Chapter XXIX The Tragedy of Murderer’s Hollow
Going the way Fox pointed out, I found the road as he had said; but so overwrought were my nerves by the events of the night that if by chance a shadow outlined the fanciful figure of a man across my path, I stood still, trembling and in doubt, until its harmless nature was disclosed. While thus peering ahead and striving to make out the objects in my path, a rabbit ran into the road and stopped, as if disputing my right to pass. This, strangely enough, disturbed me not a little, as if somehow I were discovered. While I stood still, hesitating whether to go on or turn back, so little control had I over myself, the plaintive notes of a whip-poor-will came to me from out the deep forest, as if in comfort of my loneliness. Clear and sweet, it warmed and cheered my heart like the greeting of a friend. For who that has been brought up in the country ever heard the notes of this songster of the night without such feeling or remembrance of it ever afterward? To all such who traverse the woods, or who are in trouble, it is as if some good spirit were awakening the echoes of the place to soothe their thoughts and calm their fears. Coming to me now, out of the slumbering trees, I was enlivened and cheered so that I went on as if in the company of friends. Thus quickly do those who are in trouble accept the semblance of what they wish for for the thing itself.
Going on as directed, I came at last to the summit of a bluff, from which I looked down into a valley filled with moonlight and sylvan shadows. The road descending the elevation, as I could see, there turned and followed the edge of the hill to the opposite side of the valley, where it reascended the height and was lost to view. Looking to know the reason of this strange detour, I saw it was caused by a shallow river, which following along the edge of the valley, crowded the road from its direct course.
Reaching the foot of the descent, the stream had scarce more water in its bed than the Little Sandy at its best; and wearied by my walk, I determined to cross the valley and so shorten the distance I would otherwise have to go. Looking to determine the course I should take, the plain lay spread before me, and midway in its breadth a grove of walnut trees lifted their graceful foliage to the sky, standing out black and clear against the pale grasses of the sleeping valley. Cheered by the sight, for there is no tree more attractive to the eye, its rich fruit bringing it nearer to us in sympathy of life, I went forward in high spirits, stopping as I crossed the little river to drink my fill and bathe my face in its refreshing waters.
Coming presently to the grove of trees, I plunged beneath their depths, to emerge a moment after in a cleared space, on the edge of which a log hut, charred by fire, stood in lonely seclusion. About it, and as if in mockery, rank weeds grew where once a garden had been planted. Wondering why such a spot should have been selected for a home, I went forward, and turning the angle of the ruin, came without thought upon a towering gibbet, from which ropes, frayed with the wind, dangled in the midnight air. Beneath these, and as if to make the story plainer, rude graves lifted their rounded forms in the bright moonlight. Recoiling at the sight, I had nearly fallen; but with my discovery, and as if the spirits of the dead were returned to earth, voices reached me, and seemingly from the shadow of the gallows and its dangling ropes. Questioning if I heard aright and hesitating whether to go forward or turn and fly, the voices came a second time, and now more plainly than before. In doubt of their friendliness, I threw myself down where I stood, and in that way was hidden by the weeds and the shadow of the crumbling ruin. Thus concealed, I was safe, unless, indeed, the course of the speakers crossed the spot where I lay hidden; but coming presently full on the gibbet, they stopped, one of them crying out in a voice of terror:
“In the name of all the spirits of hell, what’s them?”
“What’s what?” the other answered, softly, as if seeing nothing out of the way.
“Them graves an’ danglin’ ropes?”
“Why, what about them?”
“Are they real, or is’t the phantoms comin’ on agin?”
At this I recognized Blott’s voice, now no longer whimsical, but constrained and full of fear. Greatly relieved, I rose to call his name, but doing so, discovered his companion to be the gambler Burke, who had robbed Mr. Singleton and afterward sought to murder Mr. Davis. Seeing him, I dropped down again, trembling and full of fear, for what could Blott be doing here, and in such company! Surely nothing good! And with the thought I hid myself more securely in the shadow of the abandoned hut.
“What is the matter, Blott?” the other replied, as if surprised. “Has liquor got the better of you again, or what is it that frightens you?”
“Frightens me! I’m not frightened; but why the devil have you brought me to this spot, of all others?”
“Was there ever spot more beautiful? Why, it is a bower fit for lovers,” Burke replied, softly.
“Fit for the devil an’ his bride, mebbe, but not for honest men. Why, the place’s damned, Burke.”
“Damned, Blott! Why damned? There is not a spot on earth more peaceful. Doves coo in the trees yonder, and birds nest there; but I see your old trouble is coming on again,” Burke replied, more softly than at first, if that were possible.
“Curse you, Burke, an’ your soft speech! My trouble ain’t comin’ on, but this place’s enough to give a man the jimjams. It’s haunted an’ I’d rather visit the devil in his den than come here.”
“You talk wildly, Blott. It is safe, and what more does one want? There is the gallows rotting away, and under it five good men as ever risked their lives for money; but harmless, Blott, harmless. They will never cast a shadow more, and the traveler may go his way for all the harm they can do him. Then why cry out, Blott?” Burke queried, in his purring voice.
“What these men come to you an’ I’ll come to, an’ I don’t care to be reminded of it. So let’s leave the spot.”
“What silly talk, Blott! what silly talk! Here no one comes, and here we are free from prying eyes. Fools think the hut is haunted, and that is why I have chosen it for a hiding-place. There is no spot on earth so safe, Blott.”
“There’s other places secure enough for me, an’ I’d rather stand in the open than hide here and be safe,” Blott answered, in anger.
“Will you never stop, Blott, will you never stop? I shall lose my temper, I am afraid, and it is always bad for those about me when I do,” Burke answered, his voice, if possible, more subdued than before. “You can’t put off the day you will hang by shutting your eyes, and what is there to fear from the graves of dead men or a rotting gibbet? You put me out, Blott.”
“I don’t care whether I put you out or not. I’m no boy,” Blott answered, impatiently.
“Surely not! surely not! But we must have a hiding-place, and what one so safe as this, which every man shuns?”
“I’m not afeerd, but I don’t like the company,” Blott answered gloomily.
“These men will never betray us. Do they cry out that it was I who fired the shot for which they were hung? Not a bit of it. Give me dead men when there is anything to hide.”
“You’re the devil’s own, Burke.”
“Perhaps, Blott, perhaps; but what has the devil done to you or me that we should be afraid of him?”
“Why’ve we come here, anyway, I’d like to know?” Blott asked. “Our man’ll not cross this cursed valley, an’ while we’re foolin’ away our time he’ll pass, an’ so we’ll lose him.”
“There you go again, Blott! I told you he was not to start till one o’clock? So we have time and to spare,” Burke answered, in his low, purring way.
“How do you know he’ll not start till one? Or how do you know he’s comin’ at all, for that matter?” Blott replied.
“How did I know Hogge was coming this way that rainy night, or how do I know other things that are going on in the world that interest me?” Burke answered.
“Well, how do you?”
“Because I have a man on the outside whose interest it is to tell me. You don’t suppose I trust everything to chance, do you?” Burke answered.
“You devil! Who’s the man?”
“Well, I like that, Blott, I like that; and you an old constable, too! Why don’t you ask me to give myself up; to put a halter around my neck?”
“If we’re to be pards, Burke, you must trust me, for I’ll know who’s pullin’ the strings or I won’t go on.”
“We are not going to be partners, Blott; or only in this. Why should we?”
“Then why have you brought me here to help you?”
“Because the man is said to be ugly to handle, and I might fail alone.”
“Well, what’m I to git out of it if we’re not pards?” Blott asked.
“We are partners in this, and you are to get one-third if you do as I tell you,” Burke answered.
“What’m I to do?”
“Nothing of any account. You are to stand beside the road and fire when I do, and if one shot doesn’t kill him, you are to keep on firing till he is dead. Is that hard, Blott? It is just play.”
“You won’t kill him, though, if he throws up his hands an’ we git what we want?”
“Yes; he is to die whether he throws up his hands or not. That is the understanding,” Burke answered.
“Whose understandin’?”
“My understanding with my partner, and in this he is to have his way; and why not?” Burke answered, in his soft voice.
“Great God! what does he want him killed for?”
“I don’t know; but what does it matter? That is always the best way, for it leaves one enemy the less.”
“Yes, and I hang for’t, like these dead men, while you go free, you devil! No, I’ll have nothin’ to do with the murder. I didn’t come here to kill a man ’cause somebody I don’t know wants it,” Blott answered, in a determined way.
“Don’t talk foolishly, Blott; don’t!” Burke replied, quietly, but with such dreadful menace in his voice that I shuddered, hearing it.
“No, not a finger’ll I raise agin the man, whoever he is,” Blott answered, doggedly. “Not a finger!”
“You will think better of it, Blott; but come into the cabin, though it is a poor thing since the boys held it against the Regulators,” Burke answered, as if to turn the subject to pleasanter things.
“Were you one of ’em?” Blott asked, as if loath to go on.
“No; or how should I be here? I was late, you see, and when I stuck my head out of the bushes there the cabin was afire, and our men holding up their hands and crying for mercy.”
“What happened then?” Blott asked.
“What would be likely to happen? The posse tied them hand and foot and stood them in a row, and before you could count a hundred, had picked a judge and jury. Others went and cut uprights and a crossbeam for the gallows, and when the trial was over the thing was ready as you see it now. After they had convicted the prisoners, every one had his say, but not one peached. Then they strung them up; and when all were dead, they dug holes, one under each man, and so dropped the five into their graves and covered them up, and there they rot. But come, this is idle talk, and we ought to be at work”; and partly following and partly pushing Blott, the two disappeared within the cabin.
When they were gone I remained where I was, not knowing whether to fly or lie still; but while thus deliberating, a ray of light fell across my face, and hearing voices, I partly arose and peered through a crevice into the building. A lantern stood on the rude bench that ran across the room, and beside it Burke was busy with something he held in his hand, while Blott sat a little way off, seemingly taking no interest in what the other was doing. After a while, Burke bringing the object he held near the lantern, I saw it was a pistol, its black barrel glistening in the uncertain light like the body of a serpent.
“There, that will do, that will do. A beauty, too! and now for the others,” he exclaimed, as he fell to work on a second weapon, cleaning and polishing it as he had the first. Afterward taking from his belt a third and a fourth, he cleaned and loaded them as he had the others. “There! I think I am ready for the Appletop gentleman; but how are your pistols, Blott? In good shape, I hope?” he purred, looking up as if for the first time.
“I don’t know, an’ I don’t care, for I’ll have nothin’ to do with the murder.”
“Don’t speak so roughly, Blott; don’t, you shock me. But what are you going to do, then?” Burke continued, keeping his eyes on his companion, though the latter did not look in his direction any more than as if he had not been present.
“What’m I goin’ to do? I’m goin’ to leave this cursed place,” Blott answered, standing up.
“Is that fair, Blott? Is it fair, after learning my plans? You would be a witness against me, without being guilty, you know,” Burke answered, softly, taking a pistol in each hand. At this I thought to cry out, so dreadful did Burke’s movement appear and so unconscious was Blott of any danger; but my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth and my throat was like the dust of the road. Paying no attention to the movements or voice of the other, Blott answered, angrily, and as if secure in his own house:
“You can go to the devil, Burke, if you like; I’ll not betray you, but you’ll never lack for witnesses to hang you.”
“You don’t mean that, Blott! You don’t, surely! Think again. There will be no danger, and a lot of money to share. A lot, I say.”
“You can’t tempt me. I don’t care about the risk, but I sha’n’t be a party to no cold-blooded murder. I didn’t come here to engage in any such fool business”; and he turned on Burke as if defying him.
“If you are not going to do as I wish, I will not help you longer, nor give you liquor. I can’t afford to keep a dead one in food and whisky,” Burke went on in a whining voice, as if loath to act.
“Shut off the whisky, and be damned to you, if you wish! I may want a drink bad enough to-morrer to kill a man, an’ I shouldn’t wonder if I did; but I’m not feelin’ that way to-night,” Blott answered, sullenly.
“Then take that, you booby, you driveling idiot!” and Burke leveled a pistol full at Blott’s breast and fired. Too late the latter sought to spring upon his enemy, but with the movement he threw up his hands, and without cry or sound of any kind sank down upon the floor.
Burke, who had sprung to his feet, stopped short when he saw Blott waver and fall. And thus he stood watching him, with his face half-revealed. When some time had passed and Blott did not stir, Burke went to him, and lifting his hand, let it fall to the floor.
“Dead, and so quick, too, the ass! But he would have it, and I could do nothing less. Did he suppose I would let him go knowing what he did! Well, well, you need not fear spooks longer, Blott, and I hope they will find you better company than I have”; saying which, he stood contemplating the fallen man as if reflecting on his fate. At last, gathering himself together, he went on: “Lie there, you donkey! till I come back, when a hole will put you out of sight. Better work alone than with such a baby. Yes, yes, much better!” And his voice, which a moment before had been like the cry of a wild beast, was now soft and purring, as if with the occasion all feeling of anger had vanished from his heart forever.
NOTE.—At the time of which Gilbert Holmes speaks, the inhabitants of the Mississippi Valley were greatly harassed by outlaws; but these, differing from the thugs of the East, were often men of education and considerable culture, like Burke. Many of them were the sons of merchants and clergymen and people of character, who thought to commence in the West a better life, or continue their downward course with greater license. These social outcasts were, in the end, driven from the country, or exterminated by bands of Regulators organized by the communities for that purpose. For many years, however, men were not safe abroad, unless in companies or heavily armed, if thought to have money. Horse-stealing was a common crime, and more surely punished with death than murder, as is the case in all new countries. Notwithstanding this, and contrary to what is generally thought, the community was, as a whole, made up of the highest type of men and women; men and women who spoke pure English and in the main were refined and well educated. Coming to the new country, they gave up every comfort to better their fortunes, enduring hardship with cheerfulness, in the prospect held out of wealth and independence for their children, if not for themselves.—THE AUTHOR.