A CRISIS
Like Norton, Virginia found life simplifying itself in a crisis. Upon
three hundred and sixty days or more of the average year each
individual has before him scores of avenues open to his thoughts or to
his act; he may turn wheresoever he will. But in the supreme moments
of his life, with brief time for hesitation granted him, he may be
forced to do one of two things: he must leap back or plunge forward to
escape the destiny rushing down upon him like a speeding engine
threatening him who has come to stand upon the crossing. Now Virginia
saw clearly that she must submit to Norton's mastery and remain silent
in the King's Palace or she must seek to escape and tell what she knew
or . . . Was there a remaining alternative? If so it must present
itself as clearly as the others. Action was stripped down to
essentials, bared to its component elements. True vision must
necessarily result, since no side issues cluttered the view.
She sat upon a saddle-blanket upon the rock floor of the main chamber
of the series of ancient dwelling-rooms, staring at the fire which
Norton had builded against a wall where it might not be seen from
without. The horses were in the meadow down by the stream; she and
Norton had tethered them among the trees where they were fairly free
from the chance of being seen. Norton was coming up, mounting the
deep-worn steps in the cliff side. He had gone for water; he had not
been out of sight nor away five minutes. And yet when she looked up to
see him coming through the irregular doorway she had decided.
She saw in him both the man and the gentleman. Her anger had died down
long ago, smothered in the ashes of her distress; now she summoned to
the fore all that she might in extenuation of what he did. She did not
blame him for the crimes which she knew he had committed because she
was so confident that the chief crime of all had been the act resulting
from Caleb Patten's abysmal ignorance. Nor now could she blame Norton
that, embarked upon this flood of his life, he saw himself forced to
make her his prisoner for a few hours. It was a man's birthright to
protect himself, to guard his freedom. And her heart gave him high
praise that toward her he acted with all deference, that with things as
they were, while he was man enough to hold her here, he was too much
the gentleman to make love to her. Would she have resisted, would she
have opposed calm argument against a hot avowal? She did not know.
"Virginia," he said gravely as he slumped down upon the far side of the
fire, "I feel the brute. But . . ."
Yes, she had decided, fully decided, whether if be for better or for
worse. Now she surprised him with one of her quick, bright, friendly
smiles while she interrupted:
"Let us make the best of a bad situation," she said swiftly. "I am not
unhappy right now; I have no wish to run half-way to meet any
unhappiness which may be coming our way. You are not the brute toward
me; what you do, I do not so much as censure you for. I am not going
to quarrel with you; were I in your boots I imagine I'd do just exactly
as you are doing. I hope I'd be as nice about it, too. And now,
before we drop the subject for good and all, let me say this: no matter
what I do, should it even be the betraying you into the hands of your
enemies, to put it quite tragically, I want you to know that I wish you
well and that is why I do it. Can you understand me?"
"Yes," he said slowly. "It's sweet of you, Virginia. If you got my
gun and shot my head off, I don't know who should blame you. I
shouldn't!" he concluded with a forced attempt to match her smile.
"Then we understand each other? As long as each does the best he can
see his way to do, the other finds no fault?" And when he nodded she
rose quickly and came to him, putting out her hand as he rose. "Rod
Norton," she said simply, and her eyes shone steady and clear into his,
"I wish you the best there is. I think we should both pray a little to
God to help us to-night. . . . And now, if you will run up to your
Treasure Chamber and bring down the coffee, I'll promise to be here
when you get back. And to make you a good hot drink; I feel the need
of it and so do you."
He went out without an answer, his face grave and troubled again. As
her eyes followed him they were no longer gay but wistful, and then
filled with a sadness which she had not shown to him, and then suddenly
wet. But before he had gone half a dozen steps from the door she
dashed a hasty hand across her eyes and went swiftly to the smallest of
the three black leather cases he had brought up here after her.
"This is the one way out, Rod Norton!" she whispered. "The one way out
if God is with us."
Her quick fingers sought and found the tiny phial with its small white
tablets . . . labelled _Hyoscine_ . . . and secreted it in her bosom.
She was laying fresh twigs upon the blaze when he came back with the
coffee-pot, can of coffee, and a tin cup. She greeted him with another
quick smile. He saw that her cheeks were flushed rosily, that there
was subdued excitement in her eyes. And yet matters just as they were
would sufficiently explain these phenomena without causing him to quest
farther. He thought merely that he had never seen her so delightfully
pretty.
"Virginia Page," he told her as his own eyes grew bright with the new
light leaping up into them, "some day . . ."
"Sh!" she commanded, her color deepened. "Let us wait until that day
comes. Now you just obey orders; lie there and smoke while I make the
coffee."
He wanted to wait on her, but when she insisted he withdrew to the wall
a few feet away, sat down, filled his pipe, and watched her. And while
he filled his eyes with her he marvelled afresh. For it seemed to him
that her mood was one of unqualified happiness. She did all of the
talking, her words came in a ceaseless bright flow, she laughed readily
and often, her eyes were dancing, the warm color stood high in her
cheeks. That her heart was beating like mad, that the intoxication of
an intent he could not read had swept into her brain, that she was
vastly more in the mood to weep than to smile . . . all of this lay
hidden to him behind her woman's wit. For, having decided, there would
be no going back.
With the coffee boiling in the old black and spoutless pot from
Norton's cache in the Treasure Chamber, she poured what was left of the
ground coffee from its tin to the flat surface of a bit of stone. This
tin was to serve Norton as his cup.
"It's to be our night-cap," she laughed at him as she put the
improvised cup by the other. "I refuse to sit up any later; a
saddle-blanket for bunk, and then to sleep. That is my room yonder,
isn't it?" She nodded toward the black entrance to the second of the
chambers of the King's Palace. "And you will sleep here? Well, while
the coffee cools, I'm going to make my bed." She carried her blanket
on past him, was gone into the yawning darkness, was back in a moment.
"My bed's ready," she told him gayly. "This kind of housekeeping just
suits me! Now for the coffee. . . . Rod Norton, will you do as you
are told or not? You are to sit still and let me wait on you; who's
hostess here, I'd like to know?"
While out of his sight she had slipped one of the hyoscine tablets into
her palm; now, as she poured the ink-black beverage, she let it drop
into the tin can which she presented to Norton.
"Don't say it doesn't taste right!" she admonished him in a voice in
which at last he detected the nervous note.
He stood up, holding his coffee-can in his hand, meeting her strained
levity with a deep gravity.
"Virginia," he began.
"It's too late to cut in on my monologue!" she cried gayly. "Pledge me
in the drink I have made for you, Mr. Norton! Just say: 'Virginia,
here's looking at you!' Or: 'I wish you well in all that you
undertake.' Or: 'For all that you have said to me, for whatever you
may say or do in the future, I forgive you!' That's all."
"Virginia," he said gently, "I love you, my dear."
She laughed nervously.
"That's the nice way to say everything all at once!" He saw that her
hand shook, that a little of her coffee spilled, and that again she
grew steady. "Now our night-cap and good night!"
She drank hurriedly. Thereafter she yawned and made her little
pretense of increased drowsiness.
"It's been such a long day," she said. "You'll forgive me if I tumble
right straight into sleepy-land?"
Again they said good night and she left him, going down among the eerie
dancing shadows to her own quarter, drawing his moody eyes after her.
When she had gone, he threw down his own blanket across the main
entrance of the King's Palace, filled his pipe again, and sat staring
out into the night.
The fire cast up its red flare spasmodically, licked at the last of the
dead branches which, rolling apart, burned out upon the rock floor.
The darkness once more blotted out all detail saving the few
smouldering coals, the knobs of stone in the small flickering circles
of light, the quiet form of the man silhouetted against the lesser dark
of the night without. Virginia, rigid and motionless at the spot to
which she had stolen noiselessly, watched him breathlessly.
For only a little he sat smoking. Then, as though he experienced
something of that weariness of which she had made pretense, he laid his
pipe aside and stretched out upon his blanket, leaning upon an elbow.
She heard him sigh, vaguely made out when he let his head slip down
upon an arm, saw that he had grown still, and was lying stretched out
across the main threshold.
Now she must stand motionless while every fibre of her being demanded
action; now she must curb impetuosity to the call of caution. As the
seconds passed, all but insupportable in their tedious slowness, she
stood rigid and tense, waiting. But soon she knew that the drug had
had its will with him, that he was steeped in deep sleep, that no
longer must she wait, that now at length she might act.
Carrying her saddle-blanket she came to him and stood quietly looking
down into his upturned face. At last she could let the tears burst
into her eyes unchecked, now she could suddenly go down on her knees
beside him, for an instant laying her cheek lightly against his in the
first caress. Would it be the last? He stirred a little and sighed
again. She drew back, still upon her knees again breathlessly rigid.
But his stupor clung heavily to him, and she knew that it would hold
him thus for hours.
A score of burning questions clamoring in her mind she disposed of
briefly, since time was of the essence.
"If I let you have your way, Rod Norton," she whispered, "you will go
on from crime to tragedy. If I hand you over to the law, I will be
betraying you for no end; for your type of man finds the way to break
jail and so force his own hand to further violence. There is the one
way out. . . . And God help me to succeed. God forgive me if I fail!"
She stole by him and stepped upon the outer ledge. She was leaving him
helpless . . . the thought presented itself that she would have another
thing to answer for if one of the many men with such cause to hate him
should come upon him thus. Well, that was but one of the more remote
chances she must take. There was scant enough likelihood that any one
should come here before she could race into Las Estrellas and back.
Then it was that she saw Patten. She did not know at first that it was
Patten, but just that within a few feet of her upon the ledge which she
must travel to the steps a man was standing, his body jerking back,
pressed against the rocks as he saw her. She drew back swiftly, her
blood in riotous tumult.
But now, above aught else, the one thought in her mind was that there
was no time for loitering, that the dawn would come all too soon, that
there must be no delay. She stooped quickly and drew from its holster
Norton's heavy revolver. Her saddle-blanket over her left arm, the gun
gripped in her right hand, she was once more upon the ledge, moving
cautiously toward the figure seen a moment ago, gone now.
That it was Patten she knew only when she had gone down the steps and
had overtaken him there. Retreating thus far, reassured when he had
made out that it was the girl alone, he waited for her. And as she
demanded nervously, "Who is it?" it was Patten's disagreeable laugh
which answered her.
"So," he jeered at her, "this is the sort of thing you do when you are
supposed to be out on a case all night!"
Patten here! Had God sent him . . . or the devil? His insult she
passed over. She was not thinking of herself right now, of convention,
of wagging tongues. She was just seeking to understand how this latest
incident might simplify or make more complex her problem.
"I've had my suspicions all along," he laughed evilly. "To-night I
followed and made sure. And now, my fine little white dove, what have
you to say for yourself?"
Might she use Patten? She was but now on her way to Las Estrellas for
aid. She would operate herself, she would take that upon herself, with
no more regard for ethics than for Patten's gossiping tongue. She
believed that she could do it successfully; at the least she must make
the attempt, though Norton died under her hand. The right? She had
the right! The right because she loved him, because he loved her,
because his whole future was at stake. But she must have assistance so
that she submit him to no needless danger, so that she give him every
chance under such circumstances as these. She would have brought a man
from Las Estrellas, she would have let him think what pleased him, just
saying that Norton had met with an accident, that an operation was
necessary. And now Patten was here.
Could she use him?
"You followed us?" she said, gaining time for her thoughts.
"Yes; I followed you. I saw you come here. I watched while he
unsaddled, how he came up to you. What I could not see through the
rock walls I could guess! And now . . ."
"Well, now?" she repeated after him, so that Patten must have marvelled
at her lack of emotion. "Now what?"
"Now," he spat at her venomously, "I think I have found the fact to
shut Roderick Norton's blabbing mouth for him!"
"I don't understand . . ."
"You don't? You mean that he hasn't done any talking to you about me?"
"Oh!" And now suddenly she did understand. "You mean how you are not
Caleb Patten at all but Charles? How you are no physician but liable
to prosecution for illegal practising?"
Could she use him or could she not? That was what she was thinking,
over and over.
"Where is he?" demanded Patten a little suspiciously. "What is he
doing? What are you doing out here alone?"
"He is asleep," she told him.
Patten laughed again.
"Your little parties are growing commonplace then!"
"Charles Patten," she cut in coolly, "I have stood enough of your
insult. Be still a moment and let me think."
He stared at her but for a little; his own mind busy, was silent.
Could she make use of this blind instrument which fate had thrust into
her hand? She began to believe that she could.
"Charles Patten," she went on, a new vigor in her tone, "Mr. Norton
knows enough concerning you to make you a deal of trouble. Just how
long a term in the State prison he can get for you I don't know.
But . . ."
"Haven't I found the way to shut his mouth!" he said sharply.
"I think not. Before your slanders could travel far we could have
found Father Jose and have been married. But let me finish. You have
practised here for upward of two years, haven't you? You have made
money, you have a ranch of your own. That is one thing to keep in
mind. The other is that more than one of your patients have died. I
believe, Charles Patten, that it would be a simple matter to have the
district attorney convict you of murder. That's the second thing to
remember."
Patten shifted uneasily. Then she knew that it had been God who had
sent him. When he sought to bluster, she cut him short.
"In the morning, as soon as there is light enough," she said, wondering
at her own calmness, "I am going to perform a capital operation upon
Mr. Norton. It will be without his knowledge and consent. If he lives
and you will give up your practice and retire to your ranch or what
business pleases you, I will guarantee that he does not prosecute you
for what has passed. If he dies . . ."
"If he dies"--he snatched the words from her--"it will be murder!"
". . . you would be free from prosecution," she continued, quite as
though he had made no interruption, "I rather imagine that I should
die, too. And, as you say, I would be liable for murder. He is asleep
now because I have drugged him. I shall chloroform him before he
wakes. I should have no defense in the law-courts. Yes, it would be
murder."
He drew a step back from her as though from one suddenly gone mad.
"What are you operating for?" he demanded.
"For your blunder," she said simply. "And you are going to help me."
"Am I?" he jeered. "Not by a damned sight! If you think that I am
going to let myself in for that sort of thing . . ."
Until now he had not seen the gun in her hand. Her quick gesture
showed it to him.
"Charles Patten," she told him emphatically, "I am risking Mr. Norton's
life; I am therefore risking my own. Understand what that means.
Understand just what you have got to win or lose by to-night's work.
Consider that I pledge you my word not to implicate you in what you do;
that if worse came to worse, you could claim and I would admit that you
were forced at the point of a gun to do as I told you. Oh, I can shoot
straight! And finally, I will shoot straight, as God watches me,
rather than let you go now and stop what I have undertaken! Think of
it well, Charles Patten!"
Patten, being as weak of mind as he was pudgy of hand, having besides
that peculiar form of craft which is vouchsafed his type, furthermore
more or less of a coward, saw matters quite as Virginia wished him.
Together they awaited the coming of the dawn. The girl, realizing to
the uttermost what lay before her, forced herself to rest, lying still
under the stars, schooling herself to the steady-nerved action which
was to have its supreme test.
Just before the dawn they had coffee and a bite to eat from Norton's
little pack. Close to the drugged man they builded a rude low table by
dragging the squared blocks of fallen stone from their place by the
wall. Upon this Virginia placed the saddle-blankets, neatly folded.
Already Patten was showing signs of nervousness. Looking into her face
he saw that it was white and drawn but very calm. Patten was asking
himself countless questions, many of them impossible of answer yet.
She was closing her mind to everything but the one supreme matter.
He helped her give the chloroform when she told him that there was
sufficient light and that she was ready. He brought water, placed
instruments, stood by to do what she told him. His nervousness had
grown into fear; he started now and then, jerking about guiltily, as
though he foresaw an interruption.
Together they got Norton's inert form upon the folded blankets.
Patten's hands shook a little; he asked for a sip of brandy from her
flask. She granted it, and while Patten drank she cut away the hair
from the unconscious man's scalp. Long ago her fingers had made their
examination, were assured that her diagnosis was correct. Her hands
were as untrembling as the steel of her knife. She made the first
incision, drawing back the flap of skin and flesh, revealing the bone
of the skull. . . .
For forty-five minutes she worked, her hands swift, sure, capable,
unerring. It was done. She was right. The under-table of the skull
had been fractured; there was the bone pressure upon the underlying
area of brain-tissue. She had removed the pressure and with it any
true pathological cause of the theft impulse.
She drew a bandage about the sleeping eyes. She made Patten bring his
own saddle-blanket; it was fixed across the entrance of the anteroom of
the King's Palace, darkening it. Then she went to the ledge just
outside and stood there, staring with wide eyes across the little
meadow with its flowers and birds and water, down the slope of the
mountain, to the miles of desert. She had now but to await the
awakening.