THE BOAT THAT WAS NOT
"You will not go?" cried Landless.
"No, I will not!" she answered passionately. "Why should you think such
a thing of me? See! we have been together, you and I, for long weeks!
You have been my faithful guide, my faithful protector. Over and over
again you have saved my life. And now, now when you are the helpless
one, when it is through me that you lie there helpless, when it is
through me that you are in this dreadful forest at all, you tell me to
go! to leave you to the fate I have brought upon you! to save myself! I
will not save myself! But the other day it was dishonor in you to leave
me below the falls--almost in safety. Mine the dishonor if I do what you
bid me do!"
"Madam, madam, it is not with women as with men!"
"I care not for women! I care for myself. Never, never, will I leave,
helpless and wounded, the man who dies for me!"
"Upon my knees I implore you!" Landless cried in desperation. "You
cannot save me, you cannot help me. It is you that would make the
bitterness of my fate. Let me die believing that you have escaped these
fiends, and then, do what they will to me, I shall die happy, blessing
with my last breath the generous woman who lets me give--how proudly and
gladly she will never know--my worthless life in exchange for hers, so
young, bright, innocent. Go, go, before it is too late!"
He dragged himself a foot nearer, and grasping the hem of her dress,
pressed it to his lips. "Good-bye," he said with a faint smile. "Keep
behind the rocks for some distance, then follow the river. Think kindly
of me. Good-bye."
"It is too late," she said. "I can see the river through this crack
between the rocks. One of those two canoes has just passed, going down
the river. In it were seven Ricahecrians and the mulatto. I saw him
quite plainly, for they row close to the bank with their faces turned to
the woods. They will land at some point below this and search for our
trail. When they do not find it, they will know that we are between them
and the rest of the band, and they will come upon us from behind. If I
go now, it will be to meet them. Shall I go?"
"No, no," groaned Landless. "It is too late. God help you! I cannot."
The large tears gathered in her eyes and fell over her white cheeks.
"Oh, why," she said plaintively, "why did He let you hurt yourself just
now?" She turned her face to the rock against which she was standing,
and hiding it in her arm, broke into a low sobbing. It went to the heart
of the man at her feet to hear her.
Presently the weeping ceased. She drew a long tremulous sigh, and dashed
the tears from her eyes. Her hands went up to her disheveled hair in a
little involuntary, feminine gesture, and she looked at him with a wan
smile.
"I did not mean to be so cowardly," she said simply. "I will be brave
now."
"You are the bravest woman in the world," he answered.
Below them waved the painted forest flaunting triumphant banners of
crimson and gold. A strong south wind was blowing, and it brought to
them a sound as of the whispering of many voices. The shining river,
too, murmured to its reeds and pebbles, and in the air was the dull
whirr of wings as the vast flocks of wild fowl rose like dark smoke from
the water, or, skimming along its surface, broke it into myriad diamond
sprays. Around the horizon towered heaped-up masses of cloud--Ossa piled
on Pelion--fantastic Jack-and-the-Beanstalk castles, built high above
the world, with rampart and turret and bastion of pearl and coral. Above
rose the sky intensely blue and calm.
All the wealth, the warmth and loveliness of the world they were about
to leave flowed over the souls of the doomed pair. In their hearts they
each said farewell to it forever. Patricia stood with uplifted face and
clear eyes, looking deep into the azure heaven. "I am trying to think,"
she said, "that death is not so bitter after all. To-day is
beautiful--but ours will be a fairer morrow! After to-day we will never
be tired, or fear, or be in danger any more. I am not afraid to die; but
ah! if it could only come to us now, swiftly, silently, out of the blue
yonder; if we could go without the blood--the horror--" she broke off
shuddering. Her eyes closed and she rested her head against the rock.
Landless watched the beautiful, pale face, the quivering eyelids, the
coral underlip drawn between the pearly teeth, in a passion of pity and
despair. Horrid visions of torture flashed through his brain; he saw the
delicate limbs writhing, heard the agonized screams.... If he killed
the mulatto, it might come to that; if the mulatto lived, he knew that
she would kill herself. He had given her the knife that had been
Monakatocka's, and she had it now, hidden in her bosom.... The glory of
the autumn day darkened and went out, the bitter waters of affliction
surged over him, an immeasurable sea; it seemed to him that until then
he had never suffered. A cold sweat broke out upon him, and with an
inarticulate cry of rage and despair he struck at his wounded foot as at
a deadly foe. The girl cried out at the sound of the blow.
"Oh, don't, don't! What are you doing? You have loosened the bandage,
and it is bleeding afresh."
Despite his effort to prevent her she readjusted the kerchief which she
had wound about the torn and crushed foot, very carefully and tenderly.
"It must hurt you very much," she said pityingly.
He took the little ministering hands in his and kissed them. "Oh, madam,
madam!" he groaned. "God knows I would shed every drop of my blood a
thousand times to save you. Death to me is nothing, nor life so fair
that I should care to keep it. The grave is a less dreadful prison than
those on earth, and I think to find in God a more merciful Judge. But
you--so young and beautiful, with friends, love--"
She stopped him with a gesture full of dignity and sweetness. "That life
is gone forever,--it is thousands of miles and ages on ages away. It is
a world more distant than the stars, and we are nearer to Heaven than to
it.... It is strange to think how we have drifted, you and I, to this
rock. A year ago we had never seen each other's faces, had never heard
each other's names, and yet you were coming to this rock from prison and
over seas, and I was coming to meet you.... And it is our death place,
and we will die together, and to-morrow maybe the little birds will
cover us with leaves as they did the children in the story. They were
brother and sister.... When our time comes I will not be afraid, for I
will be with you ... my brother."
Landless covered his face with his hands.
The shadows grew longer and the cloud castles began to flush rosily,
though the sun still rode above the tree tops. A purple light filled the
aisles of the forest, through which a herd of deer, making for some
accustomed lick, passed like a phantom troop. They vanished, and from
out the stillness of the glades came the sudden, startled barking of a
fox. A shadow darted across a sunlit alley from gloom to gloom, paused
on the outskirts of the wood below the crags while one might count ten,
then turned and flitted back into the darkness from whence it came. They
beneath the crags did not see it.
Suddenly Landless raised his head. Upon his face was the look of one who
has come through much doubt and anguish of spirit to an immutable
resolve. He looked to the priming of his gun and laid it upon the rock
beside him, together with his powderhorn and pouch of bullets. Raising
himself to his knees he gazed long and intently into the forest below.
There was no sign of danger. On the checkered ground beneath two mighty
oaks squirrels were playing together like frolicsome kittens, and
through the clear air came the tapping of a woodpecker. The forest was
silent as to the shadow that had flitted through it. It can keep a
secret very well.
Landless sank back against the rock. He had lost much blood, and that
and the pain of his mangled foot turned him faint and sick for minutes
at a time. He clenched his teeth and forced back the deadly faintness,
then turned to the woman who stood beside him, her hands clasped before
her, her eyes following the declining sun, her lips sometimes set in
mournful curves, sometimes murmuring broken and inaudible words of
prayer. He called her twice before she answered, turning to him with
eyes of feverish splendor which saw and yet saw not. "What is it?" she
asked dreamily.
"Come back to earth, madam," he said. "There is that that I wish to say
to you. Listen to me kindly and pitifully, as to a dying man."
"I am listening," she answered. "What is it?"
"It is this, madam: I love you. For God's sake don't turn away! Oh, I
know that I should have been strong to the end, that I should not vex
you thus! It is the coward's part I play, perhaps, but I must speak! I
cannot die without. I love you, I love you, I love you!"
His voice rose into a cry; in it rang long repressed passion, hopeless
adoration, fierce joy in having broken the bonds of silence. He spoke
rapidly, thickly, with a stammering tongue, now throwing out his hands
in passionate appeal, now crushing between his fingers the dried moss
and twigs with which the ground was strewn. "I loved you the day I first
saw you. I have loved you ever since. I love you now. My God! how I love
you! Die for you? I would die for you ten thousand times! I would _live_
for you! Oh, the day I first saw you! I was in hell and I looked at you
as lost Dives might have looked at the angel on the other side of the
gulf.... I never thought to tell you this. I know that never, never,
never.... But this is the day of our death. In a few hours we shall be
gone. Do not leave the world in anger with me. Say that you pity,
understand, forgive.... Speak to me, madam!"
The sun sank lower and the shadows lengthened and deepened, and still
Patricia stood silent with uplifted and averted face, and fingers
tightly locked together. With a moan of mortal weakness Landless dragged
himself nearer until he touched with his forehead the low pedestal of
rock upon which she stood. "I understand," he said quietly. "After all,
there is nothing to be said, is there? Try to forget my--madness. Think
of it, if you will, as the raving of one at death's door. Let it be as
it was between us."
Patricia turned--her beautiful face transfigured. Roses bloomed in her
cheeks, her eyes were fathomless wells of splendor, an exquisite smile
played about her lips; with her nimbus of golden hair she looked a rapt
mediaeval saint. Her slender figure swayed towards Landless, and when she
spoke her voice was like the tone of a violin, soft, rich, caressing,
tremulous.
"There was no boat," she said.
"No boat!" he cried. "What do you mean?"
"The canoe going down the river. I told you that it held seven Indians
and the mulatto. I lied to you. There were no Indians, no mulatto, no
canoe. The shadows of the clouds have been upon the river, and the wild
fowl, and once a fish-hawk plunged. I have seen nothing else."
Landless gazed at her with staring eyeballs. "You have thrown away your
life," he said at last in a voice that did not seem his own.
"Yes, I have thrown away my life."
"But why--why--"
The rich color surged over her face and neck. She swayed towards him
with the grace of a wind-bowed lily, her breath fanning his forehead,
and her hand touching his, softly, flutteringly, like a young bird.
"Can you not guess why?" she said with an enchanting smile.
All the anguish of a little while back, all the terror of the fate that
hung over her, all the white calm of despair was gone. The horror that
moved nearer and nearer, moment by moment, through the painted forest,
was forgotten. She looked at him shyly from under her long lashes and
with another wonderful blush.
Landless gazed at her, comprehension slowly dawning in his eyes. For
five minutes there was a silence as of the dead beneath the crags. Then
with a great cry he caught her hands in his and drew her towards him.
"Is it?" he cried.
"Yes," she answered with laughter trembling on her lips. "Death hath
enfranchised us, you and me. Give me my betrothal kiss, my only love."
For them one moment of Paradise, of bliss ineffable and supreme. The
next, the crags behind them rang to the sound of the war whoop.