JOHN GALE'S HOUR
It was a heathenish time of night to arouse the girl, thought Burrell,
as he left the barracks, but he must allay these fears that were
besetting him, he must see Necia at once. The low, drifting clouds
obscured what star-glow there was in the heavens, and he stepped back
to light a lantern. By its light he looked at his watch and exclaimed,
then held it to his ear. Five hours had passed since he left Gale's
house. Well, the call was urgent, and Necia would understand his
anxiety.
A few moments later he stood above the squaw, who crouched on the
trader's doorstep, wailing her death song into the night. He could not
check her; she paid no heed to him, but only rocked and moaned and
chanted that strange, weird song which somehow gave strength to his
fears.
"What's wrong; where is Necia? Where is she?" he demanded, and at last
seized her roughly, facing her to the light, but Alluna only blinked
owlishly at his lantern and shook her head.
"Gone away," she finally informed him, and began to weave again in her
despair, but he held her fiercely.
"Where has she gone? When did she go?" He shook her to quicken her
reply.
"I don' know. I don' know. Long time she's gone now." She trailed off
into Indian words he could not comprehend, so he pushed past her into
the house to see for himself, and without knocking flung Necia's door
open and stepped into her chamber. Before he had swept the unfamiliar
room with his eyes he knew that she had indeed gone, and gone
hurriedly, for the signs of disorder betrayed a reckless haste. Hanging
across the back of a chair was what had once been the wondrous dress,
Poleon's gift, now a damp and draggled ruin, and on the floor were two
sodden satin slippers and a pair of wet silk stockings. He picked up
the lace gown and saw that it was torn from shoulder to waist. What
insanity had possessed the girl to rip her garment thus?
"She take her 'nother dress; the one I make las' summer," said Alluna,
who had followed him in and stood staring as he stared.
"When did she go, Alluna? For God's sake, what does this mean?"
"I don' know! She come and she go, and I don' see her; mebbe three,
four hour ago."
"Where's Gale? He'll know. He's gone after her, eh?"
The upward glow of the lantern heightened the young man's pallor, and
again the squaw broke into her sad lament.
"John Gale--he's gone away with the knife of my father. I am afraid--I
am afraid."
Burrell forced himself to speak calmly; this was no time to let his
wits stampede.
"How long ago?"
"Long time."
"Did he come back here just now?"
"No; he went to the jail-house, and he would not let me follow. He don'
come back no more."
This was confusing, and Meade cried, angrily:
"Why didn't you give the alarm? Why didn't you come to me instead of
yelling your lungs out around the house?"
"He told me to wait," she said, simply.
"Go find Poleon, quick."
"He told me to wait," she repeated, stoically, and Burrell knew he was
powerless to move her. He saw the image of a great terror in the
woman's face. The night suddenly became heavy with the hint of
unspeakable things, and he grew fearful, suspecting now that Gale had
told him but a part of his story, that all the time he knew Stark's
identity, and that his quarry was at hand, ready for the kill; or, if
not, he had learned enough while standing behind that partition. Where
was he now? Where was Necia? What part did she play in this? Stark's
parting words struck Burrell again like a blow. This life-long feud was
drawing swiftly to some tragic culmination, and somewhere out in the
darkness those two strong, hate-filled men were settling their scores.
All at once a fear for the trader's life came upon the young man, and
he realized that a great bond held them together. He could not think
clearly, because of the dread thing that gripped him at thought of
Necia. Was he to lose her, after all? He gave up trying to think, and
fled for Stark's saloon, reasoning that where one was the other must be
near, and there would surely be some word of Necia. He burst through
the door; a quick glance over the place showed it empty of those he
sought, but, spying Poleon Doret, he dragged him outside, inquiring
breathlessly:
"Have you seen Gale?"
"Have you seen Stark? Has he been about?"
"Yes, wan hour, mebbe two hour ago. W'y? Wat for you ask?"
"There's the devil to pay. Those two have come together, and Necia is
gone."
"Necia gone?" the Canadian jerked out. "Wat you mean by dat? Were she's
gone to?"
"I don't know--nobody knows. God! I'm shaking like a leaf."
"Bah! She's feel purty bad! She's go out by herse'f. Dat's all right."
"I tell you something has happened to her; there's hell to pay. I found
her clothes at the house torn to ribbons and all muddy and wet."
Poleon cried out at this.
"We've got to find her and Gale, and we haven't a minute to lose. I'm
afraid we're too late as it is. I wish it was daylight. Damn the
darkness, anyhow! It makes it ten times harder."
His incoherence alarmed his listener more than his words.
"Were have you look?"
"I've been to the house, but Alluna is crazy, and says Gale has gone to
kill Stark, as near as I can make out. Both of them were at my quarters
to-night, and I'm afraid the squaw is right."
"But w'ere is Necia?"
"We don't know; maybe Stark has got her."
The Frenchman cursed horribly. "Have you try hees cabane?"
"No."
Without answer the Frenchman darted away, and the Lieutenant sped after
him through the deserted rows of log-houses.
"Ha! Dere's light," snarled Doret, over his shoulder, as they neared
their goal.
"Be careful," panted Burrell. "Wait! Don't knock." He forced Poleon to
pause. "Let's find out who's inside. Remember, we're working blind."
He gripped his companion's arm with fingers of steel, and together they
crept up to the door, but even before they had gained it they heard a
voice within. It was Stark's. The walls of the house were of
moss-chinked logs that deadened every sound, but the door itself was of
thin, whip-sawed pine boards with ample cracks at top and bottom, and,
the room being of small dimensions, they heard plainly. The Lieutenant
leaned forward, then with difficulty smothered an exclamation, for he
heard another voice now--the voice of John Gale. The words came to him
muffled but distinct, and he raised his hand to knock, when, suddenly
arrested, he seized Poleon and forced him to his knees, hissing into
his ear:
"Listen! Listen! For God's sake, listen!"
For the first time in his tempestuous life Ben Stark lost the iron
composure that had made his name a by-word in the West, and at sight of
his bitterest enemy seated in the dark of his own house waiting for him
he became an ordinary, nervous, frightened man faced by a great peril.
It was the utter unexpectedness of the thing that shook him, and before
he could regain his balance Gale spoke:
"I've come to settle, Bennett."
"What are you doing here?" the gambler stammered.
"I was up at the soldier's place just now and heard you. I didn't want
any interruptions, so I came here where we can be alone." He paused,
and, when Stark made no answer, continued, "Well, let's get at it." But
still the other made no move. "You've had all the best of it for twenty
years," Gale went on, in his level voice, "but to-night I get even. By
God! I've lived for this."
"That shot in Lee's cabin?" recalled Stark, with the light of a new
understanding. "You knew me then?"
"Yes."
Stark took a deep breath. "What a damned fool I've been!"
"Your devil's magic saved you that time, but it won't stop this." The
trader rose slowly with the knife in his hand.
"You'll hang for this!" said the gambler, unsteadily, at which Gale's
face blazed.
"Ha!" exclaimed the trader, exultingly; "you can feel it in your guts
already, eh?"
With an effort Stark began to assemble his wits as the trader continued:
"You saddled your dirty work on me, Ben Stark, and I've carried it for
fifteen years; but to-night I put you out the way you put her out. An
eye for an eye!"
"I didn't kill her," said the man.
"Don't lie. This isn't a grand jury. We're all alone."
"I didn't kill her."
"So? The yellow is showing up at last. I knew you were a coward, but I
didn't think you'd be afraid to own it to yourself. That thing must
have lived with you."
"Look here," said Stark, curiously, "do you really think I killed
Merridy?"
"I know it. A man who would strike a woman would kill her--if he had
the nerve."
Stark had now mastered himself, and smiled.
"My hate worked better than I thought. Well, well, that made it hard
for you, didn't it?" he chuckled. "I supposed, of course, you knew--"
"Knew?" Gale's face showed emotion for the first time. "Knew what--?"
His hands were quivering slightly.
"She killed herself."
"So help you God?"
"So help me God!"
There was a long pause.
"Why?"
"Say, it's kind of funny our standing here talking about that thing,
isn't it? Well, if you want to know, I came home early that night--I
guess you hadn't been gone two hours--and the surprise did it, more
than anything else, I suppose--she hadn't prepared a story. I got
suspicious, named you at random, and hit the nail on the head. She
broke down, thought I knew more than I did, and--and then there was
hell to pay."
"Go on."
"I suppose I talked bad and made threats--I was crazy over you--till
she must have thought I meant to kill her, but I didn't. No. I never
was quite that bad. Anyhow, she did it herself."
Gale's face was like chalk, and his voice sounded thin and dry as he
said:
"You beat her, that's why she did it."
Stark made no answer.
"The papers said the room showed a struggle."
When the other still kept silent, Gale insisted:
"Didn't you?"
At this Stark flamed up defiantly.
"Well, I guess I had cause enough. No woman except her was ever untrue
to me--wife or sweetheart."
"You didn't really think--?"
"Think hell! I thought so then, and I think so now. She denied it,
but--"
"And you knew her so well, too. I guess you've had some bad nights
yourself, Bennett, with that always on your mind--"
"I swore I'd have you--"
"--and so you put her blood on my head, and made me an outlaw." After
an instant: "Why did you tell me this, anyhow?"
"It's our last talk, and I wanted you to know how well my hate worked."
"Well, I guess that's all," said Gale. So far they had watched each
other with unwavering, unblinking eyes, straining at the leash and taut
in every nerve. Now, however, the trader's fingers tightened on the
knife-handle, and his knuckles whitened with the grip, at which Stark's
right hand swept to his waist, and simultaneously Gale lunged across
the table. His blade nickered in the light, and a gun spoke,
once--twice--again and again. A cry arose outside the cabin, then some
heavy thing crashed in through the door, bringing light with it, for
with his first leap Gale had carried the lamp and the table with him,
and the two had clenched in the dark.
Burrell had waited an instant too long, for the men's voices had held
so steady, their words had been so vital, that the finish found him
unprepared, but, thrusting the lantern into Poleon's hand, he had
backed off a pace and hurled himself at the door. He had learned the
knack of bunching his weight in football days, and the barrier burst
and splintered before him. He fell to his knees inside, and an instant
later found himself wrestling for his life between two raging beasts.
The Lieutenant knew Doret must have entered too, though he could not
see him, for the lantern shed a sickly gloom over the chaos. He was
locked desperately with John Gale, who flung him about and handled him
like a child, fighting like an old gray wolf, hoary with years and
terrible in his rage. Burrell had never been so battered and harried
and torn; only for the lantern's light Gale would doubtless have
sheathed his weapon in his new assailant, but the more fiercely the
trader struggled, the more tenaciously the soldier clung. As it was,
Gale carried the Lieutenant with him and struck over his head at Stark.
Poleon had leaped into the room at Burrell's heels, to receive the
impact of a heavy body hurled backward into his arms as if by some
irresistible force. He seized it and tore it away from the thing that
pressed after and bore down upon it with the ferocity of a wild beast.
He saw Gale reach over the Lieutenant's head and swing his arm, saw the
knife-blade bury itself in what he held, then saw it rip away, and felt
a hot stream spurt into his face. So closely was the Canadian entangled
with Stark that he fancied for an instant the weapon had wounded both
of them for the trader had aimed at his enemy's neck where it joined
the shoulder, but, hampered by the soldier, his blow went astray about
four inches. Doret glimpsed Burrell rising from his knees, his arms
about the trader's waist, and the next instant the combatants were
dragged apart.
The Lieutenant wrenched the dripping blade from Gale's hand; it no
longer gleamed, but was warm and slippery in his fingers. Poleon held
Stark's gun, which was empty and smoking.
The fight had not lasted a minute, and yet what terrible havoc had been
wrought! The gambler was drenched with his own blood, which gushed from
him, black in the yellow flicker, and so plentifully that the Frenchman
was befouled with it, while Gale, too, was horribly stained, but
whether from his own or his enemy's veins it was hard to tell. The
trader paid no heed to himself nor to the intruders, allowing Burrell
to push him back against the wall, the breath wheezing in and out of
his lungs, his eyes fastened on Stark.
"I got you, Bennett!" he cried, hoarsely. "Your magic is no good." His
teeth showed through his grizzled muzzle like the fangs of some wild
animal.
Bennett, or Stark, as the others knew him, lunged about with his
captor, trying to get at his enemy, and crying curses on them all, but
he was like a child in Poleon's arms. Gradually he weakened, and
suddenly resistance died out of him.
"Come away from here," the Lieutenant ordered Gale.
But the old man did not hear, and gathered himself as if to resume the
battle with his bare hands, whereupon the soldier, finding himself
shaking like a frightened child, and growing physically weak at what he
saw, doubted his ability to prevent the encounter, and repeated his
command.
"Come away!" he shouted, but the words sounded foolishly flat and inane.
Then Stark spoke intelligibly for the first time.
"Arrest him! You've got to believe what I told you now, Burrell." He
poured forth a stream of unspeakable profanity, smitten by the bitter
knowledge of his first and only defeat. "You'll hang, Gaylord! I'll see
your neck stretched, damn your heart!" To Poleon he panted, excitedly:
"I followed him for fifteen years, Doret. He killed my wife."
"Dat's damn lie!" said the Frenchman.
"No, it isn't. He's under indictment for it back in California. He shot
her down in cold blood, then ran off with my kid. That's her he calls
Necia. She's mine. Ain't I right, Lieutenant?"
At this final desperate effort to fix the crime upon his rival, Burrell
turned on him with loathing.
"It's no use, Stark. We heard you say she killed herself. We were
standing outside the door, both of us, and got it from your own lips."
Until this moment the man had stood on his own feet, but now he began
to sag, seeing which, Poleon supported him to the bed, where he sank
weakly, collapsing in every joint and muscle.
"It's a job," he snarled. "You put this up, you three, and came here to
gang me." An unnatural shudder convulsed him as his wounds bit at him,
and then he flared up viciously. "But I'll beat you all. I've got the
girl! I've got her!"
"Necia!" cried Burrell, suddenly remembering, for this affray had
driven all else from his mind.
Stark crouched on the edge of his bunk--a ghastly, gray, grinning
thing! One weapon still remained to him, and he used it.
"Yes, I've got my daughter!"
"Where is she?" demanded the trader, hoarsely. "Where's my girl?"
The gambler chuckled; an agony seized him till he hiccoughed and
strangled; then, as the spell passed, he laughed again.
"She's got you in her head, like the mother had, but I'll drive it out;
I'll treat her like I did her--"
Gale uttered a terrible cry and moved upon him, but Burrell shouldered
the trader aside, himself possessed by a cold fury that intensified his
strength tenfold.
"Stop it, Gale! Let me attend to this. I'll make him tell!"
"Oh, will you?" mocked the girl's father.
"Where is she?"
"None of your damned business." Again he was seized with a paroxysm
that left him shivering and his lips colorless. The blankets were
soaked and soggy with blood, and his feet rested in a red pool.
"Ben Stark," said the tortured lover, "you're a sick man, and you'll be
gone in half an hour at this rate. Won't you do one decent thing before
you die?"
"Bah! I'm all right."
"I'll get you a doctor if you'll tell us where she is. If you
don't--I'll--let you die. For God's sake, man, speak up!"
The wounded man strove to rise, but could not, then considered for a
moment before he said:
"I sent her away."
"Where?"
"Up-river, on that freighter that left last night. She'll go out by
Skagway, and I'll join her later, where I can have her to myself. She's
forty miles up-river now, and getting farther every minute--oh, you
can't catch her!"
The three men stared at one another blankly.
"Why did she go?" said Gale, dully.
"Because I told her who she was, and who you are; because she thinks
you killed her mother; because she was glad to get away." Now that he
was grown too weak to inflict violent pain, the man lied malevolently,
gloating over what he saw in the trader's face.
"Never mind, old man, I'll bring her back," said Burrell, and laid a
comforting hand on Gale's shoulder, for the fact that she was safe, the
fact of knowing something relieved him immensely; but Stark's next
words plunged him into even blacker horror than the trader felt.
"You won't want her if you catch her. Runnion will see to that."
"Runnion!"
"Yes, I sent him with her."
The lover cried out in anguish, and hid his face in his hands.
"He's wanted her for a long time, so I told him to go ahead--"
None of them noticed Poleon Doret, who, upon this unnatural confession,
alone seemed to retain sufficient control to doubt and to reason. He
was thinking hard, straightening out certain facts, and trying to
square this horrible statement with things he had seen and heard
to-night. All of a sudden he uttered a great cry, and bolted out into
the darkness unheeded by Gale and Burrell, who stood dazed and
distraught with a fear greater than that which was growing in Stark at
sight of his wounds.
The gambler looked down at his injuries, opened and closed the fingers
of his hand as if to see whether he still maintained control of them,
then cried out at the two helpless men:
"Well, are you going to let me bleed to death?"
It brought the soldier out of his trance.
"Why--no, no! We'll get a doctor."
But Gale touched him on the shoulder and said:
"He's too weak to get out. Lock him in, and let him die in the dark."
Stark cursed affrightedly, for it is a terrible thing to bleed to death
in the dark, and in spite of himself the Lieutenant wavered.
"I can't do that. I promised."
"He told that lie to my girl. He gave her to that hound," said the
trader, but Burrell shoved him through the door.
"No! I can't do that." And then to the wounded man he said, "I'll get a
doctor, but God have mercy on your soul." He could not trust himself to
talk further with this creature, nor be near him any longer, for though
he had a slight knowledge of surgery, he would sooner have touched a
loathsome serpent than the flesh of this monstrous man.
He pushed Gale ahead of him, and the old man went like a driven beast,
for his violence had wasted itself, and he was like a person under the
spell of a strong drug. At the doctor's door Burrell stopped.
"I never thought to ask you," he said, wearily; "but you must be hurt?
He must have wounded you?"
"I reckon he did--I don't know." Then the man's listless voice throbbed
out achingly, as he cried in despair: "She believed him, boy! She
believed his lies! That's what hurts." Something like a sob caught in
his throat, and he staggered away under the weight of his great
bereavement.