THE OUTLAW'S HOME.
But what of the train wending its weary way among the hills, trying,
under the guidance of Major Guilford, to follow the blind trail?
Ah, it is a query pregnant with sad events--with tears and sighs--with
acts that make human nature seem like demon-nature.
For here, in the outlaw's lair, away up among the hills--in his secret
grotto--we find--who?
Why, Lottie Mitchell!
And consoling her in her terrible grief is Mabel, the professed
daughter of Major Guilford, but now the acknowledged wife and emissary
of Yellow Jack!
And outside we hear the voice of Major Guilford, and learn from
his conversation, first, the fact that he is Yellow Jack's
first-lieutenant; and second, the particulars of the slaughter of that
entire train, which, following his guidance, was led into an ambuscade,
and every soul in it ruthlessly slain by the outlaws, as they had
destroyed and slain other trains. The diabolical glee which the affair
excited in the outlaw camp revealed the nature of the ruffians with
whom Guilford consorted.
But he had other matters also to discuss with some of the men. He had
rescued Lottie Mitchell and brought her safely into the outlaw camp
only to see Yellow Jack take her under his immediate protection. Was he
to be deprived of his property? Was not Lottie his own by the laws of
the band? And if so, by what right did the captain take her under his
protection?
This the "Major" demanded in a manner that showed how bitterly he felt
over the event, and his openly announced purpose to have his prize
yet, gave little promise of peace or safety to the now distressed and
heart-broken captive, whose hours passed in weeping over the awful
tragedy which her eyes had witnessed, and whose fears for her own
future were even more harrowing than her grief.
For a time Lottie Mitchell was treated more as a guest than a prisoner
by Yellow Jack and his household. Even Mabel, though herself scarcely
so beautiful, strove to cheer up the sorrowing girl, even while a dull
pain knocked at her own heart as she recognized the gradually changing
expression with which the outlaw chief began to regard the fair captive.
None knew better than she that Yellow Jack was even more to be dreaded
than Charles Guilford--that Lottie, in fleeing from the hawk, had
sought protection of the eagle.
With heart crushed and bowed down, Lottie would sit through the
long hours in mute despair. She knew now that she was alone upon
earth--that not one drop of blood akin to her flowed in human veins.
Her loving father had been the last, and now he was no more. He was
dead--murdered! And she--oh! why had she been spared? To live on and
suffer--to endure worse than death--a shameful captivity in the hands
of demons who had love for naught other than sin and crime.
And yet, though knowing all this, Lottie believed that she was safe
from harm while Yellow Jack extended his protection. She knew that
Mabel was his wife--that a fierce, passionate love seemed to exist
between them. Then--what had she to fear from him?
Thus she reasoned, but the mask was soon to fall from his face--the
scales from her eyes. The trial, though slow in coming, would lose none
of its force on that account.
A brief "scene" had followed the unceremonious despoiling of Guilford.
His fiery, untamed nature was not one to submit without a word;
besides, he was backed up by the laws of the league, that distinctly
said a man possessed the sole power of life or death over any captive
he might chance to take unaided.
Guilford waited until the entire band had returned. Then he called them
around him in the little square of unoccupied ground near the center
of the village. His undaunted bravery and boldness had made him very
popular among the outlaws.
In hot, angry words he told them how he had been treated and how the
laws of the league had been trampled upon without cause or provocation.
He demanded their vote--whether the captive rightly belonged to him, or
to Yellow Jack.
The outlaws seemed about to reply--to give the words utterance that
would please the orator--when a clear, metallic voice silenced them.
The outlaws, bold and desperate men though they were, seemed awed and
shrunk silently back, parting before the approach of that one slender,
frail-looking man, who so negligently puffed at a tiny cigarette.
"Pardon, gentlemen," he uttered, the words dropping with cat-like
softness from his red lips, that curled in a smile at once sweet
and cruel. "Hearing my name mentioned, I come to plead my own case.
Guilford, what is your grievance?"
"That you took by force from me a captive. By the laws of the league
you had no right to do this. She is mine alone--I demand her return."
The words were spoken boldly and without hesitation. Yet the manner in
which the flushed face suddenly turned white, told that Guilford by
no means underrated his danger. It was like playing with a half-tamed
tiger. At first its talons might be sheathed--but who could say how
long this would last?
"So you consider yourself an abused man, do you?" slowly drawled Yellow
Jack.
"I deem my rights as a member of the band, abridged. By the laws laid
down by yourself, you are wronging me in taking away my property."
"And if I return her--this property of yours--you will overlook my
mistake?"
"Gladly!" cried Guilford, too excited by the pleasing thought thus
presented to read aright the sneering tone and the yellowish glitter of
the black eyes.
"You are very kind. But I fear both my wife and your property would
object. Besides, I've taken a notion to her myself. And captain before
lieutenant, you know."
"Then you refuse to--"
"Bah! why so much to-do about a trifle? you grow tiresome, Guilford.
We will have to select another officer from the ranks."
At this sentence--the last--Yellow Jack gave an evidence of his
marvelous quickness. A sudden glitter of steel--a flash--a report, and
then a death-groan.
Charles Guilford lay upon his face, the blood slowly oozing from a
tiny, discolored hole in the center of his forehead.
A low cry rose round the group. A simultaneous movement--and full
two-score hands fell upon as many weapons.
The tall, lithe form drew more erect, with head flung back and eyes
that seemed like glowing coals. _Click--click_, went the notchlike
springs of his pistols.
The sullen roar of two-score voices ceased. The weapons, though still
clutched, were not drawn. And the foremost slowly shrunk back. Fear was
written upon their faces.
And all this because one man seemed awakened. But that man was Yellow
Jack.
"Gentlemen," began the outlaw chieftain, and his voice was as even and
gentle as when first he spoke, "I have a few words of explanation to
give you why I shot that carrion. It was because he was a traitor at
heart--to me, if not to you. I saved him from the hangman's rope, and
brought him here. He served admirably as a man; but raising him to be
an officer spoiled him. You elected him; I could not refuse, though
I knew that this day must come in time. Well, he's dead. There is no
use in producing proof of his treachery, unless some of you demand it.
Then I will comply, of course. Is any one dissatisfied? If so, let him
advance and give in his plea."
No one advanced. Perhaps they deemed it scarcely prudent to do so, with
that body still lying before them.
Yellow Jack smiled. He had conquered now, even as he had scores of
times before, by sheer audacity. And _now_ Lottie Mitchell was his;
no one could dispute his choice, unless--He scowled as he thought of
Mabel, his wife.
"Good! I am glad to see you so sensible. Of course, we must have
another election. To-morrow will do. Talk the matter over between
yourselves. The choice lies with you." And then Yellow Jack walked
away, without so much as a glance at his victim.
Meantime, Lottie Mitchell had been aroused from her torpidity--as it
might almost be called. And this by one of whom we have had only a
fleeting glimpse--the being called by Yellow Jack, "Crazy Joe."
He had glided into the little cell-like apartment adjoining "the
grotto," where Lottie was sitting in apathetic despair. She glanced up
at his entrance, but recognizing him, again drooped her eyes.
"Lady," whispered Crazy Joe, after a keen glance around the chamber,
"cheer up. You have a friend near who will do his best to free you. Be
cautious--do not cry out. If they suspect who and what I really am,
both you and I are lost," he added hastily as Lottie gave vent to an
exclamation of surprise.
This was the first time she had heard him utter an intelligible
sentence. To her, as to others, he had been the harmless idiot. For
what had he been playing such a part?--for now there was no trace of
idiocy, only the sharp, acute decision of a bold and determined man.
"I don't wonder at your surprise," he added, with a kindly smile, as
he drew nearer, "I have played my part well, and, indeed, I had need
to, since my life depended upon its success. But never mind that now. I
fear interruption before I can explain. Listen, now. I am telling you
the truth, and placing my life in your hands.
"As you see, I am no idiot. That is my mask, put on the better to
enable me to gain my purpose. Instead, I am a spy--a spy of the
Government. My purpose now is to learn all the secrets of the place, so
that, when the time comes for another attack, they can't baffle us as
they did the last time.
"I assumed this disguise, and wandered for days amongst these hills,
before I was picked up, almost starving, too. I was brought here, and
closely questioned. I was only an idiot--so I made them believe. Only
an iron will carried me through, for they tried me in every manner,
even waking me from a sound sleep with a quick question. But I had
studied my part closely, and foiled them.
"Now it is time for act second. I have learned all I care to know, and
must disappear. They will think nothing of that--for I am an idiot,"
and he laughed silently, but gleefully. "They'll think I've wandered
away, or been killed by wild beasts. And then--well, they'll see me
again, and with me will be a host of 'boys in blue.'
"Why do I tell you this? Because you are in great peril--not of
_death_, but even worse than that--and will need all the courage you
can muster. I would take you with me, but that would ruin all. Pursuit
would be made--for _you_--and I killed. Then would your last hope die.
"You must wait patiently, and, if possible, gain time. I will be back
in two weeks, at furthest. If you can evade the peril until then, we
will save you. If not--then we will remember you while dealing our
blows. Do you understand me?"
"Partly. But what is this great peril--_he_ is dead, and Mabel is my
friend. Surely, she will not let them murder me!" And Lottie paused in
genuine surprise.
"I will tell you, then, though 'tis a delicate subject. But this is no
time for false delicacy. Then--I allude to Yellow Jack--to his passion
for you," hurriedly added the man.
"But he--Mabel is his wife!"
"True--or passes for such. But that matters little to him. Why did
he kill Guilford--his best and bravest man? Because that man claimed
_you_--whom he wanted for himself. _Now_ do you understand me?"
"I--think I do," faltered Lottie, turning ghastly pale.
"Then--listen. The trial will come--sooner or later. It may come
to-day--or it may not come until we return. For _your_ sake I hope not.
But you must be prepared for it. You must play a part. You must hide
your real feelings, and dissemble. Though keen as steel, you can blind
him in his passion with your mother wit. Affect to think of the matter.
Tell him you are too heart-sick--that all around is so new and strange
that you must have time to reconcile yourself to the change. Tell him
any thing--only gain time. Gain two weeks, and I pledge my word--my
life, that you shall be saved. I give you the word of a man who never
lied unless to an enemy, such as those with whom I am now dealing. Only
two weeks, at the most. I may return before, but if I am not here then,
you can know that I am dead."
"You frighten me, but--"
"Hist! there is some one coming! Be cautious--hide your feelings, or
all is lost!" whispered the man, again becoming "Crazy Joe," as he
crouched down upon the floor and began tracing meaningless figures in
the dry sand with his fingers, crooning a low, monotonous strain as
unmeaning as his blank and expressionless features.
Yellow Jack entered. He gave a start as the dark figure seated upon the
floor caught his eyes, but then, with recognition, came reassurance. He
cared little whether the idiot heard his words or not.
"Come, dear lady, this will never do," the outlaw chief uttered in a
soft, musical tone, as he sunk upon the little pallet beside which
Lottie sat. "You are fading your beauty and dimming your eyes by this
unceasing grief. The past is past--let it sink into oblivion. Live for
the present, for the future--life can be gay and pleasant, if you only
will it should. All around will be your servants--and I, the chief
of this band of brave men--will be the humblest one of all at your
command. You make no answer," he added, his keen eyes seeking to read
the inner thoughts of the maiden. "You are not offended at my plain
words?"
"No--not offended," hesitated Lottie, at a warning glance from the
seeming idiot.
"Thanks. Now I will give you a few words to think over for a time.
And think over them carefully you must, for a great deal depends upon
your answer. You, among others, are deeply concerned. In fact, upon
your decision rests the whole of your future. Thus much, by way of
introduction.
"You may not know that by the rules of the band, Charley Guilford
really became your master, by his capturing you himself. Well--though
he was a good enough man, in the way of duty, he was a devil at heart.
He would have killed you with his cruelty in a month. For that reason
I took you from him; for that reason, and because your face awoke a
memory in my heart that I thought forever dead. Your face then, pale
and care-worn, reminded me of my mother, as I last saw her, just before
she died. I know now that she killed herself, because--but never mind.
I did not come here to speak of the past.
"Well, Guilford objected to my course, and--I shot him to-day. He
would have served me so to-morrow, but I was ahead of him.
"Now what I mean is this. You cannot lead this life always. You would
die, shut up so close. And were you to walk about the village, you
would always be in danger, from what, you can guess. For this reason,
more than any thing else, I am here now, to tell you that you must
choose between me and one of the men. In other words, you must become
my wife."
"You--but Mabel is your wife!"
"Well--she passes for such, and so did the one before her. Never
trouble about that--you must decide upon what I have told you. I must
go now. You can give your answer to-morrow."
Yellow Jack left the room, and, after a warning glance and whisper, the
spy did the same.
That night Crazy Joe disappeared. As he had predicted, this caused
little or no comment. It was only an idiot gone.
On the morrow Yellow Jack again visited Lottie. It is useless to repeat
his arguments. They were the same in substance as those just recorded,
save that they were more vehement and full of passion.
Lottie, frightened and heart-sick, still did not forget the warning of
Crazy Joe--or Joe Burleson, as he had told her his real name was--and
begged for time. This he granted, though with evident reluctance.
Scarcely had he disappeared than Mabel rushed into the room with
a maniacal fury, clutching a long, keen-pointed stiletto. With a
half-stifled scream, she strove to plunge it into Lottie's breast. The
peril lent the captive strength, and after a desperate struggle, she
succeeded in disarming the madwoman.
Then, in hysterical sobbings the truth came out, and Lottie learned
what had caused the sudden change in one who had, until that hour,
treated her so kindly. She had overheard all that passed between Lottie
and Yellow Jack in the second interview.
Fortunate it was that Lottie remembered Burleson's caution never to
speak without weighing every word that she said, while in her dangerous
position. Only for that she would have told Mabel all: have told her
how she loathed the very sight of the monster, Yellow Jack, and that
she was only playing her cards to gain time that she might be saved.
Instead, she only disclaimed all thought of winning Yellow Jack from
her; that she would far rather matters remained as they were.
Mabel, on the other hand, saw only one hope left her, and that was in
the escape of Lottie. While she remained, the outlaw would only stray
the further from his rightful allegiance, and with that hope, she
declared to Lottie that she would assist her to escape.
Rendered suspicious by this sudden change, Lottie was reserved, though
the very thought caused her heart to leap for joy. Thus she calmly
listened, without saying yea or nay.
At length Mabel turned and left the chamber. In the passage just
without, a dark figure met her and clutched her wrist with a grasp of
steel. It was Yellow Jack, and in that moment she knew that he had
overheard all, and that her doom was sealed. For a moment she trembled;
then her true Spanish courage came to her rescue, and she followed his
lead without a word.
Entering their own chamber, Yellow Jack, with a terrible courtesy, led
Mabel to a softly-cushioned chair, and waited until she was seated.
Then he drew another chair forward, and seated himself before her. Pale
and calm, she met his steady gaze with one as unflinching.
"Du you know what is in my mind now, Mabel?" he at length uttered.
"Yes--if, as I suppose, you were listening to what I said to--to _her_
in there."
"I did hear--that you intended to prove traitor to me."
"Not to you--to the man who was about putting his wife from him in
favor of a stranger."
"Well--we will not quarrel about trifles. You have known me long enough
to guess what such attempts cost. Now I ask you a plain question: would
you rather leave me and return to your people, or die here beside me?"
"This is the only choice left me?" Mabel asked, and for the first time
her voice trembled.
"Is it not enough?" coldly came the reply.
"Since _you_ say so, yes. For ten years I have been with you, through
all, day and night. I will not leave you now, of my own will, because I
love you. I will die here, but not by _your_ hand!"
"I am glad that you object to that, because I hate such trouble. Well,
to business. First, write a line saying that this is your own deed. The
men reverence you so that they might make trouble were they to think I
had killed you."
Without a word, Mabel did as directed. Then again turned toward the
ice-hearted monster. He knew not what mercy meant, else he would have
relented at that look of ineffable love.
"Well--you are waiting for--?"
Mabel moved round and knelt beside him. He frowned, thinking she meant
to plead for her life. Instead, she wound her arms around him, and
pressed her lips to his, in a long, lingering, farewell kiss.
Then she rose erect. The bright poniard flashed in the lamp-light. It
sunk to the hilt in her warm bosom.
Slowly she sunk to her knees, her eyes riveted upon his, and with that
look of love, died!