Pickett's Gap

  CHAPTER V

  It is the law in Pennsylvania that when a railroad company locates itsroute for a railroad by making its survey and setting its stakes, andthat route is duly approved by its board of directors, it can hold thelocation as against any other company making a subsequent survey.

  At the time of the events here recorded, two rival railroad corporationshad become suddenly aware of the value of Pickett's Gap as an outletfrom the anthracite coal fields easterly to the Delaware river and totidewater. Not that the project of building a railroad across thatsection of country was by any means a new one. On the contrary, it hadbeen talked of for years. Indeed, a survey had once been made to withina mile of the mouth of the gap, but the stakes had rotted away or beendestroyed long before. It was due to a combination of certain greatrailroad and coal interests that the subject had been now revived. Andthe engineers, looking over the ground, became suddenly impressed withthe importance of securing the Pickett's Gap route. From that moment itwas a race between the Delaware Valley and Eastern Railroad Company andthe Tidewater and Western Railroad Company to secure the right of waythrough Pickett's Gap. This gorge, the only opening for fifteen milesthrough the ridge that flanked the westerly shore of the Delaware,became thenceforth the objective point toward which the engineers ofboth railroad companies bent all their energies. The D. V. & E. workedup toward it from the Delaware and the east; while the T. & W. came downthe country from the west, adopting, unknown to its rival, the old surveyof former years. From information received at the office of the T. & W.it was known that Nicholson, the D. V. & E. engineer, was, on a certainday in September, working up from the shore of the Delaware toward themouth of the gorge, and that, in all probability, he would set his stakesin that coveted glen on the following day. There was only one way tooutwit him and gain precedence, and that was by connecting with theterminal point of the old survey, and making a night location through thegap. This scheme originated in the fertile mind of the chief engineer ofthe T. & W., and he sent his most trusted lieutenant, Charlie Pickett, tocarry out the plan. No better selection could have been made, for CharliePickett was familiar with every foot of the ground. By his own unaidedeffort through thirteen years he had risen through the various positionsof axeman, chainman, flagman, rodman, and leveller, until now, astransitman, he was intrusted with the most careful and critical work ofone of the youngest and most vigorous of the railroad corporations ofPennsylvania.

  But both Pickett and his chief had miscalculated Nicholson's energy.Instead of stopping for the night on the easterly slope of the ridgethat overlooked the Delaware, that wiry and energetic custodian ofthe fortunes of the D. V. & E. had, as we have already seen, pushedhis survey vigorously through Pickett's Gap, and was the first tooccupy the route. That Charlie Pickett did not know this when, inthe moonlight, he set his stakes between the walls of the glen, wasnot his fault. There was nothing on the ground to indicate that anyengineer had preceded him. Nor did Nicholson know, when he led his menup through the gap on the following morning, that the stakes at whichhe glanced as he hurried on had not been set by him. The mist hungabout him like a thick cloud when he set up his instrument near the bigrock in the potato field and continued his survey, and it was no wonderthat the change in the line of stakes did not attract his attention.Indeed, the true state of things was not known that day nor the next byany person save one,--poor, unfortunate Dannie Pickett. And the longerhe held his secret locked in his breast, the more fearful he became ofa final disclosure. How long his reckless, not to say criminal, deedcould remain unknown to others he did not know; he did not dare tothink.

  A few days later Abner Pickett was sitting on his porch enjoying anafter-dinner smoke. Dannie was at school, and Gabriel was in the backlot. A very trimly dressed young man descended from a wagon at thefront gate and walked up the path. It was with fear and trembling thathe approached Abner Pickett. He had heard many stories of the old man'speculiarities, of his opposition to railroads in general, and of hisbitter resentment against the D. V. & E. in particular. He had been ledto believe that it would be almost safer to beard a lion in its den,than to face this irrepressible old man in his own home on such anerrand as this.

  It was the duty of his company, however, under the law, to make atleast an attempt to settle, and it was his mission to-day, howeverfruitless it might be, to use all of his skill and strategy in theeffort to purchase a right of way through Pickett's Gap. He put on amost courteous demeanor.

  "This is Mr. Pickett, I believe?"

  "Pickett's my name," replied the old man, calmly. "Will you come up onthe stoop an' take a chair?"

  "Thank you very much. My name is Safford, Mr. Pickett. I represent theDelaware Valley and Eastern Railroad Company."

  "Yes?"

  "You are doubtless aware that this company has laid out a route for arailroad through your land?"

  "Yes, I know it."

  Here the agent launched out into a eulogy of the company, and dwelteloquently upon the advantages which would accrue to the country ingeneral, and to the owner of the Pickett farm in particular, by reasonof the building of the railroad as surveyed. Abner Pickett did notappear to be impressed in the slightest degree. The agent began to feelthat his worst fears were about to be realized.

  "We need the right to pass through your property, Mr. Pickett, and we arewilling to pay you for it, I may say liberally. Have you--a--consideredwhat compensation would be satisfactory to you?"

  "No, I haven't."

  "Well, if I am correctly informed, we run through your land a distanceof about seven thousand feet. In no place do we need or take more thanfifty feet in width. That would make, as you see, about eight acres.Now, I really don't know what your land is worth per acre."

  The rising inflection at the end of this last sentence called for ananswer; but none was vouchsafed by Abner Pickett. He continued to puffslowly at his pipe and gaze out toward the distant hills.

  "As I said, Mr. Pickett, we are willing to pay you liberally. Weconsider that the right of passage through the gap is of considerableimportance and much value to us. How--for instance--how would eighthundred dollars strike you?"

  The agent waited, in breathless suspense, for a reply. The old manshifted his gaze from the distant landscape to the agent's face. Heremoved his pipe slowly from his mouth, leaned back in his chair, andanswered:--

  "Young man, it ain't worth it."

  The representative of the company was stricken dumb with astonishment.He had never before had an experience like this. Men usually consideredtheir property worth twice what he offered to pay them for it. Indeed,he had been prepared to double his offer to the owner of Pickett's Gap,rather than have the slightest difficulty or delay in procuring a rightof way. When he had partially recovered from his surprise, he foundvoice to say:--

  "Well, Mr. Pickett, that gap, you know, is a most favorable outlet forus. We really need it, and are willing to pay you for it what it isworth."

  "Just so. But you can't pay me any such price as that. I say it ain'tworth it."

  The agent was still wondering whether or not he was dreaming. Buthis sense of a good bargain was beginning to reassert itself, and heinquired hesitatingly:--

  "What, for instance, would you consider right, Mr. Pickett? What, inshort, may I ask is your figure?"

  "Let me see. How many acres do you say you take?"

  "About eight acres all together."

  "So! Well, my land is worth twenty dollars an acre, take it on anaverage."

  "But, Mr. Pickett, that would only come to a hundred and sixty dollars.That is--pardon me--but that is really inadequate. Why, we only take anacre and a half of John Davis, just above you here, and we pay him ahundred and fifty dollars, and do it cheerfully."

  "Young man, I ain't runnin' John Davis's business, an' he ain't runnin'mine. If you want that land at twenty dollars an acre, you can have it.If you don't, you can let it alone. I shan't take a cent more nor less."

  Continuing to protest, the agent drew from
his pocket a blank contractof purchase and began to fill it up, drawing his chair to the littlethree-cornered porch stand. Poising his pen in his hand, he looked upat the old man appealingly:--

  "Let's make it two hundred dollars, Mr. Pickett. Really, I--"

  But Abner Pickett interrupted him impatiently:--

  "I've told you what's what. If you want the property at my figure, getyour paper ready an' I'll sign it; if you don't want it, say so an'don't waste any more o' my time."

  That settled it. The contract was completed, and duly signed and sealedby Abner Pickett. When he had done this, he turned slowly to theagent:--

  Signing the Contract.]

  "Now, I want to tell you just one thing, young man," he said; "yourcompany sent their engineers here an' laid out their railroad in ascientific an' gentlemanly way. They had consideration for me an' formy property. An' above all else--far an' away above all else--they hadrespect an' reverence for the dead. When they came to my graveyard theyturned aside an' ran around it, didn't they?"

  "Really, Mr. Pickett, I am not familiar with the details of thelocation. But you have seen the stakes set by the engineers, haven'tyou? Well, those stakes mark the centre line of the right of way youare selling to us."

  "Very good. But if your engineers had staked a line through mygraveyard, regardless of the rights o' the livin', or the reverencedue the dead, they couldn't 'a' bought a square inch o' my land for allthe money they could 'a' piled on my farm. An' what's more, I'd 'a'lawed 'em, an' jawed 'em, an' fought 'em from now till the crack o'doom. That's all. Good day!"

  He thrust his hat on his head, shook hands with his visitor, and strodeaway in the direction of the barn. The right-of-way agent watched himas he disappeared, then he put his papers carefully into his pocket,adjusted his hat at the proper angle on his head, and remarking tohimself that this was certainly the most astonishing man it had everbeen his good fortune to discover, he walked down the path, resumed hisseat in the carriage, and drove smartly up the road. It was alreadybeginning to rain. The heavy mist of the preceding morning had been theforerunner of a September storm. By the time night came, the rain waspouring down, the wind was blowing furiously, and it required a blazingwood fire in the sitting room of the Pickett house to maintain thecomfort of the inmates. Before this fire Abner Pickett and Dannie wereseated, while Aunt Martha was still busy with her household duties.Every hour that had passed since the night of his adventure had leftDannie more perplexed, more distressed, more conscience stricken, morefearful of the final result of his rash and, what seemed to him now,incomprehensible conduct. He sat looking at the blazing logs, sayingnothing, but torturing his brain to find some way out of the dreadfuldilemma into which he had thrust himself with such foolhardy bravery.He did not know that he had not yet reached the depth of his anxietyand misery; but he was soon to learn it. His grandfather broke thesilence.

  "Right-o'-way agent was here to-day, Dannie."

  "The--the what?"

  "Right-o'-way agent. The man that buys the right o' way for the newrailroad."

  "Which new railroad."

  "There's only one that I've heard anything about. They call it the D.V. & E., don't they?"

  "I believe so. An' what did he want, Gran'pap?"

  "Wanted to buy the right o' way for his railroad through my property,of course. And I sold it to him, of course. Strip fifty feet wide,right through. Sold it for a hundred an' sixty dollars. What do youthink o' that bargain, Dan?"

  "Why, Gran'pap, I've heard you say you wouldn't take five thousanddollars an' give a railroad the right to run through the gap an'through your farm."

  "That depends on how I'm treated. These people acted the gentleman withme. They run their railroad around my graveyard at an expense to them,in the way o' buildin', of at least a thousan' dollars. If they'd a-runit straight through, they couldn't 'a' got my land at any price."

  "But--but, how do you know they didn't run it straight through,Gran'pap?"

  "Why, haven't you an' me seen the stakes as plain as day, a-runnin'across the brook an' a-curvin' around agin to the mouth o' the gap? Isold 'em fifty feet wide along the line o' their stakes--nowhere else."

  "But suppose it was some other company that set those stakes around thegraveyard. Suppose the D. V. & E. had run their line right across it,an' their stakes had got pulled out some way, an' what you sold 'em wasreally through the graveyard, an' suppose--suppose--"

  "Well, what on earth are you cunjurin' up? What's the use o' supposin'things that never happened and ain't likely to happen? You act justas though you'd gone daft on the subject o' this railroad. What's thematter, Dan? What ails you, anyhow?"

  "Oh, I don't know, Gran'pap. I've worried so about this railroadrunnin' through your--potato field."

  "I guess we can raise as many potatoes."

  "An' your meadow."

  "We can grow as much grass."

  "An' your gap."

  "There's room for it there."

  Dannie made a supreme effort. He feared that his grandfather hadbeen deceived into selling a right of way through the graveyard, andhe felt that if he spoke now, and told what he knew, regardless ofconsequences, there might yet be time to save the old man from utterhumiliation and loss.

  "But they did run through your graveyard, Gran'pap. They did set theirline o' stakes right across it. I know it. I saw 'em do it."

  "So you said before. But they thought better of it afterward, an' wentaround on the other side o' the brook, didn't they?"

  "Let me tell you, Gran'pap. Let me explain. Let me--"

  What Dannie would have said, how he would have explained, whatconfession, if any, he would have made had he not been interrupted, isone of those things that will never be known. The emergency was sudden,and he intended to meet it at any cost. But a simple interruptionaltered the entire current of his thought. The outer door of thekitchen was opened and Gabriel came in. It seemed as though he wasblown in by the gust of wind that followed him. Something in thekitchen fell with a clatter, and the old man and the boy both startedup to see what it was. The clothes-horse with the week's washing on it,drying and airing by the fire, had blown over; but Aunt Martha pickedit up before it had fairly touched the floor.

  "You always did beat the world for carelessness!" growled Abner Pickettat the unfortunate hired man. "Come in here and tell me what DavidBrown said about the thrashin' machine."

  Gabriel hung up his wet hat and coat, muttering to himself:--

  "Ef lightnin' struck 'im dead he'd jump up an' lay it onto me." Then headded aloud:--

  "Says ye can have it, Mr. Pickett. Says he al'ays did like to'commodate his neighbors."

  "Well," responded the old man, "on the whole, David Brown ain't a badneighbor. You might go further an' fare worse."

  Gabriel shuffled along into the sitting room and drew a chair up to thefire.

  "Queer thing David was a-tellin' me about the railroad," he said.

  Dannie's heart began to thump in his breast. He knew, intuitively, thatthe story of the night survey was coming. And with that story wouldcome also--what? He glanced fearfully up at his grandfather, who hadsettled back again in his big chair, and was puffing slowly at his pipe.

  "Well, give it to us," said the old man.

  "W'y," responded Gabriel, "seems 'at along in the night sometime, afterthem first fellers had set their stakes, 'nother lot o' surveyors comedown the crick, an' run another line through the gap by moonlight,or lamplight, or suthin'. The talk is 'at they made their survey forthe Tidewater an' Western. Tell ye what! ef them two railroads git tofightin' each other, the fur's got to fly. 'The bigger the barrel, thebigger the battle,' ez ol' Isra'l Pidgin use to say."

  Abner Pickett straightened up in his chair, took his pipe from hismouth and looked at the hired man incredulously.

  "Fact, Mr. Pickett," continued Gabriel. "Queer thing about it, too.The fellers that made the night survey run aroun' the graveyard stiddycrossin' it. I couldn't make out, before, what them stakes was a-do
in't'other side o' the crick."

  The old man was already beginning to lose his temper, as he foresaw thepossible consequences to him if the story told by Gabriel should proveto be true.

  "Why, you fool!" he ejaculated, "there's only one line o' stakes. I'veseen 'em all myself. I've been over the whole line."

  The hired man was not in the least disturbed at being called a fool byAbner Pickett. He had gotten over being sensitive on that point yearsbefore. Seeing that his story had aroused the keenest interest of hislistener, he went on, with the most apparent enjoyment.

  "That's the queerest part of it. Both railroads claim the stakes.Fellers 'at done the night work says they wan't a stick ner a stake tobe seen ner found from the big rock in the potater field to the landline t'other side o' the gap when they made their survey. Fellers 'atdone the afternoon work swears 'at their stakes was set ev'ry fiftyfeet from end to end o' the line, an' was all in place at six o'clockin the evenin' w'en they knocked off work."

  Both the old man and Dannie were listening now with intense earnestness.Gabriel recrossed his legs, smacked his lips in keen enjoyment of thesensation he felt he was creating, and kept on.

  "Fact, Mr. Pickett! Queerest thing of all; I'd swear them fellers inthe afternoon run their line straight acrost the graveyard. Seen 'emdrive stakes there with my own eyes. Didn't you, Dannie?"

  "Yes, I did, Gabriel."

  "Yes; well, where was them stakes next mornin'? I hunted high an' lowfer 'em; couldn't find hide ner hair of ary one. Stiddy that there wasthem stakes acrost the crick. What do you think o' that, anyhow, Mr.Pickett?"

  Mr. Pickett turned in his chair till he was squarely face to face withhis informant.

  "Did David Brown tell you all that?" he asked slowly.

  "Ev'ry word of it, Mr. Pickett, an' more."

  "Then either David Brown lies, or else you lie, or else I'm thebiggest fool in Meredith County."

  Still Gabriel was not in the least disconcerted.

  "Yes," he went on, "jes so. David was a-tellin' me 'at the right-o'-wayagent told him 'at you'd sold the right to build their railroad throughyour propity to the D. V. & E. Comp'ny fer a hundred an' sixty dollars.Says you might jest as well 'a' got a thousand ef you'd 'a' stuck ferit."

  "It's none of David Brown's business what I got for the right o' way,nor yours, either."

  "No; that's right. But David, he says that ain't the wust of it. Hesays ye've sold 'em the right to build the railroad where they run theline, straight plunk through the graveyard. An' David says he don'tbelieve ye sensed it when ye done it."

  This was the last straw. If Abner Pickett was angry before, he wasfurious now. He rose from his chair and straightened himself tohis full height, while the hot blood reddened his neck and face asit always did in his moments of passion. It was bad enough, in allconscience, to have committed the unpardonable error of signing awayhis dearest rights in ignorance or through deception, but that hisneighbors should know of and comment on his unspeakable folly, this wasmore than he could bear.

  "Tell David Brown," he shouted, "to mind his own business." After amoment he continued, "An' you can take your ram's horn an' go up an'down the road to-morrow mornin' proclaimin' that Abner Pickett has beensuddenly bereft of all the common sense he ever had, and invitin' thepublic to come down here an' gaze upon a full-fledged fool--an' that'sme, if there's any truth in your lyin' and ridiculous story. Who sawthese men that made the night survey, anyhow? Who knows that somebodydidn't dream it? What proof is there? What proof, I say?"

  "I saw them, Gran'pap."

  In his deep distress and anxiety the words escaped from Dannie's lipsinvoluntarily. His grandfather turned on him in an instant.

  "You! You! An' where did you see 'em, I'd like to know?"

  "Why--why, I saw a company of engineers go up the road the morning wewent down to look at the stakes."

  "Humph! So did I. D. V. & E. engineers. Begun where they left off thenight before. That's as much as you know about it. Look here, Gabriel!I don't believe a word of your yarn. And if any engineer went overthat route in the night an' says he didn't see the stakes set in theafternoon, he lies!"

  "Oh, Gran'pap! No--no; he wouldn't lie! He couldn't lie! He didn't lie!I know he didn't lie!"

  The charge of falsehood, unjust as it was, against his friend, theengineer, to whom he had been so mysteriously attracted, was more thanDannie could bear. But the old man galloped on roughshod.

  "I say he does lie! Or else he sent a man on ahead to pull 'em all outbefore he set his own. Like as not he's the biggest rascal the railroadcompany could hire!"

  "Oh, Gran'pap! Oh, no, no!"

  Every bitter, biting word flung from his grandfather's lips cut Dannieto the heart. It was almost as though his own father was being insultedand assailed. It drew from him denial and protest as strong almost asthe old man's denunciation.

  "You don't know 'im!" he exclaimed. "You didn't see 'im! He's agentleman. He wouldn't do a mean thing to save 'is life! Why, Gran'pap,he's the one who was big hearted enough to run around your graveyard."

  "Sure! sure! I forgot that. You're right, Dannie. He's a gentleman."

  With the remembrance of that gracious act the old man's anger suddenlycooled. In the momentary silence that followed, Gabriel found anotheropportunity to take up the broken thread of his disclosure.

  "Yes," he went on, as unconcernedly as though the subject had provedto be the most commonplace in the world to both his listeners, "asol' Isra'l Pidgin use to say, 'Possession is ten p'ints o' the lawwhen it's a railroad that's got it.' An' them D. V. & E. fellers ain'ta-goin' to let t'other company git the start of 'em on ary one o' themten p'ints."

  "What do you mean by that, Gabriel? Speak!"

  The old man was getting excited again.

  "W'y, David Brown says 'at they're a-comin' on next Monday mornin' tobegin buildin' their railroad. To-day's Saturday. David says that'sstraight. He says the fust thing they're a-goin' to do is to cut agrade through the graveyard, an' make sure o' that 'fore you back out,or 'fore you law 'em out. David says 'at it'll go about three foot deepthrough the knoll in the middle, an' make a bank about three foot highto'rd the wall on the east. David says 'at fifty feet wide'll take inthe monument an' half a dozen more graves an' gravestones, an' likelythey'll rip 'em all out o' the way 'fore they've ben to work there twohours."

  Gabriel had saved his heavy gun till the last, and now that he hadfired it successfully, he leaned forward in his chair, placed his chinin his hands, and gazed into the wasting fire with a calmness born ofjoyful expectancy. But there was no response to his statement. Danniewas gazing in silent and dreadful apprehension at his grandfather, yetthe anticipated outburst of passion from the old man's lips did notcome. Instead, he walked slowly out into the kitchen, and reaching upto the west wall above the mantel, he took down from its hooks theold but trustworthy double-barrelled shot-gun that had served him forthirty years and more, and examined lock, trigger, breech, and muzzleas carefully as though he were about to defend his own life.