CHAPTER XVII
_In which one surprise follows so closely upon the heels of another that Masters Esmond and Rieler lose power of speech and Will Benton strikes a blow which will live forever in the traditions of Campion College._
“Follow me—quietly,” whispered Father Keenan to the two boys,Clarence and John.
In single file the three threaded their way through the shrubbery.Suddenly the Rector paused, and put his finger to his lips.
“Listen,” he said.
“Ben,” came a clear, sweet voice, “do you believe everything that theCatholic Church believes and teaches?”
There was a response pitched so low that the listeners as they pressedsteadily forward failed to hear it.
“And do you forgive all who have injured you?”
Clarence thought he could detect Ben’s voice saying—“Yes, yes: I do.”
“And do you forgive Pete?”
“Yes, from my heart.” The three were now quite near and the deeper voiceof Ben could clearly be heard.
“And, Ben,” continued the silvery voice, “you wish to die a Catholic?”
“I do—I do.”
“And to be baptized?”
“Yes, Dora.”
“You must know, Ben, that when no priest can be had, anyone may, in caseof necessity, baptize. Now, I am going to the river for water; and whileI’m gone tell God that you are sorry for your sins.”
Suddenly, the flap of the tent was thrown back, and Dora, like someheavenly apparition, stood revealed. Her face was stained with tears.For the rest, she was in modesty, in expression in dress—blue andwhite—a Child of Mary.
“Dora,” cried Clarence, no longer able to contain himself. “O,Clarence,” cried the child throwing herself into his arms. “Pete haskilled Ben. He stabbed him an hour ago, because Ben defended the statueof our Blessed Mother from Pete and his wife. They were going to burnit.”
“Dora,” said Clarence, “there’s a priest here.” And he pointed to FatherKeenan.
“O, thank God! thank God! He has sent you to prepare Ben,” and the childthrew herself at Father Keenan’s feet, and in all reverence, kissed hishand.
The practical Father Keenan, as she did so, took the glass from herfingers, and handed it to Rieler.
“Run to the river, John, and get some water.” Then raising Dora kindly,and throwing his hands above his head, the preconcerted signal, theRector hastened into the tent.
“Dora! Dora!” came a deep voice as the girl was about to follow thepriest.
Clarence turned. Will Benton, pale as a sheet, his eyes starting fromtheir sockets, was hastening toward them. He was holding out his armstoward the girl, amazement and incredulity upon his face.
Dora turned. An astounding change came at once upon her face at sight ofWill Benton. Pure joy irradiated it.
“O Will! my dear Brother Will,” she cried; and darting forward threwherself into his outstretched arms.
“But,” cried Will, as he caught her up and pressed her to his bosom,“you were drowned. We buried you.”
“No, you didn’t, Will. Thanks to our Blessed Mother, I was saved. Agypsy saved me, Will; and now he’s dying in my tent, dying because hegave his life to save me from the gypsy leader and to preserve ourBlessed Mother’s statue from insult. Come, Will, let us see him beforehe dies.”
Clarence and John Rieler, grouped together and holding each othershands, stood stock-still gazing open mouthed. They looked at each other,as Will and Dora made for the tent, with unutterable awe. Speech wasinadequate; and still linked together they followed the brother andsister within.
On Dora’s couch, above him the dear statue for which he had given hislife, lay Ben, the sweat and the pallor of death upon his face. On oneside, his wife was staunching vainly a gash in his side. On the other,leaned the Rector, talking earnestly in low tones to the dying man. Noking could have been more stately in life than was Ben in his dyingmoments. No saint could have been more humble. Crouching in one corner,wide-eyed and silent, were Ben’s three little children.
“Are all here?” asked the Rector rising and gazing around. “I want youall to see Ben baptized.”
“O dear Ben, we are all here and we all love you,” cried Dora. “Andhere’s my brother Will, come to see you, too. Will, Ben has been so goodto me. I love him as though he were another father.”
The dying man turned dark, wistful eyes to the big brother.
“Will you forgive me? I love Dora,” he said simply.
“And I love anyone that is kind to my sister,” boomed forth WillBenton’s hearty voice. “Your hand, Ben. May God be as good to you as youhave been to her.”
“Clarence,” cried the dying man, “will you forgive me too. I have beenbad, I am sorry.”
Clarence essayed to speak, but before he could enunciate a syllable fellto blubbering. But he caught Ben’s hand and fondled it.
“I am glad I was stabbed,” said Ben simply, “in trying to save thatstatue of the very good woman who was the mother of God, I believe. Iwant to be baptized.”
John Rieler was dabbing his eyes.
“Let all kneel down,” said the Rector.
Even the gypsy children, following the example of Dorcas, fell upontheir knees, and then, the priest pouring water on Ben’s head saidsolemnly, “I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son andof the Holy Ghost.”
Dora slipped over and pressed her lips to the newly regenerated one’sbrow. Dorcas followed the child’s example and, turning to the priest,said:
“Father, baptize me and my children.”
“Not yet, my child,” said Father Keenan. “Wait a little longer, so itcan be done in church. Boys, kneel down, while we say the prayers forthe dying.”
Suddenly Ben raised his head.
“Clarence and Dora,” he cried.
“Yes,” answered both coming to his bedside.
“Take care of Dorcas, my wife, and my children. Make them goodCatholics.”
“Yes, Ben,” said Dora.
“Yes, Ben,” said Clarence.
“O,” said the poor fellow—poor, that is according to the world’sstandard—“how happy I am. I am ready to——”
He fell back unconscious.
The Rector who had taken out his “Excerpts from the Roman Ritual,”began, at once, the Litany of the Dying. Before the final invocation wasuttered, Ben, the simple, the loving, the repentant, breathed his last.
“Let all leave the tent,” said Father Keenan, on coming to an end of theprayers for the dying, “except the wife and the children. Wait for mewithout. I will be with you in a few minutes.”
Dora, weeping freely, caught her big brother’s arm. Clarence and Johnfollowed the two. There was, quite near the river, an avenue formed bynature, a clear space of nearly a hundred yards in length, bounded onthe river side by willows and cottonwoods with a dense growth ofshrubbery below, on the other by majestic elms. Up and down this courtof nature walked brother and sister followed by the two amazed boys. Thestabbing of Ben, his beautiful death, the reuniting of brother andsister had come together so closely, one upon the heels of the other,that Clarence and John were almost speechless. When they did speak, itwas in interjections.
Will quickly comforted his little sister. His task was, indeed, not sodifficult. News from home, news of the dear ones is to the exile one ofthe most engrossing things in the world. And it was all good news.Everyone was well, business was flourishing; the only sorrow that hadfallen upon the family was the loss of Dora—and that sorrow was nowturned into exquisite joy for Will, as it would be for his parents andthe children when they received the good tidings by wire that very day.
“And, Will,” said Dora, “I don’t regret all that has happened. It wasbitter to be away from mama and all the dear ones at home; and it washard to miss Holy Communion; and I was so afraid of Pete and his wifeall the time; but it’s all over now. Tomorrow, please God, I will go toCommunion once more; an
d then home, home, home!”
The child’s eyes shone with joy. They had reached the end of the avenue,and turning started back. Clarence and John were now in the advance.
“As likely as not,” said Will, holding his sister’s hand, “father, ongetting the telegram tonight, will take the train at once. I’m sure hewill; and if mother can get away, she will come, too. I’ll wire them onthe road back to Campion. But why, Dora, do you say you’re not sorry forall that happened?”
He paused, as he asked this question, directly before a thick clump ofbushes, and, catching Dora’s two hands in his, gazed lovingly andeagerly into her starry eyes.
“Because,” answered the girl simply, “I believe I have helped to savethe soul of dear, good, kind Ben. Oh, how happy I was when the priestpoured the water on him and baptized him in the name of the Father andof the Son and of the Holy Ghost.”
Will Benton, still gazing into the eyes of his sister, thought he heardproceeding from the bushes which he was facing a low, sibilant sound. Itwas not the hiss of a snake; it was the hiss of hate. His keen eyesdarted from Dora’s and peered into the bushes. In a flash he threw thegirl violently to one side, flinging her to the ground, and with aspring crashed into the shrubbery. He was not a moment too soon. Behindthe bushes, an immense boulder in his right hand, a man, whose eyes shothate and whose features were demon-like with passion, was in the veryact of bringing it down upon the unsuspecting girl’s head.
It was not a moment too soon: Ben caught the man’s upraised arm and gaveit a wrench which sent the boulder thudding to the earth. That wrenchedarm was never to be used again. A howl of pain arose which was stilledas suddenly as it began; for, still holding the paralysed arm in hisgrasp, Will Benton struck out with his left hand. It was an awful blow.Its receiver as it struck him under the jaw lost voice, and crumpled tothe earth.
“Oh!” cried Dora, who had arisen, “it’s Pete.”
Will Benton drew the girl to his side.
“I know now,” he exclaimed, “why you feared him. I saw his face for asecond, and there was murder in it, murder and hell.”
The two boys who, hearing the short-lived scream of the gypsy, hadturned in time to see the memorable blow which had brought Pete toearth, were gazing in awe at the Prefect of the Sodality. It wassomething to be remembered. It was a blow which was to go down in thetraditions of Campion College. For Pete, the murderer of Ben, thewould-be murderer of Dora, never came to face trial. He lingered forseveral weeks. But the blow made trial unnecessary.
“O Will!” cried John Rieler, “how did you manage to see him hidingthere?”
“He gave himself away,” answered the young giant. “His fury and hatredgot the better of him. When Dora spoke about Ben’s dying a Catholic andused the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, he couldn’t stand it.He had his arm raised holding that stone, and was just about to bring itdown on Dora’s head. A hiss escaped him, and I spied him while his armwas still moving: and—and—I really don’t know how I caught him intime.”
Father Keenan arrived at this juncture; and the two boys and Dora allbegan explaining at once. Out of the babel he gathered that Pete who,after stabbing Ben, took flight with his wife and kinsfolk, hadreturned—as murderers sometimes do—to find out the result of thestabbing; how his hatred goaded him on to attempt Dora’s life, and howthe brother with lightning speed had inflicted with his one hand awrench, and with the other a blow which no one who had seen them couldever forget.
“Dan,” called Father Keenan to the chauffeur, having ascertained thatPete was alive, “get busy. Bring Pete to the Sheriff at Lynxville; hireanother automobile—a large one for Dorcas and her children. We aregoing to bring Ben’s body to Prairie du Chien. I shall go with them. Andcome back here as fast as you can. We’ll be ready to start long beforethat.”
The Rector and the chauffeur put the insensible Pete in the tonneau.
“One moment, Dan,” said Will Benton, who had taken out a pad and writtena few lines. “If Father Rector has no objection, I’d like you to sendthis telegram to my father.” Then he read aloud: “Dora alive, well, andfound. She is with me. Hurrah!—Will Benton.”
“Good for you, Will,” said the Rector. “Your mind works as well as yourfists. Thank you, for reminding me.”
Before the return of the chauffeur, the Gypsy camp was dismantled, thetent, converted into a shroud for Ben, the furniture abandoned, and theprecious statue placed in the hands of Dora, who vowed she would keep itas long as she lived.
Master John Rieler took little hand in these preparations for departure.He could not remove his eyes from the giant Prefect of the Sodality.Will Benton was considered the gentlest boy in attendance at CampionCollege. John was bursting to be back and to tell the boys the wonderfulblow he had seen with his own eyes.
The kind Rector gave all his attention to Dorcas and her children. Hesoothed as much as was in his power the awful hours when death is thefamily visitant. The machines arrived sooner than they were expected.The Rector went off first with the sorrowing wife, her children and thedead.
John still stood staring wide-eyed at Will Benton; remained thus whilethe young man assisted his sister into the machine and followed himself.
“Oh, it is excellent to have a ‘giant’s strength,’” said Clarence,catching John’s arm.
Rieler came to from his trance, and smiled enthusiastically. “Oh,Crickey!” he answered, “you bet it is.”