, andyou said it in a way that made him think you meant it. That's what youwanted him to understand, wasn't it?"
"I talked rough, but I didn't mean it--not as bad as that anyhow."
"No, that was just a little neighborly joke, I suppose," said theprosecutor sneeringly. He was playing for a laugh and he got it.
Captain Taylor almost skinned his knuckles rapping them down that time,although the mirth was neither general nor boisterous. Joe did not addto Lucas's comment, and he went on:
"Well, what were you doing when Isom Chase opened the door and came intothe kitchen that night when he came home from serving on the jury?"
"I was standing by the table," said Joe.
"With your hat in your hand, or on your head, or where?"
"My hat was on the table. I usually left it there at night, so it wouldbe handy when I came down in the morning. I threw it there when I wentin, before I lit the lamp."
"And you say that Isom opened the door, came in and said, 'I'll killyou!' Now, what did he say before that?"
"Not a word, sir," insisted Joe.
"Who else was in that room?"
"Nobody, sir."
The prosecutor leaned forward, his face as red as if he struggled tolift a heavy weight.
"Do you mean to sit there and tell this jury that Isom Chase steppedright into that room and threatened to kill you without any reason,without any previous quarrel, without seeing you doing something thatgave him ground for his threat?"
Joe moved his feet uneasily, clasped and unclasped his long fingerswhere they rested on the arm of his chair, and moistened his lips withhis tongue. The struggle was coming now. They would rack him, and tearhim, and break his heart.
"I don't know whether they'll believe it or not," said he at last.
"Where was Ollie Chase when Isom came into that room?" asked theprosecutor, lowering his voice as the men who tiptoed around old Isomwhen he lay dead on the kitchen floor had lowered theirs.
"You have heard her say that she was in her room upstairs," said Joe.
"But I am asking you this question," the prosecutor reminded himsharply. "Where was Ollie Chase?"
Joe did not meet his questioner's eyes when he answered. His head wasbowed slightly, as if in thought.
"She was in her room, I suppose. She'd been in bed a long time, for itwas nearly midnight then."
The prosecuting attorney pursued this line of questioning to apersistent and trying length. He wanted to know all about the relationsof Joe and Ollie; where their respective rooms were, how they passed toand from them, and the entire scheme of the household economy.
He asked Joe pointedly, and swung back to that question abruptly andwith sharp challenge many times, whether he ever made love to Ollie;whether he ever held her hands, kissed her, talked with her when Isomwas not by to hear what was said.
The people snuggled down and forgot the oncoming darkness, the grayforerunner of which already had invaded the room as they listened. Thiswas what they wanted to hear; this was, in their opinion, getting downto the thing that the prosecutor sho
uld have taken up at the beginningand pushed to the guilty end. They had come there, day after day, andsat patiently waiting for that very thing. But the great sensation whichthey expected seemed a tedious thing in its development.
Joe calmly denied the prosecutor's imputations, and put them aside withan evenness of temper and dignity which lifted him to a place of highregard in the heart of every woman present, from grandmother tohigh-school miss. For even though a woman believes her sister guilty,she admires the man who knows when to hold his tongue.
For two hours and more Sam Lucas kept hammering away at the sternfront of the defendant witness. He had expected to break him down,simple-minded country lad that he supposed him to be, in a quarter ofthat time, and draw from him the truth of the matter in every detail. Itwas becoming evident that Joe was feeling the strain. The tiresomerepetition of the questions, the unvarying denial, the sudden sortiesof the prosecutor in attempt to surprise him, and the constant labor ofguarding against it--all this was heaping up into a terrific load.
Time and again Joe's eyes had gone to the magnet of Alice Price's face,and always he had seen her looking straight at him--steadily,understandingly, as if she read his purpose. He was satisfied thatshe knew him to be innocent of that crime, as well as any of theindiscretions with Ollie which the prosecutor had attempted to forcehim to admit. If he could have been satisfied with that assurancealone, his hour would have been blessed. But he looked for more inevery fleeting glance that his eyes could wing to her, and in theturmoil of his mind he was unable to find that which he sought.
Sam Lucas, seeing that the witness was nearing the point of mental andphysical strain at which men go to pieces, and the vigil which they haveheld above their secrets becomes open to surprise, hung to him with hisworriment of questions, scarcely granting him time to sigh.
Joe was pestered out of his calm and dignified attitude. He twisted inhis chair, where many a confounded and beset soul had writhed beforehim, and ran his fingers through his long hair, disturbing it intofantastic disorder. His breath came through his open lips, his shoulderssagged wearily, his long back was bent as he drooped forward, whippinghis fagged mind to alertness, guarding every word now, weighing everyanswer a deliberate while. Sweat drenched his face and dampened thethick wisps of hair. He scooped the welling moisture from his foreheadwith his crooked finger and flung it to the floor with a rustic trick ofthe fields.
Sam Lucas gave him no respite. Moment by moment he pressed the pantingrace harder, faster; moment by moment he grew more exacting, imperativeand pressing in his demands for unhesitating replies. While he harassedand urged the sweating victim, the prosecutor's eyes narrowed, his thinlips pressed hard against his teeth. The moment was approaching for thefinal assault, for the fierce delivery of the last, invincible dart.
The people felt it coming, and panted with the acute pleasures ofexpectation; Hammer saw its hovering shadow, and rose to his feet; Mrs.Newbolt suffered under the strain until she rocked from side to side,unconscious of all and everybody but herself and Joe, and groaned.
What were they going to do to Joe--what were they going to do?
Sam Lucas was hurling his questions into Joe's face, faster and faster.His voice was shaded now with the inflection of accusation, nowdiscredit; now it rose to the pitch of condemnation, now it sank to ahoarse whisper of horror as he dwelt upon the scene in Isom Chase'skitchen, the body of old Isom stretched in its own blood upon thefloor.
Joe seemed to stumble over his replies, to grope, to flounder. The agonyof his soul was in his face. And then, in a moment of tortureddesperation he rose from his seat, tall, gaunt, disordered, and claspedhis hand to his forehead as if driven to the utmost bound of hisendurance and to the outer brink of his resources.
The prosecutor paused with leveled finger, while Joe, rememberinghimself, pushed his hair back from his brow like one waking from a hotand troubled sleep, and resumed his seat. Then suddenly, in full volumeof voice, the prosecutor flung at him the lance for which he had beenweakening Joe's defenses through those long and torturing hours.
"Tell this jury what the 'words' were which you have testified passedbetween you and Isom Chase after he made the threat to kill you, andbefore he ran for the gun!"
Hammer bellowed forth an objection, which was quietly overruled. Itserved its purpose in a way, even though it failed in its larger intent,for the prosecutor's headlong assault was checked by it, the force ofhis blow broken.
Joe sat up as if cold water had been dashed over him. Instead ofcrushing him entirely, and driving him to the last corner shrinking,beaten and spiritless, and no longer capable of resistance, it seemed togive him a new grip on himself, to set his courage and defiance again onthe fighting line.
The prosecuting attorney resented Hammer's interference at the moment ofhis victory--as he believed it--and turned to him with an ugly scowl.But Hammer was imperturbable. He saw the advantage that he had gainedfor Joe by his interposition, and that was more than he had expected.Only a moment ago Hammer had believed everything lost.
Sam Lucas repeated the question. Joe drew himself up, cold andforbidding of front. He met the prosecutor eye to eye, challenge forchallenge.
"I can't tell you that, sir," he replied.
"The time has come when you must tell it, your evasions and dodgingswill not avail you any longer. What were those words between you andIsom Chase?"
"I'm sorry to have to refuse you--" began Joe.
"Answer--my--question!" ordered the prosecutor in loud voice, banginghis hand upon the table to accent its terror.
In the excitement of the moment people rose from their seats, womendropping things which they had held in their laps, and clasping otherloose articles of apparel to their skirts as they stood uncouthly, likestartled fowls poising for flight.
Joe folded his arms across his chest and looked into the prosecutor'sinflamed face. He seemed to erect between himself and his inquisitor inthat simple movement an impenetrable shield, but he said nothing. Hammerwas up, objecting, making the most of the opportunity. Captain Taylorrapped on the panel of the old oak door; the crouching figures in thecrowd settled back to their seats with rustlings and sighs.
Sam Lucas turned to the judge, the whiteness of deeper anger sweepingthe flush of excitement from his face. His voice trembled.
"I insist, your honor, that the witness answer my question!"
Hammer demanded that the court instruct his client regarding hisconstitutional privileges. Mrs. Newbolt leaned forward and held out herhands in dumb pleading toward her son, imploring him to speak.
"If the matter which you are withholding," began the judge in formalspeech, "would tend to incriminate you, then you are acting within yourconstitutional rights in refusing to answer. If not, then you can belodged in jail for contempt of court, and held there until you answerthe question which the prosecuting attorney has asked you. Do youunderstand this?"
"Yes, sir; I understand," said Joe.
"Then," said the judge, "would it incriminate you to reply to theprosecuting attorney's question?"
A faint flush spread on Joe's face as he replied:
"No, Judge Maxwell, it wouldn't incriminate me, sir."
Free for the moment from his watchful sword-play of eyes with theprosecutor, Joe had sought Alice's face when he replied to the judge. Hewas still holding her eyes when the judge spoke again.
"Then you must answer the question, or stand in contempt of court," saidhe.
Joe rose slowly to his feet. The sheriff, perhaps thinking that hedesigned making a dash for liberty, or to throw himself out of a window,rushed forward in official zeal. The judge, studying Joe's facenarrowly, waved the officer back. Joe lifted a hand to his forehead inthoughtful gesture and stroked back his hair, standing thus in studiouspose a little while. A thousand eyes were bent upon him; five hundredpalpitating brains were aching for the relief of his reply. Joe liftedhis head and turned solemnly to the judge.
"I can't answer the prosecuting attorney's questi
on, sir," he said. "I'mready to be taken back to jail."
The jurors had been leaning out of their places to listen, the olderones with hands cupped to their ears. Now they settled back withdisappointed faces, some of them shaking their heads in depreciation ofsuch stubbornness.
"You are making a point of honor of it?" said the judge, sharply but notunkindly, looking over his glasses at the raw citadel of virtue whichrose towerlike before him.
"If you will forgive me, sir, I have no more to say," said Joe, aflitting shadow, as of pain, passing over his face.
"Sit down," said the judge.
The prosecutor, all on fire from his smothered attempt to uncover theinformation which he believed himself so nearly in possession of,started to say something, and Hammer got the first syllable of hisobjection out of his mouth, when the judge waved both of them down. Heturned in his chair to Joe, who was waiting calmly now the next event.
Judge Maxwell addressed him again. He pointed out to Joe that, since hehad taken the witness-stand, he had thus professed his willingness tolay bare all his knowledge of the tragedy, and that his reservation wasan indication of insincerity. The one way in which he could havewithheld information not of a self-incriminating nature, was for him tohave kept off the stand. He showed Joe that one could not come forwardunder such circumstances and tell one side of a story, or a part of it,confessing at the same time that certain pertinent information wasreserved.
"No matter who it hurts, it is your duty now to reveal the cause of yourquarrel between yourself and Isom Chase that night, and to repeat, tothe best of your recollection, the words which passed between you."
He explained that, unless Joe should answer the question, it was the oneduty of the court to halt the trial there and send him to jail incontempt, and hold him there, his case undecided, until he would answerthe question asked.
Joe bowed respectfully when the judge concluded, conveying in thatmanner that he understood.
"If anything could be gained by it, sir, by anybody--except myself,perhaps--or if it would bring Isom back to life, or make anybodyhappier, I wouldn't refuse a minute, sir," said Joe. "What Mr. Lucasasks me to tell I've refused to tell before. I've refused to tell it formy own mother and Mr. Hammer and--others. I respect the law and thiscourt, sir, as much as any man in this room, and it pains me to stand inthis position before you, sir.
"But I can't talk about that. It wouldn't change what I've told aboutthe way Isom was killed. What I've told you is the truth. What passedbetween Isom and me before he took hold of the gun isn't mine to tell.That's all there is to be said, Judge Maxwell, sir."
"You must answer the prosecuting attorney's question," said JudgeMaxwell sternly. "No matter what motive of honor or fealty to the dead,or thought of sparing the living, may lie behind your concealment ofthese facts, the law does not, cannot, take it into account. Your dutynow is to reply to all questions asked, and you will be given anotheropportunity to do so. Proceed, Mr. Prosecutor."
Hammer had given it up. He sat like a man collapsed, bending over hispapers on the table, trying to make a front in his defeat before thepublic. The prosecuting attorney resumed the charge, framing his attackin quick lunges. He was in a clinch, using the short-arm jab.
"After Isom Chase came into the room you had words?"
"We had some words," replied Joe slowly, weary that this thing shouldhave to be gone over again.
"Were they loud and boisterous words, or were they low and subdued?"
"Well, Isom talked pretty loud when he was mad," said Joe.
"Loud enough for anybody upstairs to hear--loud enough to wake anybodyasleep up there?"
"I don't know," said Joe coldly, resentful of this flanking subterfuge.
He must go through that turmoil of strain and suffering again, allbecause Morgan, the author of this evil thing, had lacked the manhood tocome forward and admit his misdeeds.
The thoughts will travel many a thousand miles while the tongue coversan inch; even while Joe answered he was thinking of this. More crowdedupon him as he waited the prosecutor's next question. Why should hesuffer all that public misjudgment and humiliation, all that pain andtwisting of the conscience on Morgan's account? What would it avail inthe end? Perhaps Ollie would prove unworthy his sacrifice for her, asshe already had proved ungrateful. Even then the echo of her testimonyagainst him was in his ears.
Why should he hold out faithfully for her, in the hope that Morgan wouldcome--vain hope, fruitless dream! Morgan would not come. He was safe,far away from there, having his laugh over the muddle that he had madeof their lives.
"I will ask you again--what were the words that passed between you andIsom Chase that night?"
Joe heard the question dimly. His mind was on Morgan and the white roadof the moonlit night when he drove away. No, Morgan would not come.
"Will you answer my question?" demanded the prosecutor.
Joe turned to him with a start. "Sir?" said he.
The prosecutor repeated it, and stood leaning forward for the answer,his hands on the table. Joe bent his head as if thinking it over.
And there lay the white road in the moonlight, and the click of buggywheels over gravel was in his ears, as he knew it must have sounded whenMorgan drove away, easy in his loose conscience, after his loose way.Why should he sacrifice the promise of his young life by meekly allowingthem to fasten the shadow of this dread tragedy upon him, for whichMorgan alone was to blame?
It was unfair--it was cruelly unjust! The thought of it was stifling thebreath in his nostrils, it was pressing the blood out of his heart! Theywere waiting for the answer, and why should he not speak? What profitwas there in silence when it would be so unjustly interpreted?
As Ollie had been thoughtless of Isom, so she might be thoughtless ofhim, and see in him only a foolish, weak instrument to use to her ownadvantage. Why should he seal his lips for Ollie, go to the gallows forher, perhaps, and leave the blight of that shameful end upon his nameforever?
He looked up. His mind had made that swift summing up while theprosecutor's words were echoing in the room. They were waiting for hisanswer. Should he speak?
Mrs. Newbolt had risen. There were tears on her old, worn cheeks, ayearning in her eyes that smote him with an accusing pang. He hadbrought that sorrow upon her, he had left her to suffer under it when aword would have cleared it away; when a word--a word for which theywaited now--would make her dun day instantly bright. Ollie weighedagainst his mother; Ollie, the tainted, the unclean.
His eyes found Ollie's as he coupled her name with his mother's in hismind. She was shrinking against her mother's shoulder--she had a mother,too--pale and afraid.
Mrs. Newbolt stretched out her hands. The scars of her toilsome yearswere upon them; the distortion of the labor she had wrought for him inhis helpless infancy was set upon their joints. He was placing hisliberty and his life in jeopardy for Ollie, and his going would leavemother without a stay, after her sacrifice of youth and hope andstrength for him.
Why should he be called upon to do this thing--why, _why_?
The question was a wild cry within his breast, lunging like a wolf in aleash to burst his lips. His mother drew a step nearer, unstayed by thesheriff, unchecked by the judge. She spread her poor hands insupplication; the tears coursed down her brown old cheeks.
"Oh, my son, my son--my little son!" she said.
He saw her dimly now, for tears answered her tears. All was silent inthat room, the silence of the forest before the hurricane grasps it andbends it, and the lightnings reave its limbs.
"Mother," said he chokingly, "I--I don't know what to do!"
"Tell it all, Joe!" she pleaded. "Oh, tell it all--tell it all!"
Her voice was little louder than a whisper, yet it was heard by everymother in that room. It struck down into their hearts with a sharp,riving stab of sympathy, which nothing but sobs would relieve.
Men clamped their teeth and gazed straight ahead at the moving scene,unashamed of the tears which rolled
across their cheeks and threadeddown their beards; the prosecutor, leaning on his hands, bent forwardand waited.
Joe's mind was in a tornado. The debris of past resolutions was flunghigh, and swirled and dashed in a wild tumult. There was nothingtangible in his reasoning, nothing plain in his sight. A mist was beforehis eyes, a fog was over his reason. Only there was mother, with thosesoul-born tears upon her face. It seemed to him then that his first andhis most sacred duty was to her.
The seconds were as hours. The low moaning of women sounded in the room.Somebody moved a foot, scraping it in rude dissonance across the floor.A girl's voice broke out in sudden sobbing, which was as quicklystifled, with sharp catching of the breath.
Judge Maxwell moved in his chair, turning slowly toward the witness, andsilence fell.
They were waiting; they were straining against his doubts and hisweakening resolution of past days, with the concentration of half athousand minds.
A moment of joy is a drop of honey on the tongue; a moment of pain isbitterer than any essence that Ignatius ever distilled from his evilbean. The one is as transitory as a smile; the other as lingering as abroken bone.
Joe had hung in the balance but a matter of seconds, but it seemed tohim a day. Now he lifted his slim, white hand and covered his eyes. Theywere waiting for the word out there, those uplifted, eager faces; thejudge waited, the jury waited, mother waited. They were wringing it fromhim, and honor's voice was dim in its counsel now, and far away.
They were pressing it out of his heart. The law demanded it, justicedemanded it, said the judge. Duty to mother demanded it, and the call ofall that lay in life and liberty. But for one cool breath of sympathybefore he yielded--for one gleam of an eye that understood!
He dropped his hand at his side, and cast about him in hungry appeal.Justice demanded it, and the law. But it would be ignoble to yield, eventhough Morgan came the next hour and cleared the stain away.
Joe opened his lips, but they were dry, and no sound issued. He mustspeak, or his heart would burst. He moistened his lips with his hottongue. They were demanding his answer with a thousand burning eyes.
"Tell it, Joe--tell it all!" pleaded his mother, reaching out as if totake his hand.
Joe's lips parted, and his voice came out of them, strained and shaken,and hoarse, like the voice of an old and hoary man.
"Judge Maxwell, your honor----"
"No, no! Don't tell it, Joe!"
The words sounded like a warning call to one about to leap todestruction. They broke the tenseness of that moment like the noise of ashot. It was a woman's voice, rich and full in the cadence of youth;eager, quick, and strong.
Mrs. Newbolt turned sharply, her face suddenly clouded, as if toadminister a rebuke; the prosecutor wheeled about and peered into theroom with a scowl. Judge Maxwell rapped commandingly, a frown on hisface.
And Joe Newbolt drew a long, free breath, while relief moved over histroubled face like a waking wind at dawn. He leaned back in his chair,taking another long breath, as if life had just been granted him at amoment when hope seemed gone.
The effect of that sudden warning had been stunning. For a few secondsthe principals in the dramatic picture held their poses, as if standingfor the camera. And then the lowering tempest in Judge Maxwell's facebroke.
"Mr. Sheriff, find out who that was and bring him or her forward!" hecommanded.
There was no need for the sheriff to search on Joe's behalf. Quick as abolt his eyes had found her, and doubt was consumed in the glance whichpassed between them. Now he knew all that he had struggled to know ofeverything. First of all, there stood the justification of his longendurance. He had been right. She had understood, and her opinion wasvalid against the world.
Even as the judge was speaking, Alice Price rose.
"It was I, sir," she confessed, no shame in her manner, no contrition inher voice.
But the ladies in the court-room were shocked for her, as ladies theworld over are shocked when one of their sisters does an unaccountablyhuman thing. They made their feelings public by scandalized aspirations,suppressed _oh-h-hs_, and deprecative shakings of the heads.
The male portion of the audience was moved in another direction. Theirfaces were blank with stunned surprise, with little gleams of admirationmoving a forest of whiskers here and there whose owners did not know whothe speaker was.
But to everybody who knew Alice Price the thing was unaccountable. Itwas worse than interrupting the preacher in the middle of a prayer, andthe last thing that Alice Price, with all her breeding, blood andeducation would have been expected to do. That was what came of levelingoneself to the plane of common people and "pore" folks, and visitingthem in jail, they said to one another through their wide-stretchedeyes.
Alice went forward and stood before the railing. The prosecutingattorney drew out a chair and offered it to Mrs. Newbolt, who sat,staring at Alice with no man knew what in her heart. Her face was astrange index of disappointment, surprise, and vexation. She saidnothing, and Hammer, glowing with the dawning of hope of something thathe could not well define, squared around and gave Alice a large, fatsmile.
Judge Maxwell regarded her with more surprise than severity, itappeared. He adjusted his glasses, bowed his neck to look over them,frowned, and cleared his throat. And poor old Colonel Price, overwhelmedentirely by this untoward breach of his daughter's, stood beside CaptainTaylor shaking his old white head as if he was undone forever.
"I am surprised at this demonstration, Miss Price," said the judge."Coming from one of your standing in this community, it is doublyshocking, for your position in society should be, of itself, a guaranteeof your loyalty to the established organization of order. It should beyour endeavor to uphold rather than defeat, the ends of justice.
"The defendant at the bar has the benefit of counsel, who is competent,we believe, to advise him. Your admonition was altogether out of place.I am pained and humiliated for you, Miss Price.
"This breach is one which could not, ordinarily, be passed over simplywith a reprimand. But, allowing for the impetuosity of youth, and theemotion of the moment, the court will excuse you with this. Similaroutbreaks must be guarded against, and any further demonstration will bedealt with severely. Gentlemen, proceed with the case."
Alice stood through the judge's lecture unflinchingly. Her face waspale, for she realized the enormity of her transgression, but there wasneither fear nor regret in her heart. She met the judge's eyes withhonest courage, and bowed her head in acknowledgment of his leniencywhen he dismissed her.
From her seat she smiled, faintly above the tremor of her breast, toJoe. She was not ashamed of what she had done, she had no defense tomake for her words. Love is its own justification, it wants no advocateto plead for it before the bar of established usage. Its statutes haveneeded no revision since the beginning, they will stand unchanged untilthe end.
The prosecuting attorney had seen his castle fall, demolished and beyondhope of repair, before a charge from the soft lips of a simple girl.Long and hard as he had labored to build it up, and encompass Joe withinit, it was in ruins now, and he had no heart to set his hand to the taskof raising it again that day. He asked for an adjournment to morning,which the weary judge granted readily.
People moved out of the room with less haste and noise than usual, forthe wonder, and the puzzle, of what they had heard and seen was overthem.
What was the aim of that girl in shutting that big, gangling, raw-bonedboy's mouth just when he was opening it to speak, and to speak the verywords which they had sat there patiently for days to hear? What was heto Alice Price, and what did she know of the secret which he had beenkeeping shut behind his stubborn lips all that time? That was what theywanted to know, and that was what troubled them because they could notmake it out at all.
Colonel Price made his way forward against the outpouring stream toAlice. He adjusted her cloak around her shoulders, and whispered to her.She was very pale still, but her eyes were fearless and bright, and they
followed Joe Newbolt with a tender caress as the sheriff led him out,his handcuffs in his pocket, the prisoner's long arms swinging free.
Ollie and her mother were standing near Colonel Price and Alice, waitingfor them to move along and open the passage to the aisle. As Aliceturned from looking after Joe, the eyes of the young women met, andagain Ollie felt the cold stern question which Alice seemed to ask her,and to insist with unsparing hardness that she answer.
A little way along Alice turned her head and held Ollie's eyes with herown again. As plain as words they said to the young widow who cringed ather florid mother's side:
"You slinking, miserable, trembling coward, I can see right down to thebottom of your heart!"
Joe returned to his cell with new vigor in his step, new warmth in hisbreast, and a new hope in his jaded soul. There was no doubt now, nogroping for a sustaining hand. Alice had understood him, and Alicealone, when all the world assailed him for his secret, and would havetorn it from his lips in shame. She had given him the sympathy, for thelack of which he must have fallen; the support, for the want of which hemust have been lost.
For a trying moment that afternoon he had forgotten, almost, that he wasa gentleman, and under a gentleman's obligation. There had been so muchuncertainty, and fear, and so many clouded days. But a man had noexcuse, he contended in his new strength, even under the direstpressure, to lose sight of the fact that he was a gentleman. Morgan haddone that. Morgan had not come. But perhaps Morgan was not a gentlemanat all. That would account for a great deal, everything, in fact.
There would be a way out without Morgan now. Since Alice understood,there would be shown a way. He should not perish on account of Morgan,and even though he never came it would not matter greatly, now thatAlice understood.
He was serene, peaceful, and unworried, as he had not been for onemoment since the inquest. The point of daylight had come again into hisdark perspective; it was growing and gleaming with the promise and cheerof a star.
Colonel Price had no word of censure for his daughter as they held theirway homeward, and no word of comment on her extraordinary andimmodest--according to the colonel's view--conduct fell from his lipsuntil they were free from the crowd. Then the colonel:
"Well, Alice?"
"Yes, Father."
"Why did you do it--why didn't you let him tell it, child? They'll hanghim now, I tell you, they'll hang that boy as sure as sundown! And he'sno more guilty of that old man's death than I am."
"No, he isn't," said she.
"Then why didn't you let him talk, Alice? What do you know?"
"I don't know anything--anything that would be evidence," she replied."But he's been a man all through this cruel trial, and I'd rather seehim die a man than live a coward!"
"They'll hang that boy, Alice," said the colonel, shaking his headsadly. "Nothing short of a miracle can save him now."
"No, they'll never do that," said she, in quiet faith.
The colonel looked at her with an impatient frown.
"What's to save him, child?" he asked.
"I don't know," she admitted, thoughtfully. Then she proceeded, with anearnestness that was almost passionate: "It isn't for himself that he'skeeping silent--I'm not afraid for _him_ on account of what they wantedto make him tell! Can't you see that, Father, don't you understand?"
"No," said the colonel, striking the pavement sharply with his stick,"I'll be switched if I do! But I know this bad business has taken holdof you, Alice, and changed you around until you're nothing like the girlI used to have.
"It's too melancholy and sordid for you to be mixed up in. I don't likeit. We've done what we can for the boy, and if he wants to be stubbornand run his neck into the noose on account of some fool thing or anotherthat he thinks nobody's got a right to know, I don't see where you'recalled on to shove him along on his road. And that's what this thingthat you've done today amounts to, as far as I can see."
"I'm sorry that you're displeased with me, Father," said she, but withprecious little indication of humility in her voice, "but I'd do thesame thing over again tomorrow. Joe didn't want to tell it. What heneeded just then was a friend."
That night after supper, when Colonel Price sat in the library gazinginto the coals, Alice came in softly and put her arm about hisshoulders, nestling her head against his, her cheek warm against histemple.
"You think I'm a bold, brazen creature, Father, I'm afraid," she said.
"The farthest thing from it in this world," said he. "I've been thinkingover it, and I know that you were right. It's inscrutable to me, Alice;I lack that God-given intuition that a woman has for such things. But Iknow that you were right, and time and events will justify you."
"You remember that both Mr. Hammer and Mr. Lucas asked Joe and Mrs.Chase a good deal about a book-agent boarder, Curtis Morgan?" said she.
"Only in the way of incidental questioning," he said. "Why?"
"Don't you remember him? He was that tall, fair man who sold us the_History of the World_, wasn't he?"
"Why, it is the same name," said the colonel. "He was a man with a quickeye and a most curious jumble of fragmentary knowledge on many subjects,from roses to rattlesnakes. Yes, I remember the fellow very well, sinceyou speak of him."
"Yes. And he had little fair curls growing close to his eyes," said she."It's the same man, I'm certain of that."
"Why, what difference does it make?" asked he.
"Not any--in particular--I suppose," she sighed.
The colonel stroked her hair.
"Well, Alice, you're taking this thing too much at heart, anyhow," hesaid.
Later that night, long after Joe Newbolt had wearied himself in pacingup and down his cell, with the glow of his new hope growing brighter ashis legs grew heavier, Alice sat by her window, gazing with fixed eyesinto the dark.
On her lips there was a name and a message, which she sent out from herheart with all the dynamic intensity of her strong, young being. A nameand a message; and she sped them from her lips into the night, to roamthe world like a searching wind.
The Bondboy Page 18