Democratic Sentinel, Volume 5, Number 21, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 July 1881 — MISTAKEN FOR A HIGHWAYMAN. [ARTICLE]

MISTAKEN FOR A HIGHWAYMAN.

A stalwart but tired-looking, horseman was riling toward the village of Mossy Brook, at, the close of a sultry afternoon last summer as fast as the jiitedhav mare fce bestrole could lessen tie diru2n>e. face was handsome, r~twire an anxious expression, and ; hje a'.<nt the country, as he rode iki the f rut A his ap-pare’. with ; -> wat hfulness A ids manner, w -nil | hare Led any '’server to consider him ; cfce wh-: ha.i”travei-.i far that day. and ‘ wno was nut on.y from a foreign court- . xrv, t.ut laboring’under some d**-p dis- . tress of mind, sorrow or fear—perhaps | remorse. As he climbed the hill which looked dotVn upon the village, his face brightened somewhat. “Thank heaven ! there I shall find a few hours’ rest and refreshment for mvself and this exhausted beast,” he muttered. And the mare pricked up her ears as she saw the village and heard his Voice, and hastened her pace, as if she knew her rider’s * “Care for her well,” saiuthe stranger 'to the hostler, as he alighted. “I am to sup and sleep a few hours, and at 10 to-night have her ready saddled at the door ; for I am in great haste to continue my journey, and must then depart. ” The hostler promised, and the stranger, after eating a hearty supper, retired to rest.

Having well bestowed the mare, the hostler flung himself down before the stable door, and, considering that he had as much right to rest as any other man or beast in a free country, went to sleep himself. Whether he had worked or drank too much that day, certain it was that he overslept his time; and when he started up and hastily saddled the mare upon which the stranger was to continue his way it was 11 o’clock and pitch-dark. As the stranger, also, had overslept his hour, he did not so much blame the hostler, but paid his bill, mounted quickly .and rode off, making no answer to the remark of the man that there . would be a heavy storm before morning, as tiie clouds were already black and threatening. “Valuable information ! ” sneered the traveler, as the mare made unusually quick time over the road. “ Couldn’t I see for myself? Had I not been in haste to get at the end of my journey, I should not, of course, have gone on before morning, after forty miles of travel under a summer sun. 'lhe deuce is in my luck, to be roasted by day and halfdrowned by night, as this approaching storm seems to forebode. Ha ! what a vivid flash ! The tempest is coming sooner than I expected. How fast the mare goes ! A few hours have worked wonders with her; or, perhaps, instinct bids her speed to escape the tempest, if possible. ” A heavy crash of thunder, just then, startled both horse and horseman—the opening cannonade of the elemental battle which was soon to sweep furiously around them. “ She has been over-fed, or she is very skittish,” thought the horseman, as he felt the tremor of the frightened animal’s limbs, and her gait for a short distance became irregular. “Our road lies through a wood for a few miles, as I am told ; and, when the shower is on us in full force, what with the lightning, the thunder, the rain and the darkness, she may become unmanageable. Perhaps I had better stayed after all. The more haste [the worst speed sometimes. ” Flash after flash, peal after peal now followed rapidly, with blinding and deafening effect upon man and beast, and soon the wind and rain combined with fearful power and volume, as if to distract and discomfort the benighted horse and rider. Here and there, over their rough road, the torn branches of trees incumbered it, as if to dispute their passage. Twice, as the scared beast galloped frantically on, she stumbled and nearly threw the cavalier, requiring all his efforts to recover her and keep the saddle; and once a dazzling bolt and a fearful simultaneous clap of thunder caused the poor beast to swerve madly aside, rear, and then turn back in her track for a short distance —while a tall tree, cleft by the lightning, scattered half its mighty bulk over the spot from which the mare had shrunk back. But, with steady hand and coaxing voice, the horseman finally caused her Jo return Again; and, vaulting oyer

prostrate trunk, they resumed iheir stormy course, while broken boughs, torn from tallest trees, whirled dangerously through the dark air. Thus, through the night, they proceeded, the storm gradually abating as the dim dawn of day approached ; and when the cheering sun at last broke with merry face over the glittering hills, the drenched stranger was far beyond the perplexing forest through which he had ridden. “Thank you for nothing, he exclaimed, mockingly saluting the sun. “ The world is full of such friends, who give their aid only when the trouble is over. The sun should shine in the night such times.” The mare made the best of her way to the neighboring village, where the rider now determined to stop, recruit and pass half a day at least. Dirty, drenched, sore with travel haggard as he was, it may be supposed that he did not feel over-communicative to the people at the tavern, who stared at the stranger the harder. They thought him not at all prepossessingpoor, proud, no baggage and very likely no money. The mare, however, was stalled ; not without being closely regarded by every eye. “ May I never eat meat,” said one, “if that isn’t Amos Dunbar’s mare Jule.” - “ I wish I may be shot if I don’t think so, too. White‘fore feet, and just such a shape, height, head and gait; mane and tail, at any rate.” “ Couldn’t be possible,” said another. “He left yesterday to be gone a week, he said; and he wouldn’t allow any live man but himself to ride his mare.” , “But there she is, howsomever,” insisted the others, and they went out to the barn to reassure themselves. Meanwhile the stranger, having gone in to wash and make his garments somewhat more tidy, disclosed to the landlord a bloody gash upon the side of his bead, which he bathed, and, calling for plaster, dressed it. “ How did you get that wound, friend?” asked the landlord, curiously. “A falling bough in the storm last night,” was the answer, carelessly. “I did not think it was so severe a cut. So much to do to manage my horse I hardly gave it a thought ” “ Where might you be from, sir?” continued the landlord, not exactly satisfied. ’ “ I might be from any quarter of the world you choose,” said the stranger; “and if I told you from England I don’t know that it would make you any wiser. Don’t begin to catechise a tired man. It I pay my way that’s all you need wish of me.” “Humph!” grunted the hindlord, as he ordered a table ready for his bluff visiter. “I'm not sure that this fellow ain't a rough customer and a suspicious character. I’ll keep an eye on him !” While the stranger was at breakfast, those who had been to inspect the horse reasserted that it was no other than Amos Dunbar’s mare ; and, whispering to the landlord about it, they agreed to ask the stranger how she came into his possession as soon as he had finished his meal. ‘ ‘ He had a heap of money about him when he went away, yesterday,” said the inkeeper, shaking his head in a sinister manner. “Look here, stranger,” said one of the villagers, as he rose from the table and came forth, “ain’t that same Dunbar’s mare, that you rid here ?” “I don't know him. Why do you ask?” said the stranger, frowning at what he considered village impertinence. “But we know his mare ; and that’s her. sure as snakes. He left here, where he lives, yes’d’y forenoon on her back, and you must have met him else how came you by his horse ? ” I have ridden her about 200 miles, and so she couldn’t well have been here yesterday,” replied the stranger, vexed at the suspicious glances which were cast upon him, and attributing them to the insolence which a solid exterior sometimes invites from the low-minded.

Without staying to hear their replies, he turned his back suddenly upon them and proceeded to the barn, where he took from the saddle a large leathern pocket-book, and, concealing it about his person, returned to the house. “ I had forgotten that,” he reflected. “ Without money I might indeed give cause for suspicion.” A boy in the barn had noticed this act, and, hearing that the man was a suspected horse thief, he ran in and told the landlord. Suspicion now increased against the stranger. Why didn’t he tell a straight story ? Where did he get the wound on his head ? Why did he falsify about the mare? Why was he so close-minded? Amos Dunbar was widely known as a wealthy man, and his favorite mare, Jule, w r as equally well known to the village. He had ridden away with her the day before, with a large sum of money. Now, a stranger had come back with her, pretending not to have seen him. What did all this mean ? The landlord sent at once lor Mrs. Dunbar, who came in great haste and anguish, identified the mare, even the saddle, and now joined in the painful belief that the traveler had murdered her husband for his money and fled upon his beast, not deeming that he was coming to the very place where he would be most easily detected. The ire of the people at the tavern was aroused, and they again confronted the stranger, having procured a constable, and, to his dire alarm, the mare having been brought from the stable, he was told to consider himself under arrest unless he could give a satisfactory explanation of the mystery. The presence of Mrs. Dunbar added solemnity to the inquest. But the stranger’s indignation still overmastered his alarm. “ The mare was hired by me in the city, which is over 200 miles away. I have ridden her night and day since then, only stopping for a few hours’ rest and refreshment, and intend to do so until I reach B—, whither important business urges me to this haste. More you have no right to know, and more I will not answer, unless compelled in due form by those who have a right to question me.” “Surely I ought to know my own horse, which was brought up by us from a foal!” exclaimed Mrs. Dunbar, petting the animal affectionately, while tears of apprehension rolled down her face. “Madam,” said the stranger, in a more soothing tone, “you are certainly mistaken in the identity of the animal. I have ridden her, as I say, for more than—” “ Don’t lie any more 1” roughly interrupted the landlord. “ Murder will out, and you might as well tell the truth first as last. For—” He was in turn interrupted by a savage spring, which the stranger at that moment made toward him, to avenge the insult of being called a liar; and, had not others—luckily for the rash host—quickly interposed, he would have paid a severe penalty for his rashness. “ Hold him ! He is getting desperate now ! ” cried the enraged host. “He’ll have to swing yet, I’ll be bound. Why don’t you search him? He has been seen to take a pocket-book from the saddle ! ” “ Where my husband always keeps it when he rides far,” said Mrs. Dunbar. “ You need not search me—it is mine,” insisted the stranger, instinctively endeavoring to prevent the indignity. “Oh, but there is need!” said the constable. “If it’s yours, you’ll get it again; and—here it is,” he added, drawing it from beneath the shirt-bosom of the suspected mai). “ Mrs. Dunbar, do you know that pocket-book ? ” She opened it and disclosed a pile of bank notes, her husband’s game written on the inside, and papers which could MW to no on© but him, "" 1 -

“Proof positive!” said everybody; and their looks of horror were equaled by those of the stranger, who was evidently confounded. He trembled now , but. partially recovering himself, he said: T , , “ I know not how it came. I had a pocket-book like that,” and lifting uj> his hands, he added, “ and I call on “Don’t blaspheme, sir ; don’t commit any more sin; you can’t deceive us. You must now—” An unexpected interruption forever cut short what might have been a very majestic sentence from the constable. For the accused man, desperate at his situation and stung to ferocity by the behavior of his interrogators, with the quickness of light knocked down two who stood in his way, and in another instant bounded upon the mare, who was standing handily at his side, and, putting her to the top of her speed, before any could interpose, he shook a defiant fist back at them as he rode, and was soon out of sight, disappearing over the hill in the direction from which he had come in the early morning. “ Confound the luck ! ,r he muttered, as the fleet mare sped. “ I had no mind to be imprisoned, and had rather clear myself to save time. I fancy how it is. My horse is lost. I will try to get back*to Mossy Brook and find her. Or, perhaps, this may be her, and the wrong saddle was put upon her by the bungling hostler. Yet how two mares could look so much alike, or two pock-et-books, or—. Deuce take it I if I get back, the mystery may be cleared up by the owner of th 6 other horse—if there is another horse. By Jupiter ! they are coming I ” Two or three horsemen were in hot pursuit, though still a mile behind, yet mounted on fresh horses, and were fast lessening the distance between them and the fugitive. As he descended a hill, the sight of a wood had almost induced him to dismount and seek its shelter afoot, when, coming fast in the opposite direction, he saw another mounted traveler. Soon they were abreast of each other, and, at the instant, both reined in and dismounted. Their mutual glance explained the uncomfortable problem. The horses were almost precisely alike is shape, color, size, etc., save that one had but two white feet, the other four. “My name is Amos Dunbar!” exclaimed that individual, smiling and extending his hand. “Mo explanation is needed, sir; the hostler was half drunk and acknowledged that he made the bungle. Here is your pocket-book,” he added, delivering it. “That, too, is like mine, and was placed where I placed mine. But when I opened it I saw your name 1 , ‘William Norton!’” “That is my name, dear sir. Your own wallet will’ be found at the village tavern, or with the constable. They recognized your mare and took me for both murderer and thief! Here they come, some of them. We will ride back together. The pursuers came up and a few words of further explanation put all in good humor as they rode leisurely to the tavern again. That night Sir William Norton, temporarily in America on important business, was the guest of Mr. Amos Dunbar and his now very agreeable wife. They found the knight something better than a highwayman, his courtly manner shining through his travel-worn apparel, and he confessed, when he resumed his journey in the morning that he had learned this significant moral : Throughout life, to be careful that yon mount the right horse.