ACCUSED.
The long suspense wore terribly on the defenders of the house.
To wait inactive, listening to the frightful yelling and watching the
play of the fire, not knowing at what moment yelling, bullets, and fire
might be directed at themselves, was disorganizing to the stoutest
nerves.
When the attack should come all knew that their refuge was more like a
trap than a fortress. Ambrose wished to abandon the house for the
Catholic church up the river.
This little structure was stoutly built of squared logs; moreover, it
was possible that some lingering religious feeling might restrain the
Indians from firing it.
The suggestion was received with suspicion. John Gaviller refused
point-blank to leave his house.
As the hours passed without any change in the situation they began to
feel as if they could endure no more. They were almost ready to wish
that the savages might attack them and have done with it.
They endlessly and vainly discussed what might be passing in the red
men's minds. Tole Grampierre, hearing this talk, offered to go and
find out.
There was no danger to him, he said. Even if they should discover that
he was not one of themselves, they had no quarrel with his people.
Ambrose let him go.
He never returned. Ambrose and Macfarlane helped him through the
barbed wire, and he set off, making a wide detour behind the houses
that faced the river, meaning to join the Indians from the other side.
Most of the Indians had for some time been engaged in rifling the
warehouse, which adjoined the store behind.
Ambrose and Macfarlane, anxiously watching from the porch, heard a
sudden outcry raised in this quarter, and saw a man come running
desperately around the corner of the store, pursued by a howling dozen.
Ambrose knew the runner by his rakish, broad-brimmed hat and flying
sash. His heart leaped into the race. Tole was gaining.
"Go it! Go it!" Ambrose cried.
Tole was not bringing his pursuers back to the big house, but led the
way off to one side by the quarters. Only a few yards separated him
from the all-concealing darkness.
"He's safe!" murmured Ambrose.
At the same moment half of Tole's pursuers stopped dead, and their
rifles barked. The flying figure spun around with uptossed arms, and
plunged to the ground.
Ambrose groaned from the bottom of his breast. Nerved by a blind rage,
his own gun instinctively went up. He could have picked off one or two
from where he stood. Macfarlane flung a restraining arm around him.
"Stop! You'll bring the whole mob down on us!" he cried. He looked at
Ambrose not unkindly. The sacrifice of Tole obliged him to change his
attitude.
Ambrose turned in the door, silently grinding his teeth. At the end of
the passage he found a chair, and dropped upon it, holding his head
between his hands.
The face of Tole as he had first beheld it--proud, comely, and full of
health--rose before him vividly.
He remembered that he had said to himself then: "Here is one young,
like myself, that I can make a friend of." And almost the last thing
Tole had said to him was: "I am your friend."
It was his youth and good looks that made it seem most horrible.
Ambrose pictured the bloody ruin lying in the square, and shuddered.
Gordon Strange offered to go out in order to make sure that Tole was
beyond aid. It seemed like a kindly impulse, but Ambrose suspected its
genuineness.
Even from where they were, a glance at the huddled figure was enough to
tell the truth. None of the others would hear of Strange's going.
Colina and Giddings pleaded with him. Gaviller forbade him. Strange
with seeming reluctance finally gave in.
Whenever he witnessed such evidences of their trust in the half-breed
Ambrose's lip curled in the darkness. He was more than ever convinced
that Strange was a blackguard.
Evidence he had none, only his warning intuition, which, among the male
sex at least, is not considered much to go on.
It gave Ambrose a shrewd little twinge of jealousy to hear Colina
begging this man not to risk his life by leaving the house.
About three o'clock it began to seem as if they might allow themselves
to relax a little. The madness of the Indians had burned itself out.
There had not been enough whisky perhaps to maintain it for more than a
few hours.
In any case, since the whites had been spared at the height of their
fury, it seemed reasonable to hope they might escape altogether. The
yelling had ceased.
Most of the men were now engaged in carrying flour and other goods down
to the york boat. The watchers from the house wondered if they dared
believe this signified an early departure.
As the tension let down it could be seen that John Gaviller was on the
verge of a collapse. Colina strove with him to go to his room and rest
on his bed.
He finally consented upon condition that she lay in her own room
up-stairs. Colina and Gordon Strange half led, half carried the old
man up-stairs.
Strange, returning, relieved Macfarlane's watch at the side door.
Macfarlane, Ambrose, Giddings, and Pringle lay down on the sofa and on
the floor of the library.
Three of them were almost instantly asleep. Not so Ambrose. As soon
as he saw the half-breed left in sole charge his smoldering suspicions
leaped into activity.
"If he's meditating anything queer this is the time he'll start it!" he
thought. He took care to choose his position on the floor nearest the
door. He left the door open.
From the outside only occasional sounds came now. The Indians were
busy and silent. Within the house it was so still that Ambrose could
hear Gordon Strange puffing at his pipe.
The half-breed was sitting in the doorway outside, with his chair
tipped back against the wall. By and by Ambrose heard the front legs
of the chair drop to the floor, and an instinct of caution bade him
close his eyes and breathe deeply like a man asleep.
Sure enough Strange came into the library. He was taking no pains to
be silent. Stepping over Ambrose he crossed to the mantel, where he
fumbled for matches, and striking one made believe to relight his pipe.
Now Ambrose knew that Strange had matches, for when they took John
Gaviller up he had seen him light the lamp at the foot of the stairs
and return the box to his pocket.
This then must be a reconnoitering expedition. Ambrose had no doubt
that when the match flared up the half-breed took a survey of the
sleeping men.
He left the room, and Ambrose heard the chair tipped back against the
wall once more.
A little later Ambrose became conscious that Strange was at the library
door again, though this time he had not heard him come.
He paused a second and passed away as silently as a ghost--but whether
back to his chair or farther into the house Ambrose could not tell.
Rising swiftly to his hands and knees he stuck his head out of the
door. There was light enough from the outside to reveal the outlines
of the chair--empty.
Without a thought Ambrose turned in the other direction and crept
swiftly and softly through the passage into the stair hall. He did not
know what he expected to find. His heart beat thick and fast.
He scarcely suspected danger to Colina, who was strong and brave. Was
it her father? Reaching the foot of the stairs he heard a velvet
footfall above.
He hastened up on all fours. The stairs were thickly carpeted.
Gaining the top his strained ears detected the whisper of a sound that
suggested the closing of Gaviller's door.
He knew the room. It was over the drawing-room, and cut off from the
other rooms of the house. To reach the door one had to pass around the
rail of the upper landing.
Arriving at the door he did indeed find it closed. Under the
circumstances he was sure Colina would have left it open.
He did not stop to think of what he was doing. With infinite slow
patience he turned the knob with one hand, holding his electric torch
ready in the other.
When the door parted he flashed the light on the spot where he knew the
bed stood. The picture vividly revealed in the little circle of light
realized his unacknowledged fears.
He saw Strange kneeling on the bed, his face hideously distorted, his
two hands at the old man's throat.
Strange yelped once in mingled terror and rage like an animal
surprised--and with the quickness of an animal sprang at Ambrose.
The two men went down with a crash athwart the sill, and the door
slammed back against the wall. There was a desperate struggle on the
floor.
Strange was nerved with the strength of a madman. He could not have
seen who it was that surprised him, but in that frantic embrace he
learned.
"It's you, is it?" he snarled. "I've got you now!"
Forthwith he began to shout lustily for help. "Macfarlane! Giddings!"
Colina was already out of her room. She did not scream. The three men
were on the stairs.
"Bring a light!" gasped both the struggling men.
It was Colina who lit a lamp and carried it out into the hall with a
steady hand. Ambrose was seen to be uppermost. Recognizing the two
men her face darkened with anger.
"What does this mean?" she cried. "Get up instantly!"
Ambrose wrenched himself free and stood up.
"Don't let him escape!" cried Strange.
Ambrose laughed a single note.
"He tried to kill your father!" panted Strange. "I arrived in the nick
of time!"
Ambrose gasped and fell back in astonishment. Such stupendous
effrontery was beyond the scope of his imagination.
"It's a lie!" he cried. "It was I who discovered him in the act of
strangling your father!"
Then for the first Colina swayed. "Oh, God!" she murmured, "have we
all gone mad!"
Macfarlane seized the lamp from her failing hand. Colina ran unevenly
into her father's room. They heard her cry out within. Giddings ran
to her aid. He made a light in the room and closed the door. The
little parson moaned and wrung his hands.
Macfarlane had drawn his revolver. "If you make a move I'll shoot you
down!" he said to Ambrose--thus making it clear whose story he believed.
"You can put it up," said Ambrose coolly. "I'm going to see this thing
through."
Strange had got his grip again. His smoothness was largely restored.
He actually laughed. "He's a cool hand!" he said.
"You damned black villain!" said Ambrose softly. "I know you now. And
you know that I know you!"
It did not improve Ambrose's case to say it, but he felt better. The
half-breed changed color and edged behind Macfarlane's gun.
Colina presently reappeared, showing a white and stony face. "Mr.
Pringle," she said, "go down and lock the side door and bring me the
key. The rest of you go to the library and wait for me."
Ambrose flushed darkly. That Colina should even for a moment hold the
balance between him and the half-breed made him burn with anger.
Passionate reproaches leaped to his lips, but pride forced them back.
Turning stiffly he marched downstairs before Macfarlane without a word.
She should suffer for this when he was exonerated, he vowed. That he
might not be exonerated immediately did not occur to him.
In the library Strange and Macfarlane whispered together. When Pringle
rejoined them all were silent. For upward of ten minutes they waited,
facing each other grimly.
The strain was too great for the nerves of the little parson. He
finally broke into a kind of terrified, dry sobbing.
"For God's sake say something!" he faltered. "This is too horrible!"
Macfarlane glanced at him with a contemptuous pity and stood a little
aside from the door. "Better go into the front room," he said. "You
can't do any good here."
The little man shook his head, and going to the window turned his back
on them and endeavored to master his shaking.
Shortly afterward Colina came down-stairs. At her entrance all looked
the question none dared put into words.
Colina veiled her eyes. "My father only fainted," she said levelly.
"Dr. Giddings says he is little worse than before."
A long breath escaped from her hearers.
Strange cunningly contrived to get his story out first. As he spoke
all eyes were bent on the ground. They could not face the horror of
the other eyes.
Pringle was obliged to sit on the sofa to control the trembling of his
limbs. The others stood--Macfarlane, Colina, and Strange near the
door--Ambrose facing them from in front of the desk.
"You will remember," Strange began collectedly, "it was I who advised
that this man should be admitted to the house. I thought we could
watch him better from the inside. I have never ceased to watch him
from that moment.
"When you all turned in and I was left at the side door I kept my eye
on this room. The last time I looked in I saw that he had disappeared.
He had slipped so softly down the hall I had not heard anything.
"I instantly thought of danger to those up-stairs, and crept up as
quickly as I could without making any sound. I found the door of Mr.
Gaviller's room closed. I knew Miss Colina had left it open. I opened
it softly, and saw Doane on the bed with his hands at Mr. Gaviller's
throat."
A shuddering breath escaped from Colina. The little parson moaned.
"He sprang at me," Strange went on. "We rolled on the ground. I
called for help, and you all came. That is all."
Ambrose was staggered by the breed's satanic cleverness. After this
his own story must sound like a pitiful imitation. He could never tell
it now with the same assurance.
"Surely, surely they must know that a true man couldn't take it so
coolly," he thought. But they were convinced; he could see it in their
faces.
He felt as powerless as a dreamer in the grip of a nightmare.