University of Virginia Library

35. CHAPTER XXXV.
UNBARRED.

LURTON was gone six weeks. His letters to
Charlton were not very hopeful. People are slow
to believe that a court has made a mistake.

I who write and you who read get over six
weeks as smoothly as we do over six days.
But six weeks in grim, gray, yellowish, unplastered,
limestone walls, that are so thick and so high and so rough
that they are always looking at you in suspicion and with
stern threat of resistance! Six weeks in May and June and
July inside such walls, where there is scarcely a blade of grass,
hardly a cool breeze, not even the song of a bird! A great
yard so cursed that the little brown wrens refuse to
bless it with their feet! The sound of machinery and of the
hammers of unwilling toilers, but no mellow voice of robin or
chatter of gossiping chimney-swallows! To Albert they were
six weeks of alternate hope and fear, and of heart-sickness.

The contractor gave a Fourth-of-July dinner to the convicts.
Strawberries and cream instead of salt pork and potatoes.
The guards went out and left the men alone, and Charlton
was called on for a speech. But all eulogies of liberty
died on his lips. He could only talk platitudes, and he could
not say anything with satisfaction to himself. He tossed
wakefully all that night, and was so worn when morning came

that he debated whether he should not ask to be put on the
sick-list.

He was marched to the water-tank as usual, then to breakfast,
but he could not eat. When the men were ordered to
work, one of the guards said:

“Charlton, the warden wants to see you in the office.”

Out through the vestibule of the main building Charlton
passed with a heart full of hope, alternating with fear of a
great disappointment. He noticed, as he passed, how heavy the
bolts and bars were, and wondered if these two doors would
ever shut him in again. he walked across the yard, feeble and
faint, and then ascended the long flight of steps which went
up to the office-door. For the office was so arranged as to
open out of the prison and in it also, and was so adapted to
the uneven ground as to be on top of the prison-wall. Panting
with excitement, the convict Charlton stopped at the top of
this flight of steps while the guard gave an alarm, and the door
was opened from the office side. Albert could not refrain from
looking back over the prison-yard; he saw every familiar object
again, he passed through the door, and stood face to face
with the firm and kindly Warden Proctor. He saw Lurton
standing by the warden, he was painfully alive to everything;
the clerks had ceased to write, and were looking at him
expectantly.

“Well, Charlton,” said the warden kindly, “I am glad to
tell you that you are pardoned. I never was so glad at any
man's release.”

“Pardoned?” Charlton had dreamed so much of liberty,
that now that liberty had come he was incredulous. “I am
very much obliged to you, Mr. Proctor,” he gasped.

“That is the man to thank,” said the warden, pointing to
Lurton. But Charlton couldn't thank Lurton yet. He took
his hand and looked in his face and then turned away. He
wanted to thank everybody—the guard who conducted him out,
and the clerk who was recording the precious pardon in one
of the great books; but, in truth, he could say hardly anything.

“Come, Charlton you'll find a change of clothes in the
back-room. Can't let you carry those off!” said the warden.

Charlton put off the gray with eagerness. Clothes made all
the difference. When once he was dressed like other men, his
freedom became a reality. Then he told everybody good-by, the
warden first, and then the guard, and then the clerks, and
he got permission to go back into the prison, as a visitor, now,
and tell the prisoners farewell.

Then Lurton locked arms with him, and Charlton could
hardly keep back the tears. Human fellowship is so precious
to a cleansed leper! And as they walked away down the
sandy street by the shore of Lake St. Croix, Charlton was trying
all the while to remember that walls and grates and bars
and bolts and locks and iron gates and armed guards shut him
in no longer. It seemed so strange that here was come a day
in which he did not have to put up a regular stint of eight
vinegar-barrels, with the privilege of doing one or two more,
if he could, for pay. He ate some breakfast with Lurton. For
freedom is a great tonic, and satisfied hopes help digestion. It
is a little prosy to say so, but Lurton's buttered toast and
coffee was more palatable than the prison fare. And Lurton's
face was more cheerful than the dark visage of Ball, the burglar,
which always confronted Charlton at the breakfast-table.

Charlton was impatient to go back to Metropolisville. For
what, he could hardly say. There was no home there for
him, but then he wanted to go somewhere. It seemed so fine
to be able to go anywhere. Bidding Lurton a grateful adieu,
he hurried to St. Paul. The next morning he was booked for
Metropolisville, and climbed up to the driver's seat with the
eager impatience of a boy.

“Wal, stranger, go tew thunder! I'm glad to see you're
able to be aout. You've beh confined t' the haouse fer some
time, I guess, p'r'aps?”

It was the voice of Whisky Jim that thus greeted Albert.
If there was a half-sneer in the words, there was nothing but
cordial friendliness in the tone and the grasp of the hand.
The Superior Being was so delighted that he could only express
his emotions by giving his leaders several extra slashes
with his whip, and by putting on a speed that threatened to
upset the coach.

“Well, Jim, what's the news?” said Charlton gayly.

“Nooze? Let me see. Nothin' much. Your father-in-law,
or step-father, or whatever you call him, concluded to cut and
run las' week. I s'pose he calkilated that your gittin' out
might leave a vacancy fer him. Thought he might hev to
turn in and do the rest of the ten years' job that's owin' to
Uncle Sam on that land-warrant, ch? I guess you won't find
no money left. 'Twixt him and the creditors and the lawyers
and the jedges, they a'n't nary cent to carry.”

“When did you hear from Gray?”

“Oh! he was up to Metropolisville las' week. He a'n't so
much of a singster as he wus. Gone to spekilatin. The St.
Paul and Big Gun River Valley Railroad is a-goin' t' his taown.”

Here the Superior Being stopped talking, and waited to be
questioned.

“Laid off a town, then, has he?”

“Couldn' help hisself. The Wanosia and Dakota Crossing
Road makes a junction there, and his claim and yourn has doubled
in valoo two or three times.”

“But I suppose mine has been sold under mortgage?”

“Under mortgage? Not much. Some of your friends jest
sejested to Plausaby he'd better pay two debts of yourn. And
he did. He paid Westcott fer the land-warrant, and he paid
Minorkey's mortgage. Ole chap didn't want to be paid. Cutthroat
mortgage, you know. He'd heerd of the railroad junction.
Jemeny! they's five hundred people livin' on Gray's
claim, and yourn's alongside.”

“What does he call his town?” asked Albert.

Jim brought his whip down smartly on a lazy wheel-horse,
crying out:

“Puck-a-chee! Seechy-do!” (Get out—bad.) For, like most
of his class in Minnesota at that day, the Superior Being had
enriched his vocabulary of slang with divers Indian words.
Then, after a pause, he said: “What does he call it? I believe
it's `Charlton,' or suthin' of that sort. Git up!”

Albert was disposed at first to think the name a compliment
to himself, but the more he thought of it, the more clear it
became to him that the worshipful heart of the Poet had
meant to preserve the memory of Katy, over whom he had
tried in vain to stand guard.

Of course part of Driver Jim's information was not new to
Albert, but much of it was, for the Poet's letters had not been
explicit in regard to the increased value of the property, and

Charlton had concluded the claim would go out of his hands
anyhow, and had ceased to take any further interest in it.

When at last he saw again the familiar balloon-frame houses
of Metropolisville, he grew anxious. How would people receive
him? Albert had always taken more pains to express
his opinions dogmatically than to make friends; and now that
the odium of crime attached itself to him, he felt pretty sure
that Metropolisville, where there was neither mother nor Katy,
would offer him no cordial welcome. His heart turned toward
Isa with more warmth than he could have desired, but
he feared that any friendship he might show to Isabel would
compromise her. A young woman's standing is not helped
by the friendship of a post-office thief, he reflected. He could
not leave Metropolisville without seeing the best friend he
had; he could not see her without doing her harm. He was
thoroughly vexed that he had rashly put himself in so awkward
a dilemma; he almost wished himself back in St. Paul.

At last the Superior Being roused his horses into a final dash,
and came rushing up to the door of the “City Hotel” with his
usual flourish.

“Hooray! Howdy! I know'd you'd be along to-night,” cried
the Poet. “You see a feller went through our town—I've laid
off a town you know—called it Charlton, arter her you know—
they wuz a feller come along yisterday as said as he'd come on
from Washin'ton City weth Preacher Lurton, and he'd heern
him tell as how as Ole Buck—the President I mean—had ordered
you let out. An' I'm that glad! Howdy! You look a leetle slim,
but you'll look peart enough when we git you down to Charlton,
and you see some of your ground wuth fifteen dollar a front
foot! You didn' think I'd ever a gin up po'try long enough

to sell lots. But you see the town wuz named arter her
you know—a sorter momment to a angel, a kind of po'try
that'll keep her name from bein' forgot arter my varses is gone
to nothin'. An' I'm a-layin' myself out to make that town nice
and fit to be named arter her, you know. I didn't think I could
ever stan' it to have so many neighbors a drivin' away all the
game. But I'm a-gittin' used to it.”

Charlton could see that the Inhabitant was greatly improved
by his contact with the practical affairs of life and by human
society. The old half-crazed look had departed from his eyes,
and the over-sensitive nature had found a satisfaction in the
standing which the founding of a town and his improved circumstances
had brought him.

“Don't go in thar!” said Gray as Charlton was about to
enter the room used as office and bar-room for the purpose of
registering his name. “Don't go in thar!” and Gray pulled
him back. “Let's go out to supper. That devilish Smith
Wes'cott's in thar, drunk's he kin be, and raisin' perdition.
They turned him off this week fer drinkin' too steady, and he's
tryin' to make a finish of his money and Smith Wes'cott too.”

Charlton and Gray sat down to supper at the long table where
the Superior Being was already drinking his third cup of coffee.
The exquisite privilege of doing as he pleased was a great stimulant
to Charlton's appetite, and knives and forks were the greatest
of luxuries.

“Seems to me,” said Jim, as he sat and watched Albert,
“seems to me you a'n't so finicky 'bout vittles as you was.
Sheddin' some of yer idees, maybe.”

“Yes, I think I am.”

“Wal, you see you hed too thick a coat of idees to thrive.

I guess a good curryin' a'n't done you no pertickeler hurt, but
blamed ef it didn't seem mean to me at first. I've cussed about
it over and over agin on every mile 'twixt here and St. Paul. But
curryin's healthy. I wish some other folks as I know could git
put through weth a curry-comb as would peel the hull hide
offen 'em.”

This last remark was accompanied by a significant look at
the rough board partition that separated the dining-room from
the bar-room. For Westcott's drunken voice could be heard
singing snatches of negro melodies in a most melancholy tone.

Somebody in the bar-room mentioned Charlton's name.

“Got out, did he?” said Westcott in a maudlin tone. “How'd
'e get out? How'd 'e like it fur's he went? Always liked
simple diet, you know.

Wat's the rest? Hey? How does that go? Wonder how it
feels to be a thief? He! he! he!”

Somehow the voice and the words irritated Albert beyond
endurance. He lost his relish for supper and went out on the
piazza.

“Git's riled dreffle easy,” said Jim as Charlton disappeared.
“Fellers weth idees does. I hope he'll gin Wes'cott another
thrashin'.”

“He's powerful techy,” said the Poet. “Kinder curus,
though. I wanted to salivate Wes'cott wunst, and he throwed
my pistol into the lake.”