CHAPTER XVII
ON THE ROAD TO TURNER'S
"Who goes there?"
"A jug."
"What kind of a jug?"
"A little brown jug from Kildare."
Thus Mr. Thomas Ardmore tested his pickets with a shibboleth of his owndevising. The sturdy militiamen of North Carolina patrolled the northernbank of Raccoon Creek at midnight, aware that that riotous flood aloneseparated them from their foes. The terraces at Ardsley bristled withthe guns of the First Light Battery, while, upon a cot in the winecellar beneath, Mr. Bill Appleweight, _alias_ Poteet, slept the sleep ofthe just.
He was rudely aroused, however, at one o'clock in the morning byArdmore, Cooke and Collins, and taken out through the kitchen to one ofthe Ardsley farm wagons. Big Paul held the reins, and four of Cooke'sdetectives were mounted as escort. Ardmore, Cooke and Collins were toaccompany the party as a board of strategy in the movement upon TurnerCourt House, South Carolina.
Appleweight, the terror of the border, blinked at the lanterns thatflashed about him in the courtyard. He had been numbed by hisimprisonment, and even now he yielded himself docilely to theinevitable. His capture in the first instance at Mount Nebo had beenclear enough, and he could have placed his hand on the men who did it ifhe had been free for a couple of hours. This he had pondered over hissolacing solitaire as he sat on the case of Chateau Bizet in the Ardsleywine cellar; but the subsequent events had been altogether too much forhim. He had been taken from his original captors by a girl, and whilethe ignominy of this was not lost on the outlaw, his wits had beenunequal to the further fact, which he had no ground for disbelieving,that this captivity within the walls of Ardsley had been due to adaughter of that very governor of North Carolina whom he had counted hisfriend. Why the girl had interested herself in his seizure andincarceration; why he had been carried to the great house of a New Yorkgentleman whom he had never harmed in the least; and why, more than all,he should have been locked in a room filled with bottles bearing absurdand unintelligible titles, and containing, he had learned by muchdespairing experiment, liquids that singularly failed to satisfythirst--these were questions before which Appleweight, _alias_ Poteet,bowed his head helplessly.
"The road between Kildare and Turner's is fairly good," announced Cooke,"though we've got to travel four miles to strike it. Griswold evidentlythinks that holding the creek is all there is of this business, and hewon't find out till morning that we've crawled round his line and placedAppleweight in jail at Turner's where he belongs."
"You must have a good story ready for the press, Collins," said Ardmore."The North Carolina border counties don't want Appleweight injured, andGovernor Dangerfield don't want any harm to come to him--you may be sureof that, or Bill would have been doing time long ago. The moral elementin the larger cities and the people in Boston and Springfield,Massachusetts, who only hear of Appleweight in the newspapers, want himpunished, and we must express to them our righteous indignation that hehas been kidnapped and dragged away from our vengeance by the governorof South Carolina, who wants him in his own state merely to protect him.We can come pretty near pleasing everybody if you work it right,Collins. Our manner of handling the matter will do much to increaseGovernor Dangerfield's popularity with all classes."
"Gentlemen, it was very impolite of you not to tell me you were ready tostart!" and Jerry came briskly from the side entrance, dressed for thesaddle and nibbling a biscuit.
"But you are not to go! I thought that was understood!" cried Ardmore.
"It may have been understood by you, Mr. Ardmore, but not by me! Ishould never forgive myself if, after all the trouble I have taken tostraighten out this little matter, I should not be in at the finish.Will you kindly get me a horse?"
Miss Dangerfield's resolution was not to be shaken, and a few minuteslater the party moved out from the courtyard. Cooke rode several hundredyards ahead; then two detectives preceded the wagon, in whichAppleweight sat on a cross-seat with two more of Cooke's men on a seatjust behind him. He was tied and gagged, and an old derby hat (suppliedby Paul) had been clapped upon the side of his head at an angle thatgave him a jaunty air belied by his bonds. Though his tongue wassilenced, his eyes were at once eloquent of wonderment, resignation andimpotent rage. Beside the wagon rode Miss Jerry Dangerfield, alert andcontented. Ardmore and Collins were immediately behind her, and sheindulged the journalist in some mild chaff from time to time, to hisinfinite delight, though considerably to Ardmore's distress of heart;for, though no words had passed between him and Jerry as to thedisgraceful flight of the adjutant-general, yet the master of Ardsleywas in a jealous mood. The moon had left the conspirators to the softerradiance of the stars, but there was sufficient light for Ardmore tomark the gentle lines of Jerry's face, as she lifted it now and then toscan the bright globes above.
Paul drove his team at a trot over the smooth road of the estate to aremote and little-used gate on the southern side, but still safelyremoved from the South Carolina pickets along the Raccoon.
"It's all right over there," remarked Collins, jerking his head towardthe creek. "The fronting armies are waiting for morning and battle. Isuppose that when we send word to Griswold that Appleweight is in aSouth Carolina jail it will change the scene of operations. It will thenbe Governor Osborne's painful task to dance between law-and-ordersentiment and the loud cursing of his border constituents. Thepossibilities of this rumpus grow on me, Ardmore."
"There is no rumpus, Mr. Collins," said Jerry over her shoulder. "Thegovernor of North Carolina is merely giving expression to his civicpride and virtue."
Leaving Ardsley, they followed a dismal stretch of road until theyreached the highway that connects Turner's and Kildare.
"It's going to be morning pretty soon. We must get the prisoner intoTurner's by five o'clock. Trot 'em up, Paul," ordered Cooke.
They were all in capital spirits now, with a fairly good road beforethem, leading straight to Turner's, and with no expectation of anytrouble in landing their prisoner safely in jail. A wide publication ofthe fact that Appleweight had been dragged from North Carolina andlocked in a South Carolina jail would have the effect of clearingGovernor Dangerfield's skirts of any complicity with the border outlaws,while at the same time making possible a plausible explanation byGovernor Dangerfield to the men in the hills of the contemptible conductof the governor of South Carolina in effecting the arrest of their greatchief.
They were well into South Carolina territory now, and were jogging onat a sharp trot, when suddenly Cooke turned back and halted the wagon.
"There's something coming--wait!"
"Maybe Bill's friends are out looking for him," suggested Collins.
"Or it may be Grissy," cried Ardmore in sudden alarm.
"Your professor is undoubtedly asleep in his camp on the Raccoon,"replied Collins contemptuously. "Do not be alarmed, Mr. Ardmore."
Cooke impatiently bade them be quiet.
"If we're accosted, what shall we say?" he asked.
"We'll say," replied Jerry instantly, "that one of the laborers atArdsley is dead, and that we are taking his remains to his wife's familyat Turner's. I shall be his grief-stricken widow."
The guards already had Appleweight down on the floor of the wagon, whereone of them sat on his feet to make sure he did not create adisturbance. At her own suggestion Jerry dismounted and climbed into thewagon, where she sat on the side board, with her head deeply bowed asthough in grief.
"Pretty picture of a sorrowing widow," mumbled Collins. Ardmore punchedhim in the ribs to make him stop laughing. To the quick step of walkinghorses ahead of them was now added the whisper and creak of leather.
"Hello, there!" yelled Cooke, wishing to take the initiative.
"Hey-O!" answered a voice, and all was still.
"Give us the road; we're taking a body into Turner's to catch themorning train," called Cooke.
"Who's dead?"
"One of Ardmore's Dutchmen. Shipping the corpse back to Germany."
&nbs
p; The party ahead of them paused as though debating the case.
The north-bound party was a blur in the road. Their horses sniffed andmoved restlessly about as their riders conferred.
"Give us the road!" shouted Cooke. "We haven't much time to catch ourtrain."
"Who did you say was dead?"
"Karl Schmidt," returned Paul promptly.
Ardmore's heart sank, fearful lest an inspection of the corpse should beproposed. But at this moment a wail, eerie and heart-breaking, rose andfell dismally upon the night. It was Jerry mourning her dead husband,her slight figure swaying back and forth over his body in an abandon ofgrief.
"De poor vidow--she be mit us," called out big Paul, forsaking his usualexcellent English for guttural dialect.
"Who are _you_ fellows?" demanded Cooke, spurring his horse forward. Thehorsemen, to his surprise, seemed to draw back, and he heard a voicespeak out sharply, followed by a regrouping of the riders at the side ofthe road.
"We been to a dance at Turner's, and air goin' back home to Kildare,"came the reply.
"That seems all right," whispered Ardmore to Collins.
"Thus," muttered Collins, "in the midst of death we are in life," andthis, reaching Jerry, caused her to bend over the corpse at her feet asthough in a convulsive spasm of sorrow, whereupon, to add color to theirstory, Paul rumbled off a few consolatory sentences in German.
"Give us the road!" commanded Cooke, and without further parley theystarted ahead, closing about the wagon to diminish, as far as possible,the size of the caravan. Paul kept the horses at a walk, as becametheir sad errand, and Jerry continued to weep dolorously.
They passed the horsemen at a slight rise in the rolling road. The partybound for Turner's moved steadily forward, the horsemen huddled aboutthe wagon, with Jerry's led horse between Ardmore and Collins at therear. At the top of the knoll hung the returning dancers, well to theleft of the road, permitting with due respect the passing of the funeralparty. One of the men, Ardmore could have sworn, lifted his hat untilthe wagon had passed. Then some one called good night, and, lookingback, Ardmore saw them--a dozen men, he judged--regain the road andquietly resume their journey toward Kildare.
"Pretty peaceable for fellows who've been attending a dance," suggestedCollins, craning his neck to look after them.
Cooke turned back with the same observation, and seemed troubled.
"I was afraid to look too closely at those men. They seemed rather toosober, and I was struck with the fact that they bunched up pretty close,as though they were hiding something."
"They were afraid of the corpse," remarked Collins readily. "To meet adead man on a lonely road at this hour of the morning is enough to soberthe most riotous."
"One fellow lifted his hat as we passed, and I thought--"
"Well, what did you think, Mr. Ardmore?" demanded Cooke impatiently.
"Well, it may seem strange, but I thought there was something about thatchap that suggested Grissy. It would be like Grissy to lift his hat to acorpse under any circumstances. He has spent a whole lot of time inParis, and besides, he never forgets his manners."
"But suppose it was Griswold," said Cooke, wishing to dispose of thesuspicion, "what could he be doing out here? _He_ hasn't Appleweight--weknow that; and he has just now missed his chance of ever getting him."
They paused to allow Jerry to resume her horse, and one of thedetectives joined in the conference to venture his opinion that the menthey had passed were in uniform. "They looked like militia to me," andas he was a careful man, Cooke took note of his remark, though he madeno comment.
"Suppose they were in uniform," said Jerry lightly; "they can do noharm, and as we are now in South Carolina, and they are not our troops,it would not be proper for us to molest them. Let us go on, for Mr.Appleweight's widow is not anxious to miss her train back to thefatherland."
"If they were a detail of the enemy's militia, they would have held usup," declared Cooke with finality.
But as they moved on toward Turner's, Ardmore was still troubled overwhat had seemed to him the remarkable Parisian courtesy of the returningreveler who had lifted his hat as the corpse passed. Grissy, he keptsaying over and over to himself, was no fool by any manner of means, andhe was unable to conjecture why the associate professor of admiralty,known to be detached on special duty for the governor of South Carolina,should be riding to Kildare, unless he contemplated some _coup_ ofimportance.
The stars paled under the growing light of the early summer dawn.Appleweight, with shoulders wearily drooping, contemplated the attendingcortege with the gaze of one who sullenly accepts a condition he doesnot in the least understand.
A few early risers saw the strange company enter and proceed to thejail; but before half the community had breakfasted, Bill Appleweight,the outlaw, was securely locked in jail in Turner Court House, the seatof Mingo County, in the state of South Carolina, and the jailer,moreover, was sharing the distinguished captive's thraldom.
Collins, at the railway station, was announcing to the world the factthat at the very moment when Governor Dangerfield was about to seizeAppleweight and punish him for his crimes, the outlaw had been kidnappedin North Carolina and taken under cover of night to a jail in SouthCarolina where Governor Osborne might be expected to shield him fromserious prosecution with all the power of his high office.
The Little Brown Jug at Kildare Page 17
