Belford's Magazine, Vol 2, December 1888

Benner trembled in silent joy. He was afraid to speak lest he should suggest some objection to the plan and overthrow the whole scheme.

"We'd have to practice awhile together, then I'd know if the devil meant to bother me." Bill spoke meditatively, and continued his thought in silence. Presently Hunch broke the quiet.

"Say, Bill, listen ter me. It's my thinkin' thet if there's enybody this side uv heaven that Satan's afeard uv, it's Parson Lawrence; an' ef yer hed somethin' uv his'n 'long with yer, I don't think the devil'd come near yer."

"Right, boy, right." Bill rushed at Hunch and shook him nervously. "Maybe you have freed the devil-bound slave."

Blind Benner expressed his gratitude by saying:

"Yer ain't no fool, Hunch, but yer an awful tease."

No king ever received homage more gracefully than Hunch.

"What'll it be?" he asked; and when the others failed to suggest anything he gave them further reason to admire his cleverness.

"I don't think Satan'd dare put his split foot on a lock uv Parson Lawrence's hair."

That was decisive; but how to obtain a lock of Parson Lawrence's hair was not so easily agreed upon. Finally, Hunch asserted with something of a swagger.

"I'll git it, don't be afeard, fellers."

Before him rose a vision of the good man asleep upon his bed. A malformed figure creeps silently across the floor. It is Hunch. He reaches the bed. He stretches out a hand, which holds a pair of shears. There is a snap in the stillness. Soon the dwarf departs through the window, bearing with him a lock of the snow-white hair.

Blind Benner spoiled this possible adventure.

"Don't steal it, Hunch," he said, "'cause if yer do, the devil will walk on it jest like he would on his own carpet, fer all stole things is his."

Hunch's countenance fell and his manner became less confident, but yet he declared he would be able to procure the lock of hair. However, he made an effort to prepare Bill for disappointment by asking:

"Wouldn't cotton in yer ears do as well as the hair in the box?"

Bill shook his head despondently, and replied:

"No, no; that makes me deaf for a while to the sweet voice of the violin, become a devil's witch when my bow crosses the strings. When I refuse to listen, the old Tempter gets into the fibre of the violin and pleads by the touch of the vibrating, throbbing instrument, tender and thrilling as the caress of the woman you love."

Blind Benner's thoughts went to Lizzī. He knew what her touch was to him.

While talking, Bill had got the violin and was tuning it. Hunch caught up his horn and blew a series of discordant notes. A frown settled on Bill's brow as he put the violin back into the box, while Hunch exclaimed:

"That devil of yers couldn't stand a brass band, ef one horn scares him, an' I guess there's no use in gittin' a lock uv hair from Parson Lawrence."

"Yes, there is. Get it for me. When I'm alone I can't resist the temptation sometimes, and I haven't got you to drive Satan away. Yes, Hunch," he pleaded, "please get it for me."

Early the next morning Hunch started for Parson Lawrence's home, near the Boomer Creek church. On his way he met the mail-carrier going to Three-Sisters, and sent a note to Lizzī. It read:

"Lizzī: Me and Benner is visitin' Bill Kellar fer fun.

Hunch."

The dwarf never gave a thought to the store or his father, nor for a moment regretted the loss of a situation, which he knew would be the penalty of his unceremonious departure. The note to Lizzī would inform Benner's friends of his whereabouts and quiet their uneasiness.

"Parson," Hunch said, meeting the reverend gentleman at the church door, "what der yer think crazy Bill Kellar's got inter his head now?"

"I am sure I cannot imagine. A crazy man's notions are hard to guess."

"He still thinks the devil's got him by the ear an' makes him play the fiddle in spite of hisself."

"That is his old delusion, and I'm afraid he will never be rid of it."

"But he thinks yer kin cure him, Parson."

"How?" asked the kindly man, much amused, but willing to be of assistance to the violinist.

"By givin' him a lock uv yer hair ter keep in the fiddle-box, and thet'll keep the devil out so he can't coax Bill."

"He wants a fetich," the clergyman replied sharply, not inclined to encourage the superstition.

"Oh! he's crazy enough ter want anythin'," Hunch remarked innocently, not knowing what a fetich was, but thinking it a queer name for a lock of hair.

The minister laughed. He did not think it wrong to humor the fancies of the insane, and so complied with the request.

Bill received the lock of hair with demonstrative joy and effusive thanks, and Benner shook the dwarf's hand gratefully.

Within a week the trio departed on their tour. A man whom Bill could trust was left in charge of his farm, and a note was sent to Lizzī by her laconic correspondent:

"Lizzī: Bill, Benner and me is gon' consertin'.

Hunch."

CHAPTER XV.

THE BROTHERS LEARN SOMETHING ABOUT GILL

The McAnay brothers went direct to the town where Gill had said his mother lived. There they learned that he had not been seen in the village since his mother died.

"How long ago was that?" Levi asked their informant.

"'Bout five year."

"Five years? You must be mistaken."

Levi was staggered by the realization of the cruelty of Gill's plot against his sister, while Matthi and Cassi ground their teeth and clenched their hands.

"If yer don't believe me," said the indifferent villager, "yer kin ask his mother-'n-law; she lives jist over there."

"His mother-in-law? Has he a wife?" Levi would not believe Gill was so depraved.

"He hed one here; nobody knows how many he's got scattered 'round. The one here died 'bout a month ago. She heard he'd marrid agin, an' the news didn't 'gree with her. She was sickly ennyhow. Gill's a slick un, he is."

"Did they call him Gill here?" Levi asked.

"Yes; nobody but his mother an' his wife called him John. Gillfillan's too long, so folks jist called him Gill, 'cept his mother-'n-law, an' she didn't call him nuthin'."

Levi laughed in a forced way at this, but Matthi and Cassi scowled. With his sinister smile lighting up his face, Levi said, lightly as he could:

"We didn't know Gill was so gay. We used to work where he did, and as we were out of a job, thought we'd hunt him up and get something to do, since we were passing his way."

"He ain't ben here fer more'n five year, as I was tellin' yer. Guess he's somewheres in jail. He was honest 'nuff, but would go courtin' the gurls in spite uv enything."

The garrulous fellow was laughing at his own wit, when Levi said in a careless way:

"Since we have heard so much about Gill, I would like to know one thing more. He was always bragging about his rich mother and the fortune he was going to get at her death."

The villager exploded in a loud guffaw at this, and, after a vigorous shaking of his sides and slapping his thighs, said, between the gasps and swallows which were distressing him:

"Why, she – well, thet's – by jiminy – well, heng it, she was a wash an' scrub woman, an' the neighburs buri'd her."

By this time Levi had obtained the mastery of himself, and laughed heartily, apparently, as he said:

"He was a very tall liar, and he fooled us all. Lord, how we used to envy him when he told of his rich mother, that she was mighty fine-looking and could write such beautiful letters, and all that! Guess it was all a lie, eh?"

"Couldn't write her own name; never went to school in her life."

Matthi and Cassi were becoming restless, and their black looks attracted the villager's attention. The brothers had met him just at the beginning of a street, and were able to have this conversation with him alone; but presently two or three curious men came up to learn the reason of the visit of the stalwart strangers.

"These fellers knowed Gill somewheres, an' they thought he was livin' here. Guess from the looks uv two uv 'em it wouldn't go easy fer him ef they was ter git their han's on him."

The villager vouchsafed this explanation to his fellow-townsmen.

"Well, we have got a crow to pick with him if we happen to find him," said Levi, who persisted in talking for himself and his brothers, feeling he could not trust them, they were so angry.

"Where yer from?" asked one of the new-comers.

"Three-Sisters."

"Why, thet's where Gill got his last wife," exclaimed another.

Levi was thankful that it was growing so dark that faces could not be clearly distinguished. He stated frankly, believing the quickest way out of the difficulty to be the truth:

"That wife was our sister, and we are looking for him."

"I hope yer will ketch him an' bring him back here, an' I'll help yer settle with him."

"Who are you?" asked Levi, struck by the fierce earnestness of the man who had come up just in time to learn the object of the McAnays' quest.

"One uv his fathers-'n-law," the man replied, with brutal sarcasm.

"The father of the wife he had here?"

"Who told yer 'bout thet?" asked the man, angrily. "Bet 'twas thet little gossipin' woman, Pete Dunn, thet I seen yer talkin' ter."

He made a rush at Pete Dunn, but Matthi interfered.

"He was only obligin'. Natur'ly we'd ask the first person we met 'bout Gill. So don't put the blame on our friend here."

Matthi's position was so reasonable that even the angry man agreed with him.

The brothers went in company of the villagers to the town, and stopped all night at the inn. When they departed next morning, a crowd gathered and wished them success in bringing to justice the man who had injured them.

They went from town to town, stopping a week or more at a place, doing what work they could obtain, and keeping a sharp lookout for Gill. Their reticence and mutual understanding, coupled with their constant watchfulness, excited suspicion when they first entered a village or town, but when they departed from it they left behind many friends.

CHAPTER XVI.

BILL BENNER AND HUNCH JOIN A CIRCUS

The musicians went first to Barberry, where they gave a concert, at which the advance agent of a circus was present on a complimentary ticket given him by Bill Kellar.

There was a small audience, but the performers were not discouraged. They began the programme with a trio, which was rather noisy than melodious. Of this Bill was rather glad, for, although not discordant, it was sufficiently vigorous to warn the devil that there was ample discord in reserve to overcome the wooing of the violin should he instigate it to tempt the violinist.

Next came a violin solo by Bill, which he began nervously but played to the end without distress. The audience demanded more, and he gave an improvisation, a slow, insinuating thing that held the senses of the hearers with the winsome spell of an opiate.

Hunch followed as the "Human Bagpipes," introduced by Bill, who spoke of him as "the unpremeditated, one of impulsive Nature's whims, a man full of unexpected things and bountifully provided with breathing apparatus."

"The hump on his back," Bill continued, "is not a deformity, but an abundance. Consumption would grow weary in trying to absorb his lungs, and pneumonia hesitates to attack him. He is triple-lunged, and the bump on his back is the home of the third one. In this curved space the superfluous, yet useful, lung inflates and collapses, and from it are emitted the musical notes which you will now listen to. It is with great pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, that I introduce to you Mr. Blair."

Hunch got up on the platform and made a bow that caused everybody to laugh, it was so comically affected. Bill noticed with pride that the circus agent paid more attention to the bagpipe imitation than he had done to his own solo. A veritable Scotchman Hunch seemed as he wriggled his back and piped the "Campbells are coming." For an encore he gave "Annie Laurie." He himself could not give an explanation of the manner of producing the peculiar tones that so closely resembled the bagpipes. He knew only that his mouth was partly open while it emitted the sounds, and that instinctive, rather than intended, movements of his jaws, assisted by nervous contractions and expansions of his throat and chest, forced out the notes. When he finished the encore he was loudly applauded, and a repetition was insisted upon. Hunch was obliging, and played on his larynx the ever-popular "Bessie, the Maid of Dundee."

The next thing on the programme was a series of magical tricks performed by Bill, who claimed to have been a pupil of Signor Blitz. These pleased the audience, and they cried for more. He executed all he knew, and then treated them to some ventriloquism, which was not good, but delighted them nevertheless.

The musicians remained in Barberry another night, and the school-house would not hold the crowd that came to hear the demon-driven fiddler, his blind second, and the human bagpipes.

The circus agent was again in attendance, and concluded that it would be wise to compromise with the opposition show. So he made the musicians a liberal offer, which they accepted, thus becoming a part of Barkup's Colossal Aggregation. With it they wandered from town to town, exhibiting twice a day, but doing none of the drudgery attendant upon the pitching and striking of the tents.

They gave their performances in a side-show, and during the exhibition in the big tent played with the band. Only here Blind Benner handled the bow, playing second to Bill, who was leading violin.

The season was almost over, and the circus was working towards the Eastern city whence it started. One dismal night the flickering fires of pine-knots in the iron crates on the posts in front of the tents shot long quivering lances into the darkness without seeming to illuminate it. The glib ticket-seller stood before the side-show, active and picturesque in the ruddy gleams. One minute he was half in shadow, at the next in bold relief, as the blaze of the fires bent toward him as though giving him its undivided attention, while he cried the list of curiosities, phenomena, and attractions to be seen inside the tent for the small sum of a dime.

Just as the words "human bagpipes" fell from his lips, three men emerged from the darkness and stopped a few paces from the tent. They were tall, muscular, and seemed to be listening to his fluent and wordy narrative of the annex-show. He noticed them and, beginning anew, he directed his harangue to them. Amused smiles spread over their faces when they realized to whom his descriptions applied, and, buying tickets, they entered with the other sight-seers.

Hunch mounted the platform and began his bagpipe imitations. The peculiar position of his head in this vocal exercise required him to look towards the top of the centre-pole of the tent, so that he could not see his audience except when making his bow.

When he finished, and the audience was tumultuously encoring him, a hand was laid on the arm of the tallest of the three men, who stood apart from the crowd. Hunch, who was bowing to the mixed assemblage, missed Blind Benner from his accustomed seat, just before the stage. Hunch soon caught sight of his blind friend, who was saying:

"Oh, I'm so glad ter see yer, Levi."

Levi started in surprise at the naturalness of the greeting. After scrutinizing the blind eyes for a moment, he waved a hand close to them, but they stared at him without blinking.

Hunch jumped from the platform and elbowed a way through the astonished spectators.

"Gee-whittaker, fellers! we thought yer was dead, er lost, er back in the Sisters. We've been huntin' yer."

"Say, Benner, when did you leave the Sisters?" Cassi asked.

"'Bout a week after yer fellers."

"And Lizzī was well then?"

"Yes, she was well."

The blind man had turned toward the stage, where Bill was standing violin in hand, and was waiting reverently to hear the music.

Hunch shouted familiarly:

"Say, Bill, don't yer know yer old frien's?"

The audience laughed at this ingenuous inquiry.

Signor Kellar, as he was denominated on the bills, did not smile, but bowed gravely and slipped the violin under his chin.

"They might 'Signor' Hunch Blair all they'd a mind ter, he'd stop the biggest show on earth ter shake han's with Lizzī's brothers," the dwarf muttered.

The liquid notes of "Home, Sweet Home" floated to him as he stood by the exit. The air seemed to rise and fall in long undulations set in motion by the violin. In these waves the brothers bathed their weary souls. The melody caressed them, and, thinking of their own home, they wept silently.

Blind Benner crouched at Bill's feet. A silence almost of pain held the incongruous crowd.

Hunch alone seemed untouched – apparently he was beyond the power of spells. He made no effort to guard Bill from the fascination of the instrument.

"Bill don't need no horn ter let him loose," he growled. "There ain't no devil in that tune. He don't kick his feet ter eny sech. Guess Bill's playin' fer the angels."

CHAPTER XVII.

BLIND BENNER FULFILS HIS PROMISE

"How did you know me," Levi asked Blind Benner as they went from the side-show to the big tent.

"I don't know how; yer didn't speak and yer didn't laugh. Hunch was bagpipin', an' all at once somethin' pulled me an' I follered, an' when I got closer I knowed it was you."

"You have a bad cough, Benner," Levi remarked sympathetically, as he listened to the blind man struggling for breath.

"Yes; I ketched it soon after we left the Sisters. It goes hard with me sometimes, but mostly it's only a little hack."

Here he caught Levi's arm and asked in a whisper:

"Did yer hear anything of him?"

"Yes, we heard something of him, but we did not find him."

"Yer oughter hed me with yer from the first; I'd hev found him. Bill an' Hunch an' me's been huntin' yer all this time."

"That's why you left Three-Sisters and joined the circus?"

"Yes, we thought yer would come to the show when yer seen Bill's and Hunch's names on the bills."

"You have been on another road from us. We did not see any bills posted before to-night. We had been workin' in a choppin' over the hill yonder, and just come to the town to settle our account and go somewhere else. But didn't you hear anything of Gill?"

"Nuthin'. Hunch kep' askin' 'bout him, an' I kep' watchin' the folks goin' inter the tent when I could. I allers waited 'bout Hunch when he was bagpipin', thinkin' mebbe Gill 'ud be in the crowd an' I'd hear him laugh er somethin, but I didn't."

A tear rolled over Blind Benner's cheek, and in the red firelight resembled blood.

Blood! It is typical of vengeance, emblematic of atonement. It is a scarlet thread through the history of the world. On it are strung covenants; from it dangle the names of covenant-breakers, and close to these latter hang the names of avengers. Blood on Blind Benner's cheek. It sent a thrill through Levi's being. The blood in his own heart warmed and leaped to his face as he grasped fraternally the blind man's hand.

Then Hope, coy, fickle, and false, appeared, like a comet in the heavens, which stretched without horizon their black expanse before Blind Benner's eyes. Behind her trailed a long train of gleaming possibilities, and he said with emotion:

"We'll find him yit."

Levi replied in a trembling voice:

"You may; we can't."

And the blind man answered:

"I will."

Then they were in the tent, and the evening show began.

The season had been prosperous, but the fall rains had set in and the roads were heavy. The labor attendant upon getting from town to town became arduous. Overworked men daily left the combination, and the McAnay brothers were hired by the proprietor, who was glad to secure the services of three able-bodied utility men.

One day early in November the Colossal Aggregation stuck in the mud, and was unable to keep its engagement at a town in the mountains. The proprietor decided not to show at the place, but push on to the county-seat, where the circus was billed to appear on the following day. The citizens of the village, however, demanded a performance for their pleasure, and, as the proprietor refused to give one, there was every chance of a riot. Finally a compromise was effected at the suggestion of a man who wore green goggles, and who seemed to be a ruling spirit among the villagers. He proposed that Barkup should give each man two tickets, admitting him and his wife or sweetheart free to the show at the county-seat. Barkup consented to this, and when the tickets were distributed the circus passed on.

Blind Benner lay asleep in a closed van, and knew nothing of the occurrence until in the evening, when Hunch graphically told of it.

"I tell yer," he concluded, "there was a tight fit uv missin' a fight, an' Levi grinned as onconsarned as if he hed wings."

A great crowd attended the circus at the county-seat. There was a rush and struggle for the pasteboard slips when the ticket-wagon was opened. At times it seemed as if the vehicle would be overturned, but the ticket-seller was as imperturbable as the man with green goggles, who held his ticket between his fingers and calmly watched the embryo riot, caused by those who had bought their tickets struggling to get through the crowd pressing forward to buy.

A youth who had in his escort two buxom girls grew tired of being hustled about. Going to the front of the wagon, he dropped on all fours and, with heroic disregard of his Sunday suit, crawled to the rear. Thrusting his head between a pair of active legs, he lifted their owner into the air as he raised his burly form erect. In a moment he was supplied with tickets and placed on the ground the man who had squirmed upon his neck, departing as he came. Goggles laughed heartily, much amused at the rustic's stratagem.

"How funny!" a woman remarked.

Goggles turned to see who had spoken. She had been pretty, but now she was brazen and her voice sounded like a cracked cymbal.

"Mighty smart fellow, that," he said. "But you may not have a ticket. Let me offer you one; see, I have two." He took a ticket from his pocket.

"I don't need a card, thank you; I go in the back way," she replied, smiling invitingly, as he thought.

"I have often wanted to see in the dressing-tent of a circus. Could you take me in?" he asked.

"Oh yes. I'm a privileged character 'round this show. There's only one Mlle. Faro in this country, and if she don't have her way she raises Cain. I'm Mlle. Faro. Old Barkup will say, 'Walk right in, Mr. Smith, if Faro has invited you.' Yes, indeed I'm descended from the pyramids, and am cousin, many times removed, of Cleopatra."

The equestrienne talked thus volubly as she led the way to the ante-room, her new acquaintance stumbling after her. Passing into the tent, he was given a seat on an upturned bucket placed against a tent-pole.

In the ante-room Blind Benner lay on a bed of coarse blankets. He coughed frequently and painfully. The man in the goggles turned inquiringly towards the couch, but paused to admire a splendid gray horse that was waiting for Mlle. Faro, who was to ride him in the grand entrée. Soon she appeared in a long riding-habit, trimmed with gold tinsel, and with a jaunty air walked to the horse. The ring-master gave the signal. From the main tent sounded the boom of the big drum, the clash of the cymbals, and the blast of the cornet.

Mlle. Faro was just settling in the saddle, when she heard Blind Benner cough. Slipping to the ground, she ran to him, tucked the blanket around him and gave him a pat on the cheek. In another moment she was acknowledging the applause of the spectators as her mettlesome horse dashed into the ring.

"By thunder, she can ride!" exclaimed the man in goggles as he watched the movements of the horse.

She threw him a kiss, as she returned to the ante-room, and he hastened to assist her dismount. Promising to come back soon, she retired to the dressing-room, while he resumed his seat on the inverted bucket. Before long Mlle. Faro came out in ballet costume, and, leaning against a pole, began to talk in a rattling way to him.

Bill Kellar hurried past them and paused at the couch.

"Are you awake, boy?" he asked gently.

"Yes," Blind Benner replied, and caught Bill's coat in his thin hand, giving it a pull.