THE SHADOW OF DEATH
"There are moral as well as physical assassinations."--Voltaire.
When he awoke the next morning, the poor bedeviled doctor crawled back
to the hotel as best he could, his head throbbing with pain, his wits
dull and his temper wild. Stumbling up the long flight of stairs which
seemed to him to reach the sky, he burst open his door and entered the
room. It was empty. The bed had not been occupied. Pepeeta was nowhere
to be seen.
It took him some moments to comprehend that he did not comprehend. Then
he called, "Pepeeta! Pepeeta!"
The silence at first bewildered, then aroused hims and crossing the
corridor he entered David's room. It, too, was empty. He was now
thoroughly astonished and awake. Recrossing the hall he once more
entered his room and began in earnest to seek an explanation of this
mystery. It did not take him long, for on the table were lying the
jewels in which he had invested his profits and which he had confided to
Pepeeta--and beside them a piece of paper on which he slowly spelled out
these startling words:
"I have discovered your treachery and fled."
"PEPEETA."
He drew his hand across his eyes, took a piece of his cheek between his
thumb and first finger and pinched it to see if he were awake, then read
the words again, this time aloud: "I have discovered your treachery and
fled. Pepeeta." "Treachery?" he said. "What t-t-treachery? Whose
t-t-treachery? Fled? Fled with whom, fled where? I wonder if I am still
d-d-drunk?"
Laying the paper down, he went to the wash-stand, filled the bowl with
water, plunged his head into it and expected to find that he had been
suffering some sort of hallucination. But when he returned to the table
and again took up the missive, the same words stared him in the face.
At last, and almost with the rapidity of a stroke of lightning, the
whole mystery solved itself. It flashed upon his mind that Pepeeta had
abandoned him, and in company with the man he had so implicitly trusted.
The serpent he had nourished in his bosom had at last stung him! Tearing
the paper into shreds, and stamping upon the floor, he cursed and raved.
"I see it all," he cried. "Fool, ass, bat, mole! Curse me! Yes, curse
me! But curse them also! Oh! G-G-God, help me to avenge this wrong!"
As soon as a God is necessary to the atheist he invents one, and in a
single instant this hopeless skeptic had become a firm believer in the
Deity. It seemed for a few moments as if his passions would destroy him
by their internal violence; but their first ebullition was soon expended
and he began to grow calm. The electric fires of his anger were no
longer permitted to play at random, but were gathered up into a
thunderbolt to be hurled at his foe; this half-crazed man suddenly
became as cool and calculating as he was desperate and determined.
A purpose shaped itself instantly in his mind, and he began its
execution without delay. He made no confidant, took no advice; but
having smoothed his ruffled clothing and combed his disheveled hair so
as to excite no comment and provoke no question, he passed through the
hotel corridor and office, greeting his acquaintances with his
accustomed ease, and made his way to the livery stable. He went at once
to the stalls where his famous team was accustomed to stand, and to his
astonishment and delight found his horses both there.
"Tom," he said to the hostler, "did you hire a horse and b-b-buggy to a
young couple last night?"
"I did not," answered the surly groom.
"Tell me the truth," said the doctor in a voice that made every word
sound like the crack of a rifle.
"What do you take me for?" asked the stableman, trying to appear
indignant and innocent.
"You're a l-l-liar, and I am in no mood for trifling. Out with it, you
scoundrel!" he cried, seizing him by the throat.
With a sign of terror the groom indicated his readiness to come to
terms, and the doctor relaxed his grip.
Still trembling, he told the truth.
"Do you know which road they took?"
He waved his hand toward Kentucky.
"Put a saddle on Hamlet--no, on Romeo," he ordered, tersely.
The groom entered a box stall and led out the black beauty. The doctor
glanced him over and smiled. And well he might, for every muscle, every
motion betokened speed, intelligence, endurance.
The pursuer made a single stop on his way to the river and that was at a
gun store, from which he emerged carrying a pair of saddle bags on his
arm. In the holsters were two loaded pistols.
He smiled as he mounted, having already consummated vengeance in his
heart. Once across the river and safe upon the Louisville pike, he
loosened the reins. The horse, whose sympathetic heart had already been
imbued with the spirit of his rider, shook his long black mane, plunged
forward and pounded along the hard turnpike. His hoof-beats--sharp,
sonorous, rhythmical--seemed to be crying for vengeance; for hoof-beats
have a language, and always utter the thoughts of a rider.
Now that he was well on his way the outraged husband had time to
reflect, and the past few months rose vividly before him. He saw his own
folly and did not spare himself in his condemnation; but this folly did
not for an instant modify the guilt of the two fugitives. Every moment
his injuries seemed more colossal, more unpardonable, more unendurable.
He had been wounded in his affections and also in his vanity, which was
far more dreadful, and an agonizing thirst for vengeance overpowered
him.
The great veins began to swell in his neck. He would have choked, had he
not violently torn off his collar and cravat and flung them into the
dust.
His thirst for blood outstripped his fleet horse, who seemed to him, in
his impetuous haste, to be creeping like a snail. He drove his spurs
deep into the sides of the frightened animal, which almost leaped
through his girth. A less expert horseman would have been unseated; but
an earthquake could not have thrown this Centaur out of his saddle.
The forests, hills and houses flowed past him like a river. Occasionally
he halted an instant to inquire of some lonely traveler if he had seen a
horse and buggy passing that way, but he was cunning enough to conceal
his anxiety and to hide his joy as every answer made him more certain
that he was on the trail of the fugitives.
The road was perfectly familiar. He had traversed it a hundred times,
and not having to inquire the way he had only to remember and to
reflect. An undercurrent of speculation had been flowing through his
mind as to where he should overtake the fugitives.
"They will have arrived almost at the edge of the great forest and I
will let them enter," he said to himself.
Having reached the foot of a long hill, he dismounted, led his horse to
a little brook and permitted him to drink. When the noble animal had
quenched his thirst, the quack patted his neck, picked him a little wisp
of grass and talked to him as if he were a man.
"We will rest ourselves a little now, for we shall need all our strength
and nerve. One more b-b-burst of speed and we shall overhaul them. Have
you got your wind, Romeo? Come then, let us be off!"
Once more he sprang into the saddle, the restive horse pawing the ground
and leaping forward before he was seated. His master held him back while
they ascended the long slope of the hill, and stopped him as they gained
its summit.
The descent was a gradual one, down into a beautiful valley. For a mile
or two the road was perfectly straight and the rider, shading his eyes,
glanced along it. In the distance a moving object attracted his
attention, and as he gazed at it, long and strainingly, the terrible
smile once more wreathed his white lips.
He opened the holsters, drew out the pistols, examined them carefully,
replaced them, felt of the stirrup straps, tightened the girth, settled
himself in the saddle and shouted "Go!"
The command electrified the horse, and he dashed forward again faster
than ever. As they tore down the slope of the hill, it occurred to the
doctor that he had not formed any definite plan as to what he should do
to Pepeeta! "Shall I kill her, also?" he asked himself.
The thought sent a shudder through him and he instinctively pulled on
the bridle.
"My heart will tell me," he cried aloud, and loosened the reins of his
horse and of his passions. The very semblance of humanity seemed to be
suddenly obliterated from his countenance. This was no longer a man, but
an agent of destruction rushing like a missile projected from a cannon.
There were only two things present to his consciousness--the carriage
upon which he was swiftly gaining, and the fierce smiting of the horse's
hoofs which seemed to be echoing the cries of his heart for vengeance.
On he swept, nearer, nearer, nearer. He was now within hailing distance,
and his brain reeled; he forgot his discretion and his plan.
"Halt," he screamed, in a voice that cut the silent air like a knife.
A face appeared above the top of the buggy, and looked back. It was his
foe.
With a howl of rage, he snatched a pistol from the holster and fired.
The bullet went wide of the mark and the next instant he saw the
whip-lash cut the air and descend on the flank of the startled mare. The
buggy lurched forward, and for an instant drew rapidly away. Overwhelmed
by the fear that he might be baffled in his vengeance, he drew the other
pistol and fired again more wide of the mark than before.
With a wild oath he flung the smoking weapons into the road, and again
drove the spurs into the steaming sides of his horse. There could be no
doubt as to the result of the chase after that. The half-maddened
animal was overhauling the fugitives perceptibly at every enormous
stride, and in a few moments more shot by the buggy and up to the head
of the terrified mare. As he did so, his rider reached out his left hand
and caught the mare by her bridle, reined up his own horse and threw
both of the animals back upon their haunches.
In another instant the two men stood confronting each other on the road,
the quack black and terrible, the Quaker white and calm. Not a word was
spoken, and like two wild beasts emerging from a jungle they sprang at
each other's throats. They were oddly, but not unequally, matched, for
while the doctor was short, thick-set and muscular, but clumsy and
awkward like a bear, David was tall and slim, but lithe and sinewy as a
panther. Locked in each other's arms, they seemed like a single hideous
monster in some sort of convulsion.
As it was impossible for them in this deadly embrace to strike, they
wrestled rather than fought, and bit with teeth and tore with hands with
equal ferocity.
At the instant when the two infuriated men seized each other in this
deadly grip, Pepeeta fainted, while the terrified mare backed the buggy
into the bushes by the roadside. Romeo, snorting and pawing the ground,
approached the combatants, snuffed at them a moment as if profoundly
concerned at their strange maneuvers, then, turning away, began to crop
the rich blue grass in entire indifference to the results of this mad
quarrel between two foolish men.
The combatants surged and swayed back and forth along the dusty road,
tripping and stumbling in vain efforts to throw each other to the
ground. Their danger lent them strength, and their hatred skill. At
last, after protracted efforts, they fell and rolled over and over, now
one on top, now the other. Suddenly and as if by a single impulse
changing their tactics, their right hands unclasped and began to feel
each for the other's throat. A sudden slip of David's hold permitted the
doctor to turn him over, and sprawling across his breast he pinioned him
to the earth. His great hand stole toward the throat of his prostrate
foe and fastened upon it with the grip of an iron vise.
The beautiful face turned pale, then grew purple. This would have been
the last moment in the life of the Quaker had not his right hand,
convulsively clawing the road, touched a piece of broken rock. It was as
if a life-line had swung up against the hand of a drowning man.
Through the body which had seemed to be emptied of all its resources, a
tide of reserve energy swelled, under the impulse of which the exhausted
youth untwisted the grip of the iron hand, flung off the heavy body,
mounted upon it, crowded the great head with its matted hair and staring
eyes down into the dust, seized the stone with his right hand, raised
it, and struck.
The effect of the blow was twofold--paralyzing the brain of the smitten
and the arm of the smiter. Across the low forehead of the quack it left
a great gaping wound like a bloody mouth. A death-like pallor spread
itself over his countenance, the lids dropped back and left the eyes
staring hideously up into the face above them.
David's arm, spasmodically uplifted for a second blow, was suspended in
air. He did not move for a long time; and when at length his scattered
senses began to return he threw down the stone, rose to his feet and
exclaimed in accents of terror, "My God! I have killed him."
He could not overcome the fascination of the lifeless face and
wide-staring eyes. They drew him towards them; he stooped down and felt
for the pulse, which was imperceptible; laid his hand upon the heart,
but could not feel it beat; he raised an arm, and it fell back limp and
lifeless.
Suddenly one elemental passion gave place to another. Horror had
displaced anger, and now in its turn gave way to the instinct of
self-preservation. He looked toward the carriage and saw that Pepeeta
had fallen into a swoon. "Perhaps she has not seen what has happened,"
he said to himself, and a cunning smile lit up his pale face.
Stooping down, he seized the loathsome object lying there in the dust of
the road and dragged it off into the thick shrubbery. Stumbling along,
he came to a hollow made by the roots of an upturned tree. Into this he
flung the thing, hastily; covered it with moss and leaves, and stood
staring stupidly at the rude sepulchre. He experienced a momentary
feeling of relief that the hideous object was out of sight; but the
consciousness of his guilt and his danger soon surged back upon him like
a flood. In such moments the mind works wildly, like a clock with a
broken spring, but sometimes with an astonishing accuracy and wisdom.
It occurred to him that if he left the body where it was and it should
be eventually discovered, it would afford the gravest suspicions of foul
play; but that if he dragged it back again to the road and laid it with
its face in the dust, against the rock with which the deed was done, it
might pass for an accident.
Once more that hideous smile of cunning lit up the face which in these
few moments had undergone a mysterious deterioration. He hastily removed
the heap of rubbish, shuddered as he saw the loathsome thing once more
exposed to view, but seized it, dragged it back, and placed it with
consummate art in the position which his criminal prescience had
suggested.
As it lay there in the road nothing could have seemed more natural than
that it had fallen from the horse; he felt another momentary relief from
terror, in which he cunningly conceived a still more sagacious plan, on
noticing Romeo. They were the best of friends; it was easy to catch him.
He did so, removed the saddle, broke the girth and placed it near the
prostrate figure of the quack. Nothing could have more perfectly
resembled an accident. An adept in crime could not have performed this
task with finer skill, and he was free now to turn to the rest of the
work that he must do to conceal this ghastly deed.
Approaching the buggy, he found to his immense relief that Pepeeta was
still unconscious. With swift and silent movements he freed the mare,
led her out into the road and drove hurriedly away.
The wood through which they were passing was wide and somber. The
shadows of the evening had already begun to creep up the tree-trunks and
lurk gloomily among the branches. Plaintive bird songs were heard from
the treetops, and among them those of the mourning dove, whose solemn,
funereal note sent shudders through the heart of the trembling fugitive.
But all had gone successfully so far, and he actually began to cherish
hope that he would escape detection. There still remained, however, the
uneasy fear that Pepeeta herself had been a witness of the deed.
Horrible as was his own consciousness of his crime, he dared to hope
that he could stand it, if only she did not know! He dreaded to have her
waken, and yet it seemed as if he could not endure the suspense until he
found whether she had seen the deed or not.
Without trying to rouse her, he drove rapidly forward, and just as he
emerged from the wood came to another brook, so similar to the one by
the side of which the struggle had occurred, that he conceived the idea
of stopping by its side and awakening Pepeeta from her stupor there.
"She will not notice the difference," he said to himself; "and if she
did not witness the fatal blow I can persuade her that I overpowered the
doctor and forced him to return while she was in her swoon."
Stopping the horse, he lifted her inanimate form from the carriage, bore
it to the side of the brook, laid it gently upon the bank and dashed a
handful of the cold water into her white face. She gasped, opened her
eyes, and, sitting up, looked about her with an expression of terror.
"Where am I?" she asked.
"Do you not remember? You are here in the wood where the doctor overtook
us," he replied.
"And where is he?"
"He has returned."
"Has something dreadful happened?"
"Nothing."
"But I saw you clench with each other, and it was awful! What happened
then? I must have fainted. Did I?"
"Yes, you fainted. Were you so frightened?"
"Oh, terribly! I thought that you would kill each other! It was
horrible, horrible! But where is he now?"
"He has returned."
"Returned? Do you mean that he has gone back without me? How did you
persuade him to do that?"
"How did I persuade him? Ha! ha! I persuaded him with my fists. You
should have seen me, Pepeeta! Are you quite sure that you did not see
me? I should like you to know what a coward he was at last, and how he
went home like a whipped puppy."
"But did he acknowledge that he had deceived me?"
"He did indeed, upon his knees."
"And do you think he has gone, never to return?"
"Yes, he has gone, never to return," he answered, shuddering at the
double meaning of his words. "He made his confession and relinquished
his claim, and I made him swear that he would renounce you forever. And
so we have nothing to do but forget him and be happy. Are you feeling
better now?"
"Yes, I am better; but I am not well; I cannot shake it off. It seems
too dreadful to have been real. And yet how much better it is than if
one of you had been killed! Oh! I wish I could stop seeing it" (putting
her hands over her eyes). "Let us go! Let us leave this gloomy wood. Let
us get out into the sunshine. See! It is getting dark. We must not stay
here any longer."
"Yes, let us go," he said, rising, lifting her gently from the ground
and leading her back to the buggy in which they took their seats and
drove rapidly forward.
In a few moments they emerged from the forest. The sun was still a
little way above the horizon; its cheerful beams partially restored
Pepeeta's spirits, and David felt a momentary pleasure as he saw a
slight smile upon her pale countenance.
"Do you feel happier now?" he said.
"Yes, a little," she answered, looking into his face with eyes suffused
with tears. "And I am so thankful that you are safe!"
"And so you fainted before we fell?" he asked, compelled to reassure
himself.
"Did you fall?" she said, trembling again and laying her hand upon his
arm.
"There, there," he answered gently; "I ought not to have asked you. We
must never allude to it again. We must forget it. Will you try?"
"Yes, I will try, but it is hard. It belongs to the past, and we must
live in the present and in the future. I will try. I love you so, and I
am so thankful that you are safe." As she said this, she took his hand
in both of hers and pressed it to her breast.
This tender caress produced a revulsion in his heart and he shuddered.
Pepeeta observed it. "What makes you tremble so?" she asked.
"Nothing," he answered, regaining his self-control. "It is only that I
have been very angry, and I cannot recover from it at once."
"No wonder," she said, taking his hand again and kissing it.
In the distance they saw the steeple of a church. "Look," said David,
"there must be a village near. We will top and rest here to-night, and
in the morning we will push on toward New Orleans and forget the past."
They rode in silence. Pepeeta's thoughts were full of gladness; and
David's full of agony--they rushed tumultuously back and forth through
his mind like contrary winds through a forest.
"Was it not enough that I should be an Adam, and fall? Must I also
become a Cain and go forth with the brand of a murderer on my forehead?"
he kept saying to himself.
His life seemed destined to reproduce that whole series of archetypal
experiences, whose records make the Hebrew Scriptures the inspired
mirror of human life.