The Valley of Fear
their guard against bloodhounds; so they moved forward cautiously, with
their pistols cocked in their hands. But there was no sound save the
howling of the wind, and no movement but the swaying branches above
them.
McMurdo listened at the door of the lonely house; but all was still
within. Then he leaned the powder bag against it, ripped a hole in it
with his knife, and attached the fuse. When it was well alight he and
his two companions took to their heels, and were some distance off,
safe and snug in a sheltering ditch, before the shattering roar of the
explosion, with the low, deep rumble of the collapsing building, told
them that their work was done. No cleaner job had ever been carried out
in the bloodstained annals of the society.
But alas that work so well organized and boldly carried out should all
have gone for nothing! Warned by the fate of the various victims, and
knowing that he was marked down for destruction, Chester Wilcox had
moved himself and his family only the day before to some safer and less
known quarters, where a guard of police should watch over them. It was
an empty house which had been torn down by the gunpowder, and the grim
old colour sergeant of the war was still teaching discipline to the
miners of Iron Dike.
“Leave him to me,” said McMurdo. “He’s my man, and I’ll get him sure if
I have to wait a year for him.”
A vote of thanks and confidence was passed in full lodge, and so for
the time the matter ended. When a few weeks later it was reported in
the papers that Wilcox had been shot at from an ambuscade, it was an
open secret that McMurdo was still at work upon his unfinished job.
Such were the methods of the Society of Freemen, and such were the
deeds of the Scowrers by which they spread their rule of fear over the
great and rich district which was for so long a period haunted by their
terrible presence. Why should these pages be stained by further crimes?
Have I not said enough to show the men and their methods?
These deeds are written in history, and there are records wherein one
may read the details of them. There one may learn of the shooting of
Policemen Hunt and Evans because they had ventured to arrest two
members of the society—a double outrage planned at the Vermissa lodge
and carried out in cold blood upon two helpless and disarmed men. There
also one may read of the shooting of Mrs. Larbey when she was nursing
her husband, who had been beaten almost to death by orders of Boss
McGinty. The killing of the elder Jenkins, shortly followed by that of
his brother, the mutilation of James Murdoch, the blowing up of the
Staphouse family, and the murder of the Stendals all followed hard upon
one another in the same terrible winter.
Darkly the shadow lay upon the Valley of Fear. The spring had come with
running brooks and blossoming trees. There was hope for all Nature
bound so long in an iron grip; but nowhere was there any hope for the
men and women who lived under the yoke of the terror. Never had the
cloud above them been so dark and hopeless as in the early summer of
the year 1875.
Chapter VI
Danger
It was the height of the reign of terror. McMurdo, who had already been
appointed Inner Deacon, with every prospect of some day succeeding
McGinty as Bodymaster, was now so necessary to the councils of his
comrades that nothing was done without his help and advice. The more
popular he became, however, with the Freemen, the blacker were the
scowls which greeted him as he passed along the streets of Vermissa. In
spite of their terror the citizens were taking heart to band themselves
together against their oppressors. Rumours had reached the lodge of
secret gatherings in the Herald office and of distribution of firearms
among the law-abiding people. But McGinty and his men were undisturbed
by such reports. They were numerous, resolute, and well armed. Their
opponents were scattered and powerless. It would all end, as it had
done in the past, in aimless talk and possibly in impotent arrests. So
said McGinty, McMurdo, and all the bolder spirits.
It was a Saturday evening in May. Saturday was always the lodge night,
and McMurdo was leaving his house to attend it when Morris, the weaker
brother of the order, came to see him. His brow was creased with care,
and his kindly face was drawn and haggard.
“Can I speak with you freely, Mr. McMurdo?”
“Sure.”
“I can’t forget that I spoke my heart to you once, and that you kept it
to yourself, even though the Boss himself came to ask you about it.”
“What else could I do if you trusted me? It wasn’t that I agreed with
what you said.”
“I know that well. But you are the one that I can speak to and be safe.
I’ve a secret here,” he put his hand to his breast, “and it is just
burning the life out of me. I wish it had come to any one of you but
me. If I tell it, it will mean murder, for sure. If I don’t, it may
bring the end of us all. God help me, but I am near out of my wits over
it!”
McMurdo looked at the man earnestly. He was trembling in every limb. He
poured some whisky into a glass and handed it to him. “That’s the
physic for the likes of you,” said he. “Now let me hear of it.”
Morris drank, and his white face took a tinge of colour. “I can tell it
to you all in one sentence,” said he. “There’s a detective on our
trail.”
McMurdo stared at him in astonishment. “Why, man, you’re crazy,” he
said. “Isn’t the place full of police and detectives and what harm did
they ever do us?”
“No, no, it’s no man of the district. As you say, we know them, and it
is little that they can do. But you’ve heard of Pinkerton’s?”
“I’ve read of some folk of that name.”
“Well, you can take it from me you’ve no show when they are on your
trail. It’s not a take-it-or-miss-it government concern. It’s a dead
earnest business proposition that’s out for results and keeps out till
by hook or crook it gets them. If a Pinkerton man is deep in this
business, we are all destroyed.”
“We must kill him.”
“Ah, it’s the first thought that came to you! So it will be up at the
lodge. Didn’t I say to you that it would end in murder?”
“Sure, what is murder? Isn’t it common enough in these parts?”
“It is, indeed; but it’s not for me to point out the man that is to be
murdered. I’d never rest easy again. And yet it’s our own necks that
may be at stake. In God’s name what shall I do?” He rocked to and fro
in his agony of indecision.
But his words had moved McMurdo deeply. It was easy to see that he
shared the other’s opinion as to the danger, and the need for meeting
it. He gripped Morris’s shoulder and shook him in his earnestness.
“See here, man,” he cried, and he almost screeched the words in his
excitement, “you won’t gain anything by sitting keening like an old
wife at a wake. Let’s have the facts. Who is the fellow? Where is he?
How did you hear of him? Why did you come to me?”
“I came to you; for you are the one man that would advise me. I told
you that I had a store in the East before I came here. I left good
friends behind me, and one of them is in the telegraph service. Here’s
a letter that I had from him yesterday. It’s this part from the top of
the page. You can read it yourself.”
This was what McMurdo read:
How are the Scowrers getting on in your parts? We read plenty of them
in the papers. Between you and me I expect to hear news from you before
long. Five big corporations and the two railroads have taken the thing
up in dead earnest. They mean it, and you can bet they’ll get there!
They are right deep down into it. Pinkerton has taken hold under their
orders, and his best man, Birdy Edwards, is operating. The thing has
got to be stopped right now.
“Now read the postscript.”
Of course, what I give you is what I learned in business; so it goes no
further. It’s a queer cipher that you handle by the yard every day and
can get no meaning from.
McMurdo sat in silence for some time, with the letter in his listless
hands. The mist had lifted for a moment, and there was the abyss before
him.
“Does anyone else know of this?” he asked.
“I have told no one else.”
“But this man—your friend—has he any other person that he would be
likely to write to?”
“Well, I dare say he knows one or two more.”
“Of the lodge?”
“It’s likely enough.”
“I was asking because it is likely that he may have given some
description of this fellow Birdy Edwards—then we could get on his
trail.”
“Well, it’s possible. But I should not think he knew him. He is just
telling me the news that came to him by way of business. How would he
know this Pinkerton man?”
McMurdo gave a violent start.
“By Gar!” he cried, “I’ve got him. What a fool I was not to know it.
Lord! but we’re in luck! We will fix him before he can do any harm. See
here, Morris, will you leave this thing in my hands?”
“Sure, if you will only take it off mine.”
“I’ll do that. You can stand right back and let me run it. Even your
name need not be mentioned. I’ll take it all on myself, as if it were
to me that this letter has come. Will that content you?”
“It’s just what I would ask.”
“Then leave it at that and keep your head shut. Now I’ll get down to
the lodge, and we’ll soon make old man Pinkerton sorry for himself.”
“You wouldn’t kill this man?”
“The less you know, Friend Morris, the easier your conscience will be,
and the better you will sleep. Ask no questions, and let these things
settle themselves. I have hold of it now.”
Morris shook his head sadly as he left. “I feel that his blood is on my
hands,” he groaned.
“Self-protection is no murder, anyhow,” said McMurdo, smiling grimly.
“It’s him or us. I guess this man would destroy us all if we left him
long in the valley. Why, Brother Morris, we’ll have to elect you
Bodymaster yet; for you’ve surely saved the lodge.”
And yet it was clear from his actions that he thought more seriously of
this new intrusion than his words would show. It may have been his
guilty conscience, it may have been the reputation of the Pinkerton
organization, it may have been the knowledge that great, rich
corporations had set themselves the task of clearing out the Scowrers;
but, whatever his reason, his actions were those of a man who is
preparing for the worst. Every paper which would incriminate him was
destroyed before he left the house. After that he gave a long sigh of
satisfaction; for it seemed to him that he was safe. And yet the danger
must still have pressed somewhat upon him; for on his way to the lodge
he stopped at old man Shafter’s. The house was forbidden him; but when
he tapped at the window Ettie came out to him. The dancing Irish
deviltry had gone from her lover’s eyes. She read his danger in his
earnest face.
“Something has happened!” she cried. “Oh, Jack, you are in danger!”
“Sure, it is not very bad, my sweetheart. And yet it may be wise that
we make a move before it is worse.”
“Make a move?”
“I promised you once that I would go some day. I think the time is
coming. I had news to-night, bad news, and I see trouble coming.”
“The police?”
“Well, a Pinkerton. But, sure, you wouldn’t know what that is, acushla,
nor what it may mean to the likes of me. I’m too deep in this thing,
and I may have to get out of it quick. You said you would come with me
if I went.”
“Oh, Jack, it would be the saving of you!”
“I’m an honest man in some things, Ettie. I wouldn’t hurt a hair of
your bonny head for all that the world can give, nor ever pull you down
one inch from the golden throne above the clouds where I always see
you. Would you trust me?”
She put her hand in his without a word. “Well, then, listen to what I
say, and do as I order you, for indeed it’s the only way for us. Things
are going to happen in this valley. I feel it in my bones. There may be