The Valley of Fear
After the first introduction there were few evenings when he did not
find his way to McGinty’s saloon, there to make closer acquaintance
with “the boys,” which was the jovial title by which the dangerous gang
who infested the place were known to one another. His dashing manner
and fearlessness of speech made him a favourite with them all; while
the rapid and scientific way in which he polished off his antagonist in
an “all in” bar-room scrap earned the respect of that rough community.
Another incident, however, raised him even higher in their estimation.
Just at the crowded hour one night, the door opened and a man entered
with the quiet blue uniform and peaked cap of the mine police. This was
a special body raised by the railways and colliery owners to supplement
the efforts of the ordinary civil police, who were perfectly helpless
in the face of the organized ruffianism which terrorized the district.
There was a hush as he entered, and many a curious glance was cast at
him; but the relations between policemen and criminals are peculiar in
some parts of the States, and McGinty himself, standing behind his
counter, showed no surprise when the policeman enrolled himself among
his customers.
“A straight whisky; for the night is bitter,” said the police officer.
“I don’t think we have met before, Councillor?”
“You’ll be the new captain?” said McGinty.
“That’s so. We’re looking to you, Councillor, and to the other leading
citizens, to help us in upholding law and order in this township.
Captain Marvin is my name.”
“We’d do better without you, Captain Marvin,” said McGinty coldly; “for
we have our own police of the township, and no need for any imported
goods. What are you but the paid tool of the capitalists, hired by them
to club or shoot your poorer fellow citizen?”
“Well, well, we won’t argue about that,” said the police officer
good-humouredly. “I expect we all do our duty same as we see it; but we
can’t all see it the same.” He had drunk off his glass and had turned
to go, when his eyes fell upon the face of Jack McMurdo, who was
scowling at his elbow. “Hullo! Hullo!” he cried, looking him up and
down. “Here’s an old acquaintance!”
McMurdo shrank away from him. “I was never a friend to you nor any
other cursed copper in my life,” said he.
“An acquaintance isn’t always a friend,” said the police captain,
grinning. “You’re Jack McMurdo of Chicago, right enough, and don’t you
deny it!”
McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not denying it,” said he. “D’ye
think I’m ashamed of my own name?”
“You’ve got good cause to be, anyhow.”
“What the devil d’you mean by that?” he roared with his fists clenched.
“No, no, Jack, bluster won’t do with me. I was an officer in Chicago
before ever I came to this darned coal bunker, and I know a Chicago
crook when I see one.”
McMurdo’s face fell. “Don’t tell me that you’re Marvin of the Chicago
Central!” he cried.
“Just the same old Teddy Marvin, at your service. We haven’t forgotten
the shooting of Jonas Pinto up there.”
“I never shot him.”
“Did you not? That’s good impartial evidence, ain’t it? Well, his death
came in uncommon handy for you, or they would have had you for shoving
the queer. Well, we can let that be bygones; for, between you and
me—and perhaps I’m going further than my duty in saying it—they could
get no clear case against you, and Chicago’s open to you to-morrow.”
“I’m very well where I am.”
“Well, I’ve given you the pointer, and you’re a sulky dog not to thank
me for it.”
“Well, I suppose you mean well, and I do thank you,” said McMurdo in no
very gracious manner.
“It’s mum with me so long as I see you living on the straight,” said
the captain. “But, by the Lord! if you get off after this, it’s another
story! So good-night to you—and good-night, Councillor.”
He left the bar-room; but not before he had created a local hero.
McMurdo’s deeds in far Chicago had been whispered before. He had put
off all questions with a smile, as one who did not wish to have
greatness thrust upon him. But now the thing was officially confirmed.
The bar loafers crowded round him and shook him heartily by the hand.
He was free of the community from that time on. He could drink hard and
show little trace of it; but that evening, had his mate Scanlan not
been at hand to lead him home, the feted hero would surely have spent
his night under the bar.
On a Saturday night McMurdo was introduced to the lodge. He had thought
to pass in without ceremony as being an initiate of Chicago; but there
were particular rites in Vermissa of which they were proud, and these
had to be undergone by every postulant. The assembly met in a large
room reserved for such purposes at the Union House. Some sixty members
assembled at Vermissa; but that by no means represented the full
strength of the organization, for there were several other lodges in
the valley, and others across the mountains on each side, who exchanged
members when any serious business was afoot, so that a crime might be
done by men who were strangers to the locality. Altogether there were
not less than five hundred scattered over the coal district.
In the bare assembly room the men were gathered round a long table. At
the side was a second one laden with bottles and glasses, on which some
members of the company were already turning their eyes. McGinty sat at
the head with a flat black velvet cap upon his shock of tangled black
hair, and a coloured purple stole round his neck, so that he seemed to
be a priest presiding over some diabolical ritual. To right and left of
him were the higher lodge officials, the cruel, handsome face of Ted
Baldwin among them. Each of these wore some scarf or medallion as
emblem of his office.
They were, for the most part, men of mature age; but the rest of the
company consisted of young fellows from eighteen to twenty-five, the
ready and capable agents who carried out the commands of their seniors.
Among the older men were many whose features showed the tigerish,
lawless souls within; but looking at the rank and file it was difficult
to believe that these eager and open-faced young fellows were in very
truth a dangerous gang of murderers, whose minds had suffered such
complete moral perversion that they took a horrible pride in their
proficiency at the business, and looked with deepest respect at the man
who had the reputation of making what they called “a clean job.”
To their contorted natures it had become a spirited and chivalrous
thing to volunteer for service against some man who had never injured
them, and whom in many cases they had never seen in their lives. The
crime committed, they quarrelled as to who had actually struck the
fatal blow, and amused one another and the company by describing the
cries and contortions of the murdered man.
At first they had shown some secrecy in their arrangements; but at the
time which this narrative describes their proceedings were
extraordinarily open, for the repeated failure of the law had proved to
them that, on the one hand, no one would dare to witness against them,
and on the other they had an unlimited number of stanch witnesses upon
whom they could call, and a well-filled treasure chest from which they
could draw the funds to engage the best legal talent in the state. In
ten long years of outrage there had been no single conviction, and the
only danger that ever threatened the Scowrers lay in the victim
himself—who, however outnumbered and taken by surprise, might and
occasionally did leave his mark upon his assailants.
McMurdo had been warned that some ordeal lay before him; but no one
would tell him in what it consisted. He was led now into an outer room
by two solemn brothers. Through the plank partition he could hear the
murmur of many voices from the assembly within. Once or twice he caught
the sound of his own name, and he knew that they were discussing his
candidacy. Then there entered an inner guard with a green and gold sash
across his chest.
“The Bodymaster orders that he shall be trussed, blinded, and entered,”
said he.
The three of them removed his coat, turned up the sleeve of his right
arm, and finally passed a rope round above the elbows and made it fast.
They next placed a thick black cap right over his head and the upper
part of his face, so that he could see nothing. He was then led into
the assembly hall.
It was pitch dark and very oppressive under his hood. He heard the
rustle and murmur of the people round him, and then the voice of
McGinty sounded dull and distant through the covering of his ears.
“John McMurdo,” said the voice, “are you already a member of the
Ancient Order of Freemen?”
He bowed in assent.
“Is your lodge No. 29, Chicago?”
He bowed again.
“Dark nights are unpleasant,” said the voice.
“Yes, for strangers to travel,” he answered.
“The clouds are heavy.”
“Yes, a storm is approaching.”
“Are the brethren satisfied?” asked the Bodymaster.
There was a general murmur of assent.
“We know, Brother, by your sign and by your countersign that you are
indeed one of us,” said McGinty. “We would have you know, however, that
in this county and in other counties of these parts we have certain
rites, and also certain duties of our own which call for good men. Are
you ready to be tested?”
“I am.”
“Are you of stout heart?”
“I am.”
“Take a stride forward to prove it.”
As the words were said he felt two hard points in front of his eyes,
pressing upon them so that it appeared as if he could not move forward
without a danger of losing them. None the less, he nerved himself to
step resolutely out, and as he did so the pressure melted away. There
was a low murmur of applause.
“He is of stout heart,” said the voice. “Can you bear pain?”
“As well as another,” he answered.
“Test him!”
It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming out, for an
agonizing pain shot through his forearm. He nearly fainted at the
sudden shock of it; but he bit his lip and clenched his hands to hide
his agony.
“I can take more than that,” said he.
This time there was loud applause. A finer first appearance had never
been made in the lodge. Hands clapped him on the back, and the hood was
plucked from his head. He stood blinking and smiling amid the
congratulations of the brothers.
“One last word, Brother McMurdo,” said McGinty. “You have already sworn
the oath of secrecy and fidelity, and you are aware that the punishment
for any breach of it is instant and inevitable death?”
“I am,” said McMurdo.
“And you accept the rule of the Bodymaster for the time being under all
circumstances?”
“I do.”
“Then in the name of Lodge 341, Vermissa, I welcome you to its
privileges and debates. You will put the liquor on the table, Brother
Scanlan, and we will drink to our worthy brother.”
McMurdo’s coat had been brought to him; but before putting it on he
examined his right arm, which still smarted heavily. There on the flesh
of the forearm was a circle with a triangle within it, deep and red, as
the branding iron had left it. One or two of his neighbours pulled up
their sleeves and showed their own lodge marks.
“We’ve all had it,” said one; “but not all as brave as you over it.”
“Tut! It was nothing,” said he; but it burned and ached all the same.
When the drinks which followed the ceremony of initiation had all been
disposed of, the business of the lodge proceeded. McMurdo, accustomed
only to the prosaic performances of Chicago, listened with open ears
and more surprise than he ventured to show to what followed.
“The first business on the agenda paper,” said McGinty, “is to read the
following letter from Division Master Windle of Merton County Lodge