The Traitor (Dixon, 1907)/Book 3/Chapter 9
WHEN Steve Hoyle discovered next morning that the suit of stripes which he had secured at enormous expense in bribery and hush money had been lost he was furious. The jailor laughed at his idle threats and cursed him roundly when accused of making way with the suit.
Steve left in a rage to drum up a larger crowd to hoot and yell at the man he hated.
Stella pressed her way through the throng of Negroes into the jail, carrying an enormous bouquet of roses in one hand and in the other a basket of delicate flowers threaded into long beautiful garlands.
John determined to save her from the scene of his humiliation.
"You must not go through the streets with me to the train, my dear," he said tenderly. "Go down in a carriage and join me at the station."
"I will if they let you ride with me," she firmly answered.
"Impossible. They've given special orders that I shall walk."
"Then I'll walk with you," she said with a smile.
John's face clouded with pain.
"Please, dearest, for my sake?"
"It's for your sake I'm going with you."
"They may say something to hurt you," he pleaded.
"I don't think they will," she said as the fire suddenly flashed from her brown eyes.
"But they will, my love, they will. It's hard enough for me. They mustn't hurt you—I can hear them out there now—that black mob—waiting to hoot and yell—please, don't go with me!"
Stella left his cell door, stepped to the window and looked out. Steve Hoyle was passing along the lines of Negroes ranged on either side of the walk, instructing them what to say. He had massed around the door a mob of two hundred to follow his lead the moment John appeared.
"Watch me," he said, "and I'll give you the signal. I want you to let him have it square in the face when I raise my hand. I'll stand on the doorstep. I want a laugh first from five hundred black throats—on old-fashioned nigger laugh, long, deep and loud! It'll be a funny sight, I promise you that."
"We watch ye," answered a big buck Negro with a grin.
Stella heard the click of the lock of John's cell with a start and turned to find the deputy marshal standing with a pair of handcuffs.
"We are ready," he said.
John stepped into the corridor, and extended his hands. The deputy snapped the steel on his wrists, and Stella drew the garlands of flowers from the basket.
"You don't mind the flowers—do you officer? I'm going with you."
"Certainly not, m'am," he replied.
John saw that protest was useless, but he gazed at the garlands with amazement.
"What on earth are you going to do, my dear?"
"Just a little trick of love," was the laughing answer.
She wound the flowers around each handcuff, placed in John's hand the enormous bouquet of roses, and not a trace of steel could be seen.
"You can carry them for me," she said, hurrying—on before him.
Stella passed suddenly through the jail door to the little brick landing of the steps on which Steve Hoyle stood to give his signal.
Steve started in surprise at her appearance, stammered and flushed, and a murmur of uncertainty ran through the crowd.
In a moment the traitor had recovered himself, and glancing at Stella with a sneer of triumph, he shouted to his henchmen:
"Say what you please, boys—don't mind the ladies!"
Stella turned her eyes, gleaming with a deadly purpose, straight on Steve, and a revolver flashed from her hand into his face. He dodged, trembled, and crouched against the wall, while she sternly said:
"Now lift your hand or open your mouth, you contemptible sneak and coward!"
A cry of terror swept the dark crowd, and scores broke and fled.
"As John appeared in the doorway, Stella turned to the Negroes and in ringing tones cried:
"I dare one of you black loafers to offer a single insult to the man whose love I hold dearer than my life. I'll kill you as I would a dog."
Revolver in hand, with stern set face and flaming eyes she opened the way through which John Graham passed in silence.
At the station a crowd of friends gathered and cheered his departure.
Old Nicaroshinski slipped a hundred dollars in his hand and whispered in broken voice:
"Don't—don't you vorry, me poy, ve'll puild a monumendt to you in de public squvare yedt!"
Stella was allowed to sit by his side in the car, and as the train started John looked at her a moment through dimmed eyes, and slowly said:
"The glory of this hour has more than paid for all the pain and all the shame a thousand lives could hold!"
And then in low soft accents broken with sobs she confessed to him the story of her love and at the end with trembling lips asked:
"But you can't hate me for it now, can you, my darling?"
For an answer he bent and tenderly kissed her hand, while she felt rather than heard the low passionate words: "I love you—I love you—I love you!"