CHAPTER III
It was after dark before Abner Pickett came home. Dannie had waitedlong for him at the gate, his loneliness and anxiety increasing as theminutes went by. He knew, from long experience, what to expect whenhis grandfather should learn about the railroad survey through thegap and the graveyard. He sincerely hoped that he would learn aboutit before he reached home. Not that he, himself, stood in fear of hisgrandfather, very far from that; but he dreaded to be the bearer to himof evil tidings. Nevertheless it was with a long sigh of relief that herecognized the familiar sound of the rattling buckboard as it came upout of the darkness to his ears. Ten minutes later Abner Pickett droveup to the gate.
"Hello, Gran'pap!"
"Hello, Dan! Out rather late, ain't you?"
"Waitin' for you, Gran'pap."
"Well, I'm here, an' glad to get here. How'd things go to-day? Gabrielget the potatoes all out? Have a good time at school, Dan?"
It was evident that he had not heard about the railroad, or hecertainly would not have been in this cheerful frame of mind. Aftermature deliberation Dannie decided that it would not be advisable tobreak the news to him until after he had eaten his supper.
Gabriel came out to help carry the parcels into the house and put awaythe team.
"I got the suspenders for you, Dan--red in the middle, with sky-blueedges an' pink posies on the end. How does that strike you, eh?"
"Thank you, Gran'pap. They're very nice, I'm sure."
They all went out to the barn with the team. Abner Pickett liked tosee, for himself, that his horses were well taken care of. He seldomcame from town in a more cheerful mood than that which possessed himto-night. Everything had gone his way during the day, and that fact wasclearly reflected in his manner and conversation. When he went into thefeed-room after the oats, taking the lantern with him, Gabriel took theopportunity to pull Dannie's sleeve, and ask in a ghostly whisper:--
"Ain't heerd about it, has 'e?"
"No, I suppose not."
"Who's a-goin' to tell 'im?"
"Can't you?"
"Not on your life! Wouldn't do it fer the hull farm--live-stock throwedin. He'd light onto me like a thousan' o' brick. 'Discretion is thebetter part o' valor when theys a job to lose,' ez ol' Isra'l Pidginuse to say."
"Well, then, I suppose I'll have to. Thought I'd wait till after he'shad his supper. Wouldn't you?"
"Great scheme! 'A full stummick is twin brother to a big heart,' ez ol'Isra'l--'sh! 'sh!"
Abner Pickett came back from the feed-room with a measure brimming fullwith oats, and divided the grain carefully between the two horses,talking in the meantime in the most cheerful manner of the work on thefarm, and of the incidents of his trip to town.
When the task at the barn was finished, they all went back to thehouse, and the old man sat down alone to the supper saved for him byAunt Martha. Afterward he joined Dannie and Gabriel on the side porch.The smoke from his pipe curled up through the warm, still air, andfloated about among the rafters of the ceiling.
"Ain't it about time you went to bed, Dannie?" he asked gently, liftinghis feet to a resting-place on the porch railing.
"I thought I'd stay up a bit yet, Gran'pap; it's so warm an' pleasantto-night."
"Well, I don't mind if you do."
After that there was silence for a time. Then there was the sound ofa footstep on the walk, and a man came up out of the darkness. It wasDavid Brown, the next neighbor to the west.
"Heard you were down to the river to-day, Mr. Pickett," he said."Wanted to see you a minute. Thought I wouldn't disturb you till afteryou'd had your supper."
"Just finished. Glad to see you. Come up on the stoop, David, and havea chair."
Mr. Brown accepted the invitation very willingly.
"Thought I'd run down for a minute," he continued, "and ask about thenew railroad. Thought maybe you might 'a' heard something about it downto the river."
"What new railroad, David?"
"Why, the Delaware Valley and Eastern, I believe they call it. Inoticed they were pointing pretty straight for my place when they quitto-night."
"I don't quite understand. Has there been more talk about railroads?"
Mr. Brown turned to Dannie.
"Haven't you told your grandfather about it yet?" he asked.
"Not yet," stammered Dannie. "I--I was just going to when you came."
Gabriel left the chair in which he was sitting next his employer, andwent down and seated himself on the porch steps. Abner Pickett tookhis pipe from his mouth, and, grasping it firmly in the fingers ofhis right hand, looked questioningly from one member of the group toanother.
"Well," he said at last, "why don't somebody speak? Are you all struckdumb? What is it about the railroad, Dannie?"
"Why, Gran'pap, they--the surveyors you know--they--they--"
"Well?"
"Whacked their stakes in regardless--" broke in Gabriel, in his intenseanxiety to help Dannie out.
Abner Pickett turned on him savagely:--
"Shut up, you fool!" he commanded. "Go on, Dannie."
"Well, they ran a railroad line up through the gap an' stopped at theupper end of the potato lot."
It was out at last, much to Dannie's relief. When Abner Pickett spokeagain, his voice was as quiet and steady as though he were discussingnothing of greater moment than crops or cattle.
"Do it to-day, did they?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Dannie, "to-day."
"Set their stakes?"
"Yes, set their stakes."
"Anything done to prevent 'em?"
"Why, no. I couldn't do anything. I told 'em that they would neverbuild their railroad, though."
"Laughed at you, didn't they?"
Dannie's cheeks flushed with mortification and anger as he recalled hisinterview with the engineer.
"Why, yes, they did; but I told 'em--"
"No matter what you told 'em; was anything done?"
The rising inflection in the old man's voice warned his hearers thathe was no longer able to smother the fires of anger kindled in hisbreast.
"Nothing, Gran'pap. There were seven of them."
Again, in his anxiety to come to Dannie's assistance, Gabriel brokein:--
"I told 'em that ef Abner Pickett was there, he--"
"Shut up, you fool!"
Gabriel obeyed his employer's command without a word of comment. Thesilence which followed was broken by David Brown.
"Just thought I'd come over, Mr. Pickett, and inquire. Didn't know butmaybe you might know what they were paying for right of way."
The old man straightened himself in his chair.
"Right o' way!" he exclaimed scornfully; "right o' way! They don't payfor it; they steal it. They pick out the best land you've got, settheir stakes on it, an' call it theirs. They're thieves an' robbers,an' cowards as well. Yes, cowards! Else why did they wait all summer topick out a day when I was away from home an' nobody on the premises buta thirteen year old boy an' a blamed fool of a hired man. Oh! if I'd'a' been here, I'd 'a' told 'em where to set their stakes!"
He rose to his full six feet two inches, straight as a pine tree, hisneck and face crimson with anger, his blue eyes flashing fire. NeighborBrown arose and moved awkwardly down the steps.
"Guess I'll have to be going, Mr. Pickett," he said. "Thought I'd justrun over an' see--an' see if there was any news from the river."
But Abner Pickett had a parting shot to fire.
"Mind what I tell you, David Brown. If they're a-pointing toward yourplace, the only way to protect your rights is to set on your line fencewith a shot-gun in your hands. The law won't help you, an' compensationfor the right o' way is nothin' more nor less than an insult. There'smy advice to you. Take it, or let it alone, as you like."
After David Brown had gone, the old man grew somewhat calmer. He tooktwo or three turns up and down the porch, and then resumed his seat.
"Strike into the potato field, did they?" he asked of Dannie.
"Yes," was the reply; "went up through the west end of it, far as thebig rock."
"Where else did they go?"
"Why, they cut across the corner of the meadow lot, an' below that theyrun through--"
"Well?"
"Through--oh, Gran'pap!"
The old man rose slowly to his feet again, as if impelled thereto by adreadful thought.
"Dannie--the graveyard?"
"Yes, Gran'pap."
The clay pipe which Abner Pickett had been smoking broke into a dozenpieces beneath the pressure of his clenched hand, and fell rattling tothe floor. It was a full minute before he asked the next question.
"Dannie, how near--how near the grave?"
"Halfway between it and the road, Gran'pap."
They were all three standing now; and Aunt Martha, attracted by theunusual sound of their voices, had come to see if anything was wrong,and stood listening in the doorway. The old man spoke slowly, but withterrible emphasis.
"It is sacrilege. It is not only ignoring the rights o' the living, itis violating the rights o' the dead. No better deed could be done byany one than to pull their accursed stakes from the ground and fling'em, one and all, into the water of the brook!"
"'No better deed could be done by any one than to pulltheir accursed stakes from the ground, and fling 'em, one and all, intothe water of the brook.'"]
He walked slowly across the porch and into the house; but before he hadgone half-way through the kitchen he turned and came back to the door.
"Dannie," he asked, "what kind of a lookin' man was the engineer?"
"A short man, Gran'pap, with black eyes an' hair."
The old man gave a sigh of relief, but he was not yet quite satisfied.
"Was there only one of 'em?" he asked.
"Why, there was another engineer at the other instrument."
"An' how did he look?"
"Oh! he was tall an' had red cheeks an' blue eyes an' light hair,hadn't he, Gabriel?"
"Gabriel, who was it? Speak!"
Abner Pickett had turned upon Gabriel and made his demand so abruptly,so savagely, that the man was almost too frightened to reply.
"Why--why--" he stammered.
"Well, speak! speak! speak!"
"Why, I don't rightly know, Mr. Pickett. I wa'n't payin' no attentionto that one. I was lookin' at the other one; the little one with blackwhiskers, the smart one, the--"
"Didn't you see the other one at all? Don't you know who it was? Hadn'tyou ever seen 'im before? Speak!"
"Why, Mr. Pickett, as I was tellin' ye, I didn't pay no partic'lerattention to that one. I was--"
"You fool!"
The old man loosed his grip on the handle of the door, strode acrossthe kitchen, and disappeared into the shadows of his own bedroom. Afterthat, for many minutes, there was silence between Dannie and Gabriel.The hired man was the first to speak.
"Well, as ol' Isra'l Pidgin use to say, 'Betwixt the fool an' thephilosopher, the fool's the happiest.' I shan't lose no sleep to-night;he will. Come, Dannie, it's high time fer both of us to foller hisexample an' turn in."
As he finished speaking, he passed through the open door, across thekitchen, and up the steep staircase to his own room.
Then Aunt Martha came out to where Dannie still stood on the porch,and laid her hand lovingly on his head.
"Gabriel's right," she said, "it's time you were in bed."
"Yes, I know; but isn't it terrible, Aunt Martha?"
"It's unfortunate, Dannie. But he had to know it; and the sooner, thebetter. You know how he is; and he'll be partly over it by morning. Buthe's very good to you, Dannie, very good."
"Yes, Aunt Martha, he is. My father couldn't have been better to me.Where is my father, Aunt Martha?"
She was not his aunt. He had no aunt, nor uncle either, for thatmatter. But she had taken him in her arms when his mother died, and shehad nursed him in sickness, and fed him in health, and cared for himconstantly; and she was just as proud of this rugged and manly boy asever his own mother could have been. She could have answered the boy'squestion. She and she only could have given him the information hedesired. For, through all the years, she had kept in touch with CharliePickett. She had written letters to him at midnight, and mailed themsecretly, telling him of his child's health and growth and prosperity.But she did not dare to tell this boy what she knew; she dared only totell him what she hoped.
"He's somewhere in the wide world, dearie. Sometime, I hope, he'll comeback to us."
And yet she felt, in her heart, that her "sometime" would not be untilAbner Pickett's tongue was forever still.
"Why did he go away? Was Gran'pap unkind to him? Tell me that, AuntMartha."
"Oh, no! I can't tell you that. I can't set myself up as a judgebetween those two. But it'll all come out right in the end, Dannie; I'msure of that; it always does. It's for you and me to do just the verybest we can, and not worry ourselves about things we can't help. Try todo that, Dannie. You're a brave boy, and I'm proud of you."
"Thank you, Aunt Martha!"
Again the boy's attempt to learn something about his father had beenfoiled, as it had been so often before. He sank down into the porchchair despairingly, and leaned his head on his hand. The full moon,riding gloriously in the eastern sky, shone upon his face and revealedthe tears upon his cheeks. In spite of the good woman's counsel hecould not yet repress the longing of his heart.
"I want him so, Aunt Martha!" he exclaimed. "I want him so! If hewas dead, as my mother is, I'd never think of it. But somewhere he'sliving, and I can't get to him, and he won't come to me, and no onewill tell me why, and there's such a mystery about it all. Oh, I can'tunderstand it!"
Aunt Martha dropped to her knees beside his chair and drew his headdown to her shoulder.
"There, there!" she said soothingly, "never mind! It'll all endhappily, I know. You're tired to-night, and it's very late. Come, go tobed now, that's a good boy. Things'll look brighter in the morning."
So, with gentle words, she led him to his room, gave him a tendergood-night, and then went about her duties, one of those sweet soulsthat love to smooth out the hard places on life's pathway for thetender feet of others. Thank Heaven that they live!
Dannie went to bed, but not to sleep. He could not forget hisgrandfather's mighty anger; and the old man's declaration, made withsuch terrible emphasis, kept ringing in his ears, "No better deedcould be done by any one than to pull their accursed stakes from theground and fling 'em, one and all, into the water of the brook."
After a while he rose and looked out of the window. The country wasflooded with moonlight. The woods and fields were bathed in it. Thewillows that marked the sinuous course of the brook were transformedinto shivering masses of silver. The public road, leading to thewest, wound, luminously gray, through the meadow and under the trees.Black, in the shadowed face of the ridge, lay the mouth of the gap,and white and clear-cut against it shone out the marble column thatmarked the sacred grave. Dannie imagined that he could almost see theline of stakes set by the engineers, starting at the big rock in thepotato field, cutting down by the corner of the meadow, across theroad, through the graveyard, and into the gap. He wondered how long itwould be before the railroad would be built, before the trains would berolling by, before the greensward of the burial place would be cut andslashed and torn by the picks and spades of workmen, before the gravesthemselves would tremble and shrink beneath the strain and stress ofponderous engines and thundering trains. The thing was too dreadful tocontemplate. And again, more clear, more distinct, more impressive thanever, the words of Abner Pickett rang through his mind, "No better deedcould be done by any one than to pull their accursed stakes from theground and fling 'em, one and all, into the water of the brook."
Then there came into his mind a thought that, all in a moment, set hisheart throbbing tumultuously, and his breast heaving with excitement.Well, why not? Abner Pickett had declared that no better deed could bedone by any one. If that were true, was not Abner Pickett'
s grandsonthe one to do it? And if it were to be done, could there be a morefavorable time in which to do it than this glorious moonlight night?If, when the morning dawned, those hated stakes had disappeared, wouldnot Abner Pickett be again in possession of every right in his ownland, with the power to keep it; and would not the insult to the deadbe properly avenged?
The more Dannie thought of the scheme, the more firmly it tookpossession of his mind, the more thoroughly he became convinced thatit was right and just for him to carry out the desire so forciblyexpressed by his grandfather. From the very nature of the enterpriseit was apparent to him that he could take no one into his confidence.Whatever was done must be done by him alone. And there was no time tolose. He began, mechanically, to put on his clothes, and finished thetask in nervous haste. He crept down the stairs in his stocking feet,with his shoes in his hand, found his cap, slid back the bolt on thehall door, and passed out on the front porch. Max, the dog, came fromthe woodhouse, barking softly, and, leaping up on him, tried to lickhis face.
"Down, old fellow, down! No, you can't go. Back to your box; back!"
He led the way back to the woodhouse, ordered the dog to his bed again,found his own hatchet, and then passed hurriedly down the path to thegate. Once in the road, he began to run, and did not stop till hehad reached the fence marking the western limit of the potato field.He climbed hastily over and began to hunt for the last stake set bythe surveyors. When he found it he loosened it with two blows of hishatchet, pulled it from the ground, and started back to find the nextone. This also he removed, and kept on down the line, treating allstakes in his course in the same way. When he crossed the road andcame to the border of the brook he threw his armful of stakes into thewater and, standing there triumphantly, he saw them float away. Thenhe climbed over the stone wall and entered the graveyard. He foundthe stake set in the centre of the plot, pulled it from its fasteningin the greensward, and flung it gleefully after the others. He feltthat he had now given this cherished half-acre again wholly into thepossession of his grandfather, and that he had, so far as in him lay,avenged the insult to the dead.
But he did not stop here. He had no thought of doing so. He was flushedwith his triumph, and the spirit of destruction was aflame in hisbreast. Following down the line of survey, he drew stake after stakefrom the yielding soil, and consigned them all to the mercy of thestream. Already he had entered the gap. The full moon that shone downbetween the precipitous walls of the gorge made the road that woundalong the base of the northerly cliff almost as light as day. For halfa mile there was scarcely room for the road and the brook to passthrough, so narrow was the space between the towering heights on eitherside. Some of the stakes indeed were set in the bed of the stream,while others encroached on the travelled track of the highway. Some ofthem, in the shadow of rock or tree or bush, Dannie had to search tofind. But not one escaped his vigilance--not one. And when, at last, heemerged from the gap and came out on the eastern face of the ridge thatflanked the Delaware, he had not left a mark or a monument behind himto indicate that a corps of engineers had ever passed that way.
Here the road forks; one branch going to the north and reaching PortLenox, the up-river town, the other descending rapidly to the villageof Fisher's Eddy on the south. But the brook, unchecked, goes straighton, down the rugged hillside, churned into foam, dashed into spray,leaping from rock to rock, losing itself at last in the slow-movingflood of the Delaware. Dannie stood for a moment looking out over thebroad valley and the shining river, and down at the few twinklinglights of the village to the south. Then he turned again to his yetuncompleted task. The line of survey followed the public road to thenorth, keeping somewhat above it in its descent, and for nearly halfa mile farther the boy had no trouble in finding the stakes, tearingthem from their beds and flinging them down the steep declivity intothe tangle of rocks and brushwood below. When he had gone to the limitof his grandfather's land, he stopped and turned back. He was tired.He did not know how late it might be. He felt that he must hurry home.So he hastened up the road, along the easterly face of the hillsidenow falling into shadow, and entered the mouth of the gorge. Betweenthe great rock faces, now bright in the moonlight, now dark in theshade, he trudged wearily. When he was halfway through the glen, heheard the sound of voices ahead of him. He stood still and listened.Men were talking in subdued tones. There was a splash in the water, thecrackling of dry brush, the tapping of wood as though some one weredriving stakes, the clinking of steel as though a chain were beingdragged along the ground. Then, from behind a projecting ledge, a manadvanced into the moonlight, and, before Dannie, in his surprise andfear, could either speak or run, the light of a lantern was flashedinto his face.