American Sherlocks by Nick Rennison (reading like a writer .TXT) 📕

‘At one o’clock,’ he said. ‘Bronson, I think, was on the road to this place, and the woman was on the mountain among the peach trees.’

Randolph threw back his shoulders.

‘Why waste time in a speculation about it, Abner?’ he said. ‘We know who did this thing. Let us go and get the story of it out of their own mouths. Doomdorf died by the hands of either Bronson or this woman.’

‘I could better believe it,’ replied Abner, ‘but for the running of a certain awful law.’

‘What law?’ said Randolph. ‘Is it a statute of Virginia?’

‘It is a statute,’ replied Abner, ‘of an authority somewhat higher. Mark the language of it: “He that killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword.”’

He came over and took Randolph by the arm.

‘Must! Randolph, did you mark particularly the word “must”? It is a mandatory law. There is no room in it for the vicissitudes of chance or fortune. There is no way round that word. Thus, we reap what we sow and nothing else; thus, we receive what we give and nothing else. It is the weapon in our own hands that finally destroys us. You are looking at it now.’ And he turned him about so that the table and the weapon and the dead man were before him. ‘“He that killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword.” And now,’ he said, ‘let us go and try the method of the law courts. Your faith is in the wisdom of their ways.’

They found the old circuit rider at work in the still, staving in Doomdorf’s liquor casks, splitting the oak heads with his ax.

‘Bronson,’ said Randolph, ‘how did you kill Doomdorf?’

The old man stopped and stood leaning on his ax.

‘I killed him,’ replied the old man, ‘as Elijah killed the captains of Ahaziah and their fifties. But not by the hand of any man did I pray the Lord God to destroy Doomdorf, but with fire from heaven to destroy him.’

He stood up and extended his arms.

‘His hands were full of blood,’ he said. ‘With his abomination from these groves of Baal he stirred up the people to contention, to strife and murder. The widow and the orphan cried to heaven against him. “I will surely hear their cry,” is the promise written in the Book. The land was weary of him; and I prayed the Lord God to destroy him with fire from heaven, as he destroyed the Princes of Gomorrah in their palaces!’

Randolph made a gesture as of one who dismisses the impossible, but Abner’s face took on a deep, strange look.

‘With fire from heaven!’ he repeated slowly to himself. Then he asked a question. ‘A little while ago,’ he said, ‘when we came, I asked you where Doomdorf was, and you answered me in the language of the third chapter of the Book of Judges. Why did you answer me like that, Bronson? – “Surely he covereth his feet in his summer chamber.”’

‘The woman told me that he had not come down from the room where he had gone up to sleep,’ replied the old man, ‘and that the door was locked. And then I knew that he was dead in his summer chamber like Eglon, King of Moab.’

He extended his arm toward the south.

‘I came here from the Great Valley,’ he said, ‘to cut down these groves of Baal and to empty out this abomination; but I did not know that the Lord had heard my prayer and visited His wrath on Doomdorf until I was come up into these mountains to his door. When the woman spoke I knew it.’ And he went away to his horse, leaving the ax among the ruined barrels.

Randolph interrupted.

‘Come, Abner,’ he said; ‘this is wasted time. Bronson did not kill Doomdorf.’

Abner answered slowly in his deep, level voice:

‘Do you realize, Randolph, how Doomdorf died?’

‘Not by fire from heaven, at any rate,’ said Randolph.

‘Randolph,’ replied Abner, ‘are you sure?’

‘Abner,’ cried Randolph, ‘you are pleased to jest, but I am in deadly earnest. A crime has been done here against the state. I am an officer of justice and I propose to discover the assassin if I can.’

He walked away toward the house and Abner followed, his hands behind him and his great shoulders thrown loosely forward, with a grim smile about his mouth.

‘It is no use to talk with the mad old preacher,’ Randolph went on. ‘Let him empty out the liquor and ride away. I won’t issue a warrant against him. Prayer may be a handy implement to do a murder with, Abner, but it is not a deadly weapon under the statutes of Virginia. Doomdorf was dead when old Bronson got here with his Scriptural jargon. This woman killed Doomdorf. I shall put her to an inquisition.’

‘As you like,’ replied Abner. ‘Your faith remains in the methods of the law courts.’

‘Do you know of any better methods?’ said Randolph.

‘Perhaps,’ replied Abner, ‘when you have finished.’

Night had entered the valley. The two men went into the house and set about preparing the corpse for burial. They got candles, and made a coffin, and put Doomdorf in it, and straightened out his limbs, and folded his arms across his shot-out heart. Then they set the coffin on benches in the hall.

They kindled a fire in the dining room and sat down before it, with the door open and the red firelight shining through on the dead man’s narrow, everlasting house. The woman had put some cold meat, a golden cheese and a loaf on the table. They did not see her, but they heard her moving about the house; and finally, on the gravel court outside, her step and the whinny of a horse. Then she came in, dressed as for a journey. Randolph sprang up.

‘Where are you going?’ he said.

‘To the sea and a ship,’ replied the woman. Then she indicated the hall with a gesture. ‘He is dead and I am free.’

There