Justice in the Foothills by Clement White. Starr and Collins were apathetic throughout their
brief, dramatic trial. Following the jury's verdict of first degree murder, their
sullen demeanor became an integral part of their being. They did not show a
motion when the sheriff and deputies prepared them for the trip to the state's prison
to await execution. Heavily manacled Star's left wrist chained to Colin's right, they
huddled in the automobile ready for the journey to Mills Junction, where the officers
planned to take a through train to the penitentiary. The weather matched the prisoner's
mood. A drizzle dampened the car and its occupants, while great fog banks
shrouded the hills. As the car nosed its way along the trail, the
mists gradually turned to rain. The sheriff was nervous, the roads getting slippery.
We'd best put on chains, he told the deputy. I'd hate to
skid over one of these cliffs. It'd be a finish I reckon inspection of
the tool box showed the chains we're missing. We must have left them in
the garage, apologized the driver. The trail ahead isn't any worse than the
part we have come over. It's as safe to go forward as to return.
Go slow, then replied the sheriff, I don't fancy this trip.
I'd forgotten how ornery this road is. The cars were from side to side
in spite of the driver's efforts. He was slowing up for a steep descent.
When the heavy machine left the trail, it spun suddenly like a thing
bewitched, hurling its occupants over the side of the chasm while it rolled over
and over on its way to the destruction in the bowlder studded bottom. The
sheriff and deputies followed the car to the canyon bottom, where Star and Collins
would have joined them. Only as they dropped over the canyon wall, they
passed on opposite sides of a stunted cedar. The chain which bound them together
held securely, and they were suspended in the air, kicking desperately, almost
tearing the tree from its precarious roothold Star hooked a toe over a jutting rock.
Inch by inch, they worked their way up to the canyon's rim and
were back on the trail when darkness fell Star was panting, but was not
nearly so winded as Collins. He set the pace through the gloom, heading
for the foothills to the north. They reasoned that hours would pass before their
escape was discovered. Moreover, pursuing posses would be at a disadvantage among the
trackless foothills. The following night, they crowded a small stream at a gravel
bar and spied a dead lying on the bank. Throwing themselves flat on their
stomachs, they devoured it in great bites, for with the exception of a
rabbit which a surprised bobcat had dropped, this was their first meal since their
escape. Because of the chain that linked them together, they formed a close
partnership. Neither could lie down, sit down, or arise without the consent
of the other. Bitterly they cursed the lynks of steel, which turned their
waking hours into a series of mishaps. So far, posses had not appeared
on their trail. This was not strange, considering the wide expanse of sparsely
settled country which must be searched. The fugitives were in little dread of men,
but waking or sleeping, they could not rid their minds of the thought
of avenging dogs. The anticipation of bloodhounds caused a cold sweat to dampen Starr's
clothes, while Collins gritted his teeth and lunged forward with desperate steps. Both
men knew of the dogs, half bloodhound half mastiff, that were owned by
a wrencher near Mills Junction. It was the boast of the county that these
terrible dogs seldom lost a trail, and when loosed unmuzzled, had been known
to rend fugitives limb from limb. Starr and Collins had one hope. Some
years ago, Starr had spent several weeks with a renegade hermit who had a
shack in the woods beyond the foothills. If they could reach his shack,
he would remove their manacles. He might be dead, or he might have
moved, but the fugitives hoped against hope that he would be ready to aid
and hide them. The knights were cool in the foothills, but the days
were hot. Berries were abundant, hanging dead ripe on countless bushes, providing
food. When they stopped to rest, they worked persistently at their manacles.
If they could sever the chain which bound them risks to wrist. Their progress
would be easier and safer. This much accomplished, they might devise a way
to remove the handcuffs. They dragged the chain back and forth over flint rocks.
They worked and strained and pulled, but the stout lynx refused to yield.
After each trial, Star and Collins arose, cursing, and continued their
flight toward the north. Early one morning, both men paused, simultaneously,
holding their breath while they listened. From the south floated a faint echo,
which froze the blood in their veins. Again, the sound echoed. It
was the baying of a hound. The baying increased in loudness as the pursuit
grew easier. Star and Collins crashed through the brush to a small rock pile,
Gasping and moaning. They dragged their weary bodies to the top of the
rocks and saw the hounds lope through the brush into an open space. The
great dogs were unmuzzled as the fugitives cringed before the attack. The triumphant baying
of the hounds gave place to a plaintive whimper. The great dogs paused in
their tracks, the hair bristling on their backs while their tails sank between their
legs. Their brute instinct had warned them of apparel which tearing fangs would not
guard against. A wolf had emerged from the brush to the north of Star
and Collins, and its bared fangs and feted slaver streaming from its jaw.
The eye staring balefully and the dull upstanding hair showed that the wolf was mad.
The dogs fled from its approach, but the men were in the path
of the frenzied animal. They tried to leap away from the dripping jaws,
which slashed them, but were bitten in several places before a kick disabled the
animal. Hope fled from the hearts of the fugitives. As they examined their
wounds, they were haunted with the specter of approaching madness. They cursed and
fought and strained on the chain until their wrists were torn and bleeding. They
rolled on the ground and wept, then arose and continued their efforts with the
chain. The presence of each became decidedly objectionable to the other. Who would
be the first victim of rabies? This question drove them to frenzied, pulling
and straining. The thought upmost in the mind of each was a consuming desire
to become separate from his companion. They fought the chain at intervals through the
night, then continued their desperate journey. The morning sun stole over the brooding
hills. Wild animals feasted, gamboled, and basted in the golden sunshine.
A fissure emerged from a pool with a fish in its mouth, saw the
fugitives, then fled. Grouse went about their affairs undisturbed, and a great
eagle sailed in a wide circle through the azure air. Peace rested over wild
things, but in the hearts of the two men raged an inferno. They
knew they were to die, and in a measure they comprehended the manner of
their death. As they paused to eat berries, they eyed each other sharply,
kneeling by the bush, scratching their faces with brambles as they devoured the
watery food. Berries sustained life, but did not strengthen them. Their bodies
gradually weakened, but this weakness did not lessen the feverish vigor of their minds.
Each knew what the other was thinking. The one who showed the first
symptoms of rabies would be killed, if possible by his companion. One afternoon,
they trudged through a thicket and approached a bubbling brook. Ours had elapsed
since our last drink, and Star sank to the ground, eagerly gulping the
water. His thirst quenched. He glanced at Collins, then his body stiffened.
Collins was not drinking. His eyes had become dull and fixed. A
shiver shook his form. As they regained their feet, the shaking spells recurred,
his spasms became more intense. Suddenly he gave gave an unearthly shriek and
bared his teeth at Star, who leaped aside in fright, swinging Collins around
and around. His fright aided strength to his muscles. Panting and exhausted,
they crouched on the ground, glaring and whimpering. Another spasm shook Collins as
they crossed the ridge. He tried to bite and tear Star's arm, Remembering
a fighting trick he had learned in the lumber camps, Star lunged with his
left knee extended, striking Collins in the stomach. They fell to the ground,
Collins, made temporarily helpless from the blow, Star again drove his knees
into the madman's abdomen. Collins raised his head and Starr dashed his own head
against it, the impact driving Colin's head against a sharp stone and rendering him
unconscious. A new difficulty arose, for Star could not free himself from the
helpless body. Its weight hindered his progress as he moved from bush to bush,
greedily devouring berries. When he lay down to rest, the madman was
beside him. He dare not fall asleep, while expecting his companion's return to
consciousness the next day, The increasing horror of his predicament caused him to grow
hysterical. He called for help and listened in terror to the lonesome echoes.
Toward evening, he saw that Collins was dying. The approaching darkness caused him
to stumble and fight through a bush, dragging the burden alongside him. He
came to a rusted spur of track, abandoned since the lumber mills at Rafter
had closed. The sight of the rusty rails and the warmth of the rising
sun served to clear his mind. He remembered that the hermit Shack was north
of this track. As he stumbled along, making slow headway, he felt
a change creeping over him. He was near a brook and passed a pool
of water and recoiled in fright from its limpid coolness. Spasms shook him,
and he looked for something to rend and tear. During lucid intervals between spasms,
he struggled grimly through the bush. Each attack was leaving him weaker.
When evening came, he looked upon imaginary sights, which added to his desperation.
His mad brain showed foul vampires flapping through the air about him, throwing
water from their wings and from each side. Hideous imps called his name,
extending vessels of water and inviting him to drink. He sought to slay them,
but they recoiled with demonic grins, only to renew their torments. He
thought. Colin arose, gazed at him with cadaverous eyes, and asked him
to hurry to a pool where they could drink and splash and swim with bared
teeth. Star showed his displeasure at such an invitation. He was panting now,
and darkness had fallen. His tormentors still offered him water, but between
spasms he made slow progress until a light appeared in the darkness. Gradually,
the vague outlines of a cabin showed close at hand, Star was more normal.
He cried with joy at the thought of his relief when the hermit had
severed the chains which bound him. Once free, he would smite his tormentors.
He reached the window through which the light streamed, thrust his head through
the opening, and groaned. The hermit was cleaning a pistol, which he
dropped in fright. As Stars groan reached his ears, he saw the face
in the window, the lips spread in an awful grimace, showing blood stained
teeth, and the sunken, discolored cheeks and staring, glazing eyes a specter.
The hermit screamed. His hand reached behind him and grasped a rifle,
which flew to his shoulder. As the apparition strove to speak, The rifle
rang, and Star lay down to rest, as though soothed by the echoes
reverberating among the hills. The End of Justice in the Foothills by Clement White