The man from Jericho

Chapter I

There had been a thunder-shower in the middle of the afternoon, but it had passed away about five o’clock, accompanied by sullen rumbles and intermittent flashes of uncertain lightning. Then the sun burst forth and poured its light over the drenched Kentucky landscape. It showed millions of diamonds and pearls strung upon the bending blades of bluegrass ; broad expanses of molten silver where the ponds lay, and smaller mirrors of the same metal where puddles had formed from the recent downpour. It showed boundless hoards of gold where the nasturtiums were banked in a crimson mass, and the mottled bells of the rank trumpet-vines sent forth a silent summons to the answering sunshine. In the vivid green of a large oak tree a pair of orioles wove a wonderful pattern of living flame as they darted about among the boughs. Two honey-bees crawled out upon the tiny porch of their little home, and, being assured by the instinct which God gave them that the storm was over, arose on buzzing wings to seek some distant store of sweets.

His attention being drawn by the sunlight bursting suddenly through the window of the library where he sat reading — ^to be exact, it fell upon the open page before his eyes — Major Thomas Dudley closed the book, leaving one long fore-finger between the leaves to mark the spot where he had been interrupted, and turned to look outdoors. The scene which was spread before him brought a peaceful but sad smile to his face. For two hundred feet or more the broad yard sloped very gently down to the highway, from which it was separated by an iron fence of ornamental design, but now much worn, and sadly bent and twisted in places. This yard was carpeted with a luxuriant expanse of bluegrass in which no alien growth was allowed to find root. There were a number of majestic trees, of the oak and maple variety, and a few shrubs, nicely trimmed. A gravel driveway came up one side from the road, led by the old portico in front, and from thence disappeared towards the rear in the direction of the stable. Through the open window came the odour of honeysuckle, heavy and sweet ; the vine grew near the corner of the house. It was not a very sightly shrub, and it marred the wonderful correctness of the lawn no little, but the Major had his reasons for letting it alone. As a matter of fact, the Major’s wife had planted it many years before, when their love-dream was at its height. Now she was gone, but it remained, and it helped to keep fresh and vigorous the memories which made Thomas Dudley’s daily life a benediction to all who came within its radius.

As the perfume from the tiny white and yellow flowers crept subtly to his nostrils — fine, delicate nostrils they were, like those of a well-bred horse — a hungry, beseeching look stole over the old gentleman’s face. He leaned forward and placed one hand upon the window-sill, while his eyes half closed, and his countenance became transfigured. Then, had any been watching, they would have seen his lips move, as though they were shaping words.

At this point the sound of shuffling feet was heard coming from the hall running through the center of the house. Another moment a throat was cleared in the doorway, and an apologetic voice spoke.

“Beg pahd’n, suh; but de Prince am ’peah to be bettah, suh. I went to de stable ez soon ez de rain quit to tek a look at ’im, ’n’ he hab come to he feed, suh, shoM”

“Peter ! Peter ! What’s this you’re telling me ? The Prince eating again !”

With remarkable activity the Major arose to his feet and faced about, eyeing with undisguised elation the figure in the doorway. It was that of a very old negro, bowlegged and bent. His face was brown, wrinkled and kindly in expression, with tiny corkscrews of gray hair, each totally isolated, dispersed over it. His head was flat and bald, but for a fringe of white wool shaped like the tonsure of a monk. Pie wore a rusty pair of trousers, so patched that it was impossible to tell what their original material had been ; a brown hickory shirt tolerably new, and suspenders made of strips of bed-ticking. His huge feet were encased in a pair of old shoes, slit almost into shreds at the toes for the benefit of the “mis’ry” which he frequently had there. Such was Peter, faithful servant to the Dudleys before, during, and since the Civil War.

‘^Eatm\ suh; eatin\f'^ he answered, with vehemence, replying to his master’s question and accompanying the first and last words with a forward jerk of his head, by way of emphasis.

“This is good news you bring me, boy; we must have a look at him. He’s the best bred horse in the Commonwealth,” he added, to himself, as he turned aside to place his book upon a table, carefully noting the page as he did so. “It would be a pity in more ways than one for him to die by accident or foul play.” Then aloud — “Have you seen your mistress recently

“Not since dinner, suh. I’ze heerd her say afo’time, do, dat she laks a nap in de rainy ebenin’.”

From somewhere above a voice broke out singing as Peter spoke. The tune was a popular air of the day, lilting and free. The tones were those of a young woman, for they rang with irrepressible vitality, and there was hope and laughter and faith and happiness in them. The Major had started forward, but now he stopped and his head sank as under a benediction. Likewise did Peter’s, for he always reflected his master. Thus they stood, types of the bond and the free, while that tender voice rang on above them as its owner moved about the room, for they could plainly hear her light footsteps going to and fro.

In his younger years the Major must have been a man to command any one’s notice. Now, as he stood with his chin sunk in his stock under the spell of present enchantment and precious recollections of the past, one could behold the remnants of a magnificent

IS physical being. He was exceedingly tall, long of limb and square-shouldered. His hands were slender and white; his face naturally grave and thoughtful. He was clean shaven except for close cropped mustache and carefully cut imperial, both white. His complexion was ruddy, but whether this was natural or acquired it is not for us to say. Certain it is, however, that Peter mixed his mint juleps three times a day a few minutes before each meal. Certain it is, also, that never in his long life had Major Dudley taken more whiskey at one time than was good for him. He held that it was a Kentucky gentleman’s prerogative to drink, in moderation, and he had the profoundest contempt for the weakling who would bestialize himself by getting drunk. “Whiskey, suh,'’ he would say, “is like every other luxury ; to be used, not abused.”

The singing ceased, and there was the patter of feet on the stair.

“She’s awake, Peter,” said the Major; “get my hat.” Then as he stepped into the hall — “News, daughter!” he cried, to the vision in pink and white muslin descending the curved stairway. “Peter reports that the Prince is eating. Will you go with me to see him.^”

A little croon of delight escaped the vision, and the next instant she had settled like a butterfly upon the Major’s broad breast. “I knew he would get well!” she exclaimed, rising on tiptoe and pulling with both her hands on the shoulders of her father in a vain attempt to reach his lips with hers. He, seeing her purpose, caught her around the waist and lifted her bodily, though there was a matter of a hundred and twenty pounds to reckon with, and gave her the caress with a hearty smack.

“You’ll have to learn to bring a stool along with you !” he panted ; “I’m getting too old to lift such a buxom lass.” But he smiled denial of his speech and patted her cheek fondly.

Peter presenting his stove-pipe hat with a low bow, the Major took it, placed it upon his sparse gray locks, and drawing his daughter’s hand through his arm they passed out upon the long back porch, which had an eastern exposure, but was shaded all along its length by a species of vine which grew luxuriantly every summer. Peter preceded them, and Peter in motion was a sight to behold. It is useless to attempt to describe his method of locomotion. To one unfamiliar with the peculiar gait of a “befo’ de wah” negro I can give no adequate picture of the old darkey as he shambled along over the large flat stones laid in a row which formed a walk to the gate of the lot wherein stood the stable. Behind him came the stately form of Major Dudley, and by his side Miss Julia, his only child, whose feet had just passed those elusive portals which give into the magical realms of young womanhood.

“What has been the matter with The Prince, daddy queried the young lady, lifting an annoyed and earnest countenance which Nature had blessed, or banned, however one may regard unusual beauty.

A deep furrow was immediately visible on Major

Dudley’s forehead, indenting his brow just above his nose. It only came when he was angry, or intensely worried. His gray eyes gleamed with subdued resentment, and for the space of a few steps he did not answer.

“We do not know,” he said, then, but he kept his eyes set straight ahead, instead of looking at his questioner.

“But you have suspicions, daddy, dear,” she pleaded, coming closer to him, and pressing his arm gently. “Have you a right — have you the wish to keep these from me.^ Am I not Major Dudley’s daughter, and is not your blood my blood The Prince has been very sick. Com and hay don’t make a horse ill. What do you fear, daddy

The old man stopped and faced his daughter. She was quite serious now. Her firm chin, her positive but pliant mouth, her deep brown eyes which showed courage, and the waving wealth of her chestnut hair, all made a quick pride rush to the Major’s heart, and brought a satisfied smile to his mouth. His stern eyes melted into tenderness and love.

“My child, you shall know all I know ; all I suspect, rather, for nothing is positive. We — Peter and I — fear an attempt has been made to poison The Prince.” ^^Daddyr

The word struggled through an indrawn breath of horror.

“The horse’s symptoms indicated this. Peter found him in time for an antidote which he administered to be beneficial, else I fear we would have lost him. We examined the feed which had been given him last night, and found some of it mixed with a whitish powder. In view of this we could come to only one conclusion.”

“Who—”

The sentence which the girl’s lips started to frame died with the first word. Her lips met firmly, and a slow dread gathered in her eyes.

From the highway not far off came the sound of a horse’s hoofs, running at full speed. The Major was facing the road, and the girl turned to see a horseman dash furiously along the pike and disappear behind a fringe of trees which bordered the road farther on. Julia turned to her father, and saw written plainly upon his face a confirmation of her fears.

“He.^” she breathed, awesomely.

“Or an emissary. He is our only enemy, and in all his stable of thoroughbreds he has not one that can approach The Prince!”

“Would he dare?”

“Anything, little girl. — Come.”

At the door of The Prince’s stall they stopped, and looked in eagerly. The horse recognized them, and whinnied feebly. Peter, with curry-comb and brush, was going over the splendid animal vigorously, though not a speck showed on his shining coat.

“Better, suh I Better, young missus !”

The old negro spoke encouragingly between the grunts caused by his exertion.

“He am beginnin’ to tek notice. He et mos’ he feed, ’n’ he ’peared right glad to see me. I wush I c’d lay dese brack ban’s on de low-down skunk whut tech ’im ! I’d break his naik !”

The Prince was standing a little stiffly, and his slender, patrician head hung lower than it should, but his breathing was not labored, and his eyes were bright and beaming with intelligence.

“He’ll come, Peter; he’ll come!” said the Major, warmly. “He had a close call, but your prompt action saved him. You’re a good boy, Peter, and I commend you!”

Peter grinned his appreciation, and rubbed the satin limbs with renewed vigour.

“Yassuh, he’ll come all right, ’n’ w’en de race hit come, he’ll beat eb’ry one ob ’em! De boss ain’t folded whut kin tech ’im!”

“I believe you, boy. Only once in a lifetime is a boss born like The Prince.”

Julia slipped into the stall as her father was speaking and going up to the noble brute, put both arms around his neck and cuddled her cheek upon his shoulder.

“Poor old fellow!” she murmured. “Have they used you badly because you belonged to us.^ Never mind. They shan’t do it again. Miss Julia loves you, and all of us love you, and we are going to take care of you.”

The horse turned and muzzled the sleeve of her dress understandingly.

The girl withdrew her arms and stroked his nose gently. As she rejoined her father there were tears in her eyes.

“Put a new padlock on his door tonight, Peter,” cautioned the Major, as he turned to go, “and see that there are no loose planks which a sneakin’ assassin might prize off.”

“I’ll fix ’im so tight dat a gnat can’t git in !” was the emphatic reply. “Dey shan’t git nigh ’im ag’in !”

Julia was quiet as she and her father returned to the big house. Though her tongue was idle, her mind was busy. She was trying to elucidate this mystery of the attack on The Prince, Her father had said in as many words that he believed Devil Marston was at the bottom of it, but why should Devil Marston be so bitter against them.'^ Half forgotten incidents came back to her — things which had been glozed over or dismissed with a laugh. Marston had been at their home several times, but all at once he stopped coming. She remembered it now. The last time he came was at night, and she had seen him only long enough to speak to him in the hall as she was starting upstairs. She recalled now some loud words being spoken by him; the regulated tones of her father in reply, and that night the Major had paced his room till nearly morning. When she asked for an explanation the following day, her father had put her off by saying it was purely a business matter which it was best she should not know about. She had let it go at that at the time, although she wondered that a business call should have been so stormy. Now she realized that something was being kept from her; that her father was shielding her through love and mercy from something she had a right to know. That had been in her girlhood, though only two years ago. But since then her mother had died, and during the following two years, which had brought her to twenty, she felt that she had grown to be a woman. She had met successfully the responsibility of caring for the house, and she felt that she could equally meet any other responsibility touching her family.

As they passed into the long hall again, the Major laid aside his hat and turned to the open library door to resume his reading. Julia gently detained him.

“Daddy, what’s the trouble between Mr. Marston and us.'^”

The old man’s face grew very grave.

“Who spoke of trouble, lassie?”

“Would a friend attempt so vile a thing as was attempted last night? He has grounds for his conduct, or thinks he has. I want to know it all. I’m sure you never harmed any of his, or him. Then why does the man hate us? He must be very wicked, for no honorable enemy would employ such underhand methods of attack. Now tell me all about it, won’t you?”

Major Dudley tilted her chin with his bent forefinger, and gazed long and earnestly into the fearless eyes upheld to meet his own.

“There are some things little girls shouldn’t know,” he said, finally.

“Little girls, indeed!” she exclaimed, almost petulantly. “Won’t you ever realize that I’m a woman, though a young one, and can’t you trust your only daughter with a family secret, daddy dear?”

It was quite evident that her feelings were on the verge of being wounded, for her lips were a little unsteady, and her eyes were reproachful.

The reply came in a soft, reminiscent voice.

“ ’Twas yesterday you were in pinafores, chasing butterflies by day and fire-flies by night, out yonder on the lawn. Are you really twenty?^'

“Yes, sir; and I demand it as my right to share your burdens. The}’^ will be lighter so, for us both.”

The Major sighed, and lifted his hand to his forehead.

“You are right, and I promise that you shall know. But not now — not now.”

“In a day or two, then?”

“Yes, in a day or two. Run along now and gather some flowers.”

He bent to receive her kiss, and stood watching her as she moved with a free, swift step out onto the portico, into the yard, and over to a side fence where a mass of nasturtiums were rioting in a wealth of variegated colors.

“That is where her life should be,” he murmured to himself ; “spent among blooming flowers, listening to the birds, caressed by sun and wind. Now she demands of me the story of Devil Marston’s hate, and I have to tell her. Why do innocent children have to grow up and taste of bitterness? Why must she know of man’s inhumanity, injustice and greed? O my little Julia, I would keep you from every thorn if I could ! This old breast would gladly take all that were meant for you, and not mind the sting! But

THE MAN FROM JERICHO SI

that is not God’s way, and His way is best. Poor child ! I wish it could be otherwise.”

He passed slowly into the library, and sat down with his book.

After the frugal evening meal, which Aunt Frances, Peter’s spouse, served with due punctiliousness, the Major sought his room, pleading fatigue. Really he sat alone, thinking, for a long time before going to bed. It was past ten o’clock when he finally arose, and going to a south window, looked out in the direction of the stable. The night was starlit only, so he did not see a stealthly figure climb the rail fence enclosing the barn lot, and move swiftly across the intervening space to The Prince’s door.

Chapter II

As a town, Macon did not differ materially from its sister towns of like size throughout the State. It is true it was located on the border of the bluegrass, and this alone gave it a distinction which the pennyroyal and mountain districts did not possess. The corporate limits of the place held about three thousand souls — black and white — and nobody ever got in a hurry. A quiet air of indolent aristocracy pervaded the town. Shops were opened late, and if any one wished to buy, they were served courteously and languidly, but there was no “drumming for trade.” For all of its lazy atmosphere, it might have been located farther south. But its people were good people, on the whole, although they permitted saloons, and went wild over horse racing. And, best of all, they reverenced their women. A lady on the streets of Macon had respectful right of way. It may have been that they were duly proud of these three things, for they knew full well that nowhere in the world were nobler or more beautiful women, faster horses, or better whiskey.

The nabobs of central Kentucky were a distinct and exclusive class in the years preceding the great Civil strife which freed the colored race. They had friends about them constantly, near and from a distance. They gave large banquets and more often drank immoderately; the}^ dressed in expensive and fashionable clothes, and had body servants galore. Each gentleman had a personal valet, to shave him every morning, attend to his wardrobe and be always within call. Another servant groomed his favorite horse, brought it around and held the stirrup while his master mounted, and was always on the spot when his master returned to have the bridle reins thrown to his waiting hands.

Then came the war scourge, and the old order passed. Homes were broken up ; houses were pillaged and burned, bought and sold. Of the several stately homes surrounding Macon, but one or two remained in the family after the war.

The Dudleys were an old family, proud as could be, and holding manual labor a disgrace. This faulty doctrine was due to heredity and training, and detracted in no way from the sterling manhood and womanhood which ran with the name. They had been wealthy people generations gone, living freely and without stint. Then came the days when one of them became a black sheep and killed a man while in liquor. It took most of the vast estate to save him from the gallows. When the war ended Major Thomas Dudley found that he had little left save a wife and child, the homestead, a half dozen horses of purest racing strain, and an eighty acre farm which would grow with equal abundance hemp, tobacco, corn or wheat. He would not work ; he could not work. Had a Dudley’s hand ever touched the handle of a plow? Never ! Welcome genteel starvation rather than ignoble toil!

In the meantime the family had to live in befitting manner. One by one the servants, enticed by their new-found freedom, drifted away. At length only Peter and Aunt Frances were left, and the Major knew that his body servant would never go, for between these two was that subtle, adamantine bond which rarely existed, but which, once formed, was indissoluble.

Julia grew to girlhood, and the question of her education came up. There had never been a Dudley, male or female, who had not received a complete college course. The Major avowed that Julia should go to boarding school, and he signed away the remaining eighty acres with a hand which did not tremble in order that the traditions of his family should remain inviolate. Julia, ignorant of the sacrifice which had been made for her, went away three successive years, coming back the last time to find her mother dying. After Mrs. Dudley had been laid to rest in the little cemetery east of town, the daughter stepped into her place in the management of the household. Up to this time she had supposed her father had plenty, but the fact that they were almost poverty stricken became quickly revealed to her now. She met the situation with a brave and smiling face, and employed every art she knew to cut down expenses. About this time a number of shares of stock in the thriving Bank of Macon were placed on the market. Then Major Dudley severed the last tie which bound him to the old life. He was getting too old to give his horses proper attention. He sold them.

every one, retaining only a colt not quite a year old, and bought the bank stock. He had figured out that the dividends which this would bring would barely keep them in food and clothing, and pay the taxes on the home. The colt which he had held back from the sale he had given to Julia at its birth, and this was The Prince, the last member of the stables which in years gone by had been the wonder of all Kentucky.

Peter, born to the care of fine horses, shadowed The Prince day and night. * Though well up in the seventies, he had broken the young horse to the saddle, and that without a fall. Then, shrewd old rascal that he was, one balmy night he had ridden the colt out to the race track, one mile from the town limits, and tested his speed. He had no watch wherewith to time the exploit, but he needed none, for had he not seen races ever since he was two feet tall ! The result had been marvelous. The Prince almost ran from under him, and he must needs cling on with heels and hands when the horse was in motion. When he slipped from his back in an ecstasy of joy, Peter knew that he stood beside the greatest race-horse that had ever touched Kentucky soil ! The old darkey was wild with delight, and could hardly wait till morning to tell the Major of his discovery. Major Dudley’s face beamed when the news was given him.

“Keep it still, Peter,” he counselled, “and watch him. There’ll be racing here in July next year.”

Winter passed and the Spring came again, and Peter hied himself and The Prince to the race track as soon as the earth became solid. He went always at night.

and always alone, but a rumour began to spread through Macon and the county in general that' Major Dudley’s colt was a marvel, and could make a mile in two minutes flat. Certainly the story lost nothing by its constant re-telling, and while few believed it true, yet everyone confided it to his neighbor as a matter of gossip.

Then came the night of the cowardly attempt upon The Prince’s life.

The evening express from the north was due at Macon a quarter till eleven. The night of the day upon which Major Dudley had promised to his daughter a revelation of certain things which had been kept hidden from her, this train was running fifteen minutes late. The engineer was trying to make the time up, and in consequence the coaches were swaying and jerking over the rather imperfect roadbed. Crouched in the comer of a seat next the window sat a young man. It would have been impossible to form any idea of his physical appearance from the uncouth position which he had assumed. It was quite evident from this that he was traveling entirely alone. He had slipped down in his seat until his head was below the top of its back. His long legs were flexed so that his knees rested against the back of the seat in front of him. His shoulders, unusually broad and square, drooped somewhat, as from weariness ; his chin was sunk upon his shirt front, and his cap was pulled well down over his eyes, so that only a portion of his face could be seen. The line of shadow slanted across his face rt sharply just at the cheek bone, revealing below it a smoothly shaven surface, and a chin as square and resolute as the shoulders. In common with the majority of his fellow-passengers, he was dozing. The conductor came unsteadily up the aisle, fumbled at his cap band for the piece of paper sticking in it, then, observing that the man was asleep, he shook him gently by the shoulder. The sleeper aroused readily, and in response to “Your’s next station,” nodded his head, and turned, as one will do the blackest night, to look out the window. This not with the purpose of seeing anything, but from some inexplicable force within.

But the young man did see something — a dull glow was discernible in the sky, apparently a great distance away. To a sleep-befuddled brain it looked very much like the rose tints of morning, and John Glenning mechanically pulled out his watch, to smile at his stupidity the next moment, for it was not yet eleven. He glanced about the car and brought himself to an erect sitting posture with a quick exercise of the great fund of reserve strength which he undoubtedly possessed. His shoulders went back squarely against the seat, and his feet sought the floor. Then, as he pushed the cap off his eyes, his face became visible. It was a strong face, with jaw- and cheek-bones showing prominently. The forehead was good, almost square, and over one eye was a crescent-shaped scar, not livid, but standing out plainly against the white skin. His hair was black and straight, and his face wore a half melancholy expression, which seemed habitual.

After a casual and disinterested survey of the compartment, he turned to the window again, placed his elbow upon the sill, and looked out into the night. The glow in the distance was still there. He judged it to be a fire, although no flames were yet visible. Just a dull red vapor seemed suspended, like an immense ruby, against the black draped breast of the sky, and on all sides of it the stars shone like rare gems. As this poetic thought struck Glenning, he smiled, as though pleased at the conception, and just then a long blast of the whistle told him that they were approaching his station. A moment later the door was flung open, admitting a rush of pure, sweet night air into the stuffy coach, and the flagman passed through, touching alternate seats with either hand to steady himself, and shouting “Macon! Macon!”