Black Smith had heard it, as he hunted frantically, and he came now running toward them, shouting. But his shouts were too late. The men stood mystified, and found themselves covered by the pistols of their dreaded enemies.
One of the constabulary stepped down.
“You are covered from the car!” said he quietly. “Put down your guns.”
Elizabeth tried in vain to move. For an instant she did not see Herbert. If they had hurt him, if they had carried out their threats, then she hoped that the mountain-side would become a place of execution.
But Herbert came forward, unrestrained by his captors. The mountaineers seemed stupefied. The uniforms, the heavy revolvers, the car—all declared a newer and swifter age of retribution. Jinny was right when she said that light was about to be let in. They obeyed meekly the command of the young officer.
Herbert walked directly to the side of the car and laid his hand on Elizabeth’s arm. His mind was filled with one emotion; he scarcely saw the constabulary or Colonel Thomas; he thought only that Elizabeth wanted something, and that he had it to give. He had had much time to meditate, and he had put two and two together. He had less persistence than Elizabeth, but he had more originality of mind. Weak and excited, he blurted out the words which were uppermost in his consciousness, and which had been growing to seem more and more significant.
“They said my Grandfather Baring was buried here. They threatened to put me in the same grave. They were angry with him. I believe they shot him here.”
“What! What!” Colonel Thomas stepped down from the car. “He went away with the Confederates and was never heard of more!”
“They threatened to put me in the same grave with him!” insisted Herbert. “I believe they shot him here. If he was friendly to the South they would not have done that.”
“We didn’t hurt you,” cried a terrified voice. “We treated you good!”