ALTON HOLDS HIS HAND
It was very quiet and somewhat chilly in the little back room of
Horton's hotel when Damer, who lay on a trestle-cot, moved his head a
trifle and made a feeble sign. The fire had sunk in the stove, and it
was then towards two o'clock in the morning, when man's vitality is at
its lowest. The young doctor Horton had brought in from a distant
settlement shivered a little as he rose and stooped over the bed.
Damer glanced at him out of glazing eyes, and made a faint gesture. "I
have no use for you," he said. "It's Alton I want."
The doctor crossed over to Horton, who sat in a corner. "If there is
anything you want to ask him lose no time," he said. "The man can't
last until the morning."
"Well," said Horton gravely, "it would be a favour if you went down for
Neilson, the surveyor. He's sitting up waiting. You see we want some
witnesses not connected with the thing in case he's going to tell us
anything. Harry, you'd better talk to him."
Alton crossed the room and sat down by the bed. He had, as it
happened, come out almost scatheless from the fall into the ravine,
which was not the case with his assailant, who had been carried down to
the settlement with the life just clinging to his crushed body. All
that was possible had been done for him, and now Alton waited with
intense suspense, with something akin to compassion in his eyes, and
his anger diverted from the dying wretch to the man who had made use of
him.
"You're going to talk?" he said. "Well, it's only square to warn you
that it will be all put down."
Damer glanced at Horton, who sat with a pen in his hand and a paper on
his knee, and from him to the surveyor holding one or two Government
appointments, who came quietly in.
"That's all right," he said very slowly. "Well, I wanted to kill you,
but I don't know that I've a great deal against you now. You and the
boys did what you could for me, and it was a man in the city who held
me to it. Oh, yes, he's sitting down there raking in the dollars, and
don't care two cents that the man he sent up to make them is dying
here. The thing's not square, anyway."
Alton was sensible of a faint disgust, but he remembered that he could
not afford to be fastidious, because the men he had drawn into his
venture must stand or fall with him.
"We want to know who he is," he said.
There was a glimmer of malice in Damer's face. "Well," he said, and
the strained voice grew clearer, "it was Hallam of the Tyee. There was
something I did that gave him a pull on me, and that man has no mercy
for anybody."
Alton heard the scratching of Horton's pen. "And Hallam hired you to
murder me?"
"Yes," and Damer glanced at Horton. "You have got that down? At first
he only hired me to go up to Somasco and watch you while I worked for
you. You're a tolerably smart man, Harry Alton, but it's kind of
curious you didn't know me."
Alton stared at the drawn face with a bewildered expression, and then
moved a trifle in his chair. "Good Lord!" he said. "Black Nailer's
partner! Well, I didn't see you that often--and it was dark when----"
Damer's face went awry with pain, but his gesture implied comprehension.
"Yes," he said feebly. "When you got him with the axe. Nailer had
been on the whisky, and that gun of his was a little stiff on the
magazine-spring; but he was the best partner I ever had, and I left a
good claim behind when you and the boys chased me right out of that
part of Washington. Now you've got the beginning. Give me a little
more brandy."
The doctor came forward softly and held a glass to the cracked lips,
then lifted the dying man a little. After that there was silence for
at least five minutes, and Alton sat rigidly still, choking down his
fierce impatience as he saw his last hope slipping away from him. Then
he drew in his breath with a quivering sigh as the feeble voice
commenced again.
"Get it down. You haven't much time."
Horton's pen scratched and spluttered, as sinking now and then almost
beyond hearing, the disjointed words fell from the lips that could
scarcely frame them; but it was nevertheless with a horrible vividness
that Damer told his story, and those who sat listening gasped with
relief when at last it was finished and everything was plain. Then he
signed to the doctor, who raised his head a trifle and once more held a
glass to his lips.
"Read it. I want to see you've got it straight," he said. For a space
Horton's voice rose and fell monotonously as he read in haste. Then he
approached the bed with the paper, and the dying man seized the pen.
He traced a few straggling characters upon the document, and let it
fall again, watched with strained impatience while Horton and the
surveyor signed, and then turned his head from the light.
"Now," he said, "I guess I've fixed the man who held the whip over me
up quite tight."
It was probably ten minutes before he moved again, and then he signed
to Alton very feebly with his fingers, while a curious look that
afterwards puzzled the rancher, who could not forget it, crept into his
eyes. There was vindictiveness in it, but whether there was more than
this he could never tell.
"There's just another thing," he said in a hoarse, strained whisper as
Alton bent over him. "Come nearer--a little nearer still. Now there
was another man as well as Hallam."
Alton glancing round saw that the others had not heard, and stooped a
trifle further as the cracked lips moved again. Nobody caught what
Damer told him, but when he straightened himself again his face was
white and grim, and he went out without a word to any one. Then the
flicker of a smile came into the eyes of the dying man, and he moved
his head so that his face was hidden. The doctor, crossing over
softly, looked down on him and signed to the others that they might
leave the room.
"He may last an hour or two, but I don't think he will speak again," he
said.
In the meanwhile Alton strode with hands clenched into the shadows of
the silent pines. He had long been troubled by vague suspicions, and
had driven them away, but he could not doubt what Damer had told him,
and groaned as he stood face to face with the verity. He had been too
proud to stoop at any time to take an unfair advantage of an enemy, but
he could not lightly forget a wrong, and there was a trace of stubborn
vindictiveness within him. Hallam had brought him down to ruin, and
thrice struck at his life by treachery, and now Damer's testimony had
placed his enemy in his hand. He had but to close it and crush him,
but he also realized with fierce anger what this would cost him, for
Hallam had, it seemed, protected himself effectively. If he dragged
Hallam down Deringham must fall with him, and while that consideration
alone would not have stayed him in spite of the curious pride of race
and family which he had become sensible of of late, it was evident that
his daughter must suffer too. She had done no wrong, and Alton, who
thought of her with a great tenderness, dare not contemplate all that
the revelation would cost her.
It would have been bitter to let his enemy go free, had he stood alone,
but that was, he realized, what no man can do, and there were behind
him with their future linked to his the ranchers of Somasco whose
safety demanded that he should put it out of Hallam's power to do them
a further injury. It would also be so simple. He had but to hold his
hand, and Horton would take all the action that was needful.
Then it became more plain to him that even at the cost of his loyalty
to his comrades he could not allow the woman he loved to suffer with
the guilty. He knew her pride and that the blow would crush her, but
again through all his pity for her a gust of rage shook him, and he
ground the soft cedar-twigs viciously beneath his heel. He could not
face the thought of the woman's humiliation. Everything must go, his
pride, his faith, his vengeance, before that came about, and he stopped
in his restless pacing and leaned against a pine as the conflicting
emotions gave place to a quiet resolution. At last he could see the
stars between the great branches high above him, and shivered a little
as a chilly breeze sighed across the silent bush. Something in its
stillness reacted upon him, and the last trace of his passion melted
away. If he did wrong he alone would be responsible, and at least his
enemy's daughter should not suffer.
Walking very slowly he went back to the hotel, and found Horton
writing. He glanced at Alton curiously and then answered the unasked
question.
"Yes," he said; "he's out on the trail now, and one would kind of
wonder where it was taking him. Where have you been all this time,
Harry?"
"How long have I been?" said Alton.
"Two hours, anyway. Well, you needn't tell me if you don't want to,
but it's quite easy to see that something is worrying you."
Alton concealed his astonishment. "I've had things to think about,"
said he. "Wasn't there a paper you took from Damer?"
"Oh, yes," and Horton flung him several crumpled sheets across.
"Nothing much to be made of that. It has been given him to send cipher
telegrams with."
Alton glanced at the paper with apparently vague curiosity, but his
brain was busy and he had a good memory.
"I think I'd let the folks in Vancouver have it," he said with a yawn.
"Now I want a few hours' rest, because we're going back at sun up to
restake the claim."
Horton looked thoughtful. "I'm not quite sure you could hold it. It
hasn't been declared open."
Alton laughed a little. "Well, I think I can," he said. "Damer hadn't
got his patent, anyway, and it's scarcely likely that the man who sent
him will protest against me."
Then he slowly strolled away, but once the door closed behind him moved
with quick resolute steps to his room. There he sat busy with pen and
paper for several minutes, and then descending softly found Okanagan in
the store.
"Get your horse as quietly as you can, and ride in to the railroad with
this message as if the devil was after you," he said.
Okanagan stretched himself sleepily. "Horton's sending in at sun up."
"Yes," said Alton dryly. "I want my message on the wires some hours
before his, but nobody need know of it beyond you and me."
Okanagan nodded, and in another five minutes Alton looked into the room
where Horton was still writing.
"I fancied I heard somebody riding down the trail, but it's not quite
easy being a magistrate, and my head's got kind of mixed," said the
latter. "Still, I've nearly got this thing fixed, and if the folks
down in Vancouver don't fool over it, when Hallam hears what's happened
to his partner he'll be under lock and key."
"Oh, yes," said Alton. "We'll hope for the best, though that man's
kind of slippery."
In the meanwhile Tom of Okanagan was riding at a gallop down the trail,
with the thin mist whirling by him and the stars above him growing dim,
and there were several leagues between him and the settlement when
daylight crept slowly into the valley. Thus it happened that Horton's
dispatches to the police at Vancouver were not the first that left the
station, and that evening Deringham, who was sitting with his daughter
on the verandah of Forel's house, turned from the girl with a little
closing of his lips as he saw Hallam coming up the pathway. His
movements suggested nervous haste, and though he was usually neat in
dress, his unbuttoned coat had evidently been flung on, while the
glance he cast behind him towards the wharf where one of the Sound
steamers was about to sail savoured of apprehension. This did not
escape Alice Deringham.
"Mr. Hallam seems to be in a hurry," she said. "I wish he had not come
now, because I do not like that man, and you have not been well lately.
You will not let him disturb you?"
Deringham rose and looked down on her with a curious little smile. "I
don't know that it can be helped, but I am no more pleased to see Mr.
Hallam than you seem to be," he said.
For a moment, and though the breach between them had not been healed,
the girl's heart smote her. Deringham had beguiled her into an action
whose memory would, she fancied, always retain its sting, but he was
her father, and seemed very worn and ill. Also some instinctive
impulse prompted her to detain him.
"Father," she said pleadingly, "don't see him. Go in at once, and I
will tell him that quietness is necessary to you."
Deringham had almost yielded to the hand upon his arm when Hallam
glanced in their direction and signed to him. Then he shook off the
girl's grasp and she shivered a little for no apparent reason as they
went in together. There was nobody else about, for Mrs. Forel and her
husband had gone down to the city, and she sat alone on the verandah
while a murmur of voices reached her through an open window. Though
his words were inaudible her father appeared to be expostulating. Then
he came out, and as she noticed there was an unusual pallor in his face
and that his hands were trembling, she remembered he had looked as he
did then once before when a partial failure of the heart's action had
almost cost him his life.
"You must send Mr. Hallam away at once," she said.
Deringham made a gesture of impatience. "I shall be rid of him
altogether in a few more minutes. You have some money by you?"
"Yes," said the girl. "I am not fond of going to the bank, and got Mr.
Forel to change my English cheque into currency, but why do you want
it?"
"Hallam has to catch the steamer, and the banks are shut. Don't ask
questions now, but get me the money quick."
Alice Deringham went in, and returned with a little satchel. "This is
all I have, and I don't feel very willing to lend it Mr. Hallam," she
said.
Deringham took the satchel from her and moved away; then, as though
acting under impulse, he stopped and looked back at her.
"Thank you, my dear," he said, with a curious gentleness. "It has
relieved me of a good deal of anxiety."
He went away, and Alice Deringham, hearing the door close behind him,
wondered a little. When she next looked up she saw Hallam swinging
with hasty strides down the road, and a little later the roar of a
whistle rang about the pines as a big white steamer moved out into the
inlet. A cloud of yellow vapour rolled from her funnel, there was a
frothing wash beneath her towering sides, and the girl watched her
languidly until the pines which shroud the Narrows shut the great white
fabric from her sight and left only a moving trail of smoke.
Then she felt happier. The steamer had at least taken Hallam away, and
her father was not now the courtly though somewhat reserved gentleman
who had treated her with indulgent kindness until Hallam crossed his
path. It was a fine evening, and she sat still on the verandah
wondering how the rift had imperceptibly widened between them, until
again the blood crept to her forehead as she remembered that it was at
his instigation she had detained Alton. Still, though she realized
that this could not be wholly forgotten, she took her part of the
blame, and felt sorry for the harassed man whose anxieties were
intensified by his solicitude for her welfare. He was in difficulties,
his health was failing, and she decided upon an attempt at
reconciliation. The respect she had cherished for him could never be
quite restored, but she could be a more sympathetic daughter, and help
him to bear his troubles. Then as she glanced down across the inlet
with eyes that grew softer, Forel and his wife came up through the
garden.
"Still alone?" he said. "Where is your father?"
"I think he is in your room," said the girl. "Mr. Hallam came in to
see him."
"Hallam? Now I wonder----" said Forel, and stopped, but Alice
Deringham had seen his face, and being a woman took instinctive warning.
"I don't think he wanted anything of importance, and he was only in a
minute or two," she said.
They went in together, but Forel was behind the girl, when she pushed
open a door and then stopped just inside it. Deringham was sitting
before a table, and there was something that perplexed her in his
attitude. He seemed curiously still, and his head had fallen forward.
"Father," she said, and her heart beat a trifle faster, for Deringham
did not move.
His face was not visible, and moving forward she grew suddenly faint
and cold as she touched his shoulder. There was no response from the
man, and she now noticed that he seemed huddled together; but she saw
nothing more, for just then a hand was laid upon her arm. Shaking off
the grasp, she turned and saw her growing horror reflected in Forel's
face.
"You must come away, my dear," he said hoarsely.
Alice Deringham shivered, but she stood very straight a moment, staring
down with dilated eyes at the grim figure in the chair.
"Touch him. Speak to him," she said in a voice that set Forel's nerves
on edge, and then as the last faint hope died away, stretched out her
hands with a little half-choked cry.
"Come away," said Forel very huskily.
He was sensible that the girl's hand was very cold as he drew her from
the room, but he left her with his wife on the verandah and then went
back hastily. Forel was a kindly man, but he knew that speculation in
Western mines has its under-side, and it was for the girl's sake he
stripped off the top sheet of the blotting-pad, which had a recent
impression on it, and afterwards poured the remaining contents of a
wineglass out into the stove. Then he glanced all round the room
before he went out to send for a doctor. It was an hour later when he
found his wife alone.
"How is she?" he said.
Mrs. Forel's eyes were hazy. "I think she has given way at last--it
was awful at first when she would only sit and look at me," she said;
and then her voice sank a little, "How did it happen, Tom?"
"Heart disease," said Forel. "The doctor is quite sure of that."
"But," said Mrs. Forel, "what brought it on?"
"Well," said Forel slowly, "anything that upsets one is apt to prove
perilous in cases like his, and I rather fancy that Deringham had a
quarrel with Hallam. They had dealings together, and I think Deringham
must have lost a good deal of money. You will not, however, mention it
to anybody."
Mrs. Forel looked at her husband curiously, "No, of course," she said.
"I wish I knew what to do for the girl."