The Purchase Price by Emerson Hough (ebook reader screen .txt) 📕

party gravitated toward him, while opposite sat the two prisoners, Carlisle and Kammerer, composed and silent, now and then exchanging a glance with each other, but making no spoken comment.

Dunwody, in his own room, was looking into the seriousness of his injury, with the old trapper Eleazar, once more summoned as readiest physician. Eleazar shook his head when he had stripped off the first bloody bandages from the limb. "She'll been broke," was his dictum. "She'll been bad broke. We mus' have docteur soon." For half an hour the old man did the best he could, cleansing and rebandaging.

"We mus' have docteur!" complained he, mindful of Jamieson, far away, busy with cases as bad as this.

For half an hour or so Josephine remained in her own room above, having done all she could to establish some sort of order. All at once to her strained senses there seemed to flash some apprehension of a coming danger. She rose, tiptoed to her door, looked down. A moment later she turned, and caught up an old pistol which hung on the wall near the door in the narrow hallway. Silently and swiftly she stepped forward to the head of the stair.

What she saw now was this: Carlisle and Kammerer, themselves now armed with weapons carelessly left in the lower hall, had passed unnoticed from the dining-room, and now were tiptoeing down the hall toward the door of Dunwody's apartment. Clayton and his men, dulled with loss of sleep, had allowed them to leave the main room, and these two, soldiers by training, had resolved to turn the tables and take possession of the place. Their plans were at the point of success. They had almost reached the door of Dunwody's room, weapons in hand, when from above they heard a sharp command.

"Halt, there!" a woman cried to them.

They turned and looked up, arrested by the unmistakable quality in the tones. They saw her leaning against the baluster of the stair, one arm bound tightly to her side, the other resting a revolver barrel along the baluster and glancing down it with a fearless eye. She took a step or two lower down the stair, sliding the weapon with her. "What are you doing there?" she demanded.

A half-humorous twist came to the mouth of Carlisle. He answered quietly, as he raised a hand for silence:

"Just about what you might expect us to do. We're trying to take care of ourselves. But how about yourself? I thought you were with us, Madam. I had heard that you—"

"Come," she answered, lowering the weapon and stepping swiftly down the stairs. "Come outside, where we can talk."

The three now passed out the open front door to the wide gallery, which lay in the dim twilight untenanted. Kammerer kept his eyes still on the muzzle of the revolver. Carlisle laughed. "That's right, Kammerer," said he. "Be careful when a woman gets the drop on you. She'll shoot quicker than a man, because she doesn't know any better. I don't doubt you had a reason for stopping us, Madam," said he; "but what?—that puzzles me."

"How came you here?" she demanded. "You left me. I don't know anything about what's going on. I'm all at sea."

"So are we all, Madam. But I'll tell you all I know. I left you for several reasons. I knew my main errand with you was done. My post is out beyond, up the Missouri. I was on my way there when I got orders to take you with me, as you know. I concluded to drop off and send a telegraphic report to Washington, and to ask consent to go on out to my post. I saw your note to Dunwody. You had then chosen a new jailer. I thought, since he was better known in this country than myself, your reputation would be safer in his hands than mine. But as soon as I left, I began to think it over, and I resolved to follow after you, not as a jailer but as a friend. I met a little party of northern men, going out to the Kansas country; and I knew Lieutenant Kammerer, here, at St. Louis. We all thought alike. That girl yonder pleaded so hard that we took her on with us, at Cairo. She was bound to get away. When we tied up for the night, above St. Genevieve, we were attacked by these Missourians here. I had intended to leave the boat, for now I knew where you were. Lily told me you were taken—handled rudely—like a slave—that you—Well then, I knew it was Dunwody.

"Of course, I was going to kill him. In the night none of us knew who made up the party that fired on us. There were half a dozen men killed, more than that many wounded, and we are prisoners here, as you see. I suppose that's about all. But then, good God! Madam, why break up our attempt to escape? Aren't you with us? And how did you get hurt?"

She told him, simply, there had been accident.

"Are you of the revolutionists, Madam?" demanded the big German suddenly.

"Yes!" she wheeled upon him. "I am from Europe. I am for liberty."

"Come, then," said Kammerer, quietly reaching out and taking away the revolver from her hand. "We're friends. How came you to be in this country, here?"

She smiled at him bitterly. "Because of my zeal. There were powers who wanted me out of Washington. Ask Captain Carlisle as to that. But this man I met later on the boat, as you know. He—brought me here—as you have heard!"

"It iss outrage!" broke in Kammerer. "It iss crime!"

"We'll call him to account," interrupted Carlisle. "Why did you stop us? We'd have killed him the next minute. I'll kill him yet."

"I was afraid you would kill him," she said simply.

"Well, why not? What has he done to us,—our men,—to you?"

"I could not see it done."

"You'll see worse done. We'll do it yet. You must not stand in our way." His hand closed over his own revolver butt, and he made a half motion forward.

"No!" she said, and stepped before him.

Carlisle would have put her aside. "What do you mean? They'll be out here in a minute,—we'll have to fight if they catch us here. Do you want to see us killed? Quick! Out of the way!" His voice, raucous in anger, rasped at her ears, low as it was pitched.

"No," she still replied. "Let me do the thinking. Keep quiet!
I'll get you out. There's been blood enough shed now."

"You are magnificent, Madam!" said Carlisle. "But you are visionary. Get out of our way. I claim him. Leave him to me."

"No, I claim him myself. Leave him to me!"

"In God's name, what next!" exclaimed the young Northerner bitterly. "Are we all mad? Haven't you had trouble enough already with this man? You don't make yourself clear. What do you want of him?"

"I'm entirely clear about it myself. I can't get away from here now, but I'm safe here now. For all of you to stay would mean trouble, certainly. If those men knew you were planning escape there would be more men killed. But you don't belong here. Very well. I'm obliged to stay for a time. So, I'm just going to take the position of commander. I'm just going to parole you two. You're free to go if you like!"

Carlisle turned toward the big German, Kammerer, and broke into a laugh. "Did you ever see anything like this?" he demanded. But the assent of the other shone in his eyes.

"The lady hass right," he said. "What she said iss wise, if it can be done."

"But, Madam, what will become of you?" said Carlisle at last.
Her answer was instant. She turned back to the door.

"Judge Clayton!" she called out, loud and clear. "Mr. Yates! All of you, come here!"

The inner doors opened, and they ran out at her call. Some of them had been asleep, leaning back in their chairs against the wall. The confusion of their approach now aroused all the house. There appeared also the tall form of Dunwody himself, leaning on a rifle barrel for a crutch. All these paused in the hall or on the gallery, close to the great door. Dunwody's frown was unmistakable enough, when he saw the three grouped outside, the two prisoners armed.

"There's been plotting here!" he cried. "What's up? Get your arms, men! Cover them, quick!"

"Wait!" said Carlisle quietly. "We're armed, and we've got you covered." His weapon and that of Kammerer shone gray in the half light. Dunwody threw himself against the doorpost with a growl of anger.

"You've been plotting against us!" he said to Josephine grimly.
"Well!"

"You are unjust, as usual, Sir," said Carlisle hotly. "On the contrary, she just kept us from killing you—which by all the rights of God and man we ought to have done,—and will do, some day."

"What do you mean?" demanded Dunwody dully. "You—she saved—"

"It iss the truth," assented Kammerer, in his turn. "It wass the lady who hass saved you. She hass spoken for peace and not for bloodshed. You owe to her your life."

"My life!" he said, turning toward her. "You—"

"I've assumed command here," interrupted Josephine calmly. "I've paroled these gentlemen."

"Indeed!" said Dunwody sarcastically. "That's very nice, for them!".

She went on unperturbed. "I'm going to set them free. Judge Clayton and Mr. Jones and you others, too, must go on home. You will have to surrender to the courts. These men are going to leave the state. All of you must disperse—at once."

"And you yourself,—" began Dunwody grimly; "what do you plan?"

"I remain. I am a hostage. It will now be known where I am. You will be responsible for me, now. I fancy that will suit Washington as well as to detain Captain Carlisle as my jailer any longer. If I thought I needed him, I would not let him go. We are all of us going to be under parole, don't you see?"

"Is it your wish that we should give parole in these circumstances,
Dunwody?" Judge Clayton himself smiled rather sardonically.

"I don't see why not, after all," said Dunwody, at length, slowly. "I don't see why that isn't about as wise as anything we can do. The law will do the rest of this work, and we must all be ready for it, as she says. Only one thing, gentlemen, before we part. As to this young lady here, I'll kill the first man, friend or foe, who raises a breath against her. Do I make myself plain? Put down your guns, then. I won't turn any man away, not even an enemy. Have you eaten, gentlemen? Are you rested enough to go to-night?"

An hour later clattering hoofs once more resounded along the
Tallwoods road.

CHAPTER XIX THE ENEMY

Leaning against the pillar of the gallery, Dunwody watched them all, old friends, late foes, depart. Josephine St. Auban stood not far away. He turned to her, and her gaze fell upon his face, now haggard and gaunt. He had ridden sixty miles since the previous sun, half the distance wounded as he was; had been without sleep for thirty-six hours, without food for almost as long, and now was suffering with an aggravated wound.

"You are ill," she said to him impulsively. "You're badly hurt."

"Aren't you glad to see me suffer?" he asked grimly.

"I am not glad to see any one suffer."

"Well, never mind about me. But now, you, yourself. Didn't I tell you to go to your room and rest?"

She was pale, the corners of her mouth were drawn, her