Part 6

The dogs slunk away, while without another word the woman turned her back on us and reentered. Heavy boxes were pulled roughly across the floor to serve instead of chairs for us, as we followed her in. One object, however, fixed our attention. Opposite the entrance, on a narrow bed, his legs pendent from its side, his back against the wall, sat the suspected murderer, as if fast asleep. His lower jaw had dropped down, his hands hung listlessly; no attempt at life-expression on his face to conceal its deformity. His aspect was haggard and revolting in the extreme. Purposely raising my voice to a high key, I said to the son-in-law,—

"Callahan is missing; we wish to know if you can tell us where he is?"

Continuing to strop his razor, he replied, jerking out his words, "Don't know where he is, if he isn't to home! Lives in the shanty down there. I ain't the feller's gardeen. Comes and goes jest when he's a mind ter; perhaps he's gone off a while. He'll turn up safe and sound, I warrant yer."

"When did you see him last, Mr. Shuber?"

"O, as to that, I haven't seen nothing of him since Wednesday morning."

"But haven't you thought it strange that he should be away so long?"

"Don't give ourselves, up here, any trouble about the 'little Irishman,'" the last two words pronounced with a hard sneer. "He takes care of himself, and we take care of ourselves."

"Well," said I, loudly, "perhaps your father can tell us something about him. Won't you ask him?" at which a slight flush tinged the cheeks of the sleeper, then quickly disappeared, while the son-in-law, continuing to ply the razor, replied curtly,—

"He's asleep."

Questioning other members of the household, who returned confused and contradictory answers, I again said to Shuber, "Perhaps Mr. Ringe can give us some information about Callahan."

"Father's asleep," interposed Shuber's wife, "and we don't like to wake him up."

The old man's wife had been uneasily moving about, now going out of the house, now returning, avoiding conversation. Turning suddenly to her, I said, authoritatively, "We wish to ask your husband a question. You must at once wake him up."

Stepping to the bed, she placed her hand lightly on his knee, and ere she had uttered a word, he opened his eyes, stretched up his arms and yawned, saying, confusedly,—"What—what—what do you want?"

"These gentlemen have called to ask about Callahan," said the wife, quickly. "They say he's gone off, or something."

"What, the little Irishman—as I call him? Some folks call him an Englishman, but I say he's an Irishman. O, he's all right. He's often taking a notion to go nobody knows where, and to come back nobody knows when. Can't put no dependence on him. But we never give ourselves any trouble about it; we're used to his tricks. Why, I don't suppose he knows any more about us, or we about him, than if he lived 'tother side of the ocean. We don't hold to meddling with other folks' business. He'll turn up again, I'll warrant. Why, you 'couldn't kill' the little feller if you should try."

"How long has he been away this time?"

"Can't say as to that. The last time we saw him was Tuesday afternoon. He was hoeing his potatoes there—right over there," pointing through the window; "and I said to the folks, guess the little Irishman means to get ahead of us. Soon after I saw him go toward his shanty, to rest, I suppose. You see he's got only one hand, and gets tired pretty easy, and then goes down by the cabin, and stands there and takes a smoke till he feels better. Well, as I was saying, he went down there, and pretty soon I heard a gun go off down that way, and Shuber says to me, 'What does that mean?' and says I, 'O, it's nothing but a wagon jouncing over a root or a stone in the road.' After that he was gone from the shanty, and I spoke to Shuber about it."

"When did you find out that he was gone?"

"Thursday morning. You see Shuber and I were at hunting deer along the creek, and we had to go right close to his house, for the creek is close by, you know. And says I, 'Wonder if the little Irishman's up yet? Let's give him a call, and see!' So I called out 'Callahan, Callahan!' but he didn't answer. And we both hollered, but all was still as death. And, says I, 'The little feller sleeps sound this morning.'"

"Did you go back that way?"

"Yes, but 'twas on 'tother side of the house. And we called to him again, but he didn't say a word, nor show his head."

"When you went after deer, the path led you within a few feet of his dwelling and the fence. Did you see any thing unusual there? any blood on the rails, or on the ground, or any article of clothing?"

"No; it was so dark you couldn't see your hand before your face. Saw his vest, though, kicking about, that's all; but he's a mighty careless feller about leaving his things round."

"Well," said I, "you are a neighbor to him, and acquainted with these woods; we suspect something very serious has befallen him, and we want you and Shuber to go and help find out about it."

They consented; but as they walked, grew excited, and talked fast; and although no charges had been made against them, protested that "they" didn't murder "the little Irishman," that they knew nothing about the matter, that they believed he would turn up alive and well;—ending by stating that he was killed; that they knew who the murderer was; that it was a young German living in the vicinity, and that they could prove it.

"We think the body is in the creek," said a man in a low tone. "The trail ends there—we could follow it no further."

Stepping to where some willows had been felled into the stream, I was searching among them, when I caught sight of a pair of boots floating among the branches. They were fastened together with a rope. Taking hold of this to draw them out, to my surprise I found that they were on the remains of the Englishman. He was naked to the waist; his only hand was lashed to his feet; and as I deposited him on the bank, the blood still stood in what seemed to be deep gashes in the back. I had just stooped down to ascertain the character of the wounds, when, to our horror, old Ringe, officiously gathering a handful of dry leaves and grass, with a grim smile wiped away the blood, saying,—

"That's only where the blood has settled like."

He knew. The marks were indentations caused by the twigs on which the body had rested. Death was inflicted by a heavy charge of slugs shot into the back under the right shoulder.

Old Ringe sat over the ghastly form of Callahan like an ogre, gesticulating with the hand that held the clotted leaves, by turns asserting his innocence, and railing at the unconscious dead.

"'I've' nothing against the little Irishman. We had a little difference, it is true, but I jest taught him his manners, and he's been good enough since then. We haven't had a word together since last spring, when I slapped him, and he's been as quiet as a pig ever since."

His manner and language were horrible.

While waiting for the coroner, some of us went to a spring, a few rods distant, to allay our thirst. Old Ringe and his son-in-law followed, incessantly talking. He reiterated that he was guiltless, and implicated the young German. At length I abruptly said,—

"Mr. Ringe, it is an old proverb that 'murder will out.' I have much faith in that saying, and for this reason: There is a God. His eye is ever on us. He has said, 'Thou shalt not kill.' He can alone give life. It is one of the greatest crimes possible for man wantonly to destroy that life. God is the Governor of the world, and he will punish the murderer. For the safety of society, and that bad men may be deterred from this highest form of sin, he takes special pains to bring to light the murderer. From him there can be no such thing as escape. Man is sometimes deceived and foiled, but God never!"

His countenance grew dark. The clamor of his tongue ceased, and for a few moments we were permitted to think in quiet as we stretched ourselves by the fountain's side.

Returning to the cabin, I had seated myself on a log, Ringe and Shuber by my side,—for they did not lose sight of me,—when the former stealthily left me, and went to the south side of the dwelling. A small ell had been attached to the main building. That only had been occupied by the owner, as the rest of the cabin was unfinished. In front of the ell was a high rail fence, making a snug enclosure a few feet square before the door. Ringe stopped at the little yard, and stood intently looking, now on the ground, now in at the door. Was he afraid that some clew had been left there by the assassin? His manner was eager and shy.

Springing over the fence, I began to pick up fragments of letters thickly scattered among the loose straw, when suddenly it occurred to me that that was the place where the fiend had laid in wait for his victim. The Englishman had been shot on the other side of his house. From the condition of his field, and the fact that his hoe and pipe were near where he fell, it was plain that he had been hoeing, and had left his work in order to rest and, smoke a while. The murderer having crept into his cabin, had no doubt shot him then. But if so, as there was no window on that side of the house, an aperture must have been made in the building, through which to take aim. A bed stood before the open door against the northern wall. Getting upon that, I saw an opening had indeed been made. It looked out over the bloody spot. Calling a neighbor, and directing him to stand by the spot, I found he was in exact range.

Ringe and Shuber were arrested on suspicion.

The justice, before whom the first trial was to occur, resided at a newly-settled town, twelve miles from our place. A friend, who acted as sheriff, invited me to ride over with him. Before the justice's cabin were a large number of persons watching our buggy as we drove up. Old Ringe and his friends were among them, and, as I alighted, he came forward, extending his hand as to an old acquaintance, saying,—

"Welcome! welcome! Glad to see the minister,—was afraid you wouldn't be here. 'You' will want justice done. 'You' won't stand by and see an innocent man like me falsely condemned. Look at my gray hairs and my dim eyes. Why, sir, these poor eyes couldn't 'see' to shoot a man, even if I wished to take the life of a follow-creature. But why should I do such a thing? I am almost in my grave,—have but a few days here at most. No; no, you are a minister of Christ, and I know you can't have an old man like me hung,—I know you can't!"

This appeal, so unexpected, so affecting in its allusion to his advanced years, uttered in the thrilling tones of one who felt that his life was at stake, came near unmanning me. Releasing myself from his grasp, I said, aside to the sheriff, "How is this? Persons arrested for a capital offence at large—prisoners and witnesses mingling freely together! What does this mean? Why, they can agree on any testimony they choose!"

"Oh," replied the easy official, "never mind; the lawyers will pick the witnesses to pieces when they come to the stand!"

At the hotel a mile off, after tea, old Ringe met me again, with the most touching and insinuating appeals. They were hard to withstand, even from him. And when, next morning, he renewed his entreaties, I said,—

"Mr. Ringe, it is useless to appeal to me in this way. You know that I would not wrong you for the world. I shall state, as a witness, only what I have seen and heard, no more, no less. I can keep back nothing. I shall add nothing. This is all I could promise the dearest friend on earth."

As I spoke, a stern, bitter glance shot from his eyes, and a deathly pallor spread over his face. He avoided me from that time.

"Would you like to ride a few miles before court?" asked the sheriff. "I am going for two of Ringe's daughters, who were from home at the time of the murder. He says he can prove by them that the young German intended to kill Callahan. He states that they dropped corn for the German a short time before the murdered man was shot, and that he had tried to hire them to poison Callahan, that he might get his claim.'"

"Well," said I, "there is one request I wish to make; and that is, that the girls shall not be tampered with by the father, or any of his witnesses."

"Don't see the need of that. But if you wish it, I can take them to another house, and keep them there till you see the justice about it."

They were singular enough in appearance. Short, stout, tawny; with large, oval eyes; ears so long as to look inhuman; bold faces, and an oily speech. I had heard that they could lie and steal, and what might they not do, if their own father was ready to testify that their employer had sought to bribe them to poison his neighbor?

"Father didn't kill that man!" said one of them, sharply.

"How do you know that?" asked the officer.

"Because he's almost blind, he's so old. He couldn't see," she added, "if he was here in this wagon, to shoot the tail of that horse!"

"How does that agree with his deer-hunting before daylight?" said the sheriff.

The girls were kept secluded, despite the ravings of the father and the arts of his supporters; and it was significant that they were not summoned as witnesses, nor was the German accused.

During the trial, the State's attorney, taking me aside, said, "Search should be made through time neighborhood in which the murder was committed, for evidence that may serve as a clew to the murderer. I am persuaded that if any thing can yet be found, you can discover it. Would you be deputized for that purpose?"

"Yes, rather than let the criminal escape."

His horse and buggy were placed at my service, and, accompanied by a Frenchman, and a substantial farmer, I soon arrived at our place of destination. Cabin after cabin was visited, boxes and trunks opened, beds stripped, floors taken up, each nook and cranny scrutinized, without avail. Repairing to the creek, I noticed that on the stumps of the willows, that had been felled to conceal the body of the murdered man, gaps in the ax used, had left their impress on the wood. The farmer at once cut off the willow stumps, and taking them with us, we examined the axes in the neighborhood. In Ringe's house was one, the edge of which corresponded perfectly with the impression in the wood. The steel and the helve were also bloody.

"Now look sharp for bloody garments," said I.

A low, unlighted attic, to which access was had by a ladder, held the accumulated cast-offs of the household. Such a dusty, filthy collection! Only the friendship cherished for the inoffensive deceased, deepened by that peculiar interest felt in one for whom the Christian minister has toiled and prayed, and a strong desire that justice should be done, could have borne me through the repulsive task. The search was vain.

"Mr. D., hadn't we better give it up?" cried the farmer. "It's getting late, and we've seen all this house has to show!"

"A moment more," I replied, as I remembered that two beds, lying side by side on the floor, had not been removed. Lifting them up, we found beneath one a man's shirt, the arm and shoulder saturated with blood.

As we reëntered the court-room with the discoveries we had made, a deep silence prevailed. We had brought also another witness, who testified that old Ringe attempted, on one occasion, to burn Callahan to death; and that the old man had repeatedly said in his presence that he meant to kill him yet. The ax, willows, and garment were critically examined, the counsel for the prisoners not being able to explain away the evidence thus presented.

That night I slept in the same room with one of Ringe's lawyers. I shall not soon forget him, and the developments of our interview. He had a calm, keen eye; dark hair thrown back from a finely-turned forehead; a physiognomy sincere and refined. In his address there was a perfect air of good-breeding that inspired respect. He had an acute and logical mind, liberal acquirements, and a well-balanced intellectual and moral character. He realized my ideal of a learned, cultivated, upright lawyer. A "protegé" of Hon. Mr. Giddings, he had come to Minnesota on account of impaired health, and this was his first case in the territory. After retiring to our room, he wished to know the particulars of the terrible tragedy. The narrative impressed him deeply. I soon after fell asleep, but was in a short time awakened by his groaning and restlessness.

"Are you ill?" I asked.

"No," he replied; "but it is so horrible, so horrible—that murder!"

Again, as he turned from side to side, he exclaimed, "Blood cries from the ground for vengeance!"

And this was the man who, in the court-room, was so unimpassioned, permitting nothing to pass that was adverse to his client, without the most searching scrutiny!

Before day broke, he said, "I have been dreadfully harassed by this case." Then, after a few moments, he added, "I have no doubt of the guilt of that old man. He's the murderer; but I can clear him. My partner has proposed a plan, which I am not at liberty to explain, that must be effectual. What shall I do? Help spring the legal trap, and let the criminal loose, and thus succeed professionally, or not?"

"Let me entreat you," said I, "to do right. God will bless you in it, and you will have a clear conscience."

"I will think it over," he replied, "and see what I can do," and he relapsed into his uneasy slumbers.

With eager scrutiny I studied his countenance in court the next day to ascertain his decision. In vain. I trembled for him, so severely loyal did he seem to his client's interests, and true to the pride of success. But his sterling, moral principle prevailed and Ringe and Shuber were recommitted.

He knew my anxiety, and said, as he passed from the court-room, with a happy smile upon his handsome face,—

"'Did I do right?'"

As for myself, procuring a box, I put the ax, willows, and shirt in it, in the presence of suitable witnesses, and committed the whole to the justice for safe keeping.

No jail had been built. The sheriff, therefore, took the accused to his own home. He lived quite a distance from the culprit's place, and it was not long before the cunning old man had so won upon his unsuspecting nature, as to be permitted to hire out as a day laborer. Wherever he went he pleaded his cause so effectually that the public mind became strongly excited in his behalf. He made also another diversion in his own favor. Among his children was one, familiarly called Bill, who was about eighteen years of age. He was the youngest of his boys, as well as the whitest. He was a great rogue, and was well known as such. His father called him half-witted, but he was an adept in villainy. Horse-stealing, robbing trunks, money-drawers, and stores of their goods, were among his exploits. Over the vices of his boy, Ringe whined and groaned among his new friends, and at last accused Bill of being the murderer. The lie was believed. When the witnesses of the State went to the second trial, they found that the settlers at the county-seat and vicinity had prejudged the case. A jury was drawn from the material at hand, and, although on hearing both sides most of them modified their views of the case, such was the previous condition of their minds, coupled with the fact, perhaps, as stated afterward by a juror, that several of their number were "opposed to capital punishment," Ringe and his confederate were cleared.

The terror that this result inspired among those who had been active in endeavoring to bring the perpetrators of the murder to light, can not be described.

The Norwegian went armed. Every night he and his family slept in the wretched attic of his low-roofed cabin, drawing the ladder up after them on retiring. But this state of things could not be endured. A party of resolute men went to the cabin of liberated desperadoes, and warned them off, on pain of forcible ejection. They soon disappeared.

The murdered man's valuable "claim," with its movable property, that his assassins had intended should become theirs, were sold at a good price. The fragments of paper which I had saved, on being put together, proved to be a letter from a brother of Callahan, residing in Lowell, Massachusetts, to whom we had the pleasure of sending the avails of the estate.

Who can predict the next new thing that will transpire on the frontier? One day, some two months after Ringe's final trial, an elderly man called on me, and said,—

"I have come to ask, sir, if you will not make a five o'clock appointment, some Sabbath, to preach at my place. We have a very respectable community there, sir, now. Many new families have come in, and we would like to hear a gospel sermon now and then."

"Where do you live?" I inquired.

"At Slough Creek, seven miles from here."

Assenting to the request, the next Sabbath found me on my way there.

"Can you tell me where Mr. C. lives?" I asked of a well-dressed woman whom I overtook.

"Just through the woods, a few rods, the first house," she replied.

On arriving, what was my surprise to find that the meeting was to be at Ringe's log-house, now in new hands, and refitted and enlarged so as to present quite a neat and comfortable appearance. There was a good attendance and earnest attention. Among the audience, here and there, was one who had been partially of Ringe's company. They listened with no less respect because of the part I had taken in seeking to make the power of the law felt among the lawless dwellers upon our frontier.

FRONTIER WOMEN.

THE gentler traits of womanly character find little expression on the outskirts of civilization. When the wife and mother turns her back on her Eastern home, she enters on scenes which change the whole current of her existence, and often seem to make her a new being. It is interesting to notice how the transition process varies in different persons.