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diff --git a/29617-h/29617-h.htm b/29617-h/29617-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3cfb8b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/29617-h/29617-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14451 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Vagrant Duke, by George Gibbs. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + p { margin-top: .5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .5em; + text-indent: 1em; + } + h1 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h5,h6 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h2 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h3 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h4 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + a {text-decoration: none} /* no lines under links */ + div.centered {text-align: center;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 2 */ + + .cen {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} /* centering paragraphs */ + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} /* small caps */ + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} /* block indent */ + .right {text-align: right; padding-right: 2em;} /* right aligning paragraphs */ + .img {text-align: center; padding: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} /* centering images */ + .tdr {text-align: right;} /* right align cell */ + .tdrp {text-align: right; padding-right: 1em;} /* right align with padding */ + .tdc {text-align: center;} /* center align cell */ + .tdcl {text-align: center; border-left: 1pt black solid;} /* align center, border left */ + .tdclr {text-align: center; border-left: 1pt black solid; border-right: 1pt black solid;} /* center align, left and right borders */ + .tdclrt {text-align: center; border-left: 1pt black solid; border-right: 1pt black solid; border-top: 1pt black solid;} /* center align, top, left and right borders */ + .tdcr {text-align: center; border-right: 1pt black solid;} /* align center, border right */ + .tdl {text-align: left;} /* left align cell */ + .tr {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 1em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} /* transcriber's notes */ + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; right: 2%; + font-size: 75%; + color: silver; + background-color: inherit; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0em; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal;} /* page numbers */ + + .poem {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem span.pn { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; right: 2%; + font-size: 75%; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0em; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + color: silver; background-color: inherit; + font-variant: normal;} /* page numbers in poems */ + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vagrant Duke, by George Gibbs + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Vagrant Duke + +Author: George Gibbs + +Release Date: August 6, 2009 [EBook #29617] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VAGRANT DUKE *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Barbara Kosker, Bill Tozier +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h1><i>The</i><br /> + +VAGRANT DUKE</h1> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="60%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="List"> + <tr> + <td class="tdclrt" colspan="2" style="padding-top: .75em;"><span style="font-size: 120%;"><b>BY GEORGE GIBBS</b></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Vagrant Duke</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Spendid Outcast</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Black Stone</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Golden Bough</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Secret Witness</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">Paradise Garden</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Yellow Dove</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Flaming Sword</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">Madcap</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Silent Battle</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Maker of Opportunities</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Forbidden Way</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">The Bolted Door</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2">Tony's Wife</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclr" colspan="2" style="padding-bottom: .5em;">The Medusa Emerald</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdclrt" colspan="2" style="padding-top: .5em;"><b>D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</b></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdcl" width="50%" style="border-bottom: 1pt black solid; padding-bottom: .5em;"> Publishers</td> + <td class="tdcr" width="50%" style="border-bottom: 1pt black solid; padding-bottom: .5em">New York </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<div class="img"><a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a> +<a href="images/frontis.jpg"> +<img border="0" src="images/frontis.jpg" width="50%" alt="PETER STRUCK HIM FULL ON THE HEAD" /></a><br /> +<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">PETER STRUCK HIM FULL ON THE HEAD</p> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h1><i>The</i><br /> + VAGRANT DUKE</h1> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2> GEORGE GIBBS</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF "THE SPLENDID OUTCAST," "THE YELLOW DOVE,"<br /> + "THE SECRET WITNESS," ETC.</h4> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<div class="img"> +<img border="0" src="images/deco.png" width="10%" alt="Publisher's Mark" /> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h4> D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br /> + NEW YORK LONDON<br /> + 1921</h4> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h5>COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY<br /> +D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</h5> +<br /> +<br /> +<h5>Copyright, 1920, by The Story Press Corporation<br /> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</h5> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span> +<br /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="70%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents"> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp" width="13%" style="font-size: 80%;">CHAPTER</td> + <td class="tdl" width="84%"> </td> + <td class="tdr" width="13%" style="font-size: 80%;">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp"> </td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Prologue</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">I</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Introducing Peter Nichols</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">II</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">New York</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">III</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">The Overall Girl</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">IV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">The Job</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">V</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">New Elements</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">VI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">The House of Terror</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">VII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Music</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">VIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">The Placard</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">IX</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Shad Is Unpleasant</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">X</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Hawk</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Ancient History</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Confession</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">The Chase</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XIV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Two Letters</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XV</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Superman</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XVI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Identification</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XVII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Peter Becomes a Conspirator</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XVIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Face to Face</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XIX<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Yakimov Reveals Himself</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XX</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">The Russian Pays</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_308">308</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XXI</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">The Inferno</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_326">326</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XXII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">Retribution</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdrp">XXIII</td> + <td class="tdl smcap">A Visitor</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<p class="cen"> +<span style="font-size: 175%;"><b><i>The</i></b></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> +<span style="font-size: 175%;"><b>VAGRANT DUKE</b></span> +</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> + +<hr /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span> +<br /> +<h2>THE VAGRANT DUKE</h2> + +<h2><i>PROLOGUE</i></h2> +<br /> + +<p><i>At the piano a man sat playing the "Revolutionary Étude" of Chopin. The +room was magnificent in its proportions, its furnishings were massive, +its paneled oak walls were hung with portraits of men and women in the +costumes of a bygone day. Through the lofty windows, the casements of +which were open to the evening sky there was a vista of forest and +meadow-land stretching interminably to the setting sun. The mosquelike +cupola of a village church, a few versts distant, glimmered like a pearl +in the dusky setting of wooded hills, and close by it, here and there, +tiny spirals of opalescent smoke marked the dwellings of Zukovo +village.</i></p> + +<p><i>But the man at the piano was detached, a being apart from this scene of +quiet, absorbed in his piano, which gave forth the turbulence which had +been in the soul of the great composer. The expression upon the dark +face of the young musician was rapt and eager, until he crashed the +chords to their triumphant conclusion when he sank back in his chair +with a gasp, his head bent forward upon his breast, his dark gaze fixed +upon the keys which still echoed with the tumult.</i></p> + +<p><i>It was at this moment that a door at the side of the room was opened +and a white-haired man in purple livery entered and stood in silence +regarding rather wistfully the man at the piano, who raised his head +abruptly like one startled from a dream.</i></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span><i>"What is it, Vasili?" asked the musician.</i></p> + +<p><i>The servant approached softly a few steps.</i></p> + +<p><i>"I did not wish to intrude, Highness, but——"</i></p> + +<p><i>As the old servant hesitated, the young man shrugged and rose, +disclosing a tall, straight figure, clad in a dark blue blouse, loose +trousers and brown boots liberally bespattered with mud. The glow of the +sun which shot across his face as he came forward into the light, showed +swarthy features, level brows, a straight nose, a well turned chin, a +small mustache and a generous mouth which revealed a capacity for humor. +He was quite calm now, and the tones of his voice were almost boyish in +their confidence and gayety.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Well, what is it, Vasili?" he repeated. "You have the air of one with +much on your conscience. Out with it. Has Sacha been fighting with you +again?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"No, Master, not Sacha," said the old man clearing his throat +nervously, "it is something worse—much worse than Sacha."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Impossible!" said the other with a laugh as he took up a cigarette +from the table. "Nothing could be worse than a Russian cook when she +gets into a rage——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"But it is, Master—something worse—much worse——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Really! You alarm me." The Grand Duke threw himself into an armchair +and inhaled luxuriously of his cigarette. And then with a shrug, +"Well?"</i></p> + +<p><i>The old man came a pace or two nearer muttering hoarsely, "They've +broken out in the village again," he gasped.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Grand Duke's brow contracted suddenly.</i></p> + +<p><i>"H-m. When did this happen?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Last night. And this morning they burned the stables of Prince +Galitzin and looted the castle."</i></p> + +<p><i>The young man sprang to his feet.</i></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span><i>"You are sure of this?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Yes, Master. The word was brought by Serge Andriev less than ten +minutes ago."</i></p> + +<p><i>He took a few rapid paces up and down the room, stopping by the open +window and staring out.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Fools!" he muttered to himself. Then turning to the old servitor, +"But, Vasili—why is it that I have heard nothing of this? To-day +Conrad, the forester, said nothing to me. And the day before yesterday +in the village the people swept off their caps to me—as in the old +days. I could have sworn everything would be peaceful at Zukovo—at +least, for the present——" he added as though in an afterthought.</i></p> + +<p><i>"I pray God that may be true," muttered Vasili uncertainly. And then +with unction, "In their hearts, they still love you, Highness. They are +children—your children, their hearts still full of reverence for the +Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch in whom runs the same blood as that which +ran in the sacred being of the Little Father—but their brains! They are +drunk with the poison poured into their minds by the Committeemen from +Moscow."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Ah," eagerly, "they returned?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Last night," replied the old man wagging his head. "And your people +forgot all that you had said to them—all that they owe to you. They are +mad," he finished despairingly, "mad!"</i></p> + +<p><i>The Grand Duke had folded his arms and was staring out of the window +toward the white dome of the church now dyed red like a globule of blood +in the sunset.</i></p> + +<p><i>The old man watched him for a moment, all the fealty of his many years +of service in his gaze and attitude.</i></p> + +<p><i>"I do not like the look of things, Highness. What does it matter how +good their hearts are if their brains are bad?"</i></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span><i>"I must go and talk with them, Vasili," said the Grand Duke quietly.</i></p> + +<p><i>The old man took a step forward.</i></p> + +<p><i>"If I might make so free——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Speak——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Not to-night, Master——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Why not?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"It will be dangerous. Last night their voices were raised even against +you."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Me! Why? Have I not done everything I could to help them? I am their +friend—because I believe in their cause: and they will get their rights +too but not by burning and looting——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"And murder, Master. Two of Prince Galitzin's foresters were killed."</i></p> + +<p><i>The Grand Duke turned. "That's bad. Murder in Zukovo!" He flicked his +extinguished cigarette out of the window and made a gesture with his +hand.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Go, Vasili. I want to think. I will ring if I need you."</i></p> + +<p><i>"You will not go to Zukovo to-night?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"I don't know."</i></p> + +<p><i>And with another gesture he waved the servant away.</i></p> + +<p><i>When Vasili had gone, the Grand Duke sat, his legs across the chair by +the window, his arms folded along its back while his dark eyes peered +out, beyond the hills and forests, beyond the reddened dome of the +village church into the past where his magnificent father Nicholas +Petrovitch held feudal sway over all the land within his vision and his +father's fathers from the time of his own great namesake held all Russia +in the hollow of their hands.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Grand Duke's eyes were hard and bright above the slightly prominent +cheek bones, the vestiges of his Oriental origin, but there was +something of his English mother too <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>in the contours of his chin and +lips, which tempered the hardness of his expression. The lines at his +brows were not the savage marks of anger, or the vengefulness that had +characterized the pitiless blood which ran in his veins, but rather were +they lines of disappointment, of perplexity at the problem that +confronted him, and pity for his people who did not know where to turn +for guidance. He still believed them to be his people, a heritage from +his lordly parent, his children, who were responsible to him and to whom +he was responsible. It was a habit of thought, inalienable, the product +of the ages. But it was the calm philosophy of his English mother that +had first given him his real sense of obligation to them, her teachings, +even before the war began, that had shown him how terrible were the +problems that confronted his future.</i></p> + +<p><i>His service in the Army had opened his eyes still wider and when Russia +had deserted her allies he had returned to Zukovo to begin the work of +reconstruction in the ways his awakened conscience had dictated. He had +visited their homes, offered them counsel, given them such money as he +could spare, and had, he thought, become their friend as well as their +hereditary guardian. All had gone well at first. They had listened to +him, accepted his advice and his money and renewed their fealty under +the new order of things, vowing that whatever happened elsewhere in +Russia, blood and agony and starvation should not visit Zukovo.</i></p> + +<p><i>But the news that Vasili brought was disquieting. It meant that the +minds of his people were again disturbed. And the fact that Prince +Galitzin had always been hated made the problems the Grand Duke faced +none the less difficult. For his people had burned, pillaged and killed. +They had betrayed him. And he had learned in the Army what fire and the +smell of blood could do....</i></p> + +<p><i>With a quick nod of resolution he rose. He would go <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>to them. He knew +their leaders. They would listen to him. They</i> must <i>listen....</i></p> + +<p><i>He closed the piano carefully, putting away the loose sheets of music, +picked up his cap and heavy riding crop from the divan, on his way to +the door, pausing, his hand on the bell-rope as a thought brought a +deeper frown to his brow.... Why had Conrad Grabar, his chief forester, +said nothing to-day? He must have known—for news such as this travels +from leaf to leaf through the forest. Conrad! And yet he would have +sworn by the faithfulness of his old friend and hunting companion. +Perhaps Conrad had not known....</i></p> + +<p><i>The Grand Duke pulled the bell-rope, then went to the window again and +stood as though listening for the voices of the woods. Silence. The sun +had sunk, a dull red ball, and the dusk was falling swiftly. The aspens +below his window quivered slightly, throwing their white leaves upwards +as though in pain. The stately pines that he loved, mute, solemn, +changeless, filled the air with balsam, but they gave no answer to his +problem. It was difficult to believe that, there, in the restless souls +of men war could rage. And yet....</i></p> + +<p><i>He peered out more intently. Beyond the pine forest, a murky cloud was +rising. A storm? Hardly. For the sun had set in a clear sky. But there +was a cloud surely, growing in darkness and intensity. He could see it +more clearly now, billowing upward in grim portent.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Grand Duke started and then stared again. The cloud was of smoke. +Through the woods, tiny lights were sparkling, picked out with ominous +brilliancy against the velvet dusk. Peter Nicholaevitch leaned far out +of the window, straining his ears to listen. And now he seemed to hear +the crackle of flames, the distant sound of hoarse voices, shouting and +singing.</i></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span><i>And while he still listened, aware that a great crisis had come into +his life, there was a commotion just below him, the sound of voices +close at hand and he saw a man come running from the woods, approaching +the gateway of the Castle.</i></p> + +<p><i>He recognized him by the gray beard and thickset figure. It was Boris +Rylov, the Huntsman, and as he ran he shouted to some one in the +courtyard below. The Grand Duke made out the words:</i></p> + +<p><i>"They're burning the Hunting Lodge—where is the Master——?"</i></p> + +<p><i>Peter Nicholaevitch waited at the window no longer, but ran out of the +room and down the flight of stairs into the great hall below. For he +knew what had happened now. The Red Terror had come to Zukovo.</i></p> + +<p><i>He went out to the garden terrace, crossing quickly to the courtyard +where he met the frightened group of servants that had assembled.</i></p> + +<p><i>Boris, the Huntsman, much out of breath was waving his arms excitedly +toward the cloud of smoke rising above the pine trees, now tinged a +dirty orange color from beneath.</i></p> + +<p><i>"They came from all directions, Master," he gasped, "like the black +flies upon a dead horse—hundreds—thousands of them from the village +and all the country round. I talked with the first that came, Anton +Lensky, Gleb Saltykov, Michael Kuprin and Conrad Grabar——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Conrad——!" gasped the Grand Duke.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Yes, Highness," muttered Boris, his head bowed, "Conrad Grabar. They +tried to restrain me. Michael Kuprin I struck upon the head with a +stick—and then I fled—to warn your Highness—that they mean to come +hither."</i></p> + +<p><i>The face of the Grand Duke, a trifle pale under its tan, was set in +stern lines, but there was no fear in his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>manner as he quickly +questioned, his eyes eagerly scrutinizing the frightened men and women +about him while he spoke to them with cool decision.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Thanks, Friend Rylov—you have done me a service I shall not forget." +Then to the others, "If there are any of you who fear to remain with me, +you may go. I cannot believe that they will come to Zukovo Castle, but +we will close the gate to the courtyard at once. I will talk with them +from the terrace wall."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Master! Highness!" broke in the Huntsman violently, "you do not +understand. You cannot stay here. They are mad. They will kill you. It +is for that they come——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Nevertheless—I mean to stay——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"It is death——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Go thou, then, and Vasili, and Ivan. For before they burn Zukovo, I +mean to talk with them——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"It is madness——!"</i></p> + +<p><i>"Come, Highness," broke in Leo Garshin, the head-groom, eagerly, "I +will put the saddle upon Vera, and you can go out of the iron gate from +the stable-yard into the forest. Nothing can catch you and you can reach +the river——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"No, Leo——" put in the Grand Duke kindly. "I shall stay."</i></p> + +<p><i>The servants glanced at one another, appalled at the Master's attitude. +Some of them, had already disappeared into the Castle but others, less +timorous, had already rushed to close the courtyard gate.</i></p> + +<p><i>"You say they are many, Friend Rylov?" he asked again.</i></p> + +<p><i>"As the hairs of your head, Master—from Ivanovna, +Jaroslav—everywhere—and women, Highness, more terrible than the +men——"</i></p> + +<p><i>"And the leaders——?"</i></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span><i>"Dmitri Sidorov of the Zemstvo and Michael Kositzin and Anton Lensky. +See, yonder! Where the road turns from the clearing—they come!"</i></p> + +<p><i>The keen eyes of Boris saw further through the forest than those of +most men but in a moment those of the Grand Duke Peter confirmed him. +Figures were moving in the twilight, along the roads and bypaths.</i></p> + +<p><i>To Peter Nicholaevitch they seemed like a great river which had flooded +over its banks seeking new levels. Behind them the flames from the +wooden hunting lodge roared upward painting a lurid sky. He saw that the +flood came rapidly, and above the roar of the flames came the sound of +voices singing the Russian version of the "Marseillaise." The Grand Duke +stood at the terrace wall watching their approach. He knew that if they +meant to attack the Castle the gate could not hold long, but he had hope +that he might still be able to prevail upon them to listen to him. In a +moment they saw him and began running forward toward the courtyard gate. +He recognized individuals now—Anton Lensky, Michael Kuprin, with his +head tied in a dirty handkerchief—and Conrad Grabar. The defection of +his old instructor in wood-lore disturbed him. Conrad must have known +what was to happen and he had said nothing. If Conrad had turned against +him, what hope had he of prevailing against the others?</i></p> + +<p><i>The singing died away and in its place, shouts and cries burst forth in +a bedlam. "Open the gate!" "Let us in!"</i></p> + +<p><i>The Grand Duke had heard that note in men's voices in the Carpathian +passes, and he knew what it meant, but while his gaze sought out the fat +figure of Michael Kositzin who was the leader of the uprising, he held +up his hand for silence.</i></p> + +<p><i>There was a roar of voices.</i></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span><i>"Peter Nicholaevitch wishes to speak."</i></p> + +<p><i>"It is our turn to speak now."</i></p> + +<p>"Nasha pora prishlà," (<i>our time has come</i>).</p> + +<p><i>"Let the little master speak."</i></p> + +<p><i>"We know no little masters here!"</i></p> + +<p><i>"No, nor old ones!"</i></p> + +<p>"Smiert Bourjouiam" (<i>Death to the bourgeoisie</i>).</p> + +<p><i>But as the young Grand Duke began to speak the voices of the most rabid +of the peasants were hushed for a moment by the others.</i></p> + +<p><i>"My friends and my children" he began, "one word before you do +something that you will forever regret. I am your friend. I am young—of +the new generation. I have kept abreast of the new thought of the time +and I believe in the New Life that is for you and for us all. I have +proved it to you by bringing the New Life to Zukovo by peaceful means, +by friendliness and brotherhood while other parts of Russia near by are +in agony and darkness." (Cries of "That is true.") "It was in my heart +that I had brought the Revolution to Zukovo, a Revolution against the +old order of things which can be no more, implanting in you the strong +seeds of Peace and Brotherhood which would kill out the ugly weeds of +violence and enmity."</i></p> + +<p><i>Here a hoarse voice rang out: "Fire—only fire can clean." Then the +reply of a woman, "Yes,</i> Tovaristchi, <i>it is the only way."</i></p> + +<p><i>Peter Nicholaevitch tried to seek out the speakers with his gaze. One +of them was Michael Kuprin whom when a child the Grand Duke had seen +flogged in this very courtyard.</i></p> + +<p><i>"There are sins of the past," he went on, raising his voice against the +low murmur of the mob, "many sins against you, but one sin does not wash +out another. Murder, rapine, vengeance will never bring peace to +Zukovo. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>What you do to-day will be visited on you to-morrow. I pray +that you will listen to me. I have fought for you and with you—with +Gleb Saltykov and Anton Lensky, against the return of Absolutism in +Russia. The old order of things is gone. Do not stain the new with crime +in Zukovo. I beseech you to disperse—return to your homes and I will +come to you to-morrow and if there are wrongs I will set them right. You +have believed in me in the past. Believe in me now and all may yet be +well in Zukovo. Go, my friends, before it is too late——"</i></p> + +<p><i>The crowd wavered, murmuring. But just then a shot rang out and the cap +of the Grand Duke twitched around on his head.</i></p> + +<p><i>A roar went up from near the gate,</i> "Nasha pora prishlà! <i>Break in the +gate!" cried the voices and there were those of women among them +shouting</i> "Tovaristchi! <i>Forward!"</i></p> + +<p><i>Over the heads of those in the front ranks, Peter Nicholaevitch saw +some men bringing from the forest the heavy trunk of a felled pine tree. +They meant to break down the gate. He knew that he had failed but still +he stood upright facing them. Another shot, the bullet this time grazing +his left arm. The sting of it angered him.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Cowards!" he yelled, shaking his fist at them. "Cowards!"</i></p> + +<p><i>A volley followed but no other bullets struck him. Behind him in the +Castle doorway he heard the voice of Boris Rylov, calling to him +hoarsely.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Come, Master. For the love of God! There is yet time."</i></p> + +<p><i>There was a crash of the heavy timbers at the gate.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Come, Master——"</i></p> + +<p><i>With a shrug Peter Nicholaevitch turned and walked across the terrace +toward the Castle.</i> "Bolvany!" <i>he muttered. "I've finished with +them."</i></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span><i>Boris and Vasili stood just within the door, pleading with him to +hurry, and together they made their way through the deserted kitchens +and over past the vegetable gardens to the stables, where Leo Garshin +awaited them, the saddles on several horses. Behind them they could now +hear the triumphant cries as the courtyard gate crashed in.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Hurry, Master!" cried Garshin eagerly.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Where are the others?" asked the Grand Duke.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Gone, Highness. They have fled."</i></p> + +<p><i>Boris Rylov was peering out past an iron door into the forest.</i></p> + +<p><i>"There is no one there?" asked Garshin.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Not yet. They have forgotten."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Come then, Highness."</i></p> + +<p><i>But the Grand Duke saw that the aged Vasili was mounted first and then +they rode out of the iron gate into a path which led directly into the +forest. It was not until they were well clear of the buildings that a +shout at one side announced that their mode of escape had been +discovered. Men came running, firing pistols as they ran. Boris Rylov, +bringing up the rear, reined in his horse and turning emptied a revolver +at the nearest of their pursuers. One man fell and the others halted.</i></p> + +<p><i>Until they found the other horses in the stables pursuit was +fruitless.</i></p> + +<p><i>Peter Nicholaevitch rode at the head of the little cavalcade, down the +familiar aisles of the forest, his head bowed, a deep frown on his +brows. It was Vasili who first noticed the blood dripping from his +finger ends.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Master," he gasped, "you are wounded."</i></p> + +<p><i>"It is nothing," said the Grand Duke.</i></p> + +<p><i>But Vasili bound the arm up with a handkerchief while Leo Garshin and +Boris Rylov watched the path down which they had come. They could hear +the crackling of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>the flames at the Hunting Lodge to the southward and +the cries of the mob at the Castle, but there was no sign of pursuit. +Perhaps they were satisfied to appease their madness with pillage and +fire. Half an hour later Boris pointed backward. A new glow had risen, a +redder, deeper glow.</i></p> + +<p><i>"The Castle, Master——" wailed Vasili.</i></p> + +<p><i>Peter Nicholaevitch drew rein at a cross-path, watched for a moment and +then turned to his companions, for he had reached a decision.</i></p> + +<p><i>"My good friends," he said gently, "our ways part here."</i></p> + +<p><i>"Master! Highness!"</i></p> + +<p><i>But he was resolute.</i></p> + +<p><i>"I am going on alone. I will not involve you further in my misfortunes. +You can do nothing for me—nor I anything for you except this. Vasili +knows. In the vault below the wine-cellar, hidden away, are some objects +of value. They will not find them. When they go away you will return. +The visit will repay you. Divide what is there into equal parts—silver, +plate and gold. As for me—forget me. Farewell!"</i></p> + +<p><i>They saw that he meant what he said. He offered these few faithful +servitors his hand and they kissed his fingers—a last act of fealty and +devotion and in a moment they stood listening to the diminishing +hoof-beats of Vera as the young master went out of their lives.</i></p> + +<p><i>"May God preserve him," muttered Vasili.</i></p> + +<p><i>"Amen," said Boris Rylov and Leo Garshin.</i></p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> + +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h2>INTRODUCING PETER NICHOLS</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The British refugee ship <i>Phrygia</i> was about to sail for Constantinople +where her unfortunate passengers were to be transferred to other vessels +sailing for Liverpool and New York. After some difficulties the refugee +made his way aboard her and announced his identity to the captain. If he +had expected to be received with the honor due to one of his rank and +station he was quickly undeceived, for Captain Blashford, a man of rough +manners, concealing a gentle heart, looked him over critically, examined +his credentials (letters he had happened to have about him), and then +smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>"We've got room for one more—and that's about all."</p> + +<p>"I have no money——" began the refugee.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," shrugged the Captain, "you're not the only one. +We've a cargo of twenty princes, thirty-two princesses, eighteen +generals and enough counts and countesses to set up a new nation +somewhere. Your 'Ighness is the only Duke that has reached us up to the +present speakin' and if there are any others, they'll 'ave to be brisk +for we're sailin' in twenty minutes."</p> + +<p>The matter-of-fact tones with which the unemotional Britisher made this +announcement restored the lost sense of humor of the Russian refugee, +and he broke into a grim laugh.</p> + +<p>"An embarrassment of riches," remarked the Grand Duke.</p> + +<p>"Riches," grunted the Captain, "in a manner of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>speakin', yes. Money is +not so plentiful. But jools! Good God! There must be half a ton of +diamonds, rubies and emeralds aboard. All they're got left most of 'em, +but complaints and narvousness. Give me a cargo of wheat and I'm your +man," growled the Captain. "It stays put and doesn't complain," and then +turning to Peter—"Ye're not expectin' any r'yal suite aboard the +<i>Phrygia</i>, are ye?"</p> + +<p>"No. A hammock for'rad will be good enough for me."</p> + +<p>"That's the way I like to 'ear a man talk. Good God! As man to man, I +arsk you,—with Counts throwin' cigarette butts around an' princesses +cryin' all over my clean white decks an' all, what's a self-respectin' +skipper to do? But I 'ave my orders to fetch the odd lot to +Constantinople an' fetch 'em I will. Oh! They're odd—all right. Go +below, sir, an' 'ave a look at 'em."</p> + +<p>But Peter Nicholaevitch shook his head. He had been doing a deal of +quiet thinking in those starry nights upon the Dnieper, and he had +worked out his problem alone.</p> + +<p>"No, thanks," he said quietly, "if you don't mind, I think I'd rather +preserve my incognito."</p> + +<p>"Incognito, is it? Oh, very well, suit yourself. And what will I be +callin' your Highness?"</p> + +<p>"Peter Nichols," said the Grand Duke with a smile, "it's as good as any +other."</p> + +<p>"Right you are, Peter Nichols. Lay for'rad and tell the bos'n to show +you up to my cabin."</p> + +<p>So Peter Nichols went forward, avoiding the cargo aft, until within a +day's run of the Bosphorus when he found himself accosted by no less a +person than Prince Galitzin who had strolled out to get the morning air. +He tried to avoid the man but Galitzin planted himself firmly in his +path, scrutinizing him eagerly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>"You too, Highness!" he said with an accent of grieved surprise.</p> + +<p>The Grand Duke regarded him in a moment of silence.</p> + +<p>"It must be evident to you, Prince Galitzin, that I have some object in +remaining unknown."</p> + +<p>"But, Your Highness, such a thing is unnecessary. Are we not all +dedicated to the same misfortunes? Misery loves company."</p> + +<p>"You mean that it makes you less miserable to discover that I share your +fate?"</p> + +<p>"Not precisely that. It is merely that if one holding your liberal views +cannot escape the holocaust that has suddenly fallen there is little +hope for the rest of us."</p> + +<p>"No," said the Grand Duke shortly. "There is no hope, none at all, for +us or for Russia."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To America."</p> + +<p>"But, your Highness, that is impossible. We shall all have asylum in +England until conditions change. You should go there with us. It will +lend influence to our mission."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I am leaving Russia for the present. She is outcast. For, not content +with betraying others, she has betrayed herself."</p> + +<p>"But what are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>Peter Nicholaevitch smiled up at the sky and the fussy, fat, bejeweled +sycophant before him listened to him in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Prince Galitzin," said the Grand Duke amusedly, "I am going to do that +which may bring the blush of shame to your brow or the sneer of pity to +your lips. I am going to fulfill the destiny provided for every man with +a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>pair of strong hands, and a willing spirit—I am going to work."</p> + +<p>The Prince stepped back a pace, his watery eyes snapping in +incomprehension.</p> + +<p>"But your higher destiny—your great heritage as a Prince of the Royal +blood of Holy Russia."</p> + +<p>"There is no Holy Russia, my friend, until she is born again. Russia is +worse than traitor, worse than liar, worse than murderer and thief. She +is a fool."</p> + +<p>"All will come right in time. We go to England to wait."</p> + +<p>"I have other plans."</p> + +<p>"Then you will not join us? Princess Anastasie, my daughter, is here. +General Seminoff——"</p> + +<p>"It is useless. I have made up my mind. Leave me, if you please."</p> + +<p>Prince Galitzin disappeared quickly below to spread the information of +his discovery among the disconsolate refugees and it was not long before +it was known from one end of the <i>Phrygia</i> to the other that the fellow +who called himself Peter Nichols was none other than the Grand Duke +Peter Nicholaevitch, a cousin to his late Majesty Nicholas and a Prince +of the Royal blood. Peter Nichols sought the Captain in his cabin, +putting the whole case before him.</p> + +<p>"H-m," chuckled the Captain, "Found ye out, did they? There's only a few +of you left, that's why. Better stay 'ere in my cabin until we reach +Constantinople. I'd be honored, 'Ighness, to say nothin' of savin' you a +bit of bother."</p> + +<p>"You're very kind."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. Make yourself at 'ome. There's cigarettes on the locker and +a nip of the Scotch to keep the chill out. Here's a light. You've been +worryin' me some, 'Ighness. Fact is I didn't know just how big a bug you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>were until to-day when I arsked some questions. You'll forgive me, +'Ighness?"</p> + +<p>"Peter Nichols," corrected the Grand Duke.</p> + +<p>"No," insisted the Captain, "we'll give you yer title while we can. You +know we British have a bit of a taste for r'yalty when we know it's the +real thing. I don't take much stock in most of my cargo aft. And beggin' +yer 'Ighness's pardon I never took much stock in Russia since she lay +down on the job and left the Allies in the lurch——"</p> + +<p>"Captain Blashford," said the Grand Duke quietly. "You can't hurt my +feelings."</p> + +<p>"But I do like you, 'Ighness, and I want to do all that I can to 'elp +you when we get to anchor."</p> + +<p>"Thanks."</p> + +<p>"I take it that you don't want anybody ashore to know who ye are?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. Most of these refugees are going to England. I have reasons +for not wishing to go with them."</p> + +<p>"Where then do you propose to go?"</p> + +<p>"To the United States," said the Grand Duke eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Without money?"</p> + +<p>"I'd have no money if I went to England unless I subsisted on the +charity of my friends. My branch of the family is not rich. The war has +made us poorer. Such securities as I have are in a vault in Kiev. It +would be suicide for me to attempt to reclaim them now. I'm going to try +to make my own way."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>The Grand Duke laughed at the Englishman's expression.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Yer 'ands, 'Ighness."</p> + +<p>The Grand Duke shrugged and grinned.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>"I'll risk it. I'm not without resources. Will you help me to a ship +sailing for America?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—but——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll work my passage over—if nobody bothers me."</p> + +<p>"By George! I like your spirit. Give me your 'and, sir. I'll do what I +can. If the <i>Bermudian</i> hasn't sailed from the Horn yet, I think I can +manage it for ye."</p> + +<p>"And keep me clear of the rest of your passengers?" added His Highness.</p> + +<p>"Righto. They'll go on the <i>Semaphore</i>. You stay right 'ere and mum's +the word." And Captain Blashford went out on deck leaving Peter Nichols +to his cigarette and his meditations.</p> + +<p>Many times had the Grand Duke Peter given thanks that the blood of his +mother flowed strongly in his veins. He was more British than Russian +and he could remember things that had happened since he had grown to +adolescence which had made the half of him that was English revolt +against the Russian system. It was perhaps his musical education rather +than his University training or his travels in England and France that +had turned him to the <i>Intelligentsia</i>. In the vast republic of art and +letters he had imbibed the philosophy that was to threaten the very +existence of his own clan. The spread of the revolution had not dismayed +him, for he believed that in time the pendulum would swing back and +bring a constitutional government to Russia. But in the weeks of +struggle, privation, and passion a new Peter Nicholaevitch was born.</p> + +<p>The failure of his plans in the sudden flood of anarchy which had swept +over Zukovo, the treachery of those he had thought faithful and the +attempt upon his life had changed his viewpoint. It takes a truly noble +spirit to wish to kiss the finger that has pulled the trigger of a +revolver, the bullet from which has gone through one's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>hat. From +disappointment and dismay Peter Nicholaevitch had turned to anger. They +hadn't played the game with him. It wasn't cricket. His resolution to +sail for the United States was decided. To throw himself, an object of +charity, upon the mercies of the Earl of Shetland, his mother's cousin, +was not to be thought of.</p> + +<p>To his peasants he had preached the gospel of labor, humility and peace, +in that state of life to which they had been called. He had tried to +exemplify it to them. He could do no less now, to himself. By teaching +himself, he could perhaps fit himself to teach them. In England it would +perhaps be difficult to remain incognito, and he had a pride in wishing +to succeed alone and unaided. Only the United States, whose form of +government more nearly approached the ideal he had for Russia, could +offer him the opportunities to discover whether or not a prince could +not also be a man.</p> + +<p>To the Princess Anastasie he gave little thought. That their common +exile and the chance encounter under such circumstances had aroused no +return of an entente toward what had once been a half-sentimental +attachment convinced him of how little it had meant to him. There were +no royal prohibitions upon him now. To marry the Princess Anastasie and +settle in London, living upon the proceeds of her wealthy father's +American and British securities, was of course the easiest solution of +his difficulties. A life of ease, music, good sportsmanship, the comfort +that only England knows.... She was comely too—blond, petite, and +smoked her cigarette very prettily. Their marriage had once been +discussed. She wanted it still, perhaps. Something of all this may have +been somewhere in the back of Prince Galitzin's ambitious mind. The one +course would be so easy, the other——</p> + +<p>Peter Nicholaevitch rose and carefully flicked his cigarette through the +open port. No. One does not pass twice <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>through such moments of struggle +and self-communion as he had had in those long nights of his escape +along the Dnieper. He had chosen. Peter Nichols! The name amused him. If +Captain Blashford was a man of his word to-night would be the end of the +Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch, and the Princess Anastasie might find +some more ardent suitor to her grace and beauty.</p> + +<p>She did not seek him out. Perhaps the hint to Galitzin had been +sufficient and the Grand Duke from his hiding place saw her pretty +figure set ashore among the miscellany of martyred "r'yalty." He turned +away from his port-hole with a catch of his breath as the last vestige +of his old life passed from sight. And then quietly took up a fresh +cigarette and awaited the Captain.</p> + +<p>The details were easily arranged. Blashford was a man of resource and at +night returned from a visit to the Captain of the <i>Bermudian</i> with word +that all was well. He had been obliged to relate the facts but Captain +Armitage could keep a secret and promised the refugee a job under his +steward who was short-handed. And so the next morning, after shaving and +dressing himself in borrowed clothes, Peter Nichols shook Captain +Blashford warmly by the hand and went aboard his new ship.</p> + +<p>Peter Nichols' new job was that of a waiter at the tables in the dining +saloon. He was a very good waiter, supplying, from the wealth of a +Continental experience, the deficiencies of other waiters he had known. +He wore a black shell jacket and a white shirt front which remained +innocent of gravy spots. The food was not very good nor very plentiful, +but he served it with an air of such importance that it gained flavor +and substance by the reflection of his deference. There were English +officers bound for Malta, Frenchmen for Marseilles and Americans of the +Red Cross without number bound for New York. Girls, too, clear-eyed, +bronzed and hearty, who talked war <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>and politics beneath his very nose, +challenging his own theories. They noticed him too and whispered among +themselves, but true to his ambition to do every task at the best of his +bent, he preserved an immobile countenance and pocketed his fees, which +would be useful ere long, with the grateful appreciation of one to whom +shillings and franc pieces come as the gifts of God. Many were the +attempts to draw him into a conversation, but where the queries could +not be answered by a laconic "Yes, sir," or "No, sir," this paragon of +waiters maintained a smiling silence.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure he's a prince or something," he heard one young girl of a +hospital unit say to a young medico of the outfit. "Did you ever see +such a nose and brows in your life? And his hands——! You can never +mistake hands. I would swear those hands had never done menial work for +a thousand years."</p> + +<p>All of which was quite true, but it made the waiter Peter uncomfortably +careful. There were no women in the kitchen, but there was an amatory +stewardess, fat and forty, upon whom the factitious technique of the +saloon fell with singular insipidity. He fled from her. Peter, the +waiter, was already a good democrat but he was not ready to spread his +philosophy out so thin.</p> + +<p>He slept forward, messed abaft the galley, enriched his vocabulary and +broadened his point of view. There is no leveler like a ship's fo'c'sle, +no better school of philosophy than that of men upon their "beam ends." +There were many such—Poles, Slovaks, Roumanians, an Armenian or two, +refugees, adventurers from America, old, young, dissolute, making a +necessity of virtue under that successful oligarchy, the ship's bridge.</p> + +<p>In the Americans Peter was interested with an Englishman's point of +view. He had much to learn, and he invented a tale of his fortunes which +let him into their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>confidences, especially into that of Jim Coast, +waiter like himself, whose bunk adjoined his own. Jim Coast was a +citizen of the world, inured to privation under many flags. He had been +born in New Jersey, U. S. A., of decent people, had worked in the +cranberry bogs, farmed in Pennsylvania, "punched" cattle in Wyoming, +"prospected" in the Southwest, looted ranches in Mexico, fought against +Diaz and again with the insurgents in Venezuela, worked on cattle-ships +and so, by easy stages, had drifted across the breadth of Europe living +by his wits at the expense of the credulous and the unwary. And now, for +the first time in many years, he was going home—though just what that +meant he did not know. He had missed great fortune twice—"by the skin +of his teeth," as he picturesquely described it, once in a mine in +Arizona and again in a land-deal in the Argentine. There were reasons +why he hadn't dared to return to the United States before. He was a man +with a grievance, but, however free in his confidences in other +respects, gave the interested Peter no inkling as to what that grievance +was.</p> + +<p>No more curious acquaintanceship could possibly be imagined, but +privation, like politics, makes strange bedfellows, and, from tolerance +and amusement, Pete, as the other called him, found himself yielding, +without stint, to the fantastic spell of Jim Coast's multifarious +attractions. He seemed to have no doubts as to the possibility of making +a living in America and referred darkly to possible "coups" that would +net a fortune. He was an agreeable villain, not above mischief to gain +his ends, and Peter, who cherished an ideal, made sure that, once safe +ashore, it would be best if they parted company. But he didn't tell Jim +Coast so, for the conversational benefits he derived from that +gentleman's acquaintance were a liberal education.</p> + +<p>We are admonished that they are blessed who just stand <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>and wait, and +Peter Nichols, three days out of New York harbor, found himself the +possessor of forty dollars in tips from the voyage with sixty dollars +coming to him as wages—not so bad for a first venture upon the high +seas of industry. It was the first real money he had ever made in his +life and he was proud of it, jingling it contentedly in his pockets and +rubbing the bills luxuriously one against the other. But his plans +required more than this, for he had read enough to know that in the +United States one is often taken at one's own estimate, and that if he +wasn't to find a job as a ditch-digger, he must make a good appearance. +And so it was now time to make use of the one Grand Ducal possession +remaining to him, a gold ring set with a gorgeous ruby that had once +belonged to his father. This ring he had always worn and had removed +from his finger at Ushan, in the fear that its magnificence might betray +him. He had kept it carefully tied about his neck in a bag on a bit of +string and had of course not even shown it to Jim Coast who might have +deemed it an excuse to sever their strange friendship.</p> + +<p>Through the Head Steward he managed a message to Captain Armitage and +was bidden to the officer's cabin, where he explained the object of his +visit, exhibited his treasure and estimated its value.</p> + +<p>The Captain opened his eyes a bit wider as he gazed into the sanguine +depths of the stone.</p> + +<p>"If I didn't know something of your history, Nichols," he said with a +wink, "I might think you'd been looting the strong box of the Sultan of +Turkey. Pigeon's blood and as big as my thumb nail! You want to sell +it?"</p> + +<p>"I need capital."</p> + +<p>"What do you want for it?"</p> + +<p>"It's worth a thousand pounds of English money. Perhaps more, I don't +know. I'll take what I can get."</p> + +<p>"I see. You're afraid to negotiate the sale ashore?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>"Exactly. I'd be arrested."</p> + +<p>"And you don't want explanations. H-m—leave it with me over night. I'll +see the Purser. He'll know."</p> + +<p>"Thanks."</p> + +<p>The Captain offered the waiter in the shell-jacket the hospitality of +his cabin, but Peter Nichols thanked him gratefully and withdrew.</p> + +<p>The result of this arrangement was that the ruby ring changed owners. +The Purser bought it for two thousand in cash. He knew a good thing when +he saw it. But Peter Nichols was satisfied.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h2>NEW YORK</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The Duke-errant had prepared himself for the first glimpse of the +battlements of lower New York, but as the <i>Bermudian</i> came up the bay +that rosy spring afternoon, the western sun gilding the upper half of +the castellated towers which rose from a sea of moving shadows, it +seemed a dream city, the fortress of a fairy tale. His fingers tingled +to express this frozen music, to relieve it from its spell of +enchantment, and phrases of Debussy's "Cathédrale Engloutie" came +welling up within him from almost forgotten depths.</p> + +<p>"<i>Parbleu!</i> She's grown some, Pete, since I saw her last!"</p> + +<p>This from his grotesque companion who was not moved by concord of sweet +sounds. "They've buried the Trinity clean out of sight."</p> + +<p>"The Trinity?" questioned Peter solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart——" laughed Coast, "I'd say so——But I mean, the +church——And that must be the Woolworth Building yonder. Where's yer +St. Paul's and Kremlin now? Some village,—what?"</p> + +<p>"Gorgeous!" muttered Peter.</p> + +<p>"Hell of a thing to tackle single-handed, though, eh, boh?"</p> + +<p>Something of the same thought was passing through Peter's mind but he +only smiled.</p> + +<p>"I'll find a job," he said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Waitin'!" sneered Coast. "Fine job that for a man <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>with your learnin'. +'Hey, waiter! Some butter if you please,'" he satirized in mincing +tones, "'this soup is cold—this beef is underdone. Oh, <i>cawn't</i> you +give me some service here!' I say, don't you hear 'em—people that never +saw a servant in their own home town. Pretty occupation for an old war +horse like me or a globe-trotter like you. No. None for me. I'll fry my +fish in a bigger pan. <i>Allons!</i> Pete. I like you. I'll like you more +when you grow some older, but you've got a head above your ears that +ain't all bone. I can use you. What d'ye say? We'll get ashore, some +way, and then we'll show the U. S. A. a thing or two not written in the +books."</p> + +<p>"We'll go ashore together, Jim. Then we'll see."</p> + +<p>"Righto! But I'll eat my hat if I can see you balancin' dishes in a +Broadway Chop House."</p> + +<p>Peter couldn't see that either, but he didn't tell Jim Coast so. Their +hour on deck had struck, for a final meal was to be served and they went +below to finish their duties. That night they were paid off and +discharged.</p> + +<p>The difficulties in the way of inspection and interrogation of Peter +Nichols, the alien, were obviated by the simple expedient of his going +ashore under cover of the darkness and not coming back to the ship—this +at a hint from the sympathetic Armitage who gave the ex-waiter a +handclasp and his money and wished him success.</p> + +<p>Midnight found Peter and Jim Coast on Broadway in the neighborhood of +Forty-second Street with Peter blinking comfortably up at the electric +signs and marveling at everything. The more Coast drank the deeper was +his cynicism but Peter grew mellow. This was a wonderful new world he +was exploring and with two thousand dollars safely tucked on the inside +of his waistcoat, he was ready to defy the tooth of adversity.</p> + +<p>In the morning Peter Nichols came to a decision. And so over the coffee +and eggs when Coast asked him what <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>his plans were he told him he was +going to look for a job.</p> + +<p>Coast looked at him through the smoke of his cigar and spoke at last.</p> + +<p>"I didn't think you'd be a quitter, Pete. The world owes us a +livin'—you and me——Bah! It's easy if you'll use your headpiece. If +the world won't give, I mean to take. The jobs are meant for little +men."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"An enterprisin' man wouldn't ask such a question. Half the people in +the world takes what the other half gives. You ought to know what half +<i>I</i> belong to."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I belong to the other half, Jim Coast," said Peter quietly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sacré—!</i>" sneered the other, rising suddenly. "Where you goin' to +wait, Pete? At the Ritz or the Commodore? In a month you'll be waitin' +on <i>me</i>. It'll be <i>Mister</i> Coast for you then, <i>mon garçon</i>, but you'll +still be Pete." He shrugged and offered his hand. "Well, we won't +quarrel but our ways split here."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Jim. Good-by."</p> + +<p>He saw Coast slouch out into the street and disappear m the crowd moving +toward Broadway. He waited for a while thinking deeply and then with a +definite plan in his mind strolled forth. First he bought a second-hand +suit case in Seventh Avenue, then found a store marked "Gentlemen's +Outfitters" where he purchased ready-made clothing, a hat, shoes, +underwear, linen and cravats, arraying himself with a sense of some +satisfaction and packing in his suitcase what he couldn't wear, went +forth, found a taxi and drove in state to a good hotel.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>New York assimilates its immigrants with surprising rapidity. Through +this narrow funnel they pour into the "melting pot," their racial +characteristics already neutralized, their souls already inoculated with +the spirit of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>individualism. Prepared as he was to accept with a good +grace conditions as he found them, Peter Nichols was astonished at the +ease with which he fitted into the niche that he had chosen. His room +was on the eighteenth floor, to which and from which he was shot in an +enameled lift operated by a Uhlan in a monkey-cap. He found that it +required a rather nice adjustment of his muscles to spring forth at +precisely the proper moment. There was a young lady who presided over +the destinies of the particular shelf that he occupied in this enormous +cupboard, a very pretty young lady, something between a French Duchess +and a lady's maid. Her smile had a homelike quality though and it was +worth risking the perilous catapulting up and down for the mere pleasure +of handing her his room key. Having no valuables of course but his money +which he carried in his pockets there was no danger from unprincipled +persons had she been disposed to connive at dishonesty.</p> + +<p>His bedroom was small but neat and his bathroom was neat but small, +tiled in white enamel, containing every device that the heart of a clean +man could desire. He discovered that by dropping a quarter into various +apertures he could secure almost anything he required from tooth paste +to razor blades. There was a telephone beside his bed which rang at +inconvenient moments and a Bible upon the side table proclaimed the +religious fervor of this extraordinary people. A newspaper was sent in +to him every morning whether he rang for it or not, and every time he +did ring, a lesser Uhlan brought a thermos bottle containing iced water. +This perplexed him for a time but he was too much ashamed of his +ignorance to question. You see, he was already acquiring the first +ingredient of the American character—omniscience, for he found that in +New York no one ever admits that he doesn't know everything.</p> + +<p>But it was all very wonderful, pulsing with life, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>eloquent of +achievement. He was in no haste. By living with some care, he found that +the money from his ruby would last for several months. Meanwhile he was +studying his situation and its possibilities. Summing up his own +attainments he felt that he was qualified as a teacher of the piano or +of the voice, as an instructor in languages, or if the worst came, as a +waiter in a fashionable restaurant—perhaps even a head-waiter—which +from the authority he observed in the demeanor of the lord of the hotel +dining room seemed almost all the honor that a person in America might +hope to gain. But, in order that no proper opportunity should slip by, +he scanned the newspapers in the hope of finding something that he could +do.</p> + +<p>As the weeks passed he made the discovery that he was being immensely +entertained. He was all English now. It was not in the least difficult +to make acquaintances. Almost everybody spoke to everybody without the +slightest feeling of restraint. He learned the meaning of the latest +American slang but found difficulty in applying it, rejoiced in the +syncopation of the jazz, America's original contribution to the musical +art, and by the end of a month thought himself thoroughly acclimated.</p> + +<p>But he still surprised inquiring glances male and female cast in his +direction. There was something about his personality which, disguise it +as he might under American-made garments and American-made manners, +refused to be hidden. It was his charm added to his general good nature +and adaptability which quickly made Peter Nichols some friends of the +better sort. If he had been willing to drift downward he would have cast +in his lot with Jim Coast. Instead, he followed decent inclinations and +found himself at the end of six weeks a part of a group of young +business men who took him home to dine with their wives and gave him the +benefit of their friendly advice. To all of them he told the same story, +that he was an Englishman <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>who had worked in Russia with the Red Cross +and that he had come to the United States to get a job.</p> + +<p>It was a likely story and most of them swallowed it. But one clever girl +whom he met out at dinner rather startled him by the accuracy of her +intuitions.</p> + +<p>"I have traveled a good deal, Mr. Nichols," she said quizzically, "but +I've never yet met an Englishman like you."</p> + +<p>"It is difficult for me to tell whether I am to consider that as +flattery or disapproval," said Peter calmly.</p> + +<p>"You talk like an Englishman, but you're entirely too much interested in +everything to be true to type."</p> + +<p>"Ah, really——"</p> + +<p>"Englishmen are either bored or presumptuous. You're neither. And +there's a tiny accent that I can't explain——"</p> + +<p>"Don't try——"</p> + +<p>"I must. We Americans believe in our impulses. My brother Dick says +you're a man of mystery. I've solved it," she laughed, "I'm sure you're +a Russian Grand Duke incognito."</p> + +<p>Peter laughed and tried bravado.</p> + +<p>"You are certainly all in the mustard," he blundered helplessly.</p> + +<p>And she looked at him for a moment and then burst into laughter.</p> + +<p>These associations were very pleasant, but, contrary to Peter's +expectations, they didn't seem to be leading anywhere. The efforts that +he made to find positions commensurate with his ambitions had ended in +blind alleys. He was too well educated for some of them, not well enough +educated for others.</p> + +<p>More than two months had passed. He had moved to a boarding house in a +decent locality, but of the two thousands dollars with which he had +entered New York there <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>now remained to him less than two hundred. He +was beginning to believe that he had played the game and lost and that +within a very few weeks he would be obliged to hide himself from these +excellent new acquaintances and go back to his old job. Then the tide of +his fortune suddenly turned.</p> + +<p>Dick Sheldon, the brother of the girl who was "all in the mustard," +aware of Peter's plight, had stumbled across the useful bit of +information and brought it to Peter at the boarding house.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you tell me that you'd once had something to do with forestry in +Russia?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Peter nodded. "I was once employed in the reafforestation of a large +estate," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Then I've found your job," said Sheldon heartily, clapping Peter on the +back. "A friend of Sheldon, Senior's, Jonathan K. McGuire, has a big +place down in the wilderness of Jersey—thousands of acres and he wants +a man to take charge—sort of forestry expert and general +superintendent, money no object. I reckon you could cop out three +hundred a month as a starter."</p> + +<p>"That looks good to me," said Peter, delighted that the argot fell so +aptly from his lips. And then, "You're not spoofing, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Devil a spoof. It's straight goods, Nichols. Will you take it?"</p> + +<p>Peter had a vision of the greasy dishes he was to escape.</p> + +<p>"Will I?" he exclaimed delightedly. "Can I get it?"</p> + +<p>"Sure thing. McGuire is a millionaire, made a pot of money somewhere in +the West—dabbles in the market. That's where Dad met him. Crusty old +rascal. Daughter. Living down in Jersey now, alone with a lot of +servants. Queer one. Maybe you'll like him—maybe not."</p> + +<p>Peter clasped his friend by the hands.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>"Moloch himself would look an angel of mercy to me now."</p> + +<p>"Do you think you can make good?"</p> + +<p>"Well, rather. Whom shall I see? And when?"</p> + +<p>"I can fix it up with Dad, I reckon. You'd better come down to the +office and see him about twelve."</p> + +<p>Peter Sheldon, Senior, looked him over and asked him questions and the +interview was quite satisfactory.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you the truth, as far as I know it," said Sheldon, Senior +(which was more than Peter Nichols had done). "Jonathan K. McGuire is a +strange character—keeps his business to himself——. How much he's +worth nobody knows but himself and the Treasury Department. Does a good +deal of buying and selling through this office. A hard man in a deal but +reasonable in other things. I've had his acquaintance for five years, +lunched with him, dined with him—visited this place in Jersey, but I +give you my word, Mr. Nichols, I've never yet got the prick of a pin +beneath that man's skin. You may not like him. Few people do. But +there's no harm in taking a try at this job."</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted," said Nichols.</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether you will or not," broke in Sheldon, Senior, +frankly. "Something's happened lately. About three weeks ago Jonathan K. +McGuire came into this office hurriedly, shut the door behind him, +locked it—and sank into a chair, puffing hard, his face the color of +putty. He wouldn't answer any questions and put me off, though I'd have +gone out of my way to help him. But after a while he looked out of the +window, phoned for his car and went again, saying he was going down into +Jersey."</p> + +<p>"He was sick, perhaps," ventured Peter.</p> + +<p>"It was something worse than that, Mr. Nichols. He looked as though he +had seen a ghost or heard a banshee. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>Then this comes," continued the +broker, taking up a letter from the desk. "Asks for a forester, a good +strong man. You're strong, Mr. Nichols? Er—and courageous? You're not +addicted to 'nerves'? You see I'm telling you all these things so that +you'll go down to Black Rock with your eyes open. He also asks me to +engage other men as private police or gamekeepers, who will act under +your direction. Queer, isn't it? Rather spooky, I'd say, but if you're +game, we'll close the bargain now. Three hundred a month to start with +and found. Is that satisfactory?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly," said Peter with a bow. "When do I begin?"</p> + +<p>"At once if you like. Salary begins now. Fifty in advance for expenses."</p> + +<p>"That's fair enough, Mr. Sheldon. If you will give me the directions, I +will go to-day."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow will be time enough." Sheldon, Senior, had turned to his desk +and was writing upon a slip of paper. This he handed to Peter with a +check.</p> + +<p>"That will show you how to get there," he said as he rose, brusquely. +"Glad to have met you. Good-day."</p> + +<p>And Peter felt himself hand-shaken and pushed at the same time, reaching +the outer office, mentally out of breath from the sudden, swift movement +of his fortunes. Sheldon, Senior, had not meant to be abrupt. He was +merely a business man relaxing for a moment to do a service for a +friend. When Peter Nichols awoke to his obligations he sought out +Sheldon, Junior, and thanked him with a sense of real gratitude and +Sheldon, Junior, gave him a warm handclasp and Godspeed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Pennsylvania Station caused the new Superintendent of Jonathan K. +McGuire to blink and gasp. He paused, suit case in hand, at the top of +the double flight of stairs <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>to survey the splendid proportions of the +waiting room where the crowds seemed lost in its great spaces. In Europe +such a building would be a cathedral. In America it was a railway +station. And the thought was made more definite by the Gregorian chant +of the train announcer which sounded aloft, its tones seeking concord +among their own echoes.</p> + +<p>This was the portal to the new life in which Peter was to work out his +own salvation and the splendor of the immediate prospect uplifted him +with a sense of his personal importance in the new scheme of things of +which this was a part. He hadn't the slightest doubt that he would be +able to succeed in the work for which he had been recommended, for apart +from his music—which had taken so many of his hours—there was nothing +that he knew more about or loved better than the trees. He had provided +himself the afternoon before with two books by American authorities and +other books and monographs were to be forwarded to his new address.</p> + +<p>As he descended the stairs and reached the main floor of the station, +his glance caught the gaze of a man staring at him intently. The man was +slender and dark, dressed decently enough in a gray suit and soft hat +and wore a small black mustache. All of these facts Peter took note of +in the one glance, arrested by the strange stare of the other, which +lingered while Peter glanced away and went on. Peter, who had an +excellent memory for faces, was sure that he had never seen the man +before, but after he had taken a few steps, it occurred to him that in +the stranger's eyes he had noted the startled distention of surprise and +recognition. And so he stopped and turned, but as he did so the fellow +dropped his gaze suddenly, and turned and walked away. The incident was +curious and rather interesting. If Peter had had more time he would have +sought out the fellow and asked him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>why he was staring at him, but +there were only a few moments to spare and he made his way out to the +concourse where he found his gate and descended to his train. Here he +ensconced himself comfortably in the smoking car, and was presently shot +under the Hudson River (as he afterwards discovered) and out into the +sunshine of the flats of New Jersey.</p> + +<p>He rolled smoothly along through the manufacturing and agricultural +districts, his keenly critical glances neglecting nothing of the waste +and abundance on all sides. He saw, too, the unlovely evidences of +poverty on the outskirts of the cities, which brought to his mind other +communities in a far country whose physical evidences of prosperity were +no worse, if no better, than these. Then there came a catch in his +throat and a gasp which left him staring but seeing nothing. The feeling +was not nostalgia, for that far country was no home for him now. At last +he found himself muttering to himself in English, "My home—my home is +here."</p> + +<p>After a while the mood of depression, recurrent moments of which had +come to him in New York with diminishing frequency, passed into one of +contemplation, of calm, like those which had followed his nights of +passion on the Dnieper, and at last he closed his eyes and dozed. +Visions of courts and camps passed through his mind—of brilliant +uniforms and jeweled decorations; of spacious polished halls, +resplendent with ornate mirrors and crystal pendant chandeliers; of +diamond coronets, of silks and satins and powdered flunkies. And then +other visions of gray figures crouched in the mud; of rain coming out of +the dark and of ominous lights over the profile of low hills; of +shrieks; of shells and cries of terror; of his cousin, a tall, bearded +man on a horse in a ravine waving an imperious arm; of confusion and +moving thousands, the creak of sanitars, the groans of men calling upon +mothers <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>they would never see. And then with a leap backward over the +years, the vision of a small man huddled against the wall of a courtyard +being knouted until red stains appeared on his gray blouse and then +mingled faintly in the mist and the rain until the small man sank to the +full length of his imprisoned arms like one crucified....</p> + +<p>Peter Nichols straightened and passed a hand across his damp forehead. +Through the perspective of this modern civilization what had been +passing before his vision seemed very vague, very distant, but he knew +that it was not a dream....</p> + +<p>All about him was life, progress, industry, hope—a nation in the +making, proud of her brief history which had been built around an ideal. +If he could bring this same ideal back to Russia! In his heart he +thanked God for America—imperfect though she was, and made a vow that +in the task he had set for himself he should not be found wanting.</p> + +<p>Twice he changed trains, the second time at a small junction amid an +ugliness of clay-pits and brickyards and dust and heat. There were +perhaps twenty people on the platform. He walked the length of the +station and as he did so a man in a gray suit disappeared around the +corner of the building. But Peter Nichols did not see him, and in a +moment, seated in his new train in a wooden car which reminded him of +some of the ancient rolling stock of the St. Petersburg and Moscow +Railroad, he was taken haltingly and noisily along the last stage of his +journey.</p> + +<p>But he was aware of the familiar odor of the pine balsam in his +nostrils, and as he rolled through dark coverts the scent of the growing +things in the hidden places in the coolth and damp of the sandy loam. He +saw, too, tea-colored streams idling among the sedges and charred +wildernesses of trees appealing mutely with their blackened stumps like +wounded creatures in pain, a bit of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>war-torn Galicia in the midst of +peace. Miles and miles of dead forest land, forgotten and uncared for. +There was need here for his services.</p> + +<p>With a wheeze of steam and a loud crackling of woodwork and creaking of +brakes the train came to a stop and the conductor shouted the name of +the station. Rather stiffly the traveler descended with his bag and +stood upon the small platform looking about him curiously. The baggage +man tossed out a bundle of newspapers and a pouch of mail and the train +moved off. Apparently Peter Nichols was the only passenger with Pickerel +River as a destination.</p> + +<p>And as the panting train went around a curve, at last disappearing, it +seemed fairly reasonable to Peter Nichols that no one with the slightest +chance of stopping off anywhere else would wish to get off here. The +station was small, of but one room and a tiny office containing, as he +could see, a telegraph instrument, a broken chair with a leather +cushion, a shelf and a rack containing a few soiled slips of paper, but +the office had no occupant and the door was locked. This perhaps +explained the absence of the automobile which Mr. Sheldon had informed +him would meet him in obedience to his telegram announcing the hour of +his arrival. Neither within the building nor without was there any +person or animate thing in sight, except some small birds fluttering and +quarreling along the telegraph wires.</p> + +<p>There was but one road, a sandy one, wearing marks of travel, which +emerged from the scrub oak and pine and definitely concluded at the +railroad track. This, then, was his direction, and after reassuring +himself that there was no other means of egress, he took up his black +suitcase and set forth into the wood, aware of a sense of beckoning +adventure. The road wound in and out, up and down, over what at one time +must have been the floor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>of the ocean, which could not be far distant. +Had it not been for the weight of his bag Peter would have enjoyed the +experience of this complete isolation, the fragrant silences broken only +by the whisper of the leaves and the scurrying of tiny wild things among +the dead tree branches. But he had no means of knowing how far he would +have to travel or whether, indeed, there had not been some mistake on +Sheldon, Senior's, part or his own. But the directions had been quite +clear and the road must of course lead somewhere—to some village or +settlement at least where he could get a lodging for the night.</p> + +<p>And so he trudged on through the woods which already seemed to be +partaking of some of the mystery which surrounded the person of Jonathan +K. McGuire. The whole incident had been unusual and the more interesting +because of the strange character of his employer and the evident fear he +had of some latent evil which threatened him. But Peter Nichols had +accepted his commission with a sense of profound relief at escaping the +other fate that awaited him, with scarcely a thought of the dangers +which his acceptance might entail. He was not easily frightened and had +welcomed the new adventure, dismissing the fears of Jonathan K. McGuire +as imaginary, the emanations of age or an uneasy conscience.</p> + +<p>But as he went on, his bag became heavier and the perspiration poured +down his face, so reaching a cross-path that seemed to show signs of +recent travel he put the suitcase down and sat on it while he wiped his +brow. The shadows were growing longer. He was beginning to believe that +there was no such place as Black Rock, no such person as Jonathan K. +McGuire and that Sheldon, Senior, and Sheldon, Junior, were engaged in a +conspiracy against his peace of mind, when above the now familiar +whisperings of the forest he heard a new sound. Faintly it came at first +as though from a great distance, mingling with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>the murmur of the +sighing wind in the pine trees, a voice singing. It seemed a child's +voice—delicate, clear, true, as care-free as the note of a +bird—unleashing its joy to the heavens.</p> + +<p>Peter Nichols started up, listening more intently. The sounds were +coming nearer but he couldn't tell from which direction, for every leaf +seemed to be taking up the lovely melody which he could hear quite +clearly now. It was an air with which he was unfamiliar, but he knew +only that it was elemental in its simplicity and under these +circumstances startlingly welcome. He waited another long moment, +listening, found the direction from which the voice was coming, and +presently noted the swaying of branches and the crackling of dry twigs +in the path near by, from which, in a moment, a strange figure emerged.</p> + +<p>At first he thought it was a boy, for it wore a pair of blue denim +overalls and a wide-brimmed straw hat, from beneath which the birdlike +notes were still emitted, but as the figure paused at the sight of him, +the song suddenly ceased—he saw a tumbled mass of tawny hair and a pair +of startled blue eyes staring at him.</p> + +<p>"Hello," said the figure, after a moment, recovering its voice.</p> + +<p>"Good-afternoon," said Peter Nichols, bowing from the waist in the most +approved Continental manner. You see he, too, was a little startled by +the apparition, which proclaimed itself beneath its strange garments in +unmistakable terms to be both feminine and lovely.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h2>THE OVERALL GIRL</h2> +<br /> + +<p>They stood for a long moment regarding each other, both in curiosity; +Peter because of the contrariety of the girl's face and garments, the +girl because of Peter's bow, which was the most extraordinary thing that +had ever happened in Burlington County. After a pause, a smile which +seemed to have been hovering uncertainly around the corners of her lips +broke into a frank grin, disclosing dimples and a row of white teeth, +the front ones not quite together.</p> + +<p>"Could you tell me," asked Peter very politely as he found his voice, +"if this road leads to Black Rock?"</p> + +<p>She was still scrutinizing him, her head, birdlike, upon one side.</p> + +<p>"That depends on which way you're walkin'," she said.</p> + +<p>She dropped her "g" with careless ease, but then Peter had noticed that +many Americans and English people, some very nice ones, did that.</p> + +<p>Peter glanced at the girl and then down the road in both directions.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, of course," he said, not sure whether she was smiling at or +with him. "I came from a station called Pickerel River and I wish to go +to Black Rock."</p> + +<p>"You're <i>sure</i> you want to go there?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"I guess that's because you've never been to Black Rock, Mister."</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>The girl picked a shrub and nibbled at it daintily.</p> + +<p>"You'd better turn and go right back." Her sentence finished in a shrug.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with Black Rock?" he asked curiously.</p> + +<p>"It's just the little end of nothin'. That's all," she finished +decisively.</p> + +<p>The quaint expression interested him. "I must get there, nevertheless," +he said; "is it far from here?"</p> + +<p>"Depends on what you call far. Mile or so. Didn't the 'Lizzie' meet the +six-thirty?"</p> + +<p>Peter stared at her vacuously, for this was Greek.</p> + +<p>"The 'Lizzie'?"</p> + +<p>"The tin 'Lizzie'—Jim Hagerman's bus—carries the mail and papers. +Sometimes he gives me a lift about here."</p> + +<p>"No. There was no conveyance of any sort and I really expected one. I +wish to get to Mr. Jonathan K. McGuire's."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>The girl had been examining Peter furtively, as though trying vainly to +place him definitely in her mental collection of human bipeds. Now she +stared at him with interest.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're goin' to McGuire's!"</p> + +<p>Peter nodded. "If I can ever find the way."</p> + +<p>"You're one of the new detectives?"</p> + +<p>"Detective!" Peter laughed. "No. Not that I'm aware. I'm the new +superintendent and forester."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>The girl was visibly impressed, but a tiny frown puckered her brow.</p> + +<p>"What's a forester?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"A fellow who looks after the forests."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>"The forests don't need any lookin' after out here in the barrens. They +just grow."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to teach them to grow better."</p> + +<p>The girl looked at him for a long moment of suspicion. She had taken off +her hat and the ruddy sunlight behind her made a golden halo all about +her head. Her hands he had noted were small, the fingers slender. Her +nose was well shaped, her nostrils wide, the angle of her jaw firmly +modeled and her slender figure beneath the absurd garments revealed both +strength and grace. But he did not dare to stare at her too hard or to +question her as to her garments. For all that Peter knew it might be the +custom of Burlington County for women to wear blue denim trousers.</p> + +<p>And her next question took him off his guard.</p> + +<p>"You city folk don't think much of yourselves, do you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't exactly understand what you mean," said Peter politely, marking +the satirical note.</p> + +<p>"To think you can make these trees grow better!" she sniffed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm just going to help them to help themselves."</p> + +<p>"That's God's job, Master."</p> + +<p>Peter smiled. She wouldn't have understood, he thought, so what was the +use of explaining. There must have been a superior quality in Peter's +smile, for the girl put on her hat and came down into the road.</p> + +<p>"I'm goin' to Black Rock," she said stiffly, "follow me." And she went +off with a quick stride down the road.</p> + +<p>Peter Nichols took up his bag and started, with difficulty getting to a +place beside her.</p> + +<p>"If you don't mind," he said, "I'd much rather walk with you than behind +you."</p> + +<p>She shrugged a shoulder at him.</p> + +<p>"Suit yourself," she said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>In this position, Peter made the discovery that her profile was quite as +interesting as her full face, but she no longer smiled. Her reference to +the Deity entirely eliminated Peter and the profession of forestry from +the pale of useful things. He was sorry that she no longer smiled +because he had decided to make friends at Black Rock and he didn't want +to make a bad beginning.</p> + +<p>"I hope you don't mind," said Peter at last, "if I tell you that you +have one of the loveliest voices that I have ever heard."</p> + +<p>He marked with pleasure the sudden flush of color that ran up under her +delicately freckled tan. Her lips parted and she turned to him +hesitating.</p> + +<p>"You—you heard me!"</p> + +<p>"I did. It was like the voice of an angel in Heaven."</p> + +<p>"Angel! Oh! I'm sorry. I—I didn't know any one was there. I just sing +on my way home from work."</p> + +<p>"You've been working to-day?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "Yes—Farmerettin'."</p> + +<p>"Farmer——?"</p> + +<p>"Workin' in the vineyard at Gaskill's."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see. Do you like it?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said dryly. "I just do it for my health. Don't I look sick?"</p> + +<p>Peter wasn't used to having people make fun of him. Even as a waiter he +had managed to preserve his dignity intact. But he smiled at her.</p> + +<p>"I was wondering what had become of the men around here."</p> + +<p>"They're so busy walkin' from one place to another to see where they can +get the highest wages, that there's no time to work in between."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Peter, now really amused. "And does Mr. Jonathan McGuire +have difficulty in getting men to work for him?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>"Most of his hired help come from away—like you——But lately they +haven't been stayin' long."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>She slowed her pace a little and turned to look at him curiously.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you don't know the kind of a job you've got?"</p> + +<p>"Not much," admitted Peter. "In addition to looking after the preserve, +I'm to watch after the men—and obey orders, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"H-m. Preserve! Sorry, Mr. what's your name——"</p> + +<p>"Peter Nichols——" put in Peter promptly.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Peter Nichols, all I have to say is that you're apt to have a +hard time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm against it!" translated Peter confidently.</p> + +<p>The girl stopped in the middle of the road, put her hands on her hips +and laughed up at the purpling sky. Her laugh was much like her +singing—if angels in Paradise laugh (and why shouldn't they?). Then +while he wondered what was so amusing she looked at him again.</p> + +<p>"<i>Up</i> against it, you mean. You're English, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Er—yes—I am."</p> + +<p>"I thought so. There was one of you in the glass factory. He always +muffed the easy ones."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you work in a glass factory?"</p> + +<p>"Winters. Manufacturin' whiskey and beer bottles. Now we're goin' dry, +they'll be makin' pop and nursin' bottles, I guess."</p> + +<p>"Do you help in the factory?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and in the office. I can shorthand and type a little."</p> + +<p>"You must be glad when a summer comes."</p> + +<p>"I am. In winter I can't turn around without breakin' something. They +dock you for that——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>"And that's why you sing when you can't break anythin'?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. I like the open. It isn't right to be cooped up."</p> + +<p>They were getting along beautifully and Peter was even beginning to +forget the weight of his heavy bag. She was a quaint creature and quite +as unconscious of him as though he hadn't existed. He was just somebody +to talk to. Peter ventured.</p> + +<p>"Er—would you mind telling me your name?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him and laughed friendly.</p> + +<p>"You must have swallowed a catechism, Mr. Nichols. But everybody in +Black Rock knows everybody else—more'n they want to, I guess. There's +no reason I shouldn't tell you. I don't mind your knowin'. My name is +Beth Cameron."</p> + +<p>"Beth——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Bess—the minister had a lisp."</p> + +<p>Peter didn't lack a sense of humor.</p> + +<p>"Funny, isn't it?" she queried with a smile as he laughed, "bein' tied +up for life to a name like that just because the parson couldn't talk +straight."</p> + +<p>"Beth," he repeated, "but I like it. It's like you. I hope you'll let me +come to see you when I get settled."</p> + +<p>"H-m," she said quizzically. "You don't believe in wastin' your time, do +you?" And then, after a brief pause, "You know they call us Pineys back +here in the barrens, but just the same we think a lot of ourselves and +we're a little offish with city folks. You can't be too particular +nowadays about the kind of people you go with."</p> + +<p>Peter stared at her and grinned, his sense of the situation more keenly +touched than she could be aware of.</p> + +<p>"Particular, are you? I'm glad of that. All the more credit to me if +you'll be my friend."</p> + +<p>"I didn't say I was your friend."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>"But you're going to be, aren't you? I know something about singing. +I've studied music. Perhaps I could help you."</p> + +<p>"You! You've studied? Lord of Love! You're not lyin', are you?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "No. I'm not lying. I was educated to be a musician."</p> + +<p>She stared at him now with a new look in her eyes but said nothing. So +Peter spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you've never thought of studying singing?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she said slowly at last, "I've thought of it, just as I've +thought of goin' in the movies and makin' a million dollars. Lots of +good <i>thinkin'</i> does!"</p> + +<p>"You've thought of the movies?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, once. A girl went from the glass factory. She does extra ladies. +She visited back here last winter. I didn't like what it did to her."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Peter was silent for a while, aware of the pellucid meaning of her +"it." He was learning quite as much from what she didn't say as from +what she did. But he evaded the line of thought suggested.</p> + +<p>"You do get tired of Black Rock then?"</p> + +<p>"I would if I had time. I'm pretty busy all day, and—see +here—Mr.—er—Nichols. If I asked as many questions as you do, I'd know +as much as Daniel Webster."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said Peter, "I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>They walked on in silence for a few moments, Peter puzzling his brain +over the extraordinary creature that chance had thrown in his way. He +could see that she was quite capable of looking out for herself and that +if her smattering of sophistication had opened her eyes, it hadn't much +harmed her.</p> + +<p>He really wanted to ask her many more questions, but to tell the truth +he was a little in awe of her dry humor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>which had a kind of primitive +omniscience and of her laughter which he was now sure was more <i>at</i>, +than with, him. But he had, in spite of her, peered for a moment into +the hidden places of her mind and spirit.</p> + +<p>It was this intrusion that she resented and he could hardly blame her, +since they had met only eighteen minutes ago. She trotted along beside +him as though quite unaware of the sudden silence or of the thoughts +that might have been passing in his mind. It was Beth who broke the +silence.</p> + +<p>"Is your bag heavy?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Peter, mopping the perspiration from his forehead. +"But aren't we nearly there?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. It's just a mile or so."</p> + +<p>Peter dropped his bag.</p> + +<p>"That's what you said it was, back there."</p> + +<p>"Did I? Well, maybe it isn't so far as that now. Let me carry your bag a +while."</p> + +<p>Thus taunted, he rose, took the bag in his left hand and followed.</p> + +<p>"City folks aren't much on doin' for themselves, are they? The taxi +system is very poor down here yet."</p> + +<p>Her face was expressionless, but he knew that she was laughing at him. +He knew also that his bag weighed more than any army pack. It seemed too +that she was walking much faster than she had done before—also that +there was malicious humor in the smile she now turned on him.</p> + +<p>"Seems a pity to have such a long walk—with nothin' at the end of it."</p> + +<p>"I don't mind it in the least," gasped Peter. "And if you don't object +to my asking you just one more question," he went on grimly, "I'd like +you to tell me what is frightening Mr. Jonathan K. McGuire?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, McGuire. I don't know. Nobody does. He's been here a couple of +weeks now, cooped up in the big <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>house. Never comes out. They say he +sees ghosts and things."</p> + +<p>"Ghosts!"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "He's hired some of the men around here to keep watch for +them and they say some detectives are coming. You'll help too, I guess."</p> + +<p>"That should be easy."</p> + +<p>"Maybe. I don't know. My aunt works there. She's housekeeper. It's +spooky, she says, but she can't afford to quit."</p> + +<p>"But they haven't <i>seen</i> anything?" asked Peter incredulously.</p> + +<p>"No. Not yet. I guess it might relieve 'em some if they did. It's only +the things you don't see that scare you."</p> + +<p>"It sounds like a great deal of nonsense about nothing," muttered Peter.</p> + +<p>"All right. Wait until you get there before you do much talkin'."</p> + +<p>"I will, but I'm not afraid of ghosts." And then, as an afterthought, +"Are you?"</p> + +<p>"Not in daylight. But from what Aunt Tillie says, it must be something +more than a ghost that's frightenin' Jonathan K. McGuire."</p> + +<p>"What does she think it is?"</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know. Mr. McGuire won't say. He won't allow anybody around +the house without a pass. Oh, he's scared all right and he's got most of +Black Rock scared too. He was never like this before."</p> + +<p>"Are you scared?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"No. I don't think I am really. But it's spooky, and I don't care much +for shootin'."</p> + +<p>"What makes you think there will be shooting?"</p> + +<p>"On account of the guns and pistols. Whatever the thing is he's afraid +of, he's not goin' to let it come near <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>him if he can help it. Aunt +Tillie says that what with loaded rifles, shotguns and pistols lyin' +loose in every room in the house, it's as much as your life is worth to +do a bit of dustin'. And the men—Shad Wells, Jesse Brown, they all +carry automatics. First thing they know they'll be killin' somebody," +she finished with conviction.</p> + +<p>"Who is Shad Wells——?"</p> + +<p>"My cousin, Shadrack E. Wells. He was triplets. The other two died."</p> + +<p>"Shad," mused Peter.</p> + +<p>"Sounds like a fish, doesn't it? But he isn't." And then more slowly, +"Shad's all right. He's just a plain woodsman, but he doesn't know +anything about making the trees grow," she put in with prim irony. +"You'll be his boss, I guess. He won't care much about that."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because he's been runnin' things in a way. I hope you get along with +him."</p> + +<p>"So do I——"</p> + +<p>"Because if you don't, Shad will eat you at one gobble."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Peter with a smile. "But perhaps you exaggerate. Don't you +think I might take two—er—gobbles?"</p> + +<p>Beth looked him over, and then smiled encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," she said, "but your hands don't look over-strong."</p> + +<p>Peter looked at his right hand curiously. It was not as brown as hers, +but the fingers were long and sinewy.</p> + +<p>"They are, though. When you practice five hours a day on the piano, your +hands will do almost anything you want them to."</p> + +<p>A silence which Peter improved by shifting his suitcase. The weight of +it had ceased to be amusing. And he was about to ask her how much +further Black Rock was when there was a commotion down the road ahead of +them, as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>a dark object emerged from around the bend and amid a whirl of +dust an automobile appeared.</p> + +<p>"It's the 'Lizzie'," exclaimed Beth unemotionally.</p> + +<p>And in a moment the taxi service of Black Rock was at Peter's disposal.</p> + +<p>"Carburetor trouble," explained the soiled young man at the wheel +briefly, without apology. And with a glance at Peter's bag—</p> + +<p>"Are you the man for McGuire's on the six-thirty?"</p> + +<p>Peter admitted that he was and the boy swung the door of the tonneau +open.</p> + +<p>"In here with me, Beth," he said to the girl invitingly.</p> + +<p>In a moment, the small machine was whirled around and started in the +direction from which it had come, bouncing Peter from side to side and +enveloping him in dust. Jim Hagerman's "Lizzie" wasted no time, once it +set about doing a thing, and in a few moments from the forest they +emerged into a clearing where there were cows in a meadow, and a view of +houses. At the second of these, a frame house with a portico covered +with vines and a small yard with a geranium bed, all enclosed in a +picket fence, the "Lizzie" suddenly stopped and Beth got down.</p> + +<p>"Much obliged, Jim," he heard her say.</p> + +<p>Almost before Peter had swept off his hat and the girl had nodded, the +"Lizzie" was off again, through the village street, and so to a wooden +bridge across a tea-colored stream, up a slight grade on the other side, +where Jim Hagerman stopped his machine and pointed to a road.</p> + +<p>"That's McGuire's—in the pines. They won't let me go no further."</p> + +<p>"How much do I owe you?" asked Peter, getting down.</p> + +<p>"It's paid for, Mister. Slam the door, will ye?" And in another moment +Peter was left alone.</p> + +<p>It was now after sunset, and the depths of the wood were bathed in +shadow. Peter took the road indicated and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>in a moment reached two stone +pillars where a man was standing. Beyond the man he had a glimpse of +lawns, a well-kept driveway which curved toward the wood. The man at the +gate was of about Peter's age but tall and angular, well tanned by +exposure and gave an appearance of intelligence and capacity.</p> + +<p>"I came to see Mr. McGuire," said Peter amiably.</p> + +<p>"And what's your name?"</p> + +<p>"Nichols. I'm the new forester from New York."</p> + +<p>The young man at the gate smiled in a satirical way.</p> + +<p>"Nichols. That was the name," he ruminated. And then with a shout to +some one in the woods below, "Hey, Andy. Come take the gate."</p> + +<p>All the while Peter felt the gaze of the young man going over him +minutely and found himself wondering whether or not this was the person +who was going to take him at a gobble.</p> + +<p>It was. For when the other man came running Peter heard him call the +gateman, "Shad."</p> + +<p>"Are you Mr. Shad Wells?" asked Peter politely with the pleasant air of +one who has made an agreeable discovery.</p> + +<p>"That's my name. Who told you?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Beth Cameron," replied Peter. "We came part of the way together."</p> + +<p>"H-m! Come," he said laconically and led the way up the road toward the +house. Peter didn't think he was very polite.</p> + +<p>Had it not been for the precautions of his guide, Peter would have been +willing quite easily to forget the tales that had been told him of Black +Rock. The place was very prettily situated in the midst of a very fine +growth of pines, spruce and maple. At one side ran the tea-colored +stream, tumbling over an ancient dam to levels below, where it joined +the old race below the ruin that had once <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>been a mill. The McGuire +house emerged in a moment from its woods and shrubbery, and stood +revealed—a plain square Georgian dwelling of brick, to which had been +added a long wing in a poor imitation of the same style and a garage and +stables in no style at all on the slope beyond. It seemed a most prosaic +place even in the gathering dusk and Peter seemed quite unable to +visualize it as the center of a mystery such as had been described. And +the laconic individual who had been born triplets was even less +calculated to carry out such an illusion.</p> + +<p>But just as they were crossing the lawn on the approach to the house, +the earth beneath a clump of bushes vomited forth two men, like the +fruit of the Dragon's Teeth, armed with rifles, who barred their way. +Both men were grinning from ear to ear.</p> + +<p>"All right, Jesse," said Shad with a laugh. "It's me and the new +forester." He uttered the words with an undeniable accent of contempt.</p> + +<p>The armed figures glanced at Peter and disappeared, and Peter and Mr. +Shad Wells went up the steps of the house to a spacious portico. There +was not a human being in sight and the heavy wooden blinds to the lower +floor were tightly shut. Before his guide had even reached the door the +sound of their footsteps had aroused some one within the house, the door +was opened the length of its chain and a face appeared at the aperture.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" asked a male voice.</p> + +<p>"Shad Wells and Mr. Nichols, the man from New York."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," was the reply while the door was immediately shut +again.</p> + +<p>Peter glanced around him comparing this strange situation with another +that he remembered, when a real terror had come, a tangible terror in +the shape of a countryside gone mad with blood lust. He smiled toward +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>bush where the armed men lay concealed and toward the gate where +the other armed man was standing. It was all so like a situation out of +an <i>opéra bouffe</i> of Offenbach.</p> + +<p>What he felt now in this strange situation was an intense curiosity to +learn the meaning of it all, to meet the mysterious person around whom +all these preparations centered. Peter had known fear many times, for +fear was in the air for weeks along the Russian front, the fear of +German shells, of poison gas, and of that worst poison of all—Russian +treachery. But that fear was not like this fear, which was intimate, +personal but intangible. He marked it in the scrutiny of the man who +opened the door and of the aged woman who suddenly appeared beside him +in the dim hallway and led him noiselessly up the stair to a lighted +room upon the second floor. At the doorway the woman paused.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Nichols, Mr. McGuire," she said, and Peter entered.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h2>THE JOB</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The room was full of tobacco smoke, through which Peter dimly made out a +table with an oil lamp, beside which were chairs, a sofa, and beyond, a +steel safe between the windows. As Peter Nichols entered, a man advanced +from a window at the side, the shutter of which was slightly ajar. It +was evident that not content to leave his safety in the hands of those +he had employed to preserve it, he had been watching too.</p> + +<p>He was in his shirt sleeves, a man of medium height, compactly built, +and well past the half century mark. The distinguishing features of his +face were a short nose, a heavy thatch of brows, a square jaw which +showed the need of the offices of a razor and his lips wore a short, +square mustache somewhat stained by nicotine.</p> + +<p>In point of eagerness the manner of his greeting of the newcomer left +nothing to be desired. Peter's first impression was that Jonathan K. +McGuire was quite able to look out for himself, which confirmed the +impression that the inspection to which Peter had been subjected was +nothing but a joke. But when his employer began speaking rather jerkily, +Peter noticed that his hands were unsteady and that neither the muscles +of his face nor of his body were under complete control. Normally, he +would have seemed much as Sheldon, Senior, had described him—a +hard-fisted man, a close bargainer who had won his way to his great +wealth by the sheer force of a strong personality. There was little of +softness in his face, little that was imaginative. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>This was not a man +to be frightened at the Unseen or to see terrors that did not exist. +Otherwise, to Peter he seemed commonplace to the last degree, of Irish +extraction probably, the kind of person one meets daily on Broadway or +on the Strand. In a fur coat he might have been taken for a banker; in +tweeds, for a small tradesman; or in his shirt as Peter now saw him, the +wristbands and collar somewhat soiled from perspiration, for a laboring +man taking his rest after an arduous day. In other words, he was very +much what his clothes would make of him, betraying his origins in a +rather strident voice meant perhaps to conceal the true state of his +mind.</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you, Mr. Nichols. Thought you were never comin'," he jerked +out.</p> + +<p>"I walked most of the way from Pickerel River. Something went wrong, +with the 'Lizzie.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh—er—'Lizzie'. The flivver! I couldn't send my own car. I've got +only one down here and I might need it."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter in the least—since I'm here."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Mr. Nichols," went on McGuire indicating a chair. "You've +been well recommended by Mr. Sheldon. I talked to him yesterday over +long distance. He told you what I wanted?"</p> + +<p>"Something. Not much," said Peter with a view to getting all the +information possible. "You wanted a forester——?"</p> + +<p>"Er—er—yes, that's it. A forester." And then he went on +haltingly—"I've got about twenty thousand acres here—mostly scrub +oak—pine and spruce. I've sold off a lot to the Government. A mess of +it has been cut—there's been a lot of waste—and the fire season is +coming around. That's the big job—the all-the-year job. You've had +experience?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—in Russia. I'm a trained woodsman."</p> + +<p>"You're a good all-round man?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>"Exactly what——?" began Peter.</p> + +<p>"You know how to look after yourself—to look after other men, to take +charge of a considerable number of people in my employ?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm used to dealing with men."</p> + +<p>"It's a big job, Mr. Nichols—a ticklish kind of a job for a +furriner—one with some—er—unusual features—that may call for—er—a +lot of tact. And—er—courage."</p> + +<p>It seemed to Peter that Jonathan K. McGuire was talking almost at +random, that the general topic of forestry was less near his heart +to-night than the one that was uppermost in Peter's mind, the mystery +that surrounded his employer and the agencies invoked to protect him. It +seemed as if he were loath to speak of them, as if he were holding Peter +off at arm's length, so to say, until he had fully made up his mind that +this and no other man was the one he wanted, for all the while he was +examining the visitor with burning, beady, gray eyes, as though trying +to peer into his mind.</p> + +<p>"I'm not afraid of a forester's job, no matter how big it is, if I have +men enough," said Peter, still curious.</p> + +<p>"And you're a pretty good man in a pinch, I mean——" he put in jerkily, +"you're not easy scared—don't lose your nerve."</p> + +<p>"I'll take my chances on that," replied Peter calmly. "I'm used to +commanding men, in emergencies—if that's what you mean."</p> + +<p>"Yes. That's what I mean. Er—you're an Englishman, Mr. Sheldon says."</p> + +<p>"Er—yes," said Peter, "an Englishman," for this was the truth now more +than ever before, and then repeated the story he had told in New York +about his work in Russia. While Peter was talking, McGuire was pacing up +and down the room with short nervous strides, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>nodding his head in +understanding from time to time. When Peter paused he returned to his +chair.</p> + +<p>"You British are a pretty steady lot," said McGuire at last. "I think +you'll do. I like the way you talk and I like your looks. Younger than +I'd hoped maybe, but then you're strong—Mr. Sheldon says you're strong, +Mr. Nichols."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Peter, his curiosity now getting the better of him. "But +it might be as well, Mr. McGuire, if you let me know just what, that is +unusual, is to be required of me. I assume that you want me to take +command of the men policing your grounds—and immediate property?"</p> + +<p>"Er—yes. That will have to be put in shape at once—at once." He leaned +suddenly forward in his chair, his hairy hands clutching at his knees, +while he blurted out with a kind of relieved tension, "No one must come +near the house at night. No one, you understand——"</p> + +<p>"I understand, sir——" said Peter, waiting patiently for a revelation.</p> + +<p>"There'll be no excuse if any one gets near the house without my +permission," he snarled. And then almost sullenly again—"You +understand?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly. That should not be difficult to——"</p> + +<p>"It may be more difficult than you think," broke in McGuire, springing +to his feet again, and jerking out his phrases with strange fury.</p> + +<p>"Nothing is to be taken for granted. Nothing," he raged. Peter was +silent for a moment, watching McGuire who had paced the length of the +room and back.</p> + +<p>"I understand, sir," he said at last. "But doesn't it seem to you that +both I and the man under me could do our work with more intelligence if +we knew just who or what is to be guarded against?" Mr. McGuire stopped +beside him as though transfixed by the thought. Then <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>his fingers +clutched at the back of a chair to which he clung for a moment in +silence, his brows beetling. And when he spoke all the breath of his +body seemed concentrated in a hoarse whisper.</p> + +<p>"You won't know that. You understand, I give the orders. You obey them. +I am not a man who answers questions. Don't ask them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon. So long as this thing you fear is human——"</p> + +<p>"Human! A ghost! Who said I was afraid? Sheldon? Let him think it. This +is <i>my</i> business. There are many things of value in this house," and he +glanced towards the safe. "I'm using the right of any man to protect +what belongs to him."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Peter.</p> + +<p>The man's tension relaxed as he realized Peter's coolness.</p> + +<p>"Call it a fancy if you like, Mr. Nichols——" he said with a shrug. "A +man of my age may have fancies when he can afford to gratify 'em."</p> + +<p>"That's your affair," said Peter easily. "I take it then that the +systematic policing of the grounds is the first thing I am to consider."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. The systematic policing of the grounds—the dividing of your +men into shifts for day and night work—more at night than in the day. +Three more men come to-morrow. They will all look to you for orders."</p> + +<p>"And who is in charge now?"</p> + +<p>"A man named Wells—a native—the foreman from one of the sawmills—but +he—er—well, Mr. Nichols—I'm not satisfied. That's why I wanted a man +from outside."</p> + +<p>"I understand. And will you give the necessary orders to him?"</p> + +<p>"Wells was up here to-day, I told him."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>"How many men are on guard here at the house?"</p> + +<p>"Ten and with the three coming—that makes thirteen——" McGuire +halted—"thirteen—but you make the fourteenth," he added.</p> + +<p>Peter nodded. "And you wish me to take charge at once?"</p> + +<p>"At once. To-night. To-morrow you can look over the ground more +carefully. You'll sleep in the old playhouse—the log cabin—down by the +creek. They'll show you. It's connected with this house by 'phone. I'll +talk to you again to-morrow; you'd better go down and get something to +eat."</p> + +<p>McGuire went to the door and called out "Tillie!"</p> + +<p>And as a faint reply was heard, "Get Mr. Nichols some supper."</p> + +<p>Peter rose and offered his hand.</p> + +<p>"I'll try to justify your faith in me, sir. Much obliged."</p> + +<p>"Good-night."</p> + +<p>Peter went down the stairs with mingled feelings. If the words of Beth +Cameron had created in his mind a notion that the mystery surrounding +Black Rock was supernatural in character, the interview with Jonathan K. +McGuire had dispelled it. That McGuire was a very much frightened man +was certain, but it seemed equally certain to Peter that what he feared +was no ghost or banshee but the imminence of some human attack upon his +person or possessions. Here was a practical man, who bore in every +feature of his strongly-marked face the tokens of a successful struggle +in a hard career, the beginnings of which could not have been any too +fortunate. A westerner whose broad hands and twisted fingers spoke +eloquently of manual labor, a man who still possessed to all appearances +considerable physical strength—a prey to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>the fear of some night danger +which was too ominous even to be talked about.</p> + +<p>It was the quality of his terror that was disturbing. Peter was well +acquainted with the physical aspects of fear—that is the fear of +violence and death. That kind of fear made men restless and nervous, or +silent and preoccupied; or like liquor it accentuated their weaknesses +of fiber in sullenness or bravado. But it did not make them furtive. He +could not believe that it was the mere danger of death or physical +violence that obsessed his employer. That sort of danger perhaps there +might be, but the fear that he had seen in McGuire's fanatical gray eyes +was born of something more than these. Whatever it was that McGuire +feared, it reached further within—a threat which would destroy not his +body alone, but something more vital even than that—the very spirit +that lived within him.</p> + +<p>Of his career, Peter knew nothing more than Sheldon, Senior, had told +him—a successful man who told nothing of his business except to the +Treasury Department, a silent man, with a passion for making money. What +could he fear? Whom? What specter out of the past could conjure up the +visions he had seen dancing between McGuire's eyes and his own?</p> + +<p>These questions it seemed were not to be answered and Peter, as he sat +down at the supper table, put them resolutely from his mind and +addressed himself to the excellent meal provided by the housekeeper. For +the present, at least, fortune smiled upon him. The terrors of his +employer could not long prevail against the healthy appetite of +six-and-twenty.</p> + +<p>But it was not long before Peter discovered that the atmosphere of the +room upstairs pervaded the dining room, library and halls. There were a +cook and housemaid he discovered, neither of them visible. The +housekeeper, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>if attentive, was silent, and the man who had opened the +front door, who seemed to be a kind of general factotum, as well as +personal bodyguard to Mr. McGuire, crept furtively about the house in an +unquiet manner which would have been disturbing to the digestion of one +less timorous than Peter.</p> + +<p>Before the meal was finished this man came into the room and laid a +police whistle, a large new revolver and a box of cartridges beside +Peter's dish of strawberries.</p> + +<p>"These are for you, sir," he whispered sepulchrally. "Mr. McGuire asked +me to give them to you—for to-night."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Peter, "and you——"</p> + +<p>"I'm Stryker, sir, Mr. McGuire's valet."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>Peter's accent of surprise came from his inability to reconcile Stryker +with the soiled shirt and the three days' growth of beard on the man +upstairs, which more than ever testified to the disorder of his mental +condition.</p> + +<p>And as Stryker went out and his footsteps were heard no more, the +housekeeper emerged cautiously from the pantry.</p> + +<p>"Is everything all right, Mr. Nichols?" she asked in a stage whisper.</p> + +<p>"Right as rain. Delicious! I'm very much obliged to you."</p> + +<p>"I mean—er—there ain't anythin' else ye'd like?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, thanks," said Peter, taking up the revolver and breaking it. +He had cut the cover of the cartridge box and had slipped a cartridge +into the weapon when he heard the voice of the woman at his ear.</p> + +<p>"D'ye think there's any danger, sir?" she whispered, while she nervously +eyed the weapon.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know. Not to you, I'd say," he muttered, still putting +the cartridges in the pistol. As <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>an ex-military man, he was taking +great delight in the perfect mechanism of his new weapon.</p> + +<p>"What is it——? I mean, d'ye think——," she stammered, "did Mr. +McGuire say—just what it is he's afraid of?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Peter, "he didn't." And then with a grin, "Do you know?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. I wish t'God I did. Then there'd be somethin' to go by."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't help you, Mrs.——"</p> + +<p>"Tillie Bergen. I've been housekeeper here since the new wing was put +on——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Peter, pausing over the last cartridge as the thought +came to him. "Then you must be Beth Cameron's aunt?"</p> + +<p>"Beth?" The woman's sober face wreathed in a lovely smile. "D'ye know +Beth?"</p> + +<p>"Since this afternoon. She showed me the way."</p> + +<p>"Oh. Poor Beth."</p> + +<p>"Poor!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we're all poor, Mr. Nichols. But Beth she's—different from the +rest of us somehow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she <i>is</i> different," admitted Peter frankly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bergen sighed deeply. "Ye don't know how different. And now +that—all this trouble has come, I can't get home nights to her. And she +can't come to see me without permission. How long d'ye think it will +last, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Peter, slipping the revolver and cartridges into +his pockets. And then gallantly, "If I can offer you my services, I'd be +glad to take you home at night——"</p> + +<p>"It's against orders. And I wouldn't dare, Mr. Nichols. As it is I've +got about as much as I can stand. If it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>wasn't for the money I wouldn't +be stayin' in the house another hour."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps things won't be so bad after a time. If anything is going to +happen, it ought to be pretty soon."</p> + +<p>She regarded him wistfully as he moved toward the door. "An' ye'll tell +me, sir, if anything out o' the way happens."</p> + +<p>"I hope nothing is going to happen, Mrs. Bergen," said Peter cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Stryker appeared mysteriously from the darkness as Peter went out into +the hall.</p> + +<p>"The upstairs girl made up your bed down at the cabin, sir. The +chauffeur took your bag over. You'll need these matches. If you'll wait, +sir, I'll call Mr. Wells."</p> + +<p>Peter wondered at the man in this most unconventional household, for +Stryker, with all the prescience of a well-trained servant, had already +decided that Peter belonged to a class accustomed to being waited on. +Going to the door he blew one short blast on a police whistle, like +Peter's, which he brought forth from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"That will bring him, sir," he said. "If you'll go out on the portico, +he'll join you in a moment."</p> + +<p>Peter obeyed. The door was closed and fastened behind him and almost +before he had taken his lungs full of the clean night air (for the house +had been hot and stuffy), a shadow came slouching across the lawn in the +moonlight. Peter joined the man at once and they walked around the +house, while Peter questioned him as to the number of men and their +disposition about the place. There were six, he found, including Wells, +with six more to sleep in the stable, which was also used as a +guardhouse. Peter made the rounds of the sentries. None of them seemed +to be taking the matter any too seriously and one at least was sound +asleep beneath some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>bushes. Peter foresaw difficulties. Under the +leadership of Shad Wells the strategic points were not covered, and, had +he wished, he could have found his way, by using the cover of shadow and +shrubbery, to the portico without being observed. He pointed this out to +Wells who, from a supercilious attitude, changed to one of defiance.</p> + +<p>"You seem to think you know a lot, Mister?" he said. "I'd like to see ye +try it."</p> + +<p>Peter laughed.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Take your posts and keep strict watch, but don't move. If I +don't walk across the lawn from the house in half an hour I'll give you +ten dollars. In return you can take a shot if you see me."</p> + +<p>He thought the men needed the object lesson. Peter was an excellent +"point." He disappeared into the woods behind him and making his way +cautiously out, found a road, doubling to the other side of the garage +along which he went on his hands and knees and crawling from shrub to +shrub in the shadows reached the portico without detection. Here he +lighted a fag and quietly strolled down to the spot where he had left +Shad Wells, to whom he offered a cigarette by way of consolation. Wells +took it grudgingly. But he took it, which was one point gained.</p> + +<p>"Right smart, aren't ye?" said Shad.</p> + +<p>"No," said Peter coolly. "Anybody could have done it,—in three ways. +The other two ways are through the pine grove to the left and from the +big sycamore by the stream."</p> + +<p>"And how do you know all that?"</p> + +<p>"I was in the Army," said Peter. "It's a business like anything else."</p> + +<p>And he pointed out briefly where the five men should be stationed and +why, and Shad, somewhat mollified by the cigarette, shrugged and +agreed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>"We'll do sentry duty in the regular way," went on Peter cheerfully, +"with a corporal of the guard and a countersign. I'll explain in detail +to-morrow." And then to Shad, "I'll take command until midnight, when +you'll go on with the other shift until four. I'll make it clear to the +other men. The countersign is the word 'Purple.' You'd better go and +turn in. I'll call you at twelve."</p> + +<p>Peter watched the figure of the woodsman go ambling across the lawn in +the direction of the garage and smiled. He also marked the vertical line +of light which showed at a window on the second floor where another kept +watch. The man called Jesse, the one who had been asleep beneath the +bushes, and who, fully awake, had watched Peter's exhibition of +scouting, now turned to Peter with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"I guess you're right, Mister. S'long's we're paid. But I'd like to know +just what this 'ere thing is the ol' man's skeered of."</p> + +<p>"You know as much as I do. It will probably have two legs, two hands and +a face and carry a gun. You'd better be sure you're not asleep when it +comes. But if you care to know what I think, you can be pretty sure that +it's coming—and before very long."</p> + +<p>"To-night?"</p> + +<p>"How do I know? Have a cigarette? You cover from the road to the big +cedar tree; and keep your eyes open—especially in the shadows—and +don't let anybody get you in the back."</p> + +<p>And so making the rounds, instilling in their minds a sense of real +emergency, Peter gave the men their new sentry posts and made friends. +He had decided to stay up all night, but at twelve he called Shad Wells +and went down to look over his cabin which was a quarter of a mile away +from the house near Cedar Creek (or "Crick" in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>the vernacular). The key +was in the cabin door so he unlocked it and went in, and after striking +a match found a kerosene lamp which he lighted and then looked about +him.</p> + +<p>The building had only one room but it was of large dimensions and +contained a wooden bed with four posts, evidently some one's heirloom, a +bureau, washstand, two tables and an easy chair or two. Behind the bed +was a miscellaneous lot of rubbish, including a crib, a rocking horse, a +velocipede, beside some smaller toys. Whom had these things belonged to? +A grandson of McGuire's? And was the daughter of McGuire like her +father, unlovely, soiled and terror-stricken? His desultory mental +queries suddenly stopped as he raised his eyes to the far corner of the +room, for there, covered with an old shawl, he made out the lines of a +piano. He opened the keyboard and struck a chord. It wasn't so bad—a +little tuning—he could do it himself....</p> + +<p>So this was his new home! He had not yet had the time or the opportunity +to learn what new difficulties were to face him on the morrow, but the +personal affairs of his employer had piqued his interest and for the +present he had done everything possible to insure his safety for the +night. To-morrow perhaps he would learn something more about the causes +of this situation. He would have an opportunity too to look over the +property and make a report as to its possibilities. To a man inured as +Peter was to disappointments, what he had found was good. He had made up +his mind to fit himself soldierlike into his new situation and he had to +admit now that he liked the prospect. As though to compensate for past +mischief, Fate had provided him with the one employment in the new land +for which he was best suited by training and inclination. It was the one +"job" in which, if he were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>permitted a fair amount of freedom of action +and initiative, he was sure that he could "make good." The trees he +could see were not the stately pines of Zukovo, but they were pines, and +the breeze which floated in to him through the cabin door was laden with +familiar odors.</p> + +<p>The bed looked inviting, but he resolutely turned his back to it and +unpacked his suitcase, taking off his tailor-made clothing and putting +on the flannel shirt, corduroy trousers and heavy laced boots, all of +which he had bought before leaving New York. Then he went to the doorway +and stood looking out into the night.</p> + +<p>The moonbeams had laid a patine of silver upon the floor of the small +clearing before the door, and played softly among the shadows. So silent +was the night that minute distant sounds were clearly audible—the +stream seemed to be tinkling just at his elbow, while much farther away +there was a low murmur of falling water at the tumbling dam, mingling +with the sighs of vagrant airs among the crowns of the trees, the rustle +and creak of dry branches, the whispering of leaf to leaf. Wakeful birds +deceived by the moon piped softly and were silent. An owl called. And +then for the briefest moment, except for the stream, utter silence.</p> + +<p>Peter strode forth, bathed himself in the moonlight and drank deep of +the airs of the forest. America! He had chosen! Her youth called to his. +He wanted to forget everything that had gone before, the horrors through +which he had passed, both physical and spiritual,—the dying struggles +of the senile nation, born in intolerance, grown in ignorance and +stupidity which, with a mad gesture, had cast him forth with a curse. He +had doffed the empty prerogatives of blood and station and left them in +the mire and blood. The soul of Russia was dead and he had thought that +his own had died with hers, but from the dead thing a new soul might +germinate as it had now <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>germinated in him. He had been born again. +<i>Novaya Jezn!</i> The New Life! He had found it.</p> + +<p>He listened intently as though for its heartbeats, his face turned up +toward the silent pines. For a long while he stood so and then went +indoors and sat at the old piano playing softly.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h2>NEW ELEMENTS</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Some of the men on guard in the middle watch reported that they had +heard what seemed to be the sounds of music very far away in the woods +and were disturbed at the trick their ears had played upon them. But +Peter didn't tell them the truth. If listening for the notes of a piano +would keep them awake, listen they should. He slept until noon and then +went to the house for orders.</p> + +<p>Morning seemed to make a difference in the point of view. If the moon +had made the night lovely, the sun brought with it the promise of every +good thing. The walk through the woods to Black Rock House was a joy, +very slightly alleviated by the poor condition of the trees under which +Peter passed. It was primeval forest even here, with valuable trees +stunted and poor ones vastly overgrown according to nature's law which +provides for the survival of the fittest. This was the law too, which +was to be applied to Peter. Would he grow straight and true in this +foreign soil or gnarled and misshapen like the cedars and the maples +that he saw? Yes. He would grow and straight ... straight.</p> + +<p>Optimism seemed to be the order of the new day. At the house he found +that his employer had put on a clean shirt and was freshly shaven. The +windows of the room were opened wide to the sunlight which streamed into +the room, revealing its darkest corners. McGuire himself seemed to have +responded to the effulgence of the sun and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>the balmy air which swept +across his table. His manner was now calm, his voice more measured.</p> + +<p>When Peter came into the room, Mr. McGuire closed the heavy doors of the +steel safe carefully and turned to greet him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, glad to see you, Nichols," he said more cheerfully. "A quiet night, +I understand."</p> + +<p>"Yes," laughed Nichols, "except for the man who got through the guards +and smoked a cigarette on your portico."</p> + +<p>"What!" gasped McGuire.</p> + +<p>"Don't be alarmed, sir. It was only myself. I wanted to show Shad Wells +the defects of his police system."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Ah! Ha, ha, yes, of course. Very good. And you weren't shot at?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, sir—though I'd given them leave to pot me if they could. But I +think you're adequately protected now."</p> + +<p>"Good," said McGuire. "Have a cigar. I'm glad you've come. I wanted to +talk to you."</p> + +<p>And when they had lighted their cigars, "It's about this very guard. +I—I'm afraid you'll have to keep your men under cover at least in the +daytime."</p> + +<p>"Under cover?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see," went on McGuire in some hesitation, "my daughter (he +called it darter) Peggy is motoring down from New York to-day. I don't +want her, but she's coming. I couldn't stop her. She doesn't know +anything about this—er—this guarding the house. And I don't want her +to know. She mustn't know. She'd ask questions. I don't want questions +asked. I'll get her away as soon as I can, but she mustn't be put into +any danger."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Peter examining the ash of his cigar. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>"You don't want her +to know anything about the impending attempts upon your life and +property."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's it," said McGuire impatiently. "I don't want her to find +out. Er—she couldn't understand. You know women, Nichols. They talk too +much." He paused "It's—er—necessary that none of her friends in New +York or mine should know of—er—any danger that threatens me. And of +course—er—any danger that threatens me would—in a way—threaten her. +You see?"</p> + +<p>"I think so."</p> + +<p>"I've put all weapons under cover. I don't want her to see 'em. So when +she comes—which may be at any moment—nothing must be said about the +men outside and what they're there for. In the daytime they must be +given something to do about the place—trimming the lawns, pruning trees +or weeding the driveway. Pay 'em what they ask, but don't let any of 'em +go away. You'll explain this to the new men. As for yourself—er—of +course you're my new superintendent and forester."</p> + +<p>McGuire got up and paced the floor slowly looking at Peter out of the +tail of his eye.</p> + +<p>"I like you, Nichols. We'll get along. You've got courage and +intelligence—and of course anybody can see you're a gentleman. You'll +keep on taking your meals in the house——"</p> + +<p>"If you'd like me to go elsewhere——"</p> + +<p>"No. I see no reason why Peggy shouldn't like you. I hope she will. But +she's very headstrong, has been since a kid. I suppose I humor her a +bit—who wouldn't? I lost my oldest girl and her boy with the 'flu.' Her +husband's still in France. And Peggy's got a will of her own, Peg has," +he finished in a kind of admiring abstraction. "Got a society bee in her +bonnet. Wants to go with all the swells. I'm backin' her, Nichols. +She'll do it too before she's through," he finished proudly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>"I haven't a doubt of it," said Peter soberly, though very much amused +at his employer's ingenuousness. Here then, was the weak spot in the +armor of this relentless millionaire—his daughter. The older one and +her child were dead. That accounted for the toys in the cabin. Peggy +sounded interesting'—if nothing else, for her vitality.</p> + +<p>"I'd better see about this at once, then. If she should come——"</p> + +<p>Peter rose and was about to leave the room when there was a sound of an +automobile horn and the sudden roar of an exhaust outside. He followed +McGuire to the window and saw a low red runabout containing a girl and a +male companion emerging from the trees. A man in the road was holding up +his hands in signal for the machine to stop and had barely time to leap +aside to avoid being run down. The car roared up to the portico, the +breathless man, who was Shad Wells, pursuing. Peter was glad that he had +had the good sense not to shoot. He turned to his employer, prepared for +either anger or dismay and found that McGuire was merely grinning and +chuckling softly as though to himself.</p> + +<p>"Just like her!" he muttered, "some kid, that!"</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Shad Wells, making a bad race of it was only halfway up the +drive, when at a signal and shout from McGuire, he stopped running, +stared, spat and returned to his post.</p> + +<p>There was a commotion downstairs, the shooting of bolts, the sounds of +voices and presently the quick patter of feminine footsteps which +McGuire, now completely oblivious of Peter, went to meet.</p> + +<p>"Well, daughter!"</p> + +<p>"Hello, Pop!"</p> + +<p>Peter caught a glimpse of a face and straggling brown hair, quickly +engulfed in McGuire's arms.</p> + +<p>"What on earth——" began McGuire.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>"Thought we'd give you a little touch of high life, Pop. It was so hot +in town. And the hotel's full of a convention of rough necks. I brought +Freddy with me and Mildred and Jack are in the other car. We thought the +rest might do us good."</p> + +<p>The voice was nasal and pitched high, as though she were trying to make +herself audible in a crowd. Peter was ready to revise his estimate that +her face was pretty, for to him no woman was more beautiful than her own +voice.</p> + +<p>"But you can't stay here, Peg," went on McGuire, "not more than over +night—with all these people. I'm very busy——"</p> + +<p>"H-m. We'll see about that. I never saw the woods look prettier. We came +by Lakewood and Brown's Mills and—Why who——?"</p> + +<p>As she sidled into the room she suddenly espied Peter who was still +standing by the window.</p> + +<p>"Who——? Why—Oh, yes, this is my new superintendent and forester. Meet +my daughter,—Mr. Nichols."</p> + +<p>Peter bowed and expressed pleasure. Miss McGuire swept him with a quick +glance that took in his flannel shirt, corduroy breeches and rough +boots, nodded pertly and turned away.</p> + +<p>Peter smiled. Like Beth Cameron this girl was very particular in +choosing her acquaintances.</p> + +<p>"I nearly killed a guy in the driveway," she went on, "who was he, Pop?"</p> + +<p>"Er—one of the gardeners, I've told them to keep people off the place."</p> + +<p>"Well. I'd like to see him keep <i>me</i> off! I suppose he'll be trying to +hold up Mildred and Jack——"</p> + +<p>She walked to the window passing close beside Peter, paying as little +attention to his presence as if he had been, an article of furniture.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>"Can't you get this man to go down," she said indicating Peter, "and +tell them it's all right?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Peter politely. "I'll go at once. And I'd like to +arrange to look over part of the estate with Wells, Mr. McGuire," he +added.</p> + +<p>"All right, Nichols," said the old man with a frown. And then +significantly—"But remember what I've told you. Make careful +arrangements before you go."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>Peter went down the stairs, amused at his dismissal. On the veranda he +found a young man sitting on some suitcases smoking a cigarette. This +was Freddy, of course. He afterwards learned that his last name was +Mordaunt, that he was a part of Peggy's ambitions, and that he had been +invalided home from a camp and discharged from the military service. As +Freddy turned, Peter bowed politely and passed on. Having catalogued him +by his clothing, Freddy like Peggy had turned away, smoking his +cigarette.</p> + +<p>Peter thought that some Americans were born with bad manners, some +achieved bad manners, and others had bad manners thrust upon them. +Impoliteness was nothing new to him, since he had been in America. It +was indigenous. Personally, he didn't mind what sort of people he met, +but he seemed to be aware that a new element had come to Black Rock +which was to make disquietude for Jonathan K. McGuire and difficulty for +himself. And yet too there was a modicum of safety, perhaps, in the +presence of these new arrivals, for it had been clear from his +employer's demeanor that the terrors of the night had passed with the +coming of the day.</p> + +<p>He commented on this to Shad Wells, who informed him that night was +always the old man's bad time.</p> + +<p>"Seems sort o' like he's skeered o' the dark. 'Tain't nateral. 'Fraid o' +ghosts, they say," he laughed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>"Well," said Peter, "we've got our orders. And the thing he fears isn't +a ghost. It's human."</p> + +<p>"Sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And since he's more afraid after dark he has probably had his +warning. But we're not to take any chances."</p> + +<p>Having given his new orders to Jesse, who was to be in charge during +their absence, they struck into the woods upon the other side of the +Creek for the appraisal of a part of the strip known as the "Upper +Reserve." From an attitude of suspicion and sneering contempt Peter's +companion had changed to one of indifference. The unfailing good humor +of the new superintendent had done something to prepare the ground for +an endurable relation between them. Like Beth Cameron Shad had sneered +at the word "forester." He was the average lumberman, only interested in +the cutting down of trees for the market—the commercial aspect of the +business—heedless of the future, indifferent to the dangers of +deforestation. Peter tried to explain to him that forestry actually +means using the forest as the farmer uses his land, cutting out the +mature and overripe trees and giving the seedlings beneath more light +that they may furnish the succeeding crop of timber. He knew that the +man was intelligent enough, and explained as well as he could from such +statistics as he could recall how soon the natural resources of the +country would be exhausted under the existing indifference.</p> + +<p>"Quite a bit of wood here, Mister—enough for my job," said Shad.</p> + +<p>But after a while Peter began to make him understand and showed him what +trees should be marked for cutting and why. They came to a burned patch +of at least a hundred acres.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>"Is there any organized system for fighting these fires?" Peter asked.</p> + +<p>"System! Well, when there's a fire we go and try to put it out——" +laughed Wells.</p> + +<p>"How do the fires start?"</p> + +<p>"Campers—hunters mos'ly—in the deer season. Railroads sometimes—at +the upper end."</p> + +<p>"And you keep no watch for smoke?"</p> + +<p>"Where would we watch from?"</p> + +<p>"Towers. They ought to be built—with telephone connection to +headquarters."</p> + +<p>"D'ye think the old man will stand for that?"</p> + +<p>"He ought to. It's insurance."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"It looks to me, Wells," said Peter after a pause, "that a good 'crown' +fire and a high gale, would turn all this country to cinders—like +this."</p> + +<p>"It's never happened yet."</p> + +<p>"It may happen. Then good-by to your jobs—and to Black Rock too +perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I guess Black Rock can stand it, if the old man can."</p> + +<p>They walked around the charred clearing and mounted a high sand dune, +from which they could see over a wide stretch of country. With a high +wooden platform here the whole of the Upper Reserve could be watched. +They sat for a while among the sandwort and smoked, while Peter +described the work in the German forests that he had observed before the +war. Shad had now reached the point of listening and asking questions as +the thought was more and more borne into his mind that this new +superintendent was not merely talking for talk's sake, but because he +knew more about the woods than any man the native had ever talked with, +and wanted Shad to know too. For Peter had an answer to all of his +questions, and Shad, though envious of Peter's grammar—for he had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>reached an age to appreciate it—was secretly scornful of Peter's white +hands and carefully tied black cravat.</p> + +<p>This dune was at the end of the first day's "cruise" and Shad had risen +preparatory to returning toward Black Rock when they both heard a +sound,—away off to their right, borne down to them clearly on the +breeze—the voice of a girl singing.</p> + +<p>"Beth," said Shad with a kindling eye. And then carelessly spat, to +conceal his emotions.</p> + +<p>"What on earth can she be doing in here?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"Only half a mile from the road. It's the short cut from Gaskill's."</p> + +<p>"I see," from Peter.</p> + +<p>"Do you reckon you can find your way back alone, Nichols?" said Shad, +spitting again.</p> + +<p>Peter grinned. "I reckon I can try," he said.</p> + +<p>Shad pointed with his long arm in the general direction of Heaven. "That +way!" he muttered and went into the scrub oak with indecent haste.</p> + +<p>Peter sat looking with undisguised interest at the spot where he had +disappeared, tracing him for a while through the moving foliage, +listening to the crackling of the underbrush, as the sounds receded.</p> + +<p>It was time to be turning homeward, but the hour was still inviting, the +breeze balmy, the sun not too warm, so Peter lay back among the grasses +in the sand smoking a fresh cigarette. Far overhead buzzards were +wheeling. They recalled those other birds of prey that he had often +watched, ready to swoop down along the lines of the almost defenseless +Russians. Here all was so quiet. The world was a very beautiful place if +men would only leave it so. The voice of the girl was silent now. Shad +had probably joined her. Somehow, Peter hadn't been able to think of any +relationship, other than the cousinly one, between Shad Wells and Beth. +He had only known the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>girl for half an hour but as Aunt Tillie Bergen +had said, her niece seemed different from the other natives that Peter +had met. Her teeth were sound and white, suggesting habits of personal +cleanliness; her conversation, though careless, showed at the very +least, a grammar school training. And Shad—well, Shad was nothing but a +"Piney."</p> + +<p>Pity—with a voice like that—she ought to have had opportunities—this +scornful little Beth. Peter closed his eyes and dozed. He expected to +have no difficulty in finding his way home, for he had a pocket compass +and the road could not be far distant. He liked this place. He would +build a tower here, a hundred-foot tower, of timbers, and here a man +should be stationed all day—to watch for wisps of smoke during the +hunting season. Smoke ... Tower ... In a moment he snored gently.</p> + +<p>"Halloo!" came a voice in his dream. "Halloo! Halloo!"</p> + +<p>Peter started rubbing his eyes, aware of the smoking cigarette in the +grasses beside him.</p> + +<p>Stupid, that! To do the very thing he had been warning Shad Wells +against. He smeared the smoking stub out in the sand and sat up yawning +and stretching his arms.</p> + +<p>"Halloo!" said the voice in his dream, almost at his ear. "Tryin' to set +the woods afire?"</p> + +<p>The question had the curious dropping intonation at its end. But the +purport annoyed him.</p> + +<p>Nothing that she could have said could have provoked him more! Behind +her he saw the dark face of Shad Wells break into a grin.</p> + +<p>"I fell asleep," said Peter, getting to his feet.</p> + +<p>Beth laughed. "Lucky you weren't burnt to death. <i>Then</i> how would the +trees get along?"</p> + +<p>Peter's toe burrowed after the defunct cigarette.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>"I know what I'm about," he muttered, aware of further loss of dignity.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you? Then which way were you thinkin' of goin' home?"</p> + +<p>Peter glanced around, pointed vaguely, and Beth Cameron laughed.</p> + +<p>"I guess you'd land in Egg Harbor, or thereabouts."</p> + +<p>Her laugh was infectious and Peter at last echoed it.</p> + +<p>"You's better be goin' along with us. Shad asked me to come and get you, +didn't you, Shad?"</p> + +<p>Peter glanced at the woodsman's black scowl and grinned, recalling his +desertion and precipitate disappearance into the bushes.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you both," said Peter diplomatically. +"But I think I can find my way in."</p> + +<p>"Not if you start for Hammonton or Absecon, you can't. I've known people +to spend the night in the woods a quarter of a mile from home."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't mind that."</p> + +<p>"But Shad would. He'd feel a great responsibility if you didn't turn up +for the ghost-hunt. Wouldn't you, Shad?"</p> + +<p>Shad wagged his head indeterminately, and spat. "Come on," he said +sullenly, and turned, leading the way out to the northward, followed by +Beth with an inviting smile. She still wore her denim overalls which +were much too long for her and her dusty brown boots seemed like a +child's. Between moments of avoiding roots and branches, Peter watched +her strong young figure as it followed their leader. Yesterday, he had +thought her small; to-day she seemed to have increased in stature—so +uncertain is the masculine judgment upon any aspect of a woman. But his +notions in regard to her grace and loveliness were only confirmed. There +was no concealing them under her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>absurd garments. Her flanks were long +and lithe, like a boy's, but there was something feminine in the way she +moved, a combination of ease and strength made manifest, which could +only come of well-made limbs carefully jointed. Every little while she +flashed a glance over her shoulder at him, exchanging a word, even +politely holding back a branch until he caught it, or else when he was +least expecting it, letting it fly into his face. From time to time Shad +Wells would turn to look at them and Peter could see that he wasn't as +happy as he might have been. But Beth was very much enjoying herself.</p> + +<p>They had emerged at last into the road and walked toward Black Rock, +Beth in the center and Peter and Shad on either side.</p> + +<p>"I've been thinkin' about what you said yesterday," said Beth to Peter.</p> + +<p>"About——?"</p> + +<p>"Singin' like an angel in Heaven," she said promptly aware of Shad's +bridling glance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," repeated Peter, "you do—you know."</p> + +<p>"It was very nice of you—and you a musician."</p> + +<p>"Musician!" growled Shad. "He ain't a musician."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, he is, and he says I've a voice like an angel. <i>You</i> never +said that, Shad Wells."</p> + +<p>"No. Nor I won't," he snapped surlily.</p> + +<p>Peter would have been more amused if he hadn't thought that Shad Wells +was unhappy.</p> + +<p>He needed the man's allegiance and he had no wish to make an enemy of +him.</p> + +<p>"Musician!" Shad growled. "Then it was you the men heard last night."</p> + +<p>"I found a piano in the cabin. I was trying it," said Peter. Shad said +nothing in reply but he put every shade of scorn into the way in which +he spat into the road.</p> + +<p>"A piano——!" Beth gasped. "Where? What cabin?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>"The playhouse—where I live," said Peter politely.</p> + +<p>"Oh."</p> + +<p>There was a silence on the part of both of his companions, awkwardly +long.</p> + +<p>So Peter made an effort to relieve the tension, commenting on the new +arrivals at Black Rock House.</p> + +<p>At the mention of Peggy's name Beth showed fresh excitement.</p> + +<p>"Miss McGuire! Here? When——?"</p> + +<p>"This morning. Do you know her?"</p> + +<p>"No. But I've seen her. I think she's just lovely."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"She wears such beautiful clothes and—and hats and veils."</p> + +<p>Peter laughed. "And that's your definition of loveliness."</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," she said in wonder. "Last year all the girls were copyin' +her, puttin' little puffs of hair over their ears—I tried it, but it +looked funny. Is she going to be here long? Has she got a 'beau' with +her? She always had. It's a wonder she doesn't run over somebody, the +way she drives."</p> + +<p>"She nearly got me this mornin'," growled Shad.</p> + +<p>"I wish she would—if you're going to look like a meat-ax, Shad Wells."</p> + +<p>There was no reconciling them now, and when Beth's home was reached, all +three of them went different ways. What a rogue she was! And poor Shad +Wells who was to have taken Peter at a gobble, seemed a very poor sort +of a creature in Beth's hands.</p> + +<p>She amused Peter greatly, but she annoyed him a little too, ruffled up +the shreds of his princely dignity, not yet entirely inured to the +trials of social regeneration. And Shad's blind adoration was merely a +vehicle for her amusement. It would have been very much better if she +hadn't <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>used Peter's compliment as a bait for Shad. Peter had come to +the point of liking the rough foreman even if he was a new kind of human +animal from anything in Peter's experience.</p> + +<p>And so was Beth. A new kind of animal—something between a harrier and a +skylark, but wholesome and human too, a denim dryad, the spirit of +health, joy and beauty, a creature good to look at, in spite of her envy +of the fashionable Miss Peggy McGuire with her modish hats, cerise veils +and ear puffs, her red roadsters and her beaux. Poverty sat well upon +Beth and the frank blue eyes and resolute chin gave notice that whatever +was to happen to her future she was honorable and unafraid.</p> + +<p>But if there was something very winning about her, there was something +pathetic too. Her beauty was so unconscious of her ridiculous clothing, +and yet Peter had come to think of it as a part of her, wondering indeed +what she would look like in feminine apparel, in which he could not +imagine her, for the other girls of Black Rock had not so far blessed +his vision. Aunt Tillie Bergen had told him, over his late breakfast, of +the difficulties that she and Beth had had to keep their little place +going and how Beth, after being laid off for the summer at the factory, +had insisted upon working in the Gaskill's vineyard to help out with the +household. There ought to be something for Beth Cameron, better than +this—something less difficult—more ennobling.</p> + +<p>Thinking of these things Peter made his way back to the cabin. Nothing +of a disturbing nature had happened around Black Rock House, except the +arrival of the remainder of McGuire's unwelcome house party, which had +taken to wandering aimlessly through the woods, much to the disgust of +Jesse Brown, who, lost in the choice between "dudes" and desperadoes, +had given up any attempt to follow Peter's careful injunctions in regard +to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>McGuire. It was still early and the supper hour was seven, so Peter +unpacked his small trunk which had arrived in his absence and then, +carefully shutting door and windows, sat at the piano and played quietly +at first, a "Reverie" of Tschaikowsky, a "Berceuse" of César Cui, the +"Valse Triste" of Jean Sibelius and then forgetting himself—launched +forth into Chopin's C Minor Étude. His fingers were stiff for lack of +practice and the piano was far from perfect, but in twenty minutes he +had forgotten the present, lost in memories. He had played this for +Anastasie Galitzin. He saw the glint of the shaded piano lamp upon her +golden head, recalled her favorite perfume.... Silver nights upon the +castle terrace.... Golden walks through the autumn forest....</p> + +<p>Suddenly a bell rang loudly at Peter's side, it seemed. Then while he +wondered, it rang again. Of course—the telephone. He found the +instrument in the corner and put the receiver to his ear. It was +McGuire's voice.</p> + +<p>"That you, Nichols?" it asked in an agitated staccato.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's getting dark, what have you done about to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Same as last night," said Peter smiling, "only more careful."</p> + +<p>"Well, I want things changed," the gruff voice rose. "The whole d—n +house is open. I can't shut it with these people here. Your men will +have to move in closer—but keep under cover. Can you arrange it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so."</p> + +<p>"I'll want you here—with me—you understand. You were coming to +supper?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well—er—I've told my daughter and so—would you mind putting on a +dress suit——? Er—if you have one—a Tuxedo will do."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>"Yes, sir," said Peter. "That's all right."</p> + +<p>"Oh—er—thanks. You'll be up soon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Good-by."</p> + +<p>With a grin, Peter hung up the receiver, recalling the soiled, +perspiring, unquiet figure of his employer last night. But it seemed as +though McGuire were almost as much in awe of his daughter as of the +danger that threatened, for, in the McGuire household, Miss Peggy, it +appeared, was paramount.</p> + +<p>Peter's bathroom was Cedar Creek. In his robe, he ran down the dusky +path for a quick plunge. Then, refreshed and invigorated, he lighted his +lamp and dressed leisurely. He had come to his cravat, to which he was +wont to pay more than a casual attention, when he was aware of a feeling +of discomfort—of unease. In the mirror something moved, a shadow, at +the corner of the window. He waited a moment, still fingering his +cravat, and then sure that his eyes had made no mistake, turned quickly +and, revolver in hand, rushed outside. Just as he did so a man with a +startled face disappeared around the corner of the cabin. Peter rushed +after him, shouting and turned the edge just in time to see his shape +leap into the bushes.</p> + +<p>"Who goes there?" shouted Peter crisply. "Halt, or I'll fire."</p> + +<p>But the only reply was a furious crashing in the undergrowth. Peter +fired twice at the sound, then followed in, still calling.</p> + +<p>No sound. Under the conditions a chase was hopeless, so Peter paused +listening. And then after a few moments a more distant crackling advised +him that his visitor had gotten well away. And so after a while he +returned to the cabin and with his weapon beside him finished his +interrupted toilet.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>But his brows were in a tangle. The mystery surrounding him seemed +suddenly to have deepened. For the face that he had seen at the window +was that of the stranger who had stared at him so curiously—the man of +the soft hat and dark mustache—who had seemed so startled at seeing him +in the Pennsylvania Station when he was leaving New York.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h2>THE HOUSE OF TERROR</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Who—what was this stranger who seemed so interested in his whereabouts? +Peter was sure that he had made no mistake. It was an unusual face, +swarthy, with high cheek bones, dark eyes, a short nose with prominent +nostrils. Perhaps it would not have been so firmly impressed on his +memory except for the curious look of startled recognition that Peter +had surprised on it at the station in New York. This had puzzled him for +some moments in the train but had been speedily lost in the interest of +his journey. The man had followed him to Black Rock. But why? What did +he want of Peter and why should he skulk around the cabin and risk the +danger of Peter's bullets? It seemed obvious that he was here for some +dishonest purpose, but what dishonest purpose could have any interest in +Peter? If robbery, why hadn't the man chosen the time while Peter was +away in the woods? Peter grinned to himself. If the man had any private +sources of information as to Peter's personal assets, he would have +known that they consisted of a two-dollar watch and a small sum in +money. If the dishonest purpose were murder or injury, why hadn't he +attacked Peter while he was bathing, naked and quite defenseless, in the +creek?</p> + +<p>There seemed to be definite answers to all of these questions, but none +to the fact of the man's presence, to the fact of his look of +recognition, or to the fact of his wish to be unobserved. Was he a part +of the same conspiracy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>which threatened McGuire? Or was this a little +private conspiracy arranged for Peter alone? And if so, why? So far as +Peter knew he hadn't an enemy in America, and even if he had made one, +it was hardly conceivable that any one should go to such lengths to +approach an issue and then deliberately avoid it.</p> + +<p>But there seemed no doubt that something was up and that, later, more +would be heard from this curious incident. It seemed equally certain +that had the stranger meant to shoot Peter he could easily have done so +in perfect safety to himself through the window, while Peter was +fastening his cravat. Reloading his revolver and slipping it into his +pocket, Peter locked the cabin carefully, and after listening to the +sounds of the woods for awhile, made his way up the path to Black Rock +House.</p> + +<p>He had decided to say nothing about the incident which, so far as he +could see, concerned only himself, and so when the men on guard +questioned him about the shots that they had heard he told them that he +had been firing at a mark. This was quite true, even if the mark had +been invisible. Shad Wells was off duty until midnight so Peter went the +rounds, calling the men to the guardhouse and telling them of the change +in the orders. They were to wait until the company upon the portico went +indoors and then, with Jesse in command, they were to take new stations +in trees and clumps of bushes which Peter designated much nearer the +house. The men eyed his dinner jacket with some curiosity and not a +little awe, and Peter informed them that it was the old man's order and +that he, Peter, was going to keep watch from inside the house, but that +a blast from a whistle would fetch him out. He also warned them that it +was McGuire's wish that none of the visitors should be aware of the +watchmen and that therefore there should be no false alarms.</p> + +<p>Curiously enough Peter found McGuire in a state very <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>nearly bordering +on calm. He had had a drink. He had not heard the shots Peter had fired +nor apparently had any of the regular occupants of the house. The +visitors had possibly disregarded them. From the pantry came a sound +with which Peter was familiar, for Stryker was shaking the cocktails. +And when the ladies came downstairs the two men on the portico came in +and Peter was presented to the others of the party, Miss Delaplane, Mr. +Gittings and Mr. Mordaunt. The daughter of the house examined Peter's +clothing and then, having apparently revised her estimate of him, became +almost cordial, bidding him sit next Miss Delaplane at table.</p> + +<p>Mildred Delaplane was tall, handsome, dark and aquiline, and made a foil +for Peggy's blond prettiness. Peter thought her a step above Peggy in +the cultural sense, and only learned afterward that as she was not very +well off, Peggy was using her as a rung in the social ladder. Mordaunt, +Peter didn't fancy, but Gittings, who was jovial and bald, managed to +inject some life into the party, which, despite the effect of the +cocktails, seemed rather weary and listless.</p> + +<p>McGuire sat rigidly at the head of the table, forcing smiles and +glancing uneasily at doors and windows. Peter was worried too, not as to +himself, but as to any possible connection that there might be between +the man with the dark mustache and the affairs of Jonathan McGuire. +Mildred Delaplane, who had traveled in Europe in antebellum days, found +much that was interesting in Peter's fragmentary reminiscences. She knew +music too, and in an unguarded moment Peter admitted that he had +studied. It was difficult to lie to women, he had found.</p> + +<p>And so, after dinner, that information having transpired, he was +immediately led to the piano-stool by his hostess, who was frequently +biased in her social judgments by Mildred Delaplane. Peter played Cyril +Scott's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>"Song from the East," and then, sure of Miss Delaplane's +interest, an Étude of Scriabine, an old favorite of his which seemed to +express the mood of the moment.</p> + +<p>And all the while he was aware of Jonathan McGuire, seated squarely in +the middle of the sofa which commanded all the windows and doors, with +one hand at his pocket, scowling and alert by turns, for, though the +night had fallen slowly, it was now pitch black outside. Peter knew that +McGuire was thinking he hadn't hired his superintendent as a musician to +entertain his daughter's guests, but that he was powerless to interfere. +Nor did he wish to excite the reprobation of his daughter by going up +and locking himself in his room. Peggy, having finished her cigarette +with Freddy on the portico, had come in again and was now leaning over +the piano, her gaze fixed, like Mildred's, upon Peter's mobile fingers.</p> + +<p>"You're really too wonderful a superintendent to be quite true," said +Peggy when Peter had finished. "But <i>do</i> give us a 'rag.'"</p> + +<p>Peter shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't do ragtime."</p> + +<p>"Quit your kidding! I want to dance."</p> + +<p>"I'm not—er—kidding," said Peter, laughing. "I can't play it at +all—not at all."</p> + +<p>Peggy gave him a look, shrugged and walked to the door.</p> + +<p>"Fred-die-e!" she called.</p> + +<p>Peter rose from the piano-stool and crossed to McGuire. The man's cigar +was unsmoked and tiny beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you need worry, sir," whispered Peter. "The men are all +around the house, but if you say, I'll go out for another look around."</p> + +<p>"No matter. I'll stick it out for a while."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>"You're better off here than anywhere, I should say. No one would +dare——"</p> + +<p>Here Freddy at the piano struck up "Mary" and further conversation was +drowned in commotion. Mildred Delaplane was preëmpted by Mr. Gittings +and Peggy came whirling alone toward Peter, arms extended, the passion +for the dance outweighing other prejudices.</p> + +<p>Peter took a turn, but four years of war had done little to improve his +steps.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid all my dancing is in my fingers," he muttered.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as Freddy Mordaunt paused, Peggy stopped and lowered her arms.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" she gasped. "What's the matter with Pop?"</p> + +<p>McGuire had risen unsteadily and was peering out into the darkness +through the window opposite him, his face pallid, his lips drawn into a +thin line. Peggy ran to him and caught him by the arm.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Pop? Are you sick?"</p> + +<p>"N-no matter. Just a bit upset. If you don't mind, daughter, I think +I'll be going up."</p> + +<p>"Can I do anything?"</p> + +<p>"No. Stay here and enjoy yourselves. Just tell Stryker, will you, +Nichols, and then come up to my room."</p> + +<p>Peggy was regarding him anxiously as he made his way to the door and +intercepted Peter as he went to look for the valet.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mr. Nichols?" she asked. "He may be sick, but it seems to +me——" she paused, and then, "Did you see his eyes as he looked out of +the window?"</p> + +<p>"Indigestion," said Peter coolly.</p> + +<p>"You'll see after him, won't you? And if he wants me, just call over."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>"I'm sure he won't want you. A few home remedies——"</p> + +<p>And Peter went through the door. Stryker had appeared mysteriously from +somewhere and had already preceded his master up the stair. When Peter +reached the landing, McGuire was standing alone in the dark, leaning +against the wall, his gaze on the lighted bedroom which, the valet was +carefully examining.</p> + +<p>"What is it, sir?" asked Peter coolly. "You thought you saw something?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—out there—on the side portico——"</p> + +<p>"You must be mistaken—unless it was one of the watchmen——"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I saw——"</p> + +<p>"What, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No matter. Do you think Peggy noticed?"</p> + +<p>"Just that you didn't seem quite yourself——"</p> + +<p>"But not that I seemed—er——"</p> + +<p>"Alarmed? I said you weren't well."</p> + +<p>Peter took the frightened man's arm and helped him into his room.</p> + +<p>"I'm not, Nichols," he groaned. "I'm not myself."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't worry, sir. I'd say it was physically impossible for any one +to approach the house without permission. But I'll go down and have +another look around."</p> + +<p>"Do, Nichols. But come back up here. I'll want to talk to you."</p> + +<p>So Peter went down. And, evading inquiries in the hallway, made his way +out through the hall and pantry. Here a surprise awaited him, for as he +opened the door there was a skurry of light footsteps and in a moment he +was in the pantry face to face with Beth Cameron, who seemed much +dismayed at being discovered.</p> + +<p>"What on earth are you doing here?" he asked in amazement.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>She glanced at his white shirt front and then laughed.</p> + +<p>"I came to help Aunt Tillie dish up."</p> + +<p>"You!" He didn't know why he should have been so amazed at finding her +occupying a menial position in this household. She didn't seem to belong +to the back stairs! And yet there she was in a plain blue gingham dress +which made her seem much taller, and a large apron, her tawny hair +casting agreeable shadows around her blue eyes, which he noticed seemed +much darker by night than by day.</p> + +<p>She noticed the inflection of his voice and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Why not? I thought Aunt Tillie would need me—and besides I wanted to +peek a little."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see. You wanted to see Miss Peggy's new frock through the +keyhole?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—and the other one. Aren't they pretty?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"I listened, too. I couldn't help it."</p> + +<p>"Eavesdropping!"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "Oh, Mr. Nichols, but you do play the piano beautifully!"</p> + +<p>"But not like an angel in Heaven," said Peter with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Almost—if angels play. You make me forget——" she paused.</p> + +<p>"What——?"</p> + +<p>"That's there's anything in the world except beauty."</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room Freddy, having found himself, had swept into a song +of the cabarets, to which there was a "close harmony" chorus.</p> + +<p>"There's that——," he muttered, jerking a thumb in the direction from +which he had come.</p> + +<p>But she shook her head. "No," she said. "That's different."</p> + +<p>"How—different?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>"Wrong—false—un—unworthy——"</p> + +<p>As she groped for and found the word he stared at her in astonishment. +And in her eyes back of the joy that seemed to be always dancing in them +he saw the shadows of a sober thought.</p> + +<p>"But don't you like dance music?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, but it's only for the feet. Your music is for—for <i>here</i>." +And with a quick graceful gesture she clasped her hands upon her breast.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you think so, because that's where it comes from."</p> + +<p>At this point Peter remembered his mission, which Beth's appearance had +driven from his mind.</p> + +<p>"I'll play for you sometime," he said.</p> + +<p>He went past her and out to the servants' dining-room. As he entered +with Beth at his heels, Mrs. Bergen, the housekeeper, turned in from the +open door to the kitchen garden, clinging to the jamb, her lips +mumbling, as though she were continuing a conversation. But her round +face, usually the color and texture of a well ripened peach, was the +color of putty, and seemed suddenly to have grown old and haggard. Her +eyes through her metal-rimmed spectacles seemed twice their size and +stared at Peter as though they saw through him and beyond. She faltered +at the door-jamb and then with an effort reached a chair, into which she +sank gasping.</p> + +<p>Beth was kneeling at her side in a moment, looking up anxiously into her +startled eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is it, Aunt Tillie?" she whispered quickly. "What it is? Tell +me."</p> + +<p>The coincidence was too startling. Could the same Thing that had +frightened McGuire have frightened the housekeeper too? Peter rushed +past her and out of the open door. It was dark outside and for a moment +he could see nothing. Then objects one by one asserted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>themselves, the +orderly rows of vegetable plants in the garden, the wood-box by the +door, the shrubbery at the end of the portico, the blue spruce tree +opposite, the loom of the dark and noncommittal garage. He knew that one +of his men was in the trees opposite the side porch and another around +the corner of the kitchen, in the hedge, but he did not want to raise a +hue and cry unless it was necessary. What was this Thing that created +terror at sight? He peered this way and that, aware of an intense +excitement, in one hand his revolver and in the other his police +whistle. But he saw no object move, and the silence was absolute. In a +moment—disappointed—he hurried back to the servants' dining-room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bergen sat dazed in her chair, while Beth, who had brought her a +glass of water, was making her drink of it.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, what is it?" Beth was insisting.</p> + +<p>"Nothing—nothing," murmured the woman.</p> + +<p>"But there is——"</p> + +<p>"No, dearie——"</p> + +<p>"Are you sick?"</p> + +<p>"I don't feel right. Maybe—the heat——"</p> + +<p>"But your eyes look queer——"</p> + +<p>"Do they——?" The housekeeper tried to smile.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Like they had seen——"</p> + +<p>A little startled as she remembered the mystery of the house, Beth cast +her glance into the darkness outside the open door.</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i>—frightened!" she said.</p> + +<p>"No, no——"</p> + +<p>"What was it you saw, Mrs. Bergen," asked Peter gently.</p> + +<p>He was just at her side and at the sound of his voice she half arose, +but recognizing Peter she sank back in her chair.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>Peter repeated his question, but she shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Won't you tell us? What was it you saw? A man——?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes sought Beth's and a look of tenderness came into them, +banishing the vision. But she lied when she answered Peter's question.</p> + +<p>"I saw nothin', Mr. Nichols—I think I'll go up——"</p> + +<p>She took another swallow of the water and rose. And with her strength +came a greater obduracy.</p> + +<p>"I saw nothin'——" she repeated again, as she saw that he was still +looking at her. "Nothin' at all."</p> + +<p>Peter and Beth exchanged glances and Beth, putting her hand under the +housekeeper's arm, helped the woman to the back stairs.</p> + +<p>Peter stood for a moment in the middle of the kitchen floor, his gaze on +the door through which the woman had vanished. Aunt Tillie too! She had +seen some one, some Thing—the same some one or Thing that McGuire had +seen. But granting that their eyes had not deceived them, granting that +each had seen Something, what, unless it were supernatural, could have +frightened McGuire and Aunt Tillie too? Even if the old woman had been +timid about staying in the house, she had made it clear to Peter that +she was entirely unaware of the kind of danger that threatened her +employer. Peter had believed her then. He saw no reason to disbelieve +her now. She had known as little as Peter about the cause for McGuire's +alarm. And here he had found her staring with the same unseeing eyes +into the darkness, with the same symptoms of nervous shock as McGuire +had shown. What enemy of McGuire's could frighten Aunt Tillie into +prostration and seal her lips to speech? Why wouldn't she have dared to +tell Peter what she had seen? What was this secret and how could she +share it with McGuire when twenty-four hours ago she had been in +complete ignorance <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>of the mystery? Why wouldn't she talk? Was the +vision too intimate? Or too horrible?</p> + +<p>Peter was imaginative, for he had been steeped from boyhood in the +superstitions of his people. But the war had taught him that devils had +legs and carried weapons. He had seen more horrible sights than most men +of his years, in daylight, at dawn, or silvered with moonlight. He +thought he had exhausted the possibilities for terror. But he found +himself grudgingly admitting that he was at the least a little +nervous—at the most, on the verge of alarm. But he put his whistle in +his mouth, drew his revolver again and went forth.</p> + +<p>First he sought out the man in the spruce tree. It was Andy. He had seen +no one but the people on the porch and in the windows. It was very dark +but he took an oath that no one had approached the house from his side.</p> + +<p>"You saw no one talking with Mrs. Bergen by the kitchen door?"</p> + +<p>"No. I can't see th' kitchen door from here."</p> + +<p>Peter verified. A syringa bush was just in line.</p> + +<p>"Then you haven't moved?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"No. I was afraid they'd see me."</p> + +<p>"They've seen something——"</p> + +<p>"You mean——?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. But look sharp. If anything comes out this way, take a +shot at it."</p> + +<p>"You think there's something——"</p> + +<p>"Yes—but don't move. And keep your eyes open!"</p> + +<p>Peter went off to the man in the hedge behind the kitchen—Jesse Brown.</p> + +<p>"See anything?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"Nope. Nobody but the chauffeur."</p> + +<p>"The chauffeur?"</p> + +<p>"He went up to th' house a while back."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>"Oh—how long ago?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty minutes."</p> + +<p>"I see." And then, "You didn't see any one come away from the kitchen +door?"</p> + +<p>"No. He's thar yet, I reckon."</p> + +<p>Peter ran out to the garage to verify this statement. By the light of a +lantern the chauffeur in his rubber boots was washing the two cars.</p> + +<p>"Have you been up to the house lately?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," said the man, in surprise.</p> + +<p>"You're sure?" asked Peter excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Sure——"</p> + +<p>"Then come with me. There's something on."</p> + +<p>The man dropped his sponge and followed Peter, who had run back quickly +to the house.</p> + +<p>It was now after eleven. From the drawing-room came the distracting +sounds from the tortured piano, but there was no one on the portico. So +Peter, with Jesse, Andy and the chauffeur made a careful round of the +house, examining every bush, every tree, within a circle of a hundred +yards, exhausting every possibility for concealment. When they reached +the kitchen door again, Peter rubbed his head and gave it up. A screech +owl somewhere off in the woods jeered at him. All the men, except Jesse, +were plainly skeptical. But he sent them back to their posts and, still +pondering the situation, went into the house.</p> + +<p>It was extraordinary how the visitor, whoever he was, could have gotten +away without having been observed, for though the night was black the +eyes of the men outside were accustomed to it and the lights from the +windows sent a glimmer into the obscurity. Of one thing Peter was now +certain, that the prowler was no ghost or banshee, but a man, and that +he had gone as mysteriously as he had come.</p> + +<p>Peter knew that his employer would be anxious until <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>he returned to him, +but he hadn't quite decided to tell McGuire of the housekeeper's share +in the adventure. He had a desire to verify his belief that Mrs. Bergen +was frightened by the visitor for a reason of her own which had nothing +to do with Jonathan McGuire. Any woman alarmed by a possible burglar or +other miscreant would have come running and crying for help. Mrs. Bergen +had been doggedly silent, as though, rather than utter her thoughts, she +would have bitten out her tongue. It was curious. She had seemed to be +talking as though to herself at the door, and then, at the sound of +footsteps in the kitchen behind her, had turned and fallen limp in the +nearest chair. The look in her face, as in McGuire's, was that of +terror, but there was something of bewilderment in both of them too, +like that of a solitary sniper in the first shock of a shrapnel wound, a +look of anguish that seemed to have no outlet, save in speech, which was +denied.</p> + +<p>To tell McGuire what had happened in the kitchen meant to alarm him +further. Peter decided for the present to keep the matter from him, +giving the housekeeper the opportunity of telling the truth on the +morrow if she wished.</p> + +<p>He crossed the kitchen and servants' dining-room and just at the foot of +the back stairs met Mrs. Bergen and Beth coming down. So he retraced his +steps into the kitchen, curious as to the meaning of her reappearance.</p> + +<p>At least she had recovered the use of her tongue.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't go to bed, just yet, Mr. Nichols," she said in reply to +Peter's question. "I just couldn't."</p> + +<p>Peter gazed at her steadily. This woman held a clew to the mystery. She +glanced at him uncertainly but she had recovered her self-possession, +and her replies to his questions, if anything, were more obstinate than +before.</p> + +<p>"I saw nothin', Mr. Nichols—nothin'. I was just a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>bit upset. I'm all +right now. An' I want Beth to go home. That's why I came down."</p> + +<p>"But, Aunt Tillie, if you're not well, I'm going to stay——"</p> + +<p>"No. Ye can't stay here. I want ye to go." And then, turning excitedly +to Peter, "Can't ye let somebody see her home, Mr. Nichols?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Peter. "But I don't think she's in any danger."</p> + +<p>"No, but she can't stay here. She just can't."</p> + +<p>Beth put her arm around the old woman's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I'm not afraid."</p> + +<p>Aunt Tillie was already untying Beth's apron.</p> + +<p>"I know ye're not, dearie. But ye can't stay here. I don't want ye to. I +don't want ye to."</p> + +<p>"But if you're afraid of something——"</p> + +<p>"Who said I was afraid?" she asked, glaring at Peter defiantly. "I'm +not. I just had a spell—all this excitement an' extra work—an' +everything."</p> + +<p>She lied. Peter knew it, but he saw no object to be gained in keeping +Beth in Black Rock House, so he went out cautiously and brought the +chauffeur, to whom he entrusted the safety of the girl. He would have +felt more comfortable if he could have escorted her himself, but he knew +that his duty was at the house and that whoever the mysterious person +was it was not Beth that he wanted.</p> + +<p>But what was Mrs. Bergen's reason for wishing to get rid of her?</p> + +<p>As Beth went out of the door he whispered in her ear, "Say nothing of +this—to any one."</p> + +<p>She nodded gravely and followed the man who had preceded her.</p> + +<p>When the door closed behind Beth and the chauffeur, Peter turned quickly +and faced the housekeeper.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said severely, "tell me the truth."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>She stared at him with a falling jaw in a moment of alarm—then closed +her lips firmly. And, as she refused to reply,</p> + +<p>"Do you want me to tell Mr. McGuire that you were talking to a stranger +at the kitchen door?"</p> + +<p>She trembled and sinking in a chair buried her face in her hands.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be unkind, Mrs. Bergen, but there's something here that +needs explaining. Who was the man you talked to outside the door?"</p> + +<p>"I—I can't tell ye," she muttered.</p> + +<p>"You must. It's better. I'm your friend and Beth's——"</p> + +<p>The woman raised her haggard face to his.</p> + +<p>"Beth's friend! Are ye? Then ask me no more."</p> + +<p>"But I've got to know. I'm here to protect Mr. McGuire, but I'd like to +protect you too. Who is this stranger?"</p> + +<p>The woman lowered her head and then shook it violently. "No, no. I'll +not tell."</p> + +<p>He frowned down at her head.</p> + +<p>"Did you know that to-night McGuire saw the stranger—the man that <i>you</i> +saw—and that he's even more frightened than you?"</p> + +<p>The woman raised her head, gazed at him helplessly, then lowered it +again, but she did not speak. The kitchen was silent, but an obbligato +to this drama, like the bray of the ass in the overture to "Midsummer +Night's Dream," came from the drawing-room, where Freddy Mordaunt was +now singing a sentimental ballad.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bergen, but if Mr. McGuire is in danger to-night, I've +got to know it."</p> + +<p>"To-night!" she gasped, as though clutching at a straw. "Not to-night. +Nothin'll happen to-night. I'm sure of that, Mr. Nichols."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>She threw out her arms in a wide gesture of desperation. "For the love +o' God, go 'way an' leave me in peace. Don't ye see I ain't fit to talk +to anybody?" She gasped with a choking throat. "<i>He</i> ain't comin' back +again—not to-night. I'll swear it on th' Bible, if ye want me to."</p> + +<p>Their glances met, hers weary and pleading, and he believed her.</p> + +<p>"All right, Mrs. Bergen," he said soothingly. "I'll take your word for +it, but you'll admit the whole thing is very strange—very startling."</p> + +<p>"Yes—strange. God knows it is. But I—I can't tell ye anything."</p> + +<p>"But what shall I say to Mr. McGuire—upstairs. I've got to go up—now."</p> + +<p>"Say to him——?" she gasped helplessly, all her terrors renewed. "Ye +can't tell him I was talkin' to anybody." And then more wildly, "Ye +mustn't. I wasn't. I was talkin' to myself—that's the God's truth, I +was—when ye come in. It was so strange—an' all. Don't tell him, Mr. +Nichols," she pleaded at last, with a terrible earnestness, and +clutching at his hand. "For my sake, for Beth's——"</p> + +<p>"What has Beth to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"More'n ye think. Oh, God——" she broke off. "What am I sayin'——? +Beth don't know. She mustn't. He don't know either——"</p> + +<p>"Who? McGuire?"</p> + +<p>"No—no. Don't ask any more questions, Mr. Nichols," she sobbed. "I +can't speak. Don't ye see I can't?"</p> + +<p>So Peter gave up the inquisition. He had never liked to see a woman cry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right," he said more cheerfully, "you'd better <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>be getting to +bed. Perhaps daylight will clear things up."</p> + +<p>"And ye won't tell McGuire?" she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"I can't promise anything. But I won't if I'm not compelled to."</p> + +<p>She gazed at him uncertainly, her weary eyes wavering, but she seemed to +take some courage from his attitude.</p> + +<p>"God bless ye, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Mrs. Bergen."</p> + +<p>And then, avoiding the drawing-room, Peter made his way up the stairs +with a great deal of mental uncertainty to the other room of terror.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h2>MUSIC</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Stryker, who kept guard at the door of McGuire's room, opened it +cautiously in response to Peter's knock. He found McGuire sitting +rigidly in a rocking-chair at the side of the room, facing the windows, +a whisky bottle and glass on the table beside him. His face had lost its +pallor, but in his eyes was the same look of glassy bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Why the H—— couldn't you come sooner?" He whined the question, not +angrily, but querulously, like a child.</p> + +<p>"I was having a look around," replied Peter coolly.</p> + +<p>"Oh! And did you find anybody?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"H-m! I thought you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>Peter hesitated. He meant to conceal the housekeeper's share in the +night's encounters, but he knew that both Andy and the chauffeur would +talk, and so,</p> + +<p>"There <i>was</i> somebody outside, Mr. McGuire," he said. "You were not +mistaken, a man prowling in the dark near the kitchen. Andy thought it +was the chauffeur, who was in the garage washing the cars."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>McGuire started up, battling for his manhood. It seemed to Peter that +his gasp was almost one of relief at discovering that his eyes had not +deceived him, that the face he had seen was that of a real person, +instead of the figment of a disordered mind.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>"Ah! Why didn't they shoot him?"</p> + +<p>"I've just said, sir, Andy thought it was the chauffeur."</p> + +<p>McGuire was pacing the floor furiously.</p> + +<p>"He has no business to think. I pay him to act. And you—what did you +do?"</p> + +<p>"Three of us searched the whole place—every tree, every bush—every +shadow——. The man has gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone," sneered the other. "A H—— of a mess you're making of this +job!"</p> + +<p>Peter straightened angrily, but managed to control himself.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Mr. McGuire," he said. "Then you'd better get somebody else +at once."</p> + +<p>He had never given notice before but the hackneyed phrase fell crisply +from his lips. For many reasons, Peter didn't want to go, but he bowed +and walked quickly across the room. "Good-night," he said.</p> + +<p>Before he had reached the door the frightened man came stumbling after +him and caught him by the arm.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Nichols. Come back. D'ye hear? You mustn't be so d—— touchy. +Come back. You can't go. I didn't mean anything. Come now!"</p> + +<p>Peter paused, his hand on the knob, and looked down into the man's +flabby, empurpled countenance.</p> + +<p>"I thought you meant it," he said.</p> + +<p>"No. I—I didn't. I—I like you, Nichols—liked you from the very +first—yesterday. Of course you can't be responsible for all the +boneheads here."</p> + +<p>Peter had "called the bluff." Perhaps the lesson might have a salutary +effect. And so, as his good humor came back to him, he smiled +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"You see, Mr. McGuire, you could hardly expect Andy to shoot the +chauffeur. They're on excellent terms."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>McGuire had settled down into a chair near the table, and motioned Peter +to another one near him.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Nichols. Another glass, Stryker. So." He poured the whisky +with an assumption of ease and they drank.</p> + +<p>"You see, Nichols," he went on as he set his empty glass down, "I know +what I'm about. There <i>is</i> somebody trying to get at me. It's no +dream—no hallucination. You know that too, now. I saw him—I would have +shot him through the window—if it hadn't been for Peggy—and the +others—but I—I didn't dare—for reasons. She mustn't know——" And +then eagerly, "She doesn't suspect anything yet, does she, Nichols?"</p> + +<p>Peter gestured over his shoulder in the direction of the sounds which +still came from below.</p> + +<p>"No. They're having a good time."</p> + +<p>"That's all right. To-morrow they'll be leaving for New York, I hope. +And then we'll meet this issue squarely. You say the man has gone. Why +do you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it reasonable to think so? His visit was merely a reconnoissance. +I think he had probably been lying out in the underbrush all day, +getting the lay of the land, watching what we were doing—seeing where +the men were placed. But he must know now that he'll have to try +something else—that he hasn't a chance of getting to you past these +guards, if you don't want him to."</p> + +<p>"But he nearly succeeded to-night," mumbled McGuire dubiously.</p> + +<p>Peter was silent a moment.</p> + +<p>"I'm not supposed to question and I won't. But it seems to me, Mr. +McGuire, that if this visitor's plan were to murder you, to get rid of +you, he would have shot you down to-night, through the window. From his +failure to do so, there is one definite conclusion to draw—and that is +that he wants to see you—to talk with you——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>McGuire fairly threw himself from his chair as he roared,</p> + +<p>"I can't see him. I won't. I won't see anybody. I've got the law on my +side. A man's house is his castle. A fellow prowls around here in the +dark. He's been seen—if he's shot it's his own lookout. And he <i>will</i> +be shot before he reaches me. You hear me? Your men must shoot—shoot to +kill. If they fail I'll——"</p> + +<p>He shrugged as if at the futility of his own words, which came stumbling +forth, born half of fear, half of braggadocio.</p> + +<p>Peter regarded him soberly. It was difficult to conceive of this man, +who talked like a madman and a spoiled child, as the silent, stubborn, +friendless millionaire, as the power in finance that Sheldon, Senior, +had described him to be. The love of making money had succumbed to a +more primitive passion which for the time being had mastered him. From +what had been revealed, it seemed probable that it was not death or +bodily injury that he feared, for Peter had seen him stand up at the +window, a fair target for any good marksman, but an interview with this +nocturnal visitor who seemed bent upon bringing it about. Indeed, the +childish bravado of his last speech had voiced a wish, but beneath the +wish Peter had guessed a protest against the inevitable.</p> + +<p>Peter acknowledged McGuire's right to seclusion in his own house, but he +found himself wondering whether death for the intruder as proposed by +his employer were a justifiable means of preserving it, especially if +the strange visitor did not himself use violence to gain his ends. And +so, when McGuire presently poured himself another glass of whisky, and +drank it, Peter took the liberty of asking the question.</p> + +<p>"I am ignorant of your laws in this country, Mr. McGuire, but doesn't it +seem that short of forcible entry <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>of this house we would hardly be +justified in shooting the man?"</p> + +<p>"I take the responsibility for that."</p> + +<p>"I understand. But what I was going to propose was a hunt through the +woods to-morrow. A description of this man would be helpful. For +instance, whether he was smoothly shaven or whether he had a +beard—or—or a mustache?"</p> + +<p>McGuire scowled.</p> + +<p>"The man has a slight growth of beard—of mustache. But what difference +does that make? No one has a right here—without my permission."</p> + +<p>Peter sipped at his glass. As he had suspected, there were two of them.</p> + +<p>"That's true. But even with this, we can move with more intelligence. +This forest is your property. If we find any person who can't give an +account of himself, we could take him into custody and turn him over to +the proper authorities."</p> + +<p>"No. No," cried McGuire. "And have him set loose after a trivial +examination? Little good that would do. This man who is trying to reach +me——"</p> + +<p>McGuire stopped suddenly, glaring at his superintendent with bloodshot +eyes, and Peter very politely waited for him to go on. But he brought +his empty glass down on the table with a crash which shattered it.</p> + +<p>"He mustn't reach me," he roared. "I won't see him. That's understood. +He's a man I'd have no more compunction about shooting than——"</p> + +<p>McGuire, with a curious suddenness, stopped again. Then rose and resumed +his habit of pacing the floor. For a moment it had almost seemed as if +he were on the point of a revelation. But the mood passed. Instead of +speaking further he threw out his arms in a wide gesture.</p> + +<p>"I've said enough," he growled, "more than enough. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>You know your duty." +And he gestured toward the door. "Do it!" he finished brusquely.</p> + +<p>Peter had already risen, and Stryker unemotionally opened the door for +him.</p> + +<p>"I'll stay on duty all night, Mr. McGuire," he said quietly. "I'd advise +you to turn in and get some sleep. You need it."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes, I will. Thanks, Nichols," said McGuire, following him to the +door and offering a flabby hand. "Don't mind what I've said to-night. I +think we understand each other. Stryker will see that the house is +locked when the young people come up. Keep your men to the mark and take +no chances."</p> + +<p>"Good-night."</p> + +<p>The remainder of the night, as Mrs. Bergen had predicted, proved +uneventful, and at daylight Peter went to his cabin and tumbled into +bed, too tired to think further of McGuire's visitors—or even of the +man with the black mustache.</p> + +<p>The next day he lay abed luxuriously for a while after he had awakened, +but no amount of quiet thinking availed to clarify the mystery. There +were two men, one bearded, interested in watching McGuire, another with +a black mustache, interested in Peter. And so, after wondering again for +some puzzling moments as to how Mrs. Bergen, the housekeeper, had come +to be involved in McGuire's fortunes, he gave the problem up.</p> + +<p>Foreseeing difficulties over breakfast at the house, he had arranged to +make his own coffee on a small oil stove which happened to be available, +and so Peter set the pot on to boil and while he dressed turned over in +his mind the possibilities of the future. It seemed quite certain that +the antagonism, whatever its nature, between his employer and the +prowling stranger must come to an issue of some sort almost at once. The +intruder, if he were the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>sort of man who could inspire terror, would +not remain content merely to prowl fruitlessly about with every danger +of being shot for his pains, and McGuire could hardly remain long in his +present situation without a physical or mental collapse.</p> + +<p>Why hadn't McGuire taken flight? Why indeed had he come to Black Rock +House when it seemed that he would have been much safer amongst the +crowds of the city, where he could fall back upon the protection of the +police and their courts for immunity from this kind of persecution?</p> + +<p>Pieced together, the phrases his employer had let slip suggested the +thought that he had come to Black Rock to escape publicity in anything +that might happen. And McGuire's insistence upon the orders that the +guards should shoot to kill also suggested, rather unpleasantly, the +thought that McGuire knew who the visitor was and earnestly desired his +death.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Bergen could have no such wish, for, unlike McGuire, she had +shown a reticence in her fears, as though her silence had been intended +to protect rather than to accuse. Beth Cameron, too, was in some way +unconsciously involved in the adventure. But how? He drank his coffee +and ate his roll, a prey to a very lively curiosity. Beth interested +him. And if Aunt Tillie Bergen, her only near relative, showed signs of +inquietude on the girl's account, the mysterious visitor surely had it +in his power to make her unhappy. As he washed up the dishes and made +his bed, Peter decided that he would find Beth to-night when she came +back from work and ask her some questions about her Aunt Tillie.</p> + +<p>Beth Cameron saved him that trouble. He was sitting at the piano, +awaiting a telephone call to Black Rock House, where he was to have a +conference with his employer on the forestry situation. He was so deeply +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>absorbed in his music that he was unaware of the figure that had stolen +through the underbrush and was now hidden just outside the door. It was +Beth. She stood with the fingers of one hand lightly touching the edge +of the door-jamb, the other hand at her breast, while she listened, +poised lightly as though for flight. But a playful breeze twitched at +the hem of her skirt, flicking it out into the patch of sunlight by the +doorsill, and Peter caught the glint of white from the tail of his eye.</p> + +<p>The music ceased suddenly and before Beth could flee into the bushes +Peter had caught her by the hand.</p> + +<p>Now that she was discovered she made no effort to escape him.</p> + +<p>"I—I was listening," she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Why, Beth," he exclaimed, voicing the name in his thoughts. "How long +have you been here?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know. Not long."</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad."</p> + +<p>She was coloring very prettily.</p> + +<p>"You—you told me you—you'd play for me sometime," she said demurely.</p> + +<p>"Of course. Won't you come in? It's rather a mess here, but——"</p> + +<p>He led her in, glancing at her gingham dress, a little puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd be farmeretting," he said.</p> + +<p>But she shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I quit—yesterday."</p> + +<p>He didn't ask the reason. He was really enjoying the sight of her. Few +women are comely in the morning hours, which have a merciless way of +exaggerating minute imperfections. Beth hadn't any minute imperfections +except her freckles, which were merely Nature's colorings upon a +woodland flower. She seemed to fill the cabin with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>morning fragrance, +like a bud just brought in from the garden.</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad you've come," he said gallantly, leading her over to the +double window where there was a chintz-covered seat. "I've wanted very +much to talk to you."</p> + +<p>She followed him protestingly.</p> + +<p>"But I didn't come to be talked to. I came to listen to you play."</p> + +<p>"You always arrive in the midst of music," he laughed. "I played you in, +without knowing it. That was an Elfentanz——"</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"A dance of the Elves—the fairies." And then, with a laugh, "And the +little devils."</p> + +<p>"The little devils? You mean <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Elf—fairy and devil too—but mostly elf."</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure I like that—but I <i>do</i> like the music. Please play it +again."</p> + +<p>She was so lovely in her eagerness that he couldn't refuse, his fingers +straying from the dance by slow transitions into something more quiet, +the "Romance" of Sibelius, and then after that into a gay little +<i>scherzo</i>, at the end of which he turned suddenly to find her flushed +and breathless, regarding him in a kind of awe.</p> + +<p>"How lovely!" she whispered. "There were no devils in that."</p> + +<p>"No, only fairies."</p> + +<p>"Angels too—but somethin' else—that quiet piece—like the—the memory +of a—a—sorrow."</p> + +<p>"'Romance,' it's called," he explained gently.</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"The things we dream. The things that ought to be, but aren't."</p> + +<p>She took a deep breath. "Yes, that's it. That's what <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>it meant. I felt +it." And then, as though with a sudden shyness at her self-revelation, +she glanced about. "What a pretty place! I've never been here before."</p> + +<p>"How did you find your way?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I knew where the cabin was. I came through the woods and across the +log-jam below the pool. Then I heard the music. I didn't think you'd +mind."</p> + +<p>"Mind! Oh, I say. I don't know when I've been so pleased."</p> + +<p>"Are you really? You <i>say</i> a lot."</p> + +<p>"Didn't I play it?"</p> + +<p>That confused her a little.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said demurely.</p> + +<p>"And now, will you talk to me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. But——"</p> + +<p>"But what——?"</p> + +<p>"I—I'm not sure that I ought to be here."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"It's kind of—unusual."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "You wouldn't be you, if you weren't unusual."</p> + +<p>She glanced at him uneasily.</p> + +<p>"You see, I don't know you very well."</p> + +<p>"You're very exclusive in Black Rock!" he laughed.</p> + +<p>"I guess we <i>have</i> to be exclusive whether we want to or not," she +replied.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think I'll do?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe. I oughtn't to have come, but I just couldn't keep away."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you did. I wanted to see you."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't that," she put in hastily. "I had to hear you play again. +That's what I mean."</p> + +<p>"I'll play for you whenever you like."</p> + +<p>"Will you? Then play again, now. It makes me feel all queer inside."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>Peter laughed. "Do you feel that way when you sing?"</p> + +<p>"No. It all comes out of me then."</p> + +<p>"Would you mind singing for me, Beth?" he asked after a moment.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't think I dare."</p> + +<p>He got up and went to the piano.</p> + +<p>"What do you sing?"</p> + +<p>But she hadn't moved and she didn't reply. So he urged her.</p> + +<p>"In the woods when you're coming home——?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know——It just comes out—things I've heard—things I make +up——"</p> + +<p>"What have you heard? I don't know that I can accompany you, but I'll +try."</p> + +<p>She was flushing painfully. He could see that she wanted to sing for +him—to be a part of this wonderful dream-world in which he belonged, +and yet she did not dare.</p> + +<p>"What have you heard?" he repeated softly, encouraging her by running +his fingers slowly over the simple chords of a major key.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she started up and joined him by the piano.</p> + +<p>"That's it—'The long, long trail a-windin'——" and in a moment was +singing softly. He had heard the air and fell in with her almost at +once.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There's a long, long trail a-winding<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the land of my dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the nightingale is singing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a bright moon beams——"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Like the good musician that he was, Peter submerged himself, playing +gently, his gaze on his fingers, while he listened. He had made no +mistake. The distances across which he had heard her had not flattered. +Her voice was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>untrained, of course, but it seemed to Peter that it had +lost nothing by the neglect, for as she gained confidence, she forgot +Peter, as he intended that she should, and sang with the complete +abstraction of a thrush in the deep wood. Like the thrush's note, too, +Beth's was limpid, clear, and sweet, full of forest sounds—the falling +brook, the sigh of night winds....</p> + +<p>When the song ended he told her so.</p> + +<p>"You do say nice things, don't you?" she said joyously.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you—if it cost you nothing and was the truth? You must have +your voice trained."</p> + +<p>"Must! I might jump over the moon if I had a broomstick."</p> + +<p>"It's got to be managed somehow."</p> + +<p>"Then you're not disappointed in the way it sounds, close up?"</p> + +<p>She stood beside him, leaning against the piano, her face flushed, her +breath rapid, searching his face eagerly. Peter knew that it was only +the dormant artist in her seeking the light, but he thrilled warmly at +her nearness, for she was very lovely. Peter's acquaintance with women +had been varied, but, curiously enough, each meeting with this girl +instead of detracting had only added to her charm.</p> + +<p>"No. I'm not disappointed in it," he said quite calmly, every impulse in +him urging a stronger expression. But he owed a duty to himself. +<i>Noblesse oblige!</i> It was one of the mottoes of his House—(not always +followed—alas!). With a more experienced woman he would have said what +was in his mind. He would probably have taken her in his arms and kissed +her at once, for that was really what he would have liked to do. But +Beth....</p> + +<p>Perhaps something in the coolness of his tone disconcerted her, for she +turned away from the piano.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>"You're very kind," she said quietly.</p> + +<p>He had a feeling that she was about to slip away from him, so he got up.</p> + +<p>"Won't you sing again, Beth?"</p> + +<p>But she shook her head. For some reason the current that had run between +them was broken. As she moved toward the door, he caught her by the +hand.</p> + +<p>"Don't go yet. I want to talk to you."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I ought." And then, with a whimsical smile, "And you +ought to be out makin' the trees grow."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "There's a lot of time for that."</p> + +<p>She let him lead her to the divan again and sat, her fingers dovetailed +around a slender knee.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm sorry I made fun of you the other day," she confessed +immediately.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mind in the least."</p> + +<p>"But you <i>did</i> seem to know it all," she said. And then smiled in the +direction of the piano. "Now—I'm comin' to think you do. Even Shad says +you're a wonder. I—I don't think he likes you, though——" she +admitted.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to hear that."</p> + +<p>"Don't you care. Shad don't like anybody but himself and +Goda'mighty—with God trailin' a little."</p> + +<p>Peter smiled. Her singing voice may have been impersonal but one could +hardly think that of her conversation.</p> + +<p>"And you, Beth—where do <i>you</i> come in?"</p> + +<p>She glanced at him quickly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I——," she said with a laugh, "I just trail along after God."</p> + +<p>Her irony meant no irreverence but a vast derogation of Shad Wells. +Somehow her point of view was very illuminating.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you make him very unhappy," he ventured.</p> + +<p>"That's <i>his</i> lookout," she finished.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>Peter was taking a great delight in watching her profile, the blue eyes +shadowed under the mass of her hair, eyes rather deeply set and +thoughtful in repose, the straight nose, the rather full underlip ending +in a precipitous dent above her chin. He liked that chin. There was +courage there and strength, softened at once by the curve of the throat, +flowing to where it joined the fine deep breast. Yesterday she had +seemed like a boy. To-day she was a woman grown, feminine in every +graceful conformation, on tiptoe at the very verge of life.</p> + +<p>But there was no "flapper" here. What she lacked in culture was made up +in refinement. He had felt that yesterday—the day before. She belonged +elsewhere. And yet to Peter it would have seemed a pity to have changed +her in any particular. Her lips were now drawn in a firm line and her +brows bore a curious frown.</p> + +<p>"You don't mind my calling you Beth, do you?"</p> + +<p>She flashed a glance at him.</p> + +<p>"That's what everybody calls me."</p> + +<p>"My name is Peter."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know." And then, "That's funny."</p> + +<p>"Funny!"</p> + +<p>"You look as if your name ought to be Algernon."</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. It's the name of a man in a book I read—an +Englishman. You're English, you said."</p> + +<p>"Half English," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"What's the other half?"</p> + +<p>"Russian." He knew that he ought to be lying to her, but somehow he +couldn't.</p> + +<p>"Russian! I thought Russians all had long hair and carried bombs."</p> + +<p>"Some of 'em do. I'm not that kind. The half of me that's English is the +biggest half, and the safest."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>"I'm glad of that. I'd hate to think of you as bein' a Bolshevik."</p> + +<p>"H-m. So would I."</p> + +<p>"But Russia's where you get your music from, isn't it? The band leader +at Glassboro is a Russian. He can play every instrument. Did you learn +music in Russia?"</p> + +<p>Beth was now treading dangerous ground and so it was time to turn the +tables.</p> + +<p>"Yes, a little," he said, "but music has no nationality. Or why would I +find a voice like yours out here?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty miles from nowhere," she added scornfully.</p> + +<p>"How did you come here, Beth? Would you mind telling me? You weren't +born here, were you? How did you happen to come to Black Rock?"</p> + +<p>"Just bad luck, I guess. Nobody'd ever come to Black Rock just because +they want to. We just came. That's all."</p> + +<p>"Just you and Aunt Tillie? Is your father dead?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes a moment and then clasped her knees again.</p> + +<p>"I don't like to talk about family matters."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I——"</p> + +<p>And then, gently, she added,</p> + +<p>"I never talk about them to any one."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm sorry," said Peter, aware of the undercurrent of sadness in her +voice. "I didn't know that there was anything painful to you——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know it myself, until you played it to me, just now, the piece +with the sad, low voices, under the melody. It was like somebody dead +speakin' to me. I can't talk about the things I feel like that."</p> + +<p>"Don't then——Forgive me for asking."</p> + +<p>He laid his fingers softly over hers. She withdrew her hand quickly, but +the look that she turned him found his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>face sober, his dark eyes warm +with sympathy. And then with a swift inconsequential impulse born of +Peter's recantation,</p> + +<p>"I don't s'pose there's any reason why I shouldn't tell you," she said +more easily. "Everybody around here knows about me—about us. Aunt +Tillie and I haven't lived here always. She brought me here when I was a +child."</p> + +<p>She paused again and Peter remained silent, watching her intently. As +she glanced up at him, something in the expression of his face gave her +courage to go on.</p> + +<p>"Father's dead. His name was Ben Cameron. He came of nice people," she +faltered. "But he—he was no good. We lived up near New Lisbon. He used +to get drunk on 'Jersey Lightnin'' and tear loose. He was all right +between whiles—farmin'—but whisky made him crazy, and then—then he +would come home and beat us up."</p> + +<p>"Horrible!"</p> + +<p>"It was. I was too little to know much, but Aunt Tillie's husband came +at last and there was a terrible fight. Uncle Will was hurt—hurt so +bad—cut with a knife—that he never was the same again. And my—my +father went away cursing us all. Then my mother died—Uncle Will +too—and Aunt Tillie and I came down here to live. That's all. Not much +to be proud of," she finished ruefully.</p> + +<p>Peter was silent. It was a harrowing, sordid story of primitive passion. +He was very sorry for her.</p> + +<p>Beth made an abrupt graceful movement of an arm across her brows, as +though to wipe out the memory.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why I've told you," she said. "I never speak of this to +any one."</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry."</p> + +<p>He meant it. And Beth knew that he did.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h2>THE PLACARD</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The look that she had given him showed her sense of his sympathy. So he +ventured,</p> + +<p>"Did you hear from your father before he died?"</p> + +<p>"Aunt Tillie did,—once. Then we got word he'd been killed in a railway +accident out West. I was glad. A man like that has no right to live."</p> + +<p>"You and Aunt Tillie have had a pretty hard time——" he mused.</p> + +<p>"Yes. She's an angel—and I love her. Why is it that good people have +nothin' but trouble? She had an uncle who went bad too—he was younger +than she was—my great-uncle—Jack Bray—he forged a check—or somethin' +up in Newark—and went to the penitentiary."</p> + +<p>"And is he dead too?"</p> + +<p>"No—not at last accounts. He's out—somewhere. When I was little he +used to come to Aunt Tillie for money—a tall, lantern-jawed man. I saw +him once three years ago. He was here. Aunt Tillie tried to keep me out +of the kitchen. But I thought he was up to some funny business and +stayed. He took a fancy to me. He said he was camera man in the movies. +He wanted me to go with him—thought I could be as good as Mary +Pickford. I'm glad I didn't go—from what I know now. He was a bad man. +Aunt Tillie was scared of him. Poor soul! She gave him all she had—most +of what was left from the old farm, I guess."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>"Do you think——" began Peter, then paused. And as she glanced at him +inquiringly, "Did you notice that your Aunt Tillie +seemed—er—frightened last night?" he asked at last.</p> + +<p>"I thought so for a while, but she said she was only sick. She never +lies to me."</p> + +<p>"She seemed very much disturbed."</p> + +<p>"Her nerve's not what it used to be—especially since Mr. McGuire's +taken to seein' things——"</p> + +<p>"You don't believe then that she could have seen John Bray—that he had +come back again last night?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," said Beth, turning in surprise. "I never thought of it—and +yet," she paused, "yes,—it might have been——"</p> + +<p>She became more thoughtful but didn't go on. Peter was on the trail of a +clew to the mystery, but she had already told him so much that further +questions seemed like personal intrusion. And so,</p> + +<p>"I'd like to tell you, Beth," he said, "that I'm your friend and Mrs. +Bergen's. If anything should turn up to make you unhappy or to make your +aunt unhappy and I can help you, won't you let me know?"</p> + +<p>"Why—do you think anything is goin' to happen?" she asked.</p> + +<p>His reply was noncommittal.</p> + +<p>"I just wanted you to know you could count on me——" he said soberly. +"I think you've had trouble enough."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not afraid of Jack Bray," she said with a shrug, "even if Aunt +Tillie is. He can't do anything to me. He can't <i>make</i> me go to New York +if I don't want to."</p> + +<p>She had clenched her brown fists in her excitement and Peter laughed.</p> + +<p>"I think I'd be a little sorry for anybody who tried to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>make you do +anything you didn't want to do," he said.</p> + +<p>She frowned. "Why, if I thought that bandy-legged, lantern-jawed, old +buzzard was comin' around here frightenin' Aunt Tillie, I'd—I'd——"</p> + +<p>"What would you do?"</p> + +<p>"Never you mind what I'd do. But I'm not afraid of Jack Bray," she +finished confidently.</p> + +<p>The terrors that had been built up around the house of McGuire, the +mystery surrounding the awe-inspiring prowler, the night vigils, the +secrecy—all seemed to fade into a piece of hobbledehoy buffoonery at +Beth's contemptuous description of her recreant relative. And he smiled +at her amusedly.</p> + +<p>"But what would you say," he asked seriously, "if I told you that last +night Mr. McGuire saw the same person your Aunt Tillie did, and that he +was terrified—almost to the verge of collapse?"</p> + +<p>Beth had risen, her eyes wide with incredulity.</p> + +<p>"Merciful Father! McGuire! Did he have another spell last night? You +don't mean——?"</p> + +<p>"I went up to his room. He was done for. He had seen outside the +drawing-room window the face of the very man he's been guarding himself +against."</p> + +<p>"I can't believe——," she gasped. "And you think Aunt Tillie——?"</p> + +<p>"Your Aunt Tillie talked to a man outside the door of the kitchen. You +didn't hear her. I did. The same man who had been frightening Mr. +McGuire."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Tillie!" she said in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"There's not a doubt of it. McGuire saw him. Andy saw him too,—thought +he was the chauffeur."</p> + +<p>Beth's excitement was growing with the moments.</p> + +<p>"Why, Aunt Tillie didn't know anything about what was frightening Mr. +McGuire—no more'n I did," she gasped.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>"She knows now. She wasn't sick last night, Beth. She was just +bewildered—frightened half out of her wits. I spoke to her after you +went home. She wouldn't say a word. She was trying to conceal something. +But there was a man outside and she knows who he is."</p> + +<p>"But what could Jack Bray have to do with Mr. McGuire?" she asked in +bewilderment.</p> + +<p>Peter shrugged. "You know as much as I do. I wouldn't have told you this +if you'd been afraid. But Mrs. Bergen is."</p> + +<p>"Well, did you <i>ever?</i>"</p> + +<p>"No, I never did," replied Peter, smiling.</p> + +<p>"It does beat <i>anything</i>."</p> + +<p>"It does. It's most interesting, but as far as I can see, hardly +alarming for you, whatever it may be to Mr. McGuire or Mrs. Bergen. If +the man is only your great-uncle, there ought to be a way to deal with +him——"</p> + +<p>"I've just got to talk to Aunt Tillie," Beth broke in, moving toward the +door. Peter followed her, taking up his hat.</p> + +<p>"I'll go with you," he said.</p> + +<p>For a few moments Beth said nothing. She had passed through the stages +of surprise, anger and bewilderment, and was now still indignant but +quite self-contained. When he thought of Beth's description of the Ghost +of Black Rock House, Peter was almost tempted to forget the terrors of +the redoubtable McGuire. A man of his type hardly lapses into hysteria +at the mere thought of a "bandy-legged buzzard." And yet McGuire's +terrors had been so real and were still so real that it was hardly +conceivable that Bray could have been the cause of them. Indeed it was +hardly conceivable that the person Beth described could be a source of +terror to any one. What was the answer?</p> + +<p>"Aunt Tillie doesn't know anything about McGuire," <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>Beth said suddenly. +"She just couldn't know. She tells me everything."</p> + +<p>"But of course it's possible that McGuire and this John Bray could have +met in New York——"</p> + +<p>"What would Mr. McGuire be doin' with him?" she said scornfully.</p> + +<p>Peter laughed.</p> + +<p>"It's what he's doing with McGuire that matters."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it's Bray," said Beth confidently. "I don't believe +it."</p> + +<p>They had reached a spot where the underbrush was thin, and Beth, who had +been looking past the tree trunks toward the beginnings of the lawns, +stopped suddenly, her eyes focusing upon some object closer at hand.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" she asked, pointing.</p> + +<p>Peter followed the direction of her gaze. On a tree in the woods not far +from the path was a square of cardboard, but Beth's eyes were keener +than Peter's, and she called his attention to some writing upon it.</p> + +<p>They approached curiously. With ironic impudence the message was +scrawled in red crayon upon the reverse of one of Jonathan McGuire's +neat trespass signs, and nailed to the tree by an old hasp-knife. Side +by side, and intensely interested, they read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">TO MIKE McGUIRE</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">I've come back.</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">You know what i've got and i know what you've got. Act +pronto. I'll come for my answer at eleven Friday night—at +this tree. No tricks. If there's no answer—you know what +i'll do.</span></p> + +<p class="right"> +<span style="padding-right: 12em;">HAWK.</span> +</p></div> + +<p>"Hawk!" muttered Beth, "who on earth——?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>"Another——," said Peter cryptically.</p> + +<p>"You see!" cried Beth triumphantly, "I knew it couldn't be Jack Bray!"</p> + +<p>"This chap seems to be rather in earnest, doesn't he? <i>Pronto!</i> That +means haste."</p> + +<p>"But it's only a joke. It must be," cried Beth.</p> + +<p>Peter loosened the knife, took the placard down and turned it over, +examining it critically.</p> + +<p>"I wonder." And then, thoughtfully, "No, I don't believe it is. It's +addressed to McGuire. I'm going to take it to him."</p> + +<p>"Mike McGuire," corrected Beth. And then, "But it really does look +queer."</p> + +<p>"It does," assented Peter; "it appears to me as if this message must +have come from the person McGuire saw last night."</p> + +<p>Beth looked bewildered.</p> + +<p>"But what has Aunt Tillie got to do with—with Hawk? She never knew +anybody of that name."</p> + +<p>"Probably not. It isn't a real name, of course."</p> + +<p>"Then why should it frighten Mr. McGuire?" she asked logically.</p> + +<p>Peter shook his head. All the props had fallen from under his theories.</p> + +<p>"Whether it's real to McGuire or not is what I want to know. And I'm +going to find out," he finished.</p> + +<p>When they reached a path which cut through the trees toward the creek, +Beth stopped, and held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"I'm not goin' up to the house with you and I don't think I'll see Aunt +Tillie just now," she said. "Good-by, Mr.——"</p> + +<p>"Peter——," he put in.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Mr. Peter."</p> + +<p>"Just Peter——" he insisted.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>"Good-by, Mr. Just Peter. Thanks for the playin'. Will you let me come +again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And I'm going to get you some music——"</p> + +<p>"Singin' music?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"And you'll let me know if I can help—Aunt Tillie or you?"</p> + +<p>She bobbed her head and was gone.</p> + +<p>Peter stood for a while watching the path down which she had +disappeared, wondering at her abrupt departure, which for the moment +drove from his mind all thought of McGuire's troubles. It was difficult +to associate Beth with the idea of prudery or affectation. Her visit +proved that. She had come to the Cabin because she had wanted to hear +him play, because she had wanted to sing for him, because too his +promises had excited her curiosity about him, and inspired a hope of his +assistance. But the visit had flattered Peter. He wasn't inured to this +sort of frankness. It was perhaps the greatest single gift of tribute +and confidence that had ever been paid him—at least by a woman. A visit +of this sort from a person like Anastasie Galitzin or indeed from almost +any woman in the world of forms and precedents in which he had lived +would have been equivalent to unconditional surrender.</p> + +<p>The girl had not stopped to question the propriety of her actions. That +the Cabin was Peter's bedroom, that she had only seen him twice, that he +might not have understood the headlong impulse that brought her, had +never occurred to Beth. The self-consciousness of the first few moments +had been wafted away on the melody of the music he had played, and after +that he knew they were to be friends. There seemed to be no doubt in +Peter's mind that she could have thought they would be anything else.</p> + +<p>And Peter was sure that he had hardly been able, even if he had wished, +to conceal his warm admiration for her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>physical beauty. She had been +very near him. All he would have had to do was to reach out and take +her. That he hadn't done so seemed rather curious now. And yet he +experienced a sort of mild satisfaction that he had resisted so trying a +temptation. If she hadn't been so sure of him.... Idealism? Perhaps. The +same sort of idealism that had made Peter believe the people at Zukovo +were fine enough to make it worth while risking his life for them—that +had made him think that the people of Russia could emerge above Russia +herself. He had no illusions as to Zukovo now, but Beth was a child—and +one is always gentle with children.</p> + +<p>He puzzled for another moment over her decision not to be seen coming +with him from the Cabin. Had this sophistication come as an +afterthought, born of something that had passed between them? Or was it +merely a feminine instinct seeking expression? Peter didn't care who +knew or saw, because he really liked Beth amazingly. She had a gorgeous +voice. He would have to develop it. He really would.</p> + +<p>All the while Peter was turning over in his fingers the placard bearing +the strange message to "Mike" McGuire from the mysterious "Hawk." He +read and reread it, each time finding a new meaning in its wording. +Blackmail? Probably. The "<i>pronto</i>" was significant. This message could +hardly have come from Beth's "bandy-legged buzzard." He knew little of +movie camera men, but imagined them rather given to the depiction of +villainies than the accomplishment of them. And a coward who would prey +upon an old woman and a child could hardly be of the metal to attempt +such big game as McGuire. The mystery deepened. The buzzard was now a +hawk. "Hawk," whatever his real name, was the man McGuire had seen last +night through the window. Was he also the man who had frightened Mrs. +Bergen? And if so, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>how and where had she known him without Beth's being +aware of it? And why should Beth be involved in the danger?</p> + +<p>Peter was slowly coming to the belief that there had been two men +outside the house last night, "Hawk" and John Bray. And yet it seemed +scarcely possible that the men on guard should not have seen the second +man and that both men could have gotten away without leaving a trace. +And where was the man with the black mustache? Was he John Bray? +Impossible. It was all very perplexing. But here in his hand he held the +tangible evidence of McGuire's fears. "You know what I've got and I know +what you've got." The sentence seemed to have a cabalistic +significance—a pact—a threat which each man held over the other. +Perhaps it wasn't money only that "Hawk" wanted. Whatever it was, he +meant to have it, and soon. The answer the man expected was apparently +something well understood between himself and McGuire, better understood +perhaps since the day McGuire had seen him in New York and had fled in +terror to Sheldon, Senior's, office. And if McGuire didn't send the +desired answer to the tree by Friday night, there would be the very +devil to pay—if not "Hawk."</p> + +<p>Peter was to be the bearer of ill tidings and with them, he knew, all +prospect of a business discussion would vanish. The situation interested +him, as all things mysterious must, and he could not forget that he was, +for the present, part policeman, part detective; but forestry was his +real job here and every day that passed meant so many fewer days in +which to build the fire towers. And these he considered to be a prime +necessity to the security of the estate.</p> + +<p>He rolled the placard up and went toward the house. On the lawn he +passed the young people, intent upon their own pursuits. He was glad +that none of them noticed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>him and meeting Stryker, who was hovering +around the lower hall, he sent his name up to his employer.</p> + +<p>"I don't think Mr. McGuire expects you just yet, sir," said the man.</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, tell him I must see him," said Peter. "It's important."</p> + +<p>Though it was nearly two o'clock, McGuire was not yet dressed and his +looks when Peter was admitted to him bespoke a long night of anxiety and +vigil. Wearing an incongruous flowered dressing gown tied at the waist +with a silken cord, he turned to the visitor.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said rather peevishly.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. McGuire, but something has happened that +I thought——"</p> + +<p>"What's happened?" the other man snapped out, eying the roll of +cardboard in Peter's hand. "What——?" he gasped.</p> + +<p>Peter smiled and shrugged coolly.</p> + +<p>"It may be only a joke, sir—and I hardly know whether I'm even +justified in calling it to your attention, but I found this placard +nailed to a tree near the path to the Cabin."</p> + +<p>"Placard!" said McGuire, his sharp glance noting the printing of the +trespass sign. "Of course—that's the usual warning——"</p> + +<p>"It's the other side," said Peter, "that is unusual." And unrolling it +carefully, he laid it flat on the table beside his employer's breakfast +tray and then stood back to note the effect of the disclosure.</p> + +<p>McGuire stared at the headline, starting violently, and then, as though +fascinated, read the scrawl through to the end. Peter could not see his +face, but the back of his neck, the ragged fringe of moist hair around +his bald spot were eloquent enough. And the hands which held the +extraordinary document were far from steady. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>gay flowers of the +dressing gown mocked the pitiable figure it concealed, which seemed +suddenly to sag into its chair. Peter waited. For a long while the +dressing gown was dumb and then as though its occupant were slowly +awakening to the thought that something was required of him it stirred +and turned slowly in the chair.</p> + +<p>"You—you've read this?" asked McGuire weakly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. It was there to read. It was merely stuck on a tree with this +hasp-knife," and Peter produced the implement and handed it to McGuire.</p> + +<p>McGuire took the knife—twisting it slowly over in his fingers. "A +hasp-knife," he repeated dully.</p> + +<p>"I thought it best to bring them to you," said Peter, "especially on +account of——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. Of course." He was staring at the red crayon scrawl and as he +said nothing more Peter turned toward the door, where Stryker stood on +guard.</p> + +<p>"If there's nothing else just now, I'll——"</p> + +<p>"Wait!" uttered the old man, and Peter paused. And then, "Did any one +else see this—this paper?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—Mrs. Bergen's niece—she saw it first."</p> + +<p>"My housekeeper's niece. Any one else?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I hardly think so. It seemed quite freshly written."</p> + +<p>"Ah——" muttered McGuire. He was now regarding Peter intently. +"Where—where is the tree on which you found it?"</p> + +<p>"A maple—just in the wood—at the foot of the lawn."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" He stumbled to the window, the placard still clutched in his +hands, and peered at the woods as though seeking to pick out the single +tree marked for his exacerbation. Then jerked himself around and faced +the bearer of these tidings, glaring at him as though he were the author +of them.</p> + +<p>"G—— d—— you all!" he swore in a stifled tone.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>"I beg pardon," said Peter with sharp politeness.</p> + +<p>McGuire glanced at Peter and fell heavily into the nearest armchair. "It +can't—be done," he muttered, half to himself, and then another oath. He +was showing his early breeding now.</p> + +<p>"I might 'a' known——," he said aloud, staring at the paper.</p> + +<p>"Then it isn't a joke?" asked Peter, risking the question.</p> + +<p>"Joke!" roared McGuire. And then more quietly, "A joke? I don't want it +talked about," he muttered with a senile smile. And then, "You say a +woman read it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"She must be kept quiet. I can't have all the neighborhood into my +affairs."</p> + +<p>"I think that can be managed. I'll speak to her. In the meanwhile if +there's anything I can do——"</p> + +<p>McGuire looked up at Peter and their glances met. McGuire's glance +wavered and then came back to Peter's face. What he found there seemed +to satisfy him for he turned to Stryker, who had been listening +intently.</p> + +<p>"You may go, Stryker," he commanded. "Shut the door, but stay within +call."</p> + +<p>The valet's face showed surprise and some disappointment, but he merely +bowed his head and obeyed.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're—you're curious about this message, Nichols—coming in +such a way," said McGuire, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth, I am, sir," replied Peter. "We've done all we could +to protect you. This 'Hawk' must be the devil himself."</p> + +<p>"He is," repeated McGuire. "Hell's breed. The thing can't go on. I've +got to put a stop to it—and to him."</p> + +<p>"He speaks of coming again Friday night——"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes—Friday." And then, his fingers trembling <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>along the placard, +"I've got to do what he wants—this time—just this time——"</p> + +<p>McGuire was gasping out the phrases as though each of them was wrenched +from his throat. And then, with an effort at self-control,</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Nichols," he muttered. "Since you've seen this, I—I'll have +to tell you more. I—I think—I'll need you—to help me."</p> + +<p>Peter obeyed, flattered by his employer's manner and curious as to the +imminent revelations.</p> + +<p>"I may say that—this—this 'Hawk' is a—an enemy of mine, Nichols—a +bitter enemy—unscrupulous—a man better dead than alive. I—I wish to +God you'd shot him last night."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, sir," said Peter cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"I—I've got to do what he wants—this time. I can't have this sort of +thing goin' on—with everybody in Black Rock reading these damn things. +You're sure my daughter Peggy knows nothing?"</p> + +<p>"I'd be pretty sure of that——"</p> + +<p>"But she might—any time—if he puts up more placards. I've got to stop +that, Nichols. This thing mustn't go any further."</p> + +<p>"I think you may trust me."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I think I can. I've <i>got</i> to trust you now, whether I want to or +no. The man who wrote this scrawl is the man I came down here to get +away from." Peter waited while McGuire paused. "You may think it's very +strange. It is strange. I knew this man—called 'Hawk,' many years ago. +I—I thought he was dead, but he's come back."</p> + +<p>McGuire paused again, the placard in his hands, reading the line which +so clearly announced that fact.</p> + +<p>"He speaks of something I've got—something he's got, Nichols. It's a +paper—a—er—a partnership paper we <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>drew up years ago—out West and +signed. That paper is of great value to me. As long as he holds it +I——," McGuire halted to wipe the sweat from his pallid brow. "He holds +it as a—well—not exactly as a threat—but as a kind of menace to my +happiness and Peggy's."</p> + +<p>"I understand, sir," put in Peter quietly. "Blackmail, in short."</p> + +<p>"Exactly—er—blackmail. He wanted five thousand dollars—in New York. I +refused him—there's no end to blackmail once you yield—and I came down +here—but he followed me. But I've got to get that paper away from him."</p> + +<p>"If you were sure he had it with him——"</p> + +<p>"That's just it. He's too smart for that. He's got it hidden somewhere. +I've got to get this money for him—from New York—I haven't got it in +the house—before Friday night——"</p> + +<p>"But blackmail——!"</p> + +<p>"I've got to, Nichols—this time. I've got to."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't, sir," said Peter stoutly.</p> + +<p>"But you don't know everything. I've only told you part," said McGuire, +almost whining. "This is no ordinary case—no ordinary blackmail. I've +got to be quick. I'm going to get the money—I'm going to get you to go +to New York and get it."</p> + +<p>"Me!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes. This is Wednesday. I can't take any chances of not having it +here Friday. Peggy is going back this afternoon. I'll get her to drive +you up. I'll 'phone Sheldon to expect you—he'll give you the money and +you can come back to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"But to-night——"</p> + +<p>"He knows the danger of trying to reach me. That's why he wrote this. I +won't be bothered to-night. I'll <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>shut the house tight and put some of +the men inside. If he comes, we'll shoot."</p> + +<p>"But Friday——Do you mean, sir, that you'll go out to him with five +thousand dollars and risk——"</p> + +<p>"No, I won't. <i>You</i> will," said McGuire, watching Peter's face craftily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see," replied Peter, aware that he was being drawn more deeply +into the plot than he had wished. "You want me to meet him."</p> + +<p>McGuire noted Peter's dubious tone and at once got up and laid his hands +upon his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"You'll do this for me, won't you, Nichols? I don't want to see this +man. I can't explain. There wouldn't be any danger. He hasn't anything +against you. Why should he have? I haven't any one else that I can +trust—but Stryker. And Stryker—well—I'd have to tell Stryker. <i>You</i> +know already. Don't say you refuse. It's—it's a proof of my confidence. +You're just the man I want here. I'll make it worth your while to stay +with me—well worth your while."</p> + +<p>Peter was conscious of a feeling partly of pity, partly of contempt, for +the cringing creature pawing at his shoulders. Peter had never liked to +be pawed. It had always rubbed him the wrong way. But McGuire's need was +great and pity won.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll do it if you like," he said, turning aside and releasing +himself from the clinging fingers, "provided I assume no +responsibility——"</p> + +<p>"That's it. No responsibility," said McGuire, in a tone of relief. +"You'll just take that money out—then come away——"</p> + +<p>"And get nothing in return?" asked Peter in surprise. "No paper—no +receipt——?"</p> + +<p>"No—just this once, Nichols. It will keep him quiet for a month or so. +In the meanwhile——" The old man <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>paused, a crafty look in his eyes, +"In the meanwhile we'll have time to devise a way to meet this +situation."</p> + +<p>"Meaning—precisely what?" asked Peter keenly.</p> + +<p>McGuire scowled at him and then turned away toward the window.</p> + +<p>"That needn't be your affair."</p> + +<p>"It won't be," said Peter quickly. "I'd like you to remember that I came +here as a forester and superintendent. I agreed also to guard your house +and yourself from intrusion, but if it comes to the point of——"</p> + +<p>"There, there, Nichols," croaked McGuire, "don't fly off the handle. +We'll just cross this bridge first. I—I won't ask you to do anything +a—a gentleman shouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, sir," said Peter finally, "that's fair enough."</p> + +<p>McGuire came over and faced Peter, his watery eyes seeking Peter's.</p> + +<p>"You'll swear, Nichols, to say nothing of this to any one?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'll keep silent."</p> + +<p>"Nothing to Sheldon?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"And you'll see this—this niece of the housekeeper's?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The man gave a gasp of relief and sank into his chair.</p> + +<p>"Now go, Nichols—and shift your clothes. Peggy's going about four. Come +back here and I'll give you a letter and a check."</p> + +<p>Peter nodded and reached the door. As he opened it, Stryker straightened +and bowed uncomfortably. But Peter knew that he had been listening at +the keyhole.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h2>SHAD IS UNPLEASANT</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Peter returned from New York on Thursday night, having accomplished his +curious mission. He had first intercepted Beth on her way to the kitchen +and sworn her to secrecy, advising her to say nothing to Mrs. Bergen +about the events of the previous night. And she had agreed to respect +his wishes. On the way to New York he had sat in the rumble of the low +red runabout, Miss Peggy McGuire at the wheel, driving the fashionable +Freddy. Miss McGuire after having yielded, the night before, to the +musical predilections of Miss Delaplane, had apparently reconsidered +Peter's social status and had waved him to the seat in the rear with a +mere gesture and without apologies. And Peter, biting back a grin and +touching his hat, had obeyed. The familiarities tolerable in such a +wilderness as Black Rock could not of course be considered in the halls +of the fashionable hotel where Miss Peggy lived in New York, and where +by dint of great care and exclusiveness she had caught a hold of the +fringe of society. But Peter sat up very straight, trying not to hear +what was said in front. If he could only have worn his Colonel's uniform +and decorations, or his Grand Ducal coronet, and have folded his arms, +the irony would have been perfection.</p> + +<p>He had gone to Sheldon, Senior, in the morning and in return for +McGuire's check had been given cash in the shape of ten virginal five +hundred dollar bills. This money had been put into an envelope and was +now folded carefully <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>in Peter's inside pocket. Sheldon, Senior, to be +sure, had asked questions, but with a good grace Peter had evaded him. +Dick Sheldon was out of town, so Peter put in the remaining period +before his train-time in a music store where he spent all the money that +remained of his salary, on books, a few for the piano but most of them +for Beth. Peter had wasted, as he had thought, two perfectly good years +in trying to learn to sing. But those two years were not going to be +wasted now—for Beth was to be his mouthpiece. He knew the beginnings of +a training—how to give her the advantage of the instruction he had +received from one of the best teachers in Milan. He was lucky enough to +find books on the Italian method of voice production and on the way back +to McGuire's, armed with these, he stopped off at the Bergen house in +Black Rock village and returned Beth's call.</p> + +<p>There he found Shad Wells, in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe in the +portico, and looking like a thundercloud. In response to Peter's query, +he moved his right shoulder half an inch in the direction of the door, +and then spat in the geranium bed. So Peter knocked at the door, softly +at first, then loudly, when Beth emerged, her sleeves rolled to her +shoulders and her arms covered with soapsuds.</p> + +<p>"Why, Shad," she said witheringly, after she had greeted Peter, "you +might have let me know! Come in, Mr. Nichols. Excuse my appearance. +Wash-day," she explained, as he followed her into the dark interior.</p> + +<p>"I can't stop," said the visitor, "I just came to bring these books——"</p> + +<p>"For <i>me</i>!" she exclaimed, hurriedly wiping her arms on her apron.</p> + +<p>"I got them in New York——"</p> + +<p>She pulled up the shade at the side, letting in the sunlight, an act +permissible in the parlors of Black Rock <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>only on state occasions, for +the sunlight (as every one knew) was not kind to plush-covered +furniture.</p> + +<p>"For <i>me</i>!" Beth repeated softly. "I didn't think you meant it."</p> + +<p>"<i>Tone production—Exercises</i>," explained Peter, "and here's one on <i>The +Lives of the Great Composers</i>. I thought you might be interested in +reading it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I am—I will be. Thank you ever so much——"</p> + +<p>"Of course you can't do much by yourself just yet—not without a +piano—to get the pitch—the key—but I've brought a tuning fork +and——"</p> + +<p>"But I've got the harmonium——," Beth broke in excitedly. "It's a +little out of tune, but——"</p> + +<p>"The harmonium!" asked the bewildered Peter. "What's that?"</p> + +<p>Beth proudly indicated a piece of furniture made of curly walnut which +stood in the corner of the room. There were several books on the top of +it—<i>Gospel Tunes</i>—<i>Moody and Sankey</i>, a Methodist Episcopal hymn book, +and a glass case containing wax flowers.</p> + +<p>"We play it Sundays——," said Beth, "but it ought to help——"</p> + +<p>"You play——!" he said in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Tillie and I—oh, just hymns——." She sat, while Peter watched, +began pumping vigorously with her feet and presently the instrument +emitted a doleful sound. "It has notes anyhow," said Beth with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" said Peter. "And when I've told you what to do you can +practice here. You'll come soon?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "When?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow—sometime?" And then, "What's the matter with Wells?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>She frowned. "He just asked me to marry him. It's the twenty-seventh +time."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>"Oh——"</p> + +<p>"I can't be botherin' with Shad—not on wash-day—or any other day," she +added as though in an afterthought.</p> + +<p>Peter laughed. He was quite sure that nobody would ever make her do +anything she didn't want to do.</p> + +<p>"He knows I was at the Cabin yesterday," she said in a low voice. "He +was watchin'."</p> + +<p>Peter was silent a moment, glancing at the books he had just brought +her.</p> + +<p>"Of course if he has any claim on you, perhaps——," he began, when she +broke in.</p> + +<p>"Claim! He hasn't," she gasped. "I'll do as I please. And he'd better +quit pesterin' me or I'll——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>She laughed.</p> + +<p>"I'll put him through the clothes-wringer."</p> + +<p>Peter grinned. "He almost looks as though you'd done that already."</p> + +<p>And as she followed him to the door, "I thought I ought to tell you +about Shad. When he gets ugly—he's ugly an' no mistake."</p> + +<p>"Do you still think he'll—er—swallow me at one gobble?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She stared at him a moment and then laughed with a full throat. "I hope +he don't—at least not 'til I've had my singin' lessons."</p> + +<p>"I think I can promise you that," said Peter.</p> + +<p>She followed him out to the porch, where they looked about for Shad. He +had disappeared. And in the "Lizzie," which had been panting by the side +of the road, Peter was conducted by the soiled young man at the wheel to +Black Rock House.</p> + +<p>Nothing unusual had happened in his absence, nor had any other message +or warning been posted, for Stryker, released for this duty, had +searched all the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>morning and found nothing. "Hawk" was waiting, biding +his hour.</p> + +<p>Curiously enough, an astonishing calm seemed to have fallen over the +person of Jonathan K. McGuire. When Peter arrived he found his employer +seated on the portico in a wicker chair, smoking his after-supper cigar. +True, the day guards were posted near by and Stryker hovered as was his +wont, but the change in his employer's demeanor was so apparent that +Peter wondered how such a stolid-looking creature could ever have lost +his self-control. It was difficult to understand this metamorphosis +unless it could be that, having come to a decision and aware of the +prospect of immunity, if only a temporary one, McGuire had settled down +to make the best of a bad job and await with stoicism whatever the +future was to bring. This was Peter's first impression, nothing else +suggesting itself, but when he followed the old man up to his room and +gave him the money he had brought he noted the deeply etched lines at +nostril and jaw and felt rather than saw the meaning of them—that +Jonathan McGuire was in the grip of some deep and sinister resolution. +There was a quality of desperation in his calmness, a studied +indifference to the dangers which the night before last had seemed so +appalling.</p> + +<p>He put the money in the safe, carefully locked the combination and then +turned into the room again.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Nichols," he said. "You'd better have some supper and get to +bed to-night. I don't think you'll be needed." And then, as Peter's look +showed his surprise, "I know my man better than you do. To-morrow night +we shall see."</p> + +<p>He closed his lips into a thin line, shot out his jaw and lowered his +brows unpleasantly. Courage of a sort had come back to him, the courage +of the animal at bay, which fights against the inevitable.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>To Peter the time seemed propitious to state the need for the +observation towers and he explained in detail his projects. But McGuire +listened and when Peter had finished speaking merely shook his head.</p> + +<p>"What you say is quite true. The towers must be built. I've thought so +for a long time. In a few days we will speak of that again—<i>after +to-morrow night</i>," he finished significantly.</p> + +<p>"As you please," said Peter, "but every day lost now may——"</p> + +<p>"We'll gain these days later," he broke in abruptly. "I want you to stay +around here now."</p> + +<p>On Friday morning he insisted on having Peter show him the tree where +the placard had been discovered, and Peter, having taken lunch with him, +led him down to the big sugar maple, off the path to the cabin. Peter +saw that he scanned the woods narrowly and walked with a hand in his +waist-band, which Peter knew held an Army Colt revolver, but the whine +was gone from his voice, the trembling from his hands. He walked around +the maple with Peter, regarding it with a sort of morbid abstraction and +then himself led the way to the path and to the house. Why he wanted to +look at the tree was more than Peter could understand, for it was Peter, +and not he, who was to keep this costly assignation.</p> + +<p>"You understand, Nichols," he said when they reached the portico, +"you've agreed to go—to-night—at eleven."</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd let me meet him—without the money."</p> + +<p>"No—no. I've made up my mind——," gasped McGuire with a touch of his +old alarm, "there can't be any change in the plan—no change at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," said Peter, "it's not my money I'm giving away."</p> + +<p>"It won't matter, Nichols. I—I've got a lot more——"</p> + +<p>"But the principle——" protested Peter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>"To H—— with the principle," growled the old man.</p> + +<p>Peter turned and went back to the Cabin, somewhat disgusted with his +whole undertaking. Already he had been here for five days and, except +for two walks through the woods for purposes of investigation, nothing +that he had come to do had been accomplished. He had not yet even +visited the sawmills which were down on the corduroy road five miles +away. So far as he could see, for the present he was merely McGuire's +handy man, a kind of upper servant and messenger, whose duties could +have been performed as capably by Stryker or Shad Wells, or even Jesse +Brown. The forest called him. It needed him. From what he had heard he +knew that down by the sawmills they were daily cutting the wrong trees. +He had already sent some instructions to the foreman there, but he could +not be sure that his orders had been obeyed. He knew that he ought to +spend the day there, making friends with the men and explaining the +reasons for the change in orders, but as long as McGuire wanted him +within telephone range, there was nothing to do but to obey.</p> + +<p>He reached the Cabin, threw off his coat, and had hardly settled down at +the table to finish his drawing, a plan of the observation towers, when +Beth appeared. He rose and greeted her. Her face was flushed, for she +had been running.</p> + +<p>"Has Shad been here?" she asked breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she gasped. "I was afraid he'd get here before me. I took the +short cut through the woods."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"He said he—he was going to break you to bits——"</p> + +<p>"To bits! Me? Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because he—he says I oughtn't to come here——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>"Oh, I see," he muttered, and then, with a grin, "and what do <i>you</i> +think about it, Beth?"</p> + +<p>"I'll do what I please," she said. "So long as I think it's all right. +What business has he got to stop me!"</p> + +<p>Peter laughed. "Don't let's bother then. Did you bring your books?"</p> + +<p>She hadn't brought them. She had come in such a hurry.</p> + +<p>"But aren't you afraid—when he comes?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Peter. "Do you think I ought to be?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Shad's—he's what they call a Hellion around here."</p> + +<p>"What's a—er—Hellion?"</p> + +<p>"A—a scrapper."</p> + +<p>"Oh, a fighting man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Peter sat down at the piano and struck loudly some strident discords in +the bass. "Like this!" he laughed. "Isn't it ugly, Beth—that's what +fighting is—I had it day and night for years. If Shad had been in the +war he wouldn't ever want to fight again."</p> + +<p>"Were you in the war?" asked Beth in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Of course. Where would I have been?" And before she could reply he had +swept into the rumbling bass of the "Revolutionary Étude." She sank into +a chair and sat silent, listening, at first watching the door, and then +as the soul of the artist within her awoke she forgot everything but the +music.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence at the end when Peter paused, and then he heard +her voice, tense, suppressed.</p> + +<p>"I could see it—you made me see it!" she gasped, almost in a whisper. +"War—revolution—the people—angry—mumbling—crowding, pushing ... a +crowd with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>guns and sticks howling at a gate ... and then a man trying +to speak to them—appealing——"</p> + +<p>Peter turned quickly at the words and faced her. Her eyes were like +stars, her soul rapt in the vision his music had painted. Peter had +lived that scene again and again, but how could Beth know unless he had +made her see it? There was something strange—uncanny—in Beth's vision +of the great drama of Peter's life. And yet she had seen. Even now her +spirit was afar.</p> + +<p>"And what happened to the man who was appealing to them?" he asked +soberly.</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes, then opened them toward him, shaking her head. +"I—I don't know—it's all gone now."</p> + +<p>"But you saw what I played. That is what happened."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" She questioned, startled in her turn.</p> + +<p>Peter shrugged himself into the present moment. "Nothing. It's +just—revolution. War. War is like that, Beth," he went on quietly after +a moment. "Like the motif in the bass—there is no end—the threat of it +never stops—day or night. Only hell could be like it."</p> + +<p>Beth slowly came out of her dream.</p> + +<p>"You fought?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>Another silence. "I—I think I understand now why you're not afraid."</p> + +<p>"But I <i>am</i> afraid, Beth," he said with a smile. "I was always afraid in +the war. Because Death is always waiting just around the corner. Nobody +who has been in the war wants ever to fight again."</p> + +<p>He turned to the piano. "They all want happiness, Beth. Peace. This!" he +finished, and his roving fingers played softly the Tschaikowsky +"Reverie."</p> + +<p>When he had finished he turned to her, smiling.</p> + +<p>"What vision do you see in that, Beth?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>She started as though from a dream. "Oh, happiness—and sadness, too."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Peter soberly. "No one knows what it is to be happy unless +one has been sad."</p> + +<p>"That's true, isn't it?" she muttered, looking at him in wonder. "I +never knew what unhappiness was for—but I guess that's it."</p> + +<p>He caught the minor note in her voice and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Come now," he said, "we'll have our first lesson."</p> + +<p>"Without the books?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. We'll try breathing."</p> + +<p>"Breathing?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—from the diaphragm."</p> + +<p>And as she looked bewildered, "From the stomach—not from the +chest—breathe deeply and say 'Ah.'"</p> + +<p>She obeyed him and did it naturally, as though she had never breathed in +any other way.</p> + +<p>"Fine," he cried and touched a note on the piano. "Now sing it. Throw it +forward. Softly first, then louder——"</p> + +<p>It was while she was carrying out this instruction that a shadow +appeared on the doorsill, followed in a moment by the figure of Shad +Wells. Beth's "Ah" ceased suddenly. The visitor stood outside, his hands +on his hips, in silent rage.</p> + +<p>Peter merely glanced at him over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"How are you, Wells?" he said politely. "Won't you come in? We've having +a singing lesson."</p> + +<p>Shad did not move or speak as Peter went on, "Take the chair by the +door, old man. The cigarettes are on the table. Now, Beth——"</p> + +<p>But Beth remained as she was, uneasily regarding the intruder, for she +knew that Shad was there for no good purpose. Peter caught her look and +turned toward the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>door, deliberately ignoring the man's threatening +demeanor.</p> + +<p>"We won't be long," he began coolly, "not over half an hour——"</p> + +<p>"No, I know ye won't," growled Shad. And then to the girl, "Beth, come +out o' there!"</p> + +<p>If Shad's appearance had caused Beth any uncertainty, she found her +spirit now, for her eyes flashed and her mouth closed in a hard line.</p> + +<p>"Who are you to say where I come or go?" she said evenly.</p> + +<p>But Shad stood his ground.</p> + +<p>"If you don't know enough to know what's what I'm here to show you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say——," said Peter coolly.</p> + +<p>"You can say what you like, Mister. And I've got somethin' to say to you +when this lady goes."</p> + +<p>"Oh,——" and then quietly to Beth, "Perhaps you'd better go. Bring the +books to-morrow—at the same time."</p> + +<p>But Beth hadn't moved, and only looked at Peter appealingly. So Peter +spoke.</p> + +<p>"This man is impolite, not to say disagreeable to you. Has he any right +to speak to you like this?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Beth uneasily, "but I don't want any trouble."</p> + +<p>Peter walked to the door and faced Shad outside.</p> + +<p>"There won't be any trouble unless Wells makes it." And then, as if a +new thought had come to him, he said more cheerfully, "Perhaps he +doesn't quite understand——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I understand, all right. Are you goin', Beth?"</p> + +<p>She glanced at Peter, who nodded toward the path, and she came between +them.</p> + +<p>"Go on back, Shad," she said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>"No."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean it? If you do I'm through with you. You understand?"</p> + +<p>Peter took the girl by the arm and led her gently away.</p> + +<p>"Just wait a minute, Wells," he flung over his shoulder at the man, +"I'll be back in a second."</p> + +<p>The careless tone rather bewildered the woodsman, who had expected to +find either fear or anger. The forester-piano-player showed +neither—only careless ease and a coolness which could only be because +he didn't know what was coming to him.</p> + +<p>"D—n him! I'll fix him!" muttered Shad, quivering with rage. But Peter +having fortified himself with a cigarette was now returning. Wells +advanced into an open space where there was plenty of room to swing his +elbows and waited.</p> + +<p>"Now, Wells," said Peter alertly, "you wanted to see me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did, ye stuck-up piano-playin', psalm-singin' —— —— —— +————." And suiting the action to the word leaped for Peter, both fists +flying.</p> + +<p>The rugged and uncultured often mistake politeness for effeminacy, +sensibility for weakness. Shad was a rough and tumble artist of a high +proficiency, and he had a reputation for strength and combativeness. He +was going to make short work of this job.</p> + +<p>But Peter had learned his boxing with his cricket. Also he had practiced +the <i>Savate</i> and was familiar with <i>jiu jitsu</i>—but he didn't need +either of them.</p> + +<p>Wells rushed twice but Peter was not where he rushed. The only damage he +had done was to tear out the sleeve of Peter's shirt.</p> + +<p>"Stand up an' fight like a man," growled Shad.</p> + +<p>"There's no hurry," said Peter, calmly studying Shad's methods.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>"Oh, <i>ain't</i> there!"</p> + +<p>This bull-like rush Peter stopped with a neat uppercut, straightening +Shad's head which came up with a disfigured nose and before he could +throw down his guard, Peter landed hard on his midriff. Shad winced but +shot out a blow which grazed Peter's cheek. Then Peter countered on +Shad's injured nose. Shad's eyes were now regarding Peter in +astonishment. But in a moment only one of them was, for Peter closed the +other.</p> + +<p>"We'd better stop now," gasped Peter, "and talk this over."</p> + +<p>"No, you —— —— ——," roared Shad, for he suspected that somewhere +in the bushes Beth was watching.</p> + +<p>Peter lost what remained of his shirt in the next rush and sprained a +thumb. It didn't do to fight Shad "rough and tumble." But he got away at +last and stood his man off, avoiding the blind rushes and landing almost +at will.</p> + +<p>"Had enough?" he asked again, as politely as ever.</p> + +<p>"No," gulped the other.</p> + +<p>So Peter sprang in and struck with all the force of his uninjured hand +on the woodsman's jaw, and then Shad went down and lay quiet. It had +been ridiculously easy from the first and Peter felt some pity for Shad +and not a little contempt for himself. But he took the precaution of +bending over the man and extracting the revolver that he found in Shad's +hip pocket.</p> + +<p>As he straightened and turned he saw Beth standing in the path regarding +him.</p> + +<p>"Beth!" he exclaimed with a glance at Shad. "You saw?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." She covered her face with her hands. "It was horrible."</p> + +<p>"I tried to avoid it," he protested.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. It was his own fault. Is he badly hurt?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>"No, I think not. But you'd better go."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"It will only make matters worse if he sees you."</p> + +<p>She understood, turned and vanished obediently.</p> + +<p>Then Peter went to the house, got a basin and, fetching some water from +the creek, played the Samaritan. In a while Shad gasped painfully and +sat up, looking at the victor.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," said Peter, "but you <i>would</i> have it."</p> + +<p>Shad blinked his uninjured eye and rose, feeling at his hip.</p> + +<p>"I took your revolver," said Peter calmly.</p> + +<p>"Give it here."</p> + +<p>"A chap with a bad temper has no business carrying one," said Peter +sternly.</p> + +<p>"Oh——." The man managed to get to his feet.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Shad," said Peter again, and held out his hand. "Let's be +friends."</p> + +<p>Shad looked at the hand sullenly for a moment. "I'll fix <i>you</i>, Mister. +I'll fix you yet," he muttered, then turned and walked away.</p> + +<p>If Peter had made one friend he had also made an enemy.</p> + +<p>The incident with Shad Wells was unfortunate, but Peter didn't see how +it could have been avoided. He was thankful nevertheless for his English +schooling, which had saved him from a defeat at the hands of a +"roughneck" which could have been, under the circumstances, nothing less +than ignominious. For if Shad Wells had succeeded in vanquishing him, +all Peter's authority, all his influence with the rest of the men in +McGuire's employ would have gone forever, for Shad Wells was not the +kind of man upon whom such a victory would have lightly sat. If he had +thrashed Peter, Shad and not Peter would have been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>the boss of Black +Rock and Peter's position would have been intolerable.</p> + +<p>As Peter laved his broken knuckles and bruised cheek, he wondered if, +after all, the affair hadn't been for the best. True, he had made an +enemy of Shad, but then according to the girl, Shad had already been his +enemy. Peter abhorred fighting, as he had told Beth, but, whatever the +consequences, he was sure that the air had cleared amazingly. He was +aware too that the fact that he had been the champion of Beth's +independence definitely stood forth. Whatever the wisdom or the +propriety, according to the standards of Black Rock society, of Beth's +visits to the Cabin, for the purpose of a musical education or for any +other purposes, Peter was aware that he had set the seal of his approval +upon them, marked, that any who read might run, upon the visage of Mr. +Wells. Peter was still sorry for Shad, but still more sorry for Beth, +whose name might be lightly used for her share in the adventure.</p> + +<p>He made up his mind to say nothing of what had happened, and he felt +reasonably certain that Shad Wells would reach a similar decision. He +was not at all certain that Beth wouldn't tell everybody what had +happened for he was aware by this time that Beth was the custodian of +her own destinies and that she would not need the oracles of Black Rock +village as censors of her behavior.</p> + +<p>But when he went up to the house for supper he made his way over the +log-jam below the pool and so to the village, stopping for a moment at +the Bergen house, where Beth was sitting on the porch reading <i>The Lives +of the Great Composers</i>. She was so absorbed that she did not see him +until he stood at the little swing gate, hat in hand.</p> + +<p>She greeted him quietly, glancing up at his bruised cheek.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>"I'm so sorry," she said, "that it was on my account."</p> + +<p>"I'm not—now that I've done the 'gobbling,'" he said with a grin. And +then, "Where's Shad?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't seen him. I guess he's gone in his hole and pulled it in +after him."</p> + +<p>Peter smiled. "I just stopped by to say that perhaps you'd better say +nothing. It would only humiliate him."</p> + +<p>"I wasn't goin' to—but it served him right——"</p> + +<p>"And if you think people will talk about your coming to the Cabin, I +thought perhaps I ought to give you your lessons here."</p> + +<p>"Here!" she said, and he didn't miss the note of disappointment in her +tone.</p> + +<p>"If your cousin Shad disapproves, perhaps there are others."</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment and then she looked up at him shyly.</p> + +<p>"If it's just the same to you—I—I'd rather come to the Cabin," she +said quietly. "It's like—like a different world—with your playin' an' +all——" And then scornfully, "What do I care what they think!"</p> + +<p>"Of course—I'm delighted. I thought I ought to consult you, that's all. +And you'll come to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—of course."</p> + +<p>He said nothing about the meeting that was to take place that night with +the mysterious "Hawk" at the maple tree. He meant to find out, if +possible, how Beth could be concerned (if she was concerned) in the +fortunes of the mysterious gentleman of the placard, but until he +learned something definite he thought it wiser not to take Beth further +into his confidence.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h2>"HAWK"</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Three months ago it would have been difficult for His Highness, Grand +Duke Peter Nicholaevitch, to imagine himself in his present situation as +sponsor for Beth Cameron. He had been no saint. Saintly attributes were +not usually to be found in young men of his class, and Peter's training +had been in the larger school of the world as represented in the +Continental capitals. He had tasted life under the tutelage of a father +who believed that women, bad as well as good, were a necessary part of a +gentleman's education, and Peter had learned many things.... Had it not +been for his music and his English love of fair play, he would have +stood an excellent chance of going to the devil along the precipitous +road that had led the Grand Duke Nicholas Petrovitch there.</p> + +<p>But Peter had discovered that he had a mind, the needs of which were +more urgent than those of his love of pleasure. Many women he had known, +Parisian, Viennese, Russian—and one, Vera Davydov, a musician, had +enchained him until he had discovered that it was her violin and not her +soul that had sung to him ... Anastasie Galitzin ... a dancer in Moscow +... and then—the War.</p> + +<p>In that terrible alembic the spiritual ingredients which made Peter's +soul had been stirred until only the essential remained. But that +essence was the real Peter—a wholesome young man steeped in idealism +slightly tinged <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>with humor. It was idealism that had made him attempt +the impossible, humor that had permitted him to survive his failure, for +no tragedy except death itself can defy a sense of humor if it's +whimsical enough. There was something about the irony of his position in +Black Rock which interested him even more than the drama that lay hidden +with McGuire's Nemesis in the pine woods. And he couldn't deny the fact +that this rustic, this primitive Beth Cameron was as fine a little lady +as one might meet anywhere in the wide world. She had amused him at +first with originality, charmed him with simplicity, amazed him later +with talent and now had disarmed him with trust in his integrity. If at +any moment the idea had entered Peter's head that here was a wild-flower +waiting to be gathered and worn in his hat, she had quickly disabused +his mind of that chimera. Curious. He found it as difficult to conceive +of making free with Beth as with the person of the Metropolitan of +Moscow, or with that of the President of the Pennsylvania Railroad. She +had her dignity. It was undeniable. He imagined the surprise in her +large blue eyes and the torrent of ridicule of which her tongue could be +capable. He had felt the sting of its humor at their first meeting. He +had no wish to test it again.</p> + +<p>And now, after a few days of acquaintanceship, he found himself Beth's +champion, the victor over the "Hellion" triplet, and the guardian of her +good repute. He found, strangely enough, the responsibility +strengthening his good resolves toward Beth and adding another tie to +those of sympathy and admiration. The situation, while not altogether of +his making, was not without its attractions. He had given Beth her +chance to withdraw from the arrangement and she had persisted in the +plan to come to the Cabin. Very well. It was his cabin. She <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>should come +and he would teach her to sing. But he knew that Peter Nichols was +throwing temptation in the way of Peter Nicholaevitch.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>McGuire was quiet that night and while they smoked Peter talked at +length on the needs of the estate as he saw them. Peter went down to the +Cabin and brought up his maps and his plans for the fire towers. McGuire +nodded or assented in monosyllables, but Peter was sure that he heard +little and saw less, for at intervals he glanced at the clock, or at his +watch, and Peter knew that his obsession had returned. Outside, +somewhere in the woods, "Hawk" was approaching to keep his tryst and +McGuire could think of nothing else. This preoccupation was marked by a +frowning thatch of brow and a sullen glare at vacancy which gave no +evidence of the fears that had inspired him, but indicated a mind made +up in desperation to carry out his plans, through Peter, whatever +happened later. Only the present concerned him. But underneath his +outward appearance of calm, Peter was aware of an intense alertness, for +from time to time his eyes glowed suddenly and the muscles worked in his +cheeks as he clamped his jaws shut and held them so.</p> + +<p>As the clock struck ten McGuire got to his feet and walked to the safe, +which he opened carefully and took out the money that Peter had brought. +Then he went to a closet and took out an electric torch which he tested +and then put upon the table.</p> + +<p>"You're armed, Nichols?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Peter nodded. "But of course there's no reason why your mysterious +visitor should take a pot at me," he said. And then, curiously, "Do you +think so, Mr. McGuire?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said the other quickly. "You have no interest in this affair. +You're my messenger, that's all. But <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>I want you to follow my +instructions carefully. I've trusted you this far and I've got to go the +whole way. This man will say something. You will try to remember word +for word what he says to you, and you're to repeat that message to me."</p> + +<p>"That shouldn't be difficult."</p> + +<p>McGuire was holding the money in his hand and went on in an abstraction +as though weighing words.</p> + +<p>"I want you to go at once to the maple tree. I want you to go now so +that you will be there when this man arrives. You will stand waiting for +him and when he comes you will throw the light into his face, so that +you can see him when you talk to him, and so that he can count this +money and see that the amount is correct. I do not want you to go too +close to him nor to permit him to go too close to you—you are merely to +hand him this package and throw the light while he counts the money. +Then you are to say to him these words, 'Don't forget the blood on the +knife, Hawk Kennedy.'"</p> + +<p>"'Don't forget the blood on the knife, Hawk Kennedy,'" murmured Peter in +amazement. And then, "But suppose he wants to tell me a lot of things +you don't want me to know——"</p> + +<p>"I'll have to risk that," put in McGuire grimly. "I want you to watch +him carefully, Nichols. Are you pretty quick on the draw?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean, can you draw your gun and shoot quickly—surely? If you can't, +you'd better have your gun in your pocket, keep him covered and at the +first sign, shoot through your coat."</p> + +<p>Peter took out his revolver and examined it quizzically. "I thought you +said, Mr. McGuire," he put in coolly, "that I was not to be required to +do anything a gentleman couldn't do."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>"Exactly," said the old man jerkily.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't say that shooting a defenseless man answers that +requirement."</p> + +<p>McGuire threw up his hands wildly.</p> + +<p>"There you go—up in the air again. I didn't say you were to shoot him, +did I?" he whined. "I'm just warning you to be on the lookout in case he +attacks you. That—that's all."</p> + +<p>"Why should he attack me?"</p> + +<p>"He shouldn't, but he might be angry because I didn't come myself."</p> + +<p>"I see. Perhaps you'd better go, sir. Then you can do your killing +yourself."</p> + +<p>McGuire fell back against the table, to which he clung, his face gray +with apprehension, for he saw that Peter had guessed what he hoped.</p> + +<p>"You want this man killed," Peter went on. "It's been obvious to me from +the first night I came here. Well, I'm not going to be the one to do +it."</p> + +<p>McGuire's glance fell to the rug as he stammered hoarsely, "I—I never +asked you to do it. Y-you must be dreaming. I—I'm merely making plans +to assure your safety. I don't want you hurt, Nichols. That's all. +You're not going to back out now?" he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Murder is a little out of my line——"</p> + +<p>"You're not going to fail me——?" McGuire's face was ghastly. "You +<i>can't</i>," he whispered hoarsely. "You can't let me down now. <i>I</i> can't +see this man. I can't tell Stryker all you know. You're the only one. +You promised, Nichols. You promised to go."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And I'll keep my word—but I'll do it in my own way. I'm not +afraid of any enemy of yours. Why should I be? But I'm not going to +shoot him. If that's understood give me the money and I'll be off."</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes. That's all right, Nichols. You're a good <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>fellow—and honest. +I'll make it worth your while to stay with me here." He took up the +money and handed it to Peter, who counted it carefully and then put it +in an inside pocket. "I don't see why you think I wanted you to kill +Hawk Kennedy," McGuire went on, whining. "A man's got a right to protect +himself, hasn't he? And you've got a right to protect <i>yourself</i>, if he +tries to start anything."</p> + +<p>"Have you any reason to believe that he might?"</p> + +<p>"No. I can't say I have."</p> + +<p>"All right. I'll take a chance. But I want it understood that I'm not +responsible if anything goes wrong."</p> + +<p>"That's understood."</p> + +<p>Peter made his way downstairs, and out of the front door to the portico. +Stryker, curiously enough, was nowhere to be seen. Peter went out across +the dim lawn into the starlight. Jesse Brown challenged him by the big +tree and Peter stopped for a moment to talk with him, explaining that he +would be returning to the house later.</p> + +<p>"The old man seems to be comin' to life, Mister," said Jesse.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Not so skeered-like. He was out here when you went to the Cabin for +them plans——"</p> + +<p>"Out here?" said Peter in amazement.</p> + +<p>Andy nodded. "He seemed more natural-like,—asked what the countersign +was and said mebbe we'd all be goin' back to the mills after a night or +so."</p> + +<p>"Oh, did he? That's good. You're pretty tired of this night work?"</p> + +<p>"Not so long as it pays good. But what did he mean by changin' the +guards?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't say anything to me about it," said Peter, concealing his +surprise.</p> + +<p>"Oh, didn't he? Well, he took Andy off the privet <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>hedge and sent him +down to the clump of pines near the road."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Peter. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"You've got me, Mister. If there's trouble to-night, there ain't no one +at the back of the house at all. We're one man short."</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Shad Wells. He ain't showed up."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see," muttered Peter. And then, as he lighted a cigarette, "Oh, +well, we'll get along somehow. But look sharp, just the same."</p> + +<p>Peter went down the lawn thoughtfully. From the first he hadn't been any +too pleased with this mission. Though Peter was aware that in the realm +of big business it masqueraded under other names, blackmail, at the +best, was a dirty thing. At the worst—and McGuire's affair with the +insistent Hawk seemed to fall into this classification,—it was both +sinister and contemptible. To be concerned in these dark doings even as +an emissary was hardly in accordance with Peter's notion of his job, and +he had acceded to McGuire's request without thinking of possible +consequences, more out of pity for his employer in his plight than for +any other reason. But he remembered that it usually required a guilty +conscience to make blackmail possible and that the man who paid always +paid because of something discreditable which he wished to conceal.</p> + +<p>McGuire's explanations had been thin and Peter knew that the real reason +for the old man's trepidations was something other than the ones he had +given. He had come to Black Rock from New York to avoid any possible +publicity that might result from the visits of his persecutor and was +now paying this sum of money for a respite, an immunity which at the +best could only be temporary. It was all wrong and Peter was sorry to +have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>a hand in it, but he couldn't deny that the interest with which he +had first approached Black Rock House had now culminated in a curiosity +which was almost an obsession. Here, close at hand, was the solution of +the mystery, and whether or not he learned anything as to the facts +which had brought McGuire's discomfiture, he would at least see and talk +with the awe-inspiring Hawk who had been the cause of them. Besides, +there was Mrs. Bergen's share in the adventure which indicated that +Beth's happiness, too, was in some way involved. For Peter, having had +time to weigh Beth's remarks with the housekeeper's, had come to the +conclusion that there had been but one man near the house that night. +The man who had talked with Mrs. Bergen at the kitchen door was not John +Bray the camera-man, or the man with the dark mustache, but Hawk Kennedy +himself.</p> + +<p>Peter entered the path to the Cabin, and explored it carefully, +searching the woods on either side and then, cutting into the scrub oak +at the point where he and Beth had first seen the placard, made his way +to the maple tree. There was no one there. A glance at his watch under +the glare of the pocket torch showed that he was early for the tryst, so +he walked around the maple, flashing his light into the undergrowth and +at last sat down, leaning against the trunk of the tree, lighted another +cigarette and waited.</p> + +<p>Under the depending branches of the heavy foliage it was very dark, and +he could get only the smallest glimpses of the starlit sky. At one point +toward Black Rock House beyond the boles of the trees he could see short +stretches of the distant lawn and, in the distance, a light which he +thought must be that of McGuire's bedroom, for to-night, Peter had +noticed, the shutters had been left open. It was very quiet too. Peter +listened for the sounds of approaching footsteps among the dry leaves, +but heard only <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>the creak of branches overhead, the slight stir of the +breeze in the leaves and the whistle of a locomotive many miles away, on +the railroad between Philadelphia and Atlantic City.</p> + +<p>The sound carried his mind beyond the pine-belt out into the great world +from which he had come, and he thought of many things that might have +been instead of this that was—the seething yeast that was Russia, the +tearing down of the idols of centuries and the worship of new gods that +were no gods at all—not even those of brass or gold—only +visions—will-o'-the-wisps.... The madness had shown itself here too. +Would the fabric of which the American Ideal was made be strong enough +to hold together against the World's new madness? He believed in +American institutions. Imperfect though they were, fallible as the human +wills which controlled them, they were as near Liberty, Equality, +Fraternity as one might yet hope to attain in a form of government this +side of the millennium.</p> + +<p>Peter started up suddenly, for he was sure that he had heard something +moving in the underbrush. But after listening intently and hearing +nothing more he thought that his ears had deceived him. He flashed his +lantern here and there as a guide to Hawk Kennedy but there was no +sound. Complete silence had fallen again over the woods. If McGuire's +mysterious enemy was approaching he was doing it with the skill of an +Indian scout. And it occurred to Peter at this moment that Hawk Kennedy +too might have his reasons for wishing to be sure that he was to be +fairly dealt with. The placard had indicated the possibility of +chicanery on the part of McGuire. "No tricks," Hawk had written. He +would make sure that Peter was alone before he showed himself. So Peter +flashed his lamp around again, glanced at his watch, which showed that +the hour of the appointment had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>passed, then lighted a third cigarette +and sank down on the roots of the tree to wait.</p> + +<p>There was no other sound. The breeze which had been fitful at best had +died and complete silence had fallen. Peter wasn't in the least alarmed. +Why should he be? He had come to do this stranger a favor and no one +else except McGuire could know of the large sum of money in his +possession. The trees were his friends. Peter's thoughts turned back +again, as they always did when his mind was at the mercy of his +imagination. What was the use of it all? Honor, righteousness, pride, +straight living, the ambition to do, to achieve something real by his +own efforts—to what end? He knew that he could have been living snugly +in London now, married to the Princess Galitzin, drifting with the +current in luxury and ease down the years, enjoying those things——</p> + +<p>Heigho! Peter sat up and shrugged the vision off. He must not be +thinking back. It wouldn't do. The new life was here. <i>Novaya Jezn.</i> +Like the seedling from the twisted oak, he was going to grow straight +and true—to be himself, the son of his mother, who had died with a +prayer on her lips that Peter might not be what his father had been. +Thus far, he had obeyed her. He had grown straight, true to the memory +of that prayer.</p> + +<p>Yes, life was good. He tossed away his cigarette, ground it into the +ground with his heel, then lay back against the tree, drinking in great +drafts of the clean night air. The forest was so quiet that he could +hear the distant tinkle of Cedar Creek down beyond the Cabin. The time +was now well after eleven. What if Hawk Kennedy failed to appear? And +how long must——?</p> + +<p>A tiny sound close at hand, clear, distinct. Peter took a chance and +called out,</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Hawk Kennedy?"</p> + +<p>Silence and then a repetition of the sound a little louder <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>now and from +directly overhead. Peter rose, peering upward in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm here," said a low voice among the leaves above him.</p> + +<p>And presently a foot appeared, followed by legs and a body, emerging +from the gloom above. Peter threw the light of his torch up into the +tree.</p> + +<p>"Hey! Cut that," commanded a voice sharply.</p> + +<p>And Peter obeyed. In a moment a shape swung down and stood beside him. +After the glare of the torch Peter couldn't make out the face under the +brim of the cap, but he could see that it wore a mustache and short +growth of beard. In size, the stranger was quite as tall as Peter.</p> + +<p>Hawk Kennedy stood for a moment listening intently and Peter was so +astonished at the extraordinary mode of his entrance on the scene that +he did not speak.</p> + +<p>"You're from McGuire?" asked the man shortly.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't he come himself?"</p> + +<p>The voice was gruff, purposely so, Peter thought, but there was +something about it vaguely reminiscent.</p> + +<p>"Answer me. Why didn't he come?"</p> + +<p>Peter laughed.</p> + +<p>"He didn't tell me why. Any more than you'd tell me why you've been up +this tree."</p> + +<p>"I'm takin' no chances this trip. I've been watchin'—listenin'," said +the other grimly. "Well, what's the answer? And who—who the devil are +you?"</p> + +<p>The bearded visage was thrust closer to Peter's as though in +uncertainty, but accustomed as both men now were to the darkness, +neither could make out the face of the other.</p> + +<p>"I'm McGuire's superintendent. He sent me here to meet you—to bring you +something——"</p> + +<p>"Ah—he comes across. Good. Where is it?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>"In my pocket," said Peter coolly, "but he told me to tell you first not +to forget the blood on the knife, Hawk Kennedy."</p> + +<p>The man recoiled a step.</p> + +<p>"The blood on the knife," he muttered. And then, "McGuire asked you to +say that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Anything else?"</p> + +<p>"No. That's all."</p> + +<p>Another silence and then he demand in a rough tone,</p> + +<p>"Well, give me the money!"</p> + +<p>Impolite beggar! What was there about this shadow that suggested to +Peter the thought that this whole incident had happened before? That +this man belonged to another life that Peter had lived? Peter shrugged +off the illusion, fumbled in his pocket and produced the envelope +containing the bills.</p> + +<p>"You'd better count it," said Peter, as the envelope changed hands.</p> + +<p>"It's not 'phoney'——?" asked Hawk's voice suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Phoney?"</p> + +<p>"Fake money——?"</p> + +<p>"No. I got it in New York myself yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Oh——." There was a silence in which the shade stood uncertainly +fingering the package, peering into the bushes around him and listening +intently. And then, abruptly,</p> + +<p>"I want to see the color of it. Switch on your light."</p> + +<p>Peter obeyed. "You'd better," he said.</p> + +<p>In the glow of lamp Hawk Kennedy bent forward, his face hidden by his +cap brim, fingering the bills, and Peter saw for the first time that his +left hand held an automatic which covered Peter now, as it had covered +him from the first moment of the interview.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>"Five hundreds—eh," growled Kennedy. "They're real enough, all right. +One—two—three—four——"</p> + +<p>A roar from the darkness and a bullet crashed into the tree behind +them.... Another shot! Peter's startled finger relaxed on the button of +the torch and they were in darkness. A flash from the trees to the +right, the bullet missing Peter by inches.</p> + +<p>"A trick! By ——!" said Hawk's voice in a fury, "but I'll get <i>you</i> for +this."</p> + +<p>Peter was too quick for him. In the darkness he jumped aside, striking +Kennedy with his torch, and then closed with the man, whose shot went +wild. They struggled for a moment, each fighting for the possession of +the weapon, McGuire's money ground under their feet, but Peter was the +younger and the stronger and when he twisted Hawk's wrist the man +suddenly relaxed and fell, Peter on his chest.</p> + +<p>The reason for this collapse was apparent when Peter's hand touched the +moisture on Kennedy's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Damn you!" Hawk was muttering, as he struggled vainly.</p> + +<p>Events had followed so rapidly that Peter hadn't had time to think of +anything but his own danger. He had acted with the instinct of +self-preservation, which was almost quicker than his thought, but as he +knew now what had happened he realized that he, too, had been tricked by +McGuire and that the murderous volley directed at Hawk Kennedy had come +perilously near doing for himself. With the calm which followed the +issue of his struggle with Kennedy, came a dull rage at McGuire for +placing him in such danger, which only showed his employer's desperate +resolve and his indifference to Peter's fate. For Hawk Kennedy had been +within his rights in supposing Peter to be concerned in the trick and +only the miracle of the expiring torch which had blinded the intruder +had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>saved Peter from the fate intended for Hawk. Peter understood now +the meaning of McGuire's explicit instructions and the meaning of the +changing of the guards. The old man had hoped to kill his enemy with one +shot and save himself the recurrence of his terror. What had become of +him now? There was no sound among the bushes or any sign of him. He had +slipped away like the poltroon that he was, leaving Peter to his fate.</p> + +<p>"Damn you!" Hawk muttered again. "What did <i>you</i> want to come meddling +for!"</p> + +<p>The man couldn't be dangerously hurt if he possessed the power of +invective and so, having possessed himself of Hawk's automatic, Peter +got off his chest and fumbled around for the electric torch.</p> + +<p>"It won't do you any good to lie there cursing me. Get up, if you're +able to."</p> + +<p>"Got me in the shoulder," muttered the man.</p> + +<p>"And he might have gotten <i>me</i>," said Peter, "which would have been +worse."</p> + +<p>"You mean—you didn't—<i>know</i>," groaned Hawk, getting up into a sitting +posture.</p> + +<p>"No. I didn't," replied Peter.</p> + +<p>He had found the torch now and was flashing it around on the ground +while he picked up the scattered money.</p> + +<p>"I'll fix him for this," groaned the stranger.</p> + +<p>Peter glanced at him.</p> + +<p>"His men will be down here in a moment. You'd better be getting up."</p> + +<p>"I'm not afraid. They can't do anything to <i>me</i>. They'd better leave me +alone. McGuire don't want me to talk. But I'll squeal if they bother +me." Peter was aware that the man was watching him as he picked up the +bills and heard him ask haltingly, "What are you—going to do—with that +money?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>"My orders were to give it to you. Don't you want it?"</p> + +<p>Peter turned and for the first time flashed the lamp full in the injured +man's face. Even then Peter didn't recognize him, but he saw Hawk +Kennedy's eyes open wide as he stared at Peter.</p> + +<p>"Who——?" gasped the man. And then, "<i>You</i> here! '<i>Cré nom!</i> It's Pete, +the waiter!"</p> + +<p>Peter started back in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Jim Coast!" he said.</p> + +<p>Hawk Kennedy chuckled and scrambled to his feet, halfway between a laugh +and a groan.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm damned!"</p> + +<p>Peter was still staring at him, the recovered bills loose in his hand. +Jim Coast thrust out an arm for them.</p> + +<p>"The money," he demanded. "The money, Pete."</p> + +<p>Without a word Peter handed it to him. It was none of his. Coast counted +the bills, the blood dripping from his fingers and soiling them, but he +wiped them off with a dirty handkerchief and put them away into his +pocket. Blood money, Peter thought, and rightly named.</p> + +<p>"And now, <i>mon gars</i>, if it's all the same to you, I'd like you to take +me to some place where we can tie up this hole in my shoulder."</p> + +<p>This was like Coast's impudence. He had regained his composure again +and, in spite of the pain he was suffering, had become his proper self, +the same Jim Coast who had bunked with Peter on the <i>Bermudian</i>, full of +smirking assertiveness and sinister suggestion. Peter was too full of +astonishment to make any comment, for it was difficult to reconcile the +thought of Jim Coast with Hawk Kennedy, and yet there he was, the terror +of Black Rock House revealed.</p> + +<p>"Well, Pete," he growled, "goin' to be starin' at me all night?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>"You'd better be off," said Peter briefly.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"They'll be here in a minute. You've got your money."</p> + +<p>"Let 'em come. They'll have to take me to McGuire——"</p> + +<p>"Or the lock-up at Egg Harbor——"</p> + +<p>"All right. I'll go. But when I open my mouth to speak, McGuire will +wish that Hell would open for him." And then, "See here, Pete, do you +know anything of what's between me and McGuire?"</p> + +<p>"No—except that he fears you."</p> + +<p>"Very well. If you're workin' for him you'll steer these guys away from +me. I mean it. Now think quick."</p> + +<p>Peter did. Angry as he was at McGuire, he knew that Jim Coast meant what +he said and that he would make trouble. Also Peter's curiosity knew no +subsidence.</p> + +<p>"You go to my cabin. It's hidden in the woods down this path at the +right——"</p> + +<p>"That's where you live, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You'll find water there and a towel on the washstand. I'll be +there to help you when I sheer these men off."</p> + +<p>Coast walked a few steps and then turned quickly.</p> + +<p>"No funny business, Pete."</p> + +<p>"No. You can clear out if you like. I don't care. I only thought if you +were badly hurt——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right. Thanks."</p> + +<p>Peter watched the dim silhouette merge into the shadows and disappear. +Then flashed his light here and there that the men who must be +approaching now might be guided to him. In a moment they were crashing +through the undergrowth, Jesse and Andy in the lead.</p> + +<p>"What's the shootin'?" queried Jesse Brown breathlessly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>"A man in the woods. I'm looking for him," said Peter. "He got away."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't it beat Hell——"</p> + +<p>"But it may be a plan to get you men away from the house," said Peter as +the thought came to him. "Did you see McGuire?"</p> + +<p>"McGuire! No. What——?"</p> + +<p>"All right. You'd better hurry back. See if he's all right. I'll get +along——"</p> + +<p>"Not if you go flashin' <i>that</i> thing. I could a got ye with my rifle as +easy as——"</p> + +<p>"Well, never mind. Get back to the house. I'll poke around here for a +while. Hurry!"</p> + +<p>In some bewilderment they obeyed him and Peter turned his footstep +toward the Cabin.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h2>ANCIENT HISTORY</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Peter wasn't at all certain that he had done the right thing. One event +had followed another with such startling rapidity that there hadn't been +time to deliberate. Jim Coast was wounded, how badly Peter didn't know, +but the obvious duty was to give him first aid and sanctuary until Peter +could get a little clearer light on Coast's possibilities for evil. None +of this was Peter's business. He had done what McGuire had asked him to +do and had nearly gotten killed for his pains. Two fights already and he +had come to Black Rock to find peace!</p> + +<p>In his anger at McGuire's trick he was now indifferent as to what would +happen to the old man. There was no doubt that Jim Coast held all the +cards and, unless he died, would continue to hold them. It was evident +that McGuire, having failed in accomplishing the murder, had placed +himself in a worse position than before, for Coast was not one to relax +or to forgive, and if he had gotten his five thousand dollars so easily +as this, he would be disposed to make McGuire pay more heavily now. +Peter knew nothing of the merits of the controversy, but it seemed +obvious that the two principals in the affair were both tarred with the +same stick. <i>Arcades Ambo</i>. He was beginning to believe that Coast was +the more agreeable villain of the two. At least he had made no bones +about the fact of his villainy.</p> + +<p>Peter found Coast stripped to the waist, sitting in a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>chair by the +table, bathing his wounded shoulder. But the hemorrhage had stopped and +Peter saw that the bullet had merely grazed the deltoid, leaving a clean +wound, which could be successfully treated by first aid devices. So he +found his guest a drink of whisky, which put a new heart into him, then +tore up a clean linen shirt, strips from which he soaked in iodine and +bandaged over the arm and shoulder.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Coast was talking.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>mon vieux</i>, it's a little world, ain't it? To think I'd find +<i>you</i>, my old bunkie, Pete, the waiter, out here in the wilds, passin' +the buck for Mike McGuire! Looks like the hand o' Fate, doesn't it? +Superintendent, eh? Some job! Twenty thousand acres—if he's got an +inch. An' me thinkin' all the while you'd be slingin' dishes in a New +York chop house!"</p> + +<p>"I studied forestry in Germany once," said Peter with a smile, as he +wound the bandage.</p> + +<p>"Right y'are! Mebbe you told me. I don't know. Mebbe there's a lot o' +things you <i>didn't</i> tell me. Mebbe there's a lot of things I didn't tell +<i>you</i>. But I ought to 'a' known a globe trotter like you never would 'a' +stayed a waiter. A waiter! <i>Nom de Dieu!</i> Remember that (sanguine) +steward on the <i>Bermudian</i>? Oily, fat little beef-eater with the gold +teeth? Tried to make us 'divy' on the tips? But we beat him to it, Pete, +when we took French leave. H-m! I'm done with waitin' now, Pete. So are +you, I reckon. Gentleman of leisure, <i>I</i> am!"</p> + +<p>"There you are," said Peter as he finished the bandage, "but you'll have +to get this wound dressed somewhere to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Right you are. A hospital in Philly will do the trick. And McGuire pays +the bill."</p> + +<p>Jim Coast got up and moved his arm cautiously.</p> + +<p>"Mighty nice of you, Pete. That's fine. I'll make him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>pay through the +nose for this." And then turning his head and eyeing Peter narrowly, +"You say McGuire told you nothin'!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. It's none of my affair."</p> + +<p>The ex-waiter laughed. "He knows his business. Quiet as death, ain't he? +He's got a right to be. And scared. He's got a right to be scared too. +I'll scare him worse before I'm through with him."</p> + +<p>He broke off with a laugh and then, "Funny to find you guardin' <i>him</i> +against <i>me</i>. House all locked—men with guns all over the place. He +wanted one of those guys to kill me, didn't he? But I'm too slick for +him. No locked doors can keep out what's scarin' Mike McGuire——"</p> + +<p>He broke off suddenly and held up his empty glass. "Another drink of the +whisky, <i>mon gars</i>, and I'm yer friend for life."</p> + +<p>Peter was still curious, so he obeyed and after cleaning up the mess +they had made he sank into a chair, studying the worn features of his +old companion. He had taken the precaution to pull in the heavy shutter +of the window which had been opened and to lock the door. Peter did not +relish the idea of a murder committed in this cabin.</p> + +<p>"Not apt to come now, are they, Pete? Well, let 'em," he answered +himself with a shrug. "But they won't if McGuire has his way. Murder is +the only thing that will suit McGuire's book. He can't do that—not with +witnesses around. Ain't he the slick one, though? I was watchin' for +just what happened. That's why I stayed in the tree so long—listenin'. +He must of slipped in like a snake. How he did it I don't know. I'm a +worse snake than he is but I always rattle before I strike."</p> + +<p>He laughed again dryly.</p> + +<p>"I've got <i>him</i> rattled all O. K. Mebbe he'd of shot straighter if he +hadn't been. He used to could—dead shot. But I reckon his talents are +runnin' different <i>now</i>. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>Millions he has they say, <i>mon vieux</i>, +millions. And I'll get my share of 'em."</p> + +<p>Jim Coast smoked for a moment in contented silence.</p> + +<p>"See here, Pete. I like you. Always did. Straight as a string—you are. +You've done me a good turn to-night. You might of put me out—killed me +when you had me down——"</p> + +<p>"I'm no murderer, Jim."</p> + +<p>"Right. Nor I ain't either. I don't want to hurt a hair of McGuire's +head. Every one of 'em is precious as refined gold. I want him to +live—to keep on livin' and makin' more money because the more money +he's got the more I'll get—see."</p> + +<p>"Blackmail," said Peter shortly.</p> + +<p>Coast glanced at him, shrugged and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Call it that if you like. It's a dirty word, but I'll stand for it, +seein' it's you. Blackmail! What's a waiter's tip but blackmail for good +service? What's a lawyer's fee from a corporation but money paid by men +to keep them out of the jail? What's a breach of promise case? +Blackmail—legal blackmail. I'm doin' nothin' less an' nothin' more than +a million other men—but I'm not workin' with a lawyer. I'll turn the +trick alone. What would you say if I told you that half of every dollar +McGuire has got is mine—a full half—to say nothin' of payment for the +years I was wanderin' an' grubbin' over the face of the earth, while he +was livin' easy. Oh! You're surprised. You'd better be. For that's the +God's truth, <i>mon ami</i>."</p> + +<p>"You mean—he—he——" Peter's credulity was strained and he failed to +finish his query.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't believe? Well, you needn't. But there's no blackmail when +you only take what belongs to you. The money—the money that made his +millions was as much mine as his. I'm going to have my share with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>compound interest for fifteen years—and perhaps a bit more."</p> + +<p>"You surprise me. But it seems that if there's any justice in your +claim, you could establish it legally."</p> + +<p>Jim Coast laughed again.</p> + +<p>"There's a quicker—a safer way than that. I'm takin' it." He filled his +glass again and went on, leaning far over the table toward Peter. +"<i>Voyons</i>, Pete. When we came ashore, I made you an offer to play my +game. You turned me down. It's not too late to change your mind. The old +man trusts you or he wouldn't of sent you out with that money. I may +need some help with this business and you're fixed just right to lend me +a hand. Throw in with me, do what I want, and I'll see that you're fixed +for life."</p> + +<p>Peter shook his head slowly from side to side.</p> + +<p>"No, Jim. He pays me well. I'm no traitor."</p> + +<p>"H-m. Traitor!" he sneered. "<i>He</i> wasn't overparticular about <i>you</i>. He +might of killed you or <i>I</i> might of, if you hadn't been too damn quick +for me. What do you think Mike McGuire cares about <i>you</i>?" he laughed +bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing. But that makes no difference. I——"</p> + +<p>A loud jangle of a bell from the corner and Jim Coast sprang to his +feet.</p> + +<p>"The telephone," explained Peter, indicating the instrument. "That's +McGuire now." He rose and moved toward it, but Coast caught him by the +arm.</p> + +<p>"Worried, eh?" he said with a grin. "Wants to know what's happened! All +right. Tell him—tell the——." And then, as Peter released himself, +"Wait a minute. Tell him you've got me here," laughed Coast, "a +prisoner. Tell him I'm talking. Ask for instructions. He'll tell you +what to do with me, damn quick," he sneered.</p> + +<p>Peter waited a moment, thinking, while the bell tinkled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>again, and then +took down the receiver. He was in no mood to listen to McGuire.</p> + +<p>"Hello—Yes, this is Nichols.... All right, yes. Shot at from the +dark—while paying the money. You hit Hawk Kennedy in the shoulder.... +Yes, <i>you</i>. I'm no fool, McGuire.... He's here—at the Cabin. I've just +fixed his shoulder——. All right——. What shall I do with him——? +Yes—Yes, he's talking.... Let him go——! Hello! Let him go, you say? +Yes——"</p> + +<p>"Let me get to him——," growled Coast, pushing close to the +transmitter. "Hello—Mike McGuire—hello——"</p> + +<p>"He's gone," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"'Let him go,'" sneered Coast. "You'd bet he'd let me go." Then he +looked at Peter and laughed. "He's scared all right—beat it like a +cottontail. Seems a shame to take the money, Pete—a real shame."</p> + +<p>He laughed uproariously, then sauntered easily over to the table, took +another of Peter's cigarettes and sank into the easy chair again. Peter +eyed him in silence. He was an unwelcome guest but he hadn't yet +gratified Peter's curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Well, what are you going to do?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"Me?" Coast inhaled Peter's cigarette luxuriously, and smiled. "I'm +goin' West, <i>pronto</i>—to get my facts straight—all at the expense of +the party of the first part. I might stop off at the Grand Cañon first +for the view. I need a rest, Pete. I ain't as young as I was—or I +mightn't of let you put me out so easy to-night. I'm glad of that, +though. Wouldn't like to of done you hurt——"</p> + +<p>"And then——?" asked Peter steadily.</p> + +<p>"Then? Oh, I'll beat it down to Bisbee and ask a few questions. I just +want to hook up a few things I <i>don't</i> know with the things I <i>do</i> know. +I'll travel light but comfortable. Five thousand dollars makes a heap of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>difference in your point of view—and other people's. I'll be an +eastern millionaire lookin' for investments. And what I won't know about +Jonathan K. McGuire, alias Mike McGuire—won't be worth knowin'." He +broke off and his glance caught the interested expression on the face of +his host.</p> + +<p>"H-m. Curious, ain't you, Pete?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Peter frankly. "I am. Of course it's none of my business, +but——"</p> + +<p>"But you'd like to know, just the same. I get you." He flicked off the +ash of his cigarette and picked up his whisky glass. "Well——," he went +on, "I don't see why I shouldn't tell you—some of it—that is. It won't +do any harm for you to know the kind of skunk you're workin' for. +There's some of it that nobody on God's earth will ever know but me and +Mike McGuire—unless he slips up on one of his payments, and then +everybody's goin' to know. <i>Everybody</i>—but his daughter first of all."</p> + +<p>Coast was silent a long moment while he drained the whisky and slowly +set the glass down upon the table. The shadows upon his face were +unpleasant, darkened perceptibly as they marked the years his thoughts +followed, and the lines at his lips and nostrils became more deeply +etched in bitterness and ugly resolve.</p> + +<p>"It was down in the San Luis valley I first met up with Mike McGuire. He +was born in Ireland, of poor but honest parents, as the books tell us. +He changed his name to 'Jonathan K.' when he made his first 'stake.' +That meant he was comin' up in the world—see? Me and Mike worked +together up in Colorado, punchin' cattle, harvestin', ranchin' +generally. We were 'buddies,' <i>mon gars</i>, like you an' me, eatin', +sleepin' together as thick as thieves. He had a family somewhere, same +as me—the wife had a little money but her old man made <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>him quit—some +trouble. After awhile we got tired of workin' for wages, grub staked, +and beat it for the mountains. That was back in nineteen one or two, I +reckon. We found a vein up above Wagon Wheel Gap. It looked good and we +staked out claims and worked it, hardly stoppin' to eat or sleep." Coast +stopped with a gasp and a shrug. "Well, the long an' short of that, <i>mon +vieux</i>, was a year of hard work with only a thousand or so apiece to +show for it. It was only a pocket. Hell!" He broke off in disgust and +spat into the fireplace. "Don't talk to me about your gold mines. There +ain't any such animal. Well, Mike saved his. I spent mine. Faro. You +know—an' women. Then I got hurt. I was as good as dead—but I pulled +through. I ain't easy to kill. When I came around, I 'chored' for a +while, doin' odd jobs where I could get 'em and got a little money +together and went to Pueblo. When I struck town I got pretty drunk and +busted a faro bank. I never <i>did</i> have any luck when I was sober."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you've told me about that," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"So I did—on the <i>Bermudian</i>. Well, it was at Pueblo I met up with Mike +McGuire, and we beat it down into Arizona where the copper was. Bisbee +was only a row of wooden shacks, but we got some backin', bought an +outfit and went out prospectin' along the Mexican border. And what with +'greasers' and thievin' redskins it was some job in those days. But we +made friends all right enough and found out some of the things we wanted +to know.</p> + +<p>"Now, Pete, if I was to tell you all that went on in that long trail +into the Gila Desert and what happened when we got what we went for, +you'd know as much as I do. You'd know enough to hold up Mike McGuire +yourself if you'd a mind to. This is where the real story stops. What +happened in between is my secret <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>and Mike McGuire's. We found the mine +we were lookin' for.... That's sure——How we got it you'll never know. +But we got it. And here's where the real story begins again. We were +miles out in the Gila Desert and if ever there's a Hell on earth, it's +there. Sand, rocks, rocks and sand and the sun. It was Hell with the +cover off and no mistake! No water within a hundred miles.</p> + +<p>"Now, this is where the fine Eyetalian hand of Mike McGuire shows +itself. We were rich. Any fool with half an eye could see that. The +place was lousy—fairly lousy! It was ours——," Coast's brow darkened +and his eyes glittered strangely as a darting demon of the past got +behind them. "Yes—<i>ours</i>. <i>Sacré bleu!</i> Any man who went through what +we did deserved it, by G——! We were rich. There was plenty enough for +two, but McGuire didn't think so. And here's what he does to me. In the +middle of the night while I'm asleep he sneaks away as neat as you +please, with the horses and the pack-mules and the water, leavin' me +alone with all the money in the world, and a devourin' thirst, more than +a hundred miles from nowhere."</p> + +<p>"Murder," muttered Peter.</p> + +<p>Coast nodded. "You bet you. Murder. Nothin' less. Oh, he knew what <i>he</i> +was about all right. And I saw it quick. Death! That's what it meant. +Slow but sure. Hadn't I seen the bones bleaching all along the trail? He +left me there to die. He thought I would die. <i>Dios!</i> That thirst!" +Coast reached for the pitcher and splashed rather than poured a glass of +water which he gulped down avidly. "There was nothin' for it but to try +afoot for Tucson, which was due east. Every hour I waited would of made +me an hour nearer to bein' a mummy. So I set out through the hot sand, +the sun burnin' through me, slowly parchin' my blood. My tongue swelled. +I must of gone in circles. Days passed—nights when I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>lay gaspin' on my +back, like a fish out of water, tryin' to suck moisture out of dry +air.... Then the red sun again—up over the edge of that furnace, +mockin' at me. I was as good as dead and I knew it. Only the mummy of +me, parched black, stumbled on, fallin', strugglin' up again, fallin' at +last, bitin' at the sand like a mad dog...."</p> + +<p>"Horrible," muttered Peter.</p> + +<p>"It was. I reckon I died—the soul of me, or what was left of it. I came +to life under the starlight, with a couple of 'greasers' droppin' water +on my tongue. They brought me around, but I was out of my head for a +week. I couldn't talk the lingo anyhow. I just went with 'em like a +child. There wasn't anything else to do. Lucky they didn't kill me. I +guess I wasn't worth killin'. We went South. They were makin' for +Hermosillo. Revolutionists. They took all my money—about three hundred +dollars. But it was worth it. They'd saved my life. But I couldn't go +back now, even if I wanted to. I had no money, nor any way of gettin' +any."</p> + +<p>Jim Coast leaned forward, glowering at the rag carpet.</p> + +<p>"But I—I didn't want to go back just then. The fear of God was in me. +I'd looked into Hell."</p> + +<p>He laughed bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Then I joined the 'greasers' against Diaz. I've told you about that. +And the 'Rurales' cleaned us up all right. A girl saved my life. Instead +of shootin' me against a mud wall, they put me to work on a railroad. I +was there three years. I escaped at last and reached the coast, where I +shipped for South America. It was the only way out, but all the while I +was thinkin' of Mike McGuire and the copper mine. You know the rest, +Pete—the Argentine deal that might of made me rich <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>an' how it fell +through. Don't it beat Hell how the world bites the under dog!"</p> + +<p>"But why didn't you go back to America and fight your claim with +McGuire?" asked Peter, aware of the sinister, missing passage in the +story.</p> + +<p>Coast shot a sharp glance at his questioner.</p> + +<p>"There were two reasons—one of which you won't know. The other was that +I couldn't. I was on the beach an' not too popular. The only ships out +of Buenos Aires were for London. That was the easiest way back to +America anyhow. So I shipped as a cattle hand. And there you are. I +lived easy in London. That's me. Easy come easy go. There it was I wrote +a man I knew out in Bisbee—the feller that helped stake us—and he +answered me that McGuire was dead, and that the mine was a flivver—too +far away to work. You see he must of showed the letter to McGuire, and +McGuire told him what to write. That threw me off the track. I forgot +him and went to France...."</p> + +<p>Coast paused while he filled his glass again.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't until I reached New York that I found out McGuire was alive. +It was just a chance while I was plannin' another deal. I took it. I +hunted around the brokers' offices where they sell copper stocks. It +didn't take me long to find that my mine was the 'Tarantula.' McGuire +had developed it with capital from Denver, built a narrow gauge in. Then +after a while had sold out his share for more than half a million +clear."</p> + +<p>Peter was studying Coast keenly, thinking hard. But the story held with +what he already knew of the man's history.</p> + +<p>"That's when Mike McGuire tacked the 'Jonathan K.' onto his name," Coast +went on. "And that money's mine, the good half of it. Figure it out for +yourself. Say five hundred thou, eight per cent, fifteen years—I +reckon <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>I could worry along on that even if he wouldn't do better—which +he will.</p> + +<p>"Well, Pete—to shorten up—I found McGuire was here—in New York—and I +laid for him. I watched for a while and then one day I got my nerve up +and tackled him on the street. You ought to of seen his face when I told +him who I was and what I'd come for. We were in the crowd at Broadway +and Wall, people all about us. He started the 'high and mighty' stuff +for a minute until I crumpled him up with a few facts. I thought he was +goin' to have a stroke for a minute, when I made my brace for the five +thou—then he turned tail and ran into the crowd pale as death. I lost +him then. But it didn't matter. I'd find him again. I knew where his +office was—and his hotel. It was dead easy. But he beat it down here. +It took me awhile to pick up the trail. But here I am, Pete—here I +am—safe in harbor at last."</p> + +<p>Coast took the bills out of his pocket and slowly counted them again.</p> + +<p>"And when you come back from the West, what will you do?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, now you're talkin', Pete. I'm goin' to settle down and live +respectable. I like this country around here. I came from Jersey, you +know, in the first place. I might build a nice place—keep a few horses +and automobiles and enjoy my old age—run over to gay Paree once a +year—down to Monte Carlo in the season. Oh, I'd know how to <i>live</i> now. +You bet you. I've seen 'em do it—those swells. They won't have anything +on me. I'll live like a prince——"</p> + +<p>"On blackmail——," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"See here, Pete——!"</p> + +<p>"I meant it." Peter had risen and faced Coast coolly. "Blackmail! You +can't tell me that if you had any legal claim on McGuire you couldn't +prove it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>"I mightn't be able to——," he shrugged.</p> + +<p>"What is McGuire frightened about? Not about what he owes you. He could +pay that ten times over. It's something else—something that happened +out there at the mine that you dare not tell——"</p> + +<p>"That I <i>won't</i> tell," laughed Coast disagreeably.</p> + +<p>"That you <i>dare</i> not tell—that McGuire dares not tell. Something that +has to do with his strange message about the blood on the knife, and +your placard about what you've got holding over him——"</p> + +<p>"Right you are," sneered the other.</p> + +<p>"It's dirty money, I tell you—bloody money. I know it. And I know who +you are, Jim Coast."</p> + +<p>Coast started up and thrust the roll deep into his trousers pocket.</p> + +<p>"You don't know anything," he growled.</p> + +<p>Peter got up too. His mind had followed Coast's extraordinary story, and +so far as it had gone, believed it to be true. Peter wanted to know what +had happened out there at the mine in the desert, but more than that he +wanted to know how the destinies of this man affected Beth. And so the +thought that had been growing in his mind now found quick utterance.</p> + +<p>"I know this—that you've come back to frighten McGuire, but you've also +come back to bring misery and shame to others who've lived long in peace +and happiness without you——"</p> + +<p>"What——?" said Coast incredulously.</p> + +<p>"I know who you are. You're Ben Cameron," said Peter distinctly.</p> + +<p>The effect of this statement upon Jim Coast was extraordinary. He +started back abruptly, overturning a chair, and fell rather than leaned +against the bedpost—his eyes staring from a ghastly face.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>"What—what did—you say?" he gasped chokingly.</p> + +<p>"You're Ben Cameron," said Peter again.</p> + +<p>Coast put the fingers of one hand to his throat and straightened slowly, +still staring at Peter. Then uneasily, haltingly, he made a sound in his +throat that grew into a dry laugh——</p> + +<p>"Me—B-Ben Cameron! That's damn good. Me—Ben Cameron! Say, Pete, +whatever put <i>that</i> into your head?"</p> + +<p>"The way you frightened the old woman at the kitchen door."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Coast straightened in relief. "I get you. You've been talkin' to +<i>her</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes. What did you say to her?"</p> + +<p>"I—I just gave her a message for McGuire. I reckon she gave it to him."</p> + +<p>"A message?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you needn't say you don't know, Pete. It didn't fetch him. So I put +up the placard."</p> + +<p>Peter was now more bewildered than Coast. "Do you deny that you're Ben +Cameron?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Coast pulled himself together and took up his coat.</p> + +<p>"Deny it? Sure! I'm not—not him—not Ben Cameron—not Ben Cameron. +Don't I know who I am?" he shouted. Then he broke off with a violent +gesture and took up his cap. "Enough of your damn questions, I say. I've +told you what I've told you. You can believe it or not, as you choose. +I'm Jim Coast to you or Hawk Kennedy, if you like, but don't you go +throwin' any more of your dirty jokes my way. Understand?"</p> + +<p>Peter couldn't understand but he had had enough of the man. So he +pointed toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Go," he ordered. "I've had enough of you—get out!"</p> + +<p>Coast walked a few paces toward the door, then paused and turned and +held out his hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>"Oh, Hell, Pete. Don't let's you and me quarrel. You gave me a start +back there. I'm sorry. Of course, you knew. You been good to me +to-night. I'm obliged. I need you in my business. More'n ever."</p> + +<p>"No," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well. Suit yourself," said Coast with a shrug. "There's plenty +of time. I'll be back in a month or six weeks. Think it over. I've made +you a nice offer—real money—to help me a bit. Take it or leave it, as +you please. I'll get along without you, but I'd rather have you with me +than against me."</p> + +<p>"I'm neither," said Peter. "I want nothing to do with it."</p> + +<p>Coast shrugged. "I'm sorry. Well, so long. I've got a horse back in the +dunes. I'll take the milk train from Hammonton to Philadelphia. You +won't tell, Pete?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Good-night."</p> + +<p>Peter didn't even reply. And when the man had gone he opened the door +and windows to let in the night air. The room had been defiled by the +man's very presence. Ben Cameron? Beth's father? The thing seemed +impossible, but every fact in Peter's knowledge pointed toward it. And +yet what the meaning of Jim Coast's strange actions at the mention of +his name? And what were the facts that Jim Coast <i>didn't</i> tell? What had +happened at the mine that was too terrible even to speak about? What was +the bond between these two men, which held the successful one in terror, +and the other in silence? Something unspeakably vile. A hideous pact——</p> + +<p>The telephone bell jangled again. Peter rose and went to it. But he was +in no humor to talk to McGuire.</p> + +<p>"Hello," he growled. "Yes—he's gone. I let him go. You told me to.... +Yes, he talked—a long while.... No. He won't be back for a month.... +We'll talk that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>over later.... No. Not to-night. I'm going to bed.... +No. Not until to-morrow. I've had about enough of this.... All right. +Good-night."</p> + +<p>And Peter hung up the receiver, undressed and went to bed.</p> + +<p>It had been rather a full day for Peter.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h2>CONFESSION</h2> +<br /> + +<p>In spite of his perplexities, Peter slept soundly and was only awakened +by the jangling of the telephone bell. But Peter wanted to do a little +thinking before he saw McGuire, and he wanted to ask the housekeeper a +few questions, so he told McGuire that he would see him before ten +o'clock. The curious part of the telephone conversation was that McGuire +made no mention of the shooting. "H-m," said Peter to himself as he hung +up, "going to ignore that trifling incident altogether, is he? Well, +we'll see about that. It doesn't pay to be too clever, old cock." His +pity for McGuire was no more. At the present moment Peter felt nothing +for him except an abiding contempt which could hardly be modified by any +subsequent revelations.</p> + +<p>Peter ran down to the creek in his bath robe and took a quick plunge, +then returned, shaved and dressed while his coffee boiled, thinking with +a fresh mind over the events and problems of the night before. Curiously +enough, he found that he considered them more and more in their relation +to Beth. Perhaps it was his fear for her happiness that laid stress on +the probability that Jim Coast was Ben Cameron, Beth's father. How +otherwise could Mrs. Bergen's terror be accounted for? And yet why had +Coast been so perturbed at the mere mention of Ben Cameron's name? That +was really strange. For a moment the man had stared at Peter as though +he were seeing a ghost. If he <i>were</i> Ben Cameron, why shouldn't <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>he have +acknowledged the fact? Here was the weak point in the armor of mystery. +Peter had to admit that even while Coast was telling his story and the +conviction was growing in Peter's mind that this was Beth's father, the +very thought of Beth herself seemed to make the relationship grotesque. +This Jim Coast, this picturesque blackguard who had told tales on the +<i>Bermudian</i> that had brought a flush of shame even to Peter's +cheeks—this degenerate, this scheming blackmailer—thief, perhaps +murderer, too, the father of Beth! Incredible! The merest contact with +such a man must defile, defame her. And yet if this were the fact, Coast +would have a father's right to claim her, to drag her down, a prey to +his vile tongue and drunken humors as she had once been when a child. +Her Aunt Tillie feared this. And Aunt Tillie did not know as Peter now +did of the existence of the vile secret that sealed Coast's lips and +held McGuire's soul in bondage.</p> + +<p>Instead of going directly up the lawn to the house Peter went along the +edge of the woods to the garage and then up the path, as Coast must have +done a few nights before. The housekeeper was in the pantry and there +Peter sought her out. He noted the startled look in her eyes at the +moment he entered the room and then the line of resolution into which +her mouth was immediately drawn. So Peter chose a roundabout way of +coming to his subject.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to talk to you about Beth, Mrs. Bergen," he began cheerfully. +She offered him a chair but Peter leaned against the windowsill looking +out into the gray morning. He told her what he had discovered about her +niece's voice, that he himself had been educated in music and that he +thought every opportunity should be given Beth to have her voice +trained.</p> + +<p>He saw that Mrs. Bergen was disarmed for the moment <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>as to the real +purpose of his visit and he went on to tell her just what had happened +at the Cabin with Shad Wells the day before, and asking her, as Beth's +only guardian, for permission to carry out his plan to teach her all +that he knew, after which he hoped it would be possible for her to go to +New York for more advanced training.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bergen listened in wonder, gasping at the tale of Shad Wells's +undoing, which Peter asked her to keep in confidence. From Mrs. Bergen's +comments he saw that she took little stock in Shad, who had been +bothering Beth for two years or more, and that her own love for the girl +amounted to a blind adoration which could see no fault in anything that +she might do. It was clear that she was delighted with the opportunities +Peter offered, for she had always known that Beth sang "prettier than +anybody in the world." As to going to the Cabin for the lessons, that +was nobody's business but Beth's. She was twenty-two—and able to look +out for herself.</p> + +<p>"I'm an old woman, Mr. Nichols," she concluded timidly, "an' I've seen a +lot of trouble, one kind or another, but I ain't often mistaken in my +judgments. I know Beth. She ain't nobody's fool. And if she likes you, +you ought to be glad of it. If she's willin' to come to your cabin, I'm +willin' that she should go there—no matter who don't like it or why. +She can look after herself—aye, better than I can look after her." She +sighed. And then with some access of spirit, "You're different from most +of the folks around here, but I don't see nothin' wrong with you. If you +say you want to help Beth, I'm willin' to believe you. But if I thought +you meant her any harm——"</p> + +<p>She broke off and stared at him with her mild eyes under brows meant to +be severe.</p> + +<p>"I hope you don't want to think that, Mrs. Bergen," said Peter gently.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>"No. I don't want to. Beth don't take up with every Tom, Dick and Harry. +And if she likes you, I reckon she knows what's she's about."</p> + +<p>"I want to help her to make something of herself," said Peter calmly. +"And I know I can. Beth is a very unusual girl."</p> + +<p>"Don't you suppose I know that? She always was. She ain't the same as +the rest of us down here. She always wanted to learn. Even now when +she's through school, she's always readin'—always."</p> + +<p>"That's it. She ought to complete her education. That's what I mean. I +want to help her to be a great singer. I can do it if you'll let me."</p> + +<p>"Where's the money comin' from?" sighed Mrs. Bergen.</p> + +<p>"No need to bother about that, yet. I can give her a beginning, if you +approve. After that——" Peter paused a moment and then, "We'll see," he +finished.</p> + +<p>He was somewhat amazed at the length to which his subconscious thought +was carrying him, for his spoken words could infer nothing less than his +undertaking at his own expense the completion of the girl's education. +The housekeeper's exclamation quickly brought him to a recognition of +his meaning.</p> + +<p>"You mean—that <i>you</i>——!" she halted and looked at him over her +glasses in wonder.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said blandly, aware of an irrevocable step. "I do, Mrs. +Bergen."</p> + +<p>"My land!" she exclaimed. And then again as though in echo, "My land!"</p> + +<p>"That's one of the reasons why I've come here to you to-day," he went on +quickly. "I want to help Beth and I want to help <i>you</i>. I know that +everything isn't going right for you at Black Rock House. I've been +drawn more deeply into—into McGuire's affairs than I expected to be and +I've learned a great many things that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>aren't any business of mine. And +one of the things I've learned is that your peace of mind and Beth's +happiness are threatened by the things that are happening around you."</p> + +<p>The housekeeper had risen and stood leaning against the dresser, +immediately on her guard.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Bergen," he went on firmly, "there's no use of trying to evade +this issue—because it's here! I know more than you think I do. I'm +trying to get at the root of this mystery because of Beth. You told me +the other night that Beth's happiness was involved when that stranger +came to the kitchen porch——"</p> + +<p>"No, no," gasped the woman. "Don't ask me. I'll tell you nothin'."</p> + +<p>"You saw this man—outside the kitchen door in the dark," he insisted. +"You talked with him——"</p> + +<p>"No—no. Don't ask me, Mr. Nichols."</p> + +<p>"Won't you tell me what he said? I saw him last night—talked with him +for an hour——"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i>—talked—with him!" she gasped in alarm. And then, haltingly, +"What did he say to you? What did he do? Is he coming back?"</p> + +<p>She was becoming more disturbed and nervous, so Peter brought a chair +and made her sit in it.</p> + +<p>"No. He's not coming back—not for a month or more," he replied +reassuringly. "But if I'm to help you, I've got to know something more +about him, and for Beth's sake you've got to help me." And then quietly, +"Mrs. Bergen, was this man who came to the kitchen door, Ben Cameron, +Beth's father?"</p> + +<p>"My God!" said the housekeeper faintly, putting her face in her hands.</p> + +<p>"Won't you tell me just what happened?" Peter asked.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm scared, Mr. Nichols," she groaned. "The whole thing has been too +much for me—knowin' how scared Mr. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>McGuire is too. I can't understand, +I can't even—think—no more."</p> + +<p>"Let me do your thinking for you. Tell me what happened the other night, +Mrs. Bergen."</p> + +<p>The woman raised a pallid face, her colorless eyes blinking up at him +beseechingly.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he whispered. "It can do no possible harm."</p> + +<p>She glanced pitifully at him once more and then haltingly told her +story.</p> + +<p>"I—I was sittin' in the kitchen there, the night of the supper +party—by the door—restin' and tryin' to get cool—when—when a knock +come on the door-jamb outside. It sounded queer—the door bein' +open—an' my nerves bein' shook sorter with the goin's on here. But I +went to the door an' leaned out. There was a man standin' in the +shadow——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bergen paused in a renewed difficulty of breathing.</p> + +<p>"And then——?" Peter urged.</p> + +<p>"He—he leaned forward toward me an' spoke rough-like. 'You're the cook, +ain't you?' he says. I was that scared I—I couldn't say nothin'. An' he +went on. 'You tell McGuire to meet me at the end of the lawn to-morrow +night.'"</p> + +<p>"And what did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Nothin'. I couldn't."</p> + +<p>"What else did he tell you?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bergen bent her head but went on with an effort.</p> + +<p>"He says, 'Tell McGuire Ben—Ben Cameron's come back.'"</p> + +<p>"I see. And you were more frightened than ever?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. More frightened—terrible. I didn't know what to do. I mumbled +somethin'. Then you an' Beth come in——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>"And <i>was</i> it Ben Cameron that you saw?"</p> + +<p>The poor creature raised her gaze to Peter's again.</p> + +<p>"B-Ben Cameron? Who else could it 'a' been? An' I thought he was dead, +Mr. Nichols—years ago."</p> + +<p>"You didn't recognize him, then?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know. It was all so sudden—like seein' a corpse—speakin' +that name."</p> + +<p>"He wore a short beard?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But Ben Cameron was smooth shaved."</p> + +<p>"Did Ben Cameron have any distinguishing mark—anything you could +remember him by?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Ben Cameron's little finger of his left hand was missin'——. But +of course, Mr. Nichols, I couldn't see nothin' in the dark."</p> + +<p>"No, of course," said Peter with a gasp of relief. "But his voice——?"</p> + +<p>"It was gruff—hoarse—whisperin'-like."</p> + +<p>"Was the Ben Cameron you knew, your brother-in-law—was he tall?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated, her brows puckering.</p> + +<p>"That's what bothered me some. Beth's father wasn't over tall——"</p> + +<p>"I see," Peter broke in eagerly, "and this man was tall—about my +size—with a hook nose—black eyes and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I—I couldn't see his face," she muttered helplessly. "The night +was too dark."</p> + +<p>"But you wouldn't swear it was Ben Cameron?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him in a new bewilderment. "But who else could it 'a' +been—sayin' that name—givin' that message?"</p> + +<p>Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Queer, isn't it? I don't wonder that you were alarmed—especially for +Beth, knowing the kind of man he was."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>"It's terrible, Mr. Nichols. A man like Ben Cameron never gets made +over. He's bad clear through. If you only knew——" Mrs. Bergen's pale +eyes seemed to be looking back into the past. "He means no good to +Beth—that's what frightens me. He could take her away from me. She's +his daughter——"</p> + +<p>"Well—don't worry," said Peter at last. "We'll find a way to protect +you." And then, "Of course you didn't take that message to McGuire?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, no—Mr. Nichols. I couldn't. I'd 'a' died first. But what does it +all mean? <i>Him</i> bein' scared of Ben Cameron, too. I can't make it +out—though I've thought and thought until I couldn't think no more."</p> + +<p>She was on the point of tears now, so Peter soothed her gently.</p> + +<p>"Leave this to me, Mrs. Bergen." And then, "You haven't said anything of +this to any one?"</p> + +<p>"Not a soul—I—I was hopin' it might 'a' been just a dream."</p> + +<p>Peter was silent for a moment, gazing out of the window and thinking +deeply.</p> + +<p>"No. It wasn't a dream," he said quietly at last. "You saw a man by the +kitchen door, and he gave you the message about Ben Cameron, <i>but the +man you saw wasn't Ben Cameron</i>, Mrs. Bergen, because, unless I'm very +much mistaken, Ben Cameron is dead——"</p> + +<p>"How do you——?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't die when you thought he did, Mrs. Bergen—but later. I can't +tell you how. It's only a guess. But I'm beginning to see a light in +this affair—and I'm going to follow it until I find the truth. Good-by. +Don't worry."</p> + +<p>And Peter, with a last pat on the woman's shoulder and an encouraging +smile, went out of the door and into the house.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>Eagerly Peter's imagination was trying to fill the gap in Jim Coast's +story, and his mind, now intent upon the solution of the mystery, groped +before him up the stair. And what it saw was the burning Gila Desert ... +the mine among the rocks—"lousy" with outcroppings of ore ... "Mike" +McGuire and "Hawk" Kennedy, devious in their ways, partners in a vile +conspiracy....</p> + +<p>But Peter's demeanor was careless when Stryker admitted him to McGuire's +room and his greeting in reply to McGuire's was casual enough to put his +employer off his guard. After a moment's hesitation McGuire sent the +valet out and went himself and closed and locked the door. Peter refused +his cigar, lighting one of his own cigarettes, and sank into the chair +his host indicated. After the first words Peter knew that his surmise +had been correct and that his employer meant to deny all share in the +shooting of the night before.</p> + +<p>"Well," began the old man, with a glance at the door, "what did he say?"</p> + +<p>Peter shook his head judicially. He had already decided on the direction +which this conversation must take.</p> + +<p>"No. It won't do, Mr. McGuire," he said calmly.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Merely that before we talk of what Hawk Kennedy said to me, we'll +discuss your reasons for unnecessarily putting my life in danger——"</p> + +<p>"This shooting you've spoken of——"</p> + +<p>"This attempted <i>murder</i>!"</p> + +<p>"You're dreaming."</p> + +<p>Peter laughed at him. "You'll be telling me in a moment that you didn't +hear the shots." And then, leaning forward so that he stared deep into +his employer's eyes, "See here, Mr. McGuire, I'm not to be trifled with. +I know too much of your affairs—more than you think I do——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>"He talked——?" McGuire's poise was slipping from him.</p> + +<p>"One moment, if you please. I want this thing perfectly understood. Your +arrangements were cleverly made—changing the guards—your instructions +to me—the flashlight and all the rest. You didn't want to kill me if +you could help it. I'm obliged for this consideration. You forgot that +your hand isn't as steady now as it was when you were a dead shot out in +Arizona—Ah! I see that you already understand what I mean."</p> + +<p>McGuire had started forward in his chair, his face livid.</p> + +<p>"You know——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. More than I wanted to know—more than I would ever have known if +you'd played fair with me. You cared nothing for my life. You shot, +twice, missed killing your man and then when the light went out, sneaked +away like the coward that you are——"</p> + +<p>"D——n you," croaked McGuire feebly, falling back in his chair.</p> + +<p>"Leaving me to the mercies of your ancient enemy in the dark—who +thought <i>me</i> your accomplice. You can hardly blame him under the +circumstances. But I got the best of him—luckily for me, and disarmed +him. If you had remained a few moments longer you might have taken part +in our very interesting conversation. Do you still deny all this?"</p> + +<p>McGuire, stifled with his fear and fury, was incapable of a reply.</p> + +<p>"Very good. So long as we understand each other thus far, perhaps you +will permit me to go on. As you know, I came to you in good faith. I +wanted to help you in any way that a gentleman could do. Last night you +tricked me, and put my life in danger. If you had killed Kennedy +everything would have been all right for <i>you</i>. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>And I would have been +accused of the killing. If <i>I</i> had been killed no harm would have been +done at all. That was your idea. It was a clever little scheme. Pity it +didn't work out."</p> + +<p>McGuire's faltering courage was coming back.</p> + +<p>"Go on!" he muttered desperately.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Peter, "I will. One shot of yours scraped Kennedy's +shoulder. He was bleeding badly, so I took him to the Cabin and fixed +him up. He was rather grateful. He ought to have been. I gave him a +drink too—several drinks. You said he wouldn't talk, but he did."</p> + +<p>"You <i>made</i> him talk, d——n you," McGuire broke in hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"No. He volunteered to talk. I may say, he insisted upon it. You see, I +happened to have the gentleman's acquaintance——"</p> + +<p>"You——!"</p> + +<p>"We met on the steamer coming over when we were escaping from Russia. +His name was Jim Coast then. He was a waiter in the dining saloon. So +was I. Funny, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>To McGuire it seemed far from that, for at this revelation his jaw +dropped and he stared at Peter as though the entire affair were beyond +his comprehension.</p> + +<p>"You knew him! A waiter, <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Misfortune makes strange bedfellows. It was either that or +starvation. I preferred to wait."</p> + +<p>"For—for the love of God—go on," growled McGuire. His hands were +clutching the chair arm and there was madness in his shifting eyes, so +Peter watched him keenly.</p> + +<p>"I will. He told me how you and he had worked together out in Colorado, +up in the San Luis valley, of the gold prospect near Wagon Wheel Gap, of +its <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>failure—how you met again in Pueblo and then went down into the +copper country—Bisbee, Arizona."</p> + +<p>Peter had no pity now. He saw McGuire straighten again in his chair, his +gaze shifting past Peter from left to right like a trapped animal. His +fingers groped along the chair arms, along the table edge, trembling, +eager but uncertain. But the sound of Peter's narrative seemed to +fascinate—to hypnotize him.</p> + +<p>"Go on——!" he whispered hoarsely. "Go on!"</p> + +<p>"You got an outfit and went out into the Gila Desert," continued Peter, +painting his picture leisurely, deliberately. "It was horrible—the +heat, the sand, the rocks—but you weren't going to fail this time. +There was going to be something at the end of this terrible pilgrimage +to repay you for all that you suffered, you and Hawk Kennedy. There was +no water, but what you carried on your pack-mules—no water within a +hundred miles, nothing but sand and rocks and the heat. No chance at all +for a man, alone without a horse, in that desert. You saw the bones of +men and animals bleaching along the trail. That was the death that +awaited any man——"</p> + +<p>"You lie!"</p> + +<p>Peter sprang for the tortured man as McGuire's fingers closed on +something in the open drawer of the table, but Peter twisted the weapon +quickly out of his hand and threw it in the corner of the room.</p> + +<p>"You fool," he whispered quickly as he pinioned McGuire in his chair, +"do you want to add another murder to what's on your conscience?"</p> + +<p>But McGuire had already ceased to resist him. Peter hadn't been too +gentle with him. The man had collapsed. A glance at his face showed his +condition. So Peter poured out a glass of whisky and water which he +poured between his employer's gaping lips. Then he waited, watching the +old man. He seemed really old now <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>to Peter, a hundred at least, for his +sagging facial muscles seemed to reveal the lines of every event in his +life—an old man, though scarcely sixty, yet broken and helpless. He +came around slowly, his heavy gaze slowly seeking Peter's.</p> + +<p>"What—what are you going to do?" he managed at last.</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I'm no blackmailer." And then, playing his high card, "I've +heard what Hawk said about Ben Cameron," said Peter. "Now tell me the +truth."</p> + +<p>At the sound of the name McGuire started and then his eyes closed for a +moment.</p> + +<p>"You know—everything," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>his</i> side," Peter lied. "What's yours?"</p> + +<p>McGuire managed to haul himself upright in his chair, staring up at +Peter with bloodshot eyes.</p> + +<p>"He's lied to you, if he said I done it——," he gasped, relapsing into +the vernacular of an earlier day. "It was Hawk. He stabbed him in the +back. I never touched him. I never had a thing to do with the killin'. I +swear it——"</p> + +<p>Peter's lips set in a thin line.</p> + +<p>"So Hawk Kennedy killed Ben Cameron!" he said.</p> + +<p>"He did. I swear to God——"</p> + +<p>"And then <i>you</i> cleared out with all the water, leaving Hawk to die. +<i>That</i> was murder—cold-blooded murder——"</p> + +<p>"My God, don't, Nichols!" the old man moaned. "If you only knew——"</p> + +<p>"Well, then—tell me the truth."</p> + +<p>Their glances met. Peter's was compelling. He had, when he chose, an air +of command. And there was something else in Peter's look, inflexible as +it was, that gave McGuire courage, an unalterable honesty which had been +so far tried and not found wanting.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>"You know—already," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"Tell me your story," said Peter bluntly.</p> + +<p>There was a long moment of hesitation, and then,</p> + +<p>"Get me a drink, Nichols. I'll trust you. I've never told it to a living +man. I'll tell—I'll tell it all. It may not be as bad as you think."</p> + +<p>He drank the liquor at a gulp and set the glass down on the table beside +him.</p> + +<p>"This—this thing has been hanging over me for fifteen years, +Nichols—fifteen years. It's weighted me down, made an old man of me +before my time. Maybe it will help me to tell somebody. It's made me +hard—silent, busy with my own affairs, bitter against every man who +could hold his head up. I knew it was going to come some day. I knew it. +You can't pull anything like that and get away with it forever. I'd made +the money for my kids—I never had any fun spending it in my life. I'm a +lonely man, Nichols. I always was. No happiness except when I came back +to my daughters—to Peggy and my poor Marjorie...."</p> + +<p>McGuire was silent for a moment and Peter, not taking his gaze from his +face, patiently waited. McGuire glanced at him just once and then went +on, slipping back from time to time into the speech of a bygone day.</p> + +<p>"I never knew what his first name was. He was always just 'Hawk' to us +boys on the range. Hawk Kennedy was a bad lot. I knew it up there in the +San Luis valley but I wasn't no angel from Heaven myself. And he had a +way with him. We got on all right together. But when the gold mine up at +the Gap petered out he quit me—got beaten up in a fight about a woman. +I didn't see him for some years, when he showed up in Pueblo, where I +was workin' in a smelter. He was all for goin' South into the copper +country. He had some money—busted a faro bank he said, and talked big +about the fortune he was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>goin' to make. Ah, he could talk, when he had +something on his mind.... I had some money saved up too and so I quit my +job and went with him down to Bisbee, Arizona. I wish to God I never +had. I'd gotten pretty well straightened out up in Pueblo, sendin' money +East to the wife and all——. But I wanted to be rich. I was forty-five +and I had to hurry. But I could do it yet. Maybe this was my chance. +That's the way I thought. That's why I happened to listen to Hawk +Kennedy and his tales of the copper country.</p> + +<p>"Well, we got an outfit in Bisbee and set out along the Mexican border. +We had a tip that let us out into the desert. It was just a tip, that's +all. But it was worth following up. It was about this man Ben Cameron. +He'd come into town all alone, get supplies and then go out again next +day. He let slip something over the drink one night. That was the tip we +were followin' up. We struck his trail all right—askin' questions of +greasers and Indians. We knew he'd found somethin' good or he wouldn't +have been so quiet about it.</p> + +<p>"I swear to God, I had no idea of harmin' him. I wanted to find what Ben +Cameron had found, stake out near him and get what I could. Maybe Hawk +Kennedy had a different idea even then. I don't know. He never said what +he was thinkin' about.</p> + +<p>"We found Ben Cameron. Perched up in a hill of rocks, he was, livin' in +the hole he'd dug where he'd staked his claim. But we knew he hadn't +taken out any papers. He never thought anybody'd find him out there in +that Hell-hole. It was Hell all right. Even now whenever I think of what +Hell must be I think of what that gulch looked like. Just rocks and +alkali dust and heat.</p> + +<p>"It all comes back to me. Every little thing that was said and +done—every word. Ben Cameron saw us first—and when we came up, he was +sittin' on a rock, his rifle <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>acrost his knees, a hairy man, thin, +burnt-out, black as a greaser. Hawk Kennedy passed the time of day, but +Ben Cameron only cursed at him and waved us off. 'Get the Hell out of +here,' he says—ugly. But we only laughed at him—for didn't we both see +the kind of an egg Ben Cameron was settin' on?</p> + +<p>"'Don't be pokin' jokes at the Gila Desert, my little man,' say Hawk, +polite as you please. 'It's Hell that's here and here it will remain.' +And then we said we were short of water—which we were not—and had he +any to spare? But he waved us on with his rifle, never sayin' a word. So +we moved down the gulch a quarter of a mile and went into camp. There +was ore here, too, but nothin' like what Ben Cameron had.</p> + +<p>"Hawk was quiet that night—creepin' about among the rocks, but he +didn't say what was on his mind. In the mornin' he started off to talk +to Ben Cameron an' I went with him. The man was still sittin' on his +rock, with the rifle over his knees—been there all night, I reckon. But +he let us come to hailin' distance.</p> + +<p>"'Nice claim you got there, pardner,' says Hawk.</p> + +<p>"'Is it?' says he.</p> + +<p>"'Ain't you afraid of rubbin' some o' that verdigris off onto your +pants,' says Hawk.</p> + +<p>"'They're my pants,' says Cameron. 'You ain't here for any good. Get +out!' And he brings his rifle to his hip. We saw he was scared all +right, maybe not so much at what we'd do to him as at sharin' what he'd +found.</p> + +<p>"'The Gila Desert ain't <i>all</i> yours, is it, pardner? Or maybe you got a +mortgage on the earth!' says Hawk, very polite. 'You ain't got no +objection to our stakin' alongside of you, have you? Come along, now. +Let's be neighbors. We see what you've got. That's all right. We'll take +your leavin's. We've got a right to them.'</p> + +<p>"And so after a while of palaverin' with him, he lets us <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>come up and +look over his claim. It didn't take any eye at all to see what he'd got. +He wasn't much of a man—Ben Cameron—weak-eyed, rum-dum—poor too. You +could see that by his outfit—worse off than we were. Hawk told him we +had a lot of friends with money—big money in the East. Maybe we could +work it to run a railroad out to tap the whole ridge. That kind of got +him and we found he had no friends in this part of the country—so we +sat down to grub together, Ben Cameron, like me, unsuspectin' of what +was to happen.</p> + +<p>"My God, Nichols, I can see it all like it had happened yesterday. Hawk +Kennedy stood up as though to look around and then before I knew what he +was about had struck Ben Cameron in the back with his knife.</p> + +<p>"It was all over in a minute. Ben Cameron reached for his gun but before +his hand got to it he toppled over sideways and lay quiet.</p> + +<p>"I started up to my feet but Hawk had me covered and I knew from what +had happened that he'd shoot, too.</p> + +<p>"'Don't make a fuss,' he says. 'Give me your gun.' I knew he had me to +rights and I did what he said. 'Now,' he says, 'it's yours and mine.'"</p> + +<p>McGuire made a motion toward the glass. Peter filled it for him and he +drank.</p> + +<p>"And then—what happened?" asked Peter quietly.</p> + +<p>"Hawk Kennedy had me dead to rights. There was only one thing to do—to +make believe I was 'with him.' We buried Ben Cameron, then went down and +brought our outfit up, Hawk watchin' me all the while. He'd taken my gun +and Ben Cameron's and unloaded them and carried all the ammunition about +him. But I didn't know what I was in for. That night he made me sit down +while he drew up a paper, torn from an old note book of Ben Cameron's—a +partnership agreement, a contract."</p> + +<p>McGuire broke off suddenly and got up, moving <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>nervously to the safe, +from one of the drawers of which he took a blue linen envelope and +brought forth a paper which he handed to Peter.</p> + +<p>"That's the hellish thing, Nichols," he said hoarsely. "That's why I'm +afraid of Hawk Kennedy. A lie that he forced me to sign! And there's +another paper like this in his possession. Read it, Nichols."</p> + +<p>Peter took the paper in his fingers and looked at it curiously. It was +soiled and worn, broken at the edges, written over in lead pencil, but +still perfectly legible.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>AGREEMENT BETWEEN HAWK KENNEDY AND MIKE McGUIRE</p> + +<p>Us two found Ben Cameron on his copper claim in Madre Gulch. +We killed him. Both of us had a hand in it. This mine is +Hawk Kennedy's and Mike McGuire's and we are pardners in the +same until death us do part, so help us God.</p> + +<p> +(Signed) <span class="smcap">Mike McGuire.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Hawk Kennedy.</span><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>"He wanted it on me——" McGuire gasped. "You see? To keep me quiet."</p> + +<p>"I understand," said Peter. "This is 'what you've got and what I've got' +referred to in the placard."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said McGuire. "A partnership agreement and a confession—of +something I didn't do."</p> + +<p>Peter's eyes were searching him through and through.</p> + +<p>"You swear it?"</p> + +<p>McGuire held up his right hand and met Peter's gaze without flinching.</p> + +<p>"Before God, I do."</p> + +<p>Peter was silent for a moment, thinking.</p> + +<p>"And then, you left Hawk Kennedy there to die," he said slowly, watching +the man.</p> + +<p>McGuire sank into his chair with a sigh, the perspiration now beaded on +his pale forehead.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know what to do, I tell you," he almost <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>whispered. "He had +me. I was unarmed. I'd 'a' killed him if I'd had a gun. But I waited a +few days after we buried Cameron—makin' believe I was satisfied with +everything and he believed me, and at last he fell asleep tired with +keepin' watch on me. He was all in. I bored holes in Ben Cameron's +barrels, lettin' the water out down the rocks, then took the three +horses and the mules with all the water that was left and got away +before he woke up.</p> + +<p>"It was a terrible thing to do, Nichols—call it murder if you like. But +it served him right. It was comin' to him—and I got away with it. At +first when I reached water I had a thought of goin' back—to save him +before he died—to get that paper I couldn't get that was inside his +shirt."</p> + +<p>McGuire leaned forward, his face in his hands for a moment, trying to +finish.</p> + +<p>"But I didn't go back, Nichols. I didn't go back. That's the crime I'm +payin' for now—not the other—not the murder of Ben Cameron—I didn't +do that—the murder of Hawk Kennedy—who has come back."</p> + +<p>"What happened then?"</p> + +<p>"I turned Ben Cameron's horse and burros loose where there was water and +grass and went on to Bisbee. I told them my buddy had died of a fever. I +thought he had by now. They didn't ask any questions. I was safe. The +rest was easy. I filed a claim, found some real money and told what I'd +found. I waited a month, then went back to Madre Gulch with Bill Munroe, +the fellow that helped stake us. There was no one there. We searched the +rocks and plains for miles around for signs of Hawk Kennedy's body, for +we knew he couldn't have got far in that heat without water. But we +found nothin'. Hawk Kennedy had disappeared."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Peter, "you built a railroad in and sold out for half a +million dollars——?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>McGuire looked up, mystified.</p> + +<p>"Or thereabouts," he muttered. "But Hawk Kennedy was alive. I found that +out later when he wrote from London. We steered him off the track. But I +knew he'd come back some day with that paper I'd signed. That's what's +been hangin' over me. An' now it's fallen. I've told you the truth. I +had to. You believe me, don't you?" he asked appealingly.</p> + +<p>Peter had watched him keenly. There seemed little doubt that what he +told was the truth. There was no flaw in the tale.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said after a pause. "I believe you've told me the truth. But +you can hardly blame Hawk Kennedy, murderer though he is, for hating you +and wanting what he thinks is his."</p> + +<p>"No. That's true."</p> + +<p>"And you can't blame me for being angry at the trick you played me——"</p> + +<p>"I was desperate. I've been desperate since I saw him in New York. +Sometimes I've been a bit queer, I reckon—thinkin' about Peggy hearin' +this. I wanted to kill him. It was a good chance last night. Nobody +would have blamed me, after his being around the place. It was an easy +shot—but my hand wasn't steady——"</p> + +<p>"Pity you didn't know that before you put me in danger."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Nichols—sorry. I'll do anything you like. What do you want +me to do?"</p> + +<p>Instead of replying at once Peter took out a cigarette and lighted it +carefully. And then,</p> + +<p>"You've never taken the trouble to make any inquiries as to the +whereabouts of the family of Ben Cameron?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The old man shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>"I was afraid to ask."</p> + +<p>"I see. Don't you think it's about time you did? It's <i>his</i> money that +made your fortune."</p> + +<p>"He was no good. Nobody knew him. So far as I ever heard, nobody ever +asked about him."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless he must have had some friends somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Maybe. I don't know. I'm willing to help them if I can, providing this +thing can be kept quiet." And then, pleadingly, "You're not going to +talk—to use it against me, Nichols?"</p> + +<p>Peter's pity for McGuire had come back. The man's terror, his +desperation of the past weeks had burned him out, worn him to a shell.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not going to talk. Hawk Kennedy didn't dare tell what you've +told me. That's why I believe you."</p> + +<p>"And you'll stay on here and help me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes——We'll see how we can balk Hawk Kennedy."</p> + +<p>"I'll pay him fifty thousand—a hundred thousand—for that +agreement——"</p> + +<p>"Not a dollar. I've got a better use for your money than that."</p> + +<p>McGuire thought Peter referred to the necessary improvements of the +estate. But Peter had another idea in mind.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h2>THE CHASE</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Peter had discovered the means of providing for Beth's musical +education. Upon inquiry he had found that McGuire hardly knew Beth +except as a dependent relative of Mrs. Bergen, who came in sometimes to +help her aunt with the cleaning—usually before McGuire came down from +New York. Their little home was not on his visiting list.</p> + +<p>He delayed telling McGuire. There was plenty of time and there was no +doubt of his employer's doing the right thing by the daughter of the +murdered man. Meanwhile, having completed his plans for the estate, he +had suggested that McGuire go off for a trip somewhere to rest and +recover his poise. Peter had promised his allegiance to McGuire when +Hawk Kennedy returned, but he knew that he would have to fight fire with +fire. For Hawk had proved himself both skillful and dangerous, and would +struggle desperately to get what he thought was his own. It was his last +chance to make a big stake—to be independent for the rest of his life. +He was tasting luxury now and wouldn't give up without a fight to the +death. Something must be thought of—some plan to outwit him, to +circumvent the schemes which would come out of his visit of +investigation to the copper country.</p> + +<p>Peter had said nothing to Beth or to Mrs. Cameron of what he had +discovered. He was under no oath of secrecy to the old man, but he +realized that while Hawk Kennedy held the "confession" McGuire was in a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>predicament which would only be made more difficult if the facts got +abroad. And so Peter had gone about his work silently, aware that the +burden of McGuire's troubles had been suddenly shifted to his own +shoulders. He spent most of his days at the lumber camp and now had +every detail of the business at his fingers' ends. Timbers had been +hauled to the appointed sites and under his direction the fire towers +were now half way to completion.</p> + +<p>He had found Shad Wells down at the mills, morose, sullen and disposed +to question his authority, but McGuire had visited the bunk-house one +night before he went away, and it was soon discovered that Peter and no +other was the boss of the job. Peter for reasons of his own retained +Shad, much to that gentleman's surprise, as foreman of the lumbering +gang, but Peter wasn't at all satisfied with conditions as he had found +them at the lumber camp and mills and, as he discovered later, the +continuance of Shad in the foreman's job was a mistake. If Peter had +hoped by this act of conciliation to heal Shad's wounds and bring about +a spirit of useful coöperation with the man, he soon found that the very +reverse of this had been accomplished. The lumbermen were an +unregenerate lot, some of them "pineys," a few Italians, but most of +them the refuse of the factories and shipyards, spoiled by the fatal +"cost plus" contracts of war time. All of these facts Peter learned +slowly, aware of an undercurrent moving against him and yet entirely +dependent upon this labor—which was the best, indeed the only labor, to +be had. He made some improvements in the bunk-house for their comfort, +increased the supply of food and posted notices that all complaints of +whatever nature would be promptly investigated. But day after day new +stories came to him of shirking, of dissatisfaction and continued +trouble-making.</p> + +<p>This labor trouble was no new thing at Black Rock, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>and had existed +practically since the beginning of the work on the lumber contract six +months before Peter had been employed. But it was not long before Peter +discovered through Jesse Brown, whose confidence he had gained, that +there were agitators in the camp, undoubtedly receiving their +inspiration and pay from sources inimical to all capital in the abstract +and to all order and decency at Black Rock in the concrete, who were +fomenting the unrest and dissatisfaction among the men. In order to +investigate the difficulties personally Peter went down to the camp and +lived there for a time, bunking with the men and listening to their +stories, winning some of them to his side and tracing as far as he could +the troubles to their sources, two men named Flynn and Jacobi. He +discharged these two men and sent them out of the camp over Wells's +protest. But even then he had a sense of failure. The trouble was deeper +than was manifest upon the surface. No mere raise in wages would clear +it away. It was born of the world's sickness, with which the men from +the cities had been inoculated.</p> + +<p>One night while he sat in the bunk-house smoking a pipe and talking with +Jesse Brown, Shad Wells suddenly appeared in the doorway, framed against +the darkness. Shad's gaze and Peter's met—then Peter's glance turned to +Shad's companion. As this man saw Peter he turned his head and went down +the length of the bunk-house. Peter got up at once, followed him and +faced him. The man now wore a dark beard, but there was no mistake. It +was the fellow of the black mustache—the stranger whom Peter had seen +in the Pennsylvania Station in New York, the same man he had caught +prowling some weeks ago around his cabin in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Peter stared at him for a moment but the man would not meet his gaze.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" asked Peter at last. And then, as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>he made no reply, +"What were you doing prowling around my cabin up by the creek?"</p> + +<p>The stranger shook his head from side to side.</p> + +<p>"No understan'," he muttered.</p> + +<p>At this point, Shad Wells, who had followed with Jesse Brown, came in +between them.</p> + +<p>"That's right, Nichols," he growled. "No understan'—He's a 'guinea.'" +To Wells all men were "guineas" who didn't speak his own language.</p> + +<p>"Italian? Are you? French? Spanish? Slovak?"</p> + +<p>Each time the man shook his head. And then, with an inspiration, Peter +shot at him a quick phrase in Russian. But the man gave no sign of +comprehension.</p> + +<p>"Who put this man on?" asked Peter, turning to Wells.</p> + +<p>"I did," said the native sullenly.</p> + +<p>"Why?" said Peter, growing warmer. "Didn't I tell you that in future I +would hire all the men myself?"</p> + +<p>"We're short-handed, since you fired two of the best axmen we got——"</p> + +<p>"You disobeyed orders——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Orders</i>—Hell!"</p> + +<p>"All right. We'll see who's running this camp, you or me. To-morrow +morning Jesse Brown starts as foreman here. Understand?"</p> + +<p>Shad's eyes shot fire, then smoldered and went out as he turned with a +sneering laugh and walked away.</p> + +<p>"As for you," said Peter to the stranger, who stood uncertainly, "you go +to the office in the morning and get your envelope." Then repeated the +sentence in Russian. "If you don't understand—find somebody who does."</p> + +<p>That the stranger had understood Peter's demeanor if not his language +was evident, for in the morning he had vanished.</p> + +<p>After that clearing of the air things went somewhat better at the camp. +Jesse Brown, though not aggressive, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>was steady and honest and had a +certain weight with the Jerseymen. As to the others, there was doubt as +to whether anything would have satisfied them. For the present, at +least, it was a question of getting on as well as possible with the +means at hand. There was a limit to Peter's weekly pay roll and other +men were not to be had. Besides, Peter had promised McGuire to keep the +sawmills busy. He knew that when he had come to Black Rock the work on +the lumber contract had already fallen behind the schedule, and that +only by the greatest perseverance could he make up the time already +lost.</p> + +<p>As he rode back to his cabin on the afternoon after his encounter with +Shad Wells and the stranger with the black mustache, he found himself +quite satisfied with regard to his summary dismissal of them both. On +Beth's account he had hesitated to depose Shad. He knew that before he +had come to Black Rock they had been friends as well as distant +relatives, and Beth in her frequent meetings with Peter had expressed +the hope that Shad would "come around." Peter had given him every +chance, even while he had known that the Jerseyman was working against +both McGuire's and Peter's interests. Flynn and Jacobi, the men Peter +had sent away, were radicals and agitators. Flynn had a police record +that did not bear close inspection, and Jacobi was an anarchist out and +out. Before Peter had come to Black Rock they had abused Shad's +credulity and after the fight at the Cabin, he had been their willing +tool in interrupting the completion of the contract. For of course Shad +had hoped that if Peter couldn't get the lumber out when promised, +McGuire would put the blame on the new superintendent and let him go. +That was Shad's idea. If he had ever been decent enough to warrant +Beth's friendship, his jealousy had warped his judgment. Peter was no +longer sorry for Shad Wells. He had brought all his troubles on +himself.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>As to the stranger with the black mustache, that was a more serious +matter. Every circumstance—the recognition in New York, the skill with +which the man had traced him to Black Rock, the craft with which he had +watched Peter and his success in finally getting into the camp and +gaining Shad's confidence, made a certainty in Peter's mind that the +stranger had some object in remaining near Peter and keeping him under +observation. And what other object than a political one? The trail he +had followed had begun with the look of recognition in the Pennsylvania +Station in New York. And where could that look of recognition have +sprung from unless he had identified Peter Nichols as the Grand Duke +Peter Nicholaevitch? It seemed incredible, but there could be no other +explanation. The man had seen him somewhere—perhaps in Russia—perhaps +in Paris or London, or perhaps had only identified him by his portraits +which had been published frequently in the Continental magazines and +newspapers. But that he had really identified him there could not be the +slightest doubt and Peter's hope that he would have been able to lose +his identity in the continent of America and become merged into a +different civilization where he could work out the personal problem of +existence in his own time, by his own efforts and in his own way, seemed +destined to failure.</p> + +<p>If the stranger knew that Peter was in New Jersey there was no doubt +that there were others who knew it also, those who employed him—those +in whose interests he was working. Who? The same madmen who had done +Nicholas to death and had killed one by one the misguided Empress, Olga, +Tania, the poor little Czarevitch and the rest.... Did they consider +him, Peter Nichols, lumber-jack extraordinary, as a possible future +claimant to the throne of Russia? Peter smiled grimly. They were +"straining at a gnat while swallowing the camel." And <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>if they feared +him, why didn't they strike? The stranger had already had ample +opportunity to murder him if he had been so disposed, could still do it +during Peter's daily rides back and forth from the Cabin to the camp and +to the Upper Reserve.</p> + +<p>All of these thoughts percolated slowly, as a result of the sudden +inspiration at the bunk-house which had liberated a new train of ideas, +beginning with the identification of the Russian characteristics of the +new lumberman, which were more clearly defined under the beard and +workman's shirt than under the rather modish gray slouch hat and +American clothing in which Peter had seen him earlier. And Peter had +merely let the man go. He had no proof of the fellow's purposes, and if +he had even discovered exactly what those purposes were, there was no +recourse for Peter but to ask for the protection of Washington, and this +he had no desire to do.</p> + +<p>If the man suspected from the quickly spoken Russian sentence that Peter +now guessed his mission, he had given no sign of it. But that meant +nothing. The fellow was clever. He was doubtless awaiting instructions. +And unless Peter took his case to the Department of Justice he could +neither expect any protection nor hope for any security other than his +own alertness.</p> + +<p>At the Cabin Beth was waiting for him. These hours of music and Beth +were now as much a part of Peter's day as his breakfast or his dinner. +And he had only failed her when the pressure of his responsibilities was +too great to permit of his return to the Cabin. The hour most convenient +for him was that at the close of the day, and though weary or +discouraged, Peter always came to the end of this agreeable hour rested +and refreshed, and with a sense of something definitely achieved. For +whatever the days brought forth of trouble and disappointment, down at +the logging camp or the mills, here <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>was Beth waiting for him, full of +enthusiasm and self-confidence, a tangible evidence of success.</p> + +<p>The diligence with which she applied his instructions, the ease with +which she advanced from one step to another, showed her endowed with an +intelligence even beyond his early expectations. She was singing simple +ballads now, English and French, and already evinced a sense of +interpretation which showed the dormant artist. He tried at first, of +course, to eliminate all striving for effect, content to gain the purity +of tone for which he was striving, but she soared beyond him sometimes, +her soul defying limitations, liberated into an empyrean of song. If +anything, she advanced too rapidly, and Peter's greatest task was to +restrain her optimism and self-confidence by imposing the drudgery of +fundamental principles. And when he found that she was practicing too +long, he set her limits of half-hour periods beyond which she must not +go. But she was young and strong and only once had he noted the +slightest symptom of wear and tear on her vocal chords, when he had +closed the piano and prohibited the home work for forty-eight hours.</p> + +<p>As to their personal relations, Peter had already noticed a difference +in his own conduct toward Beth, and in hers toward him,—a shade of +restraint in Beth's conversation when not on the topic of music, which +contrasted rather strangely with the candor of their first meetings. +Peter couldn't help smiling at his memories, for now Beth seemed to be +upon her good behavior, repaying him for her earlier contempt with a +kind of awe at his attainments. He caught her sometimes in unguarded +moments looking at him curiously, as though in wonder at a mystery which +could not be explained. And to tell the truth, Peter wondered a little, +too, at his complete absorption in the task he had set himself. He tried +to believe that it was only the music that impelled him, only the joy of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>an accomplished musician in the discovery of a budding artist, but he +knew that it was something more than these. For reducing the theorem to +different terms, he was obliged to confess that if the girl had been any +one but Beth, no matter how promising her voice, he must have been bored +to extinction. No. He had to admit that it was Beth that interested him, +Beth the primitive, Beth the mettlesome, Beth the demure. For if now +demure she was never dull. The peculiarity of their situation—of their +own choosing—lent a spice to the relationship which made each of them +aware that the other was young and desirable—and that the world was +very far away.</p> + +<p>However far Beth's thoughts may have carried her in the contemplation of +the personal pulchritude of her music master (somewhat enhanced by the +extirpation of the Hellion triplet in her own behalf) it was Peter +Nicholaevitch who made the task of Peter Nichols difficult. It was the +Grand Duke Peter who wanted to take this peasant woman in his arms and +teach her what other peasant girls had been taught by Grand Dukes since +the beginning of the autocratic system of which he had been a part—but +it was Peter Nichols who restrained him. Peter Nicholaevitch feared +nothing, knew no restraint, lived only for the hour—for the moment. +Peter Nichols was a coward—or a gentleman—he was not quite certain +which.</p> + +<p>When Peter entered the Cabin on the evening after the appointment of +Jesse Brown as foreman at the lumber camp, Beth could not help noticing +the clouds of worry that hung over Peter's brows.</p> + +<p>"You're tired," she said. "Is anything wrong at the camp?"</p> + +<p>But he only shook his head and sat down at the piano. And when she +questioned him again he evaded her and went on with the lesson. Music +always rested him, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>the sound of her voice soothed. It was the +"Elégie" of Massenet that he had given her, foolishly perhaps, a +difficult thing at so early a stage, because of its purity and +simplicity, and he had made her learn the words of the French—like a +parrot—written them out phonetically, because the French words were +beautiful and the English, as written, abominable. And now she sang it +to him softly, as he had taught her, again and again, while he corrected +her phrasing, suggesting subtle meanings in his accompaniment which she +was not slow to comprehend.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know that music could mean so much," she sighed as she sank +into a chair with a sense of failure, when the lesson was ended. "I +always thought that music just meant happiness. But it means sorrow +too."</p> + +<p>"Not to those who hear you sing, Beth," said Peter with a smile, as he +lighted and smoked a corncob pipe, a new vice he had discovered at the +camp. Already the clouds were gone from his forehead.</p> + +<p>"No! Do you really think that, Mr. Nichols?" she asked joyously.</p> + +<p>She had never been persuaded to call him by his Christian name, though +Peter would have liked it. The "Mr." was the tribute of pupil to master, +born also of a subtler instinct of which Peter was aware.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied generously, "you'll sing that very well in time——"</p> + +<p>"When I've suffered?" she asked quickly.</p> + +<p>He glanced up from the music in his hand, surprised at her intuition.</p> + +<p>"I don't like to tell you so——"</p> + +<p>"But I think I understand. Nobody can sing what she doesn't feel—what +she hasn't felt. Oh, I know," she broke off suddenly. "I can sing songs +of the woods—the water—the pretty things like you've been givin' me. +But <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>the deep things—sorrow, pain, regret—like this—I'm not 'up' to +them."</p> + +<p>Peter sat beside her, puffing contentedly.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry," he muttered. "Your voice will ripen."</p> + +<p>"And will I ripen too?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "I don't want you ever to be any different from what you +are."</p> + +<p>She was thoughtful a moment, for Peter had always taken pains to be +sparing in personalities which had nothing to do with her voice.</p> + +<p>"But I don't want always to be what I am," she protested, "just growin' +close to the ground like a pumpkin or a squash."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "You might do worse."</p> + +<p>"But not much. Oh, I know. You're teachin' me to think—and to feel—so +that I can make other people do the same—the way you've done to me. But +it don't make me any too happy to think of bein' a—a squash again."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you won't have to be," said Peter quietly.</p> + +<p>"And the factory—I've got to make some money next winter. I can't use +any of Aunt Tillie's savin's. But when I know what I <i>might</i> be doin', +it's not any too easy to think of goin' back <i>there</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you won't have to go," said Peter again.</p> + +<p>Her eyes glanced at him quickly, looked away, then returned to his face +curiously.</p> + +<p>"I don't just understand what you mean."</p> + +<p>"I mean," said Peter, "that we'll try to find the means to keep you out +of the glass factory—to keep on with the music."</p> + +<p>"But how——? I can't be dependent on——" She paused with a glance at +him. And then quickly, with her characteristic frankness that always +probed straight to her point, "You mean that <i>you</i> will pay my way?"</p> + +<p>"Merely that I'm going to find the money—somehow."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>But she shook her head violently. "Oh, no, I couldn't let you do that, +Mr. Nichols. I couldn't think of it."</p> + +<p>"But you've got to go on, Beth. I've made up my mind to that. You'll go +pretty fast. It won't be long before you'll know all that I can teach +you. And then I'm going to put you under the best teacher of this method +in New York. In a year or so you'll be earning your own way——"</p> + +<p>"But I can't let you do this for me. You're doin' too much as it is—too +much that I can't pay back."</p> + +<p>"We won't talk of money. You've given me a lot of enjoyment. That's my +pay."</p> + +<p>"But this other—this studyin' in New York. No, I couldn't let you do +that. I couldn't—I can't take a cent from you or from any man—woman +either, for that matter. I'll find some way—workin' nights. But I'm not +goin' back," she added almost fiercely between her teeth, "not to the +way I was before. I won't. I can't."</p> + +<p>"Good. That's the way great careers are made. I don't intend that you +shall. I'm going to make a great singer of you, Beth."</p> + +<p>She colored with joy.</p> + +<p>"Are you, Mr. Nichols? Are you? Oh, I want to make good—indeed I do—to +learn French and Italian——" And then, with a sharp sigh, "O Lord, if +wishes were horses——!" She was silent again, regarding him wistfully. +"Don't think I'm not grateful. I'm afraid you might. I <i>am</i> grateful. +But—sometimes I wonder what you're doin' it all for, Mr. Nichols. And +whether——"</p> + +<p>As she paused again Peter finished for her.</p> + +<p>"Whether it wouldn't have been better if I hadn't let you just +remain—er," he grinned, "a peach, let's say? Well, I'll tell you, +Beth," he went on, laying his pipe aside, "I came here, without a +friend, to a strange job <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>in a strange country. I found you. Or rather +<i>you</i> found <i>me</i>—lost like a babe in the woods. You made fun of me. +Nobody had ever done that before in my life, but I rather liked it. I +liked your voice too. You were worth helping, you see. And then along +came Shad. I couldn't have him ordering you about, you know—not the way +he did it—if he hadn't any claim on you. So you see, I had a sense of +responsibility for you after that——About you, too——," he added, as +though thinking aloud.</p> + +<p>His words trailed off into silence while Beth waited for him to explain +about his sense of responsibility. She wasn't altogether accustomed to +have anybody responsible for her. But as he didn't go on, she spoke.</p> + +<p>"You mean that you—that I—that Shad forced me on you?"</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart, child—no."</p> + +<p>"Then what <i>did</i> you mean?" she insisted.</p> + +<p>Peter thought he had a definite idea in his mind about what he felt as +to their relationship. It was altruistic he knew, gentle he was sure, +educational he was positive. But half sleepily he spoke, unaware that +what he said might sound differently to one of Beth's independent mind.</p> + +<p>"I mean," he said, "that I wanted to look after you—that I wanted our +friendship to be what it has proved to be—without the flaw of +sentiment. I wouldn't spoil a single hour by any thought of yours or +mine that led us away from the music."</p> + +<p>And then, while her brain worked rapidly over this calm negation of his, +"But you can't be unaware, Beth, that you're very lovely."</p> + +<p>Now "sentiment" is a word over which woman has a monopoly. It is her +property. She understands its many uses as no mere man can ever hope to +do. The man who tosses it carelessly into the midst of a delicate +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>situation is courting trouble. Beth perked up her head like a startled +fawn. What did he mean? All that was feminine in her was up in arms, nor +did she lay them down in surrender at his last phrase, spoken with such +an unflattering air of commonplace.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she startled Peter with a rippling laugh which made him sit up +blinking at her. "Are you apologizin' for not makin' love to me?" she +questioned impertinently. "Say—that's funny." And she went off into +another disconcerting peal of laughter.</p> + +<p>But it wasn't funny for Peter, who was now made aware that she had +turned his mind inside out upon the table between them, so to speak, +that she might throw dust in the wheels. And so he only gasped and +stared at her—startlingly convinced that in matters of sentiment the +cleverest man is no match for even the dullest woman and Beth could +hardly be considered in this category. At the challenge of his half +expressed thought the demureness and sobriety of the lesson hour had +fallen from her like a doffed cloak.</p> + +<p>Peter protested blandly.</p> + +<p>"You don't understand what——"</p> + +<p>But she broke in swiftly. "Maybe you were afraid I might be fallin' in +love with <i>you</i>," she twitted him, and burst into laughter again.</p> + +<p>"I—I had no such expectation," said Peter, stiffening, sure that his +dignity was a poor thing.</p> + +<p>"Or maybe——," she went on joyfully, "maybe you were afraid <i>you</i> might +be fallin' in love with <i>me</i>." And then as she rose and gathered up her +music, tantalizingly, "What <i>did</i> you mean, Mr. Nichols?"</p> + +<p>He saw that he was losing ground with every word she uttered, but his +sense of humor conquered.</p> + +<p>"You little pixie!" he cried, dashing for her, with a laugh. "Where have +you hidden this streak of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>impudence all these weeks?" But she eluded +him nimbly, running around the table and out of the door before he could +catch up with her.</p> + +<p>He halted at the doorsill and called to her. She emerged cautiously from +behind a bush and made a face at him.</p> + +<p>"Beth! Come back!" he entreated. "I've got something to say to you."</p> + +<p>"What?" she asked, temporizing.</p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you—seriously."</p> + +<p>"Good Lord—seriously! You're not goin' to—to take the risk of—of +havin' me 'vamp' you, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'll risk that," he grinned.</p> + +<p>But she only broke off a leaf and nibbled at it contemplatively. "Maybe +<i>I</i> won't risk it. 'I don't want to spoil a single hour,'" she repeated, +mocking his dignity, 'by any thought of yours or mine that would lead us +away from the music.' Maybe <i>I'm</i> in danger." And then, "You know +<i>you're</i> not so bad lookin' yourself, Mr. Nichols!"</p> + +<p>"Stop teasing, Beth."</p> + +<p>"I won't."</p> + +<p>"I'll make you." He moved a step toward her.</p> + +<p>"Maybe I hadn't better come any more," she said quizzically.</p> + +<p>"Beth!"</p> + +<p>"Suppose I <i>was</i> learnin' to love you a little," she went on ironically, +"with you scared I might be—and not knowin' how to get out of it. +Wouldn't that be terrible! For me, I mean. 'She loved and lost, in seven +reels.'"</p> + +<p>She was treading on precarious ground, and she must have seen her danger +in Peter's face, for as he came toward her she turned and ran down the +path, laughing at him. Peter followed in full stride but she ran like a +deer and by the time he had reached the creek she was already <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>halfway +over the log-jam below the pool. Her laugh still derided him and now, +eager to punish her, he leaped after her. But so intent he was on +keeping her in sight upon the farther bank that his foot slipped on a +tree trunk and he went into the water. A gay peal of laughter echoed in +his ears. And he caught a last glimpse of her light frock as it vanished +into the underbrush. But he scrambled up the bank after her and darted +along the path—lost her in the dusk, and then deep in the woods at one +side saw her flitting from tree to tree away from him. But Peter's blood +was now warm with the chase—and it was the blood of Peter Nicholaevitch +too. Forgotten were the studious hours of patience and toil. Here was a +girl who challenged his asceticism—a beautiful young female animal who +dared to mock at his self-restraint. She thought that she could get +away. But he gained on her. She had stopped laughing at him now.</p> + +<p>"Beth! You little devil!" he cried breathlessly, as he caught her. "You +little devil, I'll teach you to laugh at me."</p> + +<p>"Let me go——"</p> + +<p>"No——"</p> + +<p>He held her in his arms while she struggled vainly to release herself. +Her flushed face was now a little frightened and her large blue eyes +stared in dismay at what she saw in his face.</p> + +<p>"Let me go?" she whispered. "I didn't mean it——"</p> + +<p>But he only held her closer while she struggled, as he kissed her—on +the brows, the chin, the cheeks, and as she relaxed in sheer +weakness—full on the lips—again—again.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I haven't been trying to keep my hands off you all these +weeks?" he whispered. "Do you think I haven't wanted you—to teach you +what women were meant for? It's for this, Beth—and this. Do you think +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>I haven't seen how lovely you are? Do you think I'm a saint—an +anchorite? Well, I'm not. I'll make you love me—love me——"</p> + +<p>Something in the reckless tones of his voice—in his very words aroused +her to new struggles. "Oh, let me go," she gasped. "I don't love you. I +won't. Let me go."</p> + +<p>"You shall!"</p> + +<p>"No. Let me loose or I—I'll despise you——"</p> + +<p>"Beth!"</p> + +<p>"I mean it. Let me go."</p> + +<p>If a moment ago when she was relaxed in his arms he had thought that he +had won her, he had no such notion now, for with a final effort of her +strong young arms, she thrust away from him and stood panting and +disordered, staring at him as though at one she had never seen before.</p> + +<p>"Oh—how I hate you!"</p> + +<p>"Beth!"</p> + +<p>"I mean it. You—you——," she turned away from him, staring at the torn +music on the ground as at a symbol of her disillusionment. Peter saw her +look, felt the meaning of it, tried to recall the words he had said to +her and failed—but sure that they were a true reflection of what had +been in his heart. He had wanted her—then—nothing else had +mattered—not duty or his set resolve....</p> + +<p>"You mocked at me, Beth," he muttered. "I couldn't stand that——"</p> + +<p>"And is <i>this</i> the way you punish me? Ah, if you'd only—if you'd +only——"</p> + +<p>And then with another glance at the torn music, she leaned against the +trunk of a tree, sobbing violently.</p> + +<p>"Beth——" he whispered, gently, "don't——"</p> + +<p>"Go away. Oh, go. Go!"</p> + +<p>"I can't. I won't. What did you want me to say to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>you? That I love you? +I do, Beth—I do," he whispered. It was Peter Nichols, not Peter +Nicholaevitch, who was whispering now.</p> + +<p>"Was this what your teachin' meant?" she flashed at him bitterly. "Was +this what you meant when you wanted to pay my way in New York? Oh, how +you shame me! Go! Go away from me, please."</p> + +<p>"Please don't," he whispered. "You don't understand. I never meant that. +I—I love you, Beth. I can't bear to see you cry."</p> + +<p>She made a valiant effort to control her heaving shoulders. And then,</p> + +<p>"Oh, you—you've spoiled it all. S-spoiled it all, and it was so +beautiful."</p> + +<p>Had he? Her words sobered him. No, that couldn't be. He cursed his +momentary madness, struggling for words to comfort her, but he had known +that she had seen the look in his eyes, felt the roughness of his +embrace. Love? The love that she had sung to him was not of these. He +wanted now to touch her again—gently, to lift up her flushed face, wet +like a flower with the fresh dew of her tears, and tell her what love +was. But he didn't dare—he couldn't, after what he had said to her. And +still she wept over her broken toys—the music—the singing—for they +had mattered the most. Very childlike she seemed, very tender and +pathetic.</p> + +<p>"Beth," he said at last, touching her fingers gently. "Nothing is +changed, Beth. It can't be changed, dear. We've got to go on. It means +so much to—to us both."</p> + +<p>But she paid no attention to the touch of his fingers and turned away, +leaving the music at her feet, an act in itself significant.</p> + +<p>"Let me go home. Please. Alone. I—I've got to think."</p> + +<p>She did not look at him, but Peter obeyed her. There <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>was nothing else +to do. There was something in the clear depths of her eyes that had +daunted him. And he had meant her harm. Had he? He didn't know. He +passed his hand slowly across his eyes and then stood watching her until +she had disappeared among the trees. When she had gone he picked up the +torn music. It was Massenet's "Elégie."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O doux printemps d'autrefois....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tout est flétrie.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The lines of the torn pieces came together. Spring withered! The joyous +songs of birds—silenced! Beth's song? He smiled. No, that couldn't be. +He folded the music up and strode off slowly, muttering to himself.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h2>TWO LETTERS</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Peter passed a troublous evening and night—a night of self-revelations. +Never that he could remember had he so deeply felt the sting of +conscience. He, the Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch, in love with this +little rustic? Impossible! It was the real Peter, tired of the sham and +make-believe of self-restraint and virtue, who had merely kissed a +country girl. He was no anchorite, no saint. Why had he tied himself to +such a duty from a motive of silly sentimentalism?</p> + +<p>He winced at the word. Was it that? Sentimentalism. He had shown her the +best side of him—shown it persistently, rather proud of his capacity +for self-control, which had ridden even with his temptations. Why should +it matter so much to him what this girl thought of him? What had he said +to her? Nothing much that he hadn't said to other women. It was the fact +that he had said it to Beth that made the difference. The things one +might say to other women meant something different to Beth—the things +one might do.... He had been a fool and lost his head, handled her +roughly, spoken to her wildly, words only intended for gentle moods, +softer purposes. Shrewd little Beth, whose wide, blue eyes had seen +right down into the depths of his heart. He had been clumsy, if nothing +else, and he had always thought that clumsiness was inexcusable. He had +a guilty sense that while Beth was still the little lady to her finger +tips, born to a natural nobility, he, the Grand Duke Peter, had been the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>boor, the vulgar proletarian. The look in her eyes had shamed him as +the look in his own eyes had shamed her. She had known what his wooing +meant, and it hadn't been what she wanted. The mention of love on lips +that kissed as his had done was blasphemy.</p> + +<p>Yes. He cared what she thought of him—and he vainly cast about for a +way in which to justify himself. To make matters worse Beth still +believed that this was the payment he exacted for what he had done for +her, what he had proposed to do for her, that he measured her favors in +terms of value received. What else could she think but that? Every hour +of his devotion to her music defamed her.</p> + +<p>The situation was intolerable. In the morning he went seeking her at her +home. The house was open. No one in Black Rock village locked doors by +day or night. Beth was not there. A neighbor said that she had gone +early alone into the woods and Peter understood. If she hadn't cared for +him she wouldn't have needed to go to the woods to be alone. Of course +she didn't appear at the Cabin the next day, and Peter searched for +her—fruitlessly. She weighed on his conscience, like a sin unshrived. +He had to find her to explain the unexplainable, to tell her what her +confidence had meant to him, to recant his blasphemy of her idols in +gentleness and repentance.</p> + +<p>As he failed to find her, he wrote her a note, asking her forgiveness, +and stuck it in the mirror of the old hat-rack in the hall. Many women +in Europe and elsewhere, ladies of the great world that Beth had only +dreamed about, would have given their ears (since ear puffs were in +fashion) to receive such a note from Peter. It was a beautiful note +besides—manly, gentle, breathing contrition and self-reproach. Beth +merely ignored it. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>Whatever she thought of it and of Peter she wanted +to deliberate a longer while.</p> + +<p>And so another music lesson hour passed while Peter sat alone in the +Cabin waiting. That night two letters were brought to him. The +superscription of one was scrawled in a boyish hand. The other was +scented, dainty, of pale lavender, and bore a familiar handwriting and a +familiar coronet. In amazement he opened this first. It was from the +Princess Galitzin, written in the polyglot of French, English and +Russian which she affected.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Chere Pierre</span>," it ran,—in the English, somewhat +as follows: "You will no doubt be surprised at hearing from +me in far-off America and amazed at the phenomenon of your +discovered address at the outlandish place you've chosen for +your domicile. It's very simple. In America you have been +watched by agents of the so-called government of our +wretched country. We know this here in London, because one +of <i>our</i> agents is also a part of their secret organization. +He came upon the report of your doings and knowing that +father was interested, detailed the information to us.</p> + +<p>"So far as I can learn at the present writing you are in no +immediate danger of death, but we do not know here in London +how soon the word may be sent forth to 'remove' persons of +your importance in the cosmic scheme. It seems that your +desire to remain completely in hiding is looked upon with +suspicion in Russia as evidence of a possible intention on +your part to come to light at the beginnings of a Bourbon +movement and proclaim yourself as the leader of a Royalist +party. Your uncles and cousins have chosen the line of least +resistance in yielding to the inevitable, living in +Switzerland, and other spots where their identities are well +known.</p> + +<p>"I pray, my well remembered and <i>bel ami</i>, that the cause of +Holy Russia is still and ever present in your heart of +hearts and that the thing these devils incarnate fear may +one day come to pass. But I pray you to be discreet and +watchful, if necessary changing your place of abode to one +in which you will enjoy greater security from your enemies. +There is at last one heart in London that ever beats fondly +in memory of the dear dead days at Galitzin and Zukovo.</p> + +<p>"<i>Helas!</i> London is dead sea fruit. People are very kind to +us. We have everything that the law allows us, but life +seems to have lost its charm. I have never quite forgiven +you, <i>mon Pierre</i>, for your desertion of us at +Constantinople, though doubtless your reasons for preserving +your incognito were of the best. But it has saddened me to +think that you did not deem me worthy of a closer +confidence. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>You are doubtless very much alone and +unhappy—also in danger not only from your political +enemies, but also from the American natives in the far away +woods in which you have been given occupation. I trust, such +as it is, that you have taken adequate measures to protect +yourself. I know little of America, but I have a longing to +go to that splendid country, rugged in its primitive +simplicity, in spite of inconveniences of travel and the +mass of uncultured beings with whom one must come into +contact. Do you think it would be possible for a spoiled +creature like me to find a boudoir with a bath—that is, in +the provinces, outside of New York?</p> + +<p>"It is terrible that you can have no music in your life! I +too miss your music, <i>Pietro mio</i>, as I miss you. Perhaps +one day soon you will see me. I am restless and bored to +extinction, with these ramrods of Englishmen who squeeze my +rings into my fingers. But if I come I will be discreet +toward Peter Nichols. That was a clever invention of yours. +It really sounds—quite—American.</p> + +<p>"<i>Garde toi bien, entendez vous? Tout de suite je viendrai. +Au revoir.</i></p> + +<p class="right"> +"<span class="smcap">Anastasie.</span>"<br /> +</p> + +</div> + +<p>Peter read the letter through twice, amused, astounded and dismayed by +turns. His surmise in regard to the stranger with the black mustache had +been correct then. The man was a spy of the Russian Soviets. And so +instead of having been born immaculate into a new life, as he had +hoped—a man without a past, and only a future to be accounted for—he +was only the Grand Duke Peter after all. And Anastasie! Why the devil +did she want to come nosing about in America, reminding him of all the +things that he wanted to forget? The odor of her sachet annoyed him. A +bath and boudoir! He realized now that she had always annoyed him with +her pretty silly little affectations and her tawdry smatterings of the +things that were worth while. He owed her nothing. He had made love to +her, of course, because that was what a woman of her type expected from +men of his. But there had been no damage done on either side, for he had +not believed that she had ever really cared. And now distance, it +seemed, had made her heart grow fonder, distance and the romantic +circumstances of his exile.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>It was kind of her, of course, to let him know of his danger, but only +human after all. She could have done no less, having the information. +And now she was coming to offer him the charity of her wealth, to tempt +him with ease, luxury and London. He would have none of them.</p> + +<p>He picked up the other letter with even more curiosity until he read the +postmark, and then his interest became intense, for he knew that it was +from Jim Coast—Hawk Kennedy. The letter bore the heading, "Antlers +Hotel, Colorado Springs."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Pete</span>," he read, through the bad spelling, +"Here I am back at the 'Springs,' at the 'Antlers,' after a +nice trip down Bisbee way, and out along the 'J. and A.' to +the mine. It's there all right and they're workin' it yet to +beat the cards with half a mountain still to be tapped. I +ain't going into particulars—not in a letter, except to +tell you that I got what I went for—names, dates and +amounts—also met the gents our friend sold out to—nice +people. Oh, I'm 'A1' with that outfit, old dear. I'm just +writing this to show you I'm on the job and that if you've +got an eye to business you'd better consider my proposition. +I'll make it worth your while. You can help all right. You +did me a good turn that night. I'll give you yours if you'll +stand in proper and make McG. do what's right. It ain't what +you said it was—it's justice all around. That's all I'm +asking—what's right and proper.</p> + +<p>"I ain't coming back just yet, not for a month, maybe. I'm +living easy and there's a lady here that suits my fancy. So +just drop me a line at the above address, letting me know +everything's O. K. Remember I'm no piker and I'll fix you up +good.</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span style="padding-right: 8em;">"Your friend,</span><br /> +<span style="padding-right: 6em;" class="smcap">"Jim."</span><br /> +</p> + +</div> + +<p>Peter clenched the paper in his fist and threw it on the floor, frowning +angrily at the thought of the man's audacity. But after a while he +picked the crumpled note up and straightened it out upon the table, +carefully rereading it. Its very touch seemed to soil his fingers, but +he studied it for a long while, and then folded it up and put it in his +pocket. It was a very careful game <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>that Peter would have to play with +Hawk Kennedy, a game that he had no liking for. But if he expected to +succeed in protecting McGuire, he would have to outwit Jim Coast—or +Hawk Kennedy, as he now thought of him—by playing a game just a little +deeper than his own.</p> + +<p>Of course he now had the advantage of knowing the whole of McGuire's +side of the story, while Kennedy did not believe the old man would have +dared to tell. And to hold these cards successfully it would be +necessary to continue in Kennedy's mind the belief that Peter did not +share McGuire's confidences. It would also be necessary for Peter to +cast in his lot, apparently, with Kennedy against McGuire. It was a +dirty business at best, but he meant to carry it through if he could, +and get the signed agreement from the blackmailer.</p> + +<p>Peter seemed to remember an old wallet that Jim Coast had always +carried. He had seen it after Coast had taken slips of paper from it and +showed them to Peter,—newspaper clippings, notes from inamorata and the +like—but of course, never the paper now in question. And if he had +carried it all these years, where was it now? In the vault of some bank +or trust company probably, and this would make Peter's task difficult, +if not impossible.</p> + +<p>Peter got up and paced the floor, thinking deeply of all these things in +their relation to Beth. And then at last he went out into the night, his +footsteps impelled toward the village. After all, the thoughts uppermost +in his mind were of Beth herself. Whatever the cost to his pride, he +would have to make his peace with her. He knew that now. Why otherwise +did his restless feet lead him out into the pasture back of the little +post office toward the rear of Mrs. Bergen's house? Yet there he found +himself presently, smoking his corncob pipe for comfort, and staring at +the solitary light in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>Tillie Bergen's parlor, which proclaimed its +occupant. Mrs. Bergen's house stood at a little distance from its +nearest neighbor, and Peter stole slowly through the orchard at the rear +toward the open window. It was then that he heard the music for the +first time, the "harmonium" wailing softly, while sweet and clear above +the accompaniment (worked out painstakingly but lovingly by the girl +herself) came Beth's voice singing the "Elégie."</p> + +<p>Peter came closer until he was just at the edge of the shadow outside +the window. He knew that her back would be turned to him and so he +peered around the shutter at her unconscious back. She sang the song +through until the end and then after a pause sang it again. Peter had no +ear now for the phrasing, for faults in technique, or inaccuracies in +enunciation. What he heard was the soul of the singer calling. All that +he had taught her in the hours in the Cabin was in her voice—and +something more that she had learned elsewhere.... Her voice was +richer—deeper, a child's voice no longer, and he knew that she was +singing of his mad moment in the woods, which had brought the end of all +things that had mattered in her life. It was no girl who sang now, but a +woman who had learned the meaning of the song, the plaint of birds once +joyous, of woodland flowers once gay—at the memory of a spring that was +no more. He had told her that she would sing that song well some day +when she learned what it meant. She would never sing it again as she had +sung it to-night. All the dross that Peter had worn in the world was +stripped from him in that moment, all that was petty and ignoble in his +heart driven forth and he stood with bowed head, in shame for what he +had been, and in gentleness for this dear creature whose idols he had +cast down.</p> + +<p>At the end of the second verse, her fingers slipped from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>the keys and +fell to her sides while she bowed her head and sat for a moment +immovable. And then her shoulders moved slightly and a tiny smothered +sound came from her throat. Suddenly her head bent and she fell forward +on her arms upon the muted keys.</p> + +<p>Noiselessly he passed over the low windowsill and before she even knew +that he was there, fell to his knees beside her.</p> + +<p>"Beth," he whispered. "Don't—child—don't!"</p> + +<p>She straightened, startled and incredulous at the sight of him, and +tried to move away, but he caught one of her hands and with bent head +gently laid his lips upon it.</p> + +<p>"Don't, Beth—please. I can't bear to see you cry——"</p> + +<p>"I—I'm <i>not</i> crying," she stammered helplessly, while she winked back +her tears, "I—I've just—just got the—the—stomachache."</p> + +<p>She tried to laugh—failing dismally in a sob.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Beth—don't——" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"I—I can't help it—if I—I've got a—a pain," she evaded him.</p> + +<p>"But I can," he murmured. "It's in your heart, Beth. I'm sorry for +everything. Forgive me."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to forgive."</p> + +<p>"Please!"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to forgive," she repeated dully. But she had controlled +her voice now and her fingers in his were struggling for release.</p> + +<p>"I was a brute, Beth. I'd give everything to have those moments back. I +wouldn't hurt you for the world. See—how changed I am——"</p> + +<p>She released her fingers and turned slightly away.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm changed too, Mr. Nichols," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"No. You mustn't be, Beth. And I've got to have you back. You've got to +come back to me, Beth."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>"Things can't be the same now."</p> + +<p>"Yes—just the same——"</p> + +<p>"No. Something's gone."</p> + +<p>"But if something else has taken its place——"</p> + +<p>"Nothing can——"</p> + +<p>"Something greater——"</p> + +<p>"I don't care for the sample you showed me," she returned quietly.</p> + +<p>"I was crazy, Beth. I lost my head. It won't happen again."</p> + +<p>"No. I know it won't——"</p> + +<p>"You don't understand. It couldn't. I've made a fool of myself. Isn't it +enough for me to admit that?"</p> + +<p>"I knew it all the time." She was cruel, and from her cruelty he guessed +the measure of her pride.</p> + +<p>"I've done all I can to atone. I want you to know that I love you. I do, +Beth. I love you——"</p> + +<p>There was a note in his voice different from that she had heard the +other day. His head was bent and he did not hear the little gasp or see +the startled look in her eyes, which she controlled before he raised his +head. With great deliberateness she answered him.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you and I—have a different idea of what love ought to be," she +said. But he saw that her reproof was milder.</p> + +<p>"I know," he insisted. "You've sung it to me——"</p> + +<p>"No—not to you—not love," she said, startled. And then, "You had no +right to be listenin'." And then, with a glance at Aunt Tillie's clock, +"You have no right to be here now. It's late."</p> + +<p>"But I can't go until you understand what I want to do for you. You say +that I can't know what love is. It asks nothing and only gives. I swear +I wanted to give without thought of a return—until you laughed at me. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>And then—I wanted to punish you because you wouldn't understand——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You punished me——"</p> + +<p>"Forgive me. You shouldn't have laughed at me, Beth. If you knew +everything, you'd understand that I'm doing it all without a hope of +payment,—just because I've got to."</p> + +<p>Her eyes grew larger. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you now—but something has happened that will make a great +difference to you."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Forgive me. Come to-morrow and perhaps I'll tell you. We've already +wasted two days."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure they've been wasted," said Beth quietly.</p> + +<p>"I don't care if you'll only come. Will you, Beth? To-morrow?"</p> + +<p>She nodded gravely at last.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," she said. And then, gently, "Good-night, Mr. Nichols."</p> + +<p>So Peter kissed her fingers as though she had been his Czarina and went +out.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h2>SUPERMAN</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Of course Beth Cameron knew nothing of Russia's grand dukes. The only +Duke that she had ever met was in the pages of the novel she had read in +which the hero was named Algernon. That Duke was of the English variety, +proud, crusty, and aged and had only made an unpleasant impression upon +her because she had liked Algernon, who had fallen in love with the +daughter of the Duke, and the Duke had been very horrid to him in +consequence or by reason of that mishap. When she had said to Peter that +he reminded her of Algernon she had meant it, and that was really very +nice of her, because she thought Algernon all that a self-respecting +hero should be. It was true that Peter, though mostly an Englishman, +didn't play polo and ride to hounds or swagger around a club and order +people about, because he was too poor and was obliged to work for his +living.</p> + +<p>But he did remind her of Algernon somehow. He had a way with him, as +though if there <i>had</i> been butlers and valets at Black Rock he <i>could</i> +have swaggered and ordered them around if he'd had a mind to. He was +good looking too. She had noted that even from the very first when she +had found him lugging his suitcase down on the road from Pickerel River. +Then too he did say things to her, nicer things than any fellow had ever +known how to say to her before, and he was much more polite than she had +ever believed it possible for any one, to be without seeming queer. But +when, eavesdropping at McGuire's, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>she had heard Peter play the piano, +she felt herself conducted into a new world which had nothing at all to +do with glass factories and vineyards. Even the sartorial splendor of +Miss Peggy McGuire paled into insignificance beside the new visions +which the music of Peter Nichols had invoked. He hadn't just lied to +her. He <i>was</i> a musician. He <i>could</i> play. She had never heard anybody +bring from a piano sounds like these. And he had said he wanted her to +sing for him.</p> + +<p>Beth had sung always—just as she had always breathed—but she had never +heard any good music except on a talking machine at the boarding house +at Glassboro—an old record of Madame Melba's that they played +sometimes. But even that song from an opera ("Lay Boheem" they called +it), mutilated as it was, had shown her that there was something more +wonderful than the popular melodies that the other people liked. Beth's +taste for good music, like her taste for nice people, was instinctive. +And she had found that in her walk of life the one was about as +difficult to find as the other. She had had her awakenings and her +disillusionments, with women as well as men, but had emerged from her +experiences of two winters in a factory town with her chin high and her +heart pure—something of an achievement for one as pretty as Beth.</p> + +<p>All in all, she had liked Shad Wells better than any of the men she had +met. He was rough, but she had discovered that good manners didn't +always mean good hearts or clean minds.</p> + +<p>It was this discovery that had made her look askance at Peter Nichols +when she had first met him on the road, for he was politer than anybody +she had ever met. If her philosophy was to be consistent this new +superintendent would need watching. But his music disarmed her and +captured her imagination. And then came the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>incident of the jealous +Shad and the extraordinary outcome of Mr. Nichols's championship of her +rights. She had witnessed that fight from the shelter of the bushes. It +had been dreadful but glorious. Peter's chivalry appealed to her—also +his strength. From that moment he was superman.</p> + +<p>Then had followed the long wonderful weeks of music at the Cabin, in +which she had learned the beginnings of culture and training. Her +music-master opened new and beautiful vistas for her, told her of the +great musicians and singers that the world had known, described the +opera houses of Europe, the brilliant audiences, the splendid ballets, +the great orchestras, and promised her that if she worked hard, she +might one day become a part of all this. She had learned to believe him +now, for she saw that as time went on he was more exacting with her +work, more sparing in his praise of her, and she had worked hard—in +despair at times, but with a slowly growing confidence in her star of +destiny.</p> + +<p>And all the while she was wondering why Peter Nichols was doing this for +her and what the outcome of it all was to be. He spoke little of the +future except to hint vaguely at lessons elsewhere when he had taught +her all that he knew. The present it seemed was sufficient for them +both. His moods of soberness, of joy, of enthusiasm, were all catching +and she followed him blindly, aware of this great new element in her +life which was to make the old life difficult, if not impossible. He +treated her always with respect, not even touching her arms or waist in +passing—an accepted familiarity of men by girls of her social class. +Beth understood that it was a consideration due to a delicate situation, +the same consideration which had impelled her always to call him Mr. +Nichols.</p> + +<p>And yet it was this very consideration of Peter's that vexed her. It +wasn't an air of superiority, for she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>couldn't have stood that. It was +just discretion, maybe, or something else, she couldn't decide what. But +Beth didn't want to be put in a glass case like the wax flowers at home. +Her voice was a mere mechanical instrument, as he had taken pains so +often to tell her, but he seemed to be making the mistake of thinking +<i>her</i> a mechanical instrument too. She wasn't. She was very much alive, +tingling with vitality, very human under her demure aspect during the +singing lessons, and it had bothered her that Peter shouldn't know it. +His ignorance, his indifference affronted her. Didn't he see what she +looked like? Didn't he see that she might be worth making love to ... +just a little, a very little ... once in a while?</p> + +<p>The clouds had broken suddenly, almost without warning, when he had +talked like a professor—about sentiment—apologized—that was what he +had done—<i>apologized</i> for not making love to her! Oh!</p> + +<p>And then things had happened swiftly—incredible, unbelievable things. +The lightning had flashed and it had shown an ugly Mr. Nichols—a +different Mr. Nichols from anything that she could have imagined of him. +The things he had said to her ... his kisses ... shameful things! A +hundred times she had brushed them off like the vision of him from her +mind. And still they returned, warm and pulsing to her lips. And still +the vision of him returned—remained. He <i>had</i> been so nice to her +before....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Now Beth sat in the big chair opposite Peter in the Cabin by the log +fire (for the evenings were getting cool) while he finished telling her +about the death of Ben Cameron, of the murder and of Jonathan K. +McGuire's share in the whole terrible affair. It was with some +misgivings, even after swearing her to secrecy, that he told her what he +had learned through Kennedy and McGuire. And she had listened, +wide-eyed. Her father of course was only <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>the shadow of a memory to her, +the evil shade in a half-forgotten dream, and therefore it was not grief +that she could feel, not even sorrow for one who in life had been so +vile, even if his miserable death had been so tragic—only horror and +dismay at the thought of the perpetrator of the infamy. And not until +Peter had come to the end of the story did she realize what this +revelation meant, that the very foundation of McGuire's great fortune +was laid upon property which belonged to her.</p> + +<p>"Out of all this evil must come some good, Beth," he finished soberly. +"That copper mine was yours. McGuire took it and he is going to pay you +what he owes."</p> + +<p>Beth had already exhausted all the expletives of horror and amazement, +and now for a moment this last information staggered her and she stared +at him unbelieving.</p> + +<p>"Pay me? I can't believe——"</p> + +<p>"It was your property by every law of God and man, and I mean that you +shall have it." He paused and smiled softly. "You see, Beth, you won't +need to depend on me now for your training."</p> + +<p>"Oh—then this was what you meant——"</p> + +<p>"What I meant when I said that you should owe me nothing—that I——"</p> + +<p>"But I <i>will</i> owe you—everything. I shall still owe you everything." +And then, wonderingly, "And just to think of my livin' here all this +time so near the man—and not knowin' about——" Her words trailed off +into silent astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Yes. And to think of his making his fortune on money that belonged to +you! Millions. And he's going to pay you what he got out of the +Tarantula mine—every dollar with interest to date."</p> + +<p>"But how can you make him do that?" she cried eagerly. "What proof have +you got?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>He smiled grimly into the fire as he poked a fallen log into the blaze.</p> + +<p>"Blackmail is an ugly word, Beth. But it shouldn't be blackmail, if +silence is the price of getting what really belongs to you. McGuire is +using your money—and he must give it to you. It's your money—not his. +If he won't give it to you of his own free will, he will give it against +his will."</p> + +<p>"But how can you make him do that?" asked Beth timidly.</p> + +<p>"By saving him from Hawk Kennedy. That's my price—and yours."</p> + +<p>"But how can you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I've got to fight Kennedy with his own weapons—outwit +him. And I've thought out a plan——"</p> + +<p>"But he's dangerous. You mustn't take any further risks with a man like +that for me."</p> + +<p>Peter only smiled.</p> + +<p>"It will amuse me, Beth. And besides——" He bent forward to tend the +fire, his face immediately grave again. "Besides—I think I owe you +that, now."</p> + +<p>She understood what he meant and thrilled gently. Her joy had come back +to her with a rush. All through the music lesson and through the recital +of the tale of mystery she had hung breathlessly on his words and +watched the changing expression on his features as he talked into the +fire. This was <i>her</i> Mr. Nichols who was speaking now, her friend and +mentor, who wanted her to understand that this was his way of atonement. +But she ignored his last remark, to Beth the most important of the +entire conversation.</p> + +<p>"How—how much will the—the money amount to?" she asked timidly.</p> + +<p>Peter laughed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>"Figure it out for yourself. Half a million—six per cent—fifteen +years——"</p> + +<p>"Half a million dollars——!"</p> + +<p>"A million—or more!"</p> + +<p>"A million! God-a-mercy!"</p> + +<p>Peter recognized one of Aunt Tillie's expressions, Beth's vocabulary +being inadequate to the situation.</p> + +<p>"But you haven't got it yet," he said.</p> + +<p>"And I daren't think of gettin' it. I won't think of it. I'd get my +brain so full of things I wanted it would just naturally <i>bust</i>. Oh +lordy!"</p> + +<p>Peter laughed.</p> + +<p>"You do want a lot of things, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. A silk waist, a satin skirt, some silk stockings—but most +of all, a real sure enough piano," she gasped. And then, as though in +reproach of her selfishness, "And I could pay off the mortgage on Aunt +Tillie's farm back in the clearing!"</p> + +<p>"How much is that?"</p> + +<p>"Three thousand dollars. I've already paid off three hundred."</p> + +<p>"There ought to be enough for that," said Peter soberly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Nichols. I hope you don't think I'm an awful fool talkin' this +way."</p> + +<p>"Not unless you think <i>I</i> am."</p> + +<p>"But it <i>is</i> nice to dream of things sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I do that too. What do you dream of, Beth?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, of bein' a great singer, mostly—standin' on a stage with people +lookin' up and clappin' their hands at me."</p> + +<p>"What else?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," she laughed gayly, "I used to dream of marryin' a prince—all +girls do. But there ain't any princes now to marry."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>"No, that's true," he assented. "The old world hasn't any use for +princes now." And then, "But why did you want to marry a prince?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. It's just fairy tales. Haven't you ever lived in a +fairy tale and loved a princess?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've lived in a fairy tale, but I've never loved a princess."</p> + +<p>"I guess if everybody knew," said Beth with conviction, "the princes in +Europe are a pretty bad lot."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Peter slowly, "I guess they are."</p> + +<p>She paused a moment, looking into the fire. And then, "Were you ever +acquainted with any princes in Europe, Mr. Nichols?"</p> + +<p>Peter smiled. "Yes, Beth. I did know one prince rather +intimately—rather too intimately."</p> + +<p>"Oh. You didn't like him?"</p> + +<p>"No, not much. He was an awful rotter. The worst of it was that he had +good instincts and when he went wrong, he went wrong in spite of 'em. +You see—he was temperamental."</p> + +<p>"What's temperamental?"</p> + +<p>"Having the devil and God in you both at the same time," muttered Peter +after a moment.</p> + +<p>"I know," she said. "Satan and God, with God just sittin' back a little +to see how far Satan will go."</p> + +<p>He smiled at her. "You don't mean that you have temptations too, Beth?"</p> + +<p>She ignored his question, her face sober, and went back to her subject.</p> + +<p>"I guess your prince wasn't any better or any worse than a lot of other +people. Maybe he didn't give God a chance?"</p> + +<p>"No. Maybe not," said Peter.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me he must have been kind of human, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>somehow," Beth +commented reflectively. "What's become of him now?" she asked, then.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's out of it," replied Peter.</p> + +<p>"Dead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. His country has chucked all the nobility out on the dust heap."</p> + +<p>"Russia?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Did they kill him?"</p> + +<p>"They tried to, but couldn't."</p> + +<p>"Where is he now?"</p> + +<p>"A wanderer on the face of the earth."</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry. It must be terrible to have to eat pork and beans when +your stomach's only used to chocolate sundaes."</p> + +<p>Peter grinned.</p> + +<p>"Some of 'em were glad enough to get off with stomachs to put beans and +pork into. Oh, you needn't waste your pity, Beth."</p> + +<p>"I don't. I read the papers. I guess they got what they deserved. The +workin' people in the world ain't any too keen on buyin' any more +diamond tiaras for loafers. I reckon it was about time for a new deal +all around without the face cards."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, Beth. But there's always the ten spot to take the deuce."</p> + +<p>"I hadn't thought of that," said Beth reflectively. "People aren't +really equal—are they? Some apples <i>are</i> better than others. I guess," +she sighed, "that the real trouble with the world is because there ain't +enough friendship in it."</p> + +<p>Peter was silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's true," he said, "not enough friendship—not enough love. +And it's all on account of money, Beth. There wouldn't have been any +European war if some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>people hadn't wanted property that belonged to +somebody else."</p> + +<p>"I hope wanting this money won't make me hate anybody or make anybody +hate me. I don't want to make Mr. McGuire unhappy or Miss McGuire——"</p> + +<p>"You needn't worry," said Peter dryly. "You see, it's your money."</p> + +<p>Beth gave a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>"I can't help it. I <i>would</i> like to have a sport coat and a <i>cerise</i> +veil like Peggy wears."</p> + +<p>"You shall have 'em. What else?"</p> + +<p>"Some pretty patent leather shoes with rhinestone buckles——"</p> + +<p>"Yes——"</p> + +<p>"And a black velvet hat and nice <i>lingerie</i>——" (Beth pronounced it +lingery).</p> + +<p>"Of course. And the piano——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. A piano and books—lots of books."</p> + +<p>"And a red automobile?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wouldn't dare wish for that."</p> + +<p>"Why not? It's just as easy to wish for an automobile as a piano."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so." She became immediately grave again. "But I can't +seem to believe it all. I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"Of what?"</p> + +<p>"Of Hawk Kennedy. I feel that he's going to make trouble for us all, Mr. +Nichols. I'm afraid. I always seem to feel things before they happen. +Any man who could do what he did—murder!"</p> + +<p>"There will be some way to get around him."</p> + +<p>"But it's dangerous. I don't feel I've got the right to let you do this +for me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you have. I'd do it anyhow. It's only justice."</p> + +<p>"But suppose he—suppose——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>"What——?"</p> + +<p>"He might kill you, too."</p> + +<p>Peter laughed. "Not a chance. You see, I wasn't born to die a violent +death. If I had been, I'd have been dead months ago."</p> + +<p>"Oh—the war, you mean?" she asked soberly.</p> + +<p>"Yes—the war. Everything is tame after that. I'm not afraid of Hawk +Kennedy."</p> + +<p>"But there's danger just the same."</p> + +<p>"I hope not. I won't cross that bridge until I come to it."</p> + +<p>Beth was silent for a long moment and then with a glance at the clock on +the mantel slowly gathered her music, aware of his voice close at her +ear.</p> + +<p>"And if I do this, Beth,—if I get what belongs to you, will you believe +that I have no motive but friendship for you, that I care for you enough +to want you to forgive me for what has happened?"</p> + +<p>He had caught her fingers in his own but she did not try to release +them.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't speak of that—<i>please</i>! I want to forget you—that day."</p> + +<p>"Can't you forget it more easily by remembering me as I am now, Beth? +See. I want you as much now as I did then—just as much, but I cannot +have you until you give yourself to me."</p> + +<p>What did he mean? She wasn't sure of him. If marriage was what he meant, +why didn't he say so? Marriage. It was such an easy word to say. Her +fingers struggled in his.</p> + +<p>"Please, Mr. Nichols," she gasped.</p> + +<p>"You mean that you won't—that you don't care enough——?"</p> + +<p>"I—I'm not sure of you——"</p> + +<p>"I love you, Beth——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>"You <i>say</i> so——"</p> + +<p>"I do—better than anything in the world."</p> + +<p>"Enough to—enough to...?"</p> + +<p>She was weakening fast. She felt her danger in the trembling of her +fingers in his. Why didn't he finish her question for her? Marriage. It +was such a little word. And yet he evaded it and she saw that he meant +to evade it.</p> + +<p>"Enough to have you almost in my arms and yet hardly to touch +you—enough to have your lips within reach of mine and yet not to take +them. Isn't that what you wanted, Beth? Gentleness, tenderness——"</p> + +<p>She flung away from him desperately.</p> + +<p>"No—no. I want nothing—nothing. Please! You don't want to understand." +And then with an effort she found her poise. "Things must be as they +are. Nothing else. It's getting late, I must go."</p> + +<p>"Beth—Not yet. Just a minute——"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>But she did not go and only stood still, trembling with irresolution. He +knew what she wanted him to say. There could be no middle ground for +Beth. She must be all to him or nothing. Marriage. It was the Grand Duke +Peter Nicholaevitch who had evaded this very moment while Peter Nichols +had urged him to it. And it was Peter Nichols who knew that any words +spoken of marriage to Beth Cameron would be irrevocable, the Grand Duke +Peter (an opportunist) who urged him to utter them, careless of +consequences. And there stood Beth adorable in her perplexity, conjuring +both of him to speak.</p> + +<p>It was Peter Nichols who met the challenge, oblivious of all counsels of +pride, culture, vainglory and hypocrisy. This was his mate, a sweeter +lady than any he had ever known.</p> + +<p>"Beth," he whispered. "I love you. Nothing in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>world makes any +difference to me but your happiness."</p> + +<p>He came to her and caught her in his arms, while she still struggled +away from him. "I want you. It doesn't matter who I am or who you are. I +want you to——"</p> + +<p>Beth suddenly sprung away from him, staring at a figure which stood in +the doorway as a strident, highly pitched voice cut in sharply on +Peter's confession.</p> + +<p>"Oh, excuse <i>me</i>! I didn't mean to intrude."</p> + +<p>It was Miss Peggy McGuire in her <i>cerise</i> veil and her sport suit, with +hard eyes somewhat scandalized by what she had seen, for Peter was +standing awkwardly, his arms empty of their prize, who had started back +in dismay and now stood with difficulty recovering her self-possession. +As neither of them spoke Miss McGuire went on cuttingly, as she glanced +curiously around the Cabin.</p> + +<p>"So this is where you live? I seem to have spoiled your party. And may I +ask who——" and her eyes traveled scornfully over Beth's figure, +beginning at her shoes and ending at her flushed face—"I think I've +seen you before——"</p> + +<p>"Miss McGuire," said Peter quietly, "This is Miss Cameron——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—the kitchen maid."</p> + +<p>"Miss Beth Cameron," insisted Peter frigidly, "who has just done me the +honor of promising to marry me."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I see——"</p> + +<p>Beth stared from one to the other, aware of the meaning of the visitor's +manner and of Peter's reply.</p> + +<p>"That is not true," she said very quietly, her deep voice vibrant with +emotion. "I come here often. Mr. Nichols is teaching me music. I am very +proud of his friendship. But I did not promise to marry him."</p> + +<p>Peggy McGuire turned on her heel.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's almost time you did," she said insultingly.</p> + +<p>Peter, now pale and cold with fury, reached the door <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>before her and +stood blocking the passageway. "Miss McGuire, I'll trouble you to be +more careful in addressing my guests," he said icily.</p> + +<p>"Let me pass——"</p> + +<p>"In a moment."</p> + +<p>"You'd dare——?"</p> + +<p>"I would like you to understand that this cabin is mine—while I am in +Black Rock. Any guest here comes at my invitation and honors me by +accepting my hospitality. But I reserve the privilege of saying who +shall come and who shall not. I hope I make myself clear——" And Peter +bowed low and then moved aside, indicating the door. "Good-night," he +finished.</p> + +<p>Miss Peggy McGuire glared at him, red as a young turkey cock, her +finishing school training just saving her from a tirade. "Oh, you! We'll +see about this——" and dashed past him out of the door and disappeared +into the darkness.</p> + +<p>Peter followed her with his angry gaze, struggling for his self-control, +and at last turned into the room toward Beth, who now stood a smiling +image turned into stone.</p> + +<p>"Why did you deny what I said, Beth?" he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't the truth. I never promised to marry you. You never asked me +to."</p> + +<p>"I <i>would</i> have asked you. I ask you now. I <i>was</i> asking you when that +little fool came in——"</p> + +<p>"Maybe you were. Maybe you weren't. Maybe I'm a little hard of hearin'. +But I'm not goin' to make <i>that</i> an excuse for my bein' here——"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand——"</p> + +<p>"It's just that I came here because I wanted to come and because you +wanted me. People have been talkin'. Let them talk. Let <i>her</i> talk——"</p> + +<p>"She will. You can be pretty sure of that."</p> + +<p>Peter was pacing up and down the room, his hands <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>behind him. "If she'd +been a man——" he was muttering. "If she'd only been a man."</p> + +<p>Beth watched him a moment, still smiling.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I got what she meant—she was just tryin' to insult me."</p> + +<p>She laughed. "Seems as if she'd kind of succeeded. I suppose I ought to +have scratched her face for her. I think I would have—if she'd just +stayed a minute longer. Funny too, because I always used to think she +was so sweet."</p> + +<p>Peter threw his arms wildly into the air and exploded.</p> + +<p>"Sweet! Sweet! <i>That</i> girl! Yes, if vinegar is. She'll tear your +reputation to shreds."</p> + +<p>Beth had stopped smiling now and leaned against the wall, her chin +lowered.</p> + +<p>"I reckon it serves me right. I hadn't any business to be comin' +here—not at night, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Beth," he pleaded, catching her hands. "Why couldn't you have let +things be?"</p> + +<p>She struggled a little. And then, "Let <i>her</i> think I was <i>engaged</i> to +you when I wasn't?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"But we are, Beth, dear. Say we are, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Not when we're not."</p> + +<p>"Beth——!"</p> + +<p>"You should have spoken sooner, if you'd really meant it. Oh, I know +what it is. I've always known there's a difference between us."</p> + +<p>"No—not unless you make it."</p> + +<p>"Yes. It was there before I was born. You were brought up in a different +kind of life in a different way of thinkin' from mine——"</p> + +<p>"What has that got to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Everything. It's not my fault. And maybe I'm a little too proud. But +I'm straight——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>"Don't, Beth——" He put his arm around her but she disengaged herself +gently.</p> + +<p>"No, let me finish. Maybe you wanted me. I guess you did. But not that +much—not enough to speak out—and you were too straight to lie to me. +I'm thankful for that——"</p> + +<p>"But I <i>have</i> spoken, Beth," he insisted, taking her by the elbows and +holding her so that he could look into her eyes. "I've asked you to—to +be my wife. I ask you now. Is that clear?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes evaded him and she laughed uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's clear—and—and your reason for it——"</p> + +<p>"I love you——"</p> + +<p>"A little, maybe. But I'll marry no man just to save my face—and his."</p> + +<p>But he caught her close to him, finding a new joy in his momentous +decision. She struggled still, but he would not be denied.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you will," he whispered. "You've got to marry me whether you want +to or not. You're compromised."</p> + +<p>"I don't care."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you do. And you love me, Beth."</p> + +<p>"I don't love you——"</p> + +<p>"You do. And I'm going to marry you whether you want it or not."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>are</i> you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"Soon."</p> + +<p>He kissed her. She didn't resist him. Resistance was useless. He had +won.</p> + +<p>"Beth, dear," he went on. "I couldn't lie to you. I'm glad you knew +that. And I couldn't hurt you. I think I've always loved you—from the +first."</p> + +<p>"I too—I too," she whispered. "I couldn't help it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>"I think I knew that too——"</p> + +<p>"No, no. You couldn't——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It was meant to be. You've given a new meaning to life, torn from +its very roots a whole rotten philosophy. Oh, you don't know what I +mean—except that nobility is in the mind, beauty in the heart. Nothing +else matters."</p> + +<p>"No. It doesn't," she sighed. "You see, I—I do believe in you."</p> + +<p>"Thank God! But you know nothing of me—nothing of my past——"</p> + +<p>"I don't care what your past has been or who you are. You're good enough +for me. I'm satisfied——"</p> + +<p>He laughed joyously at the terms of her acquiescence.</p> + +<p>"Don't you want to know what I've been—who I am——?"</p> + +<p>"No. It wouldn't make any difference—not now."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you some day."</p> + +<p>"I'll take a chance on that. I'm not afraid."</p> + +<p>"And whatever I am—you'll marry me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Whatever—you—are——"</p> + +<p>While he smiled down at her she straightened in his arms and gently +released herself, glancing guiltily at the clock.</p> + +<p>"I—I must be going now," she whispered.</p> + +<p>And so through the quiet forest they went to Black Rock village, hand in +hand.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h2>IDENTIFICATION</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The sudden and unexpected arrival of Miss Peggy McGuire upon the scene +had been annoying. That young person was, as Peter knew, a soulless +little snob and materialist with a mind which would not be slow to put +the worst possible construction upon the situation. Of course as matters +stood at the close of that extraordinary evening of self-revelations, it +did not matter a great deal what Peggy McGuire thought or said or did, +for nothing could hurt Beth now. The Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch had +capitulated and Peter Nichols gloried in his victory over inherited +tradition. He had no regrets and he had made his choice, for Beth was +what he wanted. She completed him. She was effulgent,—even in homespun. +A little tinsel more or less could make no difference in Beth. Those of +his own class who would not accept her might go hang for all he cared.</p> + +<p>Still Peter had rather that almost any one but Peggy should have come +upon the scene, and Beth's frankness had given her a handle for a +scandal, if she chose to make one. Beth cared nothing, he knew, for her +soul was greater than his, but Peter's anger still smoldered at the +words that had been used to Beth.</p> + +<p>He did not fear complications with McGuire, nor did he court them, but +he knew how this daughter had been brought up, spoiled and pampered to +the very limits of McGuire's indulgence and fortune, and he couldn't +help holding her up in comparison with Beth, much to Peggy's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>detriment. +For Beth was a lady to her finger tips, born to a natural gentility that +put to confusion the mannerisms of the "smart" finishing school which +had not succeeded in concealing the strain of a plebeian origin, and +Beth's dropped g's and her quaint inversions and locutions were +infinitely more pleasing to Peter than Miss Peggy's slang and +self-assurance, which reflected the modernity of the fashionable hotel +tea-room.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, Jonathan K. McGuire, who had returned from the seashore the +night before, was not disposed to take his daughter's animadversions too +seriously and when Peter announced his engagement to the niece of his +housekeeper he made no comment further than to offer his +congratulations. He did not even know her name and when McGuire was told +that it was Beth Cameron, Peter did not miss his slight start of +inquiry. But of course, having only owned his acres of woodland for half +a dozen years, he knew little as to the origins of the inhabitants of +Black Rock and as Peter said nothing at that moment he asked no +questions and only listened to the forester's account of the progress of +the work and of the difficulties experienced in attempting to complete +the timber-contract. There was no way of improving the labor situation +and a visit to the camp proved to him that Peter had done all that could +be expected with the poor material at hand. On the way back they stopped +at the Cabin and Peter showed him the letter from Hawk Kennedy. And +there for a while they sat discussing plans to outwit the enemy and draw +his sting.</p> + +<p>It was going to be no easy task and could only be accomplished by +Peter's apparent compliance with Kennedy's wishes in throwing in his lot +with Hawk and simulating an enmity for his employer. McGuire nodded his +head and listened soberly. The rest at the seashore had done him good +and he was disposed to meet the situation <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>with courage, reflecting +Peter's own attitude of confidence and optimism, admitting that his +confession to Peter had lifted a weight from his shoulders and given him +the spirit to meet the issue, whatever it might be.</p> + +<p>"You see," he said at last, "if the worst comes I'm in a pretty bad +hole. But it was the shock of meeting Hawk after all these years that +took the courage out of me at first. I wasn't quite right in my head for +a while. I'd have killed him gladly and gotten away with it perhaps—but +I'm glad now that things turned out the way they did. I've got no blood +on my hands—that's one thing—whatever I signed. I've been thinking a +good deal since I've been away. If I signed that fake confession Hawk +Kennedy signed it too. He won't dare to produce it except as a last +resort in desperation, to drag me down with him if he fails. We can +string him along for a while before he does that and if he falls for +your game we may be able to get the paper away from him. You've thought +of something, Nichols?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of several things," said Peter slowly. "I'm going to try diplomacy +first. If that doesn't work, then something else more drastic."</p> + +<p>McGuire rose at last and took up his hat.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how to thank you for what you've done, Nichols," he said +awkwardly. "Of course if—if money will repay you for this sort of +service, you can count on my doing what you think is right."</p> + +<p>Peter rose and walked to the window, looking out.</p> + +<p>"I was coming to that, Mr. McGuire," he said gravely.</p> + +<p>McGuire paused and laid his hat down again.</p> + +<p>"Before you went away," Peter went on, turning slowly toward his +employer, "you told me that you had never made any effort to discover +the whereabouts of any of the relatives of Ben Cameron. But I inferred +from what <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>you said that if you <i>did</i> find them, you'd be willing to do +your duty. That's true, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>McGuire examined him soberly but agreed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's true. But why do you bring this question up now?"</p> + +<p>"I'll explain in a moment. Mr. McGuire, you are said to be a very rich +man, how rich I don't know, but I think you'll be willing to admit to +me, knowing what I do of your history, that without the 'Tarantula' mine +and the large sum it brought you you would never have succeeded in +getting to your present position in the world of finance."</p> + +<p>"I'll admit that. But I don't see——"</p> + +<p>"You will in a minute, sir——"</p> + +<p>"Go on."</p> + +<p>"If I have been correctly informed, you sold out your copper holdings in +Madre Gulch for something like half a million dollars——" Peter paused +for McGuire's comment. He made none. But he had sunk into his chair +again and was listening intently.</p> + +<p>"The interest on half a million dollars, even at six per cent, if +compounded, would in fifteen years amount with the principal to a +considerable sum."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see what you're getting at——"</p> + +<p>"You will admit that what I say is true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes——"</p> + +<p>"You'll admit also, if you're reasonable, that the money which founded +your great fortune was as a matter of fact not yours but Ben +Cameron's——?"</p> + +<p>"But why speak of him now?" muttered the old man.</p> + +<p>"Do you admit this?"</p> + +<p>McGuire frowned and then growled, "How can I help admitting it, since +you know the facts? But I don't see——"</p> + +<p>"Well then, admitting that the 'Tarantula' mine was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>Ben Cameron's and +not yours or Hawk Kennedy's, it seems clear that if any of Ben Cameron's +heirs should turn up unexpectedly, they might claim at least a share of +what should have been their own."</p> + +<p>McGuire had started forward in his chair, his gaze on Peter's face, as +the truth was suddenly borne in upon him.</p> + +<p>"You mean, Nichols, that——." He paused and gasped as Peter nodded.</p> + +<p>"I mean that Ben Cameron's only child, a daughter, lives here at Black +Rock—the niece of your housekeeper—Mrs. Bergen——"</p> + +<p>"Miss Cameron—My God!" McGuire fell back in his chair, staring at +Peter, incapable of further speech.</p> + +<p>"Beth Cameron," said Peter gently, "the lady who has done me the honor +of promising to become my wife——"</p> + +<p>"But how do you know?" gasped McGuire. "There must be some mistake. Are +you sure you——" He broke off and then a sly smile curled at the +corners of his lips. "You know, Nichols, Cameron is not an unusual name. +It's quite possible that you're—er—mistaken."</p> + +<p>"No. I'm quite sure there's no mistake. I think the facts can be +proved—that is, of course, if you're willing to help to establish this +claim and to admit it when established. Otherwise I intend to establish +it without your assistance—as an act of justice and +of—er—retribution."</p> + +<p>McGuire watched his superintendent's face for a while before replying. +And then, briefly, "What are the facts on which you base this +extraordinary statement?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I'll present those facts when the time comes, Mr. McGuire," said Peter +at a venture. "I don't think it will be a difficult matter to identify +the murdered man. He wrote home once or twice. He can be traced +successfully. But what I would like to know first is what your +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>disposition toward his daughter will be when the proper proofs are +presented."</p> + +<p>"<i>If</i> they're presented," said McGuire.</p> + +<p>"Will you answer me?"</p> + +<p>"It would seem time enough to answer then. I'll do the right thing."</p> + +<p>"Meaning what?"</p> + +<p>"Money enough to satisfy her."</p> + +<p>"That won't do. She must have what is hers by right. Her price is one +million dollars," said Peter quietly.</p> + +<p>McGuire started up. "You're dreaming," he gasped.</p> + +<p>"It's her money."</p> + +<p>"But I developed that mine."</p> + +<p>"It was her mine that you developed."</p> + +<p>McGuire stopped by the window and turned.</p> + +<p>"And if I refuse——?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think you will——"</p> + +<p>The two men stared at each other, but Peter had the whip hand—or +McGuire thought he had, which was quite sufficient.</p> + +<p>"Will you help me to perform this act of justice?" Peter went on calmly. +"It's the only thing to do, Mr. McGuire. Can't you see that?"</p> + +<p>McGuire paced the floor heavily a few times before replying. And then,</p> + +<p>"I've got to think this thing over, Nichols. It's all so very sudden—a +million dollars. My God! man, you talk of a million as if it grew on the +trees." He stopped abruptly before the fireplace and turned to Peter. +"And where does Hawk Kennedy come in on this?"</p> + +<p>"Beth Cameron's claim comes before his—or yours," said Peter quietly. +"Whatever happens to either of you—it's not her fault."</p> + +<p>Peter hadn't intended a threat. He was simply stating the principal +thought of his mind. But it broke <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>McGuire's front. He leaned upon the +armchair and then fell heavily into it, his head buried in his hands.</p> + +<p>"I'll do—whatever you say," he groaned at last, "but you've got to get +me out of this, Nichols. I've got to have that paper."</p> + +<p>Peter poured out a drink of the whisky and silently handed it to his +employer.</p> + +<p>"Come, Mr. McGuire," he said cheerfully, "we'll do what we can. There'll +be a way to outwit Hawk Kennedy."</p> + +<p>"I hope to God there is," muttered McGuire helplessly.</p> + +<p>"I'll make a bargain with you."</p> + +<p>"What?" asked McGuire helplessly.</p> + +<p>"If I get the confession from Kennedy, you give Beth Cameron the money I +ask for."</p> + +<p>"No publicity?"</p> + +<p>"None. I give you my word on it."</p> + +<p>"Well," muttered the old man, "I guess it's coming to her. I'll see." He +paused helplessly. "A million dollars! That's a big sum to get together. +A big price—but not too big to clear this load off my conscience."</p> + +<p>"Good. I'm glad you see it in this way."</p> + +<p>The old man turned shrewdly. "But I've got to have the proofs——"</p> + +<p>"Very well. If you're honest in your intentions you'll help me confirm +the evidence."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the other slowly. "I'll do what I can."</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what Ben Cameron looked +like——"</p> + +<p>"I've told you as near as I can remember," muttered McGuire.</p> + +<p>"Had the murdered man, for instance, lost the little finger of his left +hand?" asked Peter, coolly concealing the anxiety which lay behind his +question.</p> + +<p>But he had his reward, for McGuire shot a quick glance <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>at him, his +heavy jowl sagging. And as he didn't reply, Peter urged him +triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"You promised to help. Will you answer me truthfully? It will save +asking a lot of questions."</p> + +<p>At last McGuire threw up his hands.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he muttered, "that was Ben Cameron. One of his little fingers was +missing all right enough."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Peter, with an air of closing the interview. "If you want +this proof that the murdered man was Beth's father, ask Mrs. Bergen."</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Peter had won. McGuire gathered up his hat with the +mien of a broken man and moved toward the door.</p> + +<p>"All right, Nichols. I guess there's no doubt of it. I'll admit the +proof's strong enough. It can be further verified, I suppose, but I'd +rather no questions were asked. You do your part and I—I'll do mine."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir. You can count on me. If that fake agreement is still in +existence, I'll get it for you. If it has been destroyed——"</p> + +<p>"I'll have to have proof of that——"</p> + +<p>"Won't you leave that in my hands?"</p> + +<p>McGuire nodded, shook Peter's hand and wandered out up the path in the +direction of Black Rock House.</p> + +<p>From the first, Peter had had no doubt that the murdered man was Beth's +father, but he had to admit under McGuire's questioning that there might +still be a difficulty in tracing the vagrant from the meager history of +his peregrinations that Mrs. Bergen had been able to provide. McGuire's +attitude in regard to the absent little finger had been really +admirable. Peter was thankful for that little finger, and for McGuire's +honesty. There was no doubt in his mind now—if any had existed—who Ben +Cameron's murderer was. The affair was simplified amazingly. With Beth's +claim recognized, Peter could now <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>enter heart and soul into the +interesting business of beating Hawk Kennedy at his own game. He would +win—he must win, for the pitiful millionaire and for Beth.</p> + +<p>And so, jubilantly, he made his way to Black Rock village to fill a very +agreeable engagement that he had, to take supper (cooked and served by +her own hands) with Miss Beth Cameron. He found that Beth had tried to +prevail upon Aunt Tillie to be present but that the arrival of the +McGuire family at Black Rock House had definitely prevented the +appearance of their chaperon. Peter's appetite, however, suffered little +diminution upon that account and he learned that singing was not Beth's +only accomplishment. The rolls, as light as feathers and steaming hot, +were eloquent of her skill, the chicken was broiled to a turn, the +creamed potatoes delicious, and the apple pie of puff-paste provoked +memories of the Paris Ritz. Aunt Tillie's best tablecloth and family +silver—old, by the looks of it—had been brought into requisition and a +bunch of goldenrod and purple asters graced the centerpiece. And above +it all presided Beth, her face aflame from the cookstove, gracious and +more than lovable in her pride and self-consciousness.</p> + +<p>When the supper was finished, Peter helped her to clear away the things +and insisted on being allowed to help wash the dishes. But to this Beth +demurred for they were of Aunt Tillie's blue colonial china set and not +to be trusted to impious hands. But she let Peter sit in the kitchen and +watch her (which was quite satisfactory) and even spared him a kiss or +two at propitious intervals.</p> + +<p>Then when all things had been set to rights they went into the little +parlor and sat on the worn Victorian plush-covered sofa. There was much +to talk about, matters of grave importance that concerned themselves +alone, explanations to be made, hopes to be expressed, and Beth's affair +with McGuire to be discussed in all its phases. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>Peter told her nothing +of his rank or station in life, saving that revelation for a later +moment. Was not the present all-sufficient? And hadn't Beth told him and +didn't she tell him again now that she believed in him and that "no +matter what" she loved him and was his, for ever after, Amen. She didn't +care who he was, you see.</p> + +<p>And when the important business of affirming those vows was concluded +again and again, the scarcely less important business of Beth's future +was talked over with a calmness which did much credit to Beth's control +of the situation. Peter brought out Hawk Kennedy's letter and they read +it together, and talked about it, Peter explaining his intention to +acquiesce in Hawk's plan. Then Peter told of his conversation with +McGuire and of the proof of Ben Cameron's identity which the old man had +honestly admitted.</p> + +<p>"It looks very much, Beth," said Peter at last, with a smile, "as though +you were going to be a very wealthy young woman."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Peter," she sighed (the elimination of formal appellations had been +accomplished during the earlier stages of the repast), "Oh, Peter, I +hope it isn't going to bring us unhappiness."</p> + +<p>"Unhappiness! Why, Beth!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. It seems to me that people with a lot of money always +look unhappy wantin' <i>to want</i> somethin'."</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>"The secret of successful wanting is only to want the things you can +get."</p> + +<p>"That's just the trouble. With a million dollars I'll get so much more +than I want. And what then——?"</p> + +<p>"You'll have to start all over again."</p> + +<p>"No," she said quietly. "I won't. If wantin' things <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>she can't buy makes +a girl <i>hard</i>, like Peggy McGuire, I think I'd rather be poor."</p> + +<p>Peter grew grave again.</p> + +<p>"Nothing could ever make you like Peggy McGuire," he said.</p> + +<p>"I might be—if I ever get into the habit of thinkin' I was somethin' +that I wasn't."</p> + +<p>"You'll never be a snob, Beth, no matter how much money you have."</p> + +<p>"I hope not," she said with a laugh. "My nose turns up enough already." +And then, wistfully, "But I always <i>did</i> want a <i>cerise</i> veil."</p> + +<p>"I've no doubt you'll get it, a <i>cerise</i> veil—mauve, green and blue +ones too. I'll be having to keep an eye on you when you go to the city."</p> + +<p>She eyed him gravely and then, "I don't like to hear you talk like +that."</p> + +<p>But he kept to his topic for the mere delight of hearing her replies.</p> + +<p>"But then you might see somebody you liked better than me."</p> + +<p>She smiled at him gently. "If I'd 'a' thought that I wouldn't 'a' picked +you out in the first place."</p> + +<p>"Then you did pick me out. When?"</p> + +<p>"H-m. Wouldn't you like to know!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. At the Cabin?"</p> + +<p>"No——"</p> + +<p>"At McGuire's——?"</p> + +<p>"No-o. Before that——"</p> + +<p>"When——"</p> + +<p>She blushed very prettily and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Down Pickerel River road."</p> + +<p>"Did you, Beth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I liked your looks. You <i>do</i> smile like you meant it, Peter. I +said to myself that anybody that could <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>bow from the middle like you was +good enough for me."</p> + +<p>"Now you're making fun of me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. I'm not. You see, dear, you've really lived up to that bow!"</p> + +<p>"I hope," said Peter gently, "I hope I always will."</p> + +<p>"I'm not worryin'. And I'm glad I knew you loved me before you knew +about the money."</p> + +<p>"You did know, then——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. What bothered me was your findin' it so hard to tell me so."</p> + +<p>Peter was more awkward and self-conscious at that moment than he could +ever remember having been in his life. Her frankness shamed him—made it +seem difficult for him ever to tell her the real reasons for his +hesitation. What chance would the exercise of inherited tradition have +in the judgment of this girl who dealt instinctively and intimately with +the qualities of the mind and heart, and only with them?</p> + +<p>"I—I was not good enough for you," he muttered.</p> + +<p>She put her fingers over his lips. And when he kissed them—took them +away and gave him her lips.</p> + +<p>"I'll hear no more of <i>that</i>, Peter Nichols," she whispered. "You're +good enough for me——"</p> + +<p>Altogether, it may be said that the evening was a success at every angle +from which Peter chose to view it. And he made his way back to the Cabin +through the deep forest along the path that Beth had worn, the path to +his heart past all the fictitious barriers that custom had built about +him. The meddlesome world was not. Here was the <i>novaya jezn</i> that his +people had craved and shouted for. He had found it. New +life—happiness—with a mate ... his woman—soon to be his wife—whether +Beth Nichols or the Grand Duchess Elizabeth...? There was no title of +nobility that could make Beth's heart more noble, no pride of lineage +that could <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>give her a higher place than that which she already held in +his heart.</p> + +<p>His blood surging, he ran along the log at the crossing and up the path +to the Cabin, where a surprise awaited him. For he found the lamp +lighted, and, seated complacently in Peter's easy chair, stockinged feet +toward the blaze of a fresh log, a bottle at his elbow, was Hawk +Kennedy.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h2>PETER BECOMES A CONSPIRATOR</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Peter entered and stood by the door, startled from his rhapsody by the +appearance of the intruder, who had made himself quite at home, +regardless of the fact that the final words of their last meeting had +given no promise of a friendship which would make his air of easy +familiarity acceptable to Peter, whose first impulse moved him to anger, +fortunately controlled as he quickly remembered how much hung upon the +assumption of an amicable relationship with McGuire's arch enemy. Peter +hadn't replied to Hawk's letter which had indicated that some weeks +might elapse before Black Rock received another of his visitations. The +speculations in Peter's mind as to the change in his visitor's plans and +the possible causes for them may have been marked in his face, for Hawk +grinned at him amiably and rose and offered his hand with an air of +assurance.</p> + +<p>"Wondering why I dropped in on you so unexpected-like? Let's say that I +got tired of staring at the lonely grandeur of Pike's Peak, <i>mon gars</i>, +or that the lady who gave me the pleasure of her society skipped for +Denver with a younger man, or that the high altitude played +Billy-be-damned with my nerves, and you'll have excuse enough. But the +fact is, Pete, I <i>was</i> a bit nervous at being so long away from the +center of financial operations, and thought I'd better come right on and +talk to you."</p> + +<p>"I got your letter," said Peter calmly, "I hadn't answered it yet——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>"I thought it better to come for my answer."</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking it over——"</p> + +<p>"Good. It will be worth thinkin' over. You'll bless the day Jim Coast +ran athwart your course."</p> + +<p>"You seem to be taking a good deal for granted."</p> + +<p>"I do. I always do. Until the present opportunity it was about the only +thing I got a chance to take. You wouldn't of done me a good turn that +night, if you hadn't been O.K. Will you have a drink of your own? It's +good stuff—ten years in the wood, I see by the label, and I'm glad to +get it, for whisky is scarcer than hen's teeth between this and the +Rockies."</p> + +<p>As Peter nodded he poured out the drinks and settled down in Peter's +chair with the air of one very much at home.</p> + +<p>"Well, Pete, what's yer answer to be?" he said at last. "You weren't any +too polite when I left here. But I didn't think you'd turn me down +altogether. And you're straight. I know that. I've been countin' on your +sense of justice. How would <i>you</i> like to be treated the way <i>I</i> was +treated by Mike McGuire?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't like it."</p> + +<p>"You just bet you wouldn't. You wouldn't stand for it, <i>you</i> wouldn't. +I've got justice on my side and I've got the law—if I choose to use +it—but I'd rather win this case as man to man—without its getting into +the newspapers. That wouldn't matter much to a poor man like me, but it +would make a heap of difference to a man who stands where McGuire does."</p> + +<p>"That's true."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And he knows it. He hasn't got a leg to stand on." Kennedy paused +and looked Peter over coolly. Peter had been studying the situation +critically, playing his game with some care, willing to placate his +visitor and yet taking pains not to be too eager to gain his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>confidence. So he carefully lighted his cigarette while he debated his +course of action.</p> + +<p>"What makes you think that I'm in a different mood now from when you +left here?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't I told you? Because I believe that you know that right's right +and wrong's wrong."</p> + +<p>"But I told you that I didn't want to have anything to do with the +case."</p> + +<p>"True for you. But you will when I've finished talking to you."</p> + +<p>"Will I?"</p> + +<p>"You will if you're not a fool, which you ain't. I always said you had +somethin' between your ears besides ivory. You don't like to stay poor +any more than anybody else. You don't have to. A good half of McGuire's +money is mine. If it hadn't been for me helpin' to smell that copper out +he'd of been out there grub-stakin' yet an' that's a fact. But I'm not +goin' to be too hard on him. I'm no hog. I'm goin' to let him down easy. +What's a million more or less to him? It might pinch him a little here +and there sellin' out securities he had a fancy for, but in a year or so +he'd have it all back and more, the way he works. Oh, I know. I've found +out a bit since I've been away. And he'll come across all right, when he +hears what I've got to say to him."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go to him direct?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"And have him barricadin' the house and shootin' promiscuous at me from +the windows? Not on your life. I know what I'm about. This thing has got +to be done quiet. There's no use stirring up a dirty scandal to hurt his +reputation for honest dealin' in New York. Even as it is, the story has +got around about the mystery of Black Rock. No use makin' talk. That's +why I want you. You stand ace high with the old man. He'll listen to you +and we'll work the game all right and proper."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>"But suppose he won't listen to me."</p> + +<p>"Then we'll put the screws on."</p> + +<p>"What screws?"</p> + +<p>Hawk Kennedy closed one eye and squinted the other at Peter quizzically.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you that all in good time. But first I've got to know how you +stand in the matter."</p> + +<p>Peter judicially examined the ash of his cigarette. "He ought to do the +right thing," he said slowly.</p> + +<p>"He will—never you fear. But can I count on <i>you</i>, Pete?"</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do?" asked Peter after a moment.</p> + +<p>"Oh, now we're talkin'. But wait a minute. We won't go so fast. Are you +with me sure enough—hope I may die—cross my heart?"</p> + +<p>"If you'll make it worth my while," said Peter cautiously.</p> + +<p>"A hundred thousand. How's that?"</p> + +<p>"It sounds all right. But I can't see what I can do that you couldn't do +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Don't you? Well, you don't know all this story. There's some of it you +haven't heard. Maybe it's that will convince you you're makin' no +mistake——"</p> + +<p>"Well—I'm listening."</p> + +<p>A shrewd look came into Kennedy's face—a narrowing of the eyelids, a +drawing of the muscles at the mouth, as he searched Peter's face with a +sharp glance.</p> + +<p>"If you play me false, Pete, I'll have your heart's blood," he said.</p> + +<p>Peter only laughed at him.</p> + +<p>"I'm not easily scared. Save the melodrama for McGuire. If you can do +without me—go ahead. Play your hand alone. Don't tell me anything. I +don't want to know."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>The bluff worked, for Kennedy relaxed at once.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're a cool hand. I reckon you think I need you or I wouldn't be +here. Well, that's so. I do need you. And I'm goin' to tell you the +truth—even if it gives away my hand."</p> + +<p>"Suit yourself," said Peter, indifferently.</p> + +<p>He watched his old "bunkie" pour out another drink of the whisky, and a +definite plan of action took shape in his mind. If he could only get +Kennedy drunk enough.... The whisky bottle was almost empty—so Peter +got up, went to his cupboard and brought forth another one.</p> + +<p>"Good old Pete!" said Hawk. "Seems like July the first didn't make much +difference to you."</p> + +<p>"A present from Mr. McGuire," Peter explained.</p> + +<p>"Well, here's to his fat bank account. May it soon be ours." And he +drank copiously. Peter filled his own glass but when the opportunity +offered poured most of it into the slop-bowl just behind him.</p> + +<p>"I'm goin' to tell you, Pete, about me and McGuire—about how we got +that mine. It ain't a pretty story. I told you some of it but not the +real part—nobody but Mike McGuire and I know that—and he wouldn't tell +if it was the last thing he said on earth."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Peter, "something crooked, eh?"</p> + +<p>Kennedy laid his bony fingers along Peter's arm while his voice sank to +an impressive whisper.</p> + +<p>"Crooked as Hell, Pete—crooked as Hell. You wouldn't think Mike McGuire +was a murderer—would you?"</p> + +<p>"A murderer——!"</p> + +<p>Kennedy nodded. "We took that mine—stole it from the poor guy who had +staked out his claim. Mike killed him——"</p> + +<p>"You don't mean——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Killed him—stuck him in the ribs with a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>knife when he +wasn't lookin'. What do you think of that?"</p> + +<p>"McGuire—a murderer——!"</p> + +<p>"Sure. Nice sort of a boss you've got! And he could swing for it if I +didn't hold my tongue."</p> + +<p>"This is serious——"</p> + +<p>"You bet it is—if he don't come across. Now I guess you know why he was +so cut up when I showed up around here. I've got it on him all right."</p> + +<p>"Can you prove it?"</p> + +<p>Kennedy rubbed his chin for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I could but I don't want to. You see—Pete——" He paused again and +blinked pensively at his glass. "Well, you see—in a manner of +speakin'—he's got it on me too."</p> + +<p>And Peter listened while his villainous companion related the well known +tale of the terrible compact between the two men in which both of them +had agreed in writing to share the guilt of the crime, carefully +omitting to state the compulsion as used upon McGuire. Hawk Kennedy +lied. If Peter had ever needed any further proof of the honesty of his +employer he read it in the shifting eye and uncertain verbiage of his +guest, whose tongue now wagged loosely while he talked of the two +papers, one of which was in McGuire's possession, the other in his own. +Hawk was no pleasant companion for an evening's entertainment. From the +interesting adventurer of the <i>Bermudian</i>, Jim Coast had been slowly +changing under Peter's eyes into a personality more formidable and +sinister. And the drink seemed to be bringing into importance +potentialities for evil at which Peter had only guessed. That he meant +to fight to the last ditch for the money was clear, and if the worst +came would even confess, dragging McGuire down among the ruins of both +their lives. In his drunken condition it would have been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>ridiculously +easy for Peter to have overpowered him, but he was not sure to what end +that would lead.</p> + +<p>"You say there were two papers," said Peter. "Where are they?"</p> + +<p>"McGuire's got his—here at Black Rock," muttered Hawk.</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?" asked Peter with interest.</p> + +<p>"Where would he keep it?" sneered Hawk. "In his business papers for +'zecutors to look over?"</p> + +<p>"And where's yours?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>He hoped for some motion of Kennedy's fingers to betray its whereabouts, +but the man only poured out another drink and leered at Peter +unpleasantly.</p> + +<p>"That'sh <i>my</i> business," he said with a sneer.</p> + +<p>"Oh. Is it? I thought I was to have a hand in this."</p> + +<p>Kennedy grinned.</p> + +<p>"Y'are. Your job is t' get other paper from McGuire's safe. And then +we'll have fortune in—hic—nutshell."</p> + +<p>The man wasn't as drunk as he seemed. Peter shrugged.</p> + +<p>"I see. I've got to turn burglar to join your little criminal society. +Suppose I refuse?"</p> + +<p>"Y' won't. Why, Pete, it ought to be easiest job in world. A few dropsh +in glass when you're talkin' business and he'd never know it happened. +Then we 'beat it,' y'understand, 'n' write lettersh—nice lettersh. One +of 'em to that swell daughter of his. That would do the business, +<i>pronto</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it might," admitted Peter ruminatively.</p> + +<p>"Sure it will—but we'll give him chance. Are y' on?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Peter was silent for a moment. And then,</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you want that paper of McGuire's," he said. "They're +exactly alike, you say—both incriminating. And if you've got your paper +handy——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>Peter paused but Kennedy was in the act of swallowing another glass of +whisky and he didn't stop to answer the half-formulated query. He gave a +gasp of satisfaction and then shrugged.</p> + +<p>"No use, Pete," he said huskily. "I said I had paper and I <i>have</i> paper +handy, but I've got to have McGuire's paper too. I ain't got money and +spotless rep'tation like Mike McGuire but I don't want paper like that +floatin' roun' universh with <i>my</i> name signed to it."</p> + +<p>"I don't blame you," said Peter dryly.</p> + +<p>Hawk Kennedy was talking thickly now and spilled the whisky in trying to +pour out a new glassful.</p> + +<p>"Goo' whisky this—goo' ole whisky, Pete. Goo' ole Peter. Say, you'll +get pater, Peep—I mean Peter pape—Oh H—— Paper. <i>You</i> know."</p> + +<p>"I'll have to think about it, Jim."</p> + +<p>"Can't think when yer drunk, Pete," he muttered with an expiring grin. +"To-morr'. 'Nother drink an' then we'll go sleep. Don't mind my sleepin' +here, Pete. Nice plache shleep. Goo' old shleep...."</p> + +<p>Peter paused in the act of pouring out another drink for him and then at +a sound from Kennedy set the bottle down again. The man suddenly +sprawled sideways in the chair, his head back, snoring heavily. Peter +watched him for a moment, sure that he couldn't be shamming and then +looked around the disordered room. Hawk's overcoat and hat lay on the +bed. On tiptoe Peter got up and examined them carefully, watching the +man in the chair intently the while. Hawk stirred but did not awaken. +Peter searched the overcoat inch by inch. There was nothing in the +pockets, but a tin of tobacco and a Philadelphia newspaper. So Peter +restored the articles and then hung the hat and coat on the nails behind +the door. Hawk Kennedy did not move. He was dead drunk.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>The repulsive task of searching the recumbent figure now lay before him. +But the game had been worth the candle. If the fateful confession was +anywhere in Hawk's clothing Peter meant to find it and yet even now he +hesitated. He put the whisky bottle away, cleared up the mess and then +bodily picked his visitor up and carried him to the bed. Hawk muttered +something in his sleep but fell prone and immediately was snoring +stertorously. Then Peter went through his pockets methodically, removing +an automatic pistol from his trousers, and examining all his papers +carefully by the light of the lamp-a hotel bill receipted, some letters +in a woman's hand, a few newspaper clippings bearing on the copper +market, a pocketbook containing bills of large denomination, some soiled +business cards of representatives of commercial houses, a notebook +containing addresses and small accounts, a pass book of a Philadelphia +bank, the address of which Peter noted. And that was all. Exhausting +every resource Peter went over the lining of his coat and vest, inch by +inch, even examined his underwear and his shoes and stockings. From the +skin out, Hawk Kennedy had now no secrets from Peter. The incriminating +confession was not on Hawk Kennedy's clothing.</p> + +<p>At last Peter gave up the search and went out into the air, and lighted +his corncob pipe, puzzled at his failure. And yet, was it a failure +after all? Hawk had eluded every attempt to discuss his copy of the +confession. He had it "handy," he had said. A safe deposit box at the +Philadelphia bank of which Peter had made record would be handy, but +somehow Peter thought the chances were much against Kennedy's having put +it there. Men of his type usually carry everything they possess about +their persons. Peter remembered the ragged wallet of the <i>Bermudian</i>. +What if after all these years of hardship the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>paper had been worn so +that it was entirely illegible, or indeed that in Kennedy's many +wanderings it had been lost? Either of these theories was plausible, but +none provoked a decision. So after awhile Peter went indoors and opening +all the windows and doors to cleanse the air, sat in the big chair and +bundling himself in a blanket fell asleep.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h2>FACE TO FACE</h2> +<br /> + +<p>We are told, alas, that at the highest moment of our expectations the +gods conspire to our undoing, and therefore that it is wise to take our +joys a little sadly, that we may not fall too far. But Beth, being +wholesome of mind and body and an optimist by choice, was not disposed +to question the completeness of her contentment or look for any dangers +which might threaten its continuance. And so when Peter went home +through the forest, she took her kerosene lamp to her room, there to +smile at her joyous countenance in the mirror and to assure herself that +never since the beginning of the world had there been a girl more glad +that she had been born. All the clouds that had hung about her since +that evening in the woods had been miraculously rolled away and she knew +again as she had known before that Peter Nichols was the one man in all +the world for her.</p> + +<p>Their evening together was a wonderful thing to contemplate, and she lay +in bed, her eyes wide open, staring toward the window, beyond which in a +dark mass against the starlit sky she could see the familiar pines, +through which was the path to Peter's cabin. The stars twinkled jovially +with assurance that the night could not be long and that beyond the +night were to-morrows still more wonderful than to-day. And praying +gently that all might be well with them both, she fell asleep, not even +to dream.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>Early morning found her brisk at her work around the house, cleansing +and polishing, finishing to her satisfaction the tasks which Peter's +impatience had forbidden the night before. All of Aunt Tillie's blue +china set was carefully restored to its shelves, the napery folded away, +the shiny pots hung upon their hooks and the kitchen carefully mopped. +Then, with a towel wrapped about her head (for such was the custom of +the country), she attacked the dining-room and parlor with broom and +dust-cloth, singing <i>arpeggios</i> to remind herself that everything was +right with the world.</p> + +<p>It was upon the plush-covered sofa where she and Peter had sat the night +before that Beth's orderly eye espied a square of paper just upon the +point of disappearing in the crease between the seat and back of Aunt +Tillie's most cherished article of furniture and of course she pounced +upon it with the intention of destroying it at the cookstove. But when +she drew it forth, she found that it was an envelope, heliotrope in +color, that it bore Peter's name in a feminine handwriting, and that it +had a strange delicate odor with which Beth was unfamiliar. She held it +in her hand and looked at the writing, then turned it over and over, now +holding it more gingerly by the tip ends of her fingers. Then she +sniffed at it again. It was a queer perfume—strange—like violet mixed +with some kind of spice.</p> + +<p>She put her broom aside and walked to the window, her brow puckered, and +scrutinized the postmark. "London!" Of course—London was in England +where Peter had once lived. And Peter had drawn the letter from his +pocket last night with some other papers when he had shown her the +communication from "Hawk" Kennedy. It was lucky that she had found it, +for it might have slipped down behind the plush covering, and so have +been definitely lost. Of course Peter had friends in London and of +course they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>should wish to write to him, but for the first time it +seemed curious to Beth that in all their conversations Peter had never +volunteered any information as to the life that he had lived before he +had come to Black Rock. She remembered now that she had told him that +whatever his past had been and whoever he was, he was good enough for +her. But the heliotrope envelope with the feminine handwriting and the +strange odor immediately suggested queries along lines of investigation +which had never before entered her thoughts. Who was the lady of the +delicate script and the strange perfume? What was her relationship to +Peter? And upon what topic was she writing to him?</p> + +<p>Beth slipped the note about a quarter of an inch out of its envelope +until she could just see a line of the writing and then quickly thrust +it in again, put the envelope on the mantel above the "parlor heater" +and resolutely went on with her sweeping. From time to time she stopped +her work and looked at it just to be sure that it was still there and at +last took it up in her fingers again, a prey to a more lively curiosity +than any she had ever known. She put the envelope down again and turning +her back to it went into the kitchen. Of course Peter would tell her who +this lady was if she asked him. And there was no doubt at all that it +<i>was</i> a lady who had written the letter, some one familiar with a +delicate mode of existence and given to refinements which had been +denied to Beth. It was this delicacy and refinement, this flowing +inscription written with such careless ease and grace which challenged +Beth's rusticity. She would have liked to ask Peter about the lady at +once. But Peter would not be at the Cabin at this early hour of the +morning, nor would Beth be able to see him until late this +afternoon—perhaps not until to-night. Meanwhile, the note upon the +mantel was burning its way into her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>consciousness. It was endued with a +personality feminine, insidious and persuasive. No ladies of London +affecting heliotrope envelopes had any business writing scented notes to +Peter now. He was Beth's particular property....</p> + +<p>When she went up to the second floor of the cottage a few minutes later +she took the heliotrope letter with her and put it on her bureau, +propped against the pincushion, while she went on with her work. And +then, all her duties for the morning finished, she sat down in her +rocking chair by the window, the envelope in her idle fingers, a victim +of temptation. She looked out at the pine woods, her gaze afar, her +guilty fingers slipping the letter out of its covering an inch, two +inches. And then Beth opened Peter's heliotrope note and read it. At +least, she read as much of it as she could understand,—the parts that +were written in English—with growing amazement and incertitude. A good +deal of the English part even was Greek to her, but she could understand +enough to know that a mystery of some sort hung about the letter and +about Peter, that he was apparently a person of some importance to the +heliotrope lady who addressed him in affectionate terms and with the +utmost freedom. Beth had learned in the French ballads which Peter had +taught her that <i>ami</i> meant friend and that <i>bel</i> meant beautiful. And +as the whole of the paragraph containing those words was written in +English, Beth had little difficulty in understanding it. What had Peter +to do with the cause of Holy Russia? And what was this danger to him +from hidden enemies, which could make necessary this discretion and +watchfulness in Black Rock? And the last sentence of all danced before +Beth's eyes as though it had been written in letters of fire. "There is +at least one heart in London that ever beats fondly in memory of the +dear dead days at Galitzin and Zukovo."</p> + +<p>What right had the heliotrope lady's heart to beat <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>fondly in memory of +dear dead days with Peter Nichols at Galitzin or Zukovo or anywhere +else? Who was she? Was she young? Was she beautiful? And what right had +Peter given her to address him in terms of such affection? Anastasie!</p> + +<p>And now for the first time in her life, though to all outward appearance +calm, Beth felt the pangs of jealousy. This letter, most of it in the +queer-looking script (probably Russian) that she could not even read, in +its strange references in English to things beyond her knowledge, seemed +suddenly to erect a barrier between her and Peter that could never be +passed, or even to indicate a barrier between them that had always +existed without her knowledge. And if all of the parts of the letter +that she could not understand contained sentiments like the English part +that she <i>could</i> understand, it was a very terrible letter indeed and +indicated that this heliotrope woman (she was no longer "lady" now) had +claims upon Peter's heart which came long before Beth's. And if this +Anastasie—other women too....</p> + +<p>Beth read the letter again and then slipped it back into its envelope, +while she gazed out of the window at the pines, a frown at her brows and +two tiny lines curving downward at the corners of her lips. She was very +unhappy. But she was angry too—angry at the heliotrope woman, angry at +Peter and angrier still at herself. In that moment she forgot that she +had taken Peter Nichols without reference to what he was or had been. +She had told him that only the future mattered and now she knew that the +past was beginning to matter very much indeed.</p> + +<p>After a while she got up, and took the heliotrope letter to the bureau +where she wrote upon the envelope rather viciously with a soft lead +pencil, "You left <i>this</i> last night. You'd better go back to Anastasie." +Then she slipped the letter into her waist and with an air of decision +went <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>down the stairs (the ominous parentheses still around her mouth), +and made her way with rapid footsteps toward the path through the forest +which led toward Peter's cabin.</p> + +<p>Beth was primitive, highly honorable by instinct if not by precept, but +a creature of impulse, very much in love, who read by intuition the +intrusion of what seemed a very real danger to her happiness. If her +conscience warned her that she was transgressing the rules of polite +procedure, something stronger than a sense of propriety urged her on to +read, something stronger than mere curiosity—the impulse of +self-preservation, the impulse to preserve that which was stronger even +than self—the love of Peter Nichols.</p> + +<p>The scrawl that she had written upon the envelope was eloquent of her +point of view, at once a taunt, a renunciation and a confession. "You +left <i>this</i> last night. You'd better go back to Anastasie!"</p> + +<p>It was the intention of carrying the letter to Peter's cabin and there +leaving it in a conspicuous position that now led her rapidly down the +path through the woods. Gone were the tender memories of the night +before. If this woman had had claims upon Peter Nichols's heart at the +two places with the Russian names, she had the same claims upon them +now. Beth's love and her pride waged a battle within her as she +approached the Cabin. She remembered that Peter had told her last night +that he would have a long day at the lumber camp, but as she crossed the +log-jam she found herself hoping that by some chance she would find +Peter still at home, where, with a fine dignity (which she mentally +rehearsed) she would demand explanation, and listening, grant +forgiveness. Or else ... she didn't like to think of the alternative.</p> + +<p>But instead of Peter, at the Cabin door in the early morning sunlight +she found a strange man, sitting in a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>chair in the portico, smoking one +of Peter's cigarettes, and apparently much at home. The appearance of +the stranger was for a moment disconcerting, but Beth approached the +familiar doorway, her head high, the heliotrope letter burning her +fingers. She had intended to walk in at the door of the Cabin, place the +letter in a conspicuous position where Peter could not fail to see it, +and then return to her home and haughtily await Peter's arrival. But the +presence of this man, a stranger in Black Rock, making free of Peter's +habitation, evidently with Peter's knowledge and consent, made her pause +in a moment of uncertainty.</p> + +<p>At her approach the man in the chair had risen and she saw that he was +tall—almost as tall as Peter, that he had a hooked nose and displayed a +set of irregular teeth when he smiled—which he did, not unpleasantly. +There was something about him which repelled her yet fascinated at the +same time.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Nichols has gone out?" Beth asked, for something to say.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss," said the stranger, blinking at her with his bleary eyes. +"Mr. Nichols is down at the lumber camp—won't be back until night, I +reckon. Anythin' I can do for ye?"</p> + +<p>"No, I——?" Beth hesitated. "I just wanted to see him—to leave +somethin' for him."</p> + +<p>"I guess he'll be right sorry to miss you. Who shall I say called?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Beth, turning away. But she was now aware +of a strange curiosity as to this person who sat with such an air of +well-being in Peter's chair and spoke with such an air of +proprietorship. The insistence of her own personal affair with Peter had +driven from her mind all thoughts of the other matters suggested in the +letter, of the possible dangers to Peter even <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>here in Black Rock and +the mysterious references to Holy Russia. This man who stood in Peter's +portico, whoever he was, was not a Russian, she could see that at a +glance and read it in his accents, but she was equally certain from his +general character that he could be no friend of Peter's and that his +business here was not of Peter's choosing.</p> + +<p>"If ye'd like to wait a while——"</p> + +<p>He offered her the chair, but Beth did not accept it.</p> + +<p>"Ye don't happen to be Miss Peggy McGuire, do ye?" asked the stranger +curiously.</p> + +<p>"No," replied the girl. "My name is Beth Cameron."</p> + +<p>"Beth——?"</p> + +<p>"Cameron," she finished firmly.</p> + +<p>"Oh——"</p> + +<p>The stranger seemed to be examining her with a glowing interest, but his +look was clouded.</p> + +<p>Beth had decided that until Peter came explaining she had no further +possible interest either in him or his affairs, but in spite of this she +found her lips suddenly asking,</p> + +<p>"Are you a friend of Mr. Nichols's?"</p> + +<p>The man in the portico grinned somberly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I guess I am—an old friend—before he came to America."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Beth quietly. "You've known him a long time then?"</p> + +<p>"Ye might say so. We were buddies together."</p> + +<p>"Then you knew him in—in London?"</p> + +<p>The man grinned. "Can't say I did. Not in London. Why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I just wanted to know."</p> + +<p>The gaze of the stranger upon her was disquieting. His eyes seemed to be +smoldering like embers just ready to blaze. She knew that she ought to +be returning and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>yet she didn't want to go leaving her object +unaccomplished, the dignity of her plan having already been greatly +disturbed. And so she hesitated, curiosity at war with discretion.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind telling me your name?" she asked timidly.</p> + +<p>The man shrugged a shoulder and glanced away from her. "I reckon my name +wouldn't mean much to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh—I'm sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have asked?"</p> + +<p>The stranger put his hands into his coat pockets and stared down at Beth +with a strange intrusive kind of smile.</p> + +<p>"You and Pete seem kind of thick, don't ye?" he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Pete!"</p> + +<p>"Pete Nichols. That's his name, ain't it? Kind of thick, I'd say. I +can't blame him though——"</p> + +<p>"You're mistaken," said Beth with dignity, "there's nothin' between +Peter Nichols and me." And turning heel, Beth took a step away.</p> + +<p>"There! Put my foot in it, didn't I? I'm sorry. Don't go yet. I want to +ask ye something."</p> + +<p>Beth paused and found that the stranger had come out from the portico +and still stood beside her. And as her look inquired fearlessly,</p> + +<p>"It's about your name, Miss," he muttered, and then with an effort spoke +the word savagely, as though it had been wrenched from him by an effort +of will, "Cameron——? Your name's Cameron?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Beth, in some inquietude.</p> + +<p>"Common name in some parts—Cameron—not so common in others—not in +Jersey anyway——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know——"</p> + +<p>"Is yer father livin'?" he snapped.</p> + +<p>"No—dead. Many years ago. Out West."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>"Tsch!" he breathed, the air whistling between his teeth, "Out West, ye +say—out West?"</p> + +<p>He stood in front of Beth now, his arms akimbo, his head bent forward +under the stress of some excitement. Beth drew away from him, but he +came forward after her, his gaze still seeking hers.</p> + +<p>"Yes—out West," said Beth haltingly.</p> + +<p>"Where?" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"I don't know——"</p> + +<p>"Was his name—was his name—Ben Cameron?" He shot the question at her +with a strange fury, catching meanwhile at her arm.</p> + +<p>"Let me go——," she commanded. "You're hurtin' me."</p> + +<p>"Was it——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Let me go."</p> + +<p>The stranger's grip on her arm suddenly relaxed and while she watched +his face in curiosity the glow in his eyes suddenly flickered out, his +gaze shifting from side to side as he seemed to shrink away from her. +From timidity at his roughness she found new courage in her curiosity at +his strange behavior. What had this stranger to do with Ben Cameron?</p> + +<p>"What did you want to know for?" she asked him.</p> + +<p>But his bent brows were frowning at the path at his feet. He tried to +laugh—and the sound of the dry cackle had little mirth in it.</p> + +<p>"No matter. I—I thought it might be. I guess ye'd better go—I guess +ye'd better." And with that he sank heavily in Peter's chair again.</p> + +<p>But Beth still stood and stared at him, aware of the sudden change in +his attitude toward her. What did it all mean? What were Peter's +relations with this creature who behaved so strangely at the mention of +her name? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>Why did he speak of Ben Cameron? Who was he? Who——?</p> + +<p>The feeling of which she had at first been conscious, at the man's evil +leering smile which repelled her suddenly culminated in a pang of +intuition. This man ... It must be ... Hawk Kennedy—the man who ... She +stared at him with a new horror in the growing pallor of her face and +Hawk Kennedy saw the look. It was as though some devilish psychological +contrivance had suddenly hooked their two consciousnesses to the same +thought. Both saw the same picture—the sand, the rocks, the blazing sun +and a dead man lying with a knife in his back.... And Beth continued +staring as though in a kind of horrible fascination. And when her lips +moved she spoke as though impelled by a force beyond her own volition.</p> + +<p>"You—you're Hawk Kennedy," she said tensely, "the man who killed my +father."</p> + +<p>"It's a lie," he gasped, springing to his feet. "Who told you that?"</p> + +<p>"I—I guessed it——"</p> + +<p>"Who told ye about Hawk Kennedy? Who told ye about him?"</p> + +<p>"No one——"</p> + +<p>"Ye didn't dream it. Ye can't dream a name," he said tensely. "Pete told +ye—he lied to ye."</p> + +<p>"He didn't."</p> + +<p>But he had caught her by the wrist again and dragged her into the Cabin. +She was thoroughly frightened now—too frightened even to cry out—too +terrified at the sudden revelation of this man who for some days had +been a kind of evil spirit in the background of her happiness. He was +not like what she had thought he was, but he embodied an idea that was +sinister and terrible. And while she wondered what he was going to do +next, he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>pushed her into the armchair, locked the door and put the key +into his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Now we can talk," he muttered grimly. "No chance of bein' +disturbed—Pete ain't due for hours yet. So he's been tellin' <i>you</i> lies +about me. Has he? Sayin' <i>I</i> done it. By G—, I'm beginnin' to see...."</p> + +<p>He leered at her horribly, and Beth seemed frozen into her chair. The +courage that had been hers a moment ago when he had shrunk away from her +had fled before the fury of his questions and the violence of his touch. +She was intimidated for the first time in her life and yet she tried to +meet his eyes, which burned wildly, shifting from side to side like +those of a caged beast. In her terror she could not tell what dauntless +instinct had urged her unless it was Ben Cameron's soul in agony that +had cried out through her lips. And now she had not only betrayed +Peter—but herself....</p> + +<p>"I'm beginnin' to see. You and Pete—playin' both ends against the +middle, with McGuire comin' down somethin' very handsome for a weddin' +present and leavin' me out in the cold. Very pretty! But it ain't goin' +to work out just that way—not that way at all."</p> + +<p>All of this he muttered in a wildly casual kind of a way, at no one in +particular, as his gaze flitted from one object in the room to another, +always passing over Beth almost impersonally. But in a moment she saw +his gaze concentrate upon her with sudden eagerness.</p> + +<p>"He told ye I done it, did he? Well, I didn't," he cried in a strident +voice. "I didn't do it. It was McGuire and I'll prove it, all right. +McGuire. Pete can't fix <i>that</i> on me—even if he wanted to. But he told +<i>you</i> or ye wouldn't of spoke like ye did. I guess maybe ye wouldn't of +said so much if Pete had been here. But ye let the cat slip out of the +bag all right. You and Pete—and maybe McGuire's with ye too—all +against me. Is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>that so?... Can't yer speak, girl? Must ye sit there +just starin' at me with yer big eyes? What are ye lookin' at? Are ye +dumb?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not dumb," gasped Beth, struggling for her courage, aware all +the while of the physical threat in the man's very presence.</p> + +<p>"Speak then. Tell me the truth. Pete said it was your money McGuire +took—your money McGuire's got to make good to ye? Ain't that the +truth?"</p> + +<p>"I won't answer."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, ye will. You'll answer all right. I'm not goin' to trifle. +What did ye come here to see Pete about? What's that letter ye came to +give him? Give it to me!"</p> + +<p>Beth clutched the heliotrope note to her bosom but Hawk Kennedy caught +at her hands and tried to tear it away from her. It needed only this new +act of physical violence to give Beth the courage of despair. She sprang +to her feet eluding him but he caught her before she reached the window. +She struck at him with her fists but he tore the letter away from her +and hurled her toward the bed over which she fell breathless. There was +no use trying to fight this man.... There was a cruelty in his touch +which spoke of nameless things.... And so she lay motionless, nursing +her injured wrists, trying desperately to think what she must do.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, watching her keenly from the tail of his eye, Hawk Kennedy +was reading the heliotrope letter, spelling out the English word by +word. Fascinated, Beth saw the frown of curiosity deepen to interest and +then to puzzled absorption.</p> + +<p>"Interestin'—very," she heard him mutter at last, as he glanced toward +the bed. "Holy Russia. H——! What's this mean, girl? Who <i>is</i> Peter +Nichols? Answer me."</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know," she said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>"Yes, ye do. Where did ye get this letter?"</p> + +<p>"He left it at—at my house last night."</p> + +<p>"Oh! <i>Your</i> house! Where?"</p> + +<p>"In the village."</p> + +<p>"I see. An' this scrawl on the envelope—you wrote it——"</p> + +<p>Beth couldn't reply. He was dragging her through the very depths of +humiliation.</p> + +<p>At her silence his lips curved in ugly amusement.</p> + +<p>"Anastasie!" he muttered. "Some queen that—with her purple paper an' +all. And ye don't know who she is? Or who Pete is? Answer me!"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know," she whispered. "I—I don't, really."</p> + +<p>"H-m! Well, he ain't what he's seemed to be, that's sure. He ain't what +he's seemed to be to you and he ain't what he's seemed to be to me. But +whoever he is he can't put anything over on <i>me</i>. We'll see about this."</p> + +<p>Beth straightened and sat up, watching him pace the floor in deep +thought. There might be a chance that she could escape by the window. +But when she started up he ordered her back roughly and she soon saw +that this was impossible.</p> + +<p>At last he stopped walking up and down and stared at her, his eyes +narrowed to mere slits, his brows drawn ominously together. It seemed +that he had reached a decision.</p> + +<p>"You behave yourself an' do what I tell ye an' ye won't be hurt," he +growled.</p> + +<p>"Wh-what are you goin' to do?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Nothin' much. Ye're just goin' with me—that's all."</p> + +<p>"W-where?"</p> + +<p>"That's my business. Oh, ye needn't be scared of any love makin'. I'm +not on that lay this trip."</p> + +<p>He went to the drawer of Peter's bureau and took out some +handkerchiefs.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>"But ye'd better be scared if ye don't do what I tell ye. Here. Stand +up!"</p> + +<p>Beth shrank away from, him, but he caught her by the wrists and held +her.</p> + +<p>"Ye're not to make a noise, d'ye hear? I can't take the chance."</p> + +<p>And while she still struggled desperately, he fastened her wrists +together behind her. Then he thrust one of Peter's handkerchiefs in her +mouth and securely gagged her. He wasn't any too gentle with her but +even in her terror she found herself thanking God that it was only +abduction that he planned.</p> + +<p>Hawk Kennedy went to the window and peered out up the path, then he +opened the door and looked around. After a moment he came in quickly.</p> + +<p>"Come," he muttered, "it's time we were off."</p> + +<p>He caught her by the arm and helped her to her feet, pushing her out of +the door and into the underbrush at the corner of the cabin. Her feet +lagged, her knees were weak, but the grasp on her shoulder warned her of +cruelties she had not dreamed of and so she stumbled on—on into the +depths of the forest, Hawk Kennedy's hard hand urging her on to greater +speed.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h2>YAKIMOV REVEALS HIMSELF</h2> +<br /> + +<p>It was with some misgivings that Peter left his cabin, leaving Hawk +Kennedy there to sleep off the effects of his potations, but the +situation at the lumber camp was so hazardous that his presence was +urgently required. Hawk had awakened early, very early, and very +thirsty, but Peter had told him that there was no more whisky and +threatened to throw over the whole affair if he didn't sober up and +behave himself. And so, having exacted a promise from Hawk Kennedy to +leave the Cabin when he had had his sleep out, Peter had gotten the +"flivver" from McGuire's garage (as was his custom) and driven rapidly +down toward the camp.</p> + +<p>He had almost reached the conclusion that the copy of the partnership +agreement which Hawk had held as a threat over McGuire had ceased to +exist—that it had been lost, effaced or destroyed. But he wanted to be +more certain of this before he came out into the open, showed his hand +and McGuire's and defied the blackmailer to do his worst. He felt pretty +sure now from his own knowledge of the man that, desperate though he was +in his intention to gain a fortune by this expedient, he was absolutely +powerless to do evil without the signature of McGuire. The question as +to whether or not he would make a disagreeable publicity of the whole +affair was important to McGuire and had to be avoided if possible, for +Peter had given his promise to bring the affair to a quiet conclusion.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>Until he could have a further talk with McGuire, he meant to lead Hawk +Kennedy on to further confidences and with this end in view and with the +further purpose of getting him away from the Cabin, had promised to meet +him late that afternoon at a fork of the road to the lumber camp, the +other prong of which led to a settlement of several shanties where Hawk +had managed to get a lodging on the previous night and on several other +occasions. In his talk with the ex-waiter he learned that on his +previous visits the man had made a careful survey of the property and +knew his way about almost as well as Peter did. It appeared that he also +knew something of Peter's problems at the lumber camp and the +difficulties the superintendent had already encountered in getting his +sawed lumber to the railroad and in completing his fire-towers. Indeed, +these difficulties seemed only to have begun again, and it was with +great regret that Peter was obliged to forego the opportunity of seeing +Beth that day, perhaps even that evening. But he had told her nothing of +his troubles the night before, not wishing to cloud a day so fair for +them both.</p> + +<p>The facts were these: Flynn and Jacobi, the men he had dismissed, had +appeared again at the camp in his absence, bent on fomenting trouble, +and Shad Wells, already inflamed against the superintendent, had fallen +an easy prey to their machinations. Accidents were always happening at +the sawmills, accidents to machinery and implements culminating at last +in the blowing out of a tube of one of the boilers. It was this +misfortune that had held the work up for several days until a spare +boiler could be installed. Peter tried to find out how these accidents +had happened, but each line of investigation led up a blind alley. Jesse +Brown, his foreman, seemed to be loyal, but he was easy-going and weak. +With many of his own friends among the workers both at the camp and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>mills he tried to hold his job by carrying water on both shoulders and +the consequences were inevitable. He moved along the line of least +resistance and the trouble grew. Peter saw his weakness and would have +picked another man to supersede him, but there was no other available. +The truth was that though the men's wages were high for the kind of work +that they were doing, the discontent that they had brought with them was +in the air. The evening papers brought word of trouble in every +direction, the threatened railroad and steel strikes and the prospect of +a coalless winter when the miners went out as they threatened to do on +the first of November.</p> + +<p>At first Peter had thought that individually many of the men liked him. +He had done what he could for their comfort and paid them the highest +price justifiable, but gradually he found that his influence was being +undermined and that the good-natured lagging which Peter had at first +tried to tolerate had turned to loafing on the job, and finally to overt +acts of rebellion. More men had been sent away and others with even less +conscience had taken their places. Some of them had enunciated +Bolshevist doctrines as wild as any of Flynn's or Jacobi's. Jonathan K. +McGuire stood as a type which represented the hierarchy of wealth and +was therefore their hereditary enemy. Peter in a quiet talk at the +bunk-house one night had told them that once Jonathan K. McGuire had +been as poor, if not poorer, than any one of them. But even as he spoke +he had felt that his words had made no impression. It was what McGuire +was <i>now</i> that mattered, they told him. All this land, all this lumber, +was the people's, and they'd get it too in time. With great earnestness, +born of a personal experience of which they could not dream, Peter +pointed out to them what had happened and was now happening in Russia +and painted a harrowing picture of helplessness and starvation, but they +smoked their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>pipes in silence and answered him not at all. They were +not to be reasoned with. If the Soviet came to America they were willing +to try it. They would try anything once.</p> + +<p>But Shad Wells was "canny" and Peter had never succeeded in tracing any +of the accidents or any of the dissensions directly to his door. Without +evidence against him Peter did not think it wise to send him out of +camp, for many of the men were friendly to Shad and his dismissal was +sure to mean an upheaval of sorts. Peter knew that Shad hated him for +what had happened at the Cabin but that in his heart he feared to come +out into the open where a repetition of his undoing in public might +destroy his influence forever. So to Peter's face he was sullenly +obedient, taking care to give the appearance of carrying out his orders, +while as soon as Peter's back was turned he laughed, loafed and +encouraged others to do the same.</p> + +<p>And for the last week Peter had not liked the looks of things. At the +lumber camp the work was almost at a standstill, and the sawmills were +silent. Jesse Brown had told him that Flynn and Jacobi had been at the +bunk-house and that the men had voted him down when the foreman had +tried to send them away. It was clear that some radical step would have +to be taken at once to restore discipline or Peter's authority and +usefulness as superintendent would be only a matter of hours.</p> + +<p>It was of all of these things that Peter thought as he bumped his way in +the "flivver" over the corduroy road through the swampy land which led +to the lower reserve, and as he neared the scene of these material +difficulties all thought of Hawk Kennedy passed from his mind. There was +the other danger too that had been one of the many subjects of the +letter of Anastasie Galitzin, for Peter had no doubt now that the +foreigner with the dark <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>mustache who had followed him down from New +York and who some weeks ago had been sent out of the camp was no other +than the agent of the Soviets, who had forwarded to London the +information as to his whereabouts. Peter had not seen this man since the +day of his dismissal, but he suspected that he was in the plot with +Flynn, Jacobi and perhaps Shad Wells to make mischief in the lumber +camp.</p> + +<p>The opportunity that Peter sought to bring matters to a focus was not +long in coming, for when he reached the sawmills, which had resumed +desultory operations, he found Flynn and Jacobi, the "Reds," calmly +seated in the office, smoking and talking with Shad Wells. Peter had +left his "flivver" up the road and his sudden entrance was a surprise. +The men got up sullenly and would have slouched out of the door but +Peter closed it, put his back to it, and faced them. He was cold with +anger and held himself in with difficulty, but he had taken their +measure and meant to bring on a crisis, which would settle their status +and his own, once and for all time.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?" he began shortly, eying Flynn.</p> + +<p>The Irishman stuck his hands into his pockets and shrugged impudently.</p> + +<p>"That's my business," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"H-m. You two men were discharged because you were incompetent, because +you were getting money you didn't earn and because you were trying to +persuade others to be as worthless and useless as yourselves. You were +ordered off the property——"</p> + +<p>"Ye can't keep us off——"</p> + +<p>"I'll come to that in a moment. What I want to say to you now is this," +said Peter, planting his barbs with the coolness of a matador baiting +his bull. "Some men go wrong because they've been badly advised, some +because <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>they can't think straight, others because they'd rather go +wrong than right. Some of you 'Reds' believe in what you preach, that +the world can be made over and all the money and the land divided up in +a new deal. You two don't. You don't believe in anything except getting +a living without working for it—and trying to make honest men do the +same. You, Jacobi, are only a fool—a cowardly fool at that—who hides +behind the coat-tails of a man stronger than you——"</p> + +<p>"Look-a here, Mister——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Flynn's your master, but he isn't mine. And he isn't the master of +any man on this job while I'm superintendent——"</p> + +<p>"We'll see about that," said Flynn with a chuckle.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we will. Very soon. <i>Now</i>, as a matter of fact——"</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"By proving which is the better man—you or me——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's a fight ye mean?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>The Irishman leered at him cunningly.</p> + +<p>"I'm too old a bird to be caught wit' that stuff—puttin' you wit' the +right on yer side. We're afther sheddin' no blood here, Misther Nichols. +We're on this job for peace an' justice fer all."</p> + +<p>"Then you're afraid to fight?"</p> + +<p>"No. But I'm not a-goin' to——"</p> + +<p>"Not if I tell you you're a sneak, a liar and a coward——"</p> + +<p>Flynn's jaw worked and his glance passed from Jacobi to Wells.</p> + +<p>"I'll make ye eat them names backwards one day, Misther Nichols—but not +now—I'm here for a bigger cause. Stand away from the door."</p> + +<p>"In a moment. But first let me tell you this, and Shad <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>Wells too. +You're going out of this door and out of this camp,—all three of you. +And if any one of you shows himself inside the limits of this property +he'll have to take the consequences."</p> + +<p>"Meanin' what?" asked Wells.</p> + +<p>"Meaning <i>me</i>," said Peter, "and after me, the law. Now go."</p> + +<p>He stood aside and swung the door open with one hand, but he didn't take +his eyes from them.</p> + +<p>They laughed in his face, but they obeyed him, filing out into the open, +and strolled away.</p> + +<p>Peter had hoped to coax a fight out of Flynn, thinking that the Irish +blood in him couldn't resist his taunts and challenge. But Flynn had +been too clever for him. A defeat for Flynn meant loss of prestige, a +victory possible prosecution. Either way he had nothing to gain. Perhaps +he was just a coward like Jacobi or a beaten bully like Shad. Whatever +he was Flynn seemed very sure of himself and Peter, though apparently +master of the situation for the present, was conscious of a sense of +defeat. He knew as Flynn did that no matter what forces he called to his +aid, it was practically impossible to keep trespassers off a property of +this size, and that, after all, the success of his logging operations +remained with the men themselves.</p> + +<p>But he breathed more freely now that he had made his decision with +regard to Shad Wells. He spent a large part of the morning going over +the mills, getting the men together and giving them a little talk, then +went up to the camp in search of Jesse Brown. The news of his encounter +with Shad and the "Reds" had preceded him and he saw that trouble was +brewing. Jesse Brown wagged his head in a deprecating way and tried to +side-step the entire situation. But Peter had reached a point where he +was tired of equivocation.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>"I say, Jesse," he said at last, "you've let things get into a pretty +bad mess down here."</p> + +<p>"I'm a peaceable man, Mr. Nichols," said Jesse. "I've tried to steer +this camp along easy-like, 'til this bit of woods is cleared up and here +you go stirrin' up a hornet's nest about our ears."</p> + +<p>Peter frowned. "You know as well as I do that the men are doing just as +they please. At the rate they're going they wouldn't have this section +finished by Christmas. I'm paying them for work they don't do and you +know it. I put you in here to see that McGuire gets what he's paying +for. You haven't done it."</p> + +<p>"I've done the best I could," muttered Jesse.</p> + +<p>"That isn't the best I want. You knew Flynn and Jacobi were back in camp +yesterday. Why didn't you tell me so?"</p> + +<p>"I can't do nothin'. They've got friends here."</p> + +<p>"And haven't you got friends here too? I sent those men out of camp. If +they're here again I'll find the power to arrest them."</p> + +<p>"I'd advise you not to try that."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"They're stronger than you think."</p> + +<p>"I'll take my chances on that. But I want to know where you stand. Are +you with me or against me?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Jesse, rubbing his head dubiously, "I'll do what I can."</p> + +<p>"All right. We'll make a fresh start. Round up all hands. I'm going to +talk to them at dinner time."</p> + +<p>Jesse glanced at him, shrugged and went out and Peter went into the +office where he spent the intervening time going over the books. It was +there that one of the clerks, a man named Brierly, brought forth from +the drawer of his desk a small pamphlet which he had picked up yesterday +in the bunk-house. Peter opened and read it. It was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>a copy of the new +manifest of the Union of Russian Workers and though written in English, +gave every mark of origin in the Lenin-Trotzky regime and was cleverly +written in catch phrases meant to trap the ignorant. It proposed to +destroy the churches and erect in their stead places of amusement for +the working people. He read at random. "Beyond the blood-covered +barricades, beyond all terrors of civil war, there already shines for us +the magnificent, beautiful form of man, without a God, without a master, +and full of authority." Fine doctrine this! The pamphlet derided the law +and the state, and urged the complete destruction of private ownership. +It predicted the coming of the revolution in a few weeks, naming the +day, of a general strike of all industries which would paralyze all the +functions of commerce. It was Bolshevik in ideal, Bolshevik in +inspiration and it opened Peter's eyes as to the venality of the +gentleman with the black mustache. Brierly also told him that whisky had +been smuggled into the camp the night before and that a fire in the +woods had luckily been put out before it had become menacing. Brierly +was a discharged soldier who had learned something of the value of +obedience and made no effort to conceal his anxiety and his sympathies. +He voiced the opinion that either Flynn or Jacobi had brought in the +liquor. Peter frowned. Jesse Brown had said nothing of this. The +inference was obvious.</p> + +<p>At the dinner-shed, Peter was to be made aware immediately of the +difficulty of the task that confronted him, for dour looks met him on +all sides. There were a few men who sat near him whom he thought he +might count on at a venture, but they were very few and their positions +difficult. Some of the men still showed the effects of their drink and +hurled epithets about the room, obviously meant for Peter's ear, but he +sat through the meal <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>patiently and then got to his feet and demanded +their attention.</p> + +<p>As he began he was interrupted by hoots and cat-calls but he waited +calmly for silence and seeing that they couldn't ruffle him by +buffoonery they desisted after a moment.</p> + +<p>"Men, I'm not going to take much of your time," he said. "A short while +ago I came down here and talked to you. Some of you seemed to be +friendly toward me and those are the men I want to talk to now. The +others don't matter."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't they?" came a gruff voice from a crowd near the door. And +another, "We'll see about that."</p> + +<p>Peter tried to find the speakers with his gaze for a moment and then +went on imperturbably. "I'm going to talk to you in plain English, +because some things have happened in this camp that are going to make +trouble for everybody, trouble for me, trouble for McGuire, but more +trouble for you."</p> + +<p>"That's what we're lookin' for—trouble——," cried the same voice, and +Peter now identified it as Flynn's, for the agitator had come back and +stolen in unawares.</p> + +<p>"Ah, it's you, Flynn," said Peter easily. "You've come back." And then +to the crowd, "I don't think Flynn is likely to be disappointed if he's +looking for trouble," he said dryly. "Trouble is one of the few things +in this world a man can find if he looks for it."</p> + +<p>"Aye, mon, an' without lookin' for it," laughed a broad-chested Scot at +Peter's table.</p> + +<p>"That's right. I met Flynn a while ago over in the office. I made him an +offer. I said I'd fight him fair just man to man, for our opinions. He +refused. I also told him he was a coward, a sneak and a liar. But he +wouldn't fight—because he's what I said he was."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>"I'll show ye, Misther——," shouted Flynn, "but I ain't ready yet."</p> + +<p>"You'll be ready when this meeting is over. And one of us is going out +of this camp feet first."</p> + +<p>"We'll see about that."</p> + +<p>"One of us will. And I think I'll do the seeing."</p> + +<p>A laugh went up around Peter, drowned immediately by a chorus of jeers +from the rear of the room.</p> + +<p>But Peter managed to be heard again.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>I</i> didn't come on this job looking for trouble," he went on +coolly. "I wanted to help you chaps in any way I could." ("The Hell you +did.") "Yes, I did what I could for your comfort. I raised your wages +and I didn't ask more than an honest day's work from any one of you. +Some of you have stuck to your jobs like men, in spite of the talk +you've heard all about you, and I thank you. You others," he cried, +toward the rear of the room, "I've tried to meet in a friendly spirit +where I could, but some of you don't want friendship——" ("Not with +you, we don't.") "Nor with any one else——" Peter shouted back +defiantly. "You don't know what friendship means, or you wouldn't try to +make discontent and trouble for everybody, when you're all getting a +good wage and good living conditions." ("That ain't enough!")</p> + +<p>Peter calmly disregarded the interruptions and went on. "Perhaps you +fellows think I don't know what socialism means. I do. To the true +socialist, socialism is nothing else but Christianity. It's just +friendship, that's all. He believes in helping the needy and the weak. +He believes in defending his own life and happiness and the happiness of +others." ("That's true—that's right.") "And he believes that the world +can be led and guided by a great brotherhood of humanity seeking just +laws and equality for all men." (Conflicting cries of "That's not +enough!" and "Let him speak!") "But I know what anarchy means <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>too, +because less than six months ago I was in Russia and I saw the hellish +thing at work. I saw men turn and kill their neighbors because the +neighbors had more than they had; I saw a whole people starving, women +with children at the breast, men raging, ready to fly at one another's +throats from hunger, from anger, from fear of what was coming next. That +is what anarchy means."</p> + +<p>"What you say is a lie," came a clear voice in English, with a slight +accent. A man had risen at the rear of the room and stood facing Peter. +He was not very tall and he was not in working clothes, but Peter +recognized him at once as the man with the dark mustache, the mysterious +stranger who had followed him to Black Rock. Peter set his jaw and +shrugged. He was aware now of all the forces with which he had to deal.</p> + +<p>"What does anarchy mean, then?" he asked coolly.</p> + +<p>"You know what it means," said the man, pointing an accusing finger at +Peter. "It means only the end of all autocracy whether of money or of +power, the destruction of class distinction and making the working +classes the masters of all general wealth which they alone produce and +to which they alone are entitled."</p> + +<p>A roar of approval went up from the rear of the room and cries of, "Go +it, Bolsche," and "Give him Hell, Yakimov."</p> + +<p>Peter waited until some order was restored, but he knew now that this +type of man was more to be feared than Flynn or any other professional +agitator of the I. W. W. When they had first come face to face, this +Russian had feigned ignorance of English, but now his clearly enunciated +phrases, though unpolished, indicated a perfect command of the language, +and of his subject. That he should choose this time to come out into the +open showed that he was more sure of himself and of his audience than +Peter liked. And Peter had no humor to match <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>phrases with him. Whatever +his own beliefs since he had come to America, one fact stood clear: That +he was employed to get this work done and that Yakimov, Flynn and others +were trying to prevent it. It was to be no contest of philosophies but +of personalities and Peter met the issue without hesitation.</p> + +<p>"You are a communist then and not a socialist," said Peter, "one who +believes in everybody sharing alike whether he works for it or not—or +an anarchist who believes in the destruction of everything. You're an +agent of the Union of Russian Workers, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"And what if I am——?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing, except that you have no place in a nation like the United +States, which was founded and dedicated to an ideal, higher than any you +can ever know——"</p> + +<p>"An ideal—with money as its God——"</p> + +<p>"And what's your God, Yakimov?"</p> + +<p>"Liberty——"</p> + +<p>"License! You want to inflame—pillage—destroy—And what then?"</p> + +<p>"You shall see——"</p> + +<p>"What I saw in Russia—no wages for any one, no harvests, factories +idle, blood—starvation—if that's what you like, why did you leave +there, Yakimov?"</p> + +<p>The man stood tense for a second and then spoke with a clearness heard +in every corner of the room.</p> + +<p>"I came for another reason than yours. I came to spread the gospel of +labor triumphant. <i>You</i> came because——" Here the Russian leaned +forward, shaking his fist, his eyes suddenly inflamed and hissing his +words in a fury. "<i>You</i> came because you believed in serfs and human +slavery—because your own land spewed you out from a sick stomach, +because you were one of the rotting sores in its inside—that had made +Russia the dying nation that she was; because it was time that your +country <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>and my country cleansed herself from such as you. That's why +you came. And we'll let these men judge which of us they want to lead +them here."</p> + +<p>The nature of the attack was so unexpected that Peter was taken for a +moment off his guard. A dead silence had fallen upon the room as the +auditors realized that a game was being played here that was not on the +cards. Peter felt the myriads of eyes staring at him, and beyond them +had a vision of a prostrate figure in the corner of a courtyard, the +blood reddening his blouse under the falling knout. They were all +Michael Kuprins, these foreigners who stared at him, all the grievances +born of centuries of oppression. And as Peter did not speak at once, +Yakimov pursued his advantage.</p> + +<p>"I did not come here to tell who this man is," he shouted, "this man who +tells you what liberty is. But you ought to know. It's your right. You +know why Russia rose and threw off the yoke of bondage of centuries. It +was because this man before you who calls himself Peter Nichols and +others like him bound the people to work for him by terrible laws, taxed +them, starved them, beat them, killed them, that he and others like him +might buy jewels for their mistresses and live in luxury and ease, on +the sweat of the labor of the people. And he asks me why I came to +America! It was for a moment such as this that I was sent here to find +him out that I might meet him face to face and confront him with his +crimes—and those of his father—against humanity."</p> + +<p>Yakimov paused suddenly in his furious tirade for lack of breath and in +the deathly silence of the room, there was a sudden stir as a rich +brogue queried anxiously of nobody in particular:</p> + +<p>"Who in Hell <i>is</i> he, then?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you who he is," the Russian went on, getting his breath. +"He's one of the last of a race of tyrants and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>oppressors, the worst +the world has ever known—in Russia the downtrodden. He fled to America +to hide until the storm had blown over, hoping to return and take his +place again at the head of a new government of the Democrats and the +Bourgeoisie—the Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch!"</p> + +<p>The uproar that filled the room for a moment made speech impossible. But +every eye was turned on Peter now, some in incredulity, some in +malevolence, and some in awe. He saw that it was now useless to deny his +identity even if he had wished to do so, and so he stood squarely on his +feet, staring at Yakimov, who still leaned forward menacingly, shrieking +above the tumult, finally making himself heard.</p> + +<p>"And this is the man who dares to talk to you about a brotherhood of +humanity, just laws and equality among men! This tyrant and son of +tyrants, this representative of a political system that you and men like +you have overthrown for all time. Is this the man you'll take your +orders from? Or from the Union of Russian Workers which hates and kills +all oppressors who stand in the way of the rights and liberties of the +workers of the world!"</p> + +<p>A roar of negation went up from the rear of the room, and an ominous +murmur spread from man to man. Only those grouped around Peter, some +Americans, the Scot, Brierly, the ex-soldier, Jesse Brown, and one or +two of the Italians remained silent, but whether in awe of Peter or of +his position could not be determined. But Peter still stood, his hands +in his pockets, firm of jaw and unruffled. It has been said that Peter +had a commanding air when he chose and when he slowly raised a hand for +silence the uncouth "Reds" at the rear of the room obeyed him, the +menacing growl sinking to a mere murmur. But he waited until perfect +silence was restored. And then quietly,</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>"What this man has said is true," he announced calmly. "I <i>am</i> Peter +Nicholaevitch. I came to America as you have come—to make my way. What +does it matter who my fathers were? I am not responsible for what my +fathers did before me. I am only responsible for what I am—myself. If +this man in whom you put your trust would speak the truth, he would tell +you that I tried to bring peace and brotherhood into the part of Russia +where I lived——"</p> + +<p>"He lies——"</p> + +<p>"I speak the truth. There people knew that I was their friend. They came +to me for advice. I helped them——"</p> + +<p>"Then why did they burn down your castle?" broke in Yakimov +triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Because people such as you from the Soviet came among honest and +peaceful men, trying to make them as mad as you—I came from Russia to +find new life, work, peace and happiness. I came to build. You came to +destroy. And I intend to build and you shall not destroy. If the madness +of Russia comes to Black Rock it will be because mad dogs come foaming +at the mouth and making others mad——"</p> + +<p>A savage cry went up and a glass came hurtling at Peter's head, but it +missed him and crashed against the wall behind him. That crash of glass +liberated the pent-up forces in the hearts of these men, for in a moment +the place was in a furious uproar, the men aligning themselves in two +camps, that of Peter and his friends much the smaller.</p> + +<p>Peter retreated a pace or two as a shot was fired from a revolver, but +the Scot and Brierly and two of the Americans joined him and met the +first onslaught bravely. The handful of men was forced back against the +wall by sheer weight of numbers, but they struck out manfully with their +fists, with chairs, and with their feet, with any object <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>that came to +hand, and men went down with bleeding heads. Peter was armed but he did +not wish to kill any one—his idea being to make a successful retreat to +the office, where the telephone would put him in touch with May's +Landing and reinforcements. Yakimov stood at the edge of the crowd, +waving a revolver, when a well-aimed missile from the hand of the Scot +sent him sprawling to the floor among the benches.</p> + +<p>Peter and his crowd had fought their way to the door, when Flynn and +Jacobi who had led a group of men by the other door, fell on them from +the rear. Between the two groups their position was hopeless but Peter +fought his way out into the open, dodging a blow from Jacobi and using +the terrible <i>savate</i> in Flynn's stomach, just as Shad Wells rushed at +him from one side. Peter saw the blow coming from a broken axhandle—but +he had no time to avoid it. Instinctively he ducked his head and threw +up his left arm, but the bludgeon descended and Peter fell, remembering +nothing more.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h2>THE RUSSIAN PAYS</h2> +<br /> + +<p>When Peter came back to consciousness, he found himself lying in the +shelter of the underbrush alone. And while he attempted to gather his +scattered wits together a figure came creeping through the bushes toward +him. It was Brierly, the clerk, carrying a hatful of water which he had +procured from the neighboring rivulet. Brierly had a lump on his +forehead about the size of a silver dollar, and his disheveled +appearance gave evidence of an active part in the mêlée.</p> + +<p>"What's happened?" asked Peter slowly, starting up as memory came back +to him.</p> + +<p>But Brierly didn't answer at once.</p> + +<p>"Here, drink this. I don't think you're badly hurt——"</p> + +<p>"No. Just dazed a bit," muttered Peter, and let Brierly minister to him +for a moment.</p> + +<p>"You see, there were too many for us," Brierly explained. "We made a +pretty good fight of it at that, but they buried us by sheer weight of +numbers. Yours isn't the only bruised head, though. Yakimov got his +early in the game—and Jacobi. And gee! but that was a 'beaut' you +handed Flynn—right in the solar plexus with your heel. The +<i>savate</i>—wasn't it? I saw a Frenchy pull that in a dive in Bordeaux. I +reckon Flynn won't be doin' much agitatin' for a while—except in his +stommick."</p> + +<p>"How did I get here?" asked Peter.</p> + +<p>"I hauled you into the bush as soon as I got a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>chance—in the +confusion—and gradually, got you back in here. But I think they're +lookin' for us, so we'd better get a move on soon as you're fit enough."</p> + +<p>"Where's Jesse?"</p> + +<p>"Beat it, I reckon. Haven't seen him."</p> + +<p>"I see." And then, "Brierly, I'm obliged to you. I'll try to make it up +to you for this."</p> + +<p>"You needn't bother. I'm for you. You can't let a lot of roughnecks put +it over on you like this."</p> + +<p>"No—I can't—I can't," muttered Peter.</p> + +<p>"I wish we had a bunch of the boys I was with over in France down here. +There's a few up in May's Landing who'd clean this lot up in no time."</p> + +<p>"I wish we had them." Peter straightened with some difficulty and rose +to a sitting posture as the thought came to him. "I've got to get to the +'phone, Brierly."</p> + +<p>"No. I wouldn't advise that—not here. Those roughnecks are between us +and the office—in the office too, I reckon, by this time. It wouldn't +be safe. Who were you goin' to 'phone to?"</p> + +<p>"May's Landing—the Sheriff. I'm going to see this thing through."</p> + +<p>"Righto! And I'm with you to a fare-ye-well. But it's got to be managed +different. They'll beat you to death if you show up now. It was Yakimov +that shot at you. He's after you. You were armed. It's a wonder you +didn't shoot him down." And then, with some hesitation, "Say, Mr. +Nichols. You ain't really the Grand Duke Peter, are you?"</p> + +<p>Peter smiled. "What's left of him—I am. This man Yakimov is an agent of +Trotzky."</p> + +<p>Brierly whistled softly between his teeth. "I reckon <i>they</i> want to get +you, don't they?"</p> + +<p>Peter nodded. "But they won't—not yet."</p> + +<p>They held a brief council of war and in a moment on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>hands and knees +were making their way through the underbrush in the general direction of +Black Rock. Behind them they heard rough laughter and an occasional +outburst of song which proclaimed that new supplies of whisky had been +unearthed and that the anarchy which Yakimov so much desired now +prevailed. After a while, Peter managed to get to his feet and moved on +at a greater speed. He had only been stunned by Shad's blow—a part of +the force of which he had caught on his arm. The arm was still numb and +his head thumped, but as he went on in the cool air his brain cleared +and he found it possible to plan with some definiteness. Brierly knew +the sheriff at May's Landing. There was nothing his friends would rather +do than to be sworn in as deputies for a job like this. He had thought +it a wonder that Peter hadn't called the Sheriff in before.</p> + +<p>"I thought I could manage the situation alone, Brierly," said Peter +quietly, "but it's got the best of me."</p> + +<p>The way was long to Black Rock—at least eight miles by the way they +took—and it was almost six o'clock when, they reached McGuire's. They +knew that with the "flivver" in the possession of the outlaws it was +quite possible that some of the ringleaders of the disturbance might +have preceded them, and so they kept under cover until near the house, +when they quickly emerged from the bushes and made their way to the +kitchen door, entering without knocking.</p> + +<p>An unpleasant surprise awaited them here, for in the kitchen, securely +gagged and bound to a chair, they found McGuire's valet, Stryker.</p> + +<p>It took only a moment to release the man and to get the gag out of his +mouth, when he began sputtering and pointing toward the door into the +house.</p> + +<p>"Hawk—Hawk Kennedy!" the amazed Peter made out.</p> + +<p>And after staring at the man in a moment of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>bewilderment, Peter drew +out his revolver and dashed through the house, keyed up at once to new +adventure, the eager Brierly at his heels. They went up the stairs and +to the door of McGuire's own room, where they stood for a moment aghast +at the disorder and havoc before them.</p> + +<p>Papers and books were scattered everywhere upon the floor, chairs were +overturned, and the door of the safe was ajar. At first he saw no one, +but when Peter entered the room he heard a sound from the corner beyond +the table, a sound halfway between a gasp and a groan, and there he +found his employer, Jonathan K. McGuire, doubled up on the floor, bound +and trussed like his valet and quite as helpless. It was evident that +the long awaited terror had come to Black Rock.</p> + +<p>But if he was dismayed and frightened it seemed that McGuire was +uninjured and when he was released he was lifted to his feet and a +chair, into which he sank speechless for a moment of rehabilitation. +There was no need to question him as to what had happened in this room, +for the evidences of Hawk's visit and its purpose were all too evident. +Without a word to McGuire, Peter found the telephone in the hall, called +for May's Landing, then turning the instrument over to Brierly, with +instructions as to what he was to do, returned to McGuire's room and +closed the door behind him.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," he said briefly. "I see he's come."</p> + +<p>"My God, yes," gasped McGuire. "And you know what he came for—he got +it, Nichols. He got it."</p> + +<p>"That proves that he <i>had</i> lost the duplicate," said Peter quietly. "How +did it all happen?"</p> + +<p>The old man drew a trembling hand across his brow.</p> + +<p>"He took me off my guard—all of us. I don't know. It only happened half +an hour ago. Where's Stryker?"</p> + +<p>"He was tied to a chair in the kitchen. We let him loose. He's outside +somewhere."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>"And Mrs. Bergen and Sarah?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir."</p> + +<p>Peter went to the door and called Stryker and that bewildered person +appeared at the foot of the steps with Mrs. Bergen and Sarah who had +been locked in the cellar. Peter called them up and they all began +screaming their tale at once. But at last Peter got at the facts. Hawk +Kennedy had come suddenly into the kitchen where the two women were and, +brandishing a revolver, commanding silence, threatening death if they +made a sound. He had surprised the valet in the lower hall and had +marched him back into the kitchen, where he had bound him to a chair +with a clothes-line and then gagged him.</p> + +<p>McGuire waved the trio out of the room when their story was told, and +signaled to Peter to close the door again, when he took up his +interrupted tale.</p> + +<p>"I was at the window, looking out, Nichols. I didn't expect him for a +couple of weeks anyway. I'd just about gotten my nerve back. But he got +the drop on me, Nichols. How he ever got into the room without my +hearin' him! I must have been in a trance. His shoes were off. The first +thing I know is a voice close at my ear and a gun in my ribs. I turned +quick—but my gun was in the table drawer. His face was close to mine +and I knew he meant business. If I'd 'a' moved he'd 'a' killed me. So I +put my hands up. There wasn't anything else to do. I thought I'd play +for time but he caught my glance toward the door and only laughed.</p> + +<p>"'There ain't anybody comin', Mike,' he says. 'It's just you an' me.' I +asked him what he wanted and he grinned. 'You know,' he says. And with +his left hand he brought out a rope he had stuffed in his pocket. 'I'll +fix <i>you</i> first. Then we'll talk,' he says. He was cool like he always +was. He caught a slip noose around my wrists before I knew it, twisted +the rope around me and threw <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>me over on the floor. I tell you that man +is the devil himself."</p> + +<p>"What then?"</p> + +<p>"He made me give up the keys to the drawers in the safe—it was open +just like it is now. I wouldn't speak at first but he kicked me and then +put the gun at my head. I still hoped some one would come. I gave in at +last. He found it. My God!" The old man aroused himself with an effort +and rose to his feet. "But we've got to catch him—just you and I. He +can't have gone far. We've got the right to shoot him now—to shoot on +sight——"</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes. I'm getting the Sheriff at May's Landing now——"</p> + +<p>"The Sheriff!" The Irishman's small eyes stared and then became alive in +sudden comprehension. "Not the Sheriff, Nichols. I won't have him."</p> + +<p>"You've got to—at once." And then rapidly Peter gave an account of what +had happened at the logging camp. But it seemed to have no effect upon +McGuire, who listened with glassy eyes. He was obsessed with the +other—the graver danger.</p> + +<p>"We'll keep this thing quiet if you like—the real meaning of this +visit, and we've got to pick up his trail. But we can't let those men at +the camp have the run of the place. They'll be looting this house next." +And then, as McGuire seemed to agree, Peter went to the door and found +Brierly still on the 'phone. He was talking to the Sheriff and had told +the whole story. The Sheriff had already heard something about the Black +Rock camp trouble and would be ready to move in an hour.</p> + +<p>"Tell him to move fast and to come to McGuire's first," said Peter. "And +you'll be here to show him the way."</p> + +<p>Brierly nodded and finished the message, while Peter returned to +McGuire.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>"What else did Kennedy say?" Peter asked him.</p> + +<p>"He asked a lot of questions—about you and Beth Cameron—about the +money—about what I'd promised you. He's the very devil, I tell you. He +knows everything. He said he'd 'get' you and that he'd 'get' Beth +Cameron."</p> + +<p>Peter caught McGuire fiercely by the shoulder. "What did you say? Are +you sure?"</p> + +<p>With all of his other troubles Peter had forgotten Beth and now thought +guiltily of the possible danger to which she might have been subjected.</p> + +<p>How could Hawk have found out about Beth Cameron?</p> + +<p>"What I told you," muttered McGuire wearily, "he said he'd 'get' +her——"</p> + +<p>Sick with anxiety, Peter flung away from his protesting employer and +made for the door, rushing past the astonished Brierly in the hall, down +the stairs and out at a run over the bridge and through the village to +the Bergen house. The door was open and he rushed in, calling Beth's +name. There was no response. Now desperate and fearing the worst, he ran +from room to room, downstairs and up. There were signs of her—a towel +on a chair, a broom leaning against a door upstairs, the neatly made +beds, the orderly kitchen, giving evidence of the morning cleaning, but +no supper cooking on the stove, the fire of which had burned to cinders. +She had not been here for a long while—since early morning possibly. +But where had she gone—where? Hawk Kennedy would hardly have dared to +come here—to the village—hardly have succeeded in enticing her away +from this house, surrounded by neighbors—still less have succeeded in +carrying her off without their knowledge. He rushed out into the road +and questioned. No one seemed to have seen her. The eagerness and +suppressed anxiety of Peter's manner quickly drew a crowd which felt the +contagion of his excitement. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>A man joined the group. Yes. He had seen +Beth in the morning early. She was hurrying down the path which led into +the pines. He had not seen her since.</p> + +<p>Peter glanced at him just once more to be sure that he was speaking the +truth and then, without a thought as to the impression he had created in +the minds of the villagers, set off running through the path toward his +cabin.</p> + +<p>Fool that he had been! To leave Beth unguarded—unwarned even—with Hawk +within a quarter of a mile of her. Why had he not seen the hand of fate +in Beth's presence here at Black Rock near McGuire, the man who had +wronged her father—the hand of fate, which with unerring definiteness +was guiding the principals in this sordid tragedy together from the ends +of the earth for a reckoning? And what was this reckoning to be? McGuire +had already fallen a victim to the man's devilish skill and audacity. +And Beth——? What match was she for a clever desperate rogue who balked +at nothing? How had he learned of Beth's existence and how, knowing of +it, had he managed to beguile her away from the village? Peter was +beginning to believe with McGuire that Hawk Kennedy was indeed in league +with the devil.</p> + +<p>Peter was not now aware of any pain or even of bodily fatigue, for there +was no room in his mind for any thought of self. Scarcely conscious of +his new exertions, he ran across the log-jam below the pool and up the +path to the Cabin. What he expected to find there he did not know, but +it seemed clear that Beth had come this way in the morning and if not to +the Cabin, where else? Hawk had been here when she had come into the +woodland path. That was enough. As he reached the turn in the path, he +saw that the door of the Cabin was open and when he rushed in, prepared +for anything, he saw that the room was unoccupied. He stood aghast for a +moment, trying to adjust his mind to take in logically the evidence he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>found there—the overturned chair, the blankets dragging on the floor +by the bed, the broken water pitcher, the opened bureau drawers, the +torn bits of linen—parts of his own handkerchiefs—upon the floor—all +visible signs' of a commotion, perhaps of a struggle, that had taken +place. And then under the table he espied a square of heliotrope paper. +He picked it up quickly and took it to the light of the window. It was +the envelope of the letter he had received from Anastasie Galitzin. And +what was this——? A scrawl in Beth's hand, "You left <i>this</i> last night. +You'd better go back to Anastasie."</p> + +<p>Bewildered for a moment, Peter stared at the forceful characters of the +handwriting, written hurriedly in a scrawl of lead pencil, and then the +probable sequence of events came to him with a rush. She had opened the +note of Anastasie Galitzin and read it. What had it said? He had +forgotten details. But there were phrases that might have been +misconstrued. And Beth——. He could see her now coming up the path, her +head high, seeking explanations—and meeting Hawk!</p> + +<p>But where was the letter itself? He searched for it without success. +Hawk! The answer to all of his questions was in the personality of the +man as Peter knew him. The bits of torn linen and Beth's own +handkerchief, which he found in the corner of the bed against the wall, +crumpled into a ball and still moist with her tears, were mute but +eloquent evidences of her suffering and torture in the presence of this +man who had not been too delicate in the means by which he had +accomplished her subjugation.</p> + +<p>Peter raged up and down the floor of the Cabin like a caged animal. What +must he do—which way turn? That Hawk had gagged and bound her was +obvious. But what then? He rushed outside and examined the shrubbery +around the Cabin. There was nothing to indicate the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>direction in which +he had taken her—and the forest at his very elbow stretched for miles +in all directions, a hiding place that had served other guilty ones +before Hawk—the New Jersey pines that he had learned to love, now +wrapped in a conspiracy of silence. It would be dusk very soon. A search +of the pine barrens at night would be hopeless. Besides, Hawk had had +the whole of the morning and most of the afternoon in which to carry out +his purpose.... What was that purpose? Where had he taken Beth? Where +had he left her when he had returned to Black Rock House to rob McGuire? +Or had he...? Impossible! Even Hawk wouldn't have dared.... Peter +clenched his fists in agony and rage at the terrible thoughts that came +swarming into his brain, driving out all reason.</p> + +<p>His Highness had suffered greatly the last few years of his life, the +physical pain of wounds received in battle, the mental pain of falling +hopes, of fallen pride, of disillusionment, but he could not remember +any pain that had seemed to matter like the anguish of the present +moment. The other sufferings were those of the Grand Duke Peter +Nicholaevitch, material sufferings born of his high estate. But this +present suffering was primitive. It wrenched at the very fibers of the +heart, for the love that he had found was a finer thing than had ever +happened in his life, a love which asked nothing and only craved the joy +of giving. And this woman—this mate that he had chosen out of all the +women that he had known in the world...!</p> + +<p>Hawk Kennedy would have fared badly if Peter could have had him within +arm's reach at that moment. But after a time, as Peter went into the +Cabin, he grew calmer, and pacing the floor for a while, began to think +more lucidly. Less than an hour ago Hawk Kennedy had been at Black Rock +House giving Jonathan McGuire and Stryker their unpleasant half-hour. He +wouldn't have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>dared to return and accomplish what he had done after a +deed so terrible as that which had entered Peter's thoughts. He was +still a human being and Beth.... He couldn't have killed Beth out of +hand. The thought was monstrous—even of Hawk.</p> + +<p>He had taken her somewhere—to one of his hiding-places in the woods, +and proposed keeping her, the legal heir of Ben Cameron, for ransom, as +a part of his plot to win his share of the McGuire fortune. He had +stolen the telltale agreement too and now held all the cards—all of +them.</p> + +<p>Peter paused standing by the window seat, looking out at the leaves +falling in the rising wind, his mind already resolved on a plan. He was +about to turn toward the telephone, when he noted a commotion in the +bushes opposite his window. A flash of fire almost at the same moment, a +crash of broken glass, and the hair on his head twitched violently.</p> + +<p>Instinctively Peter dropped to the floor.</p> + +<p>Close shooting! His scalp stung uncomfortably—but aside from that he +knew that he was not hurt. A fraction of an inch lower——</p> + +<p>Hawk——! His first impulse had been to rush to the door—but the events +of the day had taught him caution and so he crouched, drawing his +revolver. Too much depended upon his existence at the present moment to +take a chance in the open with a hidden enemy—especially if that enemy +were Hawk Kennedy. He listened intently. No sound. Then the breaking of +a twig and the sibilance of whispering voices—two of them—perhaps +more. And still Peter did not move. His quick thinking had done him a +service. It was clear that the men outside had decided that the shot had +taken effect.</p> + +<p>And now, instead of creeping to the doorway, Peter settled back upon the +floor again, prostrate, but in such <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>a position that his eyes and his +revolver commanded the entrance to the Cabin. He waited. It was a +nerve-racking business but the thought of all that depended upon his +safety steadied him into a preternatural calm like that which falls at +the presence of death. Death was imminent here for some one. It lurked +just outside. It lurked in the finger that Peter held against the +trigger. And Peter meant that the adventure should end at the doorway.</p> + +<p>Presently he heard a gentle shuffling of feet outside and the whisper +again, this time quite distinctly, "You got him, I reckon."</p> + +<p>Whose voice was that? Not Hawk Kennedy's ... Peter lowered his head to +his arm and closed his eyes, watching the door-jamb through his +eyelashes, his revolver hidden but its muzzle in line. A bulky shadow on +the step, a foot and then a head cautiously protruded—that of Shad +Wells, followed immediately by another, swathed in a bandage which only +partially concealed the dark eyes and beard of Yakimov the Russian. It +took considerable exercise of will on Peter's part to remain quiescent +with the stare of those four eyes upon him, especially when he noted the +weapon in the fingers of the Russian. But he waited until the two men +got into the room.</p> + +<p>"There he is. You got him, Yakimov," said Shad with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps——" Peter heard, "but I'll make sure of it——"</p> + +<p>Yakimov's pistol rose slowly, halfway to the level of his eyes. But it +was never fired, for Peter's revolver flashed fire, twice—three times, +and Yakimov with a sudden wide stare at vacancy pitched forward and +crashed down. The surprise was complete, for a fourth shot went into the +right arm of Shad Wells, which ruined his shot and sent his weapon +clattering to the floor.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>Peter had taken Shad's measure once before and the memory of the blow +from the axhandle earlier in the day did nothing to soften Peter's +intent. The quick command as he scrambled to his feet and the sight of +the imminent weapon caused Shad suddenly to forget everything but the +desire, whatever else happened, not to die as Yakimov had done. And so +he put his hands up—staggering back against the wall. Peter, with his +weapon still covering Shad, put his fingers over Yakimov's heart. The +man was dead. Then he rose soberly and faced Shad.</p> + +<p>"I ought to kill you like the dog that you are," he said tensely, "but I +want to question you first. Stand over by the bed."</p> + +<p>Shad obeyed and Peter, watching him closely, picked up his weapon and +Yakimov's and examined them carefully, putting one in his pocket and +laying the other beside him on the mantel. But all the fight was out of +Shad, who stood stupidly while Peter bound his wrists behind him. The +man was badly hurt, but it was no time for Peter to be playing the good +Samaritan.</p> + +<p>"So much for keeping bad company," said Peter coolly. "You'll find more +of the same sort in the lock-up at May's Landing."</p> + +<p>"You daresn't send me there," muttered Shad, with a feeble attempt at +bravado.</p> + +<p>"Won't I? You'll see—for attempted murder. The Sheriff is on his way +here now. Have you anything to say?"</p> + +<p>Shad was silent, eying the dead man.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," said Peter. He closed and locked the door and, keeping +the man covered with his revolver, moved to the telephone and got +McGuire at Black Rock House, telling him in a few phrases what had +happened.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Yakimov the Russian—I shot him.... Yes.... I killed him. It was +to save my own life.... Shad <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span>Wells.... A prisoner. Send Brierly with a +car down here at once. Hawk has been here too and has met Beth Cameron +... God knows. He has taken her away with him somewhere—abducted +her.... Yes ... Yes ... I've got to find her. Yes, <i>Beth</i>—can't you +understand?... She came here to bring me a letter ... I found it. Hawk +was here early this morning.... I know it. He bound her with some of my +handkerchiefs ... No, there's no doubt of it—none at all.... I can't +stand here talking. Send Brierly at once. Understand?"</p> + +<p>And Peter hung up the receiver and turned toward Shad, who was leaning +forward toward him, his face pale, his mouth agape at what he had heard. +But Peter, unaware of the sudden transformation in his prisoner, only +glanced at him and bending over began a search of the pockets of the +dead man, when Shad's voice cut the silence——</p> + +<p>"You—you say——," he stammered chokingly, "you say B-Beth has been +abducted, Mister—Beth Cameron?"</p> + +<p>Peter straightened, his eyes searching the lumberman's face.</p> + +<p>"Yes. To-day—this morning," he answered crisply. "What of it? Do you +know anything——?"</p> + +<p>"Hawk Kennedy took her?" the man faltered. "Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>Peter sprang up, his eyes blazing with eagerness.</p> + +<p>"What do you know of Hawk Kennedy?" he cried. And then, as Shad seemed +suddenly to have been stricken dumb, Peter seized him by the shoulder +and shook him. "Speak! Do you know Hawk Kennedy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Shad in a bewildered way. "I do—but Beth——"</p> + +<p>"He's taken her away—don't you understand?"</p> + +<p>"W-Why?"</p> + +<p>"God knows," said Peter wildly. "It's part of a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>plot—against +McGuire—to get money. Do you know where he is? Do you know where he's +gone with her? Speak, man! Or must I——?"</p> + +<p>"I know him. I've seen him——," muttered Shad with a hang-dog air.</p> + +<p>"To-day?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Peter gasped in disappointment, but still questioned quickly.</p> + +<p>"Where did you see him?"</p> + +<p>"Down near the camp. He came back again yesterday. He'd been away——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I know. What did he say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he was very peart—swaggered around like he owned the place and +talked about a lot of money he was goin' to have. An' how he was——"</p> + +<p>"Do you know where he took Beth Cameron?" broke in Peter again.</p> + +<p>"No. I don't—My God—<i>him!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>him</i>. You know what it means. He'd kill her if he dared."</p> + +<p>"Would he? My God! Mister. You can't let——"</p> + +<p>"No. No." And then, sharply, "Speak up, Wells, and I'll set you free. Do +you know where he could have taken her?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure, but maybe——"</p> + +<p>"Where——?"</p> + +<p>"He stayed down at the Forks——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But he wouldn't have dared to take her there——"</p> + +<p>"No. That's so. Maybe——"</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"Some other place——"</p> + +<p>"Of course. Was there any other place that he knew about?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>"Yes, there was. But when he first came he rode down on a horse from +Hammonton."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. Go on. And later——"</p> + +<p>"He used to come around the camp for food. It was when you first came on +the job. But he bought it and paid for it."</p> + +<p>"I don't care about that. Where was he hiding?"</p> + +<p>"Back in the woods. He used to sleep in the old tool house down by the +cedar swamp."</p> + +<p>Peter was now on edge with excitement.</p> + +<p>"Do you think he'd be likely to take Beth there?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know? Maybe he took her to Hammonton or Egg Harbor."</p> + +<p>"No. He wouldn't have had time. Where's this tool house?"</p> + +<p>"About half a mile from the mills."</p> + +<p>"Could you show me the way?"</p> + +<p>"I reckon I could——," Shad Wells sank into a chair and bent his head. +"My God! Mister. If I'd only 'a' known! If you'd only let me help you—I +can't stand thinkin' of anythin' happenin' to Beth—you an' me—we ain't +got along, an' maybe you've got the upper hand of me, but——"</p> + +<p>"We've got to forget that now," put in Peter quickly, and taking out his +hasp knife he cut the cords that bound Shad's wrists. "Just to show you +that I mean what I say." And then, soberly, "You know these woods. Help +me to find Beth Cameron and I'll make no charge against you. Is that a +bargain?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mister."</p> + +<p>Peter glanced at his face and at the blood dripping from his finger +ends. The man was suffering much pain but he hadn't whimpered.</p> + +<p>"All right. Take off your coat and I'll tie your arm up first."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>Silently Shad rose and obeyed while Peter got water and washed the +wound, a clean one right through the muscles of the forearm. But no +bones were broken and Peter bandaged it skillfully. Shad clenched his +jaws during the washing of the wound but he said nothing more. Peter +knew that the man still hated him but he knew also that Shad was now +powerless to do him any injury, and that there was a tie to bind them +now into this strange alliance. As Peter finished the bandaging and was +improvising a sling for the wounded arm, Shad crumpled side-long upon +the edge of the bed, his face ghastly, and would have fallen to the +floor if Peter hadn't held him upright, and half carried him to the +armchair. Then Peter unlocked a cupboard and brought forth whisky, +giving Shad half a tumblerful and in a moment the man began to revive. +So Peter poured another glass and slowly Shad pulled himself together.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you're not up to it——," Peter began.</p> + +<p>But Shad wagged his head with some determination.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I—I'm up to it all right. I've got to go, Mister. We'll find her +if she's in these woods——"</p> + +<p>"Bully for you. Feeling better now?"</p> + +<p>Shad nodded and then raised his head, staring with a frown out of the +window by the piano. Peter had been so absorbed in his task of setting +the man to rights that he had not noticed the dull glow that had risen +in the southern sky. And following Shad's glance he turned his head and +looked out of the window. At first he thought it might be the afterglow +of the sunset until a word from Shad aroused him to the real +significance of the light.</p> + +<p>"Fire!" gasped the lumberman.</p> + +<p>"Fire!" echoed Peter, aghast.</p> + +<p>"They've set the woods afire, Mister," muttered Shad helplessly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>At the same moment the telephone from the house began jangling +furiously. It was McGuire, who had made the same discovery.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Peter to the hysterical questions. "It's the lumber camp. +They've broken loose and set the woods afire. You've got to get all the +men you can together and rush them down there. Where's Brierly? On the +way? Oh, all right. Good. He'll take me down and I'll send him back.... +Yes. I've got a clew to Hawk ... I don't know, but I'm going to try it. +I'm taking Shad Wells with me ... The old tool house by the cedar swamp. +Brierly will know. Send the men on in relays when they come—with +shovels and sacks.... What did you say?... What?... Oh, 'D——n the +woods.'... All right. I'll get the paper if I can ... Yes. It's my +affair as much as yours now.... Yes.... Good-by."</p> + +<p>Peter hung up the receiver and turned to Shad, who had risen, his arm in +the sling, just as Brierly came running up the path to the door.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h2>THE INFERNO</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The way through the woods was long, but Beth stumbled on, urged by the +rough tone and strong hand of her captor. She knew the woods well, +better than Hawk, but she had never ventured so far into the forest as +he led her. She felt very certain that he knew even less than she of the +way he was taking, and that his object in avoiding the roads and paths +which led to the southward was to keep her hidden from the eyes of any +persons that might be met on the paths between Black Rock and the lumber +camp. But after a while she began to think that he knew with more or +less definiteness the general direction in which they were moving, for +he stopped from time to time to look at the sun and get his bearings. +And then with a gruff word he would move on again, always to the south +and east, and she knew that he had already decided upon their +destination. With her hands still bound behind her, progress through the +underbrush was difficult, for the branches stung her like whip-lashes, +and thorn-bushes caught at her arms and tore her flimsy frock to shreds. +The gag in her mouth made breathing painful, but Hawk seemed to be +unaware of her sufferings or purposely oblivious of them, for he hardly +glanced at her and said no word except to urge her on to greater +exertion.</p> + +<p>When they approached the road which he wanted to cross, he warned her +with an oath to remain where he left her and went forward to +investigate, after which he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>returned and hurried her across into the +thicket upon the other side. And it was not until they were securely +hidden again far from the sight of any possible passers-by that he +untied the bonds at her wrists and took the gag from her mouth. But she +knew more than ever that she was completely in his power.</p> + +<p>He was sinister. He typified terror, physical and mental—and behind the +threat of his very presence lay the gruesome vision of sand and sun and +the bearded man lying with the knife in his back. She tried to summon +her native courage to combat her fears, to believe that the situation in +which she found herself was not so evil as she imagined it—and that +soon Hawk Kennedy would have a change of heart and give her a chance to +speak in her own behalf. But he silenced her gruffly whenever she +addressed him and she gave up at last, in fear of bringing his wrath +upon her. She could see that he was deeply intent upon his object to get +her away from Black Rock where none could find her. And what then?</p> + +<p>In a wild impulse—a moment of desperation, she broke away from him and +ran, but he caught her easily, for by this time she was very tired. +Again, she thought of a struggle with him hand to hand, but he read her +mind and drew a pistol, pushing her on ahead of him as before, +threatening bodily injury. By this time she had learned to believe him +capable of any cruelty. But she thanked God that the dangers that +threatened were only those which could come from a brutal enemy and in +his very brutality she even found refuge from the other and more +terrible alternative of his amiability. As Hawk had said, he wasn't "on +that lay this trip."</p> + +<p>But what his ultimate purpose was she had no means of determining. She +knew that he was totally without scruple and had thought in her first +moments of terror that he meant to take her far back into the woods—and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>there kill her as he had done her father, thus again destroying all +claim. But as the moments passed and she saw that he had some definite +objective, the feeble remnants of her courage gathered strength. Her +attempt to escape had failed, of course, but his tolerance gave her a +hope that he did not dare to do the dreadful violence of which she had +thought.</p> + +<p>For hours—it seemed—they went through underbrush and swamp-land, +stopping from time to time at Hawk's command while he listened and got +their bearings. Beth had never been in this part of the woods, but she +had an idea, from the crossing of the road and the character of the +trees, that they were now somewhere in the Lower Reserve and not very +far from the lumber camp. It was there that Peter Nichols was. Her heart +leaped at the thought of his nearness. All memory of the heliotrope +envelope and of its contents seemed to have been wiped from her +consciousness by the rough usage of this enemy to them both. It seemed +to matter very little now who this woman was that Peter had known. She +belonged to a mysterious and unhappy past—for he had hinted at +that—which had nothing to do with the revelation that Beth had read in +his eyes as to the meaning of the wonderful present for them both. She +knew now that he could have explained, if she had given him the chance. +Instead of which she had rushed heedlessly to misfortune, the victim of +a childish pride, plunging them both into this disaster. That pride was +a pitiful thing now, like her disordered hair and her bedraggled frock, +which flapped its ribbons, soaked and muddy, about her knees.</p> + +<p>But as long as she was still alive and in no immediate danger, she tried +to hope for some incident which would send Peter back to Black Rock +earlier than Hawk had expected, where, at the Cabin, he would guess the +truth as to her meeting with Hawk and what had followed. But <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>how could +he guess all that? The difficulty dismayed her, He would hunt for her of +course as soon as he learned of her disappearance, but clever as he was +there seemed no way in which he could solve the mystery of her flight, +still less, having guessed Hawk Kennedy's purpose, follow any trail +through the wilderness by which her captor had led her.</p> + +<p>Even in the apparent hopelessness of her situation, she had not reached +the point of actual despair. Youth and her customary belief in all that +was good in the world sustained her. Something would happen—something +<i>must</i> happen.... As she trudged along, she prayed with her whole heart, +like David, to be delivered from the hand of the oppressor.</p> + +<p>That prayer comforted her and gave her strength and so when they came +out at the edge of the swamp some moments later she obeyed his +instructions more hopefully. There was a path along the edge of the +water which presently led into the heart of the woods again, and there +almost before she was aware of it she found herself facing a small +wooden house or shanty which seemed in a fairly good state of +preservation.</p> + +<p>Silently, Hawk Kennedy unfastened the hasp which held the door, and +gruffly ordered her to go inside. Wondering, she obeyed him. But her +captor now acted with a celerity which while it gave her new fears, set +other fears at rest, for he took the handkerchiefs from his pockets and +gagged and bound her arms and wrists again, pushing her down on a pile +of sacking which had served some one for a bed, tying her feet and knees +with ropes that were there so that she could neither move nor make a +sound.</p> + +<p>There for a moment he stood, staring down at her with a grim kind of +humor, born of his successful flight.</p> + +<p>"Some kid, by G——! I'm kinder sorry—d—— if I ain't. But ye hadn't +any business bein' who ye are. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>believe I'd rather kill ye outright +than hurt ye any more—that I would. Maybe I won't have to do either. +Understand? But I got somethin' to do first. It ain't any child's play +an' I ain't got much time to spare. Be a good kid an' lie quiet an' go +to sleep and I'll be back after a while an' set ye free. Understand?"</p> + +<p>Beth nodded helplessly, for it was the only thing that she could do and +with relief watched his evil shape darken the doorway out of which he +went, carefully closing the door and fastening the hasp on the outside. +Then she heard the crunch of his footsteps in the dry leaves behind the +Cabin. They moved rapidly and in a few moments she heard them no more.</p> + +<p>Lying on her side, her head pillowed on the bagging, it did not seem at +first as though she were uncomfortable, and her eyes, wide open, peered +around her prison. There was a small window unglazed and by the light +which came from it she could see some axhandles piled in one corner of +the hut, several cross-cut saws on a box at one side, a few picks and a +shovel or two. It must be a tool house used for the storage of extra +implements and she remembered dimly that Shad had once spoken of the +cutting that had been begun down by the swamp and abandoned for a better +location. This then was where Hawk Kennedy had taken her and she knew +that it was a spot little visited nowadays except by hunters, and at +some distance from the scene of present logging operations, toward the +spur of the railroad. It was here perhaps that Hawk Kennedy had hidden +while making his earlier investigations of Black Rock while he ripened +his plot against Mr. McGuire. There were several empty bottles upon the +floor, a moldy crust of bread, and a broken water-pitcher which +confirmed the surmise.</p> + +<p>She realized that Hawk had planned well. It seemed hardly possible to +hope for a chance passer-by in this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>deserted spot. And even if she +heard the sound of guns or even heard footsteps in the leaves, what +chance had she of making known her whereabouts? But she strained her +ears, listening, only to hear the twittering of the birds, the +chattering of squirrels and the moaning of the wind in the tree tops. +How near was freedom and yet how difficult of attainment! She wriggled +gently in her bonds but each motion seemed to make them tighter, until +they began to cut more and more cruelly into her tender flesh. She tried +by twisting her hands and bending her body to touch the knots at her +knees but her elbows were fastened securely and she couldn't reach them. +And at last she gave up the attempt, half stifled from her exertions and +suffering acutely. Then she lay quiet, sobbing gently to herself, trying +to find a comfortable posture, and wondering what was to be the end of +it all.</p> + +<p>Hours passed in which the scampering of the four-footed things grew less +and less and the birds ceased their chirping. Only the moaning of the +wind continued, high in the tree tops. Once or twice she thought she +plainly heard footsteps near by and renewed her efforts to free herself, +but desisted again when she learned that it was only the sound of the +flying leaves dancing against the outside walls of her prison.</p> + +<p>She thought of all the things that had happened in her brief and +uneventful life, but most she thought of Peter Nichols, and all that his +visit to Black Rock had meant to her. And even in her physical +discomfort and mental anguish found herself hoping against hope that +something would yet happen to balk the sinister plans of Hawk Kennedy, +whatever they were. She could not believe that happiness such as hers +had been could come to such a dreadful end so soon. But what was Hawk +Kennedy's mission now? Where had he gone unless to Black Rock again? And +what would he be doing there? Was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>revenge his motive now, stronger +since her revelation of her parentage? And was it Peter that he was +going to...? Her cry was muffled in the bandage. He had gone back to +Black Rock to lie in wait for Peter—to kill him perhaps. Sobbing anew +she struggled again with her bonds, until at last she lay back relaxed +and exhausted, and prayed with all her might to the God that had always +been her guide.</p> + +<p>And after a while she grew calm again, refreshed and strengthened by her +faith. No harm would befall Peter. No further harm would come to her. +Evil such as Hawk's was powerless against her prayers. Already he had +done her a great injury. The God of her faith would keep her scatheless +until Peter, the man she loved, came to save her. She was as sure of +this now as though she could see him coming, vengeance in his hand, with +long strides through the forest to her hiding-place. And so, after a +while, exhausted from her efforts, she fell into a doze.</p> + +<p>When she awoke from troubled dreams it was with a sense of suffocation. +She had stirred in her sleep and the thongs had cut more deeply into the +flesh at her knees, causing her pain. Below the knees she was numb from +the constant pressure, but she moved her toes up and down and her limbs +tingled painfully as the constricted blood flowed into her extremities. +How long she had lain there she did not know, but the interior of the +shed seemed to have grown quite dark, as though a storm were rising +outside. The wind was still blowing, and above the moaning of the pines +she could hear the continuous rustle of the leaves and the creaking of +moving branches. She managed with an effort to turn her head toward the +window, where through the dark leaves of the overshadowing trees she +could catch glimpses of the sky, which seemed to have turned to a +pinkish purple, like the afterglow of a sunset. Was it possible that she +could have slept so long? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>In the turning of her head it seemed that the +bandage over her mouth had become loosened and as she tried the +experiment again, the handkerchief slipped down around her neck. In a +moment she had gotten rid of the wad of linen in her mouth. At least she +could breathe freely now and moisten her parching lips. This boon seemed +almost in answer to her prayers. And if one bandage could come loose by +God's help, why not another?</p> + +<p>And so cheerfully and with a persistence which took no thought of the +pain she was inflicting upon herself, she began working her hands to and +fro behind her until she fancied that the pressure on her wrists was not +so great as before. With an effort she managed to wriggle over against +the wall and so to straighten into a sitting posture.</p> + +<p>It was then that she suddenly raised her head and sniffed at the air +from the small window above her through which a slender wisp of smoke +came curling. Smoke! The smell of burning brush, familiar to her, and +yet back here in the woods, unless from a well tended camp-fire, fraught +with perilous meaning. She glanced out of the small opening again. The +purple had grown redder, a dull crimson shot with streaks of blue—smoke +everywhere, endless streamers and tortuous billows sweeping down on the +wings of the wind.</p> + +<p>Fire in the woods! She knew the meaning of that. And the reddish purple +was not the sunset but the glow of mighty flames near by, a "crown" fire +in the pines! From the volume of smoke, increasing with every moment, it +seemed that the old tool house in which she was imprisoned must be +directly in the path of the flames. Now thoroughly aware of her possible +fate if she could not release herself she strained her ears, listening, +and now heard distinctly above the sounds nearer at hand a distant +crackling roar and the thud of heavy branches falling. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>The interior of +the cabin had now grown even dimmer—to a dark redness—and the smoke +came billowing in at the window almost stifling her with its acrid +fumes. Outside the window, when she struggled for freedom, she caught a +glimpse of sparks, flying like meteors past the dim rectangle of her +vision, small ones, larger ones, and then flaming brands which must set +fire to whatsoever they touched.</p> + +<p>She was half mad now with terror. She tried to think calmly, because she +knew that unless a miracle happened she would die alone here—the most +horrible of all deaths. And then her eye caught the gleam of something +upon the tool chest in the shadows beyond—the teeth of the cross-cut +saw!</p> + +<p>If she could reach it! She fell over purposely on the sacking and with +great difficulty wriggled slowly toward it, inch by inch. Could she +reach it with her wrists? With an effort she squirmed to the chest and +straightened, her back against it, as she had done against the wall, and +then turning, in spite of the increased pressure of her thongs, managed +in some way to get to her knees, feeling for the teeth of the saw with +her fingers behind her. It was not very sharp, but if she could direct +it between her wrists it would do.</p> + +<p>In her new thrill of hope, she was hardly conscious of the suffocating +smoke which now filled the cabin, stinging her eyes so that she could +hardly see, or of the heat which with her exertions had sent the +perspiration streaming down her face. For now, balancing herself with +great care, she moved her tortured arms, half numb with pain, up and +down against the rusty edges. A sharp pain and she bit her +lips,—readjusting herself to her task. But she felt the saw cutting +into the rope—one strand, another, and in a moment her hands were +released.</p> + +<p>In her joy of the achievement, she toppled over on the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>floor, but +managed to release her elbows. Now, panting with her exertions and +moving her arms quickly to restore the circulation, she felt for the +knots at her knees and ankles and in a moment her limbs were free. But +she had not reckoned with the effects of their long period of +inactivity, for when she tried to get to her feet she found that her +limbs were powerless. But she moved her knees up and down, suffering +keenly as the blood took up its course, and after a time managed to +scramble to her feet, and stagger to the opening in the wall.</p> + +<p>It seemed that all the forest was now a mass of flaming brands and that +the roar of the flames was at her very ears. It was stiflingly hot too +and in one corner of the cabin there was a tiny bright spot and a curl +of smoke. Had her liberty come too late? She was not even free yet, for +the hole in the wall of the building was no larger than a single pane of +glass and the door of the shanty was fastened by the hasp on the +outside.</p> + +<p>There was no time now to hesitate unless she wished to be burned alive. +With an effort she threw herself against the door—again and again, but +it would not yield. Despairing and blinded by smoke, she staggered to +the box hunting an ax, when her fingers met the handle of the friendly +saw. It was heavy but she knew how to use it, and set it at the hole in +the wall, drawing it back and forth. The wood was dead and she felt it +yield to the strong teeth of the tool, so that she struggled on, the +width of the board; then cut again, at the upper edge of the aperture, +and in a moment the board fell away.</p> + +<p>She was not a moment too soon, for as she crawled through the opening +and fell exhausted on the outside, one end of the building suddenly +caught fire, blazing fiercely. The sparks were all around her and her +skirt caught fire in the flaming leaves into which she had fallen, but +she put it out with her blistered hands and rose to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>her feet. A figure +was coming toward her, bent, its hand before its eyes. She could not +make out who it was, but as she turned to run Hawk Kennedy espied her.</p> + +<p>"Ho there, kid! Got loose, hey? Just in time. Did ye think I was goin' +to let ye be burned to death?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>With Brierly leading them to the machine and listening to Peter's story +as they went, Peter made his way across the foot of the lawn to the road +where the machine was waiting for them. As they climbed into it, the +glow to the south had turned a lurid red, staining the dusky sky to the +zenith. Brierly drove and for precaution's sake Peter sat in the tonneau +with Shad. But the lumberman, if he had ever been considered formidable +even in his own estimation, showed no evidence of any self-confidence. +Peter had given him signs of mettle which were not to be denied and like +all bullies Shad knew that he was beaten. The one vestige of his +decency,—his honorable affection for Beth, which had blinded him to +reason and all sense of duty, was now dedicated to the task of saving +her. And though the dull hatred of Peter still burned in his breast, the +instinct of self-preservation, and the chance of retrieving himself at +the last, made it necessary for him to put his pride in his pocket and +accept the inevitable.</p> + +<p>"Ye'll keep yer word, Mister?" he inquired of Peter, after a moment. "I +didn't have nothin' to do with settin' them woods afire. Ye'll get me +out o' this scrape?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Peter shortly. "I will."</p> + +<p>But he watched him nevertheless.</p> + +<p>The ex-soldier drove the car at a furious pace over the rough road, +rejoicing in the open cut-out and the rush of the wind past his ears. He +had been, for a time, a chauffeur of a staff car on the other side, and +the present conditions were full of promise of the kind of excitement +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>that appealed to his youthful spirit. Shad shouted instructions over +his shoulder but Brierly only nodded and sent the car on over the +corduroy to which they had come, with the throttle wide. Night had +nearly fallen but the road was a crimson track picked out with long +pencilings of shadow. The wind was still tossing the tree tops and +leaves and twigs cut sharply across their faces. There was no mistaking +the danger to the whole of the Lower Reserve unless the wind fell—a +"crown" fire after two weeks of drought was not a subject for jest.</p> + +<p>But Peter was not thinking of the damage to McGuire's property. He +roared questions eagerly at Wells as to the location of the cabin with +reference to the probable course of the flames. The man only shook his +head dubiously, but it was plain that he was considering that danger. As +they neared the fire they could see the flames clearly now, beyond the +pines just before them, which were etched in deeply bitten lines, every +quivering frond in silhouette against the glare.</p> + +<p>As the car neared the "Forks," Shad directed Brierly to take the turn to +the left—away from the main road to camp, and they swung into a sandy +road, the wind at their backs, their way for a time almost parallel to +the course of the flames. They passed the small settlement of the +"Forks," the few denizens of which were standing beside the road, their +few household goods packed in barrows and carts, undecided whether or +not the red terror would come their way. The flames were clearly visible +now, leaping skyward like devils freed from Hell, and so hot was the +fire and so high the wind that whole branches were carried high into the +air and flaming fell beyond into the cool dark to kindle new +destruction. Anything that lay to leeward of the holocaust was doomed. +Peter furiously questioned Wells again, but he only shook his head while +he anxiously watched the flames as the road <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>converged toward them. But +as the road swung to the left Shad shouted and held up his hand and +Brierly brought the car to a stop.</p> + +<p>"This is the nearest point, I guess, Mister. From here on to Cranberry +town the road runs to the left of Cedar Swamp."</p> + +<p>"Where's the cabin?" queried Peter anxiously.</p> + +<p>"In yonder, not far from the edge of the swamp," Shad replied with a +frown. "Looks like the fire's pretty near there."</p> + +<p>"Come on, then," said Peter quickly. "Brierly, you go back to Black Rock +and bring the men here. Follow in. We'll be on the lookout for you."</p> + +<p>And leaving Brierly to turn the car, he started off with Shad Wells into +the underbrush. His heart sank as he saw how furiously the fire was +raging and how near it seemed to be. But Shad needed no urging now and +led the way with a long stride, Peter following closely. The woods were +not so heavy here and the forest was now as bright as at midday, and so +they made rapid progress, coming out at the end of some minutes at the +edge of the swamp, whose burnished pools sullenly reflected the fiery +heavens. There they found a path and proceeded more quickly. To Peter's +anxious questions Shad shook his head and only peered before him, +forgetting his own suffering in the dreadful danger to which the girl +they sought might be subjected. A terrible thought had come into Peter's +mind in the last few moments—that it was Hawk Kennedy who had set fire +to the woods after imprisoning Beth in a cabin in the path of the +flames. This was his vengeance, terrible in its simplicity—for a +lighted match in the dry leaves would do the trick, and incendiarism in +the woods was difficult to trace. A vengeance fatal in its +effectiveness, for such a fire would tell no tales. Peter found himself +hoping that it was not to the old tool cabin <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>that Beth had been +taken—that she was even far away from this inferno that lay before him. +The glare was already hot on his face and stray breezes which blew +toward him from time to time showed that the wind might be veering to +the eastward, in which case all the woods which they now traversed would +soon be afire.</p> + +<p>But to the credit of Shad Wells it may be said that he did not hesitate, +for when he reached a point in the path where it turned closely along +the edge of the swamp, he plunged boldly into the woods, directly toward +the flames, and Peter, even more eager than he, ran ahead, peering to +right and left for signs of the cabin which now could not be far away. +The roar and the crackling were now ominously near and the flames seemed +to be all about them, while the tree tops seemed to be filled with +flaming brands. Sparks and live cinders fell upon them and the hot +breath of the wind blistered them with its heat.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the panting Shad grasped Peter sharply by the arm with his +uninjured hand.</p> + +<p>"The cabin! My God! It's burning now——Quick, Mister—or——"</p> + +<p>Peter sprang forward through the flaming leaves. He seemed to be in the +very midst of the flames. Blinded and suffocated by the smoke, Peter +plunged forward and reached the cabin. One end and side of it was +blazing furiously but he dashed around the lower end of it, seeking the +door. It was open and already aflame. The hut was empty. He ran out +again, blinded by the smoke and the glare. Was it a fool's errand? And +had he and Shad only entrapped themselves to no good end? To the right +of him the fire roared and with his back to the glare his eyes eagerly +sought the shadows down the wind. Vague shapes of gnarled branches and +pallid tree trunks, spectral bushes quivering before the advancing +demon, some of them already alight. Safety lay only in this one +direction—for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>Beth, if she had been there, for Shad——Peter suddenly +remembered the lumberman and turned to his left to look, when suddenly +he espied a figure moving away from him and ran after it, calling. He +realized immediately that his hoarse cry was lost in the inferno of the +flames, but he ran more rapidly, beating out the embers which had +ignited the sleeve of his shirt.</p> + +<p>He saw the figure clearly now, but it was not Shad—for Shad had been in +his shirt sleeves. This figure wore a coat and stumbled away half bent, +one arm over its head, pushing something—some one ahead of it. Peter +drew his revolver, leaping the burning leaves and calling aloud.</p> + +<p>He saw the figures ahead of him halt and turn as they heard his voice +and the glare behind him shone full upon them, the face of the man agape +with inflamed surprise—Hawk Kennedy's, and the other, wide-eyed as at +the sight of an apparition—Beth's.</p> + +<p>Only thirty paces separated them when Hawk Kennedy fired. Peter heard +Beth's scream and saw her strike at the man's arm, but furiously he +swung her in front of him and fired again. But her struggles and the +uncertain light sent the bullet wide. Peter did not dare to shoot for +the man was using her as a shield, but he did not hesitate and ran in, +trusting to luck and Beth's struggles. One bullet struck him somewhere +as Beth seemed to stumble and crumple to the ground, but he went on +unspent and catapulted into his man with a rush that sent them both +sprawling into the smoldering foliage. Blinded by the smoke, but mad +with fury, Peter struck and clutched, and Hawk's last shot went upward +for Peter wrenched his wrist and then struck him full on the head with +his own weapon.</p> + +<p>He felt the man relax and slip down into the dust and smoke, where he +lay motionless.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span>Peter drew himself up to arm's length, wondering at the feebleness of +his muscles and the trouble with his breathing.</p> + +<p>"Beth!" he gasped, frantically, searching the smoking ground for her.</p> + +<p>"Peter—thank God!" Her voice was just at his ear and an arm went around +his neck.</p> + +<p>"Beth! Beth! You've got to get out of this."</p> + +<p>"Come, Peter—there's time——"</p> + +<p>Just then a branch crashed down just beside them, showering them with +sparks.</p> + +<p>"Come, Peter—come!" she cried.</p> + +<p>He struggled up with an effort, one hand clutching at his breast.</p> + +<p>"Go, Beth!" he gasped. "For God's sake, go!"</p> + +<p>Beth stared at him for one short terrible moment as she realized what +had happened to him.</p> + +<p>"Peter! You—you're——"</p> + +<p>"I—I think I'm hurt—a little—it isn't much."</p> + +<p>He swayed but she caught him and put an arm around one shoulder, +clutching it with the other hand.</p> + +<p>"Lean on me," she muttered. "I'm strong enough——"</p> + +<p>"No—go, Beth——"</p> + +<p>But she put her strength under him and began walking while he staggered +on beside her. Sparks and fiery brands rained down upon them, blistering +and burning, the hot breath of the furnace drove their breath poisoned +back into their lungs and scorched their bodies, but still they remained +upright—and by a miracle still moved on.</p> + +<p>"To the left," Peter heard dimly, "the swamp is close by."</p> + +<p>He obeyed her, more dead than alive, and by sheer effort of will kept +his feet moving, paced to hers. He seemed to be walking as though in a +red fever, on leaden feet, carrying a body that had no weight or +substance.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>But after a while his feet too seemed to grow lighter and he felt +himself falling through space. But her arms were still about him.</p> + +<p>"Peter," he heard her voice in agony, "only a few yards further——"</p> + +<p>With a last remaining effort he struggled and then his feet stumbling, +toppled forward and sank into something soft, something deliciously cool +and soothing. He felt a hand tugging at him, but he had no pain now, no +weakness—only the perfect happiness of a body that, seeking rest, has +found it.</p> + +<p>After a while he revived at the sound of a voice at his ear. Water was +splashing over his face and he struggled up.</p> + +<p>"No—keep down," he heard Beth's voice saying. "We're safe, Peter—the +wind is changing——"</p> + +<p>"And you, Beth——?"</p> + +<p>"All right, dear. A little patience——"</p> + +<p>The voice trembled, but there was a world of faith in it. After all that +had happened, it was impossible that further disaster should follow now.</p> + +<p>"Y-you're all right?" he gasped weakly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes. Lie still for a while."</p> + +<p>And so they half lay, half crouched in the mud and water, while the +inferno swept over them, passing to the south. His head was on her +breast and against his ear he could feel her heart beating bravely, a +message of strength and cheer. From time to time her wet fingers brushed +his hair with water and then, as he seemed to be sinking into a dream +again, he felt lips light as thistle-down upon his brows.</p> + +<p>Death such as this, he thought, was very pleasant.</p> + +<p>And then later he was aroused by a shrill clear call.... Then saw lights +flashing.... Heard men's voices.... Felt himself carried in strong arms +... but all the while there were soft fingers in his own.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h2>RETRIBUTION</h2> +<br /> + +<p>When they lifted him into the automobile and Beth got in beside him, his +fingers moved in her own.</p> + +<p>"Beth," she heard him whisper.</p> + +<p>"Peter—I'm here."</p> + +<p>"Thank God. And—and Shad——? He—he was with me——"</p> + +<p>"He's asking for Shad," she repeated to Brierly, unaware that her +cousin, like his Biblical namesake, had come scatheless through the +fiery furnace. But some one heard the question and replied:</p> + +<p>"Shad's here, Miss. He's all right——"</p> + +<p>"Oh," gasped Peter. "And there's something else——"</p> + +<p>"No, no—we must go. Your wound——"</p> + +<p>But he insisted. "I—I'm all—right. Something else,—Beth—some one +must get—paper—blue envelope—Hawk Ken——"</p> + +<p>His words ended in a gasp and he sank back in her arms.</p> + +<p>Beth was frightened at the sudden collapse and the look in his face, but +she knew that his injunction was important. And keeping her courage she +called Shad Wells to the side of the car and gave quick directions. +There was a note of appeal in her voice and Shad listened, his gaze over +his shoulder in the direction she indicated.</p> + +<p>"If he ain't burned to a crisp by now——"</p> + +<p>"Go, Shad—please! And if you can get to him bring the papers in his +pocket to me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>He met her gaze and smiled.</p> + +<p>"I reckon I'll get to him if anybody can."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thanks, Shad—thanks——" she muttered, as the lumberman turned, +followed by one of the others, and silently moved toward the flames.</p> + +<p>And in a moment the car was on its way to Black Rock, Brierly driving +carefully over the rough road. That was a terrible ride for Beth. She +supported the wounded man against her shoulder, her gaze on his pallid +face. Her poor blistered arm was about his waist, but she had no thought +for her own suffering. Every ounce of strength that remained to her was +given to holding Peter close to her so that he would not slip down, +every ounce of faith in her soul given to combat with the fears that +assailed her. It seemed to Beth that if the Faith that had brought her +through this day and out of that furnace were still strong enough she +could combat even the Death that rode with them. And so she prayed +again, holding him closely. But he was so cold and inert. She put her +hand over his heart and a tiny pulsation answered as though to reassure +her. Her hand came away dry, for the wound was not near his heart. She +thanked God for that. She found it high up on the right side just below +the collar bone and held her fingers there, pressing them tightly. If +this blood were life and she could keep it within him she would do it. +But he was so pale....</p> + +<p>Brierly drove to Black Rock House instinctively. Here were beds, +servants and the telephone. He sounded his horn as they came up the +driveway and an excited group came out upon the porch. But Beth saw only +McGuire.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Nichols has been shot, Mr. McGuire—he's dangerously hurt," she +appealed. "He's got to have a doctor—at once."</p> + +<p>"Who—who shot him?"</p> + +<p>"Hawk Kennedy."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>"And he—Hawk——?"</p> + +<p>"He's dead, I think."</p> + +<p>She heard McGuire's sudden gasp and saw Aunt Tillie come running.</p> + +<p>"He's got to be put to bed—Aunt Tillie," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said McGuire, finding his voice suddenly, "Of course—at +once. The blue room, Mrs. Bergen. We'll carry him up. Send Stryker."</p> + +<p>And Aunt Tillie ran indoors.</p> + +<p>Peter was still quite unconscious, but between them they managed to get +him upstairs.</p> + +<p>McGuire seemed now galvanized into activity and while the others cut +Peter's coat away and found the wound he got Hammonton and a doctor on +the 'phone. It was twelve miles away but he promised to be at Black Rock +House inside half an hour.</p> + +<p>"Twenty minutes and you won't regret it. Drive like Hell. It's a matter +of life or death."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Aunt Tillie, with anxious glances at Beth, had brought +absorbent cotton, clean linen, a basin of water and a sponge, and +Stryker and Brierly washed the wound, while McGuire rushed for his +bottle and managed to force some whisky and water between Peter's teeth. +The bullet they found had gone through the body and had come out at the +back, shattering the shoulder-blade. But the hemorrhage had almost +ceased and the wounded man's heart was still beating faintly.</p> + +<p>"It's the blood he's lost," muttered Brierly sagely.</p> + +<p>"He'll come around all right. You can't kill a man as game as that."</p> + +<p>Beth clung to the arms of the chair in which they had placed her. "You +think—he—he'll live?"</p> + +<p>"Sure he will. I've seen 'em worse'n that——"</p> + +<p>She sank back into her chair, exhausted. She had never fainted in her +life and she wasn't going to begin. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>But now that all that they could do +had been done for Peter, they turned their attention to Beth. She had +not known how much she needed it. Her hair was singed, her wrists were +raw and bleeding, and her arms, half naked, were red and blistered. Her +dress, soaked with mud and water, was partly torn or burned away.</p> + +<p>"She must be put to bed here, Mrs. Bergen," said McGuire. "She'll need +the doctor too."</p> + +<p>Beth protested and would not leave the room until the doctor came. But +McGuire, who seemed—and somewhat justly—to have complete faith in the +efficacy of his own remedy, gave her some of the whisky and water to +drink, while Aunt Tillie washed her face and rubbed vaseline upon her +arms, crooning over her all the while in the comforting way of women of +her kind, to the end that Beth felt the pain of her body lessen.</p> + +<p>It was not until the doctor arrived with a businesslike air and made his +examination, pronouncing Peter's condition serious but not necessarily +fatal, that the tension at Beth's heart relaxed.</p> + +<p>"He—he'll get well, Doctor?" she asked timidly.</p> + +<p>"I think so," he said with a smile, "but we've got to have absolute +quiet now. I'd like some one here to help me——"</p> + +<p>"If you'd only let me——"</p> + +<p>But she read refusal in his eyes as he looked at her critically, and saw +him choose Stryker.</p> + +<p>"You're to be put to bed at once," he said dryly. "You'll need attention +too, I'm thinking."</p> + +<p>And so Beth, with McGuire's arm supporting and Aunt Tillie's arm around +her, was led to the room adjoining,—the pink room of Miss Peggy +McGuire. McGuire closed the door and questioned her eagerly.</p> + +<p>"You say Hawk Kennedy was killed——?"</p> + +<p>"I think so—or—or burned," said Beth, now quivering <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>in the reaction +of all that she had experienced. "I—I sent Shad Wells to see. We left +him lying there. We just had time to get away. The fire was all around. +We got to the swamp—into the water—but he——" She put her face into +her hands, trembling with the recollection. "It was horrible. I can't +talk about it."</p> + +<p>Aunt Tillie glared at McGuire, but he still questioned uneasily.</p> + +<p>"You—you saw nothing of a blue envelope, a paper——"</p> + +<p>With an effort Beth lowered her hands and replied:</p> + +<p>"No—Peter—Mr. Nichols thought of it. Shad Wells will bring it—if it +isn't burned."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see——"</p> + +<p>"But what you can't see," broke in Aunt Tillie with spirit, "is that the +poor child ain't fit to answer any more questions to-night. And she +shan't."</p> + +<p>"Er—no—of course," said McGuire, and went out.</p> + +<p>If it had been an eventful day for Peter and Beth, the night was to +prove eventful for McGuire, for not content to wait the arrival of Shad +Wells, he took his courage in his hands and with Brierly drove at once +to the scene of the disaster. The wind had died and a gentle rain began +to fall, but the fire was burning fiercely.</p> + +<p>The other matter in McGuire's thoughts was so much the more important to +him that he had given little thought to the damage to his property. His +forests might all be burned down for all that he cared.</p> + +<p>At the spot to which Beth and Peter had been carried he met Shad and the +party of men that had been looking for Hawk Kennedy, but the place where +the fight had taken place was still a mass of fallen trees and branches +all flaming hotly and it was impossible for any one to get within +several hundred yards of it.</p> + +<p>There seemed little doubt as to the fate of his enemy. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>Jonathan K. +McGuire stood at the edge of the burned area, peering into the glowing +embers. His look was grim but there was no smile of triumph at his lips. +In his moments of madness he had often wished Hawk Kennedy dead, but +never had he wished him such a death as this. He questioned Shad sharply +as to his share in the adventure, satisfying himself at last that the +man had told a true story, and then, noting his wounded arm, sent him +back with Brierly in the car to Black Rock House for medical treatment +with orders to send the chauffeur with the limousine.</p> + +<p>The rain was now falling fast, but Jonathan K. McGuire did not seem to +be aware of it. His gaze was on the forest, on that of the burning area +nearest him where the fire still flamed the hottest, beneath the embers +of which lay the one dreadful secret of his life. Even where he stood +the heat was intense, but he did not seem to be aware of it, nor did he +follow the others when they retreated to a more comfortable spot. No one +knew why he waited or of what he was thinking, unless of the damage to +the Reserve and what the loss in money meant to him. They could not +guess that pity and fear waged their war in his heart—pity that any man +should die such a death—fear that the man he thought of should not die +it.</p> + +<p>But as the hours lengthened and there was no report brought to him of +any injured man, being found in the forest near by, he seemed to know +that Peter Nichols had not struck for Beth in vain.</p> + +<p>When the limousine came, he sent the other watchers home, and got into +it, sitting in solitary grandeur in his wet clothing, peering out of the +window. The glow of the flames grew dimmer and died at last with the +first pale light to the eastward which announced the coming of the dawn. +A light drizzle was still falling when it grew light enough to see. +McGuire got down and without awakening <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>the sleeping chauffeur went +forth into the spectral woods. He knew where the old tool cabin had +stood and, from the description Wells had given him, had gained a +general idea of where the fight had taken place—two hundred yards from +the edge of the swamp where Nichols and the Cameron girl had been found, +and nearly in a line with the biggest of the swamp-maples, the trunk of +which still stood, a melancholy skeleton of its former grandeur.</p> + +<p>The ground was still hot under the mud and cinders, but not painfully +so, and he was not aware of any discomfort. Clouds of steam rose and +among them he moved like the ghost of a sin, bent, eager, searching with +heavy eyes for what he hoped and what he feared to find. The old tool +house had disappeared, but he saw a heap of ashes and among them the +shapes of saws and iron picks and shovels. But he passed them by, making +a straight line to the eastward and keeping his gaze upon the charred +and blackened earth, missing nothing to right and left, fallen branches, +heaps of rubbish, mounds of earth.</p> + +<p>Suddenly startled, McGuire halted and stood for a long moment.... Then, +his hand before his eyes he turned away and slowly made his way back to +his automobile. But there was no triumph in his eyes. A power greater +than his own had avenged Ben Cameron.</p> + +<p>His vigil was over—his nightly vigil—the vigil of years. He made his +way to his car and, awakening his chauffeur, told him to drive to Black +Rock House. But when he reached home, the set look that his face had +worn for so many weeks had disappeared. And in its place among the +relaxed muscles which showed his years, sat the benignity of a new +resolution.</p> + +<p>It was broad daylight when he quietly knocked at the door of the room in +which the injured man lay. The doctor came to the door. It seemed that +all immediate danger of a further collapse had passed for the heart was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>stronger and unless there was a setback Peter Nichols had an excellent +chance of recovery. McGuire himself offered to watch beside the bed; but +the doctor explained that a trained nurse was already on the way from +Philadelphia and would arrive at any moment. So McGuire went to his own +room and, sinking into his armchair, slept for the first time in many +weeks at peace, smiling his benignant smile.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Beth awoke in the pink room of Miss Peggy McGuire in which she had been +put to bed. She lay for a moment still stupefied, her brain struggling +against the effects of the sleeping potion that the doctor had given her +and then slowly straightened to a sitting posture, regarding in +bewilderment the embroidered night-robe which she wore and the flowered +pink hangings at the windows. She couldn't at first understand the pain +at her head and other aches and pains which seemed to come mysteriously +into being. But she heard a familiar voice at her ear and saw the +anxious face of Aunt Tillie, who rose from the chair at her bedside.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Tillie!" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, dearie," said the old woman. "You're to lie quite still +until the doctor sees you——"</p> + +<p>"The doctor——? Oh, I—I remember——" And then with a sudden awakening +to full consciousness—"Peter!" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"He's better, dearie."</p> + +<p>"But what does the doctor say?"</p> + +<p>"He's doin' as well as possible——"</p> + +<p>"Will he get well?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. The doctor is very hopeful."</p> + +<p>"You're sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He's sleepin' now—quiet—ye'd better just lie back again."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span>"But I want to go to him, Aunt Tillie. I want to."</p> + +<p>"No. Ye can't, dearie—not now."</p> + +<p>And so by dint of reassurance and persuasion, Aunt Tillie prevailed upon +the girl to lie back upon her pillows and after a while she slept again.</p> + +<p>But Beth was no weakling and when the doctor came into her room some +time later, the effects of her potion wearing away, she awoke to full +consciousness. He saw the imploring question in her eyes, before he took +her pulse and answered it with a quick smile.</p> + +<p>"He's all right. Heart coming on nicely——"</p> + +<p>"Will h-he live?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"He'll be a fool if he doesn't."</p> + +<p>"What——?"</p> + +<p>"I'd be, if I knew there was a girl like you in the next room with that +kind of look in her eyes asking for me."</p> + +<p>But his remark went over Beth's head.</p> + +<p>"He's better?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Conscious too. But he'll have to be kept quiet."</p> + +<p>"D-did he speak of me?"</p> + +<p>The doctor was taking her pulse and put on a professional air which hid +his inward smiles and provoked a repetition of her question.</p> + +<p>"D-did he?" she repeated softly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," he said with a laugh. "He won't talk of anything else. I had +to give him a hypodermic to make him stop."</p> + +<p>Beth was silent for a moment. And then timidly——</p> + +<p>"What did he say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just that you saved his life, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Nothing else?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. Now that I come to think of it, he did."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"That he wanted to see you."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>"Oh! And can I——?"</p> + +<p>The doctor snapped his watch and relinquished her wrist with a smile.</p> + +<p>"If everything goes well—to-morrow—for two minutes—just two minutes, +you understand."</p> + +<p>"Not until to-morrow?" she asked ruefully.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be glad to see him alive at all. He had a narrow shave of +it. An inch or two lower——" And then with a smile, "But he's going to +get well, I promise you that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thanks," said Beth gratefully.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry. And if you behave yourself I'll let you get up after +lunch." He gave some directions to Mrs. Bergen as to the treatment of +Beth's blistered arms, and went out.</p> + +<p>So in spite of the pain that she still suffered, Beth was content. At +least she was content until Aunt Tillie brought her Miss Peggy McGuire's +silver hand-mirror and she saw the reflection of her once beautiful +self.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Tillie!" she gasped. "I'm a sight."</p> + +<p>"Maybe—but that's a sight better than bein' burned to death," said the +old lady, soberly.</p> + +<p>"My hair——!"</p> + +<p>"It's only frizzled. They say that's good for the hair," she said +cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," sighed Beth as she laid the mirror down beside her. "I guess +I ought to be glad I'm alive after——"</p> + +<p>And then with an uncontrollable shudder, she asked, "And—and—<i>him</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Dead," said Aunt Tillie with unction. "Burned to a crisp."</p> + +<p>Beth gasped but said nothing more. She didn't want to think of +yesterday, but she couldn't help it—the horrors that she had passed +through—the fate that might <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span>have been in store for her, if—Peter +hadn't found her in time!</p> + +<p>Beth relaxed in comfort while Aunt Tillie bathed and anointed her, +brushed out the hair that was "frizzled," refreshing and restoring her +patient, so that after lunch she got up and put on the clothing that had +been brought from her home. Her arms were swathed in bandages from +wrists to shoulders but the pain was much less, so, when McGuire knocked +at the door and asked if he might see her, she was sitting in a chair by +the window and greeted him with a smile.</p> + +<p>He entered timidly and awkwardly, rubbing his fingers uncomfortably +against the palms of his hands.</p> + +<p>"They tell me you're feelin' better, Miss Cameron," he said soberly. +"I—I'd like to talk to you for a moment," and with a glance at Aunt +Tillie, "alone if you don't mind."</p> + +<p>Aunt Tillie gathered up some bandages and grudgingly departed.</p> + +<p>McGuire came forward slowly and sank into a chair beside Beth's, laying +his hand timidly on hers.</p> + +<p>"I thank God nothing happened to you, child, and I hope you believe me +when I say it," he began in an uncertain voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir, I do."</p> + +<p>"Because the only thing that matters to me now is setting myself +straight with you and Mr. Nichols."</p> + +<p>He paused in a difficulty of speech and then went on.</p> + +<p>"He—Mr. Nichols has told you everything——?"</p> + +<p>Beth wagged her head like a solemn child and then laid her other hand on +his.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so sorry for you," she said.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't say that," he muttered. "I—I've done you a great +wrong—not trying to find out about Ben Cameron—not trying to find +<i>you</i>. But I've suffered for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span>it, Miss——" And then eagerly——"You +don't mind my calling you Beth, do you?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. McGuire."</p> + +<p>"I ought to have told what happened. I ought to have tried to find out +if Ben Cameron had any kin. I did wrong. But I've paid for it. I've +never had a happy hour since I claimed that mine that didn't belong to +me. I've made a lot of money but what I did has been hanging over me for +years making an old man of me before my time——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, please don't be unhappy any more——"</p> + +<p>"Let me talk Miss—Beth. I've got to tell you. It'll make me feel a lot +easier." Beth smoothed his hand reassuringly and he clasped hers eagerly +as though in gratitude. "I never was much good when I was a lad, Beth, +and I never could get along even after I got married. It wasn't in me +somehow. I was pretty straight as young fellows go but nothing went +right for me. I was a failure. And then——"</p> + +<p>He paused a moment with bent head but Beth didn't speak. It was all very +painful to her.</p> + +<p>"Hawk Kennedy killed your father. But I was a crook too. I left Hawk +there without water to die. It was a horrible thing to do—even after +what he'd done to me. My God! Maybe I didn't suffer for that! I was glad +when I learned Hawk didn't die, even though I knew from that time that +he'd be hanging over me like a curse. He did for years and years. I knew +he'd turn up some day, I tried to forget, but I couldn't. The sight of +him was always with me."</p> + +<p>"How terrible!" whispered Beth.</p> + +<p>"But from that moment everything I did went well. Money came fast. I +wasn't a bad business man, but even a bad business man could have put +<i>that</i> deal through. I sold out the mine. I've got the figures and I'm +going to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span>show them to you, because they're yours to see. With the money +I made some good investments. That money made more money and more +besides. Making money got to be my passion. It was the only thing I +cared for—except my girls—and it was the only thing that made me +forget."</p> + +<p>"Please don't think you've got to tell me any more."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I want to. I don't know how much I'm worth to-day." And then in a +confidential whisper—"I couldn't tell within half a million or so, but +I guess it ain't far short of ten millions, Beth. You're the only person +in the world outside the Treasury Department that knows how much I'm +worth. I'm telling you. I've never told anybody—not even Peggy. And the +reason I'm telling you is because, you've got to know, because I can't +sleep sound yet, until I straighten this thing out with you. It didn't +take much persuading for Mr. Nichols to show me what I had to do when +he'd found out, because everything I've got comes from money I took from +you. And I'm going to give you what belongs to you, the full amount I +got for that mine with interest to date. It's not mine. It's yours and +you're a rich girl, Beth——"</p> + +<p>"I won't know what to do with all that money, Mr. McGuire," said Beth in +an awed voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you will. I've been thinking it all out. It's a deed by gift. +We'll have to have a consideration to make it binding. We may have to +put in the facts that I've been—er—only a sort of trustee of the +proceeds of the 'Tarantula' mine. I've got a good lawyer. He'll know +what to do—how to fix it."</p> + +<p>"I—I'm sure I'm very grateful."</p> + +<p>"You needn't be." He paused and laid his hand over hers again. "But if +it's all the same to you, I'd rather not have much talk about it—just +what's said in the deed—to explain."</p> + +<p>"I'll say nothin' you don't want said."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span>"I knew you wouldn't. Until the papers are drawn I'd rather you wouldn't +speak of it."</p> + +<p>"I won't."</p> + +<p>"You're a good girl. I—I'd like to see you happy. If money will make +you happy, I'm glad I can help."</p> + +<p>"You've been very kind, Mr. McGuire—and generous. I can't seem to think +about all that money. It's just like a fairy tale."</p> + +<p>"And you forgive me—for what I did——? You forgive me, Beth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, Mr. McGuire. Don't say anythin' more about it—please!"</p> + +<p>The old man bent his head and kissed her hand and then with a great sigh +of relief straightened and rose.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" he said quietly. And bidding her good-by he walked from the +room.</p> + +<br /> +<br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h2>A VISITOR</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The two minutes permitted by the doctor had come and gone. There had +been much to say with too little time to say it in. For Beth, admonished +that the patient must be kept quiet, and torn between joy at Peter's +promised recovery and pity for his pale face, could only look at him and +murmur soothing phrases, while Peter merely smiled and held her hand. +But that, it seemed, was enough, for Beth read in his eyes that what had +happened had merely set an enduring seal upon the affection of both of +them.</p> + +<p>With the promise that she could see him again on the morrow, Beth went +back to her room. She had wanted to return to the village, but McGuire +had insisted upon her staying where she was under the care of the doctor +until what they were pleased to call the shock to her system had yielded +to medical treatment. Beth said nothing. She was already herself and +quite able to take up her life just where she had left it, but she +agreed to stay in McGuire's house. It seemed to make him happier when +she acquiesced in his wishes. Besides, it was nice to be waited on and +to be next to the room where the convalescent was.</p> + +<p>But the revelation as to Peter's identity could not be long delayed. +Brierly had brought the tale back from the lumber camp, and the village +was all agog with excitement. But Beth had seen no one but Mr. McGuire +and Aunt Tillie, and Peter had requested that no one should tell her but +himself. And so in a day or so when Beth went <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span>into Peter's room she +found him with a color in his cheeks, and wearing a quizzical smile.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were never coming, Beth," he said.</p> + +<p>"I came as soon as they'd let me, Peter. Do you feel stronger?"</p> + +<p>"Every hour. Better when you're here. And you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm all right."</p> + +<p>He looked at her with his head on one side.</p> + +<p>"Do you think you could stand hearing something very terrible about me, +Beth?"</p> + +<p>She glanced at him anxiously and then a smile of perfect faith responded +to his. She knew that he was getting well now, because this was a touch +of his old humor.</p> + +<p>"H-m. I guess so. I don't believe it can be so <i>very</i> terrible, Peter."</p> + +<p>"It is—<i>very</i> terrible, Beth."</p> + +<p>But the pressure of his fingers was reassuring.</p> + +<p>"I'm listenin'," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know, you told me once that you'd marry me no matter what I'd +been——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I meant that, Peter. I mean it now. It's what you are——"</p> + +<p>Peter Nichols chuckled. It was his last chuckle as Peter Nichols.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm not what you thought I was. I've been acting under false +colors—under false pretenses. My name isn't Peter Nichols. It's Peter +Nicholaevitch——"</p> + +<p>"Then you <i>are</i> all Russian!" she said.</p> + +<p>Peter shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No. Only half of me. But I used to live in Russia—at a place called +Zukovo. The thing I wanted to tell you was that they fired me out +because they didn't want me there."</p> + +<p>"You! How dared they! I'd like to give them a piece of my mind," said +Beth indignantly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span>"It wouldn't have done any good. I tried to do that."</p> + +<p>"And wouldn't they listen?"</p> + +<p>"No. They burned my—my house and tried to shoot me."</p> + +<p>"Oh! How could they!" And then, gently, "Oh, Peter. You <i>have</i> had +troubles, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't mind. If I hadn't had them, I wouldn't have come here and I +wouldn't have found you."</p> + +<p>"So after all, I ought to be glad they did fire you out," she said +gently.</p> + +<p>"But aren't you curious to know <i>why</i> they did?"</p> + +<p>"I am, if you want to tell me, but even if it was bad, I don't care +<i>what</i> you did, Peter."</p> + +<p>He took her fingers to his lips.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't so very bad after all, Beth. It wasn't so much what I did as +what my—er—my family had done that made them angry."</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>you</i> weren't responsible for what your kin-folks did."</p> + +<p>Peter laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"<i>They</i> seemed to think so. My—er—my kin-folks were mixed up in +politics in Russia and one of my cousins had a pretty big job—too big a +job for <i>him</i> and that's the truth." A cloud passed for a moment over +Peter's face and he looked away.</p> + +<p>"But what did <i>his</i> job have to do with <i>you</i>?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, we were all mixed up with him, just by being related—at +least that's what the people thought. And so when my cousin did a lot of +things the people thought he oughtn't to do and didn't do a lot of other +things that they thought he <i>ought</i> to have done, they believed that I +was just the same sort of man that he was."</p> + +<p>"How unjust, Peter!"</p> + +<p>He smiled at the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"I thought so. I told them what I thought. I did <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>what I could to +straighten things out and to help them, but they wouldn't listen. +Instead they burned my—my house down and I had to run away."</p> + +<p>"How terrible for you!" And then, after a pause, "Was it a pretty house, +Peter?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied slowly, "it was. A very pretty house—in the midst of +a forest, with great pines all about it. I wish they hadn't burned that +house, Beth, because I loved it."</p> + +<p>"Poor dear! I'm <i>so</i> sorry."</p> + +<p>"I thought you would be, because it was a big house, with pictures, +books, music——"</p> + +<p>"All burned! Land's sakes alive!"</p> + +<p>"And a wonderful grand piano."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Peter!" And then with a flash of joy, "But you're goin' to have +another grand piano just like it soon."</p> + +<p>"Am I? Who's going to give it to me?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> am," said Beth quietly. "And another house and pictures and books +and music."</p> + +<p>He read her expression eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. McGuire has told you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She nodded. "You knew?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied. "He told me yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it wonderful?" she whispered. And then went on rapidly, "So you +see, Peter, maybe I can be some good to you after all."</p> + +<p>He pressed her fingers, enjoying her happiness.</p> + +<p>"I can hardly believe it's true," she gasped, "but it must be, because +Mr. McGuire had his lawyer here yesterday talkin' about it——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It's true. I think he's pretty happy to get all that off his +conscience. You're a rich girl, Beth." And then, with a slow smile, +"That was one of the reasons why I wanted to talk with you about who <i>I</i> +was. You see, I thought that now that you're going to have all this +money, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span>you might want to change your mind about marrying a forester +chap who—who just wants to try to show the trees how to grow."</p> + +<p>"Peter! Don't make fun of me. <i>Please.</i> And you hurt me so!" she +reproached him. "You know I'll never want to change my mind ever, +<i>ever</i>—even if I had all the money in the world."</p> + +<p>He laughed, drew her face down to his and whispered, "Beth, dear. I knew +you wouldn't want to—but I just wanted to hear you say it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>have</i> said it. And I don't want you ever to say such a thing +again. As if I cared for anythin'—anythin' but <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>He kissed her on the lips and she straightened.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to hear you say <i>that</i> too," he said with a laugh.</p> + +<p>And then, after a silence which they both improved by gazing at each +other mutely, "But you don't seem very curious about who I am."</p> + +<p>Beth pressed his fingers confidently. What he was to <i>her</i> mattered a +great deal—and she realized that nothing else did. But she knew that +something was required of her. And so, "Oh, yes. Indeed I am, +Peter,—awfully curious," she said politely.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know, Beth, I'm not really so poor as I seem to be. I've got +a lot of securities in a bank in Russia, because nobody knew where they +were and so they couldn't take them."</p> + +<p>"And they would have taken your money too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. When this cousin of mine—his name was Nicholas—when Nicholas was +killed——"</p> + +<p>"They killed him! Who?"</p> + +<p>"The Bolsheviki—they killed Nicholas and his whole family—his wife, +son and four daughters——"</p> + +<p>"Peter!" Beth started up and stared at him in startled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span>bewilderment, as +she remembered the talks she had had with him about the Russian +Revolution. "Nicholas——!" she gasped. "His wife—son—daughters. He +had the same name as—as the Czar—!" And as her gaze met his again she +seemed to guess.... "Peter!" she gasped. "What—what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that it was the Little Father—the Czar—who was my cousin, +Beth."</p> + +<p>She stared at Peter in awe and a kind of fear of this new element in +their relations.</p> + +<p>"And—and you——? You're——?"</p> + +<p>"I'm just Peter Nichols——," he said with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"But over there——"</p> + +<p>"I'm nothing. They chucked us all out, the Bolsheviki—every last one of +us that had a handle to his name."</p> + +<p>"A handle——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I used to be Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch of Zukovo and +Galitzin——"</p> + +<p>"G-Grand Duke Peter!" she whispered in a daze. And then, "Oh—how—how +<i>could</i> you?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>Peter laughed.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't help it, Beth. I was born that—way. But you <i>will</i> forgive +me, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Forgive——? Oh—it—it makes such a difference to find—you're not +<i>you</i>—but somebody else——"</p> + +<p>"No. I <i>am</i>—<i>me</i>. I'm not anybody else. But I had to tell +you—sometime. You don't think any the less of me, do you, Beth?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know <i>what</i> to think. I'm so—you're so——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Grand—and I'm——"</p> + +<p>Peter caught her hands and made her look at him.</p> + +<p>"You're the only woman in the world I've ever <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span>wanted—the only +one—and you've promised me you'd marry me—you've promised, Beth."</p> + +<p>Her fingers moved gently in his and her gaze, wide-eyed, sought his.</p> + +<p>"And it won't make any difference——?"</p> + +<p>"No, Beth. Why should you think that?"</p> + +<p>"I—I was afraid—it might," she gasped. And then for a while Peter held +her hands, whispering, while Beth, still abashed, answered in +monosyllables, nodding from time to time.</p> + +<p>Later the nurse entered, her glance on her wrist-watch.</p> + +<p>"Time's up," she said. And Beth rose as one in a dream and moved slowly +around the foot of the bed to the door.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Jonathan K. McGuire had been as much astonished as Beth at the +revelation of Peter's identity, and the service that Peter had rendered +him made him more than anxious to show his appreciation by doing +everything he could for the wounded man's comfort and happiness. He +visited the bedside daily and told Peter of his conversation with Beth, +and of the plans that he was making for her future—which now, it +seemed, was Peter's future also. Peter told him something of his own +history and how he had met Jim Coast on the <i>Bermudian</i>. Then McGuire +related the story of the suppression of the outbreak at the lumber camp +by the Sheriff and men from May's Landing, and the arrest of Flynn and +Jacobi on charges of assault and incendiarism. Some of the men were to +be deported as dangerous "Reds." Brierly had been temporarily put in +charge at the Mills and Jesse Brown, now much chastened, was helping +McGuire to restore order. Shad Wells was technically under arrest, for +the coroner had "viewed" the body of the Russian Committeeman before it +had been removed by his friends and buried, and taken the testimony. But +McGuire had given bail and arranged for a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>hearing both as to the +shooting of and the death of Hawk Kennedy, when Peter was well enough to +go to May's Landing.</p> + +<p>The death of Hawk had produced a remarkable change in the character and +personality of the owner of the Black Rock Reserve. His back was +straighter, his look more direct, and he entered with avidity into the +business of bringing order out of the chaos that had resulted from the +riot. His word carried some weight, his money more, and with the +completion of his arrangements with Beth Cameron, he drew again the +breath of a free man.</p> + +<p>But of all this he had said nothing to Peggy, his daughter. He had +neither written to her nor telephoned, for he had no desire that she +should know more than the obvious facts as to the death of Hawk Kennedy, +for conflicting reports would lead to questions. Since she had suspected +nothing, it was needless to bring that horror to her notice, now that +the threat had passed. McGuire was a little afraid of his colorful +daughter. She talked too much and it had been decided that nobody, +except the lawyer, Peter, Beth and Mrs. Bergen should know the source of +Beth's sudden and unexpected inheritance. The girl had merely fallen +heir to the estate of her father, who had died many years before, not +leaving any record of this daughter, who had at last been found. All of +which was the truth, so far as it went, and was enough of a story to +tell Peggy when he should see her.</p> + +<p>But Jonathan McGuire found himself somewhat disturbed when he learned +one morning over the telephone that Peggy McGuire and a guest were on +their way to Black Rock House for the week-end. The message came from +the clerk of the hotel, and since Peggy and her friend had already +started from New York, he knew of no way to intercept them. There was +nothing to do but make the best of the situation. Peter had the best +guest <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span>room, but Beth had decided the day before to return to the +cottage, which was greatly in need of her attention. And so McGuire +informed Mrs. Bergen of the impending visit and gave orders that Miss +Peggy's room and a room in the wing should be prepared for the +newcomers.</p> + +<p>Beth had no wish to meet Peggy McGuire in this house after the scene +with Peter in the Cabin, when the young lady had last visited Black +Rock, for that encounter had given Beth glimpses of the kind of thoughts +beneath the pretty toques and <i>cerise</i> veils that had once been the +apple of her admiring eyes. But as luck would have it, as Beth finished +her afternoon's visit to Peter's bedside and hurried down to get away to +the village before the visitors arrived, Miss Peggy's low runabout +roared up to the portico. Beth's first impulse was to draw back and go +out through the kitchen, but the glances of the two girls met, Peggy's +in instant recognition. And so Beth tilted her chin and walked down the +steps just beside the machine, aware of an elegantly attired lady with a +doll-like prettiness who sat beside Peggy, oblivious of the sharp +invisible daggers which shot from eye to eye.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> here!" said Peggy, with an insulting shrug.</p> + +<p>Beth merely went her way. But no feminine adept of the art of give and +take could have showed a more perfect example of studied indifference +than Beth did. It was quite true that her cheeks burned as she went down +the drive and that she wished that Peter were well out of the house so +long as Peggy was in it.</p> + +<p>But Peggy McGuire could know nothing of Beth's feelings and cared not at +all what she thought or felt. Peggy McGuire was too much concerned with +the importance of the visitor that she had brought with her, the first +live princess that she had succeeded in bringing into captivity. But +Anastasie Galitzin had not missed the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span>little by-play and inquired with +some amusement as to the very pretty girl who had come out of the house.</p> + +<p>"Oh—the housekeeper's niece," replied Peggy, in her boarding school +French. "I don't like her. I thought she'd gone. She's been having a +<i>petite affaire</i> with our new forester and superintendent."</p> + +<p>Anastasie Galitzin, who was in the act of descending from the machine, +remained poised for a moment, as it were, in midair, staring at her +hostess.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she said. "<i>Vraiment!</i>"</p> + +<p>By this time the noise of the motor had brought Stryker and the +downstairs maid from the house, and in the confusion of carrying the +luggage indoors, the conversation terminated. It was not until Peggy's +noisy greetings to her father in the hallway were concluded and the +introduction of her new guest accomplished that Jonathan McGuire was +permitted to tell her in a few words the history of the past week, and +of the injury to the superintendent, who lay upstairs in the room of the +guest of honor.</p> + +<p>"H-m," sniffed Peggy, "I don't see why you had to bring him <i>here</i>!"</p> + +<p>"It's a long story, Peg," said McGuire calmly. "I'll tell you presently. +Of course the Princess is very welcome, but I couldn't let him be taken +anywhere but here, after he'd behaved so fine all through the rioting."</p> + +<p>"Well, it seems to me," Peggy began, when the voice of her guest cut in +rather sharply.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pierre!</i>" gasped Anastasie sharply, and then, in her pretty broken +English, "You say, Monsieur, it is he—Pe-ter Nichols—who 'as been +badly 'urt?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am, pretty bad—shot through the breast——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Sainte Vierge!</i>"</p> + +<p>"But he's getting on all right now. He'll be sitting <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span>up in a day or so, +the doctor says. Did you know him, ma'am?"</p> + +<p>Anastasie Galitzin made no reply, and only stared at her host, breathing +with some difficulty. Peggy, who had been watching her startled face, +found herself intensely curious. But as she would have questioned, the +Princess recovered herself with an effort.</p> + +<p>"No—yes, Monsieur. It—it is nothing. But if you please—I should like +to go at once to my room."</p> + +<p>And Peggy and her father, both of them much mystified, led the way up +the stairs and to the room that had been prepared in the wing of the +house, Stryker following with the bag and dressing case.</p> + +<p>At the door of the room the Princess begged Peggy to excuse her, +pleading weariness, and so the astonished and curious hostess was forced +to relinquish her latest social conquest and seek her own room, there to +meditate upon the extraordinary thing that had happened. Why was +Anastasie Galitzin so perturbed at learning of the wounds of Peter +Nichols? What did it all mean? Had she known him somewhere in the +past—in England—in Russia? What was he to her?</p> + +<p>But in a moment Jonathan McGuire joined her and revealed the identity of +his mysterious forester and superintendent. At first Peggy was +incredulous, then listened while her father told a story, half true, +half fictitious, which had been carefully planned to answer all the +requirements of the situation. And unaware of the cyclonic disturbances +he was causing in the breast of his only child, he told her of Beth and +Peter, and of the evidences of their devotion each to the other in spite +of their difference in station. Peggy's small soul squirmed during the +recital, but she only listened and said nothing. She realized that in a +situation such as this mere words on her part would be superfluous. The +Grand Duke <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>Peter Nicholaevitch! Here at Black Rock! Her pop's +superintendent! And she had not known. She had even insulted him. It was +hideous!</p> + +<p>And the Princess? The deep emotion that she had shown on hearing of the +dangerous wound of the convalescent was now explained. But only partly +so. The look that Peggy had surprised in Anastasie Galitzin's face meant +something more than mere solicitude for the safety of one of Russia's +banished Grand Dukes. It was the Princess who had been shocked at the +information, but it was the woman who had showed pain. Was there—had +there ever been—anything between Anastasie Galitzin and this—this +Peter Nichols?</p> + +<p>Facts about the early stages of her acquaintanceship with Anastasie +Galitzin now loomed up with an unpleasant definiteness. She had been +much flattered that so important a personage had shown her such +distinguished marks of favor and had rejoiced in the celerity with which +the intimacy had been established. The thought that the Princess +Galitzin had known all the while that the Grand Duke was living +incognito at Black Rock and had merely used Peggy as a means to bring +about this visit was not a pleasant one to Peggy. But the fact was now +quite obvious. She had been making a convenience of her. And what was +now to be the result of this visit? The Princess did not yet know of the +engagement of His Highness to the scullery maid. Who was to tell her?</p> + +<p>The snobbish little heart of Peggy McGuire later gained some +consolation, for Anastasie Galitzin emerged from her room refreshed and +invigorated, and lent much grace to the dinner table, telling father and +daughter something of the early life of the convalescent, exhibiting a +warm friendship which could be satisfied with nothing less than a visit +on the morrow to the sick-room. And His Highness now very much on the +mend, sent word, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span>with the doctor's permission, that he would be charmed +to receive the Princess Galitzin at ten in the morning.</p> + +<p>What happened in the room of the convalescent was never related to Peggy +McGuire. But Anastasie emerged with her head erect, her pretty face +wearing the fixed smile of the eternally bored. And then she told Peggy +that she had decided to return to New York. So after packing her +belongings, she got into Peggy's car and was driven much against the +will of her hostess to the Bergen cottage. Peggy wouldn't get out of the +car but Anastasie went to the door and knocked. Beth came out with her +sleeves rolled above her elbows, her fingers covered with flour. The +Princess Galitzin vanished inside and the door was closed. Her call +lasted ten minutes while Peggy cooled her heels. But whether the visit +had been prompted by goodness of heart or whether by a curiosity to +study the lady of Peter's choice at close range, no one will ever know. +Beth was very polite to her and though she identified her without +difficulty as the heliotrope-envelope lady, she offered her some of the +"cookies" that she had made for Peter, and expressed the warmest thanks +for her kind wishes. She saw Anastasie Galitzin to the door, marking her +heightened color and wondering what her fur coat had cost. Beth couldn't +help thinking, whatever her motive in coming, that the Princess Galitzin +was a very beautiful lady and that her manners had been lovely. But it +was with a sigh of relief that she saw the red car vanish down the road +in a cloud of dust.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>His convalescence begun, Peter recovered rapidly and in three weeks more +he was himself again. In those three weeks many interesting things had +happened.</p> + +<p>Jonathan K. McGuire had held a series of important conferences with +Peter and Mrs. Bergen who seemed to have grown ten years younger. And +one fine day after a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span>protracted visit to New York with Mrs. Bergen, he +returned laden with mysterious packages and boxes, and stopped at the +door of the cottage, where Peter was taking a lunch of Beth's cooking.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful surprise. Mrs. Bergen whispered in Beth's ear and +Beth followed her into the kitchen, where the contents of one or two of +the boxes were exposed to Beth's astonished gaze. Peter, of course, +being in the secret, kept aloof, awaiting the result of Mrs. Bergen's +disclosures. But when Beth came back into the plush-covered parlor, he +revealed his share in the conspiracy by producing, with the skill of a +conjurer taking a rabbit from a silk hat, a minister and a marriage +license, the former having been hidden in the house of a neighbor. And +Jonathan K. McGuire, with something of an air, fully justified by the +difficulties he had been at to secure it, produced a pasteboard box, +which contained another box of beautiful white velvet, which he opened +with pride, exhibiting its contents. On the soft satin lining was a +brooch, containing a ruby as large as Beth's thumbnail.</p> + +<p>With a gasp of joy, she gazed at it, for she knew just what it was, the +family jewel that had been sold to the purser of the <i>Bermudian</i>. And +then she threw her arms around McGuire's neck and kissed him.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Some weeks later Beth and Peter sat at dusk in the drawing-room of Black +Rock House, for McGuire had turned the whole place over to them for the +honeymoon. The night was chilly, a few flakes of snow had fallen during +the afternoon, so a log fire burned in the fireplace. Peter sat at the +piano playing the "Romance" of Sibelius, for which Beth had asked, but +when it was finished, his fingers, impelled by a thought beyond his own +control, began the opening rumble of the "Revolutionary Étude." The +music was familiar to Beth and it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span>stirred her always because it was +this gorgeous plaint of hope and despair that had at the very first +sounded depths in her own self the existence of which she had never even +dreamed. But to-night Peter played it as she had never heard him play it +before, with all his soul at his finger tips. And she watched his +downcast profile as he stared at vacancy while he played. It was in +moments like these that Beth felt herself groping in the dark after him, +he was so far away. And yet she was not afraid, for she knew that out of +the dreams and mysticism of the half of him that was Russian he would +come back to her,—just Peter Nichols.</p> + +<p>He did presently, when his hands fell upon the last chords and he sat +with head still bowed until the last tremor had died. Then he rose and +turned to her. She smiled at him and he joined her on the divan. Their +fingers intertwined and they sat for a long moment looking into the +fire. But Beth knew of what he was thinking and Peter knew that she +knew. Their honeymoon was over. There was work to do in the world.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<div class="tr"> +<p class="cen"><a name="TN" id="TN"></a>Transcriber's Note</p> +<br /> + +Typographical errors corrected in the text:<br /> +<br /> +Page 9 Nicolaevitch changed to Nicholaevitch<br /> +Page 12 Vasil changed to Vasili<br /> +Page 39 reassuring changed to reassuring<br /> +Page 90 rigidily changed to rigidly<br /> +Page 94 seee changed to see<br /> +Page 158 Andy should read Jesse<br /> +Page 164 the changed to he<br /> +Page 188 Well's changed to Wells's<br /> +Page 353 musn't changed to mustn't<br /> +Page 355 Its changed to It's<br /> +Page 362 Lukovo changed to Zukovo<br /> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vagrant Duke, by George Gibbs + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VAGRANT DUKE *** + +***** This file should be named 29617-h.htm or 29617-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/6/1/29617/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Barbara Kosker, Bill Tozier +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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