The Traitor (Dixon, 1907)/Book 3/Chapter 8
EVERY delicacy which love could devise and her money buy Stella lavished on John and his friends. Each day added to the list of men who returned to jail condemned to the infamy of a convict's pen at Albany.
When the deep-muttered curses against Steve Hoyle for the betrayal of his men reached John's ears, he sent through Stella his sternest orders and his tenderest entreaties to Dan Wiley to prevent violence. Dan had successfully eluded every effort to arrest him. John knew that he was hiding in the mountains with the men he had commanded armed to the teeth, and he lived in constant dread of the news of Steve's assassination, even under the noses of the United States troops.
A single burst of sunlight came to brighten for Stella the gloom of the day before John's departure for Albany. She succeeded in liberating "Jim," the big brother of her little tow-headed friend. Her interest in the boy had been noted, and she received the usual mysterious message—that money placed at the right spot would prevent any witness from identifying Jim. She found the right spot promptly and paid the bribe of two hundred and fifty dollars without a question as to the ethics involved. Jim was discharged, and when he walked out a free man a little tow-headed boy lay sobbing out his joy on her breast.
"I'm goin' to work for you, if you'll let me," he cried through his tears.
"Why, I thought you said you couldn't do anything that day we met?" she, laughed.
"Oh, I'm awful smart," he boasted—"I can tote fresh water, carry all your notes to your sweetheart—and I'm great diggin' worms ter go fishin'—I know right where to find 'em!"
She sent him away with a kiss and a promise to let him come and show her what he could do.
As she entered the jail with John's dinner, the jailor, whose friendship she had won by the liberal use of money and skilful flattery, whispered to her:
"Come in here a minute, Miss, I want to show you something."
She followed him into his room and started with horror at the sight of a dirty suit of convict's stripes spread out on a chair.
Stella's face blanched.
"They are for him?" she gasped.
"Yessum, an' if ye'll excuse me fer sayin' it, I think it's a d shame."
"They have no right to put this outrage on him before his people," she cried.
"No'm, they haint got no right, but they're goin' ter do it to-morrow mornin' just the same. They're goin' ter take him all the way ter Albany in that suit."
"Who's doing this?" she asked with rising wrath.
"Steve Hoyle, m'am. He's fixin' to have a big gang er niggers and low white trash here in the mornin' ter hoot and yell and make fun of him all the way to the train, an' I thought I'd tell ye."
"Thank you," she answered warmly, her big brown eyes beginning to flash fire.
"Ye know ef I'd step out, that suit o' clothes might be foun' missin'. It ain't mine. I'll swear to that. I don't know anybody that owns it, er wants it."
"I understand. Wrap it up, please. I can't touch it."
Stella shuddered and watched the jailor with wide-staring eyes as he picked up the suit, wrapped it in a piece of brown paper and laid it back on the chair.
"I got to go—there's somebody knockin' at the door—course, I won't know what's become er the d thing."
He left her with a grin, and Stella seized the bundle, hurried home and burned it. On the way she stopped at a hardware store and made a mysterious purchase which she carefully concealed, and there was a dangerous light in her eyes as she placed this package beside the travelling dress which she had laid out to wear on the train with John.
The jailor passed Stella in the hall but looked the other way as he hurried forward with two soldiers who had called to see John Graham. They were dressed in the regulation blue suits of the army. The jailor, trusting implicitly their uniforms, allowed them to go up unaccompanied to John's door.
So complete was the disguise that at first the condemned man gazed through the bars with indifference at his callers.
The taller of the two suddenly thrust his face close and whispered:
"God, man, don't ye know me?"
John started.
"Dan—Billy—what does this mean!"
Dan put his finger on his lips.
"Everything's all right. Billy's been up in the mountains with me at my summer resort."
"I wrote you, Billy, not to come!" John scowled.
"I'm not going to see this infamy put on you"
"It's all fixed, Chief," Dan broke in, drawing a new sledge hammer from his pocket, and slipping the handle from his sleeve.
With a loud cough to mask the sound he thrust the handle into its place.
"You're both crazy!" John said with anger.
"It's as easy as fallin' off a log," Dan urged.
"Billy'll smash the lock, I'll gag and tie the jailor. I've got the fastest horse in the county waitin' fer ye at the corner. Git thirty minutes start, an' there ain't cavalry enough this side er hell to stop ye. When ye get ter my house, ye'll be in God's country. The boys are there waitin' fer ye."
Dan handed the hammer to Billy.
"Put that hammer down!" John commanded sternly.
"I won't—you've got to go with us."
"Do as I tell you, or I'll call the jailor," John said with a frown.
"For God's sake, come with us!" Billy pleaded. "Steve Hoyle's going to have a crowd of Negroes here to laugh and jeer at you to-morrow as you come out. I tell you I can't stand it!"
John's face suddenly paled.
"You can stand it if I can, Billy! Get out of this, both of you, before you're arrested—quick now. I won't have it. Come here, Dan!"
John called to the mountaineer who had turned away.
"Give me your hand."
Dan thrust his hand through the bars and John grasped it.
"Are you a friend of mine?"
"Ain't I a showin' ye."
"Take Billy home and take care of him until I return—will you do it?"
"Yes—but I don't like this givin' up a fight when I've won it."
"And one thing more, Dan, old boy, before I let your hand go, you've got to promise me not to kill Steve Hoyle."
"Who said I was goin' to do it?"
"I say it."
"He ain't fit ter live."
"Yes, but somehow God lets a lot of such trash cumber the earth. We'd better not try any more interference with his plans."
Dan hesitated, struggling with deep passion, drew a handkerchief and blew his nose.
"Ye're putty hard on me, Chief, I was goin' ter call by Steve's house and finish both jobs to-day, but orders is orders. I'll take 'em from you. I won't take 'em from nobody else. Good-bye, take care er yourself."
Billy pressed his brother's hand, silently turned and left with Dan.
When the last echo of their steps had died away John Graham stared through the iron bars for half an hour and saw only the vision of a mob of yelling, laughing Negroes and behind them the fat, white cowardly face of Steve Hoyle.
He sank to the chair with a groan:
"O God, if it be possible let this cup pass from me!"