The Man from Jericho Part 21

"Who said it would spread?" snapped Doctor Kale.

"It has a trick o' doin' it, I believe!" retorted the judge.

"Not if it's taken in time, and handled right. You can't kill a d.a.m.ned pauper!"

"You didn't try 'im!" grinned old Tim Mellowby, "or maybe you'd had better luck than the new man!"

Doctor Kale wheeled, but when he saw from whence this remark originated he turned his back in silent contempt.

"I've come from Tom Dudley's, and it's a good day with them," he observed, abruptly, his harsh crust melting before some powerful inner force.

"I presume one of them is ill, to require the presence of a physician,"

piped the voice from the wall again. "Then how can you say it is a good day with them?"

For a wonder Doctor Kale did not retort. He heard Colonel Whitley plainly, and his ears detected the note of irony in the question, but his asperity seemed suddenly to have melted; to have merged with and become engulfed in the warm feeling of joy which surged in his heart.

"You know they've been in bad lines," he said, looking on the ground, a rather pathetic figure in his ill-fitting, haphazard agglomeration of garments, none harmonizing with its neighbour. "They'd come almost to a crust, gentlemen, and such of you as are business men know upon what they depend. That was cut off something over a week ago. I was pa.s.sing this morning, and was called in hurriedly. This is good news of one of our best citizens, therefore I give it to you. Major had had an attack with his heart, brought on by excitement caused by the morning's mail.

I straightened him out, then Julia told me all about it. Most of you will remember Arthur Dudley, Major's brother. He's been away for a score of years, and they lost him, totally. Thought him dead. This morning Tom got a letter from a lawyer in St. Louis, with a check in it for two thousand dollars. Major's brother was on his way back here. He took sick in St. Louis, sent for this lawyer, died, and the money came on."

"Whose money?--What money?" exclaimed Uncle Billy Hoonover, hastening up at that moment in time to catch the last words.

Doctor Kale promptly growled something about an engagement, and departed with the same haste which marked his approach.

The paper by the wall was lowered once more, revealing a hawk nose, bushy brows and sharp eyes.

"I told you, gentlemen, Mr. Hoonover would arrive!" the thin voice of Colonel Whitley declared. "Good morning, Mr. Hoonover!"

"What's that sour old c.o.o.n been tellin' you?" demanded Uncle Billy, bearing down upon old Tim Mellowby, who had inadvertently occupied his chair, "Git up! Don't you know that's my seat?"

He made a half threatening movement with his staff, but old Tim slid off his perch good-naturedly and sought the ground instead, no more chairs being available.

Judge Colver thereupon essayed, in his longwinded, heavy way, to impart to the new arrival the story they had just heard. Uncle Billy listened with becoming patience for one of his excitable temperament.

"Well, 'pon my soul!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, when the recital was done. "Things happen nowadays as queer as Jonah an' the whale! Arthur--an' who'd 'a'

thought?--two thousand dollars! He's a stiff old codger, but n.o.body c'n say anything ag'in 'im! He's got a right to live by hisself an' not neighbour any."

"Is d.i.n.k up yit?" asked a very sober looking, lank individual, who up to this moment had remained silent. He was the jailer. The question, simple as it was, proved an unlucky one, for the ire of Uncle Billy arose at once. He began to thump the earth with his staff and comb his whiskers with his fingers.

"Ain't I late this mornin'?" he demanded, instead of making direct reply to the question. "Oughtn't I 'a' been here a half-n-hour ago?"

He glared from one to the other as though daring them to refute it. Each person present maintained a discreet silence, though one or two nodded acquiescence.

"Late! Late to town!" he stormed. "And what for? That pesky Lizy Ann Scribbens had the owdacity to come to my _front_ door this very mornin'--a beggin'. My _front_ door! An' her just been cooped up with that diseased rat of a husban', d.i.n.k, an' small-pox microbes a-crawlin'

all over her! Didn't I pack her off? I swear, gentlemen, I got my shotgun before she would leave! Paupers oughter live in the poorhouse an' not purten' to be decent. d.i.n.k won't admit he's a pauper, but he lives by stealin', what's worse. That's why I'm late, an' if I don't ketch it I don't know why!"

The paper rustled against the wall.

"I should think, Mr. Hoonover, that you should apprehend no danger of contagion, as you had no personal contact with your caller. Of course that is a layman's view only, but I would not give it another thought."

A pistol shot, startlingly near and distinct, punctuated the carefully uttered speech of Colonel Whitley. The group leaped up as one man--save the one who had last spoken. Colonel Whitley was in a comfortable position, and his paper was only half read. The shot sounded from Main street, and Judge Colver, as fearless as he was big, started in a lumbering trot across the yard to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. But almost immediately three men appeared around the corner of the courthouse. One was a deputy sheriff, another was a blacksmith, and between them, struggling violently to free himself, was a low, poorly dressed, unkempt person.

"What's up? What's Hank done?" queried the judge.

"Shot d.i.c.k Goodloe!" answered the deputy, quickly, he and the smith hurrying their man forward as rapidly as possible. On the other side of the yard was a little gate, and it was for this they were heading, it being the nearest approach to the jail. "Keep back the crowd, Joe, till we get Hank in!" called the deputy, and they pushed on.

The crowd as yet, however, was entirely harmless, and was centered about some indistinguishable object in the middle of the street. The live a.s.sa.s.sin was far less interesting than the fallen officer, for d.i.c.k Goodloe was the town marshal; an honest, sober, efficient fellow whom everyone admired for his adherence to duty. Not three minutes had pa.s.sed since the shot split the warm, still air. Before, the town had seemed only half alive; a few people on the street, a few men in the store doors, a few loitering negroes. Now a seething ma.s.s of humanity of all ages was congregated in front of the post-office, almost from curb to curb, and those who had first reached the marshal were so pushed upon and hampered that they could do nothing.

John was in his office when the unmistakable sound came spitefully through his window, and caused him to seize his hat and run down stairs.

The mishap had occurred at the other end of the square, and when he reached the scene it was to find his way blocked by a human wall.

"Get out of my way!" he called, in a loud, clear voice, and begun pushing his body in, using his hands, elbows and knees irrespective of who they touched. "Stand back! You'll smother him! Back! Back!" he commanded, and the stern voice carried weight. They made room for him, and directly he was kneeling by the prostrate form. A brief examination showed him it was bad enough. A ball through the man's right side, with blood spouting from the wound.

"Where does he live?" he asked, quickly, turning his head and looking up half savagely. "How far?"

"Half mile, I reck'n, anyhow," answered a bystander, with his hands in his pockets.

"Lift his feet; I'll take his head and shoulders," said Glenning, to a determined looking man in front of him. "Into the drug store yonder.

It's quick work now, or he's gone!"

They came up with Goodloe's weight between them. The crowd was apathetic with curiosity.

"Back!--d.a.m.n you!" gritted John Glenning, his patience leaving him at the asinine stupidity of the cla.s.s with which he was surrounded. The lower element of Macon, which formed the inner line of that congested caldron of people, had begun to press forward again to get a glimpse of the senseless form which many of them had seen daily all their lives.

They gave, half in fear; a lane was opened, and d.i.c.k Goodloe was carried across the street into the drug store.

"Lock your door!" ordered Glenning, then he was coolly removing clothing and calling for this and that, and battling with all the skill that was in him for the life of this stranger whom a half-drunken, altogether mean ruffian had tried to kill. The front of the drug store was darkened by the thronging crowd which pressed against the windows and door--trying to see! The better cla.s.s of citizens began to a.s.semble, but these were content to wait; they wanted to be on hand when the doctor's verdict was given out. Squads of men had already formed up and down the street to talk it over. Business was suspended for the time, and an atmosphere of gloom began to settle over Main street. Very soon it became known that Goodloe had only a thread of a chance for his life.

The bullet had been found and taken out, but the wound was in a vital part. The chances were against the marshal. These things Glenning told quietly and willingly to such as inquired after his patient as he left the drug store, giving instructions that the man be carried to his home as soon as possible.

The being whose wanton hand had stricken down the officer was a totally worthless character; shiftless, depraved, wicked. He had that morning, while under the influence of liquor, provoked an altercation with a colored labourer in the street. He began using vile language; ladies were pa.s.sing. Goodloe warned him to stop, and take himself off. Then the miscreant had shot him. That was all. And now this thing which masqueraded as a human had been given the protection of the law, had been sheltered in the jail from the just wrath of his fellowmen. There were low murmurings running about the streets of the town all that day, and men came and went, went and came from the humble cottage which was d.i.c.k Goodloe's home, getting news of the sick man and disseminating it to the scores who inquired of his condition. The reports were not good.

And as the afternoon waned word came that the marshal was delirious.

Some apprehensive friend had sent Doctor Kale to wait upon the marshal, with instructions to stay in the house. The old fellow stormed and swore that he wouldn't take any man's patient from him, that professional etiquette forbade it, and d.a.m.ned if he'd go! Glenning persuaded him to change his mind, urging him to go and do all he could. John was out of town most of the day. His practice had increased three patients that week, but those who had sought his services lived rather far in the country, and it required some time for him to make his rounds. It was dark before he returned to Macon. He did not go to supper, but ate at a restaurant. Then he bathed, changed his linen, and started afoot for the Dudleys.

It had taken him exactly seven days to get his own consent to call here.

During that time he had not seen Julia, even at a distance. He wanted to see her, more than he had ever wanted to see anyone in his life, but he did not know how she would receive him now. What had Marston told her?

To be sure he had warned her against Marston in time, but a woman's heart is ever an unsolved riddle, and the story she had heard may have stung, and blighted, and seared. He was at last determined to know. He had remained in ignorance as long as he could. Better to hear from her own lips that she cared no more to see him, than to hide from her like a coward, and by his silence and absence confess his guilt. One thing gladdened him as he strode along in the starlight. That morning a letter had come from Will Porter, stating that he had carried out his part of the plan, and sent Major Dudley the money.

Glenning's accustomed ease had entirely deserted him as he knocked at the open front door. He was painfully hara.s.sed, and uncertain of himself. He scarcely knew what he would say, or do. He heard a step, heavy, flapping. Aunt Frances appeared at the rear of the long, shadowy hall, and came waddling towards him.

"Ebenin', Ma.r.s.e Glen'n'" She greeted him a little stiffly.

"Where's your mistress, Aunt Frances? Tell her I am come, if you please, and would like to see her for a few moments."

He came in and placed his hat upon the hall rack, but the old coloured woman made no move to do his bidding.

"What's the matter?" he queried. "Isn't Miss Dudley in?"

"She am wid de Majuh, who's sick. She can't see n.o.body."

"Did she tell you that?"