The Tragedy of Wild River Valley

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  Two days after the death of Bangs, Mr. Wiley went for his wife, who wasvisiting acquaintances a day's journey from home.

  He shrank from the task of telling her the story of the dreadful scenesenacted in Prairieville during her absence, but the tidings hadpreceded him, and he found her lying on a couch in strong hysterics.

  She greeted him with bitter reproaches--"Why had he not exerted himselfto save poor, dear Avery from the fury of the mob?"

  "I couldn't," he said; "you might just as reasonably ask me why I donot prevent the lightning from striking where it will."

  "Don't talk in that way to me!" she cried, in passionate tones; "youdidn't try; you didn't make the slightest effort; the papers would havesaid so if you had; you were too great a coward to lift a finger tosave him."

  "Have it your own way," he returned, gloomily; "it's a thousand pitiesyou were not there to quell the fury of the mob, and turn them from somany tigers, thirsting for blood, into lambs; you could have done it,of course; there's nothing you can't do, except treat your husbanddecently," he added, with bitter emphasis.

  It pleased her to ignore that last clause of his reply.

  "I'd have tried, anyhow," she said; "I'd have helped him to escape fromthem. Where is he now?"

  "You are as capable of deciding that question as I," he answered,turning away with a slight shudder.

  "You misunderstand me wilfully," she said, her eyes flashing withanger. "I want to know what you have done with his body."

  "Buried it," he returned, laconically.

  "Buried it? without consulting me! without letting me know! withoutgiving me time to attend the funeral! How dared you, Amos Wiley!"

  "I thought that, under the peculiar circumstances, the best thing to bedone was to put the body into the ground as quietly and with as littlefuss as possible; and he would not have been a pleasant sight for youto look upon."

  "What do you mean, Amos Wiley?" she demanded, starting up to a sittingposture and regarding him with looks of fury and indignation; "that youhad no funeral services, but gave him, my brother, the burial of a dog?"

  "I had no thought of that," he said; "I laid him away decently andquietly, that was all. I did not suppose you would feel like having afuneral, considering how the neighbors and all the townspeople musthave regarded his death, and--and the cause of it."

  "You mean that they thought him disgraced, and that I'd feel ashamed ofhim and of--of what he did, and the way he lost his life? No suchthing! I consider him a martyr, and should have gloried in showingeverybody that I thought so."

  He gave her a look of utter astonishment.

  "You needn't look at me so!" she cried. "He killed that impudentIrishman in self-defence; I know he did!"

  "Self-defence! The man was doing nothing but walking peaceably alongthe street behind him, attending to his own business."

  "Were you alongside? Did you see and hear it all?"

  "No; but there were credible witnesses who did; and if the shooting hadnot been so unprovoked, the bystanders would not have become thefurious mob that they instantly did. I tell you, Dora, you had bestkeep quiet about the whole affair, and, in fact, I think it may be ourwisest course to move away to some distant part of the country, wherethe story will not be likely to follow us."

  "I shall do nothing of the sort," she said. "It would be a losingbusiness to sell out our property in Prairieville and go to a newplace. 'A rolling stone gathers no moss.' I'll go home; we'll startdirectly, and I'll let the neighbors see that I don't feel myself inthe least disgraced by what has passed."

  They reached Prairieville in the evening of the same day that Belindaarrived in the vicinity. Early the next morning Mr. Wiley wentdown-town on some errand. Returning half an hour later, he appearedbefore his wife with a ghastly and disturbed countenance.

  "What are we coming to?" he sighed, wiping the perspiration from hisforehead. "There was--another lynching--last night; armed, maskedmen--four wagon loads of them--broke into the jail, took PhelimO'Rourke and hung him to a tree right there alongside of the building;and his body's swinging there yet, they say. I believe they are abouttaking it down, however, and home to the old folks. They've held aninquest, and the verdict is that he came to his death by the hands ofpersons unknown."

  "Dreadful!" she cried. "But who did it?"

  "Nobody seems to know or wants to know. I've told you what the verdictof the coroner was; but it's said the best citizens of this town andFrederic, Riverside, and Fairfield had a hand in it. You see they knewthe law would never hang him, and were determined he should have hisdeserts; not only to punish him, but to discourage other scoundrelsfrom following his example."

  "Well, I'm glad! He ought to have been hung; if it hadn't been for himAvery would be alive to-day; but my poor brother sacrificed himself tosave that miserable wretch from being sent to State prison."

  "Sacrificed himself by swearing to a lie," was her husband's inwardcomment, but aloud he merely remarked that he pitied O'Rourke's parents.

  "Yes, of course you do," snapped his wife; "you are always ready tofeel for anybody but those nearest to you. You have no sympathy towaste upon May and me, but those low, vulgar Irish people are objectsof the deepest commiseration."

  "I have done my best to show sympathy with you and your niece, Dora,"he returned; "but you are never just to your unfortunate husband."

  "Unfortunate because he has me for a wife, I presume you mean," sheretorted, flashing an angry glance at him. "Breakfast has been waitingfor you till it must be completely spoiled. Come and eat, if you canfind an appetite after such heartless treatment of your wife."

  She led the way to the table, he following in silence, having learnedby past experience the utter uselessness of trying to have the lastword in a controversy with her.

  "You don't eat as if you relished your food the least bit," sheremarked, after watching him furtively for a few minutes; "but if youdon't find it palatable it's your own fault for keeping it waiting solong."

  "I have no complaint to make," he answered, "but I am too sick at heartover the awful doings we've had in this town of late to feel muchappetite for the daintiest of food." With that he rose and left thetable and the house.

  Coming in some hours later, he found his wife in what had been theprivate office of her brother, looking over his papers.

  "I'm not exactly sure that you have a right to be at those, Dora," heremarked, in a tone of mild expostulation.

  "I'd like to know who has a better!" she retorted, straighteningherself with an angry, defiant look up into his face, as he came andstood at her side. "I'm Avery's nearest of kin, and therefore his heir."

  "But there may be a will."

  "No; there isn't. I've hunted everywhere, and there's nothing of thekind to be found."

  "Still, even in that case you are not his only heir."

  "I am, though; for we two were the last of the family."

  "Yes; but you forget that May inherits her mother's share."

  "She sha'n't! I won't hear of it! That chit of a child, indeed! She'llget it when I'm gone, if she outlives me, but I shall hold on to ittill then."

  "But you can't, unless there's a will leaving it all to you; forotherwise the law will give her an equal share."

  "But if we don't choose to let anybody know what he has left?" sheasked, frowningly, yet with some slight hesitation.

  "There, now," said her husband, "don't you see why you have no right tocome here alone and examine his effects?"

  She opened her hand, showing a roll of bank-notes.

  "This ready money I ought to have a right to take, to use for May andmyself, and I'm going to do it; we need it at once to buy our mourningand other things."

  He looked troubled, for though honest and upright in his dealings, heyet dreaded to oppose her will.

  "Let me see those notes," he requested, holding out his hand.

  She allowed him to take them, remarking as he did so
, "It's quite anice sum--considerably over a thousand dollars."

  "Yes," he said, turning them about with careful scrutiny, "but--"

  "What?" she asked, sharply.

  "They're all marked; they're the missing notes stolen from Lakeside; Iknow, for I've had a particular description of them from SandyMcAllister."

  "Well?"

  "Of course we must restore them to the rightful owners; we wouldn't beguilty of fraud, and we couldn't use these bills without detection,even if we didn't care for the dishonesty of appropriating them."

  "But that girl!" she hissed through her clinched teeth; "she rejectedmy brother, and I'm determined she shall be punished for it. Here's amortgage on Lakeside," laying her hand on the paper as she spoke;"Avery bought it to have her in his power, and he told me he'dforeclose and turn them out of house and home if the saucy minx heldout against his advances. Now it's my property, and I mean to foreclosewithout giving her any alternative; then the place will be mine, andwe'll go there and live. I've always had a hankering after it; it's theprettiest place in all the region round, to my way of thinking."

  "But, Dora, you couldn't really contemplate so mean, not to saydishonest a procedure?" he exclaimed, in surprise and dismay.

  "Dishonest!" she cried, with rising wrath; "where's the dishonesty?Haven't I a right to foreclose and sell the property to get my money ifthey don't pay up their interest?"

  "But they will when we hand them these bills, which we know to havebeen stolen from them."

  "Hand them the notes and let them know they were found among Avery'spossessions, and have them blackening his character--telling that hewas the thief or the receiver, that's as bad as the thief?" sheexclaimed, with fury. "I'll do no such thing; I'll defend my brother'scharacter to the last gasp!" she added, with virtuous indignation.

  He turned away and paced the room back and forth for a few moments;then, returning to her side, "Dora," he said, with unwonted decision,"to keep back these notes from the rightful owners would be as bad asstealing, and I will be no party to any such dishonest dealing."

  "You've nothing whatever to do with it," she interrupted, hotly.

  "Unfortunately I have," he responded, "and I insist on taking to theHeaths this property, which is rightfully theirs. I shall tell them wedo not know or understand how these notes happened to be found hereamong your brother's papers, and shall try to exact from them a promisenot to reveal the fact to any one. I think I shall have no difficultyin persuading them to that."

  "Then we'll lose the place," she said, grinding her teeth with rage."I'll not consent."

  "We can't lose what we never owned," he returned; "and I for one couldnever enjoy it if gained by means so unfair and cruel."

  She continued her opposition for some time longer, but to her unboundedastonishment found him for once firm in his determination not tosurrender to her will.

  He presently took the notes from her unwilling hand and forthwithdeparted for Lakeside.

  Great was the joy there when his errand was made known andaccomplished. The promise he asked for was readily given, accompaniedwith hearty thanks for the restoration of the notes.

  Then Miriam said, "Mr. Bangs told me he had bought the mortgage on ourplace, and now we would like to buy it of his heirs; the money is readyto be paid down at any time."

  "I am glad to hear it," returned Mr. Wiley, emphatically, "and I thinkthe matter can be arranged very shortly."

  When he had taken his departure the grandmother, Miriam, and Ronaldexchanged looks and words of congratulation; their hearts were full ofjoy.

  "We must get Warren to attend to this business for us, grandmother andMirry," Ronald said, giving his sister a mischievous, bantering look ashe concluded his sentence.

  "I think we could not do better," Mrs. Heath replied, turning aninquiring glance upon her granddaughter.

  "I entirely agree with you, grandma," rejoined Miriam, quietly."Suppose you write him a note stating the facts, Ronald, of coursekeeping back the one we have promised not to reveal."

  "Certainly; with all my heart," returned the young man. "I shall urgehim to call at once and give us his opinion and advice. By the way, hehasn't been here since he came to tell you the good news in regard toHimes's will."

  Miriam did not seem to hear. She had caught sight of a carriage nearingtheir gate, and hurried out to receive Dr. Jasper and Serena, who, sheperceived, were its occupants.

  These good friends were soon told of the good fortune that had come tothe Lakeside family, and responded to the tidings with heartycongratulations and good wishes.

  A good deal of lively, cheery chat followed, and for a short spaceMiriam seemed as gay as the rest, but erelong Serena noticed anexpression of deep sadness steal over her speaking countenance, whenfor a moment the stream of talk had drifted past her, and she wasunaware that any eye was regarding her.

  "Miriam, my dear, won't you invite me into your garden to look at yourroses?" Serena asked, with one of her winsome smiles.

  "Certainly; I shall be delighted to show them," Miriam answered, abright, pleased look taking the place of the former sorrowful one, asshe rose and led the way. "The doctor may come, too, if he likes."

  "No, no, he mayn't! I want you to myself for a little while," saidSerena, laughingly. "Please just stay where you are, Alonzo, and doyour best to entertain Mrs. Heath and Mr. Ronald."

  Roses of many beautiful varieties formed a prominent feature of theflower-garden at Lakeside. Serena went about among them exclaiming,admiring, asking questions in regard to names and the proper treatmentfor bringing them to perfection, but in the midst of it all turnedsuddenly upon her friend with the query, "What's the matter with you,my dear? Why are you sad now, when delivered from your tormentor andprovided with a small fortune over and above what it will take to clearoff the mortgage that has given you so much anxiety and heartache?"

  "Why do you think me sad, Mrs. Serena?" returned Miriam, with playfullook and tone, though a bright blush mantled her cheek.

  "Oh, I have eyes," was the laconic answer.

  "And do they tell you I am sad?" asked Miriam, smiling brightly.

  "Not at this moment, my sweet, pretty maid; but they caught a differentlook a while ago from that presented to them now. Am I right in myconjecture that the course of true love does not run smooth? Praybelieve, dear, that I do not ask from any vulgar curiosity, but from asincere desire and hope to be able to give both sympathy and help," sheadded, taking Miriam's hand and pressing it affectionately in both ofhers. "That Warren Charlton is deeply enamored of you I am positivelycertain, and as he, too, is looking woebegone without apparent reason,to what other conclusion can I come than that the roughness of truelove's course is making misery for you both?"

  "Captain Charlton has never breathed a word of love to me," Miriamsaid, blushing more vividly than before, "so of course there has beenno lover's quarrel between us; but surely the horrors of the last weekare enough to account for a feeling of depression, especially in onewho--Oh, Serena, I think you do not know that it was I who had putBangs into such a rage that he shot poor Barney Nolan, and was lynchedin consequence! Oh, I cannot yet get over the feeling that I--I ampartly to blame--partly responsible for it all!" she added, avertingher face, while the big tears rolled down her cheeks.

  "And that was what made you look so overwhelmed when you heard the newsof that lynching!" cried Serena, catching her friend in her arms andholding her close. "Ah! I knew very well it could not possibly be thatyou cared in the very least for that double-dyed villain and cowardlyassassin; but I could not divest Warren Charlton of some slightlingering suspicion or fear that you might have had some little likingfor him."

  "I knew it!" cried Miriam, her eyes filling with tears of mingled griefand indignation; "I felt how grossly he misunderstood my emotion onhearing of the awful fate of the man who was my worst enemy, and whom Iso thoroughly detested. But, oh, how could he, how could he for amoment think that I could have any admiration for the man whosecharacter you
have so truly described?"

  "It's a perfect shame that he should," said Serena; "but I'll set himright on that point. Oh, you needn't give me such a frightened,beseeching look, my child; I've no notion of compromising you byaffording him the smallest excuse for imagining that you care for himin the least; and I'll try to impress upon him that my friend, MiriamHeath, is a prize far beyond the deserts of any man of my acquaintance,barring one who is already appropriated," she added, laughingly.

  "Thank you. That is even more than I could ask," Miriam said, with asmile. "Serena, you and the doctor must stay to tea."

  "Thank you, kindly, but we must hurry home on account of the children.Besides, the doctor has a call to make before tea," Mrs. Jasperanswered. Then, drawing out her watch, "Ah! it is time we were off now.I must run in again and remind Alonzo."