Chapter IV

The Valley of Fear

When McMurdo awoke next morning he had good reason to remember his

initiation into the lodge. His head ached with the effect of the drink,

and his arm, where he had been branded, was hot and swollen. Having his

own peculiar source of income, he was irregular in his attendance at

his work; so he had a late breakfast, and remained at home for the

morning writing a long letter to a friend. Afterwards he read the Daily

Herald. In a special column put in at the last moment he read, “Outrage

at the Herald Office—Editor Seriously Injured.” It was a short account

of the facts with which he was himself more familiar than the writer

could have been. It ended with the statement:

The matter is now in the hands of the police; but it can hardly be

hoped that their exertions will be attended by any better results than

in the past. Some of the men were recognized, and there is hope that a

conviction may be obtained. The source of the outrage was, it need

hardly be said, that infamous society which has held this community in

bondage for so long a period, and against which the Herald has taken so

uncompromising a stand. Mr. Stanger’s many friends will rejoice to hear

that, though he has been cruelly and brutally beaten, and though he has

sustained severe injuries about the head, there is no immediate danger

to his life.

Below it stated that a guard of police, armed with Winchester rifles,

had been requisitioned for the defense of the office.

McMurdo had laid down the paper, and was lighting his pipe with a hand

which was shaky from the excesses of the previous evening, when there

was a knock outside, and his landlady brought to him a note which had

just been handed in by a lad. It was unsigned, and ran thus:

I should wish to speak to you, but would rather not do so in your

house. You will find me beside the flagstaff upon Miller Hill. If you

will come there now, I have something which it is important for you to

hear and for me to say.

McMurdo read the note twice with the utmost surprise; for he could not

imagine what it meant or who was the author of it. Had it been in a

feminine hand, he might have imagined that it was the beginning of one

of those adventures which had been familiar enough in his past life.

But it was the writing of a man, and of a well educated one, too.

Finally, after some hesitation, he determined to see the matter

through.

Miller Hill is an ill-kept public park in the very centre of the town.

In summer it is a favourite resort of the people, but in winter it is

desolate enough. From the top of it one has a view not only of the

whole straggling, grimy town, but of the winding valley beneath, with

its scattered mines and factories blackening the snow on each side of

it, and of the wooded and white-capped ranges flanking it.

McMurdo strolled up the winding path hedged in with evergreens until he

reached the deserted restaurant which forms the centre of summer

gaiety. Beside it was a bare flagstaff, and underneath it a man, his

hat drawn down and the collar of his overcoat turned up. When he turned

his face McMurdo saw that it was Brother Morris, he who had incurred

the anger of the Bodymaster the night before. The lodge sign was given

and exchanged as they met.

“I wanted to have a word with you, Mr. McMurdo,” said the older man,

speaking with a hesitation which showed that he was on delicate ground.

“It was kind of you to come.”

“Why did you not put your name to the note?”

“One has to be cautious, mister. One never knows in times like these

how a thing may come back to one. One never knows either who to trust

or who not to trust.”

“Surely one may trust brothers of the lodge.”

“No, no, not always,” cried Morris with vehemence. “Whatever we say,

even what we think, seems to go back to that man McGinty.”

“Look here!” said McMurdo sternly. “It was only last night, as you know

well, that I swore good faith to our Bodymaster. Would you be asking me

to break my oath?”

“If that is the view you take,” said Morris sadly, “I can only say that

I am sorry I gave you the trouble to come and meet me. Things have come

to a bad pass when two free citizens cannot speak their thoughts to

each other.”

McMurdo, who had been watching his companion very narrowly, relaxed

somewhat in his bearing. “Sure I spoke for myself only,” said he. “I am

a newcomer, as you know, and I am strange to it all. It is not for me

to open my mouth, Mr. Morris, and if you think well to say anything to

me I am here to hear it.”

“And to take it back to Boss McGinty!” said Morris bitterly.

“Indeed, then, you do me injustice there,” cried McMurdo. “For myself I

am loyal to the lodge, and so I tell you straight; but I would be a

poor creature if I were to repeat to any other what you might say to me

in confidence. It will go no further than me; though I warn you that

you may get neither help nor sympathy.”

“I have given up looking for either the one or the other,” said Morris.

“I may be putting my very life in your hands by what I say; but, bad as

you are—and it seemed to me last night that you were shaping to be as

bad as the worst—still you are new to it, and your conscience cannot

yet be as hardened as theirs. That was why I thought to speak with

you.”

“Well, what have you to say?”

“If you give me away, may a curse be on you!”

“Sure, I said I would not.”

“I would ask you, then, when you joined the Freeman’s society in

Chicago and swore vows of charity and fidelity, did ever it cross your

mind that you might find it would lead you to crime?”

“If you call it crime,” McMurdo answered.

“Call it crime!” cried Morris, his voice vibrating with passion. “You

have seen little of it if you can call it anything else. Was it crime

last night when a man old enough to be your father was beaten till the

blood dripped from his white hairs? Was that crime—or what else would

you call it?”

“There are some would say it was war,” said McMurdo, “a war of two

classes with all in, so that each struck as best it could.”

“Well, did you think of such a thing when you joined the Freeman’s

society at Chicago?”

“No, I’m bound to say I did not.”

“Nor did I when I joined it at Philadelphia. It was just a benefit club

and a meeting place for one’s fellows. Then I heard of this place—curse

the hour that the name first fell upon my ears!—and I came to better

myself! My God! to better myself! My wife and three children came with

me. I started a drygoods store on Market Square, and I prospered well.

The word had gone round that I was a Freeman, and I was forced to join

the local lodge, same as you did last night. I’ve the badge of shame on

my forearm and something worse branded on my heart. I found that I was

under the orders of a black villain and caught in a meshwork of crime.

What could I do? Every word I said to make things better was taken as

treason, same as it was last night. I can’t get away; for all I have in

the world is in my store. If I leave the society, I know well that it

means murder to me, and God knows what to my wife and children. Oh,

man, it is awful—awful!” He put his hands to his face, and his body

shook with convulsive sobs.

McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. “You were too soft for the job,” said

he. “You are the wrong sort for such work.”

“I had a conscience and a religion; but they made me a criminal among

them. I was chosen for a job. If I backed down I knew well what would

come to me. Maybe I’m a coward. Maybe it’s the thought of my poor

little woman and the children that makes me one. Anyhow I went. I guess

it will haunt me forever.

“It was a lonely house, twenty miles from here, over the range yonder.

I was told off for the door, same as you were last night. They could

not trust me with the job. The others went in. When they came out their

hands were crimson to the wrists. As we turned away a child was

screaming out of the house behind us. It was a boy of five who had seen

his father murdered. I nearly fainted with the horror of it, and yet I

had to keep a bold and smiling face; for well I knew that if I did not

it would be out of my house that they would come next with their bloody

hands and it would be my little Fred that would be screaming for his

father.

“But I was a criminal then, part sharer in a murder, lost forever in

this world, and lost also in the next. I am a good Catholic; but the

priest would have no word with me when he heard I was a Scowrer, and I

am excommunicated from my faith. That’s how it stands with me. And I

see you going down the same road, and I ask you what the end is to be.

Are you ready to be a cold-blooded murderer also, or can we do anything

to stop it?”

“What would you do?” asked McMurdo abruptly. “You would not inform?”

“God forbid!” cried Morris. “Sure, the very thought would cost me my

life.”

“That’s well,” said McMurdo. “I’m thinking that you are a weak man and

that you make too much of the matter.”

“Too much! Wait till you have lived here longer. Look down the valley!

See the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it! I tell you

that the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower than that over the

heads of the people. It is the Valley of Fear, the Valley of Death. The

terror is in the hearts of the people from the dusk to the dawn. Wait,

young man, and you will learn for yourself.”

“Well, I’ll let you know what I think when I have seen more,” said

McMurdo carelessly. “What is very clear is that you are not the man for

the place, and that the sooner you sell out—if you only get a dime a

dollar for what the business is worth—the better it will be for you.

What you have said is safe with me; but, by Gar! if I thought you were

an informer—”

“No, no!” cried Morris piteously.

“Well, let it rest at that. I’ll bear what you have said in mind, and

maybe some day I’ll come back to it. I expect you meant kindly by

speaking to me like this. Now I’ll be getting home.”

“One word before you go,” said Morris. “We may have been seen together.

They may want to know what we have spoken about.”

“Ah! that’s well thought of.”

“I offer you a clerkship in my store.”

“And I refuse it. That’s our business. Well, so long, Brother Morris,

and may you find things go better with you in the future.”

That same afternoon, as McMurdo sat smoking, lost in thought beside the

stove of his sitting-room, the door swung open and its framework was

filled with the huge figure of Boss McGinty. He passed the sign, and

then seating himself opposite to the young man he looked at him

steadily for some time, a look which was as steadily returned.

“I’m not much of a visitor, Brother McMurdo,” he said at last. “I guess

I am too busy over the folk that visit me. But I thought I’d stretch a

point and drop down to see you in your own house.”

“I’m proud to see you here, Councillor,” McMurdo answered heartily,

bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard. “It’s an honour that I

had not expected.”

“How’s the arm?” asked the Boss.

McMurdo made a wry face. “Well, I’m not forgetting it,” he said; “but

it’s worth it.”

“Yes, it’s worth it,” the other answered, “to those that are loyal and

go through with it and are a help to the lodge. What were you speaking

to Brother Morris about on Miller Hill this morning?”

The question came so suddenly that it was well that he had his answer

prepared. He burst into a hearty laugh. “Morris didn’t know I could

earn a living here at home. He shan’t know either; for he has got too

much conscience for the likes of me. But he’s a good-hearted old chap.

It was his idea that I was at a loose end, and that he would do me a

good turn by offering me a clerkship in a drygoods store.”

“Oh, that was it?”

“Yes, that was it.”

“And you refused it?”

“Sure. Couldn’t I earn ten times as much in my own bedroom with four

hours’ work?”

“That’s so. But I wouldn’t get about too much with Morris.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I guess because I tell you not. That’s enough for most folk in

these parts.”

“It may be enough for most folk; but it ain’t enough for me,

Councillor,” said McMurdo boldly. “If you are a judge of men, you’ll

know that.”

The swarthy giant glared at him, and his hairy paw closed for an

instant round the glass as though he would hurl it at the head of his

companion. Then he laughed in his loud, boisterous, insincere fashion.

“You’re a queer card, for sure,” said he. “Well, if you want reasons,

I’ll give them. Did Morris say nothing to you against the lodge?”

“No.”

“Nor against me?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s because he daren’t trust you. But in his heart he is not

a loyal brother. We know that well. So we watch him and we wait for the

time to admonish him. I’m thinking that the time is drawing near.

There’s no room for scabby sheep in our pen. But if you keep company

with a disloyal man, we might think that you were disloyal, too. See?”

“There’s no chance of my keeping company with him; for I dislike the

man,” McMurdo answered. “As to being disloyal, if it was any man but

you he would not use the word to me twice.”

“Well, that’s enough,” said McGinty, draining off his glass. “I came

down to give you a word in season, and you’ve had it.”

“I’d like to know,” said McMurdo, “how you ever came to learn that I

had spoken with Morris at all?”

McGinty laughed. “It’s my business to know what goes on in this

township,” said he. “I guess you’d best reckon on my hearing all that

passes. Well, time’s up, and I’ll just say—”

But his leavetaking was cut short in a very unexpected fashion. With a

sudden crash the door flew open, and three frowning, intent faces

glared in at them from under the peaks of police caps. McMurdo sprang

to his feet and half drew his revolver; but his arm stopped midway as

he became conscious that two Winchester rifles were levelled at his

head. A man in uniform advanced into the room, a six-shooter in his

hand. It was Captain Marvin, once of Chicago, and now of the Mine

Constabulary. He shook his head with a half-smile at McMurdo.

“I thought you’d be getting into trouble, Mr. Crooked McMurdo of

Chicago,” said he. “Can’t keep out of it, can you? Take your hat and

come along with us.”

“I guess you’ll pay for this, Captain Marvin,” said McGinty. “Who are

you, I’d like to know, to break into a house in this fashion and molest

honest, law-abiding men?”

“You’re standing out in this deal, Councillor McGinty,” said the police

captain. “We are not out after you, but after this man McMurdo. It is

for you to help, not to hinder us in our duty.”

“He is a friend of mine, and I’ll answer for his conduct,” said the

Boss.

“By all accounts, Mr. McGinty, you may have to answer for your own

conduct some of these days,” the captain answered. “This man McMurdo

was a crook before ever he came here, and he’s a crook still. Cover

him, Patrolman, while I disarm him.”

“There’s my pistol,” said McMurdo coolly. “Maybe, Captain Marvin, if

you and I were alone and face to face you would not take me so easily.”

“Where’s your warrant?” asked McGinty. “By Gar! a man might as well

live in Russia as in Vermissa while folk like you are running the

police. It’s a capitalist outrage, and you’ll hear more of it, I

reckon.”

“You do what you think is your duty the best way you can, Councillor.

We’ll look after ours.”

“What am I accused of?” asked McMurdo.

“Of being concerned in the beating of old Editor Stanger at the Herald

office. It wasn’t your fault that it isn’t a murder charge.”

“Well, if that’s all you have against him,” cried McGinty with a laugh,

“you can save yourself a deal of trouble by dropping it right now. This

man was with me in my saloon playing poker up to midnight, and I can

bring a dozen to prove it.”

“That’s your affair, and I guess you can settle it in court to-morrow.

Meanwhile, come on, McMurdo, and come quietly if you don’t want a gun

across your head. You stand wide, Mr. McGinty; for I warn you I will

stand no resistance when I am on duty!”

So determined was the appearance of the captain that both McMurdo and

his boss were forced to accept the situation. The latter managed to

have a few whispered words with the prisoner before they parted.

“What about—” he jerked his thumb upward to signify the coining plant.

“All right,” whispered McMurdo, who had devised a safe hiding place

under the floor.

“I’ll bid you good-bye,” said the Boss, shaking hands. “I’ll see Reilly

the lawyer and take the defense upon myself. Take my word for it that

they won’t be able to hold you.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. Guard the prisoner, you two, and shoot him if

he tries any games. I’ll search the house before I leave.”

He did so; but apparently found no trace of the concealed plant. When

he had descended he and his men escorted McMurdo to headquarters.

Darkness had fallen, and a keen blizzard was blowing so that the

streets were nearly deserted; but a few loiterers followed the group,

and emboldened by invisibility shouted imprecations at the prisoner.

“Lynch the cursed Scowrer!” they cried. “Lynch him!” They laughed and

jeered as he was pushed into the police station. After a short, formal

examination from the inspector in charge he was put into the common

cell. Here he found Baldwin and three other criminals of the night

before, all arrested that afternoon and waiting their trial next

morning.

But even within this inner fortress of the law the long arm of the

Freemen was able to extend. Late at night there came a jailer with a

straw bundle for their bedding, out of which he extracted two bottles

of whisky, some glasses, and a pack of cards. They spent a hilarious

night, without an anxious thought as to the ordeal of the morning.

Nor had they cause, as the result was to show. The magistrate could not

possibly, on the evidence, have held them for a higher court. On the

one hand the compositors and pressmen were forced to admit that the

light was uncertain, that they were themselves much perturbed, and that

it was difficult for them to swear to the identity of the assailants;

although they believed that the accused were among them. Cross examined

by the clever attorney who had been engaged by McGinty, they were even

more nebulous in their evidence.

The injured man had already deposed that he was so taken by surprise by

the suddenness of the attack that he could state nothing beyond the

fact that the first man who struck him wore a moustache. He added that

he knew them to be Scowrers, since no one else in the community could

possibly have any enmity to him, and he had long been threatened on

account of his outspoken editorials. On the other hand, it was clearly

shown by the united and unfaltering evidence of six citizens, including

that high municipal official, Councillor McGinty, that the men had been

at a card party at the Union House until an hour very much later than

the commission of the outrage.

Needless to say that they were discharged with something very near to

an apology from the bench for the inconvenience to which they had been

put, together with an implied censure of Captain Marvin and the police

for their officious zeal.

The verdict was greeted with loud applause by a court in which McMurdo

saw many familiar faces. Brothers of the lodge smiled and waved. But

there were others who sat with compressed lips and brooding eyes as the

men filed out of the dock. One of them, a little, dark-bearded,

resolute fellow, put the thoughts of himself and comrades into words as

the ex-prisoners passed him.

“You damned murderers!” he said. “We’ll fix you yet!”