HARVEY
Before the dawn broke on Thursday morning Harvey was a prisoner. It was
so absurd, so ridiculously theatrical, that had he not been too tired to
think clearly, his sense of humor would have been equal to the occasion;
as it was, he was angry, baffled, desperate. While held in the thicket
by Wilkins's gang he had caught a voice too like McNally's to be easily
mistaken, and when McNally struck the match that showed him the papers,
Harvey had with an effort flopped over on the leaves, bound as he
was, and through the bushes had caught a glimpse of McNally's face and
figure.
While the shooting and the uproar sounded from the cut Harvey was held
in the woods, but before the second encounter his captors jerked him to
his feet, tied his handkerchief across his eyes, and led him stumbling
away. In a few moments Harvey lost all sense of direction. He figured
that he was still on the east side of the track, and in all probability
was going southeast on the river road. For a short while he tried
to keep the direction, but realizing that he might be turned without
knowing it, he gave up and decided to rely upon a chance opportunity
to escape. Undoubtedly his guards were acting simply as agents, and
it occurred to him that he might be able to influence them; but as his
occasional attempts at conversation brought only profanity in reply, he
fell back upon silence.
Through his thin bandage he could feel that the light was growing
brighter. Then he was led from the road, splashing through a ditch and
sprawling over another fence. He bumped into a tree. The men jerked him
roughly away and led him forward, twisting and stepping from side to
side. Occasionally his foot struck a fallen log. Evidently they were in
a heavy wood.
At best their progress was very slow and was marked with numerous
haltings and delays. Finally, about two hours after the start, Harvey
was thrust through a doorway and a lock clicked behind him. He tore
off the handkerchief and found himself in a small office, evidently
deserted, for the rusted stove, the broken chair, and the floor were
thickly coated with dust. There was one window, empty of glass and
boarded up from the outside. He looked through a crack and saw the
caved-in shaft house and the straggling waste heap of a worked-out mine.
“Wonder how long they're going to try this game,” he thought. He picked
up the remains of a chair and tipping it over sat on the rounds.
Harvey was nearly done for. Aside from the strain of the week, and
particularly of the night just ended, he was wet to the knees, and his
head ached from a chance blow received during his brief struggle near
the Sawyerville station. His eyelids drooped, and for fear of dropping
off to sleep he rose and walked the floor. Gradually his head cleared.
It occurred to him that McNally would have run the risk involved in
kidnapping him only because it was very important he should be gotten
out of the way. Therefore, he reasoned, it was equally important from
his point of view that he remain decidedly in the way. He looked through
the crack and saw three men standing a few yards from the window talking
excitedly. Their voices were gradually rising.
“What you goin' to do with him?” asked one. “We can't keep him here.”
“Well, it's only for a few days.”
“But who's goin' to feed him?”
“Yes,” said the third, “an' how about us?”
“Oh, you'll be all right,” from the big man, who seemed to be the
leader; “that's all fixed.”
“Who's goin' to do it--McNally?”
“Ssh!” the leader looked around, and all three lowered their voices.
Finally they seemed to reach an agreement; for the first speaker turned
and walked rapidly toward the woods, and the others took to patrolling
the small building.
Again Harvey walked the floor. If he was to be of any service to Jim
Weeks during what was left of the fight, it was absolutely necessary
that he escape as soon as possible. In the course of his work as Jim's
private secretary he had become fairly well acquainted with the details
of his employer's many interests. Nearly all the mines along the M. &
T. were owned or controlled by the capital which Jim represented, and
Harvey knew the location of each of these. There was but one abandoned
mine in the Sawyerville district, the Valley Shaft; it was about four
miles from Sawyerville station and perhaps three or four from the
Oakwood Club.
Therefore, he reasoned, if he once broke loose from this galling
restraint, he would soon be in a position to communicate with Jim.
Outside, the big man stood directly before the window; his fellow could
be heard walking to and fro in the rear of the building. Harvey looked
about the room. There was nothing to serve as a weapon, except some
part of the stove. He bent down and removed one of the small iron legs,
taking care to make no noise. Then he examined the window. The boards
were half-inch stuff, nailed on with little idea of security, probably
because the office contained nothing worth stealing. He figured that
it would be no difficult matter for a man of his weight and strength to
force an exit. For the moment he forgot his weariness.
Accordingly he drew back across the room, and bracing for a second
against the wall, he ran forward and threw himself at the boards. They
gave way more easily than he had supposed, and a rapid effort landed him
squarely on the leader, who had turned at the noise. The struggle was
short. Each had received a few hard blows when the man jerked his right
arm loose and reached back for his revolver.
Harvey took advantage of his open guard to strike a quick blow with the
stove leg and brought the fellow to the ground. Harvey rolled him over,
took the revolver from his pocket, and picked up his own hat. A noise
from behind the building called to mind the other man, and he hurried
forward. The other was walking stealthily toward the shaft house.
“Say,” called Harvey.
The man turned sullenly.
“Your friend there--he doesn't feel well,” Harvey laughed nervously and
gestured with the revolver; “you'd better look after him. I've got to
go now.” He paused to glance back at the big man, who was lying on one
elbow and rubbing his head, then he turned and ran toward the woods.
Once on the way, however, Harvey's sudden nervous strength deserted him.
One of his opponent's blows had cut his scalp, and he was surprised to
feel blood trickling down his face. He ran until his breath gave out,
then he walked, struggling to overcome the dizziness that was coming on
him. After going some distance he found a bridle path, and soon saw the
river road before him. The need of hurry urging him on, he left the path
to cut across a meadow. With some difficulty he drew himself upon the
fence, and paused for breath with one leg thrown over the top rail.
Then he felt a wave of dizziness, and, his muscles relaxing, he pitched
forward into the long grass.
Good nursing, proper food, and a brief rest were enough to pull together
Porter's yielding nerves. There was some delay at first in getting a
physician, and Katherine was obliged to wait for the greater part of
an hour before the slowly driven carriage brought her father home.
Considerable time passed before his improvement justified her in leaving
the house, and then it was so near noon that she decided to wait until
after lunch.
Once on the road behind Ned and Nick, and beside the erect groom,
Katherine realized the delicacy of the situation. Up to this moment she
had been acting frankly upon impulse. It was so clear to her mind that
McNally had been instrumental in the kidnapping of Harvey, and the
sudden emotion aroused by the whole affair had so overwhelmed her, that
for the time her only thought had been to get to Harvey, to be near him
and of some service to him. But Katherine's impulse on this occasion
was not far in advance of her reason, and what had begun in a whirl of
excitement was continued in a spirit of quiet persistence. To be
sure, there was a moment of wavering, but even then she did not think
seriously of turning back. Anyway, there was nothing marked or unusual
in frequent drives to the club during this crisp golfing weather.
It was after two o'clock when she reached the club. The links were
dotted here and there with golfers, and the usual autumn quiet hung
about the verandas and halls of the building, but in the office there
was bustle and excitement. Katherine stood near the wide fireplace in
the lower hall drawing off her gloves and looking through the office
door. A man was telephoning, a big man with a quiet voice. In a moment
he rang off and turned around. His face interested Katherine and she
watched him as he talked to the steward; she could not help hearing the
conversation.
“I've got to have another horse,” the big man was saying. “I'll pay you
whatever your time is worth. I want this whole county stirred up in half
an hour.”
“But, sir, I cannot leave the club. We are short of help as it is, and
the caddies are busy.”
“I've no time to talk. A man has been kidnapped and very likely injured.
You get a rig--any kind, a farm wagon, if the horses are good--and have
it here in fifteen minutes. Figure your time at whatever you like and
send the bill to me.”
He handed a card to the steward, who looked at it with a slight start,
and murmuring, “Certainly, Mr. Weeks,” started down the hall. Katherine
stopped him.
“What is it, Perry?”
“Jim--Mr. Weeks. He wants a horse.”
“You may lend him my trap--And, Perry, say nothing of it.” Without
waiting for a reply, she went into the reading room, picked up a
magazine, and, throwing open her jacket, sat on the broad window-seat. A
moment later Ned and Nick were pulled up on the drive, Jim Weeks climbed
in beside the groom, and they hurried down toward the bridge.
The magazine lay open in Katherine's lap. She rested an elbow on the
window-sill and sat for a long time looking out across the valley. Not
two weeks before this day she had stood on the veranda with Harvey,
looking at the same picture through the haze of twilight. Then it had
seemed like summer; now it was unmistakably autumn. Then the leaves were
only beginning to yield to the touch of the waning year; now they were
aflame and dropping--as she looked a whirl of them danced across the
sloping lawn, the stragglers settling in the grass already marked by
little dabs of red and russet brown. Farther off, in the valley, were
corn-fields, now squares of yellow and bronze and gold. It was a glowing
picture, but to Katherine it meant only that summer was dead, and she
viewed it with vague regret.
The afternoon wore on, but Katherine took no account of it. At a little
after four, when Jim Weeks drove up and entered the building, she was
startled into looking at her watch. She heard the telephone bell ring,
and realized that he was talking. Then he paced up and down the hall.
She wanted to go out there and ask him about Harvey, whether he was
found, or whether--she shuddered a little at the thought of injury--but
a feeling of helplessness possessed her. She realized that the time was
slipping rapidly away. Jim Weeks might go, and she would have learned
nothing, would have done nothing. But she had not come altogether in
vain. She recalled with half-defiant pride that Jim had used her horses.
“You are Miss Porter?”
Katherine started, and turned with a slow blush. Weeks stood gravely
looking at her.
“I understand that I have to thank you,” he continued. “They were your
horses, I believe. I hope I have not inconvenienced you by keeping you
here. But it was an emergency.”
“Has Mr. West been found?” Katherine struggled to keep the anxiety out
of her voice.
“No.” Weeks sat down. “It seems impossible to get any word. I've roused
things pretty effectively though, I think. There's a reward up. The
sheriffs of both counties are at work, and the farmers are all stirred
up. There's nothing to do but wait. If he's found, and by any chance is
hurt, they're to bring him here.”
“Wouldn't it be a good plan to have a doctor here, in case--”
“I don't think it is necessary. Of course the probability is that he is
locked up somewhere and is being held for a day or so. If he is knocked
out, it was not done intentionally. They wouldn't dare.”
At the word “they” Katherine winced a little, but Weeks apparently was
entirely impersonal. There was a silence, Weeks sitting with slightly
drawn brows but with an otherwise impassive face, Katherine looking out
the window. A little later a wagon came slowly up the roadway. Two men
were on the seat and a third reclined in the box. They were driving
carefully, and Jim did not hear the sound of the wheels until a subdued
exclamation from Katherine drew his attention. She was sitting erect,
her hands gripping a cushion. Jim followed her gaze, then without a word
he rose and hurried from the room.
A moment later Katherine saw the wagon pull up at the steps, Weeks
running down to meet it. The man beside the driver dropped back into the
wagon box and raised the reclining figure; then he and Jim helped him to
the ground.
In spite of the soiled clothes, the matted hair, and the bandage across
the forehead, Katherine recognized Harvey. When she saw that he could
walk, even though leaning heavily on the others, her heart bounded. The
three came slowly up the steps. Then she could hear Jim's voice in the
hall, evidently issuing an order, and the steward slid one of the hall
settees into the room and piled rugs upon it.
Katherine rose in some doubt as they entered. She had taken up two of
the cushions, one in each hand, and stood holding them. By now it was
nearing five o'clock. The sun was about setting, and while outdoors
it was still light, the long low room was already dim with approaching
evening, so that not until he was close at hand could she see Harvey
distinctly. But when she did distinguish the pale face and the weary
eyes, her hesitation vanished and she hastened to lay the cushions on
the settee. Harvey evidently had not observed her, for he suddenly drew
back.
“Really, Miss Porter, I'm not such an invalid as these people are trying
to make out. I don't need to lie down.” He laughed slightly as Jim drew
him forward. “It's just a little stiffness. See here--” he broke away
from his helpers and walked somewhat uncertainly to the settee, sitting
on the edge. “What's the matter with that?”
“Lie down, West,” said Jim, quietly. Katherine glanced at him quickly.
It was a peremptory order, but delivered in a quiet friendly tone whose
calm assertiveness admitted of no debate. With an impatient gesture
Harvey obeyed. Indeed, as Katherine looked almost shyly at this big,
self-contained man she wondered if it would be possible to disobey him.
And with the sudden realization of his secure authority came a wave of
pity for her own father, the man who had thrown himself against this
human rock and who was suffering for it. She turned away an instant for
fear that her face would reveal her emotion.
“Well,” said Jim, looking at his watch, “by starting now I can catch the
early train to Chicago. Be careful, West; there's no hurry. I'll wire
you in the morning if there is anything important. Miss Porter, may
I ask you to see that the steward takes care of Mr. West? I'll send a
doctor out. I'm sorry to trouble you--there's no one else.”
Katherine inclined her head. And then she realized that Harvey and she
were alone.
“Won't you draw up a chair?” said Harvey. “I want to talk to you. I'm
glad you're here. It's an awful bore to be alone when you're this way.”
His attempt at an easy manner gave Katherine a sense of relief. She sat
beside him.
“I'm sorry you are hurt. How did it happen?”
“I think I fell off a fence. Wonder if I lost my handkerchief?” He
thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out a revolver, clasping it
by the barrel. “That's funny. I don't remember--oh, yes.” He stuffed it
back into his pocket.
“What is it? Tell me about it.”
Harvey looked thoughtfully at her. It occurred to him that to let her
know of McNally's actions, which presumably were instigated by Porter
himself, would be bringing matters too close home.
“No,” he replied, “it's rather a disagreeable story. If you were a good
nurse you would try to make me forget it. I'm glad you are here--very
glad. How did you happen to come?”
“I often drive out. It is growing dark. I must think about getting
back.”
“No,” said Harvey, quickly, “don't go. I don't want you to go. I want
to talk to you.” His voice dropped as he spoke, and both suddenly became
conscious of a change that had come over them, between them. Katherine
sat still, turning her head toward the window, and though she could not
see him she knew that Harvey was looking at her. The room was darker
now.
“Have you thought how odd this is,” Harvey went on, “this conversation?
We are talking just as though nothing had happened, just as though we
were the same people who--who bought things at Field's; but we aren't.
There's no use in thinking we are.” He paused to raise himself on his
elbow. “Do you know it is just twelve days since we were here?”
Katherine laughed a little.
“You have counted them?”
“Yes. Last night when I was coming down on the special I thought about
it--you know it seems longer, it seems a year ago. You remember we
talked about the M. & T. And the next day when you drove me to the
station--do you remember? I've wondered since then, a good many times,
what you meant, whether you really wanted to see us win.” She started to
speak, but he broke in: “If I dared think so--”
“You think I am weak.”
“No, if you really want to know what I think--I think you are the
strongest girl I ever knew. Katherine,”--he reached impulsively for her
hand, but she drew it away,--“I think you are--well, I might as well say
it, you probably know it anyhow. I love you. I--I don't know that there
is anything else to say.”
Katherine leaned back and looked at him. Her back was toward the window,
and he could see only the outline of her head.
“Are you sure?” she asked slowly.
“You mean--you think I'm not well, that I haven't control of myself--I
do love you, Katherine, so much that I can't get along without you. You
believe me, don't you? You must believe me!”
“Yes,” very slowly, “I believe you.”
“Then--”
“I don't know what to say. I'm afraid I--Oh, don't say any more! It
isn't right.” She rose suddenly as if to move away, but Harvey caught
her dress and then her hand.
“Katherine, you aren't going to leave me this way. Perhaps you don't
want me, perhaps I have been mistaken and foolish, but I love you, and
that ought to count for something.”
“It does--you don't understand--” She looked out the window for a
moment: the first low-lying stars were out. “Don't you suppose,” she
said at last, in a labored voice, “that I have feelings? Don't you
suppose that I--I don't mean that, either. You have been fighting my
father--I have helped you. I have helped you to injure him, my own
father. He is sick now, and I left him to-day, because--” Harvey's grasp
tightened. “I have been disloyal to him, I have been dishonest--and that
counts for something, too. No--we have been good friends, we can still
be good friends. Perhaps, if it had been different--but it wasn't.”
“You don't mean this, Katherine.”
She drew her hand away and stood erect, dignified now and calm.
“I am going home. I know that you love me, and I know that you will not
hurt me any longer; for it does hurt me, I will tell you that.”
“But I shall see you--” With an effort, he raised himself to his feet
and stood, weak and giddy, leaning on the back of the chair. “I won't
give you up!”
“Lie down. You mustn't tire yourself. We don't know what may happen,”
she steadied his arm as he sat down on the couch; “we only know what is
right for us now. Good-by. I will speak to the steward.”
With throbbing head Harvey sank back on the cushions. A few moments
later the doctor came in.