The Man from Jericho

by Edwin Carlile Litsey

"They are assumed, and base as his nature can make them. He can no more love than a brute beast of the field."

"What could have been his motive last night? Was it pretence only when he made as if he would rescue The Prince?"

"Nothing else. It was a sham show of courage before you—and the people. He may have had some vague hope of getting the colt out, and thus winning favour with you, but whatever his momentary purpose, I am positive his ultimate and main one is our downfall."

They continued to discuss the future until the library clock struck ten.

"You had better go to bed now, daddy," said Julia, coaxingly. "You know it does not serve you well to sit up late, and nothing can be gained by it tonight. Peter is at the smoke-house now, and Doctor Glenning will be there long before the hour of danger, O daddy, what a brave, fine fellow this new doctor is! I can scarcely understand how he has come to us, and taken possession of us, as it were. He carries things with a firm hand, and they all seem right and natural. Kiss me goodnight and go upstairs; I shall be along presently."

The Major arose with a sigh, gave her the caress, and went indoors. Directly she heard his deliberate step on the stair. It was then she went in also, and carefully put out the lights. But instead of seeking her room she found a light, dark-coloured shawl and crept noiselessly back to the settee, leaving the front door slightly ajar. She could not go to sleep yet, and the sense of impending danger had so wrought upon her that she knew it would be entirely useless for her to attempt to compose herself for rest. A subdued excitement was running swiftly through her veins, so she wrapped the sombre folds of the ample shawl closely about her form, completely hiding the white dress which she wore, and let her mind review the incidents which had taken place the last twenty-four hours. The retrospection had its pleasant features, despite the loss and anxiety she had suffered. It was not a disquieting thought to know that a clean, athletic young gentleman with remarkable eyes and a new way of looking at things had for the time usurped control of the Dudley affairs, all in a way which bore no trace of forwardness. It was not a fearsome thing at all to sit there and know that within an hour or two a knight would be on the ground to champion her cause against any and all comers. But it was a new sensation for Julia. She had never had a sweetheart, and the only protection she knew was that offered by her father, which was really only a tender providing for her temporal wants. But this night romance walked abroad. A man, almost a stranger, was really to risk his life for her!

Swiftly the minutes raced by, and Julia was startled when the clock struck twelve. She was sure she had not slept, but this was the hour, and her knight had not come. As the vibrations from within pulsed into silence she became aware that something was moving on the drive. She strained her eyes through the nebulous star-shine, holding her breath in the tenseness of the moment. The figure of a man rapidly assumed proportions before her gaze. He was walking quickly, but noiselessly. He passed the portico step without stopping, and though he wore a cap and his coat was closely buttoned, Julia knew it was the one who had promised to be there at that time. She shrank back and clutched the shawl closely under her chin, but he looked in front of him only, and passed on around the corner of the house in the direction of the impromptu stable.

Julia arose and went in, carefully locking the front door. Then she tipped up to her room, pausing at her father's door to listen. From the regularity of his breathing, and the part of the room from whence the sound proceeded, she knew he was asleep. She was glad of this, for she had feared he would try to sit up. Passing into her own room she undressed and prepared herself for the night, then knelt by the open window, and with her elbows on the sill and her chin in her palms, gazed up at the starry space above her, and prayed. This was her nightly custom, to pray from her open casement. It seemed to her that a freer, more perfect and more intimate communication was established thus. It was only a fancy, of course, but it was one she always indulged in when the weather would allow. This night a new name was added to her petitions. She knelt there a long, long time after her prayers were done, listening, dreading to hear. But only the soft night sounds she had known always came to her. Then all at once a sweet drowsiness crept over her, and soon she was in bed, asleep.

Glenning's approach to the smoke-house came very near resulting in a tragedy. Preoccupied, he walked boldly to the door, and tried to open it. Instantly a belligerent and threatening voice informed him if he "teched dat do' ag'in he'd git a hole in 'im yo' c'd th'ow a dog thu!" John stepped quickly aside and opened a parley with the defender of the door. It was several minutes before Peter could be persuaded that it was the new doctor come to relieve him, although this part of the program had been dinned into him over and over again by Julia, and when at last the door was grudgingly opened a few inches, the rusty barrel of an army musket was the first thing to appear. But the exchange was then soon effected, and the relief guard had to unceremoniously cut off a long string of instructions from the departing Peter, by gently closing the door in that worthy's face, and making it tight on the inside.

Alone with the colt, Glenning drew a small lantern from his pocket, and made his brief preparations. With native denseness of mind, Peter had tethered The Prince broadside on to the window yawning blackly in the opposite wall. The man untied the halter, and led the animal to a point where it would be most inaccessible for anyone attempting it harm by employing the window, and that was really the only point where an attack could be successfully made, for the door was thick-beamed, and could not be forced. This done to his satisfaction, the man sat down directly under the window—in this position the hole was about two feet over his head—and drew forth a thirty-eight calibre revolver. The brief but thorough inspection he gave it showed it to be in perfect trim, so he carefully placed it on a shingle which happened to lie near by. Then he closed the slide of his lantern, found a comfortable attitude with his back against the logs, and did some thinking himself. His mind was keenly awake and alert, and he had no fear of falling asleep. Now and again he would look at his watch, then lean back and stare into the impenetrable blackness before him, and wonder things. The colt was very quiet, his only movement being an occasional stamp of the foot. Finally Glenning's watch showed half-past two. At this time of the year it would begin to grow light soon after three. He arose agilely, and drew off his coat. Then he loosened his shirt at the throat, rolled his sleeves above his elbows, and again sat down, this time facing the window, with his knees drawn up. If the attack was really to be made that night it must come quickly. He had scarcely settled himself in this new attitude when he felt another presence. On the heels of this intuitive perception came light footfalls—a stealthy creeping on the balls of the feet. The prowler was circling the smoke-house, seeking some place of entrance. The feet stopped at the door, and Glenning heard the strain of the bolts as a shoulder was forcibly pressed upon the oaken planks. The man inside smiled grimly, and waited. A moment's silence, and the footfalls came on, to the corner, around it, and the watcher caught the low exclamation of gratified surprise when the marauder saw the window. Glenning got to his knees and slowly rubbed the palms of his hands together, while his jaws grew hard. A shaft of yellow light darted through the window and danced among the blackened rafters near the roof, showing the broken bits of hempen strings which in past years had borne luscious burdens. The man crouching inside set his eyes intently on the opening, while on his body and limbs the muscles rose and ridged themselves for the coming battle. The sword of yellow light flickered lower and lower, revealing the beech logs to which the bark still clung, and the chinking between them. Lower, and around, till it shone in the honest, unsuspecting eyes of The Prince, and glistened on his withers, and found the spot on his shiny coat behind which his heart was beating. A hand holding a bull's-eye lantern came through the window; another hand holding a huge revolver, cocked, crept like a snake to its side. Then up from the darkness beneath the window sprang two other hands, long, slender, white and strong as steel. Around the wrists of the assassin these two hands closed in a grip so fierce that it brought a cry of pain and fright from the one outside, and lantern and revolver fell to the soft earth inside the smoke-house. Then ensued a silent struggle, in which the captive strove with fiendish power born of terror and rage to free himself. Glenning, on his knees, sent all his strength to his vise-like hands. Not a word was spoken, not another sound was uttered. In the gloom the two men strove as two animals might, and their heavy breathing alone broke the stillness. Not for nothing had John Glenning kept himself in rigorous physical training from the first year he went to college. All his hoarded strength leaped up at his call, and gave him the victory. Gradually the frantic struggles of the marauder stopped, and finally he ceased resisting. Then Glenning, with his hands still set in a superhuman grasp, spoke from between his clenched teeth.