Library of 
 The Ut^iversity of North Carolina 
 
 COLLECTION OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINIANA 
 
 ENDOWED BY 
 
 JOHN SPRUNT HILL 
 
 of the Class of 1889 
 
 C^i5_P7e9 + 
 
This book must not 
 be taken from the 
 Library building. 
 
 Form No. 471 
 
THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
"I'll tote yuh to death along of me, anyhow." 
 
 (Frontispiece, Page 256.) 
 
The Trouble at Pinelands 
 
 A Detective Story 
 
 BY 
 
 ERNEST M. POATE 
 
 CHELSEA HOUSE 
 79 Seventh Avenue New York City 
 
Copyright, 1922 
 By CHELSEA HOUSE 
 
 The Trouble at Pinelands 
 
 (Printed in the United States of America) 
 
 All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign 
 languages, including the Scandinavian. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAFTEB 
 
 I. The Poltergeist 
 
 11. bobwhite 
 
 IUjI, a Bad Spell 
 
 IV. A Feud 
 
 V, A Tragedy . 
 
 VI. Uncertainty 
 
 VII. Investigation 
 
 VIII. The Inquest 
 
 'IX. A Conflagration 
 
 X. More Trouble Threatens 
 XI- Preparations for Defense 
 
 XII. A Frustrated Lynching 
 
 PAGE 
 
 .. >> 
 
 a 
 
 XIII. '^'A Little Relaxation 
 
 XIV. The Poltergeist Again 
 XV. A Fishing Trip , 
 
 XVI. Some Clews, and a Suggestion 
 
 X\TI. An Unusual Wedding 
 
 XVIII. SoMERS Disgraces Himself 
 
 ix 
 
 II 
 
 . 23 
 
 . 37 
 
 . 47 
 
 . 54 
 
 . 63 
 
 . 76 
 
 . 86 
 
 • 95 
 
 . 104 
 
 . 112 
 
 . 118 
 
 . 132 
 
 . 141 
 
 . 151 
 
 . 158 
 
 . 165 
 
 * 174 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CBAFTRB 
 
 XIX. An Explanation 
 XX. A Flirtation 
 
 XXI. An Illicit Enterprise 
 
 XXII. The Showdown 
 
 XXMI. Anne Christie's Story 
 XXIV. A Projected Excursion 
 XXV. A Trip to the Mountains 
 
 XXVI. Roaring Lafe 
 
 XXVII. In the Hands of the Enemy 
 XXVni. Rutledge Talks . ., - 
 
 XXIX. The Return 
 
 XXX. An Agitated Household . 
 
 XXXI. A Borrowed Shotgun 
 
 XXXII. The Poltergeist's Last Visit 
 
 XXXIII. The Final Explanation . 
 
 XXXIV. Mating Time 
 
 PAGB 
 
 183 
 
 190 
 200 
 207 
 216 
 
 240 
 250 
 256 
 266 
 271 
 279 
 287 
 296 
 310 
 
The Trouble at Pinelands 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE POLTERGEIST 
 
 1 COULD not sleep. I am an old man now and 
 of settled habit; a "confirmed bachelor," the 
 young folks call me. Even the smallest change of 
 routine irks me; and so, on this night, I found 
 it very hard to be comfortable in a strange bed. 
 
 Peter McGregor had gone north. He was in 
 Baltimore to order flowers, consult the caterer, and 
 make the final arrangements for the wedding break- 
 fast. Only women were left in the old stone 
 mansion; the McGregors called it "Fort House," 
 because it had something of the grim, forbidding 
 look of an old fort. Dorothy, Peter's sister, her 
 invalid aunt, and the nurse, Miss Christie, were 
 all here. 
 
 Miss Christie was too indifferent to care, I think; 
 she was a very dormouse for contentment, and she 
 slept so determinedly that I used to wonder when 
 she found time to care for her patient. But 
 Dorothy was timid, as most young girls are; and 
 her Aunt Mary, who was paralyzed, was highly 
 nervous at the best and declared that she'd never 
 close an eye without a man in the house. And, 
 indeed, I could not blame them much, for Fort 
 House was a gloomy, eerie place, with its big, silent 
 ^ rooms and long, dark halls, wainscoted in time- 
 ^ stained oak and full of unexpected nooks and 
 
12 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 corners. Also, though well within the village, it 
 stood far back from the street in a little grove 
 of high, solemn pines; leafy shrubs grew thick 
 about its gray walls, and honeysuckle vines climbed 
 over its narrow windows and shaded them still 
 further. 
 
 A man must be had to protect these lone women, 
 and there was I — not a very efficient protector, I 
 fear, since I am turned sixty-five and sadly crippled 
 with rheumatism, but the best available. For my 
 nephew, Lewis, Doctor C. Lewis Parker, Johns 
 Hopkins Medical College, class of '17, though willing 
 enough, was scarcely the man to come, since he was 
 to marry Dorothy in two days; w^hereas I was of 
 discreet age and w^ith none to miss me at home. 
 Li spite of his assurances I knew well enough that 
 I was a nuisance and no help in my nephew^'s house; 
 he kept me with him simply because I was his only 
 surviving kinsman, as he was mine, and because 
 his kind heart would not leave me to end my days 
 in some home for the aged. Yes, I knev/ that I 
 w^as but a burden upon his goodness — knew it sadly, 
 but without bitterness; a long old age tempers one's 
 pride. 
 
 But here I was, the guardian of my nephew's bride 
 to be; and I tossed upon my bed and could not sleep 
 for long, sad thoughts. I rejoiced in the boy's 
 happiness; truly I rejoiced, for Dorothy McGregor 
 was the sweetest of girls and as tender to a useless 
 old man as if I had been her own kin. Yes, it v/as 
 best, oh, surely it was best, that these two kindly, 
 handsome young folk should marry and make their 
 
THE POLTERGEIST 13 
 
 own home. I looked back through a vista of long, 
 lonely years at my own friendless life, a life that 
 might have been so different if my Dorothy had 
 lived. 
 
 They would marry and be happy in each other. 
 But — I am a very selfish old man, I fear — but what 
 of me? I had no other home; and, were she never 
 so tender of heart, wdiat bride desires that her 
 honeymoon should have such a worthless, worn-out 
 satellite as I ? No, these two must build their own 
 nest; and it would have no place for me. Then I 
 thought briefly of Aunt Mary McGregor, paralyzed 
 from the waist dow^n, these fourteen years, and 
 bearing her troubles with such saintly patience ; 
 where would she go, and how would she live after 
 the wedding? We two might marry also, I thought, 
 and laughed mirthlessly at the idea. Old maid and 
 old bachelor, we might join our troubles and spend 
 the evening of our days together, enlivening each 
 other with comparisons of our various aches and 
 pains. For I must admit that Aunt Mary, for all her 
 sweet patience, was overfond of discussing her 
 symptoms. 
 
 The old house was very quiet,- except for those 
 strange creakings and rustlings which one hears a.t 
 night in these old places. Faint, eerie noises, these, 
 which made the silence more profound; I fancied 
 that Fort House whispered to itself of days gone by. 
 
 Without was the clear, cool hush of a North 
 Carolina summer's night. It had been a hot June 
 day, but the night was cool, as are all our nights, 
 and a round, bright moon hung high, flooding the 
 
14 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 lawn with pale light, making the black shadows of 
 the pines blacker yet, silvering the leaves of the 
 honeysuckle vine at my windows. The sweet, heavy 
 scent of a few late blossoms drifted in to me, bear- 
 ing with it that faint, sinister suggestion of mystery 
 and crime that belongs peculiarly to the cloying odor 
 of honeysuckles in a hushed, dark night. 
 
 That odor fretted me, awaking in my mind un- 
 pleasant fancies. This w^as a dismal place, the old 
 Fort House ; no proper setting for such a vivid young 
 flower as Dorothy McGregor. I strove to fancy the 
 house filled with flowers, crowded with gay-dressed, 
 laughing wedding guests, and I could not, even now, 
 with a wedding two days off. I was queerly thank- 
 ful that Dorothy and Lewis would not live here, but 
 in a little white bungalow, red-roofed, banked about 
 with flowers, open to the kindly, honest sun. For 
 how could young lovers be happy here, in this grim 
 stone pile among the solemn pines, this mournful old 
 house, which creaked and whispered to itself so 
 mysteriously of nights, whose dark, airless rooms 
 were heavy with the scent of honeysuckle? Some- 
 where I seemed to have read or heard that the 
 honeysuckle grows best and gives its strongest odor 
 about places of secret crime. The fancy obsessed 
 me; I wondered what might be the history of this 
 old mansion — for I was but newly come to Pine- 
 lands, a year ago — what dark deeds these walls had 
 known in days long gone; w^hat dreadful histories 
 were bared in the self -communings of those ancient, 
 creaking timbers. 
 
 It was very late, and I w^as tired out. Moreover 
 
THE POLTERGEIST iS 
 
 I was sad because I must so soon give up my 
 nephew to his new wife. My aged bones ached, and 
 my knee joints creaked and groaned, as I paced the 
 floor. I was feverish, perhaps, and so fanciful; or it 
 may be that I was fey. Whatever the explanation, 
 a sudden conviction swept over me, as of actual 
 knowledge. 
 
 Fort House was haunted. I knew it. Without 
 knowing how or why, that knowledge swept over me 
 in a chill wave of fear that raced up my spine and 
 plucked at the short hairs of my neck. It left me 
 shaken and dismayed, with a lump of ice where my 
 heart had been. 
 
 The place was deadly still. Even the indistinct 
 complaints of aged timbers were hushed, and there 
 seemed no possibility of sound in all the world. 
 Then, from the hall below, came a whirring click, 
 whereat I gasped; the grandfather clock on the stair 
 landing struck twelve — deliberately, solemnly. The 
 mellow chime of its old gong dropped dead on the 
 still air, without an echo. The silence of the tomb, 
 a hush intolerably profound. Then, with dreadful 
 suddenness, a clanking as of chains, the crash of 
 broken crockery, a shrill, horrid screech! 
 
 My veins seemed to freeze, and I could not 
 breathe. As in nightmares, an inescapable weight 
 dragged at every limb, held me helpless. 
 
 What was abroad I knew not, save that it could 
 be no honest thing. Why, I would have prayed for 
 a palpable burglar; I could have fallen on his neck 
 with joyful tears, though he were the worst villain 
 unhung ! 
 
i6 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Then I heard a faint stir in the room beyond 
 mine, where Dorothy McGregor slept; the tiniest 
 of frightened sobs. That sound heartened me. I 
 am no hero; but in a long hfe I have observed more 
 than once that terrors which will turn a solitary man 
 craven may be faced almost with boldness if he has 
 but a weaker one beside him to protect. Alone, I 
 dared not stay in my room, much less venture forth; 
 but there was Dorothy next me, and downstairs 
 her helpless aunt and the nurse. They would look 
 to me for aid, for courage; and knowing that, I 
 made shift to conquer my fears a very little. 
 
 I threw a bath robe over my shoulders and padded 
 out into the black hall, barefoot. 
 
 ^'Dorothy!" I whispered; somehow, I dared not 
 call aloud. "My dear, are you all right?" 
 
 Her answer came muffled through the door. "Yes, 
 Uncle George. It's nothing." But her shaking voice 
 belied the words. "It's nothing to be af-f-fraid of. 
 We've heard it before. Wait, I'm coming out. 
 Aunty'll be scared." 
 
 In a moment her door opened, and Dorothy ap- 
 peared, faintly visible by the pale moon that shone 
 in her window. She was wrapped in some sort of 
 filmy, lacy robe, and her fine black hair, which lay 
 across one shoulder, in a braid thicker than my 
 wrist, fell down the front of her negligee, right to 
 her knees. 
 
 She groped for my arm and clutched it tight. 
 Neither of us thought of making a light. Perhaps 
 we both feared what that light might reveal. 
 
 "Let's go down to Aunt Mary's room," she 
 
THE POLTERGEIST 17 
 
 whispered. ''She'll be scared to death, poor thing I 
 Tm scared, my own self, and just think of her, 
 not able even to move!" 
 
 A plump, delicious little thing, she huddled close 
 against me. I felt her tender body tremble and put 
 an arm across one shoulder. 
 
 ''Come along, child," said I. "But give me a hand 
 on the stairs here, because my rheumatism is pretty 
 bad to-night. What was it?" 
 
 Dorothy cuddled my arm. "Poor dear!" she 
 whispered. "Careful of that step; we're just at the 
 turn. Why, it was the Poltergeist." 
 
 "Huh?" I stopped short, repeating the outlandish 
 word. "Poltergeist? What's that?" 
 
 "Why, that scream and everything. It comes 
 every few nights lately, only I never said anything 
 about it outside, because it upsets Aunt Mary so. 
 She won't have me even mention it to Lewis, let 
 alone any other body; just says such things oughtn't 
 to be talked about. After I showed her the broken 
 dishes she Oh-h-h!" 
 
 She broke off, gripping my arm tighter still, press- 
 ing close against me, to the detriment of my sorer 
 shoulder; then she made a quaint little sound, a 
 sort of whispered scream. 
 
 I stared violently, too; for there was a ghostly 
 rustling in the lower hall, just by our knees, and 
 something dim and white and shapeless seemed to 
 whip past us and disappear. I say seemed; for it 
 was too dark to be sure, and I stretched out my 
 hand toward it and felt nothing. It might have 
 
i8 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 been pure fancy, a breath of air through the hall, 
 a mouse scurrying along the wall. 
 
 "There, Dotty!" I whispered. "It wasn't any- 
 thing — and, besides, it's gone. See?" 
 
 *T know," she agreed doubtfully. 'T know it 
 wasn't anything, and Peter always says so, too. He 
 watched two nights to make sure; only he went to 
 sleep both times. But it scares me just the same." 
 
 By now we had groped our way to Aunt Mary's 
 room. She slept on the ground floor, being, as I 
 may have said, paralyzed from the waist dow^n. 
 Her nurse. Miss Christie, slept in a little chamber 
 which opened off of her patient's room. 
 
 We listened, our heads close together, pressed 
 against the closed door; presently we heard the 
 sound of heavy breathing — a ladylike snore. 
 
 "That's Miss Christie," whispered Dorothy. "It 
 didn't wake her up. Uncle George, she is the sleep- 
 ingest thing! She makes me mad sometimes, she's 
 so placid." 
 
 I heard the creak of springs, as some one moved 
 in bed, and a weak, sad, patient voice called: 
 Is any one there?" 
 
 It's me, aunty," replied Dorothy. "We came to 
 see if you were all right. Did you hear it?" 
 
 In the room beyond us the bed creaked again, as 
 if some one struggled to sit up in it. Then Aunt 
 Mary's voice: 
 
 "Miss Christie!" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 A sigh. Then louder, but still patiently, sweetly: 
 "Miss Christie! Nurse!" 
 
 {(- 
 
 li- 
 
THE POLTERGEIST 19 
 
 "Aw-ugh!" A yawn, a sleepy murmur, and then, 
 when Aunt Mary had called once more : **Yes, Miss 
 McGregor, Fm comin' ! Ho-hum!" 
 
 Bare feet plumped to the floor and padded out 
 toward us; I could fancy the nurse digging her 
 fists into sleep-blurred eyes. 
 
 'Wha's a matter?" 
 
 "Snap on the lights, please; now help me to sit 
 up. Hand me that shawl. Open the door, please ; 
 Dorothy's out there.'' 
 
 A line of light showed at our feet, along the 
 threshold. We heard a bustle within, and presently 
 the door opened. I hesitated a moment, half blinded 
 by the sudden light. Yet I saw the retreating figure 
 of the nurse, dumpy and shapeless in a bath robe, 
 her head an aureole of tousled blond hair. She 
 vanished into her own alcove room, and I heard her 
 drop upon the l>ed, with one more yawn, followed, 
 without appreciable pause, by gentle snores. 
 
 Dorothy turned to me. The blue of her negligee 
 matched her sea-blue eyes, and her soft black hair 
 was a cloud about her dimpled face, still delicately 
 flushed with sleep. Light and company had quite 
 restored her courage ; she laughed at me merrily. 
 
 "Come along in. Uncle George ! You look lovely. 
 No? Well, just a minute, then.'' 
 
 She turned to her aunt. The old lady was propped 
 high with pillows, a beautiful old Paisley shawl 
 wrapped about her thin shoulders. Her snow-white 
 hair was dressed exactly as for a ball. She was 
 a wonderful old lady, always precise and well 
 groomed, in spite of her invalidism. Her black eyes 
 
ic 
 
 iif 
 
 20 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 were bright, but her thin, patrician face bore a look 
 of patient sadness. She stretched out a slender 
 hand. 
 
 There, child! What is it?" 
 Why — why, aunty, you know! Didn't you hear 
 it?" 
 
 Aunt Mary sighed. ''Yes, Dorothy, dear, but 
 these are things best not spoken about." 
 
 "Did it wake you up?" 
 
 "No, child. I haven't been asleep. Shift that 
 pillow, please; the pain is worse to-night." She 
 sighed again, with sad, upturned eyes. 'Tt seems as 
 if I had enough to bear, without that. But it's all 
 for the best, no doubt. I must be patient!" She had 
 the sweet, resigned expression of some aged saint. 
 "I was just getting quieted down, too. There, child, 
 run back to bed. So sorry you were disturbed, Mr. 
 Uhlman," she told me over her niece's shoulder. 
 "This child is fanciful — nervous." 
 
 "Did I disturb you, too. Aunt Mary?" Dorothy's 
 voice was remorseful. "But I thought you'd be 
 frightened, dear." 
 
 Aunt Mary made a little deprecatory gesture. 
 "Why? I'm not afraid of spirits, my child; I'll 
 be with them soon enough. Go now, but call Miss 
 Christie first. I want her to change my pillows." 
 
 She closed her eyes, sighed wearily, then spoke 
 again to me, where I stood in the dark hall. 
 
 "You mustn't mind what you heard, Mr. Uhlman. 
 It's nothing — merely a materialization. Trivial 
 spirits can't harm us." 
 
 We were dismissed. As Dorothy closed the door 
 
iC\ 
 
 ((I 
 
 THE POLTERGEIST 21 
 
 very gently, I heard Aunt Mary say : "Raise me a 
 little more, Miss Christie. And another pillow, 
 please. My head's very bad again. This has upset 
 me." She sighed plaintively. Both tone and words 
 were of an angelic resignation; I could not under- 
 stand Dorothy's manner. 
 
 For, now that we were alone in the dark hall, 
 she gritted her little, even teeth together. "Darn!" 
 I heard her mutter. 
 What is it, child?" 
 
 Oh, nothing! Aunt Mary's on another rampage. 
 Wish I'd left her alone, but you never know how to 
 take her." 
 
 "My dear!" I reproved. "You oughtn't to speak 
 of your aunt so. She has a hard time, poor lady!" 
 
 Dorothy laughed shortly. "So do I! Oh, I know 
 you think I'm. horrid, but you just stick around and 
 see for yourself." 
 
 I sighed. The young are intolerant of invalidism. 
 "But about the other thing, Dorothy — the scream we 
 heard, and all that? What did you mean by 
 Toltergeist?'" 
 
 The girl shook her head. "Come away, Uncle 
 George. She'll hear us. Never mind that now. 
 Oh" — as I persisted — "that's what Aunt Mary calls 
 'manifestations,' screams at night, broken dishes, 
 things missing from the pantry, and all that. She 
 wrote to some learned society about it, and they said 
 it was a Poltergeist, a little, malicious ghost that 
 plays tricks like that. They wanted to send some- 
 body here to investigate. Come, we've got to get out 
 of here; Aunt Mary has ears like a lynx. In the 
 
22 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 morning she'll tell how our talking kept her awake 
 all night long. Come on, Uncle George, do! Never 
 mind the ghost. I hear enough about that; Aunt 
 Mary talks of it to me for hours on end, when she's 
 in the right humor. She's a great spiritualist, you 
 know." 
 
 In silence she bustled me back to my room. One 
 would have thought that she was actually afraid of 
 that sweet, patient old saint, her Aunt Mary. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 BOBWHITE 
 
 I WENT back to bed, but not to sleep. The moon 
 had set, and the pitch dark of the old house 
 intensified all my foolish fancies. Over and over 
 I went through the round of morbid thought: my 
 nephew's marriage, the bleak, friendless future that 
 awaited me ; this dismal old barracks, pervaded by 
 the sinister odor of honeysuckle; the faint, mys- 
 terious creakings and stirrings of its ancient walls. 
 I caught myself listening, breathless, for a repetition 
 of that awful screech ; I vowed that nothing should 
 induce me to spend another night in the haunted 
 place. I paid Dorothy and her aunt the meed of a 
 tremendous admiration because they accepted this 
 Poltergeist so calmly. 
 
 Sleep stood far off from me, while the night 
 dragged inexorably on, and the deep-toned grand- 
 father clock on the landing tolled out hour after 
 hour. At last I felt the first subtle changes of com- 
 ing dawn. 
 
 From somewhere a fugitive breeze, the merest 
 vagrant breath of air, stirred in the solemn pines, so 
 that they whispered. The leaves of the honeysuckle 
 vines at my window moved, and the heavy scent of 
 their flowers poured in more strongly. The air 
 seemed cleaner, cooler. One could not say that it 
 was lighter, but the darkness grew more bearable. 
 And then, little by little, the east faded, turned gray, 
 
24 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 lavender, pink; then it began to flush with the first, 
 faint, exquisite tints that precede sunrise. 
 
 I sighed deep and turned over. My weary, 
 strained Hmbs relaxed. Now that the night was 
 gone, and daylight began to be a promise almost ful- 
 filled, ghosts troubled me no longer, nor did sad 
 thoughts have power to haunt me. "Joy cometh 
 in the morning," the psalmist said. To me came 
 peace at least, and I settled to rest. 
 
 My lids were heavy with that delicious languor 
 which welcomes sleep after a long, troubled night; 
 an insistent whistling, right under my window, 
 roused me. 
 
 I sat up, muttering angrily. Some milkman, no 
 doubt, or some furnace boy, wooing the cook. There 
 it was again; a fine hour for love-making! Would 
 she never wake up? Confound all cooks and their 
 swains ! 
 
 Then my delightful drowse fled away, leaving me 
 wide awake, my last hope of slumber gone. I knew 
 that this was no amorous milkman, whose racket 
 might be hushed by well-directed abuse. 
 
 "Bohzi4iite ! BohivhiteT 
 
 I held an aching head between my hands. That 
 insistent two-toned whistle, repeated again and again, 
 in maddening iteration, came from no man, but a 
 bird — the "bobwhite," the quail of North Carolina, 
 which some misguided idiots would have protected 
 as a songbird! 
 
 But now it was full light, and, I suppose, some- 
 thing after five o'clock. With a dispirited sigh I 
 arose and began to dress slowly. I had made more 
 
BOBWHITE 25 
 
 of a sacrifice than I realized when I offered, in my 
 innocence, to spend the night at Fort House. 
 
 I shaved and dressed leisurely, to the accom- 
 paniment of bobwhite's continual clamor; at last 
 I descended the wide stairs silently, lest I wake 
 others. I heard no stir from Dorothy's room; she, 
 no doubt, was well used to the song of quail. As 
 I may have said. Fort House stood apart and alone 
 in its grove of pines, and wild quail might well nest 
 in the tangle of scrub oaks behind it. They sang 
 under her window every morning, I suppose, so that 
 Dorothy heard them no longer. But I rejoiced 
 privately that the house I shared with my nephew, 
 Lewis Parker, stood close to its neighbors and far 
 off from wild birds and, I hoped, wilder ghosts. 
 
 But, as I reached the ground floor and tiptoed 
 past Aunt Mary's door, I had proof that bobwhite 
 had disturbed others beside myself. For all her 
 long stay in this house, Miss McGregor was not yet 
 used to the outcry of quail, it appeared. 
 
 ''Miss Christie!" I heard. ''Miss Christie! Dear 
 me, has she gone to sleep again? Miss Christie!" 
 
 A sleepy murmur from the inner room. 
 
 "Miss Christie! Get dressed, please, and go out. 
 See if you can't drive that wretched bird away; I 
 can't stand it any longer!" 
 
 I smiled to myself, for the sweet, resigned voice 
 had turned sharp, almost irritable. Plainly there 
 were limits even to Aunt Mary's patience. And from 
 without the whistle of that miserable quail continued 
 monotonously: ''Bobwhite!" Three seconds, then: 
 ''Bohzvhiter 
 
26 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Then I went on into the Uving room, selected a 
 book and settled myself to wait for breakfast. It 
 might have been an hour before I heard voices at 
 the rear of the house; they came closer, sounded 
 from the dining room, just behind me. I listend 
 frankly, welcoming any signs of human companion- 
 ship after my long vigil; for nothing is so lonely 
 as a deserted sitting room in the early morning, 
 when all but yourself are still in their rooms. 
 
 "Yassum, Miss Dor'thy, thassall, ma*am. Them 
 two gold-banded chiny cups done gone bust, an' th' 
 sweet potato pie all et up." 
 
 ''Oh, dear!" That was Dorothy's voice. *T don't 
 mind the pie so much, but I do wish the ghost 
 wouldn't break my best dishes, Rosina." 
 
 The Poltergeist retained an appetite for material 
 dainties, it seemed! For some reason that touch 
 rendered it less formidable to my fancy ; besides, it 
 was now bright sunlight, and who fears ghosts in 
 the daytime? I felt very courageous. 
 
 But the cook was speaking again, in a rich, throaty 
 drawl. ''Yassum, Miss Dor'thy. Them ghosteses 
 ain't got no apershashun, is they? But, ma'am. I 
 done got my satisfy of ghosteses, Miss Dor'thy. 
 I'se standed 'em too long. Cain't leave you-all 
 ontwel th' weddin', a-course; but when you-all gits 
 safe married, Fort House is th' place Fse a-gwine 
 t' be anywheres else in No'th Ca'lina but! Yassum, 
 Miss Dor'thy! You heahs me!" 
 
 Dorothy sighed. ''We'll all be leaving then, I 
 hope, Rosina. It is a spooky old place, I know, but 
 Aunt Mary likes it here." 
 
BOBWHITE 27 
 
 Rosina departed kitchenward, muttering something 
 unintelligible which I fancied was less than compli- 
 mentary to Miss McGregor; and Dorothy pushed 
 aside the portiere and saw me. 
 
 ''Why, good morning, Uncle George! You're 
 up early." 
 
 I rose rather stiffly, for this night had done my 
 rheumatism no good, and bowed. 
 
 "Good morning, Dorothy! Did you sleep well?" 
 
 "Not very." However she looked fresh as a rose, 
 and her blue eyes shone. Her thick black hair was 
 coiled simply about a shapely head; she wore some 
 sort of filmy silk robe of a pale blue color, and 
 ravishingly pretty she looked in it, too. 
 
 "The Poltergeist upset my night," she went on. 
 "I got up early to see what damage he'd done this 
 time. You'll excuse me for coming out so in- 
 formally ?" She looked down at her negligee with 
 a bright blush. "I'm going to skip right back up- 
 stairs and dress now — honest I am." 
 
 "You look very sweet, my dear." I am old enough 
 to say such things quite impersonally. "But tell me 
 first about the ghost." 
 
 She blushed again. "Why — why. Uncle George, 
 it seems so silly!" 
 
 "Silly!" I repeated. "There was nothing silly 
 about that scream in the night; it brought the goose 
 flesh out all over me." 
 
 "Well," she admitted. "But you see I've heard 
 it so often, and it's never done any harm." 
 
 "Often? You never mentioned it before." 
 
28 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Her color heightened further at my tone of re- 
 proach. She came closer and perched on the arm 
 of my chair, smoothing my old bald head gently. 
 
 "No, I never spoke of it. Even Lewis doesn't 
 know — except he's heard Peter joking about it some- 
 times. Maybe I'll tell him after w-e're married; but 
 I couldn't bear to have him laugh at me. It's bad 
 enough to have your brother always making fun, 
 without your — your fiance, too. But the ghost — 
 well, it's come a dozen times or more. The first 
 time was — let me see! It was about a year ago. 
 I know^ it was after mother died, and Aunt Mary 
 came here to live, because I remember how indignant 
 she was. Just pooh-poohed and said it was all my 
 imagination. But afterward she heard it, too; and 
 then she began to read and study about spirits, until 
 now she's a confirmed spiritualist — uses the ouija 
 board and everything. But she never wants the 
 Poltergeist talked about outside the family. 
 
 "What does it do? Why, little, mean tricks. It 
 gets into the cupboards and steals things and breaks 
 dishes; and it bangs the furniture about, and some- 
 times it screams like it did last night. Peter sat up 
 to watch several times, but he never saw anything, 
 though one night it pulled the chair out from under 
 him. Peter claims he just went to sleep and fell 
 over, but I know better. It was the Poltergeist! 
 Aunt Mary claims you never can see them — they're 
 invisible. She says they never do any real harm, 
 only these little tricks, like breaking dishes and all 
 that. But it is kind of unsettling, Uncle George. 
 I'll be glad when Lewis and I are married, and we 
 
BOBWHITE 29 
 
 can leave this old house for good. Only think, 
 Uncle George, three days more!" 
 
 Then she jumped up with a cry. "My goodness, 
 Lewis is coming over to breakfast, and here it is 
 seven o'clock and after, and me not even dressed! 
 I must run. Bother the Poltergeist! Aunt 
 Mary'll tell you all about it, if you can once 
 get her started. She loves to talk about ghosts. 
 I've often wondered how she refrained from telling 
 Lewis. And say" — she darted back to my side and 
 w^hispered — ''say. Uncle George, be awful nice to 
 her this morning; jolly her up a little, will you? 
 She will be in a terrible temper, I'm afraid." 
 
 She dropped a swift kiss upon my bald spot and 
 ran out. 
 
 I settled back to wait for breakfast, rather im- 
 patiently, I must admit, for the night had tired me, 
 and I craved hot coffee. But in twenty minutes 
 Dorothy was back, demure and immaculate in a little 
 blue-and-white gingham. 
 
 "Come along," she urged. "Let's go in and get 
 started. We won't wait for Lewis; he'll be along 
 directly. I want everything fixed and ready before 
 Aunt Mary comes out." 
 
 So she led the w^ay into the dining room, and I 
 followed gratefully. I sat down, and Dorothy began 
 to hurry Rosina. 
 
 "Quick, Rosina," she directed. "Bring in the 
 coffeepot and those muffins. And get a fresh pat 
 of butter; this looks mussy. I hear aunty." 
 
 The fat, motherly black cook gave one apprehen- 
 sive glance at the doorway, smoothed her crisp 
 
30 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 apron and fled. I wondered briefly that her house- 
 hold should be in such patent fear of that sweet, 
 heroic old lady, Miss Mary McGregor. 
 
 Then I, too, heard the creak of her wheel chair, 
 and presently Aunt Mary appeared in the door, 
 riding in the invalid's chair in which she spent all 
 her waking hours. Miss Christie propelled it, look- 
 ing fresh and wholesome enough, in her ckan white 
 uniform, but yawning still. She was a sleepy sort 
 of girl, a very sleepy sort! 
 
 Aunt Mary greeted us with her sad, patient smile, 
 a smile to bring tears to your eyes, it was so 
 obviously a struggle against despair. My heart 
 went out to her for her pathetic bravery, poor, frail 
 old lady! Her high-bred face beneath the crown 
 of snow-white hair was pale and worn; she sighed 
 deeply. 
 
 **Good morning, all,'' she quavered, her eyes 
 bright with unshed tears ; then she bit her lip and 
 smiled again determinedly. 
 
 ''Good morning, aunty. Why, you're looking 
 quite bright, aren't you? Wheel her right up here, 
 Miss Christie ; everything's all ready. Here, aunty, 
 here's your orange juice, all iced. Drink it right 
 down, there's a dear. Rosina! A nice, hot cup of 
 coffee for Aunty Mary — quick! I got up early, 
 Aunt Mary, on purpose to make muffins for you ; 
 don't they look nice and appetizing? I'll butter one 
 and just pop it into your mouth, shall I? I'm sure 
 you're hungry this morning; you look so rested. 
 You must have had a very good night."' 
 
 Breathlessly, with a sort of desperate gayety, 
 
BOBWHITE 31 
 
 Dorothy talked against time. Her aunt listened im- 
 patiently, still wearing that pathetic smile; with 
 parted lips she evidently waited only an opportunity 
 to interrupt. And now she found it. 
 
 "A good night!" She sighed deeply, tragically. 
 *'My dear! As though my nights were ever restful. 
 I'm used to wakeful nights, and you know I'm not 
 one to complain of the afflictions the Lord has seen 
 fit to visit upon me. I try to bear them patiently 
 and to keep sweet. But last night was terrible! It 
 was so sweet of you, my dear, to come to my door 
 in the night. Dorothy is always so thoughtful of her 
 poor old aunt, Mr. Uhlman. I hadn't heard a sound ; 
 I was just beginning to doze off, and I thought to 
 myself, 'I do believe I'm going to rest an hour or 
 two,' when Dorothy knocked at the door. It was 
 very kindly; Dorothy is inclined to be timid about 
 the manifestations, Mr. Uhlman — the Poltergeist, 
 you know. She hasn't studied spiritism as deeply 
 as I have, of course. She naturally thinks I am 
 timid, too; and so, being the most unselfish of 
 children, she comes to me at once. Bless her! I 
 hope you had no trouble getting about, Mr. Uhlman; 
 those stairs creak so, Fm always afraid some one 
 may stumble. I heard you going back to your 
 room. I'd been feeling so rested, but, after you two 
 had gone, I had such a terrible palpitation, and my 
 neck knotted very badly. You know, Mr. Uhlman, 
 I have so much trouble with the back of my neck. 
 I can't think what brought it on. I was resting so 
 nicely before you two came in, but afterward I had 
 such a hard time!" 
 
Z2 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 She paused to heave a vast sigh and absorb an 
 equally vast bite of buttered muffin. "But I mustn^t 
 complain. I'm only thankful that the Lord sends 
 me strength to bear my troubles patiently. I did 
 get settled a trifle about daybreak, and then the 
 birds began. Those quail, you know, bobwhites! I 
 suppose it's my condition and perfectly absurd, so, 
 of course, I never complain about it; but those birds 
 set my nerves on edge so I can feel it all down my 
 spine and into my limbs. You've no idea. I bore 
 it as long as I could, but finally I was simply com- 
 pelled to call Miss Christie." She paused to cough. 
 "I'm rather hoarse, I'm afraid. Miss Christie sleeps 
 so soundly, the poor dear!" Here she gave her 
 nurse an affectionate smile. "I'm a dreadful trouble 
 to you, am I not? Eventually I managed to wake 
 her, and she threw a stick out of the window to drive 
 the birds away. By that time my back was paining 
 me so I couldn't possibly rest." 
 
 Aunt Mary stopped, beamed upon us with that 
 plaintive, angelic look and devoted herself to her 
 muffins and coffee. Having succeeded so admirably 
 in putting us all three in the wrong, apf>ortioning 
 justly to each his share in her discomforts of the 
 night, all in the sweetest, most kindly fashion in the 
 world, she appeared to feel rather better. We others 
 looked at our plates. I, for one, felt my ears burn, 
 and my appetite seemed to have left me. I began 
 to reahze that it is not always easy to live with the 
 most sweetly patient of invalids. And yet Dorothy's 
 attitude seemed rather callous. Poor Aunt Mary! 
 She had a great deal to bear, after all ! I reproached 
 
BOBWHITE 33 
 
 myself for having added, however unwittingly, to 
 her discomforts. 
 
 Upon the little hush came the sound of the door- 
 bell, and Dorothy flew to answer it, her face bright- 
 ening beautifully. Presently she returned, clinging 
 to the arm of my nephew, Doctor C. Lewis Parker. 
 Tall and spare he towered above her, and his black 
 eyes looked down adoringly into her blue ones. 
 
 ''Good morning, Aunt Mary!" He bowed over 
 her frail hand with a stately courtesy that w^as not 
 unbecoming. "Hello, Uncle George. Good morning, 
 Miss Christie. Sorry to be late, honey. I had to 
 make a call. Did you save me some coffee? Oh, 
 good morning, Rosina! You didn't forget me, did 
 you?" 
 
 The fat cook beamed at him, rolling admiring 
 eyes. Servants are always fond of my nephew. 
 "Nossuh, Mist' Lewis — doctah. Ah means. Ah 
 done fetched yuh a special cup, made strong, suh." 
 
 The doctor sat down and unfolded his napkin. 
 *'Well, honey, what were you talking about?'' 
 
 Dorothy smiled demurely, with a sly glance at 
 me. ''Why, about ghosts, Lewis — about our an- 
 cestral spook." 
 
 Lewis stared and stroked his little black mustache. 
 His face was square, and his high cheek bones gave 
 it a solemn look, almost Indian. "About ghosts? 
 Nonsense! There's no such thing as a ghost!" If 
 my nephew had a fault, it was that he was a shade 
 too serious, a bit too literal-minded. He was not 
 overendowed with humor. 
 
 His pronouncement provoked a frank laugh from 
 
34 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Dorothy. I think she thoroughly enjoyed his 
 solemnity. But Miss McGregor bridled. 
 
 "Indeed! Young man " Then she broke off 
 
 quite suddenly and resumed her normal sweetness 
 of temper. One might have fancied that she did 
 not care to discuss spirits with Lewis. "My niece 
 is jesting," she went on, with a pale, patient smile. 
 "I'm afraid I wearied her. It is too easy to bore 
 the young and healthy, when one is an old, worth- 
 less invalid. I'm sorry, my dear. I know I must be 
 a great trial, but I'm thankful that I can drop into 
 the background gracefully. I bear my trials as best 
 I can. You all know I never complain. I realize 
 that I can't expect much attention from happy, care- 
 free young folks, and I don't look for it. I know 
 an invalid is always a burden, so I try not to make 
 things too hard for poor Dorothy; she's so self- 
 sacrificing! Ah, if I were only able, how I would 
 love to turn in and help get ready for the wedding! 
 But all I can do is sit back and wish you well, 
 children, and say nothing when my few wants are 
 forgotten. I know I can't expect attention with a 
 w^edding only three days off, and I don't expect it. 
 I just love the happy stir and bustle of preparation; 
 I seem to grow young again, because I share 
 Dorothy's pleasure so keenly. Perhaps it's that 
 which has made me so restless of late. I've suffered 
 much more than usual this week; no doubt it has 
 been the excitement. But I wouldn't have it changed 
 for worlds; I enjoy it so! What are a few more 
 sleepless nights, a few^ more pains, to me? I have 
 had so many — so many!" She sighed deeply, with 
 
BOBWHITE 35 
 
 that sweet, suffering smile of one too ethereal for 
 this rough world. "You must bear with me, children. 
 A few days, and 3^ou'll be gone, happy in each other, 
 leaving me to my solitude and suffering. Ah, it's 
 better so! I shall be happy, knowing that I am no 
 longer a damper on your joys." 
 
 Aunt Mary wiped away a tear and looked more 
 seraphic than ever. Dorothy and Lewis, unreason- 
 ably enough, appeared rather downcast. 
 
 The girl looked whimsically at Lewis; I fancy she 
 squeezed his hand under the table. Then she dropped 
 her napkin and, under cover of retrieving it, whis- 
 pered swiftly to me : 
 
 "Don't mind aunty — in bad temper!" 
 
 So she seemed to be. I was rather taken aback 
 by the revelation. I wondered how often Miss 
 McGregor was in this mood, and my sympathy for 
 her niece increased momently. If the old lady had 
 been humanly irritable it wouldn't have been so 
 bad; but this pious, sweet-toned flood of indirect 
 complaint was hard to bear. One felt hopelessly in 
 the wrong; one felt that Aunt Mary was forbearing 
 and magnanimous in spite of her pains; and one 
 rebelled thereat. 
 
 "Fm sorry you're having a bad time," said Lewis 
 apologetically. "Is there anything I could do. Aunt 
 Mary?" 
 
 She sighed. "I think I could stand every^thing else 
 if it weren't for the quail. Doctor Parker" — she 
 never could be induced to call my nephew "Lewis" 
 — "Doctor Parker, those birds drive me almost mad! 
 You know, I sleep very poorly; about dawn I used 
 
36 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 to be able to settle down for a little nap. But it's 
 just then that the quail begin: 'Bohwhite! hohii'hife!^ 
 — until I could just scream with the knots in my 
 neck. I don't know what's going to become of me; 
 I can't stand it much longer. You know I'm not one 
 to complain; I try to bear my burdens patiently, but 
 I've reached the end of my strength. Dorothy and 
 Peter don't realize how I've been tried, because I 
 never talk about it; Peter just laughs, when he 
 could have taken his gun and driven them away. 
 But, if those quail keep whistling under my window 
 much longer, I shall go mad!" 
 
 She finished in a rush of words, as her face con- 
 torted queerly, and her eyes reddened and filled with 
 tears. 
 
 "Oh, aunty!" cried Dorothy remorsefully. 
 
 My nephew rose and came round the table to pat 
 the old lady's hand comfortingly. "Never mind, 
 Aunt Mary; I'll see to it for you. Peter w^on't be 
 back till to-morrow night, but I'm sure he wouldn't 
 mind my borrowing his shotgun. I'll get up at day- 
 break in the morning and come over here and shoot 
 those quail for you. There can't be more than three 
 or four, I don't think; they've nested into the scrub 
 oaks out back, most likely. I'll see to it. Aunt Mary, 
 don't you fret any more!" 
 
 Miss McGregor seemed a little comforted. "I'm a 
 troublesome old woman," she sighed, "but you don't 
 realize what I suffer!" Then she rewarded Lewis 
 with her sweet, patient smile, albeit a bit weak and 
 w^atery. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A BAD SPELL 
 
 •T^E nurse wheeled Aunt Mary back to her room 
 ■■' to rest, and we others rose. Our breakfast had 
 been pretty effectually spoiled; none of us, except 
 Aunt Mary, had managed to eat much. The old 
 lady, however, had put away an excellent meal in 
 spite of her sufferings. 
 
 ''Poor old dear!" sighed Lewis. ''Honey, I'm 
 afraid we've been selfish in our happiness; we haven't 
 thought enough of Aunt Mary. After all she's a 
 great sufferer." 
 
 I started; that was so exactly Miss McGregor's 
 opinion. Dorothy looked at her lover almost sus- 
 piciously, but he was perfectly serious. As I have 
 said, my nephew was very serious-minded. 
 
 The girl sighed in relief and flashed an impudent 
 glance at me. "Yes, poor aunty," she said. "She's 
 a great sufferer, and she never complains." 
 
 "That's what makes it so pitiful," declared Lewis 
 soberly. "But come out doors a minute, honey; let's 
 look over things and see if we can't locate those 
 quail." 
 
 Knowing very well that I wasn't wanted, I watched 
 through the window, as the two young folks walked, 
 hand in hand, down the path, which led through the 
 pines at the east of the old house, into the thick 
 scrub oak jungle behind it. Although in the heart 
 of a sizable village, it was a solitary spot. The 
 
38 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 grounds of Fort House took in an entire block; and 
 in its center one might well have fancied himself in 
 the heart of the wilderness. 
 
 Thinking themselves out of sight, no doubt, the 
 two lovers stood very close. Dorothy's head rested 
 against my nephew^s shoulder; her face was up- 
 turned to his. I sighed and turned away. I am a 
 lonely old man. 
 
 Then I heard Rosina's voice l>ehind me. "Mist' 
 Uhlman, is Mist' Lewis done gone? They's a tele- 
 grum comed, an' the boy done fotch it oveh, seein' 
 they wa'n't nobody home to his place." 
 
 I took the yellow envelope. ''All right, Rosina. 
 He's out back with Miss Dorothy. There they come, 
 now!" I stepped through the open French doors 
 to meet them. 
 
 Lewis took the telegram, with that hint of flurry 
 which touches every one at sight of the yellow en- 
 velope. 
 
 "What? Oh, yes! It's from old Floyd Somers. 
 He was my classmate at medical school, you know; 
 he's on the staff of some hospital for the insane up 
 North. See what he says." He read the message 
 over and scowled and smiled rather doubtfully, then 
 scowled again. *' 'Sincere condolences. Glad to act 
 as chief mourner. Arrive Monday.' " 
 
 Doroth}^ flushed and bit her lip. "I don't care, 
 I think that's a great way to promise he'll be your 
 best man. No wonder he's in a lunatic asylum." 
 
 My nephew laughed rather uneasily. "Oh, that's 
 just Somers' way. He's a queer old chap, but I'm 
 sure you'll like him, honey." 
 
A BAD SPELL 39 
 
 "I'm not, then! 'Condolences!' The very idea!" 
 Then she chuckled. ''After all, it is kind of a funny- 
 telegram. Maybe he won't be so sure you need 
 condolences" — very demurely — "after he's seen me!" 
 
 "You little minx!" Lewis kissed her soundly. 
 "But really, honey, Floyd Somers is a fine old chap. 
 He may seem queer at first, but, when you get to 
 know him, he's one of the very best." 
 
 "Huh!" Dorothy made a little face. "Run along 
 now, boy, and get to work. You're going to have 
 a very expensive wife presently, and you can't afford 
 to neglect your practice." 
 
 As we came down the front steps, Doctor Gaskell's 
 big twin-six coupe backed silently out of the garage 
 behind his house, just opposite, and started down 
 street. I caught a glimpse of the doctor's face, 
 incongruously young beneath his crown of snow- 
 white hair; he smiled and raised an arm in greeting. 
 
 I lifted my hat. To my mind Gaskell was a fine 
 chap. Some twenty-five years older than Lewis he 
 had been located in Pinelands for more than twenty 
 years, and the cream of the practice was naturally 
 his. But he had been very gracious to my nephew 
 and had sent him more than one case. 
 
 Lewis, however, was less grateful. Now he 
 scowled blackly. "Darn his patronizing ways!" 
 
 "My boy, he's been awfully good to you." 
 
 "Huh? Oh, yes — very good! He's sent me a 
 few dead beats because he was tired of treating them 
 for nothing; and he's turned over half a dozen night 
 calls because he hates to get out of bed. And he 
 goes round saying: 'Parker? Oh, yes, Doctor 
 
40 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Parker. Yes, hum, hum! Fine young chap, that; 
 bright, too. Of course he hasn't had much experi- 
 ence yet' And it does me more harm than if he'd 
 slam me outright." 
 
 I was silenced. So we went on home, only a 
 short block, and the boy got out his modest flivver 
 to begin his own rounds, which were short enough. 
 As I have said, Lewis had been only a year in Pine- 
 lands. Ke was making a living — and no more. 
 Fortunately I had some money. 
 
 But he was not destined to make his calls yet. 
 For, just as he climbed into the little car, while I 
 stood on the steps to watch him off, Rosina came 
 panting around the corner. 
 
 "Oh, Mist' Lewis!" she wheezed. "Mist' Doctahl 
 Come a-runnin' ! Miss Dor'thy's Aunt Ma'y, she's 
 done been took dretful bad." Rosina's eyes rolled 
 fearsomely. "She's a-hollerin' an' a-takin' on ter- 
 rible. Yassuh! Whyn't you-all answer the phone? 
 Miss Dor'thy, she wants you t' come a-runnin'. 
 Yassuh!" 
 
 "Oh, the poor old lady! I'll be there directly. 
 Come along. Uncle George; you can help, maybe. 
 Quick!" 
 
 Lewis urged me into the little car and, scarce 
 waiting for me to close its door, started at top speed 
 for Fort House. In thirty seconds the flivver was 
 sliding to a stop, and my nephew leaped out, leaving 
 me to turn off the engine and follow. 
 
 I entered to find Aunt Mary in her wheel chair in 
 the big living room. Dorothy, white-faced, stood 
 at one side, wringing her hands; the nurse, Miss 
 
A BAD SPELL 41 
 
 Christie, was behind the chair, bathing the old lady's 
 forehead. As I came in the nurse yawned widely. 
 She did not seem one to distress herself unduly. 
 
 Lewis leaned over the chair, counting Miss Mc- 
 Gregor's pulse. The old lady was very pale; her 
 eyehds fluttered, her head drooped, as if she were 
 half fainting; she talked in a weak, trembling voice. 
 
 "No, I can't go to bed. I can't lie down; I 
 couldn't breathe, my heart pounds so. I — I think 
 I'm going to faint. I have such queer feelings all 
 down my left arm, and my limbs are just numb, way 
 up to the hips. Am I having a stroke, doctor? I'm 
 afraid so. Oh, my heart! There's a great ball in 
 my throat, and the back of my neck knots so ter- 
 ribly! Miss Christie! Not there? Please, rub my 
 neck very gently. Ah-h-h! I'm a great sufferer — a 
 great sufferer! Don't trouble about me, Dorothy 
 — run off and do your shopping. I know you've 
 lots to do, getting ready to be married. Ah, well! 
 I shan't be here long to be a trouble to you!" 
 
 She groaned aloud; her face began to twitch 
 alarmingly; her eyes rolled up until only the whites 
 W'Cre visible. *'I — I'm f-fainting!'* 
 
 My nephew put his stethoscope to her chest, felt 
 her pulse once more, then stepped back, irresolute. 
 
 ''Lewis! Lewis!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Aren't 
 you going to do anything for poor auntie? Quick!" 
 
 The boy frowned deeper. He opened his bag and 
 produced a bottle. "A spoon, please, with a cup and 
 some hot water." 
 
 When they were brought he poured out some 
 potion that diffused a strong scent of ammonia and 
 
AO 
 
 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 ether. Aunt Mary swallowed it with faint gurglings, 
 and her eyelids drooped once more. 
 
 Lewis scowled and rubbed his chin. **I don't 
 understand it," he said. ''Her heart's all right — 
 strong and regular. But she's in dreadful pain; one 
 can see that. I — I'd like to have somebody else 
 see her. Well, we must get her into bed first." 
 
 As she was wheeled back into her own room, 
 where she was shut in with nurse and physician, 
 Dorothy and I looked at each other in some doubt. 
 
 "It's no wonder if Lewis is puzzled," declared 
 the girl loyally. ''Aunt Mary's is a very unusual 
 case; I don't know how many doctors have disagreed 
 about it. She's often told me so herself." The girl 
 paused, looked guiltily about and then came very 
 close. "You know, Uncle George," she whispered, 
 her fragrant breath on my cheek, "sometimes I 
 wonder if auntie is really as bad off as she thinks. 
 Oh, she's paralyzed, of course, and it's an awful 
 thing to be tied to a chair like she is, not able to 
 stand or walk or do anything for herself. But, I 
 know it's just horrid of me, I do wonder if she 
 suffers as much as she makes out sometimes? I 
 know I stayed with her one night, when Miss 
 Christie was away, and she slept every minute ! 
 And next morning she swore up and down she'd 
 never closed her eyes, and she was real mad at me 
 for saying she had." 
 
 "Your aunt has a hard time, my dear," I told her. 
 "And " 
 
 Lewis emerged from the sick room, still frown- 
 ing. "She doesn't seem a bit better. I wish " 
 
A BAD SP£LL 43 
 
 He was staring out of the window at Doctor Gas- 
 kell's big car, just stopping in front of his house. 
 
 *'l beheve Darn it, I hate to ask any favors of 
 
 Gaskell, but he's older than I am, and he is mighty 
 clever. I believe I'll ask him to come over and see 
 Aunt Mary. Something's got to be done for her 
 right away; she's in dreadful pain, one can see." 
 
 Without more words he ran out, calling aloud. 
 
 I felt a surge of pride. It must have been hard 
 for Lewis to admit any uncertainty before his best- 
 beloved, and doubly hard to ask aid of Gaskell, whom 
 he disliked so heartily. Yet the boy was big enough 
 to submerge his pride for the sake of his patient's 
 well-being. 
 
 "He's a good boy, Dorothy,'* I whispered, and she 
 nodded, squeezing my hand. 
 
 Then Lewis returned, escorting Doctor Gaskell. 
 I had to admit that the latter's very manner inspired 
 confidence. His deep-set eyes were bright and steady, 
 and his smile was disarmingly cordial. He smoothed 
 back his thick, snow-white hair. 
 
 ''Well, Miss Dorothy! In trouble? We'll go right 
 in, doctor. Have to do something for the old lady 
 right aw^ay; can't have her sick now, with a wedding 
 coming on." His smile broadened, and a dimple 
 showed at the corner of his mouth. 
 
 Bowing, he turned away, and presently we heard 
 his deep voice in the bedroom. "What? Sitting 
 up? Fine! Hum, hum. Just wheel her back out, 
 nurse. Better light in the big room." 
 
 Miss McGregor reappeared in her chair. "She 
 
44 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 wouldn't get into bed, doctor," explained Miss 
 Christie. "Said it would kill her to be moved." 
 
 ''Hum, hum. Not quite that bad," rumbled Doc- 
 tor Gaskell, chuckling. 
 
 Aunt Mary opened one eye to shoot a curiously 
 vindictive glance at him, then she groaned aloud and 
 let her head drop limply forward again. 
 
 ''Hum, hum, hum," remarked Doctor Gaskell, un- 
 moved. "Let's look at you now." 
 
 With swift, practiced hands he made a brief ex- 
 amination; taking the old lady's pulse, listening to 
 her heart, tapping her knees and doing all the mys- 
 teriously impressive things that doctors do. 
 
 Presently he straightened up. "She's all right," 
 he declared brusquely. "Not a thing the matter 
 with her; a bit tired, that's all. Go to bed, madam, 
 and get a nap, and you'll feel better." 
 
 Miss McGregor's head jerked up; she opened her 
 eyes wide and fixed the physician with a baleful 
 glare. I caught my breath in wonder that an old 
 lady so patient and sweet-tempered could be capable 
 of such viciousness. 
 
 But it was over in a breath, and Aunt Mary's 
 features had resumed their accustomed expression of 
 suffering sweetness. 
 
 "No doubt you're right, doctor. I — I do feel 
 better." So gentle and kindly was her smile that I 
 w^ondered if my eyes had not deceived me just now. 
 "The worst is over, I hope. I'm in a great deal of 
 pain, but I can bear it!" 
 
 She looked so white, so fragile; her weary face, 
 her colorless, quivering lips, told such a tale of 
 
A BAD SPELL 45 
 
 suffering bravely borne that my heart swelled with 
 anger at the callousness of this doctor. 
 
 Lewis shared my feelings, I think, for he drew 
 Gaskell to one side and seemed to remonstrate with 
 him in low, angry whispers. The older man 
 shrugged and smiled. 
 
 "It's all right, my boy," he answered aloud. 'T 
 admire your soft heart, but this is plain hysteria. 
 What? Paralyzed? Oh, yes, she's paralyzed, but 
 she's not suffering. When you've seen as many 
 women as I have with 'knots in the back of their 
 necks,' you'll realize that the best thing to do is 
 treat 'em rough. Sympathy only makes 'em worse; 
 and it's the poor folks that have to live with 'em 
 who really need your sympathy. Hum, hum! You 
 go to bed, madam, and behave yourself. And, if 
 you stop taking out your bad temper on your 
 family, with 'bad spells' like this, you'll feel better 
 — and so will they." 
 
 It was brutal — even if it had been true it would 
 have been brutal — but it seemed efficacious. Aunt 
 ]\Iary straightened, with more color in her thin face 
 than I had ever seen there. Her voice was full and 
 strong, not sweet and gentle now, but sharp enough. 
 
 "You get out!" she said. "Dorothy, pay him and 
 send him away. You — you're no doctor! I've al- 
 ways said you didn't know your business, insulting 
 poor, helpless women like me!'* 
 
 My nephew interposed. He was perfectly white, 
 and he trembled visibly. 
 
 "Let me, Aunt Mary! Doctor Gaskell, you are a 
 cad, sir! A cad and an ignoramus! You're a dis- 
 
46 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 grace to onr profession. I — I" — he mouthed inar- 
 ticulately, almost beside himself with rage — 'T — 
 we'll dispense with your services, sir. I may be 
 young and inexperienced, but I'm not heartless. I 
 — I Get out, sir!" 
 
 I caught the boy's arm. "Softly, Lewis, softly! 
 Don't forget yourself. You'd better go, Doctor 
 Gaskell. I — I'm sorry. I apologize, sir. My nephew 
 is excited." 
 
 "Hum," said Doctor Gaskell quite calmly. "Hum, 
 hum! Yes, well — good day!" He bowed to Aunt 
 Mary, to Dorothy, to Lewis, and me, with the most 
 exact courtesy and went out. 
 
 'The beast!" exclaimed Lewis. 
 
 'Stop that!" I said to him severely. "He may 
 have been wrong; he was too abrupt, no doubt. But 
 he gave his honest opinion; and that's what you 
 wanted, wasn't it? And he showed much more 
 courtesy than you did, my boy." 
 
 ii' 
 
 ((( 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 A FEUD 
 
 MY nephew calmed down presently and apologized 
 to the ladies for his outburst. It had been a 
 distressing scene; but, whether it was Doctor 
 Gaskell's rude pronouncement, or excitement, which 
 caused her to forget her troubles, or just coinci- 
 dence. Aunt Mary seemed much better for it. She 
 replied rather shortly to our questions, saying that 
 she was more comfortable **for the moment," that 
 she didn't want anything, and that she'd lie down 
 a while to recuperate. 
 
 Miss Christie wheeled her back again into her 
 bedroom, apparently quite her usual sweetly, patient 
 self. But I was convinced, none the less, that she 
 would not lightly forgive Doctor Gaskell. 
 
 Poor Dorothy looked dreadfully flustered. As my 
 nephew left us to give the nurse some last directions, 
 she drew me out into the dining room. 
 
 ''I — I don't know what to think, Uncle George," 
 she declared. "I know Doctor Gaskell was awfully 
 harsh, and everything like that; and of course Lewis 
 is an awfully good doctor, and I'm sure he knows 
 what he's talking about, but — ^but, Uncle George, I 
 do believe there was some truth in what Doctor 
 Gaskell said. I do, I do! So there! You haven't 
 lived with Aunt Mary a whole year like I have. I 
 do believe she makes out her pains are lots worse 
 
48 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 than they are — sometimes; I do beHeve she Hkes to 
 have folks say how patient she is, and how she 
 suffers. If she's cross with me, or anything upsets 
 her, I do beHeve she has one of these bad spells, 
 when other folks would just be cross and cranky. 
 I just do! But you won't tell, will you? You 
 won't breathe it to a soul that I said that, will you, 
 Uncle George? Because, maybe, it's just my mean- 
 ness, and, besides, Lewis wouldn't like it." 
 
 So I promised. Then Lewis appeared, and I went 
 out with him, my own mind considerably unsettled 
 by doubts. On the whole I was inclined to agree 
 with Dorothy that Aunt Mary, despite her repeated 
 claims that she never complained, managed to make 
 the very most of her troubles. My nephew was still 
 incensed; he snorted wrathfully at intervals. I 
 thought it best to keep my suspicions to myself. 
 
 "I'll take you down to the post office, unk," he 
 said. ''The mail must be in by now, and I've got 
 to stop at the drug store, anyhow." 
 
 We went to the latter place first, and the pharma- 
 cist, Walter Olsen, hailed my nephew with joy. 
 
 "Howdy, doc! Glad you came in. Come on 
 back here." 
 
 He stooped over the high prescription counter at 
 the back of the store, his inch-wide blond eyebrows 
 working up and down, as they did when he was 
 puzzled. He was conning over a slip of paper, and 
 this he handed to my nephew. 
 
 "See if you can make that out, doc? Gaskell's 
 worse than usual lately; can't read his writing at all. 
 
A FEUD 49 
 
 And he's gone off somewhere, and Satterfield may be 
 in any minute after this." 
 
 Lewis took the prescription and studied it for a 
 moment. 'Tincture aconite, one drachm/' he read. 
 *'Bellonia — no, belladonna, a scruple." Then he 
 paused, staring over the paper at the druggist. "Sat- 
 terfield, did you say? Ralph Satterfield? Why, the 
 Satterfields are my patients! What in thunder does 
 Gaskell mean, stealing my cases?" 
 
 He threw^ the prescription dowm angrily, his hot 
 temper all aflame. My nephew had a healthy opinion 
 of his own dignity. ''I won't waste my time on it!" 
 he flared. "Let Gaskell translate his own scrawls. 
 What a dirty trick, stealing my patients! I never 
 did think much of Gaskell, but I supposed he had 
 some idea of ethics. Wonder if he ever heard 
 of professional etiquette?" 
 
 "Now, now, doc," soothed Olsen. He was a 
 mild, pacific chap. "Don't let it upset you. There 
 must be some mistake. Doctor Gaskell wouldn't do 
 that, I'm sure." Stealing another man's patients is 
 one of the high crimes of medicine. "You better 
 just ask him about it; likely Satterfield told him 
 you'd stopped coming." 
 
 "Nonsense!" replied Lewis. "I was out there 
 yesterday; I was on my way there this morning. It's 
 the boy, Johnny, isn't it?" He picked up the pre- 
 scription once more. ''Jo^^ Satterfield! That's my 
 case; I'm treating that boy. Gaskell just butted in 
 on me without a word. Confound him, he's always 
 playing me some dirty trick!" 
 
 His voice was high; one or two loafers in the 
 
50 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 front of the store heard him and came back to 
 peer over the high screen. Olsen looked troubled. 
 
 "Wish I'd let Ralph wait tiil I could locate 
 Gaskell," Olsen said to me helplessly. "I hate to 
 start trouble like this." He craned his neck to peer 
 over the screen, as the front door opened. ''Here's 
 Satterfield coming now!" he announced in vast relief. 
 "You talk to him, doc; see if he don't explain this 
 thing. You can talk right back here." 
 
 He beckoned the newcomer and led us to a small 
 storeroom behind the shop. "You-all can talk quiet 
 in there." He cast a worried look at the loungers, 
 who stared and whispered in front of the counter. 
 
 I drew my nephew into the room, almost by force. 
 "You cool off, boy," I ordered, "or else let me talk 
 to him. You're making a show of yourself; this 
 thing'll be all over town before night." 
 
 Thus adjured, Lewis took a fresh grip on himself 
 and turned more quietly to Satterfield. The latter 
 was a tall, gaunt, slab-sided individual in overalls 
 and a battered slouch hat. 
 
 "Look here, Satterfield," he began, "I thought I 
 was taking care of Johnny?" 
 
 The other rasped a stubbly chin and pulled at his 
 drooping mustache, in obvious embarrassment. 
 
 "We-ell, doc, y'see " He paused, shuffled his 
 
 feet and took a fresh start. "W'y, th' woman got 
 kinda panicky yestiddy after you was there. Says 
 th' boy was worse, sez she, an' you was too young, 
 she sez, an' we gotta have Doc Gaskell, 'at she 
 knowed, she sez, an' took care o' her w'en th' kids 
 was bomed, sez she." 
 
A FEUD 51 
 
 "Huh. And he came running, didn't he? Glad 
 enough to steal one of my patients from me." 
 
 "W'y, no, doc,'' Satterfield answered. "Couldn't 
 hardly git 'im out there. Says we'd got another 
 doctor, and we'd ought to have him. Wouldn't come 
 until finely I got Bill Sears to' drap you a post card, 
 sayin' we didn't want yuh t' come no longer. Ain't 
 yuh got it yit?" 
 
 Lewis glared, open-mouthed, taken aback by this 
 revelation. But I think his anger against Gaskell 
 only burned the brighter for the knowledge that he 
 had done the older man an injustice. 
 
 "He's a dirty hound, anyway,'' he retorted. "And 
 as for you, Satterfield, you must think a lot of your- 
 self, begging help from the man who put you in 
 jail last month." 
 
 The other reddened, scowling sullenly. "That's 
 between him an' me," he said. 
 
 Gaskell was one of the town commissioners, and 
 he had been acting mayor for two months, during 
 the absence of Frank Hayes. And, when Satterfield 
 had been brought before him, charged with bootleg- 
 ging, Gaskell had given the countryman thirty days 
 on the roads. 
 
 "That's between him an' me," said Satterfield. 
 "Cain't nobody send me to th' jail house 'ithout 
 payin' f'r it. Fll settle with Doc Gaskell yit — you 
 see! But that ain't got nothin' t' do with this here; 
 we-all quit doctorin' with you an' sent f'r Doc 
 Gaskell, see? Yuh got anythin' t' say about that, 
 huh?" 
 
 He glared belligerently at Lewis. I fancy that his 
 
52 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 own conscience was something less than easy, which 
 naturally made him irritable. 
 
 "No, no!" I told him. ''It's all right; the doctor 
 is perfectly satisfied. Come along, Lewis!" 
 
 My aged nerves had stood all they could this 
 morning. I hurried my nephew out of the place 
 before he could start a new quarrel. At last I 
 got the boy off on his rounds, in a tolerably calm 
 frame of mind, and I walked slowly back to the 
 house. 
 
 My heart was heavy. Unless he learned to curb 
 his hot temper Lewis could not hope to do well 
 here. In any open break the sympathy of the towns- 
 people would naturally go to Doctor Gaskell, the 
 older and better-known man. Lewis would suffer, 
 whatever the merits of the case. It w^orried me 
 deeply. 
 
 As I turned onto our street, I noticed a team of 
 mules standing before Doctor Gaskell's house, and 
 a deep, angry roar drew my eyes to his front porch. 
 
 A huge old man, bearded to the waist, stood on 
 the doctor's porch, a wide-brimmed felt hat thrust 
 far back on his massive head. He was shouting at 
 a thoroughly frightened negro maid. 
 
 ''Out, huh? Gone away, huh? He better be gone 
 away! Where's he at, huh?'' 
 
 "G-gone to th' h-hospital, suh," answered the girl 
 in a quavering voice. "He's done gone, suh; ain't 
 gwine be back ontwel evenin'." 
 
 "Huh?" A terrifying snort shook the air. "You 
 tell 'em this word f'om me, f'om Lafe Rutledge, 
 gyurl. Tell 'im he's got till sunup t' settle, an' that's 
 
A FEUD 55 
 
 all. I'll be down to tW Pinelands Hotel all evenin'. 
 Ontel sunup, you hear me?" 
 
 ''Yassuh! Oh, yassuh. I shore will tell th' doc- 
 tah !" 
 
 The giant snorted once more, tugged at his flow- 
 ing beard and turned away. His heavy cowhide 
 boots stamped dowm the steps; then he clambered into 
 his wagon, gathered the lines and lashed his mules 
 to a run. 
 
 Well, Doctor Gaskell's troubles were his own. I 
 was more concerned with my nephew's, and I feared 
 that his hot temper would provide plenty for him. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
 THE rest of that day passed uneventfully enough. 
 When he returned from his rounds Lewis 
 seemed quite himself again, and that afternoon he 
 went off to Raleigh cheerfully enough, to hurry the 
 tailor with his wedding clothes. 
 
 The wedding was to be on Wednesday, at noon; 
 but Dorothy had planned a rehearsal for Monday, 
 when her Brother Peter would be back, and Lewis' 
 best man. Doctor Somers, would be here. And 
 Tuesday would be a very busy day, what with re- 
 ceiving and caring for the many out-of-town guests. 
 Saturday was the boy's last chance to get his new 
 clothes. 
 
 Peter McGregor w-ould not return until Sunday 
 afternoon, so it was arranged that I should stay at 
 Fort House another night. I did not look forward 
 to it with any great joy; but I hoped that the Polter- 
 geist would allow me a few hours' rest, though I 
 could hardly look for a like forbearance from bob- 
 white. 
 
 The evening went off tolerably well. Aunt Mary 
 was quite cheerful, and she had surprisingly little 
 to say about her throat and her ''limbs'* and the 
 knots in the back of her neck. I dozed comfortably 
 in a big sleepy-hollow chair, half listening to 
 Dorothy's chatter over some intimate bit of finery. 
 
A TRAGEDY 55 
 
 And the nurse, Miss Christie, slept quite frankly 
 on a couch in the corner. She was never at a loss 
 how to spend her time. 
 
 At last Dorothy threw her embroidery frame at 
 me. "Go to bed, Uncle George! You haven't heard 
 one thing I've been saying for an hour. You poor 
 thing! You're all tired out." 
 
 I rubbed my eyes. ^'Indeed I have; I was very 
 much interested. But, perhaps, I'd better go to 
 bed now. First, though, I must get out Peter's 
 shotgun and set it beside the back door, v/here Lewis 
 can get it in the morning. He's going after those 
 quail, you know, and he made me promise to set out 
 the gun. He w^on't be back till midnight." 
 
 "It's up in Peters room. Come along, I'll show 
 you. But you'll have to load it and all that, Uncle 
 George. I don't know a thing about guns." 
 
 Aunt Mary sniffed. "It used to be the pride of 
 the McGregors of Maryland that the ladies of the 
 family were all thorough sportswomen. Many have 
 been the days I spent riding to hounds, when I was 
 your age, Dorothy; on many a morning I turned 
 out early with my gun for duck shooting, or to go 
 out with the dogs after quail. I never asked any help 
 to care for my guns, either. But that's long, long 
 ago, and here I am, a poor, crippled old woman, tied 
 to a chair, these fourteen years. Ah, well! Y'oung 
 folks aren't what they were in my day!" 
 
 Her lips trembled; her eyes suffused with tears. 
 Fearing another outbreak like the one of the morn- 
 ing I cast about me for some new topic. Just then 
 two powerful lights flashed briefly through the win- 
 
56 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 dows and vanished again. I glanced out; Doctor 
 Gaskell's big car had just swept round the corner 
 toward his garage. 
 
 'The doctor's back," said I casually. "Wonder 
 if he's seen Lafe Rutledge." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 I jumped at the sudden, sharp question and 
 wheeled. Miss Christie, whom I had supposed asleep, 
 as usual, had leaped up from her couch and stood 
 facing me, half crouched. For once her eyes were 
 wide open; her round, dimpled face was pale and 
 drawn; her hands, clasped at her breast, trembled. 
 
 "Who did you say?'* 
 
 "Why," I answered, wondering, "a man called 
 Rutledge. He was asking for Doctor Gaskell this 
 morning, as I came past. The doctor was out, but 
 he left a message. I heard it; nobody within half a 
 mile could have helped hearing it. Said his name 
 was Lafe Rutledge. and he'd give the doctor until 
 sunup to settle — whatever that means." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed the nurse, and the vivid horror 
 in her face made her suddenly beautiful. I had 
 never noticed her looks before ; she was so sleepily 
 indifferent; but now fear transfigured her. 
 
 "Oh, Lafe Rutledge! Are you sure? A great, big 
 old man, with a long beard?" 
 
 "And a voice like the bull of Bashan — and enor- 
 mous boots! Yes, that's the gentleman." 
 
 Without another word Miss Christie ran to the 
 door, bareheaded as she was, and tore it open. 
 
 "Miss Christie! Nurse!" It was Aunt Mary's 
 voice, sharp, domineering, and angry. "Wliat do 
 
A TRAGEDY 57 
 
 you mean by this? Come back here at once! Take 
 me to my room!" 
 
 The girl never glanced back. "In a minute," she 
 answered. 'T can't stop now. I'll come back 
 directly." The door slammed after her. 
 
 We three stared at each other. *'Well!" cried 
 Dorothy. "What do you suppose waked her up?" 
 
 Aunt Mary bridled. "Ungrateful minx! What 
 does she mean by it, leaving me this way? I'm 
 tired, and I want her to rub my limbs at once !" 
 
 "She'll be right back, I'm sure," said Dorothy, 
 "Something upset her; she must be afraid of this 
 man Rutledge for some reason. The poor girl looked 
 scared to death." 
 
 "She should consider me," Insisted Miss McGregor 
 inexorably. "I have enough to bear, without my 
 nurse rushing off and cutting up like this. This 
 settles it! She shall go, as soon as I can find some 
 one to take her place! I never liked her; I might 
 have known that any one whom that wretch Gaskell 
 recommended would be untrustworthy." 
 
 "Oh," said I, wondering, "Doctor Gaskell sent 
 her here?" 
 
 Dorothy nodded. "Miss O'Brien had to leave, and 
 we got this nurse through Doctor Gaskell. She 
 comes from the western part of the State, up in the 
 mountains somewhere, near the Tennessee border.'* 
 
 The front door opened, and Miss Christie reap- 
 peared, rather out of breath, but sleepily calm as 
 ever. 
 
 "You have upset me seriously,'' declared Aunt 
 Mary severely. "My limbs tingle, and the knots 
 
58 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 are coming in my neck. Take me to my room at 
 once. What do you mean by dashing off this way ?" 
 
 Her voice was harsh, almost abusive. I sighed 
 a little, to think how^ intimacy was shattering my 
 faith in Aunt Mary's saintliness. It was a myth, 
 I began to suspect. Behind the old lady's angelic 
 front lurked a temper quite the reverse of angelic. 
 
 "I'm sorry. Miss McGregor," answered the nurse 
 meekly. "I had to go; it was a matter •£ life and 
 death, almost." 
 
 Aunt Mary sniffed. "Life and death, indeed! 
 How about my life and death? But that's of no 
 importance, I suppose; I'm only a poor, helpless old 
 woman that everybody'll be glad to get rid of." 
 Then yielding, I suppose, to the curiosity which 
 touched us all. she asked : "What did you run off 
 for, anyway?" 
 
 "I can't tell you." The girl's sleepy face set 
 determinedly. 
 
 "Mf!" exclaimed Aunt Mary. "I don't like mys- 
 teries. I'll give you until morning; then you can 
 explain — or leave!" 
 
 "Very well, Miss McGregor. Shall I take you to 
 your room now?" 
 
 She pushed the wheeled chair out, and Dorothy, 
 still wide-eyed, beckoned to me. "Come along, 
 Uncle George. Let's get the shotgun. What do you 
 suppose ailed Miss Christie?" 
 
 I shrugged. "She's from the mountains. They 
 still have feuds out there, you know, along the North 
 Carolina border. Perhaps this fellow Rutledge 
 comes from her home, and she's afraid he'll do some 
 
A TRAGEDY 59 
 
 mischief down here. Maybe she'll explain herself in 
 the morning, unless Aunt Mary is too cranky/' 
 
 Dorothy shivered a little. "I don't like mysteries, 
 either," she confessed. ''And there's trouble coming. 
 Uncle George; I can feel it. Oh, dear! I wish we 
 were out of Fort House for good! Everything's 
 going wrong. That horrid ghost, or whatever it is, 
 scared me about sick; and then Lewis had to go 
 and quarrel with Doctor Gaskell, and now Miss 
 Christie begins to act so queer, and — and everything. 
 Oh, dear! I wish all these things could have hap- 
 pened to some other body. Here's Peter's gun. 
 Uncle George, in this closet." 
 
 I took it out, a plain, well-used, double-barreled 
 shotgun. Then I broke it to make sure it was 
 unloaded. 
 
 "There's a box of shells on the shelf, I think. 
 Come on, let's leave it out and go to bed. Fm 
 tired, too.'* 
 
 She led the way down the back stairs. After 
 making sure that both barrels were unloaded I set 
 the gun against the angle of the wall on the back 
 porch, just inside the screen door. 
 
 'There! I told Lewis Fd put it there. Fll just 
 leave the cartridges beside it, with the cleaning rod 
 and rags, so he can put the gun in shape when he's 
 through with it. I hope he gets those miserable 
 quail; they kept me awake, too." 
 
 ''Poor Uncle George! He's having a hard time, 
 taking care of the McGregor family, isn't he?" she 
 stood on tiptoe to kiss the end of my nose, then she 
 ran in. "Fm going to bed, too," she called back. 
 
((■ 
 
 IC 
 
 60 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 But as I labored up the front stairs — slowly 
 enough, for my joints were very stiff — she came out 
 of Miss McGregor's room to call after me. 
 
 **Uncle George! Auntie's nervous about that gun. 
 Come in and tell her where you left it." 
 
 I turned back. "On the back porch, Miss Mc- 
 Gregor, inside the screen door." 
 
 Ts it loaded?" querulously she asked. 
 'No, ma'am. I set the box of shells beside it, 
 ready." 
 
 *'Like as not we'll all be murdered in our beds, 
 but I'd run that chance even to get rid of those 
 quail. Good night!" 
 
 ''Good night!" I resumed my interrupted climb. 
 
 If the Poltergeist paid us a visit that night I did 
 not know it. I could scarcely keep my eyes open 
 long enough to undress. I was tired out, and the 
 bed felt grateful enough. I slept sound and dream- 
 lessly, which is rather unusual for me, until about 
 half past three. Then I half woke, to hear the 
 matutinal song — screech, rather — of those pestiferous 
 quail. I grinned sleepily, wondering if Aunt Mary 
 had been awakened, too; wondering how soon Lewis 
 w^ould be along, and whether he would bag them. 
 
 Then I dropped off again, to dream that Lewis was 
 stalking a covey of sitting quail in my bedroom. 
 They perched on the footboard; I struggled hope- 
 lessly, as one does in dreams, to cry out, to warn 
 him that I was in his line of fire. I could not make 
 a sound. Presently he raised his gun, and I saw 
 that it was a cannon, a field piece, with a muzzle 
 as big around as my head. He pulled the trigger 
 
A TRAGEDY 6i 
 
 — the thins: went oft with a most horrible racket and 
 blew the whole house apart. I seemed to be saihng 
 straight up into the air, with Lafe Rutledge beside 
 me, his great white beard fluttering. 'There'll be 
 no wedding now," I told him. Then Aunt Mary 
 IMcGregor came along, w^earing roller skates, and 
 explained that she could get around better that 
 way than in the wheel chair, and so she had given 
 the latter to Dorothy. And Rosina appeared, eyes 
 rolling as if on swivels, and said : ''Come a-runnin' ! 
 Late's eloped with }^Iiss Dor'thy!" 
 
 Just then I woke up, laughing aloud at the ab- 
 surdity of it all. It was broad daylight; my watch 
 said five o'clock. The quail still whistled persistently. 
 I got up and went to the window, wondering if 
 Lewis had come yet; this would be a fine time to 
 flush those birds. I w^as almost tempted, in spite 
 of my rheumatic joints, to slip dow^n myself. 
 
 The early sun struck through the tall pines and 
 showed a moving figure among them. Lewis was 
 prompt evidently. He stepped out from the little 
 grove into the scrub-oak tangle behind it, gun at 
 the ready. Then he seemed to stumble. 
 
 The shotgun came halfway to his shoulder, as i£ 
 for a snapshot, steadied, its barrel pointing straight 
 ahead — and flamed ! The heavy roar of black powder 
 reached my ears on the heels of the flash. 
 "Good boy!" I cried aloud. "Get him?" 
 Lewis took one step forward, then staggered back, 
 dropping his gun; both hands went to his face. It 
 was too far to see what had happened; too far even 
 
62 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 to shout a query from the open window. I turned 
 away, my heart throbbing, to hunt for my clothes. 
 
 Then a stentorian shout brought me back, gasp- 
 ing, gripped by a premonition of evil. Surely the 
 boy could not have shot himiself! The muzzle of 
 the gun had pointed well away from him. 
 
 "Hey, there!" roared the same minatory voice, 
 now closer. *'What you-all up to? Lay off o' that 
 there shootin' in th' corporation!" 
 
 A huge figure threaded its way through the pines, 
 following the path that led from one street to the 
 other, a favorite short cut for pedestrians. It was 
 our constable, Rufe Wakefield, a tremendous man, 
 whose apparent ferocity cloaked a rather timorous 
 heart, so folk whispered. 
 
 He repeated his challenge, and now he was through 
 the grove and beside Lewis. 
 
 ''What you up to?" he demanded, and his leonine 
 roar seemed louder than the recent shot. 
 
 Then he leaped back, both hands thrown up; 
 presently he came forward again and picked up my 
 nephew's fallen gun. They talked together; Wake- 
 field was accusing, Lewis apparently protesting; both 
 were much agitated. At last they turned and came 
 slowly back toward the house. 
 
 I could bear it no longer. I leaned far out of the 
 window. "Say!" I shouted, at the pitch of my 
 lungs. "Hello, down there! What's wrong?" 
 
 Wakefield looked up. "Murder's wrong!" he 
 called excitedly. "This feller's done shot Doc 
 Gaskell. Killed 'im daid!" 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 UNCERTAINTY 
 
 1 STAGGERED back. "What, murdered? Doctor 
 Gaskell murdered! What's that about Lewis? 
 You wait right there, Rufe, till I get dressed." 
 
 Without waiting to see whether he would obey, 
 I turned from the window and groped excitedly for 
 my trousers. From the look of him, I fancied that 
 the constable would be glad of some guidance, even 
 from me; he seemed as flustered and at sea as poor 
 Lewis himself. 
 
 I dragged on my trousers over my pajamas, thrust 
 bare feet into a pair of slippers, and hurried out into 
 the hall, my coat on my arm. 
 
 "Uncle George!'' 
 
 It was a very shaky, frightened little voice. 
 Dorothy, swathed in a blue woolen robe, looking 
 like a sleepy schoolgirl, with her black hair in braids, 
 clutched at my arm. 
 
 "Uncle George, what is it? What's happened? 
 You can't go out like that — you'll catch your death!" 
 
 I must have presented an odd figure: bare-ankled, 
 suspenders hanging about my hips, a lavender 
 pajama coat much in evidence. But I was too upset 
 to laugh at myself. 
 
 "Let me go, child; there's something wTong out- 
 side." 
 
 I had some vague thought of shielding her but 
 her big eyes widened, as she grew very white. 
 
64 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed. ''Lewis! Lewis is hurt — 
 Lewis is killed, and you're afraid to tell me!" 
 
 "No, no! It's Gaskell — Doctor Gaskell's been hurt. 
 I don't know what has happened, but I'm going to 
 find out. Let me go, child. Lewis is all right, I 
 tell you. Look out of the window, and you can see 
 him." 
 
 Then I broke away, to limp and stumble down 
 the stairs at top speed, hoping I had pacified her; 
 hoping she might go back to bed; hoping I could 
 settle this thing, get Wakefield away from the win- 
 dow before Dorothy could hear that her fiance was 
 accused of murder. 
 
 I plunged out of the door and raced around to the 
 east side of the house. Here I found Lewis and 
 the constable, side by side, staring silently at nothing. 
 They turned to me helplessly. 
 
 "Well!" I began impatiently. "What is it? 
 What's happened? Don't stand there staring like 
 dummies — tell me!" 
 
 Their befuddlement angered me; though, indeed, 
 what with excitement, rheumatic twinges, and the 
 breathless hurry of my coming, I fear I was in little 
 better case myself. 
 
 My nephew sighed heavily, as if awakened from 
 an evil dream. "Come along, unk," he invited. 
 
 "Yeah," said the gigantic constable, "c'm' on, an' 
 see what he done!" 
 
 I followed them along the little winding path, 
 through the pines and into the tangle of scrub oaks; 
 there I stopped, gasping. Before me, supine, inert, 
 lay the body of Doctor Gaskell. His face was deadly 
 
UNCERTAINTY 65 
 
 white, his features sharpened curiously. He was 
 fully dressed, and one hand still clutched a small 
 black bag. He lay on his back among the thick 
 bushes, his feet still in the little path. In the very 
 center of his body, just above the belt, was a horrid, 
 gaping wound, about which his white shirt was all 
 tattered and stained. 
 
 Needlessly I knelt and put my hand over his heart. 
 It was quite still; and his skin was cold already. I 
 rose stiffly. 
 
 *'Good heavens," I said. **Lewis " 
 
 "Yeah, Lewis! I sh'd think so," declared the 
 constable. ''George, ain't this terrible?" He gripped 
 the boy's shoulder. "What'd ye do it f'r, huh?" 
 
 Lewis shook off his hand. "I — I didn't," he said 
 thickly. His lips were stiff, and his tongue seemed 
 unmanageable. 'T didn't — or, anyway, I didn't 
 know." He groaned aloud. ''I don't know what 
 happened. I thought I saw a quail, and I cocked 
 the gun and started to raise it, and then I stumbled, 
 and it went off. He must have been coming through 
 the bushes; I never saw him, or heard him — or any- 
 thing. He never made a sound! I supposed I was 
 all alone out here until I heard Rufe yell; then I 
 jumped and looked round, and there he was — dead I 
 You believe me, don't you, unk?" 
 
 "Huh?" asked Wakefield. "Sounds kinda fishy 
 t' me." He pointed down at the body accusingly. 
 "Hit plumb center," he pronounced. "With a shot- 
 gun, too; anybody c'd see that. An' right close up! 
 See th' powder marks? Musta seed him!" 
 
 "He didn't, either!" I put in. "I was watching 
 
66 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 from that window up there; I saw Lewis raise his 
 gun and trip, just like he said. Gaskell wasn't in 
 sight, or anybody else!" 
 
 "Huh!" asked the constable again. "We-ell, it's 
 kinda queer, anyways; 'specially after th' way Doc 
 Parker here was talkin' in to Olsen's yestiddy. 
 Yeah" — as I shrunk from the memory of the boy's 
 careless threats — ''I was there and heerd 'im m'self, 
 making threats agin' Doc Gaskell. I reckon you'll 
 have a right smart o' explainin' t' do, Parker!" 
 
 "Well," I said, "don't let's argue about it now. 
 We'll have to look after the body, and — whatever it 
 is they do when anybody's found dead this way." 
 
 I looked questioningly at the constable, and he 
 stared blankly back. The habitual fierceness of his 
 huge face was marred somewhat by a shifting, un- 
 certain eye. He fingered his chin irresolutely, and 
 gazed about as for inspiration. 
 
 I scratched my head. Plainly there was no help 
 in him. "I suppose," I began doubtfully, "I suppose 
 the coroner ought to be notified and the sheriff " 
 
 Wakefield brightened. Here was a chance to shift 
 unwanted responsibiHty. "Th' sheriff? Yeah!" he 
 said. "Sure! I'll go phone 'im right away." 
 
 He started off, then paused and turned back. "I 
 — I s'pose I'd oughta 'rest 'im, hadn't I?" he asked, 
 looking at me as for advice on the matter. "I'd 
 oughta 'rest 'im an' take 'im to th' lockup first, 
 mebbe." 
 
 For all the gravity of the situation, I had to 
 laugh. He was so ludicrously inept, this huge, 
 ferocious-looking constable. 
 
UNCERTAINTY 67 
 
 "Nonsense!'* said I. "Lewis won't run away. I'll 
 be responsible for him. We'll come along while you 
 phone; that'll be the best way. And, when Redden 
 comes, you can turn my nephew right over to him." 
 
 "We-ell. If you think that's th' best way." Then 
 the constable started toward Fort House. 
 
 ''No, not in there," I said. "It would upset Miss 
 McGregor terribly. She's an invalid, you know." 
 Really, it was Dorothy whom I wished to spare. 
 "We'd better ^o across to Gaskell's house." 
 
 That started a new^ doubt in Mr. Wakefield's slow 
 mind. He stopped again. "I don't know^ as wx'd 
 oughta leave th' body there all alone," he declared. 
 "Mebbe we better go back an' " 
 
 "Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "We can go back and 
 wait there as soon as you've notified Sheriff Redden. 
 Come along, now!" Then I dragged him on by 
 main force. 
 
 Fortunately, Mrs. Gaskell w^as away, so we had 
 not to break the dreadful news to her. A frightened 
 colored maid, just opening the back door, for it was 
 still early, showed us to the telephone, and Wakefixcld 
 called for the county jail. 
 
 We claimed Pinelands for the county seat, but the 
 courthouse and jail of Carabas County w^re not in 
 the town. When the new buildings were projected 
 some ten years before there was a bitter rivalry 
 between Pinelands and Smyrna, five miles off, for 
 the honor of possessing them. And finally, to settle 
 this, the jail and courthouse were built upon the 
 dividing line of the two townships, over two miles 
 from either village. This singular arrangement, of 
 
68 THE TROUBLE AT PIXELANDS 
 
 course, pleased neither contingent. But there our 
 courthouse stood, alone in the wilderness, and I 
 know of one other similar case in North Carolina. 
 
 The sheriff lived in the jail, which made this a 
 long-distance call. We had to w^ait for ten minutes 
 or so to get a connection. 
 
 "Hello!" said Wakefield. "Hello! Th' jail? 
 
 . . Gimme th' high sheriff. Huh? . 
 This here's Rufe Wakefield, over to Pinelands. 
 . . . Yeah, Const'ble Wakefield. Hello, sheriff? 
 . . . They's been a killin' here — Doc Gaskell's 
 done been shot. . . . Huh? . . . Yeah, I 
 got th' feller did it. . . . Huh? . . . Bring 
 'im out there? Nossir! I ain't got no authority 
 outside th' corporation, an', anyways, I ain't a-goin' 
 to. ... Huh? . . . Nossir! . . . 
 Huh ?" 
 
 I pushed him aside; I could see that he was get- 
 ting nowhere. "Hello! Sheriff? . . . George 
 Uhlman speaking. . . . Yes, Doctor Parker's 
 uncle. We just found Doctor Gaskell out here in 
 the bushes, near his house, dead. He'd been killed 
 with a shotgun. We don't know how it happened; 
 looks like an accident. Wakefield thinks my nephew 
 did it, but I don't! Anyway, it's not clear, and it 
 needs investigation. There's nobody here fit to take 
 charge. Will you come right over, please?" 
 
 "W'y sure!" came the sheriff's high, whining' 
 falsetto. "I s'posed f'om Rufe it wa'n't nothin', 
 on'y just a plain kilHn'. Be over directly. You sent 
 f'r th' coroner?" 
 
 'No; wx just found the body." 
 
 (f 
 
UNCERTAINTY 69 
 
 "Aw right! I'll git Doc Burgess f'om Smyrna an' 
 carry him over there. Git started soon as I c'n 
 git my clothes on." His shrill voice took on an in- 
 jured note. ''Wisht you-all'd have y'r kiUin's later 
 in the day!" 
 
 We went out into the fresh, bright morning, and 
 walked toward the pine grove. Even now Pinelands 
 was scarcely awake. Thin curls of smoke began 
 lazily to mount from a chimney here and there; a 
 colored servant or two hurried up the street, fresh 
 from Jimtown, across the creek. In an hour they 
 would be serving breakfast; the orderly life of Pine- 
 lands would begin behind those white colonnaded 
 house fronts, which were now so still. It came to 
 me as a shock, that peaceful life should be going 
 on all about, when I seemed caught into the whirl 
 of another world altogether — a fantastic, unreal 
 world of sudden death and police officers and all the 
 sordid routine of criminal investigation. Perhaps I 
 felt the whole affair as deeply as Lewis did. I was 
 fond of my nephew. 
 
 We passed under Aunt Mary's window, and I 
 could hear Miss Christie's undisturbed snoring. 
 There was no sound from Miss McGregor herself, 
 although the quail still whistled piercingly. I won- 
 dered if she could really be asleep — if, perhaps, the 
 bobwhites disturbed her less than she fancied. Surely, 
 with the shouting which had followed that fateful 
 explosion of Peter ^McGregor's shotgun, even a sound 
 sleeper might well have been awakened. 
 
 But one, at least, in Fort House, was stirring. 
 As we passed the corner of the old place Dorothy 
 
70 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 ran out, breathless, hastily dressed, but distractingly 
 pretty. Her thick braids were coiled carelessly on 
 her head; as she came toward us she thrust a hair- 
 pin home. 
 
 "Oh, Lewis! What is it, boy? What's hap- 
 pened? I just know it's something terrible!" 
 
 ''There, there, honey!" With a vast effort the 
 boy shook himself into a semblance of calm, and 
 put an arm about her protectingly. *'It's nothing! 
 There's been an accident, and Doctor Gaskell is 
 hurt." 
 
 ''Hurt?" She drew away from him a little, look- 
 ing deep into his eyes. "Oh, boy, boy ! You didn't 
 quarrel with him again?" 
 
 "No. I — I didn't know he was there, dear. I 
 never saw or heard a thing. And the gun went 
 off, and " 
 
 "Did you hit him? Is he hurt badly? Where 
 is he? Can't I help?" 
 
 Nobody can help him now," I told her gravely. 
 The only way you can help is to go back in the 
 house and try to keep this from Aunt Mary as long 
 as you can. No!" I caught her sharply back, as 
 she would have run down the path. "You can't do 
 anything there; you must keep away." 
 
 She stared at me in agony. "You — you mean he's 
 dead?" She seemed unable to understand; her face 
 was quite blank. Indeed, all of us seemed helplessly 
 confused that fateful morning. I look back now and 
 see how we might have risen to the occa- 
 sion, how we might have handled the situation 
 efficiently; but then we all seemed bound by the 
 
 (I 
 
UNCERTAINTY 71 
 
 same nightmare, gripped by that terrible helpless- 
 ness of dreams, so that we could only stare and gape. 
 After all, it was no wonder! Doctor WilHam Gaskell 
 had been killed in a very sudden and dreadful 
 fashion — and my nephew, Lewis Parker, was sup- 
 posed to have killed him, however unintentionally. 
 And we loved the boy. 
 
 "We-ell," said Dorothy uncertainly, 'T'll try and 
 be good. You come with me, Lewis, please." 
 
 "I — Fm needed here," he began, but Constable 
 Wakefield's stentorian voice drowned his evasion. 
 
 "He's gotta stay right with me, ma'am," he de- 
 clared. "He's under arrest, he is, f'r murder!" 
 He inflated his huge chest importantly, then shrank 
 suddenly back, fumbling at his hip, as my nephew 
 turned upon him. "Here, here ! None o' that, now !" 
 
 "You fool!" said the boy. "I've a good mind to 
 break your head — blurting out that way." 
 
 "Quit, quit!" The constable tried to hide his vast 
 bulk behind me, and his voice shook. Here was a 
 desperate criminal, a red-handed murderer, threaten- 
 ing him! I read the thought in the sickly face of 
 him. "You-all make him quit! Resistin' a officer's 
 serious, Parker!" 
 
 Lewis had forgotten him already. His eyes were 
 all for Dorothy. "It — it was an accident!" he 
 declared piteously. "Dorothy — honey — you believe 
 me, don't you? I never even saw him; I supposed 
 he was home in bed. Oh, honey, you don't think 
 I really meant to shoot him?" 
 
 The girl's eyes shone, and she brushed the thought 
 away wdth a magnificent gesture. "Of course not! 
 
^2 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 But, Lewis, boy, arrested! W-will they put you in 
 j-jail, dearest? They won't keep you there, will 
 they? Why, our wedding's only two days off!" 
 
 ''Come, dear," I urged. "Run in, now. See, 
 people are coming already. It's only a formality" 
 — how^ I hoped it was not a lie — ''just a form. He'll 
 be out again and back in time for dinner. You go 
 look after Aunt Mary and be brave." 
 
 She turned away obediently, her slender shoulders 
 shaking with sobs; then she came back to kiss the 
 boy, and fled. I sighed with relief as she vanished 
 into the house. "Come on, Wakefield, let's get it 
 over," I suggested. 
 
 Already the news had spread. Perhaps it had 
 been the telephone operator, perhaps the mysterious 
 wireless of small-town gossip. Anyhow men and 
 boys had begun to collect, to hang in whispering 
 groups along the road. A few bolder spirits ad- 
 vanced, full of questions, and followed us back along 
 the path to where Gaskell's body still lay. 
 
 "How come?" asked one man of the constable, 
 who stood beside Lewis, still rubbing his chin with 
 unsteady fingers. He had made no move to lift 
 the dead man. 
 
 "How come? Doc Parker, here, done it with 
 his shotgun just now. I as good as seen him!" 
 
 The constable's statement was relayed from one 
 whispering group to another. The crowd gathered, 
 came closer, jostling and shoving through the scrub 
 for a better look. A little murmur started some- 
 where and grew into a menacing growl: "Killed Doc 
 Gaskell! Shot 'im down deliberate! Dirty coward!" 
 
UNCERTAINTY 73 
 
 A high, excited voice from the rear shouted: "He 
 ought to be lynched !" 
 
 At that sinister suggestion the crowd began to 
 mill. The mutter of unfriendly voices deepened, 
 grew more ominous. "Git a rope!" exclaimed an- 
 other. Suddenly there was an outburst of howls, 
 shrill, bitter, inhuman, like the baying of hounds. 
 "Git a rope ! Git a rope ! Hang 'im — lynch 'im 1" 
 
 Pushing and crowding, they drew closer, sur- 
 rounding us and the body, treading down the bushes, 
 thrusting aside saplings. I looked into a circle of 
 flushed, ugly faces. The crowd had become a mob. 
 
 Constable Wakefield straightened to the full of 
 his six feet two, thrust out his official chest and 
 glowered at them fiercely. "Stand back, boys!" he 
 ordered. "Don't interfere with th' law!" 
 
 His authoritative way had its effect for an instant; 
 then some one laughed. "Yah, Rufe! 'Member 
 when Ralph Satterfield took y'r star off of yuh that 
 day? Knock his block off, fellers; take 'is gun 
 away, if he starts anythin'. He ain't got the nerve 
 to shoot." Wakefield had now produced a huge and 
 ancient pistol. 
 
 The big man paled, and his small eyes shifted 
 uncertainly. His heavy, bullying voice quavered. 
 "Now, now, boys," he said, suddenly pacific, "don't 
 do nothin' you'll be sorry for." 
 
 "Gr-r-r-r!" The crowd swayed forward. Lewis, 
 very white, clenched his fists and crouched, pre- 
 pared to sell his life dearly. I stood in front of 
 him; I would come to grips with Nate Buford who 
 was nearest me; I could hold him back for a miin- 
 
74 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 ute, at least. And, even in that breathless moment, 
 I had to grin to myself to think of pitting my puny, 
 rheumatic sixty-odd years against the wrath of a 
 mob. 
 
 Presently the crowd began to waver. ''Beat it!" 
 shouted some one from the rear. Those nearest 
 us shifted, looked over shoulders, then stepped back, 
 each trying to hide behind his fellows and look 
 like an innocent bystander. A wide lane opened, and 
 along it a shrunken, undistinguished figure advanced 
 toward us. It was a little old man, stooped and 
 bent, whose rheumy, red-rimmed eyes peered mildly 
 from beneath a wide, flapping hat brim; his lean, 
 leathery face, seamed by a thousand wrinkles, was 
 made ludicrous by the merest wisp of straggling 
 white mustache; the gnarled, calloused hands swung 
 empty at his sides. It was High Sheriff Redden, and 
 glad I was to see him. 
 
 He came on through the shrinking, melting crowd 
 and stood with us, peering down at Doctor Gaskell's 
 quiet body. "H'm," said he. "Daid, ain't he?" 
 
 He spoke in a quavering, cracked falsetto. Then 
 he turned and ran a mild, watery eye over the 
 throng, stroking his ridiculous, wispy mustache the 
 while. ''Seems like I heerd some racketin' round 
 here," he went on in that grotesque, squeaky whine. 
 "You-all c'n go home now. Git! Scatter!" 
 
 His bent, shrunken form contrasted absurdly 
 with the constable's massiveness; his voice, to the 
 constable's roar, was a penny whistle to a pipe organ. 
 His rheumy eyes were mild, almost timid ; his gnarled 
 hands were empty. 
 
UNCERTAINTY 75 
 
 But none withstood him. The crowd melted fast, 
 each man looking, 'or trying to look, as if he'd just 
 stopped for a minute and was ready to go, any- 
 way. Presently Lewis and I stood alone with the 
 constable, the sheriff, and the dead man. 
 
 I conceived a sincere respect for High Sheriff 
 Redden. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 INVESTIGATION 
 
 SHERIFF REDDEN, at least, seemed quite un- 
 touched by the paralysis of thought which held 
 us all. He cleared his throat briskly, ran a watery 
 eye over our blank visages, and stooped over the 
 dead man. 
 
 "H'm," said he. "Plumb center — with a shotgun, 
 held clost enough to scorch his shirt some. Who 
 found him?" 
 
 A quail, whistled sharply, as if in mockery, and 
 its shrill note struck exactly the key of the high 
 sheriff's squeaky voice. It was ridiculous enough, 
 yet none of us seemed moved to laugh. Indeed, I 
 valued the sheriff's intelligence the higher, that he 
 asked: "Who found him?" instead of "Who did it?" 
 
 "I found him !'' answered Lewis and the constable, 
 
 almost together. "That is " and both stopped 
 
 short. 
 
 "You first," ordered the sheriff, flipping a calloused 
 palm at my nephew. And he listened attentively, 
 his wizen, wrinkled face inscrutable, while the boy 
 told his faltering tale. 
 
 "I was coming down the path, and I thought I 
 saw a quail on that limb, right there. I cocked the 
 gun and started to raise it; and then I tripped, and 
 it went off. But I didn't see a soul or hear a 
 sound; I swear I didn't!" 
 
INVESTIGATION jy 
 
 ''H'm," said Sheriff Redden, blinking his little, 
 red-rimmed eyes. "H'm ! What was you doin' out 
 here with a gun, right in th' village?" 
 
 ''It was the quail," said Lewis. He seemed dazed, 
 incapable of thought. He began to repeat his story: 
 'T was coming down the path " 
 
 ''The birds annoyed Miss McGregor so much she 
 couldn't sleep. She's an invalid, you know." And 
 I told him of Aunt Mary's complaints and my 
 nephew's promise. 
 
 "H'm," repeated the sheriff. "So you come out t' 
 kill off them pa'tridge? H'm! Didn't look t' see 
 Doc Gaskell out here? What was th' doc doin' in 
 ^McGregors' back yard that time o' mornin', yuh 
 s'pose?" 
 
 "Somebody sick, probably." I answered. "He had 
 his medicine case, you see.'' 
 
 The sheriff blinked down at the black bag, which 
 Gaskell's dead hand still gripped. "H'm! Like 
 enough. We c'n see after that later. Hey, 
 Burgess !" 
 
 He turned toward the street, whence came a 
 reply to his shrill summons. A battered roadster 
 stood in front of Fort House, and a stout, middle- 
 aged man, bearded thickly, was just climbing out of 
 it. He held a stout satchel. 
 
 Doc Burgess, th' coroner," explained the sheriff. 
 Better let him have a look fust; then we c'n take 
 th' body home." 
 
 The coroner came toward us briskly, with a fat 
 man's rolling gait. He set down his bag and knelt 
 beside the dead man, grunting. 
 
 
78 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 His examination took but a moment. "Stone 
 dead," he announced, and his thick beard moved to 
 the words. ''Never knew what hit him. ^Must have 
 dropped where he stood. All right, you can move 
 him now, sheriff. I'd better have a complete autopsy- 
 done, I suppose, though I'd be ready to swear to 
 the cause of death right now." 
 
 "H'm! How long's he bin daid, you reckon?" 
 
 Doctor Burgess touched the dead man's breast, 
 moved an arm tentatively. "We-ell, two hours, any- 
 how — maybe longer. Can't say exactly." 
 
 The sheriff looked at his watch. "Seven-fifteen. 
 You was out here at five, Parker?" 
 
 I nodded. "I'd looked at my watch just a minute 
 before I saw him shoot." 
 
 "Saw him shoot?" the sheriff repeated. "Where 
 w^as you?" 
 
 "Up at that window, looking out." 
 
 "H'm! You see Doc Gaskell?" 
 
 "No. There wasn't a soul in sight. The bushes 
 didn't move even." 
 
 "H'm," repeated the sheriff. "Well, let's git goin'." 
 
 He beckoned to a lounger, who had retreated 
 only to the street, and presently a couple of boards 
 were found. Constable and coroner lifted the dead 
 man gently, and four volunteers carried him away 
 toward his own house. The bright sun shone down 
 as cheerily as if all had been well in Pinelands; and 
 the quail whistled "hohzMte! hohzi'hite!" without 
 faltering upon a single note. To my disturbed mind, 
 they seemed to jeer at us, to rejoice in this tragedy 
 which they had caused. 
 
INVESTIGATION 79 
 
 *'Rufe, you go over an' stay with th' body," said 
 the sheriff. "Keep all them folks away. I gotta 
 git word t' Mis' Gaskell, an' find out where the 
 doc was goin', an' " 
 
 "He was coming to my place, sheriff." It was 
 Olsen, the druggist, who spoke. He had joined the 
 ragged fringe of curious ones who still hung about, 
 but at a respectful distance. "My little girl woke 
 up with awful pains in her stomach, and we phoned 
 after the doctor. Say, Redden, isn't this a dreadful 
 thing!" 
 
 "H'm," said the sheriff. "Somebody oughta let 
 Mis' Gaskell know about it. Whereabouts is she, 
 Olsen? Do you know?" 
 
 "Why, yes; she went to Jackson Springs for a 
 few days with the Ruggleses. I'll take care of that, 
 sheriff; I'll send for Mrs. Gaskell, and the lodge will 
 make arrangements for the funeral and all." 
 
 "All right, you-all c'n see to that end of it. An* 
 now" — the sheriff turned a quizzical, blinking eye 
 upon me — "th' next mos' important thing seems t' 
 be, when do we eat?" 
 
 The old gentleman was bearing himself with ex- 
 traordinary courtesy and kindliness, I thought. He 
 kept a keen, faded eye upon Lewis, of course; he 
 saw to it that the boy did not w^ander far from his 
 side, but he had not so much as mentioned that he 
 was under arrest. 
 
 "Come over to our house,'* I invited. "I expect 
 Rosina can scrape us up something." 
 
 We were standing by the corner of the Fort House 
 
8o THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 porch; and now a sweet, tremulous voice from above 
 cut across my words. 
 
 *'0f course not! You come right in here, Uncle 
 George, and bring Lewis and these — these gentlemen 
 — both of them. Breakfast is waiting for you." 
 
 We started, and I looked up. Dorothy McGregor 
 leaned over the porch rail, smiling down at us 
 bravely, if tearfully — a vision of loveliness. The old 
 sheriff swept off his broad-brimmed hat and bowed 
 with old-fashioned courtesy; the coroner bowed also, 
 a pleased smile upon his grave, bearded face. 
 
 "I thank you, ma'am. Sorry to intrude on you- 
 all, but I reckon we better accept yo'r kind invitation. 
 Yuh see, ah — circumstances is such — well, I gotta 
 stay with Doctor Parker, ma'am, f'r th' present, or 
 I wouldn't butt in on you-all this a way." 
 
 He stammered, w^iping his leathery old face in 
 sincere embarrassment. Though they had never 
 met, the sheriff knew Dorothy, as did every one else 
 in town. He knew that she was about to be mar- 
 ried to my nephew, and he dreaded to tell her that 
 the boy was under arrest. 
 
 But he need not have been troubled. Dorothy met 
 him at the steps, still smiling courageously, despite 
 trembling lips, and gave him a cordial hand. "Mr. 
 Redden, isn't it? Of course I know who you are, 
 sheriff, and I understand that you've had to arrest 
 Lewis. But it's only for a day or so, isn't it?" she 
 asked. "Just until he's cleared, or whatever you 
 call it? And it's just sweet of you, sheriff, to let 
 him come in for a little while before he — g-goes." 
 
 "H'ml Yessum, jus' f'r a little while, o* course. 
 
INVESTIGATION 8i 
 
 I — I — this is Doc Burgess, Miss Dorothy, a — a 
 friend o' mine." 
 
 "How do you do, doctor? Now come in, every- 
 body. The waffles will be ready, and it makes Rosina 
 awfully mad if they have to stand a minute." 
 
 She led the way to the dining room, still chatter- 
 ing bravely, but I saw how her hand trembled upon 
 Lewis' arm. 
 
 Dorothy seated us all about the big, round table, 
 and breakfast was ser\'ed at once. Conversation 
 languished, as one might have expected; but the 
 officers paid enough attention to Rosina's cooking to 
 balance the scant appetites of the family. 
 
 ''Where's Aunt Mary?" I whispered to the girl 
 beside me, I wondered how the old lady would 
 react to this rude upsetting of the routine of life 
 at Fort House. 
 
 'Tn her room," Dorothy answered. She made no 
 pretense of eating, but sat close to Lewis, holding 
 his hand openly and proudly, murmuring comfort 
 to him. "She hasn't come out at all; I don't believe 
 she knows anything about — this." 
 
 While Dorothy was speaking, the portieres were 
 pushed back, and Aunt Mary McGregor appeared, 
 bolt upright in her wheel chair, propelled, as usual, 
 by her yawning nurse. Our unwelcome guests rose. 
 
 The old lady's thin, arched eyebrows rose higher 
 than ever. She blinked her eyes very fast, an un- 
 failing sign of irritation, as I was beginning to learn. 
 Good morning!" she said very coldly indeed. 
 And who are these — ah — gentlemen, Dorothy?" 
 
 Flushed and embarrassed, Dorothy rose also. 
 
 
^2 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "Why — why, aunty, these are friends of Lewis. 
 This is Sheriff Redden; my aunt, Miss McGregor, 
 Mr. Redden. And Doctor " 
 
 "Indeed!'* Aunt Mary's frosty voice cut her off. 
 The old lady's eyebrows rose higher yet, if that 
 were possible, and she winked fast, passing a hand 
 across her eyes in a curious, uncertain gesture which 
 was not like her. "A policeman, here! And why, 
 may I ask?'* 
 
 "Just — just a little matter of business, ma'am," 
 replied the sheriff, very red and uneasy. "With — 
 with Doctor Parker, here." 
 
 "Mf!" said Aunt Mary. "How amusing!" But 
 I fancied that her manner was less glacial. "And 
 this other gentleman?" 
 
 "Doctor Burgess, of Smyrna," explained Dorothy 
 miserably. 
 
 "Ah, yes; Doctor Burgess, of course. And to 
 what do we owe this unexpected — pleasure?" 
 
 It is impossible to describe the saccharine insolence 
 of Aunt Mary's tone. Her smile was as saintly as 
 ever, her courtesy impeccable, while her face wore 
 its accustomed look of patient suft'ering. And yet 
 with a look, with a drawled word, with a tiny pause 
 before "pleasure," she contrived to make us all feel 
 exquisitely uncomfortable. She had a genius for 
 that sort of thing, I was beginning to perceive. 
 
 "I was afraid we'd intrude on you-all," began 
 
 Redden, apologetically. "I reckon we better " 
 
 He stopped, not knowing what to say. Doctor 
 Burgess looked down his nose, tugging reflectively 
 at his heavy beard. Dorothy wiped her eyes. 
 
INVESTIGATION 85 
 
 ''Doctor Gaskell is dead," I declared. The old 
 lady's calm selfishness, her subtle discourtesy, angered 
 me. Let her face the brutal fact, like the rest of 
 us! 
 
 ''Gaskell has been killed, right in your back yard!'* 
 
 "Indeed!" Aunt Mary yawned. "Dorothy, where 
 is my coffee? I feel very ill, after the shock 
 of that man's brutal language yesterday. I need my 
 coft'ee. But, then, no one thinks of me. No one 
 cares enough for my suft'ering eA'en to ask how^ I 
 am. I dozed off tow^ard morning; the birds didn't 
 disturb me, thanks to Doctor Parker" — she nodded 
 graciously toward Lew^is — "and I got up quite rested. 
 And then I'm expected to meet strangers at break- 
 fast — which always upsets me — and on top of that 
 I have to listen to such unpleasant news. Dear 
 me! I feel the knots coming in miy neck already. 
 No one has any consideration for me!" 
 
 "Why, you " I began and stopped. I had been 
 
 about to flare out at the old lady; her callousness 
 enraged me so. Surely this was beyond even Aunt 
 Mary's self -absorption! But her w^hite-lipped, quiv- 
 ering face checked me. This time, at least. Miss 
 McGregor was really suffering; I was sure of that. 
 
 Then my eyes traveled past her to the nurse, IMiss 
 Christie, who had stood silently behind the wheel 
 chair all this time. Then I jumped up. 
 
 "Lewis, Doctor Burgess! Quick, she's fainting!" 
 
 We all ran toward her, and just in time. With a 
 faint sigh. Miss Christie collapsed limply, and the 
 doctor caught her, as she fell, and laid her gently 
 down. 
 
84 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Again I was struck by the unexpected beauty of 
 her white face. Ordinarily sleepy and stolid, strong 
 emotion seemed to vivify her face, to transfigure 
 her bovine placidity. Now, lying with closed eyes, 
 still and white as death, she was very beautiful. 
 
 ''Upon my word!" cried Aunt Mary. "Every one 
 seems to be in a conspiracy to upset me to-day. 
 Dorothy, please take me to my room. I can't eat 
 a mouthful." 
 
 This was scarcely true. The old lady had occu- 
 pied her few minutes with us quite profitably, eating 
 as she talked. She had consumed three waffles — I 
 counted them — and two cups of coffee. But Dorothy 
 wheeled her out obediently, while we men ministered 
 to the fainting nurse. 
 
 Dorothy returned in a moment, to kneel beside 
 me. "What do you suppose was the matter? Is 
 she sick, Doctor Burgess? Poor girl! Let me, 
 LTncle George." 
 
 She took the nurse's head upon her knee and be- 
 gan to bathe the broad, white forehead with cold 
 water, very gently. Presently Miss Christie opened 
 tragic, violet eyes that seemed black with emotion. 
 
 "What — what happened to Doctor Gaskell?" she 
 asked in a whisper. "Who killed him?" 
 
 We stared at each other dumbly. It was Lewis 
 who answered at last. 
 
 "I'm afraid I did it," he told her quite simply. "It 
 W'as an accident. I didn't see a soul or hear a sound. 
 I was coming down the path, and I thought I saw 
 a quail." Here he repeated his story, almost word 
 
INVESTIGATIOxN 85 
 
 for word, as he had told it a dozen times this morn- 
 ing. He was still much shaken. 
 
 *'0h!" It was the faintest of sighs, and I fancied 
 that it expressed relief. A tinge of color crept into 
 the girl's white cheeks as she covered her eyes and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 "There, there, honey," said Dorothy. "What is 
 it? What's the trouble?" 
 
 Miss Christie sat up and wiped her eyes. ''N-noth- 
 ing," she said sobbingly. "Only it was a shock. You 
 see, Doctor Gaskell did so much for me; he was a 
 wonderful friend. I was raised in the mountains, 
 and I never had a chance until he came. But he 
 helped me to leave home; he got me a place in the 
 hospital. He kept me nursing for him ever since 
 I graduated. Whatever I am, I owe to him. 
 He was a father to me — a father!" She laughed 
 bitterly. "A thousand times more kind than the only 
 father I ever knew! That's all.'' 
 
 She rose quietly. Suddenly all the life and fire 
 of her face died like a blown-out candle. She had 
 been inspired; now she was commonplace once more, 
 bovine, placid, almost stupid, expressionless. I won- 
 dered at the change. No one would look twice at 
 her now. 
 
 "I must go and see to Aliss McGregor," she mur- 
 mured. "I'm sorry to have made so much trouble." 
 Then she vanished silently. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE INQUEST 
 
 SHERIFF REDDEN scratched his head. 'Tunny 
 how upset she seemed," he remarked in his 
 high, whining drawl. "I wonder, now, where I've 
 seen that girl before? Christie, her name is? 
 Christie? H'm! Likely, it's somebody else she 
 favors. Say, they's a lot o' queer things about this 
 here shootin', seems like." 
 
 I agreed with him thoroughly, and one of them 
 was the curious conduct of Miss McGregor's nurse, 
 both last night and just now. 
 
 "F'r instance," pursued the officer amicably, turned 
 toward his prisoner, "Gaskell's bein' out yonder in 
 th' bushes. Couldn't of been in th' path, or you'd 
 of seen him." It seemed the sheriff accepted Lewis' 
 story as true, and my heart warmed to him. "I 
 
 wonder, now He must of been standin' right 
 
 quiet, too, or ye'd of heard him. Don't seem nat- 
 ural, quite, he'd of let yuh git clost enough t' shoot 
 'ithout sayin' nothin'. Thet gun bar*l must of been 
 right up agin' him, a'most." 
 
 ''It seems as if I'd have seen him from the win- 
 dow, too, unless he was hiding," I put in. "Those 
 bushes aren't high enough to hide his head." 
 
 Mr. Redden scratched his head again. "H'm! 
 What you think, Parker?" 
 
 Lewis shook his head hopelessly. His black hair, 
 usually sleeked straight back, had fallen over his 
 
THE INQUEST , 87 
 
 forehead. He tugged absently at a lock which hung 
 down over his eyes. '*I don't know — I can't seem 
 to think at all." 
 
 The coroner looked up. He had resumed his seat 
 and was finishing his fourth waffle. "Another pos- 
 sibility," he suggested, with his mouth full. ''Might 
 not have been hiding — he might have been dead 
 already." 
 
 ''H'm," said the sheriff, blinking at him. 
 
 My nephew brightened wonderfully. The color 
 crept back into his sallow cheeks. "Do you really 
 think so?" 
 
 Dorothy made a little cooing sound, and patted 
 Lewis' hand. ''I knew it would come out all right!" 
 she declared, her big sea-blue eyes upon the coroner. 
 
 Under that admiring gaze, Doctor Burgess ex- 
 panded. ''Quite possible," he repeated. "Can't fix 
 the time of death exactly — not within an hour or 
 so. You realize that. Doctor Parker. If you saw 
 nothing, heard nothing, not even a fall, it may have 
 been because Gaskell had already fallen. Didn't you 
 look to see if he was still bleeding or anything?" 
 
 Lewis flushed. "I — I was too upset," he con- 
 fessed. "I heard the constable yelling, and I turned. 
 I didn't see Gaskell until then, and it startled me 
 so — that and knowing that Wakefield v/ould surely 
 think I did it, and remembering I'd quarreled with 
 him yesterday, and seeing him, Gaskell, there, and 
 
 all " He stumbled and broke off. "Why, all 
 
 I could see was that Gaskell was dead, and that I 
 must have shot him." 
 
 "H'm! Well, we'll have a chance to straighten 
 
THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 all that out at the inquest." Sheriff Redden rose and 
 bowed to Dorothy. *'We sure are beholden to you, 
 ma'am, f'r yore hospitality. But I reckon we better 
 be shackin' along now. Gotta git back to th' jail. 
 I — I reckon I'll have to take yo'r young man along, 
 ma'am, jus' f'r to-day. Burgess'll be holdin* his in- 
 quest to-morrow; hey, doc? An' then we c'n turn 
 th' boy loose f'r good. It — it's just a form, Miss 
 Dorothy, ma'am." 
 
 Dorothy nodded. "You're awfully good, Mr. 
 Redden — you're a perfect old dear!" And she 
 kissed him impulsively. "You'll be real nice to 
 Lewis, won't you?" 
 
 The old man beamed at her, his mahogany face 
 three shades darker than normal. "I sure will, 
 ma'am! Come along, Burgess. All right, Parker. 
 It's just t' be my guest overnight, suh!" 
 
 And so they departed, leaving Dorothy, now that 
 she need no longer be brave for her man's sake, to 
 weep forlornly on my shoulder. 
 
 Then Peter McGregor appeared, carrying his own 
 satchel. He was inclined to be rather aggrieved 
 that no one had met him at the station; but none 
 of us had so much as h^ard the New York train 
 pull in. 
 
 Peter was told the whole story, and he listened 
 gravely, sitting up very straight, as was his habit, 
 and stroking his little black mustache. Peter was 
 both slight and short, scarcely taller than his sister. 
 But he carried himself so erectly, and his lean, in- 
 telligent face was so dignified that he seemed rather 
 above than under the average size. 
 
THE INQUEST 89 
 
 Now, when we had finished our dismal tale, he 
 kissed Dorothy and patted my shoulder as grandly 
 as though he had been a foot taller than I, instead 
 of six inches shorter. 
 
 'T'll see the old boy through," he promised. 'T'll 
 take hold of things and get them straightened out 
 in jig time!" 
 
 We were vastly relieved, for Peter was a capable, 
 energetic chap, and he was not stunned by this 
 dreadful affair as we were. He had not been here 
 to receive its full, paralyzing shock. 
 
 He was off directly, without stopping to see Aunt 
 Mary. *T can't stop to hear about the knots in her 
 neck just now, Dot," he declared. "Ywe other more 
 important things to do." 
 
 Before lunch he was back. "I've seen the old 
 boy. Dot," he said. "He's pretty blue, but I hope 
 I bucked him up a bit. And I've talked with the 
 sheriff and Doctor Burgess. Inquest will be here 
 at Pinelands, in the town hall, at ten to-morrow. 
 The coroner's sure it'll come out all right; 'parties 
 unknown,' maybe, or purely accidental at the worst. 
 He was awfully decent; neither he nor the sheriff 
 believes Lewis knew the fellow was there. Queer 
 proceeding, I must say, for Gaskell to be pussy-foot- 
 ing around in our back yard like that! But it's all 
 right; Lewis won't even need a lawyer. Burgess says. 
 They'll see that he's cleared. So don't worry any 
 more. Dot!" 
 
 Dorothy promised obediently; and I tried my best 
 not to worry either. But lliat ^vas a long, long day, 
 and it was very hard to listen patiently to Aunt 
 
90 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Mary's complaints. For now that she knew that 
 Lewis hadn't killed the quail, after all, their shrill 
 note began to annoy her again. She quivered visibly, 
 almost ostentatiously, at each repetition of "bohzvhite! 
 hohwhiter until I had to bite my lips to keep from 
 reminding her that her complaints about a few quail 
 had caused tragedy enough already. 
 
 But the day passed somehow, and the night. Long 
 before ten on Monday morning I sat on a front seat 
 at the town hall, between Dorothy and her brother, 
 waiting for the inquest to begin. Aunt Mary had 
 protested pathetically against our "desertion," but 
 for once her desires were ignored. 
 
 The room began to fill. At last the coroner ar- 
 rived, then the sheriff, bringing Lewis with him. 
 The boy came straight to us and sat down beside 
 Dorothy, his guard dropping unobtrusively into a 
 seat behind. 
 
 "Cheer up, honey!" whispered Lewis. "Hello, 
 unk! Hello, Peter! Old Redden's a brick; treated 
 me like a son. I slept in his spare bedroom. It'll 
 all come right." 
 
 Then the coroner rapped for order, and the pro- 
 ceedings began. 
 
 I have not the heart, even now, to tell all that 
 happened. Our high hopes were struck to the 
 ground almost at once. 
 
 For the district attorney appeared, the "State 
 Sohcitor," as he is called in North Carolina, and 
 he took charge of affairs. Coroner Burgess did his 
 best for Lewis, and he proved himself a kindly and 
 impartial presiding officer. He did more; he even 
 
THE INQUEST 91 
 
 leaned toward us and argued in Lewis' favor. He 
 was moved, perhaps, by the bond of their common 
 profession; perhaps by a conviction that the boy 
 was innocent; perhaps by Dorothy's appealing face, 
 and the memory of that excellent breakfast. But, 
 whatever the reason, he did his best for us. 
 
 Nevertheless, the solicitor, Toby Vanbrugh, com- 
 bated all his well-meant efforts. Vanbrugh was a 
 large-bodied young man, with a heavy, dignified 
 face, whose features all seemed two sizes too big 
 for it — except his eyes, w^hich were three sizes too 
 small and an inch too close together. He wore a 
 flapping frock coat and a black string tie, the con- 
 ventional get-up of the old-fashioned country lawyer. 
 His voice and gestures made him seem like a cheap 
 actor, playing the part of the fearless prosecutor in 
 a melodrama. 
 
 He had been a close friend of Doctor Gaskell's, 
 but I do not think it w^as that friendship which 
 moved him. No, he saw here the makings of an 
 important murder trial, in which both victim and 
 murderer were people of prominence in the country- 
 side. He saw an opportunity for self-advertisement. 
 The jMcGregors were rich, he knew, and I was not 
 without means. If Lewis could be indicted for the 
 murder of Doctor Gaskell, there would be a long and 
 hard-fought trial; prominent lawyers would appear 
 for the defense ; there would be columns and columns 
 of publicity for the alert young prosecutor, who 
 faced, alone and unaided, this galaxy of legal talent 
 and fought it to a standstill, vindicating the rights 
 of the commonwealth, demanding equal justice for 
 
92 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 the rich as for the poor. Oh, he was not an un- 
 common type, this Vanbrugh; every community East 
 and West, North and South, has known his like. 
 
 He allowed the coroner to present his case; the 
 discovery of the body upon the heels of a gun shot, 
 with Lewis standing over it, gun in hand. The 
 coroner stated the cause of death and showed his 
 jury a half dozen bird shot. These had been ex- 
 tracted from the wound, and he gave it as his opin- 
 ion, as he had to us yesterday, that Gaskell might 
 have been lying there dead before Lewis shot. Then 
 the district attorney arose and asked permission to 
 introduce other evidence ''for the State." 
 
 He called Olsen, the druggist, to testify, reluc- 
 tantly enough, to Lewis' threats in his store. He 
 called Satterfield and the constable and two or three 
 others who had overheard my nephew's angry talk. 
 With diabolic skill he made it appear that Lewis 
 had not merely spoken against Gaskell, but that he 
 had definitely threatened to shoot him. He de- 
 manded the gun Levv'is had carried; when it was 
 placed in evidence, he cut open the undischarged 
 cartridge — it was a double-barreled shotgun — and 
 showed the jury that the shot were identical with 
 the shot extracted from Gaskell's body. 
 
 I had already testified, but he recalled me and 
 made an impassioned address to the jury, under the 
 cover of a cross-examination. 
 
 ''Now, Mr. Uhlman, is it not true that your 
 nephew, after disagreeing with Doctor Gaskell in a 
 question of diagnosis, lost his temper entirely? Did 
 he not make a disgraceful exhibition of himself, 
 
THE INQUEST 93 
 
 abusing this poor dead man, this Doctor Gaskell, 
 a gentleman of the highest professional attainments, 
 of the most scrupulous personal honor, a gentleman 
 known to all in this community, loved by all for his 
 unselfish devotion to his healing work, for the many, 
 many, unobtrusive acts of charity, of loving kind- 
 ness, to which scores in this very room, aye, hun- 
 dreds in this town, can testify — and would so testify, 
 though they must walk barefooted over sharp stones 
 to tell of Doctor Gaskell's noble nature, and to con- 
 found his cowardly slayer " 
 
 The coroner rapped sharply. "I wall ask you to 
 remember, Mr. \^anbrugh, that you're supposed to be 
 questioning this witness, not to be making a stump 
 speech !" 
 
 "I beg the court's pardon if my afifection for this 
 poor gentleman, so foully done to death, overcame 
 me for the moment. Surely no praise of one, whom 
 we all loved, is out of place here, beside his dead 
 body! But I will refrain." He wiped his eyes 
 ostentatiously. "Now, Mr. Uhlman, is it not true 
 that your nephew, the prisoner, made threats against 
 Doctor Gaskell at Miss McGregor's house, even be- 
 fore his outbreak at Olsen's store Saturday?" 
 
 And I had to admit it, cursing Rosina's loose 
 tongue to myself; for I could guess whence \''an- 
 brugh's knowledge of the quarrel over Aunt Mary's 
 health had come. 
 
 "And do you believe, sir, remembering that you 
 are upon your oath, do you ask this jury to believe 
 that your nephew, this prisoner, went out into the 
 dawn, armed with a deadly weapon, without knowl- 
 
94 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 edge or suspicion of the murdered man's where- 
 abouts? Do you not know that he had expressed 
 a deadly animosity against my poor, dead friend, 
 that " 
 
 Playing skillfully upon the sectional prejudices of 
 the audience, for my nephew and I had come down 
 from the North, Vanbrugh rolled out a fervid 
 eulogium of the dead man, like Marc Antony beside 
 the bier of Csesar. Evidently he was enjoying him- 
 self thoroughly. 
 
 He kept sneering at Lewis, and he continually 
 referred to him as my nephew, doing his best to 
 make it appear that I was suppressing a guilty 
 knowledge because of our relationship. In every 
 way he exercised the arts of an unscrupulous dema- 
 gogue until I became confused and incoherent and 
 , stuttered with wrath, thereby making the case 
 against Lewis blacker than ever. 
 
 But I will not repeat all he said. Even now the 
 memory turns me furious. I will only say that when 
 the coroner at last cut him off and turned the case 
 over to the jury the verdict was a foregone con- 
 clusion. 
 
 Lewis leaned over to me. From the moment he 
 left the stand he had beeen deathly white; there were 
 dark, bruised rings under his eyes; his features 
 twitched, his hands shook pitiably. "And the worst 
 of it is, unk," he whispered tragically, "that I really 
 did shoot the poor chap! Oh, I'm sure of it now.'^ 
 He tugged at his disordered black hair. "And, 
 unk, that fiend Vanbrugh has almost made me think 
 I did it on purpose!" 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 A CONFLAGRATION 
 
 THE jury's deliberations were cruelly short. They 
 conferred in whispers, while we waited in 
 agony. Beside me, Dorothy gripped my hand so 
 tightly that my old, rheumatic fingers ached for 
 an hour after, though at the time I was scarcely 
 conscious of her touch. Beyond her Lewis sat in 
 frozen hopelessness, still numbed by the shock of 
 this sudden, dreadful catastrophe which had over- 
 whelmed us. At my other side, staunch little Peter 
 sat bold upright, chewing his mustache and mutter- 
 ing to himself. 
 
 Then the jurymen all nodded, and the foreman 
 rose and turned toward Doctor Burgess. The 
 coroner sighed, stroking his beard. His fat, kindly 
 face looked worried. 
 
 "Have you made up your minds, gentlemen?" 
 
 ''Uh-huh," said the foreman. *'We find that Doc 
 Gaskell come t' his death f'om a shotgun full o' 
 bird shot at th' hands o' Doc Parker, yonder; an* 
 we riccomend holdin' him f'r th' superior court!'* 
 
 Doctor Burgess sighed and cast an ugly look 
 at the district attorney. "Your doings, Vanbrugh!" 
 he said in an undertone. Then aloud: "Til have to 
 hold you for the action of the July grand jury, 
 Parker. I'm sorry. Court's dismissed." 
 
 Behind us, the sheriflF rose and tapped Lewis on 
 
96 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 the shoulder. ''Come on, boy; gotta take ye back. 
 I sure am sorry, ma'am" — he looked at Dorothy — 
 ''but it ain't f r long. You don't need to pay no 
 attention t' Vanbrugh's foolishness.'* 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Dorothy, "and day after to- 
 morrow is my wedding day!" 
 
 Sheriff Redden shuffled his feet awkwardly, flinch- 
 ing at the sound of her quiet weeping. "Aw, too 
 bad!" he said. 
 
 With Lewis at his elbow, he began pushing 
 through the crowded, noisy room. It was full of 
 gabbling, excited groups, which gave way reluc- 
 tantly, and we received many an ugly look. 
 
 "A dirty murderer !" muttered some one. A stonn 
 of hisses and groans arose, as the crowd began to 
 push closer, still inflamed by Vanbrugh's insinua- 
 tions. 
 
 "Shut up, boys!" said the sheriff amiably. ''Git 
 back! Cain't yuh see th' lady's tryin' to git out?" 
 
 It was enough. With instinctive courtesy the 
 throng separated, leaving a wide lane. Dorothy 
 passed through it unhindered, with Lewis at one 
 side and me at the other. Her face was very white, 
 and her eyes were downcast. Her pathetic beauty 
 changed the crowd's humor completely and evoked a 
 little, pitying murmur. 
 
 So we went out and parted almost without a word. 
 Like a man in a dream, Lewis climbed into the 
 sheriff's battered car and rode away to jail, without 
 once looking back. Dorothy leaned heavily on my 
 shoulder, straining her eyes after him until he was 
 out of sight. Then she stepped forward falteringly. 
 
A CONFLAGRATION 97 
 
 "T-take me home, Peter — Uncle George. No, I 
 won't faint! I zvon't! I can w-walk all by my 
 own self!" 
 
 And so she did, upheld by a pathetic pride, until 
 we were back at Fort House. Then she collapsed, 
 and Peter and I carried her to her own room and 
 called for the nurse. Then we two men walked 
 downstairs together and turned into the living room, 
 to stand there aimlessly. 
 
 *'Well," I asked at last, "what next?" 
 
 Peter jerked back his head, straightening his slim 
 shoulders with a characteristic movement. "Whew! 
 That was a cropper! I never dreamed they'd hold 
 him. I say, that chap Vanbrugh is a bounder, isn't 
 he?" 
 
 He stroked his little mustache, lit a cigarette, and 
 was himself again — energetic, active, efficient. "We'll 
 run right out to the jail," he decided, "and chat with 
 old Lewis. Have to lay our plans, you know — get 
 a good lawyer and all that. I say, that was a crop- 
 per! But a lawyer'll know what to do — get the old 
 boy out in jig time!" 
 
 I was less optimistic; though, when one viewed 
 the matter dispassionately, there seemed scant 
 grounds for a charge of murder. Yet this Van- 
 brugh was fiendishly apt. Directly we got out 
 Lewis' flivver, which Peter drove well enough, and 
 went to the courthouse. We found Lewis in the 
 jail office, sitting in an easy-chair beside the cold 
 fireplace, while the sheriff, from behind the official 
 desk, strove to cheer him up. Both men were in 
 their shirt sleeves, for it had turned very hot. 
 
98 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 ^'Evening, folks!" said Redden. "Set down an' 
 rest yore face an' hands. I ain't goin' t' lock Parker 
 up ontil night. He'll have t' go into a cell then, 
 but they's no use of bein' too hard on th' boy. 
 You-all can talk right here, gentlemen ; I got business 
 over to th' office, anyways." 
 
 Catching up his wide felt hat he shambled out, 
 leaving us alone. 'T better lock th' front door," 
 he apologized, "just in case anybody sh'd drop by." 
 
 He disappeared, and I saw him through the win- 
 dow, waddling bow-legged toward the courthouse. 
 A very kindly, courteous gentleman, the high sheriff 
 of Carabas County; I only wished the prosecuting 
 attorney were as gracious. 
 
 I turned back to Lewis. "My boy, we seem to be 
 in a fix," I told him. "Confound Mary McGregor, 
 the knots in her neck, and the bobwhites that kept 
 her awake!" For my heart was hot in me with 
 mingled fear and anger, and my head ached, and 
 my old, rheumatic joints; and I could not forget 
 that this whole horror had come from Aunt Mary's 
 querulousness. 
 
 "Sit down and take it quiet, unk," said Peter 
 coolly. I had not been long in Pinelands, as I have 
 said; but to Peter I was "Uncle George," or, more 
 casually, "unk," as to Dorothy and, for that matter, 
 to half the youth of the town. 
 
 "Be easy! The old girl's a bit of a bunker to all 
 of us, I know, but we'll have Lewis out of this all 
 right. And now, old son, we'll have to be getting 
 you a lawyer right away. Anybody to suggest? 
 Some friend of your long-past youth, perhaps, and 
 
A CONFLAGRATION 99 
 
 all that rot?" His assumption of bluff, care-free 
 gayety was well done, but it did not deceive me. I 
 knew that Peter, too, was worried. 
 
 My nephew sighed, staring straight before him. 
 His shoulders drooped; his eyes were dull and heavy. 
 He seemed in a daze; I could scarcely recognize in 
 him the impetuous, high-spirited youth who had been 
 as a son to me all these years. 
 
 *'I — I don't know," he answered dully. "I can't 
 seem to think. All I can see is Gaskell in front of 
 me — dead. I keep telling myself I couldn't have 
 done it, and yet I know I did." Then he lapsed 
 into silence once more, still with that vague, spirit- 
 less stare. 
 
 Peter and I looked at each other queerly. *T 
 don't beheve you did do it, old top!" Lewis 
 straightened at once, a hint of hope in his eye. Peter 
 had hit unerringly upon the best of tonics; I saw 
 that. 
 
 'T'm sure you didn't, Lewis," the boy w^ent on, 
 emboldened by my nephew's interest. *Tt isn't 
 reasonable. Suppose we sent for some doctor that's 
 a law sharp, too? Burgess is all right, of course, 
 but maybe some medico-legal expert could find out 
 something to prove Gaskell was dead when you got 
 there." 
 
 Lewis sprang up, a faint color in his cheeks. 
 "Why, of course! What a fool I was not to think 
 of it before. There's Somers, old Floyd Somers! 
 Why, he'll be here to-night. Just the man, Somers 
 is. Why, he'll take hold of this thing and straighten 
 it out in a day; he just eats this sort of thing. He'll 
 
100 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 prove I couldn't have killed Gaskell — unless" — and 
 his shoulders drooped again — ''unless I really did." 
 
 That was the boy's only show of interest. Almost 
 at once he sunk again into apathy, brooding, I could 
 see, upon the thought that he had killed a man, how- 
 ever innocently. That was what weighed upon him, 
 not any fears for the future. He waved away all our 
 suggestions. Lawyers? No, what difference did it 
 make? Get any lawyer — anybody! Better still, let 
 Somers see to that. He'd know what to do when 
 he came. Then he lapsed into silence again, chin on 
 hands, only to burst forth : 
 
 "And I was really angry — that's the worst of it. 
 For a moment, there in Olsen's, I was mad enough 
 to have shot him. And then to think I did shoot 
 him, after that! Why, it makes it as bad as murder, 
 even though I didn't know he was there. Perhaps I 
 ought to plead guilty and take my medicine." 
 
 We cried out upon him. ''Don't be a fool, Lewis," 
 I said, fairly shaking him in my anxiety. "Wake 
 up! Pull yourself together; act like a man! You're 
 not yourself. What shall we do, Peter?" 
 
 Peter shook his head. "Wait for Somers, as he 
 says. That's all I can see." He paused, sniffing. 
 "I say, unk, what's that? Seems to me I smell 
 smoke." 
 
 So did I. Suddenly I noticed that a thin, blue 
 wreath was creeping in beneath the door, which 
 Sheriff Redden had closed upon us. My eyes 
 smarted. The door was locked; I ran to a window 
 to yell at a couple of loafers on the courthouse steps. 
 
 "Hey! You over there! Call the sheriff!" 
 
A CONFLAGRATION lOi 
 
 They stirred, stared at the jail idly for a moment, 
 then leaped to their feet. 
 
 "My gosh!" said one. 'Th' jail's afire. Hey, 
 Hank! Hev, Redden! Redden! Come a-rimnin', 
 th' jail's on iire!" 
 
 The sheriff appeared, at his heels half a dozen 
 clerks and county officials in shirt sleeves. They 
 all ran toward us, bawling aloud: 
 
 'Tire! Fire! Fi-re! Send in an alarm t' Smyrna 
 — no, to Pinelands! Better call 'em both! Hustle 
 up, sheriff, turn them pris'ners loose!" 
 
 They pelted up the steps; a key sounded in the 
 door, and presently Lewis, Peter, and I were out- 
 side, taking great breaths of the fresh air. The 
 clerk of the superior court stood at my elbow, a fat, 
 red-faced man in a shiny black alpaca coat. He 
 wiped his moist face. 
 
 "Carabas County's goin' to build another new jail, 
 I reckon," he drawled resignedly. 
 
 The building itself was of brick, but floors, doors, 
 and interior trim were all pine, and they burned 
 merrily. All the prisoners must be loosed; Sheriff 
 Redden and his deputy herded them out and rounded 
 them up in two groups, white and colored, while 
 county officials organized a volunteer guard. 
 
 As I have said, the county buildings were equidis- 
 tant from Smyrna and Pinelands; before the fire 
 department of either town could answer the alarm 
 the fire had a fine start. Then both engines ar- 
 rived at once, and the sheriff was put to it to prevent 
 a fight between the rival fire companies for prior 
 rights to a hydrant. At last the blaze was subdued, 
 
102 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 and by sundown the two engines pumped water 
 upon an empty brick shell, whose furniture and wood- 
 work were destroyed. Some of the cells, of steel 
 and concrete, were undamaged; but even these were 
 too hot for occupancy. 
 
 Sheriff Redden stopped beside me to stroke his 
 absurd wisp of mustache. ''Quite a clearance," he 
 observed mildly. ''Started over on th' colored side; 
 George Willett's colored boy, Jim, he done set fire t' 
 another boy's mattress 'f'r a joke,' he claims. I aim 
 t' make that fellow realize it wa'n't no joke. Uh-huh! 
 But we cain't keep nobody out here to-night, nohow. 
 Lucky I ain't got more'n nine pris'ners, an' most 
 o' them c'n go right to Smyrna to th' lockup there. 
 An' Doc Parker here," turning to Lewis, "w'y, doc, 
 I reckon I better send you back t* Pinelands. They 
 got a reel comf'table lockup there, an' Rufe Wake- 
 field, he'll look after you good. Ain't got no back- 
 bone, Rufe ain't, but he's got a reel good heart, an' 
 his ol' woman cooks splendid. Yessuh! Be kinda 
 better f'r yuh, anyways, mebbe, right clost to yore 
 folks that a way." 
 
 Thus it was arranged, and presently Peter and 
 Lewis and I, with a taciturn, tobacco-chewing deputy 
 sheriff, squeezed into the flivver and drove back to 
 Pinelands. 
 
 We routed out Wakefield, the constable, and he 
 took us all to the village lockup, a small brick build- 
 ing, rather like a magnified shoebox, directly behind 
 the business section of Pinelands. Its interior proved 
 rather better than I had feared; though hardly 
 palatial, it was comfortable enough. 
 
A CONFLAGRATION 103 
 
 "Reel nice room!" Wakefield pointed it out with 
 pardonable pride. ''Spring bed and ever'thing. 
 Colored side's beyond that brick wall there. Mister 
 Uhlman c'n fetch ye sheets, 'f he w^ants t', or any- 
 thing else. An' th' woman'll cook ye up some sup- 
 per directly." 
 
 We left, promising to return shortly with sheets, 
 a feather pillow and a clean mattress, an armchair, 
 and w'hat comforts we could manage. Lewis dropped 
 on the edge of the bunk, chin in hands, and let us 
 go without a word. 
 
id 
 
 if 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MORE TROUBLE THREATENS 
 
 AS we climbed back into the flivver, I suddenly 
 became conscious of an aching internal void. 
 I had had nothing to eat since morning; in the 
 shock of that unimagined verdict I had quite for- 
 gotten my lunch. 
 
 'Let's go and eat, Peter," I suggested. 
 'Right-o !" 
 
 Just as we climbed into the flivver the shrill whistle 
 of an approaching train sounded. Peter swore. 
 
 'The Limited!" he said. ''This is Monday night, 
 and poor old Lewis' best man will be on that train. 
 We'll have to stop for him, unk. I only hope he's 
 as good as the old boy thinks ; maybe we'll get a little 
 action." 
 
 "I hope so, indeed. But, Peter, he can't have had 
 much experience. He was Lewis' classmate, you 
 know. I'm afraid the boy overvalues him. We can't 
 look for too much from him." 
 
 *'Well, we'll see soon enough." Peter stopped the 
 car beside the tracks, just as the long string of 
 Pullmans clanked and squealed to a halt. Only one 
 vestibule was opened, for this was the through train 
 for Florida, and in summer it rarely left a passenger 
 at Pinelands. 
 
 A single passenger alighted; a tall, lanky young 
 man, whose hat was pulled down over his eyes. His 
 
MORE TROUBLE THREATENS 105 
 
 arms and legs seemed extraordinarily long and thin. 
 The porter dropped a couple of bags beside him, 
 caught up his step, and climbed back; the long train 
 wheezed and roared away. 
 
 The stranger stood still, looking irritably about 
 the deserted platform. In winter the Pinelands sta- 
 tion is lively enough, with gay-clad, chattering folk, 
 with expensive motor cars parked the full length 
 of its platforms; while passengers by the dozen, bear- 
 ing golf bags and gun cases and tennis rackets, climb 
 on and off every train. Ours is a tourist town, and 
 it begins to be one of the best-known of the Eastern 
 winter resorts. But in summer it is quiet enough. 
 
 The stranger scowled, I say, and glanced about 
 him with an expression of acute dissatisfaction upon 
 his dark, saturnine features. '^Friendly looking beg- 
 gar, what?" whispered Peter to me. Then he saw us 
 and beckoned imperiously, 
 
 "Where's Parker?" he demanded. "Doctor 
 Parker?" 
 
 "He's detained," said I, advancing with out- 
 stretched hand. "I'm his uncle, George Uhlman. 
 This is Doctor Somers?" 
 
 "How do?" he asked indifferently. "Pity Parker 
 couldn't take the trouble to come himself ! Rotten 
 town, this. Those are my bags." 
 
 He stalked to the car and clambered in, his re- 
 markably long, thin arms and legs giving him some- 
 what the appearance of that insect we used to call 
 daddy longlegs. Peter winked at me, then picked 
 up the bags, which our cavalier guest had indicated, 
 and lugged them meekly to the car. 
 
io6 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 ''Where to, sir?" Peter asked, burlesquing a chauf- 
 feur's salute. 
 
 Doctor Somers grinned; his dark, sardonic face 
 changed wonderfully, and for an instant became 
 cheerful, friendly. "Don't be an ass," he requested 
 equably. "You're Peter McGregor, I take it. Lewis 
 has written me about you, his best girl's brother. 
 He said you were a little runt." 
 
 Peter snorted. "He never told me you were such 
 a long, silly clothes prop," he retorted. "Why, man, 
 those legs haven't any more meat on 'em than bean 
 poles!" Peter's size is a sore topic with him. 
 
 The stranger grinned again, quite undisturbed. 
 "Climb in, climb in," he urged. "I'm hungry. Where 
 is old Parker, anyhow? Ministering to the needs of 
 his extensive and growing practice, no doubt." 
 
 I had found the man's brusque, indifferent impu- 
 dence rather engaging, but this question sobered me 
 suddenly. "My nephew is in trouble," I replied. 
 "No" — Doctor Somers' lips opened — "don't make 
 any fool joke about it. It's a serious matter. He's 
 in jail, charged with murder." 
 
 But, if I had looked for excitement or interest, 
 I was disappointed. Doctor Somers made no com- 
 ment, showed no interest whatever. "Well, drive 
 on," he said. "I'm hungry." 
 
 We drove home in silence to an agitated house- 
 hold. Luckily Dorothy had not yet heard of the 
 fire at the jail; she had been spared that further 
 alarm. Over the supper table we told her, and she 
 listened, wide-eyed and tremulous. 
 
 Aunt ]Mary did not come to the table. She had 
 
MORE TROUBLE THREATENS 107 
 
 been much subdued all day, it appeared, and had kept 
 to her room and scarcely opened her mouth, even 
 to discuss her sufferings. So the nurse, Miss 
 Christie, could eat undisturbed to-night. As usual, 
 she had nothing to say. With her round, sleepy 
 face bent over her plate, she ate hurriedly and 
 pushed back her chair before we others were through, 
 murmuring an apology. She must go and fix Miss 
 McGregor's tray. 
 
 Our guest, Doctor Somers, was taciturn also. 
 Poor, distraught Dorothy had given him a word of 
 greeting and then forgotten him. She was too 
 upset to play the hostess. But he did not seem 
 in the least embarrassed. He ate sparingly, his 
 sallow face wearing that same expression of distaste 
 for everything about him: His gray-green eyes, 
 curiously light beneath black brows, were fixed keenly 
 upon Miss Christie's sleepy face. He did not seem 
 at all interested in what Peter and I were saying to 
 his hostess. 
 
 When the nurse had gone out he turned to me. 
 *'I take it that my friend Parker has got himself into 
 trouble." His face was sober enough, but, behind 
 it, the hint of a sarcastic grin seemed to lurk. *'Sup- 
 pose you tell me just how it happened, now. All I 
 gather from your discourse to date is that he's in jail, 
 charged with murder by a coroner's jury — or, rather, 
 that he was in jail until it burned down." 
 
 Dorothy turned upon him, a heartbreaking hope 
 shining from her eyes. ''Oh, Doctor Somers, we're so 
 upset! You must forgive us. But Lewis told me 
 you'd straighten it out for him. Why " 
 
io8 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Somers' thin lips parted in an acid grin, but he 
 said nothing. We all began to talk at once, pouring 
 out breathlessly the whole dreadful story, and he 
 listened abstractedly, or, at least, we supposed he >vas 
 listening. 
 
 "And so the jury recommended that he be held," 
 I finished. "There were no grounds at all — it was 
 pure accident. If it hadn't been for that miserable 
 lawyer Vanbrugh '' 
 
 Somers yawned and nodded his head. "I've got 
 it!" he announced. "Of course I'll make an exami- 
 nation in the morning, but I'm sure of it now." 
 
 We all gaped at him, open-mouthed. "That girl, 
 the nurse," he went on placidly, "deficient thyroid! 
 That's what ails her. No wonder she looks sleepy!" 
 
 "Gr-r-r-r!" said Peter indignantly, and pushed 
 back his chair. "I'm going for the mail." He 
 stalked out. 
 
 Doctor Somers looked from Dorothy to me and 
 back again, with that curious suggestion of a sar- 
 donic grin behind his sober face. Plainly enough 
 our faces expressed disgusted hopelessness. 
 
 "I'm sorry," he said in apology, and there was 
 something very likable in his frank, direct gaze. "Pm 
 a queer sort, I suppose. I'm always getting off on 
 the wrong foot like this. But, after you get to 
 know me better, you'll find I'm not so bad after all. 
 I heard all you said," he went on, to Dorothy's 
 implacable face. "I'm used to thinking of two or 
 three things at once; in my work one has to. Cheer 
 up! That's better," he declared, as Dorothy, in spite 
 of herself, softened l:>efore his friendliness. 
 
MORE TROUBLE THREATENS 109 
 
 *Tt's a pretty serious thing — to us !" she replied. 
 
 "My child," he answered very gravely — and he 
 could not have been over thirty, I supposed, but 
 suddenly he seemed older, wiser, more mature than 
 I am at sixty — 'T know it, but the only way to handle 
 a matter like this is to go at it dispassionately. I'm 
 fond of old Parker myself" — and the dark, sour face 
 softened wonderfully for a second — "but I can't let 
 myself get flustered and upset and run round in rings 
 as you folks have. For example: You heard the 
 shot, Uhlman. You ran out at once, got there within 
 five minutes, and put your hand on the dead man's 
 chest, didn't you?" 
 
 I nodded in amazement. The fellow had heard 
 all we said, after all! 
 
 "You touched the body, then, within perhaps five 
 minutes of the time Parker shot. Now, did it occur 
 to you to notice whether it was still warm — or 
 cold?" 
 
 I stared dumbly, searching a confused memory. 
 "Why — why, I never thought of that. I was too 
 upset. But now I remember. Why, of course, I 
 noticed it at once; his flesh was as cold as a stone! 
 That's why I was sure he was dead." Then an 
 illuminating thought struck me; I jumped up, shout- 
 ing. "Hurrah! He didn't do it, Dorothy, he didn't 
 do it by accident or any way! He couldn't have, of 
 course! I must run right down there and tell him; 
 that's what has been troubling him all along — the 
 thought that he'd killed a man!" 
 
 "Sit down," suggested Somers equably. "Take it 
 easy. There's been altogether too much of this 
 
no THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 running round and talking, and too little plain 
 thinking." 
 
 I accepted the rebuke. "You're right. Why, if 
 I'd only thought of this before, there wouldn't have 
 been any trouble at the inquest. I'm an old fool!" 
 
 "No bigger fool than your nephew or the con- 
 stable," he replied. "If any one of the three of you 
 had thought to observe that the body was cold, or 
 had stopped bleeding, you'd have known the man 
 hadn't been killed before your eyes. Of course, by 
 the time the coroner got there, it w^as too late to fix 
 the time of death exactly." 
 
 Dorothy sighed ecstatically, her face rosy with 
 new-born confidence in this brusque, saturnine 
 stranger. "What shall we do next?" 
 
 "Humph! Wedding was set for Wednesday, 
 wasn't it? How many invitations did you send out?" 
 
 She looked at him blanklv. "Whv, about a 
 hundred and fifty; we didn't ask everybody. Oh, 
 dear, we can't have it now, can we?" 
 
 "Hardly. Have you sent out notices of postpone- 
 ment?" 
 
 "We never thought of that!" 
 
 Doctor Somers yawned. "I think you needed me," 
 he said. 
 
 Just then the front door opened, and Peter burst 
 in, white-faced and trembling. 
 
 "Come, Uncle George!" he exclaimed. And then, 
 with a glance of supreme disfavor at Doctor Somers, 
 "And you, too! Lewis claims you're a wonder. I 
 doubt it like blazes, but, if you are, now's the time 
 to show it. Come on, get up, man! Hurry!" 
 
MORE TROUBLE THREATENS iii 
 
 We stared at him. Dorothy, paper-white, one 
 hand at her breast, asked the question that trembled 
 also on my lips. 
 
 ''Oh, what's happened? What's happened now?" 
 
 Peter hesitated. His eye caught Somers, leaning 
 back in an armchair, calmly lighting a cigarette. He 
 could contain himself no longer. 
 
 'They're going to lynch Parker to-night!" He 
 blurted his news defiantly, as if it had been a bomb 
 to shatter our guest's indifference. "I just heard 
 it downtowm. A lot of 'em are drinking; they've 
 taken the keys away from Wakefield already; they're 
 going down to the lockup and get poor old Parker 
 and hang himl'* 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENSE 
 
 DOCTOR SOMERS arose slowly, his long, thin 
 arms and legs looking more frail, more tenuous, 
 than usual. One feared that they would snap, like 
 pipe stems, under the slightest strain. He did not 
 look in the least like the man to brave the fury of a 
 mob; but his dark, saturnine face was quite un- 
 moved. 
 
 "Bright lad!" he exclaimed, sarcastically. ''Go 
 ahead; frighten the girl to death, why don't you?^' 
 He patted Dorothy's arm with unexpected gentle- 
 ness. "Now don't you worry, child; we'll look after 
 your young man for you. Nobody's going to be 
 lynched to-night!" 
 
 He beckoned us out, and in the hall he asked 
 Peter if he had a shotgun. 
 
 The boy nodded. "I'll get it," he said, and ran up 
 the stairs. 
 
 Presently he was back, panting, with a repeating 
 shotgun and an automatic pistol. "Lucky I had two 
 guns," said he, stuffing a box of shells into his 
 pocket. "The coroner took the other one. And here, 
 Somers, here's an army pistol and some cartridges." 
 Peter had been a second lieutenant. 
 
 Somers waved it aside. "Don't want it. Give 
 it to Uhlman, here. I don't think we'll need fire- 
 arms, but it's well to be prepared. Now let's go!" 
 
i>' 
 
 >J 
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENSE 113 
 
 My nephew's car still stood in front of the house; 
 we piled in and drove toward Main Street. 
 
 ''I take it your constable won't be much help," 
 said Somers, *'if they've taken his keys so easily." 
 
 Peter snorted. "A big yellow pup!" 
 
 ''Right! We won't bother him. Stop at this 
 grocery. Who keeps it, by the way?' 
 
 ''Old Mrs. Tracy. But it's closed. 
 
 "So much the better. Kept by an old woman, you 
 say; any man or boy in it?" 
 
 "No," answered Peter, wondering. "She's all 
 alone, and deaf and half blind into the bargain. 
 People only trade there for charity." 
 
 "Fine!" declared Doctor Somers surprisingly. 
 "Couldn't be better!" He twisted his long legs out 
 of the car. "As we came through from the train I 
 noticed a lot of eggplant in the window." 
 
 "Now, what the deuce " 
 
 But Somers did not stop for questions. Already 
 he had skirted the tiny shop and was knocking at its 
 back door. When no answer came, he opened it and 
 walked in. We heard the confused noise of his 
 shouting at poor old Mrs. Tracy; presently he came 
 back to the car with a grape basket under one arm. 
 
 "What kind of fooHshness is this?" demanded 
 Peter, craning his neck. The basket was full of 
 round, purplish eggplant, a little bigger than a base- 
 ball. "Man, can't you understand that Lewis 
 Parker is in danger of his life?" 
 
 "I can," replied Somers, unruffled. "Better than 
 you do, perhaps. Pve seen two lynching mobs be- 
 fore. Now don't ask fool questions, but come along." 
 
114 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 He obeyed, blindly obedient. The man's prepara- 
 tions seemed sufficiently absurd, but he seemed, at 
 least, to know what he w^as doing, and neither of us 
 had an idea of the proper steps to take. 
 
 *'Now a book shop," ordered our leader. "Sta- 
 tionery store — something like that. I want some 
 writing paper." 
 
 Without protest Peter drove across the way to 
 Jack Wheat's. Somers entered; through the win- 
 dow we watched him selecting stationery as calmly 
 as if the whole night were before him. At last he 
 came out, a package under his arm that might have 
 held two hundred sheets of note paper with envelopes 
 to match. 
 
 "They'll have to do," he remarked disparagingly. 
 "Don't be in such a hurry!" He glanced at his wrist 
 w^atch, as Peter mumbled some protest. "They won't 
 start anything before the town's safely gone to bed. 
 Not until midnight, anyhow, I fancy. McGregor, 
 you drive us round to the lockup and leave us there. 
 Then take the car and hunt up a phone, where you 
 won't be interrupted. Try to find the sheriff — he's a 
 good sort of officer, I judge from what you've said 
 — and tell him there's going to be trouble to-night. 
 Then come back to the jail." 
 
 Peter protested unavailingly. The mob might 
 come before he got back; Uncle George could go; 
 Somers could go. He, Peter, ought to be here to 
 protect Lewis. 
 
 "Shut up and get out! Uhlman can't go; he can't 
 drive — can you? And I can't go; I'm a stranger. 
 But you can find a phone, and the sherifif'll listen to 
 
PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENSE 115 
 
 you. Besides, I can do more here than you could. 
 Hurry now; you'll be back in plenty of time for 
 the excitement." 
 
 Reluctantly Peter went, after leaving Doctor 
 Somers and me in front of the lockup. The doctor 
 looked about approvingly. The lockup stood a little 
 apart from the buildings about it, a tobacco ware- 
 house on one side and an empty dwelling house on 
 the other. He walked completely around the ugly 
 brick jail, tried its barred windows with satisfaction. 
 
 'Tine," he announced. "Clear space all around, 
 if it came to a siege. And the windows are small 
 and well barred; nobody can get in except through 
 the door. Which is Parker's window?" 
 
 I told him, and he went there and whistled. 
 "Hello, Parker! It's Somers. How's the old doc, 
 anyway ? Good ! Be in to see you to-morrow ; 
 can't get hold of the keys just now." 
 
 He came around to the front again and looked 
 up at the arc light in the street. "Fine!" he re- 
 peated. "There's an excellent light — good enough to 
 read by." 
 
 Whereon he sat himself down upon the wide jail 
 steps, placed his basket of eggplant in the shadow 
 beside him, and unwrapped that package of note 
 paper. "Make yourself comfortable, Uhlman," said 
 he. "I'm going to be busy for a vv'hile." 
 
 He produced a fountain pen and fell to waiting, 
 while I watched him in amazement. What on earth 
 was he doing? Writing notices to post on the jail 
 door, to warn off the mob? I could not imagine. 
 
 But there he sat, writing busily in a fine, copper- 
 
ii6 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 plate script, hunched on the step, with his extraor- 
 dinary legs coiled under him, his dark, sallow face 
 calmly intent. The light from the street lamp cast 
 the shadow of his thin, hooked nose downward over 
 his chin and gave him the look of a fierce, long- 
 legged bird. 
 
 At last Peter drove up. ''Couldn't get him," he 
 said, guardedly, his voice bitter with disappoint- 
 ment. "Gone over to the other end of the county 
 after some negro. And the jail deputy's got his 
 hands full looking after the prisoners. He'll send 
 somebody over later, if he can. By then it'll be too 
 late !" 
 
 Somers looked up, quite undisturbed. "We don't 
 need anybody," he answered indifferently. "Go park 
 that flivver out of sight and come back on foot." 
 
 When that was done, he stationed Peter with his 
 pistol at one corner of the building, and me at the 
 other, with the shotgun. I had asked for this weapon 
 as being less likely to damage me, and more likely, in 
 my hands, at least, of doing execution among the 
 enemy than an automatic pistol, whose workings were 
 strange to me. Then he returned to the steps, took 
 up his fountain pen and fell to writing again. 
 
 And so began a vigil which seemed endless. 
 Though the day had been hot, the night was cool, 
 as our Southern nights usually are. A little breeze 
 played about the corners of the jail, sending sharp 
 twinges through my poor old joints; I shivered with 
 cold and nervousness. I could hear Peter's feet shuf- 
 fling in the sand, and I knew that he, too, was rest- 
 less. But between us Doctor Somers sat on the 
 
PREPARATIONS FOR DEx-ENSE 117 
 
 steps, hunched over his writing, and he did not even 
 look up. His pen traveled rapidly, held in a hand 
 as steady as a rock; he wrote note after note, all 
 just alike apparently, and, as he finished each one, 
 folded it methodically and tucked it into a Ijlank 
 envelope. His calm, untroubled face was bent studi- 
 ously over his work, and he never shifted his posi- 
 tion; we heard no sound from him save the steady 
 scratching of his pen, the rustling of paper, as he 
 folded one note and took up another sheet. For 
 some reason, it was an eerie sight. I began to have 
 more respect for Doctor Floyd Somers. He was 
 brave, at any rate. 
 
CHAPTER Xir 
 
 A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING 
 
 THE night seemed interminable. The faint eve- 
 ning sounds from Main Street, a block away, 
 faded gradually and ceased. One after another bug- 
 gies and farm wagons creaked away; motor cars 
 roared suddenly into life and departed in a diminu- 
 endo of explosions, or hummed off into the night; 
 we heard an occasional outburst of laughter, evoked 
 by the repartee bawled across a block, and at last 
 all was still. 
 
 I looked at my watch; almost midnight! Pine- 
 lands had gone to sleep — or had it? Soon, if at all, 
 they would be coming. The faint breeze began to 
 carry mysterious whispers; in it I fancied hushed 
 commands, threats, the stealthy creeping of feet 
 over the sand. My nerves tensed and tensed; the 
 fluttering of moths about the arc lamp fretted me 
 to distraction. A huge June bug blundered full tilt 
 against its globe and ricocheted off; the sound seemed 
 thunderous, so that I jumped, barely suppressing a 
 cry. 
 
 And always Floyd Somers sat there on the step, 
 long legs curled grotesquely under him, and wrote 
 and wrote. I wanted to cry out at him, to grip him 
 b}' the shoulder and shriek in his ear that a mob 
 was coming; that murder crept, stealthy- footed, 
 toward us through the still summer night. Any- 
 
A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING 119 
 
 thing to rouse him to a human excitement; to wipe 
 that impassive, studious absorption from his lean, 
 sallow face. 
 
 Wearily I shifted my feet, wondering whether 
 Lewis was asleep. His bunk was in the cage, three 
 feet inside the window ; he could not look out for the 
 bars. I listened intently for his breathing. Did he 
 suspect, I wondered? Did he lie there awake, help- 
 less, waiting for the mob to drag him forth to a 
 shameful death? And suddenly I remembered, with 
 a queer twinge of shame, that we had forgotten to 
 bring him bed linen. It was a foolish thought, of 
 course, but I cannot tell you how it distressed me. 
 Suppose that we failed — that the mob had its way 
 after all. Should I ever be able to forgive myself 
 that Lewis had been without clean sheets during his 
 last night on earth? 
 
 Then I fell to worrying about Dorothy. Poor 
 child! If this vigil was terrible to me, waiting, shot- 
 gun in hand, for an attack, what must it be to her? 
 She waited there in that grim, ghost-haunted pile, 
 beneath whose very windows a man had died hor- 
 ribly, only yesterday; with no company save that 
 stupid nurse, asleep long ago, no doubt, and Aunt 
 Mary McGregor, who could think of nothing but her 
 own troubles. She could not know what was hap- 
 pening here; had no way of learning until we should 
 come home. In her imagination, no doubt, Lewis 
 was dying a hundred deaths, and she with him. For 
 it is terrible, worse than death, I think, to wait help- 
 lessly while a loved one is in peril. 
 
 I groaned aloud. Would they never come? Sud- 
 
I20 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 denly I was impatient for the test; I would have 
 w^elcomed a physical attack, anything to get it over 
 and be at rest: anvthins: but this dreadful tension 
 of waiting! I strained my ears anew, but I heard 
 only the faint scratching of Somers' tireless pen. 
 
 Suddenly it came. A distant oath, an abrupt out- 
 break of raucous, obscene song, as abruptly cut off, 
 the sound of a blow ! The confused tramp of many 
 feet thudded in the muffling sand and approached in- 
 exorably, with a strange, broken rh3rthm. 
 
 Somers lifted his head alertly; the uncertain light 
 fell across it, and his deep-set eyes and thin, hooked 
 nose seemed oddly fierce. 
 
 ''Quiet, now, you men!" he ordered. ''Keep back; 
 don't show yourselves unless I call." 
 
 He went on writing with a steady hand. 
 
 Craning my neck around the corner of the jail, 
 I made out a clump of moving shadows. Some one 
 stumbled and swore aloud, drunkenly. Then, with 
 startling abruptness, the crowd debouched into the 
 arc lamp's circle of light. 
 
 They moved with ominous deliberation in a sort 
 of rude marching order, four abreast. Handker- 
 chiefs, blue, red, and black, were tied across each 
 face below the eyes, making the marchers unrecog- 
 nizable. These were my own neighbors; unmasked, 
 I could have recognized almost every face, no doubt. 
 But seen thus they were fearsome shapes, uncanny, 
 inhuman, and I shivered and quailed before them. 
 One burly fellow in the first rank carried a coil of 
 rope. Fascinated, I saw how it sw^ung carelessly at 
 his side, and I noted its fresh, yellow color. My 
 
A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING 121 
 
 nephew was honored, I thought hysterically; they 
 had bought a new rope for his hanging! 
 
 The straggling column advanced ; its head wheeled 
 straight toward the jail. Then the marchers caught 
 sight of Doctor Somers' quiet figure, crouched there 
 on the steps, still writing busily. They halted sud- 
 denly, confused, and suspicious of this strange guard. 
 They scented a trap, as mobs will; surely this fellow 
 would not be sitting there so calmly unless he knew 
 that the jail was well protected! 
 
 There was some jostling, and the column broke 
 its formation. Men pushed forward from the rear 
 until they formed a rough semicircle at a respectful 
 distance. The tall man who bore that sinister rope 
 stepped forward a little. 
 
 And then, and not till then, Floyd Somers laid his 
 writing precisely by and rose upon those slender, 
 stiltlike legs, looking rather like a steel windmill 
 tower, I reflected absurdly. 
 
 ''Good evening, gentlemen." His voice was per- 
 fectly unruffled and casual. "A fine, cool night for 
 a walk!" 
 
 A little, incredulous gasp ran through the silent 
 crowd, followed bv an ominous mutter. Was this 
 fellow making game of them? 
 
 "EveninV' replied the rope bearer gruffly. "What 
 yuh doin' here?" 
 
 Somers yawned and smiled that sudden, disarm- 
 ing smile, that could so change his saturnine features. 
 'AVhy, writing a letter to my best girl, as you can 
 see." He gestured toward the heap of notes. 
 
 ''Huh?" asked the crowd's spokesman. He seemed 
 
122 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 bewildered, yet confident. "What's the feller doin' 
 here?" I could fancy him thinking. "Somethin' 
 funny! Well, we'll find out — got lots of time!" 
 
 "Huh?" Above his red bandanna his eyes glinted 
 at the heap of envelopes. "Writin' a whole lot o* 
 letters, seems t' me!" 
 
 "Why," replied Somers blithely, "that's because 
 I've got a whole lot of best girls!" 
 
 The jest was feeble enough, but it caught the 
 fancy of the crowd. A gust of laughter ran about 
 the semicircle, and its tension relaxed visibly. The 
 humor of the mob seemed less silently savage than 
 before. "No wonder !" exclaimed some one. "Fine, 
 fat feller like you oughta have plenty o' girls !" 
 
 "I have." Somers' burlesque of satisfied vanity 
 was irresistibly comic. "Anything I can do for you, 
 gentlemen? I've got six or eight more to write, you 
 
 see." 
 
 'Sure is!" The spokesman stepped forward again, 
 swinging his rope menacingly. This skinny stranger 
 needn't think he could play horse with them, his 
 gesture said grimly. "Run along, sonny, an' write 
 yore letters some'rs else. We-all got bus'ness in 
 that there jail, see?" 
 
 "So? Well, there's no hurry, is there? You've 
 got all night before you. Suppose we talk about that 
 a while?" 
 
 The other scratched a perplexed head, tilting his 
 wide-brimmed hat forward. Plainly he did not know 
 w^hat to make of this imperturbable stranger. After 
 an instant's hesitation he decided to humor him. 
 
 "We-ell, we got plenty time, sure enough!" he 
 
A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING 123 
 
 declared. "Ain't nobody goin' t' stop us. We're 
 after that skunk inside, stranger — that feller Lewis 
 Parker, what murdered Doc Gaskell yestiddy morn- 
 in'." 
 
 The mob took a step forward, growling assent. 
 The words seemed to have rekindled its fury. 
 
 "Murdered Doctor Gaskell?" asked Somers coolly. 
 "How come?" 
 
 The crow'd's spokesman snorted. "Nev' you mind 
 how come! He done it, an' 'at's enough. Git outa 
 th' way now, sonny, an' let us in!" 
 
 Somers held his place. "The door's locked." 
 
 Again the crowd laughed; this time raucously, 
 hatefully. 
 
 "Oh," jeeringly exclaimed one, swaying on wide- 
 set feet, "Rufe Wakefield ain't such a big fool as 
 some fellers. He didn't make no trouble about th' 
 key w'en we-all come after it — ner you won't make 
 no trouble, neither, w'en w^e-all gits ready t' use it!" 
 
 A chorus of drunken agreement broke out. " 'At's 
 right, Charhe! Give it to 'im. C'm' on, fellers, 
 smash 'im!" It w^as plain that many in the crowd 
 had found means of circumventing the Eighteenth 
 Amendment. 
 
 "Shut up! Who's runnin' this, huh?" It was the 
 leader, jealous of his authority, and the noise sul> 
 sided. 
 
 "Didn't mean nothing, R-rappy, ol' boy," replied 
 the disturber. 
 
 "Shut up! Ain't yuh got no sense atall, slingin' 
 names around that a way?" He faced Somers again. 
 "We-all got th' key, all right," he continued, "an' 
 
124 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 we aim t' use it, see? Right way now — d'rectly! 
 Yuh better git outa th' way, afore th' fireworks 
 begins!" 
 
 '*One moment! Listen, you men," Somers' voice 
 was really eloquent. "You're going to do a great 
 injustice. Parker is innocent! He didn't shoot Doc- 
 tor Gaskell — the man was dead before he got out 
 there at all — dead and cold! Let the law take its 
 course, boys. Parker's here in jail ; he can't get 
 away. He'll be tried, and, if he's guilty he'll be con- 
 victed and punished. You don't want to hang an 
 innocent man, do you? I tell you Gaskell was dead 
 and cold before Parker came out at all!" 
 
 An outburst of jeers and hisses cut him short. 
 The crowd would not listen to any further inter- 
 ference with its proposed pleasures. But the tall 
 spokesman commanded silence. He seemed shaken. 
 
 "Shut up! Shut up!" With paralyzing sudden- 
 ness he produced a huge revolver, and the angry 
 cries of the mob died away. "That's better ! T 
 ask you-all ag'in, who's runnin' this here lynchin' ? 
 Any more cracks, an' somebody's gointa git hurted 
 bad. Now, stranger, what's that yuh say, Gaskell 
 was daid afore Parker come out?" 
 
 "Dead and cold!" repeated Somers. "Mr. Uhlman 
 touched his chest two minutes after Parker shot, and 
 he was cold then." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Mr. Uhlman — George Uhlman." 
 
 There was a chorus of jeers and howls. "Uhlman, 
 ol' Uncle Gawge, huh? His own uncle! Likely he'd 
 
A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING 125 
 
 claim Parker shot 'im! Wh}' didn't he tell all this 
 to th' inquest, huh? Big, hshy yarn — fake — fake!" 
 
 Despite their leader's gesture, the mob surged for- 
 ward; they would no longer be balked of their 
 quarry. Above the clamor, the man who had boasted 
 of taking the jail keys from Rufe Wakefield, howled 
 shrilly : *'C'm' on, fellers ! Let's git 'im out. Skinny's 
 jus' tryin' t' hold us an' argue till ol' Redden gits 
 here. Cm' on! Git 'im afore th' sheriff comes!" 
 
 Emitting wild yells to work its courage up, after 
 the manner of mobs, the throng pressed on. It was 
 touch and go; they were almost upon the defenseless 
 Somers. Without awaiting Somers' call, Peter Mc- 
 Gregor and I turned the jail corners almost together 
 and ran forward to take up our stations on either 
 side of the steps. 
 
 Somers scowled at us. "Why didn't you keep 
 back?" he demanded. "I don't need you." 
 
 None the less, our sudden eruption checked the 
 mob. They hung back from Peter's menacing pistol 
 and eyed dubiously the shotgun, which I held at the 
 ready. 
 
 "Say when, doc !" invited Peter grimly. He leveled 
 his automatic at the mob's tall leader and slipped its 
 safety catch. 
 
 "Keep quiet!" Somers was rather ungracious, I 
 thought, seeing that we had infallibly saved him, all 
 unarmed as he was, from a severe beating at least. 
 But now, without more words, he stooped, extend- 
 ing an arm incredibly long and bony, and lifted his 
 grape basket of eggplant from the dark corner where 
 it had sat. 
 
126 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 He laid it very carefully down on the step beside 
 him, selected one of the dark-purple vegetables and 
 held it up. 
 
 *'Did any of you boys get overseas?" he inquired 
 conversationally. 
 
 The wondering mob gaped inquiringly. 
 
 "Good boy! Oh, good boy!" declared Peter from 
 his side of the steps, as he chuckled triumphantly. 
 
 I was less acute, but some of the men facing us 
 must have understood Somers' meaning, for I noted 
 that hats moved uneasily, as their wearers shrank 
 back into the crowd. 
 
 "I gather that some of you got to France," went 
 on Somers, quite unperturbed. "You see what Pm 
 holding, don't you? Suppose you tell these other 
 chaps what will happen, five seconds after I pull the 
 pin?" 
 
 The crowd had frozen into a sudden, awed silence. 
 "Keep back, you fool!" came an agonized whisper. 
 "Quit shovin'! Want us all blowed to blazes?" 
 
 "Just got into your beautiful city this evening," 
 remarked Doctor Somers affably. "Stopped off at 
 Camp Sheridan on the way." This was the can- 
 tonment nearest to Pinelands. "Pve a friend there 
 in the ordnance department; he lent me these little 
 tricks, just in case of — of anything like this. Now 
 don't crowd, boys, please don't! I promised Pd 
 bring 'em all back safely, and Pd just hate to spoil 
 one." 
 
 Aw, quit it!" came the same hoarse whisper. 
 Rush 'im, huh? Nix! H it was a machine gun, 
 mebbe; but I don't aim t' go to glory in pieces. 
 
 it 
 
A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING 127 
 
 Kossir! Huh? 'At's a hand grenade, feller — a 
 Mills bomb! G'wan, start soniethin', 'f you want, 
 an' git all messed up. Me, I'm goin' home!" 
 
 And straightway one masked figure detached itself 
 and marched briskly away, untieing his handkerchief 
 and stuffing it into a pocket as he went. There was 
 a general movement to follow. The tall leader 
 dropped his coiled rope and pushed his hat far back. 
 "What's th' use! I give up, stranger; you got us 
 buffaloed. Ain't a-goin' to be no lynchin' to-night. 
 But, if it hadn't of been f'r them bombs '* 
 
 In token of amity, he untied the red bandanna, 
 which masked him, and bared the lean, stubbly face 
 and piratical mustache of Ralph Satterfield. *'Un- 
 cover, boys," he said. "Them masks is uncomf'table, 
 an' we ain't a-goin' t' break no laws, so they ain't 
 needed no more." 
 
 Most of the crowd followed his example, but 
 some effaced themselves, evidently ashamed of being 
 identified in such company and upon such an errand. 
 Those who remained crowded forward, so that Peter 
 and I raised our weapons, fearing an attack; but 
 Satterfield waved them aside. 
 
 "Put by yore shootin' irons," he said to us, alco- 
 holically generous. "We ain't a-goin' to start nothin'. 
 I give my word, didn't I?" 
 
 I hesitated, but Somers frowned me into compli- 
 ance. The mob leader advanced. "You got us beat, 
 stranger. I'd like t' shake you by th' hand, sir. Ain't 
 a-many has bested Ralph Satterfield this a way!" 
 
 Laying his vegetable bomb carefully aside, the 
 doctor came down the steps quite fearlessly, one lean 
 
128 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 arm extended; and presently his slender hand was 
 engulfed in the bootlegger's huge grip. 
 
 "Good feller!" declared Satterfield. "Friend o' 
 mine, yuh hear, boys? Have a drink, stranger?" 
 
 He fumbled at a hip pocket, hiccoughing. Evi- 
 dently he had given his own goods the testimonial 
 of personal use. 
 
 "I thank you, sir," replied Doctor Somers blandly. 
 "Just a swallow to our friendship." He tilted the 
 bottle expertly, but I noted that he did not drink. 
 "And now, gentlemen, this lynching foolishness is all 
 over, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, sir! Oh, yes, sir! Shore, stranger!" de- 
 clared the crowd genially. 
 
 "Fine!" Somers took the bootlegger's hand again. 
 "I'll depend on you, Mr. — Satterfield, isn't it? You'll 
 guard my friend, Parker, and keep him safe for us, 
 for his sweetheart and his uncle, won't you?" 
 
 I caught my breath at the colossal impudence of 
 this proposal ; that the mob, which had come to lynch 
 Lewis, should protect him against the possible attack 
 of others. But Somers had gauged the spirit of the 
 crowd better than I ; he was a profound psychologist. 
 
 Satterfield burst into a roar of laughter, which 
 ended in a tremendous hiccough; he staggered about 
 and pounded his thighs in an ecstasy of mirth. "By 
 gum, man," he exclaimed, "you're a wonder — a 
 wonder! Any man's got nerve like that, I'm for 
 him. Yes, sir! 'S aw right, stranger, 's aw right. 
 Here!" 
 
 In token of good faith he plunged a hairy hand 
 into his pocket and brought forth a big key. "Here's 
 
A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING 129 
 
 th' jail key, sir; you keep it. Give it back t' Rufe, 
 'f yuh wanta. Parker's safe; I give yuh my word, 
 sir." And he shook hands all over again, growing 
 mellower and mellower, as his last drink warmed 
 him. "Ain't nobody a-goin' t' touch 'im now. You 
 hear me, boys!" he said to the crowd at his back. 
 ^'Nobody don't touch Doc Parker, or bother 'im, un- 
 less'n they hankers t' meet up 'ith me, Satterfield !" 
 
 He turned back again to Somers. "S-sass'fied?" he 
 inquired gravely. "Me an' a coupla other fellers'U 
 stay an' keep watch if yuh say so." 
 
 Somers laughed at that, and clapped the other's 
 back. "You're a fine chap, Mr. Satterfield, sir! I'm 
 proud to be a friend of yours." Pie bowed, and 
 Satterfield bowed also, with surprising dignity and 
 grace, but he marred the effect by stumbling and 
 catching at my shoulder for support. 
 
 "And, sir — and you boys, too," Somers went on, 
 grinning, "now that we're all good friends " 
 
 "Sure! Sure! O' course we are — fr'en's f'r life!" 
 roared the mob. It was amazing how he had won 
 their admiration. 
 
 "Well then, gentlemen, I'll let you all into a little 
 joke," he finished. "Come up here, closer! Look 
 at my bombs !" 
 
 He reached down and picked up his basket and 
 displayed its contents to the men who crowded about. 
 
 To my mind it was a hazardous experiment. But 
 again Somers had gauged the spirit of the crovvd 
 very exactly. Ten minutes earlier, perhaps, his 
 revelation would have been fatal; but now the mob 
 
130 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 spirit was gone. We were no longer faced by an 
 irresponsible mob, rendered careless of consequences 
 by numbers and the consciousness of anonymity. 
 Now it was a group of known friends and neighbors, 
 who stood about us, whose unmasking had left each 
 an individual responsible for his own conduct. Each 
 thought for himself and of himself; the unreasoning 
 brutality of the mob was gone. 
 
 Doctor Somers' revelation was greeted with howls 
 of mirth. This was a joke, a stupendous joke, ro- 
 bust, and not too subtle, which should be told against 
 these men for years to come; how Ralph Satterfield 
 and Charlie Bates and "Hank" Conover and fifty 
 others had been cowed and intimidated by a dozen 
 innocuous eggplants in the hands of one lone man! 
 The crowd yelled with laughter, Satterfield louder 
 than any; they pounded each other's backs, leaned on 
 each other's shoulders, lay down in the sand and 
 shrieked. Satterfield's illicit liquor had some part in 
 it, no doubt; none the less it was hearty, honest 
 laughter, so contagious that Peter and I, and even 
 Doctor Somers, were forced to join — so friendly and 
 jolly and carefree that no hearer could doubt its 
 quality. Indeed Rufe Wakefield, the gigantic con- 
 stable, came round the corner presently — he had been 
 waiting there in fear and trembling, perhaps, all eve- 
 ning, for what might happen at the jail — and strode 
 boldly into our midst, convinced that all danger was 
 over. 
 
 "Here, here, you fellers!'' he exclaimed in his 
 great, bullying roar. "Quit it, now! You-all better 
 
A FRUSTRATED LYNCHING 131 
 
 git outa here an' go home t' bed; yo're disturbin' 
 th' peace!" 
 
 And so peaceable had their humor become that the 
 crowd dispersed forthwith, still shaken with laughter 
 and scuffling amiably for eggplants, to preserve as 
 souvenirs of the occasion. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 "a little relaxation'* 
 
 SOMERS watched them out of sight. Then he 
 turned and opened the jail door with the key 
 Satterfield had given him. Over his shoulder he 
 asked : 
 
 "That the constable, McGregor? Call him back, 
 will you?" 
 
 When Rufe had strolled pompously back, puffed 
 w^ith pride at his success in scattering the crowd, 
 Somers surveyed him with distaste. Over one lank 
 shoulder, he remarked acidly : ''You're a fine cop ! 
 Stick around, now. You're quite safe; the danger's 
 all over, no thanks to you ! Stay there till we come 
 out; then Til give you the jail key." 
 
 "And who are you, feller, that talks so biggety?'" 
 demanded Rufe. 
 
 Somers ignored him and stalked into the dark 
 lockup. "Come on, you two," he said. "We'll give 
 old Parker a look." 
 
 I hesitated; but, seeing that Rufe had decided to 
 make the best of a bad business and wait to get his 
 key back, I followed presently. 
 
 Fumbling for a switch, Somers turned on the 
 lights. My poor nephew sat in the steel cage at 
 the right, huddled on the edge of his bunk, chin in 
 hands. His face was very white; he blinked in the 
 sudden illumination, then rose and faced us with 
 quiet defiance. 
 
"A LITTLE RELAXATION" 133 
 
 "You've come to lynch me, I suppose,'* he said 
 cahiily. ''All right! Take me out, and let's get it 
 over with." 
 
 ''My poor boy!" I cried, moved almost to tears. 
 If I had suffered, how dreadful this waiting must 
 have been for him! "It's all over, Lewis! They've 
 gone; it's all right — all right, boy!" 
 
 He shaded his eyes. Then, as they became used 
 to the light : "Why, it's you, unk ! And Peter — and 
 old Somers! Glad to see you, Floyd, old top, how 
 are you?" 
 
 He reached an unsteady hand through the bars and 
 then, quite suddenly, withdrew it and fell to sobbing. 
 "I — I'm a fool," he declared chokingly. "C-can't 
 help it!" 
 
 I snatched the key, unlocked the inner cage, and 
 went in to him. "There, my boy! It's all right now 
 — all right now!" I patted his shoulder, but he 
 turned from me and buried his face in the blankets. 
 
 "All over," repeated Somers sagely. "That's what 
 ails him — reaction. Come along now; leave him 
 alone. He'd rather we went; wouldn't 3^ou, Parker, 
 old top?" The black, rumpled head nodded violently. 
 "He prefers to do his breaking down in private," ex- 
 plained Somers softly. "Naturally — so do I. And 
 between friends," he continued aloud, "I could pull 
 a couple of weeps myself on the very slightest provo- 
 cation. It's been rather a drag, you know!" 
 
 I noticed suddenly that his dark face was un- 
 wontedly sallow and colorless. His lean cheeks 
 seemed to have hollowed further; his curiously light 
 eyes had receded deep into their sockets. 
 
134 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "Buck up, Parker!" The brusque, indifferent 
 voice wavered, almost broke. *'Be back in the morn- 
 ing. 'By!" He herded us out before him, leaving 
 Lewis to a solitude which, I fancy, was not unwel- 
 come. Yet it cut me to leave the boy there so weary 
 and broken. 
 
 Outside Somers locked the door, then beckoned 
 Wakefield, who hung uncertainly in the nearer 
 shadows. "Here ! Take your key and get out ! And 
 mind" — his fierce hawk's face was thrust out, his 
 pale eyes glowed coldly — "take better care of it 
 hereafter. If anything should happen to your pris- 
 oner, Heaven help you, that's all! For I'll take the 
 matter up with you myself." And the huge, burly 
 constable quailed before the bitter menace of tone 
 and gesture. 
 
 Somers gathered his bundle of papers and enve- 
 lopes, rolled it loosely up and tucked it under one 
 long arm. "Come along," he urged — almost sullenly. 
 "Let's get home. Fm tired." 
 
 We started obediently. Peter, glowing, took the 
 taller man's arm, though he had to reach up to do it. 
 
 "Oh, man, man!" he declared. "You're a won- 
 der !" 
 
 "Let go!" he answered peevishly. "What's that?" 
 
 The man who had withstood so nonchalantly the 
 menace of an angry mob flinched and gibed like a 
 skittish colt as the shadows of a dark hallway 
 moved, rustling. 
 
 A little, trembling voice answered. "It's only me, 
 Dorothy. Are you — is Lewis safe?" 
 
 She came forward timidly, and now I saw that 
 
"A LITTLE RELAXATION" 135 
 
 Rosina was with her, bulkily maternal, one fat arm 
 about the girl's slender waist. 
 
 '*I — I just couldn't stay at home,'' she explained, 
 talking very fast, as against an expected rebuke. 
 '*So I persuaded Rosina to come along, and started 
 for the j-jail. I thought maybe if I talked to them, 
 
 or something — I — I And anyway I wanted 
 
 to be there my own self, if anything dreadful h-hap- 
 pened. I thought maybe I could s-save him." 
 
 *'Yah!" sneered Doctor Somers. "Schoolgirl 
 romantics!" His voice was unpleasant; Peter let go 
 his arm abruptly. 
 
 "I s-suppose so," replied Dorothy meekly. "Any- 
 way we were there, right around the corner. I came 
 near running out, one time. But then they began to 
 laugh that way, and I was sure, pretty near, that 
 it must be all right. We were just starting home 
 again." 
 
 "You ought to have had more sense," declared 
 Somers severely. "Roaming around alone at this 
 time of night! Didn't I tell you Parker was per- 
 fectly safe? Well, come along. McGregor, where 
 did you park that flivver? Let's get home; there's 
 been foolishness enough for one night." 
 
 He stalked off, and we followed. Dorothy took 
 my arm and squeezed it. "I don't care," she whis- 
 pered rebelliously. "I think he's just mean! Any- 
 body'd think Lewis belonged to some other body, 
 instead of to me. Why, I had to come, Uncle 
 George; I 1-love him! What happened, anyway?" 
 Feminine curiosity triumphed over her pique. "W^hat 
 made them laugh so?" 
 
136 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "It was Somers," answered Peter. ''He's a won- 
 der, that man! He stood 'em off with a basket of 
 eggplants — made 'em think they were hand grenades 
 — bombs, you know. He bkiffed 'em to a standstill. 
 Oh, he's a prince, Somers isl" 
 
 ''Yah!" said the "prince," overhearing this last. 
 "Don't be a fool!" 
 
 Peter helped Dorothy and Rosina into the flivver's 
 rear seat, then clambered after. "Oh, yes!" he 
 whispered to me. "But, my word, his manners are 
 
 atrocious." 
 
 In silence we drove back to Fort House. It was a 
 clear, starlit night, and at my urging Peter left 
 the flivver outside. To take it over to Lewis' house, 
 lock it in the garage and walk back seemed, to my 
 weariness, an impossible labor. 
 
 We entered the big living room, and Peter snapped 
 on the lights. "Ho-hum !" he said, as he yawned. 
 "I'm for bed." His pistol was in one hand, the 
 shotgun in the other. 
 
 "Careful of that gun," said Somers. "You'll shoot 
 somebody." He advanced to the table and laid down 
 his big bundle of note paper. "Oh, no, Peter, my 
 son," he went on amiably. His ill temper seemed 
 to have dissipated itself entirely; he gave us that 
 sudden, disarming sm^ile. "None of you are for 
 bed yet, except, maybe, Uncle George here." He 
 eyed my face, which was haggard enough, I suppose, 
 with compassion. The familiar name came from 
 his lips with such unaffected kindliness that I 
 warmed to him again. "You're done out, Uncle 
 
"A LITTLE RELAXATION" 137 
 
 George; better get some rest. We young folks can 
 manage." 
 
 I shook my head. Between curiosity and stub- 
 born pride, I was bound to remain. 'T'm not super- 
 annuated yet," I told him tartly. "What are you 
 up to now?" 
 
 Somers laughed, and it was a friendly sound. 
 "Oh, just a little relaxation after our late excite- 
 ment," he replied, unwrapping his bundle. "Peter, 
 get ink and some pens. Dorothy" — and again 
 the first names came so naturally, with such un- 
 assuming intimacy, that we could not but be soft- 
 ened — "you get your list — the addresses of all the 
 people to whom you sent invitations. You saved 
 it, didn't you?" 
 
 "Why, yes," said Dorothy, wondering. "What 
 of it?" 
 
 Somers smiled at her rebellious glance. It was 
 as if he had elected himself a member of the family 
 and therefore ignored such little flashes of pettish- 
 ness, as, I began to see, he expected us to ignore 
 his brusqueness, his irritability. 
 
 "We've got to address all these notes," he ex- 
 plained, "so they can be mailed in the morning. It's 
 pretty late, of course, but I hope most of your 
 guests will get them in time. Don't you see" — as 
 the girl still looked at him blankly — "your wedding's 
 got to be postponed?" 
 
 "Oh-h! I f-forgot." 
 
 A sudden light struck me. I stared at our amaz- 
 ing visitor with my mouth wide open. "Is that 
 what you wanted the paper for?'" 
 
138 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 '*0f course! I've done a hundred and four. Bet- 
 ter write fifty more, to be safe." He unfolded 
 a note and handed it to Dorothy. 
 
 *' 'Miss Mary McGregor regrets/ " she read, '' *that 
 the marriage of her niece, Dorothy May, must be 
 postponed indefinitely because of a serious accident.' " 
 
 ''The wording may not be exactly right,'' Somers 
 apologized. 'T didn't have a chance to consult you 
 about that. I thought it was as well to make the 
 explanation rather vague." 
 
 "Why, you wonderful man!" Dorothy beamed 
 on him, holding his long, bony hand in both of 
 hers. "It's just perfect! How did you ever think 
 of it? We — we've all been so upset." Her lips 
 quivered, and her soft eyes filled with tears. It 
 was a dreadful situation for the poor child; no 
 wonder she had forgotten this detail. 
 
 But my mind was filled with a wondering admira- 
 tion for this lank, bony alienist. He had seemed 
 brusque, casual, culpably indiiTerent to our troubles ; 
 yet it was he whose ready wit had saved my 
 nephew. And it was he who, in the hurry and ex- 
 citement of planning a defense against a lynching 
 party, had yet found time and forethought to buy 
 this note paper and, while waiting on the jail steps 
 for an angry mob, had coolly phrased this unex- 
 ceptionable announcement and had written it over 
 and over, more than a hundred times! 
 
 I opened an envelope at random and glanced at 
 the note which Dorothy still held; then I picked 
 up the last note, still unfolded and only half writ- 
 ten. All were done in the same fiowing, copper- 
 
"A LITTLE RELAXATION" 139 
 
 plate script; they seemed facsimiles, each of the 
 other. Not a letter was mis formed, not a comma 
 out of place; ''postponed," the last word of the un- 
 finished note, was as carefully written as any, and 
 the pen had not trembled or made a scrawl, as he 
 laid his wTiting by to face the mob. Truly this 
 Somers was a remarkable man, and I resolved that 
 hereafter no mannerisms of his should irritate me. 
 
 Dorothy ran upstairs, to return presently with a 
 long list of names and addresses. Somers divided 
 the pile of envelopes, gave us each pen and ink, and 
 set us to work around the library table. 
 
 "Working together we ought to be able to finish 
 in two hours," he declared. "When does the morn- 
 ing train leave? Eight-ten? I'll take them down 
 and get them stamped in time for that." 
 
 Silence fell, broken only by the scratching of four 
 pens. 
 
 It might have been an hour later — the hall clock 
 had just struck two — when Aliss Christie appeared 
 in the doorway. Her eyes were heavy, her round 
 face was flushed with sleep, and I noted for the 
 first time how thick and glossy w^as her fine, fair 
 hair. She was muffled to the chin in a shapeless, 
 w'oolly bath robe; she yawned, shielding her mouth 
 with a slender, well-modeled hand. 
 
 "Miss ]\IcGregor can't sleep," she explained In 
 her pleasant, throaty drawl. "She sent me out to 
 ask if you-all aren't ever going to bed?" Her 
 eyes widened a little; they were beautiful eyes; and 
 a demure sm.ile tugged at her mouth corners. "She 
 says nobody thinks about her any more; and she 
 
140 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 wants to see 3'on, Miss Dorothy. She says she 
 just knows something underhand is going on in this 
 house, and everybody's trying to keep it from her/* 
 And then, with a tiash of curiosity unusual in her, 
 normally the most incurious of women, she asked : 
 ''What has happened anyway? And why are you-all 
 sitting up so late?'' 
 
 "Doctor Parker was nearly lynched to-night," said 
 Peter. "But it's all right now; and Somers can 
 prove he couldn't have killed Gaskell anyhow — that 
 the body was cold before he came out." 
 
 "Oh-h-h!" Miss Christie's cheeks went white, and 
 her violet eyes opened. Again a sudden shock had 
 brought startling beauty into her dull face. After 
 a breathless moment she disappeared. 
 
 "Go see to your aunt, Dorothy," said Somers, his 
 eyes still fixed on the waving portieres. "We'll fin- 
 ish these up." 
 
 When she had gone, he sat for a moment, staring 
 absently at the doorway. "Hypothyroidism." he 
 murmured vaguely. "You know, Uncle George, 
 that girl's got the makings of a raving beauty in 
 her !" 
 
 "Who, Dorothy? She's a beauty now," I replied. 
 
 "Huh? Oh, she's well enough, but I meant the 
 other one. Miss Christie. Wait till I've treated her 
 a while, and you'll see what I mean." 
 
 He sighed, passed a lank, bony hand across his 
 eyes, and picked up his pen once more: "Mr. and 
 Mrs. R. Lawton McGregor, 42 Bank Street, Toronto, 
 Canada." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE POLTERGEIST AGAIN 
 
 IT must have been half past three when I stumbled 
 up to my room at last, stripped off my clothes 
 almost automatically, and fell into bed. I was 
 asleep in two minutes. 
 
 It was the deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion, 
 from which one does not w^ake immediately, with 
 every sense alert. No; I must climb, as it were, up 
 from the very bottom of a black abyss of uncon- 
 sciousness, a sea of oblivion, struggling with infinite 
 pains back toward the light. For hours, as it seemed, 
 I fought my w^ay stubbornly through a welter of 
 half -seen dreams, in response to some imperative 
 summons whose nature, even, my sleep-drugged 
 senses refused to grasp. 
 
 At last I came out from sleep into wakefulness 
 suddenly, as a train whizzes out of a long tunnel into 
 the daylight. I sat up, blinking. It was still dark; 
 somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed. That 
 did not aid me in fixing the time, for in North 
 CaroHna the cocks crow all night; but now I saw 
 that the east was faintly gray, and I heard the first 
 shrill whistle of an early-rising quail. 
 
 By that I knew dawn must be near at hand. But 
 v^-hy had I waked so early? What was the insistent 
 call which had dragged me back from deep slumber? 
 I blinked bewalderedly. 
 
142 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Then suddenly a chill swept over me; an eerie 
 horripilation crept up my spine and plucked at the 
 short hairs of my neck. As I shivered with actual, 
 physical cold, I saw that some one or something 
 had drawn back the blanket, so that I lay uncovered 
 almost to my knees. Then, as I leaned forward, 
 clutching after the coverlets, they moved beneath 
 my hand, as though by their own independent voli- 
 tion ! 
 
 I gave a strangled gasp; perhaps I cried aloud. I 
 am not sure, for the thing shook me. At any rate, 
 in the pale gray light of coming dawn, I saw my 
 blanket creep swiftly, silently, over the foot of the 
 bed and move toward the door. 
 
 No one was in sight. My eyes, from which sleep 
 was miraculously purged, raced about the empty 
 room and saw its every detail distinctly. There 
 was the dresser, the rocking chair whereon hung my 
 clothes, the corner table, every familiar furnishing. 
 Beyond the foot of my bed the door stood half open, 
 and through it my blanket and counterpane were 
 moving in a white, undulating mass, that seemed 
 curiously and uncannily alive. And still there was no 
 sound, no stir. 
 
 I grew cold and rheumatic. Perhaps I hesitated 
 for an instant, daunted by this mysterious phenome- 
 non. But it was not more than three seconds, I am 
 sure, before I was out of bed and standing at the 
 door, ready for — for whatever cursed thing might 
 lurk there. 
 
 There was nothing. The hall stood empty and 
 still, as commonplace as at high noon. I ran to the 
 
THE POLTERGEIST AGAIN 143 
 
 head of the stairs and leaned over the balustrade. 
 The broad staircase stood empty, also, and the lower 
 hall, as far as my eye could reach. Everything was 
 very still, so that I heard the loud ticking of the 
 grandfather clock below me. But of my nocturnal 
 \isitor, if visitor there had been, and of my cover- 
 lets, there was no sign at all. Both had vanished. 
 
 A door creaked, and I spun about, nerves tense as 
 fiddlestrings. It was Doctor Somers, more lathy 
 and slender of limb in his pajamas than by day, if 
 that were possible. 
 
 "Nightmare?" he inquired sourly. "You yelled 
 horribly." 
 
 Peter appeared beside him, dwarfed by the other's 
 lank height; and Dorothy's smooth black head peered 
 from her door. 
 
 I blushed hotly. I must have made an extraor- 
 dinary racket, to wake all these tired young folks! 
 *T'm sorry, people," I said apologetically. ''Either 
 I've had a nightmare, or it was the Poltergeist 
 
 again." 
 
 *'Humph !" said Somers and looked at me queerly. 
 
 ''Poltergeist?" 
 
 *'I don't know. Either I dreamed it all, or my 
 blankets just climbed over the footboard and walked 
 away by themselves. They're gone, anyhow." 
 
 Dorothy came out, wrapped in her fuzzy blue robe, 
 hair hanging in two sleek braids to her knees. "Oh, 
 dear !" said she and peeped into my room. "Yes, 
 they're gone. That best white wool blanket, Peter, 
 and the crocheted counterpane. It must have been 
 the Poltergeist!" 
 
144 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 *T'm c-cold," I muttered, suddenly conscious of 
 my thin pajamas. 
 
 "Poor old dear! You climb right back into bed 
 and let Peter tuck you in. Here!" Dorothy opened 
 the linen closet at the end of the hall and dragged 
 out more blankets. "Cover him up, Peter; we'll look 
 for the other things in the morning. No telling what 
 the Poltergeist has done with them!" 
 
 "Humph!" repeated Somers. He cocked his head 
 on one side, and, in his pajamas, whose wide stripes, 
 running up and down, accentuated his height and 
 lankiness, he looked like some new variety of long- 
 legged bird — a striped crane. 
 
 "Humph! Poltergeist! That's interesting.'* His 
 tone held an impersonal enthusiasm, as of a surgeon 
 confronted with some new and rare disease; I was 
 reminded of the manner in which he had pronounced 
 Miss Christie's sleepiness due to "hypothyroidism," 
 whatever that may be. "A Poltergeist! Then such 
 things have happened here before?" 
 
 Dorothy nodded. "Yes, the nasty thing's been 
 hanging round for a year, almost, playing tricks like 
 this, breaking dishes, yelling through the halls, and 
 everything." 
 
 "Humph! Well, let's get back to bed. I'll look 
 into this later." 
 
 "Ask Aunt Mary," suggested Peter grimly. 
 *'She'll talk your arm off about spiritism, if you once 
 get her started." 
 
 "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting your aunt 
 yet," replied Somers. Then he yawned and went 
 back into his room. 
 
THE POLTERGEIST AGAIN 145 
 
 I went back to bed, to shiver beneath my new 
 blankets. It was not really cold, but I was chilled 
 through. And what with fatigue and excitement 
 and the honest fright of watching my blankets creep 
 away in that eerie fashion, I could not get to sleep 
 again. Moreover, bobwhite had tuned up in earnest 
 now. The shrill, insistent whistling of a dozen 
 quail, calling and answering each other under my 
 window, effectually barred me from further rest. 
 The high-pitched, monotonous call rang through my 
 aching head maddeningly. 
 
 At last, it might have been seven o^clock, I did 
 doze off, to waken with a start an hour later. I 
 rose then and dressed. Dorothy was just coming 
 from her rooms; she gave me a brave smile. 
 
 "Good morning, my dear! You're fresh as a rose." 
 
 She was wearing a little blue morning gown, her 
 mass of black hair neatly dressed, and she was 
 smiling. One of the many things I found to admire 
 in Dorothy McGregor was this : that she was always 
 good-natured, even in the morning. No matter how 
 early one saw her, she was never peevish or sullen, 
 in spite of a hot, flashing, little temper. 
 
 "Good morning, Uncle George. Did you get any 
 rest at all?" 
 
 I sighed. "Oh, a httle. Where's Somers?" 
 
 "I haven't heard anything of him. Tired out, I 
 suppose." 
 
 There was no need to ask where Peter was, for 
 I could hear his lusty snores through his bedroom 
 door. So we two went downstairs together. 
 
 "We'll have our breakfast," declared Dorothy. 
 
146 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 *'Aunt Mary'll be waiting, and she hates to eat alone. 
 The others can eat when they get up. They had a 
 hard night, poor boys!" 
 
 But, as we came through the big living room, the 
 front door opened and Doctor Somers entered. His 
 lean, sallow face wore its customary look of acute 
 dissatisfaction with the universe ; it was neither more 
 nor less saturnine than when I had first set eyes on 
 it, scarcely more than twelve hours ago. The strain 
 of last night had left no visible mark upon him. 
 
 We gave him a good morning, to which he replied 
 with a sour grunt. "Been to the post office," he ex- 
 plained. "They're poor stamps your postmaster sells 
 here; no stick to 'em at all. Had to buy a bottle 
 of mucilage." 
 
 "You poor man! And did you stamp and mail 
 all those notes?" 
 
 Somers shrugged. "It had to be done," he de- 
 clared ungraciously. 
 
 We went on into the dining room. Before we 
 could be seated, the creaking of her wheel chair an- 
 nounced Aunt Mary's coming. Dorothy rang the 
 bell. 
 
 "Quick, Rosina! Get auntie's coffee!" 
 
 Miss McGregor appeared, the patient nurse at her 
 back. The old lady's face wore its usual pathetic 
 smile, and she inclined her head to us with sad 
 graciousness. 
 
 Somers' eyes traveled past her. "Good morning. 
 Miss Christie!" 
 
 The nurse bowed shyly; her big, violet eyes 
 dropped, and a tinge of color crept into her cheek. 
 
THE POLTERGEIST AGAIN 147 
 
 Aunt Mary's stately head came up. Her thin 
 eyebrows arched. "I don't think I've had the 
 honor " 
 
 "Oh, forgive me, auntie! I'd forgotten you didn't 
 come out to supper last night. This is Doctor 
 Somers, Aunt Mary; Dr. Somers, my aunt, Miss 
 McGregor. The doctor is — v^as to be — Lewis* best 
 man, you know." 
 
 ''Ah, of course! And how do you do, doctor?" 
 Miss McGregor's tone was cool, to say the least. 
 Her manner implied that Somers would hare done 
 much better to stay in his lunatic asylum. "It's so 
 unfortunate that you made that long trip for nothing; 
 you're from New York, I think? Quite so. You 
 won't be able to get back to your practice before 
 Wednesday, even by starting to-night, will you? 
 It's a great inconvenience, but then this dreadful 
 affair has inconvenienced everybody. It has upset 
 me terribly — though that, of course, amounts to 
 nothing !" 
 
 Her tone, however, suggested that it was the most 
 important consequence of Doctor Gaskell's death; 
 and that we others had deliberately planned the 
 killing to annoy her, Mary McGregor. It was truly 
 remarkable, the unpleasant suggestions Aunt Mary 
 managed to convey by a turn of the eye, an arching 
 of her high, thin brows, a pathetic inflection of her 
 sweet, plaintive voice, and all with the kindest, brav- 
 est, most self-sacrificing manner in the world. I 
 could still understand how casual visitors considered 
 her an uncomplaining heroine, a saint on earth; but 
 I was no longer inclined to share their opinion. 
 

 148 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Doctor Somers smiled at her in his sudden, heart- 
 warming fashion, no whit ruffled by her attitude. 
 But I'm not going back just 3^et," he explained. 
 The hospital will do very well without me; I wrote 
 this morning for a month's leave. I shan't go back 
 until we've got poor old Parker safe out of jail." 
 
 Aunt Mary looked dubious. "Can you make them 
 think he did it in self-defense?'' 
 
 He smiled again. ''Something like that. But tell 
 me, Miss McGregor, how did you rest last night?" 
 
 She softened visibly. "Very poorly indeed. I'm 
 a great sufferer, doctor, a great sufferer. I worry 
 so about my niece." She cast a bitter glance at 
 Dorothy, who winced. 'T lay awake for hours, just 
 thinking about her troubles, until the knots came 
 in my neck so terribly that I could have screamed. 
 You know, being a doctor, of course." 
 
 Aunt Mary looked at Somers eagerly, a bit appre- 
 hensively, I fancied. But he nodded gravely. "I 
 know," he assured her. "Torticollis ephemeralis! 
 Yes, indeed, a very painful ailment." His air of 
 serious sympathy was admirable. 
 
 "Yes, isn't it? Well, I kept thinking, I must be 
 patient; I must try to comfort poor Dorothy in her 
 trials. She's not used to suffering, as I am. I mustn't 
 notice it if her worries make her heedless and self- 
 absorbed; she doesn't mean to be inconsiderate. I 
 won't make it harder for her by complaining. I was 
 so sorry, dear" — turning to the poor girl, who looked 
 supremely uncomfortable — "so sorry that I had to 
 wake Miss Christie and send her out last night — - 
 this morning, rather. I knew, if you hadn't been so 
 
THE POLTERGEIST AGAIN 149 
 
 upset, you'd have remembered that I never can sleep 
 when there's so much going on in the house. I know 
 you didn't mean to be selfish, and so I stood it just 
 as long as I could." 
 
 Dorothy sighed deeply. *'Here, auntie, try this 
 piece of toast; it's crisper. Rosina, fill auntie's cup. 
 Yes, dear, drink another cup of coffee. It'll do you 
 good." 
 
 Doctor Somers came to the rescue with a deft 
 question, and presently Aunt Mary was beaming 
 upon him, discussing her symptoms with infinite 
 relish. The charm of an intelligent and sympathetic 
 listener brought unwonted color to her delicately 
 faded cheek ; her rigid pose relaxed ; her eyes shone 
 brighter. Absently she finished her second cup of 
 coiTee and ate three more slices of toast, talking all 
 the while. Aunt Mary was enjoying herself thor- 
 oughly. 
 
 We others rose and slipped out, leaving her in the 
 midst of an animated account of the strange sensa- 
 tions in her limbs. *'You see, doctor, I've been 
 paralyzed in both limbs for fourteen years now, 
 never able to leave my chair except for bed. I have 
 to be lifted and carried about like a baby. And for 
 years my limbs were perfectly numb and dead; but 
 lately I've had the queerest feelings — creepy, prickly 
 feelings. Do you suppose it's atrophy?" 
 
 Somers nodded gravely. "No doubt! Your mus- 
 cles are wasting away, and the spinal cord is affected, 
 I think." 
 
 "Oh, he's making her out worse than she is!" 
 
mo THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 o 
 
 whispered Dorothy, horrified. "He'll scare her to 
 death r 
 
 "Hush!" I told her. "Can't you see she loves it?" 
 
 "I resigned myself to that long ago, doctor — not 
 
 being able to stand on my feet ever again. But the 
 
 queer feelings, and those terrible knots in my 
 
 neck " 
 
 We slipped out. Doctor Somers listened atten- 
 tively, nodding at intervals, but his keen, gray-green 
 eyes were all for the silent nurse. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 A FISHING TRIP 
 
 DOROTHY, Peter, and I set off at once for the 
 lockup. "Tve just got to see my poor boy,'* 
 said the girl tearfully. "Think what an awful time 
 he must have had last night T' 
 
 She trotted about the house, busily ordering the fat 
 Rosina here and there, and presently she called us 
 to her aid. 
 
 *There!" said she proudly, pointing out two huge 
 bundles. "Clean sheets and pillowcases in that one, 
 and a blanket — you know, Uncle George, Rosina 
 found your blanket and counterpane this morning, 
 the ones the Poltergeist took? They were down in 
 the coal bin, wadded up, and they were just filthy I 
 Oh, dear! I wish the horrid thing wouldn't break 
 and destroy and dirty everything it touches. It's a 
 perfectly wretched ghost, Uncle George, so mali- 
 cious ! 
 
 She carried it off gayly enough, but her big eyes 
 were restless, and I fancied a hint of fear in their 
 depths. After all, though familiarity may make a 
 ghost less terrible, no one really enjoys its repeated 
 visits. And, though she pretended so much courage 
 and jested so gayly about the tricks of the Polter- 
 geist, I saw that she was haunted by a very real 
 fear of its comings. The poor child was near the. 
 breaking point. 
 
 'There, there, dearie," I comforted her. "Don't. 
 
152 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 you fret; everything'll come right yet. We'll have 
 you married off and settled happily in a bright little 
 red-and-white bungalow, without any ghosts to 
 bother you. Be brave just a little while longer, 
 child!" 
 
 She huddled against my shoulder and wept quietly. 
 "I c-can't help it, dear," she declared. I'll be a-all 
 right p-presently. But things are so darn twisted! 
 And that was my very best counterpane, and I was 
 s-saving it for our h-house — and I'm a-f-fraid of 
 ghosts. I am so! And my beau's in jail, and the 
 wedding put off — and it's unlucky to postpone wed- 
 dings. Uncle George. And Aunt Mary's just m-mean 
 to me, and I'm s-so unhappy!" 
 
 What could I say? I patted her shoulder silently, 
 and presently she dabbed at her eyes with a hand- 
 kerchief, rolled up into a damp ball, and smiled up 
 at me bravely. 
 
 "I'm all right now, dear," she told me and ran 
 off to powder her nose. 
 
 So I shouldered a huge bundle of bedding and took 
 a basket of eatables in my left hand and descended 
 the steps to Lewis' fhvver, while Peter followed, 
 even more heavily laden. "Time we get through 
 and old Parker's out, we can advertise : 'Apartment 
 to rent, luxuriously furnished; apply at the jail.' " 
 
 I went back after another load and on the way 
 peeped into the dining room. Aunt Mary still held 
 forth, as fresh as if she had just begun. Rosina's 
 face peeped around the edge of the kitchen door. 
 She was wondering, no doubt, if they'd ever give 
 her a chance to "cl'ar away." Somers still listened 
 
A FISHING TRIP 153 
 
 with courteous attention, but the eye he turned to me 
 held a comical appeal for aid. 
 
 "We're going down to see my nephew now, 
 Somers," I said. "Want to come along?" 
 
 Aunt Mary sighed, her thin eyebrows arched high. 
 "That's always the way," her expression said; "if 
 ever I'm enjoying myself somebody has to spoil it!" 
 But aloud she declared: "Yes, doctor, don't let me 
 keep you. I've enjoyed our little chat so much, 
 but of course Dorothy's wishes come first. I realize 
 that; and it's quite natural. Fm used to being 
 alone !" 
 
 Somers gave her a sympathetic glance. "I sup- 
 pose I ought to go," he replied reluctantly; but he 
 rose with suspicious alacrity. "Perhaps when I get 
 back, Miss McGregor — yours is a very interesting 
 case — I'd like to hear more about it." 
 
 Aunt Mary shrugged, as much as to say: "Why 
 go away then?" "I always lie down after break- 
 fast," she replied. 
 
 Somers looked relieved. "Well, some other time 
 then." His greenish eyes rested significantly upon 
 the silent nurse. "You ought to get out of doors 
 more," he told her. "You need exercise." 
 
 Miss McGregor sniffed. "Oh, she's healthy 
 enough! You should see her sleep!" Aunt Mary al- 
 ways resented the suggestion that any one else was 
 not well; she felt that she had a monopoly of in- 
 validism for the McGregor family. 
 
 Our guest bowed and came out with me. "My," 
 he exclaimed, "what a talker!" 
 
 "Well, come along!" 
 
154 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 He shook his head. "I'm not coming, thanks. 
 Tell old Parker I'll see him later. I've got other 
 things to do." 
 
 So I left him and went out to the racketing flivver, 
 whose rear seat was heaped high. I squeezed in be- 
 side Dorothy and Peter in front. 
 
 ''Where's Somers, unk?" asked the latter. 
 
 "Not coming. He doesn't seem very keen to see 
 Lewis, after all." 
 
 "Well! That's queer. He's cooking up some 
 other deep scheme, I suppose. I shan't find fault 
 with him, after last night." 
 
 "Probably you're right, Peter," I conceded. 
 
 But Dorothy, beside me, wriggled impatiently. 
 "You two men are perfectly bHnd! He's just wait- 
 ing for Aunt Mary to lie down, so he can see Miss 
 Christie." 
 
 We both laughed. "What, that sleepy thing?" 
 
 "Yes! If you had any eyes at all, you could see 
 he was perfectly struck on her. And she may be 
 a sleepy thing, but just you watch her brighten up, 
 once there's a man around to notice her. Oh, you 
 can laugh ! But I tell you Anne Christie is a beauty, 
 if she'd just wake up a little." 
 
 "She's too fat," objected Peter. 
 
 Dorothy gave him a maddeningly superior smile. 
 "And they say men are the best judges of a woman's 
 looks! Wait till you see her in an evening dress, 
 instead of those horrid, stiff, old uniforms! Oh, yes, 
 you will! I'll just bet you ten pounds of candy 
 against a carton of cigarettes she begins to dress up 
 within a week!" 
 
A FISHING TRIP 155 
 
 We hunted up a very sheepish constable and told 
 him our errand. He handed the jail key over to 
 me. 
 
 "Yeah," he said, "you jus' take it along, an' bring 
 it back w'en you git through. Don't forgit t' lock 
 th' door after yuh. Yeah, shore it'll be all right! 
 Nobody don't need t' know you got it, does they? 
 An' say" — coming closer and dropping his voice to 
 a hoarse whisper — *'they ain't no need o' tellin' about 
 las' night, is they?" 
 
 It was a bribe, I saw: free access to the jail 
 against silence as to Rufe Wakefield's inglorious 
 part in last night's troubles. He knew he was safe 
 enough in giving me the key, irregular as it seems; 
 for my nephew would not have dreamed of escaping, 
 even if I would have allowed it. 
 
 "All right, Rufe," I promised. "We'll keep quiet; 
 and I'll have the key back to you before noon." 
 
 All this had taken some little time. As we drove 
 back down Main Street, Dorothy nudged me sharply. 
 "What did I tell you?" 
 
 We swung round the corner, past Olsen's drug 
 store, to reach the jail, which was almost directly 
 behind it. And on the drug store steps, just going 
 in, stood Miss Anne Christie, while Doctor Somers 
 held the screen door back for her, with a long, skinny 
 arm. 
 
 "She does carry herself well," said Peter critically. 
 
 Dorothy sniffed. "I think he might be doing some- 
 thing for Lewis, instead ^of gallivanting round with 
 that girl!" 
 
156 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 We drove on to the lockup, to find my nephew 
 haggard, but fairly cheerful. 
 
 "Rufe brought me in a gorgeous breakfast," he 
 told us. "Really", he's not such a bad chap. Yes, I 
 got quite a bit of sleep, too, but I'll be glad of clean 
 sheets. There, there, honey!" Dorothy had choked 
 forlornly, snuggling close to his shoulder. "Don't 
 worry any more; old Somers'll figure out some way 
 of getting me out in a day or two." 
 
 "But to-morrow was our wedding day!" she ex- 
 claimed disconsolately. "And, besides, your precious 
 Somers is just flirting with Aunt Mary's nurse; he's 
 not trying to do a thing for us !" 
 
 However she did her bridegroom's prospective best 
 man something less than justice. It might have been 
 an hour later, while we four still sat with our heads 
 together, cudgeling our brains for a W'ay out, that he 
 strolled casually in. 
 
 I heard the outer doorknob rattle and started up, 
 for I had forgotten to lock the door after us, and 
 I feared some official visitor. Before I could reach 
 it, the heavy door sw^ung back, and Somers' black 
 head appeared. 
 
 "Thought I'd find you folks here," he said. 
 "Ought to be locked in, though; people might talk 
 about our vigilant cop." He turned the key on the 
 inside and paused to laugh silently. 
 
 "Clever chap, that Wakefield," he went on, ad- 
 vancing. His long, grotesquely thin legs moved 
 stififly, like a pair of compasses. "I heard him talk- 
 ing about that little affair last night; he's out on 
 Main Street, holding forth right now. 'An' I stood 
 
A FISHING TRIP 157 
 
 right there beside the lockup/ he was saying, 'ready 
 f'r bus'ness. 'At skinny feller come in on Number 
 Seven, he stood on th' steps 'ith a bumb, darin' 'em 
 t' come any furder. They was all a-yellin', an' they 
 wouldn't of paid him no mind, but then / come cut 
 'ith th' ole persuader' — and he showed them that 
 rusty pocket cannon he lugs around — *an', "Stan' 
 back, fellers!" I says. AVe-eU, they all knew me! 
 An' so they w^a'n't no iynchin' las' night!'" 
 
 W^e all laughed. Somers' imitation of the con- 
 stable's rumbling drawl was irresistibly comic. 
 
 "So that's what he's telhng!" A light struck me. 
 "No wonder he didn't want us to talk about last 
 night! He bribed us to keep quiet, doctor, by letting 
 us take the jail key." 
 
 "I told you you had a clever constable, unk. Oh, 
 I've learned lots of' things this morning! I've talked 
 with a number of your leading citizens, so I have." 
 
 "When we saw you, you were otherwise occupied," 
 said Dorothy cruelly. "Or is Miss Christie one of 
 the ^leading citizens' you meant?" 
 
 Somers merely smiled at her. "Oh, that! I took 
 her to the drug store to get some thyroid extract. 
 The girl's sick, and I'm going to cure her. Wait 
 a couple of weeks; you won't know her!" 
 
 "And after you got the medicine?" I prompted, 
 curious to know ho\y he had forgathered with Wake- 
 field. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Christie introduced me to the druggist, 
 Olsen, then she went on home. And I hung around, 
 making myself agreeable. Just a little fishing expe- 
 dition. Uncle George — that's all!" 
 
H 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 SOME CLEWS, AND A SUGGESTION 
 
 IS light eyes sparkled at us, and gratified pride 
 replaced his usual look of acute dissatisfaction 
 with the world. *'01d Doc Somers is a great man!" 
 he boasted. 
 
 We all stared at him, breathlessly eager. "What 
 have you found out?" I demanded. 
 
 "A whole lot of things; enough so we can begin 
 planning a defense for Parker." 
 
 Peter straightened at the word. "A defense! 
 Of course he'll have to be tried now, won't he? 
 Folks, we've got to hire a lawyer right away!" 
 
 Dorothy and I nodded agreement. Lewis said 
 nothing at all. 
 
 "There'll be a trial, yes," said Somers; "that is, 
 if the grand jury indicts. And I haven't much doubt 
 that it will; you see, your man Vanbrugh, your 
 prosecuting attorney that pleased you all so much 
 at the inquest, will present the evidence against 
 Parker. Yes, he'll be indicted — I haven't a doubt 
 of it." 
 
 'So we need a lawyer," insisted Peter. 
 'We-ell, not to be too modest about it, I'm a toler- 
 able lawyer myself, McGregor. You see, I started 
 out to make myself a medicolegal expert; to spe- 
 cialize in medical jurisprudence. I studied law 
 first; I was admitted to the bar six years ago. and 
 
 <(( 
 
 <^^ 
 
SOME CLEWS, AND A SUGGESTION 159 
 
 I practiced a little while before I entered the medical 
 school/' 
 
 I looked at him more closely. Last night, know- 
 ing him to be my nephew's classmate, I had thought 
 him thirty, at the most. No doubt my knowledge 
 of Lewis' age had influenced me; moreover Somers 
 had one of those lean, dark faces on which the years 
 leave little mark. But now% by the morning sun 
 w^hich streamed through the unshaded windows of 
 the jail, I could see that he was older. His black 
 hair was shot with gray over the temples; there were 
 fine lines in his forehead and about the corners of 
 his deep-set eyes. He must be at least thirty-eight 
 — perhaps older. No wonder he had impressed me 
 as more mature than Peter or Lewis! 
 
 "Yes, I'm a lawyer," he went on, "and not such 
 a bad lawyer, either. In a case like this, where the 
 medical testimony will be so important, perhaps I'd 
 do as well as another. That's up to you, of course, 
 Parker. If you w^ant somebody else, I'll do all I can 
 to help, just the same." 
 
 Lewis shook his head vigorously. "No! I don't 
 w'ant anybody else, if you'll only help me out, old 
 man." 
 
 "Well, then" — he made no protest of willingness, 
 no fervid promises of success; he took the matter 
 as settled, and I liked that in him — "to begin with, 
 we'll take it for granted that there'll be a trial — 
 unless in the meantime we manage to find the mur- 
 derer." 
 
 "You think he was murdered, then?" asked 
 Dorothy fearfully. 
 
i6o THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "He must have been. He surely didn't shoot him- 
 self and then swallow the gun." 
 
 ''But you — but Lewis " she faltered. 
 
 *'But Lewis didn't do it! Of course not. Gaskell 
 was dead before he got there. But our trouble will 
 be to prove that. If Uhlman here gets up and swears 
 Gaskell's body was cold when he got to it, five min- 
 utes after he heard the shot, your prosecuting at- 
 torney — your solicitor, as they call him — will ask 
 why he didn't say so at the time; why Wakefield 
 didn't notice it; why it wasn't brought out at the 
 inquest. And what can you say, Uhlman, except that 
 you didn't think of it until I asked you about it? 
 Then your man Vanbrugh will say: 'Ah, you didn't 
 remember this very important point until the learned 
 counsel for the defense explained it to you?' — with 
 a significant glance at the jury. And then: 'x\nd 
 you're related to the prisoner, aren't you, Mr. Uhl- 
 man? His uncle, I think, yes? And you're fond 
 of him, aren't you — very fond of him, in fact? 
 Exactly!' And he'll give the jury another wise look 
 and tell you to step down." 
 
 I nodded soberly. "But — but then they'll convict 
 him!" said Dorothy. 
 
 "Oh, no — at least we'll hope not. But the best 
 way to defend him is to find out who really com- 
 mitted the murder; don't you see? So let's talk it 
 
 over." 
 
 Somers settled himself more comfortably and re- 
 crossed those extraordinary legs. 
 
 "To begin with I had a chat with your constable. 
 Had it occurred to you to wonder how he happened 
 
SOME CLEWS, AND A SUGGESTION i6i 
 
 to be coming past Fort House at five in the morning, 
 just at the right time to hear Parker shoot? No? 
 Well, I thought of it. He'd been out at a httle poker 
 party, an all-night session at Tulliver's, back on the 
 hill. He lost fifty dollars, too; it made him mad, and 
 that, I suspect, was behind his zeal in enforcing the 
 ordinance about discharging firearms in the corpora- 
 tion. He had been drinking! Officially, Fve no 
 doubt that the amiable Rufus is an ardent prohibi- 
 tionist; but unofficially he likes his toddy. Corn 
 liquor was plenty up on the hill, it appears; and Rufe 
 was too much under its influence to notice details; 
 didn't you know that. Uncle George?'* 
 
 "I — I " I stammered. "We were all so upset 
 
 that I didn't think it odd that he seemed so, too. But, 
 now that you speak of it, he did seem rather — 
 rather uncertain." 
 
 "Humph! It makes it bad for us, too. When 
 Vanbrugh gets hold of him, Wakefield will swear to 
 almost anything, just to prove he was sober enough 
 to know all that happened. Well, here's another 
 thing. You know this chap Satterfield — Ralph Sat- 
 terfield? He led the mob last night. Did he have 
 any grudge against Gaskell?" 
 
 Why, yes," answered Lewis and I together. 
 Gaskell was one of the town commissioners. And 
 during May he was acting mayor. Satterfield was 
 brought before him for being drunk and disorderly 
 and for bootlegging, and Gaskell gave him thirty 
 days on the roads." 
 
 "And that's not all, Uncle George," my nephew 
 
 
i62 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 went on. "Remember there at Olsen's he bragged 
 that he was going to settle with Gaskell?" 
 
 ''All right," said Somers. ''Satterfield was at the 
 poker party, too. Tulliver has a phone; about four 
 o'clock somebody called Satterfield up there, and he 
 w^ent out in a great hurry, saying he'd be back in 
 an hour. What's more, he went out the back door, 
 and Tulliver's shotgun stood right beside it. I got 
 all this firsthand, by a little judicious questioning, 
 partly from Rufe, and partly from another chap who 
 was there. Mind you, we don't know that Satter- 
 field took that gun; but he might have taken it and 
 brought it back with him. Nobody was out that 
 way vvdiile he was gone. 
 
 **He came back in an hour or so, very much out 
 of breath. When somebody asked him where he'd 
 been, he drew a pistol and threatened to kill the 
 fellow. They quieted him down; but, as they were 
 all more or less drunk, they didn't think much 
 about it. But it's worth looking into, especially as 
 it seems Satterfield's daughter, Minnie, is your night 
 telephone operator. Olsen phoned for Doctor Gaskell 
 to come and see his sick baby; and this girl put the 
 call through, and no doubt listened in ; night opera- 
 tors usually do. Right after that, as I figure it, 
 she called up Tulliver's house and gave a message 
 to her father." 
 
 "Why, it's open and shut!" I exclaimed excitedly. 
 "She told her father Gaskell was going out. Satter- 
 field knew he'd take the short cut, that path through 
 the Fort House grounds; it's the nearest way to 
 Olsen's. He took Tulliver's gun and ran down there, 
 
SOME CLEWS, AND A SUGGESTION 163 
 
 while the doctor was dressing, and lay in wait for 
 him and killed him!" 
 
 ''It's possible," conceded Somers. "We'll investi- 
 gate, at least. And, if we can't hang it on him, 
 we'll bring it up at the trial, anyhow. It will go 
 to show that somebody else might have done the 
 shooting." 
 
 "Oh, the trial, the trial!" It was Dorothy, im- 
 patiently tearful. "You keep talking about a trial, 
 and that'll be weeks and weeks, maybe months ! And 
 all that time my poor Lewis will have to stay in this 
 horrid old jail, and — and t-to-morrow was our wed- 
 ding day! Oh, dear, oh, dear! W^hat shall I do?" 
 
 The poor girl broke down completely and wept 
 without restraint, hanging upon her lover's neck. 
 
 Somers looked at her keenly. "What do you 
 want to do?" 
 
 She sobbed. "I w^as going to be married to-mor- 
 row, and my wedding dress is all ready, and the 
 cake baked, even! And now Lewis is in j-jail for 
 weeks and months — and maybe they'll c-convict him 
 or something, and we c-can't ever be married at all! 
 And I'll die an old maid, because I won't ever 
 marry any other body!" 
 
 'Humph ! Get married, then.'* 
 
 'And it's just awfully unlucky to put off your 
 wedding day, and — and " She broke off sud- 
 denly, raising a tear-stained face, as the meaning of 
 Somers' words struck home. "Get m-married? 
 What do you mean?" 
 
 "What I say. Your wedding dress is ready, you 
 
 iC] 
 
 i( 
 
i64 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 say, and the cake is baked. Well, here I am, too, a 
 perfectly good best man. And there's Parker; and 
 here's the jail. There's a preacher in town, I sup- 
 pose. We've got the freedom of the lockup, thanks 
 to Rufe Wakefield; why not have your wedding 
 right here to-morrow, on schedule time?" 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AN UNUSUAL WEDDING 
 
 A BIG tear still undried on her cheek, Dorothy 
 stared at the tall, lanky Somers. Her blank 
 wonderment gradually merged into admiration, and 
 a very becoming blush crept over her fair face. 
 
 "Get married to-morrow — anyway?" she asked. 
 ''Why — why not? I think it would be just lovely." 
 She grew more animated as this new idea shaped 
 itself before her imagination. *'We couldn't have 
 a big wedding anyway, after all this horrid trouble 
 — not for months and months! And just think of 
 the expense! New invitations, new flowers, another 
 wedding dress, and everything. And Aunt Mary's 
 been so upset, getting ready for the house guests, 
 and there'd be that to go through with again. And 
 think, Lewis! We'd have to pay rent on our house 
 all that time, without being able to live in it. 
 Oh, I think it would be just lovely! W^e can bring 
 the flowers down here and decorate the place and 
 have our wedding breakfast right here; just the 
 family, and maybe Marie and Sally Westfall," nam- 
 ing her bridesmaids. "We'll do it! Of course we 
 will! Peter, run over to the depot and see if the 
 flowers have come. I'll have roses over there, and 
 a bank of ferns, and " 
 
 Her happy, excited voice trailed away, as she ran 
 a calculating eye about the bare, cramped place, plan- 
 ning her decorations with truly feminine adaptability. 
 
i66 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 But my nephew caught her hand. ''No, Dorothy!" 
 lie cried miserably. *'No, honey girl. You know Vd 
 just love it, but I can't let you. You're forgetting; 
 I'm in prison, charged with murder. I'll have to stay 
 here for weeks, anyhow ; and then I may be convicted 
 and executed, or worse yet, given life imprisonment. 
 And then you'd be tied for Hfe to a convict, honey; 
 you'd be worse than a widow. No, you must give 
 me up, and maybe, in a year or two, you'll find 
 somebody else and be married and find happiness 
 after all. And it would be a comfort to me, there in 
 prison, to know your life hadn't been ruined, too." 
 
 The boy straightened, looking very noble and self- 
 sacrificing. His eyes were moist; I fancy that he 
 found a dismal enjoyment in the thought of this 
 great renunciation. He pictured himself in stripes, 
 no doubt, wandering alone down the long corridor of 
 years, upborne by his own self-sacrifice. The young 
 have a way of enjoying tragedy — in prospect, at 
 least. 
 
 But Dorothy only laughed at him. "Fiddlesticks! 
 You're not going to be convicted. You're not! I 
 won't have it! You won't even have to be tried; 
 Doctor Somers will find the man who really did it, 
 and you'll be home with me in a week, maybe ! And, 
 if you're not, I won't ever, ever, ever marry any 
 other body — so there! I guess I can be noble too! 
 And we're going to be married at noon to-morrow, 
 right here in this jail, so you might as well make 
 the best of it!" 
 
 Dropping on the narrow bunk beside him she 
 began to whisper eagerly into his ear. 
 
AN UNUSUAL WEDDING 167 
 
 Well, that was all of that. There are limits to 
 any man's capacity for self-abnegation, and Lewis 
 was very human. Who could have resisted Dorothy 
 McGregor's sweet pleading, her flushed, bright-eyed 
 anticipation of this pitiful wedding, so different from 
 that she had planned? 
 
 "And really," she argued wisely, ''it'll be lots nicer 
 than a big church afifair — lots! I shan't have to get 
 all tired out running around, looking after a lot of 
 guests we don't care anything about, getting ice 
 cream spilled on my wedding dress, and having the 
 ushers put all the wrong people into the wrong pews. 
 I've been worried out of my life for weeks, just 
 imagining what w^ould happen if they should seat 
 Cousin John beside Uncle Will Marshall. They 
 haven't spoken for twenty years, you know. Oh, 
 this'll be so much better. Why, it's just sweet!" 
 
 Lewis smiled bitterly. " 'Sweet,' " he repeated, 
 "marrying a man — in a jail!" But his protest was 
 uncertain, and Dorothy paid no attention to it what- 
 ever. He had capitulated; she knew it well enough, 
 and we all recognized it. From that time on my 
 nephew had no more voice in the arrangement of his 
 wedding than has any other well-conducted bride- 
 groom. 
 
 In the midst of our excited talk some one tried 
 the jail door. We all stopped short, alarmed, the 
 memory of last night's attack fresh in our minds. 
 Then Somers, shrugging resignedly, opened the big 
 door, which he had locked again after Peter's exit. 
 
 In the aperture appeared the wide-brimmied hat 
 and leathery, lined face of High Sheriff Redden. 
 
4( 
 
 i68 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 He blinked at us queerly, his red-rimmed, rheumy 
 eyes taking in the unusual scene before him; for 
 Dorothy and Lewis sat hand in hand on the narrow 
 bunk, while I huddled uncomfortably on the floor, 
 my back to the cage bars, with a bundle of the 
 McGregors* best bed linen for a divan. It was a 
 curious spectacle for a well-conducted jail, to say 
 the least. 
 
 The sheriff swept off his hat and bowed deeply. 
 
 Mornin', ma'am," he said to the girl deferentially. 
 
 Howdy, folks! You-all aim t' be comf'table as 
 you kin, I see." He fingered his wispy white mus- 
 tache and turned to Somers. ''Howdy, stranger! 
 F'om Rufe's story you an' him saved my pris'ner 
 f'om gittin' lynched las' night — or, anyways, it was 
 Rufe mostly, accordin' to his tell." 
 
 He winked elaborately at the physician. Over his 
 shoulder appeared the anxious face of the huge 
 constable. Wakefield shook a leonine head in 
 agonized appeal, winked frantically, laid a finger 
 to his lips, begging dumbly for our silence. 
 
 Somers grinned. "Oh, yes! Mr. Wakefield 
 showed the best part of valor, certainly." 
 
 ''H'm! Yuh cain't tell me nothin' about Rufe 
 Wakefield, stranger. But I'm obliged to yuh, sir. 
 They^d of been right smart talk round Carabas 
 County if anythin' had happened to one of Hank 
 Redden's prisoners. Ain't aimin' t' have no lynchin's 
 hereabouts, w'ile I'm sheriff! Nossir!" 
 
 He extended a gnarled hand gravely, looking 
 Somers up and down. ''Yo're lengthy enough t' 
 
AN UNUSUAL WEDDING 169 
 
 give anybody a battle, stranger," he drawled, "even 
 if they ain't s' much to yuh crossways." ^ 
 
 Somers laughed. "We can't all be fat, sheriff." 
 
 Redden fingered his wispy mustache. He was thin 
 to emaciation. "H'm, I reckon not. An' now, folks, 
 this here ain't quite reg'lar. I know it's all right, 
 but Rufe hadn't ought to of give you-all that key. 
 I'm responsible f'r havin' Doc Parker here guarded 
 right. Cain't let things go on this a way; folks 'ud 
 talk." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Redden," said Dorothy prettily, "you 
 won't make it any harder for us? Why, Lewis and I 
 are going to be married to-morrow!" 
 
 "H'm," said the sheriff. His watery eyes blinked 
 rapidly, but I fancied that their pale gaze softened. 
 "H'm! Aimin' t' git married here?" 
 
 "Uh-huh," said Dorothy, like a little, bashful 
 schoolgirl. 
 
 Peter pushed in, breathless. "The flowers have 
 come. Shall I bring 'em here?" 
 
 "We-ell, I be dogged! H'm! Yessum!'^ The 
 sheriff's face cleared. "I reckon I c'n fix it up, 
 ma'am — anyways, if you'll invite me to it." 
 
 "Why, of course! I was counting on you to give 
 me away," declared Dorothy shamelessly. "My aunt 
 can't come; she's paralyzed, you know; and Uncle 
 George couldn't do it very well because he's Lewis' 
 uncle. Will you, sheriff?" 
 
 "I jus' reckon I will, ma'am! W'y, twenty 
 mewels couldn't keep me away. Hold up yore right 
 hand, stranger, and you, McGregor, an' you, Mr. 
 Uhlman. I deppytize you-all. Yo're depitty sheriffs 
 
170 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 of the County of Carabas, State of No'th Carolina, 
 charged with th' guardin' of this here pris'ner an' 
 responsible fer his body to me. You c'n keep them 
 keys now, gentlemen. Rufe, you got to feed 'im yit; 
 you c'n fix it up 'ith them t' let you in, mealtimes." 
 
 And with no more formality than this, we became 
 deputy sheriffs. Mr. Redden departed presently, 
 promising to return for the ceremony to-morrow; 
 and, before we had settled all details and departed 
 homeward for lunch, an ancient roadster rattled up 
 to the jail door and the lean, tobacco-chewing deputy 
 sheriff from the county jail appeared in the doorway. 
 
 **Here," said he laconically, as he thrust a package 
 at me. ''Sheriff says t' wear 'em whenever yuh come 
 round th' jail." 
 
 I unwrapped the newspaper to find three stars; 
 Peter, Somers, and I pinned them to our coat fronts, 
 not without pride. We were ofilicers of the law ! 
 
 The preparations for this most unconventional 
 wedding went merrily on. We ate a hurried lunch, 
 scarcely heeding Aunt Mary's acid comments. She 
 would never have given her consent to such an insane 
 proceeding, if she'd been asked. But no one ever 
 considered her; she was used to being ignored. Such 
 a disgrace — to be married in a common jail! What 
 were young people coming to, anyhow ? No modesty, 
 no idea of common decency, even. Why, the very 
 thought of this monstrous proceeding sent queer 
 feelings all up and down her spine ! She could feel 
 the knots coming in her neck already. But of course 
 that was nothing; she'd be the last to expect any 
 consideration for her sufferings. Thank Heaven 
 
AN UNUSUAL WEDDING 171 
 
 she was given strength and patience to bear them 
 without a murmur! *'Take me to my room, M*ss 
 Christie, please; I can't eat one mouthful. I don't 
 believe I shall survive this blow, but, no doubt, it's 
 for the best. A poor, crippled old woman like me 
 — I shall be glad to die and find rest in the grave! 
 Ah, well, you might wait until I finish my tea, 
 nurse !" 
 
 Presently Miss McGregor was wheeled away, and 
 w^e all sighed our relief at her going. "Don't forget 
 to take your tablet, Miss Christie!" Somers called 
 after them.. 
 
 The nurse nodded and smiled over her shoulder, 
 a becoming color in her round cheeks. 
 
 "In-deed!" murmured Aunt Mary to herself, quite 
 audibly, as the wheel chair disappeared. "Every one 
 needs medical attention except me, it appears. Pity 
 her sufferings wouldn't keep her awake!" 
 
 After lunch we hurried back to the jail, of which 
 W'C were now free officially and regularly. And all 
 that afternoon and evening I risked my aged, rheu- 
 matic limbs upon a wabbly stepladder, arranging 
 draperies, hanging wreaths, tacking up ferns, until 
 the lockup had become a bower of beauty. Peter 
 ran errands indefatigably, and Somers, whose lathy 
 length needed no ladder, worked at my side, per- 
 forming prodigies of reaching with those lank arms. 
 Dorothy bossed us all unmercifully; and poor Lewis 
 was driven from one corner to another. His toes 
 were trodden on, he was abused roundly for getting 
 in the way, and generally made to feel as useless and 
 unnecessary as any other bridegroom. 
 
172 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 The last straw was added when Dorothy ordered 
 us to heap his bunk with roses and ferns. ''Where'U 
 I sleep to-night?" he inquired mournfully. 
 
 "Why, we'll make you up a nice bed on the floor, 
 dearest, with both mattresses and all the covers I 
 brought from the house. It'll be just as comfortable ; 
 and we've got to hide that horrid old bunk." 
 
 * Whose jail is this, anyhow?" asked Lewis of 
 me, being very careful, however, to keep his voice 
 down. "You're one of my stern jailors now, unk. 
 Tell me, hasn't a poor prisoner any rights?" 
 
 "As a prisoner, yes, my boy; but as a bridegroom, 
 nol" I said to him firmly. "Bridegrooms are only 
 permitted to live at all on condition that they keep 
 out of the way of their betters." 
 
 At last it was done, and we went home, flushed 
 and tired, leaving Lewis to sleep on the floor. 
 
 "It's going to be just lovely!" said Dorothy. "I'll 
 be awfully busy all morning, seeing to the wedding 
 breakfast; we'll have to pack it all up and bring it 
 to the jail in baskets. Peter, I want you to go after 
 Mr. Duncan. No, you'd better do th^t, Uncle 
 George; there will be some explaining to do." 
 
 I sighed resignedly. I could see myself explaining 
 to the Reverend Percy Duncan that Miss McGregor's 
 wedding was to be solemnized after all — in the 
 village lockup, and that he was invited to officiate. 
 
 "You, Peter," our inexorable task-mistress went 
 on, "will have to keep Lewis' flivver going; Rosina 
 and I'll be back and forth with baskets and things. 
 And, Doctor Somers, you go down first thing and 
 
AN UNUSUAL WEDDING 173 
 
 stay with Lewis ; see that he doesn't upset any of our 
 decorations." 
 
 'T\\ take care of him," replied Somers. "Yes," 
 to Dorothy's mute, questioning gaze, ''y^s, I've got 
 the ring and all that. Don't you worry. I've been 
 best man before now." 
 
 "I — I wish I could come, too!" said Miss Christie 
 wistfully. Aunt Mary, ostentatiously resigned, had 
 retired for the night, and the nurse had joined us in 
 the living room, which was not her usual custom. 
 Her blond hair was coiled about a shapely head; she 
 had discarded her unbecoming white uniform and 
 wore a simple dress of some soft, clinging blue stuff 
 — chiffon, I suppose. Her violet eyes wxre un- 
 w^ontedly bright; the bovine calm of her face had 
 melted, so that she seemed almost animated. 
 
 Dorothy nudged me. ''Look!" she whispered. "I 
 told you!" 
 
 I knew what she meant. And, indeed, to-night 
 Miss Christie was very near to being a beauty. ''I 
 wish I could go," she repeated softly, her big eyes 
 on Doctor Somers. 
 
 "I wish you could," he answered sincerely. 
 
 Dorothy rose abruptly, tugged at my arm and 
 beckoned to Peter, and dragged us both incontinently 
 out of the room. "Go to bed, both of you!" she 
 ordered. "There's a hard day ahead of you." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF 
 
 DOROTHY'S prophecy was fulfilled. Wednesday 
 dawned clear and hot, and we sweltered 
 through a long forenoon, doing all those thousand 
 last trifles which every wedding demands. 
 
 The news had run through all Pinelands; curious 
 eyes followed our every movement, as we hurried 
 through the streets, variously laden. I should have 
 liked to hear the comment of some of the town's 
 strait-laced matrons; but sentiment generally seemed 
 much in our favor. The romance of this marriage 
 had caught the fancy of our villagers. Many an eye 
 beamed upon Dorothy as she raced back and forth 
 in Lewis' flivver; many a man and woman stopped 
 me, as I limped hurriedly by, to wish her good luck 
 by proxy. I was glad that Doctor Gaskell's quiet 
 funeral had been held yesterday, so that sight of 
 his hearse need not mar Dorothy's joy. 
 
 A crowd gathered before the jail; it separated 
 respectfully, as our few guests arrived, then closed 
 again, craning curious necks. On my final trip I 
 found Somers in the heart of the throng, hail-fellow- 
 well-met with them all, passing rude jests back and 
 forth. I fancied that I saw the glint of a black 
 bottle circulating, but I could not be sure. 
 
 Then Dorothy came, a thin silk coat over her 
 wedding finery, and we went in. 
 
 The ceremony went off excellently, I thought; the 
 
SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF 175 
 
 more impressive and solemn for its unusual setting. 
 Sheriff Redden, in an ancient double-breasted frock 
 coat of voluminous skirts, gave the bride away, with 
 an old-fashioned gallantry, which was very pleasing; 
 Lewis looked handsome and manly enough, albeit 
 a bit pale and nervous; and the bride was charming. 
 
 When they were safely married, a shyly impor- 
 tunate messenger from the crowd without begged 
 them to show themselves. So the big door was 
 swung back, and bride and groom stood for a mo- 
 ment on the jail steps, and a very striking couple 
 thev made. 
 
 Hearty cheers greeted them. There was nothing 
 which could be resented in the town's spontaneous 
 sympathy; these cheering folk without were honestly, 
 whole-heartedly rejoicing in the happiness of our 
 young people. They paid their tribute of sincere 
 admiration to this daughter of Pinelands, w^ho had 
 had courage to stand up for her lover. 
 
 Dorothy turned back with moist eyes. "After 
 all, they're my home folks, and I love them all — 
 to-day !" 
 
 I, too, had warmed toward the town of my adop- 
 tion; and, for some reason, it only convinced me 
 further of its sincerity when I saw in the crowd Sat- 
 terfield. Bates, and Conover, and a dozen others, who 
 less than forty-eight hours ago had surrounded this 
 very jail with intent to hang the man they were 
 cheering now. I chose to believe that this, and not 
 the sullen menace of that night, was their normal 
 mood. 
 
 Still in her wedding finery, Dorothy, aided by her 
 
176 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 two bridesmaids, fell to laying out the wedding 
 breakfast on card tables; and an extraordinary fine 
 breakfast it seemed to all of us, I think, and we 
 did ample justice to it. 
 
 The crowd outside lessened, but did not entirely 
 disperse. We heard a rumble of conversation, an 
 occasional outbreak of laughter, and at last a vocifer- 
 ous cry: 
 
 "We — want — Somers !" 
 
 Renewed laugher. "Cut it out, fellers," urged 
 some one. "Don't bust up th' party !" 
 
 More yells: "We — want — Somers! Hey, Shorty! 
 Come on out. Splinter! Oh, you bean pole!" 
 
 Thus variously adjured. Doctor Somers unfolded 
 his lean length. "I guess I'd better go," he said. 
 Suddenly I observed that the bright eyes he turned 
 upon us were suspiciously unsteady of focus. "I — 
 I'm afraid it's partly my fault their hanging round 
 this way. I'll persuade them to go away." 
 
 He turned toward the door, his long stork legs 
 moving stiffly, as if he preserved his equilibrium by 
 an effort. I wondered whether Somers had been 
 drinking, then abused myself for the disloyal thought. 
 Just inside the door he paused and pinned his deputy- 
 sheriff's star to the left breast of his immaculate 
 morning coat. The effect was unusual in the ex- 
 treme, but he seemed wholly satisfied therewith. 
 
 Then he bowed profoundly, recovered himself with 
 difficulty, and disappeared, leaving poor Dorothy to 
 look after him in accusing wonder. 
 
 "Why Lewis, what makes him act so queer?" she 
 demanded. 
 
SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF 177 
 
 Renewed clamor without. "Yeay, Splinter! 
 Hooray, Somers! Atta boy — let's go!" The raucous 
 voice of Ralph Satterfield predominated. 
 
 *'Your friend Somers seems to be — ah — popular," 
 I remarked grimly to my nephew. 
 
 Lewis flushed. "Oh, he's all right, unk," he re- 
 plied. "Let him alone; he knows what he's doing." 
 
 No doubt he did; and, remembering all that he 
 had already accomplished, I could not blame him 
 much. Yet ''He's awfully thick with Satter- 
 field and that bunch," I said. "And he's been drink- 
 ing this morning, or I miss my guess. Does he — 
 is he taken this way often?" 
 
 "Nonsense, unk! Somers is no drunkard, if that's 
 what you're getting at. He's an odd sort; I told you 
 that. He's got some scheme on hand, that's all." 
 
 "Some scheme with that low-down bootlegger!" 
 I replied. "With the very crowd that wanted to 
 hang you the other night! Humph! I don't admire 
 his choice of friends." 
 
 Our festivities went on; but some way the zest 
 of them had departed. The Reverend Mr. Duncan 
 felt called upon to make a little speech, extolling 
 Dorothy's heroic sacrifices for the man she loved, 
 gushing about my conduct Monday night — though 
 it was little enough I did to protect Lewis — and gen- 
 erally making himself oratorically obnoxious, and 
 the rest of us uncomfortable. Then the bridesmaids 
 must weep over Dorothy, as bridesmaids, I suppose, 
 have wept over brides since the first wedding day in 
 history; and Dorothy cried a little, too, because they 
 cried; and Peter and I wrung Lewis' hand and 
 
178 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 choked — and I, for one, was considerably relieved 
 when the Reverend Mr. Duncan kissed the bride 
 once more and departed, leaving us his blessing. 
 
 Then the bridesmaids went, too, and our handful 
 of guests. Peter and I were alone with the happy 
 couple. Dorothy cried again because she must leave 
 her husband and go back to Fort House; and Peter 
 stood amazingly erect and blew his nose sonorously; 
 and Lewis looked lonely and tired and miserable; 
 and I could have cried myself without making the 
 slightest effort. 
 
 At last Dorothy concealed her finery under a coat 
 and went out to the flivver, her little nose pink with 
 weeping. And Peter and I followed, after locking 
 the bridegroom into his cell once more. Poor Lewis. 
 It must have been lonely enough there, locked in 
 with only the drooping flowers of the wedding dec^ 
 rations to keep him company. 
 
 We drove silently back to Fort House, and 
 Dorothy went upstairs to change, while Peter and 
 I thankfully shed our formal clothes, and came 
 downstairs in soft shirts and linen trousers. 
 
 Dorothy remained invisible; but we two sat on the 
 porch, through a long, hot afternoon, waiting for a 
 best man who failed to appear. Supper time came 
 and passed. We ate in silence, except for Aunt 
 Mary's resigned monologue. Miss Christie wore 
 another dress; pale pink this time, with a low, square 
 neck, which displayed her round, dimpled throat. 
 She looked very nice, I thought ; it was really 
 marvelous how she had changed and brightened in 
 
SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF 179 
 
 two days. She said almost nothing; but her big blue 
 eyes kept turning toward the door. 
 
 That was an unpleasant meal. Dorothy kept her 
 reddened eyes upon her plate ; Peter was grumpy ; 
 the omelet was scorched, and Rosina was defiantly, 
 ostentatiously conscious of our lack of appetite. 
 She flounced in and out, and set down the dishes 
 with a bang. Every movement said : ''Well, cain't 
 have parties every meal. I done cooked one spread 
 to-day !" 
 
 We finished, and Aunt Mary, still prophesying evil 
 and acidly gratified by our evident disheartenment, 
 had herself wheeled back to her own room. "I might 
 as well go to bed and read there," she announced. 
 "It does seem, after being left alone all day, that 
 I might find somebody to exchange a civil word with 
 me. But there! I'm used to being ignored." 
 
 Miss Christie put her to bed and presently came 
 out to where we sat forlornly on the front porch. 
 And still no Somers. 
 
 "Whatever can be the matter?" asked Dorothy 
 anxiously. "Do you suppose he's hurt?" 
 
 I thought the nurse's color faded; her big eyes 
 grew bigger. "Oh, I hope not!" 
 
 Humph !" said I sourly. "Drunk, more likely." 
 Why, Uncle George Uhlman! That's horrid! 
 It's not like you. Of course he's not drunk." 
 
 I sighed. "Well, Dorothy, I hope not. But — 
 there he comes now!'* I rose and pointed. 
 
 There he came, sure enough, up the street toward 
 us, still in his braided morning coat, a wilted flower 
 in his button hole, and that ridiculous police badge 
 
 ((1 
 
i8o THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 pinned on his narrow chest. His silk hat was cocked 
 to one side of his head, and he held his head canted 
 far to the other side, as if to balance it. His long 
 legs wabbled grotesquely; he advanced in erratic 
 jerks, tacking from tree to tree, and, as he came 
 closer, we could hear him sing, not unmusically: 
 "An' 'twas from ole Satterfield's bootleg party, I was 
 takin' th' ole doc home!" 
 
 "Oh, dear!" said Dorothy helplessly. "What shall 
 we do?" 
 
 Somers advanced to the foot of the steps and 
 paused there, weaving back and forth on wide-set 
 legs, like a pair of intoxicated dividers. "How do, 
 f -folks?" He was gravely polite and tried to bow. 
 Then he knocked off his silk hat, stumbled, and 
 stepped fair upon its crown. 
 
 "Dear me, dear me!" he mumbled. "S-shockin'l 
 Shockin' spectacle, horrid sight! Young p'fesshun'l 
 man, brightes' prospec's, ever'thing fine, an' all gone 
 t' pot account of th' demon drink!" He laughed 
 wildly, then collected himself by a tremendous effort. 
 
 "I am very sorry, Mrs. Parker." Dorothy started 
 at the sound of her new name. "I apologize pro- 
 foundly." For a moment his enunciation was elabo- 
 rately exact ; he spoke with drunkenly deliberate care. 
 "Not my fault entirely; due to un-for-tun-ate mis-cal- 
 cul-a-tion ca-pa-ci-ty." 
 
 Poor Dorothy rose, her face deadly white with 
 disgust, and swept into the house. Somers looked 
 after her ruefully. 
 
 "Sorry," he repeated. "Here, Pete — unk — good 
 f-fellows! H-help me in; get sobered. Got n-news." 
 
SOMERS DISGRACES HIMSELF i8i 
 
 I hesitated, angry and ashamed; Peter rose obedi- 
 ently. But Miss Christie was before us both. She 
 ran down the steps and caught the drunken man's 
 arm. 
 
 'Til steady you, doctor. That's right! Now the 
 other foot. Are you coming, you two, or will you 
 sit up there and stare like two old prudes? I'm 
 ashamed of you," she declared, and her angry face once 
 more shone wuth that vivid beauty, which emotion 
 alone seemed able to bring to it. "Come!" She 
 stamped her foot. "That's right, doctor; just one 
 more step now. Come! Not two days ago this man 
 saved your nephew's life, Mr. George Uhlman; he 
 saved the life of your sister's husband, young man! 
 Oh, you make me sick! J-just because he's — he's 
 overtaken like this!" 
 
 We hurried to her aid, I, at least, a trifle ashamed 
 of myself. For Doctor Somers had been invaluable, 
 whatever his personal habits might be. We helped 
 him in and upstairs to his room, ordered about un- 
 mercifuly by the erstwhile sleepy and indifferent 
 Miss Christie. 
 
 "G-good girl!" mumbled Somers. *'She un'stan's, 
 anyhow. Col' towels, please — an' basin. Goin' be 
 s-sick." 
 
 And sick he was. Miss Christie attended him, 
 quietly efficient, as if the handling of drunken men 
 had been a large part of her training. 
 
 "More cold towels," she ordered. "Mr. Mc- 
 Gregor, run down and get Rosina to make some 
 coffee, very strong. Quick, now!" 
 
 We hurried to obey her. Somers sat all huddled 
 
i82 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 in a chair, his long legs limply outthrust. He groaned 
 and pressed the wet towel close against his temples, 
 lighting hard for self-possession. I saw the perspira- 
 tion start out all over his lean, sallow face. 
 
 Presently he raised his head. His color was 
 ghastly, greenish-white, but his eyes w^ere clear and 
 steady. I saw that he was completely sobered, and 
 I marveled at the man's self-control. 
 
 ''Oh, my!" he groaned. "What rotten, rotten 
 booze! And how I did hate it!'' 
 
 "You conquered your dislike, apparently," I said 
 to him. 
 
 *'Humph!" He stared at me whimsically, but 
 there was a hurt look in his eyes. "Do you suppose 
 I did this for the fun of it? Oh, well, I oughtn't 
 to blame you." 
 
 "/ didn't!" said the nurse serenely. "I knew why 
 you did it." Peter returned, bearing coffee; and the 
 sick man gulped it down, black and scalding. 
 
 "You knew?" Somers looked at the girl grate- 
 fully. I think there were tears in his eyes. "I'm 
 pretty sick yet," he said. "Say, it does cut, to have 
 you folks think that of me." 
 
 He rose unsteadily, leaning on Miss Christie's arm. 
 "Good girl!" he repeated, with that sudden, flashing 
 smile. "Well, I'm Ralph Satterfield's very best friend 
 now, and, oh, what a head it's cost me! That man's 
 a tank; he's copper-lined." He passed a hand across 
 his forehead with a whimsical smile. "But I've 
 learned a lot. I can give a pretty good guess as to 
 Satterfield's whereabouts at the time Gaskell was 
 shot !" 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 AN EXPLANATION 
 
 SOMERS groaned, rubbed his aching head, and 
 drank another cup of black coffee. He was 
 collecting himself momently; save for a very pale 
 face he was once more the coolly casual, brusquely 
 friendly chap we all knew. 
 
 ''Not later than nine, is it?" he inquired. "Right! 
 Let's go downstairs. Call Dorothy; I've got lots 
 to tell you all, and I'd better make my peace with 
 her at once." He made a wry face. "She doesn't 
 exactly admire me right now, I'll bet!" 
 
 So we all repaired to the big sitting room, and 
 presently Dorothy appeared, urged in by her brother, 
 and still looking hurt and disgusted. Somers rose. 
 
 "Let me apologize, Mrs. Parker," he began. "No 
 — I'm perfectly sober now !" He smiled his warm- 
 ing, whimsical smile as she made a little movement 
 of distaste. "Just let me explain. I had reason to 
 think that this man Satterfield knew^ more about 
 the murder than he'd told. You knew that? Well, 
 the only way to find out was to make friends with 
 him. If I could get his confidence, he might let 
 something out inadvertently. So I had to chum up 
 with him and his crowd; I had to drink with them, 
 though I assure you it wasn't an unmixed pleasure, 
 by any means. Lordy, that raw corn whisky!" He 
 rubbed his head again ruefully. "I thought I could 
 
i84 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS / 
 
 drink with that bunch and keep my head; but I was 
 mistaken." / 
 
 "Oh, I suppose it was all right," replied Dorothy, 
 only half mollified. *'But it was just awful, doctor, 
 to think of you off somewhere, drinking with the 
 very man who was going to hang my — my husband, 
 tw^o days ago!" 
 
 "That's just why I did it! Satterfield hadn't any 
 love for Doctor Gaskell, and it seemed odd to me 
 that he should be so bitter against Lewis — unless 
 he thought he'd be safer himself if somebody else 
 was hung for that shooting. But wait till I tell you. 
 
 "In the first place, Satterfield was out drinking and 
 playing poker that night, and somebody phoned him 
 about four in the morning, and he went out. I told 
 you all that, and that there was a shotgun beside 
 Tulliver's door? Yes. Well, Satterfield took that 
 gun with him! That's one thing I learned by get- 
 ting drunk, Mrs. Parker." I noticed that he had 
 dropped the familiar "Dorothy;" perhaps Somers 
 resented the girl's attitude just the least bit in the 
 world. 
 
 "Well," he went on, "Charlie Bates went out back 
 to the pump for a drink, and he noticed that the 
 shotgun was gone. And, when they all left, after 
 Satterfield got back, the gun stood in its place again. 
 And that's that!" 
 
 "Look here, Somers," I cut in. "Satterfield went 
 out at four, you say? Are you sure that was after 
 Gaskell got the sick call?" 
 
 Somers nodded. "I asked Olsen about that. He 
 called Gaskell up about ten minutes before four. 
 
AN EXPLANATION 185 
 
 He thought it was queer he didn't come, and finally 
 he got dressed and came after him about six. That's 
 how he happened to be there so soon after Gaskell's 
 body was found." 
 
 "Well," I continued triumphantly, "if Gaskell was 
 sent for at ten minutes of four, he must have started 
 across lots toward Olsen's place pretty soon after 
 four o'clock. And he never got to Olsen's, so he 
 must have been shot on the way over. That would 
 fix the killing at four, or very soon after; and my 
 nephew couldn't have done it, because he didn't get 
 there until five. That's easy to prove, because I saw 
 him, and both Wakefield and I heard the shot. 
 Doesn't that clear Lewis?" 
 
 Somers nodded impatiently. *Tf we could prove 
 it — yes. Don't you suppose I'd thought of that, long 
 ago? But we can't. Gaskell was alone in the house; 
 his wife was away, and the cook didn't get there 
 until seven. He was sent for at three-fifty, all right, 
 but who's going to prove he didn't take an hour to 
 get ready? Nobody saw him except the murderer, 
 and we can hardly expect him to come forward and 
 testify. Now let me get back to it; where was I? 
 
 "Oh, yes! Satterfield's daughter, Minnie, is your 
 night telephone operator. She's a nice girl, too; I 
 made her acquaintance to-day. And it was Minnie 
 who called him up at four in the morning; he let 
 that out to me, talking about the affair. I'm pretty 
 good, you know; I have to admit it. I pumped a 
 tremendous lot out of Satterfield and his gang, and 
 I don't believe one of them suspected what I was 
 after. Satterfield is pretty bitter against Gaskell, 
 
i86 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS / 
 
 / 
 
 even now that he's dead. He more than hinted that 
 the docor knew more than was good for him; and 
 he said one rather odd thing about that, to/3. 'If 
 Doc Parker hadn't killed Gaskell,' he said, 'that is, 
 if he did kill him — why, somebody else would have 
 done it in a day or two. Gaskell was buttin' into 
 what wasn't none of his put-in.' What do you think 
 of that ?" / 
 
 We all stirred excitedly; Dorothy glowed at him. 
 "Why, that's just wonderful! It was as good as 
 saying he did it himself. Now you can clear my 
 — my h-husband" — faltering a bit on the unfamiliar 
 word — "as easy as anything!" 
 
 That was like Dorothy. She was mercurial; by 
 turns exalted, and again in despair; inclined to jump 
 at conclusions, and, by reason of that failing, unjust 
 at times. I felt she had been unfair to Somers to- 
 night. But it was an impulsive, generous injustice, 
 for which she hastened to make amends. 
 
 "Will you forgive me, F-Floyd?" she asked pret- 
 tily. *T know it was horrid of me, but I'm so up- 
 set !" 
 
 He gave her that sudden, flashing smile. *'Why, 
 of course, Dorothy! I don't blame you one bit. 
 But it's not so easy as all that, either. We're gradu- 
 ally collecting information, which may help the de- 
 fense somewhat, but we can't prove anything from 
 what Satterfield admits when he's drunk, you know. 
 This only gives us a start for further investigation 
 along those lines." 
 
 He reflected a moment, his long, dark face grave 
 and mature; looking at him I could scarcely realize 
 
AN EXPLANATION 187 
 
 that this man, one short hour ago, had staggered up 
 to Fort House, uproariously drunk, and had put a 
 foot through his silk hat on the steps. 
 
 "There's something back of it all," he went on 
 presently. 'T'm beginning to feel that this murder 
 is more complicated than we had thought. Satter- 
 field knows something, I'm sure, whether he did the 
 actual shooting or not. But, if he did, I don't think 
 it was merely revenge for being sent up for thirty 
 days. A month in jail isn't any terrible disgrace to 
 a chap like that; he's been in jail before, I'm told. 
 No. there is something else, something bigger, be- 
 hind it all; what, I don't know. It's irritating be- 
 cause it's so vague. For example, Satterfield was 
 quite apologetic about that mob. We laughed a lot 
 to-day about his lynching that didn't come off; my 
 back's sore from being pounded. Well, he hadn't 
 anything against Doctor Parker, he told me — not 
 a thing. Rather grateful to him than otherwise, 
 because Gaskell was due to die anyhow. But he had 
 to stir up the mob, just the same. 'Couldn't git outa 
 that,' he told me. 'Things bein' as they were, w'y, 
 I just hadda start somepin that a way. So I passed 
 round some white liquor I had. Have 'nother drink, 
 doc! Lots more where that come f'om. I give th' 
 boys s'm' corn liquor and talked it up, and I got 
 'em all goin* till they was jus' wild and r'arin' to 
 lynch 'im. I just hadda do it, doc!' Now that was 
 a queer wa}^ to put it, I thought. Why did he have 
 to start a lynching bee? And who put him up to it? 
 For, from the way he talked, I'm c^uite sure it wasn't 
 his own plan. I'm as sure as I can be that he stirred 
 
i88 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 up that mob because somebody else, somebody in the 
 background, somebody we know nothing about — 
 yet, ordered him to do it. Or, at least, because he 
 thought the lynching would please this mysterious 
 somebody." 
 
 Somers sighed and rubbed his head, which ached 
 furiously, no doubt. "It's all so confoundedly 
 vague," he went on, scowling around at our blank 
 faces. *'Can't you think of something, any of you? 
 Miss Christie, what's your idea? Hello! What's 
 become of her?" 
 
 We all turned, but the couch was vacant. Some 
 time during our talk, while we were all absorbed in 
 Somers' narrative, perhaps, the nurse had slipped 
 unobtrusively out. 
 
 "She's gone to bed, I suppose," said Dorothy. 
 "You know, she's an awful sleepyhead." 
 
 Somers nodded. "Just wait till she begins to get 
 the effect of those tablets," he declared confidently. 
 "She won't be then. She was mighty good to help 
 me out, a little while ago, and I was beastly drunk, 
 too." He rose and stretched his long, emaciated 
 arms above his head, groaning. "I'll go to bed, too. 
 I'm about done up. But I'm going on with this 
 thing; I'm going to find out what's behind it all, 
 what mysterious person planned Gaskell's death. For 
 I'm sure his death was planned and ordered. Satter- 
 field thinks so, anyhow. And I'll have it out of him 
 yet; I'll find out all he knows, even if I have to get 
 drunk on his moonshine seven nights in the week!" 
 
 He paused, fingering his chin, and looked half hu- 
 morously, half apprehensively, at the new Mrs. C. 
 
AN EXPLANATION 189 
 
 Lewis Parker. ''I forgot," he drawled. "After all 
 I'm here, officially, only as Parker's best man. Now 
 the wedding's over I ought to be going. Besides, it'll 
 be unpleasant for you, to say the least, if I have to 
 come back half-seas-over every night. I'll go to the 
 hotel, or perhaps Uncle George will let me bach in 
 with him for a while?" 
 
 But Dorothy would have none of that. "You're 
 being mean," she declared, "and you needn't be hor- 
 rid, just because I was. You'll stay right here at 
 Fort House, both of you! We've got lots of room, 
 and I don't care what Aunt Mary says, either! I'm 
 a married woman now; and, besides, Peter's here; 
 and I guess I can have company if I want to! And 
 I'll be so 1-lonesome until Lewis comes back, and 
 s-scared, too, with that nasty Poltergeist, and think- 
 ing of Doctor Gaskell killed right under my win- 
 dows, almost, and — and everything!" She dabbed at 
 her eyes, and patted her brother's hand, as he mur- 
 mured something. "Oh, you're good, Peter, dear, 
 and it's a comfort to have you, but Floyd would be 
 just miserable over there, with nobody but an old 
 colored woman to look after him. You'll stay here, 
 won't you, Floyd, and you. Uncle George?" 
 
 We promised, of course; who would not? 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 A FLIRTATION 
 
 NEXT morning Doctor Somers rose early. I 
 heard him splashing in the bathroom, slapping 
 his razor against its strop, whistling louder and 
 shriller than the ubiquitous quail outside. I was 
 fagged out and irritable; his cheerfulness annoyed 
 me. A man who had been drunk last night should 
 be more subdued, I thought. 
 
 I pounded on the bathroom door. "Shut up, 
 man!" I called. "You're worse than the bobwhites!'' 
 
 I heard a chuckle from within. " 'Smatter, unk? 
 Get up on the wrong side? Cheer-i-o, old thing! 
 So you prefer the birds, do you?" 
 
 And straightway he fell to imitating the shrill call 
 of the quail: ''Bohwhite! BohzMte!'' 
 
 I grinned helplessly. What could be done with 
 such a man? "Better cut that out," I warned him. 
 "You'll catch it at breakfast, if Aunt Mary hears 
 you." 
 
 That silenced him. Presently he emerged, shaved 
 to a miracle, the heavy beard showing blue beneath 
 his dark skin. "Aren't I pretty, unk? Going out in 
 society to-day!" 
 
 He came down to breakfast in a gorgeous pongee 
 silk suit, whose fitted coat and tight, creased trousers 
 made him more incredibly thin and angular than 
 usual. He bowed grotesquely, struck an attitude, 
 
A FLIRTATION 191 
 
 knuckles on hip, looking rather like those tiny figures 
 of some cartoonist, whose bodies are made of one 
 straight line; he was almost as thin as that. The 
 slender Malacca cane, which he brandished, seemed 
 as thick as his long legs. 
 
 "Uncle George, I want the flivver to-day," he an- 
 nounced. *T'm going for a drive with my best girl." 
 
 "Humph!" said I. "Is she blind?" 
 
 "Not yet, but this rig may put her eye out" 
 
 *'Very likely," I told him grimly. "All right ; take 
 the car." 
 
 "Who's going with you?" asked Dorothy curiously. 
 
 Aunt Mary had not appeared; she w^as taking 
 breakfast in bed, it seemed. But the nurse was there, 
 quiet and unobtrusive as always, eyes on her plate. 
 At our hostess' question I fancied that the color rose 
 in her cheeks. 
 
 "Miss Minnie Satterfield," said Somers. "She 
 works at night, unfortunately; but she's going to get 
 up early this morning, and we're driving to Jackson 
 Springs for lunch." 
 
 He ate hurriedly and pushed back his chair. "Ex- 
 cuse me? I've got a lot of running round to do; I 
 want to drop in and see Parker, too. It would never 
 do to keep Miss Satterfield waiting. She's a very 
 pretty girl." 
 
 Somers disappeared, and Dorothy looked at me 
 askance. "He doesn't seem exactly reluctant," she 
 murmured. "Oh, I know. Uncle George, he's doing 
 it to help Lewis, but it does seem as if 
 he could go about it some other way than getting 
 drunk at night and chasing round with pretty girls 
 
192 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 all day. I keep thinking of my poor husband, locked 
 up alone in that horrid j-jail, and Doctor Somers 
 enjoying himself like this! You needn't tell me that 
 he hated so to get drunk," she went on stubbornly. 
 *'And now it's that Minnie Satterfield! You've seen 
 her, Peter? She's just awfully pretty, and you know 
 what her father is!" 
 
 My nephew's bride was rather uncharitably in- 
 clined. ''My dear," I told her mildly, "that's not the 
 poor girl's fault." 
 
 Miss Christie rose abruptly and pushed back her 
 chair. "I — I must see to Miss McGregor," she mur- 
 mured. Her plump face was scarlet, her big eyes 
 flamed. 
 
 We saw no more of Doctor Somers that day. The 
 time went slowly enough. Dorothy and I visited my 
 nephew. The wedding decorations had all been taken 
 down, but the young lady's housewifely eye detected 
 dried leaves and petals in a corner, and straightway 
 she dispatched me after a broom and dustpan. 
 
 'Tf my very own husband's got to live in this 
 miserable old jail, I'm going to keep it clean for 
 him, at least!" she announced. 
 
 I brought the required implements, and Dorothy 
 fell to work in a cloud of dust. "A fine sort of 
 jailer, that man Wakefield," she declared. "The 
 place hasn't been swept out in months!" 
 
 While she bustled about, setting things to rights 
 wnth the prideful, loving care of the new-made house- 
 wife, Lewis watched her slim form with wistful eyes. 
 Poor boy! Already his confinement was telling on 
 him. His face was pale and worn, and he seemed 
 
A FLIRTATION 193 
 
 thinner, older, more conscious of his responsibiUties. 
 I fancied that, if he were free, my nephew's hot tem- 
 per would be under better control. This experience, 
 however bitterly bought, was maturing him fast. 
 
 I sat back, watching this pitiful bride and groom; 
 and the girl's happy activity, her housewifely care, 
 the whole pathetic travesty of a honeymoon, brought 
 tears to my old eyes. I rose abruptly. 
 
 "This dust is too much for me." Then I blew 
 my nose. *T'll sit on the steps a while, children, till 
 you get through." 
 
 On the steps I sat and glowered down at the ab- 
 surd deputy-sherifif's star which I wore. I have 
 no doubt that I was the unhappiest jailer who was 
 ever forced to sunder loving hearts. 
 
 Aunt Mary appeared at luncheon in an unusually 
 subdued, amiable mood. Indeed the old lady seemed 
 much changed of late; the cloud of trouble, which 
 had settled over Fort House had left its mark upon 
 her, also. At times she was more querulous, more 
 irritable and exacting, than I had ever seen her; 
 and again she was kinder, more thoughtful of others. 
 In the midst of her sharpest mood she would soften 
 suddenly and be so kindly, so pathetically sweet, that 
 one could not but pity her and forgive her the stabs 
 which she inflicted upon us all. Her face had 
 changed subtly, grown thinner, more sharply lined. 
 Its former expression of sweetly pathetic resignation, 
 which I had grown to believe, uncharitably, was as- 
 sumed for the provoking of sympathy, was in evi- 
 dence less often. Now her softly faded countenance 
 >vore a look of honest pain, of mental anguish, not 
 
194 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 unmixed with human resentment. And I, for one, 
 fancied it much more than the old expression of 
 strained, angelic sweetness. 
 
 To-day she merely played with her food; though, 
 as a rule, even when she suffered most from the 
 "knots in her neck," her appetite was not visibly 
 affected. She said nothing; and, when Dorothy 
 spoke sadly of Lewis' lonely meal in the lockup, she 
 burst quite suddenly into broken weeping and had to 
 be wheeled back to her room. 
 
 Dorothy looked at me, then at Peter, almost with 
 awe. ''Why,'' she exclaimed, ''auntie is really upset! 
 She's really thinking about somebody else for once. 
 Oh, Peter, we must be kindef to her." 
 
 And she was, I think, even more thoughtful of her 
 aunt than usual, all through that long, weary week, 
 though to my mind she had never failed in forbear- 
 ance. It was a long week, that one! A tedious, 
 dreary time, that taxed the patience of us all. Lewis 
 grew somber, depressed, almost morose. He could 
 see nothing before him but darkness: the meeting 
 time of the grand jury came closer and closer, and 
 he would not be convinced but that they would bring 
 in a true bill against him. 
 
 "That district attorney, solicitor, as they call him 
 down here, that man Vanbrugh will see to that/' he 
 predicted gloomily. 'There's no possible chance that 
 they won't indict me; we might as well make up our 
 minds to that." 
 
 At once Dorothy would strive to comfort and 
 encourage him; and then she would break down and 
 
A FLIRTATION 195 
 
 cry on his shoulder and beg him indignantly to send 
 for a lawyer, to hire detectives — anything! 
 
 ^'Because, dearest, that Doctor Somers isn't doing 
 one thing to help us — not a single thing! He's just 
 out riding round all day with that Satterfield girl, the 
 bold, hard thing! And in your flivver, too! And 
 out till all hours, every night, and coming in drunk, 
 and everything like that. He's a fine friend, I must 
 say !" 
 
 Lewis and Peter and I would try to soothe her, 
 pointing out all Somers had done, reminding her that 
 even this intimacy was carried on in the hope of 
 extracting further information from Ralph Satter- 
 field. But Dorothy would shake a stubborn head. 
 
 "You needn't tell me he's doing it all for Lewis! 
 It's just because he likes to get drunk and chase over 
 the country with that — that thing! So there!" A 
 mercurial young person was Dorothy, as I have 
 said, prone to injustice at times. But she was not 
 too much to blame, perhaps; it was a terrible situa- 
 tion for any bride. 
 
 And Somers' conduct rather worried me, also. 
 Day after day he rose late, flattered and cajoled 
 Rosina into preparing him an extra breakfast, climbed 
 into Lewis' flivver and disappeared. Sometimes he 
 would be back for lunch or dinner — often late — and 
 again he would not return until midnight or later. 
 Then he would stumble in, half drunk. He never 
 returned again in the condition which had disgraced 
 Dorothy's wedding day; he was always able to navi- 
 gate after a fashion, and he made no great disturb- 
 
196 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 ance getting to his room. But every night he had 
 been drinking; that was not hard to know. 
 
 Once or twice Peter and I waited up for him; 
 then we gave up in disgust. Curiously it was Miss 
 Christie, the somnolent nurse, who used to doze the 
 evenings through on the couch, it was this girl who 
 never failed to sit up against Somers' erratic appear- 
 ances. "Go to bed if you like/' she would say, "I'll 
 wait. He — he might need somebody. And I re- 
 member, if the rest of you don't, that he's doing this 
 for you!'' 
 
 Miss Christie, too, had altered greatly. I saw the 
 change in her from day to day. Whether it was 
 Doctor Somers' pills or some more subtle medica- 
 ment, she grew more vivid, more alive. Her bovine 
 calm altered; she yawned no more; life seemed to 
 have taken on newer, fresher colors to her. No 
 longer did she doze the evenings away; and in the 
 mornings she appeared at breakfast as fresh and 
 alert as Dorothy, not dull and somnolent, as a fort- 
 night ago. She lost flesh; her overplump figure grew 
 willowy. Her round face changed, and with the 
 passing of its superfluous flesh grew shapelier. It 
 was as though some delicate, spiritual chisel were 
 at work, carving new planes of beauty, bringing out 
 clearly the rare loveliness her moments of deep feel- 
 ing had hitlierto promised. 
 
 I rhapsodize, no doubt, and rhapsodies are out of 
 place, coming from a battered, disillusioned old 
 rheumatic. But I cannot exaggerate the change 
 wrought in Anne Christie. Even in that time of 
 deep discouragement the miracle impressed me. She 
 
A FLIRTATION i97 
 
 was no longer stolid, unresponsive; a new mobility 
 curved her lips, a new light shone in her violet eyes; 
 a new animation imbued her fair face, as her ex- 
 pression changed constantly with each nuance of 
 thought, and her delicate color ebbed and flowed 
 charmingly. 
 
 *T'll wait up for the doctor!" she insisted. "He's 
 doing this for you, but look at what he's done for 
 me . I feel so much better in every way; it's wi-n- 
 derful! And I'm grateful, if you-all aren't!" 
 
 And so the time passed until the meeting of the 
 Carabas County grand jury for July was only one 
 day off; and still nothing more was done for Lewis. 
 It was settled that his case should be considered first ; 
 and I could see nothing ahead of him but an indict- 
 ment. 
 
 That evening Doctor Somers appeared in time for 
 supper; and, for once, he was cold sober. He left 
 the flivver at the curb, climbed the broad steps 
 wearily and entered the big sitting room, where I 
 sat with Dorothy and Peter. 
 
 "Oh, lordy!" he groaned, thrusting his long, lean 
 legs straight out before him. "I'm done up. But it's 
 over now, thank goodness!" 
 
 He did look tired. His sallow face was almost 
 colorless; his thin cheeks were hollower than ever, 
 and his eyes were sunk deep into their sockets. Even 
 his arms and legs seemed thinner, if that were pos- 
 sible. Miss Christie came in, her color a trifle higher 
 than usual. Her eyes brightened at sight of Somers, 
 I thought, and I wondered if she had heard him 
 enter. The doctor looked her over critically. 
 

 198 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 ''You're improving," he drawled, with impersonal ap- 
 proval. ''I knew thyroid was what you needed." 
 
 The girl stood silent, eyes downcast, her cheeks 
 pink. 
 
 Well," continued Somers, and paused to yawn. 
 It's over now. If we ought to get a bit of action 
 to-morrow, as I hope, I shan't have to drink any more 
 of Satterfield's beastly liquor. You know" — with 
 one of those sudden changes of subject so character- 
 istic of him — ''they put chewing tobacco into this 
 moonshine down here — and concentrated lye, to give 
 it a bead. Bah! And I'm through with Minnie, too 
 — shan't have to listen to her giggle any more atall !" 
 
 He looked vastly relieved at the prospect; and so, 
 I thought, did Miss Christie. 
 
 "But," protested Dorothy maliciously, "that's not 
 quite kind, is it? Here you've been making love to 
 that girl for a week and more; you've engaged her 
 young affections, and now you're going to jilt her!" 
 
 "Yes," declared Somers, in his characteristic drawl, 
 half whimsically, half bitterly, "I'm a fine figure of a 
 lover, ain't I? Handsome, robust, and muscular!" 
 His eyes traveled down over the lank, skinny length 
 of him. "I'm a handsome devil, what?" 
 
 "You are so!" exclaimed Anne Christie. Then 
 she bit her lip, and a hot flush dyed her face to the 
 very roots of her fair hair. 
 
 "But you may set your mind at rest, Mrs. Parker," 
 Somers went on, mercifully ignoring Anne's con- 
 fusion. "It's me that's jilted, not the fair Minnie. 
 A burly person, named Conover, has cut me out. 
 You see, he owns a real car, and I only had a bor- 
 
A FLIRTATION 199 
 
 rowed flivver. Minnie won*t miss me. And I've 
 found out what I wanted to — all I hoped to, at any 
 rate. Peter, do you want to go out scouting with 
 me to-morrow?" 
 
 "It's about time something was done!" exclaimed 
 Dorothy. **The grand jury meets to-morrow!" 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 AN ILLICIT ENTERPRISE 
 
 NEXT morning, very early indeed, we three men 
 set out in Lewis* faithful little car, for I 
 refused to be left behind. 
 
 "Maybe I am old," I protested, *'and I know I'm 
 rheumatic; but I can keep up with you fellows yet. 
 Vm just as much interested in getting Lewis out of 
 jail as you possibly can be." 
 
 Somers accepted my company rather ungraciously, 
 commandeered the field glasses, which Peter had 
 brought back from France, and his army automatic. 
 "For," he explained, "we might have trouble." 
 
 He drove the panting flivver up the hill behind 
 Fort House, then along the main road toward Hokes- 
 ville, ten miles away. Two miles outside the village 
 he turned abruptly to the left, into one of the in- 
 numerable sandy tracks, which wound away through 
 the stumps and scrub oaks on either side. This coun- 
 try was all lumbered over, thirty years ago; for 
 miles our roads run through a bleak desert of oak 
 saplings and dwarf pines, too small even for fire- 
 wood, with here and there a tall, lone, half-dead pine 
 tree, whose trunk bears the old scars of the turpen- 
 tiners, mourning the vanished forest, dying of lone- 
 liness for its mates, who have long since been 
 changed into houses and mine timbers and the spars 
 of ships. 
 
AN ILLICIT ENTERPRISE 201 
 
 It is a desolate country, which has been burned 
 over and reburned, until no grass will grow, and the 
 pale sand lies naked and arid between the scrub 
 oaks and dwarf pines, or stretches for acres, black 
 and forbidding, with the ash of recent fires, which 
 rises in choking clouds at every step. Through it 
 the main roads wind as through a wilderness, though 
 in the sand hills one finds the best land for peaches, 
 tobacco, or cotton, which our State affords. But 
 the roads run over the hills, and the arable land lies 
 in bottoms, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. The 
 farmhouses are there, too, quite out of sight from 
 the roads. To reach them one must turn into a 
 narrow, sandy track, such as ran on before us now, 
 winding between blackened stumps; a track indis- 
 tinguishable to the stranger from the dozens of tote 
 roads made by long gone lumbermen, which lead 
 nowhere. It is a difficult country for the motorist 
 with engine trouble. 
 
 The road we followed brought us to no farmhouse. 
 It wound on and on among pine stumps and scrub 
 oaks, sw^erving to dodge rotten logs here and there, 
 leading us through unexpected patches of vivid 
 bloom, through burnt-over areas, where the dust rose 
 blindingly. At last it dipped into a hollow, where 
 tall pines still grew, untouched by the ax, and ran 
 across a creek — a ''branch," they call them here — 
 through which the flivver splashed vigorously and 
 stopped abruptly on the rise of the hill beyond. 
 
 Somers snapped off the ignition and clambered out. 
 **Come on," he said; "we walk from here." 
 
 He led the way up a steep, sandy slope, which 
 
202 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 gave treacherously beneath our feet. Burrs clung to 
 my trousers, and I clutched at brambles and tore 
 my hands. Then we came suddenly and simultane- 
 ously to the top of the hill and the edge of the pine 
 grove. Before us was a thin screen of bushes and 
 scrub oaks, and beyond that a wide, bare, rolling 
 plain. Below us was a small cornfield; and a quarter 
 of a mile away I saw the dark green of tobacco; 
 but, for the most part, the ground was fallow, cov- 
 ered thinly with bunch grass, already turning yellow 
 in the July sun. 
 
 Near the tobacco field was a small, bare, log struc- 
 ture, its interstices well plastered, a brick fireplace 
 opening outward upon its hither side, a drying house 
 for tobacco, such as are scattered all over this State. 
 Save for that the plain was empty; it held no human 
 habitation, nor any sign of man. 
 
 *'Humph!" said I. "What are we going to do 
 here?" 
 
 Somers grinned. "Looks innocent enough, doesn't 
 it? A tobacco field and a drying house; some cot- 
 ton" — he pointed to a field beyond the tobacco, which 
 I had not noticed — "and a little of last year's crop 
 piled under a shed. Bad year for cotton, you know; 
 farmers are holding that in hopes of another forty- 
 cent market. But just you wait and watch!" 
 
 Even as he spoke I saw a team of mules emerge 
 from the pines beyond the clearing. They drew a 
 creaking wagon loaded with something bulky ; at 
 that distance I could not make out what it was. 
 
 Somers focused Peter's field glasses. "One, two, 
 five bales," he counted. "There's money on that 
 
AN ILLICIT ENTERPRISE 203 
 
 wagon, link! What? Bales of cotton, that's what 
 they are. But you watch!" 
 
 The wagon creaked slowly on; it seemed to crawl. 
 I waited impatiently for what seemed an hour, but 
 was really fifteen minutes, I suppose. Then the 
 mules reached the drying house and stopped. I heard 
 very faintly that queer, crooning whistle our teamsters 
 use instead of the Northern "Whoa!" 
 
 The door of the log hut opened ; two men emerged. 
 *'Who are they, man?" I asked eagerly. "Here, give 
 me the glass!" 
 
 "Wait!" ordered Somers. "Ralph Satterfield and 
 Charlie Bates. I don't know the man on the wagon 
 — some old chap with a long beard. Now they're 
 beginning — now look !'^ 
 
 He thrust the glasses into my hands, and I focused 
 them with trembling fingers. Then the distant scene 
 leaped into my eyes — the log house, the miules, the 
 men, almost lifesize. They had unloaded the wagon 
 and were cutting the wires, tearing the bales of cot- 
 ton apart! 
 
 "What on earth?" I asked in a whisper. They 
 seemed so close that I feared they would hear me. 
 "What are they doing? Ah-h!" 
 
 I could see now. The loose cotton of the first 
 bale fell away, revealing the rounded outlines of a 
 keg — no, a full-sized barrel. "Is — is it " 
 
 Somers nodded grimly. "It is! Whisky, a barrel 
 in each bale. Worth two thousand dollars a barrel 
 at bootleg prices. They're doing this by wholesale, 
 unk! Pinelands could never consume all that booze. 
 
204 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 They must be shipping it North. I wonder, now, 
 how they camouflage it on the next lap?" 
 
 Peter reached impatiently after the glasses, but 
 I put him back. ''Wait, just one minute, boy. I 
 want to see." 
 
 The back of that huge, booted stranger, who had 
 driven the wagon, seemed oddly familiar. Satter- 
 field and Bates I recognized readily enough; they 
 faced me. But this other? I felt that I must know 
 him, too; if he would only turn! 
 
 "Ah-h-h!" I sighed. 'T know him, too! Here, 
 Peter." I thrust the field glasses at him and turned 
 to Somers. "Man, I know that big fellow with the 
 whiskers! That's Lafe Rutledge — Roaring Lafe, 
 he calls himself. And the last time I saw him, the 
 only time I ever saw him, was on Doctor Gaskell's 
 front porch, the day before the murder. He was 
 shouting at the maid that Gaskell had until sun-up to 
 settle with him!" 
 
 "Humph!" said Doctor Somers. Then he drew 
 us back, and we retreated cautiously through the 
 pines and down the long slope to where the flivver 
 stood. Here our leader stopped. 
 
 "You both got a good look?" he asked. "You 
 could swear to all three of those men?" 
 
 We nodded. "But of course we don't knozv there 
 was whisky in those barrels," objected Peter. "We 
 couldn't swear to that." 
 
 Somers chuckled. "You needn't, old son. I'm no 
 prohibition agent, you know, but we've got to con- 
 vince Satterfield that we've got this on him. Uncle 
 
AN ILLICIT ENTERPRISE 20= 
 
 George there would be a bad liar, I'm afraid. No 
 doubt you'd do better at it." 
 
 Peter bowed in mock acknowledgment of this 
 dubious compliment. "But what are you after?" 
 he asked. ''Let's get it straight, so we can back you 
 up; the virtuous Mr. Uhlman to the limits of fact, 
 and me all the rest of the way." 
 
 "Vm as good a liar as either of you boys!" I 
 protested, somewhat hurt, and they both laughed 
 uproariously. 
 
 *'Here it is, then," said Somers more seriously. 
 *'By hanging around Minnie Satterfield and drinking 
 with her father I've learned a lot about this busi- 
 ness. They're handling corn whisky, moonshine, by 
 wholesale. It's made up in the mountains and 
 brought down here once or twice a week, sometimes 
 by truck and sometimes, like to-day, on a lumber 
 wagon. It's only about forty miles, you know. 
 They make the trip a different w^ay every time, and 
 a different man drives, so nobody'll notice. The 
 whisky com.es in barrels, hidden in a fake cotton 
 bale, or in kegs put up in grocery boxes, like canned 
 goods. They notify Satterfield by phone, at night; 
 makes it awfully handy to have Minnie as operator, 
 you see; saves a leak at this end. And Sat- 
 terfield meets them out here. I had a time lo- 
 cating this place and finding a way to get out here 
 W'ithout being seen. Then I wasn't sure but the 
 booze would come out that road we took, and they'd 
 find the flivver; in which case, Peter, your pistol 
 might have been useful. 
 
 ''Well, they repack the liquor here; I don't know 
 
2o6 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 how. Bates hauls it down to Pinelands, or over to 
 Hokesville, along with his peach crop — he has an 
 orchard over beyond the clearing — and ships it North. 
 Oh, it's a flourishing business which they do! 
 
 "And here's my scheme. If Satterfield didn't kill 
 Gaskell himself, and I'm beginning to doubt that — ■ 
 I got pretty intimate with him, you know — if he 
 didn't do it, he knows who did, and why. Doctor 
 Gaskell found something, I imagine ; located this 
 cache, perhaps, and the gang decided to wipe him 
 out before he could squeal. Gaskell was a mighty 
 decent chap, they say, not one to stand for boot- 
 legging. I don't think Satterfield did the killing him- 
 self, but he knows something. Now to-night we'll 
 corner him and call for a showdown. Then what w^e 
 find out will depend on whether he's more afraid of 
 being arrested for murder or of losing his job. And 
 these mountaineer liquor runners are pretty tough 
 characters, some of them. It's quite possible that he 
 will take a chance of being tried for the shooting, 
 rather than let the rest of his gang believe he's turned 
 them up. Get me?" 
 
 *'We do, old top!'' declared Peter. "We sure do! 
 Oh, boy, you've got a bean. We'll have this little 
 old murder cleared up like winking, and Parker ready 
 to take his wife into that little red-and- white bunga- 
 low as soon as they planned — even if this has been a 
 pretty tough honeymoon for both of them." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE SHOWDOWN 
 
 SOMERS clambered into the little car. "You 
 crank her, Pete," he ordered languidly. "Vm 
 the brains of this combination; you can be the 
 brawn." 
 
 "Long-legged, lazy beggar!" retorted Peter. He 
 stooped his five feet four in front of the hood, set 
 his hundred and twenty pounds against its crank, 
 and stopped to grin. *'And the brains match the 
 brawn," he jeered. "Both lightweights.'' 
 
 Somers' retort was lost in the roar of the motor. 
 "Climb in, Peter!" he yelled. "Those chaps might 
 hear us; it isn't more than half a mile. We want 
 to be out of gunshot before they come barging over 
 that hill!" 
 
 Turning the little car he bumped off at a round 
 pace, splashing through the branch, bouncing and 
 creaking over tree roots, and skidding through the 
 loose sand. The pace he maintained was racking to 
 my old bones, and I prayed for the springs of Lewis' 
 flivver. But the bones and the springs held, by the 
 especial grace of Heaven, though I heaved a deep 
 sigh of relief when we swung at last into the clay 
 road. 
 
 We got back to Fort House without mishap, and 
 there Somers left us. "I'll drive around and leave 
 word for Satterfield," he said. "He'll be busy out 
 yonder for a while yet, but we ought to catch him 
 
2o8 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 before evening. Where would be a good place for 
 a quiet talk?" 
 
 *'Why not at our house?" I asked. "We could 
 have him in my nephew's office there. The place has 
 been closed up since Lewis was arrested. There's no- 
 body there." 
 
 'That'll be fine," replied Somers. *T'll leave word 
 for Satterfield, and after lunch we can go over there 
 and wait for him." 
 
 He rattled off in a cloud of dust and evil-smelling 
 smoke, while Peter and I went into the house. It 
 was almost noon; the morning had passed quickly 
 enough. Somers returned in time for lunch. 
 
 ''They expect him back about two," he reported. 
 "I told them to send him over to your place, Uhl- 
 man, as soon as he comes in. I hinted at a little 
 quiet game; that'll bring him, if anything." 
 
 *'Show-down," declared Peter grimly. 
 
 We evaded Dorothy's eager questions as best we 
 might; all three of us felt, I suppose, that it was best 
 not to raise her hopes too high, for fear of the in- 
 evitable reaction, should our enterprise fail. She had 
 been bubbling with optimism so often; and so often 
 she had drooped again, disappointed and inclined to 
 blame us for her disappointment. Directly after 
 lunch we slipped out. Somers pacified his hostess by 
 handing her the jail key, which he still kept much 
 more constantly than did the constable. 
 
 ''Here, child, I appoint you a deputy-deputy sheriff 
 for this afternoon. Parker had his breakfast, and 
 his lunch; I routed out Wakefield and saw to that. 
 Now trot down there and keep him company for the 
 
THE SHOWDOWN 209 
 
 afternoon. If we're not back, you can see to his 
 supper; picnic there with him, if you like. How's 
 that ?" 
 
 The poor child thanked him warmly, glowing at 
 the thought of one single meal alone with her hus- 
 band. It was pitiful. 
 
 I unlocked my house, which held already the queer, 
 dank smell of disuse, and we three entered and dis- 
 posed ourselves comfortably upon dusty chairs to 
 await Satterfield's coming. He kept us long enough; 
 he had not appeared at two, or at four. Indeed it 
 was close upon sunset, and Dorothy, no doubt, was 
 already arranging her pathetic supper party in the 
 lockup, before we heard a heavy step on the porch, 
 followed by his loud knock. 
 
 Somers went to the door. "Hello, Satterfield! 
 Come right in this way." 
 
 "H-howdy, doc!'' said Satterfield boisterously. His 
 gruff voice was blurred with liquor. He slapped 
 Somers' lean back and swaggered into the darkened 
 room. "Howdy, gents! Aim t' have a liT game, 
 huh? Have drink?" 
 
 Producing a quart flask he thrust it forward un- 
 certainly, weaving back and forth upon booted feet. 
 Then he perceived suddenly that we were not of 
 his intimates. 
 
 "Wh-what's this here?" he demanded. "Thought 
 you was gointa have s'nr reg'lar sports, doc?" 
 
 "I have," replied Somers equably. "Come in the 
 office, Satterfield; we want to talk with you a bit." 
 And, as the other lurched past him through the door- 
 way, he passed a deft hand over both hips, then 
 
210 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 slipped it under the loose coat with surprising speed 
 and whipped out a big revolver. 
 
 The bootlegger whirled, snarling. "Here! 
 Whaddaya mean?" 
 
 "Sit down, friend." Somers waved him amiably 
 to a chair, using the pistol to gesture wnth. "We're 
 going to have a nice, quiet talk, and I'd hate to have 
 it interrupted by gun play." 
 
 Blinking at him uncertainly, Satterfield subsided. 
 "You done drank a right smart o' my liquor," he 
 said. 
 
 The doctor made a wry face. "Yes — for my sins I 
 Now, Satterfield, we know all about your bootlegging 
 business; where the liquor comes from, who makes 
 it, how it's brought to Pinelands, and where it goes 
 from here. We know you got five barrels of whisky 
 this morning; it's in the old drying house, back of 
 Bates' orchard, right now. We know all about it; 
 we've got it all over you like a tent!" 
 
 Our victim scowled belligerently. "Huh! Dirty 
 revenue sneak, are yuh? Spy! Revenuer!" 
 
 Somers grinned. "Not that," he said. "I'm no 
 prohibition-enforcement agent. I don't care how 
 much booze you peddle, though I do think it's a 
 pretty bad job for any man, especially, considering 
 the kind of stuff you're putting out! I don't want 
 to squeal on you, Satterfield, and I shan't — un- 
 less " 
 
 The other eyed him closely, tugging at his piratical 
 mustache. "An' I thought you was my friend!" he 
 said, apparently on the verge of maudlin tears. 
 
THE SHOWDOWN 211 
 
 "Well, gwan ; how much ? I c'n git a bunch o' money 
 f'r ye, I s'pose." 
 
 Somers shook his head. "Not that, either. All 
 I want is the truth about Doctor Gaskell's murder. 
 Did you kill him, Satterfield ?" 
 
 The man sat up suddenly, with a queer, galvanic 
 jerk. Beneath its grizzled stubble, his face turned 
 a pasty w^hite; his fierce eyes roved uneasily, fear- 
 filled, looking about for escape. 
 
 "I cain't!" he protested. "I cain't tell you-all 
 nothin' 'bout it. Ain't healthy. Nossir!" 
 
 ''Very well ! I'll drop over to Raleigh to-morrow 
 — no, to-night! I'll hunt up the collector of internal 
 revenue there, and I'll tell him all about this whole- 
 sale booze business of yours. And, Satterfield," as 
 the other shook a stubborn head, 'Til say you told 
 me about it!'' 
 
 At the threat, delivered with terrifying earnest- 
 ness, Satterfield leaped up wildly. His truculence had 
 disappeared; he was cold sober and in deadly fear. 
 
 "Ah, no, no, noT he exclaimed, his face ghastly. 
 He literally w^ent down upon his knees, groveled on 
 the floor, plucking at Somers' shoes with shaking 
 hands. "Ah, don't! Don't, doc, he'll k-kill me 
 shore — he'll cut my heart out — he'll b-burn me alive. 
 You don't know 'im, doc — he'd skin me! Don't you, 
 now! Ain't we been good frien's, an' drank to- 
 gether, an' all? Yuh wouldn't do that t' me? You- 
 all ain't a-goin' to let him, will yuh?" 
 
 He turned to us, tears trickling down his cheeks, 
 a revolting, pitiable spectacle. 
 
 "You'd better talk, then," said Somers inexorably. 
 
m 
 
 ((- 
 
 {(^ 
 
 fi' 
 
 212 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 *'0h, yeah — yeah! Anythin' on'y that! Fll give 
 up anythin', if you-all won't turn 'im loose onto me." 
 
 *'Get up!" ordered our leader disgustedly. "Sit 
 over there and quit wallowing; act Hke a man." 
 
 Satterfield obeyed. 'T ain't scared o' many things, 
 doc," he said unresentfully, but with a certain rude 
 dignity. "There's them could tell yuh I ain't no 
 coward, but I am a-scared o' him! Whaddaya 
 want?" 
 
 'Did you shoot Gaskell?" 
 'Nossir!" he replied emphatically. 
 'Did you see him shot?" 
 'Nossir!" 
 
 "Well," said Somers impatiently, "your daughter 
 phoned to you that he was going out, about four 
 that morning. You borrowed Tulliver's shotgun 
 without asking for it, and you started off down the 
 hill, meaning to kill him, didn't you?" 
 
 Satterfield stared in wonder tinged with admira- 
 tion. "Was you there? Naw, yuh didn't come till 
 next day. It beats my time how yuh found out, doc, 
 but that's straight — all of it.'' 
 
 "Well, go on! What did happen? What did 
 you do? Whom did you see? Come out with it 
 all, or I'll go to Raleigh on the eight-ten!" Somers 
 pulled his watch. "I've just nice time to catch it." 
 
 "Aw, now, doc, lissen ! I come down th' hill 
 w'ith Tulliver's gun, jus' like yuh said, an' hung 
 round Gaskell's house waitin' f'r him t' come out. 
 But I never shot him, doc — I never seen him shot; 
 I never seen him come outa th' house, even! I — 
 I saw a — another feller hangin' round, an' I knew 
 
THE SHOWDOWN 213 
 
 it wasn't healthy Vr me around there, an' I beat it. 
 Honest, that's all!'' 
 
 **Humph!" said Somers. "Who was it?" 
 
 But there Satterfield l)alked. He would say no 
 more; nothing could move him to give the man's 
 name, he protested. We would go to the collector; 
 to the prohibition enforcement agents? Very well! 
 That would be the death of him, but it would do us 
 no good. 'T tell yuh I'm a-scared o' this feller/' he 
 repeated. 'T ain't a-goin' t' say nothin' about 'im — 
 not one thing! He might as well kill me f'r squealin' 
 about one thing as another, an' I ain't a-goin' t' 
 squeal, neither! You-all c'n git me killed if yuh 
 like, but I ain't done nothin' t' deserve it." 
 
 His final protest was not Vvithout its dignity. He 
 vv^as adamant; he adn^iitied, vvhite-faced and shaking, 
 that a horrible death awaited him if it should be 
 thought that he had betrayed his confederates in the 
 illicit liquor traffic. None the less, he would tell us 
 nothing. 
 
 "You seem as much frightened of this man you 
 saw waiting for Gaskell as you do of the leader of 
 your gang," declared Somers at last. Then he 
 added a shrewd suggestion : "Perhaps they're tlie 
 same man?" 
 
 Satterfield threw up his hands. "For law's sake, 
 doc!" he exclaimed. "Naw — yes — naw! I don't 
 know what t' say!" And he fell to weeping openly. 
 
 "Well, tell me this: Why did you plan to kill 
 Gaskell ?" 
 
 He looked up sullenly. "I had my orders. Th' 
 feller knowed too much.'' 
 
i(l 
 
 (n 
 
 214 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 *'It wasn't just because he sent you to jail, then?" 
 asked Somers. 
 
 ''Huh? That wa'n't s' much. I been in jail afore 
 that." 
 
 "You had orders to shoot Gaskell, then. And, 
 when you got down there, you found the man who 
 gave you those orders, and you decided he was going 
 to take the matter over himself. Is that right?" 
 
 Satterfield nodded reluctantly. 
 'Did the same man order you to lynch Parker?" 
 
 We-ell, no, not exactly, but I figgered mebbe he'd 
 like t' have it seed to." 
 
 ^'Exactly! So you think the chief of your bootleg- 
 ging gang killed Doctor Gaskell? But you're afraid 
 to admit it, even though we don't know the fellow." 
 
 Somers rose. The other, completely cowed, gazed 
 at him in fear. *'No," said Somers, with a grim 
 laugh, "we shan't turn you up this time. But listen 
 closely, Satterfield: You keep quiet! If you drop 
 so much as a hint to this mysterious boss of yours, 
 that you're so scared of, if you suggest to him that 
 we're after him, Heaven help you! And now, get 
 out !" 
 
 Satterfield rose with alacrity, half in doubt that he 
 was to be let off so easily. *T won't say nothin'," he 
 replied. "Ain't got to! You go monkeyin' round 
 with him, an' that'll be th' last of yuh!" 
 
 He disappeared, and we locked up the place and 
 started back toward Fort House. 
 
 At the corner, Peter turned. "I'll trot down after 
 the mail," said he. "Be back in five minutes." 
 
THE SHOWDOWN 215 
 
 We found Dorothy and Miss Christie in the living 
 room. Both looked up at us expectantly. 
 
 "Progress," said Somers. *'I think we're on the 
 trail of the murderer at last." And he told them 
 briefly of to-day's work. As he finished, a thought 
 struck me. 
 
 *'Look here, Somers; remember that third man 
 out there? I told you he was in town the night 
 of the murder. He was over at GaskelFs, and he 
 made some sort of a threat; you remember my tell- 
 ing you, Dorothy? A tremendous old man with a 
 long, white beard, called himself *Roaring Lafe' Rut- 
 ledge? What if he were this mysterious leader of 
 the whisky smugglers? He was in town, and he 
 threatened Gaskell." 
 
 Somers did not reply. His eyes were on Anne 
 Christie, who had grown very white. I had seen 
 her flinch at the name of Rutledge, and now I re- 
 called her strange conduct of that other night, when 
 she had dashed from the house after hearing that 
 name. What did she know^ of this thing? 
 
 "Are you sick?" asked Somers. "Miss Christie — 
 Anne! What's the matter?" 
 
 Her lips opened, but Peter dashed in with a black 
 face. 
 
 "Grand jury proceedings are out," he announced. 
 "And they've indicted Lewis Parker for murder in 
 the first degree!" 
 
 The news stunned us all, though we had been more 
 or less prepared for it. Then, in the sudden silence 
 w^hich greeted this bombshell, Anne Christie spoke. 
 
 "I — perhaps I could help a little," she said. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 ANNE Christie's story 
 
 WE all turned upon the nurse. Beneath our won- 
 dering gaze the bright color rose high, flooding 
 her fair face; then receded once more, leaving her 
 very pale. But she faced us bravely. 
 
 "I — I You see, I've hated so to talk about 
 
 it all, even to think about it, and especially this last 
 two weeks." She spoke to all of us, but her big 
 violet eyes were fixed upon Doctor Somers. "And 
 now, to make ycu-all understand, I'll have to go 
 back to the very beginning, I'm afraid, and tell you 
 about me. You w^on't mind?" 
 
 I suppressed an exclamation. Truly this quiet, 
 somnolent nurse had changed ! I wondered what ex- 
 planation she was about to offer for her queer con- 
 duct of that night before the murder, when the name 
 of "Roaring Lafe" Rutledge had driven her from 
 the house; of her excitement next morning, when 
 she had fainted at the news of Doctor Gaskell's 
 death. And I wondered the more what had moved 
 her to volunteer any information about herself, for 
 I remembered — and the thought had puzzled me more 
 than once — that never, save once, during all her six 
 months at Fort House, had she spoken so much as 
 a word about her past life. 
 
 "You won't mind?" she asked again, eyes wist- 
 fully fixed upon Doctor Somers. "And you'll try to 
 make allowances — not to think little of me? I " 
 
ANNE CHRISTIE'S ^'foRY 217 
 
 She stopped and bit her lips, then went bravely on, 
 slender hands clenched at her sides. 
 
 "I was born in the mountains, up near the Ten- 
 nessee border, in a log cabin on Lick Run. My 
 mother came from the settlements; I never knew 
 my father. He died when I was a baby. I've heard 
 mother say he was educated; that he'd been to col- 
 lege, even. But why they went up into the moun- 
 tains to live she never would tell me. All I know^ is 
 that she wouldn't go back to the settlements even 
 when he died. A tree fell on him, mother said. 
 When I was a little girl I used to go out and climb 
 up to the very peak of Snagtooth Mountain and sit 
 beside his grave and w^onder — about so many things! 
 He was buried there, on the very top of the moun- 
 tain, under a big, lone pine tree. 
 
 "After that we were very poor, mother and I. 
 I used to go barefoot, summer and winter; and so 
 did she. We never wore shoes, either of us, for 
 years and years." She looked down at her slender, 
 high-arched feet, now so trimly shod, as if in w^on- 
 der at their being covered. 
 
 We were all very still. Somers' deep-set gray- 
 green eyes were inscrutable. I blew my nose hard, 
 seeing in fancy that little slim girl, barefooted and 
 ragged, huddled on the peak of a wind-swept moun- 
 tain beside the grave of the father she could not re- 
 member, hugging bare, brown knees and staring off 
 across the jutting hills, wondering about so many 
 things ! 
 
 "I wore the same dress for two years,'' she went 
 on dreamily. Her tragic eyes were all for Doctor 
 
2i8 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Somers; she was telling her story to him, watching 
 him for sympathy, for approval, for scorn. She 
 would tell him all. I fancied I could read the deter- 
 mination in her white, set face. And then, if he 
 turned from her — well! 
 
 "I wore the same dress for two years. Mother 
 patched it and patched it — poor mother — until I'd 
 forgotten its original color. There were homespun 
 patches, I remember, and blue- jean ones, bits of 
 flour sacking and burlap. We were very poor. 
 There was only the small piece of cleared land, and 
 mother wasn't strong enough even to take care of 
 that. The weeds grew higher than the corn. And 
 she'd take my father's ax and try so hard to chop 
 down a little tree and blister her poor hands and 
 cry. 
 
 "We couldn't live that way. Then this Lafe Rut- 
 ledge began coming. They called him Roaring Lafe 
 even then, fourteen years ago. He was a great, big 
 man and strong! I remember once there were two 
 city men out hunting. They were so wonderfully 
 dressed, I thought! I'd never seen such clothes. 
 They stopped for a drink of water from our spring 
 and stood talking with mother. She was so pretty, 
 my mother! And they talked and laughed, and 
 seemed so surprised that mother spoke like a lady, 
 had read books, and everything. And she stood 
 there with her poor cheeks so pretty and pink, and 
 Lafe Rutledge came through the woods behind these 
 two men, looking as big as both of them together, 
 with his great beard blowing in the wind — it was 
 black then — and he just made an awful, roaring 
 
ANNE CHRISTIE'S STORY 219 
 
 noise like some great bear. Then he ran at those 
 poor men and caught them, each by his neck, and 
 swung them right up off the ground and carried them 
 off like that, at arms' length. And then we heard a 
 scuffling and sliding, as he just threw them down the 
 mountain, and he came back, laughing, and threw 
 their guns after them. I ran away and hid. I was 
 always afraid of him. 
 
 "He used to come like that, twice every week, 
 with his big boots greased, his hair slicked down 
 and shiny, and bear's grease and cheap perfumery in 
 his beard. I remember still how it smelled. I was 
 afraid of him, and I think mother was, too. He 
 didn't know how old he was; he couldn't write or 
 figure, and he couldn't read much. I suppose he was 
 fifty, even then. He'd had two wives already, and 
 both were dead. 
 
 ''1 don't know how it came about. Perhaps she 
 did it for me. We were very poor — starving, almost, 
 and Lafe Rutledge was rich, as the mountain folks 
 count it. We didn't know then how he made his 
 money! Anyway, mother married him. That was 
 twelve years ago. She married him, and we went to 
 live in his house on the Devil's Branch. She was his 
 third, he said, with that awful, roaring laugh he had; 
 but, then, he was her second, so that was all right. 
 Poor mother! After all she'd told me about my kind, 
 gentle father, to marry Roaring Lafe Rutledge! I 
 hated it even then; I ran away and hid and wouldn't 
 go there until I was starved to it. But I didn't know, 
 I couldn't understand then, what it meant to her. 
 
 "And yet the man was good to her, according to 
 
220 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 his lights. He never beat her; he bought her a new 
 dress every year. But he used to go down to the 
 store and get drunk, and then come home running 
 his mule and beating the poor beast. He was dread- 
 fully cruel to animals, and it was hard enough for 
 any horse or mule to carry him; he was so big and 
 heavy. And he'd come up the Branch, beating the 
 mule and shouting and roaring worse than a wild 
 bull; that's why they called him Roaring Lafe, I 
 suppose. And then he'd sit by the fireplace, with a 
 jug at his elbow, and he'd drink and drink. We 
 didn't dare go to bed; mother would sit beside me 
 in a corner, very still — frightened, I suppose, just as 
 I was frightened — until at last he'd drop over right 
 where he sat. Then we'd drag his boots off and 
 get him to bed some way." 
 
 She stopped and wet her lips, looking round at 
 us in apology^ *'You see, I've had plenty of experi- 
 ence in caring for drunken men," she said. Somers 
 flinched visibly. 
 
 *'It was like a nightmare," she went on. ''and it 
 only got worse. Mother got thinner and thinner and 
 whiter and whiter. She knew long before I did; 
 she tried to keep it from me, but it wasn't a year 
 before I found it out, too. Lafe Rutledge was run- 
 ning a still. He made moonshine whisky up on the 
 slope of Snagtooth Mountain, made it by the barrel 
 and sold it all over that country. And nobody dared 
 do anything about it; they were all afraid of him. 
 
 *'Ten years ago the revenue officers made a big 
 raid up there, and they nearly caught my — my step- 
 father. He shot one of them and killed him. He 
 
ANNE CHRISTIE'S STORY 221 
 
 had to hide out in the laurel for months and months, 
 b;.-t they never caught him, and pretty soon he'd 
 started up another still in a new place. Then he 
 came home to live, quite openly. I think that killing 
 had been too much for mother. She died about six 
 months later. 
 
 "I lived on with him. There was nothing else to 
 do. I was grow'ing up. and I was strong; mother'd 
 taught me to cook; I had to stay; Td nowhere to 
 go, and I was afraid of him. When he was angry 
 with me he'd threaten to get married again and 
 bring another woman home with him to keep me 
 from getting 'uppity.' 
 
 "And then Doctor Gaskell came. He w^as on a 
 hunting trip, and my stepfather brought him home 
 to supper one night. I'd never supposed there w^ere 
 such men in the world. He was w^onderful! I lay 
 awake all night, just thinking about him. He told 
 my stepfather he was forty-nine, I remember; and 
 that was just the age my father would have been if 
 he'd lived. I lay there — I was only eighteen — and 
 pretended Doctor Gaskell was really my father, and 
 we were just visiting up there, just camping out, 
 and in a few days we'd go back home, down the 
 mountains, into the settlements, which mother used 
 to talk about sometimes, into a real house, with 
 carpets and hard-wood floors and a bathtub and a 
 furnace and all the wonderful furnishings I'd 
 dreamed about and never seen. It was a very beauti- 
 ful dream. 
 
 "Things were w^orse than ever just then; my step- 
 father was 'sitting up,' as they call it, with a widow 
 
222 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 on Lick Run, and I just couldn't bear to think of 
 another woman in the house where mother had died. 
 And so I sHpped away and went to Doctor Gaskell's 
 tent on the other side of the mountain, and I talked 
 to him. rd never been to school a day; for one 
 thing, w^e were too poor, and I had no dress to wear, 
 and then my stepfather wouldn't let me. He didn't 
 believe in schooling; said it made women high-toned 
 and finickin. He used to laugh and sneer at my poor 
 mother, because she wasn't strong, and say it was 
 book learning made her that way. But mother'd 
 taught me a lot. 
 
 ''And Doctor Gaskell was so good to me! If he'd 
 really been my own father he couldn't have been 
 better. He offered to take me down to the settle- 
 ments with him and find me work there and fix it 
 so I could go to night school. I didn't dare at first ; 
 I told him Roaring Lafe would kill us both. But he 
 just laughed. That was the most wonderful thing 
 of all — he wasn't afraid of Lafe Rutledge! Until 
 then I'd supposed everybody in the world must l>e 
 afraid of him. 
 
 '*So, the end of it was, I slipped out in the night, 
 and Doctor Gaskell took me with him down the 
 mountain and into Asheville. I was so frightened; 
 I thought that must be the biggest city in the world. 
 I'd never dreamed of anything so grand. And we 
 took the train there and went to Raleigh, and the 
 doctor got a place for me in the hospital as an at- 
 tendant. I studied at night and worked hard ! After 
 a year or two I got into the nurses' training school, 
 and I went through it and graduated. The whole 
 
ANNE CHRISTIE'S STORY 223 
 
 world seemed going just right for me; I was very 
 happy." 
 
 She paused and sighed. Her dreamy eyes seemed 
 to dwell on that vision of past happiness. 
 
 ''But it didn't last," she went on. "I knew all the 
 time, some w^ay, that it couldn't last. I don't know 
 how he found out, but one night my stepfather came 
 to the hospital and asked for me, just as I was going 
 on duty ; I was charge nurse on a ward then. I came 
 out, wondering who it could be, for I hadn't many 
 friends, and thinking perhaps Doctor Gaskell might 
 have come down from Pinelands — I hadn't seen him 
 for a year almost — and it was Roaring Lafe! I just 
 stood there dumb. He told me to get my bundle and 
 come with him. I was frightened to death. I've 
 been afraid of him all my life. But I think I'd have 
 found courage to refuse, to call the police, to do 
 something, rather than go back with him, but he just 
 stood there, pulling at that great, bushy beard, and 
 he laughed that awful, roaring laugh, so that the 
 orderly ran out to see what the noise was. Then 
 he caught my arm — I wore the mark of it for a 
 month — and dragged me close and whispered in my 
 ear. The smell of raw corn whisky was on him, 
 and his eyes were terrible. 
 
 " 'You come along quiet,' he told me. *If you 
 don't, to-night that mis'able furriner, Gaskell, will git 
 his comeuppance! I'll go plumb f'om here to Pine- 
 lands, a-puppose t' waylay him; I'll fill his gizzard 
 with buckshot. You comin', you huzzy, or do you 
 aim t' stay here with these furriners in th' settle- 
 mints ?* 
 
224 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "So I went with him. What else could I do? I 
 could have screamed for help, though I don't believe 
 he'd have laid his hand on me in anger. But I knew 
 he'd keep his word. I knew he'd leave me there at 
 the hospital and go straight here to Pinelands and kill 
 Doctor Gaskell, just as he said. And I couldn't bear 
 that, after all he'd done. Why, I wouldn't be alive, 
 if it weren't for him! Because I might just as well 
 be dead, as buried up there in the hills, as I was 
 till he came. And I've always made believe in my 
 own mind that Doctor Gaskell was my own father 
 come to life again; I've always thought of him as 
 a father; it was just like hearing my own father had 
 been killed, that morning, when you told us, Mr. 
 Uhlman." 
 
 She turned to me, as if to apologize for her faint- 
 ing that fateful morning, and her big violet eyes were 
 tragic. 
 
 "So I went back," she said, as she took up her 
 pitiful tale. *T went back to the log house on the 
 Devil's Branch and put by my nice clothes and wore 
 homespun again and cooked salt pork and corn 
 pone. At night I waited alone for my stepfather to 
 come home, shouting and roaring. I used to sit 
 huddled in a corner, shaking all over, while he drank 
 raw corn liquor until he fell over, dead drunk, and 
 I pulled off his boots and put him to bed. And 
 all the while I was frightened, frightened out of 
 my wits, though he never laid his hands on me. But 
 there was a devil peeping out of his eyes at me. 
 Oh, he's a terrible man ! 
 
 "And yet I do believe that he thought he was do 
 
ANNE CHRISTIE'S STORY 225 
 
 ing the right thing by me. He always used to say 
 he'd saved my soul by bringing me back there. 
 
 "It went on from w^eek to week and month to 
 month, for three whole years. At first it was un- 
 bearable, and I used to cry all night and think of 
 killing myself. After a while I got sort of deadened 
 and lost interest in things. The days slipped by, and 
 I dropped into a daze and went on like some machine, 
 without even thinking any more. I put on flesh, and 
 my stepfather gloated over the fact, saying how 
 strong I was, as if Fd been a horse or a mule! He 
 insisted that I was outgrowing my finical ways and 
 book learning, and getting to be a healthy, honest 
 woman. If he could have had my poor mother 
 earlier, he used to say, before she was plumb ruined 
 with education, she'd have been healthy, too. And 
 even that didn't rouse me much. I felt so dull and 
 stupid, and I got so I'd sleep all the time. There 
 are women like that in the mountains, strange, fat, 
 stupid-looking creatures, with wide, flat faces, who 
 just sleep and mope around all the time, like cows, 
 without ever caring about anything. They look al- 
 most deformed; they're unnatural. Some of them 
 have great goiters. I used to wonder if I'd ever 
 be like them, but I didn't care much, even for that." 
 
 Her voice fell. Behind the impassive, common- 
 place words I felt such a bitterness of desolation, 
 such a gripping, terrible memory of those monoto- 
 nous, lifeless days, that my throat closed upon the 
 words of sympathy I strove to utter. 
 
 Doctor Somers raised his head, his gray-green eyes 
 impersonally alight. *'l thought so! A goiterous 
 
226 THE TROUBLE AT PINELAXDS 
 
 region! Mighty interesting, that! You know there 
 is a similar region in the mountains of Switzerland, 
 where most of the women have goiter. We used to 
 think it was the water; but we know better now. I 
 must go up there and investigate. You haven't any 
 struma, Miss Christie," said Somers, stooping for- 
 ward to touch her rounded throat, at which the girl 
 blushed vividly, *'but you developed a condition of 
 hypothyroidism instead." And he went on didacti- 
 cally into a maze of "hormones" and ''endocrines" 
 and "internal secretions," which nobody understood. 
 "But you're safely out of that hole now," he con- 
 cluded practically, "and your condition is practically 
 cured, thanks to the thyroid I gave you. You've 
 changed wonderfully in just this ten days, child! 
 You're a hundred per cent brighter, less somnolent. 
 And," as if the idea had just struck him, "you've 
 grown mighty pretty. Why, Anne, child — you're 
 really beautiful!" 
 
 The girl's first name came from his lips unhesi- 
 tatingly, as if he thought of her thus, and not as 
 Miss Christie. His tone was one of naive surprise at 
 this discovery. 
 
 "You're a raving beauty, Anne!" he repeated. 
 
 The girl blushed vividly, the bright color sweeping 
 up to the very edge of her fair hair. Her eyes, 
 which had been so bravely, so candidly fixed upon 
 Somers throughout her pitiful story, dropped 
 modestly and were veiled by long, curved lashes. 
 
 "Do you think so?" she asked demurely. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A PROJECTED EXCURSION 
 
 DON'T interrupt,'' ordered Dorothy peremptorily. 
 Like the rest of us, she was eager for the end 
 of the nurse's tale. "You can talk about her good 
 looks later; we want to hear what happened next. 
 Go on, Miss Christie!" 
 
 And Miss Christie went on, rather less sadly, I 
 thought. 
 
 "Well, I'd have been up there yet, I reckon, if last 
 fall my stepfather hadn't wanted me to get m-mar- 
 ried." She blushed. "There was a man, Calvin 
 Collender, whom they called 'Cal Col.' He used to 
 work with my stepfather. Since prohibition, you see, 
 my stepfather had been making corn whisky faster 
 than ever. He bought up corn from all over the 
 mountains and put up a bigger still, and they used 
 to smuggle it out some way and sell it down in the 
 settlements. He used to come back with his pockets 
 just bulging W'ith money, all in gold; he had no 
 faith in paper money, and he'd bury the gold some- 
 w^here. Why, he must have made thousands and 
 thousands of dollars — is making it yet, I suppose. 
 And this Collender, this Cal Col, was his chief helper, 
 a tall, thin man, with a sharp nose and a short chin, 
 like those mountaineers have, and little, mean-looking 
 eyes. He was lots older than I; he was a widower, 
 too. And my stepfather kept after me and after me. 
 
228 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 He said I ought to be grateful; that it wasn't every 
 man would marry a woman like me, who'd had book 
 learning and knew things it wasn't fitting for a 
 woman to know. 
 
 "I couldn't stand that. It was bad enough with 
 Roaring Lafe, but to go to this other man, this 
 Cal Col, who wasn't even brave, I couldn't! I re- 
 membered my poor mother, and how she'd just 
 faded away, and I thought it was better to die right 
 then. And Lafe Rutledge was a man; you had to 
 respect him, in spite of all his terrible ways. But 
 this Cal Col was just like a creeping, crawly snake, 
 afraid of my stepfather, afraid of the law, afraid 
 of everything, even of me, I think. He used to look 
 at me sideways, with those dry, bright little eyes, 
 just like a rattlesnake. And I knew he'd beat me if 
 lie dared. 
 
 "So one night last winter I just ran away, down 
 the mountain all alone. It began to snow while I 
 was climbing down toward Asheville, and I was so 
 glad ! I knew the dogs couldn't follow me then. 
 My stepfather had a dozen bloodhounds. And I got 
 clear away, somehow, and bought a veil to put over 
 my face; then I took the train and came right here 
 to Pinelands; I didn't know what else to do. If I 
 went back to Raleigh, I knew my stepfather would 
 find me. 
 
 *'And I got off the train here and went to a hotel. 
 It was in the winter, you see, and the town was full 
 of tourists from the North ; nobody noticed one more. 
 I phoned to Doctor Gaskell, and he came right away 
 
A PROJECTED EXCURSION 229 
 
 and told me about this place. Miss McGregor had 
 asked him to find a nurse for her that very day. 
 
 "So he recommended me, and I got the place and 
 came to Fort House. I've been here ever since. 
 Perhaps you've wondered why I kept so close in the 
 house and never went anywhere? Or, perhaps, you 
 just thought I was too sleepy and sluggish to want 
 to go out. But I saw that man Satterfield down- 
 towm one day, and I didn't dare show myself after 
 that, for I'd seen him on the Devil's Branch, at my 
 stepfather's, twice. He had something to do with 
 disposing of the liquor they made; I don't know 
 what. 
 
 "I couldn't change my name, you see, because I'm 
 a registered nurse and have to have a license. But 
 my stepfather has never lived out of the mountains, 
 and he doesn't know anything about registration and 
 all that; so I wasn't afraid he'd trace me through the 
 State board. I kept right close in the house and 
 hoped Satterfield wouldn't see me or think of my 
 being the same one, if he heard my name. Nobody 
 much knew my name, anyhow^ I kept so quiet. 
 People just thought of me as that stupid nurse up at 
 Fort House. 
 
 "And I lived in fear that some day my stepfather 
 would find me out, or come here and kill Doctor 
 Gaskell anyway, as he'd threatened; and I think I'd 
 have gone crazy if it weren't for this stupid, sleepy 
 feeling I always had. I suppose it w^as a disease, as 
 you said, Doctor Somers, but I think it saved my 
 reason. 
 
 "And at last he did find me out. Was it any 
 
230 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 wonder I was frightened, Mr. Uhlman, when you 
 came in that night and said you'd seen Roaring Lafe 
 Rutledge on Doctor Gaskell's porch, threatening to 
 ^settle with him before sunup?' And now you know 
 why I ran right out without stopping to explain. I 
 went over to the doctor's house, right across the 
 road, and told him my stepfather was here, and I 
 begged him to hide, or have him arrested. 
 
 *'He only laughed, for he was never afraid of my 
 stepfather. But he did promise not to go to the 
 hotel and see him. And then, next morning, you 
 found him out there — dead! I thought right away 
 it must have been my stepfather who did it, and I 
 suppose I fainted. I was almost glad" — she looked 
 at Dorothy in wistful apology — ''when they said 
 Doctor Parker had done it by accident. The — the 
 other seemed so terrible; to think he'd been killed be- 
 cause of me! And then, afterward, when the solici- 
 tor made it look like murder, I didn't know what to 
 do. And I hoped you-all could prove it was Satter- 
 field who was guilty, or anybody in that gang except 
 my stepfather, and for any reason except because of 
 me. And it seemed harder and harder" — her beauti- 
 ful, appealing eyes were fixed upon Somers once 
 more, as in mute explanation of her difficulty — 
 ''harder than ever to have to tell all this, and to 
 have to admit that I was only a poor, uneducated girl 
 from the mountains, without any relatives in the 
 world that I know of except my stepfather.'* 
 
 She stopped and bent her fair head, sobbing deso- 
 lately. Somers patted her shoulder. "You poor 
 child!" he said, his casual tones suddenly deeper, 
 
A PROJECTED EXCURSION 231 
 
 softer, charged with sympathy. She looked up at 
 him adoringly, with the wistful, worshiping gaze 
 one sees in a dog's eyes. But he seemed blind to its 
 significance. 
 
 "Don't you fret any more," he went on. *'You 
 needn't marry this Cal Col fellow or any other man. 
 And if Lafe comes roaring round here, he'll get into 
 trouble. Fm not afraid of him, either!" 
 
 "Oh, you don't know him. He's terrible — just ter- 
 rible! Sometimes I wonder if he's quite human. If 
 he comes for me, I'll just have to go back, that's all, 
 and marry Cal Col, if he says so. I — I can't have 
 anybody else murdered for me." 
 
 "Humph!" said Somers. "I begin to feel that I 
 ought to have a bit of a chat with this Mr. Rut- 
 ledge!" 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no!" The girl's voice rang sharp 
 with fear; she clutched at his arm. "He — he'd kill 
 you, too!" 
 
 "I think not." Somers freed his arm gently and 
 rose. "But look here, Anne, if Rutledge knew you 
 were here, why hasn't he come after you? I don't 
 believe his business with Gaskell had anything to do 
 with you; I don't believe he knows w^here you are 
 at all. Satterfield admitted that Doctor Gaskell had 
 found out about their whisky-smuggling business; he 
 said his mysterious chieftain had ordered Gaskell 
 killed for that. If Rutledge is this leader w^hom Sat- 
 terfield's so afraid of — and it looks that w'ay — he 
 ordered the killing because Gaskell knew too much. 
 You hadn't a thing to do with it. And then he came 
 
232 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 down here to do it himself; wouldn't trust Satter- 
 field, I suppose." 
 
 He began to pace the floor; six long, loose strides 
 this way, a turn, and six more back. On the hearth- 
 rug he stopped. 
 
 "It's plain enough now. Gaskell was murdered 
 by the moonshiners for fear he'd break up the busi- 
 ness. And Rutledge did the killing. Now all we've 
 got to do is round up Roaring Lafe and fetch him 
 down here to stand trial. Once he's safe in jail, 
 Satterfield will probably get over his fright enough 
 to testify against him; nobody looks quite as danger- 
 ous, once he's been quietly arrested and locked up." 
 
 Anne Christie cried out upon him. "Oh, no, no! 
 You mustn't, you can't ! You'll be killed ! And, any- 
 how" — plucking up courage at the thought — "it 
 w^ouldn't do any good; you can't find anybody to 
 serve a w^arrant on Roaring Lafe. The sheriff 
 w^ouldn't go up on Devil's Branch for anything, and, 
 if he did, nobody could find Lafe Rutledge, once he'd 
 taken to the laurel." 
 
 "Humph!" said Somers. "You're forgetting some- 
 thing." He touched the star on his breast. "I'm a 
 perfectly good deputy sheriff myself. I can serve 
 a warrant. Even if that is another county, I guess 
 w^e can stretch a point of \a.\\\ Maybe the sheriff 
 over there will deputize me, too." 
 
 He cut her further protests short. "It's getting 
 late; why, it's after midnight! We'll all go to bed 
 and make our plans in the morning." 
 

 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 NEXT morning at breakfast Doctor Somers set 
 forth his plan. For once all the people of 
 Fort House sat down together; even Aunt Mary 
 appeared in time to be wheeled to her place before 
 we were seated. 
 
 I will go up into the mountains," he announced. 
 I'll start this evening, spend the night in Asheville, 
 and go on to-morrow. How far is it, Anne?" 
 
 *'A11 of twenty miles, the way one has to go, and 
 no roads worth speaking of. You can't drive a 
 car." The girl was very pale; there were bluish 
 shadows beneath her eyes. She spoke reluctantly and 
 seemed determined to make the way as difficult as 
 might be. "And you'd never find the place without 
 a guide." 
 
 *'Humph! If I can't drive a car, I can ride a 
 horse. They taught us equitation in the army — what, 
 Peter, old son? Also, I can walk; my legs are 
 long enough. And, if you'll draw a map, I'll en- 
 gage to find the Devil's Branch. I'm not easy to lose, 
 even in the mountains." 
 
 Miss Christie still objected, and Dorothy seconded 
 her. "It won't do any good," she declared. "You'll 
 get lost, or killed, and Lewis needs you here. Why 
 not just go to the sheriff or the district attorney and 
 swear out a warrant, and let the police arrest him? 
 That's their business." 
 
234 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Somers shrugged. *'Swear out a warrant? On 
 what grounds? He was in town — Rutledge, I mean 
 — and he had threatened to shoot Doctor Gaskell 
 several years ago. That's all we could prove. Sat- 
 terfield won't testify; he wouldn't even admit to 
 me that Rutledge was the man whom he saw. And, 
 if we could get a warrant on that, your name would 
 have to be signed to it, as complaining witness, and 
 Rutledge would know where you are, Anne. And, 
 if the sheriff's afraid of him, as you say, Rutledge 
 wouldn't be caught anyhow. He'd be warned, have 
 a chance to hide out, and maybe to slip down here 
 and make trouble for you. I wish old man Redden 
 were the sheriff of Whitfield County up there! I'll 
 bet he wouldn't be afraid of Roaring Lafe!" 
 
 He paused, looking about the table, with half- 
 whimsical seriousness. ''And, furthermore, my chil- 
 dren, have you considered that I shan't be perfectly 
 safe here in Pinelands from now on? No, nor you 
 two, either." He jabbed at Peter and me succes- 
 sively with a long, bony finger. "When Satterfield 
 reports to his mysterious chief and tells him that 
 the three of us know all about this whisky-running 
 game of theirs, it's quite on the cards that Mr. 
 Roaring Lafe may decide we could all be spared, 
 just like Gaskell. Suppose we just stayed here and 
 did nothing, and a couple of sturdy bootleggers am- 
 bushed Fort House and shot us up?" 
 
 Here Aunt Mary interposed. She had been wait- 
 ing, open-mouthed, for a chance to interrupt. 
 
 "I won't have it!" she declared shrilly. "I can't 
 stand it! My rest is broken enough now; those 
 
A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS 235 
 
 miserable birds are driving me frantic; I haven't 
 a bit of rest, and nobody cares if I die of exhaustion. 
 But this is too much. You'll have to go, all three 
 of you! You'll have to leave Fort House at once. 
 No, Dorothy, I insist. I will be heard for once. I've 
 submitted to being ignored and put aside and slighted 
 long enough. Nobody considers me any more; no- 
 body seems to care whether I live or die. As if 
 Lewis Parker, a big, healthy young man, weren't 
 lots more comfortable in jail than I am here, lying 
 on my bed of pain! It's absurd — it's monstrous! 
 But I wall assert myself for once: Either you men 
 leave this house, all three of you — Peter's no more 
 help or comfort to me than you others — either you 
 leave Fort House, or I will!'* 
 
 We stared uncomfortably, the others, no doubt, 
 as much amazed as I was by the old lady's colossal, 
 callous selfishness. For she had not a cent of her 
 own, and she was a pensioner upon the bounty of her 
 nephew and niece. 
 
 ''You can stay," she went on, *'but if you do, I 
 go to a hotel this very morning. I w^on't have my 
 life endangered; I won't have my rest broken any 
 longer! Why, this whole affair of the murder has 
 annoyed me beyond endurance." One would have 
 thought that we had planned Doctor Gaskell's death, 
 with malice aforethought. ''But I've stood all I can. 
 Dorothy, phone to the Pinelands House at once and 
 engage two rooms and bath for me. And you'd 
 better pay them a week in advance, too." 
 
 *'Humph," said Doctor Somers, placidly. ''You 
 
 see?" 
 
2z'o THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Dorothy nodded reluctantly. Miss Christie said 
 nothing. She was very pale. 
 
 Somers rose. ''It's settled, then. I start for the 
 mountains to-night. And, Peter, you and Uncle 
 George had better come along, I think. You can 
 put up at a hotel in Asheville. I really think you'll 
 be safer there than to stay in Pinelands just now." 
 
 "Oh, we'll come," I answered for both of us. "But 
 you needn't think we're going to stay at any hotel 
 and let you go off alone. You need somebody to 
 look after you, man!" 
 
 "Humph! Well, we can settle that later." He 
 pushed back his chair and bowed to Aunt Mary. 
 "And now, madam, we'll relieve you of the distress 
 of our presence. Come along, you chaps, we'll stay 
 at Uhlman's house until train time." He bowed 
 ironically and stalked out. 
 
 As I followed, I saw Dorothy turn upon her aunt, 
 her face white with anger, her eyes flashing. I 
 grinned inwardly, feeling that for once the old lady 
 was about to hear some sharply wholesome truths. 
 
 I hurried after my companions. "Pack a bag, 
 each of you," ordered our leader. "Put in things 
 for a week, anyhow. And bring your field glasses, 
 Peter, and that pistol of yours. Wish we had three 
 of them!" 
 
 "I've got one at home," I said, "a police revolver. 
 I'll bring that." 
 
 Miss Christie hurried past us, as we stood in the 
 hall, and returned in two minutes. "Here!" ^he 
 thrust something into Somers* hand. "TaKe that and 
 use it if you must. And, oh, mv dear, be careful!" 
 
A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS 217 
 
 She was gone in a breath, leaving the lanky phy- 
 sician staring down in bewilderment at a businesslike 
 revolver, whose wooden butt was battered and worn. 
 
 » Our few^ preparations made, for we w^ere to go in 
 light marching order, we spent the day perfecting 
 our plans, such as they were. 
 
 *Tor we don't know what we'll find up there," 
 explained Somers. "The best we can do is to get 
 in touch w4th Rutledge in some w^ay, avoid suspicion 
 if we can, and trust to luck for the rest. Maybe 
 he'll talk; maybe w'e can get him out alone, hold 
 him up and take him down the mountains, at pistol's 
 point. I'll be a 'lunger,' I guess; I look the part." 
 lie surveyed his lean face, hollow chest, and extraor- 
 dinarily thin limbs in my mirror. "Yes, I'm a con- 
 sumptive, ordered up into the mountains to live. 
 You're my uncle, Uhlman, and Peter — oh, he can 
 be the builder who's going to put up a cabin for me. 
 We're up in the hills looking for a site, so I can 
 have a house there, live alone in the balmy pine 
 woods, and strive to recapture my lost health — and 
 all that rot. How about it?" 
 
 He grinned and w^ent on humorously. "You know, 
 dear ones and kind old things both, I fancy my health 
 is in considerable danger, at that! If I should meet 
 Satterfield in the dark somewhere, Old Man Trouble 
 and I w^ould m.eet just about the same time. What?" 
 
 And he spoke even more truly than he knew. For 
 at dusk that night, as the train pulled out of Pine- 
 lands, Somers sat beside me in the smoking car, his 
 lean, bold profile clearly outlined against the lighted 
 
238 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 window. From the dark without it must have made 
 an excellent mark. 
 
 No one had loitered about my house that day; no 
 one, as far as I could see, had watched us climbing 
 into the ''shoo-fly" train. 
 
 But, as we panted out of the village and began to 
 labor up a steep grade between high embankments, 
 gathering speed slowly, a round hole sprang sud- 
 denly into being in the window, just beside Somers' 
 head, and a bullet sang past my nose, like an angry 
 wasp, bit through the window opposite, and whined 
 away into the night. 
 
 ''Humph!" said Somers calmly, brushing bits of 
 glass from his lap. He looked at the window, where 
 a star of cracks radiated from that sinister hole. 
 ''Humph! A couple of inches this way, and one of 
 the best little old medico-legal experts extant would 
 have ceased abruptly. I told you we'd be safer out- 
 side of Pinelands for a while!" 
 
 The brakeman hurried through, stopped to survey 
 his damaged windowpanes, and scowled blackly. 
 
 "Some darn fool gettin' fresh!" he muttered. 
 "Lettin' off a rifle gun that a way an' never lookin' 
 to see where th' bullet'd go. The fool! They's too 
 much cawn liquor round Pinelands these days!" 
 
 "Quite right, my friend," replied Somers solemnly. 
 
 Some one touched Somers' shoulder. We both 
 turned to face the man in the seat behind us, a quiet, 
 unobtrusive person, gray-clad, gray-haired, with a 
 very keen gray eye. 
 
 *'Did you know that bullet was meant for you?" 
 he asked casually. 
 
A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS 239 
 
 The physician nodded. ''Oh, yes, certainly!" He 
 was as cool, as detached of manner, as the stranger, 
 and those keen eyes gave him an admiring glance. 
 
 'T happened to get a good look at the fellow," 
 the other went on. ''He showed up against the sky 
 line, there on top of the embankment, and he had 
 a fine bead on you." 
 
 Somers nodded equably. "Thanks, old man!" 
 
 "Broad-brimmed felt hat," continued the other; 
 "big, bushy mustache; looked like a pirate. Know 
 him?" 
 
 My companion nodded again, but showed no dis- 
 position to satisfy the gray man's curiosity further. 
 
 As the crow flies, Asheville is not much over forty 
 miles from Pinelands; but to reach it one must go 
 to Raleigh, and there you change from one line to 
 another, making it a trip of several hundred miles. 
 Somers' estimate of time was too sanguine; we 
 could hardly reach Asheville before morning. 
 
 As we disbarked at Raleigh, I saw the man in gray 
 once more. He had followed us from the train; 
 he stood in w^hispered talk with another quiet, incon- 
 spicuous person, and I thought that he pointed us 
 out. It may have been my imagination; no doubt it 
 was. For the other stranger, after loitering about, 
 while we bought tickets and berths, stepped up to the 
 window and asked a question, then strolled out of the 
 station, and we saw him no more. 
 
 No doubt it was a mere coincidence, also, that 
 the quiet gray-haired man entered the Asheville 
 sleeper with us and deposited a modest leather hand 
 bag in the section across the aisle. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ROARING LAFE 
 
 WE reached the city of Asheville in the early 
 morning and, upon Somers' direction, entered 
 a taxicab and had ourselves driven to a hotel. 
 
 "We'll breakfast there," he decided, ''and find out 
 a fev^ things. Then I'll get a saddle horse and start, 
 and you two will wait for me here." 
 
 ''Not much!" said I. 
 
 "Nix!" declared Peter. "You can't lose us; why, 
 man, where's that gorgeous idea of being a consump- 
 tive, unless we're along?" 
 
 Somers shrugged. "Have it your own way, but 
 it's taking a long chance, fellows. This thing is 
 serious; I hardly believed, myself, that they'd go so 
 far, until that chap shot at me last night. It was 
 Ralph Satterfield, all right, and no doubt he thought 
 we were on our way to Raleigh to see the collector. 
 He'll have hurried over here cross-country before 
 this, in Conover's car, no doubt. If we should meet 
 up with him in the hills we're as good as dead 
 men." 
 
 I nodded soberly. "And if we give that fellow, 
 Vanbrugh, a free hand, my nephew is as good as a 
 dead man, too. No, Somers, I'm going along. Peter 
 can stay here if he likes." 
 
 But Peter did not consider this suggestion worthy 
 even to be scorned. "After breakfast, what, chief?'' 
 he asked. 
 
ROARING LAFE 241 
 
 "We hunt up a revenue agent.'* 
 
 Wondering if our leader would report the activities 
 of Satterfield and Rutledge after all, we went to see 
 the revenue agent. When we were shown into the 
 quiet, businesslike office of the department of internal 
 revenue, Somers merely asked for information as to 
 one Lafe Rutledge. "I'm told he killed a revenue 
 agent some years ago," he explained. ''Was he tried 
 for that?" 
 
 The clerk eyed us dubiously. "I can't give out 
 any statement," he told us. "You can see the chief 
 if you like. What are you, newspaper men?" 
 
 Somers handed him a card, and presently we were 
 shown into an inner office. Facing us from behind 
 a flat-topped desk sat the same quiet, gray-haired 
 man who had sat behind us on the train. 
 
 "What do you want to know about the man Rut- 
 ledge ?" he asked, looking at Somers' card. Then : 
 "Hel-lo! You're the chap Satterfield was potting at 
 last night !" 
 
 "So you knew the man's name all the time?" asked 
 Somers, a bit taken aback. 
 
 The other nodded. "This office is deeply inter- 
 ested in Mr. Ralph Satterfield," he said grimly, 
 "also in the gentleman after whom you are inquir- 
 ing this morning. Suppose we have a showdown, 
 doctor? I'm not the local chief; I'm on special duty 
 here, but I can tell you all this department knows 
 about Roaring Lafe. What's your interest in him?" 
 
 Our leader sat down. "Perhaps you know who I 
 am, too?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; Doctor Floyd Somers. You came from 
 
242 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 New York to be the best man at Doctor Parker's 
 wedding; and this, no doubt, is the doctor's uncle, 
 Mr. Uhlman — and Peter McGregor?" 
 
 We bowed, wondering. 
 
 "We looked you up, doctor," explained the revenue 
 agent, ^'because you were pretty thick with Satter- 
 field for a while. What was the idea?" 
 
 Somers leaned forward. "You know about Doctor 
 Gaskell's murder, and the arrest of my friend 
 Parker?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes! In fact, this investigation was begun 
 upon information furnished the collector by Gaskell." 
 
 "Well, then!" Somers told him everything 
 frankly, including our suspicions of Rutledge. 
 
 The government man listened with grave interest. 
 "H'm," said he, when the tale was done. "Our 
 local men seem to have overlooked a lot. We didn't 
 go behind the verdict of the coroner's court and the 
 grand jury; took it for granted Parker killed Gaskell 
 because of some personal quarrel. Coarse work, 
 very! Some one will get a stiff call for this! Of 
 course Rutledge did it. I should have thought of 
 that myself. Well, after all, that is merely inci- 
 dental; it doesn't affect the main work of this office, 
 w'hich is to break up the illicit manufacture and sale 
 of alcoholic liquors. And now, gentlemen, what can 
 I do in return?" 
 
 "Tell us about Rutledge. Is he in hiding? Is 
 there any criminal charge against him? Did he 
 really murder one of your men?" 
 
 The agent nodded soberly. "There's not a doubt 
 of it in my mind, but we've no legal proof. No, 
 
ROARING LAFE 243 
 
 gentlemen, there^s no criminal charge out against 
 Roaring Lafe — as yet. And he's not in hiding; 
 he's living openly in his own house, on Devil's 
 Branch, back in the hills." 
 
 Somers rose. *'I thought this was the safest place 
 to make inquiries," he explained. ''Thank you, sir." 
 
 "Hold on a minute! This office is indebted to you 
 for your information, though I may say we knew 
 most of these things before, except your suspicions 
 about Gaskell's murder ; can't we help you some way ? 
 What are your plans?" 
 
 The physician grinned. **Why, just to find this 
 Roaring Lafe and have a chat. I'll tell him Satter- 
 field has admitted that he saw Gaskell shot, and that 
 Rutledge did it — and see what happens. Then I'll 
 try to induce him to come along to jail wath us, if 
 I can." 
 
 ''You'll get yourselves killed, the three of you!" 
 
 Somers shrugged. "It's quite possible, but it is 
 my business in life to extract information from folks 
 who don't want to give it. After one has practiced 
 enough at getting statements from lunatics who 
 haven't spoken a word for years, it ought not to be 
 so hard to badger an ignorant old man into confess- 
 ing murder. I'm game to try, at least." 
 
 "H'm! I think you're a fool, but go ahead, if 
 you insist. Remember this, though: That you never 
 saw a lunatic as dangerous as Lafe Rutledge." 
 
 With that pleasing assurance in our ears we left 
 the revenue office and hired saddle horses for our 
 trip into the hills. It was noon before we had 
 topped the long slope, which leads up past the 
 
244 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "Castle/' and left the concrete road to strike back 
 along zigzag red clay roads, which led us into the 
 hinterland. We paused for one look back toward 
 civilization. 
 
 **Weli,'' said I, staring down at the ordered streets, 
 centering in Pack Square, with its tall granite obelisk, 
 *'we may not all of us come back this way." 
 
 ''Cheerful old soul!" replied Peter, shifting in his 
 saddle. "This nag has a beastly sharp backbone; I 
 can feel it right through the leather. You might 
 have stopped for lunch, at least, Somers." 
 
 "Have another sandwich," suggested our leader 
 callously; for he had vetoed a further stay in the 
 city. "Eat as you ride. We want to get somewhere 
 before dark, and we've twenty miles to go." 
 
 We struck back into the hills. Our patient horses 
 scrambled up precipitous slopes, panting, sliding in 
 the rough red clay; we slid down other slopes as 
 steep, where the zigzag paths, that ran back and 
 forth, seemed sharper than the pitch of a roof, and 
 the hillside itself was almost straight up and down. 
 The roads grew rougher and stonier and narrower, 
 until they were mere bridle paths, mere trails, which 
 wound and separated and forked and joined be- 
 wilderingly. 
 
 Mile after mile we rode, growing horribly saddle 
 sore in the riding. The country about us was wild, 
 primeval; tall pines masked the hillsides, interspersed 
 with spruce and live oak and great, dense growths 
 of that rhododendron which the mountain folk call 
 "laurel." Here and there, huddled upon the steep 
 slopes, a tiny, unpainted shack overhung the wind- 
 
ROARING LAFE 245 
 
 ing road, its cornfield miraculously clinging to the 
 side of a precipice. Dozens of lop-eared hound dogs 
 regarded our passing with mournful gravity, or made 
 headlong dashes, boiling out in baying mobs from 
 beneath forlorn shacks to snap at our horses' fet- 
 locks. Sometimes a slatternly woman in a calico 
 dress, roused to languid curiosity by their racket, 
 came to an open door and looked after us with in- 
 different, lackluster eyes. Of men we saw nothing, 
 save once. 
 
 Then I glanced up, warned by the pricking of my 
 horse's ears, to catch a glimpse of a fierce, bearded 
 face, which glowered down at us from the rhodo- 
 dendrons above the trail. The sun, just dropping 
 below a peak, glinted dully from a long rifle barrel, 
 as it moved slightly to bear upon us. 
 
 "Cough, Somers! Cough!" I whispered. 
 
 Our leader, quick to grasp my hint, coughed nobly, 
 until he swayed in the saddle, handkerchief to his 
 lips. 
 
 I spurred forward to support him. ''Easy, boys,** 
 said I, loudly enough to be heard from the hillside 
 I hoped. "The mountain air is hard on those lungs, 
 but we'll find a good place for your house to-morrow, 
 I hope. Remember, the doctor said these hills w^re 
 the only place you could live." 
 
 We rode on; I, for one, with my heart in my 
 throat. My back muscles quivered and flinched. 
 But no bullet pierced them; no gunshot cut through 
 the silence of the hills. After a mile or two I ex- 
 plained. 
 
 Somers shrugged. "They don't seem to welcome 
 
ojfi THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 strangers," he admitted. "Ifs a cheery country." 
 His eyes followed the sharp-toothed, jagged hills, 
 ^Yhich ringed us in; the abrupt, bleak mountains of 
 North Carolina, whose ridges are too sharp-edged 
 for concealment, were all about us, and the blue 
 sky showed between the trunks of the single, strag- 
 gling row of slender trees, which found difficult life 
 there. 'The hills look about as friendly as their 
 people. Still, I don't believe they'll shoot us with- 
 out stopping to ask questions first." 
 
 With this dubious encouragement we rode on 
 through the long shadows of sunset, which comes 
 so early there; for the sun dropped behind the en- 
 circling hills in midafternoon, they were so high. 
 
 The rough trails wound on, forking and twisting, 
 and we rode slower and slower, while our leader 
 puzzled over the map Anne Christie had drawn. 
 Dusk came on, and then darkness, and still we rode, 
 Somers scowling uncertainly. At last we made out 
 a point of light in the distance. 
 
 Our leader pulled up. *'We're lost," he admitted. 
 *T haven't an idea which way to turn, even if we 
 could see the trails, which we can't. I move we stop 
 at that house and ask our way." 
 
 So we blundered on through the darkness, and 
 that lone spark of light grew and became the oblong 
 of an unglazed window, toward which our tired 
 steeds trotted, unguided. A yelping, baying ava- 
 lanche of dogs poured down the slope, to bark 
 and* snap at our horses' legs, and to jump viciously 
 up for a grip upon our own. We halted. 
 
ROARING LAFE 247 
 
 **Hello, the house!" called Somers, reluctant to 
 dismount because of the dogs. 
 
 Abruptly the light above us went out. We 
 heard a door close somewhere. Then the clamor of 
 the hounds lessened, and presently it ceased. They 
 lowered their tails, began to sneak away, as I could 
 see through the dusk. And a harsh voice was raised, 
 so close to us that I jumped involuntarily, and my 
 horse plunged. 
 
 "What's yore business here, strangers?'' 
 
 Somers coughed promptly. "We're honest 
 travelers," I explained. "My nephew here has con- 
 sumption ; his doctor has sent him into the mountains 
 to live, and we're hunting a place. Can you tell us 
 how to reach Devil's Branch?" 
 
 "Devil's Branch?" The man's voice held a queer, 
 interrogative note. "Huh! Strike a light, stranger; 
 le'me look at you-all. Hit's a right onhealthy place 
 for sick folks, the Devil's Branch. Uh-huh!'' 
 
 I despair of reproducing in print his twanging 
 drawl, his quaint idiom, his pronunciations, so dif- 
 ferent from the speech of the lowlands, less than 
 fifty miles away. 
 
 Somers lit a match obediently, and its flickering 
 light shone on his lean, sallow face, exaggerating the 
 hollows of his cheeks, throwing his bold, hooked 
 nose into high relief. 
 
 "Huh?" asked the mountaineer. "'Member I got 
 a bead on you-all agin' th' sky line I Are puny lookin', 
 hain't yuh?" Then with renewed suspicion: "What 
 you-all lookin' for on Devil's Branch?" 
 
248 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "A place to build a cabin," I told him. 
 
 "Down, Tige!" he said, as one of the hounds 
 began to yap again. "Hit's a right cur'us place fer 
 furriners. Don't look right t' me, nohow. Huh? 
 Hain't my lookout, no ways; hit's Lafe's bus'ness. 
 You-all jus' keep a-goin' up th' Branch yander an' 
 pass two liT runs; at th' next run don't go no 
 furderer, but turn up hit an' foUer 'long." 
 
 "How far?" 
 
 "Hit's right smart of a piece — mebbe two set- 
 downs an' a long look. Yassuh, hit's all o' that." 
 
 "And how'U we know when we get there?'' 
 
 The mountaineer chuckled. "Ho, you-all'll know. 
 Ho, yas! Hain't no wonderment 'bout that!" 
 
 I asked another question, but there was no reply. 
 The man had vanished as silently as he had come; 
 his long gun barrel no longer showed faintly, menac- 
 ing us. I was relieved. We rode on, our tired 
 horses stumbling and laboring among the loose peb- 
 bles, following directions as best we might in that 
 Stygian blackness. 
 
 We passed by the two runs and turned up the 
 third, which seemed to lead steeply up through a 
 narrow valley, almost a cafion. On either side long, 
 sharp ridges stood blackly out against the sky. 
 
 The way grew rougher, steeper; the horses stum- 
 bled over fallen logs, brambles tore at our clothing, 
 unseen branches whipped back and cut smartly across 
 our faces. At last we stopped again, unable to ad- 
 vance another step through this tangled maze. 
 
 Somers dismounted. "Looks like we sleep out, 
 unk," he rem.arked, forced cheerfulness in his tired 
 
\ 
 
 ROARING LAFE 249 
 
 tones. "We're stuck. I wish I could lay my hands 
 on Roaring Lafe Rutledge!" 
 
 A deep voice answered him from the bushes. We 
 all started violently, and I think I cried out. 
 
 "You kin, stranger!" 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 
 
 SOMERS turned slowly, and, though it was so 
 dark, I could see that his hands were held high. 
 Peter and I hastened to elevate ours. 
 
 "Who are you?" he asked quietly. *'What do you 
 want?" 
 
 A gruff laugh answered him. "You done said my 
 name, stranger. An' what does you-all want, an' 
 what fer are ye calling Roaring Lafe?" 
 
 "Doctor Major, down in the city, said you were 
 the man to see," replied Somers coolly. "My name 
 is Winters, John Winters. I've got consumption, and 
 they sent me into the mountains to live. This is my 
 uncle, George Winters and Mr. Scott. We want to 
 buy land for a cabin for me, and Mr. Scott's going 
 to build it." 
 
 An incredulous grunt replied, as the bushes 
 crackled, and a huge shape emerged. Straining my 
 eyes through the dark, I made out the pale blur of 
 a white beard, which the man stroked thoughtfully. 
 
 "Don't yuh pay 'em no mind, Lafe," said another 
 voice, a shrill, ugly voice, with a tremor in it. 
 "Shoot 'em down! Them's revenooers !'* 
 
 "You hark, Cal Col! I aim t' tend my bus'ness 
 my own self. Git on them bosses, you-all, an' foller 
 me. We-all'll fetch *em up to th' cabin an' look 'em 
 over there." 
 
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 251 
 
 We obeyed exactly. Though Roaring Lafe had 
 not thought it necessary even to warn us, the re- 
 peating rifle in his hand was eloquent; and, as we 
 spurred after his huge figure, another man and 
 another broke through the laurel behind us, until we 
 were flanked and followed by at least half a dozen, 
 all carrying rifles. 
 
 *Tn for it now!" said Peter. 
 
 ''Shut up!" replied our leader. 
 
 We went on in silence, save for the creak of saddle 
 leathers, the stumbling footfalls of our horses; the 
 men all about us moved like wraiths, noiselessly. We 
 mounted a steep grade, for I had to lean forward to 
 keep the saddle; then we wound through a tangle 
 of laurel and came out into a clearing, which seemed 
 almost light in contrast with the blackness below. 
 Before us loomed the dim outlines of a big log cabin. 
 When we had reached it our captor said: 
 
 ''Light down, you-all! Git in!" 
 
 He scorned to threaten, even to warn us, but his 
 rifle barrel pointed his request. We obeyed without 
 words, ducked our heads to pass the low lintel, and 
 entered a bare, puncheon-floored room, with a rough 
 stone fireplace at one end. 
 
 I looked about it curiously, as at some remem- 
 bered spot. A rude homemade armchair stood before 
 the fire, and on a stand beside it rested a gallon jug. 
 There Roaring Lafe had sat many and many a night, 
 year after year, talking and drinking. In that corner, 
 perhaps, Anne Christie had huddled, a tattered, 
 brown-legged girl beside her mother; a half-grown 
 maiden, dreaming her dreams of the "settlem^ents ;" 
 
252 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 a woman full grown, dainty and fair, recalling bit- 
 terly her free, broad life, which seemed so hope- 
 lessly behind her, and always frightened; shivering 
 with fear of this hulking, ignorant, bullying brute, 
 Lafe Rutledge. 
 
 It was very pitiful; it made her story more real, 
 more terrible in its quiet pathos. My eyes smarted, 
 and I think that Somers* thoughts must have run in 
 the same channel, for he faced Rutledge with a new 
 defiance. 
 
 "Now what do you mean," he demanded, "by 
 stopping honest folks in this fashion?" 
 
 Rutledge grinned, showing long, yellow teeth in 
 his beard. "W'y, wa'n't you-all a-wishin' an' a-honin' 
 fer to find Roarin' Lafe?" he asked. ''What do 
 you-all aim to see him about? What's yore busi- 
 ness ? Speak up, now I" 
 
 The man called Cal Col interrupted again, his 
 dry eyes darting hither and thither, his lean features 
 working hungrily. 
 
 "Kill 'em, Lafe! Kill 'em right off! Them's 
 revenooers, I tell ve ; hain't no use o' waitin' fer 'em 
 to lie to ye." 
 
 Somers turned upon him fiercely enough : "You 
 lie yourself !'' 
 
 Cal Col stepped swiftly behind the bulky form of 
 his leader. "You le' me be!" he whined. 
 
 The other mountaineers, rough, bearded men in 
 homespun and cowhide boots, laughed and nudged 
 each other. I judged that Cal Col was not a general 
 favorite. 
 
 "Hush yo'r yap, boys! Hit hain't healthy fer 
 
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 253 
 
 fiirriners here on Devil's Branch, stranger. 'F you 
 got consumption, I shore am sorry fer hit; but we- 
 all cain't have no furriners up here. Hit was a 
 furriner done stoled my gyurl." The craggy, beet- 
 ling brows drew down over hot eyes ; Roaring Laf e's 
 deep voice grew deeper, louder, more unfriendly. 
 *'You-all kin git, right now! Hank, guide 'em out 
 an' onto th' trail fer Azalea. They-all can fetch 
 hit, come mornin'." 
 
 "But not to-night!" protested Somers. "Our 
 horses are beat out." 
 
 ''Git!" repeated Rutledge sternly. 
 
 But now his men began to murmur. *'Look-a- 
 here, Lafe!" began the fellow called Hank. ''Hit 
 hain't safe! Mebbe they hain't revenooers, but they 
 sure kin " 
 
 Rutledge snorted. "Hain't got sense!" he re- 
 plied contemptuously. "An' they don't know noth- 
 m . 
 
 "Revenooers!" repeated Cal Col shrilly. He made 
 a dash at Peter, the smallest of us, and gripped his 
 coat. "Kill 'em! A-a-a-ah!" 
 
 It was a howl of triumph. For Peter's coat tore 
 open under that clutch, and on his vest shone the 
 deputy-sheriff's star which he had forgotten to con- 
 ceal ! 
 
 The mountaineers growled ominously. "Sneaks! 
 Spies! Revenooers!" Half a dozen menacing rifle 
 barrels thrust out at us. 
 
 All was lost; but we would sell our lives as dearly 
 as we might. We whipped out the pistols, which 
 
254 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Rutledge's contemptuous confidence had left us, and 
 stood with backs to the wall. 
 
 The door burst open, and Ralph Satterfield dashed 
 in, panting. 
 
 ''Lafe! Hank! All here? Lissen, fellers, it's all 
 up!" He paused in wonder at the tableau; then a 
 malevolent grin plucked at his piratical mustache. 
 *'Well, dog my cats! You-all got 'em a'ready! Lis- 
 sen, Lafe, them fellers is spies! They bin watchin' 
 an' doggin' round an' seen us handlin' that liquor 
 an' run straight t' Raleigh las' night to squeal! Hull 
 revenue bunch'll be onto our necks directly. An' they 
 come up here!" he exclaimed, with gloating malice. 
 "Ain't that nice, huh? Kill 'em!'' 
 
 Roaring Lafe gestured the rifles aside, and be- 
 neath the shaggy brows his eyes flamed coldly. 
 
 "Git back!" he said. I saw how he had earned 
 his title. "Git back ! Le' me settle this here !" The 
 cabin echoed to his roar. 
 
 He advanced upon us. alone, empty-handed. His 
 fierce old eyes glowed, his thick beard fairly bristled 
 with inhuman rage. On he came, full in the face of 
 Somers' leveled pistol, heeding it no more than a 
 pointed finger. 
 
 There was something terrible, superhui-ian, in that 
 slow, implacable advance. The power of the man 
 shone out; I tasted to the full that paralyzing fear 
 Anne Christie had tried to voice. I felt that this 
 huge old man was invulnerable, unconquerable; his 
 absolute certainty beat down my will. I suppose a 
 rabbit feels thus, watching the advance of a stoat; 
 a bird, charmed by some venomous snake, could be 
 
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 255 
 
 no more helpless than I was then. Despite me, the 
 pistol barrel dropped. I could not resist; he had 
 only to stretch out his hand. 
 
 Beside me Peter's face showed white and slack; 
 beads of perspiration shone on it. His hands dropped 
 nervelessly. 
 
 But Somers grinned. 'Td hate to shoot my 
 father-in-law," he drawled, "but " 
 
 *'You needn't," said a dry, quiet voice from with- 
 out. "Hands up, all! You're covered!" 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 RUTLEDGE TALKS 
 
 THE mountain men whirled. Roaring Lafe ceased 
 his advance to look over a burly shoulder. 
 In the doorway of the cabin stood the quiet, gray 
 man, the revenue agent. Beside and behind him 
 were armed men; rifle barrels bristled in all of the 
 shack^s windows. The moonshiners were surrounded, 
 outnumbered, helpless. With one accord they 
 dropped their guns and raised resigned hands above 
 their heads, all but Roaring Lafe. Bellowing, he 
 sprang toward the door, the w^indow, only to turn 
 back from ready gun muzzles. Then his bearded 
 face horribly contorted, his foam-flecked lips twitched 
 back from long, yellow teeth, and he sprang full at 
 Somers' throat. 
 
 *T'll tote yuh to death along of me, anyhow," he 
 said. **You spyin' sneak!" 
 
 The revenue agent cried out, and I sprang for- 
 ward. But in that crowded room none dared shoot, 
 for the mountaineers milled already, crouching for a 
 dash. I hovered over the whirling bulk of the 
 raging moonshiner, seeking to fire without endanger- 
 ing Somers' lank, convulsively thrashing limbs. 
 
 It was over in an instant. The slender physician, 
 overwhelmed, fell sprawling, apparently helpless, his 
 left hand feeling along the other's huge arm. A 
 mere touch, it seemed, upon that mass of muscle. 
 
RUTLEDGE TALKS 257 
 
 a strangled roar, and Rutledge's right arm dropped 
 helplessly. 
 
 Somers twisted in his grip and freed a hand still 
 holding the heavy pistol, which Anne Christie had 
 given him. I gasped. 
 
 But he did not fire. Instead, the pistol's lying 
 barrel tapped his huge adversary neatly across the 
 base of the skull, and Roaring Lafe Rutledge relaxed. 
 His great arms all abroad, he settled slowly upon 
 his back, inert as a pole-axed steer. 
 
 The physician rose, feeling gingerly of his throat. 
 "It's all in knowing where to hit 'em," he said 
 hoarsely. 
 
 The captured mountaineers eyed him admiringly. 
 "Well, dog my cats!" exclaimed the man called 
 Hank. "Fust time ever I seed anybody best Roarin' 
 Lafe! I wouldn't 'a' believed it." 
 
 "Come, men," ordered the government agent 
 briskly. "Round these fellows up and search 'em. 
 You, Bailey, Gaines, and Lipkowitz, stick around. 
 We've made a clean sweep, I think; but pick up any- 
 body else who comes in here, and in the morning 
 destroy that still. You know where it is, Gaines, and 
 now come along down. You can ride the horses tied 
 outside there. Somers, you and your friends had 
 better come with us.'* 
 
 The revenue men moved swiftly. Soon a little 
 heap of pistols and knives lay on the floor beside 
 the guns dropped by their prisoners. 
 
 "Take charge of these weapons, Bailey," ordered 
 the chief again. "You others, rope these chaps and 
 come along." 
 
258 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 It was done forthwith, and we all set out, the 
 gray-haired man in front, carrying an electric belt 
 lamp, behind him the seven prisoners in single file, 
 the right wrist of each handcuffed. Each empty 
 cuff was knotted to a long rope at four- foot inter- 
 vals, so that they made a long line, fastened securely 
 together. Revenue ofificers with ready rifles marched 
 on either side, while Somers, Peter, and I dragged 
 wearily behind. 
 
 I soon saw why the prisoners were fastened thus 
 oddly, for we plunged straight down the mountain- 
 side, on foot, in a long line. The slope was so steep 
 that we all had to clutch at the close-growing trees, 
 climbing as if down a steep ladder. The prisoners 
 made heavy weather of it; their shackled arms were 
 hampered, and the rope, which bound them together, 
 was continually catching and retarding them. But, 
 with both hands secured, they could never have ne- 
 gotiated that dizzying slant ; and, unless all had 
 been fastened together, one or more would surely 
 have been able to make an escape on that dark, 
 wooded mountainside which they knew so well. 
 
 As it was, after what seemed an age of sliding 
 and scrambling down grades, which just missed being 
 perpendicular, we reached a little clearing on com- 
 paratively level ground, all breathless and scratched, 
 our clothes half torn off. We had come ten miles, 
 I suppose. Already dawn was gray in the east, and 
 I, for one, was exhausted. I hailed the motor cars 
 which awaited us with a prayer of silent thanksgiv- 
 ing. 
 
 My ccwnrades seemed almost as tired as I, and the 
 
RUTLEDGE TALKS 259 
 
 gray-haired revenue agent turned a drawn, haggard 
 face to the early Hght. 
 
 "We're well out of that!" he said. "A couple 
 more hours up there might have seen an attempt at 
 rescue. Roaring Lafe has plenty of friends on the 
 mountain." 
 
 Rutledge had preserved a somber silence ever since 
 he returned to consciousness. He stood with bent 
 head, his magnificent physique apparently unwearied 
 by our forced march. Now and again he turned a 
 queer, almost admiring look upon Somers. 
 
 He did not reply to the government man's re- 
 mark, but the fellow called Cal Col laughed jeeringly. 
 
 "Yah!" he said. "Lafe Rutledge hain't got no 
 friends in th' mountains nozif, no more'n he has kin- 
 folks! They's plenty will be glad that he's done 
 cotched — roarin' an bullyin' round like he done I" 
 His snaky eyes were filled with malevolence. 
 
 "Shut up !" ordered one of his guards and slapped 
 him across the sneering mouth. I think we were all 
 disgusted by his haste to vilify his fallen leader. 
 
 "Yessir, cap'n, I kin tell you-all lots o' things. I'd 
 have turned up all this moonshinin' an' blockadin* 
 meanness long ago, on'y I done bin a-scaret o' Lafe 
 Rutledge." He fawned upon the government man, 
 crooked teeth showing in a repulsive, insinuating- 
 smile. 
 
 Rutledge smiled bitterly, but did not speak. I 
 wondered what his thoughts might be; if he re- 
 gretted now that he had once tried to force his step- 
 daughter into a marriage wath this — this reptile? 
 
 At the end of a rough wagon track stood three 
 
26o THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 motor cars, a couple of flivvers and a light express 
 truck, covered with wire gratings at either end. 
 Into this the officers urged their prisoners, still bound 
 together, and padlocked the grated door behind them. 
 The truck made a tolerable substitute for a Black 
 INIaria, even if its passengers had to seat themselves 
 upon the floor. An armed man took his place be- 
 side its driver and faced backward to watch the 
 prisoners. 
 
 **Drive on, Brownell," ordered the gray man. 
 **And, remember, you in there, we're coming right 
 behind, with half a dozen rifles trained on that truck 
 every minute!" 
 
 We three piled into one of the flivvers, and the 
 rest of the government men followed, filling every 
 seat, clinging precariously to the running boards. 
 
 That was a wild drive down the mountainside, 
 though we went slowly enough, perforce. But 
 there was no more than a track, rough and un- 
 even, winding among stumps and fallen trees; huge 
 roots and boulders lay athwart it, so that we were 
 shaken like corn in a popper, and I wondered how 
 these cars had ever been made to climb so high, 
 when the going down seemed about to wreck them 
 at every turn. The mountaineers, huddled on the 
 floor of that truck, must have suffered cruelly, with 
 no seats to which they might cling; but no murmur 
 escaped them. Only Cal Col kept up a constant wail, 
 until the man nearest him struck him heavily across 
 the mouth, silencing him effectually. 
 
 At last we were down, without having broken 
 either a spring or any of our bones, and by seven 
 
RUTLEDGE TALKS 261 
 
 o'clock our odd procession pulled up before the Ashe- 
 ville city prison. The government agent clambered 
 stiffly out. "I'll make a deal with the chief of police 
 to take care of these birds until we can bring them 
 before the commissioner,'' said he. ''Doctor Somers, 
 I'm greatly obliged to you and your friends. It 
 was risky, of course, to use you men as decoys, but, 
 thanks to you, we caught the whole gang together. 
 You brought in their sentinels for us, and we had 
 a clear field. You might have been killed, of course, 
 but it came out very well. Can I do anything in 
 return ?'* 
 
 Somers nodded. ''Why, yes. You can turn that 
 man Rutledge over to me, as a regularly appointed 
 deputy sheriff of Carabas County. He's wanted over 
 there. Ell get a warrant first and serve it You'll 
 keep him safe until then?" 
 
 The other bowed a grim head. "Oh, yes, and for 
 the next twenty years, at least!" 
 
 While we talked, the prisoners were being un- 
 loaded, to the curious delight of a rapidly gathering 
 crowd. Old Rutledge descended ponderously, his 
 eyes upon Somers. Meeting that odd, almost friendly 
 regard, the lanky doctor started. 
 
 "Here, man," he said excitedly. "You can do this : 
 Give me a chance for a quiet talk with Rutledge 
 now. Maybe I can get something out of him." 
 
 The revenue agent agreed readily, and in ten 
 minutes we faced the huge mountaineer in the little 
 ofiice of the jail. A stalwart officer stood on either 
 side of him, pistol in hand; for Roaring Lafe was 
 too notorious to be guarded carelessly. 
 
262 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Doctor Somers leaned toward him impulsively. 
 "Look here, Rutledge! There's a friend of mine in 
 jail, over there in Pinelands, waiting his trial. He 
 was married the other day, and his bride is waiting 
 for him, crying her eyes out. You're an old man; 
 won't you help them?" 
 
 The moonshiner looked back at him squarely, his 
 bright old eyes curiously wistful and soft. 'T hain't 
 havin' no truck 'ith furriners," he answ^ered slowly, 
 ''but ril do whut I kin for you, stranger. Yore 
 th' fust one ever bested Roaring Lafe yit; I cain't 
 tell now how yuh done hit. Whut kin I do?" 
 
 ''Confess!" said Somers swiftly. ''You might as 
 well; we've got you anyway. Confess, and let poor 
 old Parker out now, instead of keeping him until 
 you're tried." 
 
 Rutledge laughed hoarsely. "Confess? W'y, 
 stranger, hain't no need o' me confessin', hardly. 
 They done cotched me, still an' all !" 
 
 "Yes, for blockading, I know, but not for mur- 
 der." 
 
 "Murder? What-all ye talkin' 'bout, stranger? I 
 ain't done no killin' meanness — not in Carabas 
 County." 
 
 "I'm talking about the murder of Doctor Gaskell," 
 said Somers impatiently. "Don't try to pretend you 
 don't know that! We can prove it on you, only it'll 
 take longer." 
 
 Roaring Lafe stared at us. "But I hain't done no 
 killin' in Pinelands," he repeated. "I'm a-tellin' ye 
 th' truth, stranger," he declared, not without a cer- 
 
RUTLEDGE TALKS 263 
 
 tain rude dignity. ''Don't ye go fer t' call Lafe 
 Rutledge a liar, suh!" 
 
 And then, seeing our puzzlement, he leaned for- 
 ward confidentially. 'Til tell ye," he said hoarsely. 
 '*ril tell you-all th' whole thing. I did aim for t' 
 kill Gaskell, account o' this here." His wide gesture 
 indicated his guards, his handcuffs, the jail. "He 
 done found out more'n he'd oughter, an' I sont word 
 Satterfield was t' fix 'im, lessen he sh'd do whut 
 he done. An' 'en I come down t' Pinelands my own 
 se'f. We'd had dealin's oncet, Gaskell an' me, an' I 
 didn't aim t' do no meanness lessen I jist hadda. I 
 went to 'is house, an' I done sont 'im word to tell I 
 aimed t' settle 'ith him come sunup. An' I went to 
 his house that night, aimin' for to waylay 'im, come 
 mornin', like I said. Satterfield was there, an' I sont 
 'im back, aimin' t' do th' job my own self. Well, 
 after while — long mebbe a hour afore sunup — out 
 come Gaskell 'ith 'is doctor bag an' sot out th'oo 
 th' pines acrost th' big road. I follered after 'im, 
 'ith my pistol gun ready. He traveled 'long th'oo 
 them pines an' into th' bresh, an' me after 'im, 
 ontwel I — I seen th' ha'nt. An' 'en I lit out a-run- 
 nin'. Yessuh!" 
 
 He stopped, curiously shamefaced, and stared at 
 Somers, w^ith a sort of sulky defiance. 
 You — you saw a haunt — a ghost?" 
 Uh-huh !" The tough-souled old reprobate nodded 
 violently, so that his patriarchal beard wagged again. 
 "Yassuh! I seen th' ha'nt, all white, like in a 
 shroud, an' blue smoke like brimstone 'round about, 
 an' eyes a-flamin' dreadful — an' I shore did light a 
 
 til 
 
264 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 shuck outa there. Gentlemen, hush! I don't aim 
 t' have no truck 'ith ghosteses." 
 
 His big, bold face was all twisted with super- 
 stitious awe; the hand which clutched his beard was 
 trembling. There could be no doubt that he spoke 
 the truth. Whatever loose newspaper or waving 
 sheet had wrought upon his ignorant fancy, he was 
 fully convinced that he had encountered a spirit, and 
 had been driven by it from his intended crime. 
 
 ''And you didn't shoot Gaskell? Did you see 
 anybody else there? Was Satterfield gone?" 
 
 "Nossuh — yassuh. I aimed fer to shoot 'im, but 
 I plumb didn't! I jist tuck my foot in my hand 
 an' lit a-runnin'. Ner I didn't see nobody, neither. 
 I didn't look round, lessen th' ha'nt was a-follerin' of 
 me; but Satterfield, he'd done gone back up th' hill 
 long afore that." 
 
 Somers groaned aloud. I could have wept. Weary 
 as I was, I had been buoyed up by hope until now. 
 I had borne with all this strain and fatigue, exulting 
 within myself that now, at last, Lewis would be 
 freed. This blow was too much. The room whirled 
 before me; Somers' face blurred, grew monstrously 
 big, then receded from my sight. I heard his voice 
 faintly : 
 
 ''Well, then, in Heaven's name, who did kill 
 Gaskell?" 
 
 Rutledge's reply sounded fainter yet, a hoarse 
 whisper, trembling with superstitious dread. *'I 
 reckon hit musta been th' ha'nt!" 
 
 "The ghost!" Somers' voice was reflective, almost 
 
RUTLEDGE TALKS 265 
 
 convinced. "I believe you're right, Rutledge; it must 
 have been the ghost!" 
 
 The words seemed to come from an immense dis- 
 tance; they rang in my ears like a knell. ''Poor 
 Somers!" I thought. ''He's gone crazy; he's off 
 his head about this thing, just like the rest of us!" 
 
 Then I lost consciousness. 
 
 \ 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE RETURN 
 
 I WOKE with a start, in a strange room, staring 
 about me in dull wonder. Oh, well, it was 
 scarcely daylight, and I was still tired out. I would 
 go back to sleep and save my questions until break- 
 fast time. I turned over, yawning, but a familiar 
 voice dragged me back from slumber. 
 
 "Get up, unk!" It was Peter McGregor. "You'll 
 have to get going; train leaves in an hour." 
 
 Again I yawned. "What time is it?" 
 
 "Seven o'clock." Then he laughed at my exclama- 
 tion. "No, unk, seven at night. You've only slept 
 twelve hours. Hurry up, now, we've got to be back 
 in Pinelands by morning." 
 
 Reluctantly enough I rose, every stiff old joint 
 aching, and tumbled into my clothes. Peter and 
 Doctor Somers were dressed and throwing their few 
 belongings into traveling bags. 
 
 Presently we set out for the Asheville station and 
 the eight-fifteen train, w^iich would take us to 
 Raleigh, a silent, disconsolate trio, as much at sea 
 as on the morning of Doctor Gaskell's mysterious 
 murder. We had followed trail after trail with such 
 high hopes; our suspicions had pointed here and 
 there; and each suspect had cleared himself. I 
 groaned aloud as we three sat in the Pullman smok- 
 ing room. 
 
THE RETURN 267 
 
 "All we really know, up to date," said I, *'is that 
 Gaskell left his house, and was killed an hour before 
 Lew^is came out there." 
 
 Somers nodded. "Even that is going to be hard 
 to prove," he answered gloomily. "One point rests 
 on the unsupported word of a notorious blockader, 
 a fellow more than suspected of one murder, and 
 now under arrest for making moonshine whisky. 
 Vanbrugh will tear his evidence into tatters, even if 
 he'll testify. And the other point: that Gaskell had 
 been dead some time w^hen Parker fired; it rests on 
 your word alone. And you'll have to admit your- 
 self that you were pretty wtU upset." 
 
 "Maybe Rutledge killed him, after all,*' I sug- 
 gested weakly. 
 
 "I doubt it. And, even if he did, we can*t prove 
 it. We can't prove he even saw Gaskell that morn- 
 ing, except by his own statement, which wouldn't 
 go far in law." 
 
 Peter leaned forward, scowling. "Look here," he 
 began. "Now don't get sore, unk; promise? Be- 
 cause, even if he did, I'm for him all the way, and 
 no doubt he had provocation we know nothing about. 
 But have you thought that maybe Lewis did kill him, 
 after all? No" — as I would have gone over the 
 evidence once more — "no, I don't mean then, when 
 you heard the shot. But he might have gone out 
 there at four o'clock; it was quite light, even at that 
 time, and he might have met Gaskell and shot him. 
 Then he was scared, of course, and he w^ent to the 
 house and cleaned his gun and reloaded it and came 
 back at five, meaning, no doubt, to pretend he'd just 
 
268 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 found the body. HeM have said he just got up, and, 
 when he went into that tangle after the quail, h% 
 found Gaskell's body by the path, dead and cold. 
 His gun would be clean, both barrels loaded, and 
 nobody'd have suspected him. But, when he got out 
 there, he tripped, and the gun went off by accident; 
 that's the way it happened, you said yourself, unk. 
 And the constable just happened to be coming past 
 and heard it, and there he was!" 
 
 "Nonsense!" said I. "That's absurd." But was 
 it? I had to admit to myself that it was an adequate 
 explanation, that it fitted most diabolically into all we 
 knew about the case. I closed my eyes; I could see 
 the whole thing. Lewis, gun in hand, prowling 
 through the dawn after quail; Gaskell meeting him 
 on the path, carrying his medicine case ; the quarrel. 
 There would have been hot words; my nephew had 
 not forgotten his anger of the day before. A sneer- 
 ing laugh, perhaps, as the older man lost patience; 
 Lewis' unruly temper flaming forth; the shotgun in 
 his nervous hands, leveling itself ; the explosion I 
 And then my poor, impulsive boy, shuddering at the 
 sight of a bleeding body; creeping stealthily through 
 the bushes, cleaning and reloading the gun with 
 hands that shook; waiting for the body of his victim 
 to stiffen; whipping round the old house to advance 
 boldly down that fateful path — with what inward 
 tremors and self-loathings! He comes on slowly, 
 looking for the body; it should be about here. And 
 then a stumble; the shotgun, forgotten in his un- 
 steady hands, the finger tightening involuntarily upon 
 its trigger; the second shot! And upon its heels an 
 
THE RETURN 2C9 
 
 outcry, the pounding run of Constable Wakefield; 
 the accusation! 
 
 No wonder Lewis had seemed dazed! He must 
 have thought it retribution, the accidental discharge 
 of his gun bringing back upon him all the public 
 guilt he had sought so cunningly to conceal. 
 
 And then I shook my head stubbornly. Lewis 
 Parker do that? No! He was my nephew, almost 
 my son; I knew him as I knew myself. 
 
 "Nonsense!" I repeated sturdily. *'My boy never 
 did such a thing as that. He might have killed 
 Gaskell in the heat of passion, but he never sneaked 
 and hid afterward, or plotted out such a scheme as 
 that to escape. I don't — I won't believe it!" 
 
 'T sure do hope you're right, unk," said Peter 
 heavily. ''But it does seem beastly logical." 
 
 It did. It was fiendishly, horribly logical. I could 
 see that if such an idea occurred to Vanbrugh, the 
 solicitor, the poor defense we could proffer would be- 
 come a boomerang to destroy us. For, on the face 
 of it, we could make the killing appear an accident, 
 perhaps; at the worst an impulsive, unpremeditated 
 act. But this other, this sneaking off to reload and 
 returning to discover the body — this cunning scheme 
 frustrated, as Vanbrugh would make it appear, by 
 the accidental discharge of the gun — why, it made 
 my nephew a cold, deliberate murderer! Shuddering 
 I recalled my dream of the explosion of that cannon 
 in my bedroom. That must have been the first shot, 
 the shot which had killed Gaskell ! Had Lewis pulled 
 the trigger? 
 
 All this while Somers had sat silent, chin in his 
 
270 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 long, bony hands, a cigarette drooping from his 
 sour, discontented hps. I turned to him impatiently. 
 
 *'What do you think, Somers? You know my 
 nephew; is he capable of such a thing as that?" 
 
 The lanky physician raised his head and stared at 
 me with deep-set, inscrutable, gray-green eyes. 'T 
 told you this morning," he replied. "From all we've 
 found out Fm beginning to believe it was the ghost 
 killed Gaskell." And his chin dropped again. Well, 
 there was little enough satisfaction in that! 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 AN AGITATED HOUSEHOLD 
 
 WE descended from the train at the Pinelands 
 depot into a bright, sunny morning. And, 
 even above the throbbing of the train, the sighing of 
 released air brakes, I heard the strident cry of those 
 detestable quail. I shook my fist in a paroxysm of 
 unreasonable fury. 
 
 Those cursed bobwhite! If it hadn't been for 
 them and Aunt Mary's fool complaints, this thing 
 would never have happened. 
 
 We climbed into the station's solitary jitney and 
 had ourselves driven to Fort House. 
 
 The family were all at table. Entering the dining 
 room, my eyes fell first upon Miss McGregor; and 
 I was appalled. Her thin face, beneath the crown 
 of snowy hair, was ghastly, greenish pale, and the 
 delicate skin hung in bags beneath her eyes. She 
 had changed startlingly in these last two days. Poor 
 old woman! She was not long for this world, I 
 thought. 
 
 Then my thoughts were interrupted by glad, agi- 
 tated outcries. Dorothy fell upon my neck, weep- 
 ing, and clutched me tight ; and Anne Christie, 
 usually so self-contained, hugged me, too, and ran 
 on to grip Doctor Somers by both hands. 
 
 "Oh, Uncle George!" exclaimed Dorothy. *'0h, 
 Peter !" And she put out a hand to him. "We're so 
 
272 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 glad you came, so glad you're back, all three of you! 
 It's been just terrible here!" 
 
 Miss Christie nodded emphatically, and they both 
 wept and hugged us all and dragged us into the din- 
 ing room and seated us. They were both talking at 
 once, tremulously, frantically glad of our coming. 
 And all this while Aunt Mary sat, rigid, staring at 
 nothing, her face terribly white and old, too much 
 absorbed in her own gloomy thoughts to be either 
 glad or sorry we had returned. But every time the 
 quail whistled outside the windows, she flinched 
 visibly. 
 
 "Now, then," I began, as the tumult subsided a 
 trifle, "what's all the excitement about ? And where's 
 Rosina?" For Dorothy herself had gone to the 
 kitchen for our coffee and Miss Christie was bring- 
 ing in the toast. 
 
 At that the babble recommenced. "Rosina's gone 
 — left this morning. Said she couldn't stand it here. 
 Too many 'ha'nts and ghostesses' for her," the girls 
 answered, both talking at once. "And, oh, how I 
 wish we could all go! It's been just terrible!" 
 
 "Hold on," said Somers, and the two girls sub- 
 sided momentarily. "One thing at a time. First, let 
 us assure you. Miss McGregor, that you won't be 
 annoyed because we came back. The gentlemen, who 
 would have liked to abolish us, are all safe in jail." 
 
 "Oh, goody! Then Lewis is all right?" Dorothy 
 glowed at the idea. 
 
 Somers nodded. "He'll be all right," he replied 
 evasively. 
 
AN AGITATED HOUSEHOLD 273 
 
 Miss Christie had turned pale. "And my — my 
 stepfather?" 
 
 "Yes, Anne, Rutledge, too. He can*t trouble you 
 now." 
 
 "And did he " 
 
 "No, it wasn't Rutledge, but he told me where to 
 look. However, that will keep. Now tell us, you 
 first, Anne, what's wrong here?" 
 
 The nurse began obediently. "It's the Poltergeist. 
 We've just been frightened to death! Night before 
 last and last night, too, all over the house. Miss 
 McGregor had sent me out, and I was in the living 
 room with Dorothy, and we heard awful shrieks 
 from the basement. We ran down there, and the 
 Poltergeist had been in Rosina's room and pulled the 
 bedclothes off her and stuck pins into her legs, and 
 everything. And this morning Rosina packed up and 
 left, two hours ago. Wouldn't stay to get breakfast, 
 even.'* 
 
 "That was last night," Dorothy took up the tale. 
 "On the previous night the Poltergeist was in my 
 room and smeared cold cream all over my dresser 
 and emptied my powder box into the clothes-press 
 and s-stole my wedding dress and s-stuck it in the 
 f -furnace. It's just r-ruined and spoiled! I don't 
 believe any other body ever had such a time!'' 
 
 "And we're all so frightened — so s-scared that we 
 were just saying if you men didn't come back — if 
 you-all left us alone any longer, we'd go to the hotel 
 to-night!" Thus the duet continued. 
 
 "Humph!" said Somers queerly. "Ghosts again. 
 Perhaps this Poltergeist isn't as harmless as you said. 
 
274 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 when I first came down here. So it visited Rosina 
 and you, Dorothy. How about you, Anne? Did 
 you come in for its attentions?" 
 
 The nurse nodded, big-eyed. *'I sat in the living 
 room last night after Dorothy got me up. She was 
 afraid to go back to bed and we sat in there and 
 dozed off, I reckon. Anyway the first I knew I was 
 right on the floor! The Poltergeist had pulled my 
 chair out from under me, and Dorothy never saw 
 a thing, either!" 
 
 "Not one thing!" Dorothy corroborated. "But 
 then I expect I was asleep, too. We're all just 
 used up, Doctor Somers. Nobody in this house 
 has had two hours of sleep in the last two nights, 
 unless it was Aunt Mary." 
 
 "Humph! And where was Miss McGregor when 
 all these things happened?" 
 
 All this while Aunt Mary had sat mute, stonily 
 calm, showing neither pleasure nor annoyance at our 
 return, apparently quite uninterested in the pranks 
 of the Poltergeist. But now she straightened, with 
 a queer, hostile glance at the physician. 
 
 "Where was I?" she asked. "Where could I be? 
 I lay helpless in bed, where I'd been put, as a poor 
 old paralytic has to! Lay there all alone, forgotten, 
 as usual ! I suppose," she went on acidly, "I should 
 have risen on my poor, useless limbs and run out to 
 protect three perfectly healthy women?" 
 
 'And did the Poltergeist annoy you, too?" 
 
 'Never mind! Who cares what happens to me? 
 I'm nothing but a helpless cripple, a drag and a 
 
 a 
 
 <<■ 
 
AN AGITATED HOUSEHOLD 275 
 
 hindrance." Her white Hps worked pitifully. "But 
 I won't trouble anybody much longer." 
 
 I believed her this time; she looked ghastly. And 
 I pitied her sincerely, in spite of her callous selfish- 
 ness, her bitter tongue. 
 
 Doctor Somers pushed back his plate and rose. 
 "You've had a bad time," he said, taking the old 
 lady's veined hand. "Does your spine trouble you 
 much to-day? How are the knots in your neck?" 
 
 His voice was inimitably gentle, sympathetic, win- 
 ning. Aunt Mary softened to it at once, and, after 
 he had wheeled her into the sitting room, discussed 
 her ailments for an hour or more in quite her usual 
 manner. The strain of her pale face lessened; a 
 faint color returned to her lips. If this were Doc- 
 tor Somers' bedside manner, I thought, he must be 
 a most successful practitioner. 
 
 Gradually he led the talk from Aunt Mary's symp- 
 toms and drew her on to discuss the Poltergeist and 
 spiritualism generally. The old lady expressed very 
 positive opinions. She had read widely on the sub- 
 ject, I could see, and her talk was interesting enough. 
 But what Somers' sudden interest in spiritism might 
 be, I could not fathom. 
 
 Presently he spoke of the ouija board. "I have 
 one," said the old lady. "I've had many very im- 
 portant communications through ouija." 
 
 Next, I scarcely know how it was brought about, 
 she had volunteered to give us a demonstration. Miss 
 Christie fetched the ouija lx)ard and set it upon her 
 knees. Blindfolded, Aunt Mary put her finger tips 
 on the little three-legged indicator, and Somers, also 
 
276 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 blinded, followed suit. They sat there, knee to knee, 
 motionless. 
 
 ''Some one put a question,*' directed the old lady 
 sepulchrally. 
 
 "Who — who spoiled my wedding dress?" asked 
 Dorothy, a little thrill in her voice. 
 
 Under our eyes the indicator began to move slowly, 
 mysteriously, apparently of its own volition. Leaning 
 over my shoulder, Dorothy read the letters it pointed 
 out to the blindfolded operators. 
 
 'T-0-L-T-E Why, Uncle George!" Her 
 
 excited breath fanned my cheek. "It's spelling 'Pol- 
 tergeist !' " 
 
 And so it did. And the queer, superstitious thrill 
 of the unexplained caught hold of us all. We 
 breathed quicker, impressed in spite of ourselves. 
 
 ''Why does the Poltergeist trouble us?" asked 
 Miss Christie. 
 
 Slowly, mysteriously, the ouija board answered. 
 The pointer moved from one letter to another de- 
 liberately, surely, as though guided by intelligence 
 instead of by the finger tips of two blindfolded 
 people, of whom one, at least, was surely a skeptic. 
 
 "B-E-C-A-U-S-E 0-F C-R-I-M-E," it spelled. 
 
 "Oh-h!" gasped Dorothy. "Aunty, quick! Ask it 
 who killed Doctor Gaskell?" 
 
 The old lady sat rigid, motionless as a marble 
 statue and as pale. The pointer moved, hesitated, 
 moved again. Her stiffened arms began to tremble. 
 
 Then suddenly, from beyond the window, came 
 the strident, insistent call of a quail : "BohwJiitc! 
 Bohwhite!" 
 
AN AGITATED HOUSEHOLD 277 
 
 Aunt Mary screamed. Her hands flew up, clawing 
 at the bandage about her head. 
 
 'T — I can't stand it!" she exclaimed. 'Tt's driv- 
 ing me mad! Oh, oh, oh!" Her voice rose in a 
 crescendo of agony. ''That noise — that noise — it's 
 killing me!" She drooped in her wheel chair, head 
 on a shoulder, translucent eyelids flicktring down, un- 
 conscious. 
 
 "Humph !" said Somers coolly. ''She's fainted this 
 time." He felt her pulse, lifted her fallen eyelids to 
 peer at her pupils, tapped her knees. She moved 
 convulsively. "Get water, Anne. We'd better lay 
 her down. No, she's coming round all right." 
 
 Aunt Mary opened tragic eyes. "Wh-what hap- 
 pened? Oh, I know! If I have to listen to those 
 horrible birds any longer I'll die!" 
 
 "I'll see to that," said Somers. "But now you'd 
 better go back to bed. You're badly upset; I'll just 
 examine you a bit; then 111 know just what to do." 
 
 That did not suit, either. "No!" she answered, 
 almost screaming. "No, no, no! Get back, get away, 
 don't touch me! I won't have it — I won't be ex- 
 amined — I won't, I won't! You've been against me 
 every minute, ever since you came," she went on 
 wildly. "You shan't touch me, I tell you!" 
 
 In her excitement she heaved herself up by her 
 arms, half rising in her chair, as if to flee. But her 
 legs failed her, and she dropped back, panting, help- 
 lessly defiant. "Don't dare to touch me!" she re- 
 peated. 
 
 "Humph!" said Doctor Somers, rubbing his chin. 
 "Certainly not, dear lady. Don't distress yourself. 
 
-2^% THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 I won't come near you at all. But I can do one 
 thing to help you, anyhow. I'll borrow a shotgun 
 to-day, and in the morning after breakfast Peter 
 and I will go out together and kill those quail, so 
 they can't trouble you any more. They must have 
 nested in the bushes back there." 
 
 The old lady looked at him more kindly; but both 
 girls cried out at this offer. 
 'Oh, no!" said Dorothy. 
 
 'Oh, please don't!" implored the nurse. "Look 
 w^hat happened when Doctor Parker started to do 
 that. He got into just terrible trouble!" 
 
 Somers only laughed and rose. "Til run down 
 and see Parker," said he. "You'd better lie down, 
 Miss McGregor." 
 
 <<i 
 
 <<i 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 A BORROWED SHOTGUN 
 
 I DECIDED to accompany the physician, though 
 my night on the sleeper had left me pretty tired. 
 But I wanted to see Lewis; so we got out the faith- 
 ful flivver and drove downtown. 
 
 ''Hope the old chap's been well looked after," 
 said Somers, "I left the key with Wakefield before 
 we went. But no doubt Dorothy's been there every 
 day." 
 
 We stopped at the constable's house, got the lockup 
 key, and went on to the jail. Poor Lewis looked 
 ill, I thought. Confinement was wearing on his 
 high spirits; his greeting, though hearty enough, 
 was subdued. We told him of our trip to the moun- 
 tains, and its negative result. He shook his head 
 hopelessly. 
 
 ^'Mighty good of you both, but it was no use. 
 Nothing's any use now ; I can feel it ; I know it ! 
 Some dreadful fate is against me ; I'm doomed. 
 They'll convict me of this murder as surely as I sit 
 here." 
 
 "Lewis," said I impulsively, "Peter suggested that 
 perhaps you did kill Gaskell at four o'clock, then 
 cleaned the gun and came back, meaning to pretend 
 to discover the body. You — you didn't do tliat?" 
 
 He smiled sadly. "You see? Even Peter believes 
 I did it. And you had your doubts, unk. There's 
 
28o THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 no hope for me — none at all. No, Uncle George, 
 I didn't do that. If I shot Gaskell at all, it was 
 just as I told you: at five o'clock, and by accident. 
 I didn't even know he was there." 
 
 **Buck up, Parker," said Somers. "Things are 
 beginning to look bright for you." 
 
 Just vague optimism, I thought; and so did Lewis. 
 
 But before he could reply some one knocked on 
 the jail door. I unlocked it, and Wakefield appeared, 
 escorting the sheriff. 
 
 "Howdy, people! Mr. Uhlman, I hear you-all was 
 up to the hills recent?" 
 
 I nodded; and in response to his keen questioning, 
 Somers and I told him all that had transpired there. 
 
 "H'm," said he reflectively, fingering his absurd 
 white mustache. "H'm! So Satterfield an' Roarin' 
 Lafe was thereabouts 'at mornin'? Yeah, I kinda 
 s'picioned them two. Y' see, Gaskell come t' me 
 'bout th' cawn-liquor trade ; it was me sent word t' 
 Raleigh on his say-so. Yeah, I kinda reckoned mebbe 
 one or other o' them two mighta done 'at killin'. 
 But they claimed it wa'n't neither of 'em done it, 
 an' you-all believed 'em both, huh? H'm ! I done 
 studied about this here killin' a right smart, one time 
 an* another. I reckoned Vanbrugh was all wrong. 
 H'm! Well, gentlemen, I reckon you-all ain't a-goin' 
 t' need them depitty stars no longer. Y' see th' 
 county jail's 'bout fixed now. Oh, they's a right 
 smart o' work left — kinda sorry-lookin' place yit, all 
 scorched, but I reckon we better carry Doc Parker 
 over yonder ag'in. H'm! I better take them stars. 
 You-all c'n tell young McGregor he's resigned; he 
 
A BORROWED SHOTGUN 281 
 
 ain't a depitty no more. He c'n turn in his badge 
 to-morrow. Rufe here c'n keep 'at lockup key, an' 
 I'll send a reg'lar depitty over t' keep him comp'ny 
 an' carry th' doc t' jail ag'in to-morrow mornin'. 
 H'm! Good day!" He nodded slightly and waddled 
 out. 
 
 Lewis sighed dispiritedly. *'You see, unk! Red- 
 den was inclined to think me innocent until now. 
 He's been mighty decent. I suppose he thought the 
 bootleggers killed Gaskell, and was working quietly 
 along that line ; now he thinks I did it. Did you see 
 him look at me? And I'm to be treated like any 
 other prisoner awaiting trial." 
 
 We left him. After all, what comfort had we to 
 offer? Doctor Somers called after the retiring 
 constable. 
 
 **0h, Wakefield! Say, Rufe, got a shotgun you'll 
 lend me?" 
 
 The big man nodded slowly. **W'y, yes, doc," he 
 replied amicably. It was strange how Pinelands had 
 adopted Somers; already he was intimate with half 
 the town and every one liked him, as did this huge, 
 timorous, boastful constable. 
 
 *'W'y shore, I gotta gun — kind of a one, least- 
 ways. Jist let me lock up, and I'll git 'er, 'f you- 
 airil carry me home." 
 
 After a few minutes we returned to Fort House, 
 Somers holding in the crook of one long arm a 
 dilapidated double-barreled shotgun. 
 
 ''Not much to look at, as Rufe admitted," he re- 
 marked, displaying the weapon. *'But I guess she'll 
 shoot, and Peter's got lots of shells." 
 
282 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 It was a dubious-looking affair, whose stock had 
 been split and wound with tape and wire, both about 
 the grip and above the lock, where its barrels were 
 hinged. Somers broke it and peered down the 
 barrels. 
 
 "A bit rusty," he announced and snapped the 
 barrels into place. They dropped promptly back. 
 **And the catch doesn't work properly. I'll have to 
 watch out, or the old thing'll break when I fire it, 
 and I'll get beaned. But it will do, I expect." 
 
 We went on into the house. Aunt Mary was no- 
 where in sight, but the two girls fastened upon us at 
 once, demanding full details of our trip. "We didn't 
 dare say much about it before Aunt Mary," explained 
 Dorothy. ''She acts so queer when we talk about 
 the murder, and Peter is so aggravating. He just 
 keeps saying: 'Wait; let Somers tell it. He was 
 the hero!' So go ahead, doctor, and tell us!" 
 
 Somers told our tale, prompted now and again 
 while the two young women listened, spellbound. 
 
 "Satterfield showed us up," said he, "and the 
 bunch was just about to eat us alive when the revenue 
 agents stepped in and arrested all hands. We slid 
 down the mountain in the dark, and " 
 
 "Hold on!" interrupted Peter, grinning. "Let 
 me. No, doc, you've got to be a hero, that's all. The 
 government men came in and this Roaring Lafe, this 
 great beefy giant, climbed Somers here and got him 
 by the throat. 'I'm going to kill you, anyhow!' he 
 said. And nobody dared shoot, they thrashed about 
 so, and poor feeble old doc here was being choked to 
 death." 
 
A BORROWED SHOTGUN 283 
 
 He stopped, prolonging the suspense. ''Ah-h-h!" 
 sighed Anne. "Go on!" 
 
 "And what do you think the old skeleton did? 
 Why, just poked Roaring Lafe in the armpit and 
 paralyzed that arm; and then he up with that pistol 
 you gave him and tapped him on the back of his 
 head, just as gently, and Roaring Lafe drifted off 
 into dreamland, right away, quick. Behold the 
 hee-ro!'' 
 
 Somers looked annoyed. "It wasn't anything," he 
 said. "It's all in knowing where to hit 'em." 
 
 Anne Christie's big violet eyes hung upon him 
 almost reverently. This lanky doctor not only did 
 not fear Roaring Lafe, but he had vanquished him 
 in single combat by force of arms! He might have 
 been a demigod, so w^orshiping was her gaze. 
 
 "Look!" whispered Dorothy. "And he doesn't 
 even see it. Men are so blind ! Don't he know she's 
 in love with him?" 
 
 If he did he made no sign. He went calmly on 
 while the dull flush faded from his cheeks, telling 
 of the trip down the mountain, of our interview^ 
 with Rutledge at the jail. 
 
 "But — but," said Dorothy, "you s-sald it was all 
 right! You said you'd found out who killed Doctor 
 Gaskell, so Lewis could come home — and you didn't! 
 You haven't done a thing! Why, we're worse off 
 than we were before. Oh, dear; oh, dear!" 
 
 T have found out," declared Somers. "Just wait !" 
 'Wait?" she asked. "Wait? That's all you say 
 — wait, wait, wait! Oh, it's very easy for you to 
 wait; you're not in p-prison, and he's not your h-hus- 
 
 
284 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 band, either! I'm going to send for a lawyer — a 
 detective — somebody! Lewis shan't be c-convicted 
 before my eyes Hke this. Wait, you keep saying! 
 How much 1-longer must I wait?" 
 
 "Until to-morrow." 
 
 I started, looked at the lanky, imperturbable phy- 
 sician more closely. For all his external calm I saw 
 now that his strange, gray-green eyes shone with ex- 
 citement; that some inner fever twitched at his lean 
 hands and made them unsteady. What had he dis- 
 covered that was hidden from me? 
 
 "Oh-h! Honest?" asked Dorothy incredulously. 
 
 He nodded. ''Honest! Just wait until morning; 
 you'll see, unless Lm making a terrible mistake." 
 
 ''But — but who?" we all demanded, excitedly. 
 "Who did it, then?" 
 
 Somers grinned. "Closer!" he ordered and whis- 
 pered dramatically into our eager ears. 
 
 "I think it was — the Poltergeist!'* 
 
 And he would say no more. I was disgusted at 
 this ill-timed joking; with my nephew in the county 
 jail once more, awaiting trial for his life, this silly 
 jest seemed in bad taste, to say the least of it. But 
 there matters rested for the remainder of a most 
 unpleasant day. 
 
 Aunt Mary appeared at supper, looking very hag- 
 gard, but quite calm. She smiled wanly and talkecf 
 in a weak voice about spiritism. She quite ignored 
 this morning's outburst; and so did the rest of us. 
 
 But I was still more disi^usted with Somers when 
 he abandoned his pose of silly credulity and came out 
 flatly to proclaim an utter disbelief in all spiritistic 
 
A BORROWED SHOTGUN 28; 
 
 D 
 
 manifestations. What ailed the fellow? A few 
 hours ago he had not only lapped up Aunt Mary's 
 farrago, but had declared with every appearance of 
 sincerity that Gaskell had been murdered by a ghost; 
 now he announced, with a supercilious sneer, that 
 we had merely imagined the Poltergeist; that it was 
 absurd to suppose that any spirit could have dragged 
 Rosina's bedclothes off her, or destroyed Dorothy's 
 wedding dress. 
 
 We were all angry, I think, even Peter. 
 
 *'I suppose I imagined myself on the floor when 
 the thing dragged my chair from under me," he said. 
 
 Somers smiled maddeningly. "You went to sleep 
 and fell off." 
 
 "And how about my blankets?" I asked. "You 
 saw yourself they were gone from my bed." 
 
 "You walked in your sleep, no doubt, and carried 
 'em away." 
 
 "Do you think I'd sp-spoil my own wedding dress, 
 even if I was asleep?" asked Dorothy indignantly. 
 "Aud I suppose Rosina stuck pins into herself, too?" 
 
 "No doubt." Somers rose, still grinning. 
 "Ghosts!" said he. "Rot! There are no ghosts. 
 You folks dreamed or imagined most of this stuff, 
 and there's probably a very simple explanation for 
 the rest. Just superstition, that's all. You've exag- 
 gerated and dwelt upon these things until you're all 
 convinced a ghost did 'em, and you use all sorts of 
 trifles to bolster up your belief." 
 
 There was just enough truth in the charge to irri- 
 tate us all. Only Aunt Mary failed to protest, but 
 
286 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 the strangely vindictive look which she bent upon 
 Somers made me catch my breath. 
 
 'T shan't argue about it," she said coldly. '*I 
 only hope, Doctor Somers, that you may never suffer 
 for your disbelief. Sometimes the spirits resent 
 disbelief, doctor, and punish it!" 
 
 I shivered, there was such prophetic menace in her 
 tones, but Somers only smiled again. 
 
 "I'm going to bed early," he declared. *T left that 
 shotgun in the cupboard on the back porch. Don't 
 touch it, you girls; it's loaded. I'm about used up; 
 I'm going to sleep late if I can. But after breakfast 
 Peter and I will go a-hunting for bobwhites!" 
 
 "Don't!" begged Dorothy again. "If you do, I'm 
 just sure somebody will be killed. It's bad luck to 
 bunt those quail; I know it!" 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE poltergeist's LAST VISIT 
 
 I WENT to bed earl}-, as we all did. That was 
 a very tired household. Somers disappeared 
 directly after supper, and Aunt Mary followed half 
 an hour later. 
 
 Dorothy and Anne Christie, after the old lady had 
 been safely tucked in, returned to the living room 
 and sat with Peter and me for a while, trying dis- 
 mally to make talk. But, after two disturbed nights, 
 they were both dead for sleep. Dorothy nodded over 
 her embroidery, and Miss Christie wore again that 
 expression of bovine somnolence, which Somers' 
 medicine, or the events of this last month, had driven 
 away. And Peter and I were little better. 
 
 At last Miss Christie rose. 'Tt's no use,'* she 
 declared. "Vm going to bed. I — I feel as sleepy and 
 as stupid as I ever did before I began taking Doctor 
 Somers* tablets. If the Poltergeist should come back 
 to-night, I'd never know it — not unless he dragged 
 me out of bed. And then I'd just curl up on the 
 floor, I think. I'm so sleepy!" 
 
 It was not later than nine o'clock, but we were all 
 exhausted, and we allwent to bed. I abandoned my 
 half-formed design of sitting up to watch for the 
 Poltergeist. Let him come! I was too tired to care. 
 
 Peter, yawning up the stairs beside me, expressed 
 the same idea. *T thought I'd sit up," he said, ''and 
 watch for that darn ghost, just to prove Somers was 
 wrong, but I'm too sleepy." 
 
288 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Somers' door was closed, and no sound came from 
 behind it. Evidently he, too, had succumbed to the 
 need of rest. 
 
 I bade Dorothy and Peter a sleepy good night, and 
 in five minutes I was undressed and in bed, fathoms 
 deep in dreamless slumber. 
 
 A sudden wild shriek awakened me, such a scream 
 as would drag the soundest sleeper from his bed and 
 bring the cold sweat out upon his forehead, a scream 
 of mortal fear. It was Dorothy's voice! 
 
 Despite my rheumatism, I was out of bed and at 
 her door in two leaps. My heart was in my throat. 
 
 ''Dorothy !" I said. ^'Dorothy! What is it, child?" 
 
 She clutched me, trembling. '*0h," she said, shak- 
 ing pitifully. "Oh, dear! I— I can't " 
 
 "What is it?" Peter was beside me, shaking his 
 sister's arm. "What's happened? Are you all 
 right?" 
 
 "I — there's a s-snake in my bed!" 
 
 Came a soft pad of unshod feet, the swish of loose 
 garments, and Somers was beside us. Even in my 
 excitement I noticed and wondered at it — that he 
 came, not from his own room, but up the stairs. 
 
 "What?" he asked, with one flashing look at us. 
 "Unk, Pete" — he clutched our shoulders cruelly — 
 "tell me, is there a back stairway to this joint?" 
 
 We nodded dumbly, amazed at his query. 
 
 "Oh, scissors!" He wheeled and disappeared as 
 abruptly as he had come, I heard his bare feet 
 pounding down the stairs. 
 
 Peter switched on the lights, and all three of us 
 started back, laughing confusedly. 
 
THE POLTERGEIST'S LAST VISIT 289 
 
 "Oh, dear me!" said Dorothy, drawing her bath- 
 robe about her. 
 
 Peter looked at my pajamas and laughed con- 
 sumedly. "Those wide red stripes are frightfully 
 becoming, unkl" 
 
 I snorted. They were good linen pajamas, and I 
 had bought them very cheap because of those very 
 stripes. I am past the days of personal vanity. 
 
 "You're no beauty yourself in those purple things," 
 I replied resentfully. 
 
 Then we separated, but returned presently, 
 wrapped in dressing gowns, to investigate Dorothy's 
 bed. 
 
 Somers came back up the stairs. He, too, was in 
 a bathrobe and slippers, and he held one hand tightly 
 shut. 
 
 "Missed it," he said. "I didn't know about those 
 back stairs. What happened here?" 
 
 "A s-snake in my bed!" said the girl, shivering. 
 
 "Humph!" He threw back its covers. "Snake? 
 Ha! No wonder." 
 
 He clutched at the sheet. It was damp, and in its 
 center, right where poor Dorothy's back must have 
 been, was a long sliver of ice. 
 
 "Here's your snake," Somers declared. 
 
 "I don't care!" replied Dorothy. "It was just like 
 a snake, long and cold and clammy. Br-r-r!" 
 
 He picked up the piece of ice and carried it to the 
 bathroom. "Well, your snake's gone. Miss any- 
 thing from the room?" 
 
 "Nun-no," she repeated wonderingly. Then she 
 went to the dresser and looked about a moment. "I 
 
290 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 do, too! My wedding ring and my diamond! Oh, 
 dear, my rings are gone!" 
 
 "Here," said Somers, opening his hand. His 
 strange eyes danced brightly. Triumph showed in 
 every Hne of his face. In his palm lay both rings. 
 
 "Oh, you dear man! Where were they? And 
 now you believe in the Poltergeist, don't you?" 
 
 "I found them in — in the hall. And as for the 
 ghost — why, we will get Aunt Mary to explain that 
 later. Can you go back to sleep now?" 
 
 The girl nodded doubtfully. *T — I think so, if all 
 of you will leave your doors wide open?" 
 
 "Fm going to sit up," said Somers, and Dorothy, 
 somewhat reassured, turned to her bed as we went 
 out. 
 
 The physician entered his own room. We heard 
 him whistle shrilly. "Come here, you chaps!" he 
 called softly. 
 
 Peter and I went in. And there, driven deep 
 through coverlet and sheets, right into the mattress, 
 was a carving knife! 
 
 "Humph!" said Somers. "Looks like the Polter- 
 geist wasn't entirely harmless, don't it? In the dark 
 he must have thought I was in bed." 
 
 Not without difficulty he pulled out the seven-inch 
 blade. It would have pierced his body, had he been 
 sleeping there! 
 
 'Where were you?" I whispered. 
 'Me? On the stairs, watching for the Poltergeist. 
 Those back stairs fooled me." And he would say no 
 more, except, "I found those rings just outside Aunt 
 Mary's door." 
 
 
THE POLTERGEIST'S LAST VISIT 291 
 
 ct^ 
 
 Maybe the ghost visited her, too!" I cried, 
 alarmed. "Run down and see, Peter. We forgot 
 the poor old lady.'' 
 
 "Humph!" said Somers. "She's good friends with 
 the ghost, but go anyhow, Peter." 
 
 Peter went. "Sound asleep, she says," he reported. 
 "Didn't hear anything. I went right in; Miss 
 Christie w^as dead to the world; didn't hear me 
 knock." 
 
 "Go to bed," directed Somers. "No, nothing more 
 to-night. Things are going very nicely. In the 
 morning this ought to be cleared up." 
 
 So we went back to bed, despairing of further in- 
 formation, but I could not sleep. 
 
 I lay there w^ide-eyed through the long, black 
 hours, wondering — wondering. Who — what was this 
 specter, this Poltergeist? If Somers had been in his 
 bed to-night, it would have killed him; had it killed 
 Gaskell, also? And what did Aunt Mary know of 
 the grisly thing? Aunt Mary would explain, Somers 
 had said. 
 
 The old lady's bed faced the wdndow, I remem- 
 bered, and that window looked out upon the tangle 
 of scrub oaks, where Gaskell had met his death. It 
 must have been light, even at four o'clock. Had 
 Aunt Mary been awake that morning? And if so, 
 what had she seen ? And why had she kept it secret ? 
 There were huge cellars under the old house, I knew% 
 cellars long unexplored. 
 
 Had Gaskell's murderer come to the wdndow? 
 What whispered colloquy had been held, there in the 
 gray dawn, between the paralytic and this stranger, 
 
292 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 this grisly ghost of the murderous hands? Had the 
 old lady recognized him, shielded him, told him where 
 to hide, perhaps, in those long closed cellars, where 
 she might have played as a child? Fort House w^as 
 an old home of the McGregors ; in the days of Doro- 
 thy's grandfather, Aunt Mary might well have visited 
 it, explored its vast underground caverns, where 
 wines had once been stored. 
 
 And what — who — was this murderer, then, whom 
 she had shielded, who had wandered about Fort 
 House of nights, screaming horridly, eating from 
 the pantry, breaking dishes, playing ghostly tricks, 
 stabbing, as he had meant to, an innocent guest? 
 I went cold at the picture in my imagination. Some 
 lunatic, some secret, stealthy madman, who might 
 yet slaughter us all! 
 
 I sat up in bed, straining my ears, glad of the 
 pistol I had rummaged out at home, and which still 
 lay in my bag. I got it out, resolved to keep vigil. 
 If this Poltergeist, this madman, came back, I would 
 protect Dorothy at least. And in the morning we 
 would hunt, not harmless quail in the back yard, but 
 a w^anton murderer through the cellars. 
 
 The hours wore on, and dawn came slowly. As 
 the east turned gray, the quail piped up their matu- 
 tinal song. 
 
 ''Bohzvhite! Bohwhite!" they whistled; louder, 
 closer, than ever before. 
 
 So shrill was their continual outcry, and so close 
 beneath me, that at last I tiptoed to the window. 
 Perhaps I might see them, locate their nests, against 
 
THE POLTERGEIST'S LAST VISIT 293 
 
 our later hunting. I swung back the screen and put 
 out my head, peering almost straight down. 
 
 ''Bohzi'hite ! Bobwhite! Bohzv kite!'' they piped 
 at three-second intervals, regular as a clock and sur- 
 prisingly loud and close. 
 
 And then I gasped and almost fell out of the 
 window. These were no birds ! The cry of quail 
 was counterfeited so exactly that I could scarcely be- 
 lieve my eyes; instead of a little brown bird, Floyd 
 Somers crouched beneath Aunt Mary's window, 
 diagonally below my own, his long, lean legs gro- 
 tesquely folded under him, his thin lips pursed. From 
 his lips, at regular, three-second intervals, came the 
 shrill cry of the bobwhite quail, exactly imitated ! 
 
 This childish buffoonery angered me sorely. What 
 ailed the man? Had he no appreciation of what 
 hung over us? In the midst of the dark shadow 
 which covered Fort House, before the very eyes, per- 
 haps, of a lurking, murderous madman, he could find 
 nothing better to do than play this puerile practical 
 joke upon a helpless old woman. 
 
 **What are you doing, man? Stop it!" I shouted 
 wrathfully. 
 
 He looked up, in no way abashed, and gestured 
 vigorously for silence. Despite my rage, his desper- 
 ate earnestness, his frantic signs for secrecy, closed 
 my lips. Wondering mightily, I huddled into a few 
 things and hurried downstairs and around the house. 
 
 Somers still crouched beneath the east window, 
 whistling with all his might: ''Bohzuhite! Bohwhite!" 
 I blundered through the honeysuckle vines toward 
 him. 
 
294 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "Shut up, man!" he said to me and clutched my 
 shoulder to draw me down beside him. ''Want to 
 spoil everything?" he demanded, his lips close to my 
 ear. "She'll hear you. Shut up, I say, and watch!" 
 
 I subsided, born down, if not convinced, by his 
 angry sincerity. Whatever his purpose, this was no 
 silly joke; I could see that much. There was some 
 deep-laid, important plan beneath this foolery. 
 
 ''Bobzi''hiter he whistled. ''BohzMter 
 
 A faint movement came from within the open 
 window, and a weak, querulously patient voice said : 
 "Miss Christie' Nurse!" 
 
 Somers held his breath; then, remembering, 
 whistled the quail's call louder than before. "If 
 she'll only stay asleep, or pretend to be asleep, as I 
 told her!" he exclaimed. "Bohwhite!'' 
 
 Asleep or not, the nurse made no answer. Aunt 
 Mary called again tentatively, then querulously. Still 
 the nurse made no reply. 
 
 "Ah-h !" sighed Somers. Gripping my arm fiercely, 
 he whistled louder yet: ''Bohzvhite! Bohzvhite!'' 
 
 I could not believe my ears. Within, the nurse's 
 quiet breathing ran on unchanged, almost a snore. 
 Surely she was asleep! Yet I heard footsteps, the 
 unmistakable padding of bare feet across the floor ! 
 What — who — could it be? The murderer? 
 
 "I'll kill those miserable birds myself!'' 
 
 That was Mary McGregor's voice! And she 
 seemed to be alone. What could she be doing? 
 The patter of bare feet, scarcely audible, faded away. 
 I heard a door open and close stealthily. 
 
 Somers erected himself, his long legs straightening 
 
THE POLTERGEIST'S LAST VISIT 295 
 
 telescopically. He peered in the window. "Look!" 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 On my very tiptoes, straining higher, craning my 
 neck, I looked. Aunt Mary's bed was empty! She 
 was nowhere in sight! And I saw the edge of Anne 
 Christie's bed in the inner room, and a long braid 
 of blond hair hung over it toward the floor. 
 
 "Down!" ordered Somers. "Quick!" 
 
 He dragged me back just in time. I caught one 
 furtive glimpse of Mary McGregor, indubitably erect, 
 walking, upon her two paralyzed legs, like any other 
 person. And her face, not sweet or patient now, was 
 distorted with maniacal rage. She carried a shot- 
 gun! 
 
 I ducked below the window ledge, stunned with 
 amazement. Right over my head I heard the grating 
 of a gun barrel against the window screen, a mut- 
 tered exclamation, the tremendous zvhain of black 
 powder! A burning gun w^ad scorched my hand; 
 bird shot pattered in the leaves behind us; Somers 
 dragged me away. 
 
 "Quick!" he said. "You saw% you heard? Run, 
 before she has time to hide it!" 
 
 I raced round the house beside him. "What — 
 w^hat does it mean?" I asked. "Why, she's para- 
 lyzed! Is she crazy, or am I?" 
 
 *'Mean? It means that the Poltergeist has made 
 its last appearance," answered Somers. "Now!" 
 
 We were in the house, through the long, crooked 
 hall, at Aunt Mary's closed door. Without waiting 
 to knock, he burst in. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE FINAL EXPLANATION 
 
 AUNT MARY McGregor lay quietly in her 
 bed, propped with pillows. Her drawn face 
 wore a look of sweet resignation; she was gazing 
 absently out of the open window. The place was so 
 still, so peaceful; the old lady's expression was so 
 calm; the illusion of a quiet sick room was so com- 
 plete that I almost doubted what my eyes and ears 
 had just told me. 
 
 Only the ragged hole in the window screen, 
 through which that charge of bird shot had just 
 poured, and the drifting, pungent cloud of black 
 powder smoke, which still filled the air, convinced me 
 that I had not dreamed. The shotgun was nowhere 
 in sight. 
 
 As we burst in, Anne Christie was just emerging 
 from her inner room, struggling into a bathrobe, so 
 quickly had we come. Aunt Mary turned at our 
 entry, her thin eyebrows raised, as for a patient re- 
 buke at this disturbance. Then she saw Somers. 
 She stared at him dumbly for an instant, with bulg- 
 ing eyes and horrified, unbelieving face. '^Yoii!'* 
 she exclaimed. "You!" 
 
 Somers nodded brusquely. "Quite so! You see, 
 I wasn't in bed when you came in last night." 
 
 The old lady wet her colorless lips. *T — I d-don't 
 understand," she whispered. "What — what does 
 this — this impudent intrusion mean?" 
 
THE FINAL EXPLANATION 297 
 
 It was a weak attempt at bluster. The physician 
 ignored it. 'Tt's no use, Aunt Mary/' he rephed al- 
 most kindly. His eyes pitied her. "You can't get 
 away with it this time. I saw you myself, and 
 Uhlman, here, saw you, too. We saw you get out 
 of bed and go after that gun; we saw you shoot out 
 of the window at the quail." 
 
 ''Gun?" asked Aunt Mary, stubbornly uncompre- 
 hending. "What gun? I was asleep. There's no 
 gun here." 
 
 By this time Peter was pounding in, Dorothy at 
 his heels. "What now?" he demanded. 
 
 "Oh, what is it?" asked the girl. "Has anybody 
 been killed this time?" 
 
 With one backward-flung hand, Somers gestured 
 for silence. His gray-green eyes were steady upon 
 the old lady. 
 
 "No use," he repeated inexorably. "The gun's 
 right in this room somewhere; you didn't have time 
 to take it out again. It's hidden here; in your bed, 
 perhaps. Shall I find it, or will you?" 
 
 Aunt Mary's black eyes fell before his steady gaze. 
 "Spare me that, at least!" she said petulantly. "You 
 may burst in on me as you did; I can't prevent that, 
 helpless as I am, and my own flesh and blood" — 
 with a vicious look at poor Peter — "won't even try 
 to save me from such insolence! But you needn't go 
 further; you needn't search my bed!" 
 
 Leaning forward she reached a slim, veined hand 
 beneath the covers to bring out Rufus Wakefield's 
 battered shotgun, still smoking faintly. A fresh reek 
 of burned powder filled the room. 
 
298 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 We all gasped, staring at her with shocked in- 
 comprehension. Even now the thing seemed incredi- 
 ble! 
 
 "Aunt — Ma-ry!" whispered Dorothy. *'Hovv — 
 what have you done?" 
 
 The old lady began to weep helplessly. "Nun- 
 nothing!" she wailed. "Dorothy — Peter — will you 
 stand there and see your poor, paralyzed aunt in- 
 sulted like this? Send this insolent person out; 
 make him let me alone!" 
 
 Somers shook his head. His dark face was very 
 pitiful; I think he felt for this poor old wretch even 
 more than did the rest of us. 
 
 "Come," he urged. "Don't make this any harder. 
 Let's get it over with! You were the Poltergeist, 
 weren't you?" 
 
 Aunt Mary only sobbed. 
 
 "Weren't you ?" 
 
 Dropping her hands, she disclosed a haggard, tear- 
 streaked face, as she turned upon us, not without 
 dignity. "If you must have it — yes!" she said. 
 "Yes! I was the Poltergeist. It was easy, so easy! 
 You were so stupid, all of you; you never even 
 guessed. And this stupid, sleepy, worthless nurse" 
 — with a bitter glance at poor Anne — "lay there and 
 snored and never knew! I slipped in and out — I 
 broke dishes — I ate my fill from the pantry. None 
 of you cared if I was hungry; not one of you would 
 offer me a bite to eat! I helped myself." 
 
 "\\'hy. Aunt Mary!" said Dorothy. "You know 
 we just begged you and coaxed you, and you always 
 
THE FINAL EXPLANATION 299 
 
 said your appetite was so delicate! All the pies and 
 cakes and jam and candy — did you eat them, too?" 
 
 The old lady swept on, unheeding. "No one in 
 this house ever paid me the attention I deserved. 
 That was my revenge ; I served you out for neglecting 
 me! Where's your wedding finery now, my girl? 
 Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 She gave a wild, screeching laugh; it made me 
 shudder. Surely this was a maniac who confronted 
 us, hunched there on the bed, her shaking hands play- 
 ing about the stock of a shotgun ! 
 
 *T made a fine ghost!" she exulted. "It was sport 
 — such sport!" 
 
 Doctor Somers groaned aloud. "Poor thing, oh, 
 poor thing!" I heard him whisper. And then aloud 
 he asked: "And you shot Doctor Gaskell, didn't 
 you ?" 
 
 Her head went up and back in that old, proud 
 gesture. "He — he insulted me — insulted a poor, 
 helpless paralytic! He laughed, and I told you. I 
 just begged of you to drive those miserable quail 
 away. I told you they would set me crazy; and 
 Peter paid no attention. Nobody paid any attention 
 at all. Doctor Parker promised to shoot them, but 
 I knew he didn't mean it. Why, that morning they 
 w^histled and whistled for hours! I waited and 
 waited; nobody came, nobody stirred, nobody cared 
 if they drove me mad! At last I got up, helpless 
 as I was and paralyzed." 
 
 She paused abruptly, seeming for the first time 
 to be conscious of the incongruity of a paralytic 
 getting up and walking about. 
 
300 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 *'I — sometimes my affliction leaves me for a few 
 minutes/' she faltered. 'T got up and went out — 
 a poor, helpless old woman — to do what these hulk- 
 ing men should have done for me, if they'd been 
 men at all! Peter's gun stood on the back porch; I 
 loaded it. Oh, when I was a girl, I used to be a 
 good shot ! That was before I was paralyzed. 
 
 "I went out back, into the scrub oaks. It was day- 
 light, though the sun wasn't up. And there I met 
 Doctor Gaskell. He — he insulted me; he laughed! 
 He asked me if I'd recovered from my paralysis, and 
 he laughed! He — he called me an old f-faker! The 
 cad! And I answered him as a high-spirited gentle- 
 woman should answer such an insult!" 
 
 She paused, looking down at the shotgun in her 
 lap. All this while she had been handling it un- 
 consciously, as it seemed; breaking its breech, ex- 
 tracting the empty shell, playing with the undis- 
 charged cartridge. As she sat there, all hunched in 
 the bed, her thin face distorted with unlovely pas- 
 sions, she looked like a particularly unpleasant old 
 witch. Her cheeks were all sunken; without her 
 false teeth her mouth seemed to have fallen in, so 
 that high-bridge nose and pointed chin almost touched 
 each other. 
 
 Then she raised her head to cast an evil glance at 
 Doctor Somers. "1 hurried back," she went on 
 monotonously. "I cleaned the gun — oh, I knew how. 
 well enough — and put it where I'd found it; then 
 came to my room. Everybody was asleep, even this 
 stupid nurse. She hadn't heard anything; she never 
 heard anything. Blockhead ! I was safe, quite safe. 
 
THE FINAL EXPLANATION 301 
 
 Nobody could §uspect. It was the birds — devils, 
 rather. They knew; they'd seen it all! And they 
 perched outside my windows every morning before 
 daybreak and whistled, whistled, whistled; they 
 weren't birds. They were devils, I tell you — devils, 
 accusing me! They have driven me mad at last! 
 And then you had to mix in, you, Somers! Ah-h-h, 
 how I hate you! Sneaking and watching and spy- 
 ing on me! If only I could have killed you in the 
 night, as I meant to! I'd have been safe then. But, 
 no, you had to keep it up, you and those birds. You 
 plotted this against me, you and the birds together. 
 They helped you, I know! I heard them just now, 
 outside my window, mocking me, accusing me, call- 
 ing you to come and betray me. But you shan't 
 profit by it!'* 
 
 As rage overpowered her, she ceased to make any 
 pretense of palsy, but slid her lean shanks out of 
 the bed and stood erect, facing her unmasker, her 
 face distorted with hate. And now, before we 
 could move, before we could cry out, she snapped 
 the breech of the gun she still held, jerked it to her 
 shoulder, and pulled the trigger. 
 
 I heard the click of the hammer upon an empty 
 shell, and still we stood motionless, all but Anne 
 Christie. With one smothered scream she leaped 
 wildly forward, threw herself upon Floyd Somers' 
 breast, shielding his body with her own. She moved 
 with the speed of desperate love. Before we others 
 could intervene, while my arm was still outstretched, 
 and Peter was leaning forward, the second trigger 
 moved. I saw the hammer fall; the bass roar of the 
 
302 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 explosion, doubly loud in that confined space, rang 
 deafeningly in our ears. 
 
 It all happened so swiftly that I must set down, 
 one after another, a dozen things which happened 
 all at once. 
 
 Even as the old lady fired at Somers, protected 
 by Anne Christie's body, the gun seemed to leap in 
 her hands, to break apart. A blinding cloud of blue 
 smoke spurted out from its breach, hiding Aunt Mary 
 from us for an instant. The gun barrels, instead of 
 pointing at her victim, swung downward at a sharp 
 angle ; birdshot rolled down them and pattered on the 
 floor. With them came a burning gun wad, upon 
 which Peter trod mechanically. And Aunt Mary, 
 the broken gun still clutched in her blackened hands, 
 dropped back across the bed and lay very still, in a 
 lessening cloud of smoke. 
 
 Doctor Somers freed himself gently from the 
 nurse's swooning grip, set her in a chair, and stepped 
 forward. He leaned over the old lady and touched 
 her left temple with a steady hand. Her face was 
 quite unmarred and very peaceful; only upon the left 
 temple w^as a little blue bruise. Beside her head lay 
 an empty shell. 
 
 ''She's quite dead," said the doctor softly, and he 
 drew a corner of the sheet over that quiet face. 
 
 ''She didn't quite lock the breech," he went on, 
 picking up the battered shotgun. "I told you last 
 night, unk, it didn't work properly. When she closed 
 the breech, this catch failed to take hold, and the kick 
 broke it open again, so the shell drove backward out 
 of the breech and struck her in the temple." 
 
THE FINAL EXPLANATION 303 
 
 He straightened, sighing deeply. "I want you-all 
 to listen/' he told us impressively, "and remember 
 this, whenever you think about Miss McGregor: she 
 wasn't to blame! She wasn't responsible for her 
 acts; she was insane. Think of her as kindly as you 
 can, all of you. Poor soul! She's dead now; she's 
 paid for everything. Remember, don't blame her, any 
 of you — ever! She wasn't responsible." 
 
 Spoken at that time and place, the words struck 
 deep, as he knew they would, I suppose. And I think 
 that our memories of the poor woman have all been 
 kindlier for them. It was a gentle, knightly speech 
 from the man whom she had tried to murder twice 
 in four hours. 
 
 "But — but I don't understand yet,'' put in Dorothy. 
 Indeed all of us shared her bewilderment, I think. 
 "Aunt Mary did it — she shot Doctor Gaskell, I sup- 
 pose, since she admitted it. But how, why, and how 
 did you find out?" 
 
 "Come out into the living room and I'll explain," 
 he said. "It's all clear enough now." 
 
 We trooped out after him; a motley crowd we 
 must have made, too. Somers was fully dressed; 
 at least he wore tennis shoes, an old pair of flannel 
 trousers, and Peter's jersey, which made his lean 
 torso more unbelievably skinny than ever. But the 
 rest of us were in advanced negligee. I wore 
 trousers; Peter had only a bathrobe over his pa- 
 jamas; both the girls were in kimonos, with hair in 
 braids down their backs. We were a ludicrous sight, 
 no doubt, but none of us had the heart to laugh. 
 
 "As soon as I heard about the Poltergeist," Somers 
 
304 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 began, *T suspected Aunt Mary. Such tricks always 
 indicate that there's an hysterical person somewhere 
 about. This 'Poltergeist* stuff and the witchcraft, 
 that dozens of harmless old women were burned alive 
 for, not so many centuries ago — they're all the work 
 of hystericals. Such cases delight in mystifying 
 people, scaring them, playing queer, malicious tricks 
 on them, and all that. It's been a well-recognized 
 sign of hysteria for fifty years. So as soon as I 
 heard of the Poltergeist, I began to look for an hys- 
 terical, and that led straight to Atmt Mary; she had 
 all the earmarks. 
 
 *T concluded right away that her paralysis was 
 hysterical, too, or she couldn't get about to play 
 ghost. Palsies are common enough in hysteria, you 
 know. I don't mean that she faked it consciously; 
 she w^as really paralyzed. That is, she couldn't move 
 her legs because she believed she couldn't. She didn't 
 pretend. At night she'd get out of bed in a state 
 of hysterical somnambulism and go about playing 
 ghost; but, when she got back to bed, she'd forget 
 all about that. When she was fully awake she was 
 paralyzed; she couldn't move, and Pve no doubt that 
 she used to believe in the Poltergeist as firmly as any 
 of you. 
 
 *'She was in the same state, no doubt, when she 
 went out with Peter's shotgun that morning. The 
 quail disturbed her, and she thought, as far as sleep- 
 walkers do think, she'd only to go out and point ^ 
 gun to kill them. She knew that shotgun was on the 
 back porch, didn't she?" 
 
 I nodded. 'T left it out there for Lewis," I ex- 
 
THE FINAL EXPLANATION 305 
 
 plained. ''He was to come over early for it. And 
 I remember Aunt Mary sent for me, when I was 
 going to bed, to ask where it was, and if it was 
 safe." 
 
 "Quite so." Somers paused, scowling ruefully. 
 "I've been frightfully stupid all through this thing!" 
 he declared. "I knew Miss McGregor was hysteri- 
 cal; why, those 'knots in her neck' alone would have 
 proved that. I was convinced she was playing ghost, 
 just as one takes any unimportant thing for granted 
 without stopping to verify it. But it never occurred 
 to me that, if she could get up to play ghost, she 
 could have got up to shoot Gaskell, too. The 
 idea never entered my head until 'Roaring Lafe' 
 Rutledge told us about the 'ha'nt' he saw. We owe 
 him that, anyhow. And you chaps were pretty 
 peeved with me afterward, when I said I thought 
 it was the Poltergeist killed Gaskell, weren't you?" 
 
 He gave us a fleeting glance and went on. "So 
 Aunt Mary got up very quietly and w^ent out after 
 the shotgun. Your sleepiness, your hypothyroidism, 
 Anne, made it very handy for her; she wasn't afraid 
 of waking you, and I suppose she was getting bolder. 
 All her ghost tricks had gone unsuspected — who 
 could suspect a paralytic of running about the house 
 of nights? — and she figured she could even go out 
 and let off a shotgun and get away with it; that is, 
 if she thought about it at all, in this somnambulistic 
 state of hers. 
 
 "Well, out she went, got the gun, loaded it, and 
 went on into the brush, just about the time Gaskell 
 entered it, I suppose. It must have been then that 
 
3o6 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 Rutledge saw her and was scared off. And then she 
 met Doctor Gaskell face to face, out there. I won- 
 der which of them was more startled? The shock 
 wakened her, I suppose, and there she was, suddenly 
 face to face with herself. It's a terrible thing for 
 anybody, that — to have all one's little self-deceptions 
 and hypocrisies stripped away in an instant, to see 
 how one's been fooling one's self! And it is more 
 terrible still for an hysterical, whose self-deceptions 
 are deepest and most fully a part of the personality. 
 
 ''There she was, compelled for once to admit to 
 herself that she was an old faker, that she wasn't 
 paralyzed after all— or how could she be out there, 
 standing up? I don't know what happened, of 
 course, or what Gaskell said. Something indiscreet, 
 it must have been, or the old lady would have 
 dropped down right there. Her paralysis would have 
 returned as soon as she waked up, and she'd have 
 had to be carried back to bed. But he said some- 
 thing, taunted her, I suppose; told her he knew all 
 the time she was faking and wasn't really paralyzed 
 at all. And he laughed at her. That was very un- 
 wise; if he'd been used to handling the insane he 
 never would have laughed. 
 
 **She was holding a loaded shotgun, and there was 
 the only man on earth who knew her secret, who 
 could expose her double life. And to have her secret 
 known would destroy all the sympathy, all the ad- 
 miration which she'd worked for so patiently these 
 fourteen years and more. And Gaskell laughed! 
 
 *'Well, anger and excitement kept her up, I sup- 
 pose, and enabled her to forget her paralysis for the 
 
THE FINAL EXPLANATION 307 
 
 moment. She shot him; raced back to the house, 
 cleaned the gun, and put it where she found it; 
 ran to her room and popped back into bed, with her 
 heart racing horribly, I suppose. And there her 
 paralysis came back. Two minutes later she couldn't 
 have stood on her feet any more than a real, organic 
 paralytic. 
 
 **The thing preyed on her, of course, tormented her 
 conscience. You noticed the change; you all spoke 
 of it, how she grew more irritable, more selfish and 
 exacting, every day. And Lewis' arrest made it 
 worse, of course. She had a hard time, poor, crazy 
 old woman! But, after she had killed one man to 
 preserve her pitiful secret, one could hardly expect 
 her to betray it, just to save the life of another. She 
 hoped, no doubt, that Lewis would be acquitted; but 
 most of all she hoped that she wouldn't be suspected. 
 I knew she was uneasy about me; she was afraid I 
 might guess, and you remember what a scene she 
 made when I tried to examine her. She feared I'd 
 discover, as Gaskell had, that she could walk after 
 all. The whole thing preyed on her and made her 
 more restless of nights; it brought on new attacks 
 of somnambulism, and the Poltergeist grew more 
 active. Her fears of me worked on her unconscious 
 mind until last night she tried to kill me with a 
 knife." 
 
 "Ah-h-h!" gasped Anne Christie. For neither of 
 the girls knew of that carving knife which had trans- 
 fixed Somers' empty bed. *'Ah, my dear!" 
 
 The physician took her hand. 'T wasn't there, 
 Anne," said he gently. "I was up, watching the 
 
3o8 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 stairs; I hoped the Poltergeist might make its ap- 
 pearance last night. That's why I was so rude at 
 supper and told everybody I didn't believe in it. I 
 hoped that, if Aunt Mary thought me a skeptic, the 
 Poltergeist might come up to convince me. But I 
 hardly looked for a carving knife! 
 
 "It worked, though," he went on. ''The ghost 
 walked, but she got away from me. I didn't know 
 about the back stairs, and she must have slipped 
 down that way, while I ran up the front ones. I 
 nearly had her at that; she dropped your rings, 
 Dorothy, just as she was sliding through the door. 
 
 ''Well, I had proved to myself, then, that Aunt 
 Mary was the ghost, but I hadn't caught her. And 
 I knew that, unless I did, it was quite useless to ask 
 for a confession. So I went on with this other 
 plan. You know how the quail annoyed her all 
 along; it was that started this whole dreadful affair. 
 And lately they worried her even more; she thought 
 they were accusing her, as she said just now. So 
 I borrowed this gun and left it on the porch, right 
 where the other had been, and spoke about it at 
 supper, to make sure she knew. Then this morning 
 I hid right outside her window and imitated the 
 whistle of a quail. It was the same situation, you 
 see, and I hoped it might arouse the same reaction. 
 
 "It did. You were there, too, Uncle George. I 
 whistled and whistled; at last we heard the old lady 
 call. Anne didn't answer; she was too sleepy, I 
 suppose. But I told her last night to pretend to be 
 asleep anyway, whatever happened. At last, satis- 
 fied that she was safe. Aunt Mary got up and went 
 
THE FINAL EXPLANATION 309 
 
 after the gun, just as I'd hoped she would. She 
 didn't come outdoors, as I'd expected; she was too 
 upset, too irrational to realize, I suppose, that some 
 one would surely hear if she fired from her win- 
 dow. All she knew was that a quail was just 
 outside, and she must silence it somehow. When she 
 shot, Uncle George and I ran in; you know the rest." 
 
 Dorothy relaxed with a tired sigh. *'Oh, dear!" 
 she whispered. "Fm so tired, so kind of stunned and 
 numb! I don't know what to think. I ought to be 
 sorry, but all I can feel is a sense of relief. Lewis 
 free, no more Poltergeist, and no more Aunt Mary 
 to complain all the time. Oh, dear me, it's horrid, 
 it's unnatural!" 
 
 Poor child ! She had been through so much. This 
 last tragedy had stunned her; she had no emotions 
 left. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 MATING TIME 
 
 WE had my nephew home with us that very day. 
 Somers and I went to the State soHcitor, 
 Toby Vanbrugh, with our tale, and he marked Lewis 
 Parker's indictment, ''nolle pros," with a very bad 
 grace. It was hard upon him, after all, to see his 
 big case collapse like a pricked bubble. He had built 
 high hopes upon the prosecution of the case of the 
 people against C. Lewis Parker; he had seen himself 
 well advertised by its prosecution, elected, perhaps, 
 State senator upon the strength of it, with who 
 knows what further political advancement beyond, 
 governor — United States senator! He had a healthy 
 opinion of his abilities, had the Honorable Toby 
 \^anbrugh. And now all that was gone; in the face 
 of Miss McGregor's ante-mortem statement, vouched 
 for by five witnesses, he could do no less than drop 
 the case, and he knew it. 
 
 On the whole, the newspapers were as kind as we 
 could have expected. One or two of them played the 
 case up, for it was a unique news story; but that will 
 pass soon enough, I trust, and poor, demented Aunt 
 Mary will be left to rest quietly beneath her modest 
 headstone, where the bobwhites, that whistle in the 
 quiet cemetery through long spring mornings, can 
 disturb her no more. 
 
 It was two days after the tragic denouement of 
 
MATING TIME 311 
 
 onr mystery, and Dorothy and Lewis, reunited, sat 
 hand in hand in the big Hving room of Fort House. 
 The slanting sun cast long yellow beams through its 
 western windows and played lovingly on the girl's 
 black hair, so that red, coppery lights glinted in it. 
 
 To them entered Peter McGregor and I. ''Well^ 
 Dot," said her brother cheerfully, *T suppose you'll 
 be leaving us now?" 
 
 Dorothy nodded. "We'll be in our own little 
 house to-morrow. Rosina's over there now, scrub- 
 bing and cleaning, until your life isn't safe for it. 
 And she's promised to have breakfast waiting for us 
 there in the morning." 
 
 "Well," he sighed, "it'll be lonely here, but I sup- 
 pose you're not sorry to leave Fort House." 
 
 The girl shivered. "No; w'e w^ere happy here 
 
 once, but everything seems so changed. I miss " 
 
 She stopped, biting her lips, and I knew she thought 
 of poor old Aunt Mary, in some way lovable for all 
 her selfishness, whom we had laid to rest in the 
 churchvard that afternoon. 
 
 Peter sighed again. "Poor Aunt Mary! She did 
 terrible things; she made us all suffer; but, after all, 
 she wasn't to blame." 
 
 So we all felt; she had been irresponsible. Doc- 
 tor Somers' kindly judgment, delivered over her 
 dead body in that east bedroom, had had its effect. 
 We remembered the old lady kindly enough, as the 
 puppet of her ow^n mad impulses, more to be pitied 
 than blamed. 
 
 "Well," said I more briskly, "you two are fixed. 
 You're safely married, even if you didn't have a 
 
312 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 big wedding, and all ready to settle down in your 
 own home. And Somers, I suppose, will be going 
 North again presently. But what will Anne Christie 
 do?" 
 
 Dorothy gave me a pitying, superior glance. "Oh, 
 you men!" she said. "Listen!" ^ 
 
 We listened obediently, and we heard faint voices 
 drifting in through the open southern windows, 
 which faced the front porch. 
 
 "I'll be going back to the hospital now, I suppose." 
 That was Doctor Somers' brusque voice; it sounded 
 rather less than pleased. 
 
 A faint-heard sigh. "Must you go?" Miss 
 Christie's low tones were wistfully tremulous. I 
 must strain to hear. 
 
 "Must I? Why, not for another fortnight. 
 Why?" 
 
 "Because — because I " 
 
 'Anne! Do you want me to stay?" 
 'Oh, the idiot!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Does she?" 
 'Hush, Dot!" And we all listened frankly. 
 'I — I don't want you to go," whispered Anne 
 Christie. 
 
 "Anne, dear!" There was a tiny rustle, as if he 
 had moved closer. "I'm thirty-eight years old, a 
 battered, skinny, homely brute " 
 
 "You are not !" 
 
 "A grotesque-looking creature, almost middle- 
 aged, and just starting my chosen work. I've frit- 
 tered away years and years, just studying, working 
 on a small salary when I might have been earning 
 big money for my wife." 
 
 
MATING TIME 313 
 
 "For your w-wife?" 
 
 "Yes, when I get one. And here I am, with my 
 best years gone, Httle better than a failure.'* 
 
 ''You're not! You're just wonderful, the most 
 wonderful man I ever saw or dreamed of 1" 
 Better than Doctor Gaskell, even?" 
 Of course! And," very wistfully, "I h-hope 
 you'll be very happy with your w-wife, whoever she 
 is!" 
 
 Humph!" A characteristic snort, expressing dis- 
 gust of this evasion, this edging about a topic. 
 Anne Christie, will you marry me?" 
 
 I'm only a poor mountain girl, and my father's 
 in prison for making moonshine liquor!" 
 Stepfather!" stubbornly replied Somers. 
 Well, but I'm not — not g-good enough." 
 Anne!" A chair slammed back. "Anne — dear, 
 I love you. Are you going to marry me, or not?" 
 
 For all answer there came a little, murmurous, coo- 
 ing sound and a rustling, as if a girl in crisp gingham 
 had settled more comfortably into the crook of some 
 one's arm. 
 
 A long silence followed, while we within doors 
 smiled tenderly at nothing. Then: "Oh, Floyd, 
 honey, let me go. I'm s-sure that man saw us; he's 
 looking back and laughing!" 
 
 I sighed, as a lonely old man will. "Two more 
 accounted for," said I. "That leaves only you and 
 mc, Peter." 
 
 "Not me!" the boy replied promptly. "I'm going 
 to be married in December." 
 
 
 V 
 P 
 
 (C 
 
314 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 "Why, Peter McGregor. And you never told 
 me!" Dorothy looked shocked. 
 
 "We-ell, Dot, you see, I didn't know It myself 
 until I was in New York that last time. And I got 
 back to find old Lewis in jail, and everybody so up- 
 set — I thought Fd better keep it to myself for a 
 while, until things brightened up a bit.** 
 
 *'Who — who is she?" demanded Dorothy. 
 
 I did not listen. I am a very selfish old man. 
 All these bright young folk whom I loved, all the 
 friends I had on earth, I thought gloomily, had 
 paired off, and I was left alone. I tried to smile. 
 
 ^^Congratulations, Peter! That's just fine. It's the 
 mating season. Well, it's time I settled down, too. 
 I'll go now and write a letter." 
 
 "Stop, unk!" Lewis caught my arm. "What 
 makes you look so queer? What letter do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "Why, to Stamford, to the Home for the Aged 
 there. It's a nice homey place and very exclusive. 
 I — I have f-friends there, too. I'm going to buy a 
 membership." 
 
 "You are not!" declared Dorothy and my nephew 
 at once. "Why, your room's waiting for you at our 
 new bungalow ; we've moved your things over there, 
 and everything." 
 
 "You are not!" cried Peter. "Why, unk, I was 
 counting on you to bach in with me here at Fort 
 House until I bring Edith down at Christmas time 
 to take care of us both !" 
 
 "You are not!" That was Floyd Somers, in from 
 
MATING TIME 315 
 
 the porch, his extraordinarily long, lean arm wrapped 
 about Anne's shoulders. "You're coming to live with 
 Anne and me, of course ! I've decided to resign from 
 the hospital and buy out Gaskell's practice. A little 
 general medicine will do me good, and there's plenty 
 of medicolegal work in North Carolina, once I get 
 to be known here. I like this country. We're going 
 to buy Gaskell's house, Anne and I; and of course 
 you'll live with us there!" 
 
 My eyes filled with tears. After all, I was not 
 friendless nor forgotten. ''God b-bless you, chil- 
 dren!" I said. 'T\\ stay with you all, turn and turn 
 about." 
 
 My story is done. I am living with Lewis and 
 Dorothy; but, when Anne and Floyd come back from 
 their honeymoon next month, I shall go there for a 
 while, and in January I move to Fort House, to stay 
 w^ith Peter and his Edith. I hope she may prove to 
 be as true and as sweet as my other two nieces — 
 by marriage and courtesy ! 
 
 Ralph Satterfield and his fellows of the corn- 
 whisky ring are safe in Atlanta; and Somers need 
 not fear the bootleggers' vengeance for another 
 twenty years, at least. As for Roaring Lafe Rut- 
 ledge, he never came to trial. He died in prison of 
 some heart condition, brought on. Doctor Somers 
 says, by excessive drinking. 
 
 Aunt Mary McGregor sleeps in the Pinelands 
 cemetery, no more than a dozen feet from the man 
 she slew. We put flowers on both graves impartially, 
 as the genial sun of North Carolina shines on both; 
 
310 THE TROUBLE AT PINELANDS 
 
 and the quail whistle "hohwhiie! hohwhiter without 
 disturbing the rest of either. 
 
 We do not judge her. As Floyd Somers said, 
 "When you have stood, with a deadly weapon in 
 hand, facing an enemy who has power to betray 
 your secrets and destroy the security of your whole 
 life; and when you have let him go unscathed, know- 
 ing you could kill him with impunity, then, and not 
 till then, dare you blame Mary McGregor." 
 
 Let that be her epitaph. But I, for one, shall never 
 to my dying day hear the quail calling ^'hohzvhite! 
 hohwhite!'' of a lazy summer morning without aa 
 inward shrinking. 
 
 THE END 
 
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