University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE CATASTROPHE.

Mr. Solomon Brown rode with headlong
speed, and in ten minutes threw himself from
his horse at the door of Dr. Corrinton's office.

Mr. Solomon Brown, in this matter, acted
just as any excitable man would have done,
and precisely as no cool-headed person would
have acted. He never thought of the enmity

that had existed between Dr. Corrinton and
Appleton Brance, and the fact that Dr. Draper's
office was quite as near as Corrinton's
never entered his head.

However, as I have said, Solomon Brown
dismounted at the door of the young physician's
office. Furiously he applied the knocker,
and shouted the doctor's name.

Almost immediately, Corrinton opened the
door. Brown entered with great trepidation.

“Doctor! go quick!” exclaimed Solomon in
a breath.

“Go where?” quietly asked Corrinton.

“To Mr. Brance's. Appleton has been —
been hurt!”

Mr. Brown was going to say shot, but his
eye resting a moment on a pistol which lay
beside the doctor's hat on the table, caused an
awful suspicion to enter his brain, and prudence
suggested that hurt was the better word.
It was then, for the first time, that Mr. Brown
remembered the bitter enmity that had existed
between Appleton and the doctor.

“Per — perhaps,” he stammered, “I have
done wrong to come for you. I believe there

— there was some difficulty between you and
young Brance.”

“Yes, there was,” said Corrinton, “but that
is settled. I saw Mr. Brance this evening, and
arranged our differences. I will go immediately.
How was he hurt?”

“I — I — can't say,” replied the embarrassed
Mr. Brown, as his eye glanced furtively at
the pistol on the table. “I suppose, though,
he — he was — he was thrown from his
horse. We found him on the ground, near
the road.”

“Found him! he must be badly hurt, then!”
exclaimed Corrinton.

“Y — ye — yes! We thought he was
killed.”

In an instant the doctor had leaped upon
Mr. Brance's horse. He only said, —

“Go to the tavern for my horse,” and
then rode off in the direction of Mr. Brance's
house.

Reflecting dubiously on the appearance of
the doctor and his singular words, Mr. Brown
walked across the way to the tavern, and
turned his steps towards the stable, where he
saw a light.

“I want Dr. Corrinton's horse,” cried he,
perceiving the hostler.

“Dr. Corrinton's oss!” exclaimed that individual.
“Why, the doctor only come up
with him half an hour ago. It's a shame to
ride one oss so!”

In a few words Mr. Brown astonished the
hostler with the startling intelligence of which
he was the bearer, and therefore the horse was
brought out with unusual despatch.

“Who d'ye s'pose done it?” asked the hostler,
holding Mr. Brown by the leg, as he was
on the point of riding off.

“How should I know?” gasped Solomon,
frightened at the thought that he might be
tempted to utter his suspicions.

“Do you think it was Corrinton?” whispered
the hostler. “They quarrelled, you know —”

“I don't know no such thing!” exclaimed the
prudent Mr. Brown. “Now let go of my leg,
or you'll pull me off.”

The hostler relaxed his hold, and Solomon
dashed away towards the house of Mr. Brance's
neighbors, the Sorrels. Having alarmed somebody,
and shouted the intelligence of Appleton's
death loud enough to be heard half a

mile, he wheeled about, and rode furiously
off in another direction, to spread the news
throughout the neighborhood.

Meanwhile Dr. Corrinton had arrived at the
scene of the catastrophe. Perceiving that the
animal he rode was inclined to be skittish at
the smell of blood, he dismounted, and led him
up the avenue.

Corrinton found the doors of Mr. Brance's
house thrown open, and he entered without
ceremony. A sound of low voices directed his
steps: in a moment he found himself in the
presence of the body.

It was a small room, dimly lighted by flickering
lamps. On the floor lay the corpse, with
its ghastly face turned upwards. The clothes
had been removed from the throat and chest,
and the blood washed away; a dark, sanguinary
spot remaining on the neck, marked the
wound at which death had entered the living
body.

Several human figures were in the room, the
most prominent of which was that of Mr.
Roger Brance. His motionless features were
turned towards the corpse, which he regarded
in silent agony. His bloodless, compressed

lips, his gathered brow, his ashy cheeks, his
fixed and burning gaze, impressed the new
comer with awe.

“Mr. Brance,” said Corrinton, “I come to
see if I can render any assistance. What!
dead! Good Heavens! how came this?”

Slowly Mr. Brance removed his eyes from the
corpse, and fixed them searchingly on the new
comer. When he perceived that it was Corrinton
who stood before him, a sudden flash
illumed his eyes, and his frame bent eagerly
forward.

“You! Corrinton!” he whispered, “you ask
how came this!”

“Sir,” answered the doctor, in an excited
manner, “no man could be more astounded
than myself at this catastrophe. I sympathize
with you deeply, Mr. Brance.”

Corrinton did not flinch before the searching
look of the afflicted father.

“Who could have done this horrid deed,” he
murmured, bending over the corpse.

Mr. Brance made no reply.

“It's a murder,” whispered Tom Clark.
“Somebody that hated the poor young man
shot him off his horse. If he had been murdered

for his money, the villain wouldn't have
left a purse, with eighty dollars in it, in this
'ere coat pocket.”

“He was shot off his horse, you say,” observed
Corrinton.

“Yes, sir; his horse was found standing,
with his saddle and bridle on, before the stable
door.”

Corrinton pressed his hand to his brow, and
looked thoughtfully at the corpse.

“Has Squire Wilbur been sent for?” he
asked, suddenly.

“I guess not,” answered Mr. Roberts, one
of Mr. Brance's tenants. “Brown wouldn't
think to go for him.”

“I think he is the fittest man to give advice
and look into this matter,” said Corrinton.
“Will you go for him, sir?”

“I'll go,” said Clark.

The man had scarcely left the house, when a
new comer rushed in.

“Good God!” ejaculated Mr. Joseph Sorrel,
— for it was he, — turning ghastly pale, and
holding up his hands in horror at sight of the
corpse. “Good God! good God!”

“I am glad you have come,” whispered the

doctor in Joseph's ear. “This is an awful
occurrence. The young man has been murdered.”

“Good God!” gasped Joseph.

“Will your father come in soon?” pursued
the doctor.

“Good God!” repeated the horror-stricken
Mr. Sorrel, still gazing fearfully at the corpse.

“Who is the coroner this year?” suddenly
demanded Mr. Roberts.

“Coroner?” echoed Joseph, starting at the
word. “My father is the coroner. I — I wish
— I wish he was here! Good God! what a
horrid affair!”

“Did you see my son after I saw you at the
tavern?” calmly asked Mr. Brance.

“Yes, I did!” exclaimed Joseph. “That
is, I didn't. I heard him, and knew it was
him. He was on horseback; he was talking
with somebody.”

And Joseph wiped the cold sweat from his
brow, and cast a timid glance at Corrinton.

“Who was he talking with?” demanded
Mr. Brance in the same calm tone.

“With — with Dr. Corrinton!” answered
Joseph, explosively.

Mr. Brance compressed his lips, and looking
fixedly at the young physician, inquired, —

“Are you sure of what you say, Joseph?”

“O, perfectly. I couldn't be more sure of
any thing,” answered Joseph, in a hurried manner.
“The doctor and Appleton were riding
together — both horseback. It was on the road
just above our house, and they were coming in
this direction.”

“Mr. Sorrel is right,” said Corrinton. “I was
riding with your son, sir, late this evening.”

“Where did you leave him?” asked Mr.
Brance.

“Within a dozen rods of the foot of the
avenue,” replied Corrinton, firmly. “I had
been riding in his company then about half an
hour. We were engaged in earnest conversation,
and I accompanied him almost to the
gate, when I bade him good night, and rode
home.”

“Did you hear the report of a gun?” asked
Mr. Brance.

“I remember hearing a noise of some kind,
which I thought was a pistol or gun,” answered
the doctor; “but as my horse was on the gallop,
I did not hear distinctly, and supposing I
must be mistaken, thought no more of it.”

“It is so singular that you should be riding
with Appleton!” exclaimed Joseph.

“It was an unusual event, I know,” said
Corrinton. “But there was some misunderstanding
between us which I wished to have
settled, and this is what brought us together
to-night.”

Squire Wilbur, a magistrate, and Mr. Sorrel,
the coroner, now came in together.

“Good evening, my friends,” said Mr.
Brance, with a stern and calm expression.
“You see what has brought us together to-night.”
And he pointed to the corpse of his
murdered son.

Mr. Sorrel, a tall, thin, nervous man, with a
severe eye, and a dreary-looking face, pressed
Mr. Brance's hand, and scrutinized the corpse.
Squire Wilbur, a small, but rather corpulent
individual, with a good-humored countenance,
immediately commenced making inquiries
touching the circumstances of the catastrophe.

Dr. Corrinton, without hesitation, repeated,
for the satisfaction of the last comers, all he
had already related of his late interview with
the deceased. Meanwhile there were other

arrivals; Drs. Draper and Dosemore, who had
been sent for on Squire Wilbur's suggestion,
appeared; other neighbors came upon the spot,
so that at midnight Mr. Brance's house was
crowded.

Men with less keen perceptive faculties than
Dr. Corrinton could not have failed to mark
the direction in which the suspicions of nearly
all present tended. The young physician
evidently felt embarrassed. The arrival of
Drs. Draper and Dosemore added not a little to
his uneasiness; and at about half past twelve,
having expressed his willingness and desire to
render any assistance in his power, and informed
Mr. Wilbur and Mr. Sorrel that he
could be found at his office, providing his
services were required, Corrinton took his
leave.

Mr. Solomon Brown had brought the doctor's
horse to the door, and the young man was
soon riding slowly homeward. The moon had
risen, and the gentle luminary cast a silvery
veil over the dark face of night. The fields
slept in the soft moonlight, and the silent trees
marked the earth with shadowy, distorted pictures
of themselves. It was a still, solemn

night; and as Corrinton rode leisurely along
the highway, the sadness of the scene added
weight to the load upon his heart. More than
once his bosom heaved with deep-drawn sighs,
and often he placed his hand upon his aching
forehead.

Corrinton had thrown the bridle reins upon
his horse's neck, and before he was conscious
of what was taking place, the sagacious animal,
following his accustomed path, had reached the
stable of the village tavern. Here the horse
stood still, and Corrinton, brought to his
senses, dismounted, spoke to the savage dog
that guarded the place, and leading the horse
to his stall, took off his bridle, and left him for
the night. At a thoughtful pace the doctor
then walked to his office, and, entering, threw
himself into an arm chair with a heavy sigh.

For the space of half an hour, Corrinton sat
gazing abstractedly at the walls of his little
office; then with a start he arose, and paced
nervously to and fro; and finally, taking up the
pistol which had attracted Solomon Brown's
attention, he gazed at it intently, examined the
lock, and hung the weapon, afterwards, on a
nail under his mirror.

At two o'clock, the young physician went to
bed; but the moonlight, which then lay cold
and still upon the floor of his sleeping room,
had given place to the light of the gray dawn
before the exciting events of the evening ceased
to haunt his brain and banish sleep.