Word had been sent to the sheriff of Kalmak of Jack Reeves' capture at
Malamute, and he at once set forth to bring his prisoner back. He
arrived hardly an hour in advance of Jim Maxwell. He took formal
possession of the accused, and forthwith made it clear that he was not
minded to run any risk of a second escape.
"That young feller ain't in no way safe in a jail," he explained to his
brother official. "There's no tellin' what didoes he'd be up to--he's
that ornery. I'll jest take him along with me to the saloon over night,
an' I'll set up with him, an' nuss him like he was a baby."
Despite all arguments to the contrary, the sheriff had his way, and
started to the saloon-hotel, where the distracted bride had already
established herself. The officer and his captive were hardly a rod from
the door, when the shots rang out, and, almost in the same second, the
lights were extinguished. The sheriff uttered an excited exclamation,
and hurried forward with his prisoner. They were just within the door,
when the bartender, who had so discreetly shot out the lights, produced
new chimneys and leisurely set the oil lamps going again.
As his eyes fell on the form stretched out upon the floor near the
piano, Jack Reeves uttered a cry of alarm, and sprang forward. Kneeling,
he caught Jim Maxwell's hand in his. He could not speak in the first
shock of emotion, for he believed that the man was dead, who lay there
so still and white, with closed eyes, and the blood trickling from a
wound in his head.
Nell, in an adjoining room, had been shaken with fear at the noise of
firing. But, in the stillness that followed, she heard a cry of distress
in her husband's voice. She forgot fear then, and rushed into the saloon
and to his side. The sight of her father there struck her dumb and
motionless with horror. Thus it came about that she and her husband were
passive spectators of the great heart-drama that now developed.
There was another in the group. It was Lou. Before the shots were fired,
she had sprung to her feet, and forward, as if to forbid the deadly
work. She had been too late. But she had plunged on, heedless of the
weapons, reckless of her own life. The instinct of love had guided her
through the sudden blackness. So, when the lights burned again, she was
there on her knees, crooning heart-broken words to the ears that did not
hear. She had no thought whatsoever of that other form which lay stark,
crumpled on the floor by the table she had left. She supported Jim in
her arms, with a passion of tenderness and mourning; for she, too,
believed him dead, and it seemed to her that all the misery that had
gone before were as nothing to this anguish over finding him, only to
lose him forever. Then, of a sudden, Lou gave a gasp of pure
rapture--for Jim Maxwell had opened his eyes, and lay staring placidly
at the smoke-begrimed ceiling. She bent and kissed the bearded face,
then raised a countenance that was transfigured. It was years younger in
that illumination of joy.
[Illustration: JIM MAXWELL HAD OPENED HIS EYES AND LAY STARING
PLACIDLY.]
Nell, watching in startled wonder, recognized the face in the locket.
She knew this woman to be her mother. She could understand nothing else.
But there on the floor at her father's side was the mother whom she had
never known. The mystery appalled her. Yet, a tremulous happiness
stirred in her heart over this meeting, so unexpected, so inexplicable,
so fraught with amazing possibilities.
Jim Maxwell spoke, very low, so that Lou held her ear close to listen.
"Get it from the pocket inside my shirt," he commanded.
"But your wound, Jim dearest," Lou pleaded. "Don't bother about anything
else, whatever it is."
"Get it!" Jim repeated.
Lou yielded to the authority in his voice, and searched as he had
bidden. She drew forth a bit of oil-skin, which she opened. In it was a
sheet of notepaper, folded twice, and worn through along the creases.
"Read it," Jim directed her; and Lou read obediently, though slowly
through scalding tears:
"I, Anne Weston, confess to tricking Jim Maxwell and deceiving his wife
at the instigation of Dan McGrew."
That first sentence gave her understanding of the lie that had wrecked
her life. She read on to the end of Anne Weston's confession, and knew
for the first time the entire infamy of the man whose treachery had
robbed her of home and husband and child. Hate flared in her. She turned
to look behind her, and saw the ungainly heap on the floor, which was
all that was left of Dangerous Dan McGrew. And she was glad!... She
turned again to the man she loved.
"Forgive me, Jim--oh, forgive me, dearest!" she murmured.
"I've nothing to forgive," was the answer. "A scoundrel fooled
you--that's all. You couldn't help but believe your own eyes. But he's
paid at last, I guess. Hasn't he?"
"He's dead!" Lou replied; and there was no sorrow in her voice.
"And I'm alive!" Jim declared contentedly. "He only creased me." He sat
up suddenly by his own strength. For the first time, he appeared to
notice his daughter and Jack Reeves. He spoke briskly now, and his voice
had its accustomed firmness.
"Help me up, Jack," he bade his son-in-law. And then, a minute later,
when he stood firmly on his feet again, he turned to Lou, and spoke
softly.
"I'm going to make you very happy, to make up for what you have
suffered. And I'll start by giving you back the daughter you lost twelve
years ago." He nodded toward the girl, who approached.
"Nell," he ordered, "I want you to take this lady to your room, and tell
her who you are. Go now, both of you, and have a talk. Jack and I will
come soon. We have something to attend to first."
The women yielded to the masterful air of the man they both loved, and
went away together to that talk in which there would be many kisses and
the mingling of happy tears.
No sooner were the women gone than Jim Maxwell faced the sheriff of
Kalmak, who, throughout the excitement, had kept his attention
unswervingly fixed on the prisoner, with an eye to possible didoes. But
before Jim Maxwell could speak, he was interrupted by the local
official, who detached himself from the group about the body of Dan
McGrew, and now approached.
"You got him, stranger," he remarked to Jim, in a congratulatory tone.
"And he mighty near got you. Pretty shootin' by cripes! And I suppose,
Mister, you understand you're my prisoner?"
"Certainly," was the indifferent answer. "But I sha'n't try to get away,
and there's something I want to have attended to right now. It has to do
with my son-in-law, Jack Reeves here, who is accused of a crime he
didn't commit. I want to prove his innocence, and there's a chance I
may be able to do it. Dan McGrew killed Sam Ward. I know it. I want
everybody else to know it. I'm hoping that somewhere among his things,
or on him, there'll be the proof to connect him with the crime."
The sheriff of Kalmak protested against the possibility, and spoke
concerning Jack's possession of the knife-handle. In answer, Jim made
clear the reasoning by which he had come to suspect his enemy of Sam
Ward's murder.
"And, anyhow," he concluded, "you'd search this dead man's effects. I'm
only asking that you do it now, and in my presence. He had the
opportunity to do the killing, and the circumstances must appear
suspicious against him to you, though you didn't know him for the dog he
was. It's an idiotic idea that this boy of mine, who was on his
honeymoon, would stop off to kill a man he didn't know, for a pinch of
dust he didn't need."
The Malamute official nodded assent.
"You're talkin' sense, Mister," he agreed. "I reckon Hal Owens thinks
the same as I do." He regarded the sheriff of Kalmak inquiringly, who
found himself exceedingly confused over this new turn to an affair
already finally determined in his own mind. He vouchsafed a nod of
acquiescence, but ventured nothing further. "And that being so," the
other went on, "why, we'll just naturally take a squint at the corpse
and his goods and chattels, and get a line, if so be, on what's what."
Having thus spoken, he led the way to where the body of Dan McGrew was
lying by the table; and with him went Jim Maxwell; and Jack Reeves and
his guard followed them.
The Malamute sheriff, as became his authority, made the examination of
the dead man's clothing. He went through the pockets painstakingly,
sorting the articles, and laying each in turn on the table, while Jim
Maxwell looked on with a close scrutiny that nothing escaped. But the
collection of miscellany grew little by little without showing anything
in the least significant. No one of the various objects disclosed could
by any ingenuity be claimed as evidence that Dan McGrew had perpetrated
the crime of which Jack Reeves stood accused. The hope that had sprung
up in the young man's breast at Jim Maxwell's utterance quickly died.
But Jim himself did not despair. Sure of his enemy's guilt, he was sure,
too, that somehow it would be brought to light.
The searcher came at last to a pocket inside the waistcoat. In it was a
tiny book, bound in paste-board covers. On the outside of the front
cover were printed words and written. The sheriff gave a glance at
these, and shouted exultantly:
"We've got him--cuss him!" And then he added, in a tone of disgust: "And
to think of him carryin' the goods on him like that!" He handed the book
to Jim Maxwell, who read in a glance, with Jack looking over his
shoulder:
"The Tacoma Savings Bank, in account with Sam Ward."
Jack's captor, also, who throughout had kept his hold on the prisoner's
arm, read, and abruptly took his hand away. His voice revealed how
great was the injury done to his dignity:
"The damn' skunk! An' him a-leadin' me on! I wish he'd come to life for
five minutes, an' I'd show him that Hal Owens ain't to be made a fool
of." And the sheriff's flashing eyes and scowling brows showed that he
meant it.
Without a word, Jim Maxwell turned to his son-in-law, and put out his
hand, and the two men shook hands joyously, yet with a certain gravity.
"This will be glorious news for Nell," Jack said, happily. Then the
gladness went out of his face. "Now, we must think about you." He
grinned ruefully. "I'll have to be trying to do for you what you've done
for me."
The sheriff of Malamute regarded the young man jovially.
"Now, don't you worry a mite--not a mite, my lad," he said genially,
clapping Jack Reeves on the back. "We'll have a court a-sittin' in this
blessed saloon in about five minutes, with a judge and a jury all
regular. From what the boys have been a tellin' me, it seems perfectly
clear that the prisoner just naturally shot Dan McGrew in self-defense."
He beamed good-naturedly on Jim. "I calculate, the sooner you're tried,
the better you'd like it, and have the thing off your mind like."
His prisoner smiled in return.
"It can't be too quickly to suit me," he declared. As a matter of fact,
the amiable manner of the officer, as well as the suggestion itself,
afforded Jim Maxwell immense relief. Until within the hour, he had had
no concern as to his fate. He had determined to take the law in his own
hands in order to rid the world of a scoundrel. He had not troubled to
think that his act might involve himself in destruction. But a change
had been wrought in his attitude. That change had had its origin in the
discovery of Lou. Her presence had turned his thoughts at the very
outset to new hopes of happiness. He himself had scarcely realized
this, until, with the approach of the sheriff, he awoke to appreciation
of the fact that he stood in peril of his life. He had not been able to
guess what the mood of these men might be toward him, a stranger to
them, who had come among them to kill one whom they did know. Though he
concealed it, he had experienced a considerable trepidation concerning
the outcome. He was gratified accordingly now over the sheriff's
announcement, which manifested the kindly disposition of the crowd
toward him.... He turned to Jack.
"Go to Nell and her mother," he directed, "and keep them away from here.
Tell Nell that your innocence has been proved." As the young man turned
away, half in reluctance half in eagerness, Jim addressed the sheriff
gravely:
"And now, sir, I am at your service."
The trial was of record shortness, but, in its way, it was formal, and
it had the sanction of the law. There were no pleas, only the taking of
evidence and the rendering of the verdict, on which the jury decided
without leaving their places.
The verdict was justifiable homicide in self-defense.