by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE ARREST.
A lance of sunshine, piercing a crack in the old barn, struck squarelyinto Ben Stone’s eyes and awoke him. For a few moments he lay stillwithout comprehending, the odor of the haymow in his nostrils; his headalone was uncovered by the hay into which the fugitives had burrowed.High up in the peak of the barn the morning light streamed in through abroken, dusty, cobwebby window; with the passing of the night the stormhad passed also, and the new day was bright and fair.
Ben turned his head slowly, softly, and saw his brother sleeping besidehim, which sight brought back with a rush the memories of recent eventsleading up to and including the flight by night from Oakdale. They werefugitives, he and Jerry—fugitives and wanderers upon the face of theearth.
Jerry awoke; the sightless eyes unclosed and a faint smile crept overhis face. “Ben,” he called, moving a hand to touch the lad at hisside—“Ben, is it you?”
“Yes, Jerry. Did I wake you up? I didn’t mean to do so.”
“Oh, I’m glad you did; I’m glad to know we’re together again. It ismorning.”
“Yes, it is morning; the sun is shining.”
“I’m warm and dry and comfortable now. I was so wet and cold when wefound this place last night!”
“It was a mean old night. If it hadn’t stormed, we’d got a much biggerstart—we’d be lots further away from Oakdale now.”
“We’d better stay here all day long, Ben, for anyone won’t be likely tofind us. That’s the way I did at first—hid in the daytime and traveledat night.”
“But we brought no food, and we must have something to eat. I’m afraidyou’re hungry now, Jerry.”
“Oh, not a bit,” was the assurance. “It ain’t so hard for a feller togo all day without eating if he only tries; I know, for haven’t I doneit lots of times! Perhaps when night comes again we’ll be able to findsomething to eat somehow.”
“I have money,” said Ben. “I can buy food.”
“But if you try it now somebody who sees you may send word back toOakdale. Please don’t try it now, Ben, for truly I’m not hungry.Where’s Pilot?”
For the first time they thought of the little dog, and, to theirsurprise and dismay, he was gone. Ben, however, was far more concernedthan Jerry over this.
“He’ll come back,” declared the blind boy. “He’s gone to hunt for hisbreakfast, and I know he’ll come back; he always does.”
They lay there for some time, talking of the past and planning for thefuture. The ray of sunshine that had aroused Ben crept on across themow, leaving them in shadow, and presently Jerry once more betrayedtokens of drowsiness, slumber again claiming him at last.
“Poor little chap!” murmured Ben with infinite tenderness. “You’ve hada hard time of it, but I’m going to stick by you now and take care ofyou always. I can do it, and I will.”
The silence in the barn was so profound that he could hear cricketsfiddling in the thickets of brown, rain-washed grass outside. With aclatter of hoofs and a rumble of wheels, a horse and carriage passed onthe road near by. Ben listened till the sounds died out in thedistance, and then after a time he likewise slept once more.
It was the barking of Pilot that next aroused the brothers, and thelittle dog came scrambling up onto the low mow and sniffed around them,whining strangely. He barked again, a short, sharp note, whereuponJerry clutched his brother with both hands, whispering excitedly:
“Danger, Ben—danger! Pilot is trying to tell us.”
Even as these words were uttered they heard the voices of men and thetramp of heavy feet. One of Jerry’s hands found Pilot’s collar, andbeneath that touch the dog crouched upon the hay and was still.
There seemed to be two men. “The critter sartainly come right in here,”said one of them. “Mebbe ’tain’t the same dorg, but he answers thedeescription the Widder Jones give; and it’s mighty queer a dorg shouldbe hookin’ it round here, where there ain’t no houses nigher than aquarter of a mile.”
“Where’s the beast dodged to, sheriff?” questioned the other man. “Iheared him bark arter he skipped in through the open door.”
Sheriff! Ben Stone’s heart leaped into his throat at that word, and ashuddering sickness overcame him. He felt Jerry trembling violently athis side. Both lay perfectly still, scarcely breathing, but unable torepress the heavy beatings of their hearts. The men searched below, andafter a time one of them climbed upon the mow. In a few moments henearly trod upon them, halting to utter a shout:
“Here they be!”
As the other man came scrambling to the mow, Ben threw aside the hayand sat up.
“What do you want?” he asked huskily.
One man, tall and thin, with a bunch of tobacco-stained whiskers on hischin, answered immediately:
“We want you, and, by hokey, we’ve got ye!”
“Oh, Ben!” sobbed Jerry, likewise sitting up. “Oh, Ben!”
In a moment Pilot bristled and barked savagely at the men, who,however, betrayed no shade of alarm over this demonstration.
“If I hadn’t spied that yaller cur,” said the shorter man of the two,“we might never located them to-day. Nobody we questioned ’round herehad seen anything of ’em. You’ve got to give me the credit, sheriff.”
“That’s all right, Hubbard; you’ll git all the credit that’s comin’ toye, don’t worry.”
Ben had seen both men in Oakdale. The taller was William Pickle, adeputy sheriff; the other Abel Hubbard, a constable. The deputy stoopedand fastened a strong hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“Come on,” he ordered. “You took a long walk last night; we’ll give yea ride to-day.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Goin’ to take ye back to Oakdale, of course.”
“What for? What have I done?”
“I ruther guess you know. You’re a slippery rascal, and you’ve left arecord behind ye everywhere you’ve been. Gimme the irons, Hubbard.”
There was a clanking, rattling sound as the constable brought forth apair of handcuffs, at sight of which all the resentment in Ben Stone’soutraged soul rose.
“Don’t you put those things on me!” he shouted furiously. “I haven’tdone anything.”
Both men held him, and, in spite of his struggles, the manacles weresnapped upon his wrists; while Jerry, still sitting on the mow, pleadedand sobbed and wrung his hands, the little dog vainly seeking to soothehim by trying to lick his face.
“He’s a desp’rate character, sheriff,” said the constable. “’Twouldn’tbe safe not to iron him.”
“I ain’t takin’ no chances,” declared William Pickle grimly. “I had oneprisoner break away once, and that learnt me a lesson. Now it’s no useto raise sech a fuss, young feller; you might jest as well take yourmedicine quiet. You ought to know what alwus comes to them that playsthe tricks you’ve been up to.”
“I haven’t done anything to be arrested,” protested Ben wildly. “I havea right to take care of my own brother, for he’s blind and can’t lookout for himself.”
“Purty good bluffer,” grinned Abel Hubbard.
“That’s all right; ’twon’t do him no good,” returned the deputysheriff. “Course he’s got sense enough to know anything he owns up tomay be used as evidence against him.”
Again and again Ben protested that he knew not why he had been placedunder arrest. “Why don’t you tell me?” he cried. “What’s the charge?”
“Robbery,” said Pickle; “and there’s sartainly evidence enough to putye behind the bars. You might jest as well come along quiet, for itwon’t do ye no good resistin’. We’d better be movin’, Hubbard.”
They dragged him down from the mow, Jerry following, dumb with anguish.At a distance from the barn a horse, attached to a carriage, washitched beneath a roadside tree, and toward this conveyance themanacled prisoner was marched between the two officers. His brain wasin a whirl, for he could not understand th
e meaning of this hideousaccusation against him.
“Unhitch the hoss, Hubbard,” directed the deputy sheriff. “I’ll putthis feller inter the wagon.”
“Take me with my brother!” pleaded Jerry, who had followed to the spot.
“We ain’t got no orders to take only jest him,” said William Pickle.“The wagon ain’t roomy enough to carry you, too, and so we can’t botherwith ye. Mebbe ’twas an oversight we wa’n’t give’ orders to fetch ye,for you might serve as a witness against him; but, having neitherauthority nor room, we won’t cumber ourselves with ye.”
With the captive between himself and Hubbard, William Pickle took thereins and turned the horse toward Oakdale. Looking back, the manacledlad saw Jerry standing there, his face hidden in his hands, the yellowdog gazing up sympathetically at him, a spectacle never to beforgotten; and the frightful injustice of fate seemed to crush andsmother the last spark of hope and strength in Ben’s soul.
------------------------------------------------------------------------