Tess of the Storm Country Part 27

Dominie Graves had a consultation with Dan Jordan over the disappearance of his son, and then climbed the University hill to Professor Young's office.

"I feel sure that Frederick has not been harmed," said Graves after greeting the professor, but there was question in his voice.

An expression of deep concern spread over Young's face.

"I heartily hope not," responded he, "for I know of no finer young man in the University."

"I think the boy would put up a great fight if he had a chance," resumed the minister, "but with a lot of fellows against him one chap can't do much. I hardly know what to think. There seems to be nothing to do but to await his return. Young Jordan said last night that they had searched every place where it was possible for him to be, but the boy was not to be found. His mother is growing anxious."

"I should think that she would be worried," replied Young. "It's a beastly practise this stealing of the freshman's president, and unworthy of such a college as this. I shall be glad when it is abolished. There is nothing during the year that creates such furore as this banquet."

A file of papers was under Professor Young's hand and as he spoke he toyed absent-mindedly with one of the long official envelopes. Dominie Graves caught a glimpse of some words that made the color rush hot into his face. The envelope contained an appeal for a new trial for Orn Skinner. He coughed slightly and opened a new topic.

"I see you are still interested in Skinner?"

"Yes!"

"Have you succeeded in getting him a new trial?"

"Not yet, but at any hour I expect to hear that the governor will give me an opportunity to defend him. I fully believe that the man is innocent, that he ought to have another chance for his life. As I said in the court-room the squatter trials are but farces. I don't approve of them."

"You're but a stranger in our town," interposed the Dominie. "When you've been here as long as I have, Professor Young, you will see that the strictest measures are necessary with these people. The rope is none too good for that man, Skinner."

"G.o.d forbid," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Young, "that I should live ever to wish away a man's life on any--personal motive."

Tessibel's sweet upturned face, shrouded in red-brown hair rose before him, but it did not obscure the dark flush that swept over the handsome face of the minister. The professor had intimated that he thought personal motives were being used to persecute the squatter. This tried the patience of Elias Graves as he sat gathering an argument to refute the accusation. He had even persuaded himself that it was for the good of the town to remove one after another of the loathsome fishermen either by the rope or imprisonment. Without their men the squatter women also would disappear from the sh.o.r.es.

He rose with a sense of coming evil stealing over him for the man seated opposite was a tower of strength and his own position in the town had been weakened in the late church conflict. The reins of affairs were being swept from his hands. He could not speak out more emphatically than he had against Skinner. On all sides, friends were rising mushroom-like to rescue the fisherman from the hangman's noose.

If he himself could gain a few strong friends he would be able to sweep the squatter from the face of the earth.

As he walked toward the Rectory after leaving Professor Young he set his teeth hard, these thoughts rus.h.i.+ng through his mind, and inflaming his desire to rule in Ithaca as he always had. Even his anxiety about Frederick was obscured by the mult.i.tudinous plans that one after another were born in his brain. He closed the library door of the Rectory with an annoyed air and dropped into an arm-chair to think.

Professor Young sat long after the departure of Dominie Graves, looking at the bundle of papers in his hand. He had not dared to venture to the Skinner hut, although his heart called constantly for the red-haired girl who was holding the shanty home against her enemies. He knew that Tess was living as best she could, existing on the meager fare allotted to her kind. Young had seen Tessibel but once since her father had been taken to Auburn Prison and his face flushed as he thought that in a few days he would be able to tell her that her "Daddy" had received a stay upon his execution, that he honestly believed the shadowing rope would never seek the beloved head again.

It was only of late that Deforest Young would allow himself to admit that Tessibel Skinner had a stronger hold upon him than he ever thought possible for any woman to obtain, much less a child of such a race. He knew now that his life's interest lay in making a woman of her, a woman such as only Tess could make, with her deep primeval nature and splendid soul. If the girl could but return his love in part, it would place him in a position to help and educate her, but his great growing love gave birth to a fear that he might not be able to awaken in the squatter girl a soul affection for himself. Nevertheless he would spare nothing to elevate her. He expected a hard task to prove Skinner not guilty, and every hour he hoped to receive a letter from the Governor of the state giving him the desired year to gain the necessary evidence in favor of the fisherman.

He was still meditating in this strain when the Governor's letter was handed to him. For almost an hour he sat with his head in his hands, building an imaginary home, which he had never thought would be his, and in still sweeter imaginings he held close to his heart a fair, sweet girl, growing into her heritage of womanhood.

For two whole days Frederick Graves had been held a captive in his unfurnished prison. He knew that forty-eight hours marked the time before the banquet, also that if he could not escape before then he would have to be absent from the cla.s.s dinner. Only once had Armstrong spoken to him that day and an expression of fine scorn upon the handsome president's face had been the answer. The soph.o.m.ore was stretched out upon the bed, the revolver still in his hand, and drumming with the fingers of his left hand upon the much soiled wall:

"Graves," he began, "if you think this is any snap for me or that I like my job you're mistaken. I hate to be cooped up here as much as you do."

Frederick might not have been within hearing of the words for all the attention he paid to the speaker. Armstrong sat up straight with a deep far-fetched yawn.

"Come on, Graves," implored he, "let's play cards. It's hanged dismal with nothing to do."

Still Frederick kept his dignified silence. He looked down upon his coatless arms and pondered, then raised his eyes to the long window, but settled them again upon his boots. From the corner of his eye he saw his jailer place the revolver upon the table--it roused him suddenly for he was getting desperate to escape. With lightning-like rapidity he made up his mind to action. Lunging forward he brought his right fist in heavy contact with his companion's nose while the strong left hand swept the revolver under the opposite bed.

Simultaneously with the sound of the falling weapon came the crash of broken gla.s.s--Frederick Graves had swept like a young hurricane through the long window. The falling of the heavy body, and running footsteps brought Armstrong hastily to his feet. He dazedly brushed back a lock of hair from his brow, scrambled back under the bed after the gun then rushed to the broken window.

"By gosh, that was brave," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed he.

Three times he fired the pistol into the night--the signal of trouble to give to his cla.s.smates--then sat down and waited disgustedly, nursing his bruised nose.

Frederick landed in the street, stunned for a single instant, but the snow was soft and the moment critical. He gathered himself up, rubbed off the blood that trickled from his fingers, and broke through the street on a run. He found himself in the lower portion of the town not far from the Leigh Valley tracks. To go eastward toward home would attract attention for he was without hat, coat, or vest, and it would probably lead to his recapture. He crossed the inlet bridge, pa.s.sing a man here and there who stared after him as if he were a shade, which had risen from its grave seeking some kindred soul to haunt.

As Frederick pa.s.sed the lighted squatter mission, the thought of the warmth within made his teeth chatter. He would have given much to have been able to place his cold hands over the fire which burned brightly in the room. Suddenly he stopped in his rapid flight for liberty for stepping to the tracks directly in front of him was the squatter girl.

She had not noticed him and the student knew that she was homeward bound.

"Tessibel Skinner!"

The girl stopped, electrified, and tossed up her head.

"Tessibel Skinner!" called Frederick again.

When the girl recognized him, she came toward him with the awkward, conscious gait of a maid walking before the man she loved. Her eyes took in the half-clothed form of the student with one hasty glance.

"What air the matter?" she asked in an undertone.

Had the student been brought face to face with a dilemma like that of Daddy Skinner? With the instincts of a squatter Tess could think of nothing that would intimidate but the law.

"I have just escaped," replied Frederick, s.h.i.+vering.

Then he was in danger. He needed her as she had needed him, and Tess had no doubt but that he was on his way to her shanty to ask her aid.

"Ye air runnin' from some bloke?" she demanded slyly.

"Yes."

"But ye air cold," said she, "ye can't walk four miles without a coat."

"Where are you going to take me?" Frederick scented a place of safety.

"To my hut," replied the squatter stoically. "Wait! Ye stop here a minute."

She bounded into the road from the railway tracks, leaving Frederick staring helplessly after her. At the door of the mission she halted with the slyness that had been taught her from the cradle, bending her head forward to ascertain if any person were witness of her action. She opened the door and fled like a young deer toward the organ, then, ripping the crimson cloth from the altar, she fled out again into the night, running pantingly toward the student.

"It air for you--put it on," she ordered, proffering him the embroidered spread.

"Where did you--?" hesitated Frederick.

"Put it on, I say. I'll fan it back some time if ye will. Ye can't freeze with that--and there air bacon, fish and bread in the hut."