Chapter XII: The Well with a Barrel Curb

Again at the dead of night Montcalm climbed from his bedroom window. Carrying a large bundle, he passed down the shaded walk and was soon on the route previously traversed by him and Takum. The sheep in the woods fled, as before, at his approach.

He came presently to a pond the dimensions of which had manifestly shrunk during the hot weather, for a dry, barren circle marked where its edge had been. He untied his bundle, spread its contents on the ground and threw off his coat and vest, for which he substituted a thick, padded jacket which gave him a robust appearance. When to this disguise he added a mask from which straggled a sandy beard, no one would have recognized in the ruffianly looking figure the genteel Montcalm.

In the capacious hollow of an oak the adventurer stored the clothing which he had removed, and with his lightened bundle again proceeded on his way. Ere he reached the lane which led to the barns of Green, he deviated from his former route. Turning to the right, he emerged from the wood exactly in front of, though at a considerable distance from, the church. In a few minutes he was stalking along the edge of the graveyard, and a brief walk took him to a large wood pile which was close to the house of the money-lender.

The premises had an aspect, not of thriftlessness, but of carelessness for everything unconnected with finance. The barns which sheltered the stock were well and neatly built. The house which harbored the family was paintless and old, the clapboards were loose, and some of the bricks had fallen from one chimney. It consisted of an upright and a long, low wing which lapped beyond the taller part of the dwelling. Montcalm was before the overlapping part and close to the outside cellar stairs. On the back-stoop were a swill-barrel, three swill-pails, some hoes and rakes and a rickety table made of a long box, on which sat pans and kettles. Whatever was useful merely in pleasing the eye or fancy was unnoticed by Green. Whatever added to his wealth received from him studious attention.

Montcalm went down the cellar stairs, which were in front of the stoop. His mask and padded jacket, annoying incumbrances in midsummer, he stripped off; and taking an auger from his bundle, he commenced to bore a hole in the cellar door, basing his calculations on the account which Nora had given him of its fastening. The noise, which he subdued as much as he could, might easily have been mistaken for the gnawing of a rat. He pushed through the orifice a wire instrument, and lifted a hook from the corresponding socket in which it rested. The door, which opened outwardly, he blocked with a stone, lest it should swing back and cause a strain on some attachment which he had not yet discovered. He bored a second and a third hole and cut out the spaces which intervened between them. Feeling through the passage thus formed, his hand came in contact with a string which he dared not critically examine. By means of the auger and a sharp knife he further enlarged the aperture until he could push through it his right arm and the fingers of his left hand, when, pulling the string tightly from him, he severed it with his knife and immediately after entered the cellar. An investigation showed the wisdom of his precautions. The string was connected with a burglar-alarm, which, if pulled, would have produced an explosion and might have brought ruin upon his enterprise, perhaps discovery to the intruder. Montcalm closed the door and lighted a small lantern. Boards which supported milk-pans were suspended from the floor above. In a remote corner of the cellar were some shelves which were in the course of erection. A broad-ax, a saw and some short boards which had been cut from the ends of the longer ones were on the upper of these shelves. Montcalm's curiosity was excited by a barrel, an end of which a few feet from the milk-shelves protruded some inches above the surface of the ground. On examination it was found to be the curbing of a well. When Green was poor, his ideas of economy told him that he could dig a well with less labor from the bottom of the pit under his house than from the surface of the ground; and, as he prospered, he provided water for his horses and cattle at the barn, but that necessity of his family was still carried from the cellar.

Montcalm donned his mask and padded jacket, and again his exterior coincided with the nature of his errand. A second flight of stairs led to the upper rooms, and up these Montcalm passed, bearing his lantern. He stopped in front of a door, which he pushed gently back and forth. He knew it was possible that this door, too, was connected with a burglar-alarm, but he did not think it probable, as an intruder could reach it only by passing through another, for security of which greater than ordinary precautions had been used.

Gradually the door-bolt was worked from its socket, and Montcalm stepped into a small closet, from which he emerged into a larger room. Noiselessly going into the kitchen, he heard the light breathing of Green and his wife in their bedroom which was, he concluded, fastened against intrusion. Retreating to and through the closet, he traversed the room above the cellar and came to a flight of stairs, up which he climbed. One of the boards, as he stepped on it, gave a warning creak, and he lifted from it his foot and set it on the next stair.

Two bedrooms were partitioned from the main part of the chamber. In one of these on the floor was a spring-bed on which was a lying a man. As the man was long and the tick was short, about twenty inches of uncovered feet and legs were hanging over the bare springs. Beyond the legs were the lean body, the flaxen hair and weak, expressionless face of William Henry Harrison.

As Montcalm by one of his long legs pulled him crosswise of the bed, the half-wit exclaimed, "Oh, Misser Green, 'tain't mornin' yet!"

"'Tain't Misser Green," said Montcalm, "but it's some one that wants to see Misser Green. Tell him to come up here."

Such was William Henry Harrison's terror at the rude awakening that he could only stare at the figure, whose broad shoulders and straggling sandy beard looked particularly savage in the light of the lantern.

"Call Green up here," said Montcalm.

"Oh, no," answered William Henry Harrison, "I no call, I feel sick."

"You must do as I tell you. Have him come up here."

"No. He want to sleep. He git mad."

"And I'll get mad if you don't call him," said Montcalm. "Tell him to come quick."

"He whip me," objected William Henry Harrison. "Take a big strap. Maybe he kick."

"Are you going to do as I want you to?" asked Montcalm, shaking him violently.

"Misser Green," called William Henry Harrison. "Misser Green, come up here!"

"Call him again," ordered Montcalm, after he had waited to no purpose for a response.

"Oh, Misser Green, Misser Green, come up here quick!"

"Keep still there, William Henry Harrison," shouted Green.

"Tell him you are sick," commanded Montcalm.

"Come up here," William Henry Harrison called. "I sick."

"Get well then," was Green's answer. "I guess you ain't in much danger. I want to go to sleep."

"Tell him you are awful sick," said Montcalm.

"Oh, Misser Green," wailed the fearful half-wit, "I awful sick, I goin' to die."

"You'll die if you don't shut up," replied Green. "I'll come up there and drive you through the floor. Now you keep still, I don't want to be awake all night."

"Tell him you are going to have a fit," was Montcalm's next order, "Tell him you know it."

"Oh, Misser Green, I goin' to have a fit. I tell. I feel it. Oh, come up now!"

"I'll give you a fit if I come up there," yelled Green, thoroughly exasperated, "Now don't let me hear another word out of you to-night."

"Tell him you are going to have a hard fit," said Montcalm.

"Oh, no. He come up. He whip."

"Say it quick," ordered Montcalm.

"He say he kill me."

"And I'll kill you if you don't."

"Oh, don't kill. Hurt. Make blood. Awful."

"Then," said Montcalm, "tell him you are going to have a fit, and you know you are going to break things."

"Oh, Misser Green," cried the half-wit in desperation, "I goin' to have awful fit. I break window. I break bed. I break house."

Montcalm emphasized the appeal by knocking out some pane of glass, which went ringing below to the cellar wall and stairs. He also jerked the bed, breaking a crosspiece, and struck the wall so violently that a yard of loose plaster fell from the ceiling to the floor. Then he closed his dark lantern.

"What's that full up to?" exclaimed Green, jumping out of bed and hastily putting on his trousers. "I'd rather have a man of sense around and pay him wages that to bother with an idiot. I'll be right after you, young man!" he threatened as he proceeded toward the chamber. "I'll thrash you with an inch of your life! You won't be having any more fits or fussing for one while. What is this?" he demanded, as his bare foot struck the plaster which had fallen in the main part of the chamber. "What fool's caper is this?"

He started suddenly backward as Montcalm, stepping from the door of the bedroom, presented a pistol at his head.

"Tell me where your money is," said the unwelcome visitor. "I can't stay here long because my wife expects me home."

"What money?" asked Green.

"The money you got to-day," replied Montcalm, assuming a tone which corresponded with his rough garb. "You can't fool me. I know you've got it."

"It's gone," said Green.

"You lie," said Montcalm, clutching him by the throat. "Let me know where it is, or I'll blow your brains out."

"It is gone," Green affirmed, "that is, the most of it. I took it over to Sharptown, and I got back just at dark. I've got two thousand dollars that I saved out for Osborne. You can ask Jane and she'll tell you the same."

"Show me the two thousand then," said Montcalm, as he pushed the slide to his lantern, "and don't you dare hang back, or play me any tricks. Here, you fellow on the bed, you lie where you are till I come back. And don't you stir. I'll lay this quilt over your legs, just in this way, and I can tell if it is moved. If I find a wrinkle of it changed, I'll shoot you when I come back."

So saying, Montcalm adjusted the quilt and followed Green, who in silence led the way to the cellar. As they were leaving the small closet, Montcalm's foot accidentally hit a pair of rubber boots, which went tumbling down the stairs.

"There it is," said Green, as he pointed to the cellar wall. "It's behind that stone. You couldn't tell it's loose, but it is. You'll find it all in a long pocket-book."

"I rather you'd get it," replied Montcalm, following him to see that nothing of value was left In the hiding-place.

The loose stone was near the unfinished milk-shelves and to reach it the men were obliged to step over a long board which lay across some saw-horses. Montcalm deposited his lantern on the board and vigilantly watched the execution of his order. Reluctantly stepping over another saw-horse and removing the stone from the mortar, which at first sight appeared to be solid. Green drew out a long pocket-book and handed it to Montcalm. They again stepped over the saw-horse, and Montcalm, opening the pocket-book, examined its contents. Green saw passing from him part of the riches the slave of which he had been and still was. For it he had plowed, sown and reaped, had taken the poor man's dollar and the widow's mite, had repeatedly outraged his conscience.

Catching a loose slab, he dealt a sudden blow on the head to Montcalm, who, staggering back, caught his legs on the saw-horse and fell. Green followed his advantage. He struck again with the slab, barely missing his aim; but as his weapon was clutched by the unknown burglar, he precipitated himself upon him. Montcalm whose movements were impeded by his thick jacket, succeeded in twisting from underneath his antagonist and regaining his feet. His mask, which had become unfastened, hung loose about his neck; and Green partly unnerved him by giving a yell of recognition and pressing with renewed vigor to the attack. Having a poor hold of his opponent, and being in every way at a disadvantage, he felt his strength begin to fail. As he was crowded close to the wall, his hand accidentally came in contact with the broad-ax. In despair he seized it and struck. The weapon seemed hardly to touch the man on whom it was turned, yet that touch was sufficient to send him toppling over, extinguishing the lantern in his fall.

The cellar was in almost total darkness. The scanty light which came through the small windows, of which one was on the north side and one on the west, was lessened by screens and thick masses of overhanging vines, Montcalm threw aside the ax, groped hurriedly and found the pocket-book, with the intention of escaping before Green arose. But, as the seconds passed and there was no perceptible movement on the part of his late adversary, he felt that he need not anticipate immediate pursuit. He wondered that the stroke, which had but grazed the head of his opponent, should produce unconsciousness. An unconquerable desire seized him to learn what had been the result of the blow which he had delivered. The knowledge, however, could be at once gained only by an investigation, and from that investigation he shrank. While he was groping for his lantern, he heard a sound which filled him with an indescribable dread. It was the steady trickling of some liquid into the well. Never before had he been so nervous. He drew from his pocket a match, struck it against the wall, and dropped it ere his purpose had been served. With trembling fingers he took a second match and succeeded in igniting the wick of the lantern.

The sudden transition from darkness to light at first dazzled his eyes. He saw barrels, the unhewn wall, the milk-shelves, and lastly a object which he had previously overlooked. Green was lying nearly lengthwise of a plank, which descended toward the well, and which had one end resting on the curb and the other on an elevated and hardened bed of water-lime. His head was on the edge of the plank and nearest the well. A portion of the trunk and one arm also was on this support, and the other upper limb was beyond it, while the remaining parts of the body rested on the ground. No wound was visible, but from some source a small stream of blood was passing down a depression in the center of the plank to the well, where it caused that trickling which had so wrought upon the nerves of Montcalm. The depredator, as he turned over the prostrate form, dreaded what his action might reveal, yet he was not prepared for such a spectacle as met his gaze. The upper portion of the right side of the forehead, including the skull and a thin section of brain, had been cleft and now hung suspended by a piece of skin. Laid bare by that destructive blow, the cerebrum showed its peculiar formation, though the convolutions of its exterior were partly disorganized by the leveling of the ridges. Much of the gray matter had been shaved from the surface of the cut, or crowded into the irregular furrows; so that, mingled with it, was the white from which the power of transmitting nervous force had been suddenly and unexpectedly wrested.

A chill passed over Montcalm, which was not wholly a reaction from excessive heat generated by his physical struggle. But a few minutes before, and that cloven skull on which he was gazing had been the habitation of a living intellect, that amorphous mass of brain had been performing its normal functions; along those disfigured ridges had been passing thoughts, which, perhaps, related to self and self-aggrandizement, but which were those of a fellow-being. What though the reflections had been of a mean and penurious character? What though they had been on money and usury, on the oppression of the poor? The interruption of their existence was no human right, and woe to him by whom they were destroyed. Montcalm could scarcely believe that the pasty substance which riveted his attention was not even then the nursery of plans for revenge upon him, that sight had fled from the eyes, that the open mouth was not about to denounce him for his crime. The monotonous trickling into the well prolonged the spell which bound him, as a sameness of sound, by holding the external perceptives, sometimes prevents warning of the approach of deceit and prepares the way for the capture of the reflective faculties.

With an effort he turned from the senseless body and started toward the outside door. As he did so, he stumbled over one of the rubber boots which he had knocked down in his descent to the cellar, and which had probably been long thrown aside by William Henry Harrison, for they were large and full of holes. It was instinct, instead of deliberative caution, which prompted him to draw on the boots and walk several times across a strip of sand, thus making it apparent that the murderer was a large man, or at least had large feet. The skilled depredator, who had mastered the details of his profession, and who habitually had them in readiness for his use, was actually passing from the scene of the murder, leaving behind him the lantern and the burglar tools, when he heard Mrs. Green call anxiously to her husband. That cry in a measure loosed him from his lethargy of mind. Gathering up his shoes, the tools and the lantern, he emerged from the cellar, and walking around to the front of the house, proceeded an eighth of a mile up the soft road to the southward, after which he continued his way on the grass. Then he climbed into a meadow lying between him and the wood which he had traversed in his approach to the house. A large, low stump was in his path, and on it he seated himself with no concern as to the advisability of his action.

This was, indeed, strange conduct for one whose interest it unmistakably was to flee from a neighborhood which might at any moment become dangerous. Possibly the sound of pursuit might have roused him, might have led him to take measures for his safety; but it did not come, and listless and dejected, he kept his seat.

The intervention of the barns kept him from seeing the house, in which and in whose occupants alone he was interested. Crossing the lane and reaching the spot where he had made his exit from the wood, he was able to view Green's dwelling. A light was in the bedroom in which had slept the late master of the house.

It soon passed from Montcalm's sight and reappeared from a window of the upright. Again it was lost to his view, and again it was visible as it entered the chamber and shone from the room of William Henry Harrison. It was plain that Mrs. Green was making a search for her husband, and probable that she would not abandon it until she found him in the cellar. Montcalm had no curiosity or inclination longer to stay so near the place where he had committed his felonious deed. So, picking up his bundle, which, as may be supposed, was indifferently arranged, he trudged slowly through the forest. And now, for the first time, he experienced a fear, which approached certainty, that his guilt would be detected. It was not the abject terror of the coward. It was the conviction of a brave man who was willing to struggle when there was hope, but who believed that he was menaced by odds which it was useless to resist.

By the edge of the pond he halted. His mind, in that condition of vacillation which follows a severe shock to conscience, had veered from indifference, or rather stupor, to despairing expectation. In an indecisive conflict reason and imagination contended as to whether the monotonous night sounds were common and natural occurrences, or the ominous portents of coming evil. To him the croaking of the frogs, the low groaning and high wailing utterances of which came incessantly from the pond, seemed to be an arraignment against which he could made no defense.

He removed his outer garments and put on in their places those which he had stored in the oak. There was no concealment which he considered safe for the appliances of burglary and the evidences of murder. Every location which he thought of had its disadvantages. The open fields were being plowed and cultivated, the woods were rambled through by hunters from Sharptown and Oakville, the swamp was nearly dry and was daily visited by berrying parties. Bringing his irresolution to an end, he put them all, the tools, disguise and clothing, including the lubber boots and his shoes, inside the tree. He placed his hand to his forehead. The touch was disagreeably harsh, for his palm was coated with dried and stiffened blood.

Passing over the verdureless circle to the deep hole where the remnant of the pond remained, Montcalm thrust his hand into the water, that the congealed life fluid might be soaked and detached. He applied also some of the roiled liquid to his forehead, forgetting that little more than a stone's-throw from him was a clear spring.

As he left the pond, he reflected on the change which the night's events had wrought in is prospects. He had meant to abandon evil. While he was in his career of thieving and swindling, he had marked out his intended course. He would first accumulate a competence. Then he would marry some virtuous girl, between whom and himself existed a strong affection, and he would live a life of morality, even religion. Vanished was that dream of happiness. Judicious and good courtship requires serenity. How could he talk the language of love with such a secret weighing upon him, when every instant there posed before him a vision with cloven forehead and protruding brain? He had been engaged in wholesale trickery and theft, but blood he had avoided. And now it had smeared his clothing, his hands and, worst of all, his memory. An itching sensation was between the fingers of his right hand. Mechanically feeling with his left, he found a snake-like body, an extremity of which was imbedded in the skin. With a jump he threw from him a leech which must have become attached as he bathed in the pond. It was fully a minute before he realized by how trivial an object he had been frightened. Again he encountered the sheep, and again they fled before him. The act to which he had previously given no significance he now interpreted as an indication that the very brutes avoided his presence.