Tom Burke Of "Ours", Volume I. Lever Charles James
Heppenstal to hang them!’”
I knew enough of the meaning of his words to catch the allusion, and dashing the glass with all my force against the wall, I smashed it into a hundred pieces. Barton sprang from his chair, his face dark with passion. Clutching me by the collar with both hands, he cried out, —
“Halloo! there without, bring in the handcuffs here! As sure as my name ‘s Sandy Barton, we ‘ll teach you that toast practically, and that ere long.”
“Take care what you do there,” said Malone, fiercely. “That young gentleman is a son of Matthew Burke of Cremore; his relatives are not the kind of people to figure in your riding-house.”
“Are you a son of Matthew Burke?”
“I am.”
“What brings you here then? why are you not at home?”
“By what right do you dare to ask me? I have yet to learn how far I am responsible for where I go to a thief-catcher.”
“You hear that, sergeant? you heard him use a word to bring me into contempt before the people, and excite them to use acts of violence towards me?”
“No such thing. Mister Barton!” said Malone, coolly; “nobody here has any thought of molesting you. I told you that young gentleman’s name and condition, to prevent you making any mistake concerning him; for his friends are not the people to trifle with.”
This artfully-put menace had its effect. Barton sat down again, and appeared to reflect for a few minuted; then taking a roll of paper from his pocket, he began leisurely to peruse it. The silence at this moment was something horribly oppressive.
“This is a search-warrant, Mr. Malone,” said Barton, laying down the paper on the table, “empowering me to seek for the body of a certain French officer, said to be concealed in these parts. Informations on oath state that he passed at least one night under your roof. As he has not accepted the amnesty granted to the other officers in the late famous attempt against the peace of this country, the law will deal with him as strict justice may demand; at the same time, it is right you should know that harboring or sheltering him, under these circumstances, involves the person or persons so doing in his guilt. Mr. Malone’s well-known and tried loyalty,” continued Barton, with a half grin of most malicious meaning, “would certainly exculpate him from any suspicion of this nature; but sworn informations are stubborn things, and it is possible, that in ignorance of the danger such a proceeding would involve – ”
“I thought the thrubbles was over, sir,” interrupted Malone, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, “and that an honest, industrious man, that minded his own business, had nothing to fear from any one.”
“And you thought right,” said Barton, slowly and deliberately, while he scanned the other’s features with a searching look; “and that is the very fact I’m come to ascertain. And now, with your leave, we’ll first search the house and offices, and then I ‘ll put a little interrogatory to such persons as I think fit, touching this affair.”
“You’re welcome to go over the cabin whenever you like,” said Malone, rising, and evidently laboring to repress his passionate indignation at Barton’s coolness.
Barton stood up at the same moment, and giving a wink at the sergeant to follow, walked towards the small door I’ve already mentioned. Malone’s wife at this started forward, and catching Barton’s arm, whispered a few words in his ear.
“She must be a very old woman by this time,” said Barton, fixing his sharp eyes on the speaker.
“Upwards of ninety, sir, and bedridden for twelve years,” said the woman, wiping a tear away with her apron.
“And how comes it she’s so afraid of the soldiers, if she’s doting?”
“Arrah! they used to frighten her so much, coming in at night, and firing shots at the doore, and drinking and singing songs, that she never got over it; an that’s the rayson. I ‘ll beg of your honor not to bring in the sergeant, and to disturb her only as little as you can, for it sets her raving about battles and murders, and it ‘s maybe ten days before we ‘ll get her mind at ease again.”
“Well, well, I’ll not trouble her,” said he, quickly, “Sergeant, step back for a moment.”
With this he entered the room, followed by the woman whose uncertain step and quiet gesture seemed to suggest caution.
“She ‘s asleep, sir,” said she, approaching the bed. “It ‘s many a day since she had as fine a sleep as that. ‘T is good luck you brought us this morning, Mister Barton.”
“Draw aside the curtain a little,” said Barton, in a low voice, as if fearing to awake the sleeper.
“‘Tis rousing her up, you’ll be, Mister Barton, she feels the light at wanst.”
“She breathes very long for so old a woman,” said he somewhat louder, “and has a good broad shoulder, too. T ‘d like, if it was only for curiosity, just to see her face a little closer. I thought so! Come, captain; it ‘s no use – ”
A scream from the woman drowned the remainder of the speech, while at the same instant one of the young men shut-to the outside door, and barred it. The sergeant was immediately pinioned with his hands behind his back, and Malone drew his horse-pistol from his bosom, and holding up his hand, called out, —
“Not a word, – not a word! If ye spake, it will be the last time ever you ‘ll do so!” said he to the sergeant
At the same moment, the noise of a scuffle was heard in the inner room, and the door burst suddenly open, and Barton issued forth, dragging in his strong hands the figure of a young, slightly-formed man. His coat was off, but its trousers were braided with gold, in military fashion; and his black mustache denoted the officer. The struggle of the youth to get free was utterly fruitless; Barton’s grasp was on his collar, and he held him as though he were a child.
Malone stooped down towards the fire, and, opening the pan of his pistol, examined the priming; then, slapping it down again, he stood erect, “Barton,” said he, in a tone of firm determination I heard him use for the first time, – “Barton, it ‘s bad to provoke a man with the halter round his neck. I know what ‘s before me well enough now. But see, let him escape; give him two hours to get away, and here I ‘ll surrender myself your prisoner, and follow you where you like.”
“Break in the door, there, blast ye!” was the reply to this offer, as Barton shouted to the soldiers at the top of his voice. Two of the young men darted forward as he spoke, and threw themselves against it. “Fire through it!” cried Barton, stamping with passion.
“You will have it, will you, then?” said Malone, as he ground his teeth in anger; then raising his pistol, he sprang forward, and holding it within a yard of Barton’s face, shouted out, “There!”
The powder flashed in the lock, and quick as its own report. Barton hurled the Frenchman round to protect him from the ball, but only in time to receive the shot in his right arm as he held it uplifted. The arm fell powerless to his side; while Malone, springing on him like a tiger, grasped him in his powerful grip, and they both rolled upon the ground in terrible conflict. The Frenchman stood for an instant like one transfixed; then, bursting from the spot, dashed through the kitchen to the small room I had slept in. One of the young men followed him. The crash of glass and the sounds of breaking woodwork were heard among the other noises; and at the same moment the door gave way in front, and the soldiers with fixed bayonets entered at a charge.
“Fire on them I fire on them!” shouted Barton, as he lay struggling on the ground; and a random volley rang through the cabin, filling it with smoke.
A yell of anguish burst forth at the moment; and one of the women lay stretched upon the hearth, her bosom bathed in blood. The scene was now a terrible one; for although overpowered by numbers, the young men rushed on the soldiers, and regardless of wounds, endeavored to wrest their arms from them. The bayonets glanced through the blue smoke, and shouts of rage and defiance rose up amid frightful screams of suffering and woe. A bayonet stab in the side, received I know