When 'Bear Cat' Went Dry Part 42

They all fell into att.i.tudes of concentrated attention--bent forward and listening. Out in the night where there had been only the lashing of wind, rose a swell of song, bursting confidently and ominously from human throats. It sounded like a mighty chorus carried on the lips of a marching host, and with its martial a.s.surance it brought a terrifying menace.

"I've heered thet song afore," quavered the woman, whose lips were ashen as she rose out of her obscurity. "Hit's called ther Battle Hymn--my daddy l'arned hit in ther war over slavery ... hit says su'thin 'bout 'My eyes hes seed ther Glory of ther comin' of ther Lord!'"

"Shet up, woman," commanded her husband, roughly. "I'm a-listenin'."

Towers braced himself against a nameless foreboding and went cautiously to the door, picking up his rifle on the way. The other men, instinctively drifted toward their weapons, too, though they felt it to be as futile a defense as arming against ghosts.

Soon the master of the house was back, with a face of greenish pallor.

He licked his lips and stammered in his effort at speech.

"I kain't ... in no fashion ... make hit out--" he admitted. "Thar's a host of torches comin' hither.... They're flamin' like es ef h.e.l.l hitself war a-marchin' in on us!"

The woman threw herself down on her knees and fell into hysterical and incoherent prayer.

For a little s.p.a.ce the men stood irresolute, divided between a wild impulse to seek hiding in the timber and a sentiment in favor of pinning their trust to the strength of solid walls and barred doors.

But upon their jarred nerves the great volume of sound, crashing nearer and nearer, beat like a gathering flood.

Turning out the lamp and half-smothering the fire, Jim Towers stole noiselessly to the back door and opened it to a narrow slit. He thrust forth his head and drew it back again as precipitately as though it had been struck by a fist.

"What did ye see?" came the whispered interrogation from stiff lips, and the man hoa.r.s.ely gasped out his response.

"Thar was--a black ghost standin' thar--black as sin from head ter foot. He held a torch, an' each side of him stood another one jest like him--Good G.o.d! I reckon hit's jedgment day an' nothin' less!"

The woman had slipped out of sight, but now she came lurching back in wild terror.

"I peeked outen a winder," she whimpered. "Thar's score on' score of men--or sperrits out thar--all black as midnight. They've got torches flamin'--but they hain't got no faces--jest black skulls! Oh--Lord, fergive my sins!"

Then upon front and back doors simultaneously came a loud rapping, and the men inside fell into a rude circle, as quail hover at night with eyes out-turned against danger.

"I'm Bear Cat Stacy," came a voice of stentorian command. "Open the doors--and drop yore guns. We don't seek ter harm no women ner children."

Still there was dead silence inside, as eye turned to eye for counsel.

Then against the panels they heard the solid blow of heavy timbers.

CHAPTER XXIV

When the door fell in, Bear Cat Stacy stepped across the splintered woodwork, unarmed save for the holstered pistol in his belt. He made a clear target for at his back was the red and yellow glare of blazing flambeaux. Yet no finger pressed its trigger because the mad uselessness of resistance proclaimed itself. Like flood-water running through a broken d.y.k.e, a black and steady stream flowed around him into the house, lining the walls with a mourning border of unidentified human figures.

Their funereal like had never before been seen in the hills, and they seemed to come endlessly with an uncanny silence and precision.

They were not ghosts but men; men draped in rubber ponchos or slickers that fell, glinting with the sheen of melted snow, to their knees.

Their black felt hats were pointed into cones and under the brims their eyes looked out through masks of black cloth that betrayed no feature.

Except for Bear Cat Stacy himself and George Kelly, who were both unmasked, no man was recognized--and no voice sounded to distinguish its possessor.

The mauling of the battering ram on the rear door ceased and a pulseless quiet followed save for the tramp-tramp of feet as yet other spectral and monotonously similar figures slipped through the door and fell into enveloping ranks along the walls, and for the woman's half-smothered hysteria of fright.

Angered by her disconcerting sobs, Jim Towers seized his wife's shoulder and shook her brutally. "d.a.m.n ye, shet up afore I hurts ye,"

he snarled, and, as he finished, Bear Cat Stacy's open hand smote him across the lips and brought a trickle of blood. Into the eyes of the trapped man came an evil glitter of ineffectual rage, and from an upper room rose the wail of awakened children.

"Go up sta'rs, ma'am, an' comfort ther youngsters," Turner quietly directed the woman. "No harm hain't a-goin' ter come ter you--ner them." Then, wheeling, he ripped out a command to the huddled prisoners.

"Drap them guns!"

When the surrendered arms had been gathered in, Stacy drew his captives into line and nodded to George Kelly, who stepped forward, his face working with a strong emotion. One could see that only the effect of acknowledged discipline stifled his longing to leap at the throat of Jim Towers.

"Kin ye identify any one man or more hyar, es them thet burned down yore dwellin' house? If ye kin, point him out."

Walking to a position from which he directly confronted Towers, Kelly raised a finger unsteady with rage and thrust it almost into the face itself. Then the hand grew steady and remained accusingly poised.

There was a moment of silence, tensely charged, which Bear Cat's voice broke with a steady precision of judicial inquiry.

"What proof hev ye got ter offer us?"

"Make him lift up his right foot an' show ther patch thet he's got on ther sole an' ther nails on ther heel," demanded Kelly eagerly, but at that Stacy shook his head.

"No. Fust ye tell us what manner of shoe hit war--then we'll see ef ye're right."

George Kelly described a print made by a shoe, home-mended with a triangular patch, and with a heel from whose circle of hobs, two were missing. "Now," snapped Bear Cat. "Let's see thet shoe. Tek hit off."

Reluctantly the man whose house had been invaded stooped and unlaced his brogan.

Stacy wheeled abruptly to face one of the lines against the wall. "You men thet seen them foot-prints, atter thet fire, step ter ther fore."

A quartette of figures detached themselves and formed a squad facing the captives and when the shoe had been pa.s.sed from hand to hand along their line Turner went forward with his inquisition. From no other throat came a syllable of sound.

"I wants every man thet's willin' ter take oath thet he recognizes thet sole--as ther same one thet made them prints--ter raise his right hand above his head. Ef he hain't p'intedly sure, let him keep his arms down, an' ef he mis...o...b..s. .h.i.t's ther same identical shoe, let him hold up his left hand."

In prompt unison four right hands came up, and, having testified, the mute witnesses fell back again to their places against the walls.

"Does ye _ree_cognize anybody else, thet war thar?" Kelly was questioned and without a falter of doubt he again thrust an index finger forward close to the blanching face of Charlie Reverdy.

Jim Towers stood bracing himself with a stiff-necked effort at defiance. He was caught by an overwhelming force of his enemies--and no help was at hand. No rescue was possible and he expected death, as in similar circ.u.mstances, he would have inflicted it. But the sneer which he forced to his lips could not out-testify the sickly green of his pallor as he awaited his sentence.

When the identification of Reverdy had been also corroborated by similar procedure, Bear Cat turned once more to confront Towers.

"Hev ye any denial ter make? Hev ye anything ter say?"

"All I've got ter say," was the insolent retort, "air thet ye kin go ter h.e.l.l. Finish up yore murder ... ye kain't affright me none."

"Burnin' down dwellin' houses air a grave matter," pursued Stacy with a grim calm. "Hangin' hain't none too severe fer any man thet would foller hit. So we hyarby sentences ye ter death--but we suspends ther sentence. We don't aim ter hang ye--leastways not yit." After a pause freighted with deep anxiety for the accused he added, "All we aims ter do with ye air ter tie ye on bare-backed mules thet's right bony an'

slavish ter ride, an' ter tek ye acrost ther line inter Virginny." The tone in which the edict was p.r.o.nounced bore inexorable and sincere finality.

"But from thar on, both of ye air ter leave ther mountings an' never come back ter this community ergin. An' ef ye _does_ undertake ter come back, we swears afore Almighty G.o.d ter kill ye both--an' onless ye both gives yore solemn oath ter faithfully obey this command--we'll kill ye now an' hyar."