Читать книгу Paul Rundel - Will N. Harben - Страница 14

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HE went back to the veranda through the unlighted hall, and stood looking across the lawn toward the gate. There was no moon; but the stars were out, and cast a soft radiance over the undulating landscape. Along the steep side of the nearest mountain forest fires in irregular lines pierced the thicker darkness of the distance, and their blue smoke drifted in lowering wisps over the level fields.

“Some'n's surely up, if Trawley wants to see me to-night,” Hoag mused. “I wonder if my men—” He saw a horse and rider emerge from the gloom down the road leading on to Grayson. There was no sound of hoofs, for the animal was moving slowly, as if guided with caution. Nearer and nearer the horse approached, till it was reined in at the barnyard gate.

“That's him,” Hoag muttered, and with a furtive look into the hall behind him he tiptoed softly down the steps, and then, his feet muffled by the grass, he strode briskly down to the gate. As he drew near the horseman, who was a slender young man in a broad-brimmed slouch hat, easy shirt, and wide leather belt, and with a heavy blond mustache, dismounted and leaned on the top-rail of the fence.

“Hello, Cap,” was his greeting. “'Fraid you might not be at home. Henry didn't know whether you would be or not, but I come on—wasn't nothin' else to do. The klan is all worked up in big excitement. They didn't want to move without your sanction; but if you'd been away we'd 'a' had to. Business is business. This job has to go through.”

“What's up now?” Hoag asked, eagerly.

“They've caught that nigger Pete Watson.”

“Who has—my boys?”

“No; the sheriff—Tom Lawler an' three o' his deputies.”

“You don't say; where?”

“In the swamp, in the river-bottom just beyond Higgins's farm. Ten of the klan happened to be waiting at Larkin's store when Lawler whizzed by with 'em in a two-hoss hack.”

Hoag swore; his voice shook with excitement. “An' you fellers didn't try to head 'em off, or—”

“Head 'em off, hell! an' them with three cocked Winchesters 'cross their laps an' it broad daylight. Besides, the boys said you'd be mad—like you have been every time they've moved a peg without orders. You remember how you cursed an' raved when—”

“Well, never mind that!” Hoag fumed. “Where did they take the black devil?”

“To jail in Grayson; he's under lock an' key all right. We followed, and saw 'im put in. He's the blue-gum imp that killed old Rose. Lawler told some o' our boys that he hain't owned up to it yet, but he's guilty. Sam and Alec Rose are crazy—would 'a' gone right in the jail an' shot everything in sight if we all hadn't promised 'em you'd call out the klan an' take action at once.”

“I see, I see.” Hoag's head rose and fell like a buoy on a wave of self-satisfaction. “The boys are right. They know nothin' can be done in any sort o' decent order without a leader. You know yourself, Sid, that every time they've gone on their own hook they've had trouble, an' fetched down public criticism.”

“We all know that well enough, Cap,” Trawley said, “an' the last one of the gang is dependent on you. It is wonderful how they stick to you, an' rely on yore judgment. But, say, we hain't got a minute to lose. The thing is primed an' cocked. We kin pass the word along an' have every man out by twelve o'clock. I just need your sanction; that's all I'm here for.”

In the starlight the lines, protuberances, and angles of Hoag's face stood out as clearly as if they had been carved from stone. He stroked his mustache, lips, and chin; he drew himself erect and threw his shoulders back with a sort of military precision. He felt himself to be a pivot upon which much turned, and he enjoyed the moment.

“Wait,” he said, “let me study a minute. I—”

“Study hell! Look here, Jim Hoag—”

“Stop!” Hoag broke in sternly, and he leaned on the fence and glared at Trawley. “You know you are breakin' rules—you know the last one of you has sworn never to speak my name at a time like this. I was to be called 'Captain,' an' nothin' else; but here you go blurtin' out my name. There is no tellin' when somebody may be listenin'.”

“Excuse me, Cap, you are dead right. I was wrong; it was a slip o' the lip. I won't let it happen again.”

Hoag's anger was observable even in the dim light. It trembled in his tone and flashed in his eyes.

“Beggin' pardon don't rectify a mistake like that when the damage is done,” he muttered. “You fellers ain't takin' any risk. I'd be the one to hold the bag if the authorities got onto us. They would nab the leader first.”

“You are too shaky and suspicious,” the other retorted, in sanguine contempt of caution. “We hain't got a man but would die ruther than turn traitor, an' thar ain't no court or jury that could faze us. As you said in yore speech at the last regular meetin', we are a law unto ourselves. This is a white man's country, Cap, an' we ain't goin' to let a few lazy niggers run it.”

“The boys sort o' liked that speech, didn't they?” Hoag's voice ran smooth again.

“It was a corker, an' tickled 'em all,” Trawley smiled. “They will put you in the legislature by a big vote whenever you say the word.”

“I don't want it—I ain't that sort,” Hoag said, grandiloquently. “I'm satisfied if I can help a little here at home—sorter hold you boys together an' make you cautious. A thing like this to-night has to be managed in a cool-headed way that will convince the public that there is a power that can be relied on outside o' the tardy one that costs taxpayers so much to keep up. It would tickle a black whelp like Pete Watson to be tried at our expense. He'd love the best in the world to set up in court an' be looked at as some'n out o' the general run, an' incite others o' his stripe to go an' kill helpless white men an' insult white women. The rope, the torch, an' our spooky garb an' masks are the only things niggers are afraid of.”

“You think that is it, do you?” Trawley said, with a low, pleased laugh.

“More'n anything else,” affirmed Hoag, “along with our swift action. Say, I've been thinkin' over some'n Sid. You said when you fust rid up that the klan won't act without a leader, an' my business sometimes calls me off to Atlanta or Augusta—now it is important, in case I'm away at any time, to have some sort o' head, an' I've been thinkin' that, as you are sech an active member, you ought to be made my lieutenant—”

“You don't mean that, do you, Cap—you don't surely—” Trawley's voice seemed submerged in a flood of agreeable surprise.

“I do, an' I'm goin' to propose it at the next full meetin'. I want a young man like you that I can confer with now and then an' chat over matters. A feller can't always git at a big body like ours by hisself, an' you seem to be better fitted to the office than any other member.”

“I'm much obliged, Cap.” Trawley beamed, and his voice was round and full. “I'd like to stand in with you an' I'll do my best. I promise you that. The whole thing is fun to me.”

“You've been more help to me already than anybody else,” Hoag said, “and I'm goin' to propose yore name an' see that it goes through. Now, we haven't got any time to lose in this job to-night. Send the word along the line, Tell all hands to meet at Maxwell's cove by eleven o'clock—that will give us plenty o' time to git things in shape.”

The dawn of the following day was on the point of breaking when Henry Hoag crossed the garden behind the farm-house, stealthily unlocked the front door, and crept up the stairs to his room. He had been out “skylarking” with some of his friends, and did not want his parents to know the hour of his return home. He did not light the candle on his bureau, but proceeded to undress in the dark. Suddenly he paused, as he sat on the edge of his bed removing his shoes, and listened. It was a soft footfall on the steps of the veranda, the gentle turning of a key in the lock of the door, the creaking of the hinges, followed by the clicking of the latch as the door was closed. A moment later a clumsy tread slurred along the lower corridor to Hoag's room.

Henry chuckled. “Got in by the skin of my teeth,” he said. “If he knew I watched that thing from start to finish he'd beat me 'in an inch o' my life. He tried to change his voice, but he was too excited to hide it. Gee! didn't that poor nigger beg? Ugh, I'm afraid I'll see 'im in my sleep, and hear that last gurgle.”

Henry cautiously lowered a shoe to the floor and sat still for a moment. “Poor old Pete!” he mused. “He swore he didn't do it, and somehow it seemed to me that he wasn't lyin'. I'd have turned him loose and risked it. Poor fellow! Poor fellow!”