The Man from Jericho Part 22

"Yas'r."

"Did she say that you were to tell me that if I should come?"

Before Aunt Frances' thick lips could form the affirmative reply which was on her tongue, a soft voice descended from the upper hall.

"I will be there in a moment, Doctor Glenning. Please be seated."

Aunt Frances turned her turbanned head and rolled her eyes in the direction from whence the voice came, then with a snort of disgust retreated, mouthing as she went in an undertone.

John took a chair near the door which commanded the full sweep of stairway, and thus he watched Julia descend a few moments later; very sedately and with the hint of haughtiness in her air. He arose to take her hand, and he could not help contrasting this meeting with their first. Her hand in his tonight was almost lifeless, and there was a rebellious look in her dark eyes as she raised them briefly to his, he fancied accusingly.

"I told you not to believe him!" was the mute cry in John's heart, where little devils were beginning to cut and slash, but he smiled at her as he clasped her hand warmly, and asked of her health.

"I am well, thank you."

How cold she was! She remained standing, although there was another chair a short distance away. She did not look at him. She knew that she was hurting him, but she could not help it. She had wanted him so much the past week, and he had not come. And she had had nothing to do but think. Marston's awful words never left her mind, and the more she dwelt upon them the more clearly she became convinced that the love of her life was centered upon John Glenning. She _would not_ believe that which she had heard, but he had told her he had sinned--back there in Jericho!

But he had also said that he had fought through and had come out clean!

She had sobbed half of one night through in her distress, and had waited day by day for him to come. At last, on the very eve of the day he did come, she had given orders that she would not see him. But the sound of his voice had melted her resolve. She stood before him now, her heart hardened in that strange way which all lovers have, and which must forever remain inexplicable, seemingly as unresponsive as a being of marble.

"Miss Dudley!--Miss Julia!" pleaded John, purposely throwing a note of tenderness in his voice, "what is wrong? Can you not tell me? I should be so glad to do--anything for you!"

A tremor shot over her. How strong and good his voice was!

"Father is unwell, that is all," she answered, in the same expressionless voice.

"For how long? Is it--anything to cause you worry?"

"No."

Colder than ever was the monosyllable, and Julia felt herself growing wickeder and wickeder, and she knew that directly she would be bad enough not to respond in any wise to whatever he might say.

But John had had some experience in this game of love. So he promptly did the very best thing possible; he withdrew. He deliberately picked up his hat and walked to the door, where he stopped and turned.

"I suspect I had better go, Miss Dudley," he announced, in a most formal voice.

"Very well--if you wish," she added, with the adroitness of her s.e.x.

"I have reason to believe that I am an unwelcome guest this evening,"

replied Glenning. "Be pleased to tell Major Dudley that I inquired after his health, and know that I am always at your service."

He bowed low, and without offering his hand in farewell--she making no sign to give him hers--he went out.

Julia stood where he had so ceremoniously left her, amazement and anger uniting on her face. Then tears began to race down her checks, and she flew to the old sofa in the library to cry it out in the dark. She had not counted on this. He was cruel; he cared nothing for her, as he had led her to believe he did. When she went upstairs in response to her father's ring, she felt that she had never been so totally miserable in her life before.

CHAPTER XIV

When Glenning reached the highway he did not go towards town, but turned in the opposite direction. He had a wild craving for solitude. He wanted to be away from everyone, to be alone in the night with his thoughts.

These were not pleasant. His reception by Julia had been more severe than he had even antic.i.p.ated. He did not believe that her conduct towards him reflected her true feelings, but how was he to know! She had been an iceberg that night; she had a.s.sumed a role of which he had not deemed her capable. That low-browed man in the lonely house was responsible. Would he win after all? Had his poisoned lies really done their work, and robbed him of the one perfect thing which he had grown to love with a fierce intensity? He stopped short, and was tempted to go back, and demand an explanation. Should he permit himself to be discouraged thus easily; should he lose her for no other reason than that she had been cold and proud to him? He could not go back tonight.

Her heart was hardened against him, of that he was sure. He would let a few days pa.s.s and try again, and if she sent him away that would be the end. He resumed his swift walking, on and on, up hill and down, unconscious of any fatigue. He met no one. When he finally came to a halt on a small bridge he realized that his surroundings were unfamiliar, and that he was several miles from town. He was in no hurry to return. He filled his pipe and fell to smoking, watching the starlight dimpling on the ripples of the tiny stream which flowed under the bridge. In some moods this would have soothed him, but tonight it served as an irritant. He was at war with himself, and the gentle harmonies of Nature fretted by their very peace. He would have welcomed a storm. He would have been glad had the rain come driving its tiny fists in his face; had the vivid lightning staggered athwart the sky; had thunderbolts shivered the earth about him; had the demons of storm torn at the writhing trees. These things would have brought relief. He was keyed for strife, and the musical water, the calm starlight and the soft warm breeze maddened him. He pocketed his pipe with a gesture of annoyance and swung about in his tracks. A long walk lay before him, and he was glad. But action failed to bring relief. As he pa.s.sed the Dudley home his breast was surging with unconquerable feelings. He felt that he was capable in that hour of leading a forlorn hope in battle. It was near midnight when he reached the edge of town. Presently he overtook a pedestrian, but he pa.s.sed him without a sidelong glance. Further on he pa.s.sed another. At a bisecting street he saw a group, and as he went by them he noticed that they wore masks. His mind took a revolution and came back to the topic of the day. What did these sinister preparations mean in the dead of night? Had Goodloe died? Were these his avengers?

Mob law was no new thing in Kentucky. Were these men ma.s.sing to wreak a summary and swift vengeance upon the marshal's slayer? A sudden idea struck Glenning, and with it a species of wild joy. He turned up his coat collar, drew his hat over his eyes, and hurried on. He pa.s.sed other men, all masked, but no one spoke to him or tried to intercept him.

Directly he broke into a run, and in a few moments was at the jail, and thundering on the panels of the door with his fist. The jailer must have been up, for he answered the summons at once, fully dressed. Evidently he expected trouble, for he was pale with fright, which he made no effort to hide, and he was trembling.

"Quick!" said Glenning. "They're coming! Arm yourself!"

The man stood shaking in the doorway, but did not answer. John grasped him by the shoulder, and spoke again.

"Don't you hear? They're coming for your prisoner to hang him! Protect him! Get your pistol and guard the jail!"

"Who?--What?" stammered the terrified man.

"The mob! I've seen them gathering! You've no time to lose!"

"I'll give 'em the keys if they ask me for 'em!" exclaimed the jailer.

"They'd shoot me if I didn't!"

"You're sworn to duty!" expostulated John. "Don't let them murder this fellow. Has Goodloe died?"

"I don't know--but they can have the keys!"

He drew them from his pocket and jangled them in his hand, a pitiful object.

"Listen!" whispered Glenning. "They're coming. Hear their feet? Give me your keys! Bring me your pistols--quick!"

He took the bunch of heavy keys from the unresisting fingers, and the jailer hastened indoors. He was back in a moment with a brace of revolvers which he held out eagerly.

"Here they are!" he managed to say. "Keep 'em off, doc, if you can!"

"Go hide in the cellar, if you have one!" returned John, contemptuously, and walked to the iron-barred door set in a stone wall, which gave entrance to the main pa.s.sage of the jail.

In front of this door was a small, elevated platform, not over six feet square. Above the door a lamp burned in an iron sconce set in the masonry. This was placed there for convenience in housing prisoners at all hours. John looked at the lamp a moment in doubt, then walked to it and turned the wick higher, so that the low flame sprang up and illuminated the platform upon which he stood, as well as the ground in front for several yards. As he faced about a reckless, devil-may-care smile was on his lips. At one side lay a goods-box, some three feet tall. John stooped and dragged it to the platform, and stood it on end in front of him. His purpose was not to form a shield, for the frail pine of which it was made could not have withstood a bullet, and it came scarcely to his waist, leaving exposed all vital parts. Glenning quietly dropped the keys in the long gra.s.s at the edge of the platform, took off his hat and placed it to one side, then lay his two revolvers upon the top of the box, gently rested his hand upon the b.u.t.t of each, and waited. The revolvers were of forty-eight calibre, and brightly nickeled. They caught the gleam from the lamp, and shone suggestively.

The jailer had disappeared. John had heard him locking and barricading his door. In all probability he had deserted the place by some rear exit.

The faint sound of many moving feet which had been audible a few minutes before had grown into a p.r.o.nounced tread. As John stood and listened to this portentous advance, his heart did not quicken a beat. Indeed, he had grown calmer. The fever of unrest which had been tearing at him was departed now. Here was that danger for which he had vaguely hoped--here, before his face. Something like a hundred men came to a halt before the jail door, and at a respectful distance from the platform where a tall, bareheaded man stood, almost in a careless att.i.tude. The mob was masked; there was not a face visible.

"Out with the keys, Bill!" jeered a man in the rear; "we mean business!"

The speaker had mistaken John for the jailer.

"Bill--h.e.l.l!" growled another, nearer the front. "That's the new doc, but whut the d.a.m.n fool's doin' here I don't know!"

Glenning had not said a word, nor had he shifted his position. But his most searching scrutiny had failed to reveal the presence of a single weapon among the besiegers.

"On! On!" cried some one in the rear. "Ain't there enough of us to 'tend to that feller?"