Tess of the Storm Country Part 53

"What?"

The cry was sharp--the words hurt.

"Ben Letts air to be tooked to jail. It were him what killed the gamekeeper. It weren't Orn Skinner."

"Who were a-sayin' it were Ben?" demanded Myra, her mouth hard and lined.

"I says it," replied Ezy. "I seed him when he done it, and I comed to tell ye, and to see Mammy and Satisfied."

"Then come in, and go to bed, for ye be sick."

A change gradually came over Myra: cunning grew in the faded eyes and determination straightened the thin shoulders, as she led her brother into the hut.

"Mammy," she called softly, opening the door, "here air Ezy!"

"Fetch him in," cried Satisfied.

Mrs. Longman sank weakly into a chair. The sight of her son, her only son, white and emaciated, and the appearance of the livid scar on his brow drew a painful cry from her lips.

"He air sick," continued Myra, "put him to bed."

"Where air ye been all this time, Ezy?" asked Longman, a.s.sisting him into the small back room. But Ezra was too ill to tell the story, and the mother hushed him to sleep just as she had in those childhood days when he had been good, and always at home.

Meantime, Myra, pale and thoughtful, moved about the shanty. Her mind was upon one subject--she must save Ben Letts from the dreaded rope. She did not question the verity of her brother's statement, for she realized that Ben was not only capable of killing the inspector, but also of placing the guilt upon an innocent man. It did not, however, change her squatter love. The more she thought of Ben's danger, the more she loved and wanted to save him, the more determined she grew to take him away to some place where the officers could not find him.

"Goin' to bed, Myry?" asked Longman, taking the candle and climbing the ladder to the loft.

"Yep, but I air a-goin' to rock the brat a little while. Ye and Mammy go to bed. I locks the door."

She settled herself in the wooden rocking-chair, trundling the child to and fro, and murmuring a doleful tune. Her son was now almost two years old, and beginning to toddle about upon a pair of crooked, thin legs. As often as Ben had visited the hut he had never deigned to look at the child, but Myra had a dull hope that, if she saved the fisherman, he would show some affection for the little boy.

An hour later, the regular breathing of her father and mother told Myra that they both slept. Ezra, too, was sleeping, for she had bent over him but a little time before. The clock on the mantel pointed to midnight.

The girl rose, and fed the baby, dropping some paregoric into his milk to keep him asleep, and then drew a large shawl about the little one, rolling him gently in the warm folds. Finally, she took a piece of paper and a pencil from the shelf.

"Mammy," she wrote, "I's a-goin' to save Ben Letts. Ezy tells ye about it, as how Ben Letts killed the gamekeeper it werent Orn Skinner. I takes the brat cause it air Bens I luves yer and Satisfied."

She pinned the note to the handle of the copper kettle upon the stove, and, lifting the child in her arms, slipped through the door without a sound.

The rain still fell steadily, the turbulent roll of the lake lost only in thunder's roar. Once on the ragged rocks, Myra walked swiftly, afraid of the shadowy objects and ghostly sounds that spectered her path. She threw despairing glances about her, and shrank from the imaginary sneaking figures haunting the dismal night. Almost running, she reached the Letts' shanty.

How soon would the officers come for Ben? They might have been there before her. The cabin was dark, and she tapped timidly upon the kitchen door. Only a great snore from the sleeping Ben inside answered her.

Trying the latch, it lifted in her fingers, and she crept stealthily through the narrow aperture, encircling the child with her left arm.

"Ben!" she whispered. "Ben!"

The squatter turned, muttering sleepily.

"Mammy! What be the matter, Mammy?" The fresh night air startled him.

"Who air it?" he demanded hoa.r.s.ely.

"Myry," breathed the woman again. "Get up.... They air a-comin' to take ye to prison for the killin' of the gamekeeper. I comed to help ye, Ben Letts."

The words soaked slowly into the sluggish brain. Tired from the beating Frederick had given him, and lazy by temperament, Ben did not at first realize that Myra's message meant the hangman's rope for him. He turned again in bed, and sat up. Were the officers of the law waiting for him?

"Ezy air home," resumed Myra rapidly, leaning tensely toward him. "He walked through the rain from Ithacy. He says as how ye air goin' to be tooked to prison. I has the brat here with me ... we air a-goin'

away.... Get up, Ben. Hustle yer bones!"

The blue-jeans breeches, streaked with the blood of many a fish, were drawn on in a twinkling. The great squatter boots quickly covered the h.o.r.n.y feet, and trembling, Ben waited for Myra to lead him from the cabin.

"Where be we a-goin'?" he asked in a whisper.

"I takes ye 'cross the lake to Ludlowville, and then we goes into the hills. A awful storm air a-scootin' along from the north, but we can't wait, for ye'll be took."

By this time they were nearing the sh.o.r.e. The autumn lightning shot out from the sky, veering to the north and unmasking the black, raging lake and the distant city. A heavy roll of awe-inspiring thunder followed the flash. The man and woman did not speak until the flat boat topped the breaking waves.

"The storm air a-goin' to be worse," shouted Ben, scanning the dark clouds. "It air foolhardy to try it, ain't it, Myry?"

"Yep; but we go, all the same. I stays with ye, Ben!"

He did not answer to this, nor did he ask a question then about the return of Ezra. He was satisfied that what he had supposed was the boy's wraith--the disembodied spirit of the lad he had thrown into the Hoghole--was the living Ezra Longman. On his way home from the Skinner hut, Ben had planned a terrible revenge upon the student and Tessibel, but the advent of this unforeseen discovery had placed his enemies beyond his reach. The thought of Tess brought a rasp from his throat.

The creaking oars, under his experienced fingers, carried the boat far from the shadowy sh.o.r.e. Through the frequent lightning he could plainly see Myra in the stern, holding to the child. It was all ending differently from what he had hoped. That he had killed the gamekeeper he knew well, but, when Ezra Longman had disappeared into the Hoghole, Ben thought it took from the earth the only witness of his deed.

On and on through the night sped the boat, until Myra and Ben could see the lights on the college hill. Here and there in the valley beyond, the lightning revealed a farmhouse, the inmates of which were quietly sleeping.

Presently Ben spoke:

"What hes Ezy been a-sayin'?"

"Nothin' but that ye throwed him in the Hoghole, and tried to kill him, and that ye killed the gamekeeper."

"Where hes he been all this time?"

"I dunno. He air awful sick, and Ma put him to bed."

Their voices rose high above the shrieking of the wind. Myra's last words were screamed out. The boat tossed like a bit of tinder, but it was in the hands of a fisherman: Ben knew how to keep it in and out of the troughs of the waves. Once the boat lurched mightily, and Myra gave a frightened cry, wedging the child between her knees. Higher and higher rolled the waves.

"We hev got to bail the water out," yelled Ben. "Bail, Myry, while I rows."

The mother grasped the sleeping child tighter between her knees, and began to throw the water into the lake. Suddenly a great wave half filled the boat.

"Ye can't do it, Ben," Myra screamed. "Ye can't keep the boat top up, and we'll all die to once.... Does ye love yer brat, Ben Letts?"

The voice, prophetic and high-pitched, struck terror to the heart of the fisherman. He stopped rowing, and shouted out over the waves for help.

The lightning made day of the inky night for an instant, and the squatter Ben saw the woman, holding the child under one arm and clinging to the side of the boat with the other, creep toward him.

"Keep away!" he bellowed. "Keep the boat top up!"