OUT OF THE PAST
Three men straightened up and turned slowly away from a shot-riddled
thing which also had been a man. Their gaze centered on another
motionless form a few feet away, its thin hands still clutched around
a battered old muzzle-loader. Beside that silent figure knelt an
anxious-eyed girl, down whose shoulders hung disordered red hair.
“Well,” said Ward in business-like tones, “this is what I call a good
clean-up. The quicker a snake gits killed the better. This one’s as
dead as they make ’em, and the State won’t have to spend a nickel on
givin’ him a trial and bumpin’ him off. Nor it won’t have to give this
kid any more board and lodgin’ down the river. All we’ve got to do now
is have you folks witness that confession, and then we’ll drift out
and report. Sanders was shot resistin’ arrest, and Bill here done the
shootin’. Ain’t that right, Bill?”
He winked at his burly partner. Bill grinned heavily and returned the
wink.
“Yeah. That’s right. Killed by Officer William Moiphy in p’formance o’
dooty. I dunno if I hit him, but I shot and he croaked, and that’s good
enough for the records. But what about the kid? Hadn’t we oughter take
him out till they fix up the red tape down below?”
“Nope,” decisively. “We can fix that. Kid can’t travel anyway. Might
kill him. We’ll leave him lay here and git better if he can. More’n
that, I’m goin’ to send that Brackett woman’s doctor up here to tend
to him. Charge the bill up to expenses. The State owes him that much,
anyway. Now, sister, let’s have a look at him.”
As Ward stooped over the unconscious youth the girl drew back in
instinctive distrust, one hand slipping toward the gun she had captured
from Snake. The man gave her a look half-amused, half-warning. Douglas
spoke soothingly.
“It’s all right, Marion. Maybe you didn’t notice what was said just
now. Steve’s cleared, and Ward here is going to send in a doctor. These
fellows are leaving--and so am I. Steve will be well soon, and then you
two can get married, and--and--everything’s all right.”
Despite himself, his last words sounded hollow. He turned his gaze to
the wan face of the wolf-boy, sombrely contemplating the sunken cheeks,
the deep-rimmed eyes, all the painfully apparent ravages of privation
and sickness. He did not observe the sudden amazement in the three
other faces, which turned quickly to his; nor the ensuing tiny tremble
of the girl’s lips.
“Huh? These two git---- Gee, I thought---- Huh!” muttered Bill, blankly
looking from boy to girl and then back at Hampton. Ward, too, stared;
then, tongue in cheek, looked down again at Steve.
“Git married? Me and Steve?” breathed Marion. “And you--you’re
goin’----”
A moan from the floor, a shudder of the ragged body and a trembling of
the hands around the gun, cut her short and drew the attention of all.
The pale lips twitched; the eyes opened, steadied on Ward’s face. The
jaw clicked shut. Steve struggled to rise.
“All right, lad,” Ward said kindly. “We don’t want you. Take it easy.
You’re in the clear, and Sanders is croaked, and we’re goin’ out and
leave you. Now you’d better git to bed. Hampton, want to put your
blankets around him? And shut that back window of yours. We left it
open----”
“That’s how you got in?”
“Sure. We spotted that easy-slidin’ window days ago--made a little
call here and looked things over again, just for luck. I don’t aim to
overlook anything when I’m on a job. So to-night when we heard that
cannon go off we took it on the run, looked in here and saw you had
got Sanders cornered, and eased ourselves in by that window to git an
earful of what you were raggin’ about. It helps a lot sometimes to hear
things without lettin’ folks know---- Huh? What’s that, kid?”
Steve was trying to break in. Now he gasped:
“Leave me lay. Go look out for mom. Snake, he mauled her. He went
there--’fore he come here. I found her all----”
Marion sprang up with a cry.
“Mom? Snake hurt her?”
“Yuh--he mauled her awful. She told me--take the gun and--see if ye was
here. I put her on the bed--and I come a-runnin’. She’s hurt bad. Git
to her.”
Douglas and Bill tensed. Ward straightened with a snap.
“More dirty work!” growled Ward, with a hard look at the dead man
beyond. “We’d all better git up there. Say, Miss Oaks! How about
bringin’ this Steve to your house? This ain’t a good place for him.”
“Oh, bring him, bring him! Poor mom! I’m a-goin’!”
She sped into the night. Ward moved swiftly after her.
“Bill, you and Hampton fetch him along,” he commanded. And he, too, was
lost in the darkness.
Hastily Douglas gathered his blankets and threw them around Steve,
who doggedly strove to stand on his own legs but could not. Deprived
now of the vengeful force which had sustained him so long, he was
utterly without strength. But his wasted frame was no burden at all
to the muscles of the two strong men aiding him. And a moment later,
bundled in warm woven wool, he was being borne rapidly along the
road, his tortured chest enwrapped in the bulging arms of the man who
had remorselessly hunted him, his legs upheld by the tall “furriner”
who had stood by him ever since his return from prison walls. Before
the three, the white beam of the gas-lamp lit up the road. Behind,
stiffening in the blackness of the eerie house where at last he had
entrapped himself, lay the creature whose venom would never more menace
the dwellers in the Traps.
At the door of the Oaks house Ward met them. His face was grave.
“Put him on this here cot,” he quietly directed. “I’ve got the fire
goin’ and some water on.” Lowering his voice and nodding toward an
inner room where an oil lamp shone feebly, he added: “She’s in there.
Can’t do anything for her. She’s all busted up inside. Hemorrhages. She
won’t last till daybreak.”
“Talkin’ any?” hoarsely whispered Bill.
“Nope. Just holdin’ the girl’s hand. She might say somethin’ later on.
We’ll stick around.”
They lowered Steve to a rickety sofa, opened the blanket-roll encasing
him, and bared his ridge-ribbed chest. Ward tiptoed about and found
mustard and cloths. Bill, clumsily anxious to do something but ignorant
of how to go about it, fidgeted a moment and then appointed himself
guardian of the fire. Steve, lips pressed together, lay still, moving
only his eyes, which went back and forth between Douglas and the
doorway of the inner room. The blond man nodded and stole to the portal.
Within, he saw two faces: one thin, dark, pillowed in a worn old bed--a
face gray-white beneath its swarthiness; the other fair, rounded, but
white and set, leaning close. Across the mouth of the sufferer lay a
towel blotched with red stains, and from the headboard another hung
ready. The black-browed eyes were closed, and across the forehead above
them softly stroked gentle tapering fingers. On the shabby counterpane
a work-worn old hand and a shapely young one were joined. Somewhere a
cheap clock ticked as if hurrying along the last hours of the injured
woman’s life. That, and difficult breathing, were the only sounds.
Marion’s head turned, and for a moment her grief-stricken eyes dwelt
on the blue ones at the doorway. Then they returned to the face on
the pillow. Douglas withdrew. In that straight look he had found
confirmation of what his own gaze and Ward’s laconic words had told him.
He shook his head soberly at Steve and at the other two, watching him.
The boy’s mouth set harder; but he said nothing. Ward went on making
a hot poultice. Bill shifted his feet and awkwardly fed another stick
into the stove.
“I don’t quite git it,” Ward mused in an undertone, as the three
gathered around Steve. “What would Sanders beat her up for?”
“For the same reason that he would kill Lou Brackett and shoot at me,”
Douglas explained. “It all fits in together. The reason is--Marion.”
“Wanted her, you mean?”
“Exactly. He couldn’t have her and Lou too, so he got rid of Lou.
He threw her off the Wall because that would look like an accident.
A snake-bite wouldn’t do, because folks would be too suspicious,
especially since snakes are denning up now. Any other form of murder,
too, would look bad. A fall off the Wall would be the most natural
thing.
“Mrs. Oaks, here, hated Sanders, and he knew it. From what Steve
tells us--that she told him to leave her and see if Marion was at my
house--Sanders must have come here determined to drag the girl away to
a hole in the rocks where he’s been hiding lately. She probably cussed
him out--maybe threatened him with the gun--and he thought Marion was
here. So he jumped on her, pounded her like the murderous brute he was,
searched the house, and then came to my place; saw us in there, and
jumped in to finish me and grab her before she could get to my gun.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Ward nodded, drawing Steve’s shirt together over
the deftly arranged plaster. “He sure was a hard guy. Well, there’s no
more to do now but wait. You git to sleep, lad, if you can. I’m goin’
out for a little smoke.”
He passed to the bedroom doorway, looked in, then quietly opened and
closed the outer door. A minute later, outside a window, showed the
flare of a match and the glow of a pipe.
Time dragged past. Steve lay silent. Bill and Douglas sat wordless.
Ward returned, found some cold biscuit and butter, made a big pot of
coffee, passed them around. From time to time one or another of them
stepped to the door and looked in on the girl keeping her grim vigil;
then tiptoed back and resumed his seat.
Hour after hour crawled along, measured only by the unfeeling tick of
that cheap clock, which had no hour-bell. Steve slept. Bill dozed,
sprawling in his chair. Ward and Hampton nursed empty pipes. From the
room beyond came occasional choking noises, but no voice.
Then, low but penetrating, sounded a call for aid.
“Douglas! Come help me!”
In six strides Douglas was beside Marion, who was supporting the older
woman’s bony shoulders in her arms. The dark eyes were open now, and
the red-dyed mouth was gasping for breath.
“She wants to be lifted,” added the girl. “I can do it, but I might
shake her. Jest raise her easy.”
With a smooth lift he set Eliza against the pillows which Marion
erected at her back. One glance into the ashy face and the glassy eyes
told him that the end was close at hand.
For a minute or two the dying woman looked fixedly at him. She seemed
gathering her strength. Her gaze went to Marion. Then it centered again
on Hampton’s strong, clean face.
“I’m a-goin’,” she breathed. “Snake done it. Did ye--git him?”
“Steve got him,” he answered. “Got him with Nat’s gun. Both barrels.
He owned up first, though, that Steve didn’t burn out the Bumps. Steve
goes free. Everything’s all right. Don’t talk.”
A wild light filled the fixed eyes. A haggard smile crooked the thin
lips.
“Steve done it! Nat’s gun! That’s good! Awful good!”
A sudden cough and a fresh red flow stopped her. Then, instead of
drooping back, she seemed to straighten and strengthen. Her breath
came short, but more easily.
“I got to talk. Don’t hender me. I ain’t got much time. I got to tell
ye--’fore I go. Marry--ain’t ourn.”
Douglas started.
“Not yours? Not your daughter?”
“No. I never had no--young ’uns of my own. We got Marryin--three year
old. Her pop was--a painter feller. From Noo York. Name was Dyke.
“He come into here--fourteen year ago--paint pictures. Wife had got
drownded--sailboat sunk into ocean--nigh Noo York, he--told us. He
was awful grievious ’bout it. Come up here to paint an’--git over
it. Brought his little gal--Marryin--all he had left--little rosy
gal--purty as a angel.
“We was more ’spectable then. Nat he worked--didn’t drink much--hunted
an’ trapped--made a good livin’. Dyke wanted board with us. We let him.
He went paintin’--up ’long the crick--up onto Minnewasky--diff’rent
places. Little Marryin stayed here mostly--’count o’ snakes--daddy was
scairt she’d git--bit if she went ’long o’ him.
“Dyke was good feller but--quick-tempered--git fightin’ mad like
a shot. Him an’ Nat--they had two-three spats. One time they went
huntin’. Nat come home ’lone. Said Dyke fell offen Dickabar. Kilt.
“We got him outen--the rocks. Buried him out back. Nat got
drinkin’--talkin’ into his sleep--let out that him an’ Dyke fit ’bout
suthin’. Nat busted his neck. When he see what he--done, he throwed
him--offen Dickabar to look like--he fell by--hisself.
“’Course I never told. Nat he was my man. Snake Sanders, he--knowed or
’spicioned--I dunno how--but he kep’ Nat scairt. Made Nat do--dirty
work. But he never--told on him. Nor I wouldn’t--tell ye now but--Nat
he’s gone--can’t nobody hurt him now. I’m a-goin’ too--Marry she’ll be
’lone--’ceptin’ for Steve an’--you. One o’ ye’s got to--look out for
her.”
She gasped, struggled up straighter, fought off the tightening clasp
of Death. Her dimming eyes traveled about the blur of hovering faces.
Except Steve, asleep outside, all in the house now were clustered
around the bed.
“Ye--Hampton--I been mad at ye--but--ye come from outside--like Marry’s
pop. Marry she--b’longs outside too. Her folks was quality--she warn’t
borned into--Traps. She’d oughter go out.
“Steve an’ her, they--growed up like brother an’--sister. They knowed
they warn’t--but they been the same. Steve got livin’ with us--I
dunno jest when--he was little feller--he jest come an’ stayed. They
growed--like I said. He’s good boy but--he ain’t fitten to--take care
o’ Marry. Too wild--too young--he ain’t got a stiddy head--ye know what
I--mean. I’d go easier to know she was--took care of by--strong man
that knowed things.”
She strove to make out the expression on the face of the blond blur
which was Hampton. She could not. But to her failing ears came a
deep-toned, solemn promise.
“I will take care of her. As if she were my own sister.”
Another faint smile fluttered and faded. The black head sank back
wearily. Once more the stiffening lips moved.
“Marry gal--I might of--done better--by ye. I cussed ye--knocked ye
round--but I kep’ ye--safe. Snake nor no other--varmint never--got ye.
I done the--best I--knowed how. I--I’m--a-goin’----”
A quiver ran from breast to lips. The arms went limp. The body relaxed.
Nigger Nat’s woman--primitive product of harsh hills, hard-bitten,
hard-spoken, unmannered and unlovely, yet loyal to the last to her man
and the waifs whom she had taken to her craggy heart--had laid down the
burden of life and passed on.