Ike listened to Edie's arguments in behalf of the Union League with a great deal of patience. Prompted by Hotchkiss, she urged that membership in that body would give him an opportunity to serve his race politically; he might be able to go to the legislature, and, in that event, Edie could go to Atlanta with him, where (she said to herself) she would be able to cut a considerable shine. Moreover, membership in the league, with his apt.i.tude for making a speech, would give him standing among the negro leaders all over the State.

Ike argued a little, but not much, considering his feelings. He pointed out that all his customers, the people who ate his cakes and his cream, and so forth and so on, were white, and felt strongly about the situation. Should they cease their patronage, what would he and Edie do for victuals to eat and clothes to wear?

"Oh, we'll git along somehow; don't you fret about that," said Edie with a toss of her head.

"Maybe you will, but not me," replied Ike.

At last, however, he had consented to join the league, and appeared to be very enthusiastic over the matter. As Mr. Hotchkiss went along home that night--the night on which the young men had gone to the country dance--he was feeling quite exultant over Ike's conversion, and the enthusiasm he had displayed over the proceedings. After he had decided to go home rather than wait for Bridalbin, he hunted about in the crowd for Ike, but the negro was not to be found. As their roads lay in the same direction Hotchkiss would have been glad of the negro's company along the way, and he was somewhat disappointed when he was told that Ike had started for home as soon as the meeting adjourned. Mr. Hotchkiss thereupon took the road and went on his way, walking a little more rapidly than usual, in the hope of overtaking Ike. At last, however, he came to the conclusion that the negro had remained in town. He was sorry, for there was nothing he liked better than to drop gall and venom into the mind of a fairly intelligent negro.

As for Ike, he had his own plans. He had told Edie that in all probability he wouldn't come home that night, and advised her to get a nearby negro woman to stay all night with her. This Edie promised to do.

When the league adjourned, Ike lost no time in taking to the road, and for fear some one might overtake him he went in a dog-trot for the first mile, and walked rapidly the rest of the way. Before he came to the house, he stopped and pulled off his shoes, hiding them in a fence-corner. He then left the road, and slipped through the woods until he was close to the rear of the house. Here his wariness was redoubled.

He wormed himself along like a snake, and crept and crawled, until he was close enough to see Edie sitting on the front step--there was but one--of their little cabin. He was close enough to see that she had on her Sunday clothes, and he thought he could smell the faint odour of cologne; he had brought her a bottle home the night before.

He lay concealed for some time, but finally he heard footsteps on the road, and he rose warily to a standing position. Edie heard the footsteps too, for she rose and shook out her pink frock, and went to the gate. The lonely pedestrian came leisurely along the road, having no need for haste. When he found that it was impossible to overtake Ike, Mr. Hotchkiss ceased to walk rapidly, and regulated his pace by the serenity of the hour and the deliberate movements of nature. The hour was rapidly approaching when solitude would be at its meridian on this side of the world, and a mocking-bird not far away was singing it in.

Mr. Hotchkiss would have pa.s.sed Ike's gate without turning his head, but he heard a voice softly call his name. He paused, and looked around, and at the gate he saw the figure of Edie. "Is that you, Mr. Hotchkiss? What you do with Ike?"

"Isn't he at home? He started before I did."

"He ain't comin' home to-night, an' I was so lonesome that I had to set on the step here to keep myse'f company," said Edie. "Won't you come in an' rest? I know you must be tired; I got some cold water in here, fresh from the well."

"No, I'll not stop," replied Mr. Hotchkiss. "It is late, and I must be up early in the morning."

"Well, tell me 'bout Ike," said Edie. "You got 'im in the league all right, I hope?" She came out of the gate, as she said this, and moved nearer to Hotchkiss. In her hand she held a flower of some kind, and with this she toyed in a shamefaced sort of way.

"Mr. Varner is now a member in good standing," replied Hotchkiss, "and I think he will do good work for his race and for the party."

Edie moved a step or two nearer to him, toying with her flower. Now, Mr.

Hotchkiss was a genuine reformer of the most approved type, and, as such, he was ent.i.tled to as many personal and private fads as he chose to have. He was a vegetarian, holding to the theory that meat is a poison, though he was not averse to pie for breakfast. His pet aversion, leaving alcohol out of the question, was all forms of commercial perfumes. As Edie came close to him, he caught a whiff of her cologne-scented clothes, and his anger rose.

"Why will you ladies," he said, "persist in putting that sort of stuff on you?"

"I dunner what you mean," replied Edie, edging still closer to Hotchkiss.

"Why that infernal----"

He never finished the sentence. A pistol-shot rang out, and Hotchkiss fell like a log. Edie, fearing a similar fate for herself, ran screaming down the road, and never paused until she had reached the dwelling of Mahlon b.u.t.ts. She fell in the door when it was opened and lay on the floor, moaning and groaning. When she could be persuaded to talk, her voice could have been heard a mile.

"They've killt him!" she screamed; "they've killt him! an' he was sech a good man! Oh, he was sech a good man!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

_Mr. Sanders Searches for Evidence_

The news of the shooting of Hotchkiss spread like wildfire, and startled the community, giving rise to various emotions. It created consternation among the negroes, who ran to and fro, and hither and yonder, like wild creatures. Many of the whites, especially the thoughtless and the irresponsible, contemplated the tragedy with a certain degree of satisfaction, feeling that a very dangerous man had been providentially removed. On the other hand, the older and more conservative citizens deplored it, knowing well that it would involve the whole community in trouble, and give it a conspicuous place in the annals which radical rage was daily preparing, in order still further to inflame the public mind of the North.

Bridalbin promptly disappeared from Shady Dale, but returned in a few days, accompanied by a squad of soldiers. It was the opinion of the community, when these fresh troops made their appearance, that they were to be added to the detachment stationed in the town; but this proved to be a mistake. Two nights after their arrival, when the officer in charge, who was a member of the military commander's staff, had investigated the killing, he gave orders for the arrest of Gabriel Tolliver, Francis Bethune, Paul Tomlin, and Jesse Tidwell. The arrests were made at night, and so quietly that when the town awoke to the facts, and was ready to display its rage at such a high-handed proceeding, the soldiers and their prisoners were well on their way to Malvern.

The people felt that something must be done, but what? One by one the citizens instinctively a.s.sembled at the court-house. No call was issued; the meeting was not preconcerted; there was no common understanding; but all felt that there must be a conference, a consultation, and there was no place more convenient than the old court-house, where for long years justice had been simply and honestly administered.

It was, indeed, a trying hour. Meriwether Clopton and his daughter Sarah were the first to make their appearance at the court-house, and it was perhaps owing to their initiative that a large part of the community shortly a.s.sembled there. At first, there was some talk of a rescue, and this would have been feasible, no doubt; but while Lawyer Tidwell was violently advocating this course, Mr. Sanders mounted the judge's bench, and rapped loudly for order. When this had been secured, he moved that Meriwether Clopton be called to the chair. The motion had as many seconds as there were men in the room, for the son of the First Settler was as well-beloved and as influential as his father had been.

"My friends," he said, after thanking the meeting for the honour conferred upon him, "I feel as if we were all in the midst of a dream, and therefore I am at a loss what to say to you. As it is all very real, and far removed from the regions of dreams, the best that I can do is to counsel moderation and calmness. The blow that has fallen on a few of us strikes at all, for what has happened to some of our young men may easily happen to the rest, especially if we meet this usurpation of civil justice with measures that are violent and retaliatory. We can only hope that the Hand that has led us into the sea of troubles by which we have been overwhelmed of late will lead us safely out again.

For myself, I am fully persuaded that what now seems to be a calamity will, in some shape or other, make us all stronger and better. I am an old man, and this has been my experience. You need have no fears for the welfare of the young men. They may be deprived for a time of the comforts to which they are accustomed, but their safety is a.s.sured. They will probably be tried before a military court, but if there is a spark of justice in such a tribunal, our young men will shortly be restored to us. We all know that these lads never dreamed of a.s.sa.s.sination, and this is what the killing of this unfortunate man amounts to. We have met here to-day, not to discuss measures of vengeance and retaliation, but to consult together as to the best means of securing evidence of the innocence of the young men. Speaking for myself, I think it would be well to place the whole matter in the hands of Mr. Sanders, leaving him to act as he thinks best."

This was agreed to by the meeting, more than one of the audience declaring loudly that Mr. Sanders was the very man for the occasion. By unanimous agreement it was decided that one of the most distinguished lawyers in the State should be retained to defend the young men and that he should be authorised to employ such a.s.sistant counsel as he might deem necessary.

It was the personality of Meriwether Clopton, rather than his remarks, that soothed and subdued the crowd which had a.s.sembled at the court-house. He was serenity itself; his att.i.tude breathed hope and courage; and in the tones of his voice, in his very gestures, there was a certainty that the young men would not be made the victims of political necessity. In his own mind, however, he was not at all sure that the radical leaders at Washington would not be driven by their outrageous rancour to do the worst that could be done.

As may be supposed, Mr. Sanders did not allow the gra.s.s to grow under his feet. He was the first to leave the court-room, but he was followed and overtaken by Silas Tomlin.

"Be jigged, Silas, ef you don't look like you've seed a ghost!"

exclaimed Mr. Sanders, whose good-humour had been restored by the prospect of prompt action.

"Worse than that, Sanders; Paul has been carried off. If you'll fetch him back, you may show me an army of ghosts. But I wanted to see you, Sanders, about this business. You'll need money, and if you can't get it anywhere else, come to me; I'll take it as a favour."

Mr. Sanders frowned and pursed his lips as if he were about to whistle.

"You mean, Silas, that if I need money, and can't beg, nor borry, nor steal it, maybe you'll loan me a handful of shinplasters. Why, man, I wouldn't give you the wroppin's of my little finger for all the money you eber seed or saved. Do you think that I'm tryin' to make money?"

"But there'll be expenses, William, and money's none too plentiful among our people." Silas spoke in a pleading tone, and his lips were trembling from grief or excitement.

Noticing this, Mr. Sanders relented a little in his att.i.tude toward the man. "Well, Silas, when I reely need money, I'll call on you. But don't lose any sleep on account of that promise, for it'll be many a long day before I call on you."

With that, Mr. Sanders mounted his horse--known far and wide as the Racking Roan--and was soon out of sight. His destination was the residence of Mahlon b.u.t.ts, and in no long time his horse had covered the distance.

Although the murder of Hotchkiss was more than a week old, a considerable number of negroes were lounging about the premises of Judge b.u.t.ts--he had once been a Justice of the Peace--and in the road near by, drawn to the spot by that curious fascination which murder or death exerts on the ignorant. They moved about with something like awe, talking in low tones or in whispers. Mr. Sanders tied his horse to a swinging limb and went in. He was met at the door by Mahlon himself.

"Why, come in, William; come in an' make yourself welcome. You uv heard of the trouble, I make no doubt, or you wouldn't be here. It's turrible, William, turrible, for a man to be overcome in this off-hand way, wi' no time for to say his pra's or even so much as to be sorry for his misdeeds."

Judge b.u.t.ts's dignity was of the heavy and oppressive kind. His enunciation was slow and deliberate, and he had a way of looking over his spectacles, and nodding his head to give emphasis to his words. This dignity, which was fortified in ignorance, had received a considerable reinforcement from the fact that he was a candidate for a county office on the Republican ticket.

Before Mr. Sanders could make any reply to Mahlon's opening remark, Mrs.

Becky b.u.t.ts came into the room. She was not in a very good humour, and, at first, she failed to see Mr. Sanders.

"Mahlon, if you don't go and run that gang of n.i.g.g.e.rs off, I'll take the shot-gun to 'em. They've been hanging around--why, howdye, Mr. Sanders?

I certainly am glad to see you. I hope you'll stay to dinner; it looks like old times to see you in the house."

There was something about Mrs. Becky b.u.t.ts that was eminently satisfying to the eye. She was younger than her husband, who, at fifty, appeared to be an old man. Her sympathies were so keen and persistent that they played boldly in her face, running about over her features as the sunshine ripples on a pond of clear water.

"Set down, Becky," said Mr. Sanders, after he had responded to her salutation. "I've come to find out about the killing of that feller Hotchkiss."

"You may well call it killin', William, bekaze Friend Hotchkiss was stone dead a few hours arter the fatal shot was fired," declared Judge b.u.t.ts.

"Where was the killin' done?" inquired Mr. Sanders. He addressed himself to Mrs. b.u.t.ts, but Mahlon made reply.