A drama of the hills

Front matter

CouvrightN 0 D Y. _

topyg,

COPtKJGUT DSlPdsrft

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I The First Throw of the Shuttle 3 II In Which a Voice is Heard . 14

III Friends in Need ... 19

Chapter I

Wild winter ruled the Ozarks. Hill and valley, farm and woodland lay under a heavy blanket of snow. For nearly a week an icy wind had lashed the naked trees until they shrieked in the blast, and had swept the snow into huge drifts. But at last the gale had exhausted its fury; the gray clouds rolled away, and the sun came forth in all his splendor.

Then was seen a miracle of the Ozark winter, for at the first touch of the light the rugged hills flashed forth into a veritable fairyland; every withered leaf, every blade of dead grass, every smallest twig upon the trees, was hung with icy diamonds which swung to the breeze and flashed and sparkled in the sunshine as if all the mines of Golconda had been robbed to furnish forth the wonderful sight.

The hill farmers, who for long days had done little more than to care for their live stock, and keep the fires roaring in the great stone fire places, now hastened to take advantage of the change in the weather. Some rode horseback through the drifts to store,

Post Office, or blacksmith shop; some sought the more distant county-seat town, where they could get into touch with the outside world, talk local politics with the incumbents of the various county offices, or buy a St. Louis paper of their own brand of belief. Others, and these outnumbered all the rest, shoul¬ dered their axes and hastened to the hills to replenish their supplies of fuel, nearly exhausted during the long week of storm. Soon there rang from scores of points the sharp notes of the axes, playing that na¬ tional quickstep which, with a sub-bass of crashing trees has led the march of civilization across a conti¬ nent from gray Atlantic to blue Pacific.

Norman Manning, teacher elect of the school of Restful district, sojourning under the hospitable roof of John Hampton, chairman of the school board, until the date of the beginning of the term, had risen that morning rejoiced to find that the storm had at last passed away. He aided the old farmer, as he had done all that stormy week, in caring for the cattle before daylight, and now, as he sat at breakfast he said to his host: “ Uncle John, your wood pile wouldn’t stand another such a week as the last. I mean to take an axe after breakfast, and go up on the ridge and see if I have forgotten how to cut cord wood.”

“ Now then, Norman,” the old man said, “ I don’t rightly know how about the ‘ Perfesser of Restful deestrict’ a’cuttin’ cord wood fur me; Seems like ye better stay in the house and I’ll go git a load of wood.”

“ Pshaw, Uncle John,” was the answer, “ I am not ‘ Professor ’ until school begins, and if I was it would only be setting a good example to the rising genera¬ tion to get away from the fire and do a little good honest work.” So it was that before long Manning’s axe added its sharp notes to those from the nearby hills.

And on the trivial incident of the young teacher doing a kindly act for his old friend, hinged his whole future life! That was the first throw of the shuttle of fate, weaving a chain of events that was to lead Norman Manning into the veritable valley of the shadow of death. Was to put life and honor into deadly peril, and bring him by devious paths at last into such riches of friendship, freedom, and holiest love, as repaid him a thousand-fold for all the trials of the rugged way.

The day at last drew near its meridian. Many of the axe-men had already taken the results of their labors to their homes in the valley when Manning, who had been the busiest of them all, threw his axe on his shoulder and took his way to the Hampton home. Following a path through the woods he came into the head of a little valley which he knew de¬ bouched just below into the larger one in which lay the Hampton farm. “ Uncle Jim Walton has been chopping in this hollow,” he said to himself, “ maybe we will walk home together; although, come to think of it, I have not heard his axe for an hour.”

Even as he spoke the words he turned a sharp angle in the path and halted in his tracks with a cry of horror, for there, lying as he had fallen face down in the snow, with arms extended wide, lay the man whose name had been that instant upon his lips! The young man threw down his axe, sprang to the side of the motionless figure and tried to raise it. But the glazed eyes, the stiffened muscles, and the ghastly wound in the head, all proved that the poor old man was beyond human aid, and Manning laid him gently down upon the snow, and fled at full speed to give the alarm.

With cheeks as white as chalk, wide eyed with hor¬ ror, hatless and dishevelled, he dashed into the Hamp¬ ton house with his terrible tidings. Two neighbors had stopped to rest for a few minutes at John Hamp¬ ton’s hearth and were chatting with the old man when the half frantic Manning rushed into the room. One of these chanced to be the constable of the town¬ ship, and by virtue of his office supposed to be in¬ formed of the lawful procedure in such cases, so when the excitement had died down somewhat, he assumed direction of the matter. Hampton wished to convey the body at once to the Walton home a mile down the valley, but this Burt, the constable, forbade. He insisted that the sheriff of the county, the coroner, and if possible the prosecuting attorney, should be summoned to view the body before it was disturbed. So Farris, who owmed the fleetest saddle horse in the neighborhood, rode post haste to Labrador, the county seat ten miles away, to notify the officials, while Burt,

Hampton, Manning and the remaining neighbor hastened to the scene of the crime.

“ Here, men,” ordered Burt, as they neared the body, “ don’t none of ye git too dost to him. We wants to git all the evidence thar is so’s to ketch and hang the feller who done this work.” Thus the three halted a few feet from the body while Burt carefully examined the traces around.

“ Hyar! ” he cried, “ whose axe is this hyar? ” “ That? why that is the axe that I used this fore¬ noon,” answered Manning, “ I must have dropped it there when I found the old man’s body.”

Burt stooped and examined the axe with great care, and for a long time in silence. Then he slowly raised upright, and with stern face and closely set lips laid his hand upon Manning’s shoulder and said:

“ Young feller I hate to say hit, but I have to arrest you fur murderin’ of this old man! ”

“ Arrest me for killing him! Why man, God knows I did not do it. I found him just as I told you.”

“ I hope ye are tellin’ the truth boy, I shore do,” said Burt, “ but lookee: hyar’s yer tracks in the snow, and them filled with the blood that run from his haid; hyar’s yer hat whar ye drapped hit when ye run; hyar’s yer axe, and hit all kivered with blood; and hyar’s blood on yer face and hands, and blood spattered all over yer clothes! young man I’m a’tellin’ ye, that ef ye ain’t the man that done hit, ye are a’showin’ every possible mark of hit! ”

Poor Manning stood speechless and pale as the cold voice piled up the damning evidence against him He looked into the faces of the others and saw that one of them, at least, agreed with the constable in thinking him guilty; and with that knowledge his heart fairly stood still at the horror of his situation.

Men have written of the boldness of conscious innocence, and yet many such a case as this has proved that the very consciousness of innocence may give to the actions of the accused every sign of guilt. The pale cheek; the wild eye; the faltering tongue; the trembling hand; all, all, are the age-old marks of guilt; and every one of them has been seen thousands of times as the accompaniment of perfect innocence.

At length the blood flowed back to Manning’s heart, and flushed his cheeks once more; his eyes flashed, and with head held high, and dauntless glance he turned on his accuser:

“ I understand how it is that you think your duty calls you to arrest me,” he said, “ and perhaps if I were in your place, and you in mine I should think you guilty as you think I am; but Sir, in spite of all that you have summed up against me, you are wrong. I did not do this deed. There are my tracks in the snow where I came down the hill; there must have been other tracks down the valley, but we have destroyed them with our own. My axe is bloody because I happened to drop it in the blood as I tried to lift the old man to see if I could help him. I am as innocent of this murder as the babe unborn.”

“ Boys I believe him! I shore do believe him! hit don’t stand to reason that sech a young man as I am a’knowin’ him to be, would go to do ary sech a thing! ” And as he spoke John Hampton reached and took Manning’s hand into his own iron grip.

No human words will ever sound sweeter in Norman Manning’s ears than those in the rude speech of the old farmer. He had faced his accuser dry eyed and courageous, even while he felt that the whole world was conspiring against his innocent life; but these words of kindness and trust in him, broke him down and the tears filled his eyes as he tried in vain to thank this friend in his direst need.

But Hampton’s belief in his innocence did not free Manning from the net of circumstantial evidence in which he was entangled; the constable still held him prisoner and watched him with drawn revolver in hand.

Rapidly the news of the murder flew up and down the valley of the Osage Fork, and back into the sur¬ rounding hills. And as the tidings spread men saddled their horses and hastened in converging groups to the scene of the tragedy, until more than a hundred had gathered around the murdered man, lying in the snow of that little wooded valley.

Soon word was whispered from one to another that the murderer was already under arrest. That he was none other than the young stranger who had been living at John Hampton’s for six weeks past, and who had been engaged to teach the school of Restful district. And as the story was repeated it took to itself, as is ever the case at such times new and more damning items of evidence, to make stronger and blacker the proof of Norman Manning’s guilt.

No man can tell just what spark may set the blood lust flaming in human hearts. Here was a crowd of simple farmer folk, brave in times of danger as many of them had proved upon the bloody fields of Civil War; hospitable and kindly to a fault, in all their daily lives; most of them church members and Chris¬ tians to the best of their lights; and yet it was less than mid-afternoon when those men moved as by one common and unspoken impulse, upon the constable and his prisoner, determined that they would lynch Norman Manning then and there. So suddenly had the slumbering embers burst into deadly flame that the constable was taken wholly by surprise, and over¬ whelmed almost without raising a hand in resistance. Probably his own implicit belief in his theory of the prisoner’s guilt prevented him from offering any very strenuous effort, even if he had sooner realized the danger.

Be that as it may, certain it is that in less than ten minutes after the first alarm, Manning stood with pinioned arms, and with the noose around his neck. A hundred stalwart hands upon the rope only waited the signal to swing him upward to a felon’s death. Then, in the very climax of fate, there rang a shout down the valley, and the sheriff with his posse, and the Prosecuting Attorney, swept onto the scene with their horses forced to the limit of speed.

“ Hyar! ” shouted the sheriff, “ what’s this mean?

Drop hold of that rope every man of ye, or I’ll arrest the whole bilin’ of ye fur attempted murder! ” And the young Prosecuting Attorney added: “ I’m ashamed of you men; one murderer is bad enough, and here you were about to give me a full hundred to prosecute. Don’t think for a minute that I won’t hang any lyncher in Lafleet county if I can. I’ll prosecute that sort of murderer about twice as hard as any other.”

Before the officers had ceased speaking not a hand remained upon the rope. The constable hastened to prove to his superiors his own rigid observance of the law, by cutting the cord that bound Manning’s arms, and throwing the rope from his neck, and the young man, thus snatched from the very jaws of death, stood unbound in the midst of the crowd, but a prisoner still. Then the coroner, who had accom¬ panied the other officers, selected six of the older men to serve as a jury, and an inquest was held. Needless to say it was of short duration, for in the mind of every man on the jury the verdict was determined upon before a word of evidence was heard. In vain Manning protested his innocence; in vain he told in detail his every act from the time of leaving the Hampton home that morning, until he dashed into the door with the news of the crime. He was keenly questioned by the officers without varying his state¬ ment in the slightest particular. Indeed so clearly and frankly did he answer every question, so minutely describe every incident, that he won the sympathy of many who had been ready to lynch him. The failure of all endeavors to show a motive for the crime, made several of those who had heard the testimony join John Hampton in his belief of the young man’s innocence.

But the incriminating evidence of the bloody axe, and the fatal stains upon his hands and clothing were too strongly against him, and the verdict was: “ We the jury find that James Walton came to his death from the blow of an axe held in the hands of Nor¬ man Manning.”

Then as a matter of course the sheriff took charge of the prisoner, and before set of sun Norman Man¬ ning found himself an inmate of the ramshackle old jail at the county seat, under a charge of murder in the first degree.

Just as the sheriff was about to start with his prisoner John Hampton laid a kindly hand upon Manning’s shoulder and said in a low voice not heard by the crowd: “ Don’t go to gettin’ skeered Norman; More I studies over hit all, more I knows ye never done hit. And thars more’n one has said as much to me right hyar a’ready. Now tomorrer I’ll come up to town and I’ll git old Colonel Barton to take yer case. He’s the best doggone lawyer into all Missouri, and bein’ that I saved his life endurin’ of the war, when a big rebel were about to stick a bay’net into him, I do reckin thar ain’t nothin’ he wouldn’t do fer me. He’ll clar ye, dont ye be skeered, he’ll clar ye plumb clar! ”

And with the cheery words in his ears, and a warm glow around his heart because of them, Manning gripped the sturdy old fellow’s hand, and rode away with the Sheriff, not joyfully indeed, but with unflinch¬ ing spirit, and a determination to face the situation bravely, and to win victory out of the very jaws of defeat.

CHAPTER II In Which a Voice is Heard

The jail of Lafleet county had been built long before the Civil War. Doubtless in the days of the old pioneers it had been considered a model prison, so strong that it was folly for a captive to dream of escap¬ ing from it. But the years had told upon the ancient structure; the storms of many winters had beaten upon it, until the stout log frame, hewed out by the axes of the forefathers, had decayed and settled in many places. So great had been this decay that some years prior to the date of our story it had been neces¬ sary to prop the walls with great unhewn logs. These set with one end deep in the ground, and the other well up under the eaves, had proved barely able to keep the structure from total collapse.

Of this building the lower story was used as the jail, while the upper floor was fitted as a residence for the sheriff. This official was allowed to employ a jailer, but could, if he so wished, add those duties to his own and put the additional salary to his own account. As there were frequently months at a time when the place was vacant the duties of jailer were not onerous, and sheriff Morton was only too glad to assume them.

In Which a Voice is Heard

At the time that Norman Manning was brought in as a prisoner there were but two inmates of this rural bastile, an ancient violator of the local option law, and a man charged with stealing a horse. Into the central cell between these two malefactors the Sheriff led Manning, and taking off the handcuffs said to him:

“ Make yourself to home now. Supper’ll be ready d’reckly.”

Norman smiled to himself at the words. “ Home ” indeed! Here was a rough log walled room with one small window well up from the floor, and heavily barred. In one corner a rudely built bunk of unplaned boards held an old pillow and a blanket or two, indicating that it was supposed to be a bed. A chair, which from lack of the proper complement of legs was leaning against the wall, and a box supporting a bucket of water, a tin dipper and a cracked wash¬ bowl, completed the furniture of the place.

But rough and narrow as the cell was, and scantily as it was furnished, he could yet see by the fast fading light that it was clean; and the surprise of this dis¬ covery made him feel somewhat more reconciled to his detention therein. The excitement of his discovery of the murdered man, and the rapid succession of thrilling events that followed it, had kept all thought of anything else out of his mind, but now he suddenly realized that neither a morsel of food, or a drop of water had passed his lips since early morning, and that he was literally faint with hunger and thirst.

That recalled the sheriff’s promise that supper would shortly be forthcoming, but under such conditions it seemed an interminable time before the little wicket in the door opened, and an exceedingly clear and sweet voice said: “ Here’s your supper sir. I had given the others theirs before you came, so I had to cook yours afterwards. That is the reason I am so late.”

The narrow hall outside the door was so dark that Manning could not see what manner of person this pleasant voiced young woman might be — that she was a woman and young he at once decided in his mind — but he answered:

“Well it is too bad that I have made you so much trouble, and I am sorry. But I have neither eaten nor drank since before daylight this morning, and you may be sure I am ready for my supper, and thank you for it too.”

“ Why you poor man,” the pleasant voice said, “ I’ll have to bring you some more when that is gone. It would never do for our hotel to get the reputation of not feeding its guests well.” And with a little laugh which sounded strangely out of place in that environment the voice ceased, and a light step carried its owner away from the wicket.

Norman Manning was destined to see many cold and weary days in his future; days when hunger would have its grip upon him, but although he should live to the century mark, he will never forget the exquisite enjoyment of that first meal in the old Lafleet county jail. He felt sure that no such dainty

In Which a Voice is Heard food had ever been set before him, and when, before the end of the meal, the wicket clicked again, v and a fresh supply of biscuits, hot from the oven,^and flanked with a flake of honey in the comb, was handed in, the prisoner laughed and declared to his unseen servitor in the dark hall, that he would almost be content to become a permanent boarder in her “ Hotel,” if this was a fair sample of the regular menu. But the voice only trilled another little laugh, and then Manning was left to his solitary reflections in the dark.

Stretched upon his hard pallet he let his mind wander back over his life. Far away in the twilight of his days, he recalled the time when as a little child his home was with his mother in an Illinois village. He remembered how that mother held him in her arms and wept as she told him of his brave father far away among the battlefields of the South; one of the great army of the Union, fighting for the life of the nation. Then he recalled the terrible day when word came to the cottage home that the husband and father had fallen at the head of his regiment in the battle of Pittsburg Landing.

The memories of that sad time were as vivid to¬ night as on the days of their occurrence. The group of kind hearted neighbors vainly trying to assuage the grief of the stricken wife; the arrival of the casket which held the beloved form; the solemn tones of the minister reading the service for the dead; the sweet voices of the singers; he heard them all again.

Then the lowering of the coffin into the grave, and as the first clods sounded hollowly upon it, the sight of his mother, herself stricken with death and falling into the arms of friends, never more to open her eyes upon Earth’s troubled scenes. Then in a day or two another open grave, and then fatherless and mother¬ less, without a known relative in the world, he faced life alone.

Swiftly, years at a glance now, his mind flew on over the time that followed. His home in the orphanage provided for the children of soldiers. His schooling for a few years, and then his start out into the world to make his own unaided way. His ambition to be a man worthy of such parentage as his. The hard struggles of a moneyless lad, and the joy of winning little by little a humble foothold and place in the world. His decision to follow his father’s profession and to become a lawyer. His long hours of study at night, after other long hours of toil during the day. Then his teaching, as a step in the direction of his ambition. His coming to Lafleet County to apply for the principalship of the Restful school. His engagement for that position, and his pleasant six weeks in the humble home of honest John Hampton. And then this! A prisoner in the cell of a log jail, charged with the wilful murder of a harmless and gentle old man!

CHAPTER III Friends in Need

Half a mile up stream from the Hampton farm stands the little cross roads hamlet of Restful, which we have before mentioned. The “ Town,” as the farmers of the neighborhood proudly termed the place, consisted first, of the two story frame building occupied by Pilant & Wesley as a “ General Store.” In the rear of this emporium were a dozen, or so, pigeon holes behind a dingy glass front, constituting the post office from which the place took its name. Second only to the store building were the neat white residences of the two merchants; while the school house of the district stood a short distance back from the road in a grove of great black walnut trees. This building also served as the meeting place for the Rest¬ ful Methodist church at such times as the preacher on the circuit reached it in the round of his appoint¬ ments. A little further down the road was the black¬ smith shop of “Big Tom Leathers”; and last and least the humble two-room log cabin which sheltered the family of that worthy artizan.

Leathers had taken advantage of the improvement in the weather to make a trip with wagon and team to the nearest railroad town, for a supply of coal, iron, and other items needed in his work. Thus it happened that he was one of the very few men of the neighbor¬ hood who had not been present in the little valley when the coroner's inquest was held. It was after dark that night when he drove up the road and came in sight of Restful. Late as it was he was surprised to notice that the windows of the store were still brightly lit, and that both in the store, and up and down the road in front of it, were scattered groups of men, who by their every gesture showed that they were laboring under great excitement. Halting his team at the first of these groups he said with a laugh:

“ What's the matter that all you fellers is gethered hyar at this time of night? Has Billy Parten married the widder McNatt at last, or what’s up? "

“ Tom," answered one of the older men in the group, “ 'Taint no laughin' matter brung us men hyar. We is hyar because old Jim Walton is a layin' dead and murdered, Tom, yander in his house. And him as good a man as ever old Lafleet County had a'livin into hit! "

“ My God! " shouted the blacksmith, leaping from the wagon as he spoke, “ Who done hit? Don't never go to tell me that ye let the devil that done hit git away! "

“ No Tom, he didn’t never git away neither. Leastways he were took red handed, and they got him safe in the county jail up to Labrador."

“ Well bless God then boys, we've got him. Now then let's forty fifty us fellers strike fur Labrydor right now, and take the bloody houn’ outen that thar old jail and string him up to the first tree! What says ye all? ”

Those who heard this proposition broke into such shouts of endorsement that in a minute every man within hearing was gathered at the spot. And as the new comers learned the cause of the outcry they too added their voices to the chorus of fierce yells which testified the general joy that the leader, whom all this while they had been secretly longing for, was now found. Without another word horses were untied; girths were tightened; men swung grimly into their saddles, and within ten minutes a hundred stern faced avengers were waiting the word to follow Tom Leathers on their mission of vengeance.

The blacksmith had his foot in the stirrup, and a coil of new rope from the store was being hung over the horn of his saddle, when he heard a young man at his side remark:

“ Say Bill, I don’t reckin that thar young school master feller will git to do much teachin’ in Restful deestrik after all! ”

“Well I should say not,” was the reply out of the dark, “ not after we fellers gits done with him, he won’t! ”

“ What’s that ye are a’sayin’ boys? ” cried Big Tom, “ What for won’t the schoolmaster git to teach Restful school? ” ^

For a moment there was absolute silence as " it dawned upon the consciousness of the crowd that

Leathers was as yet in ignorance of the murderer’s identity. Then a man at the blacksmith’s elbow spoke:

“Why Tom, didn’t nobody tell ye? The school¬ master is the very feller that done hit.”

“ Done hit! done what? ” shouted big Tom; “ Ef so be thar’s jest one feller hyar who’s got ary lick of sense left, tell me, what were hit the school¬ master done? ”

“ Bless my soul man I’ll tell ye ef ye’ll give me the chanst. The schoolmaster killed old man Walton, that’s what! and it’s him you’re a’goin’ to lead us to hang up in Labrydor afore mornin’! ”

The effect of this announcement upon the gigantic blacksmith was probably the greatest surprise to the body of men, of all the startling happenings of that day of excitement. Slowly he withdrew his foot from the stirrup. Slowly and stubbornly he straightened himself to the utmost height of his great stature. Then with a voice that rang through the darkened hills, and shaking his great fist in the face of the last speaker he shouted: