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At the door of the courthouse, two of this same loosely clad, noisy, perspiring species were slapping their thighs and choking in hilarious appreciation of something which a third was reading from an open paper.
That had been his custom at Winchester. He was glad to come, inquired the way. He was very happy. He knew that he had won his spurs this night. And from thenceforth he was a notable figure. Had anything just like this ever occurred in England? I had never heard of it. I should certainly write my grandmama of this event. Russell Lamborn left the courthouse with Reverdy and me.
It is an old story. In a mad hour he forged another man's name then, a wanderer on the face of the earth, he drifted about with never a local habitation or a name, until his aged father had made good the price of his honor, when he came home "tramped home," the world says and, now, after years of variable steadiness, he has built upon the wreck of his early life a sort of questionable confidence which brings him half-averted recognition; and every day, with the gray always glistening on his temples and the clear profile of the past outlining itself though the high-bred face is low between the shoulders now he passes beneath my window with halting step to and from the old courthouse, where, by virtue of his father's position, he holds a minor office.
Herman was still sleeping when Stacey rose and dressed and went down to breakfast. Mrs. Mills defended Herman against the charge of laziness: "He's probably been out late all the week." Stacey found Mott in the county courthouse, and a perfunctory examination soon put him in possession of a certificate. There was no question of his attainments. Herman met him at dinner-time.
Then, again, silence settled on the town, to remain for five minutes unbroken. The sun glared mercilessly on clay streets, now as empty as a cemetery. A single horse incautiously hitched at the side of the courthouse switched its tail against the assaults of the flies. Otherwise, there was no outward sign of life.
Everywhere were black crowds under the faint street lamps. The basement of the courthouse was illuminated; and there were clusters of curious persons about the stairways. Through the throngs started Harry and Fairchild, only to be drawn aside by Farrell, the attorney. "I 'm not going to take a part in this unless I have to," he told them.
The wind began to freshen from the track of the rain, the pigeons came out of the courthouse tower for a look around, light broke through the thinning clouds. Not more than a mile or two southward of Ascalon the rain was falling in a torrent, the roar of it still quite plain in the ears of those whose thirst for its cooling balm was to be denied.
The dawn was nearly breaking now, and Harry Dean was pacing to and fro before the old CourtHouse where Dan and Rebel Jerry lay under guard pacing to and fro and waiting for his mother and sister to come to say the last good-by to the boy for Harry had given up hope and had sent for them.
To Sawyer it was left, it would appear, to look out for the front that is, toward Ashland and Hanover Courthouse. Sawyer sent the Seventh Michigan out on picket, the outer line advanced as far as Atlee's Station. When Hampton came in from Hughes's cross roads, he did not stop to skirmish with the videttes.
The hot, dusty quadrangle stretched in dreary deadness toward the temple of the town, as if doing obeisance to the court-house. Down the courthouse steps the sheriff, with Winchester on shoulder, was bringing the last prisoner a curly-headed boy with golden face and big brown frightened eyes. "It's one of Dunn's boys," said Bles. "He's drunk again, and they say he's been stealing.
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