THE CRISIS
Mershone and Fogerty plodded through the snow together, side by side.
They were facing the wind, which cut their faces cruelly, yet neither
seemed to mind the bitterness of the weather. "Keep watch along the
roadside," suggested Mershone; "she may have fallen anywhere, you know.
She couldn't endure this thing long. Poor Louise!"
"You were fond of her, Mr. Mershone?" asked Fogerty, not
unsympathetically.
"Yes. That was why I made such a struggle to get her."
"It was a mistake, sir. Provided a woman is won by force or trickery
she's never worth getting. If she doesn't care for you it's better to
give her up."
"I know--now."
"You're a bright fellow, Mershone, a clever fellow. It's a pity you
couldn't direct your talents the right way. They'll jug you for this."
"Never mind. The game of life isn't worth playing. I've done with it,
and the sooner I go to the devil the better. If only I could be sure
Louise was safe I'd toss every care--and every honest thought--to the
winds, from this moment."
During the silence that followed Fogerty was thoughtful. Indeed, his
mind dwelt more upon the defeated and desperate man beside him than upon
the waif he was searching for.
"What's been done, Mr. Mershone," he said, after a time, "can't be
helped now. The future of every man is always a bigger proposition than
his past--whoever he may be. With your talents and genius you could yet
make of yourself a successful and prosperous man, respected by the
community--if you could get out of this miserable rut that has helped
to drag you down."
"But I can't," said the other, despondently.
"You can if you try. But you'll have to strike for a place a good way
from New York. Go West, forget your past, and carve out an honest future
under a new name and among new associates. You're equal to it."
Mershone shook his head.
"You forget," he said. "They'll give me a jail sentence for this folly,
as sure as fate, and that will be the end of me."
"Not necessarily. See here, Mershone, it won't help any of those people
to prosecute you. If the girl escapes with her life no real harm has
been done, although you've caused a deal of unhappiness, in one way or
another. For my part, I'd like to see you escape, because I'm sure this
affair will be a warning to you that will induce you to give up all
trickery in the future. Money wouldn't bribe me, as you know, but
sympathy and good fellowship will. If you'll promise to skip right now,
and turn over a new leaf, you are free."
"Where could I go?"
"There's a town a mile ahead of us; I can see the buildings now and
then. You've money, for you offered it to me. I haven't any assistants
here, I'm all alone on the job. That talk about four men was only a
bluff. Push me over in the snow and make tracks. I'll tell Weldon you've
escaped, and advise him not to bother you. It's very easy."
Mershone stopped short, seized the detective's hand and wrung it
gratefully.
"You're a good fellow, Fogerty. I--I thank you. But I can't do it. In
the first place, I can't rest in peace until Louise is found, or I know
her fate. Secondly, I'm game to give an account for all my deeds, now
that I've played the farce out, and lost. I--I really haven't the
ambition, Fogerty, to make a new start in life, and try to reform.
What's the use?"
Fogerty did not reply. Perhaps he realized the case was entirely
hopeless. But he had done what he could to save the misguided fellow and
give him a chance, and he was sorry he had not succeeded.
Meantime Arthur Weldon, almost dazed by the calamity that had overtaken
his sweetheart, found an able assistant in his chauffeur, who, when the
case was explained to him, developed an eager and intelligent interest
in the chase. Fortunately they moved with the storm and the snow
presently moderated in volume although the wind was still blowing a
fierce gale. This gave them a better opportunity than the others to
observe the road they followed.
Jones had good eyes, and although the trail of the heavy wagon was lost
at times he soon picked it up again and they were enabled to make fairly
good speed.
"I believe," said Arthur, presently, "that the marks are getting
clearer."
"I know they are, sir," agreed Jones.
"Then we've come in the right direction, for it is proof that the wagon
was headed this way."
"Quite right, sir."
This back section was thinly settled and the occasional farm-houses they
passed were set well back from the road. It was evident from the closed
gates and drifted snowbanks that no teams had either left these places
or arrived during a recent period. Arthur was encouraged, moreover, by
the wagon ruts growing still more clear as they proceeded, and his
excitement was great when Jones abruptly halted and pointed to a place
where the wheels had made a turn and entered a farm yard.
"Here's the place, sir," announced the chauffeur.
"Can you get in?"
"It's pretty deep, sir, but I'll try."
The snow was crisp and light, owing to the excessive cold, and the
machine plowed through it bravely, drawing up at last to the door of an
humble cottage.
As Arthur leaped out of the car a man appeared upon the steps, closing
the door softly behind him.
"Looking for the young lady, sir?" he asked.
"Is she here?" cried Arthur.
The man placed his finger on his lips, although the wind prevented any
sound of voices being heard within.
"Gently, sir, don't make a noise--but come in."
They entered what seemed to be a kitchen. The farmer, a man of advanced
years, led him to a front room, and again cautioning him to be silent,
motioned him to enter.
A sheet-iron stove made the place fairly comfortable. By a window sat a
meek-faced woman, bent over some sewing. On a couch opposite lay Louise,
covered by a heavy shawl. She was fast asleep, her hair disheveled and
straying over her crimson cheeks, flushed from exposure to the weather.
Her slumber seemed the result of physical exhaustion, for her lips were
parted and she breathed deeply.
Arthur, after gazing at her for a moment with a beating-heart, for the
mysterious actions of the old farmer had made him fear the worst, softly
approached the couch and knelt beside the girl he loved, thanking; God
in his inmost heart for her escape. Then he leaned over and pressed a
kiss upon her cheek.
Louise slowly opened her eyes, smiled divinely, and threw her arms
impulsively around his neck.
"I knew you would come for me, dear," she whispered.