Abner Fownes was sitting in his library waiting for word from Sheriff
Jenney. If matters went to-night as he felt certain they must go,
he could live again in security, untroubled by conscience, with no
apprehensions, and with his financial worries removed. Five truckloads
of liquor had been discharged at the Lakeside Hotel. He knew that.
The importation had been successful, without a hitch. Within a week
the whisky would be distributed and the cash in hand.... It would be
sufficient to clear his most troublesome obligations and to put him on
his feet again. He considered this with a glow of satisfaction....
Carmel Lee had constituted a threat, but she was powerless to threaten
now. At any moment word would arrive that she was in Jenney’s hands,
her reputation in Gibeon would be destroyed, and she would be
powerless. Public opinion would drive her from the place.
Abner sat back comfortably in his chair and looked forward to a life of
quiet and importance. He would continue to live in security as Gibeon’s
first citizen. He might even seek political preferment. In a year
there would be a senatorial election. Why should he not stand for the
position. To be Senator from his state--that was something, indeed.
And why not? His reflections carried him to Washington. He saw himself
in the Senate Chamber, listened to his voice rolling forth sonorous
periods, heard with infinite satisfaction the applause of his fellow
Senators....
The telephone rang and he was guilty of unseemly haste to reach the
instrument.
“Hello!... Hello!... Who is it? Is it Jenney?”
“No,” said a voice, “it’s Deputy Jackson.... Look out for yourself....
There’s hell----”
“What’s that?”
“The whole town meetin’s rushin’ off to Peewee’s place. Reg’lar mob....
Jenney he set out to stop ’em, but he’s arrested.”
“Jenney arrested!”
“Federal authorities. Him and two others is pinched. Better look out
for yourself. I’m goin’ to.”
The receiver banged on its hook at the other end of the line. He was
alone. Washington vanished, glowing dreams of the future gave place
to the grim reality of the present. The Federal authorities!... He
had considered them negligible. Somehow one lost sight of the Federal
government in that remote region; they were unfamiliar; it seemed a
spot to which their writ did not run.
He tried to consider the fact coolly and calmly, but his brain refused
to function in such a manner. He was confused; the suddenness, the
unexpectedness of the blow from such a source shook him from his
foundations. What did it mean? How had it come about.... Clearly, if
Jenney was under arrest, he could not complete his raid on the Lakeside
Hotel and so abolish Carmel Lee.... That was that.... But how did it
affect him? How did it affect the thousands of dollars’ worth of liquor
so necessary to his financial rehabilitation?...
The big question--was he threatened personally?--was one he could not
answer. There had been no sign of threat. Jenney was arrested. Perhaps
they did not mean to arrest him, had no evidence against him.... But
could Jenney be depended upon to keep his mouth shut?... Jenney, he
confessed to himself, did not seem a man capable of great loyalty, nor
possessed of high courage. He would weaken. Under pressure he would
tell all he knew.... The advice of the voice over the telephone was
good. He would look out for himself....
He rushed up the stairs to make ready for flight. It would be a good
idea to absent himself, no matter what happened. If worst came to
worst--why, he would be out of reach of the law. If matters turned out
otherwise it would be easy to return from a hurried business trip....
He began packing frantically. Having packed, he went to the safe in
his library and transferred sufficient funds to his pocketbook. Then,
as a precautionary measure, he carefully destroyed certain private
papers.... This consumed time.
The telephone rang again, and Abner answered in no little trepidation.
“Mr. Fownes?” asked a voice.
“Yes. Who is it?”
“Tucker.... Say, the mob’s burned Lakeside Hotel. They’ve got
Peewee.... Burned her up slick and clean--and everythin’ in it. The
whole shipment’s gone....”
Fownes dropped the receiver and sank nerveless into a chair. At any
rate, he was ruined. That much was certain. Nothing remained to fight
for now but his personal security, his liberty. He snatched up his bag
and moved toward the door.... His plan was not clear--only the first
step of it. He would rent an automobile and drive out of town with what
speed was possible.... As he reached the door he realized with a sudden
sharp pang that he was leaving his house for good, leaving Gibeon
forever. He, Abner Fownes, first citizen, man of substance, was fleeing
from his native place like the commonest criminal.
Dazedly he wondered how it had come about ... somehow, he felt, that
girl was at the bottom of the thing. His misfortunes were due to her
meddling. He wished he could get his fingers upon her throat.
He descended the steps and walked toward the street. The night
was dark, dark enough to conceal his movements, perhaps to avert
recognition.... A certain confidence came to him. He would get away;
he would possess liberty and his intelligence which had served him so
well.... There were other places--and he was not old. Perhaps....
As he turned out upon the street a figure confronted him. He halted,
drew back.
“Abner Fownes,” said a voice, “where are you going?”
“You!... You!...” he said, hoarsely. His fingers twitched, fury burned
in his heart, and the desire to slay. He looked about him. All was
blackness.... Here she was, this girl who was sending him crashing down
in ruin....
“He is dead,” said Carmel. “You are a murderer again. Abner Fownes....
You’re running away.”
“Out of my way, you--you----”
“You’ve killed him,” she said. “You must be punished for that.... You
must not go away. You must wait until they come.”
“You--you’ve done this--you----” He was working himself into a rage. He
was not the man to do a violence in cold blood.
“I have done it.... But to what good? He is dead--is dying.... Nothing
can pay for that. He will go away from me forever.... Abner Fownes, you
are a murderer, and you must pay for it.... Oh, if I could make you pay
a thousand, thousand times.... And you shall pay!”
He dropped his bag and reached for her throat with clutching fingers.
She stepped back, avoiding him.
“They are coming now,” she said. “See.... There are their lights....
Wait, Abner Fownes. You cannot get away. If you try to go I shall hold
you.”
He turned. Up the road approached a multitude of automobile lights.
Gibeon was returning from its crusade!... He uttered a shrill,
unnatural cry and made as if to rush past her, but Carmel grasped his
arm. “Wait,” she said.
He waited. A feeling of powerlessness swept over him. A sense of
impotence and defeat and despair.... He could not force himself to
raise his hand against this girl. He was afraid. He was afraid of _her_.
She remained standing in the middle of the walk, blocking his way,
but it was unnecessary to block his way. He could not have moved....
A cold, clinging dread was upon him. He was afraid of the night, of
the darkness. He dared not be alone with the night.... If Carmel had
gone Abner Fownes would have followed her, would have called her back,
begged her to stay with him....
The lights of the first car rested upon them, illuminating the spot....
Carmel stepped forward and signaled. The car stopped, halting the
procession.... Men got down and surrounded him....
“Where,” said Carmel, “is Sheriff Churchill?”
“There,” said a man.
“Carry him here,” she ordered, and it was done.
Wrapped in blankets, the thing that had been Sheriff Churchill was laid
on the sidewalk at Abner Fownes’s feet.
“Uncover his face. Let this man look at him,” Carmel said. “Make him
look.... Make him look....”
Fownes covered his face, staggered back. “No.... No.... Take--take it
away.”
“Uncover his face,” said Carmel. “Take this man’s hands from his
eyes.... Make him look....”
They obeyed. Fownes stood quivering, eyes tightly shut.
“Look,” said Carmel. “_Look!_”
She overmastered him. He opened his eyes and looked at the dreadful
sight. He stared, bent forward. His hands stretched out, clawlike, as
he stared at the horror. Then he threw back his head and laughed, and
the laughter ended in a shriek.... He swayed, half turned, and fell
back into the arms of the men of Gibeon....
Jared Whitefield forced his way to Fownes’s side. “I will take charge
of him,” he said. “Will some one take care of this girl.... She hain’t
herself.... Take her back to Doc Stewart’s....”
* * * * *
Morning penetrated the room where Carmel sat, entering gently, gently
pushing back the night. Carmel sat wide-eyed, waiting, waiting. She had
not slept, had not closed her eyes. From time to time she had climbed
the stairs to look upon Evan Pell’s face, to be told that he lived,
that his condition was unchanged.... She was worn, weary. Nothing
mattered now. She was at the end of things, wishing for death.
Doctor Stewart came to the door.
“Can you step upstairs, Miss Lee?”
“Is--is he----”
The doctor shook his head.
Carmel followed. Doubtless he was sinking, and she was summoned to
be present at the end.... She entered the room. Her heart was cold,
heavy, dead. As she approached the beside she could not lift her eyes
to Evan’s face.
“Carmel--dear....” said a voice.
Her heart came to life; it warmed, leaped in her bosom. She dared to
look. His eyes were open, conscious, intelligent.
“Evan!... Evan!...” she cried and sank on her knees beside him. Her
eyes devoured his face, and he smiled.
“Doctor--Doctor,” she cried, “is he--will he----”
“I think,” said the doctor, “we can have him on his feet in a week,
slightly damaged, of course.”
“And I thought--I thought you would die,” she said.
“Die!” Evan Pell’s voice, weak and faint, nevertheless carried a note
of surprise. “Er--of course not. I had not the slightest intention--of
dying.” He fumbled for her hand. “Why my dear--I have--just come
to--life.”
“You would have given your life for me!... Oh, Evan, I love you! ...
and I’m so--so proud of you.”
“Er--very gratifying,” said Evan. Then, for a moment he was silent,
reflecting.
“It is--very satisfying to--be in love,” he said. “I--like it.” Then.
“I want you to--be proud--of me.” He smiled. “There’s just--one
thing--I am proud of.”
“What is that, sweetheart?”
“The--er--way I--handled that doorknob--with so little practice,”
he said. “It was--er--so foreign to my training.... It--showed
adaptability....”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.