The Deserter, and Other Stories: A Book of Two Wars

by Harold Frederic

  CHAPTER V.

  THE DEPUTY MARSHAL.

  As soon as Job Parshall heard the sound of firearms outside the Whipplecabin, he darted to the nearer of the front windows, scratched awaysome of the thick frost from one of its panes, and put his eye to theaperture.

  A horse and cutter had come to a halt on the road, a few rods short ofthe house. The animal had been frightened by the firing, and was stillshowing signs of excitement, with lifted ears and stiffened forelegs.

  The man, whom Job understood to be Moak, stood at the horse's head,holding the bridle tightly, but looking intently the other way acrossthe fields in the direction of his companion, the redoubtable deputymarshal, who was not in sight.

  The boy stole to the other end of the room, and cautiously opened theshed door by as much as the width of his face. Here he could cover at aglance the flat, gently sloping waste of snow which stretched unbrokenbackward from the house to the gray fringe of woods that marked theedge of the ravine. Beyond that belt of timbered horizon, with itsshadows silvery soft in the brilliant morning sunlight, lay sunken inits hollow the ice-bound brook.

  If Mose passed this stream there was before him the real forest--andsafety.

  The black figures of two running men moved upon this broad anddazzlingly white landscape. The farther of the two was now so far awaythat he seemed a mere dark speck, like the object seen from thegun-line of a turkey shoot. Perhaps this simile was suggested to Job bythe fact that the other, pausing now for a moment in his race,straightened an arm and sent five more shots flashing after thefugitive.

  Tenfold that number of echoes came rolling in upon one another's heelsthrough the nipping air as the second man started again to run. Heseemed not to be catching up with his prey--yes! now Mose was lost tosight in the woods, and his pursuer was not half-way there. Yes! andnow the marshal had stopped, hesitated, and turned about.

  The deputy marshal retraced his steps over the broken crust slowly, andwith an air of dejection. He hung his head as he walked, and it tookhim a long time to reach the house. When he came into the yard heseemed not to look toward the house at all, but made his way straightpast as if bound for the road, with his attention still steadfastlyfixed on the snow in front of him.

  But just as Job had jumped to the conclusion that he had not beenobserved, the deputy marshal called in a loud, peremptory aside overhis shoulder:--

  "Come along out here, boy!"

  The lad had no course but to obey. He stole a quick, backward glance towhere old Asa still sat motionless with bowed head near the stove. Thennoiselessly shutting the shed door behind him, he followed out into theroad.

  "It'll be all right," the deputy marshal was saying to his companion asJob came up. "He can't take a step on this crust without leavin' amark, 'specially now that it's goin' to melt a little. I'll land him inthe stone jug before night, or you can call me a Dutchman!"

  Norman Hazzard, the deputy marshal, was a thin, lithe, active man,somewhere in the thirties, with a long, sun-browned face and a squarejaw. Although his keen eyes were of a light, bluish gray, one thoughtof him as a dark-complexioned person.

  Ever since Job could remember, this man had been arresting people,first as a sheriff's officer, then as an army detective. Lookingfurtively at him now as he stood at the horse's head, with his sharpglance roving the distant landscape and his under lip nursing the endsof his sparse moustache in meditation, the boy felt that that was whatnature intended that Norm Hazzard should be.

  The whole country knew him by sight, and talked about the risky thingshe had done in the line of his duty, and the stern, cold-blooded pluckwith which he had done them.

  As the deputy marshal stood thus pondering the situation, he rattledtogether with his hand some heavy metallic objects in one of hisovercoat pockets. The clanking sound they gave forth fascinated theboy.

  "I s'pose them's handcuffs you've got there in your pocket?" he foundhimself suddenly impelled to remark. It was only after the words wereout that he realized the boldness of speaking in this fierce presencewithout having been spoken to.

  Hazzard turned his head obliquely downward, and regarded Job with asort of ironical scowl.

  "They ain't for you, anyway," he remarked. "I guess the horsewhip'llabout suit _your_ complaint."

  "No, you don't!" replied Job. "You dassent lay a finger on me unlessI've done something--I know that much."

  The deputy marshal emitted a chuckle of amused contempt.

  "Why, you blamed little runt, you!" he said. "You've done mischiefenough this mornin' to git thrashed for it within an inch o' your life,and go to state's prison into the bargain. You mind your p's and q'snow mighty sharp, or it'll be the end o' you!"

  "I don't see, myself," put in Moak, a bearded, thickset, middle-agedman, who drawled his words lazily, but looked as if he might be a toughcustomer in a fight, "I don't jest make out how you're goin' to catchup with him, even if he does leave tracks. He's got a big start, andhas pretty good reasons for humpin' himself, and if he can keep aheadtill dark, he knows the woods in the night-time a plaguy sight better'nany of us do."

  Hazzard curled his lips in a faint, momentary grin of superiority.

  "Can't we get snow-shoes?" he asked.

  The word had an evil sound to Job's ears. They would run Mose down,sure enough, with those terrible aids to the pursuit.

  "The only question is," the deputy marshal ruminated aloud, "where'llbe the nearest place to git the shoes. We'll hitch the horse here tothe fence, and take a look at the house. Did you ever see such atumble-down place in all your life? Here, you boy, mog along there infront o' me, and watch what you do! Or no, wait a minute!"

  The deputy marshal had led the horse off the roadway toward thesprawling remains of a rail fence at the side. He paused now, communedwith himself for an instant, then brought the horse and cutter backagain, and tossed the blanket he had taken out upon the seat once more.

  "No," he said briefly to Moak, "you jump in and drive to Juno Mills asfast as you can, and git two pairs of snow-shoes somewhere,--you'rebound to find plenty of 'em; the hotel-keeper'll know who's got'em,--and race back here again. Don't whisper a word to anybody--andwe'll have him out in no time."

  So it happened that as the cutter with its jingling bells receded fromvision and hearing down the road, Job Parshall found himself marchingback in embarrassed state toward the front door of the Whipple house,with the firm tread of the deputy marshal crunching on the snow closeat his heels.

  He could catch the sinister rattle of those handcuffs in Hazzard'spocket at every stride the man took. He tried not to dwell upon it inhis mind, but it was a fact that Norm Hazzard had killed two men, oneof them a member of a famous local gang of horse-thieves, whom he hadshot where he was ambushed behind the grain bags in his barn, the othera wife-murderer, who had escaped from jail to the woods.

  How was it, Job wondered, that he had missed all ten of his shots atMose? Perhaps they were not all misses. Men did run sometimes, it wassaid, after they had been struck by a bullet. What if Mose, after all,was lying there, somewhere in the woods, wounded and helpless in thebitter cold!

  The manacles behind him ground together with a cruel, rasping noise asthis picture rose in his brain.

  He pushed the door wide open and went in, closely followed by theother.

  Old Asa sat where he had left him, his tall frame settled down supinelyin the armchair, his head bent on his breast, motionless and apparentlyasleep.

  "Here's somebody to see you, Asa," Job said, as he heard the door closebehind him; but the old man did not stir.

  The deputy marshal walked forward, brusquely pushing the lad aside, andlaid a heavy hand on Asa Whipple's shoulder. He paused then, as ifpuzzled by what his grasp felt. Then he put his other hand, not soungently, into the old man's beard and lifted his head up.

  "Say! I wasn't figurin' on this!" was his bewildered exclamation."Here, quick, you! run and bring some water. Maybe it's only a faint."

  This indeed it turned
out to be--a deep swoon, the result of longprivation and weakness, accented by the sudden relief and thesubsequent strain of excitement.

  Hazzard could not rouse the old man from his comatose lethargy, withall his rubbing and slapping of hands, and liberal use of snow upon thetemple and lips. But he did satisfy himself that there was no imminentdanger, and he went to work to spread out the bed again behind thestove, loosen old Asa's clothes, and stretch him out to sleep at hisease, comfortably tucked in with Hazzard's own overcoat, which themarshal had stripped off for the purpose, quite as if his mission inlife had been to nurse rather than arrest people.

  He had taken out of the overcoat pocket, before spreading it across thebed, a big navy revolver, a parcel or two, presumably of ammunition,and a couple of curious steel wristlets, linked together with a chain;Job looked at these latter, as they lay on the table, with profoundinterest.

  Job had never seen handcuffs so near, and he longed to ask the greatman to show him how they worked. Finally, after he had obeyed his curtinstruction to put more wood on the fire, and the deputy marshal hadseated himself by the stove with his feet balanced on a stick justinside the oven door, and a pipe in his mouth, Job ventured to lift themanacles from the table and inspect them.

  As this passed without protest he went to the length of opening one ofthe bands on its hinge, and then shutting it about his wrist. The twoparts went together with a clicking snap, and the boy, after a fewfruitless efforts to open them or to slip his hand through, began toguess that he would have to ask the help of the deputy marshal torelease him.

  He would not humble himself thus, however, before it was a matter ofsheer necessity; and he tugged away at the lock in dogged silence,until his wrist was red and sore. The consciousness that the officialwas grinning at him only made the thing worse.

  "If I'd had the sense to do that myself," remarked Hazzard after atime, "when I first laid eyes on you this morning, and then nailed thechain up to the barn door-post, I'd have saved myself a heap oftrouble. Leave it alone, or you'll swell your wrist out o' shape. I'llunlock it bimeby--maybe."

  He smoked silently for a minute, dividing his ruminative gaze betweenthe steaming leather in the oven, and the rueful countenance of the boyin the handcuffs.

  "You're Hank Parshall's boy, ain't you?" he asked at last.

  Job nodded and held his imprisoned hand forth to hint, without saying,that he had had enough of the handcuff.

  The other paid no heed to the gesture. "What's the matter with the oldman, here?" he inquired with a downward nod.

  "He ain't had enough to eat," said Job, bluntly. "That's what's thematter with him. He told me himself he laid down there last night tostarve to death."

  Mr. Hazzard pointed a thumb to the greasy frying-pan, and the remainsof the chicken on the table beside Job.

  "People don't go to work that way to starve," he commented dryly.

  "Mose brought him that--I guess I know pretty well where he got it,too. The old man allowed that that was what saved his life. They hadn'tbeen a soul near him before since the snowfall--and he laid up. Oh,that reminds me!" Job finished by taking the two slices of bread fromhis pocket, and putting them on the table.

  "Bring that for the old man?" queried the deputy marshal.

  Job shook his head.

  "No, it's my own breakfast. I was goin' to give it to Mose," he repliedstoutly. "Say, take this thing off, won't you?"

  Norm Hazzard laughed outright. "No!" he said. "Guess after that I'llhave to put the other one onto you, too." His tone lapsed toseriousness as he went on: "Maybe you know somethin' about it--didn't Ihear that this Mose Whipple went to the war as substitute for yourman--Teachout?"

  "Yes, sir, he did--and Teachout didn't give him not a dollar, but jestlet it go on to the mortgage, and he promised to look out for old Asahere, and he didn't--and he'd begrudge him this bread here, if he knewit."

  The deputy marshal nodded comprehendingly, and blew the smoke throughhis pipe.

  "Charged me and Moak thirty-five cents apiece for our breakfasts thismornin', and twenty cents for the horse," he said, in a musing tone."Reckon he's about the tightest old skinflint on the wholeturnpike--and that's sayin' a good deal. So he got drafted, did he?Should 'a' thought he was too old."

  "He ain't as old as he looks," explained Job. "He's a good deal meaner,though. I'm glad o' one thing, anyway. I ain't goin' back there anymore, except to git my clothes and my money. I'm goin' to live in herewith the old man, and kind o' look after him. I promised----"

  "Promised Mose, eh?" broke in the deputy marshal.

  "Yes--if you want to know--I did promise Mose! You can't touch me forthat!"

  "Why, that's skinnin' alive, that is--jest for that alone," saidHazzard, with portentous gravity, "to say nothin' of scootin' over hereto give warnin', and bringin' that bread there in your pocket, and soon. Why, it'll puzzle a Philadelphy lawyer to find punishments badenough for you."

  Job looked him searchingly in the eye for a full minute, then held upthe fettered hand again.

  "Say, unlock this, will you?" he said, unabashed. "I knew you wasfoolin' all the time," he added, as the other produced the key from hispocket and turned the lock. "I could tell it right from the start."

  "Me? me foolin'?" asked Hazzard, with simulated surprise. "Why, you'recrazy, boy!"

  "No, I spotted it right off," Job replied, eager to put into words theidea that had suddenly come to him. "Why, anybody could tell that. Asure-enough dead shot like you wouldn't fire ten shots at a man and nothit him once, if he wasn't foolin'. It was as plain as the nose on yourface--you didn't really want to catch poor Mose. That's what made metake a shine to you, right off."

  Norman Hazzard blew more smoke through his pipe, and grinned tohimself, and even gave an abrupt little laugh aloud, shifting on theinstant to an air of grave imperturbability.

  "You mustn't talk like that--that is, outside," he said. "It might givefolks wrong notions. Besides, I tell you you're mistaken. I never firedmore to kill in all my life. But of course--the old man here--p'r'apsthat does make it a little different."

  He looked down as he spoke to where old Asa lay, under the overcoat,and Job felt sure that there was a change on his face--a change towardkindliness.

  "Well, anyway," the boy persisted, "you wouldn't fire to kill now, ifyou was to catch up to Mose, and what's more, I don't believe you'regoin' to try to catch up to him, neither."

  "I ain't, eh?" broke in the deputy marshal. "You wait till Moak getsback with the snow-shoes. We'll run him down in no time. He ain't gotno more chance than a lame mud-turtle."

  The words sounded savage enough, and Job, scanning the lean, tannedface of the speaker, found his mind conjuring up again visions of thosetwo other wrong-doers whom this hunter of men had shot down.

  And yet, somehow, there seemed to be a sort of relenting twinkle inthose sharp, cold, gray eyes of his.