CHAPTER XV
THE PRISONER IN THE CORN-CRIB
Jerry and Ardmore sat at a long table in the commodious Ardsley library,which was a modification of a Gothic chapel. It was on the upper floor,with broad windows that had the effect of bringing the landscapeindoors, and the North Carolina sky is, we must concede, a pleasantthing to have at one's elbow. A large accumulation of mail from thegovernor's office at Raleigh had been forwarded, and Jerry insisted thatit must be opened and disposed of in some way. Governor Dangerfield was,it appeared, a subscriber to a clipping bureau, and they had beenexamining critically a batch of cuttings relating to the New Orleansincident. Most of them were in a frivolous key, playfully reviving theancient query as to what the governor of North Carolina really said tothe governor of South Carolina. Others sought causes for thewidely-reported disappearance of the two governors; and still otherreports boldly maintained that Governors Dangerfield and Osborne wereat their capitals engaged in the duties of their respective offices.
"It's a good thing we got hold of Collins" observed Ardmore, puttingdown a clipping from a New York paper in which the reports of GovernorDangerfield's disappearance were analyzed and tersely dismissed; "for heknows how to write and he's done a splendid picture of your father onhis throne attending to business; and his little stingers for Osborneare the work of genius."
"There's a certain finish about Mr. Collins' lying that is refreshing,"replied Jerry, "and I can not help thinking that he has a brilliantfuture before him if he enters politics. Nothing pains me more than acareless, ill-considered, silly lie, which is the best that most peoplecan do. But it would be very interesting to know whether GovernorOsborne has really disappeared, or just how your friend the Virginiaprofessor has seized the reins of state. Do you suppose he got a jugfrom somewhere, and met Miss Osborne and--"
"Do you think--do you think--she may have--er possibly--closed one eyein his direction?" asked Ardmore dubiously.
"Mr. Ardmore"--and Jerry pointed at him with a bronze paper-cutter tomake sure of his attention--"Mr. Ardmore, if you ever imply again byact, word or deed that I winked at you I shall never, never speak to youagain. I should think that a man with a nice sister like Mrs. Atchisonwould have a better opinion of women than you seem to have. I never sawyou until you came to my father's house to tell me about the jug--andyou know I didn't. And as for that Barbara Osborne, while I don't doubtthat even in South Carolina a Daughter of the Seminole War might wink ata gentleman in a moment of extreme provocation, I doubt if she did, forshe lacks animation, and has no more soul than a gum overshoe."
The obvious inconsistency of this pronouncement caused Ardmore to frownin the stress of his thought; and he stared helplessly along the line ofthe accusing paper-cutter into Jerry's eyes.
"Oh, cheer up!" she cried in her despair of him; "and forget it, forgetit, forget it! I'll say this to you, Mr. Ardmore, that if I ever winkedat you--and I never, never did--I'm sorry I did it! Some time when youhaven't so much work on your hands as you have this morning just thinkthat over and let me know where you land. And now, look at these things,please."
"What is all this stuff?" he demanded, as she tossed him a pile ofpapers.
"They refer to the application for pardon of a poor man who's going tobe hanged for murder to-morrow unless we do something for him; and hehas a wife and three little children, and he has never committed anyother crime but to break into a smoke-house and steal a side of bacon."
"Did he shoot in self-defense, or how was it?" asked Ardmore judicially.
"He killed a painless dentist who pulled the wrong tooth," answeredJerry, referring to the papers.
"If that's all I don't think we can stand for hanging him. I read apiece against capital punishment in a magazine once and the argumentswere very strong. The killing of a dentist should not be a crime anyhow,and if you know how to pardon a man, why let's do it; but we'd betterwait until the last minute, and then send telegram to the sheriff tostop the proceedings just before he pulls the string, which makes itmost impressive, and gives a better effect."
"I believe you are right about it," said Jerry. "There's an old pardonright here in this bundle which we can use. It was made out for anotherman who stole a horse that afterwards died, which papa said was amitigating circumstance; but the week before his execution the manescaped from jail before papa could pardon him."
"Suppose we don't let them hang anybody while we're running the state,"suggested Ardmore; "it's almost as though you murdered a man yourself,and I couldn't tie my neckties afterwards without a guilty feeling. Ican't imagine anything more disagreeable than to be hanged. I heard allof _Tristan und Isolde_ once, and I have seen half an Ibsen play, andthose were hard things to bear, but I suppose hanging would be just aspainful and there would be no supper afterwards to cheer you up."
"You shouldn't speak in that tone of _Afterwards_, Mr. Ardmore," saidJerry severely. "It isn't religious. And while we're on the subject ofreligion, may I ask the really, truly wherefore of Miss Daisy Waters'sudden return to Newport?" and Jerry's tone and manner were carelesslydemure.
"She went home," replied Ardmore, grinning; "she left Ardsley for tworeasons, one of which she stated at the breakfast table and the othershe handed me privately."
"She said at the breakfast table that she was called home by incipientwhooping cough in the household of her brother-in-law's cousin'sfamily."
"As she has no brother-in-law, that can not be true. What she said to meprivately was that the house party had grown very much larger than Mrs.Atchison had originally planned it, and that I am so busy that so manyguests must be a burden."
Jerry stroked her cheek reflectively.
"I thought Miss Waters wouldn't last long after I asked her if rustynail water really would remove freckles. My own freckles are exactlyseven in number and I am not ashamed of them, but Miss Waters seemedvery sensitive on the subject, though I thought her freckles useful indiverting attention from her drugstore hair."
"Did you say seven?" inquired Ardmore, gazing eagerly into Jerry's face."I make it only six, and there's one away over there under your left eyethat seems very lonesome, as though it suffered keenly from being so faraway from its brothers and sisters on the other side of your nose."
"Mr. Ardmore"--and Jerry again indicated the person addressed bypointing with the paper-cutter--"Mr. Ardmore, it is downright impudentof you to talk to me about my appearance in any terms, but when youspeak of my face as though it were a map in a geography and of myfreckles as though they were county seats, or lakes, or strange placesin China, then I must protest with all my strength. If you don't changethe subject immediately I shall refuse to pardon this person who killedthe painless dentist, and he shall be hanged by the neck till he bedead; and you, Mr. Thomas Ardmore, will be guilty of his murder."
The discussion of Miss Jerry Dangerfield's freckles ceased abruptly onthe appearance of Big Paul, the forester.
"A body of South Carolina militia is marching across country from thesouth. One of my men heard of it down at Turner Court House last nightand rode to where the troops were encamped. He learned that it was apractice march for the militia. There's several companies of infantry,so he reports, and a piece of artillery."
"Bully for old Grissy!" exclaimed Ardmore. "They're coming this way, arethey, Paul?" And the three bent over the map.
"That is the place, sir. They seem to be planning to get around Turner'swithout stirring up the town. But it would take a good deal to wake upTurner's," laughed the big German.
Jerry placed her finger on the state line.
"If they dare cross that--if they as much as dare!"
"If they dare we shall show them a few things. Take all the men youneed, Paul, to watch their movements. That will do."
The forester lingered.
"You remember that we spoke the other day of the log house on RaccoonCreek, where the Appleweights had driven off our man?"
"Yes, Paul. It is where the state line crosses the heavy woods and t
hefarthest outpost, so to speak, on my property. When you cross the littlecreek, you're in South Carolina. You said some of these Appleweightfellows had been cutting off the timber down there, if I rememberrightly."
"Yes, sir," replied the forester, twirling his cap awkwardly. "But someof the people on the estate have said--"
He broke off in an embarrassment so unlike him that Jerry and Ardmorelooked at him curiously.
"Well, Paul, what's the matter? If the cabin has been burned down it'sno serious matter."
"Why, sir; some of the men passing there at night say they see lightsand hear sounds in the cabin, though no one from the estate goes there.A child died in the house last spring and--well, you know how some ofthese people are!"
"Ghosts!" cried Ardmore. "The property is growing more valuable all thetime! Tell them that whoever captures the ghost and brings it here shallhave a handsome present. So far it's only a light in an abandonedhouse--is that it?"
"Well, they say it's very strange," and it was clear that the German wasnot wholly satisfied to have his employer laugh off the story.
"Cheer up, Paul. We have bigger business on hand than the chasing ofghosts just now. When we get through with these other things I'll goover there myself and take a look at the spook."
As Paul hurried away, Jerry seized a pen and wrote this message:
Rutherford Gillingwater, Adjutant-General, Camp Dangerfield, Azbell, N. C.:
Move all available troops by shortest route to Kildare at once and report to me personally at Ardsley. Make no statements to newspapers. Answer.
DANGERFIELD, Governor.
"I guess that will bring him running," said Ardmore, calling a servantand ordering the message despatched immediately. "But when he comes,expecting to report to the governor and finds that he isn't here, whatdo you suppose he will do?"
"Mr. Ardmore," began Jerry, in the tone of sweet tolerance with whichone arraigns a hopeless child, "Mr. Ardmore, there are times when youtax my patience severely. You don't seem to grasp the idea that we arenot making explanations to inferiors in our administration. ColonelGillingwater will undoubtedly be a good deal surprised to get thatmessage, but when the first shock is over he will obey the orders of hiscommander-in-chief. And the fact that he is ordered to report to Ardsleywill not be lost on him, for he will see in that a possible socialopportunity, and a chance to wear some of his uniforms that he has neverworn before. He will think that papa is really here to test theefficiency of the troops, and that as papa is a guest at Ardsley, whichwe know he isn't, there will probably be some great social functions inthis house, with papa's staff dressed up and all shiny in gold braid.Since Rutherford Gillingwater had the typhoid fever during the SpanishWar I have not been sure that he is as much interested in fighting ashe is in the purely circus work of being a soldier. I just now recallthat when papa was about to order out the troops to stop a railroadstrike last spring, Rutherford Gillingwater went to all the trouble ofhaving tonsilitis and was so ill that he could hardly leave his roomeven after the strike had been settled by arbitration. If he knew thatthere was likely to be a terrible battle over here instead of nice longdinners and toasts to "The Old North State," "Our Governor," and "TheGovernor's Daughter," his old wounds, that he never had, might troublehim so that they'd have to wrap him up in cotton and carry him home."
Before luncheon a message was received from Gillingwater, to thiseffect:
Governor William Dangerfield, Ardsley, N. C.:
En route with our entire available force in the field. I am riding ahead with all speed, and will report at Ardsley at nine o'clock. Is full military dress _de rigueur_?
GILLINGWATER, Adjutant-General.
"Isn't that just like Rutherford! He's afraid he won't be dressy enough;but if he knew that the South Carolina troops might shoot holes in hisuniform he wouldn't be due here for a couple of weeks, instead of atnine o'clock to-night;" and Jerry laughed merrily.
They debated more seriously this telegram from Collins at Raleigh sentthe previous evening:
Can't maintain this bluff much longer. Even the friendly newspapers are growing suspicious. State credit jeopardized by disappearance of Treasurer Foster. Billings, of Bronx Loan and Trust, here in a great fury over bond matter. Do you know governor's whereabouts?
"Things are certainly growing more exciting," was Ardmore's comment. "Isuppose even a gifted liar like Collins can't muzzle the press forever."
"You can't go on fooling all North Carolina all the time, either," saidJerry, "and I suppose when papa gets tired of being scared he will turnup in Raleigh and tell some plausible story about where he has been andwhat has happened. When it comes to being plausible no one can touchpapa."
"Maybe he's dead," suggested Ardmore gloomily.
"That's a real inspiration on your part, Mr. Ardmore; and it's verysweet of you to mention it, but I have no idea that any harm has come topapa. It's too much trouble to get elected governor, without dying inoffice, and besides, papa is none too friendly with the lieutenantgovernor and would never think of allowing such a person to succeedhim. But those bonds seem rather serious and I don't like the idea ofyour Mr. Billings making a fuss at Raleigh."
"That will be all right," remarked Ardmore, blotting the last of anumber of telegrams which he had been writing, and pressing a button."It's much more important for us to get Appleweight into a SouthCarolina jail; and it's not going to be so easy to do, now that Grissyis working on the other side, and angry at me about that scarlet fevertelegram."
"There may be trouble," said Ardmore to his guests as they sat atluncheon. "But I should hate to have it said that my guests could not betaken care of here perfectly. I beg that you will all remain."
"If there's to be a row, why don't you call the police and be done withit?" asked a sad young member of the company. His motor number had sooften figured in reports of speed law violations that he was known asEighteen Eighty. "I thought you came down here for quiet and not to getinto trouble, Ardy."
"If I miss my steamer nine days from to-day, and meanwhile have to eathorse meat, just as they did in the siege of Paris, I shall be greatlyprovoked, to say the least," remarked Mrs. Atchison pleasantly; for herbrother's amazing awakening delighted her and it was a cheeringexperience that he promised, of civil war, battle, murder and suddendeath.
"I think I shall spend more time in America after this," remarkedEighteen Eighty. "I did not know that amusing things ever happened overhere. What did you say the name of this state is?"
"The name of this state," replied Miss Dangerfield, "is North Carolina,and I have my opinion of any native American who runs around Europe allthe time, and who can visit a place in this country without even knowingthe name of the state he is in."
"But there's really no difference between North and South Carolina, isthere?" persisted Eighteen Eighty.
Jerry put down her fork, and folded her hands beside her plate, whileshe addressed the offender.
"Mr. Number Something, the difference between the Old North State andSouth Carolina is not merely geographical--it is also intellectual,ethical and spiritual. But may I ask you whether you know of which stateyou are a citizen?"
A laugh rose as the sad young man flushed and looked inquiringly about.
"I voted you in my precinct that time I ran for alderman in New York,"said Ardmore, "but that's no sign you had a right to vote there. I shotBallywinkle through the booth at the same time. I was a reform candidateand needed votes, but I hoped Bally would get arrested and be sent tojail. My impression is that you are really a citizen of Rhode Island,which is where Newport is."
The debate as to Eighteen Eighty's legal residence was interrupted bythe arrival of a summons for Ardmore, who hurriedly left the table.
Big Paul awaited him below, mounted and holding a led-horse.
"There's a line of the South Carolina militia crawling through the woodstoward Raccoon Creek. They insist that it's a pr
actice skirmish and thatthey've come over here because the landscape is naturally adapted totheir purposes."
"It's awfully nice of them to like my scenery. You'd better send yourbest man out to meet Colonel Gillingwater of the North Carolina militia,and tell him to march all his troops into the estate by the north gates,and to be in a hurry. Tell him--tell him Governor Dangerfield is anxiousto have the staff present in full uniform at a grand ball at Ardsleyto-night."
Ardmore rode off alone toward Raccoon Creek to catch a view of theenemy. How far would Griswold go? This question he kept debating withhimself. His late friend was a lawyer and a serious one whom he had notbelieved capable of seizing the militia of one state and using it tomake a military demonstration against another. Ardmore could go as faras Griswold; yet he was puzzled to know why Griswold was in the field atall. Miss Dangerfield's suggestion that Griswold's interest in thedaughter of the governor of South Carolina accounted for his presence onthe border seemed plausible at first; and yet the more he thought aboutit the less credible it seemed, for he was sure that Griswold had talkedto him about women with the frankness that had characterized all theirintercourse, and Ardmore racked his brains in his effort to recall thefew affairs to which the associate professor of admiralty had pleadedguilty. Memory brought these back to him slowly. There was an Old PointComfort affair, dating back to Griswold's student days, and to which hehad referred with no little feeling once or twice; and there was a YorkHarbor affair, that came a little later; and there was the girl he hadmet on a steamer, about whom Griswold had shown sensitiveness whenArdmore had made bold to twit him. But Ardmore could not account forMiss Osborne, unless his friend had been withholding his confidencewhile seemingly wholly frank; and the thought that this must be truewidened the breach between them. And when he was saying to himself thatthe daughters of governors are not in the habit of picking up cavaliersand intrusting state affairs to them and that it was almostinconceivable that the conscientious Griswold, at the busiest season atthe university, should have taken employment from the governor of SouthCarolina, he found that he had struck a stone wall, and he confessed tohimself that the situation was beyond him.
These reflections carried him far toward Raccoon Creek, and when he hadreached that tortuous stream he dismounted and tied his horse, the morefreely to examine the frontier. The Raccoon is never more than eightyfeet wide, but filled with boulders round which the water foams in manycurves and splashes, running away in the merriest ripples, so that it isnever wholly tranquil. By jumping from boulder to boulder he crossed theturbulent tide and gained the other side with a sense of entering theenemy's country.
"Now," he muttered, "I am in South Carolina."
He drew out his map and held it against a tree the better to study it,reassuring himself that his own property line embraced several sectionsof the forest on the south side of the state boundary.
"If Grissy shoots me, it will be on my own land," he said aloud.
He cautiously followed the stream until, several hundred yards fartheron, and overhanging the creek, he came upon the log cabin in which bigPaul had reported the presence of a ghost. Paul's story had notinterested him particularly, but now that he was in the neighborhood heresolved to visit the cabin and learn if possible how ghosts amusethemselves by day. He had thrust a revolver into his pocket beforeleaving the house and while he had no idea that ghosts may be shot, henow made sure that the weapon was in good order. As he sat on a logslipping the cylinder through his fingers he heard whistling fartheralong the creek, followed quickly by the snapping of twigs under a heavytread, and a moment later a tall, slender man broke into view.
The stranger was dressed like a countryman, but he was unmistakably notof the Ardsley force of workmen, for these wore a rough sort of uniform.His hands were thrust carelessly into the side pockets of a gray jeanscoat. They were thrust in deep, so that the coat sagged at the pockets.His trousers were turned up from a pair of rough shoes and he wore agray flannel shirt, the collar of which was guiltless of a tie. He wassmooth shaven, and carried in his mouth a short pipe, which he paused torelight when about a dozen yards from Ardmore. Then, as he held thelighted match above the pipe bowl for an instant to make sure histobacco was burning, Ardmore jumped up and covered him with the pistol.
"I beg your pardon," said the master of Ardsley, "but you're myprisoner!"
The stranger shook the flame out of the match-stick carefully and threwit away before turning toward his captor.
"Young man," he said with perfect self-possession, "don't fool with thatgun; it might go off."
His drawl was characteristic of the region; his tone was one of amusedtolerance. Ardmore was short of stature, and his knickerbockers,leggings and Norfolk jacket were not wholly consonant with the revolver,which, however, he leveled very steadily at the stranger's head.
"You are an intruder on my property," said the master of Ardsley, "andunless I'm much mistaken you have been playing ghost in that cabin.I've heard about you. Your gang has been cutting off my timber aboutlong enough, and this game of playing ghost to scare my men won't do."
"Stealing your timber?" And the stranger was clearly surprised. He heldhis pipe in his hand with his thumb over the bowl and seemed to take amore serious interest in his captor.
"And now," continued Ardmore, "I'm about tired of having this end of thecountry run by the Appleweights, and their disreputable gang, so I'mgoing to lock you up."
The stranger turned toward the cabin, one corner of which was plainlyvisible, and shrugged his shoulders.
"I have nothing to do with the Appleweights, and I assure you I am not atimber thief."
"Then you must be the one who has lifted a few steers out of my herd. Itmakes no difference just what branch of the business you are engaged in,for we're picking up all the gang and you've got to come along with me."
The captive showed signs of anger for the first time. His face flushed,and he took a step toward Ardmore, who immediately threw up therevolver so that it pointed at the man's head.
"Stop right there! We've got old man Appleweight, so you've lost yourleader, and I tell you the jig's up. We'll have you all in jail beforeanother twenty-four hours has passed."
"I judge from the tone of your remarks that you are Ardmore, the ownerof Ardsley. Am I right?"
"You are quite right. And you are a member of a disreputable gang ofoutlaws that has been bringing shame upon the state of North Carolina.Now, I want you to march straight ahead of me. Step lively now!" AndArdmore flourished the pistol menacingly. "March!"
The man hesitated, flung up his head defiantly, then moved slowlyforward. The flush in his face had deepened and his eyes flashedangrily; but Ardmore, his cap on the back of his head, himself presenteda figure so severe, so eloquent of righteous indignation, that thestranger tamely obeyed him.
"We will cross the creek right here," he ordered; "it's a pretty jumpthere from that boulder--there, that was bully! Now right along thereover the log--see the trail! Good!"
It was warm and the captive was perspiring freely. He moved alongdocilely, and finding that he manifested no inclination to bolt, Ardmoredropped the revolver to his side, but with his finger on the trigger. Hewas very proud of himself; for while to Miss Jerry Dangerfieldundoubtedly belonged the honor of capturing the thief Appleweight, yethe had single-handed arrested a member of the famous gang, and he hadalready resolved upon a convenient method of disposing of his prisoner.They paused while Ardmore mounted his horse, silencing the captive, whotook the opportunity to break out protestingly against what he termed aninfamous outrage upon personal liberty.
"You've taken me from one state into another without due process oflaw," declared the stranger, thinking to impress Ardmore, as that younggentleman settled himself in his saddle.
"Go right on now; that's a good fellow," replied the master of Ardsley,lifting the revolver warningly. "Whether it's North Carolina or SouthDakota--it doesn't make a particle of difference to me. As I remarkedbefore, it's my property
, I tell you, and I do what I please here."
"I'll show you whether you do or not," snorted the prisoner, who wastrudging along doggedly with the nose of Ardmore's horse occasionallypoking his back.
They soon reached a field where some laborers were at work, and Ardmorecalled them to him for instructions.
"Boys, this is one of the timber thieves; put him in that corn-cribuntil I come back for him. The nights are warm; the sky is perfectlyclear; and you will kindly see that he does not lack for food."
Two of the men jumped forward and seized Ardmore's prisoner, who nowbroke forth in a torrent of wrath, struggling vigorously in the hands ofthe sturdy fellows who had laid violent hands on him.
"That's right, boys; that's right; easy there! Now in he goes."
A series of corn-cribs fringed the field, and into one of these, fromwhich half the corn had been removed, the prisoner was thrust sprawlingupon the yellow ears, and when he rose and flung himself round, the doorof the corn-crib slammed in his face. He bellowed with rage now, seeingthat his imprisonment was a serious matter, and that it seemed likely tobe prolonged indefinitely.
"They always told me you were a fool," he howled, "but I didn't knowthat anything as crazy as you are was loose in the world."
"Thank you. The head of your gang is much more polite. He's sitting onhis case of Chateau Bizet in my wine cellar, playing solitaire."
"Appleweight in your wine cellar!" bawled the captive in astonishment.
"Certainly. I was afraid to lock him in a room with bath for fear itmight give him hydrophobia; but he's perfectly content in the winecellar."
"What are you going to do with him?"
"I haven't decided yet just what to do with him, but the scoundrelundoubtedly belongs in South Carolina, and I have every intention ofmaking his own state punish him."
The prisoner leaned heavily against his prison door and glared out uponhis jailer with a new, fierce interest.
"I tell you I've nothing to do with the Appleweights! I don't want toreveal my identity to you, you young beggar; but I demand my legalrights."
"My dear sir," retorted Ardmore, "you have no legal rights, for the writof habeas corpus doesn't go here. You seem rather intelligent for abarn burner and timber thief. Come now, what is your name?"
The prisoner gazed down upon the imperturbable figure of his captorthrough the slats of the corn-crib. Ardmore returned his gaze with hismost bland and child-like air. Many people had been driven to the pointof madness by Ardmore's apparent dullness. The prisoner realized that hemust launch a thunderbolt if he would disturb a self-possession socomplete--a tranquillity as sweet as the fading afternoon.
"Mr. Ardmore, I dislike to do it, but your amazing conduct makes itnecessary for me to disclose my identity," and the man's manner showedreal embarrassment.
"I knew it; I knew it;" nodded Ardmore, folding his arms across hischest. "You're either the King of Siam or the Prince of Petosky. Aseither, I salute you!"
"No!" roared the captive, beating impotently against the door of thecage with his hands. "No! I'm the governor of South Carolina!"
This statement failed, however, to produce the slightest effect on Mr.Ardmore, who only smiled slightly, a smile less incredulous thandisdainful.
"Oh, pshaw! that's nothing," he replied; "_I'm_ the governor of NorthCarolina!" and mounting his horse he gravely lifted his hat to theprisoner and galloped away.
While Mr. Ardmore was securing his prisoner in the corn-crib it may beinteresting to return for a moment to the haunted log cabin on RaccoonCreek, the interior of which was roughly but comfortably furnished.Above were two small sleeping-rooms, and beside the bed in each stood asuit-case and a hand-satchel. In each room hung, on convenient hooks, along, black frock-coat, a pair of trousers of light cloth, and abroad-brim black felt hat. Coat, trousers and hat were exactly alike.
In the room below sat a man in his shirt-sleeves, his feet on a cheapdeal table, blowing rings from a cigar. He presented a picture of thegreatest ease and contentment, as he occasionally stroked his shortbrown beard, or threw up his arms and clasped his hands about his heador caught lazily at the smoke rings. On the table lay an array ofplaying cards and poker chips.
"It's too good to last forever," the lone occupant reflected aloud,stifling a yawn, and he reached out, with careless indifference, towarda bundle of newspapers tied together with a piece of twine and drew oneout and spread it across his knees. He yawned again as though thethought of a world whose affairs were stamped in printer's ink boredhim immensely; and then the bold head-lines that shouted at him acrosshalf a quarter of the sheet caused him to gasp, and his feet struck thebare floor of the cabin resoundingly. He now bent over the paper withthe greatest eagerness, muttering as he read, and some of his mutteringswere, it must be confessed, not without profane embellishment.
TWO COWARDLY GOVERNORS MISSING
SCANDAL AFFECTING TWO STATE EXECUTIVES
IS THE APPLEWEIGHT CASE RESPONSIBLE?
RUMORS OF FATAL DUEL ON STATE LINE
He read breathlessly the startling story that followed the head-lines,then rose and glanced anxiously at his watch.
"Am I drunk or mad? I must find Osborne and get out of this."
He leaped to the open door, and gazed into the forest from a littleplatform that commanded all sides of the cabin. And there, to his utteramazement, he saw men in khaki emerging cautiously from the woods. Theywere unmistakably soldiers of some sort, for an officer was giving sharpcommands, and the line opened out like a fan along the creek. Theobserver of this maneuver mopped his head with his handkerchief as hewatched the alert movements of the figures in khaki.
He was so absorbed that he failed to hear stealthy steps at the rear ofthe platform, but he was now rudely aroused by two uniformed youngsterswith S. C. N. G. on their caps, who sprang upon him and bore him with acrash to the puncheon floor.
"You're our prisoner!" shouted one of them, rising when he found thatthe prisoner yielded without resistance.
"What for?" blurted the captive, sitting up and rubbing his elbow.
"For being Bill Appleweight, _alias_ Poteet. Get up, now, and come withus to headquarters, or my instructions are to break your head."
"Who in the devil are you?" panted the prisoner.
"Well, if it's anything to you, we're the South Carolina militia, soyou'd better get up and climb."
The Little Brown Jug at Kildare Page 15