“What, how did that happen, Dan?” asked the mother, startled with a sudden impulse of rage at the mention of that name.
“Well, I couldn’t say how it was, exactly. He happened to hear that I was going to speak a war piece, and so he wanted to hear it. I thought it would be all right to recite it to him, and I did. He is writing a book on the old Indian wars. He said Mr. Kenashton, my father, was once a good soldier and fought under him at the battle of the Creek, that he remembered his face distinctly, and thought I had some of his marks.”
“I warn you, my boy, to keep away from that old man. He’s no friend of ours, Dan, nor was he a friend to your father. Friend! Oh, my God! were he not an enemy, less bitter would be my cup. But it’s well you know not all, my boy.”
“I don’t exactly understand,” replied Dan, “but I’ve wondered why we are not like other people, and why nobody cares to know us, but the old General wants to see that flint-lock and canteen, and says he intends to say something about them in his book, and so I told him I’d take them down to him to-morrow.”
“Curse the old general and his book,” said the mother, thinking she had detected him in some new plot, and becoming almost mad with rage, “take them to him and bid him keep them; they are not my——ah! but it’s well you know not all, Dan; yes, well, indeed.”
Like a lightning flash the whole past was mirrored in her mind. She never would believe him a traitor. Not for one moment. Fort Shelby may have been betrayed and the betrayer shot by his comrade captors, but he was not John Kenashton, nor is that his musket and canteen. They are the only signs of his guilt, and God knows they are not his. His name may have been on that canteen, but it was not his writing, not as I saw him write it. If General Brockaway had been a braver man himself, things would appear different. But of one thing I am sure, John Kenashton fell fighting bravely for what to him was most dear. Thus meditating to herself she passed the evening.
Dan had gone to the speaking. It was one of those old-time lyceum contests. The would-be literateurs of the vicinity had their organization, and on every Thursday evening during the colder months assembled to carry out programmes of a grave and stately nature, mostly on literary, political, and agricultural topics. The occasion on this November eve was the annual prize contest, open to all competitors, when the little surplus in the treasury, weekly reimbursed by a small collection to defray “incidental and other expenses,” was devoted to prizes which were awarded at the grand declamatory competition. It was the great event of the year. Dan had competed time and time again since his small boyhood, and always without any recognition, although, did people dare to utter their own thoughts, they would call him the best speaker. He had the strong, clear articulation of an orator—calm, composed, yet forcible in utterance. The flash of his keen, black eye would have held any audience spell-bound, could it once forget the betrayer of Fort Shelby. Although he spoke better this time than ever before, and his preëminence was more pronounced, his name was not read on the prize list. The reason was apparent. A few justice-loving people shrugged their shoulders, looked disapproval and cast sympathizing, if not almost admiring, glances at his strong, honest face. General Brockaway, proud of the results of his instruction, half wanted Dan to win, and even started to rise in his seat to interpose objections to the decisions rendered, but as quickly as cloud follows sunshine, evil impulse follows good, one thought another, he realized the risk of his prestige and settled back in his seat. The weekly lyceum was continued for years thereafter, but the last prize contest in Shelby town was over.
II.
Two years had passed and all the citizens of Shale Valley were preparing to celebrate in a grand mass assembly on New Year’s eve the twenty-fifth anniversary of the repulse of the Muskigos. This victory of the settlers, following closely upon the disastrous affair of Fort Shelby, practically prevented the complete annihilation of these settlements, and on this account New Year’s had since been held as a kind of holy day in all Shale Valley. General Brockaway, the hero of many conflicts and the chief functionary of the vicinity, had been selected to deliver the oration on this great occasion.