“This stick––this blackthorn stick––accursed! How came it here? I thought it had been burned. It was left years ago in my front hall by––Richard’s father. I condemned it to be burned.”
“Peter Junior was using that in place of his crutch, no doubt because of its strength. He had it at my house, and I recognize it now as one Larry brought over with him––”
“Peter was using it! My God! My God! The blow was struck with this. It is my son who is the murderer, and I have called down the curse of God on him? It falls––it falls on me!” He sank in his chair––the same in which he had sat when he talked with Peter Junior––and bowed his head in his arms. “It is enough, Mr. Ballard. Will you leave me?”
“I can’t leave you, sir: there is more to be said. We must not be hasty in forming conclusions. If any one was thrown over the bluff, it must have been your son, for he was lame and could not have saved himself. If he struck any one, he could not have killed him; for evidently he 155 got away, unless he also went over the brink. If he got away, he must be found. There is something for you to do, Elder Craigmile.”
The old man lifted his head and looked in Bertrand’s face, pitifully seeking there for help. “You are a good man, Mr. Ballard. I need your counsel and help.”
“First, we will go below the rapids and search; the sooner the better, for in the strong current there is no telling how far––”
“Yes, we will search.” The Elder lifted himself to his full height, inspired by the thought of action. “We’ll go now.” He looked down on his shorter friend, and Bertrand looked up to him, his genial face saddened with sympathy, yet glowing with kindliness.
“Wait a little, Elder; let us consider further. Mr. Walters––sit down, Elder Craigmile, for a moment––Mr. Walters is capable, and he can organize the search; for if you keep this from your wife, you must be discreet. Here is something I haven’t shown you before. It is the charm from Richard’s watch. It was almost covered with earth where they had been struggling, and Mary found it. You see there is a mystery––and let us hope whatever happened was an accident. The evidences are so––so––mingled, that no one may know whom to blame.”
The Elder looked down on the charm without touching it, as it lay on Bertrand’s palm. “That belonged––” his lips twitched––“that belonged to the man who took from me my twin sister. The shadow––forever the shadow of Larry Kildene hangs over me.” He was silent for some moments, then he said: “Mr. Ballard, if, after the search, my son is found to be murdered, I will put a detective on 156 the trail of the man who did the deed, and be he whom he may, he shall hang.”
“Hush, Elder Craigmile; in Wisconsin men are not hanged.”