"Keep it still, Peter," he counselled, "and watch him. There'll be racing here in July next year."
Winter passed and the Spring came again, and Peter hied himself and The Prince to the race track as soon as the earth became solid. He went always at night, and always alone, but a rumour began to spread through Macon and the county in general that Major Dudley's colt was a marvel, and could make a mile in two minutes flat. Certainly the story lost nothing by its constant re-telling, and while few believed it true, yet everyone confided it to his neighbor as a matter of gossip.
Then came the night of the cowardly attempt upon The Prince's life.
The evening express from the north was due at Macon a quarter till eleven. The night of the day upon which Major Dudley had promised to his daughter a revelation of certain things which had been kept hidden from her, this train was running fifteen minutes late. The engineer was trying to make the time up, and in consequence the coaches were swaying and jerking over the rather imperfect roadbed. Crouched in the corner of a seat next the window sat a young man. It would have been impossible to form any idea of his physical appearance from the uncouth position which he had assumed. It was quite evident from this that he was traveling entirely alone. He had slipped down in his seat until his head was below the top of its back. His long legs were flexed so that his knees rested against the back of the seat in front of him. His shoulders, unusually broad and square, drooped somewhat, as from weariness; his chin was sunk upon his shirt front, and his cap was pulled well down over his eyes, so that only a portion of his face could be seen. The line of shadow slanted across his face sharply just at the cheek bone, revealing below it a smoothly shaven surface, and a chin as square and resolute as the shoulders. In common with the majority of his fellow-passengers, he was dozing. The conductor came unsteadily up the aisle, fumbled at his cap band for the piece of paper sticking in it, then, observing that the man was asleep, he shook him gently by the shoulder. The sleeper aroused readily, and in response to "Your's next station," nodded his head, and turned, as one will do the blackest night, to look out the window. This not with the purpose of seeing anything, but from some inexplicable force within.
But the young man did see something—a dull glow was discernible in the sky, apparently a great distance away. To a sleep-befuddled brain it looked very much like the rose tints of morning, and John Glenning mechanically pulled out his watch, to smile at his stupidity the next moment, for it was not yet eleven. He glanced about the car and brought himself to an erect sitting posture with a quick exercise of the great fund of reserve strength which he undoubtedly possessed. His shoulders went back squarely against the seat, and his feet sought the floor. Then, as he pushed the cap off his eyes, his face became visible. It was a strong face, with jaw- and cheek-bones showing prominently. The forehead was good, almost square, and over one eye was a crescent-shaped scar, not livid, but standing out plainly against the white skin. His hair was black and straight, and his face wore a half melancholy expression, which seemed habitual.
After a casual and disinterested survey of the compartment, he turned to the window again, placed his elbow upon the sill, and looked out into the night. The glow in the distance was still there. He judged it to be a fire, although no flames were yet visible. Just a dull red vapor seemed suspended, like an immense ruby, against the black draped breast of the sky, and on all sides of it the stars shone like rare gems. As this poetic thought struck Glenning, he smiled, as though pleased at the conception, and just then a long blast of the whistle told him that they were approaching his station. A moment later the door was flung open, admitting a rush of pure, sweet night air into the stuffy coach, and the flagman passed through, touching alternate seats with either hand to steady himself, and shouting "Macon! Macon!"
Women began to rouse soundly sleeping children, men to stretch their arms and remark to their neighbors, and John also began to get himself together. He was near the door, and as the train came to a halt with jangling bell and escaping steam, he grasped his suit case and safely made his exit before the aisle became crowded.
The place was entirely new to him, for his home had been in the north end of the State. The engine had stopped at the edge of a bisecting street, and just in front of it an arc light was suspended, which threw his surroundings into view uncertainly. Back of him was the bulk of a water tank; to the front, and at one side, the station. People were hurrying to board the train, and packages and trunks were being hastily dumped from the open door of the express car onto a truck drawn alongside. A number of forms moved vaguely about—that pitiful, shiftless class which no small town can eliminate, who had merely come to "see the train come in." All this Glenning saw in the twinkling of an eye, and then he started briskly up the crushed rock space which served for a platform. Opposite the tender of the engine were two or three men, one of them a negro, standing abreast, toeing an invisible line and bawling lustily the names of different hotels. Glenning stopped for a moment in front of a row of hands eagerly outstretched, and just then the words "Union House!" came to his ears through the din of jumbled voices. He remembered suddenly that a friend had told him this was the best hotel in the place, so he resigned his suit case to the care of the one who had yelled "Union House!" and fell in with the straggling line of people streaming up town.
Above the babel of the hotel criers, and the slow, muffled puffs of the inert engine, a new sound now throbbed through the air—the clanging, tumultuous notes of a sharp-toned bell, rung with fury. The people nearest John pricked up their ears, and he heard the sinister query, "Where's the fire?" "Where's the fire?" repeated on all sides. No one knew, and those who had been from home, and had returned on the train, hastened their steps, some breaking into a run, for none knew whose household goods were in danger. The panic spirit seized Glenning, too, for henceforth his life was to be in this place, and with these people, and he found himself running with the others. Covering a short square, they turned into the main street of Macon, where confusion reigned. Men were dashing about in the middle of the street, shouting to each other, and an ancient fire engine had just been dragged into view, with the hook-and-ladder wagon trailing in its wake. Glenning ran towards the engine, which had halted in the center of the highway, and at which some striplings were tugging in a vain effort to move it.