ROSABEL
All night long bands of men scoured the woods and fields, with
lanterns and dogs and guns. Courtney Thane, thrilled by that one
glorious, overpowering moment of contact, sallied forth with the
first of the searchers. He showed them where the masked man vaulted
over the porch rail, and the course he took in crossing the terrace,
below which Courtney's coat was found where he had cast it aside
at the beginning of the chase. The first shot was fired as the man
climbed over the fence separating the old-fashioned garden from the
wooded district to the west, the second following almost immediately.
Thane was over the fence and picking himself up from the ground
after tripping when the last shot was fired. He ran forty or fifty
yards farther on and then his knee gave out. Realizing that pursuit
was useless under the circumstances, he hurried back to the house
to give the alarm.
It appears that he first saw the man as he was nearing the top of
the steps leading to the terrace. The fellow's figure, in a crouching
position, was distinctly outlined against the lighted window.
"Kind of a funny time for a robber to be monkeyin' around a house,"
said Charlie Webster, after Courtney had concluded his brief story.
"Eight o'clock is no time to figure on breaking into a house."
"He probably figured that the occupants would be at dinner," said
Courtney. "Or maybe he was getting the lay of the land while there
were lights to guide him. That is most likely the case. Lord, how
I wish I had had a gun!"
"Maybe it's lucky you didn't," said Charlie. "Guns are pretty
treacherous things to monkey with, Court. You might have shot
yourself."
"Oh, I guess I know how to handle a gun, Charlie," retorted Thane,
after a perceptible pause.
"Anyhow," remarked Constable Foss, "we now know why that dog
of Alix's was killed. This robber had things purty well sized up.
He knowed he had to fix that dog first of all,--and that goes to
show another thing. He is purty well posted around these parts. He
knowed all about that dog. He ain't no tramp or common stranger.
The chances are he ain't even a perfessional burglar. Maybe some
dago,--or, by gosh, somebody we all know."
A chosen group waited at the roadside above the Windom place
for automobiles which were to be used in the attempt to head off
the invader. This was Courtney's idea. He suggested a wide cordon
of machines and men as the only means of cutting off the fellow's
escape.
"You're not likely to get anywhere, Foss, by keeping up a stern
chase," he argued. "He has got too big a lead. Our only chance is
to rush a lot of men out ahead of him in cars, and then work back
through the woods."
A boy came up with Courtney's fedora hat, which he had picked up
in the brush near the fence.
"There's a bullet hole through it, Mr. Thane," he cried in great
excitement. "Lookee here!"
Sure enough there was a hole in the crown of the hat.
"Whew!" whistled Courtney, staring at the hat blankly. "I never
dreamed--Why, good Lord, a couple of inches lower and he'd have
got me. I remember my hat blowing off as I got up, but I thought
it was the wind. Where did you find it, kid?"
"Back there by the fence."
"We must have that hat for evidence," said the constable. "Shows
the calibre of the bullet, and all that. Bring it down to the office
in the morning, Mr. Thane. Better put it on now. You'll ketch cold
out here bareheaded."
By this time the lane and grounds were alive with excited people,--men,
women and children. Several automobiles approached, sounding their
horns. Men were shouting directions, dogs were barking, small
children were squalling lustily. Shadowy, indistinct figures scuttled
through the darkness, here and there coming into bold relief as
they passed before the lamps of automobiles or entered the radius
of light shed by an occasional lantern. Half the town was already
on the scene, and the belated remainder was either on the way or
grimly guarding cash drawers in empty, deserted stores.
Courtney reluctantly announced that he did not feel up to accompanying
the searchers, his leg was bothering him so. No, he didn't need a
doctor. The confounded thing simply gave out on him whenever he got
the least bit reckless, but it seldom if ever amounted to anything.
Only made him realize that he couldn't "get gay" with it. He'd be
all right in a day or two. Hobble a little, that's all,--like a
lame dog. More scared than hurt, you know, etc., etc.
He picked his way through the ever-increasing crowd of agitated
people, avoiding rampant automobiles and inquisitive citizens with
equal skill, and approached Alix's gate. His blood was rioting.
The memory of that triumphant moment when her warm body lay in his
arms,--when her lips were his,--when his eager hand pressed the
firm, round breast,--ah, the memory of it all set fire to his blood.
She had come to him, she had clung to him, she had kissed him! He
had won! She was his! He must see her again tonight, hold her once
more in his arms, drink of the rapture that came through her lips,
caress the throbbing heart she had surrendered to him. Anticipation
sent the blood rushing to his head. He grew strangely dizzy. He
narrowly escaped being struck by a car.
"The darned fools!" he muttered, as he leaped aside into the shallow
ditch.
A figure separated itself from a group near the gate and approached
him. There were no lights near and the lane was dark. He could
not see the face of the woman who halted directly in front of him,
barring the path.
"It is I, Courtney,--Rosabel," came in low, tremulous tones.
He stood stockstill, peering intently.
"Rosabel!" he repeated vacantly.
"I--I saw you. The auto lamp shone on your face."
Her teeth were chattering. Her voice was little more than a whisper.
"You--you poor child!" he cried. "What are you doing here? How do
you happen to be--"
"I came over to spend the night with Annie Jordan. I--I do that
quite often, Courtney. Aren't--aren't you ever coming to see me
again?"
"I was planning to come over tomorrow, Rosie,--tomorrow sure. I've
been meaning to run over to your house--"
"I--I thought you had forgotten all about us," she broke in,
pathetically. "You wouldn't do that, would you? Didn't you get my
letters? I wrote four or five times and you never answered. You--you
haven't forgotten, have you?"
"Bless your heart, no! I should say not. I've been so busy. Working
like a dog on my book. The one we talked about, Rosie. The story
of my experiences over in France, you know."
"Oh, Courtney, are you really, truly writing it?" she cried eagerly.
"Sure," he replied. "It's a tough job, believe me. I've been so
busy I haven't even had time to write letters. Mother complains
that I never write to her. Dear old mater,--I ought to be kicked
for neglecting her. Stacks of unanswered letters. Really, it's
appalling. But I've just got to finish this work. The publisher
wants it before Christmas."
"You promised to read it to me as you wrote it, Courtney," she
murmured wistfully. "Don't you remember?"
"Just as soon as I've got it in little better shape, Rosie. You
see, it's an awful mess now. I'm trying so hard to concentrate.
It would be different if I were an experienced writer. But I'm a
terrible duffer, you know. The least little thing throws me off.
I--"
"I wouldn't interfere for the world, Courtney. I will wait. I don't
want to bother you. Please don't think about reading it to me now.
But,--oh, Courtney, I have wanted to see you so much. You WILL come
over, won't you. Or would you rather have me come--"
"I'll be over, Rosie,--tomorrow," he said hastily. "Or the day
after, sure. I'm all done up. I can hardly stand on this leg. Did
they tell you? I chased the robber up through the woods. Had a bad
fall. Bunged up this rotten old knee again."
"You poor boy," she cried. "Yes, I heard them talking about how
brave you were. And he shot at you, too. I saw the plaster on your
face when the light shone on it a while ago. I was frightened. I
forgot to ask you how bad it is. I forgot everything but--but just
speaking to you. Is it dangerous? Is it a bad wound?"
"I don't know. The doctor is waiting for me up at Miss Crown's.
They sent me back, the other fellows did. I wanted to go with the
gang,--but I was weak and--Oh, I'll be all right. Don't you worry,
little girl. Dr. Smith may slap me into bed,--"
"You must not be foolish, Courtney. Do what the doctor says. You
must get well--oh, you MUST get well!"
She had come quite close to him and was peering at his face. Even
in the darkness he could see her big, dark eyes. Her teeth no longer
chattered, but there was a perilous quaver in her low, tense voice.
She put out a hand to touch him. He drew back.
"I'll be as fit as a fiddle in no time at all," he said hurriedly.
"See you tomorrow, Rosie,--or as soon as the blamed old doctor
turns me loose. I've got to be on my way now. He's waiting for me
up there. May have to put a stitch in my mug,--and yank my leg like
the devil, but--"
She still blocked his path.
"Courtney, I'm--I'm terribly unhappy. I want to see you,--very
soon."
"I hear you have been ill, Rosie. Some one was telling me you were
looking thin and--and all that sort of thing. I hope you're feeling
better."
She waited a moment. When she spoke it was with difficulty.
"I'm awfully worried, Courtney," she cried, her voice little more
than a whisper. He was silent, so after a little while she went
on: "I wish I could die,--I wish I could die!"
"Come, come!" he said reassuringly. "You must not talk like that,
Rosie. Cheer up! You're too young to talk about dying. Think what
I've been through,--and I'm still alive! I'll run over tomorrow,--or
next day,--and try to cheer you up a bit, little girl. So long.
I've got to see the doctor. I'm--I'm suffering like the dickens."
"I mustn't keep you, Courtney," she murmured, stepping aside to
let him pass. "Good night! You--you WILL come, won't you? Sure?"
"Sure!" he replied, and limped painfully away.
A little later Annie Jordan found her standing beside the road,
where he had left her. She was looking up at the brightly lighted
house at the top of the lane.
"Goodness!" cried Annie. "I thought you were lost, Rosie. Where on
earth have you been?"
"Maybe I AM lost," replied the girl, and Annie, failing to see
anything cryptic in the words, laughed gaily at the quaintness of
them.
"Come on," she said, thrusting her arm through Rosabel's, "let's go
back home. There's nothing doing here. And that wind cuts through
one like a knife. Gee, it's fierce, isn't it?"
"I don't want to go in yet," protested Rosabel, hanging back.
"Let's wait awhile. Let's wait till Dr. Smith comes out. He's up
there with--with Alix Crown. Maybe he can tell us how--"
"Doc Smith isn't up there. He's gone up the road in his car with
Dick Hurdle and--why, Rosie, you're shivering like a leaf. Have
you got a chill? Come on home. We'll have Dr. Smith in as soon as
he gets back to--"
"I don't want the doctor," cried Rosabel fiercely. "I won't have
one, I tell you. I won't have one!"