17 The Black Cabin

The dark shadow that had risen up at the edge of the dark woods, as the raiders went into the Black Cabin with their prisoner, resolved itself into the shape of a tall thin man, with long red hair and beard. He had followed on foot many miles, but he was not tired. He could not be tired at such a time. Powerful emotions swayed his heart and mind. His greatest affection in the world was for Harry Beauchamp, and he knew that he, Jim Steptoe, could alone meet the crisis.

Even as he turned from the over-grown path onto the road the idea came to him. He knew all that part of the mountains, every footpath, and by-road, and he knew that Elmwood lay scarcely three miles away. There might be time! He darted into a woods path, and fled on like a wraith. He crossed the massive hill at which Harry had looked longingly. Then the outlines of the pretty little village rose out of the shadow, and he ran, on swift foot, toward the hotel at which Cynthia was stopping. He felt sure that she would be there, but he did not yet know that Charlie Wentworth and Tom Kidd had changed their minds and gone back to Groveton. Lights were out everywhere, except at the hotel, and only one or two shone there, but as Jim raced up the dark slope he saw a figure on the piazza rise to receive him.

It was Cynthia, and even in the darkness, she recognized Jim Steptoe, Harry Beauchamp’s faithful follower and friend. She had not been able to rest. She had not dreamed of bed and sleep. She had waited in agony, fearing to hear, and now the terrible messenger had come!

“What is it, Jim?” she cried, “is he dead?”

“No, Miss Cynthy, he ain’t dead. He killed Cad Burke in the road! He had to do it! I saw it, but then the Night Riders came up an’ got him! They’re in the Black Cabin, over the shoulder of the mountain, an’ Miss Cynthy, we must save him, some way!”

Not dead! But instead, he had slain his enemy! How she thanked God for the present she had given him! But, after that first moment of deep emotion came the rapid concentration of an alert and keen mind. She was her father’s daughter. She would save him from this second danger, and thoughts came like lightning.

“Jim!” she said. “See the little building there, just beyond the hotel lawn! It is the telephone exchange, and it closes every night at 10 o’clock, but I want you to break in the door for me, at once!

They ran across the lawn, and Jim hurled himself against the door, which fell in with a smash.

“Now run to the hotel stables!” exclaimed Cynthia, “and bring two horses here! If anybody opposes you, strike him down!”

Jim sped on his mission, and Cynthia turned to hers.

Charlie Wentworth at that moment was just entering his room in Groveton, twenty miles away, to go to bed. His telephone rang, and did not cease ringing until he ran to it, and hastily put the receiver to his ear.

“Yes! Yes!” he cried, “What’s your hurry? Why—who!–Who did you say?—Cynthia?—Cynthia Braxton?—”

“Yes, Charlie! It is I, Cynthia! Cynthia! Can’t you hear me? Can you understand? Oh, Charlie, can’t you understand?”

Charlie Wentworth recognized even over the wire the fierce ring of intense excitement and alarm in Cynthia’s voice.

“Yes, Cynthia!” he said, “What has happened? What do you want?”

“Harry met Cad Burke in the road today! He attacked Harry, and Harry killed him! But the Night Riders came up, and carried Harry off into the hills. They will hang him tonight, if they are not stopped! Jim Steptoe saw it all! He spied on them! He is here with me now! Charlie, get up the Groveton Guards, as many as you can! NOW! Rouse Tom Kidd! Make him put on a special train, and bring the Guards as fast as the engine will fly to Elmwood! It’s only two or three miles over the mountains to the Black Cabin! The people here will show you the way! Quick, Charlie, quick! Do you understand everything? I haven’t a moment to spare! I’m going!”

“Going, what do you mean Cynthia? Where are you going?”

“Over the hills to the Black Cabin! Jim is going with me! He is here with the horses!”

“My God, Cynthia, you can’t do that! Wait! Wait for us! We’ll—”

He was cut off. The receiver was dead at the other end of the line. But it seemed to Charlie Wentworth, that he compressed energy of a lifetime into the next half hour.

As Cynthia said, Jim was already at the door with two horses saddled and bridled.

“There was nobody at the stable, an’ I just took ’em. I’d make a good burglar,” he said.

Cynthia jumped into the saddle.

“Lead the way, Jim!” she cried. “I’ve telephoned to Charlie Wentworth, and the Groveton Guards will he here in less than an hour! Tell the people to show them the way to the Black Cabin to save Harry Beauchamp’s life!”

Men were up and moving, attracted by the sounds, but Cynthia and Jim thundered away in the darkness, Jim continually shouting behind him:

“Tell the troops to come to the Black Cabin to save Harry Beauchamp’s life!”

Then the little village of Elmwood sank into the darkness behind them, and its last light went out.

“We’ll have to slow up, Miss Cynthy,” said Jim presently, “We’ve just got to do it! We can’t gallop over a road like this, on a pitch dark night!”

But Cynthia only replied:

“On, Jim! faster! faster!”

Jim reluctantly obeyed. His own spirit and anxiety spurred him on, too, but he knew the danger. Yet chance might save them. Too late! Cynthia’s horse stumbled and fell in the dark. Cynthia was up in an instant, unhurt, but the horse whinnied with pain, and raised a lame foot. Jim shook his head, sadly.

“He’s out of it,” he said. “We’ll leave him here and I’ll put your saddle on my horse, We’ve got to be slower, Miss Cynthy, or we’ll never get thar at all.”

Cynthia groaned at the lost time, while Jim fixed the saddle. The other horse they left in the road.

“You ride, Miss Cynthy” said Jim, “an’ I’ll run by your side.”

He helped her once more into the saddle and they resumed the way. Now it seemed to Cynthia that chance, which at first had fought for her, turned its back upon her, and was fighting against her. The night grew pitchy dark, gusts of cold rain were swept in her face, and keen-eyed Jim, peering forward, could not see twenty feet before him. They could only creep along.

“Oh, Jim! Jim!” she cried, “We’ll be all night getting there and we’ll be too late!”

“Courage, Miss Cynthy!” said Jim, “We’ll get thar in time, shore.”

But his heart sank like lead in a pool. He looked up, and saw not a sign of moon or star. The heavens were completely hidden by clouds, he had nothing to guide him but instinct and the sense of direction. Would they take them there? He prayed as he felt his way forward that it would turn light for the troops. Then, guided by men from Elmwood, they could come fast over the hills.

Suddenly he stopped. His instinct told him that they had wandered astray. He did not seem to be on familiar ground. The feel of it wrong.

“What is it, Jim? Oh, what is it? Are we lost?” exclaimed Cynthia from the horse.

“No, Miss Cynthy,” replied Jim bravely. We’re not lost. I’ll get you thar in time.”

But she felt sure that they were lost, and a cry of reproach rose to her lips. Nevertheless she checked it. How could she upbraid this brave, faithful man who had already done so much? She remained silent, and peered over the horse’s head at the long figure of her guide, who was seeking to get back into the right path.

But it was agony to her to follow the winding course, They might be going farther and farther away from the Black Cabin. If only the clouds would thicken enough to bring on thunder and lightning! Then by the glare Jim might see the true way. But there was no change; just the same dull, dead darkness and occasional flurries of rain. Cynthia Braxton lived a day every minute of that terrible journey. How long they wandered about neither she nor Jim knew, but it must have been long. Despair came in the wake of hope, and she put her face in her hands, but she would not let Jim hear her utter a single cry of grief.

Jim, too, was silent. He did not believe at first that he was lost, but, now he knew it. The night was far advanced, they would be too late. All their great efforts would go for nothing. His grief was inferior only to that of the girl on the horse. Suddenly he uttered a cry of joy.

“I’ve found it! I’ve found it, Miss Cynthy!” he said.

“The road? Is it the road you mean, Jim?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes, Miss Cynthy, we’ve blundered back into it, jest as we blundered out of it. An’ here I kin feel the big rock around which it turns!”

“God be praised!” she said devoutly, and then she was silent. As if fortune would change completely, whenever she changed at all, a great bank of clouds and vapors floated away, and a silver shaft of moonlight fell over the dripping forest. Jim thought of the troops, and the light that would serve them.

“Here’s the side road that leads to the Black Cabin, Miss Cynthy,” he said. “I think you’d better get down an’ we kin go the rest of the way on foot.”

She sprang from the horse, and in their eagerness both forgot all about the animal, leaving it in the road. Then they went swiftly and noiselessly toward the Black Cabin. Cynthia saw a soft ray of yellow light, shining from the open window and it gave her courage.

“Nothin’ ain’t happened yet,” said Jim in a low tone, but Cynthia heard him and her courage rose yet higher.

It was now she who led the way. In a minute she was beside the cabin, and then she looked in at the open window.

A circle of men, wearing grotesque masks of white cloth, were staring intently at something, enclosed by the circle. For a few moments she could not see what it was, but then she saw. Two were sitting on opposite sides of a table, on which two lanterns flared. But directly in the center of the table was a large open watch, at which they, like the enclosing circle, stared intently. One of the men at the table was masked, but the other, whose hands were bound behind him, had an uncovered face, and it was Harry Beauchamp.

Cynthia slipped from Jim Steptoe’s detaining hand, ran to the door, threw it open and rushed into the cabin. She broke through the circle and threw her arms about Harry Beauchamp’s neck. She did not know it then, but the minute hand was within five minutes of twelve, the point of dreadful conjunction.

“Cynthia!” exclaimed Harry. “Good God! You here!”

His first emotion of fear, fear for her, and his second of overwhelming delight, too keen for words. Saved! and to be saved by her, with, her arms around his neck!

The leader sprang to his feet.

“Cynthia Braxton, by all that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, Cynthia Braxton!” she said, standing up, fierce and avenging—at that moment she was absolutely without fear—“and I’ve come in time, Dave Strong, to save you from having murder on your soul.”

He recoiled, but she leaned over the table, and snatched the grotesque white mask from his face.

“I knew all the time it was he,” said Harry.

Dave Strong’s dark face grew darker still with anger.

“I don’t want to harm a girl, Cynthia Braxton,” he said, “but I may have to, when you come here interfering with us.”

“No, you won’t either!” shouted a powerful voice at the door. “Down, Miss Cynthia! Down! The troops are here!”

Cynthia understood in a flash Jim Steptoe’s warning. She heard the rapid beat of horses’ feet and throwing herself upon Harry she bore him, hands bound as he was, to the floor. The lanterns were dashed out, the raiders rushed for the door, she heard a dozen shots, cries, a groan, the whistle of two or three bullets in the room, and then she fainted dead away on the breast of the man whom she loved, and whom she had saved twice in one day.

When Cynthia came to herself she was lying on a pallet of coats, with her head on her father’s knee. Great tears, of joy and gratitude stood on Judge Braxton’s ruddy cheeks. Harry knelt beside her and said nothing, but her eyes met his, and there was no need to say anything. Charlie Wentworth, hatless, Tom Kidd, without either coat or waistcoat, and members of the Groveton Guards, partly in uniform, partly in civilian attire, and not wholly equipped with both, stood near.

“Well, we got here in time,” said Charlie Wentworth jubilantly. “You’re the greatest girl that ever lived, Cynthia! How you had the head and the courage to do it all so quickly I don’t see! But we were going some ourselves! How long do you think it took that special to come from Groveton, Tim?”

“I think we made about a hundred miles an hour,” replied Tom Kidd complacently, “You see, we got up all steam, and then we came, zip! like a streak of lightning, and the next minute it was time to stop in Elmwood.”

“And the people there were ready for us with horses and lanterns,” ran on Charlie, in sheer exuberance. “They understood Jim Steptoe’s flying call, and, when we came over the hills, we hit the tops of them only.”

“Nobody was hurt, I hope,” said Cynthia.

There was a sudden silence.

“Cynthia, my brave daughter,” said Judge Braxton. “We had best tell you. Some shots were fired as they rushed to the door. I think the raiders fired first and our men replied. We do not know whose bullet did it, and we are glad we do not, but Dave Strong lies outside, shot through the heart. Others, Dick Logsdon among them, escaped in the woods, and I am not sorry, because with the end of their leader—a fanatic, and fanatics can do terrible things—comes the end of violence in the name of the Band of Justice.”

The Judge proved to be a real prophet about these things.

But Harry was thinking then of other things. He rose and walked to the table, A large silver watch, face open, still lay in the center of it, steadily ticking away. It marked twenty minutes past twelve. He took it in his hands, walked to the door of the cabin, and threw it as far into the dark forest as his strong arm could send it.

“When the two hands were together at twelve I should have been hanged had Cynthia not come,” he said in a low tone to Judge Braxton.

“My brave daughter!” murmured the Judge.

Their return to Elmwood was far different from their coming. Cynthia rode, and Harry rode beside her. The last cloud rolled away, as if swept back by an omnipotent hand. The moon came forth, in burnished silver, the stars sprang out, and the dripping forest glittered and gleamed in the light.

“Cynthia,” said Harry, “when I passed the hill that lay between us and Elmwood, I felt as if our spirits were calling to each other; as if some subtle communication had passed. Now I know that it was so,”

She laughed softly and happily.

“You don’t call Jim Steptoe very subtle?” she asked.

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