Blowing weather

by John T. McIntyre

V

That night was not a very comfortable one for Anthony. He lay awake for a long time, his straight-forward mind laboring with the facts of the day; when he did finally drop off, his sleep was not a deep one; it was thronged with grotesque images, and incidents that caricatured what he had seen and heard.

Once he awoke. It was a moon-lit night; through the window he could see the bell swinging in the tower across the way; he reasoned that it had just done striking, and the blows had awakened him. He tried to see the hour by his watch, but could not; so he arose and took it to the window. It was one o'clock. He stood moodily looking down into the street so silvered and quiet; from somewhere, a long way off, came the rumble of wheels and the notes of a coach horn; and he shivered as he thought of the harassed passengers, beginning a journey in the thin chill of the night.

He was about to turn from the window when a movement caught his eye in the shadow cast by the tower; it was a dim, leisurely movement, and well toward the edge, where the shadow met the moonlight sharply. Almost at once he saw its nature; the figures of two men came into the light and paused. They seemed on the point of separating, and the pause was for a parting word. They shook hands with the quick, hard clutch of persons well satisfied, and each turned away. But one, he who had faced eastward in the direction of the river, suddenly paused.

There was something familiar to Anthony in the gesture that stopped the other man; and the two joined once more in talk. However, it was but for a moment. The man with the familiar gesture seemed to ask a question, which the other answered, and in so doing lifted his hand and pointed at Anthony's window. The first man threw back his head; a ringing laugh broke the stillness, and Anthony at once recognized him; it was the man with the saddle-bags who had come ashore that morning from the New York packet.

Anthony watched the two separate; the one held steadily toward the river; the other crossed the street toward the inn; and a moment later Anthony heard the outer door open and close. He stood for a moment in the center of the floor and pondered; there was something in the scene he had just witnessed which started a cold shuddering in his blood—the same feeling he'd experienced on many a night as the wilderness closed around him, and he knew the shadows were peopled with gliding forms, each bearing a weapon that might let out his life.

But this was civilization! This was the capital city of the nation! The two men may have been cronies, detained somewhere by the flavor of a particular bottle. How was he to be sure that it was his window at which the man who had entered the inn had pointed? There were other windows; it may have been one of those. But, even though it had been his, what did it signify? A hundred reasons, each entirely innocent, might account for the gesture. The fancy that the thing held a danger amused his reason; but still the creeping continued in his blood, and instinct rang its warning in his pulse. He went to his chest, threw open the lid, and took out a heavy, knotted walking-stick, iron-shod and formidable. He was balancing this in his hand and regarding it from under frowning brows when he caught the sound of a light foot in the hall; it paused at his door; his head went up, and, clutching the cudgel, he stood listening.

The latch lifted softly; there was an instant's pause, and then the door began to push inward. Anthony saw a young man with a tall hat, a fashionably cut coat, with metal buttons, small-clothes, and shoes that had silver buckles. He carried himself very erect and with perfect composure. Closing the door after him, he advanced to the bedside, and took a chair. It was plain that in the uncertain light of the room, to which his eyes were not accustomed, he fancied the bed occupied, for he bent his head forward and addressed it.

"Now," said he, "if you'll be good enough to wake up, I'll have a few important words with you."

There was a pause, as he waited for the stirring of the sleeper; none followed, and he reached out his hand. As it met with only empty sheets, he exclaimed impatiently; and then out of the semi-darkness came the voice of Anthony.