The Night Riders

by Henry Cleveland Wood

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  The next day the Squire was buried.

  The funeral seemed one of especial sadness, shadowed as it was with thestain and mystery of a dark crime, and with neither kith nor kin presentto mourn, for Milton Derr was behind iron bars, and the girl flatlyrefused to attend the funeral, despite her mother's urging.

  "I won't add a hypocrite's tears to my other shortcomings, and neitherwill I be a show to some folks who will go more out of idle curiositythan sympathy," said the girl, decisively, and so her mother went alone.

  The toll gate was thrown open to the public during the funeral, whichwas no more than a proper mark of respect to the Squire's memory, for hehad long been president of the road, and was a large stockholder,besides.

  The day itself was one of gloom and dreariness, with low-hanging cloudssurcharged with sullen rain, while at each frequent blast of wind therewas a skurrying of fallen leaves, seeking, like sentient things, to findshelter from the pitiless rain.

  The interment was in the family burying ground, where the first wife layat rest, and the tall weeds and grasses of the enclosure were trampledby many eager feet.

  During the services, which were held in the house, the women andchildren huddled together in the "best room," looking about them withawed, half-frightened faces, as if a ghostly visitant might suddenlystalk forth out some gloomy corner, while the men stood in little groupsin the hall, or the Squire's "living room," and when they spoke in lowtones, it was mostly of the man within the prison cell, and little ofthe one within his coffin.

  The coming of Mrs. Brown, unaccompanied by her daughter, gave new foodfor comment, and for a time following her arrival, the victim and theaccused were both forgotten in the fact of the strange absence of onewho might almost be called a "widowed bride."

  Early that morning, on looking from the toll-house window, the firstsight to greet the unhappy girl had been the hearse containing thecasket for the Squire coming along the road from the town, and the sighthad so unnerved her that she once more shut herself in her room, a preyto harrowing thoughts.

  Long after the mother had gone to the funeral she sat motionless anddazed, listening in a sort of hopeless apathy to the sound of vehiclesrolling by, carrying those to pay their last tribute of respect to thedead; then, after ages, it seemed, she heard the sound of their return,and understood that "earth had been given to earth," and still nowidow's weeds were necessary for her, no blinding tears need be shed--intruth, they would have been but a cruel mockery.

  She felt a profound pity for the one whose life had gone out so quickly,and in so tragic a manner, yet there was a deeper pity, and--God forgiveher!--a changeless love in her heart for the poor, unfortunate being,whose insane jealousy had brought him to his present strait. Yet whyblame him? She, herself, was the cause of it all. She could not help butremember this; indeed, she did not wish to forget it. It was his greatlove for her, and her own seeming unworthiness that had wrought hisruin. She was the guilty one in the eye of God, not Milton Derr.

  A day or two after the funeral, Billy West came by the gate oneafternoon on his way from town, and brought word to the unhappy girlthat Milton had asked to see her, and begged that she would come to thejail. He had something of importance to say to her.

  "How does he look? How does he seem to bear up under the strain?" askedSally, anxiously.

  "He's broken down considerable," admitted Billy. "He looks ten yearsolder, to my thinkin'. Of course, I said what I could to cheer him up,but I'm afraid he's got himself into a pretty bad box."

  "I don't believe he did it," affirmed Sally, faintly, but she turned hereyes away as she made the denial.

  "It don't look possible," agreed Billy. "It really don't. I never wouldhave thought it of him. I hope he can prove himself clear of the deed."

  "Won't you ask Sophronia to come by to-morrow and go with me?" askedSally, thoughtfully, "I hate to go alone."

  "Yes, to be sure," answered Billy, "I'll ride over to-night an' seeher."

  On the morrow Sophronia came. Mrs. Brown at once suspected Sally'smotives in going to town, and when she put the question point-blank toher daughter, Sally frankly confessed that she was going to see Milton.

  "Sally Brown!" cried her mother, with her hands upraised. "The idea ofyour standin' there, an' tellin' me you air goin' to see that miserablemurderer, that's not only cheated you out of a good husband, but out ofa lot o' property besides. He ought to be hung, an' you know it!"

  "He sent for me, and I'm going," answered Sally, simply.

  "Well, go!" cried her mother, wrathfully, "go! an' soon folks will besayin' that, like as not, you also had a hand in gettin' the Squire putout of the way. It seems a hard thing to say about your own child, but Ideclare it begins to look like it," added Mrs. Brown, bitterly.

  Quick upon the words the girl's eyes flashed forth something of theindignation she felt at their cruel significance, and an angry torrentof denial rose to her lips, and yet it was suddenly stayed by an innervoice that seemed to say--"Who but you has brought it all about?"

  She did, indeed, have a hand in it, but not in the way her mothersuggested. Sally turned away and made no answer.

  When she was brought face to face with the prisoner, the gloom of theplace, the grated cell, the dismal air of confinement, burst upon her instartling reality, and forced on her lively imagination the fullsignificance of her lover's peril.

  Milt looking pale and careworn, while in his dark eyes lingered the lookof the hunted, supplanting the frank, free gaze they had worn in hiscareless freedom. He was a prisoner, and the sweet freedom of the hillswas no longer his portion. It was some moments before the girl couldtrust herself to speak, and in Milt's eyes there also lingered asuspicious moisture.

  The jailer and Sophronia had discreetly withdrawn to the further end ofthe dim corridor, and were talking over Milton's case in low voices ofdeep concern.

  "Sally," said the prisoner, in an undertone that reached only her ears,"I have sent for you to put myself right in your eyes. After whathappened the other night, and what I had said to you in my ungovernablejealousy, there's only one thing you could think of me in connectionwith this miserable affair, and I can't blame you in the least forthinking it. You, of all others, have the best right to call me amurderer, but as God in heaven is my judge, I swear to you, by thesacred memory of my dead mother, that I did not commit that crime!"

  "I couldn't bring myself to believe you would do so dreadful a thing,"said the girl, tearfully, looking into his dark eyes with the mists ofdoubt clearing her own, despite all the damaging circumstances.

  "I didn't do it!" asserted Milt, vehemently. "I know that everythingpoints to me as the guilty man, in your eyes, at least, but I am notguilty. It is true that I was in a frenzy, and quite beside myself withanger when I made those foolish threats. If I could have met my uncle,then and there, I think I could have throttled him and been glad of thechance.

  "Before I had gone half the distance to his house, I began tounderstand what a fool I had been, and I was half tempted to turn backand beg your forgiveness, but pride would not let me, and I walked onalmost to my uncle's gate that leads into the avenue.

  "As I walked along, I began to reason more calmly with myself. Whyshould I burden my soul with a crime on account of a woman that hadtreated me thus falsely? What good could come of it? I was a fool forever coming back. I should have stayed when once I had gotten safelyaway.

  "To be seen in this locality was only courting death, not only formyself, but for Steve Judson, who had befriended me. After the risk hehad run to save my life, it would be perfidy to bring vengeance on hishead by my return. I truly hope he has left this part of the countrysince they have caught me," added Milton, earnestly.

  "While I was thinking over all these things," he continued, "I heard ahorseman coming along the road, and fearing that a flash of lightningmight reveal my presence to some one I knew, I hastily climbed a fenceopposite my uncle's place, and started off across the country in
thedirection of Grigg's Station, fully determined that I would take thefirst train possible, and forever leave this spot.

  "Imagine my consternation when I was arrested the next morning, chargedwith the very crime I had threatened to commit the night before in myblind passion.

  "I could scarcely believe that it was not some hideous joke that wasbeing played on me, as a just punishment for my wicked thoughts, andwhen they told me my uncle was dead--murdered--and that I was accused ofthe crime, my own actions must have led them to believe me guilty. Ialmost began to wonder, if, in some insane moment of self-forgetfulness,I could really have committed the deed. Then calmer judgment came to myrescue and proclaimed my innocence. This is the truth, the whole truth,of that wretched night, Sally!" cried Milt.

  "I believe you, every word" said the girl simply.

  "That is why I sent for you. I wanted you to know the full facts in thecase. If you believe me innocent, I can stand the censure of the wholeworld."

  "And now that the Squire is dead, and can no longer harm you, I too,have something to confess," admitted the girl. "I am now free to tellwhy I promised to marry him. I did it for your sake, Milt."

  "For my sake!" he echoed.

  "Yes, the night the New Pike gate was attacked, your hat was found nearthe toll-house, in the dusty road. Don't you remember you had writtenboth our names under the lining the day of the picnic last September?Squire Bixler had that hat in his possession, and was taking it to townto give it to the officers. I knew if they closely examined the hat,they would find our names, and I knew you would be arrested and sent toprison. So I promised to marry the Squire if he would give me that hat,and let you go free."

  "And you did this for my sake?" asked Milton Derr, falteringly. "Sally!Sally! can you ever forgive me?" he cried penitently.

  But even as he looked, pleadingly, anxiously, into her upturned face,the light of forgiveness had already illumined the gentle, tear dimmedeyes.