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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 Public Idbrary
 
 THE GREAT ELM* 
 
 *6IRTH TWENTY-SEVEN FEET, THREE FEET ABOVE GROUND. AWARDED PRIZE OFFERED AT PHILADELPHIA 
 AS LARGEST TREE OF ITS KIND IN U. S.
 
 DAUGHTER OF THE ELM 
 
 A TALE OF WESTERN VIRGINIA 
 BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 BY GRANVILLE DAVISSON HALL 
 
 Seldom a tale 
 So sad, so tender and so true. 
 
 Shenstone.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1899 
 BY G. D. HALL 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 MAYER & MILLER, PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS 
 1907
 
 PS 
 
 PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. 
 
 In authorizing a reprint of the Daughter 
 of the Elm, in deference to a persistent de 
 mand, the author craves leave to say a 
 word of grateful acknowledgment for the 
 flattering reception the book has met. No 
 one knows better than he that the work 
 has but slender claim to literary merit; yet 
 it appears to have supplied a want. It 
 seems there is in it a similitude behind 
 which many readers think they recognize 
 real incidents, persons and places. But this 
 friendly reception has not been confined to 
 those who found this element of personal 
 and local interest. Copies have gone into 
 nearly every State in the Union, and some 
 across the sea. Many letter:; have come 
 from readers who knew nothing of the lo 
 cal similitude expressing their pleasure in 
 the perusal ; others from readers who were 
 curious to confirm their conjectures as, to 
 the identity of the characters in the story, 
 
 862576
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 some begging that they might have the real 
 names in confidence. Some were so sure 
 they recognized old acquaintances, they 
 even remembered persons and incidents 
 that never existed except in fiction. The 
 furor in the Massachusetts peninsula over 
 Cape Cod Folks" was duplicated in the 
 upper Monongahela Valley. Newspapers 
 in two counties printed tales of old-time 
 tragedies, mostly traditional, and poets 
 wrote verses about the great elm tree on 
 the bank of the West Fork river, which 
 they believed to be the one referred to in 
 the book. Strangers passing through the 
 neighborhood went out of their way to see 
 it; picnic parties went long distances to 
 take their pleasure under its wide-spreading, 
 branches. The great tree, having been 
 girdled by hogs, was fatally stricken. 
 Deep was the grief in all the countryside. 
 A trolley road projected along the valley 
 found the tree exactly in its path and 
 planned to cut it away. Then grief gave 
 way to indignation, and protest went up 
 from the local press till the trolley people 
 were glad to go around. With the fall of
 
 PREFACE. 7 
 
 "the last leaf," plans grew up for the pre 
 servation of the great skeleton. A piece of 
 limb was cut off and forwarded to the au 
 thor of the book as a souvenir. A restau 
 rant in the adjacent village was named the 
 "Great Elm." A cigar of generous propor 
 tions was the "Big Elm Cigar." Photo 
 graphs were taken of the "Elm Farm," of 
 the old Elm house, of the old stone man 
 sion in the Village, of the "Blue Boar Tav 
 ern" ; and souvenir cards printed and sent 
 broadcast. 
 
 Some readers doubtless think they per 
 ceive where the literary necessities of the 
 case constrain the narration to deflect from 
 the literal path to follow the more pleasing 
 lines required by the equities of a love 
 story. A friend who called on me a few 
 months after the book appeared, after a 
 visit to the old farm where he conjectured 
 the scene was laid, and who had an ancient 
 acquaintance with the loves and the trage 
 dies which had long been associated with 
 the place, protested there was some mis 
 take. Why, he said, Loraine died of a 
 fever and was buried on the farm ; and in
 
 8 PREFACE. 
 
 the confusion of the time the family moved 
 away before the grave was marked. It was 
 a long time before the head-stone was 
 ready so long that when it finally came, 
 nobody there knew where to find the 
 grave ; and to this day that marble slab may 
 be seen leaning against an apple tree near 
 the old house. The gentle ministrations of 
 rain and sun had healed the broken sod; 
 grasses and field flowers had hidden the 
 grave from mortal sight ; the earth had 
 claimed its own, and kindly nature had ob 
 literated the last trace of one who had 
 bloomed like the flowers that blossomed 
 above her grave and perished as prema 
 turely as they. If my friend had been sure 
 of his facts if she who, like the lover of 
 Evangeline, "sleeps in a nameless grave," 
 had been indeed the original of "Loraine," 
 then he would have had some reason to 
 complain of a departure from the path of 
 literal fact. But his information was at 
 least doubtful, for he was at the time away 
 at the front, fighting the battles of his 
 country, and had nothing better than hear 
 say. Let us recall that a citizen of Kansas,
 
 PREFACE. 9 
 
 who in his youth had known both Loraine 
 and her lover in Virginia, wrote to a friend 
 in Riverside that he had read the book and 
 it was "every word true;" that George 
 Holmes was living in Kansas, about forty 
 miles distant from his own home; that he 
 had not seen him but others who knew him 
 had. And, now, if George Holmes, why 
 not Loraine? Because there was a wide 
 spread belief in that region that when 
 George Holmes disappeared he had been 
 the victim .of murder. Perhaps the story 
 of the death and burial of Loraine the lost 
 grave the unused marble slab rests on 
 no better foundation than the belief that the 
 body found in the river at Worthlesston 
 was the corpse of Holmes. 
 
 Let us have the benefit of the doubt. Let 
 us rest in the faith of the happier story as 
 it is told. For if these things be not true, 
 how could they ever have been put in a 
 book? * * * 
 
 The author regrets there is some ground 
 for an objection made to the book by a 
 Pittsburgh book house on account of the
 
 10 PREFACE. 
 
 profanity in it. In deference to the criti 
 cism the justice of which he does not con 
 test he admits some of Mr. Dyson s re 
 marks might well be omitted. But when a 
 writer undertakes to portray persons whose 
 habitual language is profane, he cannot be 
 true to nature nor faithful to his art with 
 out allowing them to swear a little. Be 
 sides, we all know that in this modern reign 
 of Midas as the newspapers daily testify 
 Pittsburgh is the most highly moral of 
 all the cities mentioned in history with the 
 possible exception of Sodom and Gomor 
 rah and some allowance may be made for 
 the new decalogue in operation there which 
 embraces a commandment to this effect: 
 Thou shalt not swear, but, if your name is 
 Dives, all else is permitted you. 
 
 The last word to reach me about any of 
 the (supposed) characters in this book is in 
 a letter from a prominent citizen of Marion 
 county, West Virginia, Mr. James B. Fox, 
 of Farmington, who died a few weeks after 
 his letter was written. To a business let-
 
 PREFACE. 11 
 
 ter written in June, 1905, Mr. Fox added 
 the following: 
 
 It may be of some interest to you to hear that 
 Capt. Jack Apperson, as he was known in Poca- 
 hontas county, died on June 20, 1903. The writer, 
 while serving as a member of the legislature, be 
 came acquainted with Dr. Price, member from 
 
 Pocahontas county, who was s (Apper- 
 
 son s) physician in his last sickness. He made a 
 confession to the Doctor which was not to be 
 made public for some time in the future." 
 
 The reader will understand that the per 
 son here referred to is he who masquerades 
 in the book as "Harry Esmond." But Ap 
 person was not his real name, any more 
 than Esmond. 
 
 Mr. Fox mentioned also the death of Lot 
 Dyson at Wallace, West Virginia, in De 
 cember, 1903. "Before his death," Mr. Fox 
 writes, "the young men who had read 
 
 your book would read extracts to Mr. 
 
 (Dyson) and ask him about the circum 
 stances. They also called him Lot Dy 
 son, which he seemed to enjoy very 
 much." G, D. H. 
 
 Glencoe, 111., June, 1907.
 
 12 PREFACE. 
 
 PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION. 
 
 Thirty-eight years ago, "an old man, 
 broken by the storms" of misfortune and 
 wrong, came to me and with burning eyes 
 and quavering voice begged that I would 
 write down the things he would tell me. 
 He poured out in rude, impassioned 
 speech, much of it with bated breath little 
 above a whisper, a tale of lawlessness that 
 ran through years and culminated in the 
 murder of one of his own blood. The peo 
 ple of whom he spoke and something of 
 the history related by him were already 
 known to me. The notes then taken down 
 from the lips of one who has long since 
 paid the debt of nature were for a long 
 time lost to sight and memory. Lately 
 coming upon them by accident, and read 
 ing anew the simple, graphic words, ap 
 pealing to me thus out of the silence and 
 mists of almost forgotten years, the drama
 
 PREFACE. 13 
 
 of which the old man s story was a part 
 comes back to me with the vividness of life, 
 and I submit the story of it to that uni 
 versal tribunal of publicity which can be 
 trusted to award the justice denied else 
 where. There are those yet living who 
 will know how much of this recital is real ; 
 and if while rendering justice on the one 
 hand, any unintentidhal injustice should be 
 done on the other, let it be remembered 
 that seldom, even in the republic of letters, 
 are the scales of the blind goddess quite 
 evenly balanced. 
 
 As the darkest clouds have a silver lin 
 ing, so the tragedies of life are nearly al 
 ways gilded with the diviner drama of 
 Love; and, true to nature, this thread of 
 gold will be found to run through the 
 darker web woven in these pages. 
 
 Glencoe, 111., December 15, 1899.
 
 14 PREFACE. 
 
 EXEGESIS OF THE LOVE STORY. 
 
 (From a review by a newspaper correspondent.) 
 
 * * * The title of the book is well chosen, 
 for the heroine is the central figure in the story. 
 She enters in the .first chapter with her girlish 
 impatience for the coming of her tever, eager to 
 warn him against the evil lines laid for him. She 
 bids us farewell on the porch of her Kansas cot 
 tage; and she is* the one character with a moral 
 purpose all the way through. She parts with the 
 reader a wife and mother, who despite this rela 
 tion, in which she is as faithful as integrity can 
 make a human being, has made the great sacrifice, 
 as many like her do, in uncomplaining submission 
 to the decree of fate. Wherever she appears be 
 tween that advent and this farewell, she is the 
 pure, true-hearted girl and woman, living her 
 lonely, companionless, almost loveless, life, faith 
 ful to her obligation at a cost which she does 
 not even admit to herself. Of love and compan 
 ionship after the age of childish affection, she has 
 none. She is in her soul as much alone as Cru 
 soe on his island.
 
 PREFACE. 15 
 
 The first love, and the one that shapes her life, 
 comes to her by force of circumstances. Her 
 affection for young Holmes grows out of pity 
 for a lad who needed the firm direction of a 
 mother more than he did a sweetheart; and with 
 out experience to warn her against such a sacri 
 fice, she pledges an unreserved troth ; from which 
 when later she comes to realize what an adequate 
 love would be to her, she never for a moment 
 thinks of withdrawing. 
 
 Her meeting with St. George is like the meet 
 ing of the drooping flower with the vernal sun 
 and shower. There bloomed in her at once a 
 conception of what life would be with a con 
 genial spirit, and at the same time she was awak 
 ened to a realization of her own untoward fate. 
 There was the mutual recognition of kindred 
 souls ; St. George s perception of her terrible posi 
 tion, "worse than an alien in her own home," and 
 her perception that he understood it. Had there 
 been no meeting but the first, the poor girl s fate 
 would have been less tragic, for her dream would 
 have faded like "the baseless fabric of a vision." 
 But the second meeting completes the fatal initia 
 tive of the first. It warms and quickens what 
 each had been feeling and meditating in the inter 
 val. 
 
 Love at first sight is not the phantasy some 
 would have us believe. Nature prepares the mated 

 
 16 PREFACE. 
 
 souls for instant recognition. We see this in the 
 meeting on the lawn where St. George finds Lo- 
 raine taking up the plants ; in the impulse that 
 prompts him to ask for the walk by the river 
 and her preparedness for the request. We feel 
 it as much in their silent cognition of each other 
 as in their conversation he impulsive and glow 
 ing with an ardor that might have carried him 
 to any length ; she profoundly affected but crushed 
 under the consciousness of her obligation to an 
 other which compels her to put aside the love 
 St. George is eager to proffer her. How keenly 
 he feels the chill; how deeply she is moved by 
 his endeavor not to. show his hurt; and in part 
 ing with him hastily at the moment when his im 
 pulsive speech threatens to break down the bar 
 riers of her reserve, she cannot but let him see 
 in her eyes that her heart is his, while denying 
 him any other admission of it. 
 
 "I have been admiring this great elm," says 
 St. George, "as one of the things I have found 
 here to admire." How well Loraine knows she is 
 the other thing he has found to admire. Yet she 
 affects unconsciousness of it in the pretty speech 
 in which she tells him how in her loneliness she 
 comes to the elm for the sense of companionship 
 and protection it affords her, and which (she does 
 not tell him) she finds nowhere else.
 
 PREFACE. 17 
 
 The pathos of the story comes out in her warn 
 ing to St. George and the parting at Riverside, 
 though neither could have realized at the time 
 that it was forever ; again in the reference to 
 St. George at Pittsburgh in after years, with his 
 lovely wife and luxurious home, but with a 
 shadow in his heart in which is hidden away the 
 image of Loraine Esmond, sighing like the Judge 
 in Maude Muller over the perversity of fate and 
 the "might have been." 
 
 And what of her? "She closed the door for 
 ever on everything but the memory of him ;" but 
 she perpetuates that memory in his name given 
 to her boy and secretly prays he may grow up 
 to be a man befitting the name, at the same time 
 never for an instant faltering in her faithfulness 
 to the child s father, who while not unworthy is 
 unequal to her and can never fill the void which 
 so many lives like hers carry to the grave. 
 
 Such is the crucifixion of this noble life. How 
 many other women go through the world as she 
 does, treading the wine-press alone, acting their 
 part in the bloodless tragedies which make the 
 secret shadow at many a fireside.
 
 18 PREFACE. 
 
 [ADVERTISEMENT.] 
 
 It was supposed by the writer of this 
 book that no more than one edition if all 
 of that would ever be called for. Hence 
 the pages were not electrotyped. But the 
 first edition was exhausted two years ago, 
 and there has been a persistent demand for 
 the book ever since. If the work had then 
 been "plated," later editions could have been 
 produced at lower prices than the first; but 
 the cost now proves to be more than forty 
 per cent higher, so that an advance has to 
 be made in the price. The Daughter of the 
 Elm was originally accepted by a New York 
 publisher (F. Tennyson Neely) who would 
 have brought it out but for the failure of 
 his house. The price at which he proposed 
 to publish was that at which the second edi 
 tion is now offered. This is an advance of 
 twenty-five per cent, while the cost, as
 
 PREFACE. 19 
 
 stated, has increased forty per cent. The 
 cost has been further increased by the in 
 troduction of illustrations in deference to 
 the general interest and belief among local 
 readers that these . are places and objects 
 referred to in the book. 
 
 June, 1907.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 21 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LOVE S YOUNG DREAM. 
 
 The. plighted partner of his future life, 
 They met, embraced, and sat embowered 
 In woody chambers of the starry night. 
 
 Pollok. 
 
 A cloudless Sabbath in June, when, if 
 ever, come perfect days, had nearly run its 
 appointed course. The sun had dipped 
 behind a great hill in the west, and the 
 lengthening shade had reached across the 
 valley marked by a branch of the upper 
 Monongahela, but still left the woods and 
 fields of the rising landscape on the farther 
 side of the river gilded with the glory of 
 the summer sunset. 
 
 Along the west bank of the river, half 
 hidden by trees, ran a sandy road that fol 
 lowed the curvings of the stream and the 
 inequalities of the ground; and beside this 
 road a great elm tree, famous far and near 
 for its extraordinary proportions and its
 
 22 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 magnificent spread of limb and leaf, tow 
 ered above field and river like some gigan 
 tic sentinel left on guard by the departed 
 ages. 
 
 An ancient two-storied farmhouse, built 
 of hewed logs, which had seen better days 
 but could never boast of much architec 
 tural beauty, stood at the end of a lane a 
 few hundred feet from the river road. Not 
 far away were the farm buildings stable 
 and barn combined, cribs and pens all, 
 like the house, originally built of logs, 
 but patched and added to with rough 
 boards; all, like the house again, innocent 
 of paint and gray with time and exposure. 
 Around the house was a lawn of natural 
 beauty, but evidently not an object of 
 much care. Some rose bushes, now in 
 bloom, some unpretending beds of old- 
 fashioned flowers, a few groups of glowing 
 geraniums, indicated the presence of femi 
 nine taste and the touch of womanly hands. 
 The fences, garden, and other surround 
 ings had that indescribable aspect of neglect 
 which, while not indicating poverty or at 
 taining to squalor, showed the lack of that
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 23 
 
 sympathetic care and touch that make a 
 home look like the dwelling place of the 
 human domestic virtues. Although the 
 farm to which all these belonged embraced 
 many broad acres of foiling bottom and 
 gently sloping hill, all fertile of soil, it, too, 
 in field and fence, had the same air of neg 
 lect and thriftlessness as the buildings and 
 fences about the homestead. 
 
 Under the great elm at the foot of the 
 lane, now enclosed by a board fence that 
 helps to make a pig-yard, was then a rough 
 bench made of a large poplar slab, set flat 
 side up, with legs in two-inch auger holes 
 at the corners. This bench hacked, 
 notched, carved, and scratched with ini 
 tials told the story of many an idle hour, 
 of many a perplexed brain that had tried 
 to work out its solutions with the edge of 
 a knife on the helpless slab; of many a 
 rendezvous, perhaps, to concoct villainy; 
 of many a meeting of the gentler sort 
 which had left its memorial in the inter 
 twined initials, like those one so often finds 
 on the smooth bark of the beeches 
 along the river bottoms of this same
 
 24 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 region. Had this old bench been endowed 
 with a memory and a tongue or, bet 
 ter still, with the modern witness of a 
 graphophone in concealment it might 
 have repeated to these later years secrets 
 and legends, dark and otherwise, that 
 would have made material for many a ro 
 mantic structure. 
 
 A few hundred yards up the stream, the 
 river-bed was broken by rugged rocks over 
 which the clear summer flood rippled and 
 murmured as it made its way through the 
 narrow channels to the deeper bed directly 
 opposite the elm, where the smoother 
 waters at that moment reflected the tints 
 of the glowing sky. 
 
 Across the river, here three or four hun 
 dred feet wide, a small stream came down 
 from the hills to the east and south and 
 turned its little tribute over to this branch 
 of the Monongahela ; and on the lower 
 bank of this creek, in sight of the elm, was 
 a ragged cabin with a rude garden about 
 it and a ruder smithy, surrounded by evi 
 dences that the tenant divided his time be 
 tween tinkering and fishing.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 25 
 
 On the rough bench under the elm at 
 this hour rests a young girl, slender and 
 graceful of figure, plainly though neatly 
 dressed. The face is brunette, of exquisite 
 loveliness, with dark, lustrous eyes fringed 
 with long, jetty lashes ; features regular 
 and delicate; mouth sweet, reserved, and 
 somewhat qualified by a resolute chin. 
 The expression of the face just now is pen 
 sive, if not sad, and there is a shade of 
 anxiety and restlessness that finds expres 
 sion in frequent glances up the river road 
 and across the river. On the other side 
 of the river a path comes down to the brink, 
 where a spreading beech sends its roots to 
 the water s edge and furnishes mooring 
 for a small, flat-bottomed boat chained 
 to a root and equipped with a single pad 
 dle. 
 
 At times the girl rises and walks along 
 the path under the elm, in her hand a sim 
 ple straw hat with ribbons to tie under the 
 chin ; and she swings the hat by the rib 
 bons as if to find relief from her impa 
 tience. . Then she seats herself again, and 
 the eyes rove from the river road to the
 
 26 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 path that ends under the beech on the other 
 side. 
 
 Now she catches a glimpse, and now 
 gets a full view, of a youthful, manly fig 
 ure who walks down past the cottage and 
 smithy and quickens his step as he comes 
 within range of the seat under the elm, 
 crosses the creek on the frail foot bridge, 
 strides over the intervening point, and is 
 quickly under the tree which holds captive 
 the little boat. The girl springs from the 
 seat, runs across the road and down the 
 bank to the edge of the river, and calls 
 his name in a low voice that thrills with 
 the pleasure of seeing him. He replies 
 with a wave of the hand, swiftly unfastens 
 the boat, and, giving it a powerful push, 
 springs into it and seizes the paddle. In 
 two or three minutes the boat grates on 
 the gravel at her feet, and, springing out, 
 he pulls it up on the beach and advances to 
 meet her. At the moment he approaches 
 she looks quickly around, up and down the 
 river and up to the road. Not a creature 
 is in sight, and she turns to him and ac 
 cepts the kiss which sends the rich color
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 27 
 
 to cheek and brow and lends softness to 
 the dark eyes. They clasp hands and walk- 
 thus, hand in hand, up to the seat, where 
 for a few moments they stand conversing 
 in low tones that are not for us to hear. 
 Presently there comes a pause, and they 
 turn and sit down on the bench in a way to 
 suggest that it is an old and dear friend 
 that is deep in their most sacred confi 
 dences. 
 
 She takes off her hat and holds it on 
 her lap, a little nervous, as if not knowing 
 quite how to begin, while a shade of con 
 cern overcasts her face. 
 
 "George," she says, at length, "I wanted 
 you to come, and still I hoped you would 
 not." 
 
 "Why, Loraine," with a little surprise. 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Because the boys are going out to 
 night, and they want you to go with them, 
 and I don t want you to go." 
 
 "Where are they going, and what is to 
 be done?" he asked. 
 
 "I can t find out. None of them will 
 tell me. Lynn has been here since last
 
 28 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 night, and Lot came down about an hour 
 ago, and when Lynn comes I know there 
 is mischief to be done. They have been in 
 the barn, feeding and rubbing down their 
 horses, cleaning and loading pistols, and 
 making great preparations for something; 
 and they are so excited and mysterious. 
 I overheard Lot say, George has got to 
 go; he promised to be here before sun 
 down. " 
 
 "I did half promise," he said, "to go 
 with them to-night, though they did not 
 tell me what they were going after. Lot 
 said he would tell me when I came down. 
 But I can t go; I have nothing to ride. 
 Lize cast a shoe, and father took Bet this 
 morning and went up to Uncle Andy s 
 and will not be home till morning. I 
 would not go anyhow if you did not want 
 me to." 
 
 He was not looking at her and did not 
 see the quick flush of pleasure these last 
 words brought into her face. 
 
 It was growing dusk. Presently there 
 was a confusion of voices at the house, and 
 a few minutes later the clatter of horses
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 29 
 
 feet coming down the lane. Four men, 
 one of whom was the girl s brother, rode 
 rapidly down the road. Seeing the figures 
 on the bench, they pulled up abruptly, and, 
 riding - .close to see who they were, the 
 leader addressed the girl s companion : 
 
 "George Holmes, you here! What the 
 does this mean ? Where s your horse ?" 
 
 The person addressed in this rude fash 
 ion rose to his feet, as he replied in a man 
 ner slightly apologetic : 
 
 "Lize is lame, and the old man rode Bet 
 up to Uncle Andy s. He started this morn 
 ing before I Was up, and mother said he 
 was going to stay all night. I walked down 
 to tell you, and would have been up to the 
 house if I hadn t happened to find Loraine 
 here. You ll have to go without me to 
 night." 
 
 There were black looks on all the faces. 
 
 "This is a pretty how-d ye-do," said the 
 leader. "We will see about this when we 
 come back; there s no time to waste 
 now."
 
 30 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 He gave the rein to his horse and 
 dashed up the road, the rest following at a 
 gallop. 
 
 There was an interval of silence, each of 
 the pair evidently wrestling with troubled 
 thoughts. 
 
 "George," said the girl at last, "where 
 will all this end?" 
 
 She shivered a little as she spoke, as if 
 at that instant the shadow of impending 
 calamity passed before her spirit. 
 
 "What are we to do? If the boys keep 
 this up, I know it will end in misfortune for 
 all of us." 
 
 Tears came into her eyes, and her voice 
 faltered. She looked across the river into 
 the deepening shade of the woods. Her 
 companion did not speak at once. 
 
 "God knows," he said, "that I have 
 wished a thousand times that it had never 
 been begun. They all blame me because I 
 don t enter into their plans with as much 
 zeal as they do; and I feel as you do, L,o- 
 raine, that trouble is on the road and com 
 ing our way."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 31 
 
 "I have begged Harry," she said, sup 
 pressing a sob, "to give up these wild 
 night rides and settle down at home and 
 look after the farm, which needs it; and 
 he seems moved sometimes by what I say ; 
 but when Lynn and Lot and the rest get 
 around him and flatter him as their leader, 
 he falls in with anything they propose and 
 is as reckless as the worst of them." 
 
 Silence fell with the darkness on the 
 couple sitting in the deep shadow of the 
 great tree. Despite their anxieties, they 
 were too much absorbed in the mutual joy 
 of youthful affection to take much real 
 trouble about anything. One after an 
 other the stars came out, and in the dim 
 radiance of the peerless night they re 
 mained an hour longer, with only occa 
 sional exchanges of speech, deep in the ab 
 sorption of that complete companionship 
 which needs not speech to express it. 
 
 At length the girl arose and said they 
 must go to the house. Her companion hesi 
 tated. 
 
 "Come up to the house," she said, "and
 
 32 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 see Eloise and mother. You will stay all 
 night?" 
 
 "No," he replied, "not to-night. I don t 
 want to see anybody else to-night. I have 
 to be home early in the morning, and it 
 would be better for the boys not to find 
 me when they come back after midnight." 
 
 She acquiesced, with some reluctance. 
 They walked up the lane together, and after 
 a little lingering at the gate, which they had 
 not the heart to deny themselves, he re 
 turned to the river, recrossed in the boat, 
 and walked home under the starlight, re 
 volving, along with tender thoughts of her 
 he had left, the growing seriousness of his 
 relations with her daredevil brothers and 
 the rest of the lawless band with whom he 
 was so entangled he could not see the way 
 out.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 33 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HISTORICAL AND PERSONAL. 
 The prince of darkness is a gentleman. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 In the early fifties there came to the vil 
 lage of Riverside from a town on the lower 
 Monongahela, in Pennsylvania, one Jacob 
 Holmes, who was a wagon maker, an hon 
 est, hard-working man of German stock, 
 past middle age, with half a dozen sons and 
 daughters, of whom two or three were 
 grown to near womanhood and manhood. 
 Holmes was quiet, steady, devoted to his 
 shop, turned out good work, and deserved 
 to prosper. 
 
 His eldest son, George, then about com 
 ing of age a good-looking, amiable boy, 
 the pet of an indulgent, injudicious mother 
 had not been required to enter his father s 
 shop nor to learn any other trade or busi 
 ness. While the father and his jour 
 neyman, "J imm y" English, were driving
 
 34 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 the shop with unremitting assiduity, 
 George was free to divert himself by rid 
 ing around visiting relatives, of whom there 
 were several in the neighborhood, or in 
 making other acquaintances and finding 
 means of amusement. 
 
 One of the first families to whom he was 
 attracted was the Esmonds, who owned a 
 farm lying along the river on the opposite 
 side from the village, and a short distance 
 below, the homestead being at the lower end 
 of the place, and distinguished by a new 
 owner in later years as "The Great Elm." 
 
 In that household were several sons and 
 two daughters, the younger near George s 
 age; and there were usually some hired 
 men about the farm, which seems to have 
 been managed without much system or 
 profit. The elder sons were reputed to be 
 rather wild, and the place was frequented 
 by associates and visitors of kindred de 
 scription. It was claimed that this younger 
 set had come by their obliquity, their way 
 ward temper and reckless ways, by honest 
 inheritance. A few people believed (but 
 for reasons of prudence did not publish
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 35 
 
 their opinions from the housetops) that 
 darker trades than farming had been car 
 ried on about the place from a pretty early 
 day. 
 
 Young Holmes found the company he 
 met there suited to his inclinations, and, 
 being of an irresolute temper, with no fixed 
 purpose in life, fond of idleness and pleas 
 ure, he by degrees fell entirely under the 
 influence of the stronger spirits with whom 
 he became associated, and was carried along 
 by the current of inclination and circum- 
 
 i 
 
 stances until he became subservient not only 
 to their will and purposes, but imbued with 
 like wild and lawless desires, which drove 
 them from one adventure to another, till 
 there was little too daring or law-defying 
 for them to undertake. 
 
 His parents found after a year or two 
 that he was in bad company. They often 
 besought him to give it up, and for the 
 moment he would be penitent and promise 
 to break away from it. But he had gone too 
 far to withdraw, even had he been made of 
 firmer stuff than he was. He had become 
 cognizant of, if not participant in, many of
 
 36 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 the Esmond gang s offenses, and realized 
 at last that he could not break with them 
 except at the peril of his life. Infirm of 
 purpose, easily swayed by stronger natures, 
 perplexed by the growing distrust of his as 
 sociates, he shut his eyes to considerations 
 of rectitude or of safety and drifted with 
 the current that was setting strongly to 
 wards the cataract. 
 
 Harry Esmond "Handsome Harry"- 
 the elder of the brothers at home, was the 
 leading spirit at this time of a group that 
 embraced more in its fellowship and had 
 wider ramifications than was suspected 
 even by the few in the neighborhood who 
 thought themselves well-informed. He 
 was not by any means the most vicious or 
 desperate of the lot ; but he was a natural 
 and recognized leader by virtue of his per 
 sonal superiority and force of character. 
 He was quick to grasp a situation or 
 see an opportunity, had a cool head and 
 capacity to plan enterprises. He had the 
 generous, large-minded way of dealing 
 with his fellows characteristic of leader 
 ship, and they looked to him for direction
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 37 
 
 as naturally as he to them for obedience and 
 support. 
 
 "Handsome Harry" never had any lik 
 ing for work. He might help a little in an 
 emergency like harvest; but the drudgery 
 of regular work or business did not agree 
 with him, and the thought of giving his 
 years to such a humdrum life was not to 
 be entertained. While the paternal Es 
 mond, the younger boys, and the hired 
 men looked after the farm, Harry walked 
 around or rode about like a gentleman of 
 leisure, wore good clothes, kept his hands 
 soft and his brain busy planning means of 
 amusing himself, and, finally, enterprises of 
 greater pith and moment. 
 
 Some of his subordinates displayed na 
 ture s diplomas on their faces. Lynn John 
 son was slight, dark-visaged, hatchet- 
 faced, with snaky black eyes, and had 
 cunning and villainy written in every linea 
 ment. Lot Dyson was a great, gaunt, 
 hulking ruffian, with shoulders like Mc 
 Ginn s "Irishman" and a face that had the 
 hungry look of a beast of prey, as if some 
 predatory wolf had been reincarnated in his
 
 38 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 uncouth person. Ray Harris was big, ox- 
 like, heavy-jawed, rather good-natured on 
 the average, but controlled by considerations 
 looking to profit or gratification of the 
 grosser kind. There was an elder son of the 
 Esmond family married and living in the 
 neighborhood, part of the time in the vil 
 lage, without apparent occupation or visible 
 means of support. 
 
 At the time this history opens, Harry 
 Esmond had tender relations with the 
 daughter of a blacksmith in the village, one 
 Byers, who lived in an old stone house on 
 the river bank built in Indian times, with 
 walls near a yard thick and windows not 
 much larger than the loopholes in a block 
 house. This old stone house was for a 
 time quite a resort for the chief of the 
 gang, not always for reasons of gallantry, 
 for the blacksmith seems to have had a 
 pretty intimate knowledge of some of the 
 exploits of Harry and his friends and to 
 have lent a little assistance at times, as 
 occasion seemed to require. 
 
 But the village rendezvous of the gang 
 was the Blue Boar tavern, kept by Jonas
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 39 
 
 Blue among his cronies familiarly "Jone" 
 who found it profitable to his bar, if not 
 otherwise, to be on good terms with these 
 roystering fellows, who always had money 
 to spend for drink, and he finally appears 
 to have become their confidant, if not co 
 adjutor and adviser, in their lawless ex 
 ploits. 
 
 When Jonas became the owner of the 
 hostelry, he had a big square sign made to 
 be mounted on a post by the pavement, 
 and had the village painter who, along 
 with his artistic accomplishments, com 
 bined, with a pleasant humor, the trades 
 of chairmaker and politician paint on the 
 panel an enormous black boar, with tusks 
 of almost elephantine length. Through 
 some chemical fault in the paint (possibly) 
 the black, after a few months exposure 
 to the weather, turned to be "darkly, deep 
 ly, beautifully blue." The general opinion 
 of the village was that the transformation 
 was the result of some trick on the part 
 of the waggish painter, but Blue himself 
 saw in it a distinct interposition of Provi 
 dence in compliment to himself as giving his
 
 40 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 name to the tavern and blue the beast was 
 allowed to remain. 
 
 While Harry Esmond was inclined and 
 accustomed to plan bold enterprises away 
 from his own neighborhood, some of his 
 followers were not above jobs that could 
 hardly be classed above petty larceny. 
 One night a lot of green hides were stolen 
 from a tannery half a mile south of the 
 village and run off to the county town, 
 where they were sold by Dyson. A little 
 bolder stroke was the robbery of the prin 
 cipal store in the village one Saturday 
 night. An auger was procured by Dyson 
 from the wagon-shop of Jacob Holmes, 
 with which a hole was bored through the 
 shutter and the latch lifted. A small sum 
 of money was taken from the cash drawer 
 and numerous bolts of cloth and cassimere. 
 underclothing, stockings, and other arti 
 cles of attire were carried away. The mer 
 chant and other citizens could guess the 
 direction the goods had gone. 
 
 Monday following the robbery Mr. 
 Holmes sent George to haul a load of coal 
 for Lot Dyson, who lived in an old log
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 41 
 
 house on the "hill farm" of the Esmond 
 estate. Lot was to meet him at the foot 
 of the hill where the coal mine was and 
 help him load, but when George arrived 
 Lot was not there, and, loading himself, 
 he drove on up to the house. He went in, 
 and, rinding Mrs. Dyson alone, asked for 
 Lot. At this moment, hearing a noise 
 overhead .he asked her who was upstairs. 
 She would not tell him, and, being famil 
 iar with the house as well as with its 
 inmates, he went upstairs, and, approach 
 ing the room from which the noise ap 
 peared to come, he pushed against the door 
 (which was insecurely fastened by a wood 
 en button inside). The door flew open 
 and disclosed Dyson, Lynn Johnson, and 
 "Johnny" Hooker, with bolts of goods and 
 clothing spread out on a bed trying to 
 agree on a division. They were surprised 
 by Holmes appearance, though not dis 
 concerted, for he was in most of their se 
 crets. Hooker, who will be heard of again, 
 was a natty, well-dressed young fellow 
 from Pennsylvania, who had been visiting 
 for some time at Esmonds, apparently
 
 42 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 looking for some such job as this He was 
 an underground agent who assisted them in 
 running off and marketing stolen horses 
 and other property. 
 
 A day or two after this, the elder Holmes 
 went with the old ferryman to a neighbor 
 ing field on the Lot Dyson place to haul a 
 load of fodder, and in tearing down a 
 "shock" they uncovered a bolt of cassi- 
 mere, which, on being taken to the mer 
 chant, was recognized as part of his 
 stolen property. The goods had been con 
 cealed temporarily in the cornfield, and this 
 bolt had been overlooked when the spoil 
 had been gathered in for a dividend. 
 
 No attempt was made to prosecute the 
 robbers or recover the goods, though evi 
 dence and opinion in the village pointed 
 to them directly. They were formidable, 
 and neither the old merchant nor anybody 
 for him felt like making the move. 
 Justice was timid, and the bandits bold and 
 prosperous. A bolt of the stolen cassimerc 
 was dyed in the Esmond household, and 
 the chief wore a pair of pantaloons of the 
 stuff wrongside-out.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 43 
 
 . 
 
 For some years the most profitable ad 
 ventures of this band were the running off 
 of horses to Pennsylvania. They had a 
 chain of confederates who received the 
 horses, put them in concealment, passing 
 them from one to another at night, till 
 they reached a safe market. Horses fifteen 
 to twenty miles away would disappear some 
 night as mysteriously as if swallowed up 
 by the earth. The trips were planned so 
 that the robbers would reach their hiding- 
 place before daylight. One of their ex 
 ploits that made a good deal of local ex 
 citement was the running off of some fine 
 horses from the farm of Robert Mason, a 
 pioneer on upper Bingamon ; another was 
 the robbery of "old Josie" Boyer, on Ten- 
 mile. But nothing ever came of the agita 
 tion in either case. Public opinion pointed 
 to the perpetrators, but their tracks were 
 so well covered no tangible proofs could 
 be produced. 
 
 The habits and disposition of the country 
 people made the trade of these night riders 
 easy and safe. They went to bed at dark 
 and slept the sleep of the Seven, and if their
 
 44 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 dogs barked at night at passing horsemen, 
 they gave themselves no concern, so long 
 as their own premises were not invaded or 
 their property taken. Men could ride 
 through the country roads at night any 
 where on any kind of business with impu 
 nity. The people living along the road were 
 far more afraid than they.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 45 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ALCHEMY OF FIRE. 
 
 Fire, faithful servant of the devil. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 But sure I think that I can drink 
 With him that wears a hood. 
 
 Bishop Still. 
 
 One of the connections these bandits 
 had at a distance was a burly fellow named 
 Abe Keifer. He operated about Clarks 
 burg and Buckhannon and in the country 
 between. Harry Esmond seemed to keep 
 in close touch with him, and they had fre 
 quent meetings to which the public were 
 not invited. 
 
 During the period when George Holmes 
 was most completely subservient to Es 
 mond, he and Harry met one night at the 
 Blue Boar. Esmond took him out on the 
 back porch, and, looking cautiously about 
 to be sure no one was within ear 
 shot, said:
 
 46 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 "I ve got a job I want you to help me 
 with, and I don t want the rest to know any 
 thing about it." 
 
 "I m your man," said George. "You ll- 
 divvy, of course?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Harry, "and I ll make it 
 worth your while. I fixed it up with Abe 
 Keifer when I saw him at Elias Tarbert s 
 three weeks ago. You know Abe has a 
 saloon out on the Northwestern road west 
 of Clarksburg. He had it built last win 
 ter, and has it insured for double what it 
 cost him. His goods are well insured, and 
 these he will sneak out so as to get the in 
 surance money on them and have the goods 
 besides. Well, the place isn t paying, and 
 he has agreed that if I will tip a match he 
 will divide the profit. I am to have $400 
 in gold, and if you go with me you shall 
 have half of it." 
 
 "Won t I, though!" said George, enthu 
 siastically. "When are we to do it?" 
 
 "I just got a letter from Abe this even 
 ing. He gave me a key when I saw him, 
 and now he writes me appointing the 
 night it is to be done, and telling me all
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 47 
 
 about it. The letter has lain in the office 
 here several days, and the time fixed is to 
 morrow night." 
 
 "To-morrow night will suit me," quoth 
 George. "I ll ride the black mare." 
 
 "And I will get Byers black horse," 
 said Esmond. "He ll let me have it when I 
 tell him what s afoot. I don t want to take 
 a horse from home, because the other boys 
 will want to know where I am going 
 This dish is personal, and I don t want 
 any of the rest dipping in. They will think 
 I am at Byers with Tot when we will be 
 on the road that has a pot of gold at the 
 other end." 
 
 "I ll go to bed early," said George, in 
 his enthusiasm, "and when the rest are 
 asleep I will slip out and jump on Lize and 
 come around to Byers for you." 
 
 "I will be all ready," said Harry. 
 "Mum s the word." 
 
 They separated, and Esmond went to the 
 bar-room, where he found Lot and Ray 
 standing at the bar as if they had just taken 
 a drink.
 
 48 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "Have something, boys, at my expense," 
 said Harry, who felt a little more than or 
 dinarily generous on the strength of that 
 potential $400. "Set her out, Jone." 
 
 Blue placed the whisky on the counter, 
 and the invited poured out glasses, Ray 
 three fingers, while Lot filled his to the 
 brim. 
 
 Lot noticed the landlord watch him pour 
 out the liquor as if he begrudged so big a 
 drink. "I don t drink no sample," Lot re 
 marked. "When I drink, I want to taste 
 it." 
 
 "That s right, Lot," commented Harry. 
 "There is nothing small about you." 
 
 "I was born thirsty," growled Lot, "and 
 I ve never been able to get over it." 
 
 The landlord, not much pleased with the 
 size of the drinks nor with Harry s encour 
 agement of such lavishness at his expense, 
 interrupted the conversation: 
 
 "I hear Jim Monroe says he ll be d d 
 
 if he don t make me pay for that horse. 
 Has he been sent off ?" he asked, in a lower 
 tone. 
 
 "He is under ground all right," said Lot.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 49 
 
 Esmond, instead of liquor, had poured 
 out a glass of water, and was sipping it at 
 intervals. Lot observed it, and turned on 
 him: "Why don t you drink something? 
 Water and milk are for children." 
 
 "Jone," said Harry, turning to the land 
 lord, "give Lot the bottle and let- him drink 
 a glass for me. I don t want anything to 
 night. I m going where there s ladies, 
 Lot, and don t want it on my breath," 
 continued Harry, smiling. 
 
 Lot poured another brimming glass, to 
 the manifest discomfort of the man behind 
 the bar. "Here s to the ladies and to the 
 chief who breaks their hearts," he said, 
 with a grim sort of politeness and humor, 
 and then he drank off the liquor. 
 
 "Thank you," said Harry, as he handed 
 the barkeeper a dollar. "Never mind the 
 change," he said, in a low voice that cleared 
 the landlord s face of the temporary cloud. 
 He in his cheerfulness remarked: 
 
 "They say Billy Richardson is raising 
 the whole country about his gray stallion." 
 
 "Billy Richardson be d d," put in 
 
 Ray. "When he sees the gray stallion
 
 50 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 again he ll be older and wiser than he is 
 now." 
 
 "What has been done with him?" asked 
 Esmond, looking around cautiously to be 
 sure no outsider had come in. 
 
 "Underground with the other," said Lot 
 significantly. 
 
 "When is Johnny coming after them?" 
 resumed Harry. 
 
 "He is to be here to-morrow night," 
 said Ray. "That stallion will bring $1,000, 
 if he will a dollar, and Johnny will have 
 the money inside a month." 
 
 "What am I to do if Jim Monroe sues 
 me?" came back the landlord. 
 
 "Oh, he can t make anything out of it," 
 replied Harry. "A landlord can t be made 
 responsible for horses put in his stable by 
 other people without his knowledge. 
 Walker put up that horse without asking 
 your leave. How should you know who 
 took him out, or even that he was there?" 
 
 The next night, George spent the even 
 ing at home and went to bed with the rest
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 51 
 
 of the family, somewhat to their surprise. 
 When he thought all asleep, he rose quietly, 
 dressed himself, and went to the sta 
 ble, saddled and bridled the black mare 
 and led her out by a back way to avoid 
 the possibility of being overheard by the 
 household. A few minutes later he drew 
 up before the stone mansion, where Byers 
 and Harry were standing by the front 
 door. Harry went back to the stable for 
 the horse and in a few minutes joined him, 
 and, waving an adieu to Byers, they set 
 off under the starlight to tempt fortune or 
 fate, as the event might prove. 
 
 They rode slowly over the wooden 
 bridge at the border of the village, and a 
 quarter of a mile farther on gave rein and 
 relieved their rising spirits with a mile 
 gallop, along which there were then no 
 houses near the road. They had started 
 a little after ten. The distance was a dozen 
 miles. A moderate gait would take them to 
 their destination before one o clock, and 
 three hours more would bring them back. 
 They moderated speed, but rode in silence. 
 The noise of the horses hoofs made con-
 
 52 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 versation unsatisfactory in subdued tones, 
 and it was not prudent to talk loud. 
 
 When they had arrived within a few 
 hundred feet of the goal of their enter 
 prise, Harry, who had been there more 
 than once and knew the place, dismounted 
 and handed the rein to George, who with 
 drew beneath the shade of some trees by 
 the roadside. 
 
 "Now," he said, "if anything goes 
 wrong, don t run away and leave me." 
 
 "Not much !" was the reply. 
 
 As he advanced toward the building, 
 Esmond felt in his pocket for the key. It 
 was there, safe enough. He paused a few 
 minutes, looked around him, and listened 
 intently. The saloon stood isolated. 
 There were no inhabited buildings within 
 several hundred yards. The place had 
 been admirably selected for the purpose. 
 Nothing seemed to be stirring in the 
 neighborhood. Keifer in his letter to Es 
 mond had told him where to feel for 
 matches, and where he would find some 
 bottles of brandy and some good cigars. 
 Everything else in the saloon of a portable
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 53 
 
 character had been packed ready to be run 
 off into another part of the country, and 
 the team to take the stuff had waited a 
 short distance away until the vicinity was 
 in bed, and had then gone to the build 
 ing, loaded the goods, and departed 
 scarcely an hour before the arrival of the 
 incendiaries. The details had been well 
 planned and carefully executed. 
 
 Esmond, after another pause of a few 
 moments at the door, listening, and, peer 
 ing through the dark, unlocked it and en 
 tered, closing it softly behind him. He 
 reached out to a shelf beside the door where 
 Keifer Had told him to feel for matches, 
 and his hand struck something cold. He 
 recoiled in horror, for it seemed to him for 
 an instant that he had touched a corpse. 
 He held his breath, almost choked with the 
 oppression of indefinite apprehension. No 
 man, however courageous, ever entered a 
 strange house in the dark without an in 
 voluntary shudder at the thought of what 
 might be lying in wait for him, for it is 
 the unknown that terrifies, and the un 
 expected that shocks, as they had just now
 
 54 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 shocked and terrified Esmond. Visible 
 dangers we instantly summon courage to 
 meet; but the invisible there is no cour 
 age equal to them. Harry stood for a few 
 irresolute moments, and then he remem 
 bered that he had matches in his vest 
 pocket, and, taking out one, he struck a 
 match, and with the flash all his apprehen 
 sions vanished. 
 
 He lit a candle standing near, and, look 
 ing around to the shelf, found it was a bot 
 tle of brandy that had given him the shock 
 in the dark. He proceeded to take a leisure 
 ly survey. Tight shutters, carefully 
 closed, kept the light from showing out 
 side. He found the train that was to be 
 fired. He put the cigars and brandy into 
 portable shape, touched the candle to the 
 tinder, passed out quickly, locking the door 
 after him and throwing the key as 
 far as he could fling it into the field. He 
 walked lightly and swiftly back to the trees 
 where Holmes waited for him with the 
 horses. 
 
 "It is all right," he said, in a low voice. 
 "You take these," handing George a part
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 55 
 
 of the packages. He mounted, and they 
 wheeled and rode away in a sudden panic, 
 as if some grim terror were close behind 
 them. At a turn in the road a quarter of 
 a mile distant, they halted and looked 
 back, holding their breath and listening. 
 All was still as death, save the panting of 
 their horses and the throbbing of their 
 own hearts. Evidently there was no alarm. 
 They waited a few minutes, when they saw 
 a light flash up above the saloon, and 
 flames creep out around the eaves. Then, 
 turning, they galloped off toward home, 
 and did not slack speed till they had 
 crossed Limestone and reached a neigh 
 borhood where houses were near the road. 
 When tying up the cigars, Harry had 
 put a handful into his coat pocket. By 
 and by he remembered having done so, 
 and, handing a share of them to Holmes, 
 they lighted and rode along smoking, al 
 ready in the enjoyment of the first fruits of 
 their enterprise. But it may be mentioned 
 here, out of regard for the truth of this 
 history, that no gleam of gold, as the later 
 fruits, ever gladdened George s eyes.
 
 56 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 They arrived at the stone mansion just 
 as the first streamers of the summer dawn 
 were displayed in the eastern sky. Put 
 ting their horses in the stable, they found 
 the back door left unfastened, and went up 
 to bed in a room prepared for them and 
 slept until noon.
 

 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 57 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ACQUIRING A KENTUCKY TEAM. 
 There s something in a flying horse. 
 
 Peter Bell. 
 
 It was just after harvest time when Es 
 mond got word from their confederate, 
 Tarbert, that a pair of very fine matched 
 Kentucky horses had been brought from 
 Louisville by Tom Boggess, who inherited 
 the fine estate of Ludwell Boggess, consist 
 ing of broad and fertile acres, cattle, horses, 
 and lusty negroes. It was a good night s 
 ride to make this trip, and Harry, accom 
 panied by Johnson and Dyson, set out one 
 starlight night to assert their claim to this 
 valuable team. 
 
 Tarbert had described to them exactly 
 where the horses would be found and how 
 to approach and get possession of them. 
 The weather being sultry, the horses were 
 tied outside the stable at night to rings in
 
 58 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 the side of the building, in a small lot ap 
 proached through bars. 
 
 Arrived at the place, Dyson was left in 
 charge of the horses, while Esmond and 
 Johnson went to get the others. After 
 reconnoitering and listening, to be sure the 
 coast was clear, they approached the stable 
 yard and found the horses just as described. 
 They let down the bars softly and went up 
 to the animals, which snorted once or twice 
 with alarm, but, being spoken to soothingly 
 in a low voice, allowed themselves to be 
 untied and led out. As ill-luck would have 
 it, the hindmost, in lifting the last foot over 
 the bars, struck one with a noise that broke 
 sharply on the stillness of the night. 
 
 "Who dar?" a moment later came a 
 voice from within the stable. Esmond and 
 Johnson hurried the horses into a trot. 
 The negro, now fully awake, came out of 
 the stable and saw the animals outside 
 the yard and just vanishing in the dark. 
 It did not occur to him at the moment but 
 they had escaped of their own accord. 
 The bars, being often let down at night, 
 did not attract his attention. He started
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 59 
 
 to run after the horses to drive them back, 
 but when he came in full view of them, he 
 saw the men just mounting, and, running 
 forward frantically, he let out a yell which 
 combined all the elements of his astonish 
 ment, his fright, and his wish to give the 
 alarm to the house. It was a weird and 
 frightful cry. 
 
 At that instant, Dyson, sitting on his 
 horse, just as the others had reached their 
 saddles, raised the cocked pistol he held in 
 his hand and fired full at the negro, not 
 more than five yards distant. That yell was 
 his last. He went down in a heap without 
 a groan. 
 
 The two with the led horses took the 
 lead, while Lot fell behind, whip in hand, 
 to prevent lagging, and away the robbers 
 went down the road, the galloping of the 
 horses scarcely heard in the soft dirt high 
 way. But the riders heard, a few moments 
 after they had started, a call from the 
 house to "Sam!" to know what was the 
 matter. 
 
 Johnson knew every bridle-path in this 
 neighborhood. "Boys," he said, when they
 
 60 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 had got a mile or so away, "the road we 
 are now on runs in the direction of Clarks 
 burg. The place we came into it is about 
 a mile ahead. Three miles farther on we 
 strike another road, running north, and I 
 think we had better ride on towards Clarks 
 burg, till we come to that road, which will 
 bring us back into ours at Lumberport. 
 Our pursuers will then think we have gone 
 south, and while we turn north they will 
 ride straight on." 
 
 This was accepted as good advice. 
 They rode furiously on the south bound 
 road and saw lights flash up in one or two 
 farmhouses after they had passed, making 
 it certain the pursuers would hear the 
 robbers had gone south. When they 
 reached the north and south road they 
 turned into it and rode at least two miles 
 before they passed a house within hearing. 
 After this they felt so confident of their 
 safety that they slowed down and let the 
 horses blow. The Kentuckies were fine 
 travelers, and had scarcely turned a hair, 
 rapid as the pace had been.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 61 
 
 "Lot," said Johnson, when they had 
 come down to a speed that admitted of 
 talk, "that was a daisy shot of yours. The 
 fellow went down like an ox never whim 
 pered." 
 
 "By - , it just takes me !" said Lot, 
 
 with unconcealed pride. "Teach the d d 
 
 nigger how to yell at his betters." 
 
 A complete account of the Boggess end 
 of the story was furnished by Tarbert on 
 a visit to Esmond s not long after the 
 event. Great was the rage and excite 
 ment when it was found Tom s famous 
 bays were gone, and that his stable-boy 
 had been shot. Here was the value of a 
 negro, not less than $1,500, added to the 
 $1,500 Tom had paid for the horses in 
 Louisville, to say nothing of freight and 
 other expenses. But, strange to relate, 
 in the course of a half-hour the poor fel 
 low, who was supposed to be dead, showed 
 signs of life, and in a few minutes more 
 sat up and wanted to know what was the 
 matter. 
 
 "Matter!" roared Tom; "you ve been 
 killed."
 
 62 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 "Guess not, Mars Tom. But did you get 
 the horses?" 
 
 When called on from the house for the 
 cause of the alarm, the negro was not in a 
 condition to tell, and it took the people in 
 the house some time to get their wits to 
 gether and find out what had happened. 
 It took still longer to organize pursuit. The 
 other farm horses were in the pasture, and 
 it took some time to catch and saddle them. 
 It was risky for one or two men to pursue 
 a gang who were evidently strong enough 
 and well-armed enough to make pursuit 
 dangerous. Then pistols had to be hunted 
 up and got in shape, for people in that 
 peaceful neighborhood were not accus 
 tomed to keep an armory ready for service 
 under their pillows. 
 
 It was a couple of hours before the pur 
 suers took the road, and they went straight 
 towards Clarksburg, just as Johnson had 
 suggested, while the bays were galloping 
 away towards the opposite point of the 
 compass. The horses had been brought by 
 train to Clarksburg and there unloaded, had 
 been seen by a good many people, and
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 63 
 
 had excited their admiration possibly the 
 cupidity of some. Naturally, Tom Bog- 
 gess looked in that direction for the 
 robbers. Search was vigorously prose 
 cuted in that quarter and kept up for a 
 long time. But the owner never saw or 
 heard of his horses again, and, like Rachel 
 weeping for her children, he would not be 
 comforted. 
 
 The robbers reached cover before day, 
 and it may be added, to complete the his 
 tory of the adventure, that the horses went 
 through by the underground route, and 
 were sold in Pittsburgh to a rich railroad 
 man for $2,000, and were considered a 
 bargain. After the underground charges 
 had all been paid, $1,500 remained to be 
 divided among Esmond and his retainers, 
 the Chief, as usual, receiving the lion s 
 share. 
 
 It appeared from Tarbert s report that 
 when the blood had been washed off the 
 negro s head, it was found that Dyson s 
 bullet had only cut the skin and glanced 
 off the skull. It had knocked the poor 
 fellow instantly insensible, but had done
 
 64 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 no serious or permanent injury. When 
 Lot Dyson heard this part of the report 
 that the negro was not killed, after all, by 
 his crack shot he was unutterably dis 
 gusted. "D n a nigger, anyhow!" he 
 
 said. "You can t even kill one."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 65 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A WATER HAUL. 
 Oh, my prophetic soul! Mine Uncle. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 The nearest neighbor to the Esmonds, 
 on a farm lying just back of theirs, was 
 Joseph Diedrich (colloquially, "Old Jo" 
 Diedrich), a man of Falstaffian figure, who 
 handled a good deal of live stock, particu 
 larly hogs, and who, along with his avoir 
 dupois, had acquired considerable solid 
 wealth. He understood very well the char 
 acter of his river neighbors, and realized 
 that he must live at peace with them, if at 
 all. He shut his eyes to their offenses, of 
 which he knew a great deal more than he 
 wished, and they, as if by a tacit under 
 standing, let the old man carefully alone. 
 
 But even the longest forbearance has its 
 limits. "I don t see," remarked Johnson, 
 one Sunday, when four of the gang were 
 under the big elm, two sitting on the
 
 66 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 rough bench, whittling its edges, as usual, 
 and the others standing or walking around 
 in the shade, "why Uncle Jo shouldn t di 
 vide with us some of his superfluous 
 wealth. Do you know what he did? He 
 rode up the lane the other night, just after 
 dark, carrying in his hand, just tied up 
 loose in a pocket handkerchief, $1,000 in 
 gold and silver." 
 
 "The d 1!" said Lot. "What does he 
 
 take us for angels? I wonder." 
 
 "And," resumed Johnson, "it could have 
 been snatched out of his hand, or he could 
 have been tumbled off his horse, just as 
 easy ! Now," he went on, "I want to tell 
 you something I have found out. It don t 
 make any difference how I got it. Old 
 Jo is going to Clarksburg next Wednesday 
 to get money out of the bank to pay Pete 
 Righter for that Laurel Run farm. The 
 first payment is $3,500, and he is to take 
 it over to Righter s the next morning. 
 Now, why should we allow that money to 
 pass through our domain without paying 
 duty? I don t believe in permitting money 
 to be exported from our jurisdiction at all.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 67 
 
 The balance of trade ought to be in our 
 favor. Instead of exporting money, we 
 ought to confiscate it." 
 
 "That s what I say," chimed in Lot. "If 
 we are going to let all the money be car 
 ried out of the neighborhood by the bloated 
 aristocracy, what s going to be left for 
 honest citizens to live on?" 
 
 "Boys," observed Harry, "you two 
 ought to be sent to Congress for your mas 
 terly views on political economy." 
 
 "What s p lit cal con my?" asked Lot. 
 
 "The science of trover and conversion," 
 replied Harry. 
 
 "Worse and worse," groaned Lot. 
 
 "But, I tell you," resumed Esmond, "I 
 don t like to lay a tax on Uncle Jo. He is 
 a little bloated in his person, it is true, but 
 he is not an aristocrat. He is our near 
 neighbor, and we ought to try to live on 
 good terms with our neighbors, especially 
 when they know as much about us as he 
 does. He has always treated us white." 
 
 "Do you call it white, " growled Lot, 
 "to carry money round in a hankecher, 
 like it was tea or coffee he had been buyin
 
 68 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 at the store, just to fool honest people, or 
 to lead em into temptation. I call it 
 wrong and unchristian. It s a violation of 
 the Lord s prayer." 
 
 The spectacle of such a creature setting 
 himself up as a guardian of the Lord s 
 prayer was too much for the gravity of the 
 others, and Lot was laughed out of coun 
 tenance. 
 
 "All the same," resumed Johnson, "the 
 times are getting pretty hard again, and it 
 is time we collected another installment 
 from somebody. If anybody else will come 
 along to grease the wheels, why, let old 
 Jo go; but if they won t, and he puts him 
 self in our way as a temptation, it will not 
 be our blame if our virtue should be over 
 come." 
 
 "I don t know which most to admire in 
 you, Johnson the statesman, the finan 
 cier, or the Christian philosopher," ob 
 served Harry. 
 
 "Well, I m talking sense, anyhow; I ll 
 leave it to Lot." 
 
 "Your head is level," quoth the senten 
 tious Dyson.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 69 
 
 "When do you say it is, Johnson?" asked 
 Esmond. 
 
 "He will come down from Clarksburg 
 with the money next Wednesday evening, 
 and if we don t have that money to pay for 
 the drinks at the Blue Boar at midnight 
 Wednesday night, it will be our fault, and 
 not the fault of Providence, which offers 
 us the chance. I don t think there is a soul 
 outside of the old man s family that knows 
 anything about this except me," persisted 
 Lynn. It was hard for him to let go such 
 an opportunity. "Uncle Jo never goes to 
 Clarksburg but he has a good deal of busi 
 ness, and he always winds up the day by 
 taking a little more booze than is good for 
 him. He will be late getting away, and 
 he won t reach home till long after dark. 
 It will be dark when he strikes the Manls- 
 by bridge. If he was called on for cash 
 away up there, neither he nor anybody else 
 would ever lay it to anyone in this quar 
 ter." 
 
 "But suppose he conies home earlier?" 
 queried Harry.
 
 70 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 "Then," replied Johnson, "we would give 
 that up, and lay for him next morning on 
 the road to Righter s. You see," contin 
 ued Johnson, with growing enthusiasm, 
 "we could follow the river road around 
 by Jim Denham s and arrive in the woods 
 near the bridge, the chances are, without 
 being seen by a soul along the road." 
 
 "But the old man might know us," sug 
 gested Harry. "We would have to wear 
 masks, and he might know our voices ; or 
 he might recognize us by our size or shape. 
 He would know Lot by his shoulders. 
 There is not such another pair in the 
 county." 
 
 "Chances are," remarked Lot, "he ll be 
 too boozy to know us from a side of sole 
 leather." 
 
 "Chances are," rejoined Harry, "he won t 
 be boozy at all, for if he is going to carry 
 that much money he ll keep sober so as to 
 take care of it. Old Jo is no fool. Boys, it 
 is too risky. If it was anybody else any 
 stranger it might do." 
 
 Esmond left them and walked up to the 
 house. The others whittled a little while
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 71 
 
 in silence, turning over the words of the 
 chief. 
 
 "I tell you what, boys," Johnson began, 
 "don t you think we might do a little busi 
 ness on our own account? If we get the 
 swag, we ll divide with Harry. If we 
 don t and I don t see that we ll say noth 
 ing about it, and pick our flints for another 
 time." 
 
 "We ought to do it," said Dyson, decid 
 edly. "I haven t had any drink money for 
 a week without asking Harry for it." 
 
 Harris hesitated. He felt undecided; he 
 did not like to act against the chief s ad 
 vice. 
 
 "The way to do," said Johnson, "would 
 be for us to meet at a certain hour near the 
 bridge. I will go up to Sardis to see Tar- 
 bert, who ought to have something on the 
 string for us by this time, and I will come 
 around by Lyons . You two can come by 
 the river road, or one each way, as you 
 please." 
 
 "I am agreed," said Ray, finally. "The 
 place to do it will be in the bridge, which
 
 72 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 is covered, you know, and will be the dark 
 est place." 
 
 Nothing more was said to Esmond, who 
 supposed the scheme was abandoned. The 
 three made the necessary excuses to ac 
 count for their absence, and met at the 
 concerted hour and place. They hid in 
 the woods a couple of hours before dark, 
 and one of them posted himself where he 
 could see all who passed along the road. 
 Darkness fell, and yet their stout old friend 
 had not made his appearance. 
 
 "I told you so," said Johnson, when they 
 had got together again. "He ll be late and 
 boozy, just as I said." 
 
 "And lousy with gold eagles," added 
 Lot. 
 
 Twice did horsemen pass down the road 
 to the bridge, but each time the figure of 
 the rider disappointed the expectation of the 
 watchers. The old man was excessively 
 obese literally as broad as long, and his 
 figure on horseback was unmistakable in 
 deed, almost comical. Another horse s hoofs 
 resounded on the hard road and this time 
 they saw a horse on the way carrying some-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 73 
 
 thing that looked in the dusk like an enor 
 mous wool-sack on end. They slipped onto 
 the bridge and retreated to the darkness of 
 the middle. The horse as it advanced 
 showed signs of fright, but came on under 
 the urging of the rider. Suddenly Dyson 
 sprang out, seized the bridle and jerked the 
 animal back almost on its haunches, nearly 
 upsetting the rider. 
 
 "For God s sake, gentlemen!" cried the 
 old man, "don t kill me. What do you 
 want?" 
 
 "Your money!" replied a hoarse voice, 
 like the snarl of a wolf. 
 
 "You re welcome to all I have." said the 
 victim, "though it is not worth taking." He 
 handed over his pocketbook, saying he 
 thought there was about four dollars in it. 
 
 "We want the money you got from the 
 bank." 
 
 "From the bank !" echoed the old man, 
 blankly. 
 
 "Yes, and be quick about it." 
 
 "I got no money from the bank." 
 
 "D n you, hand out that roll quick," 
 
 growled the wolf, more menacingly.
 
 74 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 "For heaven s sake," pleaded the aged 
 victim, "if you don t believe me, search 
 me." 
 
 "Get down, then." 
 
 Jo Diedrich descended, not without dif 
 ficulty, and the bridge trembled with the 
 impact when he struck it. He stood like 
 a lamb waiting to be shorn. The ruffians 
 thrust quick hands into all his pockets and 
 felt all over him for a roll or coin concealed 
 under his clothes, but the net result of the 
 search, in addition to the pocketbook they 
 already had, was: A plug of tobacco, a 
 jack-knife, and a small bottle of whisky. 
 The latter Lot appropriated without re 
 mark. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Mr. Diedrich, gently 
 and politely, "there has been some mis 
 take, but it is not my fault. I was at the 
 bank to-day, and did expect to bring some 
 money home with me to pay to Peter 
 Righter; but he happened to be in Gfark s- 
 burg. We met at the hotel and went to 
 the bank together, and the money was 
 passed to his credit. I am sorry to disap 
 point you."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 75 
 
 "Then take your d d old pocketbook 
 
 and go on." 
 
 The highwaymen restored also the knife 
 and tobacco.* Lot forgot about the whisky. 
 They had scarcely got off the bridge be 
 fore their ears caught the sound of ap 
 proaching horses feet. 
 
 "Might have been worse if we had stayed 
 a little longer," remarked Ray. 
 
 The poor old victim felt around in the 
 dark till he found his hat, which had fallen 
 off when the horse recoiled, and, leading 
 the animal to the end of the bridge and to 
 a fence near by, he managed, with the van 
 tage thus afforded, to remount. At this 
 moment the rider whose approach had 
 alarmed the robbers came out of the bridge 
 and asked Mr. Diedrich what was the mat 
 ter. He replied that his horse had got 
 scared in the bridge and he had lost his hat 
 and had to get down for it. 
 
 An hour later he drew up at the Blue 
 Boar and asked for the landlord. 
 
 ."Why, Uncle Jo! is this you?" 
 
 "Yes, Blue. Bring me a big drink of 
 whisky. I m not feeling well."
 
 76 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 As he pulled out his pocketbook to pay, 
 the landlord holding up the lantern to en 
 able him to see, the old man quietly re 
 marked : 
 
 "I was pretty near losing the four dollars 
 in this pocketbook an hour ago." 
 
 "How was that?" 
 
 "I was held up by three robbers in the 
 Maulsby bridge." 
 
 "The dickens!" ejaculated Blue. "How 
 did you get away ?" 
 
 "I didn t get away. They got away 
 with me !" The old man gurgled a little 
 laugh at his joke. The liquor made him 
 feel more -cheerful. "They thought I had 
 a big lot of money that I was to pay Pete 
 Righter. But Righter met me at the bank 
 and the money was paid over there. They 
 were so disgusted they gave me back my 
 pocketbook, my knife, and my tobacco, 
 but they forgot to give me back my bottle 
 of whisky, else I wouldn t have had to call 
 you out." 
 
 "You are lucky to get off so well. Did 
 you know the robbers?"
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 77 
 
 "Not from Adam. It must have been 
 somebody from Clarksburg who found out 
 I was going to draw the money." 
 
 But as he rode away he said to himself : 
 "Just the same, I know the fellows like a 
 book. I have seen them too often not to 
 know every one of them the darkest 
 night that ever blowed. But if they will 
 let me alone, I ll let them alone. But I 
 wonder how they found out about the 
 money ?"
 
 78 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SETTLING THE SCORE. 
 
 No more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me . . 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Half an hour after the landlord s inter 
 view with Uncle Jo, Harry Esmond came 
 into the Blue Boar. 
 
 "I ve great news to tell you," was Blue s 
 first greeting. 
 
 "Out with it, then," returned Harry, with 
 a momentary tremor, lest it might be some 
 thing alarming for conscience does make 
 cowards of us all. 
 
 "Old Jo Diedrich was robbed at the 
 Maulsby bridge not two hours ago." 
 
 "You don t say!" exclaimed Harry, in 
 blank astonishment. 
 
 "Yes. He stopped- here about half an 
 hour ago and called me out to give him a 
 drink, and told me all about it. He was 
 set on in the bridge by three men, who
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 79 
 
 told him they wanted a big lot of money he 
 had drawn out of the bank. He gave them 
 his pocketbook with four dollars in it, and 
 they searched him, but all they got was his 
 knife, tobacco, and a. small bottle of whis 
 ky. When they found he didn t have the 
 money they were so disgusted, he says, that 
 they gave him back everything except the 
 whisky." 
 
 This was a flood of illumination for Har 
 ry. He recalled the talk Sunday under the 
 big elm. Despite his dissent, the others 
 had undertaken the job, and made a fiasco 
 of it. 
 
 "Jone," he said, "this is the raciest of the 
 season. I can tell you all about it" and he 
 did. 
 
 "Do you think Uncle Jo knew the 
 boys ?" he asked Blue. 
 
 "He said he didn t know them from Ad 
 am." 
 
 "We ll tell them," said Harry, "that he 
 recognized them. It s safe to bet they will 
 be here before midnight after a drink to 
 blunt the edge of their disappointment, and 
 I want to be here when they come. We ll
 
 80 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 have a little fun with them. I m going 
 out calling 1 , and will be back. Don t shut 
 up." 
 
 Harry Esmond returned to the Blue Boar 
 between eleven and twelve, and, true 
 enough, found the three worthies lounging 
 in the chairs in the bar-room. They looked 
 out of sorts, and were evidently surprised 
 to see him. "Lynn," he said, "what did 
 Tarbert have to say ? Has he any business 
 for us?" 
 
 "He didn t know a thing," replied John 
 son, "except that there is going to be races 
 at Sardis two weeks from Saturday." 
 
 "Where were you this afternoon?" turn 
 ing to Harris. 
 
 "Oh, I went over to Bingamon. I had 
 a little business with an uncle of mine. He 
 was owin me some money, and I thought 
 he might be ready to pay." 
 
 "How much was he owing you?" asked 
 Harry. "As much as $3,500?" 
 
 "Not so much as that," replied Ray, a 
 trifle surprised. "I wish somebody did owe 
 me that much."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 81 
 
 "Did you get the money?" persisted 
 Harry. 
 
 "Not a d n cent." 
 
 "These uncles are mighty poor pay," ob 
 served Harry. "Which one of your uncles 
 was it ? Was it your Uncle Jo ?" 
 
 "I ain t got no Uncle Jo," replied Har 
 ris, a little sullenly. 
 
 "Have any of the rest of you been to 
 see your uncle?" looking around at the 
 others, who did not even smile in reply. 
 
 "Boys," said Esmond, "we are on to you 
 fellows to-night. Uncle Jo Diedrich stopped 
 here about half-past nine o clock and called 
 Jone out to give him a drink, and told him 
 all about it. He knows every mother s son 
 of you, and is furious." 
 
 "Good God!" broke from the astounded 
 Harris, while Dyson and Johnson gave 
 voice to explosives equally profane and ex 
 pressive of astonishment and dismay. 
 They sat for a moment staring at Esmond 
 with wide-open eyes and mouth. He was 
 enjoying the situation to the top of his 
 bent. "Yes," he went on, "old Jo swears 
 you scared him out of a year s growth,
 
 82 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 and that Dyson swore all the hair off his 
 head." 
 
 "Nobody could ever do that," interrupt 
 ed Dyson. (Uncle Jo was bald as a billiard 
 ball.) 
 
 "More than that," resumed Harry, "he 
 says he has registered an oath that unless 
 he gets that bottle of whisky back inside of 
 twenty-four hours by the watch, he will 
 have every one of you in the jug before 
 Saturday night." 
 
 "Do you think old Jo really knew us?" 
 asked Johnson, turning to the landlord, who 
 nodded an affirmative. 
 
 "Knew you!" said Harry. "He knew 
 you all as well as he knows his own chil 
 dren. Why shouldn t he? I told you he 
 would. 
 
 "You remember our talk Sunday, Lynn," 
 Esmond resumed. "You said if you didn t 
 have old Jo s money to pay for the drinks 
 at the Blue Boar at midnight to-night, it 
 would be your fault, and not the fault of 
 Providence. I m waiting for you to set 
 them up. That s what I came in for. It 
 lacks five minutes of midnight, it is true"
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 83 
 
 (looking at his watch), "and I can wait for 
 time. But if you don t have the money 
 then, we have got to have the drinks any 
 how, and you will have to settle with Prov 
 idence, which shall be responsible to jone 
 for the score unless. Lot, there," he went 
 on, turning to Dyson, who sat in gloomy 
 silence, "will bring out that bottle of Uncle 
 Jo s." 
 
 "Say, now, Harry," begged Lot, "don t 
 be hard on us. That bottle is as dry as 
 as I am." 
 
 Harry smiled at the force of the simile. 
 "Then you had better have it filled with 
 good whisky and send it to Uncle Jo be 
 fore to-morrow night." 
 
 "I ll set up the drinks, boys, if I have 
 credit enough," put in Johnson; "but I 
 don t believe there is enough cash among 
 us three to pay for washing the glasses." 
 
 "By the way, Lynn," said Harry, as if it 
 had just occurred to him, "perhaps you 
 would not mind telling us now, just in con 
 fidence, how you found out Uncle Jo was 
 going to bring that money home with him.
 
 84 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 Getting information is a great art, especially 
 in our trade." 
 
 "That is a family secret," replied Lynn, 
 "which I do not feel at liberty to disclose." 
 
 "I suppose you have no objection to dis 
 closing your present views on tariffs, ex 
 ports, and confiscation? Did the old man 
 lead you into temptation, Lot, with that 
 bottle of whisky ? That sort of thing ought 
 to be forbidden in the by-laws, for the pro 
 tection of honest citizens. Men ought not 
 to be allowed to run at large on the high 
 ways with bottles of whisky in their pock 
 ets or was he carrying it loose in his 
 handkerchief? It is against public policy 
 and the Lord s prayer. It s what I call un 
 christian. " 
 
 "Now, Harry," said Lot, "don t kick a 
 feller when he s down." 
 
 "Boys," said the chief, loftily, looking 
 them over as if they had been children, "I 
 ought to let you go home to-night with 
 out a drop. It would teach you a lesson 
 you need. But I am not quite cruel enough 
 for that. Set out the bottle, Jone, with 
 the big glasses. And I think we had better
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 85 
 
 have something to eat. There s nothing 
 makes a fellow so hungry as missing a lit 
 tle morsel of about $3,500 in gold." 
 
 As the others filled their glasses in the 
 generous fashion common to them, Harry 
 poured out a glass of water, and, lifting it 
 toward his lips as they raised theirs, said: 
 
 "Lads, I want to offer you a sentiment 
 that you may take home and think of in 
 >our beds: Here s to the three knights of 
 the road who took pity on the sorrows of 
 a poor old man and gave him back every 
 thing except what he needed most his 
 bottle of whisky. When you go prospect 
 ing for gold again, may you never strike 
 so lean a pocket nor capture so small a 
 bottle." 
 
 All laughed as they drank off their 
 liquor, and then Harry bade them fill 
 again. They fell to with the appetite of 
 threshing machines, and when they finally 
 started for home there was not a crumb 
 left for the mice, and the barkeeper s bottle 
 was as dry as Uncle Jo Diedrich s.
 
 86 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DECOYING GAME. 
 
 Bloody instructions, which, being taught, 
 Return to plague the inventor. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 One evening near the last of May, a lit 
 tle after sundown, Harry Esmond rode up 
 to the Blue Boar, and, throwing the rein 
 over the hitching-post, walked through to 
 the back porch. The landlord s wife was a 
 few feet away in the garden dropping some 
 seeds in a flower bed that had been pre 
 pared by the hired man during the day. 
 Hearing the step on the porch, she looked 
 up and came towards him. 
 
 "Where is Jone ?" he asked. 
 
 "He was here a minute ago," she said. 
 "Come in, and I will see if I can find him. 
 
 "You look as if you had something on 
 your mind," she said, as they walked into 
 the hall. "How is Tot ?" she asked, smil 
 ing mischievously.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 87 
 
 "She was well when I last saw her" 
 with a shade of embarrassment. 
 
 "When is it to come off?" 
 
 "You ll have to ask her. How should I 
 know?" 
 
 "Now, Harry, you know it does not rest 
 with Tot. She worships the ground you 
 walk on." 
 
 "Why," he said, pleased at the flattery, 
 but trying- to hide it, "I m a little afraid of 
 the old lady. I m afraid Maria doesn t 
 approve of me." 
 
 "Nonsense!" she replied; "you know 
 better; Maria is your best friend." 
 
 "Oh, well," said Harry, wishing to dis 
 miss the subject, "we ll have to wait till I 
 make a strike." 
 
 At this moment the landlord entered the 
 hall from the street, and, seeing Esmond 
 and his wife in conversation, came for 
 ward smilingly, with an inquiring look at 
 Harry. 
 
 "Jone, I want to see you," the latter said, 
 turning with an apologetic bow to the wife. 
 
 "Some fresh mischief afoot!" she threw 
 back gayly, as she walked away.
 
 88 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "Come into the back room," said the 
 landlord, leading the way to a little den 
 off to one side of the bar-room where he 
 was accustomed to receive friends who had 
 matters to talk over that were not for pub 
 lication. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked, perceiving, as 
 his wife had, that Esmond had "something 
 on his mind." 
 
 "It s a peach," said the latter. 
 
 "This is not the time of year for 
 peaches," quoth the other. 
 
 "Well, it is game, then. Game is al 
 ways in season with us, you know." 
 
 "Tell me about it," said Jonas, eagerly. 
 
 Esmond stepped to the door, looked 
 out, to be sure no one- was within hearing, 
 and, shutting it softly, came back and sat 
 down again. 
 
 "I got word last night," he said, "that a 
 rich grazier from Fayette County was 
 coming up into this neighborhood to buy 
 some cattle. He wants two or three hun 
 dred yearlings and two-year-olds to graze 
 on a big grass farm he has on the slopes of 
 Laurel Hill. Our friends managed to get
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 89 
 
 his ear and have filled him up with a story 
 that he can find what he is looking for in 
 this neighborhood. He ought to be here 
 now inside of a week. He makes a trip 
 of this kind every year, and carries money 
 with him in a belt to pay for his purchases, 
 paying half on closing a deal, and the other 
 half when the cattle are delivered on his 
 farm. Our friends think he ought to have 
 $3,000 or $4,000 in his belt." 
 
 "He won t have that much when we get 
 through with him," remarked the other. 
 "But, now, what is your plan?" 
 
 "That is what I want to talk with you 
 about. He inquired about hotels, and was 
 advised to put up at the Blue Boar. He 
 will probably arrive in the evening. You 
 will know him, even if he should not tell 
 his business. He rides a very stylish bay 
 horse and will be dressed in ordinary 
 farmers jeans. He is a man about fifty, 
 wears gray side whiskers, and has a big 
 nose. As soon as you can get at him you 
 can sound him. He will probably tell you 
 his object, and you are then to tell him 
 that you know just where he can find what
 
 90 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 he is looking for, and you think he can 
 get a bargain. Send him to the big elm. 
 It is better none of us should be here to 
 go with him. You can direct him how to 
 .find the place, and try to have him come 
 before he makes inquiries in any other part 
 of the neighborhood. We will be on the 
 lookout for him, and if he comes our boys 
 will see that he is well taken care of." 
 
 "This is as straight as a string," said 
 Blue, with animation. "I will try to get 
 him away before anybody else finds out 
 his business or knows where he is going. 
 Then there will be no questions asked." 
 
 The conversation had been carried on 
 in very low tones. After a brief silence, 
 Blue asked: "Is George working for you 
 now?" 
 
 "No and he has not been down for a 
 week or two." 
 
 "I think," resumed the landlord, "it will 
 be better for him not to know anything 
 about this. He has not got the nerve for 
 a job of this kind, and I m afraid he can t 
 hold his tongue."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 91 
 
 "You re right," rejoined the other. "I m 
 afraid George is weakening, and it will 
 not do to let him know too much." 
 
 A light step approached the door, and 
 the voice of the landlord s wife was heard : 
 "Jone, you are wanted in the bar." 
 
 Esmond rose. "I am going around to 
 Byers for a while, and may come back 
 after a little, but don t sit up for me. But 
 if I don t come back, and should not see 
 you before the belt arrives, send me word 
 right away." 
 
 Before he reached the sidewalk, Esmond 
 had changed his mind about the visit to the 
 stone mansion. The bantering of the land 
 lord s wife had awakened some unpleasant 
 thoughts regarding his relations with the 
 blacksmith s daughter. Marriage with her 
 was something he had not thought of. It 
 was evident the village gossip was connect 
 ing their names in a way to suggest this, 
 and he must be more discreet. He un 
 hitched his horse, and, mounting, rode to 
 wards home. "When I have made my 
 pile," ran his secret thoughts as he rode 
 along, "I will pull out from this neighbor-
 
 92 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 hood and begin life anew somewhere else. 
 Some day this place will get too hot for 
 me."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 93 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TRAPPED. 
 
 He shall return no more to his house, neither 
 shall his place know him any more. Bible. 
 
 It was two weeks later when a stranger 
 rode into the village by the Fairmont road 
 just at dusk, and, continuing along the 
 street till he saw the sign at the corner, 
 drew rein at the Blue Boar and dismount 
 ed. A man was standing at the corner 
 who looked as if he might be connected 
 with the house, and the stranger asked 
 him if he was. It happened to be Guy Es 
 mond, who replied that he would call the 
 landlord, and asked him to walk into the 
 public room. In a few minutes mine host 
 entered and met the stranger with com 
 plaisant and hospitable air. 
 
 "I want to stay over night," said the 
 man. 
 
 "Supper, of course?"
 
 94 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. . 
 
 "Yes; I have been riding all day, and 
 am sharp set." 
 
 The guest was shown to a room, and, 
 having refreshed himself with a basin of 
 water and a clean towel, was conducted 
 to the supper room. The horse was put 
 away, and the landlord clearly recognized 
 in both man and beast the "game" that 
 had been scented a fortnight before. Al 
 though it had not appeared when expected, 
 there could be no mistaking the descrip 
 tion. 
 
 The landlord went to the supper room, 
 and, assisting to supply the wants of his 
 guest, sought to engage him in conver 
 sation. For a time he was too busy for 
 words, but after his hunger had been 
 somewhat appeased, he was disposed to 
 talk. He said he had come to this neigh 
 borhood to look for some young cattle. 
 He had been advised to come to this 
 place, and could the landlord tell him where 
 he might find what he was looking for? 
 
 Mine host, with an engaging air of inter 
 est and sincerity, replied that within a few 
 days he had heard of a fine lot of yearlings
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 95 
 
 that were to be sold because the owner, 
 not being able to renew some farm leases 
 that had about expired, would not have 
 pasturage for the cattle this season. He 
 thought it likely they might be bought at 
 a bargain by anyone who would take the 
 round lot. 
 
 The stranger showed marked interest in 
 the information, and, on learning that the 
 cattle were at a place no more than a mile 
 distant, said he would go there the first 
 thing after breakfast, when he would ask 
 the landlord to direct him. Meanwhile, 
 as he was very tired, he would go to bed, 
 and was directly shown to his room. 
 
 Blue had dropped a" hint to Guy not to 
 go away till he could see him ; so the lat 
 ter lingered about the door till the stranger 
 had retired. 
 
 "Come with me," said Blue, passing 
 out to the pavement and turning down 
 the street towards the stable. "I can t 
 take time now," he said, "to explain to 
 you who this man is, but it is somebody 
 Harry has been expecting, and I was to 
 send him word as soon as the man ar-
 
 98 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A WILD ROSE. 
 
 The gods have made only two perfect things: 
 woman and a rose. Anon. 
 
 Loraine Esmond was like the wild rose 
 that lifts the tender grace of its beauty in 
 the midst of noxious growths, assimilat 
 ing, through the divine chemistry of na 
 ture, only the elements required to nurture 
 its delicate loveliness from the same soil 
 that supplies the grosser essences to the 
 rank ragwort and the pestilent thistle. 
 
 She had been born into an environment 
 of grossness and criminality, but the stain 
 of her surroundings had never touched 
 her. From the time she came to have her 
 first perception of associations and sur 
 roundings, she had been repulsed and dis 
 tressed by them. Her mother had never 
 had any patience with the scruples, the 
 questionings, the "pride" as she chose to
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 99 
 
 consider it which set the girl apart from 
 the rest as belonging to a different sphere. 
 The father and brothers had been fond 
 of her and petted her when she was a 
 child, but never for a moment had they 
 entered into her deeper life nor sympa 
 thized in any degree with her finer nature, 
 which they were incapable of comprehend 
 ing; nor had they ever caught the faint 
 est glimpse of the point of view from which 
 she regarded their actions and motives, to 
 which they gave themselves unreservedly, 
 without question or doubt. 
 
 She was a stray in that flock a rein 
 carnation, by a freak of heredity, of some 
 finer and statelier soul that had dignified 
 the family tree before the devil came into 
 later possession. Her clearer eye saw, in 
 its true colors and with profound horror, 
 the moral obliquity of those bound to her 
 by the closest ties of nature, and never 
 since she had arrived at the age of this 
 perception, had she been without an op 
 pressive sense of impending evil and dan 
 ger.
 
 100 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 Her eldest sister, while kind and affec 
 tionate with her, had never been able to 
 enter into her feelings or to see the things 
 she saw so clearly. She lacked the younger 
 girl s delicacy of soul, her intuitive recog 
 nition of the line between right and wrong, 
 grossness and refinement, and considered 
 her foolish and impracticable. She herself 
 would have been glad if their life had been 
 different, for there was much that grated 
 upon her womanly nature; glad if the 
 male members of the household had been 
 more tractable and more conformable to 
 the usages of the society around them, 
 plain and simple as it was. But she was 
 not shocked nor distressed by their con 
 duct, and did not feel that she had any 
 right to question what they did. 
 
 Loraine had not lacked for suitors. 
 Many of the young fellows who came about 
 the place had sought her smiles ; but she 
 was separated from them by an infinite 
 space which they had no conception of nor 
 she any power to cross. George Holmes 
 had touched her compassion because she 
 perceived that while weak he was not de-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 101 
 
 praved; that there was a core of virtue in 
 the boy that needed only good influences 
 and exemption from evil to shape his life 
 into a worthy manhood ; and this compas 
 sion, through the necessity of her nature to 
 find something to love, had ripened into af 
 fection. She was so much his superior in 
 strength, as in fineness of soul, that her 
 love had in it an unconscious maternity of 
 anxiety for his reformation and welfare. 
 By every means in her power she had 
 sought to fortify him against the influences 
 that surrounded her and which he could 
 not visit her without encountering. Had 
 he been strong enough to go away from 
 the neighborhood and begin a new course 
 of life elsewhere, to stay away till he was 
 thoroughly weaned from these evil influ 
 ences, till he had made a beginning in the 
 world and developed self-reliance and char 
 acter as she had over and over again ad 
 vised she could see, and had tried to get 
 him to see, that there might be a future for 
 them; for then not interposing seas or 
 mountains, time or space, could have kept 
 her from sharing his life. But he was like
 
 102 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 the silly moth that worships the flame. He 
 could not keep away from her, much less 
 go away where he could not see her. The 
 thought of such an even temporary separa 
 tion was insupportable. Nor could he visit 
 the Esmond home without wishing to be 
 on good terms with the rough brothers 
 who dominated it. 
 
 The girl s influence, drawing her lover 
 away from that of her brothers and their 
 lawless associates, made him reluctant and 
 lukewarm about seconding them in their 
 adventures. They were quick to perceive 
 this feeling and attributed it to any reason 
 but the right one. They began to distrust 
 him; and when some things that he in his 
 penitent hours had confided to his father, 
 who in turn had confided them to a rela 
 tive, began to leak and come to the ears of 
 the band, they taxed George openly with 
 treachery. He denied it indignantly and 
 tried to restore himself to their confidence 
 by redoubled zeal in their plans and enter 
 prises. But confidence is a tender plant, 
 and one breath of distrust is fatal to it. He 
 himself felt the chill of this breath when-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 103 
 
 ever he visited the Esmond home; and as 
 he kept nothing from Loraine that was of 
 mutual concern, she, too, shared his appre 
 hensions and suffered far more keenly from 
 the growing perils than he. For his part, 
 so long as he could bask in the light of her 
 eyes, nothing could give him much real 
 anxiety. Nothing like honor, manhood, 
 ambition, weighed in the scale such was 
 his infatuation poor, weak, happy, tempo 
 rizing fool!
 
 104 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A DIVIDEND. 
 
 He will give the devil his due. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 It was a week after the cattle-buyer had 
 been at the Blue Boar before Harry Es 
 mond visited the village. Guy had been at 
 the tavern two or three times; but in an 
 swer to the landlord s hints of inquiry, he 
 had maintained a discreet silence, only say 
 ing matters were "all right" and that Harry 
 was coming up in a day or two. Harry 
 walked over and, true to his owlish in 
 stincts, came into the village after dark. 
 
 He was playing a deep game with his 
 friend of the Blue Boar. The booty had 
 exceeded their expectations. A large part 
 of the money was in gold, which could be 
 used anywhere without risk. The rest was 
 in notes of two Wheeling banks the 
 Northwestern Virginia and the Merchants 
 and Manufacturers . It will be remembered
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 105 
 
 that at this period the currency was made 
 up of local or state banks, and money that 
 was current in one place might be uncur- 
 rent or subject to a heavy discount in an 
 other a few hundred miles away. It was 
 necessary for a business man who expected 
 to use money to procure notes that would 
 be current where he would need to use 
 them. The Esmonds had agreed among 
 themselves that they would not give up any 
 more of this booty than absolutely neces 
 sary to secure their safety. The connec 
 tions in Pennsylvania would have to have 
 a good share, for safety and future busi 
 ness depended on satisfying them; but the 
 publican of the Blue Boar must not expect 
 too much for his subordinate part as decoy. 
 He had done nothing but send the man to 
 his death. They who did the work were 
 entitled to the lion s share. Thus argued 
 the chief, who held the strings of the bag. 
 He entered the Blue Boar by the side 
 door and, walking back on the porch, 
 looked in at the rear door of the bar-room. 
 The landlord behind the bar saw him, 
 though none of the loungers did, and ex-
 
 106 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 cusing himself to them for a few minutes 
 locked the bar and came out to the back 
 room where Harry was waiting for him. 
 He closed the do.or, struck a match and lit 
 a candle. 
 
 "Well ?" he said, turning to Esmond with 
 an interrogation point in the word and in 
 his face. 
 
 "Well," replied the latter, "it is all right, 
 but it was not as big game as we thought it 
 would be. The old fellow didn t have any 
 belt, and he had only*about $1,200 on him. 
 A part of this was in gold, which he carried 
 in an inside pocket of his underclothes." 
 
 Blue sat for a full half minute without a 
 word, disappointment in every line of his 
 saturnine face. "Is that so?" he said, at 
 last, in unaffected disgust. He saw his 
 share of the spoil dwindling to small pro 
 portions and realized that he would have 
 to modify some plans he had been con 
 structing in the air during the past few 
 days. 
 
 "Johnny and the others down below," 
 resumed Esmond, "claim half; and when 
 they find out how little that is, they will be
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 107 
 
 awfully disappointed and hard to satisfy. 
 And we have got to satisfy them somehow, 
 as you know." 
 
 "Honor bright," said Blue, "is that the 
 way it pans out ?" 
 
 "Honor bright," returned the other, 
 without the quiver of a nerve. "You know 
 I wouldn t go back on you in a matter of 
 this kind." 
 
 The landlord gave a long, low whistle, as 
 if with the expulsion of his breath he was 
 getting rid of his chagrin. 
 
 "I have brought you a hundred dollars 
 of the gold," said Esmond. "I thought you 
 would rather have that than the notes. It 
 is safer to handle, for notes might be 
 marked. After we have settled with the 
 people down below, if we can make a good 
 settlement may be I can squeeze you out 
 fifty dollars more, but don t count on it." 
 
 As he spoke he drew from his pocket a 
 small packet. "There s ten gold eagles. I 
 wish it was a thousand." 
 
 "And so do I," said the greedy Jonas as 
 he undid the paper and caught the yellow 
 gleam of the money. His eyes were not
 
 108 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 above sparkling for such an insignificant 
 sum as even ten eagles, and he bestowed 
 them safely in his pocket. "A hundred 
 dollars," he said, after a little pause, "is not 
 to be despised, but it is not enough for the 
 risk." 
 
 "That is one of the risks we have to 
 take," remarked Harry. "We may get 
 something; we may get nothing. But 
 whichever it is, we have to put up with it. 
 Better luck next time. It was neatly done, 
 and I don t think there will ever be any 
 trouble." 
 
 The landlord would have liked to know 
 the particulars of the job ; but somehow 
 both felt it an unpleasant thing to talk 
 about. "What about the horse?" he asked. 
 
 "We don t dare run him down the river. 
 He might be recognized and traced. He is 
 in under ground now, and to-morrow night 
 Lot or Ray will take him up to Tarbert, 
 who will send him on to Abe. He can be 
 marketed in that quarter without risk."
 
 THE .DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 109 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS. 
 Be thou faithful unto death. Bible. 
 
 The Sunday after the cattle-buyer had 
 been at the Blue Boar, young Holmes 
 went down to Esmond s. He planned his 
 visit for an hour when he knew Loraine 
 would be freed from household duties, and 
 he asked her to walk with him to the river. 
 The path beside the river road was the fa 
 vorite ramble. It was shaded, secluded, 
 beautiful in its wealth of leafage and in the 
 presence of the glistening river. They 
 walked down the river, in preference to up, 
 for a reason neither could have put into 
 words, because a few hundred feet brought 
 them to the limit of the Esmond farm ; and 
 when they had passed that they always 
 seemed to be treading a freer and happier 
 soil. The place had grown for each a 
 grievous presence that they were glad, even 
 for an hour, to be free from.
 
 110 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 At the end of a half mile they came to a 
 great sycamore whose curving roots of 
 fered them seats, and here they sat down 
 to enjoy the peaceful seclusion. They had 
 talked of ordinary matters on the way, and 
 now they sat a little while in silence. George 
 spoke first: "Father mentioned at the 
 house that he saw a stranger coming down 
 this way early the other morning and he 
 wondered if it was somebody going to your 
 house. Father had been to mill before 
 breakfast and saw the man get off the 
 ferryboat and turn down this way. He no 
 ticed the stranger was riding a very hand 
 some horse." 
 
 Loraine s face paled as if with a painful 
 emotion. She hesitated and her lover no 
 ticed the internal struggle and looked at 
 her inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes, George, there was a stranger at 
 our house early Friday morning. He came 
 to buy cattle. He said he had been told 
 by the landlord at the Blue Boar tavern 
 that we had a fine herd of yearlings and 
 would sell them because, having given up 

 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. Ill 
 
 some farms we had under lease, we would 
 not have pasture for them." 
 
 George looked his surprise. She re 
 sumed : 
 
 "You know we have no cattle to sell : 
 but Ray and Guy told him they would go 
 with him up to the hill farm past Lot s and 
 show him the cattle." 
 
 Speech failed the girl, and it seemed as 
 if she would choke in an agony of feeling. 
 But presently having mastered the emotion, 
 she went on : 
 
 "The -stranger did not come back with 
 them; and I suppose he went back by the 
 shorter road down the hill." 
 
 George sat like one in a daze. At length 
 he said: 
 
 "I don t think he came back to town. I 
 was about the village during the day and 
 was at the Blue Boar awhile in the fore 
 noon, and did not see him nor hear Jonas 
 say anything about a stranger looking for 
 cattle. He may have gone up the river on 
 this side."
 
 112 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 Neither could bear to give expression, 
 even to the other, to their mutual percep 
 tion of the terrible truth. 
 
 The girl arose and walked away some 
 distance and leaned with averted face, 
 against a tree. When she came back after 
 some minutes, there were traces of tears 
 and she showed profound distress, though 
 striving to be calm. 
 
 One thought painful to Holmes, who did 
 not doubt the man had been robbed and 
 murdered, was that he had not been al 
 lowed to know anything about the plot. 
 Evidently the landlord of the Blue Boar 
 had played the decoy; and though he had 
 been with Blue repeatedly the past week, 
 on seemingly the friendliest terms of con 
 fidence, not a hint of this had been 
 breathed to him. It showed him that he 
 was excluded from the confidence of Harry 
 and his associates ; and that meant that 
 since they no longer trusted him they 
 would take measures to secure themselves 
 against the possibility of his betraying 
 what he already knew. Thus dangers were 
 thickening around him, threatening his life
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 113 
 
 or at least a separation from Loraine. He 
 might go away and escape their vengeance; 
 but what would life be worth to him away 
 from her? 
 
 Their thoughts were mutually too pain 
 ful for expression. They sat awhile with 
 out speaking and then arose and walked 
 farther down the road to find what relief 
 they could in movement. 
 
 "You told me not long ago," she said, at 
 length, "that your Uncle Andy had offered 
 to join you in leasing the Smith farm on 
 Simpson s Creek, and let you work it for 
 what you could make out of it. Have you 
 done anything about it yet?" 
 
 "No, Loraine, not yet. The owner wants 
 more rent than we ought to pay. Besides, 
 I don t know where I am to raise money to 
 get the plows and wagons and other farm 
 tools I would need. Father would let me 
 have one of the horses and Uncle Andy an 
 other. Maybe we can see some way to 
 fix it up between now and time for fall 
 seeding."
 
 114 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "You will have to go away," she said ; 
 "I see that clearly. It is getting too dan 
 gerous for you to stay here." 
 
 Her keen vision had pierced the gather 
 ing clouds and divined even quicker than 
 his instinct the peril that threatened him. 
 
 "I will have to go away or die, Loraine, 
 I know that; but I would rather die than 
 leave you." 
 
 She looked at him with humid eyes that 
 spoke unutterable love and her bosom 
 heaved with the emotion inspired by the 
 declaration of his passion ; but she said : 
 
 "George, that is not a manly way to 
 talk. If you die you leave me, and I lose 
 you forever. You do not need to die ; you 
 do not need to leave me except for a time. 
 Go away and try to make a home that I 
 can share with you, where we may begin 
 life anew ; no matter where or how poor it 
 may be, if it is your own, though it be only 
 a cabin and a patch ; and when you have 
 done this I will come to you and no power 
 on earth shall hold me from you. I can 
 wait and so must you. You know I will be 
 true to you," she added; "only be true to
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 115 
 
 yourself; and be the man that you will be 
 as soon as you get away from here." 
 
 She could not say more. Tears came 
 into her beautiful eyes and completed the 
 appeal in language that no man could re 
 sist. 
 
 "You are right, Loraine, you are an 
 angel !" said her lover, profoundly moved, 
 taking the girl in his arms and kissing her 
 fondly. "I must do it ; I will do it. There 
 is no other way; and God helping me, 
 from this hour I will think of nothing but 
 how to bring this about." 
 
 She dried her eyes and a happier light 
 came into them ; for hope gilds the dark 
 est hour; and for the moment she would 
 fain believe that her lover might be trans 
 formed by the greatness of her love, might 
 become worthy of her devotion, might be 
 stimulated by it to work out a future in 
 which she could have a part, away from all 
 these hateful surroundings in which her 
 soul had been cribbed and cabined all her 
 life.
 
 116 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 NEMESIS. 
 
 And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel, 
 thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I 
 my brother s keeper? Bible. 
 
 A month after the declaration of the 
 dividend at the Blue Boar, a paragraph ap 
 peared in a Uniontown paper to the effect 
 that Mr. Thomas McKinney, a wealthy citi 
 zen of that place, who had gone into Vir 
 ginia some six weeks before to buy cattle, 
 had not returned nor been heard from, and 
 his family and friends were apprehensive 
 some ill fortune had befallen him. The ar 
 ticle described Mr. McKinney, his general 
 appearance and dress and the horse he 
 rode, and stated that he had when he left 
 home a considerable sum of money on his 
 person. A week later the same paper stated 
 that there was not yet any word from the 
 missing man and his family were seriously
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 117 
 
 alarmed for his safety and were making ef 
 forts to trace him. 
 
 A week later there arrived in the village 
 of Riverside, in the afternoon, by the Fair 
 mont pike, a stranger on horseback, who 
 was dressed and comported himself like a 
 plain citizen on a business trip. He rode 
 up to the Blue Boar and, throwing the rein 
 over a hitching-post, walked into the pub 
 lic room and asked for the landlord. As 
 Blue came out of the bar and confronted 
 the stranger, an unpleasant lump came up 
 in his throat, for he instinctively felt that 
 he knew the man s business before he had 
 told it ; but he had himself under good con 
 trol and did not show the trepidation he 
 really felt. He asked if the stranger would 
 have his horse put up. 
 
 "No," was the reply; "at least not yet. 
 I suppose," looking the landlord in the 
 face, "I may speak to you somewhat in con 
 fidence." 
 
 The latter signified assent. 
 
 "I am from Uniontown," said the stran 
 ger, "and I am trying to get track of one 
 of my neighbors who came up this way on
 
 118 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 a business trip about the middle of June. 
 He has not returned within the time his 
 family expected, and at their request I have 
 come to see if I can find him. I have 
 traced him as far as Fairmont, where he 
 stayed at the Mountain City House. The 
 landlord remembers him quite well, and 
 says he told him he was going up in the 
 neighborhood of Clarksburg. I found a 
 man at Worthlesston who thinks he saw 
 him pass through that place; but he was 
 not very clear about it and when I pressed 
 him admitted he was so far away he might 
 be mistaken in the description. Of course, 
 a good many people pass over that road 
 every day, and unless one s attention was 
 specially directed to a passer, his recollec 
 tion that far back would be vague and un 
 certain. But I think if he came this far he 
 would likely stop with you and you would 
 recollect him." 
 
 The speaker then proceeded to describe 
 the missing man minutely, his personal ap 
 pearance, dress and the horse he rode. The 
 landlord listened coolly and critically. His 
 confidence had come back. After a pause
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 119 
 
 in which he appeared to be ransacking his 
 memory: "I don t think I ever saw the 
 man. How long ago did you say?" 
 
 About the middle of June as near as I 
 can figure it. The landlord of the Moun 
 tain City thought the same." 
 
 "I am certain," said Jonas, "there has 
 been no such person here in the last three 
 months, or this year, for that matter, for I 
 could not fail to remember it. We don t 
 have many strangers, and that is a man one 
 would be sure to remember." 
 
 The stranger was disappointed. "Is 
 there another hotel here?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, the Busy Bee, just down the 
 street." He stepped to the door and point 
 ed out the building. 
 
 "I will leave my horse hitched here and 
 walk down there and make inquiry." 
 
 "He won t find out anything there," said 
 the landlord to himself; and he felt a sense 
 of relief that the man was gone. 
 
 The landlord of the Busy Bee had not 
 entertained nor heard of the missing trav-
 
 120 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 eler. The detective for such he was was 
 a man of resources. He reflected and it 
 occurred to him McKinney might have 
 reached the village before night, crossed 
 the river and gone up on the other side. 
 "Is there a ferry here?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What was the state of the river about 
 the middle of June ?" 
 
 "A man could ride it. There had been a 
 freshet early in the spring, but the river 
 was down again." 
 
 "Where can I find the ferryman?" 
 
 "I will send a boy to show you," said 
 the obliging landlord of the Busy Bee. 
 
 The ferryman was found in his shop on 
 the bank of the river overlooking- the ferry. 
 The stranger introduced himself and ex 
 plained his quest. 
 
 "How long ago?" queried the old ferry 
 man. 
 
 "Somewhere about the middle of June. 
 It should have been the I5th." 
 
 The old man ran over a calculation with 
 the aid of his fingers. "That would be 
 Friday morning. Yes; there was such a
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 121 
 
 man rode down this street to the river just 
 about that time ; and I think by looking at 
 a memorandum book I have here I can 
 tell you the exact day, because I was going 
 to Clarksburg that day to buy some hard 
 ware at Lowndes , and I had got up early 
 to do some repairing on my boat. I had 
 just got it finished and started up to the 
 house when this man rode down to the 
 edge of the water. He rode in a few steps, 
 and while his horse drank, he turned and 
 asked me if he could ride the river. I told 
 him yes, but he would find it a little deep, 
 and he might get his feet wet. He then 
 asked if I could ferry him. I said I could; 
 so he rode into the boat without getting 
 off his horse, and I went back, pushed off 
 and ran him across. He handed me the 
 pay and rode up the bank. I turned and 
 came right back, and don t remember that 
 I looked around till I had landed and tied 
 the boat. Then as I started to walk up the 
 hill, I turned half round and glanced across 
 at the road above the ferry expecting I 
 would see him somewhere beyond Font- 
 rev s; but I did not see him, and as I had
 
 122 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 no curiosity in the matter and was think 
 ing of my breakfast and my trip, I came on 
 up home and thought no more of it. This 
 was the man you describe, I am certain. I 
 especially noticed his stylish horse as he 
 stood in the boat; but I could not tell, if it 
 was to save me, whether he went up the 
 river or down." 
 
 . The old man had all this while been 
 fumbling in a tool-chest, and at last 
 brought out a small account book. He 
 loked it over a few moments. "Yes, I find 
 I went to Clarksburg on the I5th of June. 
 That was Friday, and that was the morning 
 this traveler came down and was ferried 
 over." 
 
 "What hour in the morning was this?" 
 
 "It was early. I had not had my break 
 fast yet." 
 
 "Where could he have come from?" 
 spoke the stranger, more to himself than to 
 the other. 
 
 Then, turning to the ferryman : "He did 
 not stay at either of the hotels in the vil 
 lage. Where would you think he might 
 have stayed over night?"
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 123 
 
 "Then he must have stayed out of town 
 somewhere and taken an early start." 
 
 This appeared to be a solution. "That 
 is it," the stranger said, and thanking the 
 ferryman for his courtesy he walked back 
 to the Blue Boar, unhitched and mounted 
 his horse and rode out of the village by the 
 way he had come. 
 
 At this moment Guy Esmond walked 
 down the street and came to the corner 
 door in which the landlord was standing. 
 He saw the man riding away and turned to 
 his friend for an explanation. The latter 
 looked around and, seeing no one near, 
 spoke cautiously: "That man is from 
 Uniontown and is looking for the cattle- 
 buyer who stayed over night some six 
 weeks ago and went over to your place the 
 next morning. You slip right over and let 
 Harry know. Maybe he had better come 
 up to-night and see me, but not till after 
 dark. You walk down to the mill and cross 
 there." 
 
 Less than a mile out of the village on 
 the Fairmont road the stranger stopped at 
 a farm-house on the left which looked as
 
 124 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 if a man might have asked hospitality there. 
 As he rode into the lane he saw near the 
 barn an old man whom he judged to be 
 the proprietor, giving directions to a col 
 ored man, also well along in years. The 
 latter walked to the gate as the stranger 
 rode up, took off an old battered hat, put 
 it under his arm, and made a ceremonious 
 bow. The stranger politely returned the 
 salutation and said he would like to speak 
 with the master. The old man, hearing 
 this, came forward and stood by the gate, 
 while the colored servant stood near by in 
 non-participant attitude but keen of ear for 
 the conversation. 
 
 The stranger went over the explanation 
 he had to make and at the conclusion asked 
 if the missing traveler had stayed over 
 night at that house. The old man replied 
 in the negative. Nobody had stayed with 
 them this spring. Had he seen anybody 
 passing that would answer the description? 
 No; possibly Joe had. Then, turning to 
 the colored man: 
 
 "Joe, did you see anybody like this ride 
 along, going towards town, about the mid-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 125 
 
 die of June? You heard what he was 
 like?" 
 
 "Yes, sah," said Joe. "I hear de gem- 
 man s scription and I think I seed de 
 man. Deed I ze most shuah I did, caze I 
 meet him in de road and have a inte view 
 with him." 
 
 "Tell us about it," said the stranger. 
 
 "Yes, sah," said Joe, appreciating his op 
 portunity. "Mars Short he tell me to hitch 
 up de wagon ana go to town after de plow 
 which had de pint broke and was at Mistah 
 Stores shop; and Mistus Mary she tell me 
 be shuah not fo git to go to postoffice, fur 
 she were expecting a letter 
 
 "But tell us about the man," said the 
 stranger, interrupting. 
 
 "Yes, sah," said Joe, with a bow; "I tell 
 de gemman in a minute. I got de plow in 
 de wagon and had letter in my hat, and I 
 druv out over the hill and I see a man rid 
 ing towards me just dis side de fus holler; 
 and when he come up to me I see he was 
 goin to say somethin and I kinder stop de 
 team and he pull up his hoss, and he ast me 
 how fur it were to de town. I tole him
 
 126 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 soon s he got out on de hill dere he d see 
 it. Den he ast me if I know of any yearlin 
 cattle about here for sale." 
 
 "Did he," interrupted the stranger, "ride 
 on to the town?" 
 
 "He ride in that directium," said Joe, 
 with due caution, as if he were a witness on 
 the stand. "I couldn t say he went all de 
 way; but I spect he did, caze when I look 
 around just fore I got to de fus holler he 
 were out of sight." Joe made another bow 
 as if to terminate the "inte view." 
 
 "Do you think that was the man I have 
 described?" the stranger asked. 
 
 "I m shuah it was. He rode a very fine 
 bay critter, and he had a big nose and side 
 whiskers ; and he were very polite. And 
 his astin bout de cattle makes me know it 
 were de same gemman you is lookin foh." 
 
 "About what time of day was this?" 
 
 "It was gettin putty late. Come to think, 
 it was quite late in the ebenin , caze I mem 
 ber it was dusk when I druv in and un 
 hitched." 
 
 The stranger thanked both politely and, 
 mounting, rode away. At .the mouth of
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 127 
 
 the lane he was undecided a moment which 
 was to turn, then he rode on east. A quar 
 ter of a mile farther he came to a small 
 stream, and here the roads forked. He rode 
 aside under some spreading sycamores and, 
 dismounting and putting his arm through 
 the rein, walked to a foot-bridge that 
 offered a convenient seat and sat down to 
 think over the tangled skein. 
 
 Here he had the very positive recollec 
 tion of two men, neither of whom could 
 possibly have any interest in deceiving him, 
 one showing that McKinney had passed on 
 to the village before nightfall, the other 
 that he had crossed the river at an early 
 hour in the morning presumptively the 
 next morning. Where did he spend the 
 night? He was within half a mile of the 
 village when the colored man saw him near 
 dusk and left him going in that direction ; 
 and there were no houses on the road be 
 tween that meeting-place and the village. 
 Why had he not stayed at one of the hotels ? 
 He was a man accustomed to travel and 
 spend his nights at hotels ; and as he knew 
 nobody in the village, it did not seem possi-
 
 128 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 ble he had asked for private hospitality. 
 Had he gone beyond the village and stayed 
 at some farm-house and returned to the 
 ferry next morning? That was the least 
 probable of all. He must have stayed at 
 one of the hotels. Could the landlords have 
 forgotten? Hardly, for the entertainment 
 of a stranger who would probably make in 
 quiries of them about cattle would be read 
 ily recalled where such a guest would be 
 unusual. Could the landlords have any mo 
 tive for denying his presence? If he had 
 not been seen afterwards this might be sus 
 pected. But he did not disappear at a 
 hotel; that was proven by the positive rec 
 ollection of the ferryman. It was a puzzle. 
 
 He sat for a long time revolving these 
 and other thoughts. It was growing dusk 
 and the horse was getting restless at the 
 prospect of spending the night without 
 food. He mounted and rode back to the 
 village and to the Blue Boar. 
 
 Mine host was surprised and puzzled at 
 the man s return. He was shown to his 
 room while supper was being prepared for 
 him and the horse sent to the stable. At
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 129 
 
 the moment these dispositions had been 
 made, Harry Esmond walked into the hall 
 way by the side door and he and Jonas met 
 opportunely on the back porch. They went 
 to the den and shut the door. 
 
 "What is this, Jone, about a man from 
 Uniontown looking for somebody?" 
 
 The landlord lowered his voice. "They 
 are tracing for him and have tracked him 
 as far as Fairmont. They found one man 
 \vho thinks he saw him ride through 
 Worthlesston, but he is not dead sure. The 
 man came here this afternoon to inquire, 
 but I didn t know the first thing in the 
 world ; never saw such a man. Then he 
 went to the Busy Bee, and of course he 
 didn t find out anything there. But he was 
 gone a good while and I ve been wonder 
 ing whether he struck a trail anywhere else. 
 So he came back and mounted and rode 
 away, about a half an hour by sun, in the 
 direction he had come. I thought he had 
 given it up or gone back to Fairmont to get 
 a fresh start; but he has just returned and 
 is up stairs getting ready for supper. I 
 wish I knew what brought him back. When
 
 130 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 he rode away this afternoon, he never said 
 a word about what he had found out. I 
 wonder if he heard anything from anybody 
 else, and where he went when he rode out 
 the Fairmont pike. When he comes down 
 "to supper I will seat him on the far side of 
 the table and you can go around on the back 
 porch and get a good look at him through 
 the windows." 
 
 The landlord returned to the public room. 
 The stranger had come down and was im 
 mediately preceded to the supper room by 
 the landlord, who drew back a chair and 
 seated the guest facing the windows on the 
 porch. Harry sauntered out on the porch in 
 the dark and, strolling carelessly back. and 
 forth past the windows, obtained a good 
 view of the stranger, whose features and 
 demeanor he fixed in his memory as some 
 thing he might need to be familiar with. 
 The publican bustled about ostensibly to see 
 that his guest was served to his satisfaction, 
 really to give him a chance to ask questions 
 or tell of his discoveries if inclined. But 
 the guest did not seem disposed to talk and 
 gave his whole attention to appeasing his
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 131 
 
 hunger, nor could the landlord biing himself 
 to venture any remark to draw out what he 
 so much wanted to know. At length, rising 
 from the table, the stranger retired at once 
 to his room. 
 
 The landlord and Esmond met a few 
 minutes later in the den. 
 
 "I don t like his looks," said the latter. 
 
 "I m afraid he has got some clue. I 
 wanted you to see him, because you might 
 want to recognize him in some other place." 
 
 "I d know the fellow in the dark," said 
 Esmond ; and in a whisper he added : "He d 
 better keep on this side of the river. I 
 must go now so as to post the boys to be on 
 the lookout." And then, with rising anger, 
 in a voice incautiously loud : "He had best 
 not fool around here too much, or we won t 
 wait for him to cross the river."
 
 132 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AN ABANDONED WELL. 
 
 Something Js rotten in the State of Denmark. 
 Cudgel thy brains no more about it. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Some ten days after the disappearance of 
 McKinney, two boys from the village who 
 had been ranging the woods on the other 
 side of the river looking for squirrels or 
 other small game, found themselves on top 
 of the great hill back of the old log house 
 occupied by Lot Dyson. Their shortest 
 way towards home lay across the fields on 
 the south slope of the hill ; and as they ap 
 proached the timber belt farther down, 
 which they proposed to enter some dis 
 tance west of the house, they encountered 
 a thicket covering an acre or two so densely 
 grown with bushes and briers that it looked 
 as if they would have to walk around ; but 
 noticing what looked liked a path, they en 
 tered it, and after a few yards saw on one
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 133 
 
 side a pile of stones that appeared to be the 
 ruins of a chimney. 
 
 "Why," said one boy, "I did not know 
 there had ever been a house here." 
 
 "It seems to me," observed the other, "I 
 have heard there was an old house in here 
 somewhere that was burned many years 
 ago." 
 
 "And what is this ?" said the other, draw 
 ing back from a pit he had almost fallen 
 into. 
 
 It was covered with dead brush, but 
 through this could be seen some half-de 
 cayed pieces of timber laid across as if to 
 keep cattle from falling in. Leaning over 
 and peering in through an opening between 
 the timbers, the boys could see that there 
 was an old stone-walled well, with water 
 coming up within ten to fifteen feet of the 
 surface. 
 
 "See here," said one, "it looks as if some 
 thing had gone down." 
 
 The brush had been thrust aside and 
 twigs had been broken as if some heavy 
 body had fallen in. Looking more closely,
 
 134 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 it appeared as if the timbers had been 
 moved and shoved together again. 
 
 The boys looked at each other and then 
 at the lonely surroundings with a queer feel 
 ing neither could have explained. But the 
 dense thicket cut off the view in all direc 
 tions, and there was nothing alarming in 
 sight except the dreadful old well, which 
 was only a possible danger to a heedless 
 rabbit hunter plunging through the thicket. 
 
 "Let s get away from here. This path 
 doesn t go any farther, and we d better go 
 back and walk around." 
 
 Before the lads got home, the unpleas 
 ant feeling they had had about the old well 
 evaporated and they thought little more of 
 it than of other incidents of an unsuccess 
 ful morning in the woods. 
 
 But at supper one of them asked his 
 father if he remembered an old house in 
 that locality, describing it. The parent re 
 plied he had heard there was once a house in 
 there somewheres that had been burned be 
 fore the Lot Dyson house was built. Some 
 people with a name like Woodfield had lived 
 in it.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE- ELM. 135 
 
 "Why did they not build again in the 
 same place?" queried the boy. "It would 
 have saved them digging a well." 
 
 "That reminds me of something else," 
 said the father, "that used to be said about 
 it. They would not build again in the same 
 place because the well was spoiled. After 
 those people went away and a new owner 
 came to build he cleared away the rubbish 
 and concluded to clean out the well. They 
 found the body of a man in it who was 
 supposed to have been murdered and 
 thrown in. And that s why, it is said, the 
 next house was built in anothei place; and 
 there was a story that a ghost used to walk 
 of nights around the old ruins, and that 
 may be why the garden was allowed to go 
 wild and grow up in briers and bushes." 
 
 The boy mentioned the finding of that 
 same old well during their morning hunt; 
 and he added that "it looked as if somebody 
 else had been thrown in." 
 
 The father smiled at this as a mere boy 
 ish terror. There was nothing connected 
 with such a discovery to give it a sinister 
 appearance, and no more was thought of it.
 
 136 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 .CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON THE TRAIL. 
 
 The patient search and vigil long. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 The result of the detective s meditations 
 at the Blue Boar was that he ought to cross 
 the river and see if he could not trace the 
 missing man in that direction. Leaving un 
 solved the mystery of his night s lodging, 
 it was certain he had gone across the river 
 next morning, and as he was to visit the 
 vicinity of Clarksburg had probably turned 
 up the stream. He would take the road in 
 that direction and make inquiry at farm 
 houses that he passed. He rose early and 
 told the landlord he would want to set out 
 directly after breakfast ; and when he had 
 paid his bill mounted and set off in the 
 direction of the ferry. The landlord was 
 surprised and excited. He was ignorant 
 what information the stranger might have 
 obtained the evening before, and this move
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 137 
 
 excited the wildest conjectures. He felt 
 that a crisis was at hand. Would Harry 
 and his friends be on the lookout this early ? 
 He looked around for some means of get 
 ting word to Guy, when that convenient 
 person strolled up from the direction of the 
 stable. Beckoning him inside, "Guy," he 
 said, "the stranger has just gone towards 
 the ferry. I don t know what it means 
 whether he is going to your place or in the 
 other direction. But slip down to the river 
 as quick as you can without attracting atten 
 tion and see if he crosses and which way he 
 goes." 
 
 Guy walked leisurely down the street to 
 the river bluff as if he had the day before 
 him. When he arrived on the bluff, the 
 ferry-boat was just landing on the other 
 side and a passenger on horseback rode up 
 the bank and took the road up the river. 
 Guy looked long enough to be sure of the 
 identity of the traveler and strolled back to 
 the Blue Boar and communicated to Blue 
 what he had seen. 
 
 "I don t understand it," Jonas said, "but 
 Harry ought to know."
 
 138 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "I will go right over as soon as I get 
 breakfast," said the accommodating Guy. 
 
 A mile above the ferry the traveler came 
 to a prosperous looking farm-house evi 
 dently belonging to a large farm Two or 
 three men were moving about the barn and 
 yard. He rode up to the gate, and one of 
 the younger and better dressed came down 
 to meet him. He explained what he was 
 looking for ; and waited, not without anxi 
 ety, for the reply. The farmer said he had 
 not heard of any cattle-buyer from a dis 
 tance. None had been at their place. They 
 did some grazing and were often visited by 
 buyers looking for cattle, but none had been 
 there this spring or summer so far. He 
 could not be sure he was home at the date 
 mentioned, but he called the other men to 
 the gate and asked if anybody had stopped 
 or made inquiry for cattle some six weeks 
 before ; and, on their answering in the nega 
 tive, whether they had seen anybody pass 
 that answered the description which the 
 stranger then repeated to them. None had 
 seen or heard of such a person.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 139 
 
 This was discouraging, but it would not 
 do to give it up yet. McKinney might have 
 had some particular place to visit farther 
 up the road and have gone directly thither 
 without stopping on the way. He rode on 
 and two miles farther came to a village with 
 two or three stores and shops. To his in 
 quiries, he received on all hands the same 
 kind of reply. No stranger had been in the 
 village or had passed through, unless in the 
 night. Would he pass this way if he were 
 going to Clarksburg? Yes. Were there 
 any roads on which he might have turned 
 off? Yes, one; he might have turned up 
 Robinson s Run, about two miles back. He 
 went back and turned into this road. A 
 mile or more from the river he came to a 
 hamlet, with a mill, a store and a dozen 
 dwellings. The farms around looked prom 
 ising and numbers of cattle were grazing 
 on the fresh green grass of the meadows. 
 But the same negative met all his inquiries. 
 The merchant said he could not have failed 
 to know if any stranger had been there or 
 had passed through in the day time, and he 
 had neither seen nor heard of any.
 
 140 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 The detective returned to the river road 
 and drew up in the shade for a little reflec 
 tion. It seemed useless to pursue the quest 
 any farther in this direction. These people 
 could not all be in a conspiracy to give him 
 false answers. There was but one possible 
 conclusion: McKinney had gone the other 
 way down the river, not up; and while 
 this seemed a rather inexplicable move, no 
 doubt it would be simple enough when un 
 derstood. Then he must ride down the 
 river and make inquiry, and there he would 
 find the clue. 
 
 Unless the thought darkly crossed his 
 mind unless there was no clue to be found 
 anywhere. Unless there had been foul play. 
 He had not, with all his experience, set him 
 self seriously to consider this contingency 
 before. But now he faced it resolutely. 
 He had rested on the assumption that some 
 illness or other ordinary misfortune had 
 overtaken McKinney; but, after all, if this 
 had been true, why had not he or some 
 one for him communicated with his family? 
 The absence of all word argued ill. The 
 detective was shaken in the faith he had
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 141 
 
 held up to this moment that McKinney was 
 somewhere in safety, though perhaps not 
 well. 
 
 This shadow of evil came over him like a 
 cloud, and out of that cloud came the sin 
 ister suggestion that possibly one of the 
 landlords was a party to some net that had 
 entrapped the missing cattle buyer. His 
 thoughts went back to the man of the Blue 
 Boar and he reviewed everything he had 
 said and looked in their interviews. Suspi 
 cion sharpens the perceptions. He recalled 
 that at the first meeting he had been con 
 scious of a secret uneasiness in the landlord, 
 felt rather than expressed, and that when 
 he returned and took his horse away, and 
 also when he came back in the evening, the 
 landlord had not asked, as people naturally 
 do under such circumstances, if he had 
 heard anything of his missing neighbor. 
 
 He was thinking intensely on this train 
 of suggestion when he came opposite the 
 ferry again, and he stopped under a tree to 
 run out his thoughts to some conclusion be 
 fore he went farther. He looked at his 
 watch and found it a little past midday. He
 
 142 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 had almost made up his mind that he had 
 better go on down the river and pursue his 
 inquiries, when he saw the old ferryman 
 come out of his house and proceed to his 
 shop like a man who had just had his din 
 ner. This reminded him of his own hun 
 ger, of which he had hardly been conscious, 
 so tense had been his mental stress, and it 
 reminded him also that his horse needed 
 both food and drink. He hailed the ferry 
 man just as he was about to enter his shop 
 and signalled him to bring the boat. 
 
 When he had come aboard, the old man 
 asked if he had found any further trace of 
 his missing neighbor. He replied no; but 
 that he had not yet been down the river 
 and it was now evident his neighbor had 
 gone in that direction ; that he thought he 
 would go down that way after dinner. The 
 ferryman seemed about to offer some sug 
 gestion; but checked himself, as if think 
 ing better of it, and said no more.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A CHANGE OF BASE. 
 
 That s a perilous shot out of an elder gun. 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 The detective rode to the Busy Bee and 
 handed his horse to the hostler. After din 
 ner he went to the stable to see the condi 
 tion of the animal and to have assurance 
 it had received proper attention. It hap 
 pened that while he was there, Jacob 
 Holmes, the wagon-maker, came into the 
 yard pulling a buggy he had repaired. He 
 dropped the shafts and after some word^ 
 with the hostler regarding the work turned 
 to go away, when the stranger, who thought 
 it would do no harm to widen the scope of 
 his inquiries, approached and addressed him. 
 Mr. Holmes was an approachable man, not 
 destitute of curiosity nor averse to any con 
 versation that might gratify it.
 
 144 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 "You are pretty well acquainted about 
 this place, I suppose," remarked the stran 
 ger. 
 
 "Yes ; I have lived here several years and 
 know everybody round here. But you have 
 the advantage of me." 
 
 "My name is Bernard, and T am from 
 Uniontown." 
 
 "From Uniontown! I m glad to see a 
 man from Pennsylvany, for I come from 
 Brownsville myself and knew people at 
 Uniontown, Greensboro, and, in fact, I have 
 sold wagons to people all round in that 
 part of the country. My name is Holmes 
 Jacob Holmes. My journeyman, Jim Eng 
 lish, came from Uniontown. Do you know- 
 Robert Dumfries or Bait Kramer?" 
 
 "I have heard of Dumfries ; I never met 
 him ; and I know Kramer, near Greensboro. 
 Did you know Thomas McKinney ? He was 
 a farmer, and I think had one farm not far 
 from Brownsville." 
 
 "McKinney McKinney? Yes, I have 
 heard of Thomas McKinney. He had cat- 
 tie farms and grazed a good deal ?"
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 145 
 
 "Yes. Well, McKinney came up this way 
 about six weeks ago and was expected back 
 in three weeks. He has not been heard of. 
 He came to buy cattle, and had considerable 
 money with him. I am one of the neigh 
 bors, and came up to see if I could get any 
 information about him." 
 
 "Is that so?" said Holmes, with interest. 
 "Have you heard anything?" 
 
 "He left Fairmont, they told me at the 
 Mountain City House, and came this way, 
 they think on the I4th of June, for the reg 
 ister shows he stopped there the evening of 
 the 1 3th ; and he crossed the river here early 
 next morning." 
 
 "If he made any speed and came straight 
 on," remarked Holmes, "he should have got 
 here by the middle of the afternoon." 
 
 "I have reason to believe that he reached 
 here late in the evening. I cannot learn 
 where he stayed over night. It appears he 
 did not stop at either of your hotels ; but 
 as he crossed on the ferry here at early 
 breakfast time the next morning, he must 
 have stayed in this village or near by." 
 
 "Did he cross the river?"
 
 146 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "Yes, the ferryman remembers it well ; 
 and he must have gone down the river on 
 the other side, for I have been up the coun 
 try on that side and could not hear of him." 
 
 This suggested something to Holmes, 
 who hesitated and looked around. The 
 hostler had gone back to the house. The old 
 wagon-maker drew nearer to Bernard and, 
 sinking his voice, said : "I can tell you some 
 thing. I went to the mill early on Friday 
 morning just about the time you speak of 
 and I think it was that Friday ; I could tell 
 at my shop, for my book will show a credit 
 to the miller for feed I got of him that 
 morning and as I came back I saw a man 
 on horseback ride off the ferry-boat and 
 take the road down the river." 
 
 The detective was electrified. "Could you 
 describe his appearance?" 
 
 I was not near enough to tell much about 
 the man. He was a plainly dressed, farmer 
 looking man. The most I noticed was that 
 his horse, a bright bay, carried himself up 
 very stylishly, and was a pacer." 
 
 "That must have been McKinney. Where 
 should you think he would be going?"
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 147 
 
 "You say he has not been heard of since ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I am afraid he did not go very far. I 
 don t know what to think." Holmes seemed 
 a good deal agitated. "There s some bad 
 people around here, and it is not very safe 
 for us who live here to say much about 
 them." 
 
 Bernard was intensely interested. He 
 waited for the old man s further speech. 
 Holmes drew nearer and said in an agitated 
 whisper : "I don t dare tell you what I fear. 
 If you go down the river to look for Mc- 
 Kinney, keep a sharp lookout. It will be 
 better for you not to go at least not by 
 yourself. And don t tell a soul that you had 
 any talk with me about it." 
 
 The speaker turned abruptly and walked 
 away, leaving Bernard astonished at what 
 the old man had told him and no less at 
 his manner of telling it. 
 
 Bernard went back to the house and asked 
 for a room, went to it, sat down and took 
 his head between his hands and sat there 
 motionless for a long time. With these new 
 revelations, he had to go over the whole
 
 148 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 ground again ; to look at the facts, piece by 
 piece, and put them together again ; and he 
 saw that a mystery of .the profoundest in 
 terest and of dark colors was opening be 
 fore him. What and where was the danger 
 that Holmes had warned him against? 
 Plainly, whatever and wherever it was, it 
 was connected with the disappearance of 
 McKinney. 
 
 And now he was confirmed in his opinion 
 that McKinney had stayed at one or other 
 of the village hotels. He reviewed the inci 
 dents and conversations of the two days ; 
 and when he had finished the review he saw 
 that the first thing for him to do was to sat 
 isfy himself which of the publicans had 
 taken the stranger in. He went down stairs 
 and sauntered into the bar and engaged the 
 landlord in conversation. The man talked 
 freely and naturally, without any restraint, 
 asking what he had learned, if anything, to 
 account for his missing neighbor, and try 
 ing with a native curiosity to find out some 
 thing about himself. Clearly there was no 
 occasion for suspicion in this quarter. The 
 more he reflected, the more he was con-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 149 
 
 vinced the man at the Blue Boar knew more 
 of McKinney than he was willing to tell; 
 that the cattle-buyer had stayed there over 
 night and had probably acted on some sug 
 gestion when he went next morning at such 
 an early hour down the river and into 
 oblivion. 
 
 In the evening, after an early tea, he 
 walked up the street to the Blue Boar cor 
 ner. Several loungers were on the pave 
 ment and on a bench at the end of the house. 
 The landlord himself was standing in the 
 corner door leaning against the jamb, and 
 was manifestly ill at ease under the keen 
 scrutiny with which Bernard favored him. 
 He merely said "good evening" and Ber 
 nard returned the salutation. The conver 
 sation of the loungers was suspended; and 
 to relieve the awkwardness of the situation 
 Bernard approached the person nearest and 
 politely asked to be directed to the postoffice. 
 The building just across the street was 
 pointed out to him and he walked over and 
 asked if there was a letter for Mark Ber 
 nard. There was none (as he knew) and he 
 returned down the street. Taking the other 

 
 150 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 side he joined a group in front of a store 
 just across from the Busy Bee. It was the 
 usual evening assembly to discuss affairs, 
 local and national. As he came up he heard 
 allusion to the inquiries made for a missing 
 man and to the ferryman s report that he 
 had crossed the river. He passed into the 
 store and got a cigar and came back and 
 stood in the door while he lighted it. There 
 was evident restraint in the talk, due either 
 to his presence or to other reason, but one 
 man spoke out boldly: 
 
 "If he had any money with him he d bet 
 ter have stayed on this side of the river." 
 
 Clearly the other side of the river was 
 dangerous territory. Bernard noted the 
 speaker and crossed to the hotel. A half 
 hour later he met this man in the growing 
 dusk on the hotel pavement, and catching 
 his eye advanced and introduced himself as 
 a person in search of the missing man who 
 had been alluded to in the conversation 
 across the street. "Would you mind telling 
 mt, in confidence," he said, "why you said 
 what you did about the danger of carrying 
 money on the other side of the river ?" The
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 151 
 
 other, who seemed a rather keen, intelligent 
 man, drew Bernard to one side. 
 
 "If you can keep the counsel I give you," 
 he said, "I don t mind telling you to be on 
 your guard in any inquiries you push here 
 in the village or hereabouts regarding the 
 missing cattle-buyer. There is a gang in 
 this neighborhood that is not above killing a 
 man for money, and it is possible your 
 friend has fallen into their clutches. Their 
 headquarters are the farm next below on the 
 other side of the river. If you are sure he 
 went that way, I should be afraid he never 
 got past that farm. Have you icason to 
 think he went to their place for anything?" 
 
 Bernard replied that was what he feared. 
 Seeing he could talk freely to this man, he 
 proceeded to tell him about his inquiry at 
 the hotels to learn if McKinney had stayed 
 at either on a certain Thursday night in 
 June before the ferryman set him over the 
 river next morning, and the negative state 
 ment of both landlords. 
 
 "This landlord here," said the other, "is 
 all right. Whatever he told you was the 
 truth."
 
 152 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 "How about the other ?" asked Bernard. 
 
 "I don t say anything about him; but if 
 your friend crossed the river Friday morn 
 ing as early as the ferryman says, depend 
 upon it he stayed in this town o\er night; 
 and I don t believe he would go to a private 
 house when there were two hotels open. 
 If he did, we would have heard of it before 
 this, for the town has been talking about 
 the matter all day." 
 
 "Would you advise me to go down the 
 river to the place you speak of and make 
 inquiry ?" 
 
 "By no means, unless you had a sheriff s 
 posse behind you. Being on your guard, 
 you might do it and come away safely ; but 
 you would get no information and there 
 would be nothing to pay you for the risk. 
 We here are all afraid to say much about 
 this gang. While we know a good deal, 
 and believe a great deal more, in regard to 
 their deviltry, it is hard to get evidence that 
 we could act on. It is risky even to talk 
 openly about them, for they have connec 
 tions and spies in the town and we never
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 153 
 
 know when our words may be repeated at 
 headquarters." 
 
 "Could you give me the name by which 
 this gang is known and particularly the 
 one who is the head or leader?" 
 
 "Esmond is the name of the family who 
 own the farm, and Harry Esmond is the 
 leader." 
 
 "I am very greatly indebted to you," said 
 Bernard, seeing the other was inclined to 
 close the conversation. 
 
 "Let me tell you one thing more," said 
 the other, recalling him. "If our surmises 
 are correct as to the fate that has overtaken 
 your friend, it being known you are here 
 tracing for him, you will be in constant 
 danger, in the village or out of it." 
 
 "Thank you for the caution," returned 
 Bernard as they parted. 
 
 He went to his room overwhelmed at the 
 ramifications and turpitude of the plot that 
 was unfolding. He lay down on the bed 
 without undressing, without making a light, 
 riot to sleep but to consider these latest as 
 pects of the problem that confronted him. 
 He did not for a moment question the truth
 
 154 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 of what had just been told him. It more 
 than corroborated what had been said by 
 Holmes. The hint regarding the landlord 
 of the Blue Boar confirmed his own suspi 
 cion. Manifestly the publican had played 
 the part of decoy; had given McKinney 
 false information or some concocted story 
 that had lured him into a trap prepared for 
 him. 
 
 But was not Bernard traveling too fast 
 towards conclusions? How should the 
 landlord do this when McKinney only got 
 there at dark and left early next morning? 
 What could the landlord know about him 
 or how confer with confederates across the 
 river in so short a time? Then it occurred 
 to him that McKinney s family had said he 
 had been advised to come to this village; 
 and it seemed to him that they said a par 
 ticular hotel had been mentioned at which 
 it would be best for him to stop. This had 
 to be considered. Could there be a conspir 
 acy reaching as far as that? Accustomed 
 as Bernard had been to unravel the tangled 
 webs of criminal life, he was a little startled 
 by this idea, that here was a band with
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 155 
 
 agents in another state making suggestions 
 of false information to lure men who car 
 ried money in the course of their honest 
 business into snares laid for them, with 
 spies and agents at every point where 
 needed to direct the steps of the unwary to 
 their death ! 
 
 Bernard lay till midnight without even 
 changing his position, so tense and absorb 
 ing was the turmoil of his thoughts. Then 
 he rose and undressed; and, recalling the 
 caution he had received, turned the key in 
 the lock and laid his revolver under his 
 pillow. But before dropping into the un 
 easy slumber that filled the rest of the night, 
 he plainly saw the futility of any further 
 prosecution of his quest in the manner he 
 had begun it. It would take time, he would 
 need help, and the problem must be ap 
 proached in another way. He would return 
 to Uniontown and with the help of informa 
 tion to be supplied by the family see if he 
 could pick up a thread at that end of the 
 line.
 
 156 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 Next morning, having reached definite 
 conclusions and a settled purpose, he set 
 out on his return, passing up to the Fair 
 mont road at the street intersection in front 
 of the Blue Boar. The landlord was out 
 sweeping the pavement and saw him turn 
 the corner to the north. A moment later 
 he went to the stable whither Guy had just 
 gone with the hostler. "Put the saddle and 
 bridle on Sam," he said in a peremptory 
 way that meant he wanted it done quick. 
 He drew Guy to one side. "Mr. Detective 
 has started back to Fairmont. Guess he s 
 had enough of this town. Take Sam and 
 ride over and left Harry know. He may 
 want to say farewell to the fellow so he 
 will know he need not come again. John 
 son could take the short cut and meet him 
 in the woods at Riley Hill. He ought to 
 take a little lead with him back to Union- 
 town as a keepsake." 
 
 An hour later as Bernard was riding 
 leisurely up the hill leaving the river a 
 mile or so south of Worthlesston, busy with 
 his thoughts and scarcely noticing his sur 
 roundings, he was startled by the crack of
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 157 
 
 a rifle in the bushes near by and the simul 
 taneous whistle of the ball. He felt his 
 coat twitch and looking down saw that the 
 bullet had passed through both coat and 
 vest within two inches of his heart. He 
 first thought that some careless squirrel 
 hunter had come perilously near killing the 
 wrong game. A moment later he thought 
 of the Esmond gang and of the warning 
 that had been given him. He put whip to 
 the horse and rode rapidly over the hill. 
 
 When he stopped to pay toll at the 
 Worthlesston bridge, he asked the gate 
 keeper, showing him the bullet-holes, if 
 travelers on the roads hereabouts were re 
 quired to pay for the privilege of being shot 
 at? The old gateman, total incapable of 
 understanding a jest, replied that all he paid 
 for was going over the road and that the 
 shooting was no part of the road regula 
 tions ; and he turned and pointed to the 
 printed rules posted up beside the gate. 
 Bernard smiled at the old man s simplicity 
 and rode on.
 
 158 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TURNING A NEW LEAF. 
 
 Oh, reform it altogether. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 George Holmes had reached the crisis of 
 his life. He felt it as he had never felt 
 anything before. The pleading, impas 
 sioned words of Loraine her pale face, her 
 tears ; above all, her appeal to his manhood, 
 and her promise to follow him to the ends 
 of the earth whenever he had shown him 
 self worthy of her respect and love had 
 stirred the fountains of feelings that had 
 for years been sealed in the lad s soul. It 
 was as if scales had dropped from his eyes, 
 and he saw with the clear sight of truth 
 and conscience the monstrous life he had 
 been leading, and also the despicable weak 
 ness and pusillanimity that had overgrown 
 his real and better self. Days passed in the 
 struggle over the revelation and the dis-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 159 
 
 turbance wrought by it in the whole tenor 
 of his being. 
 
 He took early occasion to converse with 
 his father and under pledge of absolute 
 secrecy told him the whole story of his 
 connection with the Esmonds, his partici 
 pation in some of their lawless deeds and 
 his knowledge of others in which he had 
 no part. A new leaven was working in 
 the boy s heart, and day by day he grew 
 more determined and more impatient to 
 find a place to begin the new life he was 
 pledged to and resolved on. In his new 
 character as a man of purpose and action, 
 he determined that he would not see Lo- 
 raine again. He would not risk his new 
 strength by putting himself under the spell 
 that seemed always to disarm him of every 
 desire in the world except the wish never 
 to leave her. He would when he was ready 
 to go away write her a parting word. 
 
 He left home one morning and walked 
 to the farm of his uncle Andy Morrow, a 
 half dozen miles distant. "Uncle Andy," 
 he said to his kinsman at the first oppor 
 tunity, "I have come up to see if you can
 
 160 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 not give me some work on the farm and if 
 you will not let me stay here and work till 
 the holidays. I will work faithfully and 
 earn my wages if you will pay me the same 
 as the other hands." 
 
 "Uncle Andy," who had a soft place in 
 his heart for the lad and had grieved over 
 his obliquities, was glad to hear him say 
 this. "George, do you really mean it?" 
 
 "As God is my judge," he replied. "I 
 have turned over a new leaf and I only 
 want a chance to begin. Try me." 
 
 "You shall go to work Monday morning, 
 and I will pay you the same as the others." 
 
 "All I ask," said George, "is that you 
 will pay me up at New Year s, for then I 
 will want to go home and will have need 
 of the money." 
 
 "That will be all right ; but you will want 
 to go home oftener than that?" 
 
 "No; and I would like just as few people 
 as possible to know that I am here," speak 
 ing in a subdued manner. 
 
 "All right."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 161 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DIGGING APPROACHES. 
 
 Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep. 
 
 Henry VI. 
 
 A fortnight to three weeks after the re 
 turn of Mr. Mark Bernard to Uniontown, 
 there arrived at Walker s hotel in Clarks 
 burg a good looking, keen-eyed man who 
 might be thirty years old, with trunk and 
 stylish leather hand-bag, who registered the 
 name of "Allan St. George, Baltimore." 
 For a day or two he moved quietly about 
 the hotel, or sat in the reading room, read 
 ing or writing letters. He had the poise, 
 the quiet demeanor, the courtesy toward 
 strangers, that mark the man who has 
 knocked about the world and worn off the 
 rough corners. He dressed in good taste 
 without display save a single diamond of 
 rare luster, evidently of great value, worn 
 in his tie. 
 
 The weather being fine, he walked around 
 the town a little, visiting the other hotels
 
 162 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 and loitering in their offices and reading 
 rooms, as a man will who has a little more 
 leisure on his hands than he knows what 
 to do with. Then he procured a horse and 
 buggy from the livery and drove out on the 
 country roads up the Weston pike, out 
 towards Buckhannon, down the Fairmont 
 pike towards Riverside. One Sunday he 
 climbed to the summit of Pinnickinick and 
 spent an hour or so in the enjoyment of the 
 lovely landscape that spread beneath that 
 lofty outlook. 
 
 One of the first acquaintances he made 
 was "Uncle Jim" Bartlett, the -host of the 
 Bartlett Hotel probably as unique and in 
 teresting a character as Clarksburg ever 
 produced. He found the old man a mine of 
 information about nearly everything he 
 wanted to know and often dropped into his 
 office to chat with him. There were nu 
 merous ties, business and social, between 
 Clarksburg and Baltimore, and Uncle Jim 
 was always glad to see a Baltimore man, 
 even if he did not happen to know person 
 ally any of his Baltimore acquaintances.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 163 
 
 St. George did not push himself on any 
 body ; but, as he was a pleasant looking and 
 pleasant spoken gentleman, he began to pick 
 up friendly acquaintances about the hotels 
 and elsewhere. There will always be found 
 a few persons curious to know something 
 about the personal affairs of a stranger. 
 Mr. St. George met some of these; and 
 he knew just how to answer their inquiries, 
 with both reserve and candor, to make them 
 feel he had confided to them the actual state 
 of his business and intentions. It soon be 
 came understood around the town that he 
 was a man of means and not averse to 
 making some investments in or about the 
 old Harrison County town perhaps in 
 grazing lands or coal lands ; possibly in the 
 establishment of a bank if he found there 
 was room for another. There was just 
 enough vagueness in the plans thus dis 
 closed to make him an object of interest. 
 A young man who has money to place will 
 not lack for opportunities or advice. He 
 will be sought by people who have prop 
 erty to sell, or marriageable daughters to 
 get rid of, or speculative schemes to pro-
 
 164 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 mote promising enormous returns but re 
 quiring just a little more capital; or, last, 
 by the devotees of sport, who know sure 
 ways to add to his wealth by the opportuni 
 ties to be found at such places as the gam 
 ing-table or the race-track. St George soon 
 found himself courted by these various in 
 terests. He was invited out in a social way, 
 and was the cynosure of many bright eyes 
 at the Pike street church he attended on 
 Sabbath. He saw he was getting too popu 
 lar in the upper circles and withdrew some 
 what from the glare of so much favor. His 
 purposes did not lie in that direction. 
 
 All the while he had been, as much as 
 he dared, pushing his acquaintance with 
 the sports of the town. He was on all 
 proper occasions free with money and ready 
 to pay for cigars and drinks for those who 
 would indulge and there is no shorter cut 
 than this to the good will of the average 
 "sport." He gave them to understand they 
 were more to his taste than the "upper 
 crust" who were inclined to take him up. 
 While he seemed more than willing to get 
 acquainted with everybody in sporting cir-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 165 
 
 cles, he was timid about the risks they 
 offered him and posed somewhat in the role 
 of a "tenderfoot ;" which made him all the 
 more interesting to these acquaintances. It 
 was not long before he was able to divide 
 them into two groups ; the non-professional, 
 who were getting rid of their money; and 
 the professional, who were acquiring it. 
 He was surprised to find so many expert 
 gamblers in this small town ; but he soon 
 discovered it was a sort of center for the 
 towns and country behind it, and drew 
 largely on the resources of this tributary 
 region, embracing places like Weston, Glen- 
 ville, Sutton, Buckhannon, Beverly and 
 Phillippa. For he began to be introduced 
 to gentlemen from these places, who found 
 the attractions of Clarksburg not confined 
 to the landscape and other surface pulchri 
 tudes. There were lawyers and judges, and 
 doctors and capitalists, and others who were 
 none of these, that were not averse to a 
 game and who did not scorn to profit by 
 their skill at the expense of the less expert 
 visitors from the "back counties" who 
 stopped over night as they passed between
 
 166 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 their mountain homes and the commercial 
 cities beyond. 
 
 These professionals and experts thought 
 they were drawing St. George into their 
 nets. He, complete master of himself and 
 of his plans, was only using them to for 
 ward purposes of his own, the first of which 
 was to get familiar with all the shady people 
 he could find in that vicinity. 
 
 There is a sort of freemasonry in vice 
 and crime, with unperceived grips and in 
 visible signs, connecting their votaries by 
 strong but intangible ties. One looking for 
 a horse-thief or murderer, will not go far 
 astray if he seeks him in the haunts of the 
 gambling fraternity. He would have taken 
 another long step toward his goal when he 
 got to know intimately the frequenters of 
 the race-course. People who steal, or who 
 murder for money, nine times in ten 
 find their compensation at the gaming-table 
 or the race-track. 
 
 St. George was quietly but rapidly mak 
 ing himself familiar with the seamy side 
 of the old county town. In these circles 
 he assumed more and more the air of a
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 167 
 
 sport and manifested a little more reckless 
 and adventurous disposition than he would 
 have cared to show in other circles. From 
 time to time he accepted the invitations of 
 gentlemen from other towns, and visiting 
 them, renewed these acquaintances and 
 made others; all the while delving deeper 
 and deeper into that predatory substratum 
 of society which subsists by excursions be 
 yond the moral and statutory codes. In 
 a surprisingly short time, considering the 
 magnitude and difficulty of the task, and 
 without apparent special effort (though 
 really as the result of prodigious study and 
 activity), he knew nearly all the equivocal 
 characters in two or three counties. 
 
 One night he was introduced to a Mr. 
 Keifer, who he learned divided him time 
 and talents between Clarksburg and Buck- 
 hannon and some other less conspicuous 
 localities. They became good friends with 
 great speed. St. George had heard of 
 Keifer as an intimate of Harry Esmond, 
 and the acquaintance would be a step to 
 wards his aim. Keifer thought St. George 
 might be a goose that he could pluck. As
 
 168 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 the friendship grew, St. George regaled 
 Keifer with stories of his adventures in the 
 East, some of them very wild (for St. 
 George was gifted with a ready invention^, 
 and Keifer, in return, told of some bold 
 strokes whereby he had gotten on the blind 
 side of dame fortune. He mentioned his 
 acquaintance with Esmond and wanted St. 
 George to meet him as soon as it could be 
 brought about. St. George expressed the 
 great pleasure it would give him to meet 
 Mr. Esmond, without showing a shade of 
 the solicitude he felt to bring about this 
 very result. He gave Keifer to understand 
 that he had at command considerable 
 money, if he could find a way to employ it 
 profitably, and asked him to keep an eye out 
 for ventures that might offer beyond what 
 he would desire for himself. Such friend 
 ships ripen quickly when both parties con 
 cur in applying the necessary warmth. At 
 the end of a week Keifer would have sworn 
 he had known St. George a year, and that 
 he knew him inside and out, from top to 
 bottom, as a prince of good fellows.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 169 
 
 The morning after the first meeting with 
 Keifer, St. George wrote in his room a re 
 port to his chief, Mr. Mark Bernard, Pitts- 
 burg, in which occurred this passage : 
 
 "I have at last made the acquaintance of 
 a man who is an intimate of Esmond s and 
 I think a member of the gang. Through 
 him I feel sure I shall soon secure a meet 
 ing with Esmond under favorable auspices." 
 
 One night Keifer had a friend with him, 
 whom he introduced to St. George as Mr. 
 Tarbert "a friend, by the way," he added, 
 "of Harry Esmond." This acquaintance 
 was another step forward and the pleasure 
 it gave St. George lent such a charm to 
 his manner towards Tarbert that the latter 
 was delighted and told Keifer afterwards 
 that St. George was the "nicest fellow" 
 he had ever met. Tarbert told them there 
 was to be a day s races at Sardis, a small 
 village on Tenmile, a few miles west of 
 Clarksburg, in which neighborhood it ap 
 peared Mr. Tarbert had his home. He in 
 vited them to come over and see the sport. 
 
 "I wonder if Harry will be there?" asked 
 Keifer.
 
 170 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "I think he will," replied Tarbert. "If 
 you would like to see him I will send him 
 word and perhaps he will come." 
 
 "I would like to see him," Keifer said. 
 "I have some things I want to talk over 
 with him, and I would like him to meet Mr. 
 St. George." 
 
 St. George expressed the great pleasure 
 this would give him. He was not sure but 
 some matters of business might recall him 
 to Baltimore about that time ; but if he 
 could arrange it, he would go to Sardis and 
 
 see the races. 
 
 * * * 
 
 The day for the races arrived. St. George 
 found the Baltimore business could wait. 
 He hired the best livery team he could get 
 in the town and, with Keifer, drove across 
 the country to Sardis. They went to the 
 Ogden House and had the horse fed and 
 got dinner. They soon met Tarbert, who 
 introduced them to numerous friends. One 
 was Lynn Johnson, who, in answer to Tar- 
 bert s inquiry, said Esmond would be there 
 but it might be the middle of the afternoon 
 before he would arrive. A little after two
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 171 
 
 o clock Keifer caught sight of Esmond rid 
 ing into the village. He rode up to the 
 hotel in front of which they were standing 
 and descending gave Keifer a cordial greet 
 ing. Keifer turning to St. George, said : 
 
 "Harry, I want you to know a friend of 
 mine, Mr. St. George, of Baltimore, who 
 is a man after your own heart." 
 
 Esmond turned with beaming cordiality : 
 "Mr. St. George, I am glad to know any 
 friend of Keifer s. He is such a bear that 
 when he endorses a man I know he must 
 have unusual merit." 
 
 St. George was flattered by his reception, 
 and on his part showed just enough delicate 
 deference to complete the conquest begun 
 by Keifer s flattering introduction. 
 
 After a little chat Esmond moved about 
 to find Tarbert and other friends, and at 
 three o clock they went to the race track. 
 It was a half-mile course and there were 
 five entries : Nancy Jane, Blue Bell, Fanny 
 EUsler, Spotted Horse and Dandy Jim. 
 
 "Old Spot," said Johnson, "used to be 
 a bird. I have ridden him myself and have
 
 172 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 won good money; but he is getting a little 
 stiff." 
 
 St. George put a $20 gold piece on Nancy 
 Jane ; and to his surprise, he won. Esmond 
 did not bet on the first race; but on the 
 next he bet $50 on Blue Bell, and was also a 
 winner. Johnson lost $10 on Dandy Jim. 
 
 St. George, keeping up his role of tender 
 foot, did not bet again ; but Esmond won 
 $100 on the last race by laying it on Fanny. 
 Pleased with his good luck, he led the way 
 to the hotel and ordered drinks. When St. 
 George poured out about a spoonful in his 
 glass, Tarbert noticed it and looked around 
 and smiled. 
 
 "Al. is a sort of tenderfoot," said Keifer ; 
 "you musn t mind it." (St. George had 
 told Keifer he was called "Al." among his 
 familiars.) 
 
 "Don t despise me, gentlemen," said St. 
 George. "I ve been trying all my life to 
 learn to drink, and I can t do it. I haven t 
 the head for it." 
 
 "Don t feel bad about it," laughed Es 
 mond ; "I m in the same boat. Some of
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 173 
 
 my boys will drink as much in one minute 
 as I can in a month." 
 
 St. George looked at his youthful face 
 with a touch of surprise. "Your boys ? 
 Have you any boys old enough to drink ?" 
 
 "O," said Harry, flushing a little, "I 
 haven t any boys of my own at least none 
 that I acknowledge," smiling "I meant 
 some of my friends. Johnson here is one 
 of them. Look at his glass (which he had 
 filled to the brim). Now Johnson isn t a 
 very big man, but that kind of a drink 
 never staggers him." 
 
 Johnson was a little dashed, but he came 
 well out of it. 
 
 "You see," he said, turning to St. George, 
 "I drink so much at Harry s expense that 
 I have got into this full habit through try 
 ing to see that he gets the worth of his 
 money. I sacrifice myself to my conscience, 
 for it makes me unpopular with the bar 
 keepers." 
 
 "I ll keep you company this time," said 
 Harry, pouring a spoonful into his glass ; 
 and he proposing the health of their new 
 friend, Mr. St. George, they all emptied 
 their glasses.
 
 174 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "Abe," said Esmond, "it is getting to 
 wards evening, and I have a long ride. 
 Why can t you and Mr. St. George go 
 home with me and stay over Sunday?" 
 
 "The fact is," said Keifer, "I have some 
 matters I want to talk over with you, and 
 if it would be agreeable to Mr. St. George 
 to go, I should be glad to do it." 
 
 St. George assured both nothing could 
 give him more pleasure; but what would 
 the livery keeper think if his team did not 
 come back this evening? 
 
 "Yonder is a Clarksburg man," said 
 Keifer. "I ll send word by him that we 
 have gone down the river and will be back- 
 Sunday evening." 
 
 "That is it," said Harry. "That will suit 
 all round. So it is settled and let s be off." 
 Turning to St. George, he added: 
 
 "You ll have to take pot-luck. You will 
 find plain people and rough fare at our 
 house, but you will be as welcome as if we 
 could offer you a royal palace." 
 
 "Never fear," said St. George; "the wel 
 come is all I care for."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 BEARING THE CROSS. 
 
 Canst thou 
 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; 
 And with some sweet, oblivious antidote 
 Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff. 
 Which weighs upon the heart? Macbeth. 
 
 After her parting with George Holmes 
 after she had spoken her heart to him 
 so unreservedly (and, had she known it, 
 so effectively), Loraine Esmond felt some 
 sense of shame lest she had overstepped the 
 delicate boundary of maiden modesty. Yet 
 she had felt then, and still believed, that a 
 crisis had been reached in their lives which 
 made plain speaking and a clear under 
 standing of their relations to each other 
 imperative. At times she had a feeling 
 that she had touched his pride and aroused 
 in him something that he had long been 
 a stranger to. 
 
 Days passed, and weeks, yet she saw no 
 more of him nor had any word from him.
 
 176 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 She realized that his safety forbade his com 
 ing to their house, but she thought he might 
 have sent her some word. She knew noth 
 ing of the struggle he was going through 
 nor of his heroic resolution ; but she be 
 lieved she had set a leaven at work that 
 would stir his manhood if she had not been 
 mistaken in believing he was still suscepti 
 ble to the redeeming influence of shame. 
 Thinking of him thus, she felt hopeful and 
 could wait. 
 
 When she contemplated at home the 
 awful crime she believed almost knew 
 had been committed by those nearest her 
 in ties of co nsanguinity, she experienced a 
 horror and infinite humiliation that no phi 
 losophy she could appeal to would relieve. 
 To make her distress the harder to bear, 
 she had to bear it alone and in secret ; there 
 was none with whom she could share her 
 thoughts to whom she might have confided 
 her agonies and tears. 
 
 One day she heard one of her brothers 
 and Harris speaking of some one who had 
 "gone away." These two words were all 
 she had clearly caught. She conjectured it
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 177 
 
 was George, and wondered he had not at 
 least sent her a word of farewell. A day 
 or two later she heard Harris tell her 
 brother that George was "working at Uncle 
 Andy s;" and he added something she did 
 not hear. There was comfort in this ; for 
 while she knew nothing of his plans, it 
 showed he was in the right path. She was 
 a little afraid, however, that those who had 
 reason to fear him might not leave him un-> 
 
 disturbed. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Loraine Esmond, though favored with 
 few opportunities of education, had ac 
 quired more than most girls do under like 
 disadvantages. The most symmetrical body 
 may be dwarfed or deformed by unfavor 
 able conditions, but the mind that is nobly 
 born reaches out through penury or mis 
 fortune and puts aside obstacles of every 
 nature to grasp the sustenance required to 
 nourish it for its divine mission ; and it finds 
 light, inspiration and knowledge where 
 grosser spirits only grope in darkness and 
 sink under the wretchedness of their condi 
 tion.
 
 178 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 This family had not always been given 
 over to the world, the flesh and the devil. 
 There were some books about the old house, 
 some of them of the few great books which 
 have embodied the most beautiful thoughts 
 and the noblest truths that have enriched 
 human literature. These she had assimi 
 lated as her natural food and they had filled 
 her soul with beauty and her mind with 
 thoughts that lifted her far above the degra 
 dation of her home. With the same intui 
 tive reaching out for light she absorbed the 
 intelligence brought by the newspapers and 
 was well informed of the world s current 
 events. So that, indeed, in her circle there 
 were but few with better and happier op 
 portunities who were her equal in mental 
 elevation, unconscious of it as she was her 
 self. 
 
 Of late, in utter weariness of soul, she 
 had often wished for the wings of a dove 
 that she might fly away and be at rest. 
 Daily tasks are hard and existence is cheer 
 less when there is lacking the daily inspira 
 tion of joy or content; and yet it is these 
 angels of necessity that in such times of
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 179 
 
 stress deliver our sanity from wreck. She 
 often felt as if the wearisome, monotonous, 
 ever repeated tasks of the house were more 
 than she could bear ; yet she did bear them, 
 and hard as they were, they diverted her 
 thoughts into healthier channels and re 
 lieved the strain that must otherwise have 
 slain her. 
 
 One Saturday night Harry came home 
 in the middle of the night bringing two 
 men with him. She heard them talking and 
 thought one of the voices was familiar ; the 
 other she could not recognize. Next morn 
 ing when Harry came to the kitchen, she 
 asked him who the visitors were. He re 
 plied "Abe and a Mr. St. George." At the 
 instant a frightful thought flashed into her 
 mind and made her feel faint: Was this 
 another victim lured to the slaughter for his 
 money? But she asked: "Whc is Mr. St. 
 George?" 
 
 "He is a gentleman from Baltimore, a 
 friend of Abe s who came over to the races 
 with him. As I wanted to talk with Abe, 
 and St. George seemed such a nice fellow,
 
 180 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 I invited him to come down and stay over 
 Sunday. You will like him." 
 
 "Perhaps," she said, indifferently ; but her 
 first fear was dissipated. 
 
 At breakfast Harry introduced Mr. St. 
 George to his mother and sister. Keifer 
 needed no introduction. Loraine, without 
 appearing to, observed Mr. St. George very 
 keenly, and her impressions confirmed her 
 brother s words. St. George on his part 
 seemed attracted by the girl, and as much 
 as was perfectly well-bred allowed her to 
 see his respectful admiration. She noticed 
 Keifer addressed him sometimes familiarly 
 as "Al." and saw that he was not a lamb 
 brought to the slaughter but probably one 
 who was to be drawn into participation in 
 their life of lawlessness and crime. This 
 thought was scarcely less terrible to her 
 than the other; for when she looked into 
 his handsome, pleasant face, his clear eye 
 and open brow, and felt the influence of his 
 gracious manners, she felt what a pity it 
 would be that such a man should be brought 
 down to such a life.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THB ELM. 181 
 
 During the morning St. George accom 
 panied Harry and Keifer in their walks 
 about the place and Loraine saw him again 
 only at the midday dinner. He was un 
 mistakably interested in her and would have 
 been glad of an opportunity to converse 
 with her. He thought he saw shame and 
 distress written in the pale face and down 
 cast eyes, and knowing what he did of her 
 surroundings thought he understood the 
 cause of it, and was moved by a profound 
 pity for one who with such a lovely person 
 ality was worse than an alien in her own 
 home. Loraine perceived something of St. 
 George s sense of her position and under 
 happier conditions she would have liked to 
 talk to him. But she avoided any conversa 
 tion. Her heart was too full ; she could 
 not trust herself to speak with a stranger 
 whose sympathy was so plainly expressed in 
 eye and manner. She only prayed that for 
 his own sake she might never see him again 
 in that place. 
 
 After dinner, St. George excusing him 
 self to Harry and Keifer, who he knew 
 wanted an opportunity for some talk of
 
 182 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 their own, walked down to the river and 
 strolling along its bank smoked his cigar 
 and admired the magnificent proportions of 
 the great elm. His own thoughts were 
 painful; for he saw that this home of law 
 lessness hid a direr tragedy than the one 
 he had come to track ; and for an instant he 
 got a wider view than he had ever had be 
 fore of the awful desolation wrought by 
 crime, devouring the lives not alone of its 
 immediate victims but of other innocent vic 
 tims near and far. 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon, St. 
 George s team was brought out and he and 
 Keifer entered, and making their adieus, 
 drove down the lane. Loraine was stand 
 ing at an open window. St. George seeing 
 her, bowed and lifted his hat, and bowing 
 in return she withdrew to spend the rest 
 of the day in her room.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A SOCIAL, CALL. 
 
 The fattest hog in Epicurus sty. 
 
 Mason. 
 When shall we three meet again? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 In passing down to the Esmond place 
 Saturday night, Esmond and his friends 
 had gone down the west side of the river. 
 On the return of St. George and Keifer 
 Sunday afternoon, they drove through the 
 river and passed up through the pretty vil 
 lage of Riverside, lying on a gentle slope 
 running back from river to hill. This was 
 the nearest route and here they would strike 
 the Fairmont pike, a stoned and graded road 
 running their way. Besides, Keifer wanted 
 to speak a moment to the landlord of the 
 Blue Boar; and this fitted in with St. 
 George s wishes, for Bernard had told him 
 about this gentleman and he felt some 
 solicitude to have a look at him.
 
 184 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 They drove up to the pavement and Blue 
 came out. 
 
 "Why, hello, Abe, is that you?" was his 
 greeting. 
 
 "What is left of me," responded Keifer. 
 Jone, I want you to know a friend of 
 mine, Mr. St. George, of Baltimore. Al., 
 this is Mr. Blue, the owner of that big hog 
 you see up there," pointing to the sign and 
 laughing. 
 
 St. George looked up at the picture of 
 the beast. "Where did you get the color?" 
 and he looked smilingly at Blue. 
 
 "O," said Jonas, "he used to be black, 
 but hard times made him blue same as the 
 landlord." It was Blue s turn to laugh now 
 at his witticism and the others joined him 
 in his merriment. 
 
 "Will you light, gentlemen?" asked the 
 publican. 
 
 "No;" returned Keifer, "we must be get 
 ting on; we have a livery team that we 
 promised to get home this evening. We 
 have been down spending the Sunday with 
 Harry."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 185 
 
 Blue looked at St. George with interest. 
 
 "Came down with him last night from 
 Sardis races. Anything new?" 
 
 "No; same old story except people are 
 getting worked up a little over the election." 
 
 "How is it going ?" asked Keifer. 
 
 "O, we re all for Breckenridge and Lane 
 down here, except a few Black Republicans 
 who swear they are going to vote for Abe 
 Lincoln. They d better try it Did you 
 have any luck at Sardis?" 
 
 "Didn t bet. You know I never do 
 when I haven t the money. Harry won 
 $150 and my friend here raked in a twenty." 
 Blue took another look at St. George. 
 "That s just Harry s luck," he said. 
 
 "And Lynn lost $10," added Keifer. 
 
 "Just his luck, too," said Blue. "All he 
 had, I d bet." 
 
 "Anything I can do for you is Clarks 
 burg?" asked Keifer, gathering up the 
 reins. 
 
 "No, don t know of anything. I may be 
 up there- some day this week." 
 
 "Come and see me," said Keifer. "I m 
 staying at the Dent."
 
 186 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "I will." 
 
 They drove away, Keifer nodding good 
 bye, St. George politely lifting his hat. 
 
 This was a man St. George was glad to 
 get a look at and he had scrutinized 
 him keenly without seeming to do so. 
 
 On the dozen miles drive that followed 
 Keifer talked volubly and with apparent 
 unreserve; yet St. George could perceive a 
 certain wariness he had not observed in 
 him at any time before. St. George took 
 pains to respond fully to Keifer s effusive 
 ness and to appear unconscious that any 
 veil, even the gauziest, had been drawn be 
 tween them. In his report to Bernard, 
 written that night, he said : 
 
 "I went with Esmond s friend Keifer to 
 the races at Sardis, Saturday. Esmond 
 was there and on a very cordial invitation 
 went home with him and spent the greater 
 part of to-day looking around their place. 
 I am not able to report much progress. 
 Esmond is no ordinary man. He knows 
 how to hold people off as well as how to 
 attract them. I have no idea he suspected 
 my business, but I think he put Keifer on
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 187 
 
 his guard. Esmond probably acquainted 
 him with reasons he did not know of be 
 fore for being extra careful. Esmond has 
 a sister who seems a very superior girl, 
 clearly out of sympathy with the rest of 
 the family, and unless I greatly mistake 
 she is in keen distress over some recent 
 occurrence, the nature of which you can 
 guess. She avoided me and would not 
 give me a chance to talk with her. This 
 was the only sign I could discover of any 
 thing out of the ordinary. Ori the return 
 we stopped a few minutes at the Blue Boar 
 and I had a good look at the landlord. 
 There is something sinister about the man 
 and your suspicion is justified ""
 
 188 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ON GUARD. 
 
 Beware the Ides of March. 
 
 Julius Caeaar. 
 
 The Chief of the Esmond band felt that 
 the disappearance of a man of as much 
 consequence as McKinney, carrying as 
 much money as he did and having exten 
 sive connections at home, could not but 
 be followed by a determined effort to un 
 earth those who had made way with him. 
 It was no time to be careless or take the 
 risk of fresh exploits. Before engaging in 
 new enterprises, it was prudent to be sure 
 this inquiry had blown over. He accord 
 ingly warned his followers to "lay low," 
 as Uncle Remus would put it, to be dis 
 creet and on their guard. 
 
 A danger that disturbed Esmond which 
 must be carefully watched was the disclo 
 sures that appeared to have been made by
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 189 
 
 young Holmes to his father. The exact 
 extent of these could not be known. It 
 did not yet appear whether George had 
 told more or had but given hints that had 
 been repeated. It was clear that he must 
 not be taken into further confidence till 
 it could be ascertained how far he had 
 turned traitor, whether he could be ulti 
 mately restored to confidence or whether 
 they must protect themselves against fur 
 ther revelations by sterner measures. If 
 Holmes was disposed to betray them, this 
 quest for McKinney if pushed energet 
 ically and openly; especially if a reward 
 were offered or immunity promised any 
 one disclosing the secrets of the gang 
 would afford the opportunity for him to 
 make his renunciation of them effective. 
 It was necessary to keep him under sur 
 veillance for a time the better to judge 
 whether he had any such purpose. The 
 fact that he had left the village and gone to 
 work indicated some new purpose on his 
 part, but as the watch set over his move- 
 .ments reported that he stayed right on his 
 uncle s farm and apparently s&w no
 
 190 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 strangers, and as there were no further re 
 ports of his outgivings, this feeling was 
 somewhat relieved. Holmes was keeping 
 quiet like the others. 
 
 It was in line with this policy that Es 
 mond had given a hint to Keifer that there 
 were present reasons for extra caution ; 
 that a detective had been in the neighbor 
 hood not long before on the track of a 
 man who was supposed to have disap 
 peared in that vicinity (Keifer guessed 
 what this might mean), and it was well to 
 be more than ordinarily careful till the mat 
 ter had "blowed over."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A FLANK MOVEMENT. 
 
 To leave this keen encounter of our wits. 
 
 Richard III. 
 
 Less than a week after his report, St. 
 George received a note from Bernard sug 
 gesting that he come to Pittsburgh for a 
 consultation. Bernard, the reader will have 
 divined, was not the real name of the gen 
 tleman who had asked for a letter at the 
 Riverside postoffice, nor was St. George 
 the real name of his correspondent; for 
 one was the head of the Duquesne Detect 
 ive Bureau, and the other his auxiliary ; 
 but these names will do for the purpose of 
 this history. 
 
 Packing his traveling bag, St. George 
 went down to the office and told Mr. 
 Walker he was going away for a short 
 time. At this moment, Mrs. Walker, 
 sprightly, buxom and youthful for her
 
 192 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 years, came into the office and saw him 
 standing bag in hand. 
 
 "Why, Mr. St. George, not going to 
 leave us?" 
 
 "For a few days, much to my regret." 
 
 "Well, don t stay long; because if you 
 do," and she looked at him archly, "there 
 will be some disconsolate maidens all for 
 lorn in this old town." 
 
 "You are a gay deceiver, Mrs. Walker, 
 to play on my vanity in this way. You 
 are like one of the three graces." 
 
 "Which one?" 
 
 "Hope." 
 
 "Let me see," she said, musingly, "if I 
 remember Hope is represented as a young, 
 good-looking woman." 
 
 "Yes, but that is not the only resem 
 blance," smiling at her wit. 
 
 "What is another?" 
 
 "Why, you know, she told a flattering 
 tale. " 
 
 "Yes, and nobody abused her for doing 
 it, as you do me. Now I would like to 
 ask you one
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 193 
 
 "Pardon me; I m afraid I shall miss my 
 train." The omnibus was at the door. 
 
 "O, the train can wait," she said. 
 
 "I am sorry you re going to-day, Mr. St. 
 George. The Riverside band is to be here 
 this evening and is going to serenade Ex 
 tra Billy, who is staying at Capt. Hornor s. 
 If you will stay I ll have them come around 
 and serenade you. St. George sounds as 
 well as Extra Billy, I am sure." 
 
 "You will have me utterly spoiled if I 
 listen longer to your blandishments," he 
 said, laughing. "Besides, the train may 
 get tired waiting for me," he added as he 
 walked towards the bus and bowed his 
 adieu. 
 
 "Au revoir!" said the stout landlady, 
 gayly, and retreated to her own dominion.
 
 194 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MAXIMILIAN. 
 A wayfaring man acquainted with grief. Bible. 
 
 Ten days after the departure of St. 
 George from Walker s Hotel, a traveler 
 on foot, with his worldly fortune in a cot 
 ton handkerchief carried on his back by a 
 stick over the shoulder, entered the village 
 of Riverside by the Fairmont road. He 
 was roughly dressed, and his attire showed 
 the ravages of wear and tear, the shoes, 
 especially, approaching the last stage of 
 usefulness. They evidently could not 
 tramp many miles more without com 
 pletely giving up the struggle they had 
 been making to keep sole and body to 
 gether. In these days, the man would 
 have been called a "hobo." At that time, 
 in that region, professional tramps were 
 unknown, and pedestrian travelers infre 
 quent on any of the roads. This poor fel-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 195 
 
 low was apparently looking for work; and 
 this appearance was confirmed by himself 
 when he came along by the blacksmith 
 shop and stopped to speak to a little group 
 gathered to watch the smith shoe a some 
 what restless horse. The blacksmith set 
 down the horse s foot as the man ap 
 proached. The manner of the wayfarer was 
 deferential, and all looked at him as he 
 spoke, with a slight German accent. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "can any of you 
 give a hungry man a few days work?" 
 Receiving no answer, he continued: "1 
 have asked all along the road to-day from 
 Fairmont here, but nobody had anything 
 for me to do. It must be bad times in this 
 part of the country." 
 
 Still receiving no answer, he asked how 
 far it was to the next town, and was told it 
 was ten or twelve miles. He looked ap- 
 pealingly from one to another. "I am very 
 tired and hungry," he said. "I have had 
 nothing to eat since morning and hav? 
 walked a long road. Have any of you an 
 odd job I could do to earn my supper?" 
 
 "What can you do ?" asked the smith.
 
 196 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "Any kind of common work. I could 
 blow the bellows or strike for you. I 
 might shoe a horse for you, for I have taken 
 care of horses and have put on shoes, and 
 I can do any kind of farm work." 
 
 "What do you know about horses?" 
 asked Jonas Blue, whose horse the smith 
 was shoeing. 
 
 "I worked among horses a good many 
 years," the man replied. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "In Cumberland, Maryland, at the Lu- 
 man House stables. I was considered a 
 good ostler, if I do say it." 
 
 Blue looked him over. He was not a 
 promising looking candidate for favor; but 
 then he was tired and dusty, and his dilap 
 idated shoes gave him a vagabondish look. 
 
 "My hostler quit last night," remarked 
 Jonas to the others. "I have a mind to 
 give this man a trial. " He would probably 
 be glad to work for small wages. Turn 
 ing to the traveler he said : "You see that 
 sign?" pointing to the Blue Boar half a 
 block away. The man nodded. "You go 
 there and wait till I come. I will give you
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 197 
 
 supper, and we will see if I can find any 
 work for you." 
 
 In a quarter of an hour Blue came over 
 leading his horse, which he hitched by the 
 pavement. "What is your name?" he asked 
 the man, who was sitting on the bench, but 
 rose as he approached. 
 
 "Maximilian Rudolph." 
 
 "They call you Max?" 
 
 "That is what Mr. Luman called me." 
 
 "Which Luman was that? I used to be 
 acquainted in Cumberland." 
 
 "Samuel Luman; they called him Sam 
 because everybody liked him and made 
 free with him." 
 
 Jonas people had lived near Blue s Gap, 
 in Hampshire County; and often visiting 
 Cumberland, he well remembered Sam 
 Luman, who was a noted fisherman and 
 who when the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad 
 was first opened to the Ohio River had, 
 with the aid of William Shriver, of Wheel 
 ing, another disciple of Walton s, trans 
 ferred in the tender of an engine a lot of 
 Ohio river black bass to the waters of the 
 Potomac, with such success in propagation
 
 198 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 that the South Branch of the Potomac had 
 become the finest bass stream in the United 
 States. The man s acquaintance with Lu- 
 man decided Blue to give him a job. He 
 took him out on the back porch, where were 
 a basin, bucket of water, and a rough towel 
 hanging on a post. "Wash and brush your 
 self," he said, handing Max a whisk broom. 
 "After you have had supper I will show you 
 the stable." 
 
 When Maximilian had washed and 
 cleaned himself up as well as he was able, 
 he proved to be a rather good-looking man 
 who might be twenty-eight or might be 
 thirty-two, with a Germanic cast of face, 
 who had a somewhat downcast, dull and 
 listless air. 
 
 The landlord of the Blue Boar found 
 that Max had told him no more than the 
 truth in claiming capability in handling 
 horses. While he seemed but a dull fel 
 low, taking little interest in anything 
 around him, there was no cause for com 
 plaint about the way his work was done. 
 There was not enough about the stable to 
 keep him employed, and he took to doing
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 199 
 
 all sorts of jobs about the house, of which 
 an industrious man finds no lack sweep 
 ing, cleaning, looking after fires as the 
 evenings grew cool; doing chores for the 
 landlady; so that he was more about the 
 house than the stable. The loungers and 
 habitues soon came to know him. His oblig 
 ing ways made him popular with them, and 
 they would chat with him and chaff him, 
 as occasion arose, and came to regard him 
 as a part of the establishment before whom 
 everything might be said that did not preju 
 dice the hostelry. 
 
 For all his lack of interest in his sur 
 roundings, Max managed to note a good 
 many little things that were said and done. 
 After his work was done, he naturally sat 
 in the back part of the bar-room and dozed 
 the evening away, that being convenient 
 for both him and the landlord in case any 
 orders were to be given; but he was such 
 a sleepy-head, that when this happened he 
 always had to be awakened to receive them. 
 Thus it happened that when the Esmond 
 visitors were there at night, after the vil 
 lage loungers had gone, had they talked
 
 200 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 with their accustomed freedom, Max 
 might have picked up a good many hints if 
 he had been awake and had known what 
 they related to. But in truth these visitors 
 seemed to have put bits on their unruly 
 tongues, for they had become habitually 
 wary and careful what they said even in so 
 safe a place as the Blue Boar bar. They 
 seemed to have become thoroughly imbued 
 with Harry s caution. Max had more than 
 once been sent on errands to the Esmond 
 place, and these had been done with the 
 same indifference as his other work. 
 
 The landlord had provided him with 
 some whole shoes and made some other 
 additions to his scanty wardrobe. Max 
 did not go about the village and made no 
 acquaintances except in the course of his 
 work; did not go to church on Sundays 
 and appeared to care little about his ap 
 pearance. The landlady, seeing he was a 
 rather good-looking fellow, rallied him one 
 day about his neglect of himself, and told 
 him he ought to brush up a little and get 
 acquainted with the girls. He replied that 
 he had once had some experience with the
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 201 
 
 gentler sex and that it had discouraged 
 him from further attempts to gain their 
 good graces. She concluded this might be 
 one of the reasons for his despondency.
 
 202 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 TURNING POLITICIAN. 
 
 All things unto all men. St. Paul. 
 By the pricking of my thumbs, 
 Something wicked comes this way. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Well said. That was laid on with a trowel. 
 As You Like It. 
 
 The Presidential Election was coming 
 on and the country began to be stirred by 
 meetings and orators. The box seats at 
 the stores and shops had been moved in 
 side and the national debate that had been 
 carried on outside was resumed around 
 the stoves in the evening with fresh vigor. 
 The disappearance of the cattle-buyer and 
 the subdued comment on the villainies of 
 the Esmonds had given way to the greater 
 excitement of the coming election. 
 
 A week or more before election some of 
 the Clarksburg politicians went to River 
 side by appointment to address a Demo 
 cratic meeting. St. George, as a Baltimore
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 203 
 
 man, had found it desirable to declare his 
 attitude on the national issues. He had 
 talked in the Clarksburg hotels freely, and 
 for a man of his breeding rather loudly, 
 about what Maryland would do in case the 
 Black Republicans should elect and under 
 take to inaugurate Lincoln ; that Maryland 
 soil should never be polluted by the foot of 
 a Yankee invader, and that he would go 
 back home to be one of those to welcome 
 the northern hirelings with bloody hands to 
 hospitable graves. This kind of talk struck 
 a chord in harmony with the dominant note 
 in the old town, and St. George was put 
 up a notch by the hot-heads who were push 
 ing the Breckenridge campaign. The few 
 Republicans there (like Ira Hart) who had 
 been outspoken enough to be recognized as 
 such, found it prudent to be quiet. The 
 Bell and Everett people were mild, like 
 their platform; and in their advocacy of 
 "The constitution, the Union and the enr 
 forcement of the laws," did not venture to 
 affirm that the laws should be enforced to 
 the point of "coercion" in case such en 
 forcement should become necessary. "En-
 
 204 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 forcement" with them was a mere figure of 
 speech, for campaign uses. 
 
 At one of the meetings, which were held 
 every few nights, St. George was called on, 
 and he got up and made a red-hot speech 
 from the extremest Southern standpoint. 
 From this on he was looked upon as 
 one of the drawing cards and was asked 
 to accompany the stock speakers to vari 
 ous meetings at other points. This took 
 him with them to Riverside at the time 
 mentioned. He had ridden down with 
 John Cassel, the lawyer, and they put up, 
 with the rest, at the Blue Boar; and he 
 was pleasantly greeted by the landlord, 
 who recalled his visit with Keifer. Noth 
 ing could recommend him to mine host 
 more than the company he was in ; and yet 
 somehow Jonas Blue was not sure that he 
 quite liked this Baltimore man, albeit he 
 was such a polite and agreeable gentleman. 
 It was a case of Doctor Fell ; he could not 
 have told why, but he did not quite like 
 him.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 205 
 
 The sagacity of nature is beyond human 
 finding out. Every animate creature is 
 endowed with enough of it to know how 
 to protect itself. In every grade of animal 
 life the instinctive recognition of danger 
 is proportioned to the imminence of it. 
 Every animal liable to be made the prey 
 of some stronger, fiercer or cunninger 
 beast inherits an instinct that tells it what 
 to fear and how to keep out of harm s way. 
 Even man, when he comes to be at war 
 with the retributive powers of society 
 when he has thus put himself in the cate 
 gory of the lower tribes develops this ani 
 mal sagacity. All the ordinary powers of 
 apprehension, aside from reason, become 
 sharpened, until it seems as if a new sense 
 were added to him. The habitual criminal 
 can scent an officer of the law as truly as 
 the deer scents the panther lurking in am 
 bush at the lick. Blue s instinct had given 
 him warning. He had sniffed danger in the 
 air, but had not yet got the direction. 
 
 St. George led his own horse to the 
 stable, remarking to the landlord that it 
 was a horse loaned him by a Clarksburg
 
 206 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 friend who set a high value on the animal 
 and charged him specially to see that it 
 had proper care. When he entered the 
 stable the hostler seemed agitated for a mo 
 ment as he came forward to take the horse, 
 but he dropped his eyes and went off to a 
 rear stall in his usual apathetic manner. 
 St. George followed to see the animal un 
 harnessed, and exchanged a few words 
 with the hostler about rubbing down and 
 feeding. Then finding nobody was within 
 hearing he drew nearer and a conversation 
 in subdued tones followed for two or three 
 minutes, and St. George walked back to 
 the house and Max went on with his hum 
 ble duties in the stable. 
 
 At the meeting after dinner, St. George 
 was the last of the speakers. He came out 
 strong and was hotly applauded. Harry 
 Esmond s father, who was in the crowd 
 and recalled St. George s visit, came for 
 ward and renewed the acquaintance and 
 congratulated him on his speech. "That s 
 just the kind of talk we want. I wish there 
 was more like it." Just then John Cassel 
 came up and shaking hands with Esmond,
 
 THIS DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 207 
 
 whom he had long known, the latter in 
 vited the two to visit the Big E!m next day 
 (Sunday) and have dinner with him. 
 
 Cassel looked inquiringly at St. George, 
 saying: "I am inclined to accept our old 
 friend s invitation. What do you say?" 
 
 "Nothing could give me greater pleas 
 ure," replied St. George. "I have been 
 there once, and that makes me wish to go 
 again." 
 
 The old man was cordial and pressing; 
 so it was agreed that if they stayed to the 
 night meeting, which was talked of, they 
 would remain over night and go to the Elm 
 the next forenoon. 
 
 About ten next morning, which proved 
 to be warm and bright, they rode up the 
 lane and dismounting at the gate were 
 met by the elder Esmond and by Harry, 
 who walked down from the door to meet 
 them. Harry was very cordial to both and 
 made them feel that their visit was no in 
 trusion. Lot Dyson and Ray Harris were 
 standing a little distance away. Harry 
 called them up and introduced them. St. 
 George had seen these men, but had not
 
 208 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 been introduced, before. He had no diffi 
 culty in assigning them their place in the 
 gang. If there was a throat to be cut, cer 
 tainly Dyson was the man for the work. 
 These were the men, he said to himself, 
 who had slain McKinney. These thoughts 
 flashed through one corner of his brain 
 while he greeted the ruffians and chatted 
 with them as politely as if they had been 
 gentlemen he had met in some lady s 
 drawing room. 
 
 The horses were put away and the party 
 walked to the river and sat down under the 
 elm. This, as the most attractive spot 
 about the place, was the usual resort when 
 the weather was pleasant. 
 
 St. George and Cassel admired the great 
 tree and then the talk turned to the political 
 outlook. 
 
 Harry confessed that for his part he was 
 not taking a great deal of interest in the 
 election. He had noticed that no matter 
 how great the crisis, and how an election 
 went, the country was always saved and 
 things went on as usual, despite the lugu 
 brious predictions of the politicians, smil-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 209 
 
 ing at St. George and Cassel. His father, 
 he said, was taking enough interest for both 
 and he was content to let him do it. 
 
 St. George expressed himself pretty 
 strongly, repeating the sentiments ex 
 pressed in public, speaking with confidence 
 in regard to the feeling in Baltimore, where 
 he knew the people so well. 
 
 Cassel s views were too well known to 
 the Esmonds to need repeating. 
 
 St. George addressed his conversation to 
 Harry Esmond, and sought to draw him 
 out and win his confidence. But Esmond, 
 while apparently open and friendly, even 
 cordial, was not effusive ; he did not volun 
 teer any talk, nor lead the way to new top 
 ics; and St. George was obliged to admit 
 to himself that he made no headway and 
 was no nearer a confidential acquaintance 
 than when he first met Esmond at Sardis.
 
 210 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 FROM POLITICIAN TO COURTIER. 
 
 To know, to esteem, to love and then to part, 
 Makes up life s tale to many a feeling heart. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 While memory holds a seat 
 In this distracted globe remember thee? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 When they returned to the house, Lo- 
 raine Esmond was on the lawn taking up 
 some geraniums which the approach of 
 cold weather made it necessary to remove 
 within doors. St. George left the gentle 
 men and approached her. She was stoop 
 ing over the plants, but arose as he came 
 up. A rosy flush overspread her face and, 
 retiring, left her pale, with the dark eyes 
 and lashes darker than ever by contrast. 
 He lifted his hat and bowed as he drew 
 near. "Good morning, Miss Esmond," he 
 said with interest and expectancy. 
 
 She extended her hand. "I am glad to 
 see you, Mr. St. George," she said simply.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 211 
 
 "But not so glad as I am to hear you 
 say it," he replied as he pressed her hand 
 warmly while his eyes sought hers. 
 
 She colored at the warmth of his words. 
 It was plain to him she had recovered in 
 a degree from the distress she was suffer 
 ing when he saw her before; but her face 
 in repose was sad, and all semblance of 
 pleasure, he felt, had to be forced. Yet he 
 believed she was really pleased to meet him 
 again. 
 
 "I wish," he said, "that we might be bet 
 ter acquainted." 
 
 "I could wish the same," she replied, "if 
 circumstances were more kindly ; but I fear 
 they will hardly permit it." 
 
 He looked at her keenly to divine if there 
 was any hidden meaning in her words. 
 Her eyes dropped under his scrutiny. 
 
 "I suppose," she resumed, "you are only 
 a casual visitor in this part of Virginia and 
 will soon return to your Baltimore home." 
 
 "That might depend," he said. "While I 
 have interests and strong attachments 
 there, I am still young enough to see the 
 whole world before me, and am not yet
 
 212 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 committed to any particular place for my 
 life sojourn." 
 
 "Do you like our Western Virginia 
 hills?" she asked, looking into his face. 
 
 "It is a lovely country," he said warmly, 
 and he looked into her brown eyes as if he 
 meant to tell her that its women were in 
 cluded in his praise. She understood his 
 delicate meaning and a faint flush rose to 
 her brow. 
 
 "I have been looking around Clarksburg 
 in a leisurely way," he added, "to see if I 
 could find investment for a little idle 
 money. I think this country has a future 
 in its great wealth of coal and timber. I 
 am strongly attracted to your beautiful 
 valley, and to your people so far as I have 
 had opportunities to know them I hope 
 these may widen and permit me to know 
 them better." 
 
 While he spoke she looked at him in a 
 dreamy way, hearing his words and yet ap 
 parently not following them. It was as if 
 her thoughts were far away, revolving 
 some problem that lay beyond this conver 
 sation and these surroundings. When he
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 213 
 
 ceased, she came back to the present, and 
 the look of sadness and repression came 
 into her face again. 
 
 "Will you pardon my rudeness," she 
 said, "but the dinner hour is coming on 
 and I must go to the kitchen and help 
 mother about the dinner. It will not do 
 to let our guests go hungry," she added, 
 smiling (sadly enough, he thought) as she 
 turned to enter the house. 
 
 All St. George s favorable impressions of 
 the girl were strengthened by. this second 
 meeting. His belief that the shadow of 
 some terrible tragedy rested on her spirits 
 was also confirmed. He reviewed his for 
 mer thoughts and found nothing to shake 
 his belief that McKinney had met his death 
 within the precincts of this farm and that 
 she was conscious of the fact; and he real 
 ized keenly the terrible position in which 
 she was placed. Yet how could he ever 
 hope to draw from her anything to confirm 
 his surmises? She was not the girl to be 
 tray a family secret, even though the pos 
 session of it did rend her heart. Suppose he 
 could win the girl s affections? But she
 
 214 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 was not a woman to be easily won, even if 
 she were heart-free as to which he knew 
 nothing. 
 
 But why let his thoughts run into such 
 wild vagaries? He was not here to win 
 hearts, but to break them. Yet his respect 
 his admiration for this poor girl was so 
 great he felt as if he must withdraw from 
 a pursuit which if successful would put a 
 rope around her brother s neck. His feel 
 ings and his duty were parting company. 
 It was time to consider whether he would 
 abandon the one path and take the other. 
 For St. George was humanly tender in his 
 finer feelings; and his compassion for this 
 girl had been deeply touched. It is but a 
 step from compassion to love in the case of 
 a beautiful girl, and he felt he was in dan 
 ger of opening the question whether he 
 should take that step. This would not do. 
 He must remember his duty and his busi 
 ness obligations. 
 
 After dinner the Esmonds and Mr. Cas- 
 sel seemed drawn together and St. George 
 felt free to saunter by himself around the 
 grounds while smoking his after-dinner
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 216 
 
 cigar. He threw it away when he saw 
 Loraine come out into the lawn at the front 
 of the house. He walked towards her and 
 thought she did not seem displeased at his 
 approach. The thought occurred to him 
 that, from a strictly professional point of 
 view, it might not be without its usefulness 
 to allow the family to suppose that he was 
 attracted by the daughter ; at the same time 
 he felt ashamed of such a thought in her 
 presence. 
 
 "Miss Esmond," he said politely, "I do 
 not know when, if ever, it will be my good 
 fortune to visit your home again. Let me 
 make the most of the friendly fate that 
 finds me here to-day. May I not have the 
 pleasure of a stroll by the river with you 
 before I go?" 
 
 "I am glad to do anything you think will 
 give you pleasure," she said, "but I fear 
 you will find me dull company." 
 
 They walked through the gate and down 
 to the elm, strolled some distance along the 
 path, up the river and down again beyond 
 the elm to a group of sycamores that sent 
 their fantastic roots down to the water s
 
 216 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 edge, then back to the elm once more, where 
 they stood, musing more than talking, and 
 wrapped in dreamy revery inspired by the 
 loveliness around them. The frosts had 
 done their work. The -woods on the other 
 side of the river turned their garments of 
 russet and gold to the afternoon sun, and 
 brown leaves rustled under their feet as 
 they walked. The leafage of the elm, as if 
 in its might it defied even the forces of 
 nature, was still green, with only a delicate 
 striping of gold around the serrated edges. 
 All the world around them was crowned 
 with the diadem of the most beautiful of all 
 the seasons, and such natures as endowed 
 this pair could not but feel the inexpressible 
 charm of earth and sky. 
 
 They seated themselves on the rough 
 bench under the elm. 
 
 "I have been admiring this great elm/ 
 said St. George, "as one of the things I have 
 found here to admire, and I cannot but 
 think what a lovely home might be made in 
 this grand presence were other conditions 
 of life and fortune propitious."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 217 
 
 "This elm," said Loraine, "is a friend to 
 whom I often come for the sense of pro 
 tection and companionship it gives me. I 
 lead a lonely life here, as you seem to have 
 perceived, and part of the comfort I find is 
 in communion with the natural objects 
 around me. I often, when the weather is 
 fine, spend the afternoon on this rough 
 bench. Sometimes I bring a book. But 
 books do not appeal to one among the 
 trees, or by the river, or under the open 
 sky. The voices of nature will not be 
 silenced by books. The ripple of the river, 
 the songs of birds, the sighing of the for 
 est, the chirp of the crickets in the grass 
 these all distract the thoughts and steal 
 away the attention ; and one closes the 
 book for that delightful idleness of mind 
 that must belong to the creatures of earth 
 . and air which have no mind, which live on 
 nature s bounty and enjoy the solace of her 
 peace." 
 
 The girl blushed lest she had been led 
 by her feelings to say more than was be 
 coming.
 
 218 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 St. George did not observe this. He was 
 deep in thought in admiration, it might 
 be either for the speaker or for her 
 thoughts, or both. 
 
 "Books are exacting masters," he said. 
 "They require retirement and compel us to 
 think; and to do that we must shut out 
 this more delightful world that appeals to 
 the senses and to the imagination. 
 
 "Why cannot we poor mortals," he went 
 on, "live the ideal life that nature prepares 
 for her other creatures? Why must we 
 alone of all her children be compelled to 
 think and scheme, and to grind each 
 other s bones, that we may subsist; and by 
 our own depravity if I may use so strong 
 a word as describing the condition in which 
 we are set apart from the rest of the ani 
 mate world make life a hideous thing, 
 when it seems intended to be a dream filled 
 with music and enchantment and the many 
 delights to which our faculties are at 
 tuned?" 
 
 Loraine drew a sigh. "You have given 
 expression," she said, "to thoughts that 
 have often weighed on my spirits. When
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 219 
 
 the natural world, in which man has no 
 part, is painted in such delightful colors, 
 why is it that all this paradise must be 
 turned into desolation by human frailty and 
 wrong ?" 
 
 "Perhaps it is the shadow of the primal 
 curse." 
 
 "If this is part of the divine plan," she 
 said, "it seems a cruel one. But then our 
 mortal vision reaches but a little way. We 
 must believe there is beneficence beyond it 
 all and that the evil we see, and which 
 seems so monstrous to our apprehension, 
 is only a necessary shadow of infinite love 
 and compassion." 
 
 St. George brought the conversation 
 around into more cheerful and common 
 place channels, and they lingered yet an 
 hour or two longer about the elm and 
 along the grassy margin of the river. 
 
 "Miss Esmond," St. George said, as they 
 walked up the lane, "if I should not have 
 the happiness ever to see you again, you 
 have given me an hour this afternoon
 
 220 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 which will always hold the first place 
 among the cherished recollections of my 
 life." 
 
 "I do not like," she replied, "to speak of 
 never meeting again. The world is not so 
 wide that people who like to be friends 
 should not be able at some part of their 
 journey to meet again. I am not without 
 hope that in brighter hours, in some other 
 place, under kinder fortunes, we may again 
 see each other. I have few friends and 
 none whom on so short acquaintance I 
 should be so sorry to lose sight of " 
 
 He looked at her with an impulse to tell 
 her how much he had been drawn to her 
 perhaps to tell her more but her words 
 had not evoked the warmth in her face he 
 had expected to see bear them company. 
 She was speaking from no warmer feeling 
 than esteem and on that ground he met her 
 and assured her, in most winning tones 
 and accents, that no poor words of his 
 could express the warm and respectful 
 esteem she had inspired in him and what a 
 privilege he would regard it to be held in
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 221 
 
 her remembrance as worthy of her respect 
 and friendship. 
 
 She was touched by the delicacy of his 
 speech and showed it in the faint color that 
 suffused her face. Her eyes filled, and she 
 turned away to conceal the emotion she 
 could not subdue. When the heart is sore, 
 tears lie near the surface. A moment later 
 she turned to him and in a low voice of ex 
 quisite feeling and modulation thanked him 
 for his words, which she assured him would 
 never be forgotten. 
 
 Before he left her she said to him : "We 
 have met but twice, and yet it seems as if I 
 had known you a long time. Perhaps this 
 is because I see you understand me at once 
 better than others have in years; and it is 
 this mutual perception, coming like a flash 
 of light, that makes our acquaintance seem 
 so ripe." 
 
 "I confess," he said, "that I have had the 
 same feeling. I have seen that you are 
 wearing the crown of some terrible sorrow, 
 and I would give years of my life " 
 
 She turned to him with a frightened look 
 of appeal in her deep brown eyes. "O !"
 
 222 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 she said, "do not say such things. I can 
 not I dare not listen to them. I must 
 leave you now," she added, "and if I do not 
 see you again before you go, bear me in 
 your kindly remembrance." 
 
 She gave him her hand with a look he 
 never forgot. It was appeal, gratitude al 
 most love concentrated in one thrilling 
 glance. 
 
 "As if I could ever forget you !" he said 
 with deep emotion, as he bowed low over 
 the hand he pressed with almost a lover s 
 warmth.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 INTERVIEW WITH THE OLD WAGON MAKER. 
 
 I say the tale as twas said to me. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 One day, some time after the election, 
 Jacob Holmes, the wagon maker, received 
 a letter from Clarksburg addressed in an 
 unknown hand. It was unusual for him to 
 get letters from strangers; and he pon 
 dered over the envelope as he walked 
 home, postponing the satisfaction of his 
 curiosity and indulging all possible conjec 
 tures before opening the missive. Arrived 
 at his, shop, he sat down on his work bench, 
 tore open the perplexing envelope and read : 
 
 "You may recall having met in August, 
 in the stable yard of the Busy Bee Hotel, a 
 man who was in search of Thomas McKin- 
 ney, of Uniontown. I want to talk with 
 you about that and related matters, and I 
 think the meeting may be as much to your 
 advantage as mine. It is not desirable for
 
 224 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 me to call on you in Riverside, but if you 
 will come to Clarksburg and inquire for 
 me at Walker s Hotel, I will gladly pay all 
 the expenses of the trip and compensate 
 you for your time. Ask for 
 
 "St. George. 
 
 "Do not mention, even to your own fam 
 ily, the nature of this communication or 
 the purpose of your trip. I would like you 
 to come, if at all, inside of three days, as I 
 may be called away." 
 
 "I will go tomorrow," thought Holmes, 
 after turning the letter over in his mind a 
 few minutes. "The only time to do a thing 
 is when you can." ^Besides, the letter had 
 piqued his curiosity. 
 
 Before the midday hour the following 
 day Mr. Holmes rode up to the Walker 
 House and, requesting to have his horse 
 put up, walked up to the office desk and 
 asked Mr. Walker, who knew him, if a Mr. 
 St. George was staying there. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Walker, shaking 
 hands with the old man, "and I think he is 
 in his room. Perhaps you had best go up. 
 I will show you the way."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 225 
 
 They went up to the door, which was 
 standing open. 
 
 "Mr. St. George," said the landlord, 
 "here is Mr. Holmes, of Riverside, to see 
 you. I hear," he added laughingly, "that 
 your speech down there captured every 
 body, and I suppose this is one of your cap 
 tives." 
 
 St. George shook hands cordially with 
 the old wagon maker and gave him a chair. 
 
 "Mr. Holmes," he began, after a pause, 
 "I am told that you probably know a good 
 deal of the people about Riverside who, as 
 1 believe, made way with Thomas McKin- 
 ney last June. I want to be entirely frank 
 with you and would like you to be equally 
 open with me. I will tell you some things 
 that must not be known to any one else 
 and hope you will tell me some that shall 
 also be sacredly confidential. Are you will 
 ing to meet me on this ground?" 
 
 "I am," said Holmes, "trusting you as a 
 gentleman and man of honor." 
 
 St. George : "Your trust will not be mis 
 placed. I am a detective from Pittsburgh, 
 as was Mr. Bernard, whom you met. I
 
 226 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 am trying from this base of operations to 
 get on the trail of the men who I feel sure 
 are chargeable with McKinney s death and 
 who got his money. I have visited River 
 side and the Esmond farm twice under cir 
 cumstances very favorable for giving me 
 the confidence of Harry Esmond and his 
 associates; but I find them keenly on their 
 guard, and up to this time cannot see that 
 I have made any progress towards the dis 
 covery I seek. You have lived in Riverside 
 some years; you know these people by 
 name, by reputation and, I understand, per 
 sonally. I have heard that a son of yours 
 is exposed to danger from them. Perhaps 
 it may be your desire, as it is mine, to 
 bring these villains to justice. If it is, can 
 you tell me anything about them that will 
 help us?" 
 
 Holmes : "I can tell you a good deal 
 about them" (dropping his voice cautious 
 ly). "Whether I could tell you anything 
 that would help you in this present search 
 is another matter. Are we safe here from 
 being overheard? Is the next room occu-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 227 
 
 pied ?" Mr. Holmes had grown to be care 
 ful when talking of these matters. 
 
 St. George: "The next room is empty 
 and locked up," rising and closing the door. 
 "We can talk here in complete security." 
 
 Nevertheless, Jacob Holmes, in all he had 
 to say in the conversation that followed, 
 spoke in a subdued voice, sometimes little 
 above a whisper. It was a habit of speech 
 he had acquired. 
 
 St. George: "I do not ask you to tell 
 me anything about your son s connection 
 with these people further than it may serve 
 the purpose before us." 
 
 Holmes : "I have no objection to tell you 
 in confidence anything you want to know. 
 My son, when we came here from Pennsyl- 
 vany, was a lad scarcely of age. He fell in 
 with these Esmonds and was a good deal 
 at their house ; sometimes worked for them 
 about the farm. I believe he is engaged to 
 the youngest girl has been for a long 
 time." 
 
 St. George started. The other did not 
 notice it.
 
 228 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "She has been trying to get him to break 
 off with them, and they, noticing he is cool 
 and not knowing the reason, are afraid he 
 will tell what he knows about them. He is 
 afraid they intend to kill him for their own 
 safety, and I m afraid of it, too. They have 
 not taken him into their confidence for near 
 a year. He has been going to the house 
 to see the girl, but has lately heard things 
 that show him it is dangerous for him to 
 go there." 
 
 St. George: "Where is he now?" 
 
 Holmes: "Working on the farm of one 
 of his uncles a few miles from Riverside." 
 
 St. George: "Then he knows nothing of 
 this taking off of McKinney?" 
 
 Holmes : "Nothing whatever. I talked 
 with him about it after I met Mr. Bernard. 
 He was surprised, but he said he had no 
 doubt the man was killed up on the hill 
 about Lot Dyson s and the body hid some 
 where about the farm." 
 
 St. George : "Would they bury it ?" 
 
 Holmes: "That would be too much 
 work, and the fresh earth might be discov 
 ered."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 229 
 
 St. George: "Would they not throw it 
 into the river?" 
 
 Holmes: "They might, but I think not 
 at that season of the year. If there had 
 been a fresh in the river, they might, ex 
 pecting it would be carried away. There is 
 an old well in a thicket on the hill not far 
 from Lot Dyson s, where a house once 
 stood. They might throw the body in that. 
 When George said he had no doubt they 
 had killed him up there on the hill, he said, 
 and maybe throwed him in the old well. I 
 expect that is the well he meant." 
 
 St. George: "Could you point out the 
 location of that well ?" 
 
 Holmes : "No ; I have never seen it. I 
 have just heard there is one there, and I 
 know in the neighborhood of where it is. 
 It would be dangerous to go tnere to look 
 for it in daytime." 
 
 St. George: "Could it be found at 
 night?" 
 
 Holmes: "I don t think so. After the 
 robbery of McKee s store I went over 
 there with my team for a load of fodder, 
 which was in a field that borders on this
 
 230 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 thicket, and we found some of the stolen 
 goods in one of the fodder-shocks that we 
 pulled down. There s two or three acres 
 of the thicket, which is very densely grown 
 with briers and bushes; and it is some 
 where in this that this well is: but I don t 
 know what part." 
 
 St. George: "You spoke of the hill 
 where Lot Dyson lives. Is that in the vicin 
 ity of this thicket?" 
 
 Holmes: "Yes; Dyson s house is but a 
 few hundred yards away." 
 
 St. George: "I met Dyson at Esmonds 
 the day after the speaking at Riverside. 
 Would you think he is the man to do this 
 deed?" 
 
 Holmes: "I think so; he would do any 
 thing for money. 
 
 "Then there is another hiding place that 
 I know of on that farm where a body might 
 be hid for a time. It is an old coal-bank 
 down by the river. If they intended to put 
 the body in the river, they would likely hide 
 it in this coal-bank and then bring it out 
 when the river was high and throw it in, to 
 be carried away."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 231 
 
 St. George: "Would not the body sink 
 and then come to the surface later?" 
 
 Holmes : "Yes, but they would probably 
 tie it to an old log or chunk large enough 
 to float it." 
 
 St. George : "You know where this coal- 
 bank is?" 
 
 Holmes : "Yes." 
 
 St. George: "Could we explore that?" 
 
 Holmes: "You might; but I have rea 
 son to think it is a hiding place for stolen 
 horses and that one or two men are liable 
 to be found in it any time. That would 
 make it very dangerous for a stranger to 
 attempt to enter it." 
 
 St. George sat some time in thought. "If 
 we could find McKinney s body," he said, 
 "we would be justified in swearing out war 
 rants and taking a sheriff s posse, if neces 
 sary, and arresting everybody on the place." 
 
 Holmes : "Yes, and it would take a sher 
 iff s posse to do it." 
 
 St. George: "But how to go about the 
 search for the body puzzles me." 
 
 Holmes : "It would be very risky. Any 
 strangers found on that part of the farm in
 
 232 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 daytime would be liable to be shot down 
 from cover and would not even see the per 
 son who did it. To make the search at 
 night would not be possible." 
 
 St. George : "Do you think the landlord 
 of the Blue Boar is in the confidence of 
 Esmond ?" 
 
 Holmes: "I have no doubt of it, for he 
 rated George for telling things they had 
 done and told him that if he turned state s 
 evidence it would not screen him and would 
 not save him from going to the peniten 
 tiary with the rest of them." 
 
 St. George : "Do you think the old man 
 Esmond is in these things with his sons?" 
 
 Holmes : "George told me he was the 
 worst of the lot. It was him that brought 
 them up that way. He used to shove coun 
 terfeit money and tried to get George to 
 take it and pass it on the shares. Of course, 
 he is not active now, but he counsels every 
 thing." 
 
 St. George : "You spoke of the youngest 
 girl ; I suppose that is the one I met there?" 
 
 Holmes: "Yes, that is L,oraine a fine 
 girl, if she is an Esmond."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 233 
 
 St. George : "I met only the one daugh 
 ter, and I was there twice." 
 
 Holmes : O, the other is married, to Ray 
 Harris." 
 
 St. George : "Ray Harris ! The fellow I 
 met with Dyson there Sunday?" 
 
 Holmes : "It was forced on the poor 
 girl. Harris knew so much they daren t re 
 fuse him, and she was compelled to take 
 him." 
 
 Here was a new phase of the deep dam 
 nation of crime that in all his experience 
 with its devious ways St. George had never 
 met before. What if Loraine should be 
 subjected to such coercion and outrage! It 
 made his blood hot to think of it. 
 
 St. George : "You have told me a great 
 deal, Mr. Holmes, that is interesting and 
 may be helpful. You probably know a 
 good deal about the history of the offenses 
 of this crew?" 
 
 Holmes : "I could tell you a good deal 
 about things they have done things that 
 George has told me ; but, as I said, he does 
 not know anything about this." 
 
 St. George : "This is all to be as a sealed 
 book, between you and me. I may have to
 
 234 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 visit Riverside again, and if it were even 
 known that you had called on me, the foxy 
 landlord of the Blue Boar would scent out 
 something suspicious. And, on the other 
 hand, it might expose you to the fresh 
 enmity of the gang." 
 
 Holmes: "I will not breathe it even to 
 my own family." 
 
 St. George: "For like reasons, I think 
 we had better not go down to dinner to 
 gether. There is the risk that somebody 
 from your village might be at the table 
 who might mention our acquaintance where 
 it would excite suspicion. I am greatly in 
 debted to you for coming and for what you 
 have told me. This" (handing him a $20 
 gold piece) "will be some return for your 
 trouble and for the service you have done 
 us." 
 
 "Do not give me a fourth of this," said 
 Holmes, looking at the coin. 
 
 "Keep it," said St. George; "vou have 
 done us a service no one else could." 
 
 They shook hands and separated at the 
 door of St. George s room.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 RECOGNITION, DANGER, WARNING. 
 
 Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, 
 safety. Henry IV. 
 
 St. George continued to frequent the 
 shady resorts of Clarksburg more from 
 habit than from any definite expectation. 
 One evening he met Keifer, whom he had 
 not seen since their visit to Sardis and Es 
 mond s. Keifer was accompanied by a 
 dapper looking man probably under thirty, 
 whom he introduced as "Mr. Hooker, of 
 Pennsylvania." It was our friend who had 
 helped along the robbery of the Riverside 
 store, detailed in an earlier chapter. They 
 sat down and Keifer and St. George chat 
 ted over the races and other incidents of 
 the trip, and St. George playfully re 
 proached him for his long absence from 
 Clarksburg and mentioned his recent visit 
 to Riverside and the Esmonds. Hooker
 
 236 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 took little part in the chat ; seemed, in fact, 
 rather reserved. 
 
 After they had parted from St. George, 
 Hooker asked Keifer where he had got ac 
 quainted with him and what he knew about 
 him. 
 
 "I met him here," said Keifer, "several 
 months ago. He is a Baltimore man of 
 money and is looking around here for coal 
 lands and other investments." 
 
 "I am afraid you have been deceived," 
 said Hooker. "This man s name is not St. 
 George, and he is not a Baltimore man. f^e 
 is a detective from Pittsburgh." 
 
 Keifer was astounded. 
 
 "I know him well," continued Hooker. 
 "He is connected with the Duquesne Bu 
 reau, on Smithfield street. He was pointed 
 out to me on the street by a man that knew 
 every cop and every detective in Pitts 
 burgh ; and I saw him again in Brownsville, 
 where he was on a lay for two or three 
 months. I saw him again early in Septem 
 ber, I think, at Uniontown. If he has been 
 at Esmonds twice " he paused, for he 
 did not know just how much Keifer might
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 237 
 
 or might not know, "I should say he is a 
 spy on some trail, and Harry ought to 
 know it." 
 
 Keifer was overwhelmed with chagrin 
 and rage to see how he had been over 
 reached by St. George and quite as much 
 over his own stupidity, for he did not ques 
 tion that Hooker was right. He had sim 
 ply been a fool. 
 
 "Cannot you tell him?" he asked. 
 
 "I am not going back there I am on an 
 expedition," he said, significantly, "that 
 takes me in another direction. But Harry 
 ought to be posted at once." 
 
 "I ll drive down there the first thing in 
 the morning," said the crestfallen Keifer, 
 and they parted. 
 
 Keifer, when he got to his hotel, racked 
 his recollection to recall the things he had 
 told St. George about himself in their con 
 fidential exchanges, for fear there was 
 something a detective might use against 
 him. He could not be sure, he had been 
 such an ass, just how much he had told 
 and how much withheld, and the thought 
 of it made him uneasy.
 
 238 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 It chanced that St. George had planned 
 a visit to Riverside for the next day. He 
 wanted to communicate to Max some sug 
 gestions resulting from his interview with 
 Holmes. A mile before he reached the vil 
 lage he overtook Keifer and rallied him for 
 not letting him know he was coming this 
 way. Keifer assured him he had had no 
 thought of it when they were together the 
 evening before, but a forgotten matter that 
 had recurred to him made the trip neces 
 sary. They chatted the rest of the way, as 
 St. George rode beside the buggy, and 
 stopped at the Blue Boar. Keifer took the 
 landlord aside and communicated his as 
 tonishing discovery regarding St. George. 
 
 Blue was excited, frightened and angry, 
 all at once. "I knew it," he declared. "I 
 knew there was something wrong about 
 that man. I just felt it in my bones." 
 
 St. George had walked to the stable with 
 his horse and been met by Max at the door. 
 There was no one else about and they 
 walked to the rear where Max always 
 stalled the horse, and talked a long time in 
 low tones.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 239 
 
 "Will you have your horse put up?" 
 asked Blue of Keifer. 
 
 "No, I must go right on to Esmonds , 
 for Harry ought to know this at once. I ll 
 stop as I come back." 
 
 He drove off and Blue, guided by an in 
 fallible instinct, hurried across lots the 
 back way to the stable. He opened a door 
 in the rear and silently entered the harness 
 room, through a small opening in the par 
 tition of which he could both see and hear 
 St. George and Max not two yards away. 
 He listened till the conversation was con 
 cluded and St. George left the stable. His 
 thoughts were in a tumult. While he had 
 felt his undefined distrust of St George, he 
 had not till the moment of Keifer s disclos 
 ure had the faintest suspicion that Max was 
 anything else than he appeared. He was 
 enraged to think how cleverly this stupid 
 tramp had taken him in. The talk between 
 him and St. George showed plainly enough 
 that he was a confederate, a spy set to pick 
 up odds and ends about the stable and bar 
 room to help the detection of Blue knew 
 what only too well.
 
 240 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 When Keifer reached Esmonds he 
 found Harry just passing from the barn to 
 the house. The latter was surprised to see 
 him and said so. 
 
 "You will be more surprised by what I 
 have to tell you," said Abe 
 
 "Come in ; it s raw out here." 
 
 They went into the sitting-room, where 
 a soft-coal fire blazed in the grate. 
 
 "What is it?" said Esmond, impatient 
 and always afraid of something alarming. 
 
 Keifer narrated in detail what the reader 
 already knows regarding the statement 
 made by Hooker as to St. George. Es 
 mond was as much surprised as Keifer had 
 been. "Is that possible?" he exclaimed. 
 "Well, he s a keen one. But he didn t get 
 anything here," he added, a moment later. 
 
 They went over the matter in all its as 
 pects and bearings. Keifer expressed his 
 humiliation to think he had been the means 
 of bringing a spy to their house. Harry 
 made him feel that he had not been in the 
 least to blame. St. George, he said, was 
 smooth enough to deceive the elect; and 
 still he rather prided himself on the way
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 241 
 
 he had, without intending it, held St. 
 George off from any sort of confidence at 
 both visits. 
 
 "Well, Abe," he said, after they had got 
 through discussing St. George, "I m glad 
 to see you. The times are pretty dull just 
 now. Nothing in sight, is there? It may 
 be better after awhile." 
 
 "Where was Hooker going 1 " asked 
 Keifer. 
 
 "He s after a bank in one of the back 
 towns. He has been setting up a job there 
 that he thinks will be pretty fat. His part 
 ners went round by the railroad. Wanted 
 me to take an interest in it, but I told him 
 I was resting awhile. I ll have your horse 
 put away and fed. You will stay till after 
 dinner." 
 
 When Keifer came in, Lorame Esmond 
 was in her mother s bedroom, which had a 
 door opening into the sitting-room ; the 
 conversation between him and Harry was 
 entirely audible to her, and her attention 
 was quickly caught by the mention of St. 
 George. As soon as she had gathered the 
 purport of Keifer s communication and un-
 
 242 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 derstood that St. George was now at the 
 Blue Boar, she resolved to give him warn 
 ing. She passed out by another door, told 
 her mother she was going to run up to see 
 Eloise, went to the stable and, saddling her 
 favorite mare, "Vic," was soon galloping 
 up the river towards the village, for she 
 was a fearless horsewoman. Her sister s 
 house was a few hundred yards above the 
 mill. The ford below the dam was the 
 shallowest. She rode through the river 
 there and passed on up to the village on 
 the other side. She went straight to the 
 old stone mansion, forming her plan as she 
 rode along. Arrived at Byers , she jumped 
 down and hitched her horse, and was soon 
 in the arms of "Tot." 
 
 They kissed one another, as girls will 
 when they have no more specific object for 
 their caresses, and then Tot drew back and 
 looked at Loraine inquiringly. Loraine put 
 on an air of gayety. 
 
 "What brought you?" said Tot. 
 
 "What should bring me? I was dying to 
 see you."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 243 
 
 "Ah!" said the other, incredulously. 
 "Since when?" 
 
 "Now truly I wanted to see you; I was 
 lonesome." 
 
 "Is that all?" said Tot, who was hoping 
 for something exciting. 
 
 "I ll tell you," said Loraine, with a con 
 fidential air. "I was coming up to see 
 Eloise, and as it wasn t much farther, I 
 thought I would run over and talk with 
 you about a new dress I m going to have." 
 
 "Is that all ?" said Tot, still doubting. 
 
 "No, that isn t all. I ll tell you the rest. 
 Just as I was coming away, Abe Keifer 
 came, and I heard him tell Harry that Mr. 
 St. George had come down with him and 
 was at the Blue Boar. Now, I want you 
 to meet Mr. St. George, and I thought 
 
 "You want to see himself yourself," said 
 Tot banteringly. 
 
 "Perhaps I do," returned Loraine, "and 
 I suspect he wants to see me." She was 
 willing Tot should think she was smitten 
 with the handsome Baltimorean, "So I 
 thought you and I would run over and see
 
 244 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 Jen, and maybe while there we might run 
 across him." 
 
 "That will be delightful," said Tot. "Wait 
 till I get my hat on." 
 
 A few minutes later the girls were on 
 their way to visit the landlady of the Blue 
 Boar, chattering as if neither had ever 
 known the shadow of a care. When they 
 entered the hall of the hotel by the side 
 door, they came face to face with Mr. St. 
 George, who, overcoat on arm, was about 
 entering the parlor. He was both sur 
 prised and pleased at the encounter. Lo- 
 raine and he shook hands cordially and 
 she, turning to Tot, presented her. St. 
 George responded gracefully to the intro 
 duction and they sat down in the parlor 
 and chatted pleasantly for a few minutes, 
 when, at an invisible sign from Loraine, 
 Tot arose and excused herself to run in 
 and greet the landlady. 
 
 The manner of Loraine underwent an in 
 stant change. She arose and drew near St. 
 George and said in a low, impressive tone: 
 "I have just come from home to tell you 
 that your life is in peril here and that you
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 245 
 
 must go away at once. I only learned this 
 within an hour and lost not a moment." 
 
 Astonished at her words, St. George 
 hesitated. 
 
 "I cannot explain," she said. "Do not 
 ask it. Only trust me. Get your horse 
 and go at once." 
 
 "I cannot leave you in this abrupt way," 
 he said. 
 
 "You must, if you care for your life or 
 my regard." 
 
 He looked a moment into her serious 
 eyes and saw there the grave solicitude ex 
 pressed in her words. 
 
 "I would not come to tell you this," she 
 said, "if the danger were not real and im 
 minent." 
 
 He was convinced and, extending his 
 hand, in which she placed her own, he said, 
 with deep feeling and a warm pressure of 
 the hand: 
 
 "Then, if I must go, farewell, and God 
 bless you." 
 
 He passed out of the street door, walked 
 to the stable and met Max at the door. 
 "Give me my horse," he said. The horse
 
 246 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 was standing in the stall with saddle and 
 bridle on, needing nothing but to tighten 
 the girths. A minute later St. George was 
 in the saddle, Max standing at the horse s 
 bit. "I have just been warned," said St. 
 George, "that my life is in danger here. 
 Some discovery has been made. Of course, 
 they do not connect you with me in any 
 way, but be on your guard." He rode 
 away, passed over the bridge and out of the 
 village. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Loraine sat thoughtful two or three 
 minutes after St. George had left her ; then 
 she walked to the street door and looking 
 towards the stable, saw him mount and 
 ride off. She passed into the dining-room, 
 where she found Tot and the landlady 
 chattering like canaries and as gay. 
 
 "O," she said to Tot, "I didn t have but 
 a minute with him after all. Business! 
 Tot, don t ever marry a man of business ; 
 if you do, you ll have to take second place 
 in his affections."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 247 
 
 "Ah," said the landlady, "I hear St. 
 George has been down to see you twice." 
 
 "No, certainly not more than once, for 
 when he came first he did not know I was 
 there. But this is three times he has come 
 to see somebody at the Blue Boar," and 
 she looked mischievously towards the 
 youthful and good-looking landlady. 
 
 "I don t believe he comes to see any of 
 us," she said. "It is somebody s cattle 
 farm, or timber tract, or coal lands. That s 
 the kind of rivals that cut us out." 
 
 "Don t you believe it," said Tot. "And 
 now that I ve been introduced to him, I 
 am going to set my cap for him. They say 
 he s rich, and we know he is handsome." 
 
 "But," said the landlady, looking at L,o- 
 raine, "if this is to be a scramble between 
 you and Tot, what is to become of the 
 George who isn t a saint?" 
 
 "O, he ll be one some time. But saints 
 don t grow on every bush." 
 
 "All the more reason why I should pluck 
 this one," laughed Tot. 
 
 And thus they rattled on, Loraine as gay 
 as the others, and really light-hearted for
 
 248 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 the moment over the success of her mission 
 to St. George. 
 
 The girls returned to the stone mansion, 
 and Loraine, asking Tot to come and see 
 her just as soon as she could, mounted her 
 horse. 
 
 "What about that new dress?" asked 
 Tot, standing by the gate. 
 
 "I ll tell you when you come to see me," 
 
 laughed Loraine as she rode away. 
 
 * * * ,---, 
 
 Keifer came back to the Bhie Boar about 
 the middle of the afternoon and was sur 
 prised to learn that St. George had abruptly 
 returned to Clarksburg. "This is odd," he 
 remarked. "He didn t get away any too 
 soon," said Blue. 
 
 Next day the landlord received a note 
 from St. George enclosing money for his 
 score and explaining that a messenger had 
 brought him word that obliged him to re 
 turn to Clarksburg at once. "I did not see 
 any messenger," thought Jonas, "but he 
 may have come while I was at the black 
 smith shop." He went to the stable and 
 asked Max if somebody had come for St.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 249 
 
 George. Max, taking the cue, replied that 
 a boy had brought a note and ridden away 
 and that St. George had gone directly after. 
 "Then he will be back > again," thought 
 Blue, "and we will have a chance to settle 
 with him."
 
 250 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 SURPRISE. 
 
 Can such things be 
 
 And overcome us like a summer cloud? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 The evening of the second day after 
 Keifer s visit to him, Harry Esmond 
 dropped into the Blue Boar. He had spent 
 the earlier part of the evening at the stone 
 mansion, not caring to call on Blue till the 
 day s business was over and the loungers 
 gone home. There was no fire in the den, 
 and Jonas took him into the bar-room, and 
 they sat behind the high counter, out of 
 sight even if any one had looked in at the 
 windows. Blue had sent Max to bed, tell 
 ing him he would not be wanted again that 
 night. 
 
 The two sat down and looked at each 
 other a few moments as men do who have 
 encountered some matter of mutual aston-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 251 
 
 ishment, as much as to say, "Did you 
 ever?" 
 
 "Well, don t that beat the dickens?" be 
 gan Jonas, who was not given to plain, or 
 dinary swearing. 
 
 "It beats the devil and his imps," re 
 turned Harry, with emphasis 
 
 "It may beat the devil, but not his imps, 
 for we were not taken in by it," laughed 
 Jonas. 
 
 "But would have been if we hadn t all 
 been watching our p s and q s," returned 
 Esmond. "I think from what Keifer said 
 the other day, he was off his guard and 
 told St. George some things he wishes now 
 he had kept to himself. St George would 
 do well to beware of Keifer, for he is furi 
 ous and will settle the account if he gets a 
 chance." 
 
 "Wouldn t blame him," said Blue. "I 
 want to tell you," he went on, "when Abe 
 stopped here the other day with St. George 
 he took me to one side and told me what 
 Hooker had told him. I came back to the 
 street door and saw St. George leading his 
 horse to the stable. All at once it struck
 
 252 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 me as peculiar he should always want to 
 go to the stable to see after his horse, and 
 the thought flashed into my mind whether 
 he did not go to see Max. I d never have 
 thought such a thing if it hadn t been for 
 what Abe had told me. So I ran around 
 the other way and went into the stable at 
 the south end door, which opens in the 
 harness and feed room, and there, not two 
 yards away, stood St. George and Max in 
 close confab, and through a knothole I 
 could see them and hear everything they 
 said. St. George asked Max if he had made 
 any discoveries. Max said nothing of im 
 portance. Had he been over to your place 
 again? No. Had you been about the Blue 
 Boar? No. Then St. George told him he 
 had learned there was an old well in a 
 thicket on the hill near Dyson s house and 
 there was reason to believe the body had 
 been thrown in that well, and he wondered 
 if Max could not go across there some day 
 rabbit hunting and see if he could locate 
 that well." 
 
 Harry sat with open eyes, amazed. 
 "How do you suppose," he said, "St.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 253 
 
 George ever got hold of that?" Did he 
 see anybody here the day he spoke who 
 could have told him anything?" 
 
 Blue: "I don t think so, because he was 
 about the house all the time with the 
 Clarksburg men who came with him, ex 
 cept when he was speaking and until he 
 and Cassel started down to your house." 
 
 Esmond : "Was old Jake Holmes about 
 here that day?" 
 
 Blue "I saw him in the back part of the 
 crowd while the speaking was going on; 
 but he did not come near the house and I 
 am sure he was not near St. George. I am 
 sure they don t know one another at all. 
 The old man doesn t come about the house 
 any more since I gave George that rak- 
 ing." 
 
 Harry was thoughtful. "I wonder who 
 could have told him. It seems he found 
 out some things after all. I can t imagine 
 where he got it. This Max has never been 
 over there?" 
 
 Blue: "I sent him over to your house 
 twice, but I am certain he went and came 
 straight back. He was not gone long
 
 254 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 enough for an excursion on the hill. And 
 what should he know at that time to make 
 him want to go there? He didn t know 
 about this till St. George told him the other 
 day." 
 
 "O, that s true ; I forgot. I will post Lot 
 about this, and if Mr. Max or anybody else 
 goes rabbit hunting around that thicket, he 
 will run against somebody after larger 
 game. Who is this Max? Where did he 
 come from?" 
 
 Blue: "He came tramping through the 
 town last fall one evening and stopped at 
 the blacksmith shop to ask for work the 
 most distressed, miserable looking cuss 
 you ever saw. He hadn t a whole garment 
 to his back and his shoes were just letting 
 his feet out on the ground. I was there 
 getting the shoes changed on Sam. I asked 
 the poor devil some questions, and he told 
 me he was from Cumberland and had 
 worked in the Luman House stable for 
 Sam Luman. You know I used to be ac 
 quainted in Cumberland and knew Sam 
 Luman. Well, his story seemed so plausi-
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 255 
 
 ble and Bob had just quitthat I took 
 him in." 
 
 Esmond: "I d have done the same. 
 Don t it beat the devil how these fellows fix 
 up a story. It seems hard to believe that 
 stupid fellow is a detective. He came from 
 Cumberland, you. know, where you came 
 from," laughing. 
 
 "Yes, and St. George came from Balti 
 more," said Jonas, turning the laugh. 
 
 "That s a fact," said Harry. "They al 
 ways hail from some unexpected quarter. 
 That s their business. Well," he resumed, 
 "what do you think we ought to do with 
 Max? He does not know we suspect him." 
 
 "What ought to be done with St. 
 George ?" 
 
 "Since he is anxious to find McKinney, 
 perhaps we had better send him the same 
 road." 
 
 Blue : "He went away very suddenly the 
 other day after Abe had gone to your 
 house ; but next day I got a note from him 
 sending me the money for feeding his horse 
 and saying a boy had followed him from 
 Clarksburg with a message that required
 
 256 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 him to go right back. His going away 
 seemed to me so queer that I asked Max 
 and he told me a boy rode up with a letter 
 for St. George and went right away again, 
 and St. George came down and took his 
 horse and went off. It must have been 
 while I was over at the blacksmith shop. 
 It shows he does not know that we are on 
 to him and he will be back again." 
 
 Esmond: "Then we had better let Max 
 alone for the present and keep quiet till St. 
 George comes back. Meanwhile we ll con 
 sider what ought to be done."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 DEFEAT. 
 
 Tis not in mortals to command success, 
 But we ll deserve it. 
 
 Addison s Cato. 
 
 The night after St. George s return to 
 Clarksburg he sat down in his room to go 
 over the developments and progress want 
 of progress, he felt in the matter of his 
 pursuit of the murderers of Thomas Mc- 
 Kinney. He had arrived at the point where 
 Bernard had left off; he was known to 
 them as a spy. This was the end of his 
 usefulness on that line of attack. The dan 
 ger this exposed him to did not specially 
 concern him, because that was incident to 
 the pursuit. He had yielded to Loraine s 
 entreaties to quit the Blue Boar abruptly 
 because he realized the sacrifice she had 
 made, and the feeling that prompted it, 
 when she came to warn him, and he wanted 
 to relieve her mind at the earliest moment.
 
 258 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 He went back to see if he could account 
 for her warning ? What had occurred since 
 his last visit to the great elm, when he felt 
 sure there was not a breath of suspicion? 
 First, his interview with Holmes. Could 
 the old man have incautiously let out any 
 thing that had been carried to the Blue 
 Boar or the Esmonds? He did not believe 
 it. What else? His meeting with Keifer 
 and Hooker. Then there was Keifer s visit 
 to Esmonds the next day, which Keifer 
 had not mentioned the night before. In 
 this connection it occurred to him Loraine 
 had said in the Blue Boar parlor she had 
 learned of his danger only within an hour. 
 That would have been coincidently with 
 Keifer s arrival at their house. Then Keifer 
 had gone there to tell Esmond of some sus 
 picion or discovery. But what? Hooker! 
 Who was Hooker, anyhow? From Penn 
 sylvania western Pennsylvania, it was fair 
 to assume. Could Hooker have known 
 him? Had he ever seen Hooker before? 
 He had a trained memory for the faces of 
 criminals and thought he could recognize 
 any face he had ever seen in the rogues
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 259 
 
 gallery. Hooker must be a criminal or he 
 would not consort with Keifer; but he 
 could not remember that he had ever seen 
 the man. But Hooker must have known 
 and recognized him. That must be the ex 
 planation. Hooker had recognized him as 
 a detective; had told Keifer, who had gone 
 straight to Esmond. Loraine had perhaps 
 overheard Keifer s communication and had 
 come straight to the Blue Boar to tell him 
 what she saw was the logical conse 
 quence that he was in peril. This was the 
 goal his thoughts had reached, and the 
 reader knows how near he was to the truth. 
 His heart warmed towards the girl when 
 he thought of what she had done for him, 
 and it gave him a pang to remember what 
 old Mr. Holmes had told him that she was 
 not heart-free. 
 
 He was at the end of his detective tether. 
 Now, could he venture to call on the civil 
 authorities of Harrison countv and demand 
 that the sheriff take a posse and arrest 
 Esmond and his connections? This was 
 too important a step to be taken un 
 advisedly. He wrote to Bernard, detailing
 
 260 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 the situation and concluding with the ques 
 tion he had just asked himself. In four 
 days came the reply: "Have you evidence 
 strong enough to support you in swearing 
 out the warrant? Be sure of this before 
 acting." 
 
 He went over to the office of Squire 
 Werninger, an old and experienced magis 
 trate, with whom he had made some ac 
 quaintance, and with him went over the 
 facts point by point. What evidence was 
 there that would stand the analysis of the 
 courts? asked the magistrate. What could 
 be proven? He could prove that a man 
 answering the description of McKinney 
 had visited Riverside at a certain date ; had 
 crossed the river on the ferry and had 
 turned from the ferry into the road leading 
 down the river past the Esmond farm. 
 What more ? Nothing tangible. After that 
 there was nothing but inference and de 
 duction, entirely convincing to St. George 
 but not worth presentation as evidence in 
 court. Of what value when judicially an 
 alyzed would be his inferences based on 
 the distress of Loraine Esmond, or the
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 261 
 
 statements made by Holmes and others re 
 garding the reputation of these people? 
 How could he prove that McKinney had 
 not turned off at the road leading to Mas- 
 ton s, or that leading up to Dietrich s, be 
 fore reaching the Esmond homestead, or 
 that he had not passed on beyond it? 
 
 It would not do. He could not make the 
 oath necessary to warrant the magistrate 
 in issuing so important a process or produce 
 evidence to support it if issued. He was 
 obliged to report to Bernard that no evi 
 dence strong enough to warrant an arrest 
 had been obtained. His thoughts reverted 
 to Max. He being wholly unsuspected, 
 might yet pick up a clue that would open 
 the way to what seemed the unassailable 
 security of the murderers. 
 
 A few nights later he met Keifer again 
 in one of the gambling resorts he still went 
 to, and Tarbert with him. They affected to 
 meet him with the former show of pleasure 
 and Keifer was even effusive in his famil 
 iarity; but St. George knowing what he 
 did, and what they did not suppose he 
 knew, easily saw through the pretense. He,
 
 262 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 too, affected to be unconscious of any 
 change, and they soon left him, mentioning 
 an engagement as the excuse. 
 
 He loitered away the evening watching 
 the play and, tired at last, started to return 
 to his hotel. It was near midnight, bright 
 moonlight, the streets deserted. Clarks 
 burg at that time was not the metropolis it 
 deems itself now. Honest people then went 
 to bed with the chickens ; few strangers 
 came and went, and no such thing as a 
 policeman, night or day, had then been 
 thought of. In this peaceful old rural town 
 it had never occurred to St. George to be 
 afraid of anything save the wiles of its 
 pretty girls, and he had been coming and 
 going at all hours of night without thought 
 of danger. He turned into Pike street 
 while yet a long way from his hotel and 
 walked past several open lots along a neg 
 lected hedge that ended at any alley. He 
 had got perhaps ten paces beyond this alley 
 when the sharp crack of a firearm, accom 
 panied by the "ping" of a bullet, saluted his 
 ear. He was startled, for the ball came so 
 close he felt it fan his cheek. He turned
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 263 
 
 and looked back. No one was in sight. 
 Turning again to walk on, another report 
 and another bullet which he felt strike his 
 hat warned him that he must get away. It 
 was no use to stand there to be shot at by 
 an unseen assassin, he himself without a 
 weapon. He sprang forward and ran for a 
 block, and then, walking briskly the rest of 
 the way, was soon at the hotel. The office 
 was still open, the porter asleep in his chair, 
 and, taking down his key, he went to his 
 room, took off his hat and looked at it. 
 The bullet had passed through the crown so 
 low it must almost have grazed the scalp. 
 When the first shot was fired, he had sup 
 posed the object was robbery; but at the 
 second he thought of Keifer and Tarbert 
 and he felt an instant conviction they were 
 his assailants. He now had no doubt of 
 this. He recalled the shot that had been 
 fired at Bernard and realized that he had 
 to do with a set of thugs against whom 
 there was no safety anywhere. He now 
 understood, better than before, Loraine s 
 urgency that he should leave the Blue Boar
 
 264 . THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 without delay. She had known the meth 
 ods of the gang better than he. 
 
 He did not mention his adventure next 
 morning. There were good business rea 
 sons why he should avoid the notoriety it 
 would provoke, and he cared nothing for it 
 except as it bore on his mission. He knew 
 how vain would be any attempt to discover 
 the assassins or prove anything against 
 them, sure as he was himself of their iden 
 tity. 
 
 Two days later he had a letter from Ber 
 nard, Requesting him to return to Pitts- 
 burg, as his usefulness here was clearly at 
 an end. 
 
 St. George was of the same opinion. He 
 put the mutilated hat in his trunk to show 
 his associates in the Pittsburgh office as a 
 sort of object lesson to illustrate the story 
 he would have to tell, and that evening 
 quietly bade good-bye to the Walker and to 
 some associations that had been pleasant 
 to him and to others.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 VANISHMENT. 
 
 These our actors, 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 
 Are melted into air, into thin air. 
 
 Tempest. 
 
 Ten days after St. George s departure 
 from Clarksburg, a letter for Mr. Maximil 
 ian Rudolph arrived at the Riverside post- 
 office. The postmaster knew who Maximil 
 ian was, and as he had never asked for a 
 letter and probably never would, he oblig 
 ingly took it to him at the Blue Boar sta 
 ble. 
 
 Max looked at the superscription and 
 then at the postmark, and his face bright 
 ened. "O," he said, "that s from an old 
 crony I used to work with at the Luman 
 House. I know his writing. I m fery 
 much oblige to you." He walked to the 
 rear of the stable and opened and read the 
 letter. What was in it nobody in River 
 side ever knew.
 
 266 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 Max was around the house and stable 
 till after dark ; but when it came time to fix 
 up the fires for the night he was nowhere 
 to be found; nor was he ever seen again 
 by the landlord of the Blue Boar or by any 
 body else in the village. 
 
 His disappearance was matter for a good 
 deal of conjecture among the habitues of 
 the house. The postmaster, who recalled 
 Max s remark, was of opinion that he had 
 experienced a sudden attack of homesick 
 ness, or that his old friend had made him 
 some very enticing offer, and perhaps en 
 closed him money to travel on; for Max 
 had not drawn any pay in cash and could 
 not be in possession of a cent. When peo 
 ple asked Blue what had become of him, his 
 reply was that he guessed he had "gone 
 back to Cumberland to eat his Christmas 
 dinner." But secretly he was more puzzled 
 than any of the rest and for different rea 
 sons. Had somebody warned Max that he 
 was in danger? And if so, who?
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 267 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 INDEPENDENT ENTERPRISE. 
 
 Enterprises of great pith and moment. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 The deep damnation of his taking off. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Christmas came, as it does every year, 
 and brought around the accustomed tur 
 key. Thanks to Loraine s assiduous care, 
 there was at the Big Elm a fine flock of the 
 national bird and it had contributed a brace 
 of big gobblers for the Christmas dinner. 
 It had been a prosperous year for the Es 
 monds and they were all to gather at the 
 family board for a reunion, at which mat 
 ters of general concern could be discussed 
 along with the turkeys. Lot Dyson and 
 his wife, Ray Harris and his, Guy Esmond 
 and his, and Lynn Johnson, who did not 
 have any, joined the family in the season s 
 cheer. Not fifteen minutes before the call 
 to dinner, who should ride up to the gate
 
 268 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 but Hooker. He dismounted and came in, 
 accompanied by one of the younger boys. 
 All were surprised except Harry, who knew 
 Hooker would return this way from his 
 expedition. He was warmly welcomed all 
 round and was himself in high spirits ; 
 and the dinner table was a very cheerful 
 one for all save Loraine, who had lost the 
 habit of cheerfulness and found it hard to 
 regain. Johnson looked a little saturnine 
 and snaky, for he was getting dreadfully 
 short, and Dyson looked hungry, as he al 
 ways did; but the royal feast brightened 
 even his wolfish countenance. 
 
 Hooker s horse was taken to the barn, 
 and after dinner the men walked out to 
 look at it, for they were connoisseurs in 
 horseflesh and looked at horses much as 
 the dilettanti look at pictures. 
 
 "It s a horse I hired at the Bartlett liv 
 ery, in Clarksburg," explained Hooker, 
 "and I promised to send him, back by mail 
 carrier to-morrow." 
 
 "Why send him back at all?" suggested 
 Harris; "he s good for $75."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 269 
 
 "He is not worth the trouble," said 
 Hooker. "Besides, I m not after any small 
 game these days. I don t need to be. Look 
 here, boys!" 
 
 He thrust his hand into his trousers 
 pocket and drew out a roll of bank notes 
 as thick as his wrist. He spread them open 
 in the palm of one hand and turned them 
 over, face up, one by one. There were fif 
 ties and hundreds by the dozen ; nothing 
 less than $20. 
 
 "W-h-e-w !" whistled Johnson, whose 
 snaky eye glittered at the sight ; "you are 
 well fixed, for a fact!" 
 
 Harry, who alone knew where the money 
 came from, was surprised at the size of the 
 spoil. Hooker, whose head was turned by 
 his good luck and the surprise he excited, 
 continued: "That s only a part of it," pull 
 ing out a bursting pocketbook from the 
 other pocket and holding it up without 
 opening it. 
 
 "You struck it rich," said Harry. 
 
 "You bet I did!" Hooker was so in 
 flated he could not conceal his exultation. 
 He did not dream there could be any dan-
 
 270 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 ger in making such a display among friends. 
 But even wolves when ravenous have been 
 known to devour one another, and the lead 
 ers in the French Terror guillotined each 
 other as fast as it stood them in hand to 
 do so. If Hooker had known the views 
 held by Dyson and Johnson in the matter of 
 being led into temptation, he would have 
 been more discreet. 
 
 "Put up your money," said Harry, laugh 
 ing; "you make us feel poor and that is 
 not pleasant for Christmas time." 
 
 It seemed to occur to Hooker that he 
 had been foolish, and he turned the talk 
 into other channels. 
 
 "What are your plans?" asked Harry. 
 "Will you stay with us over the holidays?" 
 
 "I cannot," replied Hooker. "I must go 
 on down the river to-morrow night." 
 
 "Shall we send your horse up to Jonas 
 to-night to go by the mail carrier in the 
 morning ?" 
 
 "If one of the boys will take him, here is 
 a dollar for his trouble. How am I to get 
 towards home?"
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 271 
 
 "Is that last horse Tarbeu sent down 
 still in the barn?" Harry asked. 
 
 "Yes," replied Ray, " and I m getting 
 tired of feeding him." 
 
 "That will just fit, Hooker ; you can pass 
 him on to market and account to us as 
 usual." 
 
 They went back to the house, and while 
 the mother and daughters and Mrs. Dyson 
 busied themselves about the dining-room 
 and kitchen, the "men folks" got together 
 and held a confidential session over every 
 thing of recent occurrence that concerned 
 them collectively. 
 
 Harry expressed his satisfaction over the 
 cue that Hooker had given Keifer about 
 St. George and then told Hooker about 
 Blue s discovery that his tramp hostler, 
 who came to him two or three months ago, 
 was a confederate of St. George s. These 
 matters were intensely interesting to the 
 whole crew. In the course of the talk 
 Harry related what Blue had overheard 
 St. George say to Max about the old well. 
 All pricked up their ears at this.
 
 272 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "How do you suppose he got on to that ?" 
 growled Lot. 
 
 "Some traitor. Do you think it could 
 be George?" asked Johnson. 
 
 "Who knows where George is?" John 
 son continued. 
 
 "He s working at his Uncle Andy s," an 
 swered Ray, "and I have it straight that he 
 has not been off the farm since he went 
 there. How should he know anything 
 about St. George or St. George know any 
 thing about him?" 
 
 "That s so," remarked Harry. " Jone 
 knows just where St. George was, and who 
 he saw, each time he was at the Blue Boar. 
 I m puzzled to think how he got hold of 
 that." 
 
 "Well, let me tell ye," quoth Lot, sav 
 agely, "they d better not monkey around 
 that thicket or there will be some more of 
 them in the old well before they know it." 
 
 After supper Lot, Ray and Guy prepared 
 to go home. "Come and stay with us to 
 night, Lynn," said Lot, and his wife sec 
 onded the invitation.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 273 
 
 "Better stay here," said Mrs. Esmond; 
 "we will rind a place for you to sleep." 
 
 "I will go with Lot to-night, to keep him 
 from being afraid of the old well," said 
 Johnson, with a grimace, and a few min 
 utes later they went. 
 
 Dyson and Johnson sat before the fire 
 talking in low tones long after Mrs. Dy 
 son had gone to bed. They seemed to find 
 the talk deeply interesting and their con 
 clusions harmonious and satisfactory. As 
 they were about to separate for the night 
 Dyson remarked : "You remember the 
 time we divided the McKee goods upstairs 
 here, and what a hog he was, and how 
 he took at least double his fair share? I 
 said to myself then that we d get even with 
 him some time." 
 
 "And we will," replied Johnson, "sure s 
 you live." 
 
 The "barn" referred to in the previous 
 day s conversation, where the horse for 
 Hooker was in keeping, was a place of con 
 cealment that will be described in a later
 
 274 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 chapter, a quarter of a mile or more up the 
 river from the homestead. 
 
 Next evening Harry Esmond had an en 
 gagement in the village, so after supper he 
 bade good-bye to Hooker and set out to 
 walk over. A little after dark Hooker made 
 his adieus to the family and walked up to 
 the "barn" where he understood he would 
 find Dyson or Lynn, who would have the 
 horse in readiness for him, and he would 
 then ride directly down the river without 
 stopping again at the house. Some thirty 
 minutes later a horseman rode rapidly down 
 the road past the elm. 
 
 "There goes Hooker!" said one of the 
 younger boys, who was standing at the 
 front door, listening to hear him go by; 
 "and he s going just like the old Nick was 
 after him." 
 
 Next morning a stray horse was found 
 wandering about the streets of Worthless- 
 ton. The reins were on his neck and there 
 were stains on the saddle that looked sus 
 piciously like blood. He was discovered
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 275 
 
 by the clerk who came early to open Mil- 
 len s store and was put in the stable, where 
 a great many who had heard of the find 
 went during the day to see if they knew 
 the animal. Nobody there had ever seen 
 it before. There was a world of conjecture 
 about the tragedy that appeared to connect 
 itself with the turning of the horse at large, 
 but no owner ever appeared, and as nobody 
 in that region was missing, the conclusion 
 was that some stranger passing through in 
 the night had been murdered for his money. 
 The horse was finally sold as an estray and 
 the excitement died out. 
 
 The Esmonds were not long in hearing 
 of the horse and Ray Harris went down to 
 see it. He recognized it instantly as the 
 animal that had been ridden away by 
 Hooker, but gave no sign. The Esmonds 
 were greatly puzzled. They had no doubt 
 Hooker had been robbed and murdered 
 somewhere about Worthlesston, but how 
 had it happened ? They could not help feel 
 ing a shade of envy that anybody should 
 have got such a prize without their having
 
 276 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 a share. Hooker never reached home, nor 
 was ever heard of. 
 
 A few days later, when another disap 
 pearance was exciting conjecture in the vil 
 lage, an old blacksmith living at the east 
 ern border of the town recalled that he had 
 one night, not long after dark, heard, or 
 thought he heard, in the direction of the 
 Lot Dyson hill, the cry of a man in mortal 
 agony. It was only a single scream, and 
 he thought it possible he had been mistaken.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 277 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 DISAPPEARANCE. 
 
 Farewell! a word that must be and hath been 
 A sound which makes us linger; yet farewell. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Time sped. The,seasons rolled through 
 the beautiful Autumn into the arms of the 
 pitiless Winter. The cold set in early and 
 held on stiffly till the holidays. Then came 
 a change; and a January thaw, with its 
 downpours of rain, its flood and mud, fol 
 lowed directly after the opening of the new 
 and momentous year. The streams came 
 up with a rush to almost unprecedented 
 heights for a winter flood. The ice went 
 out with rather more than the usual disas 
 ters to the timbermen whose rafts had been 
 caught in the river by the early freeze-up 
 and the absence of a fall freshet. But in a 
 day or two the river was nearly clear of ice, 
 though still at flood-tide.
 
 278 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 George Holmes did not come home till 
 some days after New Year s. The family 
 were rejoiced to welcome him and he was 
 unaffectedly glad to be once more at home. 
 The night after his return he wrote his let 
 ter to Loraine and got his sister, who was 
 on visiting terms at the Esmond homestead, 
 to undertake to carry it to her next morn 
 ing. 
 
 "Be sure," he said, "not to let anyone 
 but Loraine see this or know anything 
 about it. If she is not at home, don t leave 
 it for her. Unless you can put it in her 
 own hand, bring it back." 
 
 She promised faithfully to follow his di 
 rections, and the next afternoon came back 
 and said she had delivered the letter to Lo 
 raine herself. 
 
 "Did she say anything to you about it?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "No, but I found her crying a little while 
 after, and I think it was about something in 
 the letter. And then afterward she seemed 
 glad and cheerful, as if she had got over it." 
 
 This is the letter that he had sent her :
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 279 
 
 "January 6th. 
 "My Darling: 
 
 "I am going away now at the first hour 
 I can find the means. Don t be scared when 
 you hear I have disappeared, for I shall not 
 let a soul here know of my purpose. Til. 
 does not know what is in this letter. 
 Breathe not a word of it to a living person. 
 I have put off the old life and the old 
 weakness and see now with clear eyes. I 
 am a new man from this hour with the one 
 purpose put into my heart by your words. 
 I can wait, and you can. If life is spared 
 me, time shall bring us together again when 
 I shall be worthy of you. Trust me and 
 wait for me. George." 
 
 In the dusk of the evening he put on his 
 overcoat, for it was chilly, and walked 
 down to look at the river, picking his way 
 along the ferry road to the water s edge, 
 where the boats lay. The river was still at 
 flood stage, but nearly clear of ice and drift. 
 He stood and looked at the darkening 
 stream a long time in deep revery. "It is 
 hard to go away without seeing her once 
 more," he thought, "thought it seems best."
 
 280 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 He saw, while hardly conscious of it, an 
 other skiff near the one he recognized as 
 the ferryman s. As his revery passed, it 
 occurred to him that this was what he was 
 looking for. He stepped nearer and looked 
 at it closely in the fading light. He recog 
 nized the boat as belonging to Raleigh 
 Johnson. It was chained to a ring in the 
 ferry-road timber, but he noticed it was not 
 locked. He stepped into it and found it dry 
 and in good condition and oars in the row 
 locks. He stood musing. What was he 
 thinking of? "It looks as if this was left 
 unlocked just for me," was what he was 
 saying to himself. "Why not after all?" 
 His ear caught a step as of some one com 
 ing down to the ferry. He could not in 
 the gathering darkness see the person who 
 was approaching ; but he undid the chain 
 and, laying it softly in the boat, shoved it 
 off the shore and, taking the oars, rowed 
 quickly into the gloom that now enveloped 
 the river. 
 
 The ferryman had gone down to see that 
 his boats should not be left aground by the 
 fall in the river. He pushed them out and
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 281 
 
 propped them a little way off shore. Then 
 he noticed that Johnson s skiff, which had 
 been there an hour before, was gone, and 
 lie recalled the fancy that he had heard the 
 dip of oars just before he got down to the 
 river. He listened and peered into the dark 
 ness, but he saw nothing nor heard any 
 thing save the eddying waters and their low 
 ripple as they rolled their way onward to 
 the sea.
 
 282 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 Pluck out the heart of my mystery. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 When bed-time came for the Holmes 
 family the evening after George had left 
 the house and had not come in, they were 
 uneasy, though not alarmed; for they con 
 cluded he had gone to Esmonds to see 
 Loraine. Let Jacob Holmes tell this part of 
 his story in his own words as they lie be 
 fore me : 
 
 "Next morning Tuesday morning, as 
 near as I can recollect between the hours 
 of eight and nine o clock, young Nick Es 
 mond came into my shop inquiring for a 
 gun that George had fetched there some 
 weeks before. I says to him: There is 
 a gun up in the house ; I don t know whose 
 it is. I went up into the house with him, 
 got the gun and handed it to him. He 
 appeared to be in a great hurry.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 283 
 
 "My family asked him: Nick, did you 
 see anything of George ? Or do you know 
 anything about him? 
 
 "He said he did not. He went down to 
 the shop and I asked him the same ques 
 tion myself, thinking that he didn t just 
 like to say before the family where he was 
 and that he would tell me. But he said 
 that he did not know ; that he had not saw 
 him. 
 
 "A week elapsed until Sunday. Sunday 
 morning, I was seated by my fire when my 
 wife got up before day. She exclaimed, 
 says she : Jake, you must go and see 
 about George. I says to her: Get break 
 fast and I will go down to Prim s (the 
 cabin across the river from the elm) and I 
 will holler over and see if I can hear any 
 thing of him. 
 
 "I went there and called three or four 
 times. At last I saw Mrs. Esmond coming 
 from the direction of the old stable with 
 a tin bucket in her hand; and I called her; 
 but the more I called the more she hur 
 ried and made me no answer and went into 
 the house.
 
 284 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "I then saw young Nick coming in the 
 same direction. I called him and he an 
 swered me. I requested him to come down 
 to me (to the bank of the river), I wanted 
 to see him. When he came down I asked 
 him did he know anything about George? 
 He answered he did not unless he was at 
 Tom Wilmoth s. 
 
 "Said I: Nick, did he tell you he was 
 going to Tom Wilmoth s ?" 
 
 " Yes/ in an easy tone ; but at the same 
 time he spoke and said, says he: I will 
 go to Tom Wilmoth s and I will see and 
 let you know. 
 
 "I said: Well, Nick, go to-day and let 
 me know. I feel uneasy about him. 
 
 "Nick never came near my house; but 
 on Monday evening my little boy John told 
 me he heard Nick Esmond tell Jim that 
 George was at Tom Wilmoth s. I do not 
 know that I made any inquiry of the boy 
 at that time ; but after a little Jim come in 
 and I asked Jim what Nick had told him. 
 Jim said that Nick had said that he had 
 started to go to Tom Wilmoth s but had 
 met John Harvestry and Maria going up
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 285 
 
 home, and they had told him George was at 
 Tom Wilmoth s. I told Jim I did not be 
 lieve a word of it. 
 
 "The next morning I got a horse and 
 went down to Wilmoth s, and learned that 
 George was not there and had not been 
 since the time he left home. 
 
 "I came on home, when I learned of the 
 family that old Mrs. Johnson had been 
 there and had told about their boat being 
 missing. I go down here to Jonas Blue s 
 and there find Raleigh Johnson. I said to 
 him that it appeared their boat was miss 
 ing. He asked me: What about the boat? 
 I said their boat was missing, and George 
 was missing, and I did not know what to 
 make of it. He replied that there was no 
 danger of his being drowned, of course. 
 
 "I started out from Jonas Blue s to go 
 up home, and saw Ray Harris and Nick 
 Esmond coming towards Blue s. When I 
 got here by Store s blacksmith shop, Nick 
 Esmond came running over to me. 
 
 " Uncle Jake, George is at Tom Wil 
 moth s.
 
 286 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "Says I : Nick, there s not a word of 
 truth in it. 
 
 "He asked me, in a kind of passion as it 
 were, how did I know ? 
 
 "Says I : I know by going to see. 
 
 "He then: Where do you think, he 
 says, George is? 
 
 "Says I: Nick, I fear that George is 
 not on the land of the living 
 
 "When I said that his color left him and 
 he became pale. 
 
 " O/ he says, there is no danger. George 
 is not drowned, said he, for he had a good 
 boat to go over in and he was a good swim 
 mer. 
 
 "On Friday, the day before the speaking 
 of Lewis and Carlile in Riverside, I went 
 over the river to Jacob Fontrey s. When I 
 returned to the skiff, which was the ferry 
 man s, here was Granny Pugh, waiting, as 
 I supposed, that she could go over the 
 river. We got into the skiff and came over 
 the river; and as we landed, or about the 
 time of my tying the skiff, she says to 
 me:
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 287 
 
 " I suppose you have heard from 
 George ? 
 
 "I says: No, we have not. 
 
 " W 7 hy, la me, we heard you had got a 
 letter from him and he was in Pennsyl 
 vania. Says she. I was over at Guy s 
 and I heard Guy tell his father that George 
 had gone to Wheeling to enlist. 
 
 "I asked her where he got that infor 
 mation. 
 
 "She said she didn t know unless it was 
 at Worthlesston or Fairmont. It was the 
 same day Guy went down to get that 
 horse that had been stolen from Titchenell s. 
 Says she: 
 
 " He will be over here tomorrow at the 
 speaking, and you can see him and he will 
 tell you all about it. 
 
 "I went in the forenoon and found Guy 
 standing on Jonas Blue s porch. I went to 
 him and asked him, says I: 
 
 " Where did you get this report that 
 George had gone to Wheeling tc enlist ? 
 
 " Well, says he, down in Worthless- 
 ton.
 
 288 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 Well, who did you hear speak about 
 it? 
 
 "He didn t know ; he believed it was 
 Enoch May. 
 
 "Says I: Old Enoch May? I do not 
 know him. 
 
 " It is Hence s son, a truthful and cred 
 ible boy, says he. 
 
 " But, says he, I am going down to-mor 
 row and I will let you know all about it. 
 
 "He was to let me know on Monday. 
 Very well, said I. Monday came and I 
 went down and he was standing on the 
 out-porch in front of the house. 
 
 Well, said I, Guy, this rumor con 
 cerning George? 
 
 " O, he says, it is to Pittsburgh. 
 
 "Well, on Tuesday I went to Worthless- 
 ton and hunted up May and asked him how 
 did he get the information that George had 
 gone to Wheeling or Pittsburgh to enlist? 
 Guy Esmond had told him so the time he 
 was down getting that horse he had taken 
 from Titchenell s.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 289 
 
 Somewhere about this time, the wife of 
 a physician named Irman, living in prop 
 erty adjoining the Blue Boar tavern, was 
 one evening in an out-building that stood 
 against the rear of the Blue Boar smoke 
 house. The board-walls of both buildings 
 were sufficiently open of joint to allow 
 conversation on one side to be plainly heard 
 en the other. 
 
 The landlord and his wife were in the 
 smoke-house. He was telling her of some 
 body that had been killed or was to be, 
 she could not make out which, not having 
 heard the beginning of the conversation. 
 But she heard him say it was "because he 
 was known to all this burglary;" they had 
 become "afraid he would turn State s evi 
 dence and send us all to the penitentiary." 
 
 His wife asked: "What do you mean 
 when you say burglary ?" 
 
 "Why," he replied, "this stealing of 
 goods and horses, and all this that was 
 done ;" and they had "thought it best to put 
 him out of the road." 
 
 She asked him: "Had you any hand in 
 this business ?"
 
 290 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "No," he replied, "but I am known to it 
 all." 
 
 Mrs. Irman, knowing of George 
 Holmes disappearance, and also of his re 
 lations to the Esmonds and of theirs to the 
 landlord of the Blue Boar all of which 
 was notorious to everybody in the village 
 did not doubt the conversation related to 
 him. She became frightened and ran to 
 the house, afraid to hear more, for she re 
 alized it was a dangerous secret. She told 
 some family friends, who advised her to 
 keep her own counsel ; but some hint of the 
 matter leaked out, and it preyed on her so 
 that she kept the door locked when her hus 
 band was out, and finally left the village 
 and went to friends at Fairmont. It was 
 given out by somebody in the village that 
 she was "crazy." .In an interview Jacob 
 Holmes had with her February 27th at 
 Fairmont, Mrs. Irman made these state 
 ments, which were confirmed by her hus 
 band as having been made to him at the 
 time. "All but the crazy," she said ; "I was 
 only afraid."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 291 
 
 It soon became widely known that young 
 Holmes had disappeared. Knowing all the 
 things he did pointing to a tragedy, the 
 poor old man felt there could be no doubt 
 as to the fate that had overtaken his boy. 
 But he was powerless to bring the slayers 
 to justice. While a great deal of interest 
 even excitement was felt in the community 
 when all the suspicious circumstances be 
 came known, nobody offered any practical 
 help; and public excitement over the ap 
 proaching election for members of the Rich 
 mond convention, the issue of which all felt 
 would be secession and war, overshadowed 
 any mere matter of local crime and personal 
 bereavement, however distressing.
 
 292 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 DISINTEGRATION. 
 Fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
 And as silently steel away. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Events were thickening. Clouds on the 
 national horizon were darkening. The Con 
 vention at Richmond had met ; and while 
 the loudest voice was for "the Union," it 
 was accompanied by qualifications. All 
 felt the crisis in the air. There was through 
 all the land an ominous rumbling like the 
 forerunner of an earthquake. Matters of 
 local concern that would have been ordi 
 narily provocative of the keenest interest 
 took secondary place at the evening gath 
 erings in shops and stores or on the street 
 corners where groups assembled. Yet the 
 minor tragedies of life, like the one we are 
 following, went on their several courses, de 
 spite the overshadowing tragedy preparing 
 for the nation.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 293 
 
 Disintegration among the bandits had set 
 in. They were not only feeling the general 
 disturbance, but special reasons had tran 
 spired, promotive of- a break-up. For the 
 first time in the history of the gang two of 
 its subordinate but indispensable members 
 felt themselves able to go away and 
 take care of themselves. A few days after 
 the disappearance of Holmes, Lynn John 
 son got out his horse and set off up the 
 river. He told Harry Esmond he had been 
 thinking for some time of making a trip 
 into one of the upper counties to see if some 
 better opportunities could not be found 
 there for an honest citizen to make his liv 
 ing. He thought he would be able to 
 persuade Tarbert to go with him. and ex 
 pressed the belief that this was a good local 
 ity to be away from for a while. 
 
 Harry acknowledged that he also had 
 been looking forward to a time when this 
 part of the country would be too hot to 
 hold them. Perhaps that time was not so 
 far away. "Keep me advised where you are. 
 Maybe you will see more of us before a 
 great while."
 
 294 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 Next day Dyson mentioned to the elder 
 Esmond that he had thought some of mov 
 ing up on Jones Run this spring, where he 
 had heard of a place he could rent on the 
 shares to good advantage. 
 
 "Why, Lot," said Mr. Esmond, "what do 
 you want to go away for? You can make 
 more money, and make it easier, than by 
 farming." 
 
 "Well, you know, Uncle Nickie," replies 
 Lot, with his grim smile, "a change of pas 
 ture is sometimes good for sheep." 
 
 Esmond mentioned the matter to Harry. 
 "I wonder what s in the wind," said the 
 latter. "Johnson has gone, and now Lot 
 wants to go. It will break us all up. Are 
 they afraid to stay here, I wonder?" 
 
 That evening Harry Esmond went to the 
 Blue Boar. 
 
 "What is all this, Jone, about the dis 
 appearance of Holmes ?" 
 
 Blue looked at him curiously. "You 
 ought to know if any one does." 
 
 "But I don t," says Harry, "or I wouldn t 
 have asked vou."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 295 
 
 Blue: "You know it was all settled that 
 he had to be put out of the way. There 
 was no other way to make ourselves safe." 
 
 "Yes, I know that; but none of our fel 
 lows knows who did it. That s the queer 
 thing about it. Our intention was good 
 enough, but who has carried it out?" 
 
 "Don t Lot or Lynn know about it?" 
 queried Jonas. 
 
 "They say not," replied Harry. "But 
 Lynn has gone away and now Lot talks 
 about wanting to move up on Jones Run. I 
 don t understand it all." 
 
 "Would you think it possible," continued 
 Esmond, after a little consideration, as if he 
 did not quite like to make the suggestion, 
 "that these two could have come across 
 George somewhere by accident and dis 
 patched him and concluded to keep it a se 
 cret from the rest?" 
 
 "If they thought he had a few dollars in 
 his pocket, they might. You know $10 
 would be a prize to either of them." 
 
 "You know George came home just after 
 New Year s," remarked Harry.
 
 296 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 "Yes, and it wouldn t be strange if he 
 started to go down to your house to see 
 L,oraine," remarked Blue. 
 
 "That would be very probable," said 
 Harry. "When Johnson was going away," 
 he resumed, "he said he thought this was 
 a good place to be away from; and Lot 
 said a change of pasture was good for 
 sheep, when he told old Nickie about want 
 ing to move away." 
 
 "It looks as if they were afraid of some 
 thing," said Blue. 
 
 "It does, for a fact."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 297 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 GIVEN UP BY THE RIVER. 
 
 It is a wise father that knows his own child. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 One Sunday morning in March, a horse 
 man came into the village from below by 
 the Fairmont pike and turning up Ferry 
 street rode up to the Holmes residence 
 and dismounted. One of the daughters was 
 on the porch and walked towards him with 
 inquiring looks as he came forward. He 
 asked if this was where Mr Holmes lived 
 and she answered, yes. 
 
 "I am afraid I have sad news for you," 
 he said. 
 
 The girl divined on the instant that it 
 was something about her missing brother, 
 and her heart stood still. 
 
 "A body was found this morning in the 
 river at Worthlesston," the man went on, 
 "and knowing George is missing, people 
 there think it may be his."
 
 298 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 The mother, who had been standing just 
 within the door, had heard the conversa 
 tion and stepped out on the porch as these 
 words were spoken. "O, my God !" she 
 screamed and fell insensible, Mr. Holmes, 
 hearing the commotion, came out and the 
 stranger repeated his statement to him 
 while the girl went to the assistance of her 
 mother. "I am not surprised," he said, 
 calmly. "It is no more than I expected. 
 I will get my horse and go with you." 
 
 At Worthlesston, a lad named Price had 
 after breakfast walked down to the river 
 bluff, which along the village front lies 
 rather low. The recent freshets had depos 
 ited a good deal of drift on top of the bluff, 
 and he was picking his way over this and 
 looking down in an idle way into drifts that 
 had in some places accumulated along the 
 river s edge. He came to a large tree which, 
 undermined by the current, had toppled into 
 the river and, being held by the roots, had 
 been swept around near the shore. Among 
 the branches of the tree his eyes caught 
 something that looked like a cast-off gar 
 ment just showing above the water. With
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 299 
 
 idle curiosity he walked out on the body of 
 the tree and climbing down one of the large 
 limbs was able to reach the object that had 
 caught his attention. He thought it looked 
 like a man s coat, and taking hold of it to 
 lift it out of the water, found it resisted the 
 effort, but answering the pull, the body of a 
 man came to the surface and turned over, 
 showing him the face horribly swollen, dis 
 torted and mutilated. The lad, shocked and 
 frightened, quickly got back to the shore 
 and gave the alarm. A crowd soon gath 
 ered, a skiff was procured and the body 
 towed to a landing place and drawn out on 
 the shore. Boards were procured, a hasty 
 stretcher improvised and the body carried 
 to the platform in front of the Martin 
 house, where it was laid to await official in 
 quiry. 
 
 William Good, coroner, empaneled a 
 jury, who now only awaited the return of 
 the messenger with Mr. Holmes. 
 
 George Holmes had been well known in 
 the village and all knew of his disap 
 pearance two months before. The condition 
 and especially the mutilation of the face
 
 300 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 made recognition impossible, but the pre 
 sumption was it was the body of Holmes. 
 A suggestion was raised whether this 
 might not be the stranger who was sup 
 posed to have been murdered the time the 
 stray horse was found, but it was not seri 
 ously entertained. 
 
 When Jacob Holmes, with drawn fea 
 tures and red but tearless eyes, came for 
 ward to look at the body, the crowd drew 
 back respectfully to make way. He paused 
 before the unsightly spectacle, all that was 
 left as he supposed of his own son ; looked 
 at the face what was left of it long and 
 anxiously ; at the hair ; at the clothing. The 
 hair was matted and filled with mud and 
 something that appeared to be coal dust. 
 The clothing was so filled and covered 
 with the mud and slime of the river it was 
 hard to discern the texture of the cloth, still 
 less its color. The flesh was so swollen 
 and decayed recognition unless by some 
 special mark was impossible ; and it looked 
 as if the mutilation of the features had been 
 intentional. The old man lookecl long and 
 doubtfully and seemed for a time to lose
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 301 
 
 himself in revery. At length he said: 
 "This looks like a coat that George wore 
 about a year ago; the buttons and the 
 binding are the same ; but it was not the 
 coat he had on when he went away. I 
 hardly know what to think. It must be 
 George, but no one can tell. That is about 
 all I can say." 
 
 The jury found that the deceased, who 
 v\as to them unknown, had come to his 
 death from causes undiscovered. Mr. 
 Holmes believing, and the coroner concur 
 ring, that it was the body of his son, was 
 allowed to take the remains for burial. They 
 were taken to Riverside, directly to the 
 grave, and buried in the old graveyard on 
 the hill overlooking the river, over against 
 the great hill on the other side then known 
 as the Lot Dyson hill, where Mr. Holmes 
 believed his son had met his death. 
 
 There was a good deal of excitement in 
 Riverside over the finding of the body, but 
 it resulted in nothing. Very few, if any, 
 doubted that it was Holmes. It was open 
 to doubt in the minds of some whether he 
 had been accidentally drowned or foully
 
 302 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 dealt with and thrown in the river. The 
 appearance of coal grime in the hair gave 
 color to the latter opinion. 
 
 There was one more who was deeply, 
 painfully, interested in the finding of this 
 body. When the word of George s disap 
 pearance was brought to the house by Ray 
 Harris, it was the subject of mysterious, 
 sometimes whispered, conversations about 
 the house. The family all understood it was 
 a blow to Loraine and avoided speech with 
 her on the subject, and took care she 
 should not hear what they said among 
 themselves. Though startled by the re 
 port, she had felt no real alarm, relying on 
 the words of his farewell letter which had 
 prepared her for just such news. But 
 when she got the word two months later 
 of the finding of the body at V/orthlesston, 
 she was frightened. She did not hear it 
 till after the burial. Then she went straight 
 to George s family and had long and tear 
 ful interviews with the mother and sisters 
 and with Mr. Holmes. He was the only
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 303 
 
 one of the family that admitted any doubts. 
 He admitted it was impossible to identify 
 the body as George s, and he was puzzled 
 by the only other thing that could have 
 furnished a clew, the clothing. His convic 
 tion arose more from corroborative circum 
 stances than from evidence furnished by the 
 corpse. Loraine knew, what she could not 
 mention, that Hooker had disappeared in 
 that vicinity a few days before George. 
 Why might not this body be his? To try 
 to comfort the Holmes family, she showed 
 them the letter George had sent her the 
 day before his disappearance. They hoped 
 she might be right in her belief in his safety, 
 but they were not convinced, for if this were 
 not George s body whose was it? That 
 was a question she dared not answer; and 
 they settled down to an acceptance of 
 George s death as the sorrowful truth.
 
 304 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 PRINCE BOUNTIFUL. 
 
 A fellow feeling makes one wondrous kind. 
 
 Garrick. 
 
 The time is a week after the last inter 
 view between Jonas Blue and Harry Es 
 mond ; the place the old Despard resort in 
 Clarksburg; the personae, Lynn Johnson, 
 Elias Tarbert and Abe Keifer. They are 
 not playing, but strolling around looking 
 on at the game. They have just sat down 
 in a corner, out of ear-shot, and putting 
 their heads together begin a confidential 
 talk. 
 
 "I didn t see Hooker," remarks Keifer, 
 "as he came back, but I hear he went 
 through by Esmonds . A friend told me 
 his job panned out well." 
 
 "He seemed in fine spirits at Esmonds , " 
 says Johnson. "He got there just in time 
 for the Christmas dinner and left the next
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 305 
 
 evening. He rode that last horse you sent 
 down, Eli, and was to market him and send 
 back the money." 
 
 "I hope he will hurry it along," said Tar- 
 bert, laughingly. "Times are pretty hard 
 with me." 
 
 "I could lend you a little if you really 
 need it." 
 
 "I wish you would," returns Tarbert. "I 
 expect to meet some friends here to-morrow 
 and I would like to treat them white, and 
 you know it takes money to do it " 
 
 "Would a fifty do you?" asks Johnson, 
 with the air of a millionaire, thrusting fin 
 ger and thumb into his vest pocket. 
 
 "You make my head swim," laughs Tar 
 bert. 
 
 Johnson takes a roll from his vest pocket 
 and drawing from it a $50 bill hands it to 
 Tarbert, who looks at it incredulously, as 
 if the transaction could not be real. "This 
 is not queer, is it?" laughing again. 
 
 "When you are in luck and I am in 
 need," pursues Johnson loftily, "you can 
 give it back to me."
 
 306 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 Keifer looks on surprised. He had never 
 seen Johnson with so much money. "You 
 seem to be flush," he observes to Lynn in 
 a jocular way. 
 
 "You know I have an income from my 
 estates in Spain," says Johnson, gravely. 
 
 "In your mind," laughs Keifer. 
 
 "Now, boys," says Johnson, with a busi 
 ness air, "I have come into this country just 
 to get you two together. Things are dull 
 down our way. Harry is laying off and is 
 not disposed to undertake anything fresh, 
 and the rest of us have got to dc something 
 on our own account or starve," 
 
 "You won t starve," says Keifer, "as long 
 as your pockets are lined with $50 bills like 
 that one." 
 
 "How are you fixed, Abe?" asks John 
 son, to whom it just occurs that Keifer does 
 not seem quite happy. "Are you hard up, 
 too?" 
 
 "Well, the fact is," replies Keifer, a trifle 
 embarrassed, "I really am. I had thought 
 of asking you to lend me a ten, but Eli got 
 there first and I didn t like to ride a free 
 horse too hard."
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 307 
 
 Johnson takes out the roll again and ex 
 tracts from it another fifty and lays it in 
 Keifer s palm. "This is the privilege of a 
 friend," he says, grandly. "You may be 
 flush sometime when I am broke; and, be 
 sides, it isn t fair to discriminate between 
 friends." 
 
 "I hope to be able to return this before 
 long," remarks Keifer, to pass the matter 
 off a little more gracefully. 
 
 "Just what I want to plan for," says 
 Johnson. "We three ought not to separate 
 until we have found a place where we can 
 collect some revenue. Now what do you 
 say?" 
 
 With heads drawn closer together, and 
 occasional furtive glances around to see if 
 they were observed or could be overheard, 
 the conference went on for a long time. 
 At last they went out to the bar, took a 
 drink all around at Johnson s expense and 
 left the place.
 
 308 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 ENFRANCHISEMENT. 
 
 Who would be free themselves must strike the 
 blow. Byron. 
 
 The struggle George Holmes went 
 through that night at the ferry with the 
 river before him and the skiff providentially 
 at hand to carry him whither he would, was 
 over the question whether he should cross 
 the river for one more visit to Loraine, or 
 at once, taking the boat as a means put in 
 his way, go straight down the river to the 
 promised land for which he was looking. 
 His purpose had wavered wildly during 
 the few minutes of his hesitation. The ap 
 proach of the ferryman had precipitated a 
 decision ; for no sooner did he find himself 
 in mid-stream, with a good boat beneath 
 his feet, than his original purpose came 
 back to him in all its strength. He re 
 membered he had said to Loraine he would 
 go the moment he found the means and
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 309 
 
 would not see her again. Here was the 
 means at his hand. If his resolution was 
 ever to be good for anything he must keep 
 it now. He had only to let the river carry 
 him. Now if ever he must put aside every 
 thing but the one purpose to which he "was 
 pledged by all he held dear. 
 
 He trimmed the boat to the swift current, 
 and dipping the oars with arms nerved with 
 new hope and energy, sent it swiftly down 
 the stream. The river had fallen consider 
 ably, as he could see on the shores, some 
 times dimly visible in the starlight, but it 
 was still high enough to carry him smoothly 
 over all the dams. He was a good boat 
 man, not afraid of the water; and he had 
 his wages in his pocket. 
 
 And now there was nothing but a few 
 hours between him and a new life, with 
 security and the whole world before him 
 from which to wrest fortune and reward. 
 He was gliding swiftly towards that land 
 of freedom, indexed by the North star, to 
 wards which many a fugitive with black 
 skin had turned his longing eyes. To him 
 it meant freedom, too, although his skin
 
 310 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 was white; for he was running away from 
 the slavery of crime and degradation to a 
 land where, God helping him, he meant to 
 find the enfranchisement of a better life. 
 Running away, too he could not forget 
 from her who was more to him than all the 
 rest of the world, than life itself; who em 
 bodied all that he loved, hoped for, was 
 going to work for; from whom strange 
 paradox he must run away as the only 
 possible means of his ever being united to 
 her! 
 
 A mile below, he passed the great elm 
 and saw it towering giant-like between him 
 and the sky. He could not see the old 
 house beyond, but his thoughts went out to 
 her under its roof who he felt must be at 
 that moment thinking of him ; whom it 
 might be years before he could see whom 
 he might never see again; and he regis 
 tered a fresh vow to rescue her from the 
 accursed place at the earliest hour Heaven 
 would let him.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIT. 
 
 CLOSING ACCOUNTS. 
 
 Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, 
 Our fatal shadows that walk by us still. 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 The storm has burst. The shot that was 
 heard around the world has been fired at 
 Sumter. Its reverberations have rolled 
 from Charleston Harbor to the Golden 
 Gate, and back to the piney woods of 
 Maine. Abraham Lincoln has called for 
 men to defend the integrity of the Federal 
 Union, and nobly has the call been re 
 sponded to. 
 
 May brought the first invasion of the 
 "sacred soil" by the "Lincoln hirelings," 
 who came to coerce the sovereign Old 
 Dominion into obedience to the national 
 authority. They crossed the Ohio at Park- 
 ersburg and advanced over the Baltimore & 
 Ohio Railroad to Grafton, dropping a de 
 tachment at the old Harrison County town
 
 312 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 as a point of important strategic value. The 
 secessionists of Clarksburg hastily retired 
 before the advance of General Morris 
 troops and sought safety within Porter- 
 field s lines at Phillippa. Away from the 
 railroad numerous nests of othei secession 
 ists were organizing to join the Southern 
 army. One of these was at Peter B. Right- 
 er s, some four miles east of Riverside, 
 where men were nightly gathered and 
 drilled by John Righter, who afterwards 
 became the captain of a guerrilla band in 
 the Rebel service. Union neighbors of the 
 Righter farm became alarmed at these dem 
 onstrations and went to the commandant at 
 Clarksburg with their complaint A com 
 pany of Ohio troops was sent down to the 
 place. They burned the Righter homestead, 
 broke up the rendezvous and struck a 
 wholesome terror through all that region. 
 
 The Esmonds were as bitter secessionists 
 as the Righters, and their place was rapidly 
 becoming another rallying point for gather 
 ing recruits for the Confederate army. The 
 example made of the Righter place put a 
 summary stop to the work. It warned
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 313 
 
 them what they might expect if complaint 
 should be carried to Clarksburg, and they 
 became alarmed. The Righters, father and 
 son, had adroitly escaped arrest and made 
 their way through the Confederate lines ; 
 but others might not be so successful; and 
 the Esmonds knew they had other than po 
 litical reasons for avoiding the possibility 
 of arrest. In the event of military inter 
 ference, there was no assurance St. George 
 or Bernard might not appear on the ground 
 and prosecute a search that they had not yet 
 dared attempt. 
 
 Harry Esmond saw the time he had 
 looked forward to had come. The neigh 
 borhood was too hot for him. So after one 
 more visit to his friend of the Blue Boar, 
 who was thoroughly frightened at the out 
 look, and quietly securing on his person a 
 considerable sum of money he had been 
 keeping in a safe place, he one night mount 
 ed his horse, bade the family adieu, and 
 accompanied by Dyson, rode away up the 
 river, out of the neighborhood, and out of 
 this history save what is related in another 
 paragraph.
 
 314 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 When Dyson bade good-bye to the elder 
 Esmond he said : 
 
 "I told you, Uncle Nickie, sheep had to 
 have a change of pasture sometimes." 
 
 "Well, Lot, keep a sharp lookout for 
 sheep-killing dogs," was the old man s 
 reply. 
 
 Some years after the war the writer of 
 these pages learned, from a source entitled 
 to be believed, that Harry Esmond, under 
 another name, was living in the French 
 Creek Valley, in Upshur County, West 
 Virginia ; that he had married there and 
 was pursuing the life of a quiet, law-abid 
 ing citizen. 
 
 When the Third West Virginia Mounted 
 Infantry was on service near Bulltown and 
 Salt Lick Bridge, in October, 1863, where 
 they had been fighting a force believed to be 
 under the command of Jackson, horse- 
 thieves made a raid on Capt. Roane s com 
 pany and ran off a dozen of their best 
 horses. Pursuit was made by Lieut. Clarke, 
 with a detachment of picked men, and with
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 315 
 
 such success that the thieves who were 
 finding their market within the Confeder 
 ate lines, were overtaken in Webster Coun 
 ty, while eating breakfast around their camp 
 fire. A volley from the pursuers brought 
 down, killed or wounded, all the gang but 
 one, who escaped; and among the killed, 
 Clarke and several of his men, who were 
 from Clarksburg, recognized our old friends 
 Dyson and Johnson. True to their thievish 
 instincts and habits they had been following 
 their old trade along the border between 
 the armies ; but they had tempted fate once 
 too often and had at last met the summary 
 justice that had been looking for them many 
 a year. 
 
 George Holmes, who had stopped for a 
 time at Brownsville, was drawn by the 
 growing excitement to Pittsburgh, with 
 other young men who shared with him the 
 universal indignation and patriotic ardor of 
 that time. He joined them in enlistment 
 in the Thirteenth Pennsylvania three- 
 months men, Col. Rowley.
 
 316 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 Holmes seemed transformed by the cri 
 sis and the occasion. There was an energy 
 about him that could not but attract atten 
 tion. Nothing was too much trouble for 
 him ; no work too hard. He had gone into 
 the service with all his might, and in all 
 he did was driven by a motive so imperi 
 ous that it seemed to endow him with new 
 faculties and an energy that knew no ex 
 haustion. He set himself with diligence to 
 learn the manual of arms, all the duties of 
 camp and drill, the evolutions of the field 
 everything connected with his new func 
 tions as a soldier. He became so proficient 
 that he was often set to drilling the com 
 pany and was soon marked for promotion. 
 But the three months expired before the 
 regiment got into the active field. He went 
 back to Pittsburgh and promptly re-enlisted 
 in a company organized by the Brownsville 
 man who had befriended him when he land 
 ed there. This man had been a friend of 
 his father in the old times, had received 
 George into his home, and now in the or 
 ganization of his company was able to start 
 him with the rank of first lieutenant.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 317 
 
 The company was mustered into the Six 
 ty-first Pennsylvania, Col. Rippey ; a regi 
 ment that made a brilliant and memorable 
 record, passing through the engagements 
 of Opequon, Fisher s Hill, Cedar Creek, 
 Antietam, Gettysburg, Fair Oaks, Malvern 
 Hill, Cold Harbor, Spottsylvania, Wilder 
 ness, Petersburg. Holmes shared all the 
 fortunes of this noble regiment, fighting 
 with conspicuous bravery in the most hotly 
 contested fields; yet except a slight wound 
 at Fisher s Hill, which could not drive him 
 from the field, he went through the war 
 without a scratch. His captain and friend 
 fell in the Wilderness and Holmes was 
 made Captain. 
 
 The term of the regiment expired in Sep 
 tember, 1864; but the "veterans," of whom 
 Holmes was one, were retained till the close 
 of the war, and not mustered out till June, 
 1865. 
 
 Ardent a soldier as Holmes had been, not 
 one of all the million of men who laid down 
 their arms was more eager than he to get 
 away from Washington, where the regi 
 ment was disbanded.
 
 318 THE DAUGHTER OP THE ELM. 
 
 Prior to this Jacob Holmes, broken by 
 misfortune, had sold out and removed to 
 the more thriving town of Massingham, 
 on the Baltimore & Ohio railroad, which 
 afterwards became an oil center and place 
 of business importance. The family had 
 been there but a short time when they re 
 ceived from Loraine a letter she had from 
 George, telling her he had just closed his 
 three years in the Union army and re- 
 enlisted for the war. He said the end of 
 his term seemed to mark a period that en 
 titled him to let her know where he was 
 and what he was doing. He asked that 
 she would communicate with his family and 
 write him at once all that had occurred 
 since he left. To the stricken family this 
 was like a message from the dead ; but 
 they had long since learned to keep their 
 own counsel and did not repeat the happy 
 news outside their own relatives. 
 
 The information that George received in 
 return showed him that the change in him 
 self and his fortunes was not the only 
 change time had wrought. He could now 
 go back to the old place and to Loraine
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 319 
 
 without danger of assassination or other 
 interference; and even had there been dan 
 ger, it was nothing to him now, with his 
 larger manhood and firmer purpose. 
 
 Years after the close of the civil war, 
 the writer of these pages was carried by 
 the currents of life and business to Pitts 
 burgh, and was resident in the smoky me 
 tropolis for many subsequent years. While 
 there he became well acquainted with the 
 gentleman who figures in this history as 
 Allan St. George. 
 
 St. George was caught up in the whirl 
 wind of patriotic wrath that swept the 
 northern states and cities after the firing on 
 Sumter. He went into the army, with some 
 of his office associates, to the neglect, it is 
 to be regretted, of more than one duty like 
 the search for McKinney, which had to 
 give way before the grander duty that sum 
 moned men to the field of conflict. He 
 came out of the war with the less of a limb 
 but with a star on his shoulder and an hon 
 ored name.
 
 320 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 In an exchange of reminiscences, he men 
 tioned once his detective experiences in the 
 upper Monongahela valley, and inquiry 
 brought out the story detailed in these chap 
 ters, which fitted in wonderfully with the 
 rest of the history known to the writer. 
 
 He was married, prosperous, happy, with 
 a lovely wife and a luxurious home ; and yet 
 when he talked of Loraine Esmond it was 
 plain to be seen that the finest and sweetest 
 aspiration of his life had been lost with her, 
 and that he treasured as his sacredest mem 
 ory the picture of rare womanhood she had 
 shown him. 
 
 It is a cruel fate that brings together and 
 then separates forever two souls so fitted 
 for each other as these. In Loraine, St. 
 George had awakened all that was sweet 
 est and best in an exalted nature. She felt 
 how gracious and stimulating life with 
 such a man would be; yet she resolutely 
 accepted the impossibility of it for her and 
 respected the obligations she had assumed 
 towards another, to whom her faith and 
 duty had been pledged beyond recall. The 
 more exhilarating life which the graces of
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 321 
 
 St. George had given her a glimpse of was 
 for others. It was only a "might have been" 
 for her. She closed the door forever on 
 everything but the memory of him ; but she 
 paid him, as we shall see, the highest tribute 
 a woman can pay to the man who has 
 touched her heart. 
 
 How few mortals, man or woman, marry 
 their ideals! How many accept life, as 
 Loraine did, on a level lower than their 
 best, sighing vainly for the sweeter exist 
 ence that, like the costliest wines, is re 
 served for the few who dwell on the heights 
 and are favored of the gods ! 
 
 Inexplicable are these bloodless trage 
 dies of our lives. Why are the apparent 
 purposes of the divinity within us 
 thwarted ? Is it because we need this chas 
 tening hand because it is not best for us 
 to be too happy? Is it because the "divine 
 despair" that comes of this kind of disap 
 pointment chastens the bereaved souls 
 with a culture more exquisite than could 
 be wrought by the realization of the ideal 
 and of perfect fruition? Who knows?
 
 322 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 There are mysteries of existence that lie 
 deeper in the infinite purpose than the plum 
 met of human wisdom has yet sounded.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 323 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 LATER DISCOVERIES. 
 
 Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 Nor iron bars a cage. 
 
 Lovelace. 
 Unknelled, uncoffined and unknown. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Years after Harry Esmond had disap 
 peared from the homestead at the great 
 elm, the place was sold, whether under 
 financial pressure or for other reasons does 
 not appear, and the family which yet re 
 mained together removed to a place some 
 miles lower down the river. The new own 
 er, a man of means and business thrift (an 
 nouncement of whose death at an advanced 
 age comes to hand in a local paper even as 
 these pages are being written) proceeded to 
 put the farm in good condition. 
 
 The place embraced what had been three 
 farms all fronting along the river. The 
 middle of one ran back and included a 
 great hill with a ridge extending to the
 
 324 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 river, and along its abrupt and rugged face 
 the river road had been cut and maintained 
 with difficulty. Immediately above the 
 road the cutting had exposed one of the 
 deep coal measures that abound in this re 
 gion; and here for several years coal was 
 taken out for the dwellings of proprietor 
 and tenants, until a room had been run 
 nearly a hundred feet under the hill. 
 
 The new owner was struck by the acces 
 sibility of this old mine, the depth of the 
 vein and the quality of the coal. With a 
 couple of lanterns and a hired man he one 
 day entered on an exploration. Save a lit 
 tle fall of earth and rock at the mouth the 
 mine was clear back to the end of the cut 
 ting. When they came near enough to see 
 the end wall, they were about to retrace 
 the way when happening to walk a little 
 farther they discovered that the cutting 
 turned to the north. Following this up, 
 they soon came in sight of the wall and 
 were about to conclude again that this was 
 the end of it, when turning to the right 
 they found the wall on that side again dis 
 appeared. Turning again into this angle
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 325 
 
 they proceeded twenty-five or thirty feet 
 and this time found the termination of the 
 cutting. 
 
 They found some other things that sur 
 prised them. They were in what appeared 
 to be a deserted stable. There were evi 
 dences that horses had been quartered 
 there. Posts were set against the end wall, 
 wedged tightly between roof and floor, 
 with hitching rings in them, to one of 
 v/hich still hung an old leathern halter, 
 white with mildew and decay. There were 
 rough mangers with the discolored re 
 mains of hay and weeds in them. A little 
 distance back, against the side walls, were 
 two rude benches which from their shape 
 and width appeared to have been used for 
 bunks. There were blocks that had proba 
 bly served for seats, and there was the half- 
 decayed seat and legs of a wooden chair. 
 There was also on one side a rude struc 
 ture of boards that had served the pur 
 poses of a table, and in an auger-hole in 
 one corner of this was still a piece of tal 
 low candle. Two posts set up with a cross- 
 piece with nails had probably served as a
 
 326 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 hall-tree for coats and possibly for saddles 
 and bridles. 
 
 The coal vein rose slightly as it receded 
 from the river. A little groove in the floor 
 along one wall had been cut to carry the 
 seepage back to the turn, which being car 
 ried across to the outer room, kept the 
 stable and the mine thoroughly drained. 
 
 The owner who made these discoveries 
 was a discreet man. He knew the reputa 
 tion of the farm before he bought it, and 
 had got it cheap because of its ill repute. 
 He understood the significance of this se 
 cret den, but saw nothing to be gained by 
 making his discoveries public. He cau 
 tioned .the man not to speak of what they 
 had found and gave up the thought of re 
 opening the mine. But the hired man felt 
 the burden of the secret and found relief in 
 dividing it with a friend, who in like man 
 ner passed it along till it ceased to be a 
 secret. 
 
 The next season that part of the farm 
 known as the "Dyson place" came in for a 
 cleaning up. The thicket referred to in 
 these chapters was cut awav and the ruins
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 327 
 
 of the ancient house and the abandoned 
 well were disclosed. It occurred to the 
 owner that this well might be serviceable 
 in dry seasons for watering stock, so one 
 day the hired men were set to work to 
 clean it out. Before the water had all been 
 dipped out it became so offensive that an 
 investigation was made to discover the 
 reason. A grab hook was procured and 
 soon brought up the remains of a human 
 body, the bones and hair being still intact, 
 the rotting clothing dropping to pieces as 
 it came up. Horrified, the men went for 
 the proprietor; who, after satisfying him 
 self as to the character of the discovery, 
 directed them to return the remains to the 
 well and to bring a team and fill it with 
 earth. This was done and to-day the 
 kindly turf hides from all recognition the 
 spot where lie buried from all contempo 
 rary knowledge what are probably the re 
 mains of one who disappeared from earthly 
 precincts more than one-third of a century 
 ago. The men were cautioned not to men 
 tion the grewsome discovery and for a 
 good while kept it to themselves. But such
 
 328 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 things cannot be buried by those who have 
 no interest in their concealment, and in 
 time the discovery became public property.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 329 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 REUNITED. 
 
 Across the hills and far away 
 Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
 
 And deep into the dying day, 
 The happy princess followed him. 
 
 Day Dream. 
 
 Six years have rolled their circuits 
 around the dial of time since the close of 
 the war and the assassination of Lincoln. 
 The great conflict seems already remote. 
 The scars of battlefields that belong to his 
 tory have been concealed by the gentle 
 hand that hides us all in earth s oblivion at 
 last. The men who put away the weapons 
 of offense have taken up the occupations 
 of peace and concord. The wounds of af 
 fection, the sorrows of desolated homes, 
 under the soothing ministries of time, are 
 healing into benign cicatrices. Eyes that 
 were dim with bereavement are relighting 
 with cheerfulness and hope.
 
 330 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 We pick up the thread of our story on 
 the west bank of the Neosho river, in the 
 beautiful valley of that name, in sight of 
 the thriving town of Neosho Falls, in 
 Southeastern Kansas. In that mellow land, 
 the season is well advanced. From the vast 
 plain that stretches away to the west and 
 southwest to the foothills of the Rockies, 
 to the margin of the Rio Grande, to the 
 sands of the gulf comes up the delicious 
 breath of Spring, odorous with delights 
 from 
 
 "that sweet South 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets," 
 
 Tree, grass, herbage and flower inhale 
 the glad inspiration as they awaken from 
 their winter torpor. The sweet-breathed 
 kine, scattered over the swells and along 
 the swales, crop the succulent grasses 
 which nature s chemistry and the art of 
 man convert into golden cream and butter 
 for human delectation. The plowman is 
 afield with sturdy team turning the sod 
 that nature s alchemy will convert into 
 gold for his coffers.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 331 
 
 The sun sinks below the curve of the 
 world and drops behind the western wil 
 derness. The haze of the April evening 
 broadens his benignant face and tempers 
 his smile as, in a glow of crimson glory, 
 he bids the earth good-night. His last rays 
 linger on a noble white elm that lifts its 
 head beside the river where a well-kept 
 farm, with a pretty cottage and neat farm 
 buildings, bathes its feet in the glistening 
 Neosho. The cottage stands facing the 
 river, along whose margin a number of 
 cottonwoods, great and small, seem to 
 wait upon the greater elm, as faithful 
 henchmen attend a chief. 
 
 In the rear door of this cottage stands 
 a young, fresh, beautiful woman, with dark 
 hair and lustrous brown eyes, whom we 
 have seen before. The face is a little more 
 rounded than of old; the eyes no brighter, 
 no more alluring, but more contented and 
 happy; the lips as sweet in their reserve, 
 but not so sad in the droop of the cupid s 
 bow, as in days gone by. 
 
 At her side is a lovely boy of some four 
 summers whom we recognize as a duo-
 
 332 THE DAUGHTER OF T"HE ELM. 
 
 decimo edition of the woman the same 
 brown eyes, the same dark locks, the same 
 sweetness of mouth and strength of chin. 
 
 They are looking toward the plowed 
 field whence the husband and father, his 
 day s labor being ended, is driving his 
 team to the barn. Now he is at the barn 
 yard gate, and the child shouts and dances 
 with delight. In a few minutes more the 
 farmer has ungeared and put away the 
 horses, and comes toward the house with 
 springy step, head erect and bright of eye. 
 The little boy springs down the steps and 
 runs along the path, is lifted and tossed in 
 the air, and rides to the house on one 
 shoulder, with arms clinging lovingly 
 around his father s neck and calling to his 
 mother to see his "horse." Loraine ad 
 vances to meet them and to reward her 
 husband s toil with the touch of her lips 
 and the love in her eyes. 
 
 The farmer is a sturdy, almost stalwart, 
 man whom we recognize despite the trans 
 formation wrought by time and ennobling 
 purpose. He has grown and expanded in 
 physical proportions as well at moral, and
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 333 
 
 seems more stalwart than his inches would 
 verify because of the manly, confident 
 bearing that attends him. He is "Captain 
 Holmes" to his Kansas neighbors and by 
 them well respected. 
 
 * * * 
 
 After supper, they carry chairs and rugs 
 out upon the front porch, for Loraine likes 
 to look at the river and the elm. A few 
 minutes later Uncle Andy Morrow, who 
 owns the adjoining farm and who pioneered 
 the way into this valley and selected this 
 quarter-section for George and Loraine 
 because of the fine elm on the river bank 
 crosses the stile and comes on to the house, 
 accompanied by a widowed daughter. 
 
 The little boy runs out to meet them 
 and wins another ride to the porch. The 
 old man sits down with the rest and the 
 little fellow climbs on his knee and wants 
 a story. 
 
 "What is your name, my little man?" 
 asks Uncle Andy. 
 
 "O, you know."
 
 334 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 
 
 "I used to know, but I forget. My mem 
 ory is failing," says the old man, smiling 
 tenderly at the child." 
 
 "George St. George Holmes," lisps the 
 sweet childish treble. 
 
 "Now what did you ask me for?" he de 
 mands. 
 
 "I like to hear you say it," replies Uncle 
 Andy. 
 
 "Mamma likes to hear me say it, too," 
 says the ingenuous child ; "and when I say 
 it for her she kisses me, and one time she 
 cried." 
 
 The glowing sky fades in the darkening 
 East, and silence, like a benediction, falls 
 on the little group. They sit and look to 
 wards the river and the eyes of Loraine 
 rest tenderly on the lofty elm; but beyond 
 these their thoughts go out to the distant 
 homes they left among the hills and valleys 
 of Virginia not all with regrets on the 
 part of the young people, for to them it 
 was a land of bondage and terror from 
 which they have been delivered.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE ELM. 335 
 
 The little boy nestles his curls sleepily 
 on Uncle Andy s breast, and Loraine 
 draws her chair nearer to George s and 
 lays her hand lovingly in his; and in the 
 delicious stillness of the evening an unex 
 pressed communion of thought, alternately 
 sweet and painful, tempers their hearts to 
 humility. With deep thankfulness, with 
 love for one another and fondest affection 
 for the young life entrusted to their keep 
 ing; with remembrance for all left behind, 
 and pity for those who went astray and al 
 most wrecked their lives ; with mingled joy 
 and sorrow; with hope and trust for the 
 future they sit long after the last twilight 
 has withdrawn from the sky, until the 
 kindly stars come out of its darkened 
 depths and beam on them with a promise 
 of happier days.
 
 A 000 926 342 7 
 
 PS 
 
 3*15 
 HlU5d 
 1907