Westways: A Village Chronicle Part 28

"Halloa!" cried Peter. "How are you? I'm going to the mills to see my girl-want you to shave me-got over my joke; funny, wasn't it?"

A sudden ferocious desire awoke in the good-natured barber-some long-past inheritance of African l.u.s.t for the blood of an enemy.

"Don't like to kiss with a rough beard," said Peter. "I'll pay-got money-now."

"Come in," said Josiah. "Set down. I'll shut the door-it's a cold morning."

He spread the lather over the red face. "Head back a bit-that's right comfortable now, isn't it?"

"All right-go ahead."

Josiah took his razor. "Now, then," he said, as he set a big strong hand on the man's forehead, "if you move, I'll cut your throat-keep quiet-don't you move. You told I was a slave-you ruined my life-I never did you no harm-I'd kill you just as easy as that-" and he drew the blunt cold back of the razor across the hairy neck.

"My G.o.d!-I-" The man shuddered.

"Keep still-or you are a dead man."

"Oh, Lord!" groaned Lamb.

"I would kill you, but I don't want to be hanged. G.o.d will take care of you-He is sure. Some day you will do some wickedness worse than this-you just look at me."

There was for Peter fearful fascination in the black face of the man who stood looking down at him, the jaw moving, the white teeth showing, the eyes red, the face twitching with half-suppressed pa.s.sion.

"Answer me now-and by G.o.d, if you lie, I will kill you. You set some one on me? Quick now!"

"I did."

"Who was it? No lies, now!"

"Mr. George Grey." Then Josiah fully realized his danger.

"Why did you?"

"You wouldn't help me to get whisky."

"Well, was that all?"

"You went and got the preacher to set Mr. Penhallow on me. He gave me the devil."

"My G.o.d, was that all? You've ruined me for a drink of whisky-you've got your revenge. I'm lost-lost. Your day will come-I'll be there. Now go and repent if you can-you've been near to death. Go!" he cried.

He seized the terrified man with one strong hand, lifted him from the chair, cast open the door and hurled him out into the street. A little crowd gathered around Lamb as he rose on one elbow, dazed.

"Drunk!" said Pole, the butcher. "Drunk again!"

Josiah shut and locked the door. Then he tied up his bundle of clothes, filled a basket with food, and went out into his garden. He cast a look back at the neatly kept home he had recently made fresh with paint. He paused to pick a chilled rosebud and set it in his b.u.t.ton-hole-a fashion copied from his adored captain. He glanced tearfully at the gla.s.s-framed covers of the yellowing melon vines. He had made money out of his melons, and next year would have been able to send a good many to Pittsburgh. As he turned to leave the little garden in which he took such pride, he heard an old rooster's challenge in his chicken-yard, which had been another means of money-making. He went back and opened the door, leaving the fowl their liberty. When in the lane behind his house, he walked along in the rear of the houses, and making sure that he was un.o.bserved, crossed the road and entered the thick Penhallow forest. He walked rapidly for half an hour, and leaving the wood road found his way to the cabin the first Penhallow built. It was about half after one o'clock when the fugitive lay down on the earth of the cabin with his hands clasped behind his head. He stared upward, wondering where he could go to be safe. He would have to spend some of the carefully saved money. That seemed to him of all things the most cruel. He was not trained to consecutive thinking; memories old or new flitted through his mind. Now and then he said to himself that perhaps he had had no right to run away-and perhaps this was punishment. He had fled from the comforts of an easy life, where he had been fed, clothed and trusted. Not for a moment would he have gone back-but why had he run away? What message that soaring hawk had sent to him from his swift circling sweep overhead he was not able to put in words even if he had so desired. "That wicked hawk done it!" he said aloud.

At last, hearing steps outside, he bounded to his feet, a hand on the knife in his belt. He stood still waiting, ready as a crouching tiger, resolute, a man at bay with an unsated appet.i.te for freedom. The door opened and John entered.

"You sort of scared me, Master John."

"You are safe here, Josiah, and here is your money."

He took it without a word, except, "I reckon, Master John, you know I'm thankful. Was there any one missing me?"

"No, no one."

"I'll get away to-night. I'll go down through Lonesome Man's Swamp and take my old bateau and run down the river. You might look after my muskrat traps. I was meaning to make a purse for the little missy. Now do you just go away, and may the Lord bless you. I guess we won't ever meet no more. You'll be mighty careful, Master John?"

"But you'll write, Josiah."

"I wouldn't dare to write-I'd be takin' risks. Think I'm safe here? Oh, Lord!"

"No one knows where you are-you'll go to-night?"

"Yes, after dark." He seemed more at ease as he said, "It was Peter Lamb set Mr. Grey on me. He must have seen me after that. I told you it was Peter."

"Yes,"-and then with the hopefulness of youth-"but you will come back, I am sure."

"No, sir-never no more-and the captain and Miss Leila-it's awful-where can I go?"

John could not help him further. "G.o.d bless you, Master John." They parted at length at the door of the cabin which had seen no other parting as sad.

The black lay down again. Now and then he swept his sleeve across tearful eyes. Then he stowed his money under his shirt in a linen bag hung to his neck, keeping out a few dollars, and at last fell sound asleep exhausted by emotion,

Josiah's customers were few in number. Westways was too poor to be able to afford a barber more than once a week, and then it was always in mid-morning when work ceased for an hour. Sometimes the Squire on his way to the mills came to town early, but as a rule Josiah went to Grey Pine and shaved him while they talked about colts and their training. As he was rarely needed in the afternoon, Josiah often closed his shop about two o'clock and went a-fishing or set traps on the river bank. His absence on this Monday afternoon gave rise, therefore, to no surprise, but when his little shop remained closed on Tuesday, his neighbours began to wonder. Peter Lamb wandering by rather more drunken than on Monday, stood a while looking at the shut door, then went on his devious way, thinking of the fierce eyes and the curse. Next came Swallow for his daily shave. He knocked at the door and tried to enter. It was locked. He heard no answer to his louder knock. He at once suspected that his prey had escaped him, and that the large fee he had counted on was to say the least doubtful. But who could have warned the black? Had Mr. Grey been imprudent? Lamb had been the person who had led Grey, as Swallow knew from that gentleman, to suspect Josiah as a runaway; but now as he saw Peter reeling up the street, he was aware that he was in no state to be questioned. He went away disappointed and found that no one he met knew whither Josiah had gone.

At Grey Pine Mrs. Ann, uneasily conscious of her share in the matter, asked John if he had given the money to Josiah. He said yes, and that the man was safe and by this time far away. Meanwhile, the little town buzzed with unwonted excitement and politics gave place about the grocer's door at evening to animated discussion, which was even more interesting when on Wednesday there was still no news and the town lamented the need to go unshaven.

On Thursday morning Billy was sent with a led horse to meet Penhallow at Westways Crossing. Penhallow had written that he must go on to a meeting of the directors of the bank at the mills and would not be at home until dinner-time. The afternoon train brought Mr. Woodburn, who as advised by Grey went at once to Swallow's house, where Mrs. Swallow gave him a note from her husband asking that if he came he would await the lawyer's return.

"Well, Billy, glad to see you," said Penhallow, as he settled himself in the saddle. "All well at Grey Pine?"

"Yes, sir."

The Squire was in high good-humour on having made two good contracts for iron rails. "How are politics, Billy?"

"Don't know, sir."

"Anything new at Westways?"

"Yes, sir," replied Billy with emphasis.

"Well, what is it?"

"Josiah's run away."

"Run away! Why?"

"Don't know-he's gone."