THE WHIPPED MAN.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2568, 31 July 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE WHIPPED MAN.

“Why don’t they come on? —tli’ devils. They’re bigger cowards than I thought. I could face the whole crowd 5 - of ’em single-handed easier than keep up this eternal waiting, waiting! This fight has got to bo settled to-day, somehow. I wouldn’t stancl this kind of thing for another day—just waiting, watching!—for ten thousand dollars. Here, Brad,” ho called, “take my lookout for a while —and he sure not to take your eyes off the open for a second. I’ve got to move around a little.” While the next half hour was drag- ’ ging tensely by, Hammack was moving > with increasing restlessness from one lookout to another, like a phantom I roundsman. At last, .after he had repeatedly paced each floor and the watchers had become so accustomed to his flittings that they no longer turned their heads from the windows or expected him to speak, he suddenly halted before the main door, slipped an automatic into either coat pocket, and in a low tone, said ; “Mart, they’re a pack of cowards ’ over there. I’m going to face ’em. Don’t let the boys know I’ve gone out until it’s too late for ’em to stop me. And tell Gaines to take charge and say that they mustn’t follow. Anyhow, I’vo got a dozen Night Riders right here in my coat pockets before they can get me. I just can’t stand this waiting, Mart.”

A STORY OF THE NIGHT RIDERS IN THE TOBACCO WAR. '(By Forrest Crissey and Harrison L. Bo a cli, in i Magazine.”) Continued from last Saturday. ‘There comes tho newspaper man •from the city,” suddenly remarked one ■of the watchers. “Goin’ to let him in, Wade?” For answer Hammack descended to the .ground floor and was ready to open the door when the stocky, blue-eyed Young man knocked. He was evidently astonished at the readiness of his admission. Before ho could begin his ■question Hanlmack asked : ‘ 'How many have they got over there?” “Oh, ’bout four hundred.” “What are they going to do?” The .newspaper man laughed:

“There’s one fellow that says they’re going to walk right across the common , in a few minutes, fire tho warehouse, an’ pick your men off as they rattle out of the doors and windows. About a dozen more appear to see it his way, too —while the other three hundred and eighty-seven seem inclined to take it out in talk and resolutions. But the follow who wants to burn you out is certainly fierce—all but his voice, and that squeaks like a boy’s.” Hammack. at this moment, glanced into the. face of Mart Buxton, who had been listlessly slouching upon a bench beside' the door which he was tending. The dead, fishy eyes had become suddenly alive and gleaming, and the white, unshaven lips were tightened into a line of firmness. The . whipped man had suddenly become alive. With few words Wade Hammack led the newspaper man from floor to floor, from window to window, and showed "him the baskets of ammunition. “There are twelve buckshot in every one of those gun shells, and you know how . fast a good man can work a pump gun "All the hoyd you see here have been brought up with guns in their handa. Ttyen, when it comes to a hand-to-hand fight, there are the automatic revolvers —nine shots in every one and quickly reloaded. I tell you, young man, that if four hundred men] start across the open, three, hundred of them will be dead befoi'c they, get to where they can use a torch. Do you believe it?” ,“I most certainly do, and if I had any friends in that crowd I’d head ’em oil somehow.” At the door Hammack paused agd, with his hand on the young man’s shoulder, said: “You understand, I think, that I don’t want to use any of these guns; that this is a last re-con:;-o —a .stand against barbarism when all else has failed. I’ve stood almost everything in the way of insult and persecution—but I can’t let ’em bum to ashes the little fortune that I’ve worked all my years to save for my wife and children. A man couldn’t do that, could he?” “No, sir,” answered the reporter. ‘1 see your side of it clearly—and, whatever happens. I’ll give you a square dealin my story. Good-bye.” “Look,” exclaimed Baso, without taking his eye from the little window. “They’re surrounding that newspaper fellow and putting questions to him. I hope, he doesn’t tell ’em. how we’re fixed to receive ’em. They might back out —th’ hounds!”

“Now, boys, watch every, foot of the ground—and keep watching it,” exclaimed Hammack, settling upon, a bench which had been drawn up before a window from which he could see across the open to the crowd. Tim order for especial vigilance passed from one lookout to another, and a strange silence settled upon the big warehouse. As he leaned intently forward, his gray eyes peering fixedly out of the little window and a gun; resting across his knees, the face of Hammack underwent a change. A peculiar, penetrating alertness was, perhaps, its most obvious expression; but beyond, beneath this was a suggestion of deep sadness. The light fell full into his eyes and brought ■out every line, of his heavy countenance with illuminating distinctness; even the curious network of “ci-owfeet” wrinkles about the eyes were as sharply defined as if etched in steel. If his wife -could have stolon up the stairway as softly as Mart Buxton was stealing at that moment and studied the face at the window with all the devouring intenseness that showed in the eyes of tho whipped man, she would have seen something new in that fAce, —an unfamiliar strength, a almost of greatness, which she had never seen 'before.

And if Hammack had, without changing his own position, been able to study •the face which was regarding him from the stairway, iust abo.ve the floor level, he would have been more startled, perhaps, than if the crowd about the freight house' had suddenly begun to move toward him across .-the open. There was life in those searching eyes. h"or weeks they had reflected only despair and shame ; but now they kindled ..with: a look of ‘ devotion, almost of adoration. But the grim face of Hammack did not turn, and the whipped man stole- down the stairway to - his post at the main door so silently that not a man of all the watchers knew lie. had moved from' his station. Other men at other windows began to stir nervously under the tension, but not a muscle of Hammack s body moved for •a - full - half hour. Then he. suddenly exclaimed:

Buxton softly withdrew the holts, lifted the bars, and lot Hammack out. Then, replacing .the fastenings, he delivered his message and returned to his post. One instant only ho hesitated, then motioned to Rhea and whispered: “Bar the door after me. They won’t notice me—once they sec him. I’ve got to stick by him,” and before lie could hear a reply he slipped out of the door. The sight of Wade Hammack walking quietly across the open space directly toward the waiting crowd of Night Riders sent a shock through every .sentry peering out of the warehouse, and its effect was instantly visible upon ’the freight-houso crowd. He neither hastened nor delayed; there was a fearless dignity in his step, his carriage, which made the unorganised mob catch its breath and open up a way for him as he reached its edge. Meantime Mart Buxton had crossed the street at another angle, and was part of the crowd of town spectators before his presence had been noticed. He swiftly moved on toward the livery stable and, by the time Hammack had reached the sidewalk and hacked up against the high, tight hoard fence, he had slipped inside the stable, out the side door into the yard, and had taken his place in ,the box of an idle wagon. “They won’t get him in the back- -not this time,” he half muttered to himself as he drew his automatic and noticed that he could plainly see the blue of Hammack’s coat through a knot hole almost as large as a horseshoe. He could distinctly hear Hammack’s low, tense voice saying: “That warehouse is mine. Y r ou don’t dare to try to burn it. Every man of you knows I’ve always done -business on the square; most,of you have had some of my money at one time or another, and it’s kept a .good many of you going. You don’t have to sell to me; I’ve never attempted to tell one of you whom you should sell to. From first to last I’ve minded my own business. But you, you’ve done everything that cowards could do, excepting to burn my property. I’ve stood everything up to uoav—“hut now I’ve coma out to face you and that there isn’t a gang of - robbers in the country that isn t respectable alongside of you. I’d rather be hanged in the country jail and buried in the .potter’s field than belong to your Association. If you want anything of Wade. Hammack’s, now’s the time to come on. Why don’t you .do if—now? Why don’t you burn thz warehouse? —you pack of hellions! You don’t—” But Buxton suddenly ceased to hear Hammack. Instead lie caught the sound of a voice—a squeaky one. —in the door of the stable, explaining to the stable hoy : “1/reckon I lost my jackknife out’n the ya’d here —goin’ to look for it. Why don’t you take H peep out front, sonny? They’s goin’ to be some shootin’ there d’rectlv.” It was all clear to Buxton as he lav there in the wagon,—this was the voice that had jeered at him when the whips were laid, upon his back. His identification of this man was as distinct a s if a photograph had been taken of the whipping scene. His time had come new, and he would get tho devil with the squeaky voice. Then lie could hold up his head again—be a man among men as he had been, feel the. blood of life anew 7 in his veins, and he able to mok Wade Hammack in the eye. With a gliding, noiseless step the man was passing in front of the -wagon and toward the knot hole through which Hammack’s coat -was visible. In his hand was a slender knife ready to be driven into that disc of blue—into the small of Hammack’s hack. Buxton s automatic was already aimed, and tho trigger, finger about to contract, when the thought flashed through his exultant, resurrected mind: “Your shot will start the fight—and Wade Hammack will be dead before, you tain leap from the wagon.” The finger that itched to draw the trigger hesitated a moment. He must think quickly. A pressure of the finger and the fiend who had tortured him as the old Apaches tortured their victims, would be clone for—and men would say that “the whipped man” had done well, had restored himself; they would ’shake his hand and think of him as a man. But

Wade Hammack —his friend,, the man to whom he was under eternal obligations for his very life l —? With a groan of renunciation. Buxton rose to his knees and spoke in a. low voice: “Drop that knife —a>ncl hands up!” V Tho man started back,’ hesitated an instant, and then let the . knife fall from his fingers into the litter of the stable yard. Very softly Buxton stepped upon, the tongue of'the wagon and then to the ground; the automatic’s aim never for a moment deflected as he touched tho clothes of the man

with the squeaky voice to see that.he had no other weapons except the knife. For an instant the thought flashed through his mind that if he were quick enough ho could fasten his fingers about the fellow’s throat and shut off that squeaky voice forever. But no ! there would.be a struggle, and then the savage crowd Would instantly/be turned into a mob that would tear Hammack into pieces. Ho must give it all up and wait—wait until tlie crowd was conquered by Hammack’s audacity or until the storm broke loose. And if it did break —ah, then the man with tho squeaky voice would never stir from where lie stood! Picking up the fallen knife and seating himself on the tongue, Buxton again spoke in the firm, quiet tone of his old-time voice and said: “If you make a peep or stir an inch I’ll put nine bullets into you in less time than you can breathe.” He could hear Hammack still defying, still berating the crowd, but lie no longer followed his words. Here, directly in line with the blue, shining barrel of his automatic was the man who stood for the wreck, the shame of his life. And fate had conspired to make him —“the whipped man” —withhold from this fiend, with his close-set and flickering eyes, the justice that was his due. All the savagery of Buxton’s being massed itself into those moments, in which his eyes never left the figure before him. Often he had to set his teeth and say to himself: “But if you do it you’ll never hear Wade Ilainmack’s voice again—and his wife and children, they’ll never liea r it.”

Gradually the fires of hatred cooled; he thought of the ignorance betrayed by every line of the ashen face beyond the automatic revolver—the generations of primitive savagery. Then he remembered, suddenly, the cabin up at Hell’s Run where he had bought the man’s crop of tobacco —tho blue-eyed, dejected wife and the brood of children that clung to her skirts, peering out at him like wild things:' How strange that this picture should appear out of the past where it had remained ■completely hidden during all those days when ho had struggled so hard to identify the man with the squeaky voice ! And now, when he could do. nothing, when his hands were tied, he could see. the whole scene, recall the name—Judd Gayle—and the exact amount of payment for his little crop. He could even remember giving the curly-headed little girl a dime and telling her- to buy a doll with it. Almost every word and incident, of that particular day’s drive to the Run came back to him with incredible clearness. On the homeward drive his mind bad been full of Agnes Hammack and the home they ?iad planned together. Buxton was aroused from these recollections by hearing Wade Hammack’s voice saying: “I’d like to Jive at.peace with every man and I’ve tried hard to do it. There are some among you that would he glad to —I know that —and I Tlelieve most of you would. However, that’s for you-all to decide. I’m ready for you either way. But, understand — it’s a case of come on right now or else you throw down the fight. If you fail to make a rush for the warehouse before the trains lenvc to-night, I’m to understand that you quit—and that every decent man among you agrees to see that this warfare of raids and persecutions and -whippings and arson, shall be at an end in this town.” Then Buxton heard a slight movement of the crowd —and the patch of blue vanished from tlie knot hole. They were standing aside to let Wade Hammack walk back to his warehouse. After the crowd had begun to move, Buxton said: “I ought to kill you where you stand. But I’ve just recalled that you’ve a wife and a pack of children—so I’m going to let you off this time. You stand there for a while and keep perfectly still. Then, when you go on the street, you keep your mouth shut and clear out for home. If you don’t*, you’ll be torn to pieces. The very men that you’re with ’ll help to do it—lf they come to know that you tried to stab Wade Hammack in the back. And, anyhow. I’ll get even with you if you ever lift a finger in this kind of business again—if it’s my last act on earth!”

And Buxton walked to the side door of the stable by which he had entered the yard. He held himself erect, liis head back, his eyes bright! The “whipped man” had vanished, save for his pallor and his emaciation. When he. was admitted to the warehouse, Hammack was telling to the eager, excited group his side of the story of his experience. Buxton, however, avoided them and went upstairs, walking from window to window with the same tread that had come to hint with the triumph in the stable yard. It was almost dusk before Hammack 'chanced to meet him moving about. The proprietor of the warehouse, stopped in astonishment,, then quickly stepped to Buxton and, laying a hand >on each shoulder, looked into the. unflinching eyes and said: “Mart Buxton, something has happened—you’re not the same man.” “Yes, something has” —the voice was not that of the “whipped man” ; it belonged to the Mart Buxton of old a good,deal! I feel different.” “Toll me, Mart-—sit down here by the window—-I-have a right to know.”

“Onco you made, me give up —'going after a certain man. Yon told me. that I couldn’t do it—mustn’t do it. Maybe., Wade, I’ll have to say the same thing to you before I'get through talking.” “All right, Mart; I’ll listen if you say it.” Then simply, eagerly, Buxton related the incident of the stable yard, and ended:

j “Somehow I foci as if I’d found my- ' self—come to life again, Wade, Maybe it would havq been the same if I’d killed him.’ But if I could pass him up, you can, can’t you?” *; Ilammaok choked, nodded, and stood ' staring out of tho window upon the back platform just below. When he spoke it was to say: “Here comes a woman with a pail. I guess .it’s your dinner, Mart.” Buxton went leisurely down the stairs and opened the door. There was a pail, hut there was nothing in it, and the j woman who was hurrying away in the ! direction of the ompty water barrel out in the open was not the slattern with whom he boarded. Her walk was queer. Suddenly he heard a splutter—saw a tiny spark close to tho building, almost under tho end of the platform. Then he understood the- dastardly plot—and in an instant he had seized the bomb, which 6,pluttered again as he lifted it.

“Throw it—at the barrel! Quick, quick!” It was Hammack’s voico behind him, and there was in it a wild note of command. He obeyed; his arm straightened, and the thing .went flying and sizzling through the air. He was watching to see if it would land near the barrel and wondering why Hammack had said “at the barrel.”

There was a deafening crash, a blinding light—and then Mart felt himself being lifted and carried into the warehouse. Gaines and Hammack were cutting open his clothing and Gaines was saying: “All right, excepting tlie left Teg—that’s badly torn. But the “whipped man” did the job all right. He saved the .whole of us.”

Later, when Hammack told Buxton that in the wreck of the barrel they had found the body of the man with the squeaky voice, dressed in woman’s clothing, lie understood the meaning of Hammack’s command. “After you went downstairs,” Hammack explained, “I kept my eye on that —woman. I had my suspicions. When she got close to the. building she stopped, looked around sharply, and lit something in that pail. Then she made a dash for-tlie platform. In a flash I realised what was doing, and I tore downstairs. Just as I reached the door, I saw’that devil slide into the barrel; but it was you, with that bomb in your hand, that I was thinking about, and—”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t know be was hiding in the barrel, Wade. I’d fought that part of it clean out alone, before. Now I cari see how much better it was I didn’t take it into my own hands to even up tho score.” “But there’s another score, Mart, that’ll take me a long time to even.” said Hammack. “And Marne and and Agnes—understand it, too. They re here. We’re going to take you to the house, and when vour leg’s all right we’ll talk —about business.” “Yes,” smiled Buxton, “I’m going to do something now.”

As Hammack started to leave the bench on which his friend lay, to admit the surgeon, Buxton, called him back. “Wade,” he asked, “don’t you reckon they’ll quit pointing me out as the ‘whipped man’ after this?”