Chapter XIX: The Village Has a Sensation

The rain had quite dried from the withered grass in the road when Wrengell left the residence of Briggs. Some men in a meadow at the right were stirring hay, which would soon be fit to haul. In a field belonging to a farm adjoining, a reaper was doing the first work in harvest which John had seen that year.

It was not until Wrengell entered Break o'Day that he bethought himself of his rough exterior. Had he considered in time, he would have gone through the fields, thus avoiding the village, but it was now too late to do so. Several loungers on the veranda of the hotel stared at him, and one of them put down his paper and spoke to the landlord about the mud-besmeared passer-by. John met Manie's friend, Miss Holmes, as she was coming from Birch & Bigney's store. She bowed pleasantly, but she was, he fancied, ashamed of their acquaintance.

Wrengell was annoyed by the scrutiny of some men who were peering from a yellow building which bore the sign, I. J. H. Rorus. Their curiosity, which bordered on impertinence, was indicated by earnest gestures and one or two outstretched fingers which pointed directly toward him. Used, as he had been, to snubs, he was not accustomed to such insolent demonstrations; and he returned glances of defiance to the group at the door of the drug-store. His fearless demeanor prevented for a brief season the aggressive movement which was intended. The men stood parleying on the steps, some rhetorical, some argumentative, others fiercely denunciatory, each heedless of all opinions save his own, none succeeding in making himself well understood.

"Helloa, there," called Whipple, just as John had passed them. "What's your name?"

The salutation was not the one most likely to propitiate an individual who considered that he had already been the subject of interest far too intense to be polite.

"When I am satisfied that you have a right to demand an answer, I will give it," replied John.

"We'll see whether we have a right to question you," said the flaxen-whiskered man, jumping from the steps. "Come on, boys. Now will you tell us what your name is?"

"No," returned John. "Get out of my way, or I'll break some of your heads."

"If I was in your place, I wouldn't be so cranky," said Briggs. "That colt that followed you out of the swamp last night was stole, and some of 'em think you took him."

"If that is the case," said John, "I recognize your right to ask the question. Mr. Boyle knows me, do you not, Mr. Boyle?"

"I never saw you before," answered the sullen Alf, who had joined the throng.

"Why, I was at your house last night," protested John. "Mr. Durgenson introduced us."

"You wasn't there last night, nor never," affirmed Alf; "anyway you never was when I was there."

The crowd hooted and jostling against one another, endeavored to press closer to Wrengell.

"Grab him," yelled the flaxen-whiskered man.

It was advantageous to John that his enemies were packed closely about him. Had they been excited by a rush, it is impossible to say what violence they would have done. The seizure was merely an extension of the captors' arms, to which John very quietly and sensibly submitted. Many who were unable to get near him picked up stones and clubs, staggered about and uttered loud threats.

"That is Dr. Rorus' drug-store," said John. "There is a man in there whom I know."

"What did you say?" inquired Briggs. "They make so much noise. Keep still a minute, boys, can't you?"

"Tell Loomis to come out," said John. "He knows me."

"Doctor," shouted Briggs, "where's Fred? This fellow says he knows him."

"Gone to Sharp town," said the doctor. "Won't be back till to-night. You had better confess this business, young man. The American people are a magnanimous people. They are a great people. Confess it, young man. If you do, Dr. Rorus is on your side. I tell you, when you've got him, you've got a host."

"I am one of Major Ratke's hired men," said John. "I have worked for him all summer and have formed some acquaintance, but none of them, except your clerk, live here."

The crowd, gathered from the scum of Break o'Day and the surrounding country, was gesticulating, contending, threatening. There were, indeed, several who tried to protect the unfortunate Wrengell from the general wrath. Inoffensive Jimmy Martin mildly protested that they ought to give him "a show for his life." Keen contrition was felt by Briggs for the account which he had given of John's exit from the swamp. He had much exaggerated the facts, and the exaggeration was likely to result in the murder of a man whom he believed he had grossly wronged.

"Boys," he called, "less see what he's got to say for himself. We don't want to hurt him till we find out whether he deserves it or not."

"Take him down to the tree," said the flaxen-whiskered man.

The party moved down the street to an oak, the spreading branches of which often afforded a shade to the villagers. Stakes had been driven, one under the tree, another a few paces from it, and around each had been worn depressions where the boys and men had pitched quoits.

"Where's a rope?" called Boyle. "Somebody git a rope."

Half the mob started up the village, leaving the rest to guard Wrengell. John saw no hope of rescue.

In the besotted, reddened faces around him was neither judgment nor mercy. Those who were least intoxicated were almost invariably hardest of heart by nature, and seemed to rejoice over the circumstances which had delivered the prisoner into their hands. Those who were naturally best disposed were, as a rule, too much overcome by drink to have an exact perception of justice. He resolved that, whatever pleasure they derived from his execution, they should not have the satisfaction of seeing him weaken at the last moment. He would die unflinchingly, without a word of entreaty. If the ruffians expected to witness his dejection or terror, they should be disappointed. If in the death-struggle his body yielded to the convulsions of expiring nature, it should be when it was no longer presided over by his will. To the south of him lay the swamp which he had been so anxious to leave. Its aspect, as he stood in the power of the brutal loungers, was far from forbidding to him. The tamaracks were in two phalanxes. In the first were the short trees with their conical figures, standing the advance guard of a mighty host. The next were of high stature, but irregular in form, their tops lacking the gradual taper which beautified those in the first body. Beyond these, like giants in the rear of a throng, were the upland woods, looking down on the outskirts of the hamlet, where savage men were arranging a spectacle both fascinating and revolting.

Washington Street was in a tumult. A long inch rope had been obtained and grasped by many hands, was being carried to the intended gallows. Several business men of the town were accompanying the roughs and vainly expostulating on the precipitancy of their action. Wingscheut was with them, delivering a narrative only part of which could be distinguished above the uproar. John was about to reckon on a certificate of good character from his fellow-laborer, when he reflected that the German had mistrusted him of having secured his discharge from Ratke's. The vigilance of those about him had lessened. They had scattered and were intent on inspecting the body advancing with the rope. His left arm was clutched fiercely by Boyle; his right was held in an indifferent grasp by young Blake, who was between him and the tamaracks.

Suddenly he jerked loose his right hand and planted it on the jaw of Boyle, who fell, momentarily stunned. As he whirled about, Blake quickly moved aside. The only one now in his way was Briggs; and his interviewer of the early morning, glad that he could partly nullify the effect of his misrepresentation, purposely stumbled over a Stone and allowed him to pass unmolested. Wrengell barely touched the fence in leaping it. With light feet and swift steps he ran toward the swamp, in the brush and quagmires of which he might find protection. The disappointed mob, uttering yell after yell of rage, started in pursuit. Among other cries John could plainly discern those of Wingscheut, who did not recognize the fugitive, "Cetch te tam horse-tief. Cetch te tam horse-tief."

The distance between him and the rabble was increasing. He could not understand why they spread far to the left and right, unless it were to prevent him from escaping in either direction lengthwise of the swamp. The course which he took was undeviating. Some lazy cattle directly ahead of him dashed out of his way as he ran almost against them. Two men, one cradling and one binding, were at work in a small field of wheat on a southern slope. John raced straight through a few rods from them, leaving a path of lodged grain behind him. The owner of the field, who was cradling, called to know "why in the name of all possessed he was trampin' down his wheat." Undaunted by this inquiry, Wrengell descended the hill and passed into the shelter of some willow bushes, where he moderated his pace to a walk. Although this was the asylum which he had sought, he was impatient at the impediments to his progress and more uneasy that when he could watch the movements of his enemies. He felt relieved as he entered the body of low tamaracks which he had viewed from Break o'Day. But he could not stop there. Every jungle, every fallen tree-top, in fact every foot of ground was liable carefully to be searched. In the large tamaracks, where there was less underbrush, he went with more rapidity.

A gleam of water was before him. He was nearing a lake, which with an area of half a section effectually barred his advance. The sound of voices at his right prevented him from wheeling and skirting along the bank. He, without practice as a swimmer, was on a point of land surrounded by the water and his foes. In his pocket was a revolver which he had obtained in a trade with Daggett, a cheap, rusted weapon, the cylinder of which had to be turned by hand each time it was fired. His pursuers, almost in sight, were crashing through the swamp. He had decided to turn, draw his revolver and stake his chance of escape on one determined charge, when across the point of land, through the thin growth of trees, he discovered a boat. Not a minute did he occupy in crossing the cape, but rapid as was his progress, it did not bring him first on the spot which he wished to reach. Young Blake and a companion gained the dock, barely in advance of him, and stood, panting, to intercept his flight. With a flourish of his revolver he dashed at the young men, who scrambled precipitately to land, unheeding water, mud and reputation for courage. John's haste was nearly as great as that of the foes whom he had frightened. Slipping on the narrow dock, which was composed of a few poles, he fell into the water, regaining his footing as Alf Boyle emerged from the tamaracks. To his discomfiture he found the boat locked. He must act with decision, for a reinforcement of roughs was but a few rods distant. He seized the chain and pulled with his entire strength, but the fastening remained secure. In desperation he clutched a paddle and pushed. The chain straightened, the lock gave way; the momentum had accomplished what the steady force could not.

Alf in the mean time had traversed the dock. His eye, which the night before had avoided John, was now fixed upon him with a brute ferocity. Seeing the boat sheering away from him, he sprang into the lake and grasped its gunwale, nearly overturning it. At the instant he was raising himself to clamber on board, he received from John's paddle a blow on the head, which loosened his hold and obliged him to seize the dock to keep from sinking. Several young men leaped into the lake, but they were kept from a near approach to John by the splashing of water into their faces and the sight of the paddle, which was menacingly uplifted. The gathering mob cast curses and sticks at the fugitive, but the demonstrations only showed their present impotence to do him harm. It was fortunate for John that there were no fire-arms among them; for, had they possessed them, they certainly would not have hesitated to use them.

Wrengell, perspiring and fatigued from his long run, did not feel at liberty to pause. He did, however, wait long enough to remove his coat and vest, which had much impeded his flight. Near the opposite shore and a considerable distance apart were two boats laden with fishermen. After repealed signaling and shouting they understood that they were expected to stop an escaping horse thief. They unfastened the chains from the anchoring poles and guided their vessels so as to bring them across Wrengell's route. In an emergency rashness is sometimes safer than caution. John altered his course, steering directly for the nearer craft. Amazed at his audacity, the fishermen slackened their speed. Wrengell was within what he considered good rifle range when, turning the rusted cylinder of his revolver and elevating the muzzle, he fired. He was little practiced and had no dexterity in pistol-shooting, but to his astonishment and their dismay, the bullet struck close to the prow of the foremost boat. Careful to turn the weapon slightly to one side, he fired a second time; and the missile, whizzing past them, struck the water with a cutting plunge. The paddles which propelled the craft stopped moving, and the occupants looked from one to another in mute inquiry. While they were deliberating, Wrengell pulled toward them as if he were anxious for an encounter. Convinced that they were dealing with one of the most bloodthirsty of horse-thieves, who was bent on slaughtering the entire party, they paddled manfully to the eastern end of the lake. Those in the second boat, finding themselves unsupported, made off in the direction of the western extremity. The crafts skirted the opposite ends of the lake, so as to be well out of reach of the dreaded outlaw, and in response to the frantic shouting and waving of hats crossed over to transport the crowd at the dock.

John strengthened the impression which he had made by sending after them two more shots. He then struck out for the southern shore, where he halted a moment to rest. The fishermen were making their best time to relieve the impatience of the waiting party. Messages were yelled back and forth, but most of them came from the shore, for the men on the water were putting forth too much other exertion to indulge freely in vocalization.

Wrengell threw his coat and vest into the tall grass, and after a short pause continued his way. The swamp at this place offered no security. Above or below him he believed it to be denser and he determined to go to the eastward, away from the rabble of Break o'Day, away from the only community which had ever really respected him, away from the woman whom he loved, whose love he had hoped to secure. His appearance with the colt at Briggs' at such an hour and in such a condition, his refusal to tell his identity at the village, the absence of the slightest evidence to explain his whereabouts during the latter portion of the night must tell heavily against him should an accusation be preferred. He had shown the bearing of a hardened desperado. He had turned savagely on those who sought to retake him, as if he had become accustomed to conflicts in following unlawful occupations. He had fired upon and barely missed inoffensive fishermen, whose only aggressiveness to him had been that with no hostile demonstration they had presumed to come within range of his revolver. His dreams of respectability were dissipated. The public would inquire about his antecedents, and his miserable parentage would be made known. With his deformed foot, with the criminal record of his father and his mother, with his own perpetuity of the family reputation for felony how could he win esteem? He decided to go to the higher ground, which, because of its superior footing, he would follow for several miles, returning to the swamp when he had traversed that space.

A short walk brought him to the elevated forest which he had viewed from the village. He was on the watershed of the lower Michigan peninsula. The lake which he had crossed was one of a series emptying through Huron River into Erie. The streams on the opposite side of the table-land went westward and, passing around Mackinac through the upper part of the great lake-chain, arrived at the same destination.

The wide spaces between the high tamaracks below John allowed him to see the surface of the water, which was hardly disturbed by a ripple. The boats had started to recross. Filled with excited men and impelled by clumsy substitutes for oars, including poles and boards, they veered from side to side as the misdirected efforts of the rival paddlers alternately prevailed.

John started through the woods on a trot, which he intended to maintain for an hour. He had no apprehension that they would immediately overtake him, for he had fairly outrun them at the beginning of the race. His greatest fear was that some of them would procure horses and, proceeding along the road, head him off, after which they would make a diligent search. He arrived presently at a field, which he deemed it injudicious to cross. In order to avoid exposing himself to view he was obliged to sheer farther from the swamp, passing along the edge of the timber. The field at his left gave place to a growth of bushes and small trees. Not exactly liking the route which he had chosen, he climbed a fence for the purpose of entering the thicket. He stood a moment on the top rail, listening for the sounds of pursuit. As he was about to descend, the rotten rail broke and he was precipitated heavily to the ground. He strove to rise, but a sharp pain shot through his ankle, which refused to bear his weight. He was crippled and defenseless, and near him were enemies who, if they were before relentless, were now exasperated. He had fallen at the edge of a blackberry thicket, the paths of which at frequent intervals indicated that the place was much visited. In the hope of finding a jungle which might screen him, he crawled for a few feet, but the briars which pierced his hands soon induced him to try another mode of travel. His next experiment was hopping, which had also its disadvantages. The bushes caught in his clothes, threw him off his balance, and aggravated the pain in his injured limb. He again went on his hands and knees, regardless of the injury to his flesh. As he was thus advancing, he came without warning near a woman, who with her back toward him was picking berries.

With the intention of silently stealing away he partly arose and was about to execute his purpose, when the berry-picker, hearing a slight noise, turned around and faced him. An exclamation of surprise, which bordered on alarm, burst from the woman, who was Mrs. Boyle.

But she quickly recovered her composure as she perceived that her rough-looking visitor was the young man in whom she had been so interested the preceding night. Her countenance expressed some displeasure, which undoubtedly arose from her inability to understand why Wrengell should use such secrecy in his approach.

"They are after me!" exclaimed John, "a crowd of drunken men! They think I am a horse-thief! You can hear them in the woods yonder."

"They are coming," said Mrs. Boyle, in a frenzied manner. "I don't know where you can hide. What shall we do? Oh, dear! What shall we do?"