The League of the Leopard
by Harold Bindloss · English · Gutenberg #36804 · 525,065 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The League of the Leopard
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The League of the Leopard
Author: Harold Bindloss
Illustrator: Carlton Glidden
Release date: July 21, 2011 [eBook #36804]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36804
Credits: Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD ***
Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD
HAROLD BINDLOSS
[Illustration: "AT DAWN THEY WERE STILL RIDING"--_Page 230_]
THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
AUTHOR OF "PRESCOTT OF SASKATCHEWAN," "THE LONG
PORTAGE," "RANCHING FOR SYLVIA," ETC.
WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR
BY CARLTON GLIDDEN
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_June, 1914_
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. A DANGEROUS BEQUEST 1
II. AN UNDERSTANDING 15
III. AT THE ELBOW POOL 30
IV. THE POACHER 43
V. THE TRYST AT HALLOWS BRIG 56
VI. DANE'S SILENCE 71
VII. A WARNING 85
VIII. TREACHERY 96
IX. TEMPTATION 110
X. RIDEAU'S BARGAIN 125
XI. THE TRAIL OF THE LEOPARD 137
XII. WEALTH IN SIGHT 149
XIII. PESTILENCE 163
XIV. AN EVENTFUL DECISION 177
XV. THE BOARDING OF THE KABUNDA 189
XVI. ILLUMINATION 202
XVII. IN NEED OF HELP 214
XVIII. MAXWELL'S CONFIDENCE 227
XIX. THE DANGEROUS SENORITA 240
XX. MAXWELL'S LAST MARCH 251
XXI. RELIEF 262
XXII. ON TO THE COAST 274
XXIII. AN EYE FOR AN EYE 285
XXIV. THE ESCAPE 297
XXV. THE HEART OF BONITA CASTRO 311
XXVI. REWARDED 320
THE LEAGUE OF THE LEOPARD
CHAPTER I
A DANGEROUS BEQUEST
It was very hot in the little West African factory where trader Niven
lay dying. The sea breeze had died away, and though sunset drew near, it
was not yet time for the spicy airs from the inland forest to mitigate
the temperature. The dust lay still in the sun-scorched compound, about
which the palm fronds hung motionless, and only the roar of breakers on
the beach broke through the drowsy silence.
Two white men lounged in cane chairs upon the veranda which encircled
the building. Both were limp, gaunt of frame, and pallid in face,
because the climate they lived in is particularly unhealthy. Neither had
enjoyed much education, or felt the lack of it in the trade they
followed, while the cocktail jug on the little table betokened their
favorite relaxation. Redmond and Gilby were West Coast traders who lived
far remote from intercourse with their fellows, except for the two
French rivals with whom they periodically quarreled. They concerned
themselves with little beyond the well-being of their factory, and
indulged each appetite on opportunity, knowing that on the morrow they
might suddenly die. Yet they had their strong points, including a
tenacious regard for their employers' interests, which led them to toil
twelve hours daily when sick of fever if trade was good, and sometimes
defy the French authorities, and an inconsistent generosity, as the
result of which they had camped in the store shed, and turned over their
own quarters to the man who stood behind them, and his stricken
companion. The former was of very different type.
"You have done your best for the poor devil," said Redmond, glancing
regretfully from him toward the empty jug. "But if I know anything about
coast fever--and I ought to--Niven will get his release to-night. Still
rambling about that fortune, I suppose?"
Carsluith Maxwell nodded, and Gilby commented meditatively: "It may be
all a fever fancy, and it may be true. Niven was well known in this
afflicted colony years ago, and there is gold up yonder. In fact, right
away from here to the Volta you can find the color in the rivers, but
there's very little of it that will pay for the washing, and few British
mining companies that distribute much in dividends. Still, the old
Portuguese took a good deal out, if the tales are true, and one gets
small lots now and then put up in quills."
Redmond laughed maliciously.
"The last quills Gilby took in contained brass filings, and the firm
wrote off their nominal value against our commission. Gilby had been
drinking cocktails all that day. He may be right about the gold, but
it's my firm opinion that unless the French send up a strong column and
root out the Leopards, no white man will ever find it. You have heard
about them, Maxwell?"
Maxwell was a man of discretion, and though he had ventured beyond the
fringe of the Leopards' country, he only said:
"I don't know much about them. Do you?"
"He does not," said Gilby. "Neither does any white man; unless perhaps
it's Rideau, or Niven. They are supposed to be members of one of the
secret leagues run by the bush magicians in connection with the cult of
the Ju-Ju; and if you want to know just what kind of devil a Ju-Ju is,
you need not ask me. Anyway, from what one hears, those fellows can't be
all impostors. They could apparently give our amateur necromancers
points in hypnotism, and what they don't know about poisons is not worth
learning. They're no fools at bush politics either; and have managed to
run Shaillu's kingdom, and keep white men out of it pretty successfully.
It is believed that Shaillu would be glad to rule it without them, in
his own way."
Maxwell knew all this, and a little more which his informant apparently
did not; but he made no comment, and asked only one question:
"Who is Rideau?"
"He says he is a Frenchman," answered Gilby. "One would suppose that he
ought to know; but after a dispute about the count of some monkey skins,
Clancy of Axim once asked in public if there was not a dash of the tar
brush in him, and was taken ill suddenly that night--which may, of
course, have been a coincidence. In any case, he goes trading inland;
and though he brings down a little gum, nobody knows exactly what he
buys or sells. As you have heard, it's a ghastly country, and there's a
heavy penalty for supplying niggers with modern rifles. The little
French commandant would give a good deal to fix a charge on him."
"Thanks. I will remember if I meet him; but it is about time I returned
to my patient," said Maxwell, and the other two looked after him until
he disappeared round a corner of the dwelling.
"A curious man," Gilby commented. "He's probably like the parrot, for he
says very little. Still, it is not everybody who would have turned back
with his expedition on the very odd chance of saving a crazy countryman.
It is just possible, however, he was glad to, after the bushmen had
scared him."
"African parrots never think, unless it's about the pricking inside
them," said Redmond. "You wouldn't either, if a nigger had fed you with
broken glass, so you'd die as soon as he'd sold you, and keep the demand
up. You're wrong, as usual, in other ways, too. If I'm a judge of
character, there are no niggers in Africa who could scare that man."
Meanwhile Maxwell had seated himself on the opposite veranda, and, after
a glance at a trestle couch which showed him that Niven was apparently
asleep, was gazing out to sea. He was close on the age of thirty, of
average stature, but spare and sinewy. His sallow face had been further
darkened by the African sun, and though now its expression and that of
the dark eyes was thoughtful, it was the face of a resolute man.
Carsluith Maxwell was also, in a somewhat somber fashion, a handsome
man; and though some of his fair acquaintances described him as too
silent, and others as too sardonic, all agreed that he was interesting.
Maxwell described himself as an individual of unsettled habits, born
with fastidious tastes and no means to gratify them--which, he said,
explained his wanderings in search of a fortune. He did not add that his
chief ambition was to restore to its former prosperity an old Border
stronghold which, with every acre of its grass parks and stony plow-land
heavily encumbered, stood behind the shores of Solway. Carsluith
Maxwell, who some day would be master of Culmeny, had inherited more
than a trace of the silent grimness of the old moss-troopers from whom
he sprang.
Turning presently, he saw that Niven was wide awake and looking out to
sea. Their acquaintance had been brief, and dated from the night when
Niven reeled into the camp of a small French expedition, alone,
fever-stricken, and half-crazy. Seeing that he would die in the forest
when the expedition continued its march, Maxwell abandoned his
prospecting journey and turned back to the coast with him. The African
malaria often attacks a white man's brain as well as his body; and
during most of the time Niven had talked erratically. Now, however,
Maxwell noticed that he appeared sensible and sane.
"Good to come back to, isn't it?" he said, glancing at the sea, athwart
which the track of the sunset beat luridly. "I used to long for it in
the forest when Lyle and I first set up the one factory which ever stood
more than twelve months in Shaillu's country. That reminds me! I have a
good deal to tell you, and, considering that I may not last out
to-morrow, it's high time I began. I have given you a good deal of
trouble, but you may not regret it when I have done."
"I shall not regret it in any case," said Maxwell quietly. He was seldom
emphatic in speech.
"You are like Lyle, and that's partly why I'm going to tell you. He and
I went up into Shaillu's country long ago, and the Leopards tried to
poison us. They wanted no white men there, and did not like free trade.
They also tried other ways; but if our lives were in our own hands, we
held them tight--and any man might face the devil with a partner like
Lyle. You will understand presently why I'm commencing at the beginning.
Well, we nursed each other through fevers, and twice stood behind a
stockade with the rifle barrels burning our hands; but we made money,
and I think the Leopards grew afraid of us because we lived in spite of
them. Of course, we had our friends, because the brown traders from the
North had to pay a heavy toll to the Leopards before we came; and some
of them told us about gold having been washed out of a far-off river by
niggers who had a poor idea of its value. We were too busy to trouble
about ventures of that kind; and as the river flowed through No Man's
Land there was nobody to sell us a marketable concession."
The sunset was fading off the waters when Niven paused to gather breath,
while his strained voice sank to a deeper tone as he proceeded:
"There was a dispute as to who owned some gum we had paid for, and two
men were shot before we convinced the niggers that nobody could lay
violent hands upon our property. Then one of Shaillu's sub-headmen, who
said there had been a mistake somewhere, summoned us to a palaver to
talk the question over. We went, with twenty armed Krooboys scared
almost to death, who feared Lyle more than they did the niggers, and
were given a fair hearing. Several of the big Leopard men were there,
but the headman held us justified, and when we had made everybody a
present the palaver ended in revelry. I warned Lyle; but to fear
nothing, and be equally ready with smile or pistol, was always my
comrade's way.
"We came back safely; but he dragged himself up the stairway with his
face all twisted the next night, and I knew what had happened before he
told me. 'Those devils have poisoned me,' said he."
It was almost dark now, and the white mist from the forest slid in
ghostly wreaths past the little factory. Niven shivered before he
proceeded:
"Have you ever seen a comrade poisoned by the bushmen--when they meant
to hurt him? No! Then you have something to be thankful for. Lyle, by
worse luck, was young and strong, and took an unconscionable time dying;
I don't know that I did well when I took the pistol from him. For three
mortal hours I suffered all with him, and there was no power left in me
when at last he let his head drop on the table. There are things it is
not fit to remember which one can never forget. Then I knew all that the
man had been to me; and what I must do was plain before me.
"I sent the chief Leopard man a message, with a token which, in
accordance with his own superstitions, made it more impressive, that
sooner or later I would demand full satisfaction, or, if I died too
soon, would pass the debt on in a way he understood; and I had not
forgotten when a new trading combination made me general manager. You
see, I needed money, and could wait very patiently. I also made money,
and, when badly sick, let the firm send me home, a fairly prosperous
man, to recruit in England. It was there I met the woman I married; and
she was worlds too good for me. I even forgot Lyle, and what we had
done in Africa; and--for one looks at things differently over
there--hoped for nothing better than to end my days in peace and
security."
Niven so far had spoken sensibly, but he ceased when the thick hot
African darkness rolled down like a curtain, and was silent a space. The
land breeze had delayed its coming, the temperature was almost
insupportable, and the roar of the breakers set the whole factory
vibrating in unison. It is possible that the fever gathered strength, as
it often does, at nightfall; for the sick man's speech was slow and
disjointed when he began again. It was also evident that he was a little
hazy in his mind.
"Poor Elsie died, and left me very lonely. Without her the life grew
tame, and I would lie awake thinking of Africa and Lyle. He was growing
impatient, and tried to warn me it was time I went back again. The
warnings grew plainer, and at last I went. I had, so far as it was in
me, trusted one man and loved one woman, and both of them had gone. The
trading firms had forgotten my name, but I remembered the gold in the
Leopard's country, and determined, if I could find it, to hire my own
fighting boys, and hunt down the whole accursed league. There is no law
but the right of the strongest hand in Shaillu's country. I went up with
fifty Krooboys; and perhaps the Leopards remembered and were afraid of
me, for we had almost reached the place in safety, when one of the
sicknesses common up there seized us. I left most of the boys behind in
camp with my headman, and pushed on for the river where the gold was
said to be. I found it--or Lyle found it for me."
Maxwell thought that no sane man would have attempted single-handed to
try conclusions with the almost omnipotent league, but he sat still,
with a composure that was characteristic of him, asking no questions,
though the simple statement had roused his most eager interest. It was
some time before Niven proceeded.
"I turned back to camp, and found none of all the boys I left there.
Perhaps the headman had sold them. He had, you must remember, a curious
cross-shaped scar upon his forehead. I don't know where the rest went,
or what I did, being fever-crazy, and it must have been Lyle who brought
me to the Frenchman's camp. Of course, Lyle is dead--I buried him with
my own hands under the first big cottonwood behind the factory long
ago--but he has never forgotten me. There was good alluvial gold in that
river; and when I go you will find a record of my journey, with sketches
and compass bearings, under my pillow. I'll bequeath it to you, with my
curse upon the men who killed poor Lyle, on this condition: If you meet
the Leopards--and whoever goes up there will--you will remember my
quarrel with them, and how my partner died."
"After what I have heard about their doings, I can promise that," said
Maxwell quietly.
"I think we both can trust you. You look that kind of man," said Niven.
"I should never have told you if you hadn't. The two things go together,
for the Leopard headmen will know I have passed the quarrel on. You
can't take one without the other."
Niven sank into sleep or unconsciousness presently, and Maxwell sat
beside him considering what he had heard. He could see that there was a
burden attached to the legacy; but he had no profession, and was not a
rich man. It was true that he would shortly succeed to Culmeny, and had
inherited the family pride in the ancient estate; but, when the interest
had been paid, the rental of the poor, encumbered lands would provide
the barest living. He determined that if there was gold in the Leopards'
country he would stake his life on the chance of finding it. After
coming to this decision he called a Krooboy to watch the sick man, and
retired to snatch a few hours' badly needed sleep. Sleep, however, was
some time in coming. The mildewed building was insufferably hot, and the
thunder of the surf sufficient to keep awake any man who had lately
emerged from the hush of the twilight forest; but at last Maxwell sank
into fitful slumber. It afterward was evident that the Krooboy, too, had
slumbered.
Several hours had passed when Maxwell awakened suddenly, and sat up
listening. Through the deep monotone of the breakers he could hear the
land breeze sigh eerily about the building. A snake rustled in the
thatch, and loose boards creaked as they soaked in the damp; but
although there was nothing suspicious in all this, Maxwell felt that
something unusual had roused him. Men acquire an almost instinctive
prevision of danger in the eternal shadow of the African bush.
Suddenly a detonation shook the building. Maxwell, leaping from his
couch, ran along the veranda and burst, breathless, into Niven's room.
Bright moonlight streamed in through the window, and he saw the sick man
lying propped up on one elbow, with a pistol smoking in his hand. Niven
appeared perfectly sane, and his voice was steady when he spoke.
"My fingers are shaky, and this is a hard pull-off, or I'd have shown
you the man who betrayed me," he said. "It was my book he wanted."
Maxwell, who was quick in action, sprang out upon the veranda and made a
circuit of the building. The dusty compound beneath it was clear as
noonday under the moon, but, save for two startled Krooboys and trader
Redmond who crossed it at a run, nobody moved therein, and Maxwell
hardly considered it possible that any fugitive would have had time to
reach the bush. He returned and told Niven so.
"You must have been mistaken," he said.
The sick trader laughed harshly.
"I am not in the least mistaken. I saw the man with the scar on his
forehead as plainly as I see you. He must have been one of the Leopards;
and, whether it's magic or trickery, those fellows are fiendishly
clever. You won't be astonished at stranger things before they have done
with you. Take the book now, and keep it, if you can. If a man called
Rideau ever hears you have it and wants to trade with you, distrust him
as you would the devil. If he says I ever made any bargain with him, it
will be a lie!"
Maxwell went out and allayed Redmond's curiosity by a promise to confer
with him in the morning; then he returned to watch beside Niven, who
slept tranquilly during the remainder of the night. After breakfast
Maxwell told Redmond as much of the story as appeared judicious; but the
trader did not, as he partly expected, laugh at it.
"Of course, it may have been all a delusion, and it may not," he said.
"If so, it's a coincidence that I heard Rideau has just arrived at the
next beach; and one of my boys, who seemed afraid of it, picked this up
in the bush. It's a trifle that has a significance in the country your
sick friend rambled through."
The trader handed Maxwell a little tuft of leopard's fur braided with
fiber.
"If Niven has told you any of his secrets it might be good policy not to
mention it," he cautioned; "and Gilby and I are not curious. This
factory is sufficiently remunerative and deadly for us."
Niven grew rapidly weaker all day, and when Maxwell asked him at sunset
whether he had any messages to send to friends in the old country, he
did not appear to recognize him.
"They're all dead a long time ago," he said ramblingly. "Poor Elsie, who
was worlds too good for me, lies in clean English earth a long way
across the sea; but Lyle, who understands everything and why I forgot
him, is waiting for me. I could not have a better comrade wherever he
is."
These were his last comprehensible words, for he passed out of
existence, sleeping, with the chill of early morning, and was, as usual,
laid to rest that day. Maxwell returned thoughtfully from the simple
funeral, feeling that the legacy might well prove an unmixed blessing.
On reaching the veranda stairway, he heard somebody moving softly about
what had been the sick man's room. He had good ears, and felt tolerably
certain that the next sound he caught was that made by cotton garments
being quickly unfolded or wrapped together. Somebody, it appeared, was
searching Niven's apparel. In spite of Maxwell's quickness, he had not
reached the doorway when a man came out of it and advanced, smiling
toward him. He was rather dark in face and full in flesh for an
European who had dwelt any time in Western Africa. He also was more
elaborately dressed, in spotless white duck, fine linen, and silk sash,
than the average trader; but if his lips were a trifle thick, and his
eyes cunning, he had an easy, good-humored air, and saluted Maxwell
gracefully.
"Monsieur Maxwell, is it not? I have the honor to present myself--Victor
Rideau," he said. "By grand misfortune, I arrive too late to change the
adieux with my friend of long time, the estimable Niven, and so wait to
ask if he left any paper for me. We have affair together, and there is
small debt he owe me, _voyez vous_?"
Maxwell was a man of keen perceptions, and he would have distrusted the
speaker even if he had not been warned against him.
"He left you no papers. Neither, so far as I can discover, did he leave
a single franc piece in money."
"Grand misfortune!" exclaimed Rideau. "Possible it is he tell you of his
affair. The estimable Niven, you understand, was old friend of me. That
is why I have the pleasure of wait your company."
"He told me very little about his business affairs, and the rest was
spoken in strict confidence," said Maxwell; and for a few seconds the
two men eyed each other--Maxwell curious but expressionless in face;
Rideau somewhat uneasy. The advantage was with the Briton, for he was
seldom loquacious, while the man of Latin extraction seemed to find the
silence irksome.
"You are perhaps busy," he said at length. "You grieve for the estimable
Niven. Me, I grieve for him also. So, if it is not intrusion, to-morrow,
by the morning, I come for condole with you."
Rideau withdrew, and Maxwell first packed his few belongings--a
homeward bound steamer was due to call on the morrow--and then sat down
to make a copy of the dead man's itinerary, with the sketches attached
to it. He was surprised to find that, mad or sane, Niven had noted the
magnetic direction of each day's march, as well as taken cross bearings
of prominent objects wherever there was open country. These details
increased his hopefulness; and when he had enclosed the copy in a sealed
envelope and handed it to the French postmaster, he buttoned the
original in an inside pocket and sat down on the veranda, smoking
thoughtfully.
"It appears that other men beside myself believe Niven actually did find
gold up there, as two attempts to steal his diary seem to prove," he
reflected. "Whoever goes up to look for it will probably have to deal
with Monsieur Victor Rideau as well as the Leopards; and a little delay
in setting about the search may throw him off the scent. The first
necessity is a reliable partner, and I can think of nobody better than
Hyslop."
The homeward bound mailboat arrived before Rideau the next day, and when
she stopped at the first port connected by cable, Maxwell despatched a
message to London:
"_Wire Hyslop to meet me by Malemba._"
Before the steamer proceeded he received the answer:
"_Hyslop dead South America, according to Dane._"
"Poor Andrew!" thought Maxwell. "That is check number one. Still, there
must be many suitable men at home, and I dare say I shall find one. Who
Dane is, Carslake, parsimonious as usual, does not explain."
CHAPTER II
AN UNDERSTANDING
It was a pleasant summer evening when Hilton Dane leaned against a beech
trunk outside Thomas Chatterton's villa which stands upon a hillside
above the Solway shore. He was a tall, fair-haired man who looked older
than his age, twenty-five, with steady blue eyes, and usually a somewhat
masterful air; but just then his eyes were wistful, and his face, which
betokened an acquaintance with the tropical sun, expressed somewhat
tempered satisfaction. He had certainly cause for the latter feeling,
because, after toiling hard at railroad building in a foreign land, it
was comforting to know that he had earned the right to rest a while in
that peaceful retreat.
The sun still touched the velvet lawn, though the shadows lengthened
across it, and the larch wood behind the red-tiled building diffused
resinous odors. The grass sloped to a river which came down amber-tinted
from the stretch of heather growing black against the east, and, curving
round two meadows, flashed through the gloom of fir branches into a deep
pool. All this was pleasant to the wanderer newly returned from the
glare of the desolate pampa and the turmoil of dusty construction camps;
but Dane found the keenest pleasure in watching his companion.
Lilian Chatterton, niece of the childless owner of The Larches, was
worth inspection. She was a year or two younger than the man, and lay in
a low chair opposite him, her fingers busy with a ball of colored
thread, while the last of the sunlight sparkled in her hair. Dane
noticed how its bronze color flashed into lustrous gold, and decided
that the changing lights in the hazel eyes matched it wonderfully well.
Nevertheless, he had seen them burn with quick indignation, for the girl
possessed a spice of the Chatterton temper, which was never remarkably
equable. Presently he allowed several loops of thread to slip from the
skein he held, and she looked up with a trace of indignation.
"That is the second time! You cannot be tired already," she said.
Dane smiled a trifle grimly. He had toiled for twelve hours daily under
burning heat and then spent half the night poring over plans, not long
ago.
"I am not quite worn out; but is it not an unfair question, considering
my present employment? This skein is getting mixed, and I was wondering
if you would allow me to help you in straightening it."
Miss Chatterton glanced at him keenly before she shook her head. It was
not surprising that she had grown used to masculine homage, but none of
her other cavaliers had quite resembled this one. He was slower and more
solid, and, while he had a way of anticipating her wishes, he lacked
their versatility. Sometimes she wished, with a sense of irritation,
that she could dismiss him as summarily as she had done the rest, but
that could not be done without incurring Thomas Chatterton's
displeasure, which was no small thing to risk.
"No," she said decisively. "I believe you tangled it yourself. Don't you
think it would run more smoothly if you gave the thread more length?
Well, why don't you act upon the suggestion?"
"I was thinking," the man answered with a meditative air; and Miss
Chatterton laughed.
"It is a bad habit of yours. Of the famous mining pump, or the lawsuit,
presumably?"
There was something in the speaker's manner which qualified the smile in
her hazel eyes, and warned the man that his companion was merely bent on
discovering how far he was disposed to respect the wishes she had not
directly expressed. He, on his part, was wondering how he could best
intimate that certain fears she entertained were groundless. He laughed
softly, though a tinge of darker color crept into his tanned face as he
remembered the uncompromising frigidity with which she had at first
received him.
"I feel that I ought to say something civil," he said. "How could one
think of the things you mention in such surroundings?"
The girl was in a variable mood, and she smiled mischievously.
"That is not civil. It implies that I expected you to. Tell me instead
how the pump is progressing."
"The pump is not progressing," said the man. "In fact, it is standing
still; and, though the court upheld my patent, it will probably continue
to stand still for lack of capital. Capital is hard to acquire, you
know."
"But you were well paid, and promoted several times on your merits in
South America, were you not?" asked Miss Chatterton.
"I was lucky," Dane said quietly. "It was due to no merit of mine that
my superiors died off with yellow fever; but when the inventor desires
a fair share of the profit himself, it requires a good deal of money to
start off pumps and similar inventions successfully."
"You are growing avaricious," declared Miss Chatterton, and let her eyes
fall a little under the man's gaze.
"You are right," he said. "I would sell half my life to any one for the
few thousand pounds the invention would repay twenty-fold; and somehow I
shall get them."
The listener fancied that this was possible, for there was a stamp of
force and endurance upon the man; but she did not inquire why he was so
anxious for wealth. While she considered her answer, and he wondered how
he could best express what must be said, there was an interruption; for
it happened a few moments earlier that the owner of The Larches flung
down the balance-sheet he was perusing in a room which did not look out
upon the lawn.
"Those new directors are a pack of fools," he observed. "They are
throwing away all I so painfully built up. I'm going to catch a trout in
the moss pool; and, as I saw Maxwell's rascals putting up the fence
again, I'll demolish his iniquitous obstruction on my way. Helen, where
have these stupid people hidden my flybook again?"
Mrs. Chatterton smiled a little, and, reminding her husband that the
book was in his pocket, followed him to the door.
Thomas Chatterton and the father of Hilton Dane had set up a little wire
mill when both were struggling men, and, though Dane's rolling machinery
had started them on the way to prosperity, its inventor died too soon.
Chatterton was always considered an upright man; but, because Dane's
widow did not long survive her husband, nobody knew exactly whether his
success was due to his own energy or the dead man's invention.
Chatterton, however, recognized a moral debt, and would have discharged
it, but that Hilton Dane had inherited his mother's pride as well as his
father's skill. When the famous business was sold to a company, the
iron-master, purchasing a small estate in Scotland, aspired to play the
part of a country gentleman, in which he was not wholly successful. He
was at once too autocratic and too democratic; and the local magnates of
ancient descent resented his habit of doing exactly what pleased himself
in defiance of their most cherished traditions. He had accordingly
embroiled himself with Maxwell of Culmeny over what he contended was an
ancient right of way.
When he reached the door he turned and smiled significantly at his wife.
"They seem well contented, do they not?" he said.
Mrs. Chatterton understood him, though she did not smile as she glanced
at the two on the lawn. Lilian's white-robed figure was forced up
sharply in a manner that emphasized its comeliness by the somber
background of larches; and the last of the ruddy light deepened the
faint, warm tinge in her cheeks. Dane's face was in the shadow, as he
looked down upon the girl, but his form showing darkly against the light
was that of a vigorous, well-made man; and Mrs. Chatterton, knowing his
disposition, reflected that her niece might make a less desirable
choice. It was, however, she thought, unfortunate that her husband was
seldom addicted to leaving those he desired to benefit any choice at
all; and she considered that he had made his intentions respecting Dane
and his niece too plain, for Lilian had a tolerably strong will of her
own.
Chatterton moved forward, and the two turned sharply at the sight of the
stout, thick-necked, elderly gentleman, in vivid red leggings and slouch
hat adorned with gaudy flies.
"We had neither time nor taste for needle-work when I was young, Hilton,
but these are degenerate days," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Do
you feel inclined to help me to catch a trout during the evening rise?"
Dane glanced appealingly toward his companion. He would have felt no
great inclination for being sent into the river to free the
iron-master's line, which usually formed part of the program on such
excursions, even if he had not a better reason for refusing.
"I am afraid the water is too clear, sir, for an indifferent angler; and
it might spoil this skein if I left it partly wound," he answered
lamely.
Lilian, however, possibly for Chatterton's benefit, ignored the appeal.
"So far you have only succeeded in entangling it," she said.
Dane had no choice left but to express the pleasure it would afford him
at least to carry his host's landing net; and he did it as well as
possible, though uneasily conscious that Chatterton was amused at him.
Then they waded together through long damp grass which soaked Dane's
thin shoes through, while Chatterton discoursed learnedly upon lines and
flies. He was as choleric and obstinate as he could be generous when the
impulse seized him, and he had ruled stubborn operatives so long that
the use of the strong hand had become habitual to him. Presently he
halted, fuming with indignation, before a hedge.
"That confounded Maxwell has built it up stronger than ever!" he
exploded. "Look at that, and see how he respects a public right of way!
Don't you consider it perfectly scandalous, Hilton?"
Dane saw an irate elderly gentleman, and a neatly mended gap in the
hedge; but being uncertain as to what answer would best soothe the
former, he wisely held his peace until he should furnish further
particulars. Chatterton, however, espying a stout stake in the grass,
commenced a spirited attack upon the hedge. So vigorous was it that his
face grew flushed and his hat fell off, while Dane looked on with
suspicious gravity, smothering a desire to laugh.
"If you really want that gap opened, I dare say I could assist you,
sir," he said.
Chatterton panted wrathfully.
"Do you suppose I am doing this for exercise? It's a public duty! I have
battered it down twice already, and defied Culmeny to sue me."
He plied the stake again until, glancing from a root, it smote him on
the ankle. Desisting then, he commented upon his neighbor's conduct
viciously while Dane proceeded to attack the obstruction with marked
success. Chatterton, when he noticed this, watched him admiringly; and
when Dane tore his hand on a strand of barbed wire, he positively beamed
on him.
"I'm sorry, Hilton; but, in one way, it's almost a pity you did not tear
it worse," he said. "Still, I dare say it will rankle sufficiently to
give us something to claim damages from Culmeny upon. Meantime, go home
and ask Lily to tie it up. Nobody could do it more neatly."
"I certainly hope it will not, sir," said Dane, with a trace of
irritation; though, being thankful for the excuse, he lost no time in
returning.
Meanwhile, Lilian Chatterton sat where he had left her, in a
contemplative frame of mind. She and Dane had been playmates in their
younger days, and the latter had afterward shown his admiration for her
in youthful fashion. That was before he went abroad; but her cheeks
tingled as she remembered how she had been made to feel, a few weeks
earlier, that it was Chatterton's desire that their youthful friendship
should speedily ripen into something further. Lilian was grateful to the
iron-master, who had denied her nothing, and brought her up as his
daughter; but she was also sensitive, and accordingly shrank from Dane,
wondering, with a sense of shame, what had been said to him, and whether
he, too, considered her own opinion as of no importance. The man's
conduct had, however, partly reassured her, for he made no advances; she
did not know that he had, during several years spent in strenuous
effort, carried her memory and a stolen photograph about with him.
Had she been a free agent she might have been inclined to approve of
Hilton Dane. She knew he was honest, resolute, and capable, while as
regards physique, nature had treated him well; but as it was, and
because there were no friends she could find an excuse for visiting, it
appeared essential that he should be made to recognize that there could
be no more than a mutual toleration between them. Miss Chatterton had
just arrived at this conclusion when the man came toward her across the
lawn. Again it struck her that the bronzed face beneath the straw hat
was that of an honest man, and that the blue eyes had a kindly gleam in
them; but she brushed such thoughts aside impatiently.
"What has brought you back so soon?" she asked.
"The need of assistance," Dane answered with a laugh, and the girl's
mood changed swiftly as she glanced at his injured hand. Her eyes grew
sympathetic.
"Will you wait a few moments until I find some arnica?" she said.
Dane would have waited a long time in return for such a glance, and,
when the girl rejoined him, he felt that the pain was a very small price
to pay for the pleasure of letting his torn hand rest in her little cool
palm. When it had been bound up with a dainty handkerchief, Lilian
smiled prettily.
"I think," she said playfully, "with due care you should now recover."
"Do you know that I feel tempted to go back and tear the other?"
returned the man.
Lilian regarded him with some uneasiness.
"Such speeches do not become you," she said. "No doubt there are idle
men who consider that they prove irresistible to most of us; but
you--you are different."
"Yes," Dane assented somewhat grimly. "I suppose my lot is to drag the
measuring chain and do the hard work more famous men get paid for; but a
little variety is refreshing--and there were times when you did not seem
to find any levity on my part wholly irksome."
The girl's color rose a little, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. She
understood that this was a challenge, but she did not guess that it had
been thrown down for her sake out of kindliness. Unfortunately, she
recalled several incidents connected with the days to which her
companion referred, and she recollected that he had an unpleasantly good
memory.
"We were only boy and girl then," she said. "One forgets such nonsense
as one grows older. Still, I am almost glad you mentioned it,
because--can't you see the uselessness of remembering?"
Dane, though he did not say so, saw most clearly the impossibility of
ever being able to forget; but he was considerate, and had sense enough
to see what he would lose by taking advantage of the position. He had
noticed how, until his conduct reassured her, she held aloof from him.
"What could an unfortunate man answer?" he asked with a mirthless smile.
"Do you expect me to admit that I am pleased to consider it is so?"
Lilian looked down at the grass to hide the anger in her face.
"Please don't--I am not wholly foolish," she said; and added abruptly,
"I have almost decided on going to London for a course of art study
shortly."
Dane leaned forward a little, and forced her to look up at him.
"That is, you are going away to avoid me," he said. "Have you considered
that this might not only render circumstances unpleasant for you, but be
unnecessary?"
Lilian looked at him steadily, for she was not lacking in courage.
"I am my own mistress; and they are distinctly unpleasant already."
Every word of the answer cost Dane an effort, but he determined to
finish his task.
"I can realize that they must be so," he said. "I am not clever at
expressing myself, and what I have to say is difficult to me, but I
cannot allow you to be driven away. We are both master of our own
inclinations, are we not?--and you have my word that, if you can trust
me, it really isn't necessary."
There was no doubt about the relief in Lilian's face; and though it hurt
the man to see it, he held out his hand.
"We shall be good friends once more; and that implies a good deal, does
it not?" he said. "Promise so much, and I will engage that you have no
further perplexity."
Lilian felt very grateful.
"I think I can promise that, now that we understand," she replied.
"Then it is a compact," said Dane, hiding his own regret manfully. "As a
change, you might tell me why your uncle finds such satisfaction in
destroying his neighbor's fences. He even said it was a pity I did not
tear my hand more seriously."
Lilian was glad to change the subject.
"He fancied that Maxwell of Culmeny closed the gap to annoy him," she
explained. "Unfortunately, when tearing down the first barrier, he hurt
his foot, which naturally made him more determined to maintain ancient
privileges. In one way, the feud is amusing; in another, vexatious;
because we are lonely here, and the Misses Maxwell cannot well call upon
us. Their brother Carsluith has lately returned from Africa, and would
have made you a pleasant companion."
"Carsluith Maxwell?" said Dane. "It is curious that I was of some
service to a friend of his, named Hyslop, in South America. The poor
fellow struck our camp pulled down by sickness and apparently in want of
money, and we were able to find him employment."
"Did you not mention that the contractors would not replace the
assistants who died of fever?" asked Lilian. "Did they endorse your
action?"
"I can't say they did," was the answer. "They were not required to."
"Oh! Then who paid Hyslop's salary?"
"It was arranged," Dane answered ambiguously. "You see, he was a
countryman; and the poor fellow died soon afterward, anyway. I think I
shall walk over to Culmeny."
Lilian asked no further questions. She felt that any one in trouble
could trust the man beside her. She smiled as she said:
"I am afraid that would not be judicious. Your host would consider it an
act of treachery."
They went back to the house together; and in the meantime, Thomas
Chatterton, who was not a skilful angler, whipped several pools
unsuccessfully, hooking nothing but weeds, and once, by accident, a
water hen. Thus it happened that he had not returned when darkness fell,
and Mrs. Chatterton despatched Dane in search of him. The moon was
rising when the latter came down a path through the fir wood and stopped
beside a deep, black pool. A streak of silver light crept up to the
roots of an alder beside a ruined wall, and he paused to watch the
wrinkled current flash athwart it. The odors of the firs and the
stillness of the night were soothing: the sacrifice he had lately made
had been a heavy one. Dane had not abandoned his hopes, but knew that he
might have to wait long for their consummation, if they were ever
realized.
Presently there was a sound of footsteps, and Dane guessed that the
approaching shape was Chatterton by the red glow of his cigar. The
iron-master stopped beside the alder, and it seemed that something which
caused a ripple near its roots caught his eyes. Dane suspected that some
poacher had set a night line.
Now, the wall marked the boundary between Chatterton's riparian rights
and those of Culmeny; and it was out of idle curiosity that Dane watched
his host instead of hailing him as, first looking about him, he
descended the bank and hauled in the line. An exclamation of disgust
followed as a writhing eel was flung out upon the grass; but there were
nobler fish attached, and presently Chatterton stood up holding a
splendid trout. Dane remembered that his father had sworn by
Chatterton's commercial integrity, but he was not wholly astonished when
the man slipped the fish, and a second one which followed it, into his
creel. Then, surmising that the angler would not have desired a witness,
he turned back softly and met him in the wood, flattering himself that
he had arranged the meeting neatly.
"Had you any luck, sir?" he asked.
"The water was low, but here is something to convince the mockers,"
Chatterton answered, holding up a handsome trout; and Dane expressed
admiration but no astonishment, which might not have been complimentary.
They walked home together, and Lilian met them in the hall. She
surveyed the trout suspiciously, then laughed as she said:
"You look hot and muddy, and almost guilty. Are you quite sure you have
not been poaching?"
Miss Chatterton was a shrewd young lady, and for a moment the
iron-master, who had quelled several strikes unaided, looked positively
uneasy.
"Young women were taught that flippancy did not become them when I was
young," he rebuked.
Late that night the two men sat talking together.
"You have told me little about your affairs, Hilton," Chatterton said;
"but I presume you will stay at home and put your pump on the market
instead of accepting the foreign commission. There should be a good
demand for it among the deep mine owners."
"I'm afraid not, sir," was the answer. "The patent lawsuit proved
expensive, and to start an article of that kind successfully requires a
good deal of money. I shall therefore go abroad to earn a little more as
soon as the firm sends me."
"And risk your life for a thousand pounds," said Chatterton severely.
"Don't you know that there are men with money who would be willing to
finance you?"
"All I have met demanded three-fourths of the possible profits in
return; and this is my invention."
"It is a valuable one," declared Chatterton with unusual diffidence.
"But can't you think of anybody who would lend you the money out of
good-will at a very moderate interest?"
Dane looked at the speaker steadily before he answered.
"I think I could; and I'm grateful; but unfortunately I can't bring
myself to borrow money from such people. It would be abusing their
kindness; and I might lose it for them."
Chatterton frowned.
"You are like your father--and as confoundedly hard to do a favor to,"
he said.
He retired shortly after this; and Dane went out into the moonlight, and
leaned over the rails of a footbridge, watching the river slide past. He
found a faint solace in the sounds and scents which filled the shadows,
and knew that though he had taken the one course possible, if he was to
retain his own self-respect and Lilian's esteem, there would be no sleep
for him that night.
CHAPTER III
AT THE ELBOW POOL
While waiting for his foreign commission, Dane found the summer days
slip by almost too rapidly, though there were occasions when, after a
long afternoon spent in Lilian's company, he fancied he could understand
the feelings of Tantallus. The girl appeared completely reassured, and
treated him with sisterly cordiality, while Chatterton, who knew nothing
of their compact, nodded sapiently as he observed their growing
friendship. Dane sometimes wondered if he were not heaping up future
sorrow for himself; but, with infrequent exceptions, he found the
present very good, and, being a sanguine man who could wait, he made the
most of it.
Lilian was troubled by no misgivings. Once, when her aunt asked a
diplomatic question, she smiled frankly as she said: "Yes. I am in one
way very fond of Hilton; you will remember that I always was. We
understand each other thoroughly; and he is so assured and solid that
one feels a restful sense of security in his company. You will remember
the Highland chieftain's candlesticks--the men with the claymores and
torches, Aunty. Well, I fancy that worthy gentleman must have felt the
same thing when he dined in state with them about him. He had but to
lift his finger and they would disappear, you know."
Mrs. Chatterton looked slightly grave as she answered: "Don't forget
that they were also men with passions, and very terrible men,
sometimes--for instance, at Killiecrankie. It would not surprise me if
you discovered that there is a good deal of very vigorous human nature
in Hilton Dane."
Thomas Chatterton still went fishing, generally with indifferent
success, but once Lilian caught Dane examining his creel, which was
surprisingly well filled.
"I am puzzled, Hilton," she said. "I made a wager with Uncle that he
would not catch a dozen good trout in a month, and now I fancy that he
will win it."
"Well?"
"Men are deceivers ever--especially when it is a question of catching
fish. I have noticed that when your host goes fishing by daylight he
rarely catches anything but eels, which, as everybody knows, do not rise
to a fly, while when he rises early or returns in the dusk he brings a
really fine trout or two. I cannot, however, believe that this one died
only two hours ago. Can you suggest an explanation?"
"Charity," said Dane gravely, "suspecteth nothing. Don't you know that
trout rise most freely just before the dusk?"
Lilian shook her head.
"You are not sufficiently clever to set your wits against a woman's,"
she declared.
Dane laughed, a trifle grimly; and the girl, momentarily startled by
something in his merriment, decided that she must have been mistaken;
but she abandoned the subject with some abruptness.
That very evening, perhaps sent forth by fate, because much depended
upon his fishing, Thomas Chatterton took up his rod and landing net,
and, as he did not return by nightfall, his wife once more despatched
Dane in search of him.
"I think you know where to find him; and I wish I did, for he has only
to take two more trout to win," Lilian added significantly.
Dane proceeded by the shortest way to the big elbow pool, but it was
almost dark when he reached it. There had been heavy rain, and all the
firs which loomed through thin white mist were dripping. The water came
down beneath them thick with the peat of the moorlands in incipient
flood. Dane could hear its hoarse growl about the boulders studding the
tail rapid, and surmised that there ought to be several trout on the
poacher's line. Having, nevertheless, no desire to surprise his host
red-handed, he did not immediately proceed toward it, but sat upon the
driest stone he could find, listening for his coming. There was no sound
but the clamor of the river and the heavy splashing of moisture from the
boughs above, some of which trickled down his neck, until he heard a
rattle of falling stones, and a shadowy figure, which he guessed was
Chatterton's, crawled down toward the alder roots.
A splash was followed by a hoarse exclamation as the man slipped into
the water up to the knee; then Dane heard the thud of a flung out fish,
and sat very still, for it would clearly be injudicious to present
himself just then. He noticed a minute twinkle of brightness among the
boulders across the pool which puzzled him. It was too small for the
light of a lantern, and he remembered nothing that shone in just the
same fashion. While he wondered what it could be, another dark object
rose beside the alder, gripping what looked like a heavy stick.
"I'm thinking I have ye noo!" a gruff voice exclaimed. "Ye sorrowful
wastrel, stealing a puir man's fish!"
Thomas Chatterton stood upright, knee-deep in the river, with an
exclamation; and Dane, knowing there was much deeper water close behind
him, sprang to his feet. That the irascible iron-master would show fight
if necessary, he felt certain, and equally so that a portly elderly
gentleman would make a poor match for a brawny laborer. Hardly had he
got to his feet, however, than the keeper, sliding down the bank,
dropped silently into the river, and disappeared as if by magic, while,
as Dane wondered what had startled him, another voice rang out.
"Run straight in on the alder while I head him off from the firs!" it
directed; and a whistle was followed by the sound of trampling feet.
Somebody came smashing through the undergrowth, and Dane was never quite
certain as to the cause for what happened next, though he surmised that
Chatterton's dread of becoming a laughing-stock to his enemy proved
momentarily stronger than his reason. In any case, he must have
endeavored to follow the keeper's lead, and lost his footing, for a side
swing of the stream swept him out from shore, while Dane, realizing that
an elderly gentleman in heavy boots and leggings was hardly likely to
make much head against a flooded river, plunged from the bank in the
flattest dive he could compass, though horribly afraid that he might
strike his head against a submerged stone. It was a good plunge, for he
rose almost in mid-stream, and heard a great splashing and panting
close before him. A few moments later, he had Chatterton by the
shoulder, and braced himself for a struggle.
Chatterton, though driving sideways down the stream, could apparently
swim a little, and did not appear unduly alarmed. Indeed, Dane had cause
for believing he feared nothing except ridicule; but he was very heavy,
and panted stentoriously, while muddy froth beat into the younger man's
eyes and nostrils, and the rebound, which surged in a whirling eddy from
a central rock, swept them down together toward the white race between
the boulders at the tail of the pool. Dane had no intention of being
hammered against them if it could be avoided, and did his utmost,
thrusting with one hand on Chatterton's shoulder and swimming on his
side. Still, the boulders swept up-stream past them, the larches flitted
by, and though they drew clear of the fastest rush, it seemed impossible
that they could make a landing in time to escape the rapid. Chatterton
was apparently swallowing water, and choking badly now.
"For heaven's sake, make a last effort, sir!" spluttered Dane; and the
iron-master splashed furiously.
A strip of shingle grew nearer, but they would hardly have reached it
had not a man floundered in almost shoulder-deep and clutched them as
they passed. All three went down together, Chatterton undermost; but
when Dane's head broke the surface, a hand was twined in his hair, and a
half-choked voice said:
"You are in wading distance, man. Get up and walk!"
Dane felt sliding shingle beneath him, and tightening his grip on
Chatterton he struggled for a foothold; and finally they reeled,
breathless, dazed, and dripping, out among the boulders. Then somebody
turned back the slide of a darkened lantern, and the half-drowned
Chatterton gasped, for it was evident that his rescuer was Carsluith
Maxwell, the son of his enemy. Maxwell stared at Chatterton, and the
iron-master gaped at him; but while blank astonishment was stamped on
both their faces, it was Maxwell who recovered his senses first.
"Robertson, hail Jim to run over to The Larches, and say that Mr.
Chatterton, who fell into the river trying to capture a poacher, is
coming home with me to change his clothes," he ordered, and then turned
toward the dripping pair. "It was very plucky of you, sir, and you were
only a few seconds too late. I thought you would secure the depredator.
It is two miles round by the footbridge, and you hardly look fit for the
walk, so you are coming to Culmeny with me. There is really no use
protesting."
Thomas Chatterton did not look capable of much exertion, but he
hesitated.
"It is very kind of you, but your father and I, unfortunately--"
Maxwell laughed.
"I believe you had some trifling difference; but this is a Christian
country, and the reason given quite insufficient for letting you freeze
to death. Mr. Dane, I presume? You will help me to persuade your host."
Chatterton, although exhausted, yielded dubiously, and it was not long
before the pair shed their dripping garments beside a blazing fire in
Culmeny, and struggled into the dry ones provided, both sets being of
average size. Dane, however, was tall and long of limb; Chatterton was
short and broad, and when his toilet was finished, he stood up
half-choked, with every button straining about him.
"This is worse than a strait waistcoat, Hilton," he fumed; "and I'd
rather forfeit five pounds than go down and meet them as I am. By the
way, I believe I never thanked you; but I will not forget our swim. But
tell me how you came to turn up so opportunely."
Chatterton betrayed some anxiety in the last words, but Dane managed to
frame an answer which reassured him as he surveyed himself in a glass
and hoped the Misses Maxwell would not put in an appearance. The wet
hair plastered down his forehead showed a washed-out straw color against
the darkened skin. His brown wrists and ankles projected ridiculously
from the borrowed garments, and somebody's slippers would not cover more
than a portion of his feet.
"We are neither of us particularly prepossessing at first sight, but I
suppose we must make the best of it; Maxwell asked us to come down when
we were ready," he said.
They went down, Chatterton fuming, Dane struggling with a desire to
laugh; and two men rose to meet them when they entered a long,
low-ceilinged room. That meeting was fraught with far-reaching
consequences, and Dane could afterward recall it vividly. The old place
of Culmeny was an ancient and somewhat decrepit edifice, owned for many
generations by the Maxwells, and the wainscot of the room was dark with
age. Quaintly embroidered curtains were drawn across one end of it;
there were few pictures, and these old; while the whole place wore a
somber air, almost intensified by the light of the wax candles on the
great uncovered table, which supported a steaming bowl. This, Dane
noticed, was of oak hooped with tarnished silver. It was, however, the
two men who fixed his attention. The elder, a spare gray-haired man with
a white moustache, came forward holding out his hand.
"I must congratulate you upon your escape, Mr. Chatterton," he said. "I
am glad that Carsluith had sense enough to bring you home with him; and
I can recommend a ladleful of this mixture as a preventative against a
chill, while regretting that, because the fires were low, we could not
send you a dose earlier. The customs of Culmeny are not altogether what
they used to be."
The pair formed a striking contrast when Chatterton turned toward his
host, glass in hand. The one was softly spoken, spare to gauntness, and
characterized by a subtle air of distinction; the other, short, florid,
abrupt in speech, and more often aggressive than dignified in manner.
Then, because Chatterton was also a man of impulse, who cared for
neither place nor tradition when anything stirred him, as his host's
welcome evidently did, he bowed to Brandram Maxwell with more grace than
Dane deemed him capable of.
"Here's to our better acquaintance, sir; and my best thanks," he said.
"I'm a plain, self-taught man, and may have blundered in enforcing what
I thought my rights. If so, I regret it."
What Brandram Maxwell answered Dane did not remember, but he expressed
it very neatly; and while the feud was patched up, his son smiled
curiously at the younger man. He was like his father, but taller in
stature, dark in color of eyes and hair, and slightly olive-tinted in
complexion, while his movements suggested a wiry suppleness. Dane
surmised that he was of reserved, if not slightly sardonic, disposition.
The bowl of punch was emptied with every sign of amity; and when it was
finished Thomas Chatterton, who had absorbed the major portion and
declared that he had never tasted anything better, said: "I hope we
shall see much more of each other in future, and, as an earnest of the
wish, I will expect you shortly at The Larches, where Mrs. Chatterton
will thank you for your kindness better than I can."
While Brandram Maxwell started some topic of conversation with his elder
guest, his son, to whom Dane had mentioned the affair of the Englishman
in South America, drew him aside.
"Hyslop and I were once good friends, and I consider myself your debtor
for what you did for him," he said. "Did he tell you much about his
wanderings, or that he and I came near successfully exploiting a Mexican
mine?"
"No," said Dane. "He told me very little. What went wrong with the
mine?"
Maxwell laughed.
"The unexpected happened. It generally does when one awaits the
consummation of an ingenious scheme. I am especially sorry Hyslop has
gone."
Dane longed to ascertain whether his new friend suspected any other
explanation than the one he had seized upon for Chatterton's plunge into
the river, and endeavored to do so, without success; for even when he
afterward learned to know and trust him well, he never found it easy to
glean more from Carsluith Maxwell than he wished to tell. An accident,
however, favored him, and he thought more of the man for his reticence
when, as the master of Culmeny was exhibiting some new artificial
minnows in his gun-room, he heard his son, who had slipped away, say to
somebody in the darkness beneath the open window:
"You remember the pheasants' eggs incident, Kevan? You need not repeat
your explanations, because I have no intention of raking it up, and
merely wish to suggest that you find means of preventing your comrades
from talking too much about what happened to-night. When a gentleman of
Mr. Chatterton's years allows his excitement to overcome him to such an
extent that he follows a poacher into a flooded river, he naturally
would not like his adventures made public property."
"I'm a wee bit puzzled, sir," answered an invisible person; and
Maxwell's voice rose faintly through the sound of retreating footsteps:
"I am not puzzled in the least; and that ought to be sufficient. You are
sure you understand my wishes?"
He came in a few moments later to inform his guests that the dog-cart
was waiting.
As they drove home, Chatterton said sententiously:
"We all make mistakes at times, Hilton; and that was most excellent
punch. For instance, when one comes to know him, Maxwell is what might
be termed a very good fellow. Hard up like the rest of them, of course;
land and buildings, as everybody knows, burdened to the hilt, but--I
suppose it was born in him--he bears the stamp, and his son wears it
too. You and I are different, you know, though travel has done a good
deal for you. I have handled a good many men in my time, and I like that
fellow's looks. He would be a very bad kind to tackle when the devil
that smiles through his black eyes wakes up; and I think he'd stand by
the man who played him fair through the damnedest kind of luck."
Dane, who fully endorsed this opinion, was afterward to discover that
Thomas Chatterton was no bad judge of his fellow-men.
"They are neither of the type one associates with this part of the
country," he commented.
"No," said Chatterton. "They were, I understand, always an adventurous
family, and some of them who took part in the wars there in the old days
intermarried with the Spaniards then holding the Low Countries. A strain
of that kind takes a long time to work out, you know."
Chatterton's fishing was not without results, for in spite of, or
perhaps because of, their different character and experience, it was the
commencement of a friendship between himself and Maxwell of Culmeny. The
iron-master had hewn his own way to fortune, and, being troubled by no
petty diffidence, was, if anything, overfond of recounting has earlier
struggles. The wild blood of the old moss-troopers still pulsed in the
veins of the Maxwells, and the impoverished gentleman, who listened with
interest, sighed as he remembered the sordid monotony of his own career,
during which he had, by dint of painful economy, somewhat lightened the
burden with which his inheritance had been saddled by the recklessness
of his forbears.
Carsluith Maxwell took even more kindly to his new acquaintances; and
there sprang up between himself and Dane a comradeship which was to
stand a bitter test, while, as summer merged into autumn, he would
sometimes wonder at himself. He said nothing about his African venture,
and spent much time considering old rent books and the cost of moss-land
reclamation schemes. The rest he spent shooting with Dane, or lounging
at The Larches, if possible in Lilian Chatterton's vicinity; but,
although he could rouse himself to temporary brilliancy, Maxwell was
usually oversilent in feminine society, and Dane felt no jealousy. The
latter rested content in the meantime with the knowledge that Lilian
found a mild pleasure in his company; and only Mrs. Chatterton felt any
misgivings respecting future possibilities. Being a wise woman, she kept
her suspicions to herself until they became certainties, when one day
Miss Margaret Maxwell, perhaps not wholly by accident, gave her a
significant hint.
"I hear that your brother has undertaken an extensive drainage scheme,"
said the elder lady.
"We are hopeful that he will settle down at last," responded Margaret
Maxwell. "My father's health is failing, and he has long desired his
son's company; but Carsluith was always ambitious, and used to say he
would never vegetate in poverty at Culmeny. Of late, however, we have
been pleased to see that he is taking an almost suspicious interest in
the improvement of the estate, and is now investing the money he made in
Mexico in the reclamation of Langside Moss. As Carsluith seldom does
anything without a reason, his sudden change of program puzzles us."
Mrs. Chatterton fancied she could supply the reason, but she made no
comment. Lilian, she decided, had a right to choose for herself, and
might make a worse selection than a Maxwell of Culmeny.
In the meantime, Dane still awaited his foreign commission, and might
have waited indefinitely, but that once again a poacher played a part in
the shaping of his destiny. There were plenty of them in that
neighborhood; while rogue, and clown, and commonplace individual of
average honesty usually outnumber either the saints or heroes in life's
comedy. The poachers were netting the Culmeny partridges, and Dane
promised to assist his comrade in an attempt to capture them.
CHAPTER IV
THE POACHER
It was a chilly night when Dane crouched in very damp clover beside a
straggling hedge, waiting for the poachers, and wishing he had been wise
enough to remain at home. Rain had fallen throughout the day, and now
heavy clouds drifted overhead, while a chilly breeze shook an eery
sighing out of the firs behind him. The moon was seldom visible, but a
subdued luminescence filtered through, and he could just see Maxwell
crouching in a neighboring ditch which was not wholly dry.
"What are you meditating upon, Hilton?" Maxwell asked.
"I was just thinking what a fool I was to come at all, and that it is
almost time I went home again. When a man has had tropical fever it is
his own fault if he suffers from indulgence in amusements of this
description."
"I am not entirely comfortable either," Maxwell said dryly. "My boots
are full of water, and my hair is thick with sand; but I dare say both
of us have had worse experiences. If those fellows don't come in the
next ten minutes I'll turn back with you."
Neither said anything further for a space. The firs moaned behind them,
the dampness chilled them through, and the odor of wet clover was in
their nostrils. When, instead of ten minutes, nearly half an hour had
passed, there was a low whistle from a hidden keeper, and Dane could
dimly see several indistinct figures in the adjoining meadow.
"Kevan and the constable should head them off," whispered Maxwell. "I'll
race you for the first prisoner, Hilton!"
It was characteristic of Maxwell that he had worked an opening ready in
the hedge, and slipped through it, while Dane hurled himself crashing
upon the thorns. He broke through them, somehow, and noticed very little
as he raced across the dripping aftermath except that two men strove to
drag something over the opposite hedge. Before he could reach it,
Maxwell had separated from him, and because the moon shone down through
a rift in the clouds, he saw him clear the hedge in a flying bound. The
next moment he had his hand on the collar of one man brought up by the
thorns. Dane saw his face for an instant, and then, when the other
kicked him savagely on the knee, he shifted his hand to his throat, and
was doing his best to choke the fight out of him when he heard footsteps
behind him, and something descended heavily upon his head. He fell with
a violence that shook the remaining senses out of him, and lay vacantly
listening to the sound of running feet and hoarse shouts which grew
fainter in the distance, until Maxwell, returning, shook him by the arm.
It was dark again now, for the moon had vanished, and a thin drizzle was
falling. Dane's head ached intolerably, and a warm trickle ran into one
of his eyes.
"Are you badly hurt, Hilton?" asked Maxwell, stooping and holding out a
flask.
"No," Dane answered dubiously, as, gripping his comrade's hand, he
staggered to his feet. "Mine is a pretty thick cranium, but somebody
did their best to test its solidity with the butt of a gun. Did you get
them?"
"We did not." Maxwell, who seldom showed what he felt, evinced no
chagrin. "The constable managed to stick fast in the one gap in the
second hedge; but we got their net, and, although I don't wish to
trouble you if you are not fit, if you could describe the fellow you
grappled with, we should know where to find him."
Dane did so to the best of his ability.
"It's young Jim Johnstone!" the keeper exclaimed; "an' after this we
should grip him trying to slip off by the night train. I'm minding Mr.
Black told me he'd e'en be sitting up in case yon rascals killed
onybody, an' ye needed authority. He's a pleasant-spoken gentleman, an'
this is a clear case o' unlawful woundin'."
"Start at once with that fool of a policeman!" said Maxwell. "Now,
Hilton, if you can manage to walk as far as the road, I will drive you
home."
He held out his arm, but grew tired long before they reached his trap:
Dane was no featherweight, and he leaned upon him heavily. When Maxwell
helped his comrade down before The Larches there were lights in the
lower windows, though it was very late, and its owner stood upon the
steps awaiting them.
"I could not sleep until I heard whether you had caught the rascals," he
began. "But what's this? Have they hurt you, Hilton?"
"Not much, sir," answered Dane.
Seeing Mrs. Chatterton in the hall, he shook off Maxwell's arm, and
attempted to enter it unassisted to prove his assertion. The attempt,
however, was a distinct failure. He tripped upon a mat, reeled forward
drunkenly, and, clutching at the nearest chair, sank into it, presenting
a sufficiently surprising spectacle, for his collar, as he subsequently
found, was burst, while there were generous rents in his garments, and
the red trickle flowed faster down his face. Then there followed
confusion, for Mrs. Chatterton was a gentle but easily disconcerted
lady, and her husband addicted to over-vigorous action. So, while the
one proceeded in search of bandages, and, not finding them, returned to
ask useless questions and, in spite of his feeble protests, pour cold
water over Dane's injured head, Chatterton smote a gong and hurled
confused orders at the startled servants. This lasted until a dainty
figure came swiftly down the stairway, and chaos was reduced to order
when Lilian took control with a firm hand.
"Don't trouble him with questions, Aunty, but get some brandy, quick!"
she said. "Uncle, please do not make any more useless noise, but ask one
of these foolish women to bring hot water. Annie, bring me the arnica,
and the first piece of clean linen you can find. Now, Hilton, you are
not hurt very badly, are you?"
She bent down, with the light of a big hanging lamp upon her, and,
forgetting the faintness and pain, which was considerable, Dane felt his
heart bound within him. In spite of her swift orderliness, the girl's
eyes were anxious as well as very pitiful, and there was a tension in
her voice.
"No," he replied, as carelessly as he could, for all his pulses were
throbbing. "I am just a little dizzy, and shall be better presently. I
am chiefly ashamed of making such a scene, Lily."
It did the man good to see the relief in his attendant's face. Miss
Chatterton flushed a little under his gaze and became once more strictly
practical.
"The wound is worse than you suppose," she said, with a slight but
perceptible shiver. "Take a mouthful of this brandy, and I will fix a
dressing. Aunty, hold the bandage, and give me the scissors!"
She did all very cleverly, then slipped away; and ten minutes later Dane
was glad to bid Chatterton and his wife good-night. His head still
throbbed painfully--for the trigger-guard which struck his forehead had
bitten deep--and, having seen what pleased him greatly, he desired to be
alone to think.
When he had gone, Mrs. Chatterton looked at her husband.
"Did it strike you as significant that Lily should come down at a few
moments' notice dressed just as she left us?" she asked.
"Am I quite a fool?" said Chatterton, and then added in oracular
fashion: "Hilton Dane will make his mark some day; and it was his
father's roll which started me on the way to prosperity."
As it happened, Lilian Chatterton had also food for reflection, and sat
long by an open window looking out into the night. There was no doubt,
she admitted, that she found Hilton Dane's society congenial. His swift
deference to all her wishes pleased her; and as he had intimated that he
desired nothing more than her friendship, there was no reason why it
should not be granted him. Under different circumstances the girl
fancied that her interest might have carried her farther; but Thomas
Chatterton's thinly veiled command was a fatal barrier. Even then she
frowned, remembering the summary manner in which he had purposed to
dispose of her as though she were a chattel. Nevertheless, she had been
badly startled by the sight of the wounded man; and the fact remained
that when her eyes first rested upon him she grew almost faint with a
sudden and wholly unexplainable fear. Lilian wondered, with a crimsoning
of her face, whether she had betrayed the relief she certainly
experienced on discovering that his injuries were not serious; and then
she closed the window with somewhat unnecessary violence.
The next sun had not long risen when Dane went out shakily into the
freshness of the morning. His brain had refused duty during the
preceding night, and there were questions to be grappled with. Hilton
Dane possessed a long patience, but, although a chivalrous person, he
was not a fool. He shrank from the thought of allowing the iron-master's
ward to be forced into a union with him, even if that were
possible--about which, however, knowing the young lady's character, he
was very doubtful. Also, he was at present a comparatively poor man, and
though he believed there was a moderate fortune in his invention, he saw
that some time must elapse before he could realize it. Abusing his
host's interference fervently, he decided that because the continual
effort to keep silence was wearing his resolution down, it would be well
to avoid further temptation by leaving The Larches.
He had just arrived at this decision when Chatterton came upon him.
"You do not look at all fit, Hilton," said the elder man. "The cut on
your forehead would, of course, account for that; but it has struck me
lately that something is troubling you. I refrain on principle from
prying into other folks' affairs; but, considering the time I have
known you, if you have any difficulty, I think you might confide it to
me."
Dane understood what lay behind this, and he felt that it was the last
thing under the circumstances he would think of doing.
"You have made my stay here so pleasant that if I remain much longer I
shall never be fit for work again," he said. "I have accordingly decided
to run up to London, and, if the railroad builders have not my work cut
out, look round for another foreign commission."
Thomas Chatterton started a little, and tried to hide a frown.
"I thought you had changed your mind after the letter you showed me, and
decided to stay in this country. It strikes me as downright folly to
risk accidents and fevers abroad with such a patent in your hands. Your
pump would beat the best pulsometer ever put into a mine. If you don't
approve of the offers you have received, and my suggestions, why can't
you sell it to the public through a limited company?"
Dane laughed a little.
"As I said before, sir, by the time I paid promoters and directors,
there would be very little left for me. If the pump, which cost years of
thought and experimenting, is to enrich anybody it shall be its
inventor; and another good foreign commission should supply me with the
necessary money."
"Listen to me," said Chatterton. "It is time I spoke plainly. I have
been called a hard man, but I hope I am equally just, and I had to fight
desperately for a foothold at the beginning. Well, I kept a mental
ledger, and no man ever robbed or assisted me but I made against his
name a debit or credit entry. Some of those debts were heavy, but in
due time I paid them back in full."
For a moment Chatterton certainly looked a hard man as he shut his hand
slowly, and with a very grim expression in his heavy-jawed visage,
stared steadily at Dane. Then the grimness vanished as he added:
"There is still a sum standing to the credit of Henry Dane, and I feel
ashamed often that I have let it stand so long. There is still one way
in which you could help me wipe it off, if none of those mentioned
already suits you. My niece will not leave me dowerless--and--for if it
had not been so I should not have spoken--you expressed your admiration
pretty openly some years ago."
Dane had no enviable task before him, but, remembering his compact, he
was determined to accomplish it, even if it should be necessary to use a
little brutality.
"I am afraid I see two somewhat important objections, sir," he answered
quietly. "In the first place, it is not apparent that the lady approves
of me."
"Pshaw!" said Chatterton. "When I was your age I never allowed such
trifles to daunt me. You surely did not expect her to say she had been
patiently waiting for you?"
"I think I mentioned two objections, sir, and the second is of almost
equal importance," Dane responded gravely. "I am at present a poor man,
you see."
Thomas Chatterton faced round on him again with his jaw protruded, and a
deeper hue in his generally sufficiently florid countenance.
"You need not be, unless you are fond of poverty. You mean----"
"That a boy and girl attachment seldom lasts long--on either side."
Chatterton moved a few paces forward, with the dry cough which those who
knew his temper recognized as a danger signal, then wheeled round upon
his heel and strode toward the house; and Dane noticed that he kicked an
unoffending dog he usually fondled.
As luck would have it, the next person Dane met was Lilian, and she
looked very winsome as she stood bareheaded under the morning sunshine
in her thin white dress. Dane's lips set tight as he watched her, then
suddenly his face softened again.
"I am glad to see you recovering, Hilton," she greeted him. "That hat
hides my bandages nicely. Do you feel able to walk slowly over to
Culmeny with me to-day?"
It was a tantalizing question: Dane felt not only able but very willing
to walk across the breadth of Scotland in Lilian Chatterton's company.
He feared however, that his moral strength would prove unequal to the
strain the excursion might impose, for it was growing very difficult to
observe the conditions of the indefinite compact.
"I am very sorry, but I have letters to write," he said.
Lilian Chatterton was a trifle quick-tempered, and though Dane knew it,
and considered it not a fault but a characteristic, he wondered at the
ways of women as she answered:
"I could not, of course, expect you to delay your correspondence, which
is no doubt important. Have you run out of those new powder cartridges?"
Dane felt that, under the circumstances, this was particularly hard on
him, but he smiled dryly.
"The correspondence relates to my departure for London. I want you to
listen, Lilian. I have just had an interview with your uncle, which
makes my absence appear desirable. Perhaps you can guess its purport,
and the gist of what he said."
The clear rose-color deepened a little in the girl's cheeks, but she
answered steadily.
"I will admit the possibility. The most important question is what you
said to him."
Now Dane had not only subdued mutinous alien laborers, and held them to
their task, but he had even been complimented by a South American
Spaniard upon the incisive vocabulary which helped him to accomplish it.
Nevertheless, at that moment he felt almost abject, and found speech of
any kind very difficult.
"Are you ashamed of your answer?" asked the girl.
"I am," Dane admitted. "There was, however, only one way in which I
could satisfy Mr. Chatterton without running the risk of allowing him to
apply considerable misdirected energy to the task of convincing a second
person. Therefore, though I did not like it, I took that way. He was not
pleased with me."
"You told him----" Lilian began, coloring still more.
"I did," said Dane grimly. "Horribly unflattering, wasn't it; but it was
the best I could do for you."
The girl first experienced a wholly illogical desire to humiliate the
speaker; but, recognizing the unreasonableness of this, she reflected a
moment, and then laughed mirthlessly.
"It should certainly prove effective. Still, a woman would have found a
neater way out of the difficulty!"
Lilian left him, and when the man passed out of earshot into the
shrubbery, he used a few pointed and forbidden adjectives in connection
with what he termed his luck.
He was leaning moodily upon a gate, looking down on a sunlit
stubble-field the following afternoon, when the next link was forged in
the chain of circumstances which, beginning with Chatterton's fishing,
would drag him through strange adventures. There was late honeysuckle on
the hedges, and festoons of warm-tinted straw. Running water sang
soothingly beneath the pine branches overhanging a neighboring hollow;
while all the wide vista of river, moor, and fell was mellowed by the
golden autumn haze. Dane, however, was far from happy. He was in no way
jealous of Carsluith Maxwell, which was perhaps surprising; but, in
addition to his other troubles, it did not please him that the latter
should have accompanied Miss Chatterton home on foot from Culmeny. They
had also been an inordinate time over the journey.
Presently, a little brown-faced child came pattering barefooted down the
lane, and stopping, glanced at him shyly, as though half afraid. She was
a pretty, elfish little thing, though her well-mended garments betokened
industrious poverty. She apparently gathered courage when the man smiled
at her.
"Whom are you staring so hard at, my little maid?" said he.
The child fished out a strip of folded paper from somewhere about her
diminutive person, and held it up to him.
"Ye will be the Mr. Dane who's staying at The Larches?"
Dane nodded, and the girl glanced up and down the lane suspiciously.
"Then Sis telt me to give ye this when there was naebody to see."
"And who is your sister, and what's it all about?" asked Dane; and the
little thing smiled roguishly.
"Just Mary Johnstone. Maybe it would tell ye gin ye lookit inside it,
sir."
She vanished the next moment, with a patter of bare feet, leaving Dane
to stare blankly at the folded paper.
"Now, who is Mary Johnstone, and what can she want with me?" he
wondered, as he prepared to follow the child's advice and read the
missive. When this had been done, however, he was not greatly
enlightened.
"_I'm taking a great liberty_," it ran. "_I am in great trouble, and you
are the one person who can help me. If you would not have two little
children go hungry all winter, you will meet me by the planting at
Hallows Brig in the gloaming to-morrow. I saw you at The Larches, and
thought I could trust you._"
"Very confiding of Miss Johnstone, whoever she is, but I'm thankful my
conscience is clear," thought Dane. It was unfortunate that he did not
obey the first impulse which prompted him to destroy the note. Instead
of this, he lighted another cigar, and sat down to consider the affair.
Just then the local constable, who on an eventful occasion had also
stuck fast in the hedge, came tramping through the stubble with
elephantine gait.
"Grand weather the day, sir," he beamed. "Ye will have heard we grippit
the man who broke yere heid."
"I'm summoned as a witness; but who is Mary Johnstone?" asked Dane. "You
should know everybody about here."
"Old Rab Johnstone's daughter; and that's no great credit to the lass.
Rab's overfond of the whisky, and never does nothing when he can help
it, which is gey often, I'm thinking. The daughter's a hard working
lass--sews for the gentlefolks; and she and her brither between them
keep the two mitherless bairns fed. It's him we've got in the lock-up
for breaking yere heid."
"Oh," said Dane, as a light dawned upon him. "Then Mary Johnstone would
be the pretty, light-haired girl I saw sewing for Miss Chatterton?"
"That same, sir," answered the constable, with professional alacrity.
"Miss Chatterton has missed nothing, has she?"
"Of course not!" Dane said impatiently. "I was only inquiring out of
curiosity. You need not mention it. Would this coin be of any use to
you?"
The official admitted that it might be; but when he appeared to smother
a bovine chuckle, Dane turned upon him.
"What the deuce is amusing you so?"
"Naething, sir," the man answered sheepishly. "I'm taken that way whiles
in hot weather."
The constable furnished further particulars about the poacher's family
before he departed; and Dane, reflecting that his must be the most
damaging testimony against the prisoner, understood why Mary Johnstone
had sent for him. It was perhaps foolish, but the child's face had
attracted him; and deciding that the lot of the pretty seamstress,
struggling to bring up her sisters under the conditions mentioned, must
be a hard one at the best, he resolved at least to hear what she had to
say.
CHAPTER V
THE TRYST AT HALLOWS BRIG
It was a clear, cool evening when Carsluith Maxwell leaned on the rails
of a footbridge which spanned the river, looking up at the old place of
Culmeny. It rose from the stony hillside, a straggling pile of time-worn
masonry, with all its narrow windows aflame with the evening light, and
the green of ivy softening its rugged simplicity. A square tower formed
its major portion, and this had been built with no pretense at adornment
in troubled days when the Maxwells had won and held their possessions
with the mailed hand. They had been, for the most part, soldiers of
fortune, and their descendant recalled the traditions of his race as,
turning, he looked south and east across the shining flood-tide toward
the Solway sands.
More of his forbears had, when there was scarcity at Culmeny--which was
generally the case--ridden that way in steel cap and dinted harness than
ever rode back, and Carsluith Maxwell had hitherto fulfilled the family
destiny, chancing his life in modern ventures where the risks were
perhaps as heavy as any the old moss-troopers ran. Now, however, he had
come to a turning-point in his career, and that night must decide
whether he applied his energies to the slow conversion of barren mosses
into arable land, or went forth again to seek his fortune over seas. The
wandering life appealed to his instincts; and fortune had not wholly
evaded him; but he had recognized of late that unless he could share it
with one woman, even prosperity would have little value for him. There
was a trace of melancholy almost akin to superstition in his nature, and
it was with a curious smile that he turned toward Culmeny to put his
fate to the test. If Lilian Chatterton would not listen, it was high
time to begin his search for the African mine.
In the meantime, Hilton Dane sat in the hall of Culmeny waiting for a
word with Maxwell, and also until it was time to keep his appointment at
the Hallows Brig. Three narrow, diamond-paned windows with rose lights
in the crown of their lancets pierced one end of the hall, and the
fading sunlight beating through, forced up into brightness the
pale-tinted dresses of his companions. They were young and comely women,
and, because the rest of the dark-paneled room was wrapped in shadow,
neither face nor dainty figure suffered from being silhouetted against a
somber background. A cluster of late roses in a silver bowl, and the
tawny skin of an African leopard on the polished floor, both touched by
the tinted gleam, formed by contrast glowing patches of color.
Nevertheless, Dane's eyes most often rested upon Lilian Chatterton, who
sat near an open window with a ruddy glory blazing in her hair, while
the dark oak behind it emphasized the delicate chiseling of her face.
There was a stamp of decision upon it as well as refinement.
"Is it not wonderfully peaceful to-night?" she said, glancing out across
the velvet lawn. A few roses still flowered along one side of it, a tall
clipped hedge hemmed it in, and, beyond the lawn, fir wood, yellow
stubble, and meadow rolled down to the silver shining of the sea. The
whole lay steeped in the sunset, serenely beautiful; but the black
shadow of the firs lengthened rapidly across the grass.
"You are all very silent," the girl continued. "Why does not somebody
agree with me? Don't you think it peaceful, Margaret? This might be an
enchanted garden, and yonder hedge a barrier impassable to care. It is
good to talk nonsense occasionally; and to-night one could almost fancy
that no cause for trouble might enter here."
As she spoke, Dane noticed that the gloom of the firs had swallowed most
of the lawn, and the coincidence struck him as an unfortunate augury.
Lilian had known little of either sorrow or care; and having learned by
painful experience that the balance of light and darkness is determined
by immutable law, the man trembled for her.
Margaret Maxwell laughed a little.
"You are distinctly fanciful. Culmeny has seen very little of either
peace or prosperity. The spot where this very garden stands was once
worn down by the hoofs of stolen cattle, and the feet of armed men bent
on exterminating the gentle Maxwells who plundered them. We also read
that the serpent entered Eden, and have the authority of Milton and
others for picturing the Prince of Darkness as a somewhat courtly
gentleman; while one notices that when there is unusual harmony, trouble
not infrequently follows the advent of a man. It is a coincidence, but
that ditty should herald Carsluith's coming."
A voice rose out of the adjoining meadow chanting a plaintive ditty in
an unknown tongue. The air resembled nothing Lilian had heard before,
and she leaned forward listening, for the refrain, pitched in a
mournful minor key, was equally striking.
"I did not know your brother sang so well; but I do not like that song.
It strikes one as uncanny," she said.
Margaret Maxwell nodded.
"It is West African, and that, I understand, is an uncanny country. My
brother spent some time there. He really sings--as he does most things
when he thinks it worth while, which is not always--tolerably well."
The song died away as Carsluith Maxwell came lightly across the lawn,
and Dane noticed that the last of the sunlight faded and the shadows
shut in both himself and Lilian Chatterton when the newcomer entered
through the open window.
"I did not know I had such an audience, or I should have been too
diffident to play the nightingale," Maxwell laughed.
"Miss Chatterton did not like your song, though she admired its
rendering," said Margaret mischievously. "But what put that doleful
composition into your head to-night?"
"Association of ideas, most probably," answered Maxwell, with a smile on
his lips, but none in his eyes. "I met the post-carrier, and must decide
forthwith whether I shall follow up my African scheme or not. It is
curious, but by the same token I'm standing with my heel on the neck of
the leopard, and I feel inclined to say God send it be a true augury.
You have your foot upon him, too, Miss Chatterton; and that is a very
ill-omened beast."
"How so?" asked Lilian. "It cannot be very large or terrible, to judge
by its skin."
"It holds a country larger than Scotland in terror," replied Maxwell.
"There are whole tribes of black men who tremble at the sight of a tuft
of leopard's fur."
"As an insignia, I suppose; but the beast is clearly vulnerable." Lilian
stooped and pointed to the fur. "Surely that is the work of a bullet."
"You have keen eyes," said Maxwell. "The taxidermist did his best to
hide it. That hole was made when I first pitted myself against the
leopard by shooting one to convince my carriers the thing was mortal.
For some time I suspected that was the beginning of a duel."
"And now?" interposed his sister, with a trace of anxiety.
"Now I almost hope I was mistaken," said Carsluith Maxwell. "With your
permission, I have one or two things to see to, and should like a word
with Hilton."
They went out together, and presently Dane returned alone to bid Miss
Maxwell adieu.
"You have been very patient during the last hour," said that lady. "Now
that you have seen Carsluith, one could not, of course, expect too much
from you."
"I have been very self-indulgent," said Dane, who had seen the elfish
child again and promised to meet his correspondent. "Still, there is a
limit to everybody's opportunities for enjoyment, and unfortunately I
must tear myself away."
Margaret Maxwell glanced at him sharply, for she fancied that he spoke
with sincerity, as indeed he did; but Dane, having given his promise,
intended to keep it. She also glanced at Lilian, and decided that Miss
Chatterton was not wholly pleased.
"Carsluith proposed to drive you both home. Can you not wait until he is
ready?" she suggested.
"I fear I cannot," answered Dane, with a trace of confusion. "The fact
is, I have an appointment to keep."
He left them a trifle abruptly, and Miss Maxwell turned to Lilian.
"Whom can your guest have an appointment with? He looked positively
guilty. I fear that he must have fallen into the toils of some rustic
beauty, which, considering his opportunities, shows a deplorably
defective taste."
If Lilian felt any resentment she showed no sign of it; but she was a
little more quiet than usual while they awaited the return of Carsluith
Maxwell.
Dane, remembering Lilian's glance of interrogation, hurried toward the
Hallows Brig in a somewhat uncertain humor. Though the hillside was
still projected blackly against a pale gleam of saffron above, it was
nearly but not quite dark when he reached the bridge, and the water sang
mournfully through the deepening gloom of the firs. The cool air was
fragrant with the faint sweetness of honeysuckle, and the calling of
curlew rose from a misty meadow; and it seemed to Dane that the slight,
shadowy figure which presently flitted toward him was in keeping with
the spirit of the scene. When the girl halted beside him there was still
just sufficient light to show that her face was comely. Hilton Dane was
not given to wandering fancies, and had long carried Lilian Chatterton's
photograph about with him; but he felt compassionate when he saw the
anxiety in the thin face, and noticed that the girl's lips were
quivering.
"Miss Johnstone, I presume?" he said. "Will you please tell me why you
sent for me?"
"I will try, sir," was the answer. "I have two little sisters to bring
up on what I earn by my needle, and what Jim can spare; but work has
been ill to get at the quarries, and, now when Jim's in prison, and
winter's no far away, I'm afraid to wonder what will be the outcome if
he is convicted."
"He should have considered such risks before he attempted to steal
another man's partridges," said Dane, with a poor attempt at severity.
"Poaching is not stealing, sir!" There was a ring in the girl's voice.
"Sorrow on the game that steals the farmer's corn to make a rich man's
pleasure, and tempts a poor man to his ruin! May ye never learn, sir,
what it is to choose between stealing and starving."
"The question is, what do you wish me to do?"
"To let Jim off, sir," was the answer; and the girl's eyes were eager to
tearfulness as she fixed them on the man, who frowned, perhaps because
he felt the appeal in them almost irresistible. "It was a dark night,
and maybe ye could not be quite certain. It was the others who tempted
him. He will go no more poaching if he once wins clear, and if the
fiscal sends him to prison the bairns will be hungry often or the
winter's through. It's for their sakes I'm asking; and the neighbors say
there will be no conviction if ye cannot swear to Jim."
Perhaps it was Dane's duty to sternly rebuke the pleader, but she
appeared half-fed and desperately anxious; and the face of her tiny
sister, with its look of childish confidence, rose up before his fancy.
He had once, and with little compunction, cut down with a shovel a
frenzied Italian laborer who led a mutiny, but now, though he set his
lips firmly for a moment, his eyes were pitiful.
"I am afraid what you suggest would not be right," he said presently.
"Does your father not help you at all?"
The girl's "No," expressed a good deal, and the despair in her voice
completed the man's discomfiture.
"I'm sorry; I had no right to ask," he said. "I am sure, at least, that
it was not your brother who broke my head, because--because he was not
in a position to attack anybody just then--and, for the sake of the
little ones, if there is any doubt at all--and I dare say there will be,
he shall have full benefit. But I cannot set him at liberty to continue
poaching; and the neighboring land-owners will probably see that he gets
no more work at the quarries; so he must take a letter from me to a
contractor who will no doubt find him employment."
Here, to the consternation of Dane, who did not know that his underfed
and overworked companion had done a courageous and, in the eyes of her
neighbors, a very suspicious thing, the girl broke out into half-choked
sobbing.
"You really must not cry," he pleaded awkwardly. "It is distressing to
me; and it is not my fault that your brother's friends cut my head open.
However, as I am the unfortunate cause of your distress, if the little
ones have suffered already it would be my duty to--to see they
didn't--you understand me?"
The girl, though still tearful, drew herself up with some show of pride.
"I'm no asking ye for money. The relief was just overmuch for me; but,
and it's a last favor, ye will no tell Miss Chatterton. Her good word
means work and bread to me."
"I am not likely to tell Miss Chatterton," the man assured her; then
added in haste: "If I did, she would not blame you."
"Maybe! Ye will not tell her," the girl said enigmatically, and then
once more caught her breath.
Dane, being unpleasantly uncertain what she might say or do in an
hysterical attack, felt it incumbent on him to soothe her, and laid a
hand reassuringly on her shoulder. It is possible that his companion
found comfort in the grasp, or instinctively recognized the touch of an
honest man, for she made no effort to evade it. As it happened, the lane
was grass-grown and sandy, and the river frothed noisily down a rapid
beyond the bridge. Thus neither of them heard the fall of hoofs until a
sudden glare of light beat into the face of the man. Fate had decreed
that the driver of the approaching vehicle should not only light the
lamps a little earlier than usual, but choose the longest road.
The result was unfortunate, for Dane, acting on impulse, drew the girl
farther back into the shadow of the hedge, and stood before her with his
hand still on her arm. The light had partly dazzled him, but he
recognized in the occupants of the dog-cart Lilian Chatterton and
Carsluith Maxwell, and barely choked back an expletive. Neither, if they
had seen him, showed any sign of recognition, which, however, was hardly
to be expected under the circumstances. Then, as the vehicle jolted on,
the girl, seeing the chagrin in the man's face, gazed at him curiously,
and with half-coherent thanks hurried away, leaving Dane in a state of
savage dismay.
"It is confoundedly hard on an unfortunate and innocent man! This is a
situation which will require considerable explaining, and I shall
probably never have an opportunity for attempting it," he muttered.
In the meantime Lilian Chatterton felt the hot blood surge upward from
her neck, and was thankful that the darkness partly hid her face. It is
true that she had effectively, so she hoped, put an end to any
aspirations Dane might have cherished; but when he had once accepted the
position there was no longer any necessity to conceal the fact that to a
certain degree she found his society congenial, or to consider how far
her interest in him might carry her. His complaisance had been the more
gratifying because she fancied it was not every woman who could bend
such an individual to her will. Lilian, however, had not only set up a
somewhat elevated standard of conduct for herself, but was inclined to
judge harshly those who fell beneath it; and now she was unmistakably,
if illogically, angry. The knowledge that the man had gone out fresh
from her presence to keep such an assignation stung her pride to the
quick, and brought the crimson to her very forehead. It was, she
considered, an unforgivable insult. Still, she had but seen him dimly
for a second, and might be mistaken, and so she turned toward her
companion.
"It is curious that I should fancy there was something familiar in the
voices we overheard," she said as lightly as she could.
Maxwell had learned discretion.
"Voices are always deceptive," he answered. "One should never trust to a
fanciful resemblance. The bridge is a favorite trysting-place for rustic
lovers; as one result of the sudden appearance of a pair of them, this
excitable beast managed to upset me the last time I approached it."
Carsluith Maxwell had done his best for his friend, and it was not his
fault that he had only confirmed the girl's suspicions, and set her
wondering if all men were equally perfidious.
"That being so, was it not very thoughtless of you to drive me this
way?" she inquired, with some asperity.
"Guilty," laughed Maxwell. "May I plead in extenuation that it is the
longest?"
He sprang down and looped the reins round a gatepost when they reached
the winding drive which led up to The Larches.
"Do you mind alighting here, Miss Chatterton?" he asked.
"No," said Lilian. "But may I inquire the reason?"
"A desire not to risk your safety a second time. The drive is very dark,
the horse addicted to bolting on opportunity; and it would be hard to do
justice to what I must tell you if I were forced to watch him. The task
is sufficiently beyond me already; I would give a good deal for the
power of eloquence."
Lilian was startled, for the speaker had certainly not worn his heart on
his sleeve.
"Could you not wait until to-morrow?" she asked with some trepidation.
"I am afraid not," said Maxwell, a trifle grimly. "I fear this must be a
surprise to you, but circumstances prevent my waiting, and it is even
better to hear one's sentence than to remain in suspense. Won't you
listen?"
Lilian, seeing there was no escape, bent her head; and, if Maxwell had
not the gift of eloquence, he could compress a good deal into a few
brief sentences. There was no superfluous protestation. The man spoke
abruptly, but Lilian could not doubt the earnestness in his voice, or,
as he stood hat in hand under the lamplight, mistake the look in his
eyes. She saw that what he offered was the enduring love of one who
could be trusted to the utmost, and the few pointed words revealed
depths of tenderness she had hardly suspected in him.
"I am sorry, very sorry--but it is impossible," she said softly.
Maxwell moved a pace or two forward, and his face seemed to have grown
suddenly haggard.
"Think," he urged hoarsely. "This means so much to me. Will it always be
impossible? I shall not change."
Lilian fancied she could believe him. She looked him fully in the eyes
as she answered.
"It can never be possible. I am sorry. If I had known, I should have
tried to warn you. You must forget me."
Maxwell recognized finality in her tone. For the space of several
seconds he turned his head away. Then he faced round again, speaking
very quietly:
"You have nothing to reproach yourself with. The mistake was mine. I
shall, however, never forget you; and I want you to promise that if any
adversity overtakes you--which God forbid--you will remember me. I sail
for Africa shortly, and it may be long before we meet again. Now I will
walk with you up the drive."
He held out his arm, and Lilian wondered a little at his composure as
she laid her hand on it and they passed together into the blackness of
the firs.
Miss Chatterton had not long joined her aunt when Dane came in, and
glanced in her direction as he made some not oversapient observation to
Chatterton. She did not avoid his gaze, but met it coldly, and,
gathering up some needlework, moved without ostentation, but
deliberately, out of the room. No speech could have been plainer, and
Dane grew hot, while the fingers of one hand contracted without his
will.
"You don't look well, Hilton," remarked Thomas Chatterton. "Is your head
troubling you?"
"No," said Dane. "I must have walked tolerably fast, and I am perhaps a
trifle shaky yet. With Mrs. Chatterton's permission I will go out and
smoke a cigar."
He passed out, and the iron-master smiled as he looked at his wife.
"Can you tell me what is the meaning of this?" he asked.
"Your inquiry is indefinite; and why do you ask me?"
"Because I think you ought to know," Chatterton answered dryly. "Women
generally have a finger in it whenever there is trouble."
"Even if true, that is not strikingly original," Mrs. Chatterton
retorted. "I have not noticed anything unusual."
"Then listen," and Chatterton pointed toward the window. "When a young
man goes out for a stroll he does not usually stamp in that savage
fashion upon the gravel. Now, I want your candid opinion."
"You shall have it," said the lady, smiling. "I believe that no good
ever resulted from a choleric elderly gentleman's interference in
affairs beyond his comprehension."
Meanwhile Carsluith Maxwell stood talking to his sister in the hall of
Culmeny.
"After what has happened, the sooner I get out on my African venture the
more pleasant it will be for all concerned," he said gloomily. "It is a
good country where one can forget one's troubles; in fact, there are so
many peculiarly its own that I don't know a better."
"Poor Carsluith! It will be a heavy disappointment to father. He is
failing more rapidly than I care to notice, and had begun to lean on
you. I don't think I can forgive her. Yes; go out, and forget her."
"It was not Miss Chatterton's fault," Maxwell declared quickly. "She
never, to use the inappropriate phrase, encouraged me. It was my own
folly to hope that she could stoop to me."
"Without any wish to flatter you, I consider that Miss Chatterton might
have stooped a good deal farther," said Margaret Maxwell. "However, we
need not go into that; and I am only sorry you are so hardly hit. I
wonder if it was because of Dane?"
"No," Maxwell answered with decision. "I can't exactly tell you why, but
I am certain it was not because of Dane."
His sister said nothing further, though she was not convinced. Her heart
was heavy for her brother, because she knew the Maxwell temperament, and
that he was not the man to change.
Carsluith passed out into the darkness, and leaning against a fir, spoke
half aloud:
"No man Miss Chatterton had smiled upon could scatter his affections as
Dane seems to have done. Pshaw! The thing is perfectly impossible!"
This was, perhaps, a greater tribute to the speaker's loyalty than to
his knowledge of human nature, though Carsluith Maxwell was usually
accounted a shrewd man.
CHAPTER VI
DANE'S SILENCE
It was in a combative humor that Hilton Dane presented himself in court
on the day of the poacher's trial. It was impossible to ignore the
summons, which alone had delayed his departure from The Larches; but the
time he spent there waiting had passed very uncomfortably. Lilian had,
so far as she could do so without attracting attention, sedulously
avoided his company; and he fancied that both Chatterton and his wife
regarded him with suspicion. Dane, knowing the iron-master's opinions,
surmised that Chatterton would not have blamed him had he frankly
related all that had passed; but he had pledged himself to secrecy, and
it never occurred to him to break his promise.
Therefore he kept his own counsel, and went into court prepared for
battle, further fortified by a contempt for the assumed omnipotence of
petty local magnates which men of his kind, who have tasted power in the
vigorous life of the newer lands, acquire. He decided that the prisoner,
who was very young, looked free from inherent vice, and worthy of a
chance to prove himself, in the main, honest. He was not absolutely
certain that the man was the one with whom he had grappled, and he gave
him the full benefit of the doubt. His answers provided the neighborhood
with a sensational topic for conversation, and, while there were some
who laughed at the legal functionaries' discomfiture and the witness's
nonchalance, the game preservers in the vicinity were emphatic in their
indignation.
In any case, Dane left the court amid the plaudits of the assembled
quarrymen, which the officials could not restrain. He hated the role of
popular hero but he felt a certain grim satisfaction, though he guessed
that every word he had spoken might cost him dearly. Also, because he
did nothing by halves, he sought the discharged prisoner.
"I don't know whether you are the right man or not, and I don't want
to," he said dryly. "If you are a wholly worthless rascal, you will no
doubt drift back into the clutches of the police, when it is probable
that the worthy gentlemen I addressed to-day will see that you don't get
out again. It would not surprise me if they starved you out of this
neighborhood; so, if you desire to make a fresh start, you will take
this letter to the English waterworks contractor to whom it is
addressed--and send your sister as much as possible of what he pays
you."
"Would you believe that I'm sairly sorry, sir?" began the lad; but Dane
turned upon him with a laugh and a frown.
"Sorry for what? Prove it by turning honest. Do you wish to convince me
I did wrong to-day?"
The poacher departed with grateful protestations, and Dane was glad that
he had vanished before Maxwell came up.
"I don't know whether I ought to congratulate you on your forensic
abilities, or otherwise, but the spectacle was worth the journey," he
said. "I hardly suspected that you possessed such talents; but why you
displayed them is, of course, another question."
"It is also my particular business," Dane replied stiffly, and frowned
when Maxwell smiled significantly.
"Confound you! Do you think----" he broke out; and Maxwell smiled again
in ironical fashion as he moved away.
"I might make use of your own rejoinder, and say that I generally find
it saves trouble to keep my opinions to myself," he returned. "However,
since you asked me, what would any person of the most modest discernment
think?"
Dane groaned inwardly as he climbed into the waiting vehicle, for the
last speech placed beyond all doubt the fact that the occupants of the
dog-cart had recognized him at Hallows Brig; and he knew that Lilian
Chatterton held somewhat puritanical views. He had, it was evident,
involved himself hopelessly.
That very evening, just as Dane had finished packing his few
possessions, an irate game-preserving gentleman drove over to The
Larches to express his indignation.
"I would not like to hurt your feelings, Chatterton, but your young
friend did not give wholly unbiased testimony to-day," he said.
"Considering his evident desire to shield the prisoner, I e'en felt it
my duty to----"
He got no farther, for the choleric iron-master was equally loyal to
those he honored with his good opinion, and prompt on any challenge to
take up the cudgels.
"If that is all you called to tell me, you might have spared yourself
the trouble, Black," he interrupted. "I have known Hilton Dane from
boyhood, as I knew his father before him; and I haven't the slightest
objection to hurting the feelings of any man who impugns the honesty of
my friends."
"I'm thinking ye are very generous," replied Black, relapsing into his
native idiom. "Man, do not be so testy, but bide and listen. He
described his adversary so well that the police at once identified and
arrested him; but he appeared troubled with a distressfully bad memory
in court to-day.
"'What are ye meaning by the words, "A man like the prisoner"?' the
fiscal asked him; and Mr. Dane answers: 'Just what I say.'
"'Can you not swear to him?' asked the fiscal severely; and your young
friend smiled. 'Could you swear to the complexion and color of the eyes
of any man who, on a dark night, had just kicked you hard upon the
knee?' says he.
"It was not even respectful; and when the rabble cheered there was more
than me who agreed with the fiscal: 'This place is a court of
justice--or it ought to be,' said he."
Black, pausing, betrayed his indignation with a gesture, while
Chatterton laughed in aggressive fashion.
"Considering my worthy neighbors' prejudices, I think there was
something in that last remark," he said.
Just then Lilian, who may have overheard part of the colloquy, appeared
in an opening in the tall hedge.
"Did you convict the malefactor, Mr. Black?" she asked.
"No," said that gentleman ruefully. "Unfortunately we did not, although
I'm thinking that we did our best."
Lilian smiled a little, and Chatterton's eyes twinkled as he glanced at
her encouragingly.
"Was that quite in accordance with the spirit of our glorious
constitution?" she asked.
"Eh?" said Black sharply. "What's this I'm saying; and I see ye are
laughing at me. I mean his guilt was manifest, but a friend of yours
showed considerable audacity, forby a trace of talent, in his efforts to
release him. Ye will mind that it's a principle of British justice to
give even a poacher fair play, my dear young lady."
"So I was always taught," Lilian replied artlessly.
Thomas Chatterton chuckled again, and pointed toward a man who, in turn,
passed through the opening in the hedge.
"I fancy that Mr. Black is anxious to talk to you, Hilton," he said.
Black, however, had evidently found two adversaries sufficient without
engaging a third, and, as sometimes happens, he did not recollect the
crushing things he might have said until the opportunity had passed; so,
after a stiff greeting, he allowed Chatterton, who was rarely ungenerous
to a beaten enemy, to lead him away.
Lilian had disappeared, but not before the manner in which she had
ignored Dane had roused him to precipitate action. He forgot his
prudence in a sudden fit of anger, and, remembering only that he might
never have another opportunity for speech with her, he followed the
girl. Miss Chatterton, however, had a fair start, and, perhaps being
warned by the sound of his hurried footsteps, made the most of it; so
that while Dane pursued her down two avenues, and through a shrubbery,
the situation grew rapidly ludicrous. The humor of it did not strike him
then, and he saw only the flicker of a white dress receding before him.
Finally he came upon the fugitive in a narrow path between rows of
choice chrysanthemums, where, as there was no room for two to pass,
Lilian turned upon him with an ominous light in her eyes. It was evident
that Miss Chatterton was seriously angry, as well as a little
breathless.
"What brings you here?" she demanded.
Dane was not, as a rule, readily disconcerted; but for a moment the
power of lucid speech deserted him.
"I came----" he gasped.
"That is unfortunately evident," retorted Lilian, chillingly. "What I
desire to know is why, considering the size of the garden, you must,
after seeing I wished to be alone, choose this particular path!"
Dane had slight cause for merriment, but he actually laughed.
"Any other place would have suited me, but you went so fast!"
This was a blunder, and he realized it as he heard the gravel crunch in
a manner that suggested the pressure of somebody's heel. Lilian had
clearly roused herself to face the situation.
"Admitting that it was so, will you explain why you cannot take a hint?"
"I will," Dane said quietly, though he was once more maladroit. "I
wished to ask why you have avoided me like contagion lately?"
"Is that a necessary question, or is it generous to place the onus of
such an explanation upon me?"
"Perhaps not," he admitted. "I am not so quick of wit as I could wish,
to-day, but I am going away early to-morrow, and it may be very long
before I see you again; so I could not help asking it. We have known
each other a long time, Lily, and I would not care to leave England
feeling that you were displeased with me."
"Have I told you that I was displeased?" asked the girl.
"Speech was hardly necessary."
Lilian Chatterton was not deficient in courage, and she no longer tried
to evade the difficulty. "Please understand that I have neither the
right nor the desire to inquire into your motives, but--since you
insist--there are limits within which one must restrict one's
friendship; and after comparing your own account of your nocturnal
adventures with what I heard Mr. Black relate about your conduct in
court to-day, it is hardly possible to avoid concluding that you have
overstepped them."
"There may be an explanation. Is it fair, as you reminded that very
gentleman, to condemn any one unheard?"
"Can you furnish one?" asked Lilian, with a quickness which was not
wholly lost upon her companion. If he had spoken plainly, it is possible
that the explanation might have changed a good deal for both of them;
but that was just what the man had pledged himself not to do. He was not
a casuist, and, having no time for reflection, saw only one course open
to him. It was too late when he realized that it was the worst one
possible from any point of view.
"I am afraid I cannot, at present," he said.
The girl's eyes grew almost wicked, for his hesitation was fatal, and
she was angry that she had even allowed him to draw her into the
discussion.
"That is comprehensible," she said. "You must already have taxed your
imagination severely, and it is perhaps natural that the testimony of a
quite disinterested gentleman should be more convincing. Besides, as I
said already, it is certainly not my part to judge you."
"Then I can only hope that you will hear the full truth from some other
person you consider more worthy of credit," Dane said somberly.
Miss Chatterton returned no answer, but, drawing her skirt to her side,
brushed past the man, who stepped recklessly among the chrysanthemums.
She had, of course, no intention of looking back in his direction, but,
on turning at the end of the alley, it was almost necessary to do so,
and she sometimes remembered, with both a smile and a sigh, how he had
stood, a somewhat commanding, as well as a slightly ludicrous figure,
staring straight before him, knee-deep among the chrysanthemums. That,
however, was afterward, for then Lilian was in a royal rage with herself
as well as the man, because she had allowed anything he could say or do
to disturb her serenity.
Dane sighed a little, but there was resolution as well as indignation in
his face as he moved away, and left the gardener, who had witnessed the
scene with indignation, to assess the damage.
"Would nothing fit yon theatrical ijiot but stamping my new quilled
Regents flat?" the gardener grumbled.
Early the next morning Chatterton and Dane stood waiting for the South
express in the little country station.
"I don't altogether understand what you have been doing, Hilton, and,
though nobody seems quite pleased with you, I won't ask," said the
iron-master. "I know you had a good reason for it, whatever it was; and
if that meddlesome Black or any of his friends feel inclined to make
further unpleasant suggestions, I shall enjoy the opportunity for a
little plain speaking. If you ever change your mind, remember what I
said; and don't close with any offer unless it's tempting, but come
back and wait at The Larches for a better. I can't help saying I'm
sorry you did not altogether hit it with Lilian. Modern young women,
however, often appear to consider cheap smartness more becoming than the
genuine cordiality they may feel."
"It was not Miss Chatterton's fault, sir," declared Dane, who, growing
slightly confused, wished the iron-master would favor anything else with
his fixed attention. He was thankful that the approach of the express
prevented the conversation from progressing further in that direction.
A few evenings later, Lilian dismounted from her pony in the shadow of a
copse. For some reason she had been restless all day, and sought solace
in a ride across the moor. The saddle had slipped a little, and she
spent some time tightening the girth. Meanwhile two men came to a
standstill in the stubble beyond the hedge, and she recognized Carsluith
Maxwell in one spare figure. The sunset beat into his face, and she saw
it was stamped with a curious melancholy as he looked down the
deep-wooded valley toward Culmeny. Ridges of brown moorland, whose
slopes were streaked by dark firs, hemmed the hollow in, and the tower
rose blackly in the mouth of it against the shimmer of the sea.
"It is an inheritance to be proud of, sir," Carsluith said. "Perhaps it
is because of the contrast with the rank luxuriance of the tropics, and
their stifling heat, but each time I come home to the old place and
breathe this keen sweet air, I feel that I love it better."
The second man, turning, laid his hand on the speaker's shoulder, and as
he did so Lilian recognized the master of Culmeny.
"It will be yours some day which cannot be very distant now," the elder
man replied. "It is a barren heritage, and I have long regretted that,
after the girls are provided for, its revenues will do little more than
cover the interest on the burden you must take up along with it."
"I hope that day will be long in coming, sir; and I shall never rest
contented until by some means I win enough to restore our former
prosperity. To-morrow will see me on my way to London, and we must hope
that my latest venture will prove successful!"
Lilian could not escape without attracting attention, and she was so
close to the two men that she heard Brandram Maxwell sigh.
"I do not approve of it, but know I cannot dissuade you," he said, with
a certain pride as well as wistfulness in the glance he cast upon his
son. "I had hoped you might have settled here--and think she is good as
well as bonny--but that was not to be. Prosperity! The old place was aye
needy, and its plenishing has cost the life of many of those who have
gone before you. You will mind Andrew's answer when he fell out dying in
the retreat from Derby: 'I'm not caring greatly where I lie,' said he.
'Our kirkyard is not contracted. It runs from the Low Countries to the
sands of Cree.' Maybe it's your destiny, but you will not forget that an
old man is longing for the sight of you, longing the more because----"
He ceased abruptly, and Lilian noticed that Carsluith Maxwell made the
slightest gesture of negation, while his face darkened a little. She
recalled an old superstitious tale.
"We have outgrown belief in those fables, sir," he declared.
The ruler of Culmeny made no direct answer.
"The old tale is told over often, and the end is the same. God keep you,
and bring you safe home from that dark land," he said solemnly.
Here the pair forestalled the unwilling spectator's intention by moving
away, and left her troubled. She had done nothing to raise false hopes
in Carsluith Maxwell, and in that respect her conscience was clear; but
there had been a strange somberness in both men's faces, and she felt
that she was mainly responsible for sending the younger one to Africa.
He was of good family and accomplished, and she wondered why, when many
another damsel would have gladly listened, she had so promptly declined
him as a suitor. Then, even as she reflected that there was no one else
she preferred to him, a tinge of color crept into her face, and,
dismissing the subject, she mounted, and sent the pony at a gallop
across the next meadow.
* * * * *
It was a depressing afternoon when Carsluith Maxwell found Dane lounging
in the smoking-room of a London hotel. The air outside was foul with
smoke and fog; and it was little more cheerful within. Dane was in
distinctly low spirits. He had spent a fortnight haunting the offices of
engineering firms, financiers, and company promoters, and had discovered
once more that anybody willing to take up his invention would require
the lion's share of the contingent profit. He could hear of no
remunerative professional engagement; and the contractors who had
promised him the foreign commission stated that the work would not be
begun for some time.
"You do not look exactly pleased with either the world or yourself,"
observed Maxwell.
"I certainly don't feel so," Dane said shortly. "Several things have
gone wrong with me lately, and I'm even more troubled than usual by a
chronic shortness of capital. I want ten thousand pounds rather more
badly than most folks do, and no mental effort will show me where to
raise more than five."
Maxwell looked hard at the speaker.
"If you are willing to risk a good deal on a chance of obtaining the
money, I think I can show you a way."
Dane laughed harshly.
"There is no risk you could mention which, for the sake of five thousand
pounds, I would not run."
"If you join me you will run a good many," said Maxwell. "There were
reasons why I could not make the offer until to-day. Give me about ten
minutes to explain the venture."
Dane drew in a deep breath when his companion concluded; then held out a
big hand.
"It is a bargain," he said simply. "Half the profit, half the expense
and peril. I can start any time after to-morrow."
They shook hands on it, while the blue cigar smoke curled about them;
and the bargain they made was kept faithfully in the face of manifold
perils, and in spirit as well as in letter. Long afterward, Dane
remembered that Maxwell's smile was much the same when, clenching the
hot rifle barrels, they watched the flintlocks flashing through thicker
wreaths of a more deadly vapor.
All arrangements had been made when Maxwell departed; and Dane sat down
to write Chatterton a letter. When that gentleman received it, he first
used expressions which should have cost him five shillings, and then,
seeking his wife, thrust it down before her with quite unnecessary
violence.
"The man has taken leave of his senses!" he exclaimed. "Read that, and
tell me if you don't think so."
"Is this the beginning of another ancient-right crusade, or the effect
of the lobster salad? You will remember that I warned you," said Mrs.
Chatterton.
"This is not a time to indulge in puerile levity! It is that--that
confounded idiot, Hilton! He and the other madman, Maxwell, have gone
out to look for gold mines in one of the deadliest holes in Africa. He
says he wanted five thousand pounds, and, when he knows it was his duty,
could not come to me!"
Mrs. Chatterton read the letter, and then tried to flash a warning at
her husband before she glanced in her niece's direction. Lilian who had
leaned forward as though listening intently, sank back into her chair.
"Perhaps they may find the gold mine; and Carsluith Maxwell is by no
means an idiot," she said. "Indeed, he always struck me as a shrewd,
determined man."
"Determined enough," fumed her husband. "They're all made that way.
Maxwell rebuilt his iniquitous obstruction four times after I tore it
up; but there's something in Carsluith's dark face I don't care to see.
I've seen the sign on other men, and it implies a tragedy. Besides, from
what Black told me, they're an unlucky family, with an hereditary
weakness for dying fully dressed. Any mad venture they could get
themselves decently killed in seems to have been irresistible to those
men of Culmeny. I'd have given three times the money to prevent
Carsluith from decoying poor Hilton. Do the fools fancy nuggets grow on
palm trees?"
Chatterton, receiving no answer, retired to what he called his study,
where they heard him banging books about. Lilian sat silent with hands
crossed in her lap. She, also, she fancied, had seen the shadow in
Carsluith Maxwell's face, and she felt both troubled and anxious about
him and about somebody else.
A week later Mrs. Chatterton, entering her niece's room in search of
some trifle, came upon a book the girl had been reading. She looked
thoughtful when she saw that the volume treated of travels in West
Africa, and that the marker in it rested between the last pages.
CHAPTER VII
A WARNING
It was a bright morning when the S.S. _Manyamba_ rolled south into sight
of the Canaries over a white-flecked sea. They rose rather like dim blue
clouds than islands athwart the far horizon, with one glistening cone
cut off by silver mists from the ocean plain beneath, towering high
above the loftiest. Maxwell leaned over the poop rails, while Dane, the
middle-aged purser, and Miss Bonita Castro stood near by. The lady's
father, a little, olive-faced Portuguese, with shifty black eyes,
lounged in a deck chair watching them languidly. There were few
passengers on board, and the members of the group, who had made friends
somewhat rapidly, were now amusing themselves by shooting at the bottles
a steward forward flung into the sea.
A big pistol flashed in Miss Castro's hand. The purser clutched at a
stanchion and uttered a quick exclamation; Maxwell wheeled round
suddenly. A bottle, ceasing its gyrations, sank into the white wash of
the screw, and the lady laughed as she lowered the pistol muzzle.
"_Tres!_" she cried exultantly. "That is three to me! _Carramba!_ I have
also it seem, as you say, nearly bag the Senor Maxwell."
If Dom Pedro Castro was a typical Portuguese, his wife had been an
Andalusian, and his daughter, while speaking several languages rather
prettily than well, preferred her mother's tongue, and had inherited a
full share of the voluptuous beauty of a race whose women are famous in
Spain. She formed an interesting picture as she stood with the blue of
the sea behind her, laughter in her dark eyes, and the pistol still
smoking in her hand. They were remarkably attractive eyes; and Maxwell,
knowing what to look for, saw more than Dane had apparently seen in
their depths, and decided to warn his comrade to beware of them. A faint
carmine warmth emphasized the comeliness of the slightly dusky face,
while graceful pose and figure were both characteristic of a woman of
her extraction as yet well short of the age at which Southern beauty
changes into grossness.
"You have not the fright, Senor Maxwell, though a little nearer and we
leave you behind?" she added naively.
Maxwell did not look frightened, though he might well have been, for the
bullet had passed him close. He answered with a smile which, as Dane had
noticed before, appeared to linger on his lips after the gravity had
returned to his eyes.
"No, senorita. If a man could choose his last resting-place, wouldn't
this blue water be much nicer than a mangrove swamp in Africa. That very
little, however, makes a vast difference; and you have won the gloves.
You shall have the best in Las Palmas to-night. You will land us by
sunset, Mr. Purser?"
"Yes." The Purser sighed with relief when he saw that the contest was
over. "Hadn't you better give me that pistol, senorita? Accidents happen
when one least expects them, and the Company would hold me responsible
if you killed anybody. I don't think the skipper would see quite as much
humor in the position as you seem to."
Bonita laughed with the light-heartedness of a child, and glanced
demurely at Dane.
"To kill the Senor Maxwell, or my good friend Don Ilton, is catastrophe;
but to kill a bad man, it is nothing. Many men are killed in Africa; I
myself shoot one. There was in him the blood of the negro, and he forget
it when without respect he speak to me."
Dane was a trifle staggered by the matter-of-fact manner in which Miss
Castro mentioned the way she had disposed of one whom he surmised had
been too venturesome a suitor.
"_Verdad!_" exclaimed Dom Pedro. "The man, by bad fortune, he is not
die, and that affair is cost me much commercio. My daughter she has, in
your English, the spirited way."
The lady's face changed suddenly as she turned toward Maxwell.
"I beat you, Senor, but it is because you are _muy caballero_, and
prefer the defeat from me. You have the steady hand and the dangerous
eye, and have not the fear. That is well if you go up into the forest in
my country. It is different with your friend. The pistol is not for him.
No, he remind me of those big fair men with the axes I read of in
England. I make you my compliments, Don Ilton, and you show me where the
swift Bonita he leap at the bow."
Whether, because Miss Castro was fond of admiration, this was done out
of pique at Maxwell's indifference to her attractions, Dane naturally
did not know, but he answered with a bow, and the two strolled forward
together. There were no porpoises circling, as they often will, athwart
the stem, but the lady who perched herself upon a knighthead seemed in
no way disappointed. The sun made rainbows in the spray which whirled
beneath her, as each blue ridge fell back shattered from the shearing
bows; and nowhere else could one realize so well the swift passage of
the quivering hull through the white-topped seas, or feel the same
cradle-like rise and fall of the warm deck planking.
"All this," remarked Miss Castro, "is very nice; and the Senor Maxwell,
who is _muy caballero_, but somber sometimes, he is not here. You have
my permission to sit there, and I will talk to you."
Dane afterward wondered why, in place of doing so, she led him on to
talk about his comrade; but it was perhaps not unnatural that he should
find a certain degree of pleasure in the society of his comely and
versatile companion. He knew little of Miss Castro beyond what the
purser had told him, and that Maxwell had met her elsewhere; but he was
to learn more in due time. She had been educated in some Spanish
convent; but, being born on the fever coast, could withstand the
climate, and she spent part of her time there in her father's factory,
and the rest with her mother's sister in the Canaries. Dom Pedro was
assumed to be a tolerably prosperous trader.
An hour had passed before the two came aft together, and on the next
opportunity Maxwell took his friend to task.
"It is perhaps time for me to warn you about playing with fire, Hilton,"
he said. "Miss Castro is certainly pretty, but her people don't
understand the game of flirtation as played in England. In all
emotional questions they're unpleasantly in earnest. I may remind you
that I met the senorita in Africa."
"I have not so far obtruded my advice on you," Dane returned. "Don't you
think this----"
"Is an impertinence?" and Maxwell smiled. "Perfectly. I also admit that
the role of mentor does not become me. Nevertheless, when Miss Castro
casually mentioned how she got rid of her last suitor, there was
something in her eyes which might have warned an observer. You needn't
trouble about a neat rejoinder, because I'll retire, having done my
duty."
"I mean to call upon Miss Castro at the Catalina to-morrow. Your
warning, however, is superfluous, as it will be the last time I shall
see her. She is remaining here."
There was a trace of mischief in Maxwell's smile as he answered.
"I am going with you. You need not express astonishment. She invited
me."
It was a sunny afternoon when they went ashore together; but they did
not find Miss Castro immediately at her hotel. It appeared that the
British tourists and invalids who sojourned in the dusty Spanish city
had joined hands with its leading inhabitants over the organization of a
gala for the benefit of local institutions, and Miss Castro was playing
the part of soothsayer in the cause of charity.
Dane found it pleasant, in spite of the dust, to watch the white mists
sliding athwart the great volcanic peaks, and the silvery spray toss
beneath the white-walled city. The assembly also was interesting. Gaily
uniformed Castilian officer, and British tourist fantastically attired,
jostled each other. Dark-skinned, black-haired beauties--pleasant to
look upon even when they wore Parisian headgear instead of the national
mantilla--in filmy draperies, flitted in and out among young
Englishwomen, whose indifferent faces and attire emphasized the contrast
between their respective characters; while here and there a matron of
their own nation stood surveying the scene with the pitying contempt for
everything foreign which too many insular Britons consider impresses the
benighted alien. Good music mingled with the merry voices, swish of
diaphanous dresses, clank of sabers, and patter of feet, and through all
rang the monotone of the sea.
"Look at it well," said Maxwell. "It is the last glimpse of civilization
you will get for many a day. Henceforward our path leads us into a land
of eternal shadow haunted by all things evil; at least, and they have
some reason, so the negroes say. There's the senorita, telling fortunes
in that striped tent. It is curious that she is beckoning--me."
Maxwell pushed his way through the throng surrounding a gaudy pavilion,
where Miss Castro was evidently doing excellent business; and presently
he returned, smiling curiously.
"She wishes to tell your fortune. Go in and spend a crown in the cause
of charity. I can't say that mine was a very good one, but the senorita
showed an accuracy which was, under the circumstances, surprising."
Dane made his way with difficulty into the tent, and when his eyes grew
used to the change from brilliant sunshine to shadow, he realized one
reason for Miss Castro's success. She wore the dress of the Andaluces,
thin, lace-like draperies of black, sufficiently short to reveal the
tiny high-arched feet in dainty Moorish slippers. A gauzy black mantilla
and a crimson rose adorned her hair, while the graces of her figure were
emphasized by a broad zone of African gold, chased with zodiacal
characters by sable craftsmen. The costume suited her; and Miss Castro
was probably aware of the fact.
"So you will learn a little of the future, Don Ilton?" she said, with
unusual gravity. "No, you must not smile. This is not the charlatan's
trickery. The ancient Moors they teach us wisdom, and I have study. So,
we throw there the crown, and I lay this Aggri in your palm. The Aggri
has virtue, though what it is no man know."
She detached from her bracelet an insignificant bead, one of the
mysterious Aggri which cannot be counterfeited, and, as Dane afterward
learned, can hardly be bought with money in West Africa.
"It is a big, hard hand, and has done much work, perhaps with the
shovel, in a hot country--I think the Sud America," she said. "It will
also hold the rifle. It is well to hold the rifle straight in Africa."
Miss Castro had splendid eyes, of a kind that it is not wise for a
susceptible man to gaze into too steadily while his hand is held in very
pretty fingers; and Dane felt it incumbent on him to break the spell.
"This is not all divination, senorita. I told you I was going inland
from the African coast; though I certainly did not tell you I had been
in South America. Did you guess it by my darkened skin?"
"It is not the trickery," repeated Miss Castro. "I tell you only the
things I know. There is blood on your path through the forest--blood,
and a shadow that follows, creeping always behind. Look well to your
friend. The shadow follows, but does not rest on--you. If it should,
there is a pale, cold woman in England who--but I cannot tell you if she
would be sorry, or if you will ever see her again. There is also
treasure, but the lines fade and the crosses are many, with only the
sign of danger clear. I can see no farther. Only the good saints know
the end."
She paused for a moment, leaving Dane somewhat impressed, for, although
no believer in palmistry of that description, he had seen that Miss
Castro was apparently not speaking without a purpose. Then she laid down
the Aggri and, it seemed to Dane, her mantle of prophetess
simultaneously, saying in her usual tone, but with somewhat unusual
earnestness:
"And now you will not laugh while I give you the warning. Beware of
these three things: a man with the holy cross on his forehead, the
carved calabash, and the leopard's skin. You will remember always, but
tell only the Senor Maxwell. There is one at least who would not have
that shadow overtake you. It may be I shall see you in Africa."
Here the eager crowd outside showed signs of storming the tent, and Dane
was forced to take his leave, reflecting that it might perhaps be as
well if they did not, as Miss Castro expected, meet in Africa. Rejoining
Maxwell, he told him what he had heard, concluding:
"It much resembled the usual professional soothsayer's medley, and I
could make neither head nor tail of it. Still, the senorita's manner
impressed me."
"How did she look or speak?" Maxwell's glance betrayed his interest.
"As though she believed what she was saying, and wished me to."
"I am inclined to think she did," Maxwell answered thoughtfully. "She
was also probably giving you good advice in the one way available. How
she knows I cannot tell, but by the light of past experience I can make
a good deal of the medley. As you probably surmised, her warning was not
the result of divination."
Maxwell did not appear inclined to answer questions, and, dismissing the
subject, they proceeded to make the most of their last few hours upon
what he termed Christian soil. The black peaks were fading against the
saffron in the west, and purple darkness creeping up from Africa across
the sea, when the mail gun warned them it was time to return to the
steamer.
"We shall have seen, and perhaps suffered, very strange things before we
set foot in a civilized land again," said Maxwell. "It is not a tropical
sporting trip that we are embarking upon. There remain just five minutes
for a valedictory libation."
"Champagne!" Dane said to the Swiss attendant as they passed through the
veranda of the hotel; and presently he rose from a little table, holding
up the sparkling cup. Maxwell's hints had impressed him, and there was a
grimness behind his smile when he spoke.
"Here's death or glory! A swift journey to the heart of the forest!"
Maxwell generally frowned upon anything that approached the theatrical,
but, as he touched his comrade's glass with his own, his face was grave.
"Heaven send us both back safe out of it and--because the one implies
the other--confound the cross-marked man!"
Dane asked no questions. Maxwell was always slightly oracular, and might
not have answered them; and a few minutes later they were being rowed
off to the steamer in company with Dom Pedro Castro.
The _Manyamba_ was not a fast boat; she anchored off many surf-hammered
beaches before she reached the one where the adventurers had arranged to
disembark, and where, as it happened, Dom Pedro had built his principal
factory. He proved a pleasant companion, though Dane fancied that he was
weak alike in character and in principle. One day as they rolled slowly
along the spray-veiled coast with a maze of half-seen mangroves over the
port hand, Dom Pedro sauntered across the deck toward Dane.
"You go up into the Leopard's country to look for gold?" he said,
glancing at Dane in a manner which puzzled him.
"We are certainly going inland, but I am afraid that is all I can tell
you," Dane replied guardedly.
Dom Pedro smiled.
"Then you seek the gold. Even your countrymen do not go into that forest
for pleasure. But only one man, I think, has seen that gold since the
men of my nation who came after Gama ruled this country. That man he
die, as you call it, crazy. How much your expedition cost you, Don
Ilton?"
Dane mentioned an approximate sum, expressing his surprise that the
questioner should even have guessed their object, but refraining from
stating whether the guess was a correct one; and the elder man spread
out his yellow palms deprecatingly.
"Where the gold lie is not concern me. I am gentleman of peace and
commercio. There is one man, not all the nigger, who think he know, and
another not all a white man who will pay him to hinder you. More I only
guess at and cannot tell you, but I know you and the Senor Maxwell never
pass the Leopard country. Don Ilton, I presume you bold man who come
here to make the money. With the sum you mention I show you how. It is
not all for the good will, but for the assistance also of me."
Now Dane might have suspected treachery, but he did not do so. Indeed,
he was inclined to fancy the offer and warning were genuine. He declined
the offer, however; and consulted Maxwell on the first opportunity.
"I believe what he told you was spoken in good faith," Maxwell said;
"and he was perfectly correct. The first man he mentioned is probably
the rascal who betrayed poor Niven; and Rideau must be the other. He
has, if I am correct in my surmises, had dealings not wholly creditable
to either, with Dom Pedro; and it is possible the latter might have
found us useful. This, combination may, however, increase our
difficulties."
CHAPTER VIII
TREACHERY
The region which lies behind the West African coast is not a pleasant
one to traverse, and bad fortune seemed to attend Maxwell's expedition
from the time it marched out of the seaboard settlement, where he had
had trouble with certain French officials, as well as with the black
head man from whom he hired his carriers. All of this Dane remembered
when he halted, one burning afternoon, shoulder-deep in the tall grass
of a swamp, worn out in body and perplexed in mind. Few Europeans are
capable of much exertion in that country, especially during the hottest
part of the afternoon; but the hammock boys were too weary to drag their
burdens farther, and there was urgent need for haste. Dane accordingly
had taxed his strength to the utmost during the last few hours. The tall
grass stems were almost too hot to touch, and foul mire bubbled about
their roots. At least a league of it, through which, slashed by
saw-edged blades and stabbed by broken stalks, the expedition must force
its way, stretched toward an inland ridge of higher ground that rose
from the morass. Beyond this, in turn, flat-topped hills dimmed by a
yellow heat haze cut the horizon.
As Dane halted, a naked carrier stumbled, and, dropping the deal case
from his woolly crown, splashed him all over. Another straightway fell
over his prostrate comrade, and began a spirited attack upon him when
they scrambled to their feet again. Dane was too weary to rebuke either
in the fashion they would best understand; but a man of dusky color
undertook the duty for him, with the barrel of a gaspipe gun, and the
combatants, desisting, found new places in the straggling line. A few
picked men in flowing white draperies with flintlock guns on their
shoulders were already floundering through the swamp ahead. Behind them,
almost and wholly naked negroes, many wearing on their forehead the blue
band which marks the amphibious Kroo, went splashing by, each bearing a
deal case or tarred cloth package upon his crown. Then the rearguard,
tall and soldierly men with the blood of the Arab in them, who carried
old-fashioned rifles in spite of certain regulations, came up with
Maxwell. They wore a ragged white uniform, swore by the Prophet, and
were, as Dane subsequently discovered, reliable fighting men. The
Krooboys carried a cutlass-shaped matchet, a by no means despicable
weapon when rubbed keen with a file.
Maxwell differed in outward appearance from the somewhat fastidious
gentleman Dane had known in Scotland. His cotton jacket was badly rent,
sun-baked mire clung thickly about his leggings, and one side of his big
sun-helmet had been flattened in. The raw condition of his face and neck
betokened the power of the last few days' sun, and he blinked a little
because his eyes had suffered by the change from the forest shadow to
the dazzling brightness and the fibrous dust of the grass.
"Don't let your particular scarecrows get too far ahead of you, Hilton,"
he cautioned. "I should hardly have suspected you of any inclination to
stop and admire the scenery after the opinion you recently expressed
concerning this country."
"I'd willingly burn or flood the whole of it if I could," Dane replied
irritably. "Miss Castro was not mistaken when she mentioned the shadow
that crept up from behind. Ill luck has certainly followed us from the
beginning, and it is time we turned round and endeavored to settle up
accounts with whoever is the cause of it."
"You may have an opportunity to-night, or earlier," said Maxwell. "When,
in spite of warnings, two white men insist on visiting a region which
was specially made for black men, they can't expect to be comfortable.
What is it that excites your particular indignation?"
The malarial fever contracted in other parts of the tropics had, as not
infrequently happens, returned upon Dane in Africa. His head ached
intolerably, every joint seemed stiff, and he swept his hand round the
horizon as he answered vaguely.
"Everything! Why was it that, after drinking at a village well, two of
our carriers died? Why should venomous insects crawl into my boots and
from underneath my pillow? Or a guide, who declared he knew the country,
bog us waist-deep in a quagmire, where we lost half our ammunition?
Doesn't it strike you that the sequence of accidents is not all due to
coincidence?"
"And, in addition to all this, you will be wondering why you are
prostrate with fever to-morrow, if you excite yourself at the present
temperature. Forget your grievances until your turn comes, and then
strike the harder. Meanwhile, we have been stalked since we passed the
last village, and the sooner we reach yonder dry ground, and build a
breastwork, the better."
Knowing that this was good counsel, Dane did his best, finding a savage
comfort in the thought that at last he would probably have the
satisfaction of seeing his persecutors; but the grass was tall and
matted, the temperature suffocating, and when they lost sight of the
islet the morass appeared interminable. Such civilization as may be
found in West Africa is only skin-deep. That is to say, it pertains to
the coast, and is occasionally hard to discover there. In many places it
still extends less than a day's march from the black troops' barracks,
and the white man who travels beyond that distance takes his own risks,
which are sometimes considerable. Dane already had cause to realize
this, and he was accordingly thankful when at last the expedition,
floundering out of the swamp, reached the strip of firmer earth. Here a
breastwork of deal cases and branches was built, and camp pitched among
the giant buttresses staying the cottonwood trunks.
"I think," said Maxwell cheerfully, when they lingered over a frugal
meal, "if any misguided bushmen try to rush this camp to-night they will
regret it. I will see to the sentries and keep first watch while you
rest. You look as though you needed sleep."
Dane certainly did, having enjoyed little sleep worth mentioning since
he left the coast. Indeed, he could scarcely keep his eyes open, and he
wondered vacantly that Maxwell, who seemed proof against the climate,
should show no sign of fatigue. When he unrolled his strip of matting
and water-proof inside the little tent, the African sunset was flaming
in the west, and the cottonwoods crowning the ridge stood out black as
ebony against its almost unearthly brilliancy. Among them fantastic
figures, some naked as when they first entered the world, some draped in
white and blue, crouched about the cooking fires; while, seen between
two mighty buttresses of living wood which stayed ponderous trunks, men
with matchets and long guns were curled up beneath the breastwork. The
wood smoke drifted in filmy wisps athwart the lonely camp, the swamp
steamed like a cauldron, and the chirruping of countless frogs rose out
of the vapor. Then the brief brilliancy faded, and thick impenetrable
darkness suddenly rolled down. The faint coolness that came with it
brought sleep to Dane, and it was midnight when Maxwell's voice roused
him.
"Get up and stand by with your rifle! There are bushmen in the grass!"
he said.
Half-awake, Dane groped for the breastwork, falling over several negroes
on the way, and when he reached it the blackness was Egyptian. There was
nothing visible beyond the loom of shadowy trunks, but Dane could hear
unseen men breathing heavily, the click-clack of flintlocks, and the
rasp of a file along a matchet blade. Then a faint crackle which drew
nearer came out of the grass, and instantly a blaze of weird blue
radiance leaped up, showing Maxwell's spare figure perched recklessly
aloft upon the breastwork with a port-fire held high above him. Its
glare beat along the matchet blades, the gun-barrels, and the oily skin
of the men beneath, and showed black patches which might have been arms
or heads among the grass. Then it died out; and Dane pitched the rifle
to his shoulder at Maxwell's shout. There was neither challenge nor
parley. They were now beyond civilized jurisdiction, and the right of
any man to existence in that country depends upon the strength of his
hand.
The heel-plate jarred on his shoulder, the barrel jumped in his left
hand, red sparks flickered along the breastwork, and the sputtering roar
of the flintlocks was repeated among the trunks. Dane fancied a scream
rose in answer from the grass, and once or twice a long gun flashed;
then the firing slackened, and it was heartsome to hear Maxwell laugh.
He came stumbling toward Dane, and held up a second port-fire whose
light showed no trace of any assailant. The silence that followed grew
oppressive. It was, however, suddenly broken. A rifle flashed in the
rear of the camp, a bullet whirred close by Dane's head; and Maxwell,
dropping the flare, set his foot upon it.
"The second time! That was a good rifle, and fired by one of our own
men," he said. "Take this nigger, Hilton, crawl in on him, and,
disregarding anything which may happen, get that man--alive if you can.
He is worth all the rest of the expedition."
Crouching low, crawling on hands and knees, and slipping from trunk to
trunk, the pair worked backward in a semicircle, though, instead of
following, it was the negro who led the white man. It seemed to Dane
that he was making noise enough to waken the dead, but his dusky
companion had probably owed his life to his powers of silent motion, and
his progress was as noiseless as that of a serpent. Still, a clamor
which broke out at the rear of the camp drowned the sound of Dane's
passage, and presently a fire commenced to crackle behind the serried
trunks. Rising partly upright, he could see naked figures outlined
against it flitting with burdens on their heads into the swamp.
Nevertheless, Maxwell's instructions were explicit, and, when the negro
beckoned, he sank down again.
The fire tossed higher, and Dane surmised that somebody had lighted the
dried grass to divert attention from the deserters or a fresh attack.
Its purport, however, was in the meantime a side issue, for, as the
radiance came flickering athwart the trunks, it revealed something dim
and shadowy crouching among the roots of a neighboring cottonwood. The
blurred shape might have escaped notice had not the line of steel before
it glimmered once or twice. With infinite caution Dane covered a few
more yards, and stooped behind a screen of trailers, with every nerve
quivering, and a heavy pistol clenched in his right hand. What had
become of the negro he did not know. Once the assassin raised his
weapon, and Dane laid the short pistol barrel upon his raised forearm,
hoping that the stiffness of the trigger might not spoil his aim; but he
lowered it again, for, evidently attracted by the increasing glare, the
man he stalked rose partly upright, glancing over his shoulder. His
caution betrayed him, for, hurling himself crashing through the
creepers, Dane fell upon him, driving the heavy pistol into the center
of the dusky face with his full weight behind it. The two went down, the
colored man undermost, clawing with greasy hands at his adversary's
throat. Their grip was feeble, for the first blow had got home; but time
was precious, and Dane, heaving his right shoulder clear, brought the
steel-bound butt down again.
There was a hollow groan; several men who came running up fell heavily
over the pair, and while one dragged the half-dazed white man clear,
the others lashed the prisoner fast with creeper ropes. Rising shakily,
Dane sent up a breathless shout.
"Stand fast and see that nobody gets in your way if you have him safe!"
cried Maxwell. "Don't trouble about the grass! It is damp among the
cottonwoods, and will soon burn out."
Dane waited ten long minutes, feeling thankful, meanwhile, that the one
spot where the ridge could be reached on that side through the quaggy
swamp was lighted by the fire. Then Maxwell joined him, and, trusting to
their subordinates' vigilance, they made the round of the knoll
together. A dozen carriers were missing; and their assailants had
vanished as mysteriously as they came.
"We shall miss the boys, but it might be fatal to try to follow them;
and at least we know whom we can trust," said Maxwell. "A treacherous
servant is worse to deal with than an open enemy. Our assailants were
evidently mere bush thieves, and not regular fighting men, or they would
probably have got in. Whether they expected help from the deserters, or
what share the man you seized had in the plot, I can't decide now; and,
in the meantime, it is of no great importance. We shall discover it
to-morrow."
Nobody in camp slept during the rest of the night, which was one of the
longest in Dane's recollection. Most of it he spent huddled among the
roots of a cottonwood while the heavy dew of the tropics splashed upon
him, straining ears and eyes alike for any sign of the enemy. There was,
however, no sound but the wailing of some night bird from all the
tangled grass; and except when now and then a murmur of negro voices
rose up, a deep impressive silence brooded over the camp. Dane could
hear his watch ticking, and there were times when he found it difficult
to master an impulse to cry aloud, or to commit any extravagance which
would break the tormenting stillness.
At last, however, the temperature fell a little. A faint chill air shook
the dew from the tangled creepers flung from mighty branch to branch,
and the darkness became less dense. The steam of the swamps grew
thicker, a streak of radiance broadened in the east, and suddenly as
night had fallen, the red sun leaped up. It was once more burning day,
and neither the dew-drenched white men, who stiffly straightened their
aching limbs, nor the stolid Africans, who rolled over in their lairs
among the undergrowth, were sorry to greet the light again. They were a
pitiful handful of travel-worn and somewhat dejected men, alone on a
contracted islet of dry soil in a limitless sea of mist whose white
waves were doubtless filled with unseen perils.
"Another day to be endured," said Maxwell, yawning as he spoke.
"Another, and another, until the long weeks swell into months, and then,
if nobody poisons or shoots us prematurely, we shall go back to England
and fancy we have been dreaming. Has it occurred to you yet, Hilton,
that the men who gain fortunes in Africa don't _win_ but _earn_ them
hardly? One might wonder why a beneficent Creator made this country."
"It was His Satanic Majesty who made West Africa, using for a model his
own dominions. A good many details prove it beside the temperature!"
It was eight o'clock in the morning and already fiercely hot, while the
brightness outside the shade of the cottonwoods grew dazzling, when
Maxwell, constituting himself at once prosecutor and judge, summoned
the prisoner before an informal court. He was a big man, draped in loose
cotton, and rather the hue of ocher than ebony; but his countenance was
ghastly as well as malevolent, for the pistol butt had left its mark on
it. A slackly rolled turban covered half his forehead, and he leaned
with his back against a cottonwood scowling upon his judge. Maxwell sat
on a camp-stool, not far away, with a rifle laid across his knee; Dane
lay in the grass beside him; and the carriers and the armed men were
drawn up in a half-circle behind them. Hitherto the would-be assassin,
who acted as headman or chief of a section, had done nothing to excite
Dane's suspicions.
"There is no law in this country but one, the _lex talionis_, while you
and I are responsible for the lives of all these about us," said
Maxwell. "It is a heavy responsibility, and I dare not allow any attempt
to betray them to pass unpunished. You need not translate this,
interpreter. Ask that fellow why he twice shot at the men whose bread
and salt he has eaten."
What the interpreter, who spoke a little of the fantastic English in use
along the coast, said, Dane did not know, but he spent some time over
it, and when he had finished the prisoner spat upon the ground
contemptuously.
"Damn fool man," explained the sable linguist. "He savvy too much and
done say nothing."
"That means he refuses to plead," said Maxwell. "Well, we will proceed
to inquire into his offenses as directly as possible. Listen carefully,
and don't mix up my questions more than you can help, interpreter."
Maxwell asked questions which astonished his companion, and it was plain
that he had for some time suspected a good deal. There was no lack of
testimony; for carrier and armed retainer in turn set forth, through the
black interpreter or in quaintest English, how the accused had told them
gruesome stories of the devils inhabiting the country they were
venturing into; had dropped hints that by seizing the provisions they
might enrich themselves for life; and had been seen communing with
mysterious strangers a few nights earlier. Dane listened with growing
indignation, for the simple tales made plain not only how venomous
insects got into his boots, but that on two occasions he had narrowly
escaped with his life.
"Ask them," said Maxwell grimly, "why nobody had the sense to tell me
this before."
"Them boy say you not done ask them, sah," answered the interpreter
convincingly.
"It's African logic, and there's no use expecting too much from any
nigger," said Maxwell aside. "The man's guilt is plainly evident; but
while presumably neither of us knows much of jurisprudence, I wish to
give him a fair chance of making his defense. We will do it in his own
speech, though I am inclined to fancy that he understands English.
Interpreter, try to make this clear to him."
Maxwell spoke for some minutes, pausing often for the linguist to
explain his meaning, and again astonished Dane. He traced the accused's
actions with surprising skill, showing how he had inspired a marauding
headman to plunder and leave them starving, and induced the carriers to
desert in the hope of precipitating a panic among the loyal. He also
connected him with several of the mysterious accidents which had
delayed the march.
"Tell him I give him a last chance. He has just five minutes to clear
himself in."
Maxwell laid his watch on the camp-stool between his knees, pointed
toward a lengthening shaft of brightness which approached the roots of a
tree, and then opened and closed the breach of his rifle significantly.
The dusky man before him showed no sign of fear, and his half-scornful,
wholly malevolent scowl, together with the intense silence, the
expectant black faces, and the glint of light on weapons, burnt itself
into Dane's memory. The five minutes seemed very long to him. Then, as
his comrade slowly replaced his watch in his pocket, the prisoner spoke
a few words disdainfully, and Dane could feel his fingers contract as he
waited for the interpreter's answer.
"Damn fool man," it came. "Say he only sorry he done miss you that time.
Very bad man, sah. Say no white man or coast nigger ever lib for get
into the Leopards' country."
"So," said Maxwell dryly. "That is to say, while he can prevent it,
which may not be long. Ask these boys what should be done with the man
who would have left them starving, or perhaps sold them for slaves to
some headman."
The camp boys had followed the evidence, and a clamor of voices answered
the query. Big eyes glistened, black thumbs were run along twinkling
matchet blades, and Dane distinguished ominous cries.
"You shoot him one time, sah! Give him to us and we done chop him!"
"It is the only possible verdict," Maxwell said with strange quietness.
"One returns to primitive customs in this part of Africa; and it is more
merciful that one should die than many. A curse upon the country! Must I
turn executioner?--but for the sake of all those about us, there is no
other way."
"What is your purpose?" Dane asked sharply, jumping to his feet.
Maxwell looked at him steadily with his lips firmly set and the color
mottled a little in his face.
"Give him thirty seconds to reach the grass. I might miss; these others
certainly would--and it will be a little easier that way. Do you
understand me, interpreter? If he can reach the swamp alive no man shall
harm him."
"You shall not do it!" Dane exclaimed hotly. "Heaven knows, the brute
deserves it; but you can't go home with your hands fouled by that
helpless wretch's blood! Pass him that rifle, and give me another, with
fifty yards to commence at, if you can't think of anything better. The
other is too much like murder!"
For a moment the returning color suffused Maxwell's forehead, and there
was a flash of anger in his eyes, but he was generally master of his
temper, and he answered calmly.
"I could not afford to lose you, Hilton. As I said, we have these men's
lives to answer for; and while that fellow lives theirs and our own are
equally in danger. That reminds me, I had forgotten something which may
or may not surprise you further. You yonder, strike off his turban!"
A Kroo did it with the haft of his machet, and Dane gasped with
astonishment, for there was a curiously shaped scar on the prisoner's
forehead.
"The cross-marked man," said Maxwell. "The rascal who betrayed and sold
poor Niven's carriers. He has, I think, one white man's death already to
answer for."
Dane, stooping, laid a hand on each of the speaker's shoulders. Maxwell
was a determined man, with virile brain and no lack of nervous energy;
but Dane had the advantage in stature and muscular strength, and was
glad that it was so. His leader was helpless in his grasp.
"You are perfectly right, Carsluith," he said stolidly. "If you were
not, it would be useless for me to try to convince you; but I give you
warning that the death of this man dissolves our partnership; and it
will, at least, not be your rifle which fires the fatal shot."
Maxwell smiled curiously.
"Do you suppose I am fond of bloodshed, or sorry that you have forced me
against my judgment?" he said. "On your head be it, and you can have the
murderer. I hope that neither of us will regret your clemency!"
He beckoned the interpreter, and when the latter had spoken, the
prisoner twice spat upon the ground, which was probably the most
insulting action that occurred to him; then, turning, without word or
sign, stalked into the grass. There was a harsh crackling, and, when his
ragged draperies vanished, a murmur of wonder from the camp boys.
Maxwell sighed as with relief.
"I am glad it is over; and whether we have done ill or well, time alone
will show, but neither of us has seen the last of the cross-marked man,"
he said. "In the meantime, we want more carriers and supplies. Go back
to the coast and get them. You will have much less trouble on the return
journey. I will stockade a camp in the hills yonder and wait for you."
CHAPTER IX
TEMPTATION
Dane's preparations for his journey were quickly made, and he was ready
to start before the sun was overhead.
"Life is very uncertain in this country, and because we are partners it
might be as well if you took this map with you in case you should not
find me on your return," said Maxwell. "I worked it out from Niven's
notes, and have the knowledge safe within my brain; but you will
remember that the information would be of value to another white man,
who has already made attempts to obtain it. It might also be well, in
case Miss Castro happens to be present at her father's factory, if you
conducted yourself with a little more than your usual diplomacy."
"Your advice is a trifle superfluous," returned Dane testily. "Do you
think I'm fool or rogue enough to make love to her?"
Maxwell smiled.
"You are one person, and I mentioned two. With all respect to Miss
Castro, it is not quite impossible that she might make love to you.
Remember that she might either prove a useful friend or a dangerous
enemy."
A few minutes later Dane, followed by three men of Moslem faith, was on
his way; and eventually limped--hungry, half-dazed, and sick of
fever--out of the dim forest, which, it seemed to him, was loth to let
its victim go. The glare of sunlight was overpowering, and at first he
could see little more than the two ragged scarecrows, one muttering
excitedly as he stretched out a brown hand toward the southern horizon,
and the other leaning very heavily on his long Snider rifle. The third
man lay full length among the grass. Dane could never recollect all the
incidents of that journey through a land of eternal shadow, but he felt
tolerably certain that if his dusky followers had not served him
faithfully his bones would have lain rotting somewhere among its
jungles.
Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the change of light, he shouted
exultantly, in a voice his British friends would not have recognized.
The shining to the southward was, beyond all doubt, the sea, and the
white blurs among the palms could represent only factories! Turning, he
shook his fist at the forest with childish solemnity.
"Tell Amadu to turn that gun away from him, Monday. It might go off, and
I be no fit to lose him," he said in coast jargon. "I don't care what
your color is, you are fine fellows too much, both of you, and now we'll
go on while we have strength left to reach them factory."
How much his followers comprehended did not appear. The man he called
Monday grinned from ear to ear, the other slung his rifle, and they went
on, staggering at their best pace toward the sea, though Dane had a
vague impression that, with one arm beneath either shoulder, the two
ragged Africans dragged him most of the way. Some time later a
blindingly whitewashed factory rose up before them against a background
of tossing spray and equally dazzling sea, and Dane made shift to reach
its outer stairway unaided. An elderly man and a lady who sat on the
shady veranda rose at the sight of him. Making an attempt to raise his
battered sun-hat, he lurched up the stairway. The attempt was not
successful. The sun-hat fell over the balustrade, and he saw it long
afterward, painted green and blue, upon a Krooboy's head. Clutching at
the topmost rail, he steadied himself by it.
"Unexpected pleasure to see you here, Miss Castro," he said.
"Salutations, Dom Pedro! Sorry to arrive in this fashion; not quite
myself to-day."
The elderly man shouted, clapping his hands, the lady moved toward the
newcomer; then factory and palm trees went round and round before him,
and Dane, loosing his hold, went down with a crash.
What happened next he did not remember, having only a hazy recollection
of tossing in burning torment for an interminable space, during which at
intervals somebody held a glass filled with cooling liquid to his lips,
while now and then gentle hands, whose touch was soothing, raised his
aching head. Still, he fancied that at times a white face bent over him,
and once, when the dim light of a calabash lamp beat into his eyes, that
waves of dusky hair drooped close above his forehead, and that he
caught, and held fast with all his strength, the cool fingers that
slipped into his own. They seemed to draw him back out of the black
abyss into which he was sliding; and, he surmised afterward, they
actually did so.
Attacks of malarial fever, however, are usually brief; and not long
after his arrival Dane lay, clothed in neatly mended garments and more
or less in his right mind, beside an open window of Castro's factory.
The words "more or less" are used advisedly, for the malaria leaves a
strange lassitude behind it, and the sufferer often takes up the burden
of life again, as it were, reluctantly, and with somewhat clouded
brain. The sea breeze had set in fresh and cool, but the man lay limp
and dejected, scarcely troubling to breathe it in, while a haggard
English surgeon from a neighboring British colony sat near by watching
him with an irritating curiosity. White men recognize the bond of color
in West Africa, and the surgeon had remained to fight hard for the life
of a stranger when passing that way. Also, where all dwell under the
shadow in a land where the veneer of civilization wears thin, and the
primitive passions show through, the Briton casts aside much of his
normal reticence.
"Tolerably bad, was I not?" asked Dane; and the surgeon answered
frankly.
"You were. In fact, on two occasions, I concluded you were going to beat
me. Wouldn't even take a draught from--me, and one might compliment you
on your determined obstinacy."
"I'm much obliged," Dane said slowly. "That's not quite all I mean, but
it's the best I'm capable of just now. I don't know who you are, or why
you did so much for me."
The surgeon laughed good-humoredly.
"If you must have a reason, you were an interesting case. I'm Dennis
Ormond, of the Gold Coast service, and Dom Pedro asked me to look at
you. I obliged him, and at first you were not a very encouraging
spectacle. Of course, I did my little, but I may say that my medicine
was not the only thing responsible for your cure. The senorita assisted
me very ably, and--for a man must sleep sometimes--without her help it
is quite probable we should have attended the expected funeral."
Ormond said this with an indifference which Dane, because he did not
then know how much his little had been, or that his was an eminent name
on the fever coast, thought hardly civil; but there was a warning
gravity in his tone as he continued:
"It was, of course, my business; but not the senorita's; and you might
have changed the pronouns in your last sentence advantageously."
Dane was ashamed of several things he said and did that day, and his
answer among them; but few white men are quite accountable for their
actions when recovering from fever, and there was that in the surgeon's
glance which aroused his indignation.
"Are you not taking an unfair advantage--considering how much I owe
you!" he asked.
"Perhaps so!" said Ormond. "In this land one takes an advantage when and
how one can. I dare say I'm a meddlesome idiot; but I conceived a
certain respect for you, if only because of the spirited manner in which
you resisted my attempts to cure you; and more for the senorita. Now, I
don't think Miss Castro, curious combination of ministering angel,
child, and--well, the angel's antithesis, as she evidently is, would
have done so much for everybody!"
Dane answered nothing. One cannot rebuke the man one owes one's life to.
Ormond, however, had not finished with the subject.
"You crawled off your cot in delirium one night, and I found you groping
among some papers scattered from your pocket-book about the floor," he
said. "It required the assistance of two Krooboys to induce you to lie
down again, and Miss Castro helped me to pick up the papers. I, however,
found this among them first, and considered it well to take charge of it
in the meantime. Miss Castro, you have heard, made an excellent nurse."
Dane felt that the surgeon noticed the way his fingers tightened on the
little photograph handed him; but the man went on, with a smile:
"Your sister, presumably, for one could not help glancing at the
picture. Still, I can't flatter you by saying that I recognize a family
likeness. Therefore--I kept it aside."
Dane thanked him, and Ormond answered lightly:
"The rest of the papers Miss Castro returned to the pocket-book. All you
have to do now is to lie still and recover."
"I will try," Dane said. "When can I start again?"
Ormond pointed out through the window toward the sea.
"In a week, if you are prudent--in fact, the sooner you start in that
direction the wiser you will be. This country is not healthy for
full-blooded Englishmen of your description. If you march inland again,
cable anybody interested to double your life insurance."
Dane made a negatory gesture, but Ormond anticipated his answer.
"Of course, I hardly expected you would take good advice, but it was my
duty to give it. Just now I'll leave you to your own resources, because
Dom Pedro is waiting with the chessmen below. Most gentlemanly old
rascal, and you are indebted to him; but I wouldn't tell him too much
respecting the supposititious treasure you rambled about if I were you.
Henceforward you will have to get better in your own way, because word
has just been sent me that my niggers are dying by dozens."
He went out, and left Dane staring at the photograph in his hand.
Although not improved by long exposure to tropic heat, or the dampness
of the African climate, it had been a good portrait of Lilian
Chatterton, and the eyes that looked out from the faded paper seemed to
challenge the man. On inspecting the dim picture later he decided it
must have been because he remembered them so well. They were clear and
searching, honest above all things, but, as it were, demanding equal
sincerity from whoever looked into them; and though perhaps this was due
to the observer's fancy, the whole face seemed to possess a spiritual
beauty. Dane, however, was certainly a little light-headed still, for as
he gazed the face grew scornful.
To most Europeans in that country there comes a time of mental weakness
and black dejection, and Dane's courage had melted before the fever
which left him unstable as water, and fanciful as a child. Thus it was
that, in a sudden access of bitterness, he slipped the picture back into
its case. Lilian, he decided, had cruelly misjudged him, and now
doubtless enjoyed the sunny side of life in the cool British air,
careless of the fact that for her sake he risked life and reason in the
pestilential steam of Africa.
There was a rustle of draperies, and Bonita Castro swept into the room
with the grace of movement and carriage which characterizes her mother's
race. There was, however, nothing spiritual about Miss Castro's beauty,
which was of the flesh and of the glowing south, appealing to the
senses, delighting the eye; and Dane's pulse throbbed a little faster as
she came toward him with a low cry of pleasure. It was the first time he
had risen from his trestle cot in the adjoining room. Stooping, she held
toward him a great cluster of the spotless African lilies--which,
scented ambrosially, spring up wherever decay is rankest--then sank
with lithe gracefulness into a chair near his side.
"It is very good to see you better, Don Ilton," she said.
"It is the result of your kindness, senorita. Unfortunately, I don't
know how to thank you----"
"Then you will not try." Miss Castro raised a restraining hand. "We do
not leave the sick to die. Even if it had been another, there is always
enjoined on us the charity."
Dane had lost his sense of humor, and just then Bonita Castro looked all
ministering angel, and his attitude expressed rather reverential respect
than personal admiration, which, it is possible, did not please the lady
so well.
"But you have done so much for one who is almost a stranger," he
persisted.
Miss Castro's mood changed swiftly, and spreading out her hands with a
gesture of amusement, and a smile which Dane fancied most men would have
given much to win, she was again all a woman, and a very alluring one.
"It is true that you English have not the graceful speech. Are we, then,
the mere stranger, Don Ilton? _Carramba!_ One takes pride in what one
save from the fever, and it was on my lips to call you _carino_."
Dane had acquired sufficient knowledge of Castilian in South America to
appreciate the possible significance of the substantive; and he
afterward remembered that he was not wholly displeased with it.
"You make me a vain man, senorita," he said lightly.
Miss Castro laughed again, and Dane lay silent for a while.
"I am the more indebted to your care because every day is precious, and
I must rejoin my comrade as soon as possible," he said at last.
The damask warmth deepened just a trifle in his companion's cheek.
"You two still go on into the forest--why?" she asked.
"Because I am a poor man, and, as you have guessed, my comrade believes
there is treasure waiting up yonder."
Bonita Castro smiled scornfully, and answered him with the assurance of
one stating a definite fact.
"The Senor Maxwell will never bring gold out of the Leopards' country.
Two white men have try already and, both of them, they die. You must not
go back there, Don Ilton, nor let your comrade go, though I know he is a
very clever and fearless man."
"How do you know that?"
Dane found it hard to conceal his astonishment at her tranquil answer:
"I try if he is fearless on board the steamer. I can use the pistol
well."
"It is fortunate you did not test my courage in the same fashion. But
was there not a third man?"
Miss Castro's fingers closed viciously, and the questioner experienced
an instinctive shrinking as he saw the hatred in her deep black eyes.
"The third was not a white man, though he call himself so," she said,
with a quietness that was ominous. "_Maldito sea el perro!_ To-day again
he infect this factory."
Dane could not help feeling that, unless the gentleman were prudent, he
might have cause to regret his visit to the factory. He was inclined to
admire high-spirited women, but Miss Castro looked more than dangerous
just then; though Dane learned afterward that her hatred was
justifiable.
Following her glance, he saw a short and very sallow-faced gentleman,
neatly dressed in spotless duck, cross the compound below and disappear
into the salt shed, evidently in search of Dom Pedro. There was nothing
particularly noticeable about him; but another taller figure, draped in
blue and white cotton and wearing a crimson turban, followed, and
squatted in the hot dust outside the shed. This man was an African, but
lighter in color than the seaboard tribes, and his movements reminded
Dane of those of the midnight assassin. He decided, however, that the
resemblance was fanciful.
"Is that the person you mentioned?" he asked. "It is evident that you
dislike him. May I ask why?"
Miss Castro appeared to consider, and then answered frankly:
"Why should I not tell you? You are _muy caballero_, and I think, good
friend of me. He was partner with my father, this Victor Rideau. They
once go inland to trade with an Emir, who at that time gather much
plunder of ivory, and perhaps they give their carrier boy the good rifle
and cartridge, for the Emir is treacherous. He is very bad man,
and--_pobre padre mio!_--when Rideau is go away he put pressure on Dom
Pedro, and demand all his rifle and black carrier boy. What would you?
My father he is not desire his throat cut, and he agree. The Emir write
safe conduct and agreement, and sent him back with ivory, but this
Rideau he guard the scroll in Arabic, and now always demand the silver
from my father for fear he denounce him to the authority. One must not
sell the black boy, and there is heavy penalty for giving the negro the
arm of precision."
Dane grasped the situation, surmising that the Emir in question was one
who had, for a time, successfully defied both British and French. He
also surmised that the Gallic authorities would deal stringently with
whoever had supplied the Moslem soldier with modern weapons at a time
when it appeared quite possible he would even march upon the coast.
Still, he was not sure that very much pressure had been required to
convince Dom Pedro.
Returning to her almost caressing manner, Miss Castro touched his arm:
"Why you need that gold?"
"Gold is generally useful, isn't it?" smiled Dane. "It would help me to
earn a little more than my bread when I go back to England."
Bonita Castro laughed, and then grew serious. There was a light in her
dark eyes, and her voice grew deeper; and it was only because it
appeared necessary that Dane afterward told his comrade part of what
followed. Indeed, there was little to relate, but much to be imagined.
"Is there no other place than England, when all the world is good?" she
said. "Is not this much better than your mud and snow, and the sight of
the men with anxious faces groping through the fog? _Vaya!_ You men of
the English cities, you not know how to live."
The speaker pointed out through the open window, and most men would have
agreed with her in a measure. If the beauty of the fever coast is that
of a whited sepulcher, it is a sufficiently alluring region, and Dom
Pedro's factory stood high and healthily upon the summit of a bluff.
Tall palms swaying about it before the sea breeze tossed their emerald
traceries against transparent blue. In the cottonwoods' shadow beyond
them tall white lilies grew, and the rollers of the southern ocean,
flaming dazzlingly, dissolved into spouts of incandescence upon a
crescent of silver sand below. The whole scene was flooded with light
and color, and permeated by the languorous spell of the tropics, which
it is not good for white men to linger under.
"It is all very beautiful," he said; "but I have my bread to win."
"You are very modest, Don Ilton. Is there no place for such as you in
Africa? Now I know one who would give much--even a share in the profits
of several factories--for the help of two men he could trust. There will
be more gold to win than you will ever find in the Leopards' country;
and there will be the excitement you hunger for. The man who needs the
assistance has a cunning enemy. Will you not listen when again he speaks
to you?"
Miss Castro leaned slightly forward.
"It is the life you English long for. There would be adventure; much
profit, I think, too, and--for that you like also--an enemy. He is bad
enemy of--me. This England of yours is far off, and the wise man he--is
it not so?--takes gratefully what the good saints send him. Is it not
enough, Don Ilton?"
Dane was not a vain man, but there was a subtle inflection in the
woman's voice which suggested an amplification of the meaning of her
last words. England certainly seemed very far away, Maxwell's project a
mad one; and Dane remembered that the woman for whose sake he had joined
in it had been ready to think ill of him. His companion was very
alluring, he was weak in mind and body, very grateful to one who had
saved his life for him, and loath to resume the burden which was part
of his birthright as a civilized Englishman. A word, even a gesture,
would, it seemed, smooth out many difficulties, and, shaking off
responsibility, he might henceforward live for the day only; but though
intoxicated by the spell of the tropics and the eyes of his companion,
Dane had a memory, and he realized that he stood on the brink of a
declivity. He had seen the end of other Britons who, selling their
birthright for a few years' indulgence, sank beyond the level of the
beasts. The face of a countrywoman, no longer cold and disdainful, but
innocent and gentle, rose up before him; and the struggle ended.
"It is so much that I do not deserve it," he said humbly, answering her
question. "I must accomplish the purpose which brought me here, and then
go back to England. Nothing would turn back my comrade."
Miss Castro did not speak for a few moments, but Dane felt that she
understood more than he had said. Then she looked at him steadily.
"You are a strange people, but, go when you will, God go with you, Don
Ilton. Now, at least from my hands, you will take the medicine."
Dane's hand trembled as he held it out for the glass, for the struggle
had left its mark on him; but he felt inclined to resent this climax,
which appeared grotesquely ludicrous. Nevertheless, he duly swallowed
the medicine, and resisted an inexplicable impulse which prompted him to
smash the glass. Then, with a wondrous unfolding of filmy draperies, his
companion rose languidly, and, it seemed to Dane, melted out of the
room. Almost simultaneously the crouching figure in the dusty compound
rose and vanished too.
Dane decided that it would be well to gather strength with all possible
celerity, and leave the factory as soon as he was fit to travel in a
hammock. Accordingly, in spite of the protests of Dom Pedro, who, after
repeating in definite form the offer made by his daughter, found him
supplies and carriers, he presently took his leave, and shook hands with
Miss Castro beside the waiting hammock at the compound gate. Her manner
had been a shade more reserved of late, but she spoke with friendly
earnestness when she laid in his hand a tiny object wrought in silver
and ivory.
"You will take this for what you call a keep-a-sake, Don Ilton," she
said. "There is always peril in the bush country, and it was given my
mother by a holy man. It has the virtue. If you meet Rideau in the
forest, remember he is my enemy and beware of him. And now, senor, the
good saints keep you."
Dane bent over the little olive-tinted fingers, then Amadu helped him
into the hammock, and presently Dom Pedro's factory had faded to a white
blur against the sparkling sea.
As he journeyed northward Dane had much to ponder over. He regretted
that he had been unable to secure a closer view of Rideau or his dusky
follower. He fancied he once heard the Frenchman's voice raised angrily
in an altercation with Dom Pedro; but he could learn nothing about the
tall negro, who had vanished mysteriously. When the journey was almost
accomplished, and he was recovering strength again, there was added
another subject for consideration. Searching for the map Maxwell had
given him, he failed to find it; but, after the first shock of dismay
had passed, he was almost thankful that time and distance prevented his
returning to the factory in search of it. Dane, remembering the
surgeon's narrative, felt himself unequal to the task of asking Miss
Castro what she had done with it. He pushed on, hoping for the best, and
that Maxwell might not ask too many questions.
Maxwell, when he heard the news, sat silent for several minutes.
"We are not beginning well," he then said gravely, "but that is perhaps
not material. It seems to me that the future of the mine will be settled
when we meet Monsieur Rideau and his lieutenant, as I think we will. Of
course it is no use asking where you lost the map."
Dane recognized the significance of the last sentence, and answered
accordingly.
"If I had possessed that knowledge I should have returned and found it.
I have reasons for believing it was in my pocket-book when I left the
factory."
Maxwell glanced at him keenly and smiled.
"After what you told me, I suppose one could expect nothing else from
you," said he.
CHAPTER X
RIDEAU'S BARGAIN
Some time after Dane's departure, a smartly uniformed hammock train
approached Dom Pedro's factory. That worthy ceased his leisurely pacing
up and down the veranda, and watched the bearers wind out from the
steamy shadow with ill-concealed anxiety, hoping that he might be
mistaken. Then as they came on at a steady trot with the poles of the
lurching hammock upon their woolly crowns, he stamped on the flooring;
and even a sleepy Krooboy started at his vivid maledictions. There was
no longer room for doubt that he was about to be honored by a visit from
his former partner, Monsieur Victor Rideau, and it was very evident that
Dom Pedro was not pleased to see him. His sister, a portly lady, of
doubtful age, sat in a shady corner of the veranda, but she passed much
of her time in Africa in peaceful slumber, and was now asleep as
usual--or appeared so.
"It is too hot for anger, father," a voice said; and Dom Pedro, turning,
saw his daughter leaning languidly over the balustrade. She, too, was
watching the hammock with a curious expression.
"There is good cause!" Dom Pedro answered, cutting short his flow of
expletives. "This Rideau comes another time to torment me. Why is it
that when so many honest men die up yonder this one should always come
back safely?"
"He will not always do so. Some day he, too, will be lost in the
forest," said Bonita quietly; and the man glanced at her with hope in
his eyes, for several of his daughter's predictions had curiously been
fulfilled. This may have been due to coincidence, or a shrewd
calculation of probabilities; but Dom Pedro, having lived long in a land
where occult influences are believed in, was not free from superstition.
"I would send half, or at least a third, of all I have, to the hospital
in Lisboa if that were so," he declared. "Nina, you speak as though you
knew."
Bonita laughed a little, though there was anxiety in her face.
"Padre, one might doubt the efficacy of such a bribe. Perhaps I do. It
is money he wants, as usual?"
"Yes." There was a certain hesitation in the man's answer which did not
escape his daughter. "It is, of course, the silver, and I have not much
to give him. You have no regard for this Rideau, nina?"
Bonita's face was a study. Anger, loathing, and the faintest trace of
fear were stamped upon it.
"Regard! I have only hatred for _el perro_!"
The emphasis on the last word was significant: while it means simply
dog, and is used on occasion to designate a person jestingly, the
Castilian can, by change of inflection, make it imply a rabid cur of the
lowest degree; and Bonita used the epithet in that manner.
Dom Pedro raised his shoulders, and drew in his breath. He was slightly
afraid of his daughter; but, unfortunately for them both, he was more
afraid of Rideau, and he did not look at her when he spoke again.
"It is strange the Senor Dane did not return for the book he left,
since it shows the path through the forests of Shaillu's country, and he
cannot find his way without it."
Bonita smiled upon him pityingly.
"You do not know those men as I do. They plan all from the beginning and
leave nothing to chance. The Senor Maxwell is a man of system, and he
will have safe in his memory all the book could tell him."
"They are a curious people," observed Dom Pedro dryly. "One of those
two, however, was surely a trifle blind."
A faint trace of color crept into Bonita's face.
"It is time for you to receive your guest," she said.
Dom Pedro did so with the utmost cordiality, his hat in his hand, and
the two men--one of whom despised the other, who feared and hated
him--expressed their mutual delight at the meeting with great
effusiveness. Bonita Castro watched them meanwhile from a green latticed
window, and shivered a little, though the day was as hot as it usually
is at that season in West Africa. She slipped her fingers under the
laces at her breast, and her face was not attractive when they touched a
little piece of wrought silver. It was not a mere adornment, for there
was a slender blade of steel attached to it. Again she said, with an
intensity of detestation: "_El perro!_"
Dom Pedro played chess and discoursed upon the shortcomings of their
rulers with his guest all afternoon, and the five o'clock _comida_ had
been eaten before either hinted that Rideau could have any possible
motive for his visit beyond the pleasure of seeing his former partner.
Time has no great value to men of Latin extraction in the tropics; and
it is possible that one of them found pleasure in prolonging the
other's anxiety. At last, when they sat out on the veranda, the visitor,
lighting a maize husk cigarette, thrust his wineglass away.
"It is always a gratification to see my old friend Dom Pedro, and I have
traveled a long way to give myself that pleasure," he observed; and his
host, knowing how much this was worth, braced himself to meet what
should follow. "Being here, there is, however, a little affair we can
discuss together. I have an opportunity for a small investment to lay
before you."
"I am honored, but trade is very bad, and silver scanty," Dom Pedro said
hastily. "I have received no profits yet on the last venture."
Rideau spread out his palms deprecatingly.
"They are very dishonest men up yonder in the bush, as you, my friend,
should know, and have robbed me shamefully; while it was but an hour
since I rejoiced at your prosperity. I saw the cloth and gin sheds
empty--and they were full not long ago."
Dom Pedro groaned inwardly, but attempted a show of resolution.
"I repeat that trade is bad. It is, I fear, impossible to oblige even
you."
Rideau laughed a little, but his merriment was akin to mockery.
"I can only hope you are mistaken, and this time there will be a profit.
There is also another affair I would discuss with you. I am a man with a
conscience, and something we are concerned in up in the bush country
troubles me. It is told me that these troublesome English make protest
with the Administration that when the Emir invaded their dominions his
men carried good rifles which could only have been obtained from this
colony. The Captain Oger stated publicly that it is a stain on the
national honor, and there will be strict inquiry. I am a good friend of
Dom Pedro, but first of all patriotic Frenchman, me."
There was no need to speak more plainly, because Dom Pedro understood
him thoroughly, and inquired forthwith the lowest sum that would set his
visitor's uneasy conscience
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/36804