by Thomas Dixon
CHAPTER VII
TRAPPED
Norton's campaign during its first months was a continuous triumph. Theopposition had been so completely stunned by the epoch-making declarationof principles on which he had chosen to conduct the fight that they had asyet been unable to rally their forces. Even the rival newspaper, founded tocombat the ideas for which the _Eagle and Phoenix_ stood, was compelled tosupport Norton's ticket to save itself from ruin. The young editor found asource of endless amusement in taunting the professor on this painful fact.
The leader had chosen to begin his tour of the state in the farthestmountain counties that had always been comparatively free from negroinfluence. These counties were counted as safe for the opposition beforethe startling program of the editor's party had been announced. Yet fromthe first day's mass meeting which he had addressed an enthusiasm had beendeveloped under the spell of Norton's eloquence that had swept the crowdsof mountaineers off their feet. They had never been slave owners, and theyhad no use for a negro as servant, laborer, voter, citizen, or in any othercapacity. The idea of freeing the state forever from their balefulinfluence threw the entire white race into solid ranks supporting histicket.
The enthusiasm kindled in the mountains swept the foothills, gainingresistless force as it reached the more inflammable feelings of the peopleof the plains who were living in daily touch with the negro.
Yet amid all the scenes of cheering and enthusiasm through which he waspassing daily the heart of the leader was heavy with dread. His mind wasbrooding over the last scene with Cleo and its possible outcome.
He began to worry with increasing anguish over the certainty that when shestruck the blow would be a deadly one. The higher the tide of his triumphrose, the greater became the tension of his nerves. Each day had itsappointment to speak. Some days were crowded with three or fourengagements. These dates were made two weeks ahead and great expense hadbeen incurred in each case to advertise them and secure record crowds. Itwas a point of honor with him to make good these dates even to the smallestappointment at a country crossroads.
It was impossible to leave for a trip home. It would mean the loss of atleast four days. Yet his anxiety at last became so intense that hedetermined to rearrange his dates and swing his campaign into the territorynear the Capital at once. It was not a good policy. He would risk the lossof the cumulative power of his work now sweeping from county to county, aresistless force. But it would enable him to return home for a few hoursbetween his appointments.
There had been nothing in Tom's reports to arouse his fears. The boy hadfaithfully carried out his instructions to give no information that mightannoy him. His brief letters were bright, cheerful, and always closed withthe statement: "Everything all right at home, and I'm still jollying theprofessor about supporting the cause he hates."
When he reached the county adjoining the Capital his anxiety had reached apoint beyond endurance. It would be three days before he could connect witha schedule of trains that would enable him to get home between the time ofhis hours to speak. He simply could not wait.
He telegraphed to Tom to send Andy to the meeting next day with a boundvolume of the paper for the year 1866 which contained some facts he wishedto use in his speech in this district.
Andy's glib tongue would give him the information he needed.
The train was late and the papers did not arrive in time. He was compelledto leave his hotel and go to the meeting without them.
An enormous crowd had gathered. And for the first time on his tour he felthostility in the glances that occasionally shot from groups of men as hepassed. The county was noted for its gangs of toughs who lived on the edgeof a swamp that had been the rendezvous of criminals for a century.
The opposition had determined to make a disturbance at this meeting and ifpossible end it with a riot. They counted on the editor's fiery temper whenaroused to make this a certainty. They had not figured on the cool audacitywith which he would meet such a situation.
When he reached the speaker's stand, the county Chairman whispered:
"They are going to make trouble here to-day."
"Yes?"
"They've got a speaker who's going to demand a division of time."
The editor smiled:
"Really?"
"Yes," the Chairman said, nodding toward a tall, ministerial-lookingindividual who was already working his way through the crowd. "That's thefellow coming now."
Norton turned and confronted the chosen orator of the opposition, abackwoods preacher of a rude native eloquence whose name he had oftenheard.
He saw at a glance that he was a man of force. His strong mouth was cleanof mustache and the lower lip was shaved to the chin. A long beard coveredthe massive jaws and his hair reached the collar of his coat. He had been adeserter during the war, and a drunken member of the little ScalawagGovernor's famous guard that had attempted to rule the state without thecivil law. He had been converted in a Baptist revival at a crossroadsmeeting place years before and became a preacher. His religious conversion,however, had not reached his politics or dimmed his memory of the events ofReconstruction.
He had hated Norton with a deep and abiding fervor from the day he hadescaped from his battalion in the Civil War down to the present moment.
Norton hadn't the remotest idea that he was the young recruit who had takento his heels on entering a battle and never stopped running until hereached home.
"This is Major Norton?" the preacher asked.
"Yes," was the curt answer.
"I demand a division of time with you in a joint discussion here, sir."
Norton's figure stiffened and he looked at the man with a flush of anger:
"Did you say demand?"
"Yes, sir, I did," the preacher answered, snapping his hard mouth firmly."We believe in free speech in this county."
Norton placed his hands in his pockets, and looked him over from head tofoot:
"Well, you've got the gall of the devil, I must say, even if you do wearthe livery of heaven. You demand free speech at my expense! I like yourcheek. It cost my committee two hundred dollars to advertise this meetingand make it a success, and you step up at the last moment and demand that Iturn it over to your party. If you want free speech, hire your own hall andmake it to your heart's content. You can't address this crowd from aspeaker's stand built with my money."
"You refuse?"
Norton looked at him steadily for a moment and took a step closer:
"I am trying to convey that impression to your mind. Must I use my foot toemphasize it?"
The long-haired one paled slightly, turned and quickly pushed his waythrough the crowd to a group awaiting him on the edge of the brush arborthat had been built to shelter the people from the sun. The Chairmanwhispered to Norton:
"There'll be trouble certain--they're a tough lot. More than half the menhere are with him."
"They won't be when I've finished," he answered with a smile.
"You'd better divide with them----"
"I'll see him in hell first!"
Norton stepped quickly on the rude pine platform that had been erected forthe speaker and faced the crowd. For the first time on his trip thecheering was given with moderation.
He saw the preacher walk back under the arbor and his men distributethemselves with apparent design in different parts of the crowd.
He lifted his hand with a gesture to stop the applause and a sudden hushfell over the eager, serious faces.
His eye wandered carelessly over the throng and singled out the men he hadseen distribute themselves among them. He suddenly slipped his hand behindhim and drew from beneath his long black frock coat a big revolver and laidit beside the pitcher of lemonade the Chairman had provided.
A slight stir swept the crowd and the stillness could be felt.
The speaker lifted his broad shoulders and began his speech in an intensevoice that found its way to the last man who hung on the edge of the crowd:
"Gentlemen,"
he began slowly, "if there's any one present who doesn't wishto hear what I have to say, now is the time to leave. This is my meeting,and I will not be interrupted. If, in spite of this announcement, therehappens to be any one here who is looking for trouble"--he stopped andtouched the shining thing that lay before him--"you'll find it here on thetable--walk right up to the front."
A cheer rent the air. He stilled it with a quick gesture and plunged intohis speech.
In the intense situation which had developed he had forgotten the fearthat had been gnawing at his heart for the past weeks.
At the height of his power over his audience his eye suddenly caught theblack face of Andy grinning in evident admiration of his master'seloquence.
Something in the symbolism of this negro grinning at him over the heads ofthe people hanging breathless on his words sent a wave of sickening fear tohis heart. In vain he struggled to throw the feeling off in the midst ofhis impassioned appeal. It was impossible. For the remaining half hour hespoke as if in a trance. Unconsciously his voice was lowered to a strangeintense monotone that sent the chills down the spines of his hearers.
He closed his speech in a silence that was strangling.
The people were dazed and he was half-way down the steps of the rudeplatform before they sufficiently recovered to break into round after roundof cheering.
He had unconsciously made the most powerful speech of his life, and no manin all the crowd that he had hypnotized could have dreamed the grim secretwhich had been the source of his inspiration.
Without a moment's delay he found Andy, examined the package he brought andhurried to his room.
"Everything all right at home, Andy?" he asked with apparent carelessness.
The negro was still lost in admiration of Norton's triumph over his hostileaudience.
"Yassah, you sho did set 'em afire wid dat speech, major!" he said with alaugh.
"And I asked you if everything was all right at home?"
"Oh, yassah, yassah--everything's all right. Of cose, sah, dey's a fewlittle things always happenin'. Dem pigs get in de garden las' week an' eteverything up, an' dat ole cow er own got de hollow horn agin. Buteverything else all right, sah."
"And how's aunt Minerva?"
"Des es big an' fat ez ebber, sah, an' er gittin' mo' unruly everyday--yassah--she's gittin' so sassy she try ter run de whole place an' me,too."
"And Cleo?"
This question he asked bustling over his papers with an indifference soperfectly assumed that Andy never guessed his interest to be more thancasual, and yet he ceased to breathe until he caught the laughing answer:
"Oh, she's right dar holdin' her own wid Miss Minerva an' I tells her las'week she's lookin' better dan ebber--yassah--she's all right."
Norton felt a sense of grateful relief. His fears had been groundless. Theywere preposterous to start with. The idea that she might attempt to visitHelen in his absence was, of course, absurd.
His next question was asked with a good-natured, hearty tone:
"And Mr. Tom?"
Andy laughed immoderately and Norton watched him with increasing wonder.
"Right dar's whar my tale begins!"
"Why, what's the matter with him?" the father asked with a touch of anxietyin his voice.
"Lordy, dey ain't nuttin' de _matter_ wid him 'tall--hit's a fresh cut!"
Again Andy laughed with unction.
"What is it?" Norton asked with impatience. "What's the matter with Tom?"
"Nuttin' 'tall, sah--nuttin' 'tall--I nebber see 'im lookin' so well in mylife. He gets up sooner den I ebber knowed him before. He comes homequicker an' stays dar longer an' he's de jolliest young gentleman I knowanywhar in de state. Mo' specially, sah, since dat handsome young lady fromde North come down to see us----"
The father's heart was in his throat as he stammered:
"A handsome young lady from the North--I don't understand!"
"Why, Miss Helen, sah, de young lady you invite ter spen' de summer widus."
Norton's eyes suddenly grew dim, he leaned on the table, stared at Andy,and repeated blankly:
"The young lady I asked to spend the summer with us?"
"Yassah, Miss Helen, sah, is her name--she cum 'bout er week atter youlef----"
"And she's been there ever since?" he asked.
"Yassah, an' she sho is a powerful fine young lady, sah. I don't blameMister Tom fer bein' crazy 'bout her!"
There was a moment's dead silence.
"So Tom's crazy about her?" he said in a high, nervous voice, which Andytook for a joke.
"Yassah, I'se had some sperience myself, sah, but I ain't nebber seennuttin' like dis! He des trot long atter her day an' night like a fice. An'de funny thing, sah, is dat he doan' seem ter know dat he's doin' it.Everybody 'bout de house laffin' fit ter kill dersef an' he don't pay no'tention. He des sticks to her like a sick kitten to a hot brick! Yassah,hit sho's funny! I des knowed you'd bust er laughin' when you sees 'em."
Norton had sunk to a seat too weak to stand. His face was pale and hisbreath came in short gasps as he turned to the negro, stared at himhopelessly for a moment and said:
"Andy, get me a good horse and buggy at the livery stable--we'll drivethrough the country to-night. I want to get home right away."
Andy's mouth opened and his eyes stared in blank amazement.
"De Lawd, major, hit's mos' sundown now an' hit's a hundred miles from herehome--hit took me all day ter come on de train."
"No, it's only forty miles straight across the country. We can make itto-night with a good horse. Hurry, I'll have my valise packed in a fewminutes."
"Do you know de way, sah?" Andy asked, scratching his head.
"Do as I tell you--quick!" Norton thundered.
The negro darted from the room and returned in half an hour with a horseand buggy.
Through the long hours of the night they drove with but a single stop atmidnight in a quiet street of a sleeping village. They halted at the wellbeside a store and watered the horse.
A graveyard was passed a mile beyond the village, and Andy glanced timidlyover his shoulder at the white marble slabs glistening in the starlight.His master had not spoken for two hours save the sharp order to stop at thewell.
"Dis sho is er lonesome lookin' place!" Andy said with a shiver.
But the man beside him gave no sign that he heard. His eyes were set in astrange stare at the stars that twinkled in the edge of the tree tops farahead.
Andy grew so lonely and frightened finally at the ominous silence that hepretended to be lost at each crossroads to force Norton to speak.
"I wuz afraid you gone ter sleep, sah!" he said with an apologetic laugh."An' I wuz erfered dat you'd fall out er de buggy gwine down er hill."
In vain he tried to break the silence. There was no answer--no sign that hewas in the same world, save the fact of his body's presence.
The first streak of dawn was widening on the eastern horizon when Norton'scramped legs limped into the gate of his home. He stopped to steady hisnerves and looked blankly up at the window of his boy's room. He had givenTom his mother's old room when he had reached the age of sixteen.
Somewhere behind those fluted pillars, white and ghost-like in the dawn,lay the girl who had suddenly risen from the dead to lead his falteringfeet up life's Calvary. He saw the cross slowly lifting its dark form fromthe hilltop with arms outstretched to embrace him, and the chill of deathcrept into his heart.
The chirp of stirring birds, the dim noises of waking life, the whiteningsky-line behind the house recalled another morning in his boyhood. He hadwaked at daylight to go to his traps set at the branch in the edge of thewoods behind the barn. The plantation at that time had extended into thetown. A fox had been killing his fancy chickens. He had vowed vengeance inhis boyish wrath, bought half a dozen powerful steel-traps and set them inthe fox's path. The prowler had been interrupted the night before and hadnot gotten his prey. He would return sure.
He recalled now every e
motion that had thrilled his young heart as hebounded along the dew-soaked path to his traps.
Before he could see the place he heard the struggles of his captive.
"I've got him!" he shouted with a throb of savage joy.
He leaped the fence and stood frozen to the spot. The fox was a magnificentspecimen of his breed, tall and heavy as a setter dog, with beautifulappealing eyes. His fine gray fur was spotched with blood, his mouth tornand bleeding from the effort to break the cruel bars that held his forelegin their death-like grip. With each desperate pull the blood spurted afreshand the steel cut deeper into bone and flesh.
The strange cries of pain and terror from the trapped victim had struck himdumb. He had come with murder in his heart to take revenge on his enemy,but when he looked with blanched face on the blood and heard the pitifulcries he rushed to the spot, tore the steel arms apart, loosed the fox,pushed his quivering form from him and gasped:
"Go--go--I'm sorry I hurt you like that!"
Stirred by the memories of the dawn he lived this scene again in vividanguish, and as he slowly mounted the steps of his home, felt the steelbars of an inexorable fate close on his own throat.
