Silas Tomlin sat silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Well, well! here I have been going on for years under the impression that I was partly responsible for that poor girl's troubles; and it has been a nightmare riding me every minute that I had time to think." He stood up, stretched his arms above his head, and drew a long breath. "I thank you for laying my ghost, and I'll bid you good-night."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mr. Sanders Receives a Message
The demeanour of Mr. Sanders about this time was a seven days' wonder in Shady Dale. As Mrs. Absalom declared, he had tucked his good-humour under the bed, and was now going about in a state of gloom. This at least was the general impression; but Mr. Sanders was not gloomy. He was filled to the brim with impatience, and was to be seen constantly walking the streets, or occupying his favourite seat on the court-house steps, the seat that had always attracted him when he was communing with John Barleycorn. But he and John Barleycorn were strangers now; they were not on speaking terms. He avoided the companionship of those who were in the habit of seeking him out to enjoy his drolleries; and various rumours flew about as to the cause of his apparent troubles. He was on the point of joining the church, having had enough of the world's sinfulness; he had lost the money he made by selling cotton directly after the war; he had been jilted by some buxom country girl. In short, when a man is as prominent in a community as Mr. Sanders was in Shady Dale, he must pay such penalty as gossip levies when his conduct becomes puzzling or problematical.
The tittle-tattle of the town ran in a different direction when some one discovered that the Racking Roan was tied every day to the rack behind the court-house. Then the gossips were certain that the Yankees were after Mr. Sanders, and his horse was placed close at hand in order to give him an opportunity to escape. Mr. Sanders apparently confirmed this rumour when he told Cephas to take the horse to Clopton's, should he find the animal standing at the rack after sundown.
As Mr. Sanders walked about, or sat on the court-house steps, he wondered if he had made all the arrangements necessary to the scheme he had in view. Hundreds and hundreds of times he went over the ground in his mind, and reviewed every step he had taken, trying to discover if anything had been omitted, or if there were any flaw in the plan he proposed to follow. He had made all his arrangements beforehand. He had made a visit to Malvern, and remained there several days. He had met the Mayor of the city, the Chief of Police, and the latter had casually introduced him to the Chief of the Fire Department.
Mr. Sanders accounted himself very fortunate in making the acquaintance of the Fire Chief, who was what might be termed one of the unreconstructed. He was something more than that, he was an irreconcilable, who would have been glad of an opportunity to take up arms again. This official took an eager interest in the scheme which Mr. Sanders had in view; in fact, as he said himself, it was a personal interest. He invited Mr. Sanders to the head-quarters of the Fire Department.
"I'll tell you why I want you to come," he said. "There's a man in my office, or he will be there when we arrive, who is likely to take as much interest in this thing as I do—he couldn't take more—and I want him to hear your plan. Have you ever heard of Captain Buck Sanford?"
Mr. Sanders paused in the street, and stared at the Fire Chief. "Heard of him? Well, I should say! He's the feller that fights a duel before breakfast to git up an appetite. Well, well! How many men has Buck Sanford winged?"