Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 161, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 July 1911 — HAL O' THE HIGHWAY [ARTICLE]

HAL O' THE HIGHWAY

By George Bronson-Howard.

Copyright, The Frank A. Munsey Co. CHAPTER VIII. The Avowal of Cecil Counters. The witness-box was a little below the judge’s stand, separated from it by the pillar-box, on which was placed the huge candelabrum whose candles furnished the light for the court-room. When the newly arrived party seated themselves on the wooden benches, the sheriff of the colony, with a bow, withdrew and took up a place behind the judge. The four new arrivals were entirely too dumfounded to do aught save stare at the miserable Pulvey, who was wriggling uncomfortably and who turned a look of such abject suffering upon them that they were very near feeling as badly as he. It was fortunate in a measure that Hal still retained his cloak, which hid his gay vestments from view, otherwise the tortured Pulvey would In all likelihood have cried him out as the highwayman and without the slightest chance of being believed. Anne was not sure whether she should laugh or scream. It was so entirely ridiculous that any one should have taken the mild-mannered Philadelphian for a dashing gentleman of the road.

The thing did not, at that time, appeal to her as being serious, for she was quite sure that her own identification would save Pulvey from any further trouble. Alice and Lady Mary were subduing their laughter in view of the stern frown of Sir John, but it was plain that they viewed the whole matter as a farce, for both of them knew Mr. Littleton quite well, and realized that he had never raised his hand in anger against another man. Hal was equally surprised and equally amused, for the reason for the arrest of Pulvey was quite plain to him. His risibilities were tickled, and a smile played about his lips. “We will proceed with the trial,” frowned Sir John Arundel. “Let the high sheriff continue his testimony.” The sheriff stepped forth again, and continued, in a level, almost sing-song voice. ,

The burden of the sheriff’s argument was the recital of the crimes of Harry Eager, known by some as Hurricane Hal. The list was somewhat of a lengthy one, comprising the holding up of many merchants and gentlemen wealthy in the world’s goods. Bu. there was never a stain of blood upon any of them. It was plain that Hal Eager had a mighty persuasive tongue when backed with his horse pistols. The sheriff concluded his argument by reading a description of Henry Eager as far as was known. Now it so happened that Pulvey Littleton, while as unlike the highwayman as possible, was of the same height and slenderness. Other details of the description seemed to fit him equally well—for such descriptions are necessarily vague and might fit one hundred innocent men. “Fair hair, believed to have light blue eyes, something under six feet in height, slender in appearance, has small feet and thin hands.’’ “Ahem!” And the attorney, the clerk and Sir John inspected the miserable Pulvey. Every detail of the description seemed to fit in well with his personality. \ “The description tallies, your honor,” said the attorney. Then to the high sheriff: “Has the high sheriff any more to add to the testimony?” The high sheriff replied that he had Alone.

The attorney stroked his chin. “You believf, Mr. ’ Jenkins”—still speaking to the sheriff—“that this man is Henry Eager, the highwayman—” But before the sheriff might answer. Anne had sprung to her feet. “Stop!” she cried. “It is all a mistake—a terrible mistake—l know this gentleman very well. He is Mr. Pulvey Littleton, of Philadelphia, and my friend." Pulvey turned a weakly triumphant look on the bench. "I have e’en told you so,” he ventured, although with some temerity. A murmur arose in the court. ''Silence!” thundered Sir John Arundel, beating upon the table with his gavel. He turned to the attorney. “You will continue with your questioning, Mr. Sparks,” he said. The attorney repeated his query. “You believe this man to be—er—the so-called Hurricane Hal?” The sheriff cast a troubled glance upon the witness-box and Anne. “I did believe so,” he said; “but—" “But me no bate!” shouted Sir John. “Answer Mr. Sparks.” The sheriff was a man of much wisdom. He saw plainly that Sir John wished an affirmative from him. His position depended upon Sir John, and the emoluments of that position were many and plentiful. “Yes,” said the sheriff. ,

"You may sit flown,” said the attorney. He looked inquiringly at the lieutenant-governor. “Call the next witness,” said Sir John. ..... The attorney hesitated for a moment and Sir John nodded toward the wit-ness-box. ——y—' "Lady Mary Arundel,” he said. Lady Mary arose, fluttering, and wrapped her shawl, about her with care. She looked about her and encountered the fierce eyes of Sir John. Her gaze dropped, and the attorney, after playing with a pen for some time in slight embarrassment at being forced to question so prominent a lady, finally began his questions. “Have you ever seen the prisoner before, Lady Mary?” asked the attorney, after the preliminaries had been gone through. “Yes,” said Lady Mary. There was a slight stir in court. “Where?” A “In Philadelphia, and at my own house in Baltimore. He was a constant caller,” His identity was never questioned

by you?” Lady Mary laughed in a troubled sort of way, conscious of Sir John’s disapproval. But she was brave enough to rise above it. Timid on her own account, Lady Mary was courageous enough in the defense of others. “1 care not!” said she, flashing a look of defiance on her august brother-in-law. “This talk of this gentleman being a highwayman is jest and japery. It is absurd. This gentleman—” “The prisoner,” reminded the attorney gently. “This gentleman,” repeated Lady Mary, unheeding, “is Mr. Pulvey Littleton, of Philadelphia, and his family ie one of the best known there. He has an ample fortune, and all that a young man could possibly require. He is no highwayman.” In his tempestuous wrath, Sir John brought the gavel down on the table. “Were you not held up by a highwayman on the road to Annapolis?” gently questioned the attorney. “We were. But 1 did not see him. My daughter, Mistress Anne Arundel, saw this highwayman, and is better able to answer questions than I.” The attorney was about to continue his questions, but Lady Mary had seaterf herself and only smilingly shook her head. Sir John’s face was an apoplectic hue. “Call the next witness,” he growled. The attorney called out the name of Mistress Anne Arundel. Anne got to her feet and smiled encouragingly upon Pulvey Littleton. “You know the prisoner?” asked the attorney.

“I* faith I do,” replied Anne. “He is e’en Mr Ptilvey Littleton, of Philadelphia, and no highwayman at all. £ myself saw -the highwayman.” In a few brief words, omitting the mention of the names of Messrs. Heyward and Boyce, Anne told of her rescue by Hurricane Hal. “And he is most unlike the prisoner,” she added. “Describe him,” suggested the at-torney-general. Anne was somewhat at a loss. She secretly stole a glance at Cecil Conniers, and realized that she could not adequately describe him. “I saw not enough of him to remember. Besides, it was dark and he was masked,” she said, hesitatingly. "Ah!” The attorney smiled in triumph, and Sir John was elated. “He was masked? Then you did not see his face?” “No,” replied Anne indiscreetly. The attorney laid down his pen and looked around him with a pleased smile. “If you did not see the highwayman’s face, how know you that he is unlike the prisoner?” There was a little silence. Anne, being unable to answer this question, regretted much that she had lied about the masking. Finding herself overcome, she took refuge in woman’s tempestuous argument. “As says my mother. Lady Mary, this trial is a farce. Think you I know not Mr. Pulvey Littleton? Am I a fool that I do not know him? He is no highwayman, I say, and if you condemn him as such you will perpetrate a foul and cruel outrage. “Shame on you. You, Uncle John, are carrying out your mean, small, and petty revenge, and you know it. You are angered, and seek to wreak your vengeance on the nearest innocent party. I shall appeal to the governor.” The gavel slipped from Sir John's hand. For a mement he was speechless with wrath. “Bld the witness be seated,” he said then in a low tone. And call Mistress Alice Calvert.” Then Sir John turntMl upon Anne. "You will remember that you are in His Majesty’s Court, and restrain your personal outbreaks jigainst me. For at present I represent the law and the king. Further demonstrations will result in your ejectment from the court. * Up to thia time, Hal Eager had been regarding the trial with humorous eyes. When Anne sunk to his aldo again with tears in her eyes, he felt a strange, unhappy tenderness well up within him. “Was this the gentl*eman whom you expected at the ballF* he whispered. Anne was sobbing. j £ , 3

"Yes,” she said. “Anc—” Hal Eagar paused a momer;. "Do yc”. Uvt htar he asked n a voice from which he strove to banish all traces of emotion. "The question is rude, but will you not answer me—” Anne did not look up. Even in the court and under the*strain her coquetry was still alive. K . “I care much for Mm—much,” she said. S -’■* turned to him with a sudden appealing gesture. "Save him! Use your influence with Sir John! Save him!” For a mement Hal’s mouth was set in hard lines, then very gently he replied. “I will save him,” and the lines of his mouth were very tender. > After all, what did it matter whether Hal Eager lived or died? For a day and night he had Jived In a fool’s paradise, believing-that it might be possible to live another life with the woman he loved as his companion. But that was all gone now. He looked at the wretched Pulvey. So this was the fellow she loved, this weakish chap whom he had denuded of his clothes and left in such a strange muddle. His smile was pitying for the moment

For Hal was contemplating a sacrifice such as few men would make. It was not for Pulvey Littleton’s sake, for he looked on that youth with too muchcontempt to care whether lie lived or died. The fact that Anne cared for Pulvey, however, made him another person in Hal’s eyes—not Pulvey Littleton, but the man she loved. And he was to save the man she loved for Anne’s sake, and that Anne might be happy. ——’“ To return to his haunts in the greenwood and continue his pilferings and depredations no longer appealed to Henry Eager. He might not take with him the old carefreeness, for he would carry a heavy heart which would ever rob his operations of the merry jest which had heretofore been a part of them. Disgraced to the world at large, there was but one thing that he might count as his portion, dared he lived openly with his own kind —death, short and quick, by the hangman’s rope. And it were as well to die as Henry Eager, highwayman, as— But even in his thoughts he did not dare remember the name he had once borne, and under which he had been condemned to the death penalty for a righteous act in ridding the world of a woman-defamer and scoundrel. While these thoughts were chasing themselves pell-mell through his head, Alice Calyert had,been upon the stanch and testified as to what little she knew, this being mostly a recognition of the man as Pulvey Littleton. When she had seated herself, the attorney took up the thread of discourse.

“We have proven,” said he,. “that this gentleman is Mr. Pulvey Littleton, of Philadelphia—which is well and good, but not the point at issue. This highwayman, Hurricane Hal, might be any man in the colony of Maryland—his private Identity has never been confused with his brigand’s pseudonym. “His raids are made at varied intervals. Where hides he himself when he is not in operation? He may go among us at any time, and we may know him by name and lineage. Therefore, although the prisoner has been proven to be Mr. Littleton, of Philadelphia, he has by no means been proven not to be the highwayman.” He turned to Sir John Arundel, who nodded approvingly. “The next witness,” said the attorney, “is his excellency, Sir John Arundel.” “On returning from Annapolis this evening,” he said, “I left my escort behind and started ahead alone. 1 was halted by a man with a pistol. He demanded my money, my valuables, and my clothes. “After a tussle with him, in which he bested me by trickery, he laid fingers upon my gullet until I was wellnigh strangled, and was forced to give my word to surrender what he asked of me. I according changed clothes with him.”

( He turned and faced the prisoner. “That man in the box is the highwayman, and the clothes he wears now are the clothes which he wrested from me. I recognise him by his height, the color of his hair, and the clothes he wears.” Pulvey, who now saw the tide affairs had taken, went.a sickly green, and frantically waved his hands for the opportunity of having his say. The case for the crown having been closed, he was allowed to tell his own story. He told it very badly and haltingly. He did not satisfactorily explain why he changed clothes at the inn. He forgot to mention that the highwayman took his horse and he, Pulvey, had to walk into Annapolis. He gave no reasons for coming to Annapolis save that he wished to attend the State ball, nor did he tell why he had not retraced his steps to the Inn and arrayed himself in his other clothes. '■ ’ (To be continued.)