The Valley of Fear

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  Chapter 5

  The Darkest Hour

  If anything had been needed to give an impetus to Jack McMurdo'spopularity among his fellows it would have been his arrest andacquittal. That a man on the very night of joining the lodge shouldhave done something which brought him before the magistrate was a newrecord in the annals of the society. Already he had earned thereputation of a good boon companion, a cheery reveller, and withal aman of high temper, who would not take an insult even from theall-powerful Boss himself. But in addition to this he impressed hiscomrades with the idea that among them all there was not one whosebrain was so ready to devise a bloodthirsty scheme, or whose hand wouldbe more capable of carrying it out. "He'll be the boy for the cleanjob," said the oldsters to one another, and waited their time untilthey could set him to his work.

  McGinty had instruments enough already; but he recognized that this wasa supremely able one. He felt like a man holding a fierce bloodhound inleash. There were curs to do the smaller work; but some day he wouldslip this creature upon its prey. A few members of the lodge, TedBaldwin among them, resented the rapid rise of the stranger and hatedhim for it; but they kept clear of him, for he was as ready to fight asto laugh.

  But if he gained favour with his fellows, there was another quarter,one which had become even more vital to him, in which he lost it. EttieShafter's father would have nothing more to do with him, nor would heallow him to enter the house. Ettie herself was too deeply in love togive him up altogether, and yet her own good sense warned her of whatwould come from a marriage with a man who was regarded as a criminal.

  One morning after a sleepless night she determined to see him, possiblyfor the last time, and make one strong endeavour to draw him from thoseevil influences which were sucking him down. She went to his house, ashe had often begged her to do, and made her way into the room which heused as his sitting-room. He was seated at a table, with his backturned and a letter in front of him. A sudden spirit of girlishmischief came over her--she was still only nineteen. He had not heardher when she pushed open the door. Now she tiptoed forward and laid herhand lightly upon his bended shoulders.

  If she had expected to startle him, she certainly succeeded; but onlyin turn to be startled herself. With a tiger spring he turned on her,and his right hand was feeling for her throat. At the same instant withthe other hand he crumpled up the paper that lay before him. For aninstant he stood glaring. Then astonishment and joy took the place ofthe ferocity which had convulsed his features--a ferocity which hadsent her shrinking back in horror as from something which had neverbefore intruded into her gentle life.

  "It's you!" said he, mopping his brow. "And to think that you shouldcome to me, heart of my heart, and I should find nothing better to dothan to want to strangle you! Come then, darling," and he held out hisarms, "let me make it up to you."

  But she had not recovered from that sudden glimpse of guilty fear whichshe had read in the man's face. All her woman's instinct told her thatit was not the mere fright of a man who is startled. Guilt--that wasit--guilt and fear!

  "What's come over you, Jack?" she cried. "Why were you so scared of me?Oh, Jack, if your conscience was at ease, you would not have looked atme like that!"

  "Sure, I was thinking of other things, and when you came tripping solightly on those fairy feet of yours--"

  "No, no, it was more than that, Jack." Then a sudden suspicion seizedher. "Let me see that letter you were writing."

  "Ah, Ettie, I couldn't do that."

  Her suspicions became certainties. "It's to another woman," she cried."I know it! Why else should you hold it from me? Was it to your wifethat you were writing? How am I to know that you are not a marriedman--you, a stranger, that nobody knows?"

  "I am not married, Ettie. See now, I swear it! You're the only onewoman on earth to me. By the cross of Christ I swear it!"

  He was so white with passionate earnestness that she could not butbelieve him.

  "Well, then," she cried, "why will you not show me the letter?"

  "I'll tell you, acushla," said he. "I'm under oath not to show it, andjust as I wouldn't break my word to you so I would keep it to those whohold my promise. It's the business of the lodge, and even to you it'ssecret. And if I was scared when a hand fell on me, can't youunderstand it when it might have been the hand of a detective?"

  She felt that he was telling the truth. He gathered her into his armsand kissed away her fears and doubts.

  "Sit here by me, then. It's a queer throne for such a queen; but it'sthe best your poor lover can find. He'll do better for you some ofthese days, I'm thinking. Now your mind is easy once again, is it not?"

  "How can it ever be at ease, Jack, when I know that you are a criminalamong criminals, when I never know the day that I may hear you are incourt for murder? 'McMurdo the Scowrer,' that's what one of ourboarders called you yesterday. It went through my heart like a knife."

  "Sure, hard words break no bones."

  "But they were true."

  "Well, dear, it's not so bad as you think. We are but poor men that aretrying in our own way to get our rights."

  Ettie threw her arms round her lover's neck. "Give it up, Jack! For mysake, for God's sake, give it up! It was to ask you that I came hereto-day. Oh, Jack, see--I beg it of you on my bended knees! Kneelinghere before you I implore you to give it up!"

  He raised her and soothed her with her head against his breast.

  "Sure, my darlin', you don't know what it is you are asking. How couldI give it up when it would be to break my oath and to desert mycomrades? If you could see how things stand with me you could never askit of me. Besides, if I wanted to, how could I do it? You don't supposethat the lodge would let a man go free with all its secrets?"

  "I've thought of that, Jack. I've planned it all. Father has saved somemoney. He is weary of this place where the fear of these people darkensour lives. He is ready to go. We would fly together to Philadelphia orNew York, where we would be safe from them."

  McMurdo laughed. "The lodge has a long arm. Do you think it could notstretch from here to Philadelphia or New York?"

  "Well, then, to the West, or to England, or to Germany, where fathercame from--anywhere to get away from this Valley of Fear!"

  McMurdo thought of old Brother Morris. "Sure, it is the second time Ihave heard the valley so named," said he. "The shadow does indeed seemto lie heavy on some of you."

  "It darkens every moment of our lives. Do you suppose that Ted Baldwinhas ever forgiven us? If it were not that he fears you, what do yousuppose our chances would be? If you saw the look in those dark, hungryeyes of his when they fall on me!"

  "By Gar! I'd teach him better manners if I caught him at it! But seehere, little girl. I can't leave here. I can't--take that from me onceand for all. But if you will leave me to find my own way, I will try toprepare a way of getting honourably out of it."

  "There is no honour in such a matter."

  "Well, well, it's just how you look at it. But if you'll give me sixmonths, I'll work it so that I can leave without being ashamed to lookothers in the face."

  The girl laughed with joy. "Six months!" she cried. "Is it a promise?"

  "Well, it may be seven or eight. But within a year at the furthest wewill leave the valley behind us."

  It was the most that Ettie could obtain, and yet it was something.There was this distant light to illuminate the gloom of the immediatefuture. She returned to her father's house more light-hearted than shehad ever been since Jack McMurdo had come into her life.

  It might be thought that as a member, all the doings of the societywould be told to him; but he was soon to discover that the organizationwas wider and more complex than the simple lodge. Even Boss McGinty wasignorant as to many things; for there was an official named the CountyDelegate, living at Hobson's Patch farther down the line, who had powerover several different lodges which he wielded in a sudden andarbitrary way. Only once did McMurdo see him, a sly, little gray-hairedrat of a man, with a slinking g
ait and a sidelong glance which wascharged with malice. Evans Pott was his name, and even the great Bossof Vermissa felt towards him something of the repulsion and fear whichthe huge Danton may have felt for the puny but dangerous Robespierre.

  One day Scanlan, who was McMurdo's fellow boarder, received a note fromMcGinty inclosing one from Evans Pott, which informed him that he wassending over two good men, Lawler and Andrews, who had instructions toact in the neighbourhood; though it was best for the cause that noparticulars as to their objects should be given. Would the Bodymastersee to it that suitable arrangements be made for their lodgings andcomfort until the time for action should arrive? McGinty added that itwas impossible for anyone to remain secret at the Union House, andthat, therefore, he would be obliged if McMurdo and Scanlan would putthe strangers up for a few days in their boarding house.

  The same evening the two men arrived, each carrying his gripsack.Lawler was an elderly man, shrewd, silent, and self-contained, clad inan old black frock coat, which with his soft felt hat and ragged,grizzled beard gave him a general resemblance to an itinerant preacher.His companion Andrews was little more than a boy, frank-faced andcheerful, with the breezy manner of one who is out for a holiday andmeans to enjoy every minute of it. Both men were total abstainers, andbehaved in all ways as exemplary members of the society, with the onesimple exception that they were assassins who had often provedthemselves to be most capable instruments for this association ofmurder. Lawler had already carried out fourteen commissions of thekind, and Andrews three.

  They were, as McMurdo found, quite ready to converse about their deedsin the past, which they recounted with the half-bashful pride of menwho had done good and unselfish service for the community. They werereticent, however, as to the immediate job in hand.

  "They chose us because neither I nor the boy here drink," Lawlerexplained. "They can count on us saying no more than we should. Youmust not take it amiss, but it is the orders of the County Delegatethat we obey."

  "Sure, we are all in it together," said Scanlan, McMurdo's mate, as thefour sat together at supper.

  "That's true enough, and we'll talk till the cows come home of thekilling of Charlie Williams or of Simon Bird, or any other job in thepast. But till the work is done we say nothing."

  "There are half a dozen about here that I have a word to say to," saidMcMurdo, with an oath. "I suppose it isn't Jack Knox of Ironhill thatyou are after. I'd go some way to see him get his deserts."

  "No, it's not him yet."

  "Or Herman Strauss?"

  "No, nor him either."

  "Well, if you won't tell us we can't make you; but I'd be glad to know."

  Lawler smiled and shook his head. He was not to be drawn.

  In spite of the reticence of their guests, Scanlan and McMurdo werequite determined to be present at what they called "the fun." When,therefore, at an early hour one morning McMurdo heard them creepingdown the stairs he awakened Scanlan, and the two hurried on theirclothes. When they were dressed they found that the others had stolenout, leaving the door open behind them. It was not yet dawn, and by thelight of the lamps they could see the two men some distance down thestreet. They followed them warily, treading noiselessly in the deepsnow.

  The boarding house was near the edge of the town, and soon they were atthe crossroads which is beyond its boundary. Here three men werewaiting, with whom Lawler and Andrews held a short, eager conversation.Then they all moved on together. It was clearly some notable job whichneeded numbers. At this point there are several trails which lead tovarious mines. The strangers took that which led to the Crow Hill, ahuge business which was in strong hands which had been able, thanks totheir energetic and fearless New England manager, Josiah H. Dunn, tokeep some order and discipline during the long reign of terror.

  Day was breaking now, and a line of workmen were slowly making theirway, singly and in groups, along the blackened path.

  McMurdo and Scanlan strolled on with the others, keeping in sight ofthe men whom they followed. A thick mist lay over them, and from theheart of it there came the sudden scream of a steam whistle. It was theten-minute signal before the cages descended and the day's labour began.

  When they reached the open space round the mine shaft there were ahundred miners waiting, stamping their feet and blowing on theirfingers; for it was bitterly cold. The strangers stood in a littlegroup under the shadow of the engine house. Scanlan and McMurdo climbeda heap of slag from which the whole scene lay before them. They saw themine engineer, a great bearded Scotchman named Menzies, come out of theengine house and blow his whistle for the cages to be lowered.

  At the same instant a tall, loose-framed young man with a clean-shaved,earnest face advanced eagerly towards the pit head. As he came forwardhis eyes fell upon the group, silent and motionless, under the enginehouse. The men had drawn down their hats and turned up their collars toscreen their faces. For a moment the presentiment of Death laid itscold hand upon the manager's heart. At the next he had shaken it offand saw only his duty towards intrusive strangers.

  "Who are you?" he asked as he advanced. "What are you loitering therefor?"

  There was no answer; but the lad Andrews stepped forward and shot himin the stomach. The hundred waiting miners stood as motionless andhelpless as if they were paralyzed. The manager clapped his two handsto the wound and doubled himself up. Then he staggered away; butanother of the assassins fired, and he went down sidewise, kicking andclawing among a heap of clinkers. Menzies, the Scotchman, gave a roarof rage at the sight and rushed with an iron spanner at the murderers;but was met by two balls in the face which dropped him dead at theirvery feet.

  There was a surge forward of some of the miners, and an inarticulatecry of pity and of anger; but a couple of the strangers emptied theirsix-shooters over the heads of the crowd, and they broke and scattered,some of them rushing wildly back to their homes in Vermissa.

  When a few of the bravest had rallied, and there was a return to themine, the murderous gang had vanished in the mists of morning, withouta single witness being able to swear to the identity of these men whoin front of a hundred spectators had wrought this double crime.

  Scanlan and McMurdo made their way back; Scanlan somewhat subdued, forit was the first murder job that he had seen with his own eyes, and itappeared less funny than he had been led to believe. The horriblescreams of the dead manager's wife pursued them as they hurried to thetown. McMurdo was absorbed and silent; but he showed no sympathy forthe weakening of his companion.

  "Sure, it is like a war," he repeated. "What is it but a war between usand them, and we hit back where we best can."

  There was high revel in the lodge room at the Union House that night,not only over the killing of the manager and engineer of the Crow Hillmine, which would bring this organization into line with the otherblackmailed and terror-stricken companies of the district, but alsoover a distant triumph which had been wrought by the hands of the lodgeitself.

  It would appear that when the County Delegate had sent over five goodmen to strike a blow in Vermissa, he had demanded that in return threeVermissa men should be secretly selected and sent across to killWilliam Hales of Stake Royal, one of the best known and most popularmine owners in the Gilmerton district, a man who was believed not tohave an enemy in the world; for he was in all ways a model employer. Hehad insisted, however, upon efficiency in the work, and had, therefore,paid off certain drunken and idle employees who were members of theall-powerful society. Coffin notices hung outside his door had notweakened his resolution, and so in a free, civilized country he foundhimself condemned to death.

  The execution had now been duly carried out. Ted Baldwin, who sprawlednow in the seat of honour beside the Bodymaster, had been chief of theparty. His flushed face and glazed, blood-shot eyes told ofsleeplessness and drink. He and his two comrades had spent the nightbefore among the mountains. They were unkempt and weather-stained. Butno heroes, returning from a forlorn hope, could have had a warmerwelcome from their comrades.


  The story was told and retold amid cries of delight and shouts oflaughter. They had waited for their man as he drove home at nightfall,taking their station at the top of a steep hill, where his horse mustbe at a walk. He was so furred to keep out the cold that he could notlay his hand on his pistol. They had pulled him out and shot him againand again. He had screamed for mercy. The screams were repeated for theamusement of the lodge.

  "Let's hear again how he squealed," they cried.

  None of them knew the man; but there is eternal drama in a killing, andthey had shown the Scowrers of Gilmerton that the Vermissa men were tobe relied upon.

  There had been one contretemps; for a man and his wife had driven upwhile they were still emptying their revolvers into the silent body. Ithad been suggested that they should shoot them both; but they wereharmless folk who were not connected with the mines, so they weresternly bidden to drive on and keep silent, lest a worse thing befallthem. And so the blood-mottled figure had been left as a warning to allsuch hard-hearted employers, and the three noble avengers had hurriedoff into the mountains where unbroken nature comes down to the veryedge of the furnaces and the slag heaps. Here they were, safe andsound, their work well done, and the plaudits of their companions intheir ears.

  It had been a great day for the Scowrers. The shadow had fallen evendarker over the valley. But as the wise general chooses the moment ofvictory in which to redouble his efforts, so that his foes may have notime to steady themselves after disaster, so Boss McGinty, looking outupon the scene of his operations with his brooding and malicious eyes,had devised a new attack upon those who opposed him. That very night,as the half-drunken company broke up, he touched McMurdo on the arm andled him aside into that inner room where they had their first interview.

  "See here, my lad," said he, "I've got a job that's worthy of you atlast. You'll have the doing of it in your own hands."

  "Proud I am to hear it," McMurdo answered.

  "You can take two men with you--Manders and Reilly. They have beenwarned for service. We'll never be right in this district until ChesterWilcox has been settled, and you'll have the thanks of every lodge inthe coal fields if you can down him."

  "I'll do my best, anyhow. Who is he, and where shall I find him?"

  McGinty took his eternal half-chewed, half-smoked cigar from the cornerof his mouth, and proceeded to draw a rough diagram on a page torn fromhis notebook.

  "He's the chief foreman of the Iron Dike Company. He's a hard citizen,an old colour sergeant of the war, all scars and grizzle. We've had twotries at him; but had no luck, and Jim Carnaway lost his life over it.Now it's for you to take it over. That's the house--all alone at theIron Dike crossroad, same as you see here on the map--without anotherwithin earshot. It's no good by day. He's armed and shoots quick andstraight, with no questions asked. But at night--well, there he is withhis wife, three children, and a hired help. You can't pick or choose.It's all or none. If you could get a bag of blasting powder at thefront door with a slow match to it--"

  "What's the man done?"

  "Didn't I tell you he shot Jim Carnaway?"

  "Why did he shoot him?"

  "What in thunder has that to do with you? Carnaway was about his houseat night, and he shot him. That's enough for me and you. You've got tosettle the thing right."

  "There's these two women and the children. Do they go up too?"

  "They have to--else how can we get him?"

  "It seems hard on them; for they've done nothing."

  "What sort of fool's talk is this? Do you back out?"

  "Easy, Councillor, easy! What have I ever said or done that you shouldthink I would be after standing back from an order of the Bodymaster ofmy own lodge? If it's right or if it's wrong, it's for you to decide."

  "You'll do it, then?"

  "Of course I will do it."

  "When?"

  "Well, you had best give me a night or two that I may see the house andmake my plans. Then--"

  "Very good," said McGinty, shaking him by the hand. "I leave it withyou. It will be a great day when you bring us the news. It's just thelast stroke that will bring them all to their knees."

  McMurdo thought long and deeply over the commission which had been sosuddenly placed in his hands. The isolated house in which ChesterWilcox lived was about five miles off in an adjacent valley. That verynight he started off all alone to prepare for the attempt. It wasdaylight before he returned from his reconnaissance. Next day heinterviewed his two subordinates, Manders and Reilly, recklessyoungsters who were as elated as if it were a deer-hunt.

  Two nights later they met outside the town, all three armed, and one ofthem carrying a sack stuffed with the powder which was used in thequarries. It was two in the morning before they came to the lonelyhouse. The night was a windy one, with broken clouds drifting swiftlyacross the face of a three-quarter moon. They had been warned to be ontheir guard against bloodhounds; so they moved forward cautiously, withtheir pistols cocked in their hands. But there was no sound save thehowling of the wind, and no movement but the swaying branches abovethem.

  McMurdo listened at the door of the lonely house; but all was stillwithin. Then he leaned the powder bag against it, ripped a hole in itwith his knife, and attached the fuse. When it was well alight he andhis two companions took to their heels, and were some distance off,safe and snug in a sheltering ditch, before the shattering roar of theexplosion, with the low, deep rumble of the collapsing building, toldthem that their work was done. No cleaner job had ever been carried outin the bloodstained annals of the society.

  But alas that work so well organized and boldly carried out should allhave gone for nothing! Warned by the fate of the various victims, andknowing that he was marked down for destruction, Chester Wilcox hadmoved himself and his family only the day before to some safer and lessknown quarters, where a guard of police should watch over them. It wasan empty house which had been torn down by the gunpowder, and the grimold colour sergeant of the war was still teaching discipline to theminers of Iron Dike.

  "Leave him to me," said McMurdo. "He's my man, and I'll get him sure ifI have to wait a year for him."

  A vote of thanks and confidence was passed in full lodge, and so forthe time the matter ended. When a few weeks later it was reported inthe papers that Wilcox had been shot at from an ambuscade, it was anopen secret that McMurdo was still at work upon his unfinished job.

  Such were the methods of the Society of Freemen, and such were thedeeds of the Scowrers by which they spread their rule of fear over thegreat and rich district which was for so long a period haunted by theirterrible presence. Why should these pages be stained by further crimes?Have I not said enough to show the men and their methods?

  These deeds are written in history, and there are records wherein onemay read the details of them. There one may learn of the shooting ofPolicemen Hunt and Evans because they had ventured to arrest twomembers of the society--a double outrage planned at the Vermissa lodgeand carried out in cold blood upon two helpless and disarmed men. Therealso one may read of the shooting of Mrs. Larbey when she was nursingher husband, who had been beaten almost to death by orders of BossMcGinty. The killing of the elder Jenkins, shortly followed by that ofhis brother, the mutilation of James Murdoch, the blowing up of theStaphouse family, and the murder of the Stendals all followed hard uponone another in the same terrible winter.

  Darkly the shadow lay upon the Valley of Fear. The spring had come withrunning brooks and blossoming trees. There was hope for all Naturebound so long in an iron grip; but nowhere was there any hope for themen and women who lived under the yoke of the terror. Never had thecloud above them been so dark and hopeless as in the early summer ofthe year 1875.