Idle Hour Stories Part 20

Tender hands lifted her and conveyed her, crushed and unconscious, to a temporary couch, where it was found, when the surgeon came, that her hip was dislocated. To the mistress alone would she unloose what her bleeding hand still held, as she whispered, "Put it away, safe--Ma.s.ses for me soul--Father Clement."

But Treesa did not die. The morning papers rang with her heroism, but none then knew that she had lost the h.o.a.rded earnings of a life-time; that the one package saved represented but a small proportion of her treasure. She was taken to a hospital, and, fortunately for her peace of mind, the house was closed for repairs. During the weeks of building, the old bones were mending. The sufferer counted the days with jealous watching. When an agony of fear seized upon her lest she might never go back, only the mistress or the kindly priest had power to quiet her, She was promised over and over again that she should not be supplanted.

When the hotel opened anew, the daily press blazoned to the world the fact, giving a personal paragraph to the officials, and including a list of well-known names, among them the humble one of Teresa O'Toole, who had been a chambermaid there during sixty years. This sc.r.a.p of paper was held fast in the h.o.r.n.y fingers, and seemed to the fevered senses to keep alive the link between her and the only home she knew.

Hither she was borne at last to a small room that was to be her portion and her pension forevermore. Her old quarters, austere and clean and bare, had been effaced by the carpenter's hammer, and this corner retreat had been part.i.tioned from a domestic recess in the rear. But it was on the parlor floor, that fetich of a devoted life. Crippled and useless, Treesa was an object of un.o.btrusive care. She kept her shrunken savings about her person, more unwilling than ever to trust the unexplored fields of finance. She grew querulous. She must be getting to her work again. Would the mistress be after letting her earn something--on the parlor floor, she tremulously added. Smiling sadly, permission was granted. Fondly the old creature took up her broom and duster--bought anew for her--and limped painfully toward the beloved rooms--the bridal chambers--the choicest suites where beauty and fas.h.i.+on came. What a journey now! The grand parlors and long corridors were interminable vistas of elegance and luxury. And--ah! what was that clinging to the velvet carpet pile? A bit of paper carelessly let fall?

And--yes, was there dust on the polished marble of yon table? Alas! that her dim eyes should live to behold the desecration. What s.h.i.+ftless wretch was doing the parlor floor, and she a useless block in her room!

The shock told. She staggered to a gorgeous sofa near the offending bit of rubbish, and sunk down in the act of reaching for it. This was the beginning of the end. Lying on her bed sleep deserted the fading eyes.

An attendant was provided, who grew accustomed to mutterings she could not understand. She ceased to listen. In pity the mistress came often and sat beside the couch. She listened and understood. She gathered the last wishes of the dying, and received as a sacred charge all that the sufferer had to leave. Still the angel of death tarried, until sweet peace shed a radiance over the departing soul, whose faith was steadfast to church and heaven.

At the first faint ray of dawn the mistress arose and went to her. The bed was empty, the nurse asleep. Following the instinct of the moment, the lady hastened along the quiet corridors to where the night taper showed the still form of the devoted veteran stretched out on the thick, soft carpet, her cold fingers clasping the new broom and duster.

My First Jury Case

THE DOG WITNESS

The court-house was crowded to its utmost capacity. Women as well as men were there to hear the arguments in the case of the Commonwealth against William Grant for the alleged murder of John Belt.

Grant was a young man of handsome exterior and pleasing manners. He sat in the prisoner's box, and near him, closely veiled, was his beautiful girlish wife, with her arm around a fine, manly boy, and her head bowed upon his sunny curls.

Near the group were the surviving relatives of the dead man, consisting of the wife, mother and daughter. Their faces were heavy and stolid, and their whole appearance indicated not only the lower walks of life, but the existence of evil pa.s.sions and aggressive natures.

Belt had owned a small grocery some fifteen miles from town, in a wild glen at the mouth of a shallow stream that flowed into the Kentucky river. The region was for a long time spa.r.s.ely settled; but the establis.h.i.+ng of a government distillery and a railroad station had led to an increase of population, so that young Grant was induced to locate there and open a shop for provisions and other supplies, that line of business having been the one chosen from his boyhood.

From the first Belt, who was one of the few German settlers in that part of the country, resented what he was pleased to call an encroachment upon his trade, and lost no opportunity of showing his ill-feeling. He was a heavy-set, sullen man of about forty-five years of age, and showed a dogged spirit even to his customers. In vain Grant strove, first to pay no attention to his enmity, and afterward to conciliate him. He continued obstinate, and his family were not behind him in giving insults and slights.

Time pa.s.sed, and Grant prospered. He was obliging and agreeable, and people naturally patronized his store, which he rendered as attractive as his means and good taste would allow. His wife, too, charmed the community by her simple, sweet ways; and motherly old ladies took special interest in her and her babe.

Grant built a neat cottage, and this gave fresh offense. At last Belt, who was a drinking man as well as surly, swore that he would take Grant's life if the latter persisted in remaining there. His trade was falling off, and Grant was the cause. Matters reached a climax then, and Grant armed himself in case of a surprise.

One morning Belt was missing, and his family raised a hue and cry that speedily brought a crowd about the house, just as Grant approached and made the startling announcement that he had shot at a man the night before, and was ready for such investigation as would be proper under the circ.u.mstances. He stated that he had been aroused by a filing, grating sound at his bedroom window, which was on the ground floor, and that he sprang from his bed, threw open the front door, and fired upon a figure that retreated rapidly and was soon lost in the darkness.

Upon this Grant was held in custody, while a party of men went in search of Belt. Hours were spent in vain, when it was suggested that Belt's dog, a vicious mongrel-cur, should be put upon the trail. Accordingly the dog, which was usually seen at Belt's heels, was given the scent of his master's coat, and started rapidly down the road, his nose to the ground. The testimony as elicited at the trial showed that the brute had bounded along to the Grant cottage, leaped upon the window sill, sniffed eagerly about the spot, then ran down the path to a clump of bushes on the river cliff. Here the creature stopped and set up a piteous howl.

The pursuing party hastened to the spot, and there lay the body of Belt, who had fallen and died, as the autopsy revealed, of internal hemorrhage produced by a pistol shot. As if to corroborate Grant's statement, a chisel and a pistol were found in the gra.s.s under the window of his bedroom.

Such was the history of the case. The absence of any testimony in behalf of the prisoner beyond his own a.s.sertion, was painfully evident. His wife supported him in the facts, but the law did not permit a wife to testify in the husband's case, so this evidence was unavailable.

The natural sympathy which death awakens in the human breast, especially a tragic one, had done its work even in the case of so unpopular a man as Belt, and already he was considered a martyr.

The desperate lamentations and impoverished condition of his family a.s.serted their claims, and the time of trial found public opinion greatly divided. The spark of envy in every community which had lain dormant as long as the Grants were novelties, sprung into life at their unwonted prosperity, and the gaily painted store and fanciful cottage became eyesores to more than one. Various rumors, like uncanny spirits of air, floated about till the prisoner felt himself sinking into an abyss. Once down, there seemed no power ready to lift him up.

He employed several distinguished attorneys as counsel, and I, a struggling young lawyer, whose ambition was to be worthy the mantle of an ill.u.s.trious father, was also retained. There was something about the case that inspired me to the utmost of which I was capable. There was no circ.u.mstantial evidence against the prisoner. He had frankly owned to shooting the man. The issue rested upon his motive for the deed. What was the provocation? True, Belt may have threatened his life; but Belt was a drunkard, and who attached any importance to his words?

The prosecution endeavored to show that Grant, wearied with the enmity of Belt, and wis.h.i.+ng to be rid of him, had enticed him away on the night of the killing, and shot him in cold blood. True, a chisel and pistol had been found, but how easy for the prisoner to have placed them there to carry out his plans! The dead man was proved to be a harmless character, though of intemperate habits and rough ways. His antipathy to Grant was only natural, since the latter had, by ingratiating manners, flashy advertising dodges, and a few modern tricks of trade, ruined the business of the old-fas.h.i.+oned, plain-sailing German.

In the hands of such skillful manipulators the case grew blacker and blacker, and the face of my client reflected the anguish he saw his wife enduring, and he powerless to comfort. He saw his beautiful, idolized boy the son of a convict, and all that had made life worth the living shattered to the dust. Closer and closer the meshes were weaving about him. The jurors sat with fixed gaze as one by one the speeches were ended. At length the honorable counsel for the prosecution concluded a powerful argument, and I saw in the faces of the twelve men that it had told.

There was but one point left for me to make, and I wondered that my distinguished brethren had pa.s.sed it by. They had dwelt upon the youth and good standing of the prisoner, and the uncalled-for persecution he had suffered. They pictured in graphic words the midnight attempt upon his life at his own house. A man's house is his castle, and he has the supreme right to defend both it and himself. They appealed to the sympathies of the jurors in behalf of the young, helpless wife and innocent child. Still there was wanting the one link in the chain of positive evidence. Sympathy was well enough. The twelve sworn men required proof. How was it to be shown them?

I was young, and I felt all the nervousness attendant upon a maiden effort, but my heart was in the work and I launched forth. Nature had given me a good voice, and I felt a certain power as I spoke. But I had not the egotism to suppose that I could compete with the learned gentlemen who had preceded me unless I could make a decided hit in summing up the testimony. This I did. When I came to the hitherto unnoticed dog, I dwelt there with a tenacity that was determined to convince. I portrayed the well-known fidelity of the dog. No matter what the master, whether fortune's pampered darling, or a beastly denizen of the gutter, his dog was always his friend. Be he kind and gentle, or cruel and pitiless, still his dog crouches in loving submission. And the animal, whether a high-bred, glossy-coated favorite, with golden collar and silken leash, for whom hundreds had been paid, or an ill-favored, ungainly brute picked up from nowhere and as thankful for a kick as for a crust, was loyal with a fidelity that puts to shame man's boasted friends.h.i.+p.

This man's dog had loved him. Drunk or sober, kind or cruel, his dog was not content out of his presence. Why was he not with the man on this fatal night? Because Belt had chained him in order to follow out his vengeance untraced. The master knew the sagacity of his dog. He wanted no companion on his midnight stroll. And when, restless and uneasy, the dog was let loose and shown the garment of his master, what did he do?

He dashed away, nose to earth, in eager, loving pursuit, along the road to Grant's cottage. There he sniffs the ground, where undoubtedly the familiar scent lay, jumps upon the window-ledge with his fore paws, whimpers, starts away, and follows the trail down the path to the beloved body now cold in death.

What proof more convincing than that Belt had been there? How improbable the trumped-up story that Grant could decoy from his home his bitterest enemy, especially at the midnight hour! A loaded pistol and a chisel were found under the window. It had been alleged that Grant placed them there for his own base purposes. But admitting that man could deceive, the dog would not. Canine instinct could not lie. Every man who knew the nature of the animal must feel convinced that Belt's dog would never have gone to that window except in honest pursuit of his master.

I felt that my speech had told, and as I sat down there was a stir in the vast crowd. My client's face was flushed, and the wife's somber veil was thrown back, revealing her large eyes l.u.s.trous with hope.

The Commonwealth's attorney occupied the floor for an hour, during which he ridiculed what he termed the schoolboy tales from his youthful opponent. But when the jury retired I felt that my influence was still uppermost. The suspense was trying, but it did not last long. They reported in a very short time, and the verdict, announced in a clear ringing voice, was "Not guilty!"

Grant sprang forward as his friends pressed near and seized my hand in a vise-like grip. Loud cheers rent the air, for again the fickle public had veered around, the crowd surged to and fro, women wept, and the fervent "Thank G.o.d!" that broke from the pallid lips of the young wife rang in my ears for many a day.

The foreman of the jury, a plain, intelligent farmer, drew me aside and said, "That dog done the business! There was no gittin' around that!

I've got a dog myself."

Grant was forced to begin life anew, for his counsels' fees about consumed his little savings, but he remained at his post honest and industrious, and is one of the leading men in the now populous section.

Three Visits

A ROMANTIC SKETCH

The day was warm and sunny. A few industrious and enterprising pioneers were seated on a log near the Wallace Cross Roads, in what is now Garrard county, Ky. They were enjoying their noonday luncheon and discussing the object of their woodland caucus. Suddenly the sound of an advancing horse arrested their attention. Pausing and looking toward a primitive opening in the deep-tangled wildwood, they soon saw both horse and rider approaching, the latter looking about him as if a stranger to the country. He was among them in another moment, receiving their rough but hearty greetings, and manifesting genuine pleasure in his frank, youthful countenance. Though not yet attained to full manhood, the traveller's figure was tall and graceful, and his face, by no means handsome, wore a genial glow that intensified the wonderful magnetism of his manner.

"You seem to be a stranger in these parts," said one of the men, mopping his forehead with his red bandana.

"Yes," answered the traveller. "I am a few days out from home across the mountains yonder. Can you direct me to Lexington?"

"Easy, easy, sir," said the other, "It's a good spell from this, but there's a pretty fair road after you get out of these thickets. Sit down, sir; sit down and have a snack with us. You must be hungry, and you won't find a tavern soon."

Nothing loth, the young stranger addressed himself to the cold corn bread and bacon with a will, while the talk veered around to the business of the day.

"You, see, sir, we are about to build a courthouse hereabouts, and have our lawing to ourselves," said the first speaker. "We've about decided to plant the corner stone at the Cross Roads a little way from this."

"It's a first rate location," said another. "There's good water all around and plenty of trees for lumber."

"Nothing like making the right start," added a third voice.

They continued to discuss plans for their future towns.h.i.+p, the stranger entering with courteous interest into all their projects.

"I have often tried," said he, "to look into the future of this grand section of country. To the day when the spirit of internal improvement shall have levelled the roads and converted the hidden wealth of the soil into a glorious medium of happiness and prosperity. Then the mental stores of our hardy settlers will rapidly develop, and civilization will prune down the rugged points of character, as the implements of the husbandman break up the clods."