“There is but one thing to do; to notify the officers, and finish this night’s work in jail. I have thoroughly considered the matter while you were away, and that is my decision. When I heard that this marriage was to take place, I resolved to do what I have done to-night, and arranged my business for it by leasing the mill. The man who is to operate it is my present assistant, and all the necessary arrangements have been made; I only hope now that I shall be disposed of as soon as possible. I do not regret what I have done, now that it is done, and the most pleasant moment of my life was when I clutched the throat of the man who has been relentlessly pursuing me for five years. He could not be induced to give up his design, and I could do nothing else than murder him. I have only lived for the past few months to guard Mateel against him, and now that she is no longer in danger, I am ready for the worst. When I looked into her face to-night, it startled me to see how she has failed since we separated. I shall always feel grateful to her that she was not dressed as a bride, but in mournful black. Always delicate, she is but a shadow now, and the marriage of Bragg to a woman who is but a puny invalid convinces me that he, at least, brought it about to revenge himself on me. He brought on the quarrel; I hope he is satisfied. I am sure only Mateel’s weakness is to blame for her part in the affair, for marriage in her condition was mockery.”
He appeared more contented and easy than he had been since the separation, like a man who had accomplished an object that had been his ambition for a long time, and sat down again, quite at ease, when he saw I was not yet ready to go, but was trying to dry my wet garments at the fire. I even thought he felt in good spirits, for he straightened himself in such a manner as to be comfortable in his chair, and beat a merry tattoo with the fingers of his hand which rested on the table.
When at last I was ready to start to town with him—I had never thought of opposing him, he seemed so satisfied with the course he had marked out—he collected a few articles which he said might be of use to him during his imprisonment, and, making them into a bundle, extinguished the light, and followed me, after locking the door and handing me the key.
“I shall never see the place again, of course, nor do I want to see it,” he said. “I have had a hard time of it here, from first to last, and for all my work I get nothing but a ride to jail to be locked up for murder. A splendid fellow, I, that could work to no better purpose. I thought once I was something of a genius, and rather a remarkable fellow, but like all other fools I am found out. There is one satisfaction in it all; I was not all my life finding out my mistake. I am now but twenty-six; I have known greater fools than I am, at seventy. I am glad there is a storm; I like to be out in it.”
On the way he kept talking in a half-boisterous manner, though I could detect a mournful strain through it all. Once he wondered if there was a possibility that Bragg had only been stunned, and, stopping the horses, wanted to go back to see. But after thinking about it awhile, he said:—
“No danger of that. He fell out of my grasp as limp as a rag. I held him at arm’s length to represent a gibbet, and my fingers were the rope, for the brute deserved hanging. I was determined that he should die a dishonorable death as well as I. When he is found, there will be marks about his throat as though he had been hanged; his tongue will protrude from his mouth, and his eyes start from their sockets, as they say men look who have been hanged. My only regret is that there was not a crowd present to witness his dog’s death. But the crowd will gather around him to-morrow, and be horrified at his appearance.”
Several times he described with pleasure the horrible tragedy in the woods near the ford, hoarsely laughing as he told how Bragg had writhed and struggled in his grasp, and once he asked me to feel the bunch of muscle on the strong arm which had righted his wrong. He told how he had skulked under the trees waiting for their approach, dodging from one to another when he saw them in the road; how he had hidden behind a tree until they were beside him; how Bragg had trembled in fear when he felt his fingers about his throat; how fast and furious the vicious horse ran crashing through the underbrush when he lashed him with a keen hickory withe cut for the purpose, and how he almost shouted in exultation when he had Mateel in his arms. He recited all the sickening particulars with so much pleasure that I feared he was out of his head, and occupied myself in mentally making notes of what he said to prove that he was not responsible for his act. At another time he cried out impatiently:—
“Why don’t you applaud what I have done? You have not said a word all evening, though you usually cry, ‘Brave Jo!’ when I have accomplished a purpose, but you seem ashamed of me now.”
“Oh, Jo,” I replied, “you have done an awful thing, and while I know you were wronged by Bragg, I shudder to think of the consequences. I cannot approve of this act, Jo, the first one you ever did at which I could not cry, ‘Brave Jo!’”
“Can you, my only friend, wish that Bragg were alive again?” he answered, “and asleep in the arms of Mateel, with me alone in my unhappy home? Surely it is better as it is; I should have killed myself if I had not killed Bragg, and you must say—you cannot help it—that he deserved death as much as I. He deserved it more, for he is the cause of it all; but we shall both give up our lives in the tragedy. I took no more from him than the law will take from me, and although he is to blame he makes no greater sacrifice than I do. I would not be unjust to a dog; I have not been unjust to him. If there can be pity in such a business, I am more deserving of it than he.”