University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.

The cry and rush with which Kate entered
the room startled the tremulous madman,
who was attempting murder, or counterfeiting
it.

“Whooh!” he exclaimed; it was a beastly
sound, like the short, explosive growl of a
surprised dog; but as he uttered it he let
go of his wife and faced about.

“O, it 's you, is it?” he stammered, staring
at the girl with watery, uncertain eyes,
and with a grin that was half embarrassed,
half defiant. “I forgot there was another
woman in the house. What the Devil do
you want?”

“Randolph!” exclaimed Kate with an
imposing air of reproach; then, dropping to
a tone of entreaty, she implored, “Won't
you go away?”

“I want my whiskey,” he replied, exposing
without shame the degrading motive of
his brutality. “She 's hidden it.”

Kate turned on Nellie an appealing glance
which said, “Can't you let him have it?”

“It is not here,” answered Mrs. Armitage,
speaking to her sister. “When I say that
it is n't here, you may know that it is n't.”

“Do you know where it is?” demanded
the husband, evidently believing her, unable
to disbelieve her.

“I do not,” she said, still not looking at
him. “I know nothing about it. If I
knew, I would not tell.”

“Then I 'll leave,” he growled, after a moment's
hesitation, meanwhile staring at his
knife as if still uncertain whether he would
not use it. “That 's all I came here for.
Do you suppose I wanted you?”

With this parting insult to his wife, he
turned his back on her, reeled by Kate, and
went out. A few seconds later a howl of
joyous oaths announced that he had found
his treasure; the bungling and lazy, and
also, no doubt, timorous Quash having concealed
it instead of destroying it.

“What shall we do?” asked Kate, who
had meanwhile locked the door, and now
stood by it listening.

“Let him drink,” said Nellie, with the

sad common-sense born of long trouble.
“It is the easiest way to get rid of him.”

“Is n't it horrible!” Kate could not help
groaning, still hearkening at the keyhole
for Randolph's return.

The unhappy wife, invisible in the darkness,
made no reply. Presently Kate became
alarmed at the silence; she whispered,
“Nellie,” and then called aloud; still no answer.
The terrible thought crossed the girl
that Randolph might actually have stabbed
his wife, and that she might now be dying, or
dead. Groping her way to the bedside, she
threw her arms around her sister, dropped
kisses and tears upon the cool, damp face
which touched hers, and sobbed repeatedly,
“Nellie! Nellie!” But wild as she was
with alarm, she perceived soon that the
heart was still beating, and she guessed
that this was not death. By the time she
had found matches and lighted a lamp, Nellie
began to draw the long sighs which mark
restoration from a swoon, and presently
opened her eyes.

“I have been faint,” she whispered, with
a bitter smile. “I did n't know there was
so much of the woman left in me. I ought
to have got over this sort of thing long ago.
I am ashamed of myself.”

“Nellie, what can I do for you?” asked
Kate.

“Nothing. I will get up in a moment,
and go to packing.”

“Are you going to leave him? Ah, —
well.”

“At all events I shall take you away.
You have seen enough of this, and too
much. I ought not to have brought you
here at all. It is quite sufficient for one
man that he should make one woman
wretched. It is as much success as is due
to a drunkard. My dear, you won't marry
a high-strung gentleman, I hope. Marry a
Quaker first, or a Yankee pedler, — anything
that does n't get drunk and fight, anything
that is n't high-strung. I hate the word.
It 's a mean, slang word, and it stands for a
curse.”

Kate thought of a man who, as she believed,
was not high-strung. It was true
that he had fought a duel; it was true also
that he had fought it with her brother; but
then possibly he could not have helped that;
there was the code, that savage mystery; it
was all beyond her judgment. At any rate
he did not drink, nor address women with
brutality, nor lead an habitually wild life.
But she could say nothing of him to Nellie,
and indeed it was useless to think of him,
for there was the family feud, an abyss between
him and her.

“Will Randolph let you go?” she asked

“His whiskey-jug will attend to that,” replied
Nellie. “He has a noble master,
has n't he? He prides himself on not be
ing ruled by his wife. It is so much more
manly, more chivalrous, more high-strung
to be ruled by a jug! Come, go and do
your packing. I will do mine and the children's.”

An hour or so later the trunks were ready,
the little ones dressed, and the carriage at
the door.

“I will go and bid good by to my husband,”
said Nellie.

Kate followed her, fearful lest Randolph
might awake and a collision ensue. There
was no trouble; the man lay on the floor,
stone-blind drunk; an earthquake could not
have shaken that stupor.

“Handsome Armitage!” murmured Nellie,
looking at the sodden countenance with
a strange mixture of scorn and grief in her
own pale face. Then turning to Quash,
who rose drowsily from his usual sleeping-place
in the passage, she said: “Take care
of him. But tell him nothing about our
going away. Let him find it out for himself.”

“Yes, missus,” yawned Quash, and proceeded
to lie down again, covering his
shoulders and head with his blanket-coat.

The bays were started off at their speediest
trot, for ten miles of rough, hilly road
lay between the Armitage place and the
Brownville station, and the down train, the
only train of the day, left at six in the
morning. At the half-way house, known as
Rullet's Tavern, or more commonly as Old
John Rullet's, Nellie looked at her watch,
and said calmly: “It is useless. We sha' n't
get there till after six. We may as well
stop and see Bentley.”

The younger Armitage, a bad sleeper in
these days, and consequently an early riser,
made his appearance almost immediately.

“Travelling?” he said, with a wretched
attempt at a smile, thinking meanwhile that
this might be his last interview with Kate.
“I rather judge it 's the healthiest thing
you can do.”

“We can't catch the train,” replied Nellie.
“We shall have to wait in Brownville till
to-morrow morning.”

After glancing at his watch, shaking his
head, and pondering a minute, he remarked:
“I suppose I had better go and amuse Randolph.”

“Bentley, it is a hard thing to owe you so
much,” said Nellie.

“O, it 's all in the family,” he smiled.
“And it does n't square the family account
either.”

“Be careful,” said Kate, honestly anxious
for him

He looked greatly pleased; he seemed
to think it very kind of her merely to care
a little for his life; the humility of his gratitude
made it absolutely pathetic.

“No particular danger, I reckon,” he

replied, shaking her hand cordially. “You
won't mind it, I hope, if you hear of our
drinking a little. A prosperous journey to
you. Good by.”

“Good by, Bentley,” said Nellie, bending
down and kissing him. “I wish I could do
more for you.”

It seemed to Bentley also, that he deserved
more than the kiss of a sister-in-law; but
none the less he set about his ill-requited
work promptly and courageously. Rough
as he was, and in some respects coarsely
vicious, he had certain high notions of gentility.
As he turned his back on Kate
Beaumont, and prepared for his horrible
tête à-tête with his brother, he said to himself,
“Noblesse oblige.”

When he reached the Armitage place,
Randolph was just coming out of his
drunken slumber. Then followed a tragicomedy
which, considering that the two
leading actors in it were brothers, was little
less than infernal. Bentley's purpose was
to keep Randolph so far under the influence
of liquor that he should not notice the
absence of his family, or should be indifferent
to it if he discovered it. To this end
he drank, jested, gambled, quarrelled,
exchanged blows even, went through reconciliations,
drank again, squabbled again,
and so on for twenty-four hours. It must
be observed that, although he had not
sought the spree for its own sake, he did in
a certain measure enjoy it. Whiskey tasted
good to him; a little of the excitement of
alcohol always made him long for more; he
was only less of a drunkard than his brother
because younger. But for anxiety as to the
result, and also for the somewhat burdensome
reflection that he was tippling under
compulsion, he would have had a truly
delightful carouse. Perhaps we ought,
moreover, to consider that he was a disappointed
lover, and that liquor helped to
drown his sorrow. In short, Bentley had a
downright honest bender, although he never
quite forgot his object in commencing it.

The day passed in freaks beyond the
imagination of monkeys. Whenever Randolph
demanded his family, Bentley invented
some new madness. For instance, late in
the afternoon he proposed that they should
mob Nancy Gile, on the plea that Randolph
had been insulted and attacked by her low-down
following. So, mounting their horses,
they galloped four or five miles to surprise
the “lone woman,” turned her furniture
topsy-turvy, drank her last gill of whiskey,
and then, giving her a couple of dollars to
pay the damages, departed hooting. The
next thing was a wild-goose chase through
swamps and oldfields, on the supposed trail
of Sam Hicks, both the brothers being now
in strenuous earnest and intent upon killing
their man if they should find him, which
they did not. Giving up their fruitless
hunt when night came on, they made a
circuit to reach the cabin of Redhead
Saxon, and held another festival in his
society.

And now came the climax of the saturnalia.
Randolph, who in his cups would have
quarrelled with angels or devils, became
irritated at Saxon for some cause never afterwards
heard of, and laid that faithful henchman
prostrate with a fisticuff.

“Square, that 's low-flung business,”
roared Saxon, so drunk that he forgot his
fealty. “You 've no call to hit a chap when
he ain't a lookin',” he continued, rising with
difficulty and by instalments, first on all
fours, and so on. “You would n't 'a' dared
fetch me that lick, ef your brother had n't
been here.”

“You need n't count in Bentley,” replied
Randolph. “He sha' n't take a hand. I 'll
play it alone.”

He tried to get off his coat, but in the
effort went down and struggled some time
on the floor with the garment over his head.
When he regained his feet he accused Redhead
of pushing him, and proceeded to draw
his revolver. At this point Mrs. Saxon, a
powerful young amazon of at least six feet
in height, rushed upon the scene from the
other room of the dwelling, shouting, “Quit
that. No fightin' yere. Ef you want to
fight, go out do'.”

This pacifying admonition not being
heeded, she sprang at her husband,
scratched him smartly, and bundled him
out of the cabin. Then, holding the door
against him, she turned upon the Armitages,
and broke out: “Now say. What d' you
two want? You 've got the man out of his
own house. S'posin' you try your hand on
the woman. Ain't you a high-tone gentleman,
Square Armitage? Then go whar
you b'long, an' fight with yer own sort.
Oughter be shamed of yerself, pickin' musses
with crackers. Wish I was yer wife,
and had the breakin' of ye. I 'd learn ye to
go in harness. Don't ye p'int yer shootin'-iron
at me. I 'll take it away from ye,
an' lam yer face with it. You cl'ar. You
jest cl'ar, or I 'll light on ye.”

“We 'll go,” answered Bentley, grinning
at the scene like an amused monkey and
surveying the pugnacious housewife with
bland approbation. “Randolph, we 're getting
the hot end of the poker. Come, old
lady, let us out.”

“No sir-ee,” declared the contradictory
Madam Saxon. “You want to mount my
old man outside. — Jimmy,” she screamed,
through a crack of the door, “you travel.”

“I won't,” vociferated Redhead, who all
the while was trying to re-enter.

“Dog gone these men!” objurgated the
lady. “Why can't they be peaceful like

women-folks? It takes a woman to every
man to make him behave.”

“Let me in!” roared the husband. “Ef
you don't, I 'll fire through the do'.”

“Hold up a minute, Redhead,” called
Bentley. Then addressing Mrs. Saxon in a
caressing whisper, meanwhile patting her
stalwart shoulder, he added, “Look here, old
girl. The best way is to powder it out.
Let 's have a sham fight. You load your
husband's pistol and I 'll load Ranney's.
Blank cratridges, you understand. What
do you say!”

“All right,” grinned the amazon, her wide
mouth stretching from ear to ear to embrace
the joke. “Git hold of the Square's shooting-iron.
I 'll fix Jimmy's.”

When the duel was proposed to Randolph,
he assented at once with a drunken solemnity
which finely satirized the behavior
usual with principals in real affairs of
honor, and delivered his revolver to Bentley
to be discharged and reloaded.

“Hand over ye five-shooter, old man,”
demanded Mrs. Saxon, rushing out upon
her husband and disarming him. “We 're
gwine to hev a duel.”

“Who 's a gwine to?” asked Redhead,
falling into the cabin.

“You be; you an' the Square.”

“You go to —!” retorted the man of the
house, who, intoxicated as he was, discovered
an absurdity in the proposition.

“Redhead, you are a gentleman, I suppose,”
began Bentley.

“No, I ain't,” interrupted Saxon, his reason
perfectly sound on that point.

“Wal, you 're a man, ain't ye?” put in
his wife, flying at him and giving him a
shake. “You stan' up in that corner till
things is ready. Mr. Bent, you set the
Square up in t' other corner. Thar 's a bar'l
thar for him to hold on to.”

The two principals being placed, the
seconds went out of doors to prepare the
weapons. The ball cartridges in the barrels
were discharged, and other cartridges
substituted with the bullets broken off.

“It 'll be mighty slim huntin', won't it?”
said Mrs. Saxon, bursting into loud laughter.
“Would n't my old man be mad, ef
he sensed the thing. He ain't used to
goin' a shootin' with nothin' but powder.”

This idea amused her excessively, and
she returned to it several times. “To
think of Jim firin' away at a feller with
nothin' but powder!”

“Well, old lady, are you loaded?” asked
Bentley.

“Reckon I be,” grinned Molly Saxon,
revolving the chamber of her pistol with experienced
dexterity. “No bullets in them.
Let 's see yourn. All right, my blessed
stranger. Now what 'll we do next?”

“Just hand your old man his cold iron,
and caution him to wait for the word. I 'll
give the instructions.”

They re-entered the cabin. There were
Saxon and Randolph Armitage, each propped
up in his corner and holding fast, their faces
very solemn and stolid. Molly's broad physiognomy
twitched all over with suppressed
laughter as she presented the pistol to her
husband.

“Now, Jim, ha'n't you got any last words
for yer woman?” she asked by way of
joke.

“Stan' out the way, ole gal,” replied
Redhead, thickly. “An' take care yerself.”

At this moment Randolph, trying to stand
independent of his barrel, fell over it and
rolled on the floor.

“Set 'm up agen,” muttered Redhead
calmly, and without showing the slightest
amusement.

By the aid of Bentley the prostrate man
rose and braced himself once more in his
corner, smiling the monotonous smile of intoxication.

“Catch hold,” said Bentley, delivering
the revolver. “And don't fire till I give
the word. Gentlemen, listen to the instructions.
I shall pronounce the words, `one,
two, three, — fire.' At the word `fire,' you
are at liberty to commence, and you will go
on until you have exhausted your barrels.”

“That 's so,” sniggered Molly, cramming
a yard or so of her calico apron into her
mouth to keep from laughing outright.
“Jim, do you understand?”

“You shut up,” snapped Redhead in a
tone of impatience which redoubled his
wife's amusement.

“Now, then,” called Bentley. “One,
two, three, — fire.”

A deliberate firing ensued; it was curious
how cool the two drunkards were;
though they could scarcely stand, they meant
business.

“That 's all,” mumbled Randolph when
he had exhausted his barrels.

“No 't ain't,” called Saxon. “I 've got
a charge left.”

“Well, blaze away, old Redhead,” returned
Randolph, still smiling his alcoholized
smile.

Old Redhead took steady aim, resting
his revolver across his left arm, and blazed
away to the best of his ability. Randolph
fell across his barrel once more, but it was
whiskey which upset him, and not a bullet.

“Square, are you bad hurt?” called
Saxon, advancing slowly and unsteadily.
“Square, I 'm sorry for it; dog goned if I
ain't.”

Then seeing his antagonist rise, with the
assistance of Bentley, he added, “Did I
miss you, Square? Wall, I 'll be dog-rotted!!
However, never mind. Glad

you come out of it safe. Bully for you,
Square. Stood it like a sojer. Le's shake
han's.”

There was shaking hands accordingly, as
in more elegant and sober affairs of honor,
the two late enemies complimenting each
other as high-toned gentlemen, etc., etc.,
while Molly Saxon fairly capered and
stamped with delight.

“An' now you two cl'ar,” she presently
whispered to Bentley. “I want room to
larf. Ef I don't hev it, I shall bust.”

Bentley hurried his brother away the
more willingly because Saxon, a blazing
pine-knot in hand, was searching for the
marks of his bullets, and not finding them,
might be led to suspect and denounce the
trick which had been played, to the manifest
risk of further altercation.

“You need n't look for 'em, Jim,” Molly
was heard to giggle. “You 're too drunk
to aim at anythin'. You fired out o' winder
an' up chimney an' everywhar but at
him.”

“I 'll be dog-rotted ef I ever see any such
doin's befo',” returned the confounded Jim.
“When a man can't hit a house, standin'
inside on 't, he 'd better quit shootin'.”

And now, as it was getting towards midnight,
the Armitages went home. Bentley
was still afraid that Randolph might discover
the absence of his wife and set out in
pursuit of her. He resolved to floor him
completely, if the thing could be done; he
commenced a fresh drinking-bout and kept
it up for hours. It was the very saturnalia
of doing evil that good might come. It was
ludicrous and it was horrible.