It is not easy for one unaccustomed to the woods to remain
undeviatingly upon his course even in the daytime; at night it can
be accomplished only by a miracle. Carmel, in a state of agitation
which was not distant from hysteria, had paused neither to consider
nor to take her bearings. Of herself she was utterly careless. The
only thought in her mind was to reach, and in some manner to give aid
to, Evan Pell if he remained alive. Instinct alone moved her to turn
off the road and seek the protection of the forest. Once engulfed
in its blackness she stumbled alone, tripping, falling, turning,
twisting--hurrying, always hurrying.... The physical exertion cleared
her brain, reduced her to something like rationality.
She paused, leaned panting against the bole of a great beech ... and
discovered she was lost.
The evening had been cloudy, but now the clouds were being dissipated
by an easterly breeze--a chilly breeze--and from time to time the
moon peered through to turn the blackness of the woods into a cavern,
dim-lit, filled with moving, grotesque alarming shadows. The shape of
fear lurks always in the forest. It hides behind every tree, crouches
in every thicket, ready to leap out upon the back of him who shall for
an instant lay aside the protective armor of his presence of mind. The
weapon of fear is panic.... Fear perches upon the shoulder, whispering:
“You are lost. You know not which way to go.... You have lost your
way.” Then there arises in the heart and brain of the victim a
sensation so horrible that words cannot describe it; it can be realized
only by those who have experienced it. It is a combination of emotions
and fears, comparable to nothing.... It is a living, clutching,
torturing horror. First comes apprehension, then bewilderment. A
frenzied effort to discover some landmark, to tear from the forest
the secret of the points of the compass. One determines to sit calmly
and reflect; to proceed coolly.... The thing is impossible. One sits
while the watch ticks fifty times, and is sure he has rested for hours.
He arises, takes two steps with studied deliberation, and finds he
is running, bursting through slashings and underbrush in unreasoning
frenzy. And frenzy thrives upon itself. One wishes to shout, to
scream.... Fear chokes him, engulfs him. Reason deserts utterly, and
there remains nothing but horror, panic....
Carmel experienced this and more. Throbbing, rending terror was hers,
yet, even at the height of her panic, there lay beneath it, making it
more horrible, her fear for Evan Pell. She uttered his name. Sobbing,
she called to him--and always, always she struggled forward under
the urge of panic. Even the little nickel-plated electric flash in
her pocket was forgotten. That would have been something--light!
It would have been a comfort, a hope.... How long she ran and fell,
picked herself up to stagger onward to another fall, she did not
know. For minutes the woods were an impenetrable gulf of blackness;
then the moon would emerge to permit its eerie light to trickle
through the interlacing foliage, and to paint grotesque patterns upon
the ground beneath her feet. Threatening caverns loomed; mysterious
sounds assailed her.... She was sobbing, crying Evan Pell’s name. And
then--with startling suddenness--the woods ceased to be, and light
was.... The heavens were clean swept of clouds, and the moon, round
and full, poured down the soft silver of its radiance--a radiance
reflected, mirrored, turned to brighter silver by the rippled waters of
the lake.... Carmel sank in a pitiful little heap and cried--they were
tears of relief. She had reached the lake.
It was possible to reason now. She had turned from the road to the
right. The Lakeside Hotel was to the left of the road, and, therefore,
she had but to skirt the shore of the lake, traveling to leftward, and
she must reach her destination.
She arose, composed herself, and, womanlike, arranged her hat and
hair. Then, keeping close to the water for fear she might again become
bewildered and so lose this sure guide, she started again toward her
objective.
As she turned a jutting point of land she saw, a quarter of a mile
distant, the not numerous lights which indicated the presence of
Bangs’s ill-reputed hostelry. This sure realization of the nearness of
danger awakened caution. It awakened, too, a sense of her futility. Now
that she was where something must be done, what was there possible for
her to do? What did she mean to do?... She could not answer, but, being
an opportunist, she told herself that events should mold her actions;
that some course would open before her when need for it became imminent.
Small things she noted--inconsequential things. The lake had fallen
during the dry weather. She noted that. It had receded to leave at
its edge a ribbon of mud, sometimes two feet, sometimes six feet
wide.... This was one of those inconsequential, extraneous facts which
appear so sharply and demand attention when the mind is otherwise
vitally occupied.... She noted the thick-growing pickerel grass
growing straight and slender and thrusting its spears upward through
the scarcely agitated water. It was lovely in the moonlight.... She
noted the paths upon the water, paths which began without reason and
wound off to no destination.... Her eyes were busy, strangely busy,
photographically occupied. No detail of that nocturne but would be
printed indelibly upon the retina of her brain so long as she should
live.... Details, details, details!
Then she stopped! Her hand flew to her breast with sudden gesture and
clutched the bosom of her waist. She started back, trembling.... Was
that a log lying half upon the muddy ribbon, half submerged in the
receded waters of the lake? She hoped it was a log, but there was
something--_something_ which arrested her, compelled her.... If it were
a log it was such a log as she never had seen before.... It had not a
look of hard solidity, but rather of awful limpness, of softness. It
sprawled grotesquely. It was still, frightfully still.... She gathered
her courage to approach; stood upon the grassy shelf above this shape
which might have been a log but seemed not to be a log, and bent to
peer downward upon it....
She thought she screamed, but she did not. No sound issued from her
throat, although her lips opened.... She fell back, covering her
face.... The log was no log; it was no twisted, grotesque drift
wood.... It was the body of a man, the limbs of a man fearfully
extended....
Carmel felt ill, dizzy. She struggled against faintness. Then the
searing, unbearable thought--was it Evan?... She must know, she must
determine....
Alone with the thing beneath her, with the fearsome woods behind her,
with the lonely, coldly glittering lake before her, it was almost
beyond belief that she should find the courage to determine....
Something within her, something stronger than horror, than terror, laid
its hand upon her and compelled her. She could not, dared not, believe
it was Evan Pell.
From her pocket she drew the little, nickel-plated flashlight and
pressed its button. Then, covering her eyes, she forced herself inch
by inch to approach the lip of the grassy shelf.... She could not look,
but she must look.... First she pointed the beam of the light downward,
her eyes tight-closed. Clenching her fist, biting her lips, she put
every atom of strength in her body to the task of forcing the lids of
her eyes to open--and she looked, looked full upon the awful thing at
her feet.
For an instant sickness, frightful repulsion, horror, was held at bay
by relief.... It was not Evan. Those soggy garments were not his; that
bulk was not his.... She dared to look again, and let none decry the
courage required to perform this act.... It was a terrible thing to
see.... Her eyes dared not remain upon the awful, bearded face. They
swept downward to where the coat, lying open, disclosed the shirt....
Upon the left bosom of the shirt was a metal shape. Carmel stared at
it--and stared.... It was a star, no longer bright and glittering, but
unmistakably a star....
Then, instantly, Carmel Lee knew what had become of Sheriff
Churchill....
It was enough; she was required to look no more.... The spot was
accursed, unendurable, and she fled from it; fled toward the lights of
the Lakeside Hotel.... That they were lights of which she could not beg
shelter she did not think; that she was safer with the thing which the
lake had given up she did not consider. That the living to whom she
fled were more frightful than the dead whom she deserted was not for
her to believe in that moment. She must have light; she must feel the
presence of human beings, hear human voices--it mattered not whose they
were.
Presently, forcing her way through a last obstruction of baby spruces,
she reached the thoroughfare, and there, hidden by the undergrowth,
she stood, looking for the first time upon this group of buildings so
notorious in the county, so important in her own affairs. The hotel
itself, a structure of frame and shingles, stretched along the lake--a
long, low, squatting, sinister building. A broad piazza stretched from
end to end, and from its steps a walk led down to a wharf jutting into
the water. To the rear were barns and sheds and an inclosure hidden
from the eye by a high lattice--a typical roadhouse of the least
desirable class.... She searched such of its windows as were lighted.
Human figures moved to and fro in the room which must have been the
dining room. An orchestra played....
She had been on the spot but a moment when she heard the approaching
engine of some motor vehicle. She waited. A huge truck, loaded high and
covered with a tarpaulin, drew up to the gate at the rear of the hotel.
Its horn demanded admittance, the gate opened and it rolled in....
She waited, uncertain. Another truck appeared--high loaded as the
first--and was admitted.... Then, in quick succession, three others....
Five trucks loaded to capacity--and Carmel knew well what was their
load!... Contraband!... Its value to be counted not by thousands of
dollars, but by tens of thousands!
The facts were hers now, but what was she to do with them? To whom
report them?... And there was Evan. What mattered contraband whisky
when his fate was in doubt? Evan Pell came first--she realized now
that he came first, before everything, before herself!... She asked no
questions, but accepted the fact.
Keeping to the roadside in the shadows, she picked her way along for
a couple of hundred feet, meaning to cross the road and to make her
way to the rear of the hotel’s inclosure. There must be some opening
through which she might observe what passed and so make some discovery
which might be of use to her in her need.... She paused, undecided,
determined a sudden, quick crossing would be safest, and, lifting her
skirts, ran out upon the roadway....
There was a shout, a rush of feet. She felt ungentle hands, and,
dropping such inhibitions as generations of civilization had imposed
upon her, Carmel fought like a wildcat, twisting, scratching,
tearing.... She was crushed, smothered. Her arms were twisted behind
her, a cloth jerked roughly over her face, and she felt herself lifted
in powerful arms.... They carried her to some door, for she heard them
rap for admission.
“Who’s there?” said a voice.
“Fetch Peewee,” said one of her captors. “Quick.” Then came a short
wait, and she heard Peewee Bangs’s nasal voice. “What’s up?” he
demanded.
“We got her. What’ll we do with her?”
“Fetch her in,” said Peewee. “Up the back stairs. I’ll show ye the way.”
Carmel, not struggling now, was carried up a narrow flight of steps;
she heard a key turn in a lock. Then she was thrust into a room,
pushed so that she stumbled and went to her knees. The door slammed
behind her and was locked again.... She got to her feet, trembling,
wavering, snatched the cloth from her face, and looked before her....
There, in the dim light, she saw a man. He stood startled, staring with
unbelieving eyes.
“Evan!...” she cried. “Evan!... Thank God you’re alive.”