by Thomas Dixon
CHAPTER VIII
A RIDE FOR A LIFE
When Ben Cameron failed to find either Elsie or her father at home, hehurried to the hotel, walking under the shadows of the trees to avoidrecognition, though his resemblance to Phil would have enabled him to passin his hat and coat unchallenged by any save the keenest observers.
He found his mother's bedroom door ajar and saw Elsie within, sobbing inher arms. He paused, watched, and listened.
Never had he seen his mother so beautiful--her face calm, intelligent, andvital, crowned with a halo of gray. She stood, flushed and dignified,softly smoothing the golden hair of the sobbing girl whom she had learnedto love as her daughter. Her whole being reflected the years of homage shehad inspired in husband, children, and neighbours. What a woman! She hadmade war inevitable, fought it to the bitter end; and in the despair of anegro reign of terror, still the prophetess and high priestess of apeople, serene, undismayed, and defiant, she had fitted the uniform of aGrand Dragon on her last son, and sewed in secret day and night to equiphis men. And through it all she was without affectation, her sweetmotherly ways, gentle manner and bearing always resistless to those whocame within her influence.
"If he dies," cried the tearful voice, "I shall never forgive myself fornot surrendering without reserve and fighting his battles with him!"
"He is not dead yet," was the mother's firm answer. "Doctor Cameron is onQueen's back. Your lover's men will be riding to-night--these youngdare-devil Knights of the South, with their life in their hands, a song ontheir lips, and the scorn of death in their souls!"
"Then I'll ride with them," cried the girl, suddenly lifting her head.
Ben stepped into the room, and with a cry of joy Elsie sprang into hisarms. The mother stood silent until their lips met in the long tender kissof the last surrender of perfect love.
"How did you escape so soon?" she asked quietly, while Elsie's head stilllay on his breast.
"Phil shot the brute, and I rushed him out of town. He heard the news,returned on the special, took my place, and sent me for his father. Theguard has been changed and it's impossible to see him, or communicate withthe new Commandant----"
Elsie started and turned pale.
"And father has hidden to avoid me--merciful God--if Phil isexecuted----"
"He isn't dead yet, either," said Ben, slipping his arm around her. "Butwe must save him without a clash or a drop of bloodshed, if possible. Thefate of our people may hang on this. A battle with United States troopsnow might mean ruin for the South----"
"But you will save him?" Elsie pleaded, looking into his face.
"Yes--or I'll go down with him," was the steady answer.
"Where is Margaret?" he asked.
"Gone to McAllister's with a message from your father," Mrs. Cameronreplied,
"Tell her when she returns to keep a steady nerve. I'll save Phil. Sendher to find her father. Tell him to hold five hundred men ready for actionin the woods by the river and the rest in reserve two miles out oftown----"
"May I go with her?" Elsie asked eagerly.
"No. I may need you," he said. "I am going to find the old statesman now,if I have to drag the bottomless pit. Wait here until I return."
Ben reached the telegraph office unobserved, called the operator atColumbia, and got the Grand Giant of the county into the office. Within anhour he learned that the death warrant had been received and approved. Itwould be returned by a messenger to Piedmont on the morning train. Helearned also that any appeal for a stay must be made through theHonourable Austin Stoneman, the secret representative of the Governmentclothed with this special power. The execution had been ordered the day ofthe election, to prevent the concentration of any large force bent onrescue.
"The old fox!" Ben muttered.
From the Grand Giant at Spartanburg he learned, after a delay of threehours, that Stoneman had left with a boy in a buggy, which he had hiredfor three days, and refused to tell his destination. He promised to followand locate him as quickly as possible.
It was the afternoon on the day following, during the progress of theelection, before Ben received the message from Spartanburg that Stonemanhad been found at the Old Red Tavern where the roads crossed from Piedmontto Hambright. It was only twelve miles away, just over the line on theNorth Carolina side.
He walked with Margaret to the block where Queen stood saddled, watchingwith pride the quiet air of self-control with which she bore herself.
"Now, my sister, you know the way to the tavern. Ride for yoursweetheart's life. Bring the old man here by five o'clock, and we'll savePhil without a fight. Keep your nerve. The Commandant knows a regiment ofmine is lying in the woods, and he's trying to slip out of town with hisprisoner. I'll stand by my men ready for a battle at a moment's notice,but for God's sake get here in time to prevent it."
She stooped from the saddle, pressed her brother's hand, kissed him, andgalloped swiftly over the old Way of Romance she knew so well.
On reaching the tavern, the landlord rudely denied that any such man wasthere, and left her standing dazed and struggling to keep back the tears.
A boy of eight, with big wide friendly eyes, slipped into the room, lookedup into her face tenderly, and said:
"He's the biggest liar in North Carolina. The old man's right upstairs inthe room over your head. Come on; I'll show you."
Margaret snatched the child in her arms and kissed him.
She knocked in vain for ten minutes. At last she heard his voice within:
"Go away from that door!"
"I'm from Piedmont, sir," cried Margaret, "with an important message fromthe Commandant for you."
"Yes; I saw you come. I will not see you. I know everything, and I willhear no appeal."
"But you cannot know of the exchange of men," pleaded the girl.
"I tell you I know all about it. I will not interfere----"
"But you could not be so cruel----"
"The majesty of the law must be vindicated. The judge who consents to theexecution of a murderer is not cruel. He is showing mercy to Society. Go,now; I will not hear you."
In vain Margaret knocked, begged, pleaded, and sobbed.
At last, in a fit of desperation, as she saw the sun sinking lower and theprecious minutes flying, she hurled her magnificent figure against thedoor and smashed the cheap lock which held it.
The old man sat at the other side of the room, looking out of the window,with his massive jaws locked in rage. The girl staggered to his side,knelt by his chair, placed her trembling hand on his arm, and begged:
"For the love of Jesus, have mercy! Come with me quickly!"
With a growl of anger, he said:
"No!"
MIRIAM COOPER AS MARGARET CAMERON.]
"It was a mad impulse, in my defence as well as his own."
"Impulse, yes! But back of it lay banked the fires of cruelty and racehatred! The Nation cannot live with such barbarism rotting its heartout."
"But this is war, sir--a war of races, and this an accident ofwar--besides, his life had been attempted by them twice before."
"So I've heard, and yet the negro always happens to be the victim----"
Margaret leaped to her feet and glared at the old man for a moment inuncontrollable anger.
"Are you a fiend?" she fairly shrieked.
Old Stoneman merely pursed his lips.
The girl came a step closer, and extended her hand again in mute appeal.
"No, I was foolish. You are not cruel. I have heard of a hundred acts ofcharity you have done among our poor. Come, this is horrible! It isimpossible! You cannot consent to the death of your son----"
Stoneman looked up sharply:
"Thank God, he hasn't married my daughter yet----"
"Your daughter!" gasped Margaret. "I've told you it was Phil who killedthe negro! He took Ben's place just before the guards were exchanged----"
"Phil!--Phil?" shrieked the old man, staggering to his club foot andstumbling toward Margaret
with dilated eyes and whitening face; "Myboy--Phil?--why--why, are you crazy?--Phil? Did you say--_Phil_?"
"Yes. Ben persuaded him to go to Charlotte until the excitement passed toavoid trouble. Come, come, sir, we must be quick! We may be too late!"
She seized and pulled him toward the door.
"Yes. Yes, we must hurry," he said in a laboured whisper, looking arounddazed. "You will show me the way, my child--you love him--yes, we will goquickly--quickly! my boy--my boy!"
Margaret called the landlord, and while they hitched Queen to the buggy,the old man stood helplessly wringing and fumbling his big ugly hands,muttering incoherently, and tugging at his collar as though about tosuffocate.
As they dashed away, old Stoneman laid a trembling hand on Margaret'sarm.
"Your horse is a good one, my child?"
"Yes; the one Marion saved--the finest in the county."
"And you know the way?"
"Every foot of it. Phil and I have driven it often."
"Yes, yes--you love him," he sighed, pressing her hand.
Through the long reckless drive, as the mare flew over the rough hills,every nerve and muscle of her fine body at its utmost tension, the fathersat silent. He braced his club foot against the iron bar of the dashboardand gripped the sides of the buggy to steady his feeble body. Margaretleaned forward intently watching the road to avoid an accident. The oldman's strange colourless eyes stared straight in front, wide open, andseeing nothing, as if the soul had already fled through them intoeternity.